Chapter 4

 

Later in the morning, Simone rapped lightly on the open library door.

Diana and Tristan stopped their quiet conversation, their broad smiles greeting her. He stood and gestured to a chair. “Come in, please, and sit.”

The books with healing magic weren’t on the table. Rolled up papers lay to the side. Gavra had told Simone that Tristan and Diana wanted to see her, not what they’d say.

Reluctantly, she accepted the chair he’d offered.

He closed the door and returned. “While we speak, I’ll have to explain to Diana what we’ve said. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted her here as she cares for your well-being, as I do.”

Simone’s face warmed. They shouldn’t be concerned for her. She’d done nothing wrong. “Do you want me to talk slowly?” Sometimes that helped Diana to understand.

“No need. I can communicate whatever you tell me.” He spoke English to Diana.

She smiled gently at Simone. “Ah…soyez vous-mȇme.” Just be yourself.

Simone nodded.

Tristan took his seat. “How are Royce’s injuries coming along? With your excellent care, I trust he’s recovering.”

“His wound still pains him, but I see no illness inside. I change his poultice and bandage more than he wants.”

Tristan smiled. “I can imagine.” He conveyed the information to Diana. “Gavra said you spent the night in his room.”

Simone bristled. “I had to. I feared for his good health.”

“Of course. Philippe said he saw Royce put his hands on you.”

She stood. “He did not. I shoved Royce back on the bed. He wanted to leave.”

“You mean escape?”

Diana waved her hands, her words hurried yet halting. “Que ce…passe-ti-il? Qu’est-ce que…vous…avez dit?” What’s happening? What did you say?

He spoke to her. At the word “escape”, her eyes widened.

Simone squeezed her fists to keep from shouting. “Royce told me to take the bed. He said he would sleep in the hall so I could be comfortable. I told him no. I pushed him. Philippe saw nothing bad or wrong.”

“Of course not,” Tristan said. “I wasn’t accusing you. Philippe wasn’t either. Please sit.”

She perched on the edge of the chair.

Tristan spoke hurriedly to Diana. She flushed and said something in return.

Simone didn’t like this. “What did she say?”

“That we mean no harm. We don’t know Royce and worry about anything untoward happening to anyone here. Has he mentioned where he hails from or who his people are?”

“He said he has no one.”

“Have you ever heard him say the name Benedict Bishop?”

“No.”

“Has he talked in his sleep about anything?”

Simone tensed. “You think he wants to hurt us? No. He was kind to me, worried for my comfort. He has terrible nightmares that make him moan and break my heart. I have never known a finer man. He reminds me of you.”

Diana looked from her to Tristan.

He translated and turned back. “Did he tell you what his nightmares are about?”

“They must be of losing Edward in the storm.”

“But he didn’t say?”

“No. His soul is sick, his pain as great as mine when I lost my family. I already told you, he has no one. He and I are both alone. I understand his sadness.”

Diana patted Tristan’s arm.

He held up a finger as he always did when needing a moment. “Do you want to continue treating him, Simone? You don’t have to if he reminds you of your loss. I can ask Gavra to take your place.”

“No. Gavra isn’t a healer. She could harm or kill him. I see how she frowns.”

“Very well, tend to him as you have been. However, I want you take care, please. Royce seems like a good man, but we don’t know him fully yet. Diana and I would never forgive ourselves if anything bad happened to you.”

It already had. She hungered for Royce and he’d turned her away, wasting precious time they didn’t have. “Are you going to keep him prisoner here?”

Tristan sagged in his chair. “No one is that on this island. However, he has to stay until he heals and we find a means to return him to his land.”

Her heart sank. “How long will it be before you do?”

“I can’t say. James and I will try to come up with a plan to help Royce. Please don’t tell him that. I wouldn’t want him disappointed if we fail.”

She wasn’t certain whether to be happy for herself or sad for Royce if he could never return to his people. “Forgive me for being angry at you. I promise to take care. May I leave now?”

“Of course. If anything unusual happens with him, you will tell us?”

“I would never hurt our safety and peace. How could I when Adamo, Philippe, or another islander is always outside Royce’s room, watching everything we do?”

Tristan tapped the table. “I intend to keep a man there, at least for the time being. Not because I don’t trust you. I worry.”

“You have nothing to fear. Royce will do nothing to me.”

