Chapter 12

 

Blood roared in Royce’s ears. He gripped the chair to keep from moving or falling.

Charts rolled off the cushion.

James advanced, pistol in hand, his eyes cold and hard. Peter followed and stood beside him, weapon raised.

This was no jest that would end with them laughing at him, then James calling him odd. Nor did it have anything to do with an islander’s complaint about what Royce might have done. Tristan and the others’ faces revealed the truth… They’d unmasked his deception.

Royce couldn’t imagine how this happened. Even with his missteps, he’d been careful, taking pains to undo any damage and regain trust. If he’d said anything in his sleep, Simone would have asked what he meant and accepted his lie as she had the others. She couldn’t have betrayed him.

Tristan shoved Royce into the chair. He fell hard onto the seat, his weight making the wood creak. The legs tapped the marble floor.

A crash sounded in the hall.

Simone. Her tray and their food lay scattered.

Gavra ran up to her.

Eyes wide, Simone rushed into the chamber. “What are you doing? Stop.” She tugged Tristan’s arm, forcing the weapon away from Royce.

“Simone, don’t.” Royce pled as he never had. “Please, you must leave.”

Tristan lifted his weapon. “Not another word.” Gently, he pushed Simone away. “Gavra, get her out of here.”

“No!” Simone slapped Gavra’s hands.

She grabbed Simone around the waist and pulled her from the room.

Diana darted into the scene. “What is going on?”

Tristan trained his pistol on Royce’s heart. “I’ll tell you later. For now, I want you to leave this to me and James. Peter, return the charts to the library and stay there. No arguments, do you hear me?”

“Aye, Captain.” He gathered the maps and shut the door behind himself.

Simone’s cries grew fainter, the others’ footfalls fading. An eerie quiet enveloped the chamber, wind and rain pausing, seeming to wait for what would come next.

Royce prepared for death. He had no prayers to save himself. Failing his family and Simone was his greatest regret. Once he drew his last breath, Tristan and James would likely toss him into the sea, letting it take care of his remains, rather than allowing him a proper burial here. His passing and distance from this land would forever separate him and Simone.

He seethed at the injustice and destiny he hadn’t been able to change. Didn’t matter that he’d tried to amend his plan and see to Bishop’s demise. That bastard was safe. Everything for Royce had ended, and so quickly too, without a reasonable explanation. Other than the most likely. The islanders had alerted Tristan to longboats approaching, launched from a ship.

In the rain.

The men didn’t keep watch during storms. No sane crew would sail or row in one, except for a fanatic like Bishop and his legendary riches. However, not enough time had passed between the bird returning with his message and him reaching these shores. Even if such a swift journey were possible, Bishop’s arrival wouldn’t give away Royce’s scheme or that they knew each other.

Tristan was a shrewd and intelligent man, but not even he could have deduced so much without any clues.

Hope sparked, urging Royce to question this. His instinct to survive kept him quiet and focused on Tristan. Any change in his expression could mean the difference between life and death.

Tristan pulled a paper from his waistband and tossed it on Royce’s thigh. “Read that.”

He didn’t want to even though Bishop couldn’t have sent it. The paper was too large to fit in a cylinder. If Bishop had attached it to the bird’s back, the sheet would be soaked through.

This couldn’t be something damning that Royce had scribbled during Peter’s lesson. Royce had been annoyed and distracted, wanting the charts, but hadn’t lost his composure.

Warily, he unfolded the sheet and went cold at his scratched out sentences, then Tristan’s name that he’d lied about to Simone, telling her the letters spelled tambavy. Bishop’s name was there too, not merely his initials that could have represented anything. In a cruel twist, Fate had made Royce’s dream real, turning it into a living nightmare.

Tristan breathed hard. “Care to guess where we found that?”

In the birthing room where Royce had written it. When Simone had left to get the chick and medical stopper, the wind had blown his papers. He’d slapped them down. This one had escaped his notice, most likely hiding beneath the bed. He supposed an islander had found it while cleaning the room for the next woman, who would deliver a babe in hours or days. Not knowing what the sheet said, she’d given it to Tristan.

