Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  “It started about a year ago. He would get drunk every so often and call me to his study.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. He felt her body shudder and tightened his embrace, waiting for her to continue. “If I didn’t go, he would come to get me and—my only chance to avoid a beating was to give in to his horrible kisses with only a bit of struggling. Eventually he would pass out or give up and I would escape. I would scrub my hands and my face in my room and pray for forgiveness.”

  “Forgiveness for what?” Marcano whispered. “You were a helpless victim of rape!”

  “No, not rape. He never got that far.”

  He shut his eyes as a powerful wave of relief washed over him. Gracias a Dios.

  “When Luis suddenly kissed me all I could see was Lord Hauste’s face. And I couldn’t understand why he was standing so close to me, after all that talk about finding the woman he wanted to marry, the ‘woman of his dreams,’ he said.”

  Marcano smiled against her hair. “Luis was standing close because he was trying to woo you. If he has found the woman he wants to marry, it is you.”

  She drew back to frown up at him in surprise, and he reluctantly slid his hands away from her hair. “Wed—me? What, is he in love with me? We barely know one another.”

  Marcano studied her upturned face, her spellbinding whisky eyes. “I don’t know if he is in love. But few people marry for love these days, Jolie.”

  “But I don’t wish to marry him.”

  Marcano felt another rush of relief, but repressed it for her sake. “Perhaps you should think about it for a time before deciding. Luis comes from a good family line; they have extensive properties in Andalusia.”

  “I don’t give a shilling about his family, Gabriel! Let him marry someone who feels a ‘good family line’ is essential. I want to marry a man, not a piece of property or an important family.”

  Marcano smiled at the vehemence of her objection and smoothed her hair away from her face, then trailed his hand down along her arm. He was finding it difficult, after holding her in his arms for those few moments, to keep from touching her again. “Muchacha, don’t you think you should at least give him a chance to win your affection?”

  She scowled. “I don’t want to marry him. I already know.”

  Marcano chuckled, relieved that he wouldn’t be performing Luis’ marriage ceremony anytime soon. “Well, Luis,” he murmured, playing with the lace of the nightshirt’s sleeve at her wrist, “at least I tried.”

  “It isn’t his fault; he’s a fine man. And he deserves someone better than me—I fear I may never be normal.”

  Marcano bent his head to try to see her expression, then reached up to stroke her hair back from her temple again. “What do you mean, ‘normal?’”

  “Normal when it comes to…intimacy.”

  “You say this because Luis’ lovemaking made you remember Hauste’s abuse?”

  Her eyes welled up with tears, and she nodded.

  “Have you told anyone of this abuse before?”

  She shook her head. “Not even the servants in the house knew exactly what was going on.”

  Marcano cupped her chin and held her gaze. “Jolie, listen to me very carefully. You must not blame yourself for this man’s exploitation. You are a beautiful girl, and I am certain that as you grew into a lovely young woman, he found himself harboring lusts for you. His strength would easily overwhelm you, and he could have injured you or worse if you’d fought any harder. But you are not to blame. Do you hear me, muchacha? It is not your fault this happened to you.”

  She swallowed, staring at him.

  “You must believe me,” he urged softly. “You will someday have very wonderful—ah, experiences”—here he paused to clear his throat—“with a man, a man you have chosen to have those experiences with when you are ready.” He berated himself mentally for not being able to express it any better than that in English.

  She nodded in agreement, offering a weak smile. “I feel badly for Luis.”

  He stared at the dimple in her right cheek, then smiled back. “So do I. But he is a grown man; he will survive. He gets plenty of attention from ladies and won’t be sad for long.”

  She chuckled softly and the dimple deepened. As they sat together in silence, Marcano found himself reaching up to stroke the length of her silky hair again. He avoided her gaze, instead staring at her hair as it splayed across her shoulder.

  “Why,” she breathed, “do I keep telling you things I’ve never told anyone?”

  Marcano continued to caress her hair, threading it through his fingers. “It is said that we can confess our deepest secrets more easily to a stranger than to a friend.”

