Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  Belardo and Guillarte followed along several feet behind them, talking between themselves. Jolie had felt a bit awkward around Guillarte when the group left the brigantine earlier, with what had passed the night before. But Luis’ easy manner and reassuring smile quickly soothed her anxieties, and she was now focused only on Gabriel as he walked beside her clothed in black from head to toe except for a blue sash knotted at his slim waist. His ebony hair was smoothly tied back into a queue under his tricorn, the moonlight revealing only his sideburns and the square edge of his freshly shaven jaw when she hazarded a sideways peek up at him. Whether or not he noticed her shy glances remained a mystery since his eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat.

  When they reached the dance hall, the sound of music and voices poured into the street from its lamplit windows and doors. Captain Marcano led her up the steps and through the wide arched doorway; she sidled closer to him upon seeing the huge, boisterous crowd inside. He led her through the throngs of people to an empty table in an area near the opposite wall, tucked under a small balcony that was draped with brightly colored banners. Marcano seated her first, then the men took their seats around the table. A serving girl appeared, and Marcano ordered drinks all around.

  Jolie took in the scene with great interest—the groups of guitarists and singers sitting in chairs on the platform, the lively dancers in the center of the hall with their colorful costumes, the crowds of gaily dressed people milling about, the serving girls weaving in and out among the tables carrying trays of food and drink. The Spanish language surrounded her on all sides. She felt a pleasant giddiness in her stomach; free from Lord Hauste forever, she was experiencing a whole new world that was both intimidating and exhilarating. She imagined what her guardian would think if he could see her dressed in her daring, sophisticated gown, this tall, unbearably handsome Spaniard at her right elbow. And along with that came the comforting realization that even if he were still alive and walked into this dance hall to seize her, she would have nothing to fear with Gabriel and his men to defend her.

  #

  A curtain covering a doorway in the back jerked closed. Behind it, two men spoke in hushed English.

  “It has to be her! Only English wench in the company of Spaniards, and she fits the girl’s description exactly.”

  “It’s too easy. I don’t believe the Spaniard would go flaunting her out in the open like this. It isn’t her.”

  “The man said she had light brown hair and dark eyes and she’d be traveling with a tall, blue-eyed Spaniard.”

  “Did you see his eyes?”

  “Well no, but if this bloke’s got blue eyes, she has to be the girl.”

  “His eyes don’t look blue from here. And Wilkerson gave me the impression the girl was plain. This wench is bloody beautiful.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, matey, this Wilkerson chap isn’t playing with a full deck.”

  There was a pause.

  “All right, Quigley. You mingle in there and check that bastard’s eyes. I’m going to find Wilkerson at the inn. If they leave, follow them. Understand?”

  “Aye.”

  #

  Belardo and Guillarte left the table to go to the bar, leaving Jolie and the captain sitting alone. Jolie sipped nervously from her wineglass, eyes darting sideways to Marcano’s face. He was watching her calmly, the expression in his eyes unreadable. He had removed his tricorn, and his black silk shirt hung open at his neck, exposing a small section of his muscled chest to her view. Although people bustled all around them, Jolie was aware only of Gabriel’s nearness. He looked as if he wanted to say or do something, but was restraining himself for reasons unknown.

  Jolie turned her attention to the musicians as they began a new song. A tambourine shook from somewhere in the room as guitars played. The minor-key melody was seductively beautiful, and when a man began to sing in an impassioned voice, Jolie wished she understood Spanish for the umpteenth time since she’d met Gabriel. Women waving colorful scarves danced in the center of the hall. It was a breathtaking display, and without taking her eyes off them, Jolie leaned toward the captain and placed a hand on his sleeve. “What is this song about, Gabriel?”

  He leaned over to speak into her ear in response. “It’s a love song about an Andalusian gypsy girl.”

  “Tell me some of the words.”

  His lips were only inches from her ear, and his breath fanned her cheek as he spoke, with the haunting music in the background. “Rain falls over the hills of Andalusia, in the afternoon and in the night...rain falls over the gypsy camp where you tell fortunes and wondrous lies, gypsy girl.”

