Shipwrecked and Seduced. Amanda McCabe
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the lady to you at once.”
“And just who is the lady?” Carlos asked.
“We don’t know. We rode the storm out at anchorage near the island of San Pedro, señor. After the weather cleared, we made for Santo Domingo to make our repairs. That’s when we found her.”
“Found her?” Carlos said. “What, just floating about in midair?”
“Near that, señor,” one of the other sailors said. “She was on the water, holding on to a plank. We hauled her aboard, but she was only awake long enough to tell us she was on the Santa Theresa and it went down in the storm.”
“The Santa Theresa?” Feuonmayor cried. “Alameda, do you think that means…”
Carlos held up his hand for silence, and even the governor obeyed. “Did you find anyone else?”
The sailor shook his head. “She said everyone else was dead.”
The governor shook his head sadly. “It was a blessing that even one was saved. Especially if she is…”
His voice trailed away as Carlos frowned, staring down at the pale lady. “We should send word to Havana, to Governor Augusto,” he said. He reached out to touch the cross with one fingertip. Her breath stirred beneath him, and he found that she was warm with life. Vibrant with the miracle of her survival on the stormy sea.
Quite against his will, he was moved by the thought of what she must have suffered.
“Surely it is her,” Feuonmayor murmured. “Look at that jewel.”
Carlos nodded, gently lifting the heavy cross to examine its blue-green depths. The lady moaned in her sleep, turning away from him as her tangled brown hair obscured her face. “We should not be too hasty, I think. We must hear her story.”
“We knew she was important, señor,” the sailor said quickly. “So we brought her to you as soon as we made port. We took the best care of her, I promise you.”
“And you will get your reward, never fear,” Carlos said. He replaced the cross on her breastbone. Beneath the torn chemise she was very thin, her collarbone and shoulders almost sharp beneath the pale skin. Strange, if she was who they thought. A pampered contessa.
“Summon more servants, and the surgeon,” he told Feuonmayor. “She should be taken at once to a chamber and looked after. I am sure Governor Augusto would far prefer to be presented with her alive.”
The servants scurried to do his bidding, carrying the lady away as he paid off the sailors and warned the governor and his lackeys to say nothing yet about their new houseguest.
By the time Carlos finished his business and made his way to the woman’s chamber, she was dressed in a clean chemise and tucked into bed by the maidservants.
It was one of the fortress’s finest rooms, a bower of red and gold hangings usually reserved for visiting grandees. The young woman seemed a bit lost in the midst of the vast bed, but her eyes were open at last. She held a silver goblet tightly between her hands as one of the maids brushed and braided her hair.
She stared down into the dark red depths of the wine, as if she hoped to read something writ there. An answer to some perplexing puzzle.
Carlos knew the feeling very well.
“Señorita,” he said gently, slowly approaching the bed. There seemed something delicate about her, as if she was a bird poised to plunge into flight at the slightest sound.
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