Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  #

  Jolie smiled at the Captain and glided into the cabin a few steps. Joaquin closed the door, leaving her alone with him and his men.

  The tall, attractive man on Marcano’s right spoke up. “A toast, compadres, to our lovely guest.”

  They raised their goblets and drank. Jolie nodded and self-consciously smoothed her skirt with her hands.

  “Come, Jolie.” Marcano set his drink aside and pulled out the chair to his right. “Join us.”

  The men on that side of the table made room for her to pass by. Once she was seated, Marcano introduced each of his officers. On her right was first mate Luis Guillarte, the tall, handsome Spaniard she’d seen walking with the Captain in San Juan; José Belardo, the man who’d rowed them to safety, was introduced to her as the steersman; Oscar Velez, the ship’s physician, had a shock of wavy hair and attractive dark eyes; Felipe Trujillo, a stocky Spaniard with hazel eyes and a thick moustache, was the master-at-arms of the Amatista; and Marcano’s second mate, Carlos Vasquez, was a fair-skinned, auburn-haired man. They each bowed to her except for Guillarte, who instead took her slim hand in his and brushed his lips against it, dark eyes twinkling as his gaze raked over her face and neckline.

  A glass of Madeira appeared at her right, and Jolie sipped from it as the men engaged in boisterous conversation around her. The steward served dinner—succulent lobster tail with white sauce, green beans, and boiled potatoes—and she ate hungrily, listening and nodding as Guillarte expounded on the beauty of the southern Spanish countryside as the most delightful in all of Europe. He had just finished offering his services as an able guide to the attractions of Andalucía when Marcano cleared his throat loudly, interrupting the first mate. Jolie turned to look at the captain.

  He tore awkwardly at his lobster with the fork in his left hand. “Ah…how are you enjoying the voyage so far, Jolie?” The buttery meat slipped back to his plate.

  Jolie took in the rather pleasant close-up view of Marcano’s shiny black hair, pulled back and neatly tied in a queue, his well-groomed sideburns, and the smooth, corded muscles in his neck. Apparently he had been about as successful in shaving with his left hand as he was now in eating with it; she could see tiny lines of missed whiskers bristling in the lamplight along his angular jaw. He paused in his attempt to skewer the errant piece of lobster and glanced up. The full force of brilliant blue eyes hit Jolie like a splash of chilly sea water, and she blinked, unable to remember his question.

  “Par…pardon?”

  “I was just inquiring how you were enjoying the trip so far,” he repeated, holding her gaze.

  “Oh, it’s been fine indeed.” She smiled shyly, then cleared her throat. “I wanted to say that I am completely overwhelmed by the gowns and gifts, Captain. I had no expectation of such generosity—you must have spent a fortune!”

  He studied her face for a moment, then asked softly, “Do you like the gown that you are wearing?”

  Jolie nodded. “In truth, I’ve never owned one so lovely.”

  Marcano smiled, glanced at Guillarte, then returned his attention to her face. “It looks lovely on you.”

  Warmed by his praise, she took a sip of the Madeira and ventured to return the compliment. “Well, I think you have excellent taste, Captain.”

  Marcano flashed his first mate another smug look. Jolie wondered what it meant.

  “Captain,” Guillarte spoke up, “I think you must have been dazed from your bullet wound last night when you brought this ravishing young woman aboard our ship. You insisted that the men were exaggerating in describing her incredible beauty; I beg to disagree.”

  Jolie froze and lowered a forkful of lobster to her plate, studying Guillarte’s amused expression. She hoped she’d heard incorrectly.

  “My dear Lieutenant, you speak too freely,” Marcano grated.

  Jolie felt color rising in her cheeks. He’d told the first mate the men were exaggerating her beauty?

  “No, Captain, I distinctly remember you telling me this morning that our female guest was ‘pale and plain.’ I am baffled by your assessment; clearly she is as fair as a spring bouquet plucked from the hills of Aragon.”

  Jolie shifted her gaze from Guillarte’s face to Marcano’s.

