Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  “The Corazón is the subject of a famous Puerto Rican legend,” Guillarte added.

  Jolie turned back to Marcano. “Oh, please tell me the legend, Capt—ah, Gabriel.”

  He paused in bringing a forkful of food to his mouth, seeming to avoid her gaze. “The legend actually involves an ancestor of Guillarte’s. He should tell the story.” He stuffed the food into his mouth.

  “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Guillarte doesn’t mind if you tell it. You’ve hardly said a word all evening. Please, Gabriel.”

  Marcano took a deep breath. He set his silverware aside and dabbed the corners of his mouth with the napkin. Finally he met her gaze again. “The story is told that two Spaniards, Antonio Orozco and Juan Guillarte, had gangs of Taínos working the Mabiya river, washing the sand for gold.”

  He paused to sip his wine. Jolie sat waiting for him to continue, mesmerized by his piercing blue eyes.

  “One day they decided to explore further inland. They traveled for eight days until they reached a high mountain in the center of the island. Suddenly Juan Guillarte saw a huge chunk of gold shining down in a ravine not far below where they stood. His friend Orozco became very excited and suggested they make a ladder from vines to climb down and retrieve it. When they had descended into the ravine and lifted the treasure in their hands, they realized it was even bigger and more beautiful up close than they imagined. Orozco pointed out that it was not enough gold for both of them to return to Spain and retire in wealth, and suggested they roll dice to see who would claim the nugget. The loser would take over both gangs of slaves and continue to work their claims there in Puerto Rico.”

  Jolie nodded, urging him on.

  “Guillarte agreed, and Orozco rolled the dice. Orozco won the roll, so Guillarte congratulated him, truly happy for his friend. But after Guillarte climbed up the vine ladder, Orozco had trouble struggling up behind him with the huge nugget. Guillarte tried to help pull him up, but the vines broke and Orozco fell several feet to the crevice below. Guillarte heard his bones crack.”

  “Oh!”

  “Guillarte rushed back to get help as fast as he could, but by the time he returned with a rope ladder and a couple of slaves, Orozco was almost dead, still clutching the stone. When Guillarte knelt at his side, Orozco asked for a drink of water, then begged his friend to forgive him. He said God had punished him for stealing the nugget with loaded dice when Guillarte was the one who saw it first. Guillarte forgave him, and Orozco died.

  “Since the nugget is somewhat shaped like a human heart, Juan Guillarte named it the Heart of Isabella, el Corazón de Isabela, after the Queen of Spain, and donated it to the cathedral at Toledo as a symbol of friendship that has been broken and yet redeemed. The treasure is also sometimes called el Corazón de Retribución, Heart of Retribution, because it punished the dishonest thief Orozco. And the mountain range the two friends explored is still called La Sierra de Guillarte, after Juan Guillarte.”

  “What a fascinating tale!” Jolie exclaimed. “But why did those pirates think you had it, Gabriel? It must be worth a fortune, a priceless relic of history.”

  Guillarte chuckled from across the table at her. “Ah, that is a little bit of information we hesitate to reveal, lovely inquisitor.”

  Marcano waved his hand dismissively. “The pirates probably heard that we were commissioned by King Philip to search for the Corazón after it was stolen from the cathedral a few months ago.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “No. Not yet. But we know where it is.” He resumed eating, avoiding her gaze.

  “Will you have to fight someone to get it back?”

  Marcano remained silent, but Guillarte spoke up. “We expected the recovery of the Corazón to be very simple. However, we have already made one attempt”—he paused to glance sideways at Marcano—“and failed. Perhaps we shall be more successful the next time.”

  At that, the subject seemed closed, so Jolie turned her attention to her dinner.

  As the steward was collecting their dishes, Guillarte came around to pull out her chair and offer her his arm. “Jolie, would you do me the honor of taking a stroll with me on deck?”

