The Sea Eagle

Prologue

Santiago de Cuba

July 1708

Sweat rolled off his forehead. The thickness of the adobe walls did little to alleviate the heat. Neither did the shackles and manacles attached to his ankles and wrists. Garrick MacKenzie cast his gaze around the room. In front of him on a low dais stood the governor. The short, fat man looked sickly in the glow of the whitewashed walls.

Spanish words flew around him like so many annoying flies. Perhaps Sebastian had been right. Perhaps he should have learned Spanish.

The smug look and triumphant ring in the governor’s voice sent Garrick’s eyebrows high. His guard pulled on the chain attached to the manacles. Garrick turned and faced the man. In heavily accented English, the man said, His Excellency has expressed you guilty.

Garrick began to laugh. A flurry of whispers passed through the room.

"—loco—"

"El está loco."

"El no comprende—"

"—loco."

Fixing his gaze up at the governor on the dais, Garrick smiled like a crocodile about to eat his prey. "Don Hernando has found me guilty. What a surprise. Ask him if his limited mental capacity enabled him to reach this conclusion himself, or if he required assistance with this task as well."

At the hesitation of his translator, Garrick lurched toward the man. Ask him!

After taking a step back, the man nodded. The Spanish words spilled from his lips. A gasp rose from the onlookers.

His Excellency, Don Hernando Gaspar Fuentes Garcia stepped off the dais, his lips thinned to a hard line. The translator cringed. Don Hernando raised his hand and slapped Garrick’s face.

For an instant, anger flared in Garrick. He narrowed his eyes. Without taking his gaze from the governor, he licked the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "How brave of Don Hernando to strike a chained man."

Although no one translated his words, the derision in his voice made his meaning clear. His translator grew pale.

He leaned closer to the man. Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to translate to his pompousness. Garrick ignored Don Hernando’s outraged expression and the rapid Spanish that flew from the governor’s mouth.

Chains bound Garrick, but could not fetter his thoughts.

Betrayed.

Betrayed as he had lain in the arms of a willing woman. He had long since decided she was no instrument in his capture. Her fright had been genuine. The four men ignored her as they grabbed him. He had fully expected them to subdue him—they numbered four, after all—but not without a little retribution. Before they tied him up, he had blackened a few eyes and broken a few noses. The men had taken him back to their ship. Only when the vessel was safely out of the harbor had Don Hernando made his appearance, strutting upon the deck as if he had captured Garrick without help. Until then the buffoon had hidden below deck.

That was a month ago, and in that time, Garrick had asked himself a lot of questions. Most of them he could answer, but one question infuriated him. How had Don Hernando found him? He should have been safe from the Spanish in his favorite island retreat. Only one explanation was possible. Someone had betrayed him. Which led to a more sinister question. Who? When he found out...

What was he thinking? Don Hernando wouldn’t let him live long enough to discover the traitor. That fat little man couldn’t chance losing this opportunity to gloat over his detractors. Even Garrick knew how inept the Cubans thought the governor. No, Don Hernando wouldn’t let him live. Ropes would soon replace the chains, and he would hang long before he could uncover his enemy.

Spanish words once again rang out in the hall. Don Hernando turned to his advisors and posed a question. Garrick watched with amusement as the advisors remained silent. Don Hernando gazed at the upturned faces, waiting for a reply. At last a lone voice braved the silence. Don Hernando grew more excited until he nearly bounced on the dais. He pointed to Garrick.

Garrick’s guard turned to him. His Excellency has decided to send you to Cartagena for your execution. Maybe even Spain.

The temptation rose in him to remind the man an execution could happen only once, but curiosity stilled the words. Why?

"Your capture proves what a great and capable man Don Hernando is."

Garrick stifled his laugh at the unwitting disclosure.

Don Hernando moved about the dais. He threw out his chest, thumped it, making a hollow thud. Don Hernando’s finger jabbed toward Garrick again.

Now what? Garrick asked.

"His Excellency is sending you to Cartagena tomorrow. Soon all Spain shall know that he, Don Hernando, has plucked the elusive Sea Eagle."

Garrick threw back his head and laughed.

Chapter One

Roxana Maria DeSanto Sevilla leaned on the weathered rail of the schooner. A draft picked up her long black skirt and ruffled it against her legs. Her gaze fixed on the horizon, she stared without seeing the wide expanse of blue. Not the sky, not the water. A warm breeze whispered against her cheek, but brought no hint of pleasure to her expression. The sun glinted off the ripples playing beneath the prow of the ship, but not even that held her attention.

Today she was leaving Cuba. Today she left for her wedding.

Today was the worst day of her life.

A long sigh escaped her lips. "¿Como es possible—"

Have you forgotten to whom you’re speaking, little dove?