He’d as much said their one kiss would not happen again. Anything more between them was certainly out of the question.

* * * *

A native Royce had never seen before stood sentinel in the forest, pistol in hand, his full attention on this room.

Royce’s already perilous situation had worsened into a nightmare he wasn’t certain he’d escape.

During the planning stages for this operation, he’d never underestimated how difficult success would be, or what he’d have to do to outwit his opponent. He’d dismissed rumors that Tristan acted fairly, wasn’t prone to violent rages or killing sprees like most pirates. When a situation involved family and love, a saint would turn to murder.

Royce had prepared well, informing Bishop that once he’d located the isle, he’d pretend to be shipwrecked, gain Tristan and the other pirates’ trust, then find a way to get Diana alone to spirit her away to a skiff and finally Bishop’s waiting ship. Royce had created Edward, the cabin boy, as a reasonable explanation for his worry about the carrier pigeons. Using them, he’d send messages to Bishop and his men in Mozambique, telling them when to set sail for this locale and where to hide to await him. Once Diana was in Bishop’s hands, the other men could do whatever they pleased whether storming the island or burning it to the ground. Particulars hadn’t mattered to Royce. He’d believed his only remorse would be taking Diana and her unborn child, if she proved pregnant. After Bishop paid Royce for his work and he killed the swine, Diana would be free to do whatever she wanted. A pleasant outcome for everyone involved, except for Bishop.

Pity, Royce’s idea hadn’t worked as simply as that. He hadn’t anticipated so many island men, each armed. Nor had he considered Tristan would be suspicious so soon that the shipwreck might be Bishop’s doing. No way for Tristan to know for certain, of course, but his distrust would make life difficult.

Then there were the innocents. Women and children Royce hadn’t expected to meet firsthand, foolishly hoping there would only be men here, except for Diana. Bad enough to ruin her life, but the others too?

He held his head, not wanting to think about them and especially Simone. A sweet, trusting soul, lush as Botticelli’s Venus, seductive as sin, ripe for a rapist and master’s cruel acts.

If Royce executed his plan, she and her people would suffer greatly. Halting the scheme was impossible. His mother and sisters would never return home. The horrors they already faced would intensify once Bishop exacted his revenge.

Even the devil wasn’t as vile.

There had to be a way out of this to spare everyone, including Royce’s family, Simone, and Diana. If only he knew what.

Royce’s shoulders and arms ached. His head throbbed from too many competing thoughts, none feasible. If he did nothing, everyone on the island would be safe. Bishop might actually believe Royce had perished in the fake shipwreck.

That would spare all here but not his mother, Nell, and Katie. Katie was only twelve, a little girl who should be laughing not struggling for food and shelter.

He wanted to scream. Anguish tightened his throat, not letting him breathe. If he could have moved without pain, he would have paced until he’d worn a path in the marble. For what seemed an eternity, he considered options, discarding each, beginning anew, going in circles.

The door swung open.

Gavra. Wearing another frown, she carried in bread, meat, cheese, fruit, and a teacup on a tray. Sun slanted across the fare, rays brightening the room. Hours gone without him realizing it.

Royce stood. Pain ripped through his leg ruthlessly. He clutched the chair. “Is it time for the midday meal?” The sun wasn’t at its highest point.

He hoped Gavra hadn’t drugged the food, inducing him to sleep and talk.

She placed the tray on the table and pivoted.

“Wait.” He followed unsteadily. “Where’s Simone?”

Gavra glared. “Not here.”

“I can see that. Where is she?”

“Not here.”

His belly clenched. “You mean on the island? She left? How? To go where?”

“You leave her alone.” She poked his chest.

He teetered back, favoring his good leg. “I haven’t done anything to her. I simply want to know if she’s all right. Is she?”

“As long as she stays away from here and you.”

“Is she on the blasted island?”

Gavra looked down her nose at him. “Peter had other tasks to do so he left the chickens and birds to Simone. I told her not to bother. If they belong to you, they should die. You will bring us nothing but trouble like Canela did.”

His face burned. “I don’t want anyone here getting hurt.” More truth than he’d ever spoken. “I want everyone to be all right.”

“Then leave. Now.” She flung out her arm. “Go.”

If not for his family, he would have. To behave as cowardly as his father had wasn’t something Royce could allow. He’d die first. “Where are my pets?”