  “Well...” She glanced back at Marcano, who was staring intently at his empty wine glass. His shoulders were slumped and he kept his head low. Puzzled by his demeanor, she folded her napkin and laid it on the table, then smiled politely up at Guillarte. “All right, Mr. Guillarte. That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  Guillarte helped her to her feet. “You are welcome, and I insist that you call me Luis.”

  #

  Marcano stood alone in the darkness of his cabin, unable to erase the picture of her, the muted green of her gown complementing her fair skin and shiny light brown hair beautifully. He moved to his desk alcove to gaze out the portside window into the night, asking himself for the thousandth time whether he had lost his mind or if it had simply been too long since he’d been with a woman. But any explicit fantasy he tried to conjure up to take his mind off Jolie Scarborough ended up featuring a fair young Englishwoman with brown eyes that gazed up at him inquisitively, her hair gleaming like amber in the lamplight.

  The dark waves rolled toward the shore, gently rocking the various sea craft anchored in the harbor. A bright moon illuminated the ships and their masts, making them appear as ghostly apparitions floating in a spectral sea. Marcano braced his good arm alongside the window, peering out across the water. He reached back to massage the tired muscles in his neck for a moment, picturing Jolie’s arm looped through Luis’ as the two of them strolled on deck in the darkness. Would he try to kiss her? Would she allow him? Marcano tortured himself with the thought that he had shared three nights with her in his own cabin without so much as holding her hand, and now Guillarte was walking arm-in-arm with her under the stars, no doubt succeeding in his amorous advances.

  The Amatista is my ship, and I should be the one striding the decks of it with a beautiful girl on my arm. Foolish, wretched envy! He was acting like a twelve-year-old boy. He turned away from the window, deciding to busy himself gathering his navigational tools for the upcoming change in course, and strode across the cabin to open the door.

  He crossed the small foyer and stepped outside into the night air. Not wanting to appear to be spying, he avoided scanning the lower decks and instead turned to ascend the ladder to the poop deck. Once there, he slipped inside the small deckhouse and closed the door soundlessly behind him. He intended to light a candle to search for the sextant, but found himself drawn back to the windows overlooking the main decks of the ship. He scanned the length of the brigantine until he spotted two silhouetted figures on the forecastle at the far end. Guillarte was leaning back casually against the balustrade while Jolie stood at his side, looking up at him. Marcano’s jaw tightened as he gazed forlornly at the couple.

  Who was he to envy Luis Guillarte or to begrudge Jolie such a good match? As the youngest son, Guillarte was enjoying sea adventures for now, but he would eventually return to Spain where he had a good name, a proud family, an estate. Marcano never had a mother and didn’t have a father any longer. Even when his father was alive, he had only half-heartedly accepted Marcano as son. Jolie deserved better than a bastard ex-pirate seafarer who had no other life but the ocean and her rough pursuits.

  The truth was, Marcano had never found a home anywhere but on a ship, cradled in the ocean’s arms. This brigantine was the only possession he could truly call his own, and he had earned every plank of it by the sweat of his brow and the blood from his veins. What would life on a privateer’s brigantine be to a lovely, delicate girl like Jolie? She deserved a proper home, a houseful of children whose father could proudly pass on his name to them, a life affording her every comfort and luxury. She deserved a man like Guillarte.

  He watched as Luis helped her down the staircase and onto the main deck. They walked slowly along the edge of the deck together, talking. Marcano knew he was acting like a scorned school lad by spying on the two of them and
wishing he was the one at Jolie’s side, wooing her with words of romance, lover’s promises. And what would she say if she knew how selfishly he longed for her favor? Would she spurn his attentions? The memory of her insults, flung at him in a moment of weakness, stabbed at his heart and reminded him she was fully aware of the social stigma of an illegitimate birth. And if she understood the full truth—!

  He leaned his head against the window facing, still staring down at the two dark figures below. Tomorrow night he would find a lusty Dominicana who would break him out of this spell. A copper-skinned Latin wench so beautiful he would forget Jolie Scarborough had ever come into his life. He had never had any problem bedding the loveliest tavern wench in town; why should his good looks and charm fail him now?