Roxana turned to her companion, admiring the way the sun glistened on Leela’s chocolate brown skin. Leela was young yet. A handsome, strong woman. No gray touched the dark hair piled on top of her head in manifold braids. How could I forget you, Leela? I just didn't remember to use English. Roxana gave Leela a pallid smile.

It’s good to see that smile of yours, little dove. I thought mayhap you’d lost it forever. But I’d use it sparingly, or you’ll ruin the effect you hoped to achieve.

Effect?

That scowl, that dress, your hair...

Roxana’s hand flew to her hair. A thick braid coiled around her head like a turban. Its dark lengths stored the sun so that her hair was hot to the touch.

The black woman laughed. No, Roxana. Your hair is still sitting there without so much as a loose strand. Though I’m wondering how you managed to get it all to stay.

It wasn’t easy. I pulled it back so tight I have a headache. With a grimace, Roxana rubbed her forehead.

That’s better. With that expression, you’re sure to scare everyone off.

I? Scare people? The very thought offends me. But the smirk that moved Roxana’s lips belied her words. Leela knew her too well. When do you suppose we’ll leave?

So now you’re eager to go, are you?

Roxana turned back to the railing and gazed to the sea. "It couldn’t possibly be worse than living here. How could Papa betroth me to Don Pasqual anyway? Why does he hate me so?" Despite her determination not to show her despair, her voice quivered.

I wish I could tell you he doesn’t, child, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Maybe he’s simply angry that he sired a superior daughter and an inferior son.

Another reason I should be happy to leave. I won’t have to tolerate Ramón any longer.

It’s not your fault he’s stupid. It’s not your fault you learned more from eavesdropping on his tutors than he did in all his years of lessons.

Papa never did let me have a tutor.

Just what you would have needed to make you even more headstrong—a formal education.

Leela. Her pout accentuated the scolding tone of her voice.

Now, don’t you try your tricks on me, young lady. I won’t fall for them. Your games have no effect on me.

Roxana felt her face grow warm from Leela’s rebuke. She couldn’t argue with the woman. Leela was right. God knows what a shrew I’d be without you. I bless the day Papa brought you to me.

Sweet words won't work on me either.

Roxana linked arms with the woman. I mean every word. And I'm even happier that Papa let me bring you with me.

Ha. As if the man had a choice. No matter how much he may have wanted it, I never went to his bed, and the good Lord would never catch me picking tobacco worms from the plants. Your papa knows better than to cross me. Leela shook her necklace of white and red feathers, shells, and bones.

A bright laugh escaped her lips. The nearby deckhands shot their gazes at her, but she ignored them. Remember how pale Papa became when he announced my betrothal? I heard you behind me, rattling that necklace of yours.

Leela wagged her finger at her. Don’t you make light of powers you don’t understand, child.

Donning her most serious mien, Roxana shook her head. I wouldn’t.

You know I won’t use my powers against you, but your papa could never be so sure.

And here I was thinking you’re a good Christian woman.

And that I am, child. But there’s no sense ignoring what my people have known for so long.

A whiff of the salty tang wafted under her nose. Roxana slipped her arm free from Leela's and turned her gaze back to the sea. Many ships filled the bay. Rowboats moved across the calm waters of the inlet like bugs across a rotting log. Roxana shook her head to dispel the image. Just such a boat had carried her to this ship.

Why was she so uneasy about this voyage anyway? Maybe Don Pasqual had changed since the last time she saw him. After all, she was only a child then. He would be older, but maybe he had lost his paunch. And he couldn’t possibly still have bad breath. Could he?

A cloud blocked the sun, and a shiver ran down Roxana’s spine. She couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t share a bed with such a man. As much as she wanted children, she couldn’t give herself to a repulsive old man. How could Papa do this to her?

I’ll run away. Leela will help me. But in the next moment, she recognized the foolishness in that thought. Where would I go? What would I do? Fling myself into the middle of the ocean? I can’t even swim.

Perhaps that is the best solution.

Roxana returned her gaze to the horizon. Billowy white clouds dotted the blue sky, and the intense turquoise of the sea mirrored the heavens. With such beauty, how could she even think of leaving the world? A sigh rose from the depths of her soul. Why had she been born a woman? If she were a man, she’d never have to wed someone repugnant to her.

At least she knew better than to be meek. She had learned early that if she made enough noise, she could get what she wanted. She failed only twice—once when she wanted a tutor and then when she had learned she was to wed Don Pasqual.

Pushing herself off the railing, she saw Leela, the woman who was dearer to her than her own family, the woman whose behavior befuddled and angered those aware of her status, whose education rivaled her own. Barely more than a child herself when given Roxana to care for, Leela had raised her.

How could Papa do this to me? Roxana didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until she saw Leela’s intense gaze upon her face.

"I think it’s time I told you something, little dove. Do you remember when Don Pasqual came to Cuba five years ago?"