He pointed his pistol at Royce’s face. “How many birds did you send with messages?”

Lying now was ludicrous. Even a trusting soul like Simone wouldn’t have believed him. “Only one.”

“You’re sure? Think hard or your answer may be the last words you speak.”

“There was no way to send more than one. I had no writing instrument or paper when I first came here. Adamo, Phillipe, and other islanders guarded my room constantly, making certain I stayed inside. Once I secured what I needed to write the note, the weather was against me. Think back to when I asked if I could write medical passages from your books for Simone. That didn’t happen straight away. Nor could any bird survive the lightning and winds that battered the island.”

“When did you release the one bird?”

“The morning Baylee gave birth. I went into the forest away from the beach and the man keeping watch. Once the creature took flight, I returned. You and James were outside the storage room looking for me to help the islanders set up tables.”

James’s mouth twisted, disgust filling his eyes.

Tristan showed no emotion. Men prepared to kill looked as he did now, hardening themselves against taking a life, making certain they’d feel no regret. “What did your message to Bishop say?”

Royce repeated it verbatim. Words he’d never forget.

James growled. “He’s lying.”

“No. I had to delay Bishop from asking for more information or taking action.”

Tristan pushed his pistol closer. “Why?”

“Because of Simone. Because of Diana and you and the others here.”

“What have they to do with this?”

Royce told him about Bishop’s plan to give away Tristan and Diana’s coming child, to see him and Peter hang, and to put the islanders on the auction block. “I couldn’t do that to any of you.”

“Yet you’re here.”

“Not by choice. Between my mattress and a slat is the message Bishop wrote me that explains why I agreed to do this. The bird I sent to him returned here with his note before the newest storm began.”

James growled. “What do you take us for? Damn fools? No bird homes between two locations.”

“If they’re fed at each, they do. I don’t expect you to believe me, but why would I lie about Bishop’s message when I told you where to locate it?”

Tristan edged closer. “Perhaps you’re worried we’d find you out and needed an excuse for what you did.”

“How could I have guessed you’d discover the paper in the birthing room unless I planted it there, which is lunacy? If I wanted you to know what I was doing, I would have told you upfront and saved everyone this encounter, particularly me. Should you still need proof that I’m not lying now, check Bishop’s writing against mine. They are not the same.”

James groped beneath the bed and pulled out Bishop’s note and the pouch. He checked inside and hurled it across the room. Together, he and Tristan read the note.

Tristan spoke first. “What has Bishop to do with your mother and sisters?”

“If I fail him, he’ll see that the owner they’re indentured to sells their contracts to an even crueler man Bishop’s acquainted with. Vermin travel in the same circles, you know. This new master also beats his servants, though he does so for sport, along with raping the prettiest and youngest girls who haven’t a chance against him. Without my help, my loved ones face horrors I don’t want to imagine. They’ll never return from the Colonies. When Bishop sent for me to find your island, he knew I’d do anything for money. I made certain everyone knew I could be bought by the highest bidder.”

“And that reputation was your mother and sisters’ downfall.”

“My father saw to that. He’s an earl who gambled, slept with high-priced whores, and drank away the family fortune before he swindled everyone. Currently, he resides in Newgate. My mother’s father was a marquess. Clearly, she married down when she chose my father.”

James’s reddish eyebrows lifted. “You’re saying you’re a peer?”

“Yes. I’m also a barrister, or was one before my father’s crimes destroyed my profession and any chance to work at a career that paid well. After he cheated too many nobles, things came crashing down. My youngest sister is still a child, the other a few years older than Peter. I tried my best to support them and Mother with physical labor. That’s where I learned carpentry and how to fix things. No matter how many hours I toiled, it wasn’t enough. While Father languished in prison, where he damn well belongs, we were homeless with little to eat.”

James sneered. “You’re telling us none of your family or high-and-mighty friends offered to help? I thought your kind stuck together against the likes of us.”