  The tambourines shook and the magenta, yellow, blue, and emerald scarves waved over and under, their flowing movements mesmerizing. Jolie watched with rapt attention, hoping he would continue translating.

  He leaned close to her ear again. “Last night I stood at the campfire, and I looked into your topaz eyes, and saw that you desired me; but before I could taste your lips—something awoke me from this shadowy dream.”

  Jolie looked back at him, and for a moment the crowds thronging around them ceased to exist.

  When the gypsy song ended, another flamenco began. Across the room, Jolie saw a beautiful woman pulling Guillarte away from the bar, out into the dancing area as it filled with people. She pointed them out to Marcano.

  Marcano smiled and stood. “If you will excuse me, I will get us another glass of wine. Will you be comfortable here alone?”

  Jolie nodded, watching as he turned to make his way around the outside of the dance floor. An Englishman seated a couple of tables away made eye contact with her, grinned, and toasted her with his ale. Surprised, Jolie blinked, then nodded once politely before looking away.

  She turned her attention to the dance floor. Captain Marcano evidently hadn’t made it all the way to the bar. One of the gypsy dancers latched onto his arm and drew him into the flamenco. He seemed reluctant, but the woman persisted.

  I don’t blame her, Jolie thought wryly.

  His tall, black-clad form mingled among the dancers. The ends of his blue sash twirled out as he performed a few fast turns of the dance, smiling and stamping his booted feet and clapping in unison with the guitars. He moved around the circle with the woman at his side clicking castanets in time to the music. Jolie would have been jealous, but watching him dance was such a delight that she was grateful to the woman instead. The movements of the dance were as perfectly familiar to him as if he’d rehearsed it for weeks. As the ring of dancers moved around, he passed Jolie’s table and turned to face her. He held her gaze and smiled, still dancing and clapping, then continued around the circle. When the song ended a moment later, he bowed to his dancing partner and joined Guillarte, slinging his arm around his first mate’s shoulders as they walked to the bar.

  Eventually the two of them returned to the table, Marcano carrying two glasses of Madeira. He handed one to Jolie and took his seat as Guillarte sat down across from them.

  Marcano held out his glass to his first mate. “To España.”

  Guillarte clinked his glass with Marcano’s. “To España.”

  Jolie toasted with them and sipped her wine, smiling shyly at the captain. “You are an excellent dancer, Gabriel.”

  He looked amused. “Muchas gracias, Señorita, but what about my first mate? He also danced.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” A blush crept into her cheeks.

  Guillarte chuckled. “Don’t trouble yourself, Jolie. Gabriel has always stolen the ladies’ attention when he dances. Usually I do not even go to the floor if he is going to be there with me.”

  Belardo returned to the table, took a seat, and addressed the captain. “I just spoke with Castaneda. The repairs to the Amatista are complete. Do we set sail for Kingston tomorrow?”

  Marcano nodded, set his glass down, and gazed out at the dancers.

  #

  Quigley pulled the curtain aside and ducked into the darkness of the storage room. Dorsett waited
inside with Theodore Wilkerson.

  Wilkerson was pacing like a caged animal. “I should march out there and drag her home myself, right now!”

  “Calm yourself, man,” Dorsett soothed, peeking out from the curtain at the English girl once again. He glanced back at Quigley. “Did you see the Spaniard’s eyes?”

  “Bastard’s got eyes bluer than royal blood, mate.”

  “It’s them, then.” Dorsett moved the curtain aside for another look.

  “Of course it’s them, you dolt!” Wilkerson whispered. “I should know my own fiancée when I see her—even with the way the Spaniard’s got her all dolled up, I’d know Jolie Scarborough anywhere.” His lower lip protruded a bit, making him appear childish. “I ought to break that Spanish bastard’s neck for him—”

  Dorsett interrupted him. “When Hauste hired us, sir, we agreed to do the job as he specified. There’ll be no neck-breaking tonight.”

