by Diana Layne
Even as she noticed him gasping when he placed the box under the porch, she squelched the urge to dote on him, knowing he’d hate it. Instead she said to Charles, “If I’d known you were coming to visit, I’d have sent some supplies with you. It would have saved me making two trips, and I could visit longer.”
“I can get the other supplies.”
Oh, ho, he was anxious for her to agree with his plan, wasn’t he?
“That’s so gallant.” She gave him a smile without meaning. “Will you be leaving at once?”
Instead of the look of surprise she expected, she saw a knowing gleam in his eyes. No one said he was stupid.
“Nay, Gina,” her father spoke up. “Charles and I were discussing his grand plans. I would like to hear more of the details. Just as soon as I find that wine I know you brought me.”
She plopped down onto a comfortable woven bamboo chair and waited for her father to dig through the crate and come up with the wine and cigars. He opened the bottle and poured glasses for all.
“Ah, it’s been too long,” he said with a satisfied look.
Wine for breakfast. Nothing better. Gina shook her head and sighed. She couldn’t blame her father for his indulgences, away from his friends and the life he loved. “Did Charles mention his plan includes a great risk to the Gypsy Doll?”
“Ah, figlia.” He’d always liked using the Italian word for daughter; it seemed more familiar. “There be risk in pirating.” He took another sip of wine, a far-off look in his eyes as if he were remembering times past. “The Gypsy Doll has always stood us in good stead,” he said at last. “She sails with Lady Luck for sure.”
Gina’s lips twisted. She knew her father believed that her mother’s doll had kept the ship safe all these years, protected from those who would do them harm. Same as Mickey.
“But he wants the Gypsy Doll to directly engage a ship outfitted for war.”
“Then outfit yourself for war, as well, figlia. Add more cannon and more men.”
Mentally she added up the costs and cringed. But the glimmer in his brown eyes reminded her of the old days when he was tall and dark and strong. She didn’t have the heart to argue with him any more. Her silence left Charles looking smug as he and her father hashed out the details of putting her ship at risk.
She might not have the heart to argue with her father, but she certainly had a few things left to say to Charles.
Later.
After listening to the men for the next hour, she reluctantly agreed that the plan they worked out seemed sound enough, and she could see the genius of her father as a captain. She felt sadness for the loss. She wondered if the same genius could be turned to running a plantation. Something to make him feel useful and give him purpose again.
She loved seeing her father’s face light up, and in that moment, she decided the risk of this crazy venture was worth the possible reward. But she decided, too, she’d keep the information to herself a while longer. Just to see to what lengths Charles would travel to get her on his side.
At last, he left with a promise to return with the additional supplies.
“What is that smile I see twitching your lips, figlia?” Babbo asked, once Charles had strolled out of hearing.
“I’m imagining the trouble he’s going to come against, getting those supplies off my ship.”
“It’s said he has the reputation of a charmer.”
She looked at her father. He might live on a little island, but he did keep up with the world. “My men don’t think he’s so charming since he swiped that booty from beneath us.”
“He wanted to get your attention, he told me. I think it worked.”
She unclenched her teeth. “Si, he certainly got my attention.”
“Someone with that boldness will get those supplies, have no doubt.”
“You insult my men.”
“No insult. I’m sure you have worthy men, but Charles is as sharp as a sea serpent. Rest easy, you won’t have to make another trip.”
A prickle of jealousy stabbed her. Was Charles the son her father had always wanted?
“You were silent while we discussed tactics.”
“Listen and learn, you always said,” she answered, still feeling annoyed. “You two have it well planned.”
“Si, it is a good plan. If there’s the haul he says, you might not have to sail again. You can stay and keep an old man company. Find a strapping young man. Like Charles.” His wink lacked any hint of subtlety.
She pressed her lips together. Why did everyone want her with a man? “It would be nice to spend time with you. But a man is not something I want. Especially Charles!”
“What? Once you pined after him like a seagull that lost a tasty morsel of fish.”
Not an image she would have considered, but then another realization chased the image away. “You knew?”
He leaned back and crossed his hands over his stomach. “Si. It’s the reason I sent you to school. Because he was a seaman.”
“He’s still a seaman.”
“Si, but a captain now, with grand ambitions.”
She shook her head. “Grand delusions, more like.”
He threw his hands wide, palms up. “You don’t trust him?”
“Something doesn’t feel right.”
“This is little Chuck. He started out as my cabin boy. I practically raised him.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. You still don’t know that he didn’t jump ship.” She tossed out the possibility, though she didn’t believe it. Not really.
“He was shanghaied.” Babbo’s defense was firm.
“So he claims.” Gina couldn’t help arguing. “Awfully strange he managed to escape and now captains his own ship.”
“He’s very resourceful. Have him tell you his story sometime.”
“And there’s a good chance that’s just what it is,” she muttered, knowing she was never going to win this battle. “A story.” In a louder tone, she asked, “How does he know of this big haul?”
