Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  Jolie watched him replace the case onto the bookshelf, not sure if he expected a response or not.

  The door opened and a steward came in bearing a large tray full of dishes. Captain Marcano pulled out a chair for her to sit down, then seated himself across from her as the servant laid out their dinner. Jolie wasn’t sure she would be able to eat very well if he was going to continue to study her with that odd, smirking expression of his. Thankfully, after the steward left, Marcano turned his attention to the food and began talking about a more comfortable topic than personal journals.

  “Jolie, I wish to apologize for Lieutenant Guillarte’s behavior during last night’s dinner. Luis and I have known one another since we were young, and he loves nothing more than to poke fun at me.” He ate a forkful of fish.

  Jolie looked down at her plate and sliced a section from her potato.

  Marcano took a sip of wine and continued. “When I met Luis he was seventeen years old and I was eighteen. We had just been hired as crewmen on a Spanish pirate’s sloop. We envisioned piracy as a romantic adventure, but soon found out it was not. We gained our knowledge of ships and sailing from a group of greedy roughnecks, and learned firsthand the brutality of the seas. When we had enough experience at sea, we joined a merchantman’s crew as junior officers together and traded with the Dutch here in the Caribbean for a few years more.” He brought a forkful of stewed greens to his mouth. “The company eventually hired me as captain and gave me my own crew. Luis has always been loyal to me, but envious that I was promoted ahead of him.”

  Jolie sipped her Madeira. “Joaquin told me you went to university,” she commented, since he seemed to be so interested in talking about his past.

  His countenance clouded over, but then he recovered a smile. “Yes. I was there for two years, but did not finish.”

  “Why didn’t you finish?”

  He set his goblet down. “Well, my father died, and my stepmother made certain I was cut off from his estate. I was out of finances, and soon out of the university.”

  “Oh,” Jolie murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  “That was long ago. Past is past.” He took another long drink of wine.

  “What about your real mother?”

  “I never knew her.” He kept his gaze low, obviously not interested in continuing that line of questioning, so Jolie continued to eat quietly and waited for him to speak again.

  “Jolie,” he said after a moment, “I don’t mean to pry, but you never told me exactly why you were fleeing that night with Hauste and his dogs at your heels.”

  Jolie swallowed a mouthful of potato, considering whether to tell him or not. “Well, I suppose you deserve to know, Captain.”

  “If you are not ready to tell me, I won’t insist.”

  “I haven’t told you before because...I’m afraid you will think ill of me once you know what I did.”

  He held her gaze. “Jolie, whatever it is, it will not change what I think of you.”

  The look he gave her was so heartfelt, she decided now was as good a time as any to confess. She cleared her throat. “Well, in truth, I lied to, betrayed, and stole from Lord Hauste. I helped eleven slaves escape his plantation.” There, it was said. Let him judge her as he may.

  Marcano dropped his fork to his plate, his face registering shock. “Did you cooperate with El Vencedor?”

  “You know about him?”

  “He is well-known throughout Puerto Rico. I won’t insist that you to reveal his true identity to me, although I admit I am curious to know.”

  Jolie wanted to laugh. Her little story had really taken off, if even the passing brigantines had heard of her hero. “Yes, I know his identity. He is me.”

  Marcano blinked in confusion.

  “Or, rather, he is my creation. He doesn’t exist at all, actually; I started the rumors of him in order to divert attention from myself as the real person who was assisting Hauste’s escapees. His story caught on much faster and better than I could have dreamed. I was able to keep up the ruse for almost a year.”

  Marcano stared at her as if she had grown a second head.

  “That’s why they never caught him, and never will. I assume they will eventually realize that he never existed.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Incredible.”

  Jolie took another sip of wine. “Now you see why Lord Hauste wanted to kill me. He found out I was involved and was outraged by my betrayal. I’m not proud of myself, but I couldn’t bear to do nothing for the slaves, to be a part of his side. Not when in my heart I was on their side.”

