DOGS. Legacy Saga II

15

Castillano led Marina to a wooden bench in the shade of a leafy tamarind tree. He waved for her to sit there with him and settled the tray between them. The soldier showed a moment later at the double doors to the main hall, some ten steps away. From there he had them in sight, but he wouldn't hear if they kept their voices down.

Castillano filled their glasses and stretched his arm on the back of the bench, turning to look at the garden without a word. Marina needed a minute to let her guard a little down. Being alone with him was always a challenge. She felt like trading on thin ice, assessing his mood to try to guess how to treat him. He reminded her of an old crafty cat Colette let sleep by the kitchen hearth when she was a little girl. Some days it was docile and even tender and some days it would seek attention, only to turn around suddenly, scratch, bite and jump away with angry snorts.

When he remained quiet and still, in that relaxed position, Marina turned a little to him and bent her arm over the back of the bench. She brought a foot up, careful to keep her skirt covering it as it should, and ate her apple with her eyes on the thick old branches.

Until she felt the slightest touch on the upper end of her sleeve, by the ribbon tying it below her shoulder. She looked down without moving a single muscle, afraid a big, hairy tropical spider had climbed to the bench to ask for some lemonade. Instead, she found Castillano's fingers toying with the ribbon tails, his blue eyes narrowed against the glare, following the idle moves of his own hand, and a thoughtful frown on his face.

He felt her shiver and hold back a move. Maybe away from him? He only needed to stretch his hand to stroke the velvet skin of her shoulder.

"What do you expect from me?" he asked once again, in a very different way than the one he'd used onboard the brigantine.

Marina tilted her head, noticing his mild smile was half-sad, half-ironic. "That you stay alive?" she tried, waiting for his reaction.

Castillano kept his eyes on the ribbon in his hand. "As a traitor. A renegade forced to turn my back to everything that was my life until now."

"As a free man."

"What's the use of freedom if you cannot do what you love?"

"Hunting pirates."

He nodded, raising his eyebrows.

"I've heard rumors from Jamaica. Word has it that King Charles wants to cleanse Port Royal and get rid of so many freebooters. Guess they'd welcome someone like you to help with that task. Or maybe some private operator could hire you. Someone looking for determined men to keep his cargos."

Marina spoke softly, her eyes back to the tree. Castillano admired the lines of that neck no noose had spoiled.

"I thought you'd offer me to become a filibuster."

She chuckled and met his eyes. "Would you accept? I'd give anything to recruit the Lion for the Brethren's ranks. But I think Captain Alonso is right: a black flag wouldn't suit a ship under your command."

He nodded again, the mild smile clutching to his lips. "Luis knows me. And you? Would you turn your back to your infamous Brethren?"

"Me? Is there any other flag that would run under my command?"

Castillano turned further toward her, not letting go of her sleeve's ribbon. His stare made her feel awkward and she lowered her eyes. She used her free arm to refill their glasses. And doing so, she unwillingly brought her shoulder straight into his fingers. She froze when she felt them run down her skin like a cool gust, as far as they reached without moving his hand from the back of the bench. They stretched and came back in a slow, gentle stroke that caused her a chill. Her eyes stayed nailed to the lemon slices floating on the sweet water, unable to move a single muscle, an unknown, weird sensation fluttering in her belly toward her chest, where suddenly all the air in the garden didn't seem enough.

A delightful tingling ran up Castillano's arm from his fingertips as they met her tanned skin. He stroked again the lovely line between her shoulder and her neck, appreciating every edge of desire while he waited for her to move away. But the child shivered again and stood very still. Her collar gave away a sudden agitation she fought back. And it suggested the firm curves her shirt hid, this time without any corset or tight strip of cloth squeezing them.

He would've stayed there, like that, caressing her, wanting her, wondering what was going on in that chest struggling to breathe normally.

But he suffered an abrupt change of heart when Marina lifted her shoulder an inch, as to bring it closer to his fingers. And her move made Castillano's hand keep her sleeve from following her shoulder, uncovering a little more skin. All of a sudden he wanted to murder the soldier to be alone with Marina. His hand covered her shoulder, not pressing it, his thumb moving softly up and down her skin. He noticed her black eyes trying to catch a glimpse of his hand. And he couldn't keep from leaning forward toward her, his eyes captured by those ruby lips that parted with a sharp breath. Lucky him, he managed to get a grip on himself, and the hand aiming to the child's face to bring it closer to his changed course to grab his glass of lemonade.

Marina glanced up at him when he got so close, feeling a confusing mix of fear and anticipation she'd never experienced before.

But Castillano took the glass and rested back in the bench again, not letting go of her shoulder. He gulped up the lemonade to ease his dry throat and rested the empty glass on his thigh, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself a second time if he leaned closer to her again.

"Say, have you already been kissed?" he asked in a whisper that was both intimate and casual at the same time.

Her lips curled up in a little smile, but she didn't dare to face him. "I had to pay my stay at the pleasure house," she said softly. "And my behemoth lover hardly gives me a break."

"I bet," he said, chuckling.

That confirmation strengthened his will enough to let go of her shoulder. But his hand insisted in sliding down her velvet cheek to make her face him. And when he met her eyes, he didn't mind lowering his hand to hold the glass and keep from losing balance. Him, not the glass.