  The Captain pressed his lips tightly together, narrowing his gaze on Guillarte. “Obviously, I was too hasty in my former remarks; my judgment was clouded by the seriousness of the situation last night as well as the lack of proper lighting. Our guest is clearly most lovely.”

  Jolie looked down at her lap, mortified to learn that Marcano thought her plain.

  “You have embarrassed her, Captain,” Guillarte said.

  From the corner of her eye she noticed Marcano’s hand closing into a fist against the surface of the table. He lowered his voice to address her. “I apologize, Jolie. I spoke too hastily to my first mate this morning. My comment was uncalled for, not to mention incorrect.”

  Jolie glanced from his scowling expression to Guillarte’s self-satisfied one, intense pressure building in her chest. She managed to find her voice. “If you will excuse me, I would like to retire to the cabin upstairs.” She pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.

  The men around the table halted their conversations and stood, staring at her, as did Guillarte and Marcano. Jolie hurried away from them, pushed the door open, and left.

  #

  Marcano tossed his napkin to the table. “Coño, Luis!”

  The great cabin fell silent. Marcano turned to pace to the window, and his men filed out of the cabin to leave him and Guillarte alone. After the door closed behind them, Marcano whirled around to glare at his first mate. “You deliberately embarrassed the girl and myself, Luis, and ruined a fine dinner!”

  Guillarte folded his arms. “I didn’t think my comment would matter, Gabriel, after the way you vehemently denied having any interest in her.”

  Marcano stepped closer, pointing a finger in his face. “You are out of line, Lieutenant. ‘Interest,’ as you term it, has nothing to do with common courtesy. I said I was not attracted to her and did not intend to bed her, but I fail to see how that justifies your tactless remarks.”

  Guillarte scowled. “Any healthy Spaniard would fall victim to that young woman’s charms! How can you stand there and deny that you are attracted to her, would give your one good arm to taste her creamy flesh in your bed—”

  “This is not a game, Luis,” Marcano cut him off, “for you to play the rival, with Jolie’s bed as the prize. She is not like the women we normally associate with, in case you had not noticed. She is innocent of the ways of men; naïve and far too trusting. Any other Spanish sea captain would already have taken advantage of her delicate situation.”

  “And you are too chivalrous to seduce the helpless girl.” Guillarte smirked, toasting Marcano mockingly with his goblet. “You are confused, or simply hypocritical. Admit it, Gabriel. You claim to miss the glory days of our youth when we sailed as pirates, wenching and pillaging, but now you play the ‘honorable’ man who is protecting the girl’s virtue. I cannot decide if you are addled in the head or have simply turned weak.”

  Marcano grabbed his goblet from the table and finished off his wine. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and fixed a dangerous glare on Luis’ face. “Perhaps I have become weak, but you are a blackhearted rogue, Luis. Whatever secret resentments you harbor against me, you were wrong to mention my comment to Jolie, for her sake. If you want to provoke me, do it directly, in private. Leave her out of it.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and left.

  #

  Jolie stood holding the silky pink nightgown which had found its way into her life by way of an infuriating, pompous Spaniard. If she wore the nightgown, she might feel more acutely the intimacy of the gift, and imaginary closeness with that heartless brute was the last thing she wanted to feel right now. How dare he buy her such a—personal gift! And after telling his first mate that she was “pale and plain”!

 
Jolie sighed. Her gaze wandered across the cabin to the low cot which had been set up for her in the cubby space near his desk. Sheets and a blanket lay folded in a neat pile at its foot, and a pillow rested at the head. Over the cot was a window facing the stern, and moonlight poured across the cot through its panes. She wondered for the thousandth time what it was going to be like sleeping in the same cabin with the captain, who, although handsome as the devil, was turning out to be an insufferable lout. One minute he lavished her with thoughtful gifts and the next he either called her a spoiled princess or went about telling his friends how plain she was.

  It truly stung, that tidbit of unwelcome information, and Jolie was angry with herself for allowing it to sting. In frustration she stripped off her clothes, threw the nightgown over her head, stuffed her arms into the sleeves, and pulled it down over her body. She had nothing else to sleep in, after all, save his miserable nightshirt.

