by Diana Layne
“When I was shanghaied? Same thing that happens so often. I was drinking too much in a small seaside tavern, trying to convince myself sending you away was for the best…”
She gave him a skeptical look, but he was so very serious.
“The next thing I knew,” he continued, “I woke up with the mother of all hangovers, bound and gagged in the belly of a Spanish ship.”
“Spanish? Is revenge then, part of your motivation for going after this Spanish galleon?”
“I cannot pass up such an opportunity for gold. And if it hurts the Spanish as well, that is but a bonus.”
One Spaniard in particular, he thought.
“This scar, did they give you that?” Her fingers, at once both strong and gentle, traced the scar on his face. Memories of the desperate battle to get away, the sword slicing his cheek before he parried and stabbed the tormentor who had been a demon in charge of the prisoners on the ship headed to that island of hell, made the blood pulse through his body. Bad memories. Angry memories.
“Aye, I got it when I attempted to escape the men who shanghaied me,” he admitted, surprised he was able to keep his voice level.
“And these on your back?” Her hand went behind him. “Babbo rarely whipped anyone, and I’m sure he never whipped you.” Her touch was light on the scars.
He still owed for those, as well. Captain Gomez had used him as an example. “Aye, your father was a good and just captain. He rarely whipped a man.”
“Did you lead a mutiny?”
How much should he tell her? If she knew how the thought of vengeance had pushed him through the dark days, how it still drove him, would she want to risk her ship?
“Aye, I tried, but that failed.” And Captain Gomez’s debt was not yet settled. “I eventually managed to escape and steal a ship and find a crew.”
That didn’t tell the whole story, but there was no need to share the details.
“You’ve been sailing and pirating since?”
“Aye, living the life of a pirate these years hence.” Not wanting to be forced to lie should she continue with her probing questions, he changed the direction of her thoughts. “We’re wasting time talking, don’t you think?”
He leaned down to kiss her, and this time she didn’t object.
Chapter 5
“Good day, Captain,” Mickey said when she boarded the Gypsy Doll. “How is your father?”
Mickey discreetly avoided mentioning her disheveled, salt-encrusted state, she noticed. “He’s doing well. But lonely.” She hoped after this trip that would change.
“Aye, it is such a shame he has no one to keep him company. Charles said you were talking to your father about that grand scheme. Does your father think it will work?”
“Babbo is optimistic, si.”
“That would be wonderful, for certain. If we take enough, you can quit sailing and stay with your father.”
She wondered what gave Mickey the idea she would be quitting sailing. She had not discussed the possibility with him. Had he become a mind reader, then? “So anxious you are to be rid of me?”
“Oy!” He blustered. “Captain Charles and I were talking when he came to get the supplies.”
So it was as she thought. Charles talked up Mickey, appealed to his greed, as he would likely be the next captain if she were to quit sailing, and then waltzed off with the crates for her father. She smiled. He did earn his reputation.
But it pricked her a little that Mickey appeared so anxious for her to retire. She’d grown up with him and considered him as much of a friend as anyone could have in this cutthroat business.
“You think it’s time for me to lower the sails? Getting too old to pirate, am I?” she joked. She was at least fifteen years younger than Mickey.
He laughed. “Captain, you’re a young whippersnapper, and you know it. And ye be a good captain. I just thought you’d want to be with your father in his last years, rather than out roaming the seas.”
His words should have pacified her. He seemed sincere enough. Yet a creeping feeling crawled up her spine. Of course, every captain was paranoid. Just as Charles stole his ship, many a ship had been taken over by an ambitious sailor.
The Gypsy Doll had been lucky. Maybe that doll had prevented any mutiny attempts. Or maybe she and Babbo had been good captains, and the crew was content. She’d prefer to think that.
“I was a bit surprised Charles was able to get the rest of Babbo’s supplies.” Still feeling prickly, she put forth the subtle criticism.
“He was struggling all right, until I came along. Pete and Will had him at sword point.”
At least some of her men were doing their job. “And you called them off.”
“Aye, when he told me you were there with your father. Afterward, we talked about the plans.”
Had Mickey concluded on his own that she would want to quit sailing, or was it an idea planted by Charles?
“I’m glad you approve. Much needs to be done if we’re to be off in time for our appuntamento with that Spanish galleon.”
She went through a list of instructions and added, “Pull the men off shore leave, see if we lose any. We might need to secure more crew.”
“When they find out what we’re going after, they’ll be lining up to go,” he predicted.
“It’s possible,” she agreed, then went to change out of her salty clothes before leaving the Gypsy Doll to secure more ammunition and cannon. She planned to be as prepared as possible when facing a heavily armed ship.
After a day spent negotiating for supplies, Gina was parched and stopped by The Boarshead for a pint. As she was drinking, the back of her neck prickled, reminding her of the time when a beetle crawled on her in the middle of the night and made her bolt out of a dreamless sleep. Turning from the bar, her hand casually on the hilt of her sword, she looked for the source.
She found the man over in the corner, his dark eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at her. He looked familiar, and when he saw she’d spotted him, he raised his pint.
