Caribbean Jewel Page 7

  “You pity these slaves?”

  “I would not call it simply pity. My feelings about slavery are more...” She trailed off to inspect the bullet wound, reaching up to feel around it for any fever.

  “Yes? Your feelings are more…what?” he probed softly, watching her face.

  She dropped her fingers away from his bulky arm muscle. “There is a bit of fever. Do you have any ointment or salve?”

  “Velez has some down in the infirmary; it will wait until morning. Go ahead and wrap the wound as it is for now.”

  Jolie brought the end of the bandage to the inside of his hard upper arm muscles, held it firmly in place, and drew the material across the bullet wound and around the thickness of his arm. His face was inches from hers, and when he spoke, his warm breath fanned her cheek.

  “I am waiting to hear the end of your sentence, muchacha. About slavery.”

  Jolie rolled the bandage around his arm. His skin was hot to her touch as her fingers brushed over it. “Cruelty to any human being or animal breaks my heart. I’m very sad and angry about the injustices I have seen my guardian commit. No man has the right…” She broke off and focused on wrapping the bandage, afraid she might start crying.

  He was still watching her face. “And in your nightmares you relive these injustices, Hauste’s cruelties?”

  “That, or sometimes I dream that I’ve been caught helping the slaves, and Lord Hauste is punishing me, and sometimes he—” Jolie caught herself. She was revealing far too much.

  “Sometimes he does what?”

  “He…hurts me.”

  Marcano fell silent, so she finished wrapping and securing the bandage, then moved away from him and sat with her back against the wall, the blanket across her lap.

  He felt the bandage with the fingers of his left hand, appearing pleased with her work. He leaned back in his chair and his legs spread a little, causing the towel to gap even further, and continued studying her for a moment. “You are wearing the sleeping gown I bought for you. Do you like it?”

  Jolie looked down at the moonlight spilling through the small window panes across her blanket. She really didn’t want to talk about the nightgown. “Yes,” she muttered, then realized how ungrateful she probably sounded. “I do thank you again for this and all the other garments. You were very kind to choose and purchase them for me.”

  “Guillarte chose most of the clothes. He considers his tastes and knowledge of feminine clothing and accessories to be superior to other men’s.”

  Jolie winced. There she was, gushing her thanks to him, when he meant nothing by giving her the gown; it hadn’t even been his idea. “I shall thank Mr. Guillarte tomorrow then, Captain. If you will excuse me, I am quite sleepy.” She adjusted the blankets over her lap, then folded her arms and looked away.

  “I chose the evening gown you wore tonight. Guillarte said you would not like it, but I thought you would. And it was truly beautiful on you.”

  She didn’t reply or make eye contact. Thanks for trying to be nice, but it isn’t working.

  He stood up, replaced the desk chair, and strode toward his bunk.

  Jolie lay down and pulled the blankets all the way over her head, sighing. The scent of his soap lingered, as did the image of his mostly naked body and the feel of his warm, smooth skin under her ministering fingertips.

  You are really going to have to get over this lustful infatuation, Jolie, she told herself firmly, willing herself to go back to sleep. It’s only going to bring heartbreak.

  #

  When she awoke early the next morning and sat up, Captain Marcano was already gone. She stretched, her body a bit stiff; the cot was adequate but couldn’t compare to the comfort of his cozy bunk.

  However, she really couldn’t complain about his hospitality thus far. After all, any host who visits a girl’s bedside in naked splendor, especially with a build like his, was really going out of his way, she joked to herself. She closed her eyes and tried to recapture in her mind the precious second that her eyes had alone with his nude body in the shadowy moonlight. Due to the fact that her vision had been blurry from sleep, she hadn’t seen anything specific, but more of a quick, shadowy image of a sculpted male physique. She sighed. Better not to think about it. He was clearly not interested in her; she would only wind up frustrated, pining away for a too-handsome man who viewed her as plain.

  She rose to wash her face and dress in one of the new day gowns of light yellow muslin dotted with tiny purple flowers. Blue morning sunlight filtered through the windows in the cabin. She combed her hair and had started braiding it when there was a knock at the door.

