Saving Marina Read online

  Gracie helped, too, stuffing the heads and bodies and holding things still when Marina was ready to tie them shut. They needed three dolls, and sewing the stiff canvas made her fingers hurt, but that was easily ignored.

  Richard was busy measuring and tying lengths of rope together, and running upstairs to search for something else he’d think of or she’d suddenly remember. A sense of cheerfulness filled the room and Marina was reminded of when her family all gathered to work on various tasks together. There had always been laughter and teasing. Today was even better. Her heart had never felt so full. Each time she and Richard met eye to eye, happiness made her smile.

  Their conversations covered many subjects besides the witch traps. Richard talked about sailing with Captain Earl Burrows, and about the sailor from whom he’d gotten the idea for the dolls, and how the man had escaped an island far away. He spoke of other places, too, and things she had no idea existed. Uncle William corroborated his tales and shared his own. Her uncle had never been so full of life, either, and Marina almost wished the day would never end.

  Before it grew dark, they set everything aside to complete the evening tasks. She insisted upon joining Richard, stating two hands would accomplish things faster. He’d accompanied each of them outside when needed, to the outhouse. That had been when she noted the man in the hedge across the road. His position allowed him to watch the front and back doors at the same time, and Richard assured her that was the only man watching the house.

  “There’s a different man there now,” she said to Richard as they carried water to the barn.

  “How do you know?”

  “The one earlier today had on a gray shirt. This one has on a white one. If there are no clouds tonight, we’ll easily be able to keep track of him in the moonlight.”

  “You’re right,” Richard answered. “How much black material is left?”

  “Plenty,” she said, setting aside the bucket she’d emptied into Nellie’s trough. “Why?”

  “I’ll need a black cloak so I’m not seen while putting the riggings in the trees.”

  “I’ll sew it right after we eat.” She gathered her stool and sat down beside the cow. That part of his plan concerned her. Climbing through the tree branches at night was going to be dangerous. He could easily fall and break several bones or worse. Pulling her mind off that, she said, “I saw a horseman go past earlier.”

  He’d led the horse in and was securing it in its stall. “I did, too.”

  Horses, the ones men rode, were rare in the community. Most farms had plow horses for farming or pulling wagons, but very few rode horses. Other than those who carried out deeds for Hickman.

  “I’m assuming it was a rider sent to Boston, to the governor,” Richard said.

  “That’s what I’m assuming, too.” He’d shared the rest of his plan. Tonight he’d hang the witch traps, and tomorrow night, he’d sneak into town to get the wagon from John’s farm. When he returned with it, she was to have everything packed for the trip to Boston. She would, for everyone but herself. Even though she’d already told Richard she wouldn’t be leaving, he seemed to have forgotten that part. She hadn’t. Despite how it tore at her heart, she had to stay behind. Whether he believed she was a witch or not, she had to stop the evil she’d set upon the community. She was the only one who could. A vision of arguing with him, of her refusing to leave, flickered nonstop in the back of her mind. That could very well be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do. Not leave with him and the others.

  She turned, found him looking at her and, at that moment, wished above all else that she was not a witch. That was a terrible thought. Those in jail needed her to fulfill her duty. She had no choice.

  “Marina.”

  Grabbing the milk bucket, she headed for the door. “It’ll soon be dark.”

  After they’d supped on leftovers from the noon meal, she put the finishing touches on all three dolls—strips of fur for hair and gold buttons for eyes on the thick canvas faces. Up close they looked crude and rather comical, but once they were flying through the air, she imagined they’d look just like the witches they were meant to resemble.

  “I’m laughing inside already,” Uncle William said as she laid the final doll on the floor near the others. “Those men are going to have wet britches while running back to the village. I can’t wait to see Adams and tell him how we put his goods to use.”

  While Richard and William conversed about meeting up with their shared acquaintance, Marina took note of Gracie rubbing her eyes.

  “Come on, little one,” she said, picking up the girl. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Will you sing to me?” Gracie asked, snuggling in close.

  “Of course,” Marina answered.

  In the bedroom she dressed the girl in a nightgown, saw she used the chamber pot and then tucked her into bed. After helping Gracie recite a prayer, Marina kissed the top of her dark hair and started singing softly. She was going to miss this so much. Miss everything about taking care of the child.

  Grace was asleep before the song ended, but Marina sang to the end before she eased off the bed and tiptoed across the room. The dark shadow in the doorway didn’t surprise her. “She’s sleeping.”

  Richard nodded and stepped aside for her to exit. Upon closing the door, he said, “The watchman changed.”

  “Is there still just one?”

  “Yes, across the road like before.” He held up the material draped over one arm. “I’ll need that cape now, but they might see what we’re doing with the candles lit.”

  She gestured toward the room across the hall. “They won’t be able to see up here. I’ll fashion it here and sew it down by the hearth.”

  The moon was bright and filled the room. Along with the candles, Marina had plenty of light. “You’ll need to remove your shirt,” she said. “The white will be seen even covered with the black.”

  She took the material from him and used her arms to measure a length that would suffice. After she’d cut two such lengths, as well as large holes in the very center of each, she turned around.