  “Are we strangers, Gabriel?”

  “We are strangers in more ways than you realize.” His fingers brushed her soft cheek as he stroked her hair away from her face and moved it behind her shoulder.

  “I’ve only just met you a few days ago, and yet I talk to you as though I’ve known you forever. If we are strangers, it’s because you haven’t told me much about your past, although you know a great deal about mine.”

  He folded his arms against his chest in order to prevent himself from touching her. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “I don’t know; something personal.” She thought a moment. “I guess the beginning is a good starting point. When were you born? Your birthday, I mean?”

  He smiled, keeping his arms folded. “I am not certain of the exact date, but it was sometime in August of 1702.”

  “Why don’t you know the exact day?”

  Marcano shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a long story, muchacha, one I am in no mood to tell tonight.”

  “I suppose I understand.” Jolie’s face showed her disappointment. She rose to her feet, turning to go to her cot.

  Marcano was on his feet and behind her in an instant, catching her arm to pull her gently back around to face him. He grasped both her hands and peered down at her face. “Perhaps one day I will tell you everything you seek to know, but for now I guard my vulnerabilities carefully as any man who has survived many battles learns to do.”

  She stood still, looking up at him.

  He stared down at her mouth. The urge to kiss her seized him, but he realized the folly of that course of action, having heard about her reaction to Luis’ kiss. He relaxed his hold on her hands and dropped his arms to his sides.

  She didn’t move away. Instead, to his utter shock, she closed her eyes, braced herself by placing her hands on his biceps, then rose up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his chin, just below the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Gabriel,” she breathed against his chin before going to her cot and climbing under the covers.

  Marcano stood frozen. The imprint of her lips tingled on his skin, and he reached up to touch the spot but halted himself, not wanting the barely perceptible throbbing on his skin to cease. He shook himself and moved toward his bunk, numbly unbuttoning his shirt and the placket of his trousers. He stripped out of his clothes quickly, folding them and laying them on the rug beside his bed.

  As he slid between the sheets, another part of his anatomy was also throbbing, much more strongly than his chin. This painful condition was becoming a bedtime habit, he realized as he turned his face into the pillow.

  She kissed me was the only coherent thought his mind formed before he drifted off to sleep, exhausted.

  #

  Marcano walked through the crowded brick streets of Santo Domingo the next morning, with Guillarte following close behind.

  “Did you talk to her?”

  Marcano hesitated. He knew better than anyone that Luis’ ego had to be handled carefully. He scanned the shop signs ahead for a reputable-looking mercantile. “Ah, sí.”

  “Well? What did she say? My manner was too forward? She is not accustomed to the attentions of men?”

  Deciding to put off the mercantile for a moment, Marcano instead led his friend toward a tavern across the street. “You’re going to need a drink
, amigo.”

  He noted the look of bewilderment on Luis’ face just before they entered the small, airy bar. They pulled two stools up to the counter, and Marcano called for two glasses of rum. When the drinks arrived, he turned to his first mate and searched for the right words.

  “Luis, Jolie thinks you are a fine man.”

  Guillarte brightened and raised his glass. “Then I need this drink because she has agreed to consider marrying me. Imagine me, Gabriel, with the ball and chain of wedlock about my ankle!” He swigged heartily of his rum.

  “Before you become too accustomed to the weight of that chain, my friend, hear me out.” Marcano encircled his glass with both hands and stared down at the amber liquid. Aware that Guillarte’s smile had faded, he cleared his throat. “Jolie doesn’t want to marry you, amigo.” He raised the rum to his lips and drank while Guillarte absorbed this statement.

  “Why not?”

  Marcano set his glass down. “She doesn’t love you, Luis.”

  “Love me? She hasn’t even tried—hasn’t given me a chance! She would learn to love me in no time. I’d be an exceptional husband for her.”

  “Luis,” Marcano said gently, “she has made up her mind about the matter. She simply does not want to marry you, my friend. She told me so.”