“Your kind is far better than mine will ever be. Father was an only child, his parents deceased. The same holds true for my mother. Second cousins, great aunts, and great uncles abound but they were my father’s first victims, easily duped. You can understand them turning their backs on us as they scrambled to survive. As far as friends go, common thieves have nothing on nobles. Loyalty for their peers doesn’t exist. When it comes to how they view commoners, matters are even worse, as I’m sure you know. They use the laws they write to take everything from the weak to give to themselves and then expect gratitude along with a ‘Thank you, sir’ in return. Privilege and appearances matter more than honor. People are there to use or discard, especially those who have fallen from grace and might taint a peer by association. If my family and I had dropped dead on the street, our former friends and acquaintances would have stepped around our bodies and gone on their way, satisfied in their righteous superiority.”

Tristan crushed the note and threw it aside. “What did you plan to do with the charts?”

“Find this island to keep its location from Bishop.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“If you’ll allow me to explain—”

Tristan shoved his pistol closer. “You’ll speak when I tell you to and answer my questions quickly. If you want to continue living, you had better tell naught but the truth. How did you discover us?”

“Bishop heard rumors about an isle off Madagascar with a white man and woman on it. I spoke to natives who’d heard you were here. They couldn’t tell me your exact location. I questioned others. None could point me to this spot. After eliminating where each group came from, I determined what island would meet a pirate’s need for security, including impossible access from a ship, and was bountiful enough to support life for years, perhaps decades. My deductions led me to your shore.”

“The natives brought you here?”

Perspiration ran into Royce’s eyes. He blinked it away. “I brought myself in a skiff, transporting the birds, hens, and enough pieces of wood to resemble wreckage. I chose the hens to throw you off so you wouldn’t consider how I’d be using the birds. The storm quieted enough times for me to inch my way here. During the worst weather, I hid on the other side of your island that’s inaccessible to ships. I suspected that if you kept watch, it wouldn’t be from that location. Nor would you check the shore during a squall that no mariner would sail in. Once on your beach, the pounding surf destroyed my boat. I ripped my clothes, cut my forehead, and gouged my thigh so you’d believe I’d been shipwrecked.”

“In the Sea Sprite, a phantom ship.”

“No, it exists.”

Tristan lifted his weapon from Royce’s heart to his head. “Why not tell Bishop you’d found me and leave him to do the rest?”

He stared at the barrel. “I feared you’d easily kill him and the crew given that you’re far more skilled in battle and surprise attacks than he or they will ever be. With him dead, I wouldn’t have the funds to rescue my family. He won’t pay me until I deliver you and the others. I had hoped to do so, collect the money, then murder him myself, and free everyone.”

James laughed disdainfully. “If that was your plan, you’re as crazy as he is. You and he would have been dead before your first hour on this land.”

“I realize that. Which is why I had to find another way.”

Tristan glanced at the pouch. The cylinders had spilled out. “Was it your intent not to send any more messages?”

Royce explained his idea to direct Bishop to a similar isle, farther north, hoping he’d sail there and die, battered by the rocks and pounding surf. “I want him dead as much as you do.”

“Your new plan would have him gone before he paid your fee. Wouldn’t that leave your sisters and mother at risk?”

“Until I found another way to help them.”

“Why the change in his and your original plan?”

“Simone. I love her.”

* * * *

“How could you do this to me?” Simone pushed Gavra away and crossed the kitchen to get as far from her as she could. The other women had already fled. “Everything you say about Royce is a dirty lie. You want to keep us apart.”

“He wants white men to come here and hurt us.”

“Liar.” She threw a pot.

Steaming soup arced, barely missing Gavra. She reared against the table, her face white.

Simone trembled, shock warring with anger. “Did I burn you?”

“Did you want to?”

“No!” She opened her arms, wanting to hug Gavra, beg for forgiveness, bring the morning back when they’d laughed and talked.

Gavra backed away. “If you refuse to believe me about Royce, ask Tristan. He has the paper with the writing on it.”