“I will never tell you.” She slammed the door in his face.

Undeterred, he followed.

The islander guarding his room shouted. “Arrȇtez!” Stop.

Royce moved as quickly as he could.

Halfway down the hall James blocked him, hand on the pistol in his belt. “Sure you should be up and trying to walk?”

Royce sagged against the wall, breath hitching. “Gavra said Simone’s caring for Edward’s chickens and birds. I wanted to see the creatures. That’s all. I promised Edward I’d do so.”

“Been having nightmares about not saving him?”

Royce pressed against the stone to steady himself. He didn’t want to consider how he’d behaved during sleep or what Simone had told the others. “I’ll never forgive myself for his death. Simone said Peter couldn’t save every chicken or bird. I don’t want to lose any more. I’m sure she has other tasks to see to. She shouldn’t be troubling herself with the creatures.”

“You’re right. She should have seen to you. You’re bleeding again.”

A doubloon-sized stain dirtied his breeches. “I can tend it later. Take me to her first. Please.”

James tapped his pistol. “I’ll have to ask Tristan.”

“Do so now. I’m not going anywhere.” His leg felt twice its normal size. He yielded to the fiery pain and slid to the floor. Sweat soaked his shirt, the damp linen clinging to his chest.

James left.

The islander who’d shouted stood in the chamber doorway, pistol raised.

Royce nearly laughed at the absurdity of this. “Shoot me if you must. I can’t move from here.”

“Assurez-vous que vous ne.” See that you don’t.

Diana entered the hall and halted yards from Royce. Although she carried no weapon, her hard frown kept him cautious. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for James. He’s asking Tristan if I can see Edward’s pets.”

She hurried in the same direction James had.

Two young women strolled by, eyeing him curiously. He tipped his head in greeting.

They dissolved into giggles and ran away.

A chicken squawked, head bobbing as it explored the hall and floor. He hoped to God Gavra hadn’t let his birds loose. If he didn’t contact Bishop eventually, the bloody bastard might send another agent here who’d have no trouble destroying these people.

Two children darted into the hall, pursuing the hen. It flapped its wings furiously, evading its captors. The boys won out and carried the chicken away, possibly to the kitchen for roasting.

Royce rubbed his temple.

James finally returned, carrying a crudely constructed crutch. “This might help you walk.”

“Did you just make it?”

“Belonged to Philippe’s grandfather before the pirates killed him.”

“The ones Diana outwitted?”

“Those before Tristan took over the isle. Here.” He offered his hand. “Be certain to thank Philippe for his kindness. He was reluctant to help at first.”

Royce tested the device. Not as good as two sturdy legs but better than limping. “I promise to show my gratitude the next time I see him. Thank you for thinking of this.”

James looked past him to the islander. “You can leave. I’ll watch him now.”

The man strode past.

James regarded Royce. “Tristan said you can see your pets. As long as you’re here, you’ll have to make yourself useful. Once your injuries have healed, we’ll put you to work with the pigs or in the fields.”

“I promise to pull my weight.” He followed James down the hall, past numerous bedchambers. “The women don’t have to work at those hard physical tasks, do they?”

James glanced over. “If you mean Simone, she heals and helps with the children. The others spin cloth, sew, make pottery, clean, cook, and do whatever else is necessary to thrive. No one is idle here.”

“On Tristan’s orders.”

“By custom. The islanders work now as they always have. The only thing Tristan has done is use his knowledge to improve their crops and animals.”

Royce stopped outside a room. So many books filled the space he couldn’t count them. Volumes stretched from floor to ceiling, many stacked on chairs and the floor. There were charts too that would prove most valuable. “Are those Tristan’s?”

“They are. He can read, write, and speak seven languages. Knows more than most nobles, possibly even the king.”

Alarm raced through Royce. Before coming here, he’d learned as much as he could about Tristan, finding nothing from his past. He seemed born, fully grown, on the ship where he turned to piracy. “Are you saying he’s a peer?”

That would be the worst possible thing.

James laughter rang through the hall. “God, no. Tristan taught himself everything he knows. He’s better than any bloody noble. Come on, I haven’t all day to escort you.”

In the kitchen, Gavra and two other women stopped chopping, mixing, and stirring the food.

“Ladies.” James tipped his head and winked at Gavra.

She blushed prettily. The others smiled. None glanced at Royce.

