Saving Marina

by Lauri Robinson

  “Looks like she’s having fun,” Richard said.

  Taking solace in what she could, Marina said, “It’s good to see her up and about.”

  “Yes, it is. John will be up and about soon, too. Grace is proof you’re an excellent healer.”

  Marina couldn’t take credit for Grace’s health; nor could she for John’s—whether he fully recovered or not. Looking for something to alter the course of her thoughts, which appeared to want to inflict pain upon her, she asked, “How is your plan coming along?”

  He grinned, which almost was her downfall. His chiseled features softened when he smiled and turned him into the kind of man that maidens, giggling and blushing, whispered about after they walked past. She’d seen that in the past. Girls had simpered and fawned over her brothers, and she’d teased them about it afterward. They’d teased her, too, when Adam Wolfstellar had asked to call. That had been the day before the Indian attack. His family had all been killed, too.

  “Do you?”

  Blinking to clear her mind, Marina asked, “Do I what?”

  “Have any black cloth?” Richard frowned and he rubbed her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I just didn’t hear you the first time,” she supplied. “There are several yards of black fabric in a crate upstairs. I will get it for you. It’s in—”

  “Your sewing room?” he asked. “I can get it.”

  She’d been about to call the room that, and she grinned. “Yes. There are several bolts of cloth in the crates along the wall. I’m not sure which one holds the black.”

  “From William’s sailing days?”

  “Yes, but some I believe were left by the previous owner.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you met Wiggins Adams?”

  “No,” she answered. “But Uncle William said Captain Adams left a few items behind.”

  “More than a few would be my guess,” Richard offered. “He’s a privateer. Whatever the king doesn’t want, he claims as his own, which is perfectly legal. He also makes great profits selling cargo back to the very country he confiscated it from.”

  “Do you do that?”

  He shook his head. “Not only did I have no desire to do so, I had no need. Earl had established a long line of regular customers, merchants around the world for whom I continue to transport goods to and from.”

  Marina hadn’t missed the beginning of his subtle answer. “But you were asked to.”

  “Many ships and captains were provided the opportunity to obtain a letter of marque. Earl chose not to, and I do, too. Connected to no specific country or cause, I’m no threat to anyone.” He nodded toward the kitchen behind her. “Grace may need a change of clothing.”

  Marina spun around. The water spraying into the air made her laugh. “It appears she truly is your daughter—she loves water.”

  “Did you have any doubts?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Richard discovered he was holding his breath, waiting for her to answer, even as her head spun around to look at him again.

  “No,” she replied. “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  He tried to settle a mask of indifference upon his face but found it virtually impossible with the way her curls bounced, settling back into place. It dawned on him then that she wasn’t wearing her white cap today. Hadn’t been since she’d gotten up. No wonder his desires had grown abundant, his admiration painfully merciless. With her golden curls covered and the cap shadowing her features, Marina’s beauty hadn’t been allowed to fully shine. Now, unrestrained, it shone with an exquisiteness he’d never encountered. Not in any part of the world. Her eyes looked more polished than gemstones and her cheeks, flushed rosy and shimmering, enhanced her pink lips. The idea of tasting them again evoked a strong tightness in his groin.

  “Do you like the water?” Not waiting for her to answer, he said, “Your name, Marina, means ‘of the sea.’”

  Her lids fluttered shut and desire raced through him. He’d sworn to never be shackled again, never be hoodwinked by a pretty face or the slender curves of a woman’s body. He knew the pleasures of such bodies but had long ago learned a wife wasn’t necessary for that.

  “How do you know that?”

  How did he know what her name meant? “See to Grace,” he said, turning about. “I’ll get the material I need.”

  Richard lost no haste in his trek to the second floor. His breathing was quick and uneven by the time he entered the sewing room, and not from climbing the single flight of stairs. Taking a moment to calm his breathing, he willed his good senses to return. He must have heard or read the meaning of her name somewhere, but that meant nothing. No matter how lovely she was, how caring and gentle, how charming her voice, he had no expectations beyond seeing all of them out of their current situation.

  Once in Boston, he’d find a sailing vessel to take on William. He’d already been jostling names of captains who’d welcome the old sailor aboard their ships. They’d welcome Marina, too, and John. He had considered, while drawing up the traps he intended to set, taking John upon his own ship. The names he’d tossed about now settled heavy in his mind. They were good men, but what would they do with Marina once William was gone? It might be a few years, but she’d have no place to go. Not unless she married and—

  Letting out an explicit oath, Richard crossed the room to where the line of trunks sat. Some were simple, with leather straps and tin latches. Others were far more elaborate, with solid gold hinges and locks. The contents of those would be far more sophisticated, too. Silks from the Orient or the sheer, delicate materials the Spaniards coveted. They often had gold strands woven through them and brought extremely high prices.

  He opened one of the simpler crates, hoping it would contain the black cloth he sought. After rifling through it, he moved on to the next and the next. These were clearly remnants left behind by Adams. Besides bolts of various fabrics—everything from fine silk to heavy wools and brocades—there were furs and leather. None of it black.

  “Did you find it?”

