by Kimberly Nee
“Nor was it mine. Not even when I was the one doing the marooning.”
She frowned, squinting out at the sparkling water. It was rougher now, foamy whitecaps breaking beyond the cove’s entrance. “I have never had to resort to marooning. Mine was always a competent crew and we got on well.”
Sand squeaked as Diego shifted. “As captain, I’ve yet to do it. But on board the María, it was carried out on several occasions.”
“Ah, yes. Captain Sebastiano. He certainly was quite bloodthirsty in his day, wasn’t he? How is he these days?”
“Much less bloodthirsty, that I can assure you. Though, he did have good reason for feeling as he did.”
At the moment, she didn’t care much about Captain Sebastiano at all. The breeze blew harder, with a more pronounced bite, and the reality of their situation sank into her. “It’s going to be a long night, I’m afraid. Long and cold.”
The sand squeaked again, and Diego grunted as he sat upright. “Not necessarily. Carmichael’s toad was good enough to provide some provisions.”
She twisted about as he slipped a small oilskin pouch from his belt and unwrapped the leather cord holding it closed. From it, he plucked a small, somewhat battered wooden box. “Flint and steel, I’ll wager.”
She sniffed at the small box. “Not nearly enough, though.”
He flicked the box open. “Enough to get a fire started. After that, it’ll be up to one of us to make certain that fire remains burning.”
She held out a hand. “I’ll do it.”
Diego didn’t protest, but handed it over. “Take care. There isn’t much there.”
“I can see that.” She tucked the pouch inside her tunic, got to her feet, and turned toward the island’s interior. The beach was bordered by a stand of trees that branched into a thicker, denser jungle of sorts. Plenty of wood, at least. Carmichael had made his first mistake in not choosing a truly barren lump of rock upon which to dump them.
Her leather boots pinched mercilessly as the sand shifted beneath her with each step. Thoroughly waterlogged, they squished and rubbed against her skin so that by the time she reached the edge of the jungle, her left foot stung with each fall.
The first trees were tall, skinny, wind-twisted palms with thick falls of fronds. Small clumps of scrub grew sporadically between the trees, and jagged mounds of black rock rose from the sand. Shadows grew longer as she trod beyond the trees, toward the thicker growth. Here and there, green coconuts lay scattered about, as if a giant child had been playing marbles and simply left them tossed around.
At the edge of the foliage, several dead trees stood, twisted and warped by the sea winds, and she made quick work of snapping off branches. She gathered up dried vegetation and old coconut husks left behind by some mysterious visitor, and returned to the beach to build the fire.
It took several attempts, and a muttered curse when the flint broke in her hand, but those curses died away as the husks smoldered. She blew gently on the smoking fiber, and pride burst within her as orange flames crackled to devour the husks. A few minutes later, and the embers stretched into flames.
Diego dragged himself over near the fire pit and groaned as he stretched out beside it. Night had fallen and the last of the day’s warmth disappeared with the sun. Gabby sat down across from him, but thought better of it as the wind blew thick smoke into her eyes and they watered furiously.
“I promise, I’ll not bite,” Diego called, patting the sand beside him. “Come.”
Gabby stared at him through the dancing flames. It might not be at all wise to move any closer to him. It seemed every time the gap between them closed, her mind did evil things to her. He was in the past, wasn’t he? Why the devil should she be concerned about being close to him now? Much had happened between then and now and she was no longer that same naïve girl who fancied herself in love with a dashing pirate.
Of course, Diego was hardly a pirate—though he could easily pass as one. And hers was not the only female head he turned, she knew that well enough from experience. Nor was he one to shy away from female admirations, even if he did nothing to encourage them.
Acrid smoke stung her throat, so she reluctantly rose and skirted the fire pit to sink beside him. Coughing, she wrapped her arms about herself as a particularly chilly wind gust whisked through their meager encampment.
He tugged on her sleeve, his fingers warm as they encircled her arm and he gently pulled her closer still. “Again, I’ll not bite.”
