Destiny's Captive

  He opened the door and she silently led him out.

  As they made their way to see about tickets for the train, Noah was still bowled over by her revelations. A family of thieves? He knew Pilar wasn’t the average woman but to find out the totality of that . . . And sweet Doneta, who’d fed him information on her sister—an art forger? He wondered what role their mother Desa played, and decided he didn’t want to know. Surely Miguel wasn’t a party to their roguery? He looked down at her walking so silently by his side. They’d gone from having a leisurely breakfast to snapping at each other, but he felt justified in asking the question that he had about the silver. Were he to bring a thief into his mother’s home and something came up missing, she’d take a shotgun to them both. Earlier, he’d wondered what challenges his new wife would bring to his day. He had his answer.

  Chapter 13

  “The ferry to the mainland leaves tomorrow morning at four sharp. Train at five,” the depot agent told them as he handed over the tickets. “You’ll be going to Birmingham, Alabama, and then north for the train to St. Louis. This being the South you’ll have to ride separately.”

  Pilar had no idea what that meant, but the ice that entered Noah’s eyes left her concerned.

  “Sorry, sir,” the man offered. “I don’t believe in the practice, but I’m not the president of the railroad.”

  “Understood,” Noah replied tersely, “Smoking car or stock car?”

  “Smoking, sir, but with any luck the conductor in St. Louis will be a good man and you and the little lady won’t have any problems getting to Denver.”

  She watched Noah place the tickets inside his coat. “Thank you for your help and honesty,” he offered.

  “You’re welcome. Next person.”

  As she and Noah left the depot, she noted that his cold manner remained.

  “We have to ride the train separately? Men can’t ride with women?” she asked.

  “No. Here the races are separated by law. On some trains, people like us are relegated to the smoking car, and on others it’s the stock car with whatever animals are being transported.”

  “We may have to ride across the country with pigs or goats?”

  “Or horses or cattle,” he said bitterly. “What would you like to do for the rest of the day?” He appeared so incredibly angry his scar seemed to throb.

  “If you prefer to return to the boardinghouse, that would be fine.”

  “No. I need to do something to rid me of this mood. When I took the train home for my mother’s wedding I went through Texas and there was no discrimination, but being here reminds me why I usually avoid traveling by rail whenever possible. I detest how humiliating it’s designed to be.”

  There was discrimination in Cuba, and it was one of the things men like General Maceo railed against. If and when the railroads came to her country she hoped such ideas wouldn’t be instituted.

  “Pilar, is there something you’d like to do?” he asked again cutting into her musings.

  “My apologies. I was thinking of home. Yes, there is something. I’d like to walk on the beach and say good-bye.”

  “To whom?”

  “My Cuba, the sky, the ocean.”

  “There’s ocean in California.”

  “But these are the waters of my ocean. I was born on them.” She looked up to see how he might be taking her request. “You think I’m just a silly woman from the countryside, don’t you?”

  “No,” and he added, “Never.”

  She looked away. She was already homesick. “Just for a short while is all I ask.”

  “We can stay for the rest of the day if you like.”

  His words to her on the night of the sword fight returned. Whatever you desire . . . I will lay at your feet. She compared him to the man who’d been so curt with her back at the room and wondered if she’d ever know the true Noah Yates. “I’d like that.”

  “Then shall we? I doubt the Spanish will sail up and attempt to take you from me on American soil in broad daylight.”

  They found a stretch of beach a short distance away. The wind was rising and there were a few people watching the curling waves, but she and Noah continued on until they found a deserted spot. For a few moments they stood and just looked out at the blue water. There was a small boat out near the horizon. Pilar filled her lungs with the tangy air and let the wind bring solace to the sadness in her soul. “I will miss this,” she said quietly and looked up to meet his eyes. She had no idea what he might be thinking, but the intensity was familiar. Memories of being in his arms resurfaced and she hastily turned her mind to something else, something she felt needed to be made clear. “I’m very grateful for what you’ve done for me. To pay you back by stealing from your family isn’t something I’d ever do.”

  “I’ll take you at your word, so let’s not speak of this again.”

  She nodded and focused again on the waves. “Will you buy another boat?”

  “Yes. Unless you’d care to steal me another.”

  She was about to take offense until she saw the whisper of his smile. “When did you first go to sea?”

  When he didn’t reply she saw that the smile had been replaced by an emotionless mask, as if the question had triggered something unpleasant. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m going down to the water.”

  Noah watched her walking away. He supposed she was owed an answer, but he’d held on to that event so closely, he didn’t know where to begin, how much to reveal, or if he should reveal any of it at all. If he’d been unable to share the experience with his brother, Drew, someone he’d known and loved his entire life, how was he expected to do so with a wife of one day? Her choice to come to the beach was a good one, though. He missed being on the water. It was his balm, his companion, his life, and he, too, needed to say good-bye.