  Don’t worry, muchacha, I promise not to touch you. He must have read her inexperienced, erotic thoughts like an open book. In the future she would have to be more careful to hide her attraction to him. She knew she was no raving beauty; the fact she was twenty years old and still unmarried was probably a testimony to her plainness. All the talk around the dinner table tonight about how lovely she was came from a group of Spanish sailors who, as Captain Marcano so quickly pointed out as soon as she came aboard, had not seen a woman in months. Medusa herself would probably look good to them at this point.

  Foolish, foolish girl. She folded her petticoat and shift and placed them inside the trunk. How fitting that he always called her muchacha, Spanish for “girl.” To think she had actually interpreted his heated touch, his gaze raking over her body as he measured her form that morning, as attraction on his part! Even more mortifying was the thrill of it, her desire for his attention, her hopeful imaginings of more intimate touches from him.

  And now she would spend weeks sleeping in the same cabin with a man who was probably laughing his teeth out right now with his crew mates! She would never, never allow her defenses to lower again, so help her. She spread the blankets over her cot and crawled between them, settling down on the pillow to try to sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Marcano opened the door to his cabin carefully, praying Joaquin had remembered to set up a cot for her, and that she would be on it, fast asleep. He’d certainly given her time to fall asleep, taking the first four-hour shift to maneuver the Amatista onto a course for the southern coastline of Hispaniola. He peered into the darkness of the cabin, scanning the shadows for any sign of life.

  Ah, good, Joaquin. The cot was placed as far away from Marcano’s bunk as possible, on the opposite side of the cabin beside his desk. He closed the door behind him and stealthily moved closer to inspect. The sight of her slender form bundled beneath the blanket told him she had resigned herself to the sleeping arrangements.

  And she probably hated him now, after the way Luis had humiliated them both at dinner.

  Marcano sighed. In all their years as friends, Luis loved nothing more than to catch him fumbling for words, stuck in a tight situation, fooled, bested, even ridiculed a bit if possible. He had simply never overcome his underlying envy of Marcano. Luis was an accomplished seaman, but Marcano was superior at inspiring and commanding a crew. Luis could have his pick of the ladies in any given tavern at their various ports of call, but if Marcano were with him, the women eyed him first.

  If Luis only knew how I envy him and his reputable family connections. He has the most important thing and does not see it. A good name, a father who could accept him.

  Marcano moved to the table at the rear of the cabin. He removed the sling from his bandaged arm and laid it over the back of a chair. His arm felt sore; he worked it around a bit to try to relieve some of the stiffness. He sat down to remove his boots, then stood to shrug out of his shirt and peel off his trousers, folding each article of clothing before laying it aside. Standing naked in the shadowy darkness, he reached up to rake the band from his mane of ebony hair and shake it free.

  He found a cake of soap and a towel in the armoire, then walked over to unlatch a small door along the back wall near the bay window. It gave access to the stern’s balcony where his latrine was. Marcano stepped onto the small deck into the moonlight, his skin prickling against the cool ocean breeze as it swept across his body and plucked at his hair. He walked to the balustrade and reached over to unhook a tin bucket, then lowered it to the churning waves in the wake of the brigantine’s swift momentum. Seawater sprayed his chest and face as he hauled the full bucket up along the side of the brigantine. He straightened, closed his eyes and poured the chilly water over his upturned face, shivering as it drenched his body. The salt stung his bullet wound a little.

  He grabbed the soap and lathered his chest, arms, and neck. Marcano abhorred sliding between the sheets of his bunk with the grime and sweat of the day still clinging to his body. After spending the night before in one of the extra bunks in the infirmary, forbidden by Velez to get up and bathe, tonight’s shower was particularly welcome.