“This is unwise.”
He sighed. “You would rather spend the night awake, shivering?”
“Actually, I would.”
“Stubborn wench. Always were bullheaded.”
“I’m not stubborn.” She resisted his pull, which only made him hold her closer still, the hard planes of his body unyielding against her, yet setting off a spark of heat that had nothing to do with the fire. “Leave off. I am fine.”
His dark eyes glittered in the firelight. “You’re shivering, Gabby. Trust me, I am not about to pounce on you. I’m in far too much pain to even think of anything but lying completely still.”
Sharing his heat was inviting. It would be far better than huddling into herself to try and keep warm. With a heavy sigh, she acquiesced, though she did shift to give him her back. The sand was soft, if a bit cool, and the fire was indeed, cozily warm. Drowsiness pervaded her, her eyes refusing to stay open.
She rested her head on her arm, wincing as she pressed against the bruise on her cheek. Diego’s arm draped over her and she stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“I am doing nothing but making myself a bit more comfortable,” he rumbled, his voice low. “Go to sleep. I will take the first watch.”
“I think you need sleep more than I do,” she argued, even as her eyelids drooped.
“No. You need it more. The morrow will bring much to do and I will be, as you put it so succinctly, useless until this leg heals. Sleep, Gabby. And do not argue.”
A soft sigh bubbled to her lips and she gave up fighting sleep. It was far too comfortable—enough so for her to forget the grim circumstances long enough to slip into slumber.
Chapter Four
When Gabby opened her eyes, it was morning and the fire had dwindled to a smoldering ash heap. Diego snored softly behind her, his arm still draped over her waist, his hand almost flat against her belly.
She slid from beneath his arm and stretched, wincing as various achy muscles reminded her of the previous day’s events. It wasn’t easy, but she pushed them from her mind as she contemplated gathering more wood and brush. Thankfully the fire hadn’t gone out entirely, but still smoldered.
Dawn had only just broken, judging by the pale pink and delicately gold streaks slicing across the sky. The wind had lost some of its ferocity, dropped to an easy breeze. All in all, it was the makings of a perfect morning.
Almost.
She straightened up, her spine cracking and popping as she unfolded herself. She rose, then moved down the beach, toward the ocean. Sapphire water stretched out as far as she could see, and the small dot that had been the Nereus was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t another ship in sight. There was nothing but sparkling water between her and the horizon.
Sand squeaked behind her and she turned back to find Diego slowly sitting up. He was as gray as he’d been the day before, and a muscle bulged in his jaw as he shifted to straighten his leg out before him. The stain on his breeches had dried in to a dark, rust-colored patch, but at least the bleeding appeared to have stopped.
“Let me take a look at that again.” She rejoined him by the fire, bending over to peer at the damage.
In the daylight, it was worse than she’d originally thought. Shredded flesh lay in jagged flaps over the wound while bloodied wood spears poked upright like blackened, broken teeth in a pummeled mouth. Red mottled into purple as the wound radiated outward. It was one of the ugliest wounds she’d ever seen, and mingled with the knowledge that, as much as he suffered now
, it was nothing compared to how he’d suffer as she plucked the shards out.
Unfortunately, hers was not a strong stomach. Something as simple as a splinter called for a nerve-calming drink. These were most definitely not splinters embedded in his thigh. They were chunks. Ugly, huge, chunks. Queasiness roiled through her as she stared down at the mess of torn flesh and muscle.
“Please, do not move,” she growled, then swallowed hard at the bile rising in her throat. Her belly did a slow, almost painful, flip, and the resulting splash sent icy cold sweat to prickle between her shoulder blades and across her upper lip.
He groaned, but nodded. “I’ll try not to.”
Another hard swallow, and she warned, “This will hurt.”
“Just do it.”
“Very well.”
A silent prayer, and she steeled herself as she caught the first shard between her thumb and forefinger. Air hissed through Diego’s clenched teeth, and she squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and pulled.