  Quigley grinned and nodded. “Especially when you chaps hear what I just overheard.” The other two men stared at him expectantly. “Out with it, man,” Dorsett demanded.

  “They’re sailing for Jamaica tomorrow. I heard ’em talking about it just now.”

  Dorsett walked back to the curtain and pulled it aside just a crack. “Fellows, take one last good look at those Spanish curs. They’re dead men.”

  #

  Jolie walked along with Marcano as they made their way down the moonlit street away from the tavern. He seemed to be taking his time and enjoying the evening air, allowing Guillarte and Belardo to go on ahead to the docks without them.

  Jolie’s arm was linked through his again, and she walked along quietly, her pulse much more rapid than the slow stroll could account for. It was simply him causing her heart to pound—his nearness, his masculine stride, the handsome figure he presented against the backdrop of the starry night sky and the dim light of the streetlamps.

  Jolie didn’t dare look up at him as they walked, for fear he would see the nervous excitement in her face and know how strongly he affected her. Her hand was sweating against his arm where she gripped it through his black silk sleeve, making the thin fabric a little damp, but she didn’t know what to do about that other than hope he wouldn’t notice.

  After a few minutes of silence, Jolie felt she should say something. “It was wonderful tonight.”

  “Yes. I apologize for keeping you confined aboard ship for the past few days, but the life of a privateer is such that he enjoys little free time to wander ashore. I hope you have not felt like a prisoner.”

  “No, not at all, Gabriel,” Jolie assured him. “Your hospitality has been far more than I deserved.”

  Marcano smiled down at her. “You are very gracious, considering I have given you only a cot to sleep on in the corner.”

  “It was more than I should have asked of you, Gabriel. You have faced many dangers and injuries thanks to my presence.”

  Marcano halted in the street, turning to face her. She gazed up at his eyes, shadowed by the tricorn.

  “I face danger and injury as a privateer whether there is a beautiful woman aboard my ship or not. Having you there is simply an added delight.”

  Jolie was taken aback. “A delight?”

  He smiled, his white teeth visible in the moonlight. “Yes. Jolie—” He broke off suddenly, looking past her up the street, in the direction of the dance hall.

  Jolie started to turn her head to follow his gaze, but he caught her chin. “No, don’t look. Come with me. Quickly.” He pulled her with him back into the shadows of the nearest shop’s overhang. Once there, he grabbed her hand and led her along the store fronts in the darkness, hurrying along for a couple of blocks until they reached a recessed doorway. He ducked into it, flattened his back against the stone wall, and propelled her into his arms, turning his head to watch the street through the archway.

  Jolie shifted against his chest, bracing her hands on the front of his silk blouse. She blinked, trying to adjust her vision to the blackness so she could see his expression, but it was too dark to see anything. His chest rose and fell beneath her palms, his warmth enveloping her. She shifted a bit, and he tightened his arms around her.

  “Don’t move. Someone is following us.”

  Jolie heard only the island insects in the nearby patio gardens and the steady sound of Marcano’s breathing. Without moving her head, she glanced sideways at the street, looking for any sign of movement or of menace. A tremor of fear surged through her body.

  He reached up to gently press her cheek against his firm chest, then smoothed his hand over her bare neck and upper back, bending his head to whisper, “Just stay quiet, and we will be fine, muchacha.”

  Jolie relaxed a little in his embrace, focusing on the steady beating of his heart against her ear. She had to admit how nice it felt to be pressed against his lean body at last; his hard stomach and thighs easily bore the weight of her softer form, and his body heat seeped through her clothing to warm her flesh. His muscles felt coiled and ready for action, alert as a tiger’s, as he kept his eyes fixed on the street just outside the archway.

  Suddenly he tensed, and Jolie froze, listening. Hurried footsteps approached; she held her breath, digging her fingers into the front of his shirt. The footsteps paused and then passed, gradually beginning to grow distant. Marcano relaxed a bit and bent his head to whisper, “He lost us. We must wait a bit longer before moving.”