“Because you gave it to James. You should have given it to me. I would have shown you that Royce wrote tambavy, not Tristan’s name. That he copied words from the medicine book so I could help our people.”

“He wrote to Benedict Bishop, the man who wants James, Tristan, and Peter to hang.”

“No.” Simone couldn’t believe anything so evil. “Royce is a kind and gentle man. He loves me. He would never hurt my friends.”

“He already has. After Tristan shoots him—”

“No.”

Gavra stopped Simone from leaving the kitchen. “He has to kill him to save us. You should have let him die on the beach.”

Simone punched Gavra’s hands, but she wouldn’t let go. “Please, I have to save him from Tristan. I can explain that Royce made the mistake. He sees terrible things in his dreams. He barely sleeps or eats. His soul is sick and made him write those awful things. He could never mean them.”

“You want Tristan to take that chance so white men can come here and murder us like the pirates did our families? Or fill you with a child, then leave the infant to starve in the forest?”

She wept too hard to speak.

Gavra cried too, her damp cheek against Simone’s. “This is the only way. You won't be alone for long. Many of our men want to claim you as their woman. Open your eyes and see them. Let one into your heart. He’ll make you forget Royce.”

Never.

Gavra stroked Simone’s hair. “Let Tristan do what he must.”

Wrenching sobs shook her.

The sounds competed with the rain and wind, but weren’t loud enough to mask a shot if Tristan fired.

* * * *

Despite Tristan’s piracy, he’d never killed a man in cold blood. He’d make an exception for Bishop. Shooting him in the back wouldn’t prove difficult. Letting him believe that pleading for his life would make a difference was a game Tristan would enjoy playing. He’d murder him slowly, as painfully as possible, to punish him for his greed and the monstrous captains he employed who loved whipping men to death or abusing young boys carnally. He’d drag out the torment for the agony Bishop had caused Diana and what he would have done to her and Tristan’s child if given the chance.

Royce was another matter.

Tristan had grown to like him. His ready wit, tolerant nature, and intelligence made him a worthwhile friend. Or so Tristan had thought. No other man had fooled him as easily and completely. For that, Royce deserved a bullet through his heart and one through his skull.

Hard raps hit the door. “What’s going on in there?”

Diana.

Tristan loved her beyond anything reasonable and understood her need to know what affected them, but he bloody well didn’t want to deal with her now. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Now. Simone’s collapsed.”

“What?” Royce stood.

Tristan shoved him back into the chair. “Move again and you’ll regret it. James, guard him so he stays put.”

Tristan opened the door.

Diana tried to see around him.

He advanced, forcing her to retreat. “What do you mean Simone collapsed? From what?”

“Gavra said she was crying uncontrollably, swooned, and fell to the floor.”

“Then you best tell Peter to carry her to her chamber. Give her whatever one does in a situation like this.”

Diana gestured frantically. “That would be salts. I don’t have any. Simone might, since she’s a healer, but I can’t ask until she regains consciousness, which eliminates the need. Peter refused to tell me what’s going on, surely because you told him not to. What happened with Royce?”

Tristan pulled her down the hall, sidestepping the food Simone had dropped. “I wanted to share this later, when we’d have time to discuss it and I could soothe you, but—”

“Soothe me why? How?” She gripped his arms. “What happened?”

He explained Bishop’s plan in broad strokes, leaving out the parts about hanging and having their infant torn from them.

She clutched her throat and staggered back. “Dear God, what are we going to do? We need to prepare.”

“We shall. However, right now, the weather is on our side. Not even Bishop can sail here in a storm.”

“He can during a lull. The last one lasted more than a week. The coming dry season goes on for months. Mozambique isn’t that far away.”

“I’m aware of that and I’m handling the situation. Once I’ve made my plans, I’ll share them with you. Until then, you can help by seeing to Simone so she feels better.”

“You mean perform a miracle? The man she fancies is a vile…” Diana shook her head. “I can’t find a word in any language to describe one who’d do something like this to people who offered nothing but kindness. What are you going to do with him?”