  Richard closed his eyes briefly. There was no escaping her and wouldn’t be until John could travel. Bracing himself, he replied, “Not yet.”

  “Once I’ve changed Grace, I’ll help you look.”

  “There’s no need. I’m sure I’ll find it.”

  “And leave a mess in your wake,” she replied.

  The trunks he’d already searched had their lids askew and material draped over the edges. “I’ll see to them.”

  Her giggle sounded too far away. He spun around and, seeing the door empty, got to his feet. Across the hall, Grace sat on the bed as Marina unfastened the back of the girl’s dress.

  “Here, now,” she said. “Arms up.”

  Richard returned to the trunks and his search with renewed determination. The singing coming from across the hall interrupted his concentration, and he found himself searching through things a second time, to make sure he hadn’t missed any black cloth. He found what he was looking for in the very last trunk. Rising to his feet, he gathered the long length of cloth, wrapping it around his arm several times as the bolt seemed never ending.

  “Papa, what are you doing?”

  Hearing Gracie call him that shattered something inside him he hadn’t known was breakable or even there. He turned and grinned. “Well, look at you. Another new dress.”

  She twirled about, causing the ruffled green material to fly around her legs. “Yes. It’s beautiful.”

  The change in her since his arrival yesterday was nothing shy of miraculous and put a lump in his throat. “It is.”

  Skipping across the room, Grace asked, “Do you need Marina to sew you new clothes like she did me?”

  Richard allowed his eyes to linger on Grace a bit longer, half-afraid what might break inside him if he looked into Marina’s blue eyes one more time. Women had never frightened him, not ever, but he’d already admitted Marina was not an average woman. There couldn’t be another one like her if he sailed ar
ound the earth, north, south, east, west and back again. She was one of a kind. A part of him couldn’t understand why that scared him, since he relished acquiring one-of-a-kind things. The other part of him, however, recognized he only acquired those things to resell them.

  Tired of arguing with himself, Richard lifted his gaze to Marina.

  Only to be thwarted.

  She was smiling, showing pearl-white teeth. “Did you need me to sew something?”

  Richard swallowed. She’d been right all along. She was a witch. One as potent as the sea herself.

  Tilting her head sideways, she frowned slightly. “Richard?”

  Knowing something and acting upon it were two different things. “I need several things stitched out of this material,” he said. “By tonight, if possible.”

  “Certainly.” She stepped forward, arms out. “What do you need?”

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said. “You can check on William and John, and I’ll get my sketches to show you.”

  “Well, give me one end of that bolt before you have it wrinkled beyond repair.”

  Richard had never lost coordination in his arms, or any other part of his body, but unwinding that black material from his arm grew impossible. With a giggle, Marina was before him, untwisting the cloth from his arm.

  Once done, she handed him two corners. “Hold this.”

  He did as instructed and sighed with relief when she stepped away. Gathering the other two ends, she stretched the material clear across the room and then started walking toward him again.

  “Meet me in the middle,” she said.

  Richard had folded sails and knew this was the easiest way, but the simple little action stirred up a lot of trouble inside him. In the center of the room, he took her corners and walked backward as she gathered the folded section and pulled it tight.

  They repeated the action several times, meeting in the center of the room and walking away from each other. By the time the material was in a neat stack, he was ready to run for the door. Folding sails had never done that to him. Then again, most of the men he sailed with had breath that would make a dog’s eyes water.

  Marina didn’t. And the want to kiss her was eating at him like a rat gnawing at a fish barrel.

  “I’ll carry that,” she said. “If you don’t mind carrying Gracie.”

  “Not at all.” Richard handed over the material and scooped up his daughter. “You are so light you could fly down the steps,” he told Grace.

  “People can’t fly,” she said between giggles.

  “You can,” he said. “Like this.” Holding her flat in his arms, he headed for the door. “See, you’re flying.”

  She held her arms out at her sides. “I am, Papa. I am!”

  He flew Grace all the way down the stairs and across the front room.

  “Look, Uncle William, I’m flying,” she squealed.

  “Have you turned into a bird?” William asked. “I thought I heard a bunch of twittering.”

  “No, I’m still a girl.”

  Richard flipped her upright and then set her feet on the floor. Kneeling in front of her, he flicked her nose. “A girl who can fly.”

  She nodded and, to his utter surprise and delight, flung her arms around his neck.

  “I sure am glad you came,” she said next to his ear. “I sure am.”

  “So am I,” he answered, hugging her close. “So am I.” Richard glanced up in time to watch Marina swipe a hand across her cheeks before she turned to walk down the hallway.

  He patted Grace’s tiny back before letting her go.

  “Come here, Gracie,” William said, patting his knee. “I have a story itching to be told.”

  She skipped across the room. “I like stories.”

  Richard grabbed his sketches and headed down the hall. In the kitchen, he set the old ledger on the table. “Here’re the drawings,” he said. “There are a few things I need from the barn.”

  “Do you think—”

  “It’s safe?” he interrupted. “I think Hickman has men watching the place, but as long as they know I’m around, they aren’t going to approach the house.” At the door, he spun around. “Don’t even consider stepping outside.”