  “I am speechless.” Marcano’s penetrating gaze brought heat to her cheeks.

  “Anyhow, that’s partly why I have nightmares all the time. Bad conscience.”

  He frowned. “Why should you have a bad conscience?”

  “It’s wrong to lie and steal.”

  “Is it? And what about slavery?”

  “Well, I believe enslavement of another human being...is a plague, a pestilence against all mankind.”

  “And you were fighting that plague the only way you could, Jolie,” Marcano said. “I have heard tavern stories about Ethan Hauste—his cruelty toward his slaves is well known even outside Crab Island. He was a barbarian, Jolie. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You behaved unselfishly; you are not a liar and thief, and you are not a traitor.”

  “You think it’s acceptable, what I did—? You don’t think I deserve punishment?”

  “I think you deserve a medal of honor,” he muttered, taking another mouthful of food.

  Jolie sat immobile, turning his words over and over in her mind. Captain Marcano could be right—perhaps in this case it was good to lie and steal, if such a paradox were possible. A huge burden began to lift, and a feeling of relief flooded over her.

  He spoke again. “You have done nothing requiring punishment, Jolie. Think of the pain and suffering you helped to end for those eleven slaves. Absolve your battered conscience, muchacha, and sleep peacefully tonight. No more nightmares caused by unwarranted guilt.”

  He finished off his wine, then folded his napkin and lay it beside his plate. “You must excuse me. I have the first watch.” He rose to his feet, pushed his chair in, and gave her a quick bow. Jolie’s gaze followed his retreating form to the door.

  He turned back to face her. “The suffering you have seen and felt is hard to forget, I am certain. But you must not allow the ugliness in the world to overshadow the beauty...for there really is much beauty, muchacha. Good night.”

  The steward came in to collect their plates, and Jolie was left alone with her thoughts. She had gained a new perspective of Captain Marcano’s character. He must have at least some compassion in his heart, to concern himself with addressing the fear and guilt Hauste had built up in her in the years he had been her guardian.

  She thought of all the new things she wanted to write in her journal, which then reminded her of Marcano’s journal. Her glance drifted over to the conspicuous leather case tucked into the bookcase among his books and trophies. It was written in English, he’d said. Well, no matter. She’d never dream of reading it, and wasn’t interested.

  She turned her attention to his empty chair, and imagined him sitting there, his dove-gray shirt open to reveal his dark muscular chest. He was full of surprises, this Spaniard, and she just couldn’t quite figure him out. She’d panicked a little upon learning she’d be dining alone with him, and yet everything had turned out so nicely. She had truly enjoyed their conversation and his company. Would it be so far-fetched to dream he might one day become attracted to her? Her gaze shifted once again to the leather case containing his journal. Would it contain some hint of what he thought of her other than her plainness?

  It would be a heinous thing to read another person’s journal.

  Truly wretched.

  Sighing, she pushed herself away from the table and rose to get ready for bed.

  #

  Marcano checked the grappling hook hanging from t
he balustrade of the poop deck for security. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then lowered himself over the side of the brigantine. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he reasoned to himself, but if a crewman saw him, they might misinterpret his actions, or worse, cause a ruckus that would alert Jolie. His wounded arm ached painfully as he worked his way down the rope, as if in punishment for what he was about to do. He paused before reaching the bay window and, still suspended by the rope, leaned down sideways to peer into his cabin.

  She was standing at the foot of his bunk, the lid of the trunk obscuring most of her from his view.

  Perfect. He dropped soundlessly to the small balcony under the bay window and crouched in the shadows. After a few moments, he peeped over the ledge.

  Now she was standing before the washbasin, naked, her backside facing the window. He stared for a few seconds, then ducked back down, suddenly breaking out into a sweat. Coño, Gabriel. What is the matter with you? Hell, he was no inexperienced schoolboy; he’d seen plenty of female flesh in his time. He didn’t need to resort to peeping in windows for cheap thrills. He would wait until she had finished dressing for bed, then find out what he’d come to find out. This was all business, he reminded himself.