Aye. How could she forget? The man had followed her everywhere and stared at her whenever she was in the room.

"You were hardly more than a child, but even at fourteen you were beautiful. Don Pasqual saw it, too. He watched you even then, even when you were too young to understand. I could see it in his eyes."

Heat colored her cheeks as Roxana stared at Leela. Those words were hardly a comfort. The more Leela spoke, the more it felt as if a rock pressed the life out of her.

"Your father wanted to expand his plantation, but he didn’t have the money. In fact, he was close to losing everything. He approached Don Pasqual for a loan, but the señor turned him down. Instead, Don Pasqual gave your father a gift of the money . . . in exchange for your hand in marriage. With that money, your father expanded the plantation and regained his wealth, but in the process he sold you."

Sold. Like so much chattel. Her lungs ached for air, but Roxana didn’t think she could breathe.

"Don Pasqual agreed to wait for five years, although I have no doubt he would have taken you then, if he had been able. Your father persuaded him—"

Why . . . Her voice cracked. Papa had already sold me. Why would Papa make him wait?

I made him. I told him I would use my powers against him if he didn’t.

I thought Papa just wanted to marry me to someone influential.

"No, child. You’ve belonged to Don Pasqual these past five years. Why do you think I’ve told you so much about what happens between a man and a woman? I wanted to prepare you for this day."

The deck reeled beneath Roxana’s feet, but not from the effects of the waves. The bay was as smooth as a mirror. I believe I want to lie down.

Leela put her strong arms around her. It’s not as bad as you think. At least you’re to be his wife with all the privileges that go with that. And perhaps in time, you’ll have your own child to love.

Anger flared through Roxana’s breast, burning the despair out of her heart. Wife? Am I supposed to be grateful that I shall be that pig’s wife? He bought me.

Aye, he did, and you should be grateful. Others are bought and sold without consideration for propriety.

Roxana stared into Leela’s dark brown eyes. She saw the smoldering rage in that darkness, as well as the deep sorrow. In that instant, Roxana understood the anguish of Leela’s life. Her hands flew to her mouth in horror. "Madre de dios." The whisper slipped out despite the fingers across her lips. Tears filled her eyes as the depth of her thoughtlessness struck her.

Anger returned to banish the tears and color burned in Roxana’s cheeks. "Don Pasqual may own me, but he will never own you. Papa gave you to me, and I will give you your freedom before my husband can claim you as well. Where is the captain? He will witness this. She pushed herself away from Leela and crossed the deck. Capitán. Capitán."

The gray-haired man turned from the sailor and hid his frown behind a polite facade. "Please, señorita, I do not have the time now—"

I do not care whether you have the time. You will make time for me. My papa has paid you for my passage, and I expect service.

Perhaps my first mate—

An excellent idea. He can take care of whatever this is, while you attend me.

The man drew himself upright. "I attend no one, señorita. Not even paying passengers such as yourself. I am the captain."

Do you know who I am? Roxana stomped her foot.

On my ship, it would not matter if you were the queen herself. I rule here. Now, you will take yourself away from me until we are under sail and I can spare the time.

My father shall hear of your insolence. With a sniff Roxana turned on her heel, her chin lifted high.

Before she retreated, however, she heard the captain whisper to the sailor, Such a shrew.

Her step didn’t falter, nor did she flinch, but the word hurt. Shrew. The captain wasn’t the first to call her a shrew, nor would he be the last. After all, that was her mask, the impression she gave people. She wore the word proudly. It gave her power.

Nevertheless, the word always hurt.

When Roxana reached Leela, the woman was laughing. Put you in your place, didn’t he? I’m thinking that’s the kind of man you really need.

The captain? She shuddered. "That old man would make a rabid cur seem attractive. Besides what difference does it make what sort of man I need? I belong to Don Pasqual."

Aye. And he’s in for more trouble than he knows. You need a man who will respect you and not let you play your games.

Roxana opened her mouth to retort, but a commotion at the side of the ship drew her attention. Roxana looked over in time to see a man step aboard. Her mouth stayed open. His long blond hair swirled around his face and neck as if the breeze had decided to play just with him. His chin showed a few days growth of beard, but the stubble didn’t hide the angular lines of his jaw. The width of his shoulders sent a feeling of safety, strength, and comfort through her. But his eyes— more gray than blue, they regarded her with an intensity she could feel. Her breath caught in her throat, her blood roared in her ears, her heart raced in her chest. Who was he?

The man raised an eyebrow as if he couldn't believe what he saw. With deliberate slowness, a grin spread across his face. And then he winked.

His actions shook her from her reverie. Roxana clamped her mouth shut and struck her most arrogant pose. How dare he make such a vulgar gesture at me? As if I were a dockside harlot?

Only then did she notice his hands. Shackled. The man was in manacles. Her gaze flew back to his face. His grin was broader.