  “I won’t.”

  Though he couldn’t see them, Richard felt eyes on him as soon as he stepped out of the door. He made a show of carrying water and wood into the house and performed a few other outdoor chores, all the while peering deep into the woods to spot onlookers.

  There was only one, across the road, settled behind a thick hedge. Concluding that, he went into the barn. He kept the door open after leading the horse and cow out to graze, generally using the time to get his wits back in order and mainly to get Marina out of his mind, which wasn’t easy, even as he tried to focus on his plan. It was a good one, and the trickery that went along with it was enough to make him smile as he thought about Hickman’s men encountering the witches. The tree branches hanging over the house and road would make rigging the dummies as easy as stringing up sails to catch a prevailing wind. There were still a few things to figure out and plenty of work to be done.

  His gaze went out the door to the house. It would take longer than he had first thought to make sure he got everyone away unscathed. Marina would be going with them. She had to see that now. No matter how strong her beliefs were, a single woman armed with nothing more than a Bible was no opponent for Hickman.

  Grabbing a basket, he filled it with straw and then left the barn for the garden. The sentry across the road couldn’t see him from here, and he needed to get a solid layout of the land in order to sneak around after dark.

  With the location of each tree solid in his mind, he glanced around. He’d never stepped foot in a garden and had no idea if anything was ready to pick. Recognizing carrot greens, he pulled out a handful. The orange roots were stubby and scrawny, but it was just for show. He drew a deep breath then, bracing himself to face Marina. That woman was under his skin like no other.

  Of course, she was like no other. She was a witch.

  Grinning at his own humor, he headed for the house.

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” Marina asked as Richard opened the door and carried in her harvest basket. Plucking a baby carrot lying atop a bunch of straw, she explained, “These aren’t ready to pick.”

  “I figured that out,” Richard said. “But we need the straw.”

  “What for?”

  “Didn’t you look at my sketches?”

  “Yes.” Other than crude human shapes, she hadn’t been able to decipher much else. Not wanting to insult his abilities, she pointed toward the hearth. “I had to put some salt pork on to cook.” Gathering the rest of the carrots from the basket, she added, “I’ll cook these with it. Thank you.”

  He set the basket on the table and picked up the old ledger. “I had to draw over some of William’s old captain logs, with his permission, and the ink is thick, so they are somewhat hard to make out, but ultimately, we need to make dummies for me to rig into the trees.”

  She moved closer to look over his arm at the sketches. “Dummies?”

  “Yes. Large dolls.”

  “What for?”

  “So I can rig them in the trees.”

  The smile on his face said there was far more to his plan; she just didn’t fathom what. “You said that.”

  He set the ledger on the table and used a finger to point at specifics. “This is the house, and these are the trees. I’ll rig ropes to hold the dummies out of sight until someone trips them. Then they’ll drop down, scaring whoever is sneaking about.”

  Still trying to understand, she said, “The Puritans don’t believe in dolls—they don’t believe in any playthings—but I don’t believe they’ll be frightened of them.”

  “They will be of these,” he said. “They’ll be covered in black cloth and look like witches when they come sailing out of the tree branches.”

  It all came together in her mind, forming an image that
included Hickman’s men tripping over their own feet in their haste to retreat. Marina pressed a hand to her mouth to contain a laugh. “Oh, my,” she said behind her palm. “That’s almost evil.”

  The glimmer in Richard’s eyes was full of mirth. “I know,” he said. “And fun.”

  A giddiness she hadn’t experienced in a long time bubbled inside her. “I’ve been making rag dolls since I was little. But I’ll need something sturdy for these.” Her mind was tumbling so fast the words just kept flowing. “Oh, Uncle William has several old walking sticks in the room John slept in last night. Those will work. There are crates in that room, too, full of ropes and cording, and old sails. I can use that for the body. Oh, and the furs—those will work for hair. And there are gold buttons in one of the trunks. Large shiny ones that will glow in the moonlight. They’ll work perfectly for eyes.”

  “We’ll need the straw to stuff their heads.”

  Marina shook her head. The dolls had already taken shape in her mind. “No, we can use the material upstairs. There is plenty and it’s just rotting away. I attempted to sell some when I first arrived. Although some admired it, the colors are too bold and the fabrics too fine to be useful to anyone in the village.” She’d rather use the material for trifles than have Hickman scavenge it. “You start gathering items upstairs. I’ll get the noon meal done. Once everyone’s eaten, I’ll start sewing.”

  Richard agreed, and as soon as he exited, Marina went to work, making plenty so her sewing wouldn’t be interrupted when it was time to eat again this evening. She questioned the gaiety filling her, for their plan was full of trickery and deceit, until she later discovered, besides his eyes being fully swollen shut, John’s ankle was twice the size it should be. Then she welcomed the excitement that filled her, as any witch would. Hickman and his henchmen deserved more than trickery.

  After they’d eaten, she joined Richard in the front room, where he’d gathered their supplies. Uncle William was full of advice, and upon remembering some pieces of bamboo he’d stored away, he took to whittling. He insisted that when he was done, and his creations hung, they’d howl when the wind passed through them.