at him,” he snarled. “A fop in beggar’s clothing. He thinks were so daft we can’t see through that pitiful charade.”
Cate looked out through the door’s sidelight once more. Upon closer scrutiny, she saw his point. With the exception of an older woman, who might have been the girl’s dueña, those around Corretja were campesinos, commoners and working folk. Corretja’s thread-bare, ill-fitting coat was a poor camouflage over the gold embroidered waistcoat, a ruffled jabot and shirt of quality beneath. The natty wig and humble shoes were incongruous with the silk hose and silver-buttoned calf breeches. More to the point was the general suspicious nature of the man: the inability to look anyone in the eye. Such reticence could have stemmed from fear, but deception was more fertile ground.
Eloquent in virginal mortification, the head-hanging Isabella had suffered no such diminutions. If anything, she had been enhanced: cheeks pinked, lips rouged and a row of lace hastily tucked, to make her breasts appear fuller. Round-faced with the soft plumpness of youth, where nature had been generous to her at the waist and hips, she had not yet been blessed elsewhere.
Nathan threw a combustive glare at the alcalde. “I should take her right there in front of the sodding worm, just to teach him a lesson.”
“But you won’t, right?”
“No, I won’t,” he agreed grudgingly. Gaze still fixed on the girl, he snorted in disgust. “Never taken a woman unwilling in me life. Besides,” he said, as an afterthought, making a poor attempt at levity, “the young ones are always so much work. He’s gambling we’d think her too young or too plain. Ignorant lobcock!”
In Nathan’s absence, Corretja directed his minions to spread the ever-increasing offerings in a more advantageous display. By no means a king’s ransom, from all appearances it was, however, the settlement’s every possession.
Nathan snorted, shaking his head in wonderment. “If they’re willing to present all that, imagine what they wish not to be seen.”
“You think there’s more?”
“Indisputably! The best proof being His Pompousness’ anxiousness to give up his daughter, a grand gesture to keep something much more valuable—to his estimation at any rate—very safe.”
“But you came only for wood and water.”
“And would have been very content to leave with that, and a crew ecstatic at it being achieved through someone else’s sweat. Now…” He blew a tired sigh. A tic in one eye betrayed his pounding head. “Now, I’ve nay choice: every jack on that deck knows ’tis more to be had. If we leave without, or at least give it a jolly good try, there will be hell to pay.”
“You mean…?” She couldn’t bring herself to utter the word.
Mutiny.
Nathan made a caustic noise at her innocence. “In a heartbeat. If one of those bilge rats were to take over, there will be no saving anyone from anything.”
His eyes drifted Cate's direction, and then he shook his head. “If I’m still in charge, I can strive to keep the damage to a minimum.”
He stared without seeing at the kegs of rum, now being lifted onboard by way of a derrick yard.
“Still, a prize is a prize.” Nathan gave a low, guttural growl and took an angry swipe at the air. “The cold-gutted old skipjack is about to get his just deserves.”
He flashed a rakish smile and took another drink. Blackened eyes, blood-stiffened hair and scruff of a sprouting beard, he looked a right Tartar, the pirate she had expected to meet. He strode back out with renewed determination.
To stunned Spanish gasps and lecherous pirate rumblings, Nathan hooked an arm around Isabella’s waist and drew her against him. She shrieked in maidenly shrillness. Struggling against him, she pummeled his chest, landing the occasional blow to his face and—alas!—head. In the process of resisting, her arm was wrenched and she yelped, more in protest than pain. The priest and several others lunged to her rescue, but fell back at the sight of pirate pistols and cutlasses that were brandished.
“Release that innocent child, you scurrilous beast!” The priest’s protests only served to spur Nathan, now nuzzling the girl’s neck.
Nathan bared his teeth in a smile, the flash of gold adding to his menace. From Cate’s perspective, he seemed inclined toward handing the girl off to his men, just to be rid of her. It was difficult to be dignified with a squirming, screeching girl in one’s arms. Instead, he held her, a sharp jerk and a firm shake bidding her quiet.
“Young, and so very sweet. A fresh rose what begs for plucking.”