  The air stalled in her chest and whatever she’d been about to say died a slow death in her throat. Richard had indeed removed his shirt, revealing a span of bare skin, rippled with muscles and shimmering in a bronze color that had been created by the sun and wind. Her home had been small, and she’d grown up with two older brothers, who often worked outside during the warm weather without their shirts on, but not even that could have prepared her for this vision. His skin looked smooth and hard and had fascinating ripples and indentions from his breastbone and ribs. There was also a thick mat of hair, as silky looking as the furs she’d used on the dolls, swirling downward until it disappeared into his breeches.

  Her ears started ringing and her mouth went unusually dry. She closed her eyes, too, but snapped them open as the image of her pressed against his bare chest formed.

  “Marina?”

  Spinning about, she grabbed one of the lengths of cloth and tossed it his way. “Slip that over your head.” Snipping a narrow length off the bolt, she tossed that to him, too. “Tie it around your waist with this.”

  A few very brief moments later, he asked, “Like this?”

  She willed herself not to react, not to see beyond the tunic, before she turned. He’d done as she told him, and the black cloth molded him in a way his white shirt never had. Perhaps because it merely covered his chest, leaving the skin at his sides showing. Her mouth was still too dry to swallow. “Yes.”

  “Now what?” he asked. “My arms—”

  “I know,” she snapped. The bronze skin of his arms still glistened in the moonlight, too, doing unusual things to her insides. Her stomach was full of warmth and her breasts felt heavy, as if they were swelling as John’s ankle had. Grabbing the other length she’d cut, she handed it to him. “Put this one over your head, but the opposite way of the first. So the length covers your arms.”

  “Ingenious.”

  �
�Hardly,” she muttered. Once he’d put on the material, she had no choice but to step closer to note where she needed to stitch the sleeves. “Hold your arms out.”

  He did so and she quickly marked the width and length with a couple of pins before telling him to take it off. “I’ll sew the sleeves and attach a hood downstairs.”

  She couldn’t pull her eyes away as he tugged the material over his head, his muscles stretching beneath his skin as he did so. Near her breaking point, Marina drew in a breath. She wanted to be kissed by him again so badly her entire being burned. Needing to escape, she spun, but he caught her elbow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Richard knew what would happen the moment he touched her, yet he couldn’t stop it. With deliberate slowness, he turned her around and took a hold of her other arm. She trembled beneath his touch. It wasn’t fear. A sensitive, physical chord had been struck and continued to play between them all day. Each time he’d looked at her, met her gaze, his pulse had quickened and his thoughts had gone beyond mere attraction.

  Light reflected in her jeweled eyes as they settled upon him and her teeth sank into her bottom lip. In that moment he was as petrified as he was excited. That had never happened before—him being petrified. He wasn’t scared, just stiff. Time stopped ticking as they stood there, not moving, barely breathing.

  She lowered her lids slowly, and when they opened, a new glint shone in her eyes. “Are you going to kiss me again?” she asked softly.

  “I’m thinking about it,” he said. “Seriously thinking about it.”

  Her smile was soft and tender, as was her whisper. “How long before you make up your mind?”

  She was bold and beautiful, and the idea of burying himself in her warmth, her softness, was driving him insane. Dipping his head until their lips were very close, he answered, “I’ve decided.”

  She sighed, a mere puff of breath that softly floated over his chin, before asking, “And?”

  “I am going to kiss you.”

  Her chin came up slightly and she leaned closer. “I was hoping that was your decision.”

  A combination of elation and raw passion rushed through his veins. It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman. Not one to just provide relief, but one to share heat and passion as men and women were meant to do. In truth, he may never have wanted one this badly, this completely, for he certainly had never known the restraint he experienced right now. He wanted her slowly, softly, and lifted his hands to the top of her head, running his palms over her hair until holding the sides of her face firmly.

  He tilted her head slightly, and their lips met at such a perfect angle his mouth fully covered hers. She came to him, a slight step forward while her hands slid beneath the makeshift tunic tied around his waist. Her touch was as potent as a thunderstorm at sea, where lightning charged the air with snaps and crackles one had to experience to understand.

  Kissing her exceeded all his expectations, and he gave her the lead, simply enjoying the experience. There was no crushing of lips, no hard, fast movements and gasps like the seashore wenches provided. Marina’s soft, slow and deliberate explorations were like none other and caused him to want her more than a pirate wanted gold.

  When he parted his lips, curious as to how she’d react, he had to plant his heels firmly against the floor to maintain his footholds. She nibbled his bottom lip and the top one, before her tongue glided over his lips, past his teeth.

  As slick as silk, her tongue slid across his, teasing and playful. Her taste was sweeter than sugar from Barbados and more potent than Scottish whiskey, and Richard stuck it out as long as he could. Then, unleashing his tongue, he twisted it with hers, swept it deep into her mouth and back out again.