Did the effrontery of this man know no limits?

The prisoner stumbled forward as a hand pushed against his back. The man nearly fell from the prodding he received. With a smug smile, she gave a curt nod. Serves him right.

With apparent indifference for his guards, the prisoner stopped once again and bowed to her. Roxana turned on her heel, hearing the man’s rich laughter ringing in her ears. She gritted her teeth.

Get him below before he panics our travelers. The barked orders came from the captain.

She stole a peek back at the man.

Sneering, the two men escorting the prisoner grabbed him by the neck. They pulled him upright and shoved him forward. This time the prisoner fell to the deck. The guards yanked him back to his feet and pushed him into the opening of the hold.

Leela watched with no hint of emotion on her face.

Leela? Roxana touched the woman on her arm.

Shaking her head, Leela looked into her charge’s face. I don’t like seeing any man chained, not even a criminal.

Merciful Heaven, for a moment I forgot about your freedom papers.

I know. You were too busy staring at that man. He doesn’t look like he’d fall for your tricks.

Very amusing. Roxana paused. Do you really think he was a criminal?

Why else would the man wear chains? They’re not what the well-dressed dandy would choose, and he surely was no slave. Best forget about him, little dove.

Ha. As if I had any interest in him. I was merely curious.

Leela raised an eyebrow. Honey, you’ve never seen a man like that in your life, and you’re about to marry an old fool with a fat stomach. If you didn’t show an interest in this man, I’d worry. He’d be perfect for a lover.

Roxana gasped.

Too bad he’s a criminal.

For a few seconds, Roxana sputtered unintelligible sounds. Then she looked Leela straight in the eyes. Shall we go below and forget this conversation?

Aye. But I’ll be sure to bring it up the next time I see a man I deem worthy to be your lover. No barrel-shaped old swine will be the only man to touch my little dove.

Chapter Two

Garrick MacKenzie winced. His hands ached, and if not for the stubble on his jaw, he’d have an abrasion on his chin from the fall to the deck. Of course, he hated the stubble, too. Terrible, itchy things beards were. Still, discomfort was better than the alternative. Discomfort meant he was alive. He thought he’d have hanged from the gibbet long before today. Besides, he was only slightly injured. Nothing like the prospect of death to keep things in perspective.

But he wasn’t dead yet.

Stretching his arms forward, Garrick winced again as the manacles jerked his wrists. The chain clanked against the post. He could stand, but to what purpose? The shackles on his ankles allowed him to stretch only one yard from the post. The keys hung on a hook a good ten yards away.

The shackles didn’t bother him as much as the stench. He shared his quarters with the animals. The chickens and goats were bad enough, but the pigs gave the air an unclean tang one could taste on the roof of one’s mouth. Until one got used to it. With a mirthless chuckle, Garrick realized he was quickly getting used to it. When he returned to his crew, he would have to reward the cook . . .

This time the chuckle left a burn in his throat. As if he would live to see his crew again. But with life came hope, and as surely as he had survived his encounter with Don Hernando, the chance existed that he would survive this ordeal as well. As long as he remained alive. This wasn’t the first time he had cheated the hangman. The familiar rush of shame and dishonor accompanied the thought.

Garrick slumped against the post. Not the most comfortable spot, but he had hardly expected the captain’s quarters. Those were probably for that virago with her slave. Her posture, her reactions to his teasing, her outraged expression—they all showed the temperament of a shrew.

Still, she had been a pretty bit of fluff even with her hair pulled back so severely. He wondered what she was hiding from. No one as lovely as she would conceal that beauty without a purpose. She was probably on her way to her husband or a convent. A pity.

Not that he had the inclination to worry about her, but he couldn’t dismiss that haunted sadness that lurked in the depths of her eyes. Garrick shook his head. He must have imagined it. A woman with that presence, that attitude couldn’t have a reason for melancholy. Besides, he had other things to worry about, like the smell of a storm in the air. His uncanny ability to sense a storm only added to his success as a pirate. No, not pirate—privateer. As if the difference would save him now.

With a deep sigh, Garrick rested his head against the wood. How did Sebastian fare? Was the buzzard eating? She rarely accepted food from anyone but him. Did his crew remain loyal? Did they think him dead?

Too many questions. Too much unknown. And too much time to think.

At least he wasn’t dead. Yet.

*** *** ***

Are you sure you want to do this? The captain glanced down at the paper in his hands.

Yes.

Let us wait until after supper. The others are seated and—

Now.

I don’t know. She seems a valuable slave. Why would you want to free her?

Roxana’s eyes narrowed. Her foot beat a rapid tattoo. Why I choose to do so is no concern of yours. I just need you to witness the document.

Your father entrusted you to my care—

"My father is not here. He gave Leela to me, and I want to free her.