  Guillarte glared at him. “And who’s to say whether you are fabricating this story to discourage me, Gabriel? Throw me off the scent? I think perhaps you are beginning to have feelings for the girl.”

  “It’s no fabrication. I vow I am telling the truth, amigo. She told me that even though she thinks you are a fine man, she does not wish to marry you. She was very firm on that account. And—something else happened last night that convinced me even more so.”

  “Well? What was that?”

  Marcano tried to suppress a sheepish smile. “She—ah, kissed me.”

  Guillarte rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine day. You go in and dry up her tears and seize the opportunity to seduce her, after I inform you I have an interest in her. ¡Muchas gracias, Capitán!”

  “I swear to you I did not seduce her, Luis. Well, not intentionally, anyway. She kissed me. I actually took no part in it, my friend, although it forced me to stop pretending I have no feelings for her. You were right all along, Luis. How did you put it yesterday? Have I grown ‘weak in the knees’ for her?” Marcano shook his head in amazement, then grinned. “The answer, my friend, is yes. And when her lips touched my chin, hope surged through me that she might be receptive of my affection.”

  Guillarte stared at him, speechless.

  Marcano sipped his rum, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

  Guillarte shook his head. “Gabriel, you must be either out of your mind or truly in love to make a fool of yourself like this. Am I to understand that you came to all these conclusions as the result of a peck on the chin and nothing more?”

  “It was no mere peck, amigo.” Marcano sighed. “It was a taste of Eden. I was too surprised to react. She ran off to her cot while I stood there like a simpleton, at last forced to follow suit and go to my bunk as well.”

  “Well, I can see that you are a hopeless case, my friend. I never thought to see the day when Gabriel Marcano would lose his head over the charms of a proper English maiden, the same captain who has always boasted no woman could convince him to drop anchor.” Guillarte sipped from his glass. “And the fact you didn’t haul her to your bed immediately tells me you are too far gone to redeem.”

  Marcano nodded. “Believe me, friend, I am just as baffled by all this as you are. While gazing into those lovely, bewitching eyes last night, I even tried to convince her to reconsider you. You have much more to offer her than I.”

  “But, as you said, she does not love me, and I suspect it is because she loves another.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Marcano chuckled. “Perhaps it was only a simple gesture, this kiss, and I have exaggerated her intentions because of my own desires.”

  Guillarte patted his shoulder, then finished off his rum. “That is the agony of losing your head over a wench, amigo. Accept the ball-and-chain meekly, my friend. You are more bound by it already than I will ever be.”

  #

  Marcano stood at the bay window in his cabin with his back to Jolie. She sat behind him at the small table with plume in hand, waiting eagerly for him to tell her what to write. Her eyes had lit up when he’d told her he had a scrivener’s task for her, and he was a little worried that her enthusiasm would disappear when she found out what it was.

  “I feel I should tell you, I need you to help me do something that is not completely honest,” he said without turning to face her. He was purposefully avoiding the sight of her in the pale rose-colored day gown, her hair swept up into a loose coil, a rosy flush in her cheeks, her pink lips parted in expectation.

  She made no response, so he glanced quickly over his shoulder at her, then faced the window again, swallowing. This was getting ridiculous, he thought, the way his body was reacting today merely from looking at her. From the state of his erection, one would think she lay naked in his bed, beckoning to him with a pale, slender finger. Instead, she sat primly in her chair, fully clothed and staring curiously at him, probably wondering why he was acting so strangely. He swiped his brow with his sleeve.

  “I need a forged letter, Jolie, and I owe you the courtesy of telling you why.” He wanted to see her reaction to that but couldn’t risk another glance until he had regained control over his body. “A few weeks ago, a fleet of Spanish merchantmen was sailing through this area with a large cargo of expensive goods. An English privateer followed them until one of the ships got separated from the rest, and then the privateer attacked it. The Spanish ship was carrying silk and gold coins, and the privateer took their cargo and killed everyone on board.”

