There was no sound in the paneled cabin. He seized the hand that had struck him. Slowly his arms tightened around her. Her head lay back against his arm; the red-gold curls spilled over against his chest. He bent his head; she could not move, and he kissed the curve of white throat, the smudged cheek; her hair was soft. His grip was brutally strong. He loosened it.
She twisted out of his arms in a supple movement. Her back was to him and he looked down. Across her shoulders were the marks of the mail he wore. His voice was rough and he spoke in English.
"I apologize," he said. "I hurt you."
She came at him in English. "Does that surprise you?"
Her lilting English had been pleasant to hear. He said approvingly, "You speak English."
She swung around to face him; he saw she was still trying to get her breath. "Je parle francais aussi.' Canaille.'"
Unsmiling, he bowed. "Merci, madame, I also speak Portuguese."
"I cannot!"
"A pity, señora. Perhaps I could teach you!"
46
Every curve of her body spoke defiance. He smiled a little; he hardly realized she was speaking to him, that the red lips were moving.
"And as for your apology, Captain, I do not accept it."
She turned, even as his eyes were on her. Her hand reached for the door.
Now he spoke quickly. Now he remembered he could not keep her here.
"Since Señor de Ersola is not here, señora, permit me to escort you to another cabin, where you will be more comfortable."
She had opened the door. Rapidly she was starting away. "It is not necessary," she said, over her shoulder.
Angrily, he was tempted to let her go. But he was suddenly afraid that the man who would undoubtedly catch her might lay hands on her.
"Señora!" he said sharply.
At the tone, she stopped. Three rapid steps brought him to her side. Strongly conscious of each other, they walked together to the cabin door. Cavendish leaned over to open it. His shoulder brushed hers.
"Bid your Filipino woman bring your child. I am going to place the three of you in a separate cabin."
Without a word to him, she obeyed. He followed the rapid flow of Spanish easily, in which she said to Cosmos that she was safe. Cosmos tried to smile while she took her little girl by the hand. Then Cavendish spoke to Cosmos,
"You shall come with me, now," he said.
Cosmos said, "Si señor." His voice was hopeless.
But Cavendish paid no attention. "This way, señora," he said. Across from the Captain's cabin was another large cabin. He opened the door. The man on guard materialized out of the shadows.
"D'ye want me, sir?" he asked, staring at the Spanish woman.
Cavendish said, "Señora de Montoro, her woman, and child will remain here for the night." He bowed to Catherine. "Do not lock your door," he said, "nor leave this cabin. This man," he inclined his head, "is on guard."
u Si, señor," she said. She lifted her hand to close the door; she had shepherded her little girl into the cabin; suddenly she raised her hands in appeal, and the sweetness of her was very evident. "Why do you want Cosmos?"
47
"I need a page," he said. "I shall take him back to England with me."
"England?" she said, and she looked up at him, as if he were reminding both of them, himself and her, that this meeting was one of purest chance, and that ordinarily their lives would never have crossed and they could not now entangle because they had so much between them and so little time. Their eyes met.
She didn't say good night. She closed the door, and Cavendish turned away, with Cosmos trailing after him uncertainly.
But when Master Pretty entered the cabin fifteen minutes later, Cosmos had already served his Captain with fruit and wine and preserves and biscuit. Cavendish's head was bent over the papers that lay on the table. The specie list; the manifests of the Santa Anna. Pretty looked at his bent head. He hated to interrupt. There were a thousand questions he would have liked to ask; this great rich prize was theirs; what was Cavendish going to do with it?
Pretty sighed. "Sir," he said, "the women have been put under hatches with guards." To Pretty, the passengers were the women.
Cavendish looked up. He grinned. "They are such a lovely problem, eh, Pretty?"
Pretty nodded. He started to speak, but Cavendish had turned back to the lists. Pretty went out the door and closed it behind himself.
Chapter VI
The coast of California lay drowned in mist, mist covered the mountains, the morning sun, the cypresses along the rocky beaches. On the tip of California was the bay of San Lucas, that the Spanish called Aguada Segura.
It was a small bay, ringed with low mountains, white beaches and white breaking surf. Almost at its very center, a river entered the bay; its water was fresh and clear and good to drink.
On the high deck of the Santa Anna, Cavendish was wet through; he brushed the drops of water off his face once again with his wet hand.
The Santa Anna's sails were reefed; the south wind was lazy. The galleon was putting into port like a majestic duchess, her running lights still gleaming to guide the Desire and the Content.
"Thirteen fathoms, sir," called out the linesman.
"Strike all sail," Cavendish commanded.
Pretty, who was fore, drew a breath of relief. Not because he had been worried, but because he was desperately tired.
"Twelve fathoms, sir," the linesman called out.
"You may heave out the anchors now, Master Pretty," Cavendish said.
"Aye, aye, sir," said Pretty.
"And extinguish the running lights."
The mist had come up before dawn. For two hours Cavendish had stood on the high deck; he knew these waters well. He had wanted to make port by morning. He had. He was conscious of Cosmos who had come up beside him; there was immense admiration on Cosmos' face. Even Señor de Ersola was not a better navigator than this Englishman. The mist floated past them; the wind separated it; above, the sun was shining, the California sun.
"Soon it will shine through, sir," Cosmos said.
"So it will," said Cavendish.
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He was wearing a cloak. The officer named Moon had called him up on deck two hours ago when the fog closed in on them. Cosmos had brought a cloak to keep the Captain dry. Now Cavendish handed it back to him, and Cosmos took it.
"You want anything, señor?" he asked.
"Not now," said Cavendish.
The Santa Anna was at anchor. Four anchors moored her. The first ship's boat was slung over the side. It was full of canvas, cordage and light axes; it had been loaded in the morning. On deck, the first boatload of men was ready to disembark. They had been lined up by Moon, and one by one they went over the side. The sun came out and the boat pulled for shore. Cosmos watched.
By the time they had beached the boat and drawn it up on the white sand, another boatload of men had disembarked. On deck, the English directed the maneuver; the Spanish officers were leaving the Santa Anna too. Cavendish suddenly turned, and Cosmos, carrying the wet cloak, followed him below.
"Fetch your chest, Cosmos," Cavendish said.
"Aye, aye, sir," said Cosmos; for a second his eyes sparkled, and Cavendish grinned at his first English phrase.
"We go to your ship now, sir?"
"We go aboard the Desire in ten minutes," Cavendish said.
Cosmos scampered away. Cavendish brushed back his wet hair; a lock had fallen across his forehead. He knocked lightly on a cabin door.
There was a little pause.
"Who is it?" a voice asked.
"Captain Cavendish," he said. "May I come in, señora?"
There was another little pause. Then her voice came again. "Oh, I am sorry, señor. But you see, I am—en deshabille."