  Jolie exhaled in relief, allowing her body to lie limp against him. The steady throb of his heartbeat soothed her, and she closed her eyes, still clinging to the front of his shirt. He shifted his body slightly beneath her, opening his knees a bit so that her weight rested between them rather than on top of them. With the hand that rested on her back, he began to slowly massage her tense neck and shoulders above the neckline of her gown. Jolie snuggled against him, closing her eyes.

  “Jolie,” he whispered near her ear. His fingers were tracing the low edge of the gown’s neckline against her mid-back. “Jolie, why did you kiss me last night?”

  His question was so softly spoken that it seemed she might have dreamed it. She thought a moment. “I don’t know,” she finally whispered back. It was the truth. “Did I offend you?”

  “No,” he breathed against her hair. “I have thought pleasantly of it all day. Truly you do not know why you kissed me?”

  Jolie felt heat crawl up her neck. She hadn’t really expected him to want to discuss it like this. “I...simply wanted to do it, so I did.”

  #

  Her answer was too vague, the tormenting voice of conscience argued in Marcano’s head. If he kissed her now, would she see her hated guardian’s face? Was her tentative kiss the night before any sign that she was ready for the hard, pulsing reality of his need, or had she simply been grateful for his understanding, his comforting words of encouragement? And what was a healthy, hot-blooded Spaniard to do, with her softness pressed all over him as it was at the moment, her fragrant hair so close under his nostrils, her silky-smooth shoulders and back bare to his sensitive fingertips? Not caress her warm, soft skin? Not inhale her intoxicating fragrance? Not savor the gentle pressure of her hips against his thighs?

  Marcano groaned internally. If he pushed the point, she might give in to his lovemaking only to despise him later when she wasn’t relaxed from the wine and giddy from the evening’s excitement. He felt certain the Englishman who was watching them in the tavern was looking for Jolie on behalf of Hauste; if she knew he had lied to her about Hauste being dead, and that her very life was possibly in danger at this moment, she might hate him again, and with good reason. Clinging to that punishing thought, he forced himself to lift her gently from his chest, prying her slender fingers from his shirt. She reluctantly shifted her weight to her own two feet, and he pushed himself away from the wall and took her hand.

  “We must get away while he is looking somewhere else, muchacha,” he muttered, leading her toward a back alley that led in darkness to the docks.

  # />
  Guillarte followed Marcano to the map table in the great cabin. “What did you say, Captain?”

  “I said to give the command to sail,” Marcano repeated, laying the pages of the maps open.

  “Now? Tonight?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, as soon as Belardo and Ramirez can round up the rest of the crew.”

  “But there is a storm—”

  “We were followed from the tavern, and I think someone was listening to our conversations at the table before we left.”

  “I see.” Guillarte nodded. “Do you think they know of our plans to get the stolen cargo back?”

  “It is possible, but I think it more likely that they have come for Jolie.”

  “I will give the command as soon as Belardo and Ramirez return then, Captain.” Guillarte bowed, turning to leave.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Marcano stood atop the poop deck watching the black clouds rolling across the sky, obscuring the moon’s silvery glow. The lights of Santo Domingo were quickly receding into the darkness as the Amatista sliced its way through the choppy water under the cover of night. He gazed down at the broad expanse of waves churning in the wake of his brigantine, then back up at the sky where tendrils of lightning snaked across the black heavens, too many miles away to hear the thunder yet. He unfolded his spyglass and peered through it at the harbor of Santo Domingo to see if any sea craft stirred to follow them.

  For the moment the docks were calm, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could turn his full attention to guiding his ship through the stormy night. As soon as they reached Kingston, he would finish the job they had been asked to do and set sail for Spain as quickly as possible. The sooner he took Jolie away from Caribbean waters, the better for her safety. Besides the risk of Hauste catching up with them, there was the added danger of pirate attacks; these islands were teeming with bloodthirsty cutthroats this time of year. Marcano would rather die than see another freebooter hold a knife to Jolie’s throat while she was under his care.