Gina remembered. He was one of the men Charles had been talking to on their first night in port. A supplier, Charles had said. If that were true, why was he here in the middle of the afternoon and not at his shop? Unless he was taking a break. And yet, she’d been to many shops today and had not seen him. Perhaps, then, he was more of a nefarious kind of supplier—anything could be had for a price on this island, in spite of Governor Rogers’ efforts. What was it Charles wanted that he couldn’t get in a shop?
As if her thoughts conjured him, Charles walked into The Boarshead. He seemed to have a purpose in mind and hardly spared a glance toward the bar. He didn’t notice her, and she wasn’t surprised to see him head straight for the table with the man who’d been watching her.
Charles sat down and pulled out a roll of parchment. Before he could unroll it, the man nodded toward her, and Charles twisted around to face the bar. Their gazes locked.
For an endless moment they stared, and she wished she could read his thoughts. Was he guilty? Dismayed to see her? Happy? His face revealed nothing, but then he said something to the man. Sticking the parchment back into his jacket, he headed for her with a smile on his face.
Was it genuine? Why was she having doubts? Doubts or not, her heart leaped as he moved closer, and the memories of last night rushed back.
“Hello, Captain,” he said, surprising her with a kiss to her cheek.
“Captain,” she acknowledged.
“I’ve seen glimpses of your coattails in and out of the shops today.”
“Si, I have had much shopping to do. And you?” She nodded her head toward the man at the table. “Still consulting with your supplier? Is there a problem?”
“No problem. Why do you ask?”
“You have a list this time. Do you think he can read?”
“A list?”
She nodded toward his jacket.
“Oh. Yes. Well…”
“And you have had no goods delivered to you
r ship. That would indicate there is a problem.”
“Spying on me?”
In truth, she had set a man to watch his ship. “I find it valuable to keep watch on my business partners.”
“Why don’t you come watch firsthand tonight? Visit my cabin.”
She drained her pint. “Captain, what type of woman do you think I am?”
“You had no qualms once.”
“How ungentlemanly of you to remind me. Besides, I learned my lesson.”
“And I learned mine.” He leaned close. “Want to share my bunk?”
Unable to resist touching him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and nibbled his ear. “You’ll just have to wait to find out,” she said in a husky voice.
She kissed his cheek, winked, and turned to leave. Unaware they had an audience with the men at the bar, she was surprised by the whistles and catcalls.
She shook her head, knowing she had enhanced Captain Charles’ reputation.
****
It was dusk, a few days later, before Gina got into the dinghy to row back to the ship from her father’s home. With her ship supplied, armed, and ready to sail, there had been only one thing left to do.
The doll lay on the bench across from her, looking peacefully up at the first evening star, as if the ceremony performed on her hadn’t affected her at all.
Get hold of yourself, Gina. The doll isn’t real. Of course the ceremony hadn’t affected her. Although for the space of a few seconds, when Gina and her father muttered the Romany words, which translated into something close to: any who may betray you will suffer, but true love can break the spell, it seemed as if the doll’s eyes had looked...almost alive. That was the only way Gina could describe what she’d seen. The doll’s eyes, nothing more than carved and painted orbs of bone, had glowed warm and alive. It startled Gina so much she stumbled over the words she was reciting.
She’d pulled herself back on course, and when next she braved a glance, the doll once again looked like a doll. Gina dismissed what she saw as an illusion, a trick of the candlelight. Ridicolo to think even for a moment the doll might draw a breath like a real person.
Still, rowing back to the bigger island, the slosh, slosh, slosh of the waves against the boat, normally soothing, failed to keep her from recalling that strange incident. She couldn’t help but wonder about the grandmother who had been killed.
Babbo had known her grandmother when he was a little boy. Nonna Rosa had been a vibrant, flamboyant woman, he told her. It had been rumored she’d been killed by a lover. And with her murder, Nonno Enzo pulled in on himself and kept a very tight grip on his daughter. If Babbo had not been such a good, hardworking man, he’d never have gotten close to her mother.
Gina had not been able to believe in the power of the doll, because it hadn’t kept her mother alive or prevented her father from getting sick. But once she read the letter and heard the ancient words, she understood.
The “true love” caveat at the end had apparently been added so if the doll’s owner had done harm to the doll, the bad luck she created could be countered by true love.
Strange things existed in the world of the gypsies. There was no denying the doll seemed to have some weird, spooky presence. Some power? Maybe.
“I suppose you’ve been useful enough, my dear Rosa, at least according to Babbo and Mickey.”
Rosa smiled.
The doll smiled? Gina blinked and looked again. No, no smile. A trick of the moonlight. Still, a shudder slid over Gina’s body, and it was with a sigh of relief she reached the pier.
Darkness blanketed the port as she secured the dinghy’s rope to the pier. With a slight hesitation, she picked up Rosa, then tucked the doll under her arm. Carrying the thing was embarrassing, but she only had to walk down the pier to the Gypsy Doll. She’d managed earlier without anyone paying attention. And no one appeared to be in sight.
But as she approached the gangplank, two men bounded onto the pier from the beach below and grabbed her. One had his hand over her mouth before she could yell, and each had an ironclad grip on her while they dragged her down from the pier to the sandy beach.