Her father skirted the question. He leaned forward. “If he does betray you, he’ll get his comeuppance.”
At first she thought her father, as weak as he was, meant he’d see to it Charles would suffer if he betrayed her. “What do you— Oh, the doll,” she said with dawning realization.
“Si, do you still have her?”
“Of course.”
“That doll has gotten us out of many a scrape with those seeking to harm us. You take care of her, she’ll take care of you.”
She couldn’t deny the Gypsy Doll’s luck, and he, like Mickey, credited that luck to her mother’s doll. Still, she couldn’t hide her doubt. “Babbo, a doll? What is it about her?”
“Not an ordinary doll, a doll with a curse. Carved out of bone with your grandfather’s own hands,” he reminded her.
Somehow knowing that always gave Gina a creepy feeling. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he’d used her grandmother’s bones. And yet, strangely, she couldn’t deny there was a calming effect about the doll, as if Nonna’s spirit protected her.
And she had been protected. There was too much evidence to deny. Spell or no, that doll always seemed to be watching.
“You must read your Nonno’s words.” Babbo went to his room, where Gina heard him rummaging in a drawer. In less than a minute, he reappeared, letter in hand.
Gina took the letter and tried to keep her hands steady as she read it.
Dear Captain Santini,
My heart is heavy at the news you sent that illness robbed my dear daughter of her life. That you are alive yourself means you were a good husband, and for this I am grateful.
Si, I refer to the doll you mentioned. The doll was not designed to keep my daughter Antonia healthy or physically safe, as you thought. I did not make the doll for any magical purpose; I only made her to offer comfort to my young Antonia when she tragically lost her mother.
The magic happened on the eve of Antonia’s wedding to you. I asked our
gypsy witch to place a spell on my daughter that any person who betrayed her would suffer. I asked this because I had learned that my dear departed Rosa, my beloved wife, had been unfaithful to me, and I wished most of all for my daughter to never suffer the pain of betrayal.
The gypsy witch made a mistake, though. Antonia was sleeping with her doll that night, something the witch did not notice until after she cast the spell. Worried that the doll absorbed the spell, she recast it and added a caveat that true love would break the spell. Regardless, care should be taken that the doll is not harmed because, from the things you’ve mentioned, it does seem the doll did absorb the spell.
Since your darling Gina has the doll now, you might want to renew the spell for her protection, although who knows if this is necessary. But as it seems to have served you in good stead, it can do no harm, given the dangerous business you’re in, where one never knows who is friend or foe.
My fondest wish is to see my granddaughter before I die.
Kind regards,
Enzo Conti
Tears trickled from Gina’s eyes, blurring the last of the words. She remembered the visit to her grandfather, the only time she’d met him. He’d been an old, rather scary man. And, interestingly enough, the doll had grown cold for the first time Gina could remember. The whole experience had been quite eerie.
She wiped the tears from her face with the flat of her hand and took a drink to wash the lump down her throat before they could escape again.
“On your next visit, figlia, bring her to me before you sail.”
The odd request made Gina halt with her glass midway from her mouth. “You want the doll?” Why? Did he want to keep her? While Gina wasn’t convinced of any protective spell, in spite of reading Nonno’s letter, she didn’t want to ruin her good luck by turning loose the doll. Just in case.
“There is a spell he mentioned in the letter. I have it.”
“You have it? The spell? Did Nonno send it to you?”
“No, when I took you to meet him, one night when you slept, he brought the old gypsy witch to your room. She was old and blind, and I snuck in. I wanted to watch to make sure she did nothing harmful.”
Gina pictured her father, always strong and stalwart, watching out for her as she slept.
“The spell is simple. I remembered it and wrote it down.”
“And you now want to...renew this spell on the doll?”
“Si.”
“But Babbo, you’re not a witch.”
“True, but what can it hurt?”
The whole idea seemed bizarre. “Why is it necessary?”
“You have no faith in Charles. Perhaps renewing the spell will give you more faith. If he should betray you, he will suffer.”
“What good will come of his suffering if my ship is blown out of the water?”
“If that happens, and it is from his betrayal, then you can rest assured he will be punished.”
“Some comfort that will be to me if I have no ship,” she muttered.
He heard her and chuckled. “Figlia, humor an old man.”
“Babbo, you are not old,” she chastised.
He nodded his head slowly. “Si, I am. Who knows how much longer I have left on this earth?”
Alarmed at the thought, how could she deny him? After all, he would be the one left behind to worry. Shouldn’t she do anything she could to ease his mind, no matter how strange, pointless even, it might be?
“You are a bad one to play on my fears.” She frowned as she pulled him into a hug. At his satisfied smile, she added, “I’ll bring her before we sail.”
Gina spent the rest of the day helping her father unpack his supplies, visiting with him, and looking at his gardens, his new hobby. To her surprise, he had a knack for growing things. It only reinforced the thought it would be worth the risk of working with Charles in order to win enough gold for a plantation.