  He finished lathering himself down to his toes and drew up two more buckets of water to rinse. He dried his body and hair with the towel and reentered the darkened cabin, latching the door behind him. Moving quietly so as not to disturb his feminine cabin-mate, he hung his damp towel on a hook at the foot of the bed and put the soap away, then peered across the cabin at the cot. Moonlight from a window slanted across her peacefully sleeping form under the blankets. He turned back to search in the armoire for a fresh bandage for his arm.

  Re-bandaging the wound proved to be frustratingly difficult with only one hand. As he fumbled with the linen cloth, a muffled murmur from the other side of the cabin caught his attention. He listened for a second, but there was only the creaking of the brigantine as she dipped and swayed in the sea.

  So the English girl talks in her sleep. Marcano returned to the task of trying to wrap the material around his arm. A louder murmur broke the quietness of the cabin, followed a second later by a strangled cry. The girl moved restlessly, mumbling something, then cried out with a sound like a desperate sob.

  Marcano padded quickly across the floor to the side of the cot. He watched and listened to her unintelligible words and cries, conflicted about whether to wake her or not.

  #

  Jolie willed herself to wake up. Wake up; it’s a dream! Wake up, Jolie! She sat up suddenly, and the tall figure standing in the shadows over her cot flinched.

  She blinked, recognizing it was the captain. His hair was unbound, his expression one of concern, and he was naked.

  Naked!

  She hid her eyes in the blanket. “Wha—what are you doing?”

  She heard him move away for a moment, then return to her side. “You were having a nightmare,” he explained.

  Jolie kept the blanket pressed to her face. “And you were trying to relieve my fright by coming over here naked?”

  “I am covered now. Put the blanket down.”

  Jolie lifted her head. He’d wrapped a small towel around his hips. He might be technically covered, but the sight of the muscled contours of his bare chest, the flat plane of his stomach, and his thickly developed legs beneath the towel was extremely disconcerting, even in the half-darkness of the cabin. She sucked in a nervous breath, detecting the fresh scent of soap on his skin. He must have just finished bathing.

  “Are you all right now? Come to your senses?”

  Jolie peered up at his face. “Yes, Captain, my senses are fully operational now.”

  He stood frowning down at her, hands on hips. “What will we do about these nightmares, muchacha? I hope I will not be awakened each night to the sound of moaning and groaning.”

  Something about the situation suddenly struck Jolie as comical. “That depends. If it brings you running naked to my cot again, I can make no guarantees.”

  Silence. She started to wonder why on earth she’d said such a thing.

  A lo
w chuckle began in his chest. Then he laughed out loud, a deep, masculine laugh, joyful and genuine. Jolie giggled, feeling delightfully daring. She’d made a naughty joke! And he’d enjoyed it!

  He sighed, then chuckled softly. “If the night watch heard us laughing, I will never hear the end of it. Their vivid imaginations will run wild as to what we could be doing together with such gaiety.”

  And you certainly wouldn’t want them to think you’d stoop to having any sort of romantic liaison with me, she added mentally, her giggles dying in her throat. A man like him had probably always had his pick of the most beautiful women in the Caribbean. How pitifully she must measure up.

  He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the cabin, returning seconds later with a handful of wadded white fabric in his hand. “Since you are awake, perhaps you can assist me in wrapping this blasted bandage around my arm. Would you do me this favor?”

  Jolie nodded.

  He pulled the desk chair closer to her cot and seated himself on it, then gave her the bandaging material. He leaned forward to rest the elbow of his wounded arm on his knee, bringing the bullet wound into her view. The scent of his clean skin was intoxicating with his arm so near her nostrils. Worse, his handsome face was now clearly visible, and the shaft of moonlight coming through the window outlined every corded muscle in his chest and arms. The small linen towel gaped horribly over his right thigh, exposing it to the hip. Jolie swallowed.

  “You have never wrapped a bandage, muchacha?” he asked, still holding his arm in place for her.

  “No, I have many times tended wounds on the bodies of the slaves on Lord Hauste’s plantation.” Tearing her gaze away from his naked thigh, she began to fumble with the bandaging, finding the end and re-rolling the material tightly. She kept her eyes glued to her work.