  He walked down to join her at the water’s edge, and for a moment stood silently at her side. “I was shanghaied at the age of eighteen.”

  She didn’t hide her surprise. “That’s akin to impressment, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and at the time perfectly legal in America.”

  “How can it be legal to steal someone away? Sounds like slavery. This is a very strange country.”

  “I agree, but when the backers of the practice are in the government they write the laws in their favor.”

  She turned and stared.

  So he told her a bit about the abductors, known as crimps, and the boarding masters who employed the crimps. “The crimps are paid for each abducted man turned over to the ship captains. The more men supplied, the more blood money they earn, as it’s called. Once you’re abducted, they make you sign a contract called the articles, and by law you had to serve a year on board, sometimes two, or risk prison.”

  “And some of these crimps were in the government?”

  “Yes. At one time two men, Joseph Franklin and George Lewis, were elected to our state’s legislature. Both were well-known crimps.”

  “Where were you abducted?”

  “From a San Francisco tavern, where I was celebrating my birthday with some friends.”

  “Were your friends taken, too?”

  “No, they managed to escape during the melee.”

  “Did your mother and brothers know about this?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “How long were you away from your family?”

  “Almost two years.”

  She turned her eyes back to the water. “That’s a very sad story.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “The only good that came out of it was learning to love the sea.”

  She was quiet for a few moments before asking, “You don’t talk about this often, do you?”

  “No. How’d you know?”

  She shrugged. “Just a guess.”

  “It’s a good guess.”

  There was a large, water-weathered log behind them and she walked over to it and sat down. When she folded back her skirt and exposed her legs, his eyes widened, th
en widened further at the sight of her removing her dark stockings. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking these things off, so I can put my feet in.”

  He scanned the surroundings.

  “No one’s nearby. I hate stockings almost as much as I do skirts and dresses. They’re hot and clammy and useless really.”

  She snatched off the offending hosiery, rolled them up and set them beside her. She righted her skirt but the remembered sight of her bared legs drove off all thoughts of being shanghaied, and his manhood tightened in appreciation.

  “Are you going to join me?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh come on. No one’s going to see you. We’re going to be riding on the train with pigs for saints’ sake, you should at least have a bit of fun, first.”

  She was as alluring as a sea sprite, but the fun Noah wished to have with her had nothing to do with pigs or getting his feet wet. “You go ahead.”

  “I think you need more fun in your life, Mr. Yates.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “You should take it to heart.”

  He didn’t reply. He was too busy basking in her smile and the joy she seemed to find in life. His joy had been stolen and the thought made the dark memories return. He cursed himself for allowing them to resurface and wished he could go back to a time a few days ago when she’d been all he could think about.

  “Are you unwell?”

  Her concern brought him back. “No. I’m fine.”

  She didn’t appear convinced, so to keep her from attempting to delve deeper into his feelings, he sat and pulled off his boots.

  “You’re going to join me?”

  “I am.” With the hopes that his mind would be free again. His socks came next and he took a moment to roll up the legs of his trousers. Finished, he stood. “Now, show me how to have fun.”

  She punched him in the arm. Hard. “You’re it!” And she took off down the beach.

  Mouth open at her audacity, he barked a laugh and ran after her. She was fast. With her skirt held high, and her laughter rising, she led him on a merry chase. As he closed the distance between them, she looked back, screamed with mock fright and ran faster. She headed out into the surf and he followed. Two strides later, he grabbed her and swung her up into his arms and began to spin around, all the while miming tossing her in. “Don’t you dare!” She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Then I claim a boon.” A moment ago he’d been under the black clouds of his past and now he felt like he was being bathed in sunlight.

  “Crazy American! Put me down!”

  Instead he spun them around a few more times and each time pretended to toss her away. Their laughs melded and rose. Finally, so overwhelmed he ached with the sweetness of it, he slowed and stopped. He wanted to visually feast on her for the rest of his life.

  She asked quietly, “What do you claim as your boon?”

  “Two things.”

  “Two!”

  He tossed her high up in the air and she was still screaming with laughter when he caught her again.

  “Okay, two! What do you want?”

  “One, that you address me by my given name.”

  She quieted.

  “You’ve been addressing me as Mr. Yates—although I did enjoy being your querido this morning.”

  “And the second, Greedy Noah from California.”

  “A kiss.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.” He watched her roll her eyes. “Think of it as practice,” he chuckled softly.

  “I think you’re taking advantage of me.”

  “And I think you’re trying to wiggle out of your debt.”

  She leaned up and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “There. Debt paid.”

  “You call that a kiss?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” Still holding her he walked out of the water and back towards the beach.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To sit so we can discuss this. And I am having fun, by the way.”

  She gave him another roll of her eyes.

  He sat on the log. She made move to leave his lap. “You’re fine where you are.”