Thoughts of Charles reminded her that he’d been gone longer than she expected. “Captain Charles should be back by now. If he’s coming. It could be he wasn’t charming enough to persuade my crew. I’ll have to bring the rest of the supplies later. There isn’t enough time left today.”
No sooner had she spoken than she noticed a little boat on the water.
Her father noticed, too. “No need for you to have worried. He seems to have brought the supplies.”
“Either that or he couldn’t persuade my crew and had to buy more supplies. Probably what took him so long.”
Babbo chuckled. “You’re a funny one, figlia.”
They went to help Charles. Amazingly enough, he not only had gotten the rest of the crates but had freshly caught fish, as well.
“Hope you two haven’t already eaten.”
He’d go to any lengths, would he not? Gina was inclined to deny any hunger. Yet her grumbling stomach reminded her not to let pride stand in the way of filling it with food. She had not eaten all day, and the wine had left her slightly sick and dizzy.
Still, since her former attraction for Charles hadn’t waned, and she didn’t want that attraction to get in the way if they were going to work together, she thought it best she leave. She’d gone with an empty belly before.
“ ’Tis time for me to go, Babbo. I will see you—”
“No, you cannot leave, figlia. It won’t take but a moment to cook the fish.”
She really didn’t want to share another meal with Charles. But Babbo looked so forlorn.
“It’s been months since I’ve seen you,” he added. “Do not be scurrying away so quickly.”
Guilt gnawed at her more than hunger. Her shoulders slumped. “All right, Babbo,” she conceded, noting Charles had wisely remained silent as he set about making a fire to roast the fish.
She sighed. She’d only have to work with him temporarily.
Darkness settled by the time they finished eating. Gina felt calm and replete with food in her belly and more wine warming her veins. Amazing how companionship, food, and drink made the prospect of a risky venture seem so much more promising. It was with some reluctance she announced a second time she needed to leave.
Surprisingly, Charles said he needed to go, too, and her father, with a twinkle in his eye, didn’t object. After a hug goodbye to her, and goodbyes to Charles, her father made a big show of going inside for the night.
Charles waited for her at the edge of the house to escort her to her dinghy, leaving her no way to avoid him. Truth be told, she wasn’t certain she wanted to avoid him. He placed his hand low, possessively, on her back, which caused a satisfied shiver to swim up her spine.
She walked on in silence, relishing the closeness with Charles and the pretense that all was well with her world. That she had no pressing choices to make. Once past the dying embers of the campfire, the night grew dim, with only the stars and a sliver of a moon to provide a meager light.
He stopped at the water’s edge. “Have you decided?”
Gina’s contentment started to vanish.
When she didn’t answer right away, Charles questioned further, “Did your father not convince you it was a solid plan?”
She pressed her lips together as reality dashed the illusion and desire she’d been nurturing. “I knew that was why you volunteered to get the supplies, so he would work on me.”
“Did he?”
She found his presence much too close, and it addled her thinking as she struggled back to reality. “I would have thought they called you Charming Charles for a reason,” she snapped, once she got her thoughts in order.
He gave a puzzled frown. “I’m not sure—”
“You are being an irritating gnat. I do not find that charming at all.” She sounded convincing enough, she congratulated herself. He would never realize how physically tempting he was to her, standing so close, touching her.
“Ahh, so you want some proper persuading.” He spun her to face him and moved even closer.
Not a good idea, she realized. “Oh, no, you don’t.” She pushed against h
im, his skin hot and firm beneath his shirt. Her fingers itched to slip past that shirt and explore all the ridges of his muscular chest... Somehow she found the presence of mind to resist. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Liar. You want me to kiss you again.”
He’d moved so her hands were now trapped between them. “No.” Yes. “No,” she said again. Panicked, she started babbling. “My head is fuzzy. The wine has hit me hard. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
His teeth glowed in the moonlight. “Why is that? Thinking of me?”
Damn her wagging tongue. “No, it was simply...” Think, think, think. “It was simply too hot to sleep.” Oh, no, he would take that—
He moved her hands to his shoulders, and her thoughts got lost. “Did my kiss before bedtime light a fire low in your belly?” His voice was low and husky.
She nearly melted as heat rushed through her body. “No, that’s not—” She blinked, struggling to remember what she meant to say. “Stop twisting...my words.” The last of the sentence faded away as he moved his fingers along the neckline of her shirt.
“Do you know what to do when you’re lying in your bunk in the middle of the night, and you’re too hot to sleep?”
She frowned, clueless how to answer.
He tugged her shirt out of her britches. “You take off your clothes,” he whispered. “And then...” He pulled her shirt up.
“No.” She grabbed his hands to keep him from undressing her.
“No? Well, if you’d rather swim in your clothes.”
“Swim?”
“Of course, swim. Best way to cool off on a hot summer’s night,” he said, all briskness. “What else did you think I meant?”
She jerked away from him. “Stop being an ass.”
“You think I’m an ass because I prefer to swim naked?” At his words, he ripped off his own shirt and walked inland to lay it on a large rock.