“My first thought was to put a bullet through his heart and one in his head.”

She went gray. “When you left piracy you promised not to spill more blood.”

“Only as long as you, our coming children, Peter, James, and the islanders weren’t attacked. That said, I’m not going to murder Royce. He does have a reason for what he did. I didn’t want to believe him, but there is the note Bishop sent here.”

Her eyes rounded. “Bishop knows where we are?”

“No. The tale’s long and I need to get back to question Royce. You must trust that I’ll see to everyone’s welfare, especially yours.” He backed away.

She followed. “I have no doubt you’ll do your best for us. But I insist on being in there with you and him. We promised to share everything, good and bad. It was in our marriage ceremony.”

“How would you know? The priest spoke Portuguese. You stared at him as you do when the islanders speak French too quickly for you to understand.”

She clenched her jaw. “This is no time to make light of things.”

Tristan couldn’t have disagreed more. He wanted to see her smile. Since spiriting her to this island, she’d faced one crisis after the other, forcing him to fight even harder for her understanding and love. After he’d banished Canela, Tristan had hoped he and Diana would have a new beginning of quiet days and sensuous nights. Not likely now. “Forgive me. Let’s go inside.”

James held his pistol to Royce’s temple.

Despite the threat, Royce jumped to his feet. “Is Simone all right?”

Tristan pulled the chair over, giving it to Diana. “Are you deliberately trying to get shot? Can’t you see James is eager to do so?”

“I don’t care about me. Please tell me what happened to Simone.”

“When she found out what you’d done, she swooned. Ruthless lies and betrayal will do that to a woman.”

“I never lied about how I feel toward her or you people.”

“Yes, we know.” James pressed the muzzle to Royce’s throat. “You had no choice in this matter. This is your mother and sisters’ fault.”

“Wait.” Diana stared at Royce. “You have family?”

Tristan retrieved the crumpled message and handed it to her.

Royce glared at James. “The fault lies with me alone. I don’t care if you kill me, but you will not say anything against my sisters or mother.”

“None of us should or will.” Diana held up the paper. “This is precisely how Bishop ensnares others, finding their vulnerabilities and exploiting them. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, even if that means harming innocents. I believe he prefers when that happens. He’s holding Royce’s family over his head. Royce had no choice in what he did.”

James rolled his eyes. “Feel sorry for him if you must, but we’re the ones who would have paid if Gavra hadn’t given me the sheet he’d practiced his note on. If not for that, when do you think he would have told us what he and Bishop had planned?”

Royce rubbed his forehead. “I never would have if I could have gotten away with it.”

“Finally.” James extended his arm in a grand gesture to Royce, then Diana. “The truth comes out.”

Royce spoke to her. “I explained to James and Tristan that I wanted the chart so I could send Bishop in another direction, away from here. I hoped he’d die in a shipwreck.”

“But Bishop hasn’t, has he?” James aimed his gun at Royce’s groin.

Diana sighed. “Royce is unarmed. Must you point your weapon to either kill him or maim him so badly he wishes he were dead?”

“James.” Tristan gestured to his pistol. “Put it away. We need to discuss this calmly and rationally.”

“What I’ve done is contemptible,” Royce said. “I want to make this right anyway I can if you’ll allow—Simone.”

She leaned against the doorway, face damp, eyes swollen.

James held Royce’s arm, keeping him from going to her.

“Is it true?” She stared at Royce. “Did you write Tristan’s name but told me it was tambavy?”

Shame flashed in his eyes. He nodded.

Simone whimpered. “No. You never lied to me, except now, because of the pistol. It makes you say these things.” Tears dripped from her lashes. “You needed to practice Tristan’s name so you could write things to him. When you looked at what you wrote, you thought it said something else.”

“Simone—”

“Did you write on the paper telling a white man how to come here, or did you put what I needed from the medicine books? You told me that. You read it back to me. It was about a potion, I know. Tell Tristan that.”

“I can’t.” Royce’s voice shook. “I lied to you. I practiced my message to the white man.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

She covered her mouth and turned away.