  With that thought alone for solace, he watched as Luis and Jolie disappeared into the shadows of the overhang below. Leaving the sextant, he exited the poop cabin and climbed another ladder to the crow’s nest to take the first watch. Once there, he sank down on the wooden planks, propped his back against the railing, and gazed out over the harbor and the lamplights in the windows of the waterfront taverns and houses.

  #

  Guillarte had been standing a bit close all along, and now that he had backed her against the balustrade in the shadows of the main deckhouse he was far too close for comfort. Jolie peered up at his face, trying to make out his intentions. She hoped the captain was within screaming distance if things got out of hand. Luis had been talking endlessly about his future plans for an estate in Spain, having children, his parents, and what he expected from a wife.

  If he’s getting married soon and going to be starting a family, why is he getting so friendly with me?

  “Jolie, do you know how attractive you are?” he murmured huskily, reaching up with one hand to stroke her cheek.

  She moved slightly away from his touch.

  “Ah, you are a shy one, no? You have nothing to fear.” He didn’t move back or give her any room whatsoever.

  “Mr.—ah, Luis,” she said, “I don’t know what your intentions are by telling me all this, but I would like to retire to my cabin now, if you don’t mind.”

  “My intentions? I would have thought them obvious.” He stared down at her mouth, his expression faintly amused.

  She forced a smile. “Well, I’m afraid they aren’t.”

  “Shall I make them more clear for you?”

  “Please.” She reached up with one hand to push his chest back a little. He covered her hand with his, flattening it against his vest. She felt his steady heartbeat beneath her palm and looked up at his face in alarm.

  “Jolie, you are every man’s dream of feminine perfection.”

  Well, that’s a load of bunk, she thought, just before his lips descended on hers. She was too stunned to react for several seconds. Gathering her wits, she pressed against his chest with both hands in an attempt to end the kiss, but he responded by pulling her firmly into his embrace so she couldn’t escape. An image of Lord Hauste’s face leering at her, the memory of his unwanted advances and sloppily attempted kisses, flooded her mind. Tears sprang into her eyes. She wrenched her lips from Guillarte’s mouth and shoved hard at his chest.

  He released her and backed up a step. Jolie pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  The tall Spaniard stared down at her, looking bewildered. “Jolie, forgive me, I thought…”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Guillarte,” she choked. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forgive me, Jolie; I did not mean to frighten you…”

  “It’s not you, Mr. Guillarte, it’s me.” She rushed past him to the stairs leading up to the captain’s cabin.

  #

  Marcano heard running, crying, a door slamming, and then the air was filled with silence. He moved to the top of the rope ladder and peered down at the main deck below. “Luis?”

  Guillarte stepped into the moonlight where he could see him.

  Marcano called down, “¿Qué pasó, hombre?”

  “I don’t know,” Guillarte replied in Spanish. “I’ve never gotten that reaction from a woman before. I must have done something wrong. I think you need to go talk to her, Gabriel.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Your cabin, sobbing.”

  Marcano turned and descended to the lower deck. He put a hand on Guillarte’s shoulder and motioned him toward the great cabin for a drink. “Let’s give her a moment alone. Sounds like your courting skills leave something to be desired, amigo.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Marcano made his way up to his cabin a little later, he found it dark and lifeless. A quick scan of the room revealed Jolie’s sleeping form on top of the blankets of her cot, still clothed in her muslin gown. He walked toward the cot very quietly, stopping to peer down at her in the dimness. Her skirt was tangled over her legs, and her once carefully pinned hair was coming undone, spilling over the pillow, across her cheek and neck. She must have cried herself to sleep, he surmised, still wondering what Luis had done that disturbed her so.

  His first mate wouldn’t say exactly what had happened, only that he couldn’t understand her reaction and that perhaps he had been too forward. Marcano could tell his friend had suffered a pretty serious blow to his ego. He didn’t know whether to sympathize with him or feel happy that Luis had fared badly with Jolie. He was inclined, however, as he gazed down at her creamy white neck and the upper swell of her breasts bulging over the neckline of her gown, to feel heinously glad.

