1670, 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...
His friend stood up, smirking. "Keep it. The kitchen lock doesn't work."
"Watch your step."
"Shut up."
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Marina hurried behind the bags when she heard the key turning in the lock, and was surprised to see Castillano didn't come in. He flashed a warning glance at her from the doorway, letting one of the guards in. A sudden fear took hold of her when the soldier approached her, not giving her time to hide anything. But the soldier hardly looked at her. He grabbed the buckets and the wooden dish and walked out, closing the door. Marina held her breath. The door opened again a moment later and two soldiers walked in. They left the buckets and the dish on the bags around the mast, changed the lantern on the wall and left. Marina met Castillano's eyes again for a heartbeat, before he closed the door and turned the key.
The girl stood where she was, her hands on her chest to keep her shirt closed, her eyes on the door, waiting for it to open and let Castillano in. But it didn't happen. Instead, she heard her men cursing him and his firm footsteps up the companionway.
She felt a lump up her throat. What had happened? Why hadn't Castillano even stepped into the locker, or addressed her with one of his fake bravados? She'd noticed he was pale, and she'd never seen him so serious. And the cold look in his eyes when they met hers... She'd already seen many different looks in his eyes, but none so cold.
She swallowed her tears and circled the bags to see what the soldiers had left. They'd replaced the bucket she used as a chamber pot for a clean one, the other one was refilled with fresh water. The wooden dish had cheese and bread.
She left everything where it was and went back behind the bags, feeling unexpectedly upset. She sat down back to the door, wrapped herself up in Castillano's coat and brought her knees up against her chest.
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The day crawled inside the locker and out. At nightfall, Castillano asked for an early bite and ate it alone on the weather deck. While the rest of the crew gathered for dinner, he headed below, but never reached the magazine. He paused at the landing between decks and sat down there, no light but the dim glow that leaked through the boards over his head, two steps away from the companionway to the magazine.