The wood came free with a sickening squelch, and she sat back, forcing her eyes open to look down at the bloodied shard. Diego was pale, a muscle bulging in his jaw as a testament to how tightly he clenched his teeth. “Diego?”
“I am all right.”
“Good. It came out clean.”
“Wonderful.”
She almost laughed at his dry response, but when she glanced down at the wound, that urge vanished. Crimson blood bubbled up from where she’d extracted the wood. “You are bleeding again.”
“Just take the rest out.” His words, his tone, were strained.
“Very well.” She bent over his leg once more and, her jaw clenched until it ached, went to work cleaning the remaining wood.
With each sliver plucked free, his stoic demeanor crumbled a bit more. He remained still, but the tremble in both legs betrayed him. When she finally grasped the last chunk and pulled, he went rigid. The roar that split the air and pierced her eardrums hardly sounded human at all in its anguish.
That sheer, primal cry of pain sent an icy spear through her and she yanked as hard as she could, just to end the torture for him. The bloodied hunk fell to the blood-spattered sand, and she glanced over at him. Sweat ran down his temples in narrow rivulets, his eyes and jaw were clenched tight, and his breath came in short, sharp pants. Her voice cracked as she forced out, “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, even as that muscle in his jaw looked like it might burst through his skin. “Do not…be… Please…” He waved a shaking hand at her. “Continue…”
With a gentle finger, she probed at the wound, hesitating with each sharp inhale and continuing with each impatient wave. He remained perfectly still, despite what had to be agonizing pain, and when she extracted what she was certain was the last, tiniest of slivers, he let out a scream that sent a flock of brightly colored birds shrieking from their nests among the trees. “Hijo de perra!”
He sank back on his elbows, still fighting for air and swearing loudly in Spanish. Sweat dripped from dark hair matted into wet spikes, his entire body trembled, and he screwed his eyes shut. Though she was helpless to take away what was unimaginable agony, she could offer him at least some comfort, so that was what she did. She shifted, moved behind him and took him in her arms to gather him close.
He collapsed against her, his head coming to rest on her breast. A jolt sliced through her, but she paid it no mind as she lifted a hand to stroke his damp hair
His tremble slowly faded, and he sank into her, almost deadweight. An odd mix of concern and sympathy swept through her as she stroked his hair again. This was something she never thought she’d witness—the mighty Diego Santa Cruz clinging to her helplessly.
Bit by bit his breathing slowed, and he lifted his head to gaze up at her. “I thank you, Gabby.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured back as his head came down upon her breast again. “I tried not to hurt you.”
“I know.” He dragged in a deep, almost ragged breath. He lay against her for what seemed like hours, and her arm was nearly numb from its position beneath him, when he slowly sat upright and winced. As she shook blood back into her tingling hand, he tore the sleeve from his shirt to wrap about his wound.
She frowned. Blood soaked into the fabric, staining it rust as it dried. Hopefully, he’d not continue to bleed. “Perhaps you ought but lie down a while. I will go in search of water.”
He shook his head. “I am not about to let you roam about alone. You know not what lurks in the jungle.”
He would say something of that sort. She hadn’t expected any less of him, but it irritated her just the same. “Perhaps not, but I know I will be better able to contend with anything in there. You are in no condition to do anything but create more danger.”
His eyes flashed and he scowled. “That will be the day, when a woman is more capable of protecting me than I am of protecting her.”
Again, expected and irritating. She swallowed an annoyed sigh as she got to her feet and brushed the sand from the seat of her stained breeches. “Spare me, won’t you? You are talking nonsense and we both know it. You are of little use right now and, until that wound heals, you have little choice but to accept my assistance.”
He glared up at her. “Is that so?”
“It is.” She cast a quick glance around. “First, I will find water. Then shelter. Food can wait a bit—” her belly rumbled, “—for now.”
“And what, exactly, am I to do?”
“I will help you over there.” She pointed to a clump of coconut palms. “You will rest in the shade. Sleep if you must.”