  He knelt on the floor beside her cot. “Jolie.”

  She didn’t move. He reached out to grasp her bared shoulder, shaking it lightly. “Jolie,” he repeated, a little louder.

  She turned toward him and opened her eyes, blinking, then raised her head to look him over.

  A smile curved his lips. “I am fully dressed this time, jovencita.”

  She lay back and studied him calmly from the pillow. “I’ve fallen asleep in my clothes, haven’t I?”

  “Yes. I woke you so that you could remove them. And put on something else,” he added quickly.

  “Thank you.” They stared at one another in the darkness for a moment.

  She pushed herself to a sitting position. “Could you, uh, turn your back for a moment?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” He turned to stride across the cabin and look out the bay window. Behind him, he heard her get off the cot and make her way across the cabin, then rummage around in the trunk.

  “Luis said he did something to upset you,” he commented over his shoulder after a moment.

  She made no response.

  “I am certain he did not mean to harm you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he didn’t.”

  He could hear the rustling of fabric and the trunk lid shutting, then re-opening. He tried again. “He comes from an honorable family, and he has much to offer a woman.”

  “Yes, and it sounds as if he has found one,” she said. “All he talked about was settling down and children and a household, but he certainly didn’t behave like an engaged man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he was—I mean, he couldn’t—he said he was attracted to me.”

  Marcano suppressed a smile. “And for this you fled to my cabin crying?”

  “No, not exactly.” Her voice hesitated behind him. “He…kissed me.”

  Marcano stiffened; envy seared through him like liquid fire. Then he recalled with relief and amusement that she had run away crying; no wonder Luis wouldn’t say exactly what he had done. “Was it so distasteful to put you in tears?”

  He heard her sigh. “It’s not Luis’ fault. You can turn around now.”

  He seated himself in a chair at the table and watched as she folded the articles of clothing she’d strung over his bunk. Her hair was freshly combed, falling over her shoulders, and the sight of her barefoot in his nightshirt sent shivers through him. How comfortable and yet torturous it had become, sharing this cabin with her.

  “I mean, I
wasn’t expecting him to kiss me, by any means,” she continued, folding her petticoat. “But when he did...”

  He waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. “Was he rough with you?”

  “No, not—overly.” She placed the petticoat in the trunk and returned to the bunk to fold her shift. “He was very normal, I suppose.”

  Marcano suppressed another smile. Poor Luis.

  “It brought back memories.”

  “Memories?” he repeated. “Of another kiss?”

  Jolie ducked her head and disappeared behind the lid of the trunk to put away the shift. Her answer came out in a strained whisper. “Yes.”

  When she didn’t come out, Marcano rose and went to the foot of the bed. He found her kneeling with head bowed, twisting the front of the nightshirt in her hands. He leaned over, grasped her wrists, and gently pulled her to her feet, half expecting her to resist. She didn’t, so he led her to the side of the bunk and pulled her to sit with him on the edge of the mattress. She turned her face away, swiping at the fresh tears streaking down her cheeks. Marcano massaged the inside of the wrist he still held with his thumb and reached up with his other hand to cup her jaw, turning her to face him.

  “What is it, Jolie? Has someone hurt you?” The horrifying thought crossed his mind that perhaps she had been raped before. “Who was it?” he demanded softly.

  Jolie squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Lord Hauste.”

  “¡Hijo de puta!” Marcano swore, coming to his feet. He paced to the table and slammed a clenched fist onto it with a violent thud. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her cringe, and moved back to her side to pull her into his embrace. She sank willingly against him, pressing her face into his shirt. He rested his cheek on top of her head and caressed her hair.

  When I meet up with Hauste again, I will show no mercy. He spoke softly against her temple. “Jolie, I didn’t mean to startle you. My anger is for that inhuman maldito you call a guardian. I did not dream he was diabolical enough to violate you.” He continued to stroke her hair and back.