Taken by surprise, her heart thudded. She struggled to breathe through the dirty hand clutching her face. Time slowed, the night took on an unreal aspect, and her vision narrowed until she could only see a portion of her ship in front of her. She heard a harsh gasping, so loud it almost drowned out the sound of the sea sloshing against the pier. Her own breath? She twisted, trying to break their hold, but the men held tight.
“Look here, she’s got her dolly,” the man on the right said. Wide-eyed, she jerked to look at him. She didn’t know him. Panic fired her brain. What did they want? Why her? She was dressed like a man, not a harlot.
“Little too old to play with dolls, aren’t you, Captain?” the other one said. She met his gaze and stiffened. Him, she knew. He was the man who had been meeting with Charles. Suddenly the attack made more sense.
She wrenched her head, attempting to break free. When that didn’t work, she tried to speak. Her voice came out muffled against the hand clamped over her mouth. What did they want?
“Aye, Cap’n, ye recognize me, don’t ye?”
She kept struggling, with a niggling certainty that whatever they wanted it was not going to be good for her. Just then, a man appeared at the railing of the Gypsy Doll. With barely a look around, he relieved himself over the side of the ship. Gina hardly gave it a thought, sailing with men as she did. Her sensibilities were long past shockable.
But for some reason, it must have affected the one with his hand over her mouth. He loosened his grip. It was only a slight easing in pressure, but enough that she could move her mouth, and she clamped her teeth onto his hand.
“Ouch!” He jerked his hand away.
“Sailor!” she yelled. “Get my first mate.”
The pirate glanced down. “Captain?”
“Bring help!” She struggled anew when the sailor dashed off, yelling to raise the alarm. Soon more footsteps were pounding on the deck.
“I’m not facing her crew,” the man on the right said.
“Just a warning, lady captain,” said the one she’d seen with Charles. “You don’t want to go where he be taking you.”
His innocuous words made her blurt, “What do you mean?”
“You can stay and chat, mate. I’m leaving.” The man on her right released her and dashed away.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into with those Spaniards,” the one who’d been speaking to her warned before following his friend.
Seconds later, Mickey led a group of her men down the gangplank.
“Go, go.” He directed them after the two men who had run off among the tangle of supplies and ships along the wharf. The hiding places were many and the likelihood of her men catching those two were slim.
“Cap’n, are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m not hurt.” Shaken? Mad? Yes.
“Did they try to rob you?” Then his eyes lit on the doll. “She saved you.”
Gina shifted the doll into the crook of her arm. “I don’t think they were intent on harm in the first place. They wanted to give me a warning.”
“Warn ye?”
“Against this undertaking.”
“But you don’t know if that’s all they intended. ’Tis lucky, you are, that doll was with you.”
Gina didn’t like the powers he was attributing to the doll, even if she had just returned from renewing a spell on the thing. She felt her ire rising over the whole evening. “’Tis lucky I am,” she returned, slightly mocking his language, “that Georgie had to take a piss.”
“Aye, and without that doll, he might not’ve had to...” Mickey averted his gaze. “Relieve himself.”
Despite her anger, she smiled at his embarrassment. But then she thought of the warning. And Charles. “What is he getting me into that I should be warned by strangers?” she muttered.
“He’ll be here later
,” Mickey said, referring to the fact that Charles was spending the night in her cabin now. “You can ask him then.”
Gina was too upset to be embarrassed that her love life was so public, no matter she’d tried to keep it discreet. She thrust the doll at Mickey. “Take her to my cabin.”
Mickey cradled the doll as carefully as if she were a newborn. “Captain?”
“I’m not waiting on Charles. I’m going to find him.”
“But Captain, those men are still out there.”
“Si, and I’m alert to them. They won’t sneak up on me again.”
“At least wait until—”
“Nay. I don’t want anyone to go with me. If I have to murder Charles, I want no witnesses.”
She left Mickey chuckling, but she wasn’t so certain she was jesting. Stomping toward Charles the Charmer’s ship, her hand resting on her sword hilt, she itched for someone to attack her again so she could work out some of her anger. That two men would attack just to warn her seemed illogical. Of course, that might not have been the only reason; her men had cut the attack short. They might have had other plans and only gave the warning to throw her off. But were those two men smart enough to think of such a quick excuse?
Or had they attacked her to get back at Charles for some reason? Her thoughts were swirling. The fishy odors of the wharf and the lap of water against the sides of the docked ships barely sank into her consciousness as she focused on finding Charles.
He wasn’t on his ship. Her confrontation would have to wait. A disappointment. All worked up and no one’s head to chop. After thanking the first mate, she started back to her ship at a slower pace. Her men, unsuccessful in their search for the other two, fell in behind her. Mickey was right, she appeased herself. Charles would come to her later.
Later found her pacing the deck, her ire still burning brightly as Charles sauntered jauntily up the gangplank. When he saw her, he stopped and tilted his head. A smile spread on his face.
“Hello, love, waiting up for me?” He stepped onto the deck.
“Indeed I am,” she said coldly.
He could miss neither her tone nor the frown chiseled on her face. “What is it?” He closed the distance fast and took hold of her arms.