  “Oh, my,” he heard her gasp behind him.

  He smiled in relief. He hadn’t really expected to garner her sympathy for the Spaniards, especially since the attackers were her countrymen.

  “We have information that this cargo is being held in Kingston Harbor, Jamaica, and I have orders from my king to take it back. I need a forged letter because I am going to try to take it without a fight.”

  She was silent behind him.

  “If you do not wish to do this, you have only to tell me and I will not try to persuade you further.”

  He closed his eyes and waited.

  #

  Jolie stared at his back, at the broadness of his shoulders in the loose white blouse, at his trim waist and hips in the tight leather trousers he wore. She was aware of him at the moment like never before for some reason, and found herself picturing his muscular arms and back without the shirt, how his slender hips and powerful thighs would feel pressed against her skirt if they were standing up and he held her against him. She knew last night’s embrace on the bunk was an act of kindness and comfort rather than desire, and to imagine his intentions were anything more than compassion would be foolish. In any case, now he needed her help and she was eager to prove that she could be a service to him rather than a nuisance. She cleared her throat.

  “I am your scribe, Captain, and I am perfectly willing to perform any writing task that you deem necessary.”

  “You have no moral reservations about forging a letter for me?”

  “No more moral reservations than when I lied, stole, and snuck around to help the slaves escape. If it will keep you—and your men—safe, I will gladly do it, many times over.”

  He didn’t turn around, so Jolie sought to reassure him further. “It’s the least I can do after the way you have diligently protected and provided for me, Gabriel.”

  At last he turned and quickly seated himself across the table from her. “All right. I need a letter from the Earl of Surrey, stating that he has comissioned us to retrieve the silks and coins and deliver them directly to him in England.”

  They set to work on the letter. Outside, the crew of the Amatista was repairing the damaged areas of the sh
ip, and the bustling sounds of construction and shouting filtered in through the open windows of the cabin as she sat at the table with the captain, writing. When a first draft had been completed, he rose and went to his desk to search for a similar letter so that she could imitate the format and ornate lettering on it. At last he produced one and laid it on the table before her.

  She carefully studied the placement of the text as well as the elegant lettering of the correspondence.

  Marcano braced one hand on the table next to her and leaned over to examine the letters. “Any questions, muchacha?”

  She looked up, noticing a faint glow of perspiration on his forehead and an unfamiliar, dark emotion in the depths of his eyes. Her gaze was drawn downward; she found that she could see all the way down to the waistband of his trousers since he was leaning toward her with his half-unbuttoned shirt hanging open. The taut muscles in his torso and stomach rippled as if in reaction to her probing stare, and Jolie quickly shifted her gaze to the letters. The writing swam before her heated vision.

  “No, I ah…” She blinked to refocus. “I think I know what to do.” She hazarded another peek up at his face. He was regarding her intently. “I’ll just get started now.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and picked up the plume, just then realizing how moist her palms had become. Was he going to stand there with his torso exposed to her view all day?

  Finally he straightened and paced to the window again. Relieved, Jolie began to recopy the draft in the most formal lettering she could manage.

  A moment later, Marcano moved to the bunk to retrieve his tricorn, placing it atop his ebony hair. “I will come back to see how it is coming along later,” he muttered before leaving the cabin.

  Jolie closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, a smile curving her lips. I do believe he was staring at me on purpose. Happy with that thought, she returned to her work.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A balmy evening breeze plucked at Jolie’s dress and hair as she clung to Captain Marcano’s arm, following his lead along the cobblestone street. Laughter, music, and voices speaking Spanish greeted her ears now and again as they passed the various taverns. She wore the royal blue-and-rose taffeta gown Marcano said he had personally chosen for her, and his appreciative gaze when he appeared at the cabin door to escort her out for the evening told her he noticed. With her fingers curled around his elbow, she could feel the bunched muscles in his arm through the sleeve of his black silk shirt as they made their way deeper into the heart of Santo Domingo.