  “Señorita, I bring you breakfast.”

  “Come in, Joaquin.”

  He entered bearing a tray of bread, butter, and tea, and strode across the room to position it on the table.

  “Is any other thing you want?”

  She thought for a second. “Joaquin, there is. I would so much love to walk about outside on the decks and breathe some fresh air. Would you be willing to show me around the ship?”

  His face brightened. “I ask Captain. I happy to do it. Will you tell me more story after my chores?”

  “Absolutely, my dear.”

  The boy left, smiling, and Jolie sat down to eat.

  #

  January 31st, 1734. Still aboard the Spanish Brigantine Ametista de le Rena. Our final Destination appears to be Spain, although for now we are sailing around Porto Rico, heading west. I suppose these Spaniards have not yet finished their Business in these Islands.

  The Captain is a puzzling sort of Man who seems to be Victim of Turbulent Moods. His frequent changes in Attitude keep me entirely muddled. At times he seems relaxed at his Ease, and other times he seems angry and tense. But nothing is lacking in his Treatment of me thus far so I shall not complain about him.

  Jolie gazed out the windows in front of her at the sea and the sky, all the way out to the point where they seemed to blend into one. After a moment, she resumed writing.

  Truly he is one of the finest looking Men I have ever seen. His Hair is as black as this Ink, while his Eyes are as clear a blue as the spring Sky in Porto Rico just before a Rain. He is extremely fit, his Legs and Arms hard as granite Rock and well-shaped with Muscle. Even his Chest and Stomach are well-developed. I have never seen an Englishman with as Muscular a Build as this Spaniard, though the Africans frequently carry such Muscle on their Frames.

  Joaquin knocked on the door and said it was all right with the captain if they went for a walk on deck. Jolie lay the paper and ink aside, eagerly slipped into her shoes, and followed Joaquin outside, shielding her eyes from the sun as they stepped onto the quarterdeck. The strong breeze whipped at her dress; they were high over the main deck, and all around her the ocean rolled gently, an endless expanse of turquoise blue in motion.

  They descended to the main deck and strolled slowly along its balustrade, then climbed the stairs up to the forecastle. Here and there sailors milled about, some climbing the rope ladders along the masts, some carrying supplies to or from the hold. Jolie noticed that she drew their gazes like a magnet, and felt glad the captain had insisted she sleep in his cabin. On the deck of the forecastle, she walked over to the balustrade and leaned into the wind; it buffeted her face and plucked a few strands of hair free from her braid. Joaquin joined her at the railing, and they gazed out to sea together.

  “The sea is so beautiful from here!” Jolie spotted a couple of crates nearby. “Why don’t we sit out here and talk for a while, Joaquin?”

  They did, and as Joaquin began to tell her about his life aboard the Amatista, she saw that he clearly loved Marcano as well as his magnificent ship. Jolie listened with interest, enjoying the beautiful day, the light breeze, the warm sunshine, and the company of the sweet orphaned Spanish boy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Captain Marcano pushed open the door to his cabin. His cabin mate was gone, probably still out on the decks with Joaquin. Good. He didn’t need an
y distractions at the moment. He walked to his desk and rifled through the drawers, searching for the letter he was supposed to deliver to the chancellor in Santo Domingo. Unable to locate it in the desk, he swore under his breath, shut the drawer, and turned around to scan the cabin.

  He spotted Jolie’s half-consumed cup of tea on the table and walked over to gulp it down, then ate the leftover bit of bread too—he hadn’t been able to pause for food or drink all morning. He was about to turn to search the bookcase when the edge of a piece of parchment tucked under her breakfast tray caught his eye. He told himself he was simply looking for the letter as he pulled out one of the pages. But her leaning, attractive handwriting drew his eyes like a magnet, and curiosity’s irresistible itch urged him on. He read the first sentence.

  Last Night I felt like a Princess who ended up turning into an ugly Toad.

  He saw “Captain” on the next line and kept reading, knowing he shouldn’t be invading her privacy, but...