Children scampered in the courtyard. Women worked the looms and potter’s wheels. Some washed clothing. Sun shone from a flawless sky. Simone’s scent wafted past, floating on the mild breeze.

“Your creatures are in here, but only for the time being.” James stopped at a room off the courtyard, the door closed, shutters drawn. Faint cackles sounded within.

“I’ll gladly keep them in my chamber.”

“Tristan doesn’t allow anything but humans in the house.”

“Why does he want the birds moved from here?”

“It’s a birthing room for the women. Peter planned to keep the cages in the courtyard. Simone worried the children might open them accidentally, letting the birds escape, and had him move the lot in here. The ladies will need this space in a few weeks. Careful when you go in. I’m not sure if Simone let the creatures loose or not.”

Royce couldn’t risk losing another bird. Not if he planned to stay in contact with Bishop, since another reasonable choice hadn’t presented itself. Clumsily, he squeezed past the door into the shadowed space. Simone’s fragrance surrounded him, the musky undertones muddying his brain.

She sat on the floor in the corner, grains, seeds, and berries to her side, spread out for the pigeons. They poked their heads through the metal slats in their cage and ate like gluttons. Chickens strutted freely, pecking their food.

Simone stood. The hens scattered. “Are you all right?”

Exhausted and aroused. “Fine.”

“You’re bleeding again.”

“Not much. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Her chin trembled. “What? Speaking to you? Asking questions? You want me to be silent and unseen?”

He longed to be in her arms, comforted and warmed. Anchored to all the good he’d never really known. Her words proved true. This island had wonderful people. The best life had to offer. Nothing he deserved. “You’re a healer, not someone who tends chickens and birds. Peter should be doing this. Is he a lazy boy?”

She lowered her face, hiding her smile. “A surly one. He thinks he knows everything. Too many times, Diana has promised to thrash him.”

“Good for her. A proper man needs manners. Let me help you.” Eager to reach her, he strode recklessly.

A hen flapped its wings, going right and left to escape his crutch, its squawk ear-piercing. The other chickens scattered, many getting in his way. He twisted to keep from falling.

“Take care.” Simone slipped her arm around his waist, her precious breast pressed to his side.

Surrendering to loneliness and enchantment, he leaned in, his face to her hair. The English countryside couldn’t compete with her blessed scent. Nature had met its equal in her. He nuzzled her glossy tresses. No matter how wrong and irrational his desire, for some reason he’d found home at her side.

Pity he’d managed that too late.

He should have moved away but hadn’t the will.

She guided him to a bed nearly as large as the one in his chamber. This lavish room, like his, boasted a marble floor and whitewashed walls. A lovely place for a new life to take its first breath.

She laid his crutch to the side. “Sit before you fall.” Gently, she pushed him on the silk-covered mattress.

He made a show of falling down.

Her laughter pealed through the room.

Royce feigned insult. “Are you making light of me?”

“Oui.”

His laugh produced happy tears. “Have you no pity for a poor cripple?”

“I have never seen a stronger man.” She held her hands behind her, breasts thrust out, and swayed her hips slowly.

Aphrodite in the flesh. “Is that what you think of me?”

“What I know. You survived a storm that nearly tore our isle from the earth and flung it into the sky. You are no mere man. You are close to a god.”

He was a liar when honor demanded he do nothing to ruin anything here. He was a besotted fool when duty required he see to his family. His mother and sisters had no power to liberate themselves. Without his help, Katie, especially, would know nothing except a life spent in hard labor, cowering at harsh words, dreading the next beating or something equally horrible.

Simone cupped his face. “What is it? Is the pain bad again?”

The worse a man could face. Having to choose between angels: the one in here now with him, or those in his family who he’d been trying to save. “I’m fine.”

“No. I see hurt and sadness. I need to make it better. Stay on the bed until I return.”

He captured her wrist, his breath catching at her achingly soft skin. “Don’t let me cause you any trouble. Ignore me, please.”

“Never.” She brushed her lips over his. “Argue with me and I will shoot you.”

He laughed heartily, fearing if he didn’t he would cry.

She blew him a kiss and slipped outside.

Royce missed her instantly. Horribly. He pounded his fists into the mattress and muttered every oath he knew. He wanted to rip off his bandage and claw his ruined flesh, digging deep enough to reach a vessel, glorying in the spurting blood, his life slipping away.

