Everything seemed to spin around her, and her mouth and her throat tasted like hell. Something cold pressed her sore belly, but it didn't hurt as badly as before. And a wet fabric covered her temple and her eye on the side of her face that the drunk bastard had smashed against the floor at least four times. Something wet rubbing her skin between her nose and her upper lip made her try to move.
"Easy, child, you're not going anywhere."
Castillano? She opened her good eye and found him leaning over her. She was lying on the floor, but not where she'd fallen. There was a lantern near her head. She found the Spaniard's blue eyes and his tight smile, framed by blond locks that looked like pale gold in the lantern's glow. She understood he was cleaning the dried blood off her face. She moved her shackled hands to her belly, where she touched something soaked in cold water, and realized she was tucked in Castillano's coat. Stunned and fevered, she struggled to stay conscious.
He noticed her grimace when she swallowed. He filled a wooden mug with fresh water and slid his hand under her head to help her drink.
"Spit it to wash the aftertaste," he said.
She did so and felt the edge of a bottle against her lips. She smelled the content and tried to turn her face away from it.
"The Oporto you gave me was poisoned?" he asked, in a light tone that only fed her confusion.
She shook her head slightly and tried to speak. Castillano leaned further to bring his ear closer to her mouth. And he frowned when he heard her say, "I don't... drink..."
He put the bottle aside, thinking he should better quit the active service and sit to write the story of his last two days with complete honesty. Nobody would believe a single word, and he'd make a fortune as an author of satirical comedies.
Then he felt the light, warm weight on his leg. Marina had moved her hands from under his coat to tug at his trousers. He realized she meant to say something more and leaned in again.
"Forgive me... for thinking you... were like the... others..."
Castillano turned his face to look at her, surprised. He found Marina's lips an inch away from his. And past them, the silent tears overflowing her closed eyes. He sat up with a quick smile.
"Consider it a lucky mistake."
She nodded, trying to hide her bruised face in her hands, biting her lips in a vain attempt to get a grip on her emotions.
"Sleep, child. You're safe here," he whispered, letting her rest her head on the floor again. He would've liked to stop his hand from caressing her hair. "I'll bring you some food in the morning."
"My... men?"
"A little beaten, a little chained. But better than you, that's for sure."
Marina turned her head toward the bags, and his back to him. Castillano tucked her in his coat again and stood up, shaking his head. He didn't want to leave her alone in the state she was. As much as he didn't want to ask himself why he was doing what he was doing.
When he left the locker, he closed the door and put the key in his pocket.
"Cap'n?" tried one of the guards, pointing at the door's lock.
"The cook can make breakfast with what he's got in the kitchen," he said, final, as he pretended to fasten his trousers. "He can come in the morning with me. In case you didn't get it, the bitch is mine and I don't like sharing."
None of the guards dared to argue. Castillano spun on his heels and headed to the companionway. On his way, he heard the pirates growling insults and threats at him, and ignored them. He kept going up until he got to the weather deck. They were out of the storm, heading south. He strolled down the larboard gangway, facing the cool east wind to refresh his head.
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Lions of the Sea
Historical Fiction1670, Caribbean Sea. She's the daughter of a legendary pirate. He's a Spanish captain. Their countries are at war. Their fathers killed each other. And they were destined to follow on their steps. But sometimes destiny isn't written in stone: it's w...