  I wore one of my new Gownes to Dinner with the Captain and his Ship-Mates. They stared at me when I walked in, even the handsome Captain. They toasted and said I was their “lovely Guest.” But during Dinner I discovered Captain Marcano thinks I am “pale and plain,” and I am certain that the Other Men’s appreciative Glances must have been due to the Fact that I am the only Female aboard a Ship full of Men who have not seen a Woman in Months.

  Marcano swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat, wanting to put away her writing, willing himself to put it away, but failing.

  I have always wished I were beautiful, but in truth, I am plain. How vain of me to imagine that the Captain found me pretty. I am ashamed now to know what he really thinks. He views me as a Nuisance aboard his Ship, and with good Reason. I’ve caused him nothing but Difficulty since we met. He’s been shot, robbed of a good Horse, forced to take me aboard his Ship, obliged to purchase Clothing for me, given no choice but to share his Cabin with me, and awakened in the Night by my crying out because of these infernal Nightmares about Lord Hauste and his disgusting

  Here the narrative stopped short. Disgusting what? Marcano blinked, his chest burning with remorse. He turned the parchment over, but there was no more writing to be read. He carefully replaced the papers under the breakfast tray and stood there staring at it for a moment. He was mortified by the fact she’d interpreted his words and actions to mean that she was “ugly” and a “nuisance.” Nothing could be farther from the truth, but how could he broach the subject without admitting he’d read her journal?

  His heart was heavy as he turned to the bookcase and resumed his search for King Philip’s letter to the chancellor. At last he found it in the cedar safe box on the shelf, and just as he retrieved it and closed the box, the door to the cabin swung open.

  Joaquin strode in with Jolie; they were chatting and grinning at each other. Upon seeing the captain, they stopped short in the doorway, and their smiles faded.

  Jolie spoke first. “Oh, goodness! Begging your pardon, Captain, we didn’t know you were here. We should have knocked. Come along, Joaquin, the captain needs his privacy. You can show me the galley.”

  “No!” Marcano blurted, more forcefully than he’d intended. Seeing her innocent face, he felt like even more of a villain for having just invaded her innermost thoughts, and realized his conscience was going to eat him alive. She looked lovelier than ever in the pale yellow day gown. Its heart-shaped bodice lifted her breasts and exposed the upper swell of them—and the long, ragged braid that hung over her shoulder rested attractively atop one of those swells. Her hair was wind-tossed, leaving escaped tendrils about her face and neck, and her dark eyes were…staring at him as if he were a half-wit.

  “Pardon, Captain?”

  Marcano cleared his throat uncomfortably. How could he have ever thought that she was anything short of beautiful? “I don’t want you to go below decks unless I myself am with you. My crew can be trusted up to a point, but I don’t wish to tempt or torture them either one.”

  Jolie nodded. “Ah, yes, since it’s been so long since they’ve seen a woman. Well, we shall stay up here on the quarterdeck then. Come, Joaquin, let’s not intrude upon the captain now.”

  “No!” Marcano barked again, causing her to flinch. He rubbed an agitated hand over his face. “I mean to say, I was just leaving. The cabin is yours, Señorita.” As he strode angrily across the cabin, Jolie and the boy moved aside to allow him to leave.

  #

  Guillarte was hunched over a map, meticulously outlining his plan for retrieving the Corazón on the way back from their final stop at Puerto Limón, when he realized the captain’s mind was a million miles away. He paused to study Marcano’s distracted expression. He was staring intently at the smoke rising from Guillarte’s cigar.

  “Captain? Are you serenading the Princess of Aragon or slaying the sea monster of the Gibraltar Strait?”

  Marcano’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got it, Luis! It’s so perfect an idea, so simple, so obvious.”

  Guillarte blew a puff of smoke from his lips. “I’m glad you heartily approve of my plan to retrieve the Corazón, Gabriel.”

  “Not your blasted idea, you knave.” Marcano rose from his chair. “Mine. For restoring the girl’s confidence in herself.”

  “I was unaware that her confidence was impaired.”

  Marcano glared down at him. “After your comments last night, she felt horrible, Luis. You should be completely ashamed. I am.”

  Guillarte scowled, stubbing out the cigar.

  “Do you have paper and ink in your quarters?”