  They kissed until they were both breathless, parted long enough to draw in air and met again with a passion that was unsurpassable. His hands had gone as wild as his tongue, caressing her sides, her neck, her back. There were so many places he wanted to touch, to feel, but he had lost control of his hands—they roamed where they chose. He held no disappointment; there wasn’t room for that. Not with his body throbbing, pounding in places with a need so feral he might never walk straight again.

  He reached down and grasped Marina by the waist, lifting her up until her body was flush with his. If he was hoping for salvation, a touch of relief, he got the opposite. His loins were on fire, his blood boiling, and he’d never known such contentment in his life. A contradiction, if there ever was one. Just like Marina, his angel witch.

  Her arms were locked around his neck, and when her lips left his and she sagged against him, he tightened his hold.

  “Oh, goodness,” she gasped. “My head is spinning.”

  He nuzzled her neck as she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Just your head?” he mumbled against her skin. His entire bloodstream was swirling out of control.

  She giggled and sighed.

  Richard held her until their breathing slowed and then lowered her to the floor and held her a bit longer. He was greedy enough to want more but smart enough to know that couldn’t happen. Not right now. “We probably should go back downstairs.”

  She nodded.

  He waited until she made the first move, a slight step back, before releasing her. Then he picked up the material he’d dropped on the floor earlier. Marina moved farther back and he reached out, catching her arm as she stumbled slightly.

  “Give yourself time to catch your sea legs.”

  She tossed her head back slightly. “I’ve never needed sea legs before.” Bringing her gaze back to meet his, she asked, “What do we do now?”

  He could think of several things, none of which he could act on but would surely like to. “We go downstairs, where you sew and I finish my rope riggings.”

  She nodded and turned to gather another section of the black material. “Of course.”

  Richard waited until she’d blown out the extra candles and then took the lit one. He questioned if he’d completely lost his sea legs when they started for the door, but it didn’t last and he led her down the stairs as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired between them.

  “Do you need any help?” he asked her at the bottom of the stairs.

  “No. This won’t take me long.”

  She carried the material down the hall and he crossed the front room to where William had angled his chair to peer out the edge of the curtain.

  “No one has come or gone,” the old man said.

  Richard set down the candle to gather up the varying lengths of rope he’d tied and coiled. “I’ll need some sort of diversion to get all this outside.”

  “We could make several trips to the outhouse again, all of us,” William said. “So many trips, the sentry won’t know who is outside and who’s not.”

  “That could work,” Richard answered, hoping a more solid plan would form.

  “Of course it will work,” William answered. “I’ve pulled a sly one off myself a time or two.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Richard agreed honestly, but trips to the outhouse wouldn’t get him in the other directions he needed to go.

  Close to an hour later, they had a plan and put it into play. Marina had done an excellent job sewing up the sleeves and attaching a hood to the second tunic, just as she’d done sewing all of the dummies. She’d also been the one to come up with their plan, suggesting they use the window in William’s bedroom. It was on the side of the house that couldn’t be seen from the road. The window was large enough for him to climb in and out. Richard surmised the only reason he hadn’t thought about that was because he wasn’t focused. At least not on what he should be focused on.

  After insisting the activities in the house needed to continue, he carried John to the chair next to William. With the curtain drawn aside and the window open, the two men pretended they were playing the card games that had become the rage in England.

  It was a ruse. John couldn’t see a thing, but William could, and he would keep a constant eye on
the hedge across the road. A whittled flute rested on his lap, ready for him to sound if the man made the slightest move.

  Marina helped carry everything into William’s bedroom and then handed it out to Richard. “Be careful,” she whispered, sticking her head out the window.

  The opportunity was too great to ignore. Richard cupped her cheeks and kissed her lips firmly. “I will. You make sure William doesn’t fall asleep.”

  “He won’t. He’s having too much fun.”

  Richard flipped up his hood and gathered the first few items he’d need. He’d examined the trees he’d use from the house windows several times during the day but still knew traversing them in the dark wouldn’t be easy. Once again, he found himself wishing he had one of his shipmates at his side.

  There was no chance of that, so he sent up gratefulness for the luck he did have. The night sky was on their side. The moon that had shone so brightly earlier was now hidden by a thick layer of clouds. The rather miraculous cloud formation left one beam of light to shine down—directly on the hedge.

  * * *

  Marina waited until the darkness swallowed Richard before she let out a deep sigh. Contentment was not easy to accept when it had been absent so long. It was also not something she should be experiencing right now. What they were doing may seem fun, but, in fact, it was dangerous. Seriously so.

  Still, she didn’t harbor fear. It just didn’t want to form inside her. Nothing could penetrate the swift and encompassing excitement of Richard’s kisses. If she’d ever questioned being a witch, it had ended. No mere human would allow kissing someone to forsake their livelihood or those of others. Yet she was. When the thought of kissing Richard entered her mind, everything else was forgotten. When she was in his arms, there was no coldness inside her, no darkness.

  Marina pushed off the window. Her fate was sealed, and there was no sense wishing otherwise. After checking on William and John, she peeked in on Gracie and then went into the last bedroom, the one Richard had slept in last night. The window faced the tree he was to set the first trap in. There was nothing visible through the glass, and she swung it open.