His scowl darkened, but he offered no further protest, nor did he rebuff her offer to help him to his feet. Grunting as he leaned heavily on her, he took a step and it was her turn to wince at the sharp pressure on her left shoulder. At nearly ten inches above five feet, she was a giant for a woman, and yet he topped her by at least five inches. Quite possibly more. With his height came considerable bulk, as he was solid with thick muscle, and a slow ache spread through her shoulder as they neared the trees.
He sank down with a sigh of appreciation, settled against one tree’s smooth trunk, and closed his eyes. Gabby crouched down beside him. “I will be back soon. Hopefully with water.”
He nodded, eyes remaining shut. “Take care. You know not what you might happen upon.”
“I will be fine. I’ve been in worse situations.”
As she moved to stand, he reached up to catch her left wrist and tugged her back down. “Take this. Just in case.” He pressed a dagger into her palm.
“Where the devil did you get this?” The dagger was weighty, with a straight blade and wide crossbar. The hilt was wrapped in cracked brown leather, and it was obviously made for a man with a large hand. “Carmichael patted me down, the pig.”
A wry, if tired, smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Do not flatter yourself, Gabby. He patted me down as well. Confiscated my steel and dagger. But he seemed to feel it prudent to keep a knife on his person at all times. I stole it when we scuffled in the boat, but he tossed me in before I could make use of it.”
That made her feel somewhat better, all things considered. She tucked the dagger into her belt, “I suppose I should be grateful, then, that I was not singled out?”
Cracking one eye, Diego replied, “Oh, I’d not doubt for a moment that Carmichael used it as an excuse to runs his hands over you. Most men would, I’d wager.”
So much for feeling better. She rolled her eyes at him. “Spare me. I should have known.”
He chuckled, but it was a mirthless chuckle. “Please go. I am in desperate need of water.”
“You are not the only one.” She turned away from him to make her way toward the jungle. Her mouth and throat were beyond parched, and the thought of finding water was enough to overcome her apprehension about finding something else there.
The air thickened as she forced her way through leafy fronds and prickly undergrowth. Heavy and damp, it wrapped
about her like a wet sheet. Breathing was difficult, and her clothes stuck to her body. Though it was a familiar climate, that stickiness made it a hated one as well. She far preferred the coast, where the ocean breezes kept the heat at bay.
Despite the oppressive heat the jungle was a lush paradise of vibrant colors and spicy-sweet scents. Occasionally, a thorny branch snagged her shirt or hair, forcing her to stop and untangle herself. Birds chattered and sang overhead while smaller creatures scuttled through the brush, hidden from her eyes by the bursts of vividly orange and yellow and red flowers surrounding her. Their perfume grew heavier with each step toward the jungle’s interior until, finally, her senses dulled to it.
Her wobbly legs protested each step, until they cried quarter, and she sank into the leafy softness at her feet. It was cooler, but not by much, and it wasn’t long before insects crawled over her arms. She leaped to her feet with refreshed vigor, clawing at her arms and hair until she was certain no creature remained on her skin.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, gathering her wits and forcing her legs to obey the command to move. “How did this happen?”
Her voice broke as her throat squeezed shut. Her eyes burned. Her breath hitched. She probably would have begun crying, except there seemed there was not enough water in her body to produce tears. Worse than being frightened, she felt helpless and hated every moment of it. It wasn’t in her nature to simply sit back and watch events unfold. Not her. And not now, either. The trouble was, she wasn’t at all certain how to fix this predicament.
Marooned.
With Diego Santa Cruz, of all people.
“Damn it.” Her breath hitched again as she sank onto a toppled coconut palm, buried her face in her hands, and dragged in a ragged breath. This was not supposed to have happened. It was to have been so simple. A quick repair in Kingston and she would be on her way. Instead, her ship remained in Jamaica, her crew most likely wondering what had happened to her. And she was left to die on an island hell disguised as paradise, with a man she’d hoped never to lay eyes upon again.