  He folded his arms, huddling against the wall under the window, and stared out at the wake churning behind the ship. The picture he’d just seen flashed before his eyes. Long, honey-brown hair swinging low over curved hips, firm, heart-shaped buttocks, shapely legs. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and rubbed his fingers over them, forcibly resisting taking a second look. The image would simply not leave him be.

  He raised himself up and turned to look again.

  She straightened and finished washing her torso with the sponge, then pushed her hair back over her shoulders out of the way. Marcano watched, transfixed, his mouth going dry. She rubbed the sponge over her arms, what she could reach of her back, and down the rest of her body. That done, she turned toward the window. He ducked swiftly, cursing himself soundly under his breath.

  She could have seen you,imbecile. He had definitely seen her—all of her. Softly rounded hips, slender calves, small waist...and for a split second, his greedy vision took in her irresistibly upturned breasts tipped in pink. His cock throbbed; he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, his fingers forming tight fists against his thigh muscles.

  This is ridiculous. He shook his head and tried to conjure up some of the more beautiful bodies he had seen in his life, and only saw Jolie. He tried harder... and only succeeded in growing harder.

  After counting backwards from fifty in Spanish, twice, he was able to remember what he had scaled the side of his own brigantine for. His “journal.” Taking a few deep breaths, he turned slightly against the wall and rose up to hazard another peek.

  She was clothed now in the silky nightgown, meandering about the cabin, brushing her long hair. She wandered toward the bookcase, and yes, yes!—paused to gaze at the area where the leather case contained his journal. He felt a surge of excitement that shot straight to his groin.

  She turned away from the bookcase and retreated slowly toward his bunk.

  ¡No, coño!

  Just when he thought she’d never take the bait, she tossed the brush to the mattress and strode quickly back to the bookcase. She reached up and took down his leather case, ripping at the ties as she carried it back to his bunk. Then she plopped on top of his coverlet, settled herself comfortably among his pillows, took out the sheaf of papers, and began to read.

  Ah, you delectable little sneak.

  Marcano was amused and relieved. So the courageous young woman who had risked everything to help the slaves was not so saintly that she could resist the temptation of reading his journal. His conscience was eased a great deal by seeing her committing the same crime against him that he had committed earlier against her. Of course, he had set her up so nicely that she practically had no choice, but still…she was just as human as he was, and it gave him great satisfaction.

  He watched her a few minutes more, unable to see her expression because she was partially hidden in the recess of the bunk, snuggled amongst his pillows.

  Finally he slipped into the shadows to climb the rope back up to the poop deck. Damn if those pillows weren’t going to be scented with her fragrance again tonight.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jolie’s heart raced as she fingered the pages of Marcano’s journal. She found a page with yesterday’s date on it and skimmed over his carefully formed lettering. It began with notes on the brigantine, the course they were sailing, a few remarks about the weather, and comments about the crew. His English spelling needed work, she noticed with a smile. Chewing on her thumbnail as she skimmed down the page, she spotted her own name with a jolt of excitement.

  We have taken abord a young English girl named Jolie Scarbero. The girls life was in danger and I was glad to help her. She will be of good service to me as a scribe on the ship.

  There was a skip, and then he seemed to have picked up writing again later in the day.

  Luis was teasing me so unmercifuly this morning that I had to tell him the girl was plain so that he would not realise my true opinion of her, that she is extremley lovely and definitley a refreshing sight, and not just because she is the only female abord ship.

  Again a skip, and then another entry with “11:30 pm” scrawled beside it.

  I am very much ashame of my first mate Luis. He told Jolie tonight at the table what I said to him, which I did not really mean at all, I was making up a complete lie about her not being beautiful. Truely when she walked into the great cabin tonight she was breathe-taking.

  Jolie’s heart pounded as she read on.