  But in Pilar’s mind, she wasn’t fine. Their intimate positioning made her very aware of him and the closeness of their bodies exuded a heat that began playing havoc with her breathing and her ability to maintain the aloofness she thought necessary.

  “So, about that poor excuse for a kiss.”

  “It wasn’t poor.”

  He nodded. “So poorly done that I think you should try again.”

  “You are truly overstepping your bounds.”

  He brushed his lips fleetingly over her cheek, and her eyes slid closed.

  “You think so?” he murmured.

  “I know so,” she somehow managed to reply. Soft lingering kisses burned over her jaw and the shell of her ear. “You’re not playing fair, American.”

  “This is how the game is played, querida . . .”

  His mouth moved to hers, inviting, seducing, inflaming, and soon, because she had no will, she began to respond. She heard him sigh with pleasure and felt his warm palm roaming lazily over her spine. He enticed her mouth to open and his tongue teased and cajoled. She was eased closer until his hard chest was flush against her breasts and the intensity sent her senses soaring like a kite caught in the wind. Last night, she’d been caught off guard by passion’s overwhelming power and in truth she was a novice still, but she reveled in the way he made her feel.

  He finally pulled away, and a moment later she opened her eyes. He ran a worshipping finger over her tingling bottom lip, then raised her mouth for yet another. When he reluctantly withdrew again his burning gaze held her in thrall.

  “Is my debt paid?” she asked hoping being flippant would help her find herself again.

  “For now.” He kissed the faint brown freckles dusting the crowns of her cheeks. “I like your spots.”

  “Hated them growing up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one outside of our family had them. The children at school called Doneta and me the Leper Twins.”

  “They’re not that prominent. They look like tiny shavings of cinnamon bark.”

  “In my mind they were large as coconuts.”

  He brushed his lips over them again. “I think they’re sweet.”

  Pilar didn’t know if she was supposed to thank him, but her heart was beating so fast, she doubted she’d’ve been able to form the words anyway.

  “Thank you for the fun, today.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her eyes strayed to his mouth. “Is this the way with all husbands and wives?”

  “Not always, but with the right husband and the right wife it can be.”

  “Do your brothers have the right wives?”

  He nodded. “They’re all madly in love.”

  Pilar doubted the two of them would ever fit that description yet wondered what it might be like to be madly in love. She supposed maybe she should’ve read a few of the books her sister took such pleasure in instead of trying to help win a war. “Why did you really want to marry me? And none of that hokum about my handling a sword.”

  “Didn’t care for that explanation?”

  “Nor did I believe it.”

  “You should, because it was partly true. Crossing swords with you made me feel more alive than anything has in quite some time—years in fact.”

  Although he’d replied with what sounded like sincerity she wasn’t sure it was the truth.

  “Doubts?” he asked as if having read her mind.

  “Yes, but only because I don’t know you well enough to be able to know what’s truth and what’s not.”

  “I spoke truly. No woman has ever challenged me with a sword before and I found it . . . invigorating.”

  “You’re very odd.”

  He laughed softly. “And you say that, why?”

  “Blood sport isn’t meant to invi
gorate.”

  “But it did. In fact, I can’t wait for you to get angry enough at me again to want my heart on the point of your sword.”

  She shook her head, unable to fathom the very strange American she was now wife to. “You’re safe then. My mother made me leave my grandfather’s behind when we left Cuba, and there was no room in my bag for Tio Miguel’s.”

  “When we get home, we’ll find you another.”

  That surprised her.

  “And I can give you lessons.”

  “I don’t need lessons. My grandfather taught me well enough.”

  “No. Your stance was too open and you let your emotions rule your strikes.”

  “So, you can teach me well enough to beat you?”

  “Not on your life, but I can teach you to be better than you are now.”

  “Then I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that.” Pilar didn’t want to like him but he had a way about him that made it hard to maintain her distance, and she didn’t even want to think about what his kisses were doing to the barriers she’d been trying to keep intact.

  “So, what would you like to do now?”

  “I’ve no idea, but later I’d like to find someone who can cook me a good Cuban meal before I’m relegated to pork belt leather for the rest of my existence.”

  “American food is not that bad.”

  “That’s only because you don’t know any better. Have you ever had frijoles negros?”

  “Of course. Everyone traveling to your country has black bean soup and I enjoy it.”

  “What about black beans with rice and maduros?”

  “No.”

  “Ropa vieja?”

  “No. Which is?”

  “Shredded beef over rice.”

  “Ah.”

  “How about sancocho?”

  He shook his head.

  “Your stomach has been so deprived. Hopefully one day you’ll be able to eat like a Cuban, and you’ll never be content with pork belt leather again.”

  He kissed her brow. “As I said, invigorating. Now, up with you. Let’s walk. My legs have gone to sleep.”

  “I didn’t ask to sit here,” she reminded him.

  “I know, but husbands enjoy having their wives on their laps. The kisses have been fun as well.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. They had been fun but he didn’t need to know how she felt.