“The morrow will not be good while I am upon such a ship as this,” she said provocatively.
“Now what’s amiss?” demanded Sir Nicholas, and sprang down from the cask. “What ails the ship?”
He was halfway up the companion, which was maybe what she wanted, but she would not have him know that. “Pray you, stay below amongst your gains, señor.”
He was beside her on the deck now, swung a leg over the rail, and sat there like some careless boy. “What’s amiss?” he repeated. “More dust in the alleyway?”
She gave the smallest of sniffs. “There is this amiss, señor, that this is a pirate vessel, and you are mine enemy!”
“That in your teeth, my lass!” he said gaily. “I am no enemy of yours.”
She tried to look witheringly upon him, but it seemed to have no effect. “You are the declared enemy of all Spaniards, señor, and well I know it.”
“But I have it in mind, sweetheart, to make an Englishwoman of you,” said Beauvallet frankly.
She was fairly taken aback. She gasped, flushed, and clenched her little hands.
“Now where’s that dagger?” said Beauvallet, watching her in some amusement.
She flounced round on her heel, and swept away to the poop. She was outraged and speechless, but she could still wonder whether he would follow. She need have been in no doubt. He let her gain the poop, out of sight of his men, and came up with her there. He set his hands on her shoulders, and twisted her round to face him. The teasing light went out of his eyes, and his voice was softened. “Lady, you called me a mocker, but for once I do not jest. Hear my solemn promise! I will make you an Englishwoman before a year is gone by. And so seal my bond.” He bent his handsome head quickly, and kissed her lips before she could stop him.
She cried out indignantly, and her hands flew to avenge the insult. But he had her measure, and was ready for the swift reprisal. She found her hands caught and imprisoned, and his face close above hers, smiling down into her angry eyes. “Will you rate me for a knave, or pity me for a poor mad fellow?” said Sir Nicholas, teasing again.
“I hate you!” she said, and spoke with some passion “I despise you, and I hate you!”
He let her go. “Hate me? But why?”
She brushed her hand across her lips, as though she would brush his kiss away. “How dared you—!” she choked. “Hold me—kiss me! Oh, base! It’s to insult me!” She fled towards the companion leading down to the staterooms.
He was before her, barring the way. “Hold, child! Here’s some tangle. I would wed you. Did I not say it?”
She stamped, tried to push past him, and failed. “You will never wed me!” she defied him. “You are ungenerous, base! You hold me prisoner, and do as you will with me!”
He had her fast indeed, with his hands gripping her arms above the elbows. He shook her slightly. “Nay nay, there’s no talk of prisoners or of goalers, Dominica, but only of a man and a maid. What harm have I done you?”
“You forced me! You dared to kiss me, and held me powerless!”
“I cry pardon. But you may stab me with mine own dagger, sweeting. See, it is ready to your hand. A swift, sure revenge! No? What will you have me do, then?” His hands slid down her arms to her wrists; he bent, and kissed her fingers. “There! let it be forgot—until I kiss you again.” That was said with a quick whimsical glance, daringly irrepressible.
“That will be never, señor.”
“And so she flings down her gauntlet. I pick it up, my lady, and will give you a Spanish proverb for answer:—Vivir para ver!”
“You will scarcely wed me by force,” she retorted. “Even you!”
He considered the point. “True, child, that were too easy a course.”
“I warrant you would not find it so!”
“Marry, is it yet another challenge?” he inquired.
She drew back a pace. “You would not!”
“Nay, have I not said I will not? Be at ease, ye shall have a royal wooing.”
“And where will you woo me?” she asked scornfully. “My home is in the very heart of Spain, I’d have you know.”
“Be sure I shall follow you there,” he promised, and laughed to see her face of incredulous wonder.
“Braggart! Oh, idle boaster! How should you dare?”
“Look for me in Spain before a year is out,” he answered. “My hand upon it.”
“There is a Holy Inquisition in Spain, señor,” she reminded him.
“There is, señora,” he said rather grimly, and produced from out his doublet a book bound in leather. “And it is like to have you in its clutches if you keep such dangerous stuff as this about you, my lass,” he said.
She turned pale, and clasped her hands nervously at her bosom. “Where found you that?” The breath caught in her throat.
“In your cabin aboard the Santa Maria, child. If that is the mind you are in the sooner I have you safe out of Spain the better for you.” He gave the book into her hands. “Hide it close, or sail with me to England.”
“Do not tell my father!” she said urgently.
“Why, can you not trust me? Oh, unkind!”
“I suppose it is no affair of yours, señor,” she said, recovering her dignity. “I thank you for my book. Now let me pass.”
“I have a name, child. I believe I made you free of it.”
She swept a curtsey. “Oh, I thank you—Sir Nicholas Beauvallet!” she mocked, and fled past him down the companion.
IV
Doña Dominica thought it imperative that Beauvallet’s impudence should be suitably punished, and took it upon herself to perform this pious office. Master Dangerfield was a tool ready to her hand; she sought him out, cast a thrall about that susceptible lad, and flirted with him, somewhat to his embarrassment. She brought her long eyelashes into play,