  “Yes.” Guillarte was curious. “You are going to write her a letter?”

  “No, of course not, imbécil. Give me the writing materials. Your captain is brilliant.” A triumphant grin spread across Marcano’s face.

  #

  Jolie sat beside Joaquin at the long mahogany table in the great cabin, sketching Castle Camelot by the light of a lantern. She knew by now to expect the unexpected from the temperamental captain, but she was still puzzled by his request that she and Joaquin leave him alone in his quarters for a couple of hours and take their English lessons in the great cabin this evening. He’d told her to return to his cabin at eight o’clock, that they would be dining in his quarters tonight. Jolie didn’t see how he and his five officers, plus herself, were going to fit around the small table in his cabin, but she figured there must be some reasonable explanation for the change in dinner locations.

  She filled Joaquin’s head with tales of the legendary King Arthur and his knights, asking questions and making him repeat things correctly in English. The boy was quick to learn and an avid listener. Joaquin had a naturally gentle disposition, making him an enjoyable companion for her. She had always had an affinity for children and enjoyed playing with the slaves’ youngsters, so she was certain she’d be happy working as a governess once she reached England.

  At last the clock read eight, and Jolie gathered up the parchment and ink. Joaquin carried it for her up to the quarterdeck. She opened the door to the foyer and then rapped lightly on the captain’s inner cabin door.

  “Adelante,” came his deep voice from inside.

  Jolie shuffled into the cabin, feeling the twists and turns in her stomach that always plagued her when she was in his presence.

  He was seated at the table, the lamp overhead glinting off his tied-back ebony hair. He was dressed entirely in gray, his loose silk blouse a soft dove gray, his tight trousers a slightly darker hue. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, and a black sash was tied at his waist. Blue eyes glittering, he sat facing the door in a relaxed pose, booted ankle resting on one knee. The shoulder sling was gone, and his left arm leaned on the table where sheets of parchment lay scattered beside an inkwell. He held a plume in his right hand, which was resting calmly on his bent knee.

  Jolie made her way into the center of the cabin, watching him curiously; he looked as though he were sitting for a portrait—one she wouldn’t mind painting, she j
oked to herself. There was an inviting look in his eye, the same look he’d given her last night from the dinner table when she entered the great cabin.

  She pushed nervously at the unkempt sides of her hair. “Are—are you going to allow me to dress for dinner?”

  The captain leaned over the table to wipe the tip of the plume on a scrap of cloth. “You look perfectly dressed to me,” he said without looking up.

  She forced a smile. “I would prefer to change clothes and freshen up before the others get here, Captain.”

  “What others?”

  “The other crewmen, Guillarte and…the others.”

  “They are not dining with us tonight, muchacha. We are dining alone.”

  Jolie stared at him. What was he playing at? “In that case I would still like to freshen up.”

  “Go ahead; you have a few minutes before dinner arrives. There is water in the pitcher.” He returned his attention to his writing.

  She frowned. “What about removing my dress?” It was a day dress, nowhere near as elegant as his attire. She was eager to wear one of her new evening gowns again.

  He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her breasts. She thought she saw a faint smile playing at his lips before he once again returned to his writing. “It’s lovely. You should leave it on.”

  Jolie walked stiffly to the washbasin. She rinsed her face and dried it on a linen cloth. She retrieved her brush from the trunk at the foot of his bed, then unbraided her hair and brushed it out, eyeing him. He was engrossed with writing—a bit painfully, it seemed, from the way he kept stopping to work the hand of his wounded arm. She coiled her hair into a loose bun atop her head and pinned it, then smoothed the skirts of her dress and approached the table.

  He quickly gathered up the parchment as if he didn’t want her to see what he had written. She halted, allowing him time to stack the papers without her getting any closer.

  “Let me put my journal away so that we can have dinner.” He carried the papers to the bookcase, drew out a large leather case, untied the strings and stuffed the parchment inside. He paused to retie the strings, glancing up at her with a smile. “It is good for the mind to write down thoughts and feelings on paper, I think. I write my journal in English so none of my crew members can read it. Guillarte is the only one on board besides myself who reads English. Well, and you, of course.”