  She was wearing the gown I personaly chose. I felt proud when she said how much she liked it, she was radiant in it.

  There the writing stopped, and Jolie flipped to the next page to see the entry he was working on tonight when she had returned to the cabin. Palms sweating a little, she took a deep breath and read.

  31st January. Continuing on our course for Hispaniola. This English girl is very intresting. She is not only beautiful, and inteligent, but she obviously has a great deal of compasion for others. I am pleased to see the intrest she has taken in Joaquin. I believe she was right, he needs a female figure in his life.

  She just arrived for dinner. She is worryed about her dress and her hair and I can not seem to convince her that she looks beautiful. And when she smiles, she has a adorable dimpel on her right cheek.

  Jolie smiled. Fingering the dimple, she read on.

  I feel terrible that I have said something to discourage her or make her feel less than beautiful. I truely never meant to hurt her, altho I probably behaved badly because Luis is a nosy scoundrel and I was trying to hide my extreme

  Jolie made a small cry of protest and turned the page, but the next page was blank, and so was the next, and the next. Extreme...extreme what? It cut off there with no ending. She threw her head back against his pillows, squeezing her eyes shut. A slow realization of everything she had just read washed over her, and she flushed from head to toe…he actually thought she was beautiful! It seemed impossible, but how could she deny what he’d written right there in his journal? He thought she was lovely, and radiant, and a refreshing sight, and he felt bad for telling Guillarte that she wasn’t. On top of that, he found her intelligent, compassionate, and interesting! Oh, it was glorious, too glorious for words! He might even become physically attracted to her at some point…that was a thought she almost didn’t dare to entertain. A wonderful, handsome man like him could have any woman on earth. But at least Jolie had the knowledge that he secretly found her beautiful. No man had ever said that about her before.

  Unable to wipe the grin from her face, she replaced his journal papers in the leather pouch, carefully tied up the strings, and carried it back to the bookcase. She tried to make it look the same as it had when he put it away, with the top of the case facing toward the back wall
and one of the strings hanging over the front edge of the shelf. She knew she should feel deeply ashamed of herself for reading it, but she was too happy to feel anything but jubilant as she made her way to her cot and snuggled under the blankets.

  #

  Shuffling. Voices. A door swung open, and the commotion grew louder, closer. Pounding. Jolie rolled over and reached up to rub her eyes, still fuzzy from sleep.

  “¡Nos atacan, Capitán! ¡Vamos!” a male voice shouted through the door.

  Across the cabin, she heard the captain curse in Spanish under his breath and then the sound of his feet hitting the wooden floor. Fear jolted her wide awake, and she sat up on the cot. Had she slept? She hadn’t even heard him come in. She thought she would be too excited to sleep after reading his journal.

  He had already pulled on trousers when he lit a candle. When it blazed, she watched him in its warm glow as he sat down in a chair, hair loose about his face and shoulders, to pull on his boots. “Adelante,” he shouted at the door, and it swung open.

  Belardo rushed in, armed with two pistols and a cutlass. He talked worriedly in Spanish as Marcano stood up, threw a frocked coat over his bare torso, and yanked his pistol belts down from a hook at the foot of the bed.

  “What’s going on?” Jolie’s voice was barely audible over the shouting and scuffling noises coming from outside and above.

  Marcano glanced sideways at her, eyes flashing as he slung the pistol belts over his shoulders and across his torso. He pointed a stern finger in her direction. “Stay in this cabin until I come to get you. Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone. And stay away from the windows.”

  He left with Belardo, slamming the door behind him. Jolie sat frozen for several seconds. An ear-shattering boom! caused her to nearly jump out of her skin, and her heart seemed to stop beating for a second. Collecting her wits, she scrambled out of the cot to latch the door as he had ordered. She rushed to check the small door at the back of the cabin. It was already latched as well. She paced for a moment, then remembered what he said about staying away from the windows. She hurried to the table to blow out the candle. Not knowing what else to do, she hurried back to her cot.