He didn’t deserve to live. He had no bloody right to die.

The door flew open.

Royce lifted his face.

Peter growled. “Damnation.” He bolted after a chicken that escaped, tossed it back in the room, and ran down another. With it cradled in his arm, he sidled inside and slammed the door, trapping the rest.

Thankfully, Peter’s foul mood and mouth were his only weapons.

Royce relaxed somewhat. “What are you doing in here?”

“Simone ordered me to cage your blasted hens and to clean up the mess she made.”

“I’ll do it. Go on, you can leave.”

“Not bloody likely. You have no idea what she’ll do if I defy her.”

“Shoot you?”

He wrinkled his nose. “She’ll tell Diana I enjoyed Laure when I should have studied. Once my nosy sister informs Tristan, he’ll make certain I never leave the library until I’m old like him and you.”

“I’m hardly ancient.”

“I’m a man.” Peter bounced on his heels, fists tight, face red. “Why can’t anyone here see that?”

“They should, in time, when you’re as old as I am.”

“I hardly want to wait that long.” Working quickly, he herded the chickens into their cage, snarling obscenities the entire time. He left briefly and returned, broom and cloths in one hand, a bucket in the other.

He attacked his cleaning with more fervor than a dervish did a religious dance. His hard sweeping worked up dust clouds.

Royce coughed.

Peter scrubbed and dried the floor, leaving no dirt, debris, or water. “She’d better be satisfied with this.” He hauled the cages outside.

“Wait a moment. Where are you going with Edward’s pets?”

“A room off the kitchen where we keep supplies.”

“Take care with them, please.”

“What else? Simone would have my head if I hurt the precious things.” He tossed his cleaning tools outside and slammed the door behind himself.

Children’s voices rose. Excited shrieks and laughter punctuated their words.

“No, these aren’t for you to fool with,” Peter said. “They belong to someone else. Plenty of hens in the courtyard. Chase and pet them.”

The din moved away from this area.

Simone returned carrying a large silk sack. She regarded the room. “Did you help Peter?”

“Not at all. I never budged from this spot.”

She grinned. “Threatening him with Laure always works, and probably will until he slips the marriage collar around her throat. Then, even a gun to his head will be useless. Once she belongs to him, Diana will have no say in what they do.”

“Marriage collar? You mean the leather ones with beads and the diamonds Diana wears?”

“Oui. On this island, the collar shows a woman belongs to a man.” She sank to her knees beside him. “Remove your breeches.”

Each breath she took made her breasts tremble. Her rich skin radiated heat warmer than the day. “Take them off completely?” His pulse pounded hard in his temples and throat. “Why?”

“If I rip these, as I did your other ones, the women will have to make a new pair.”

“I meant I can slip out of one leg so you can treat my wound.”

“Oui, but your blood stained them. They need a good wash. Take them off and I can give them to Fantine.” Simone patted her sack. “I brought another pair with me.”

He undressed.

She regarded his cock, as erect as it had ever been. Perhaps more so. His skin felt close to splitting.

“Sit.” She stroked his thigh.

Riotous heat and pleasure billowed through him. He dropped to the mattress.

She hurried to the door.

“Should you open it now?”

“Only to get the pitcher.”

She brought the water inside and mixed a potion. “Drink.”

“What’s in it?”

“Herbs to lessen your pain.”

He tasted the brew and held back a gag. “This is dreadful.”

“No. Healing magic. While you were in your room, I asked Tristan to find a potion that would take away your hurt. He read it to me from his book.”

Royce’s stomach rolled. “Are you certain it isn’t poison?” If Tristan had learned the shipwreck was a masquerade, death wouldn’t be far behind.

She frowned. “We use the herbs to cook. They never make anyone sick.”

“Excellent.” He drained the cup.

She cleaned his wound. Surprisingly, it didn’t look as bad as he’d feared, the blood minimal, the scab larger. Her new poultice was a different color than the last, more brown than green. “Did you use the same ingredients?”

“Today, I tried something different.” She placed leaves over the mess and wrapped a new bandage around his leg. “Is the pain still bad?”

“Stings and throbs a bit.”

She washed and wiped her hands. “I have something to make you forget the hurt.”

“Another potion?” He smiled weakly. “One that tastes sweet?”

“No. This.”

She buried her face in his thatch, one hand on his cock, the other, his balls.