Chapter 1

 

Tristan Kent’s island—1718

 

Heath Garrison swept his spyglass northwest past the Mozambique Channel. Thousands of miles in the distance lay England. Home. Odd word for a place where he’d faced unending struggle and barely survived. Still, a man couldn’t easily dismiss his birthplace, even when compared to this island paradise.

A balmy breeze grazed his naked chest and tugged his hair. Sun poured down. Lush vegetation, the sea’s tang, and flowers perfumed the air.

Or perhaps the sweet fragrance came from elsewhere.

Despite his captors’ innumerable warnings, he inched his glass to Netta and Aimee, island women no more than twenty. Born identical twins, a cruel pirate’s rule had put an end to their exact resemblance.

To Heath, they couldn’t have been more perfect.

He settled the glass on them.

His pulse quickened.

Their backs were to him, their focus on the leaves and flowers they gathered. Wind stirred their dark brown hair that hung straight and long to their waists. Both women wore silk tied low on their lush hips, one’s cloth a deep rose shade, the other’s bright blue. The fabric fluttered above their bare feet.

They abandoned the bush in favor of another.

He edged to the side, careful not to snap a twig that would disturb them. An insect buzzed near his ear. He brushed it away.

White petals overflowed Aimee’s palms. She dropped them into the silk sack Netta held. The difference in their hands gave away their identities.

He edged closer for a better view of Netta’s old wound.

A lemur cackled on its perch. Its companions jumped from tree to tree, rustling branches and leaves.

At the sound, Aimee and Netta turned. Their naked breasts quivered. The enticing nipples pebbled, ideal for a man’s mouth.

Heath’s watered.

Previous warnings rang in his head. He wasn’t to approach, talk to, or even look at the island women. Didn’t matter. Weakened with desire, he couldn’t back away or flee even though they spotted him.

Their lips parted.

Their softened gazes and heightened color showed their approval at seeing him. Willing surrender registered in their dark eyes. Rose bloomed in their light brown cheeks, their skin satiny, flawless with youth, and surely scented with musk. An invitation no sane man could resist. If he didn’t mind being beaten or possibly set adrift from this isle located a week or more from even the most primitive civilization.

Heath lowered his glass. Face down, he called himself a bloody fool for entertaining the idea of enjoying two women at once, much less sisters. This place certainly wasn’t London, but that hardly meant he could behave like a rutting animal.

Dead leaves crackled beneath feet.

He didn’t dare acknowledge Netta and Aimee’s approach or retreat. Wasn’t his business what they did. He pivoted and froze.

Royce Hastings glared. The expression he always reserved for Heath and the other captured mariners. Months before, Heath, his mates, and Benedict Bishop had landed here to take Tristan prisoner. Royce promptly put a bullet in Bishop’s head and the fear of God into most of the crew.

“What are you doing here?” Royce stormed closer and put out his hand. “Give me the glass.”

Heath gripped the instrument. If need be, he’d fight for it. He’d done nothing wrong, except in his thoughts. “It’s mine, as you well know. Tristan allowed me to keep it to watch for intruders.”

“That would be ruthless pirates or worthless mariners like you and those bastards you sailed with. Not Aimee and Netta. What did I tell you about bothering the women?”

Too much. Despite Heath’s background, he wasn’t a schoolboy who needed daily lectures on how a proper gentleman should behave. Good sense told him nothing would come of his attraction. He’d have more chance to woo King George’s wife Sophia than he would either twin. “I haven’t said a word to them or any woman here, not even to thank the ones who bring me food and drink in exchange for my work. Most think I’m addled or mute.”

“Keep it that way. Leave the islanders to their own people.”

“As you did with Simone?” She was the island’s healer and several months pregnant with Royce’s child.

He rested his palm on the pistol shoved in his breeches waistband. “You dare mention my wife’s name? Do you want to die?”

Heath held up his hands. “I’m not the enemy. I’ve stated repeatedly, I’m with you and everyone else here. Bishop only told us Tristan needed hanging for his piracy. Not once did the swine mention his intent to claim Diana and the treasure here. He certainly didn’t disclose his plan to sell the islanders as slaves. At least not to me. Given what I escaped as a boy, I wouldn’t have signed on for that.”

“So you say. Why should anyone believe you, considering your attack?”

A strange argument coming from a man who’d posed as a shipwrecked merchant to infiltrate the isle for Bishop and help him bring Tristan down. How convenient Royce had forgotten his misstep. “We both came here for less than honorable purposes. Or have you forgotten your role in Bishop’s unending plot to see Tristan dead?”

“I had good reason for what I did.”

According to gossip, to save his mother and sisters servitude and worse in the Colonies. “Indeed. And I sailed to this isle solely because a man must work to eat. My employment was on ships. Unfortunately, I wasn’t born a noble like you.”

“You didn’t have a wastrel father either who lost every farthing to drink, whores, and wagering.”

“How right you are.” Heath smiled pleasantly. “I had no father at all, good or bad. If you find me so distasteful and untrustworthy, allow me to leave when the other islanders come here to trade or we go there.”

The only solution. Heath couldn’t be an outcast for life. His early years proved hopeless enough. To witness other men building their lives and families while he remained alone was inconceivable, especially with Netta and Aimee tempting him. He didn’t think he’d survive their union with men they’d someday love. There wasn’t a thing he could do to change their futures, nor would he approach them in any way. But that didn’t make him a blasted saint without human need. “I must leave during the next visit.”

“Impossible.” The wind blew Royce’s dark hair. He pulled it back. “Tristan can’t risk you telling the world about this island.”

“As you told Bishop, bringing him, me, and the rest here?”

“Tristan spared your hide, which means you’re here for life. You’re lucky we feed you.”

Heath tightened his fists. “I labor for each morsel, same as everyone else.”

“Not today you haven’t. We need you in the courtyard to set up tables for the celebration. Come on.”

“Wait. Diana’s already had the child?” Her and Tristan’s first in an unlikely union. Despite being a reverend’s daughter, she’d waylaid Tristan to rescue her younger brother from a pirate’s life. Tristan captured her instead and made her his.

“She’s begun the ordeal. Simone said it shouldn’t take long. Follow me.”

Some distance past his original spot, Heath lost his resolve not to glance back.

Surprise crossed Netta and Aimee’s faces. The look women wear when caught doing something they shouldn’t, or when a man gazes into their hearts and souls to uncover their secrets.

Netta returned to her work first, her movements forced, unsettled. Aimee blinked slowly as one would when drugged.

Rumfustian had never intoxicated Heath as they did.

He lumbered forward and bumped into something.

“Watch where you’re going.” Royce shoved him.

Heath twisted to regain his balance and reined in irritation. Better to earn Royce’s trust than to trounce him and get a bullet in his brain or heart for the affront.

They passed through the forest and an opening in the courtyard walls. A sprawling stone mansion, white as snow, surrounded the vegetation.

Naked island children of varying ages scurried past palms and plants. Their laughter rang in the heated air. Men set up plank benches and tables. Squawking chickens flapped their wings in an effort to avoid too many feet.

Tristan’s blond hair stood out like a beacon. So did his heavily scarred back, courtesy of a cruel captain who’d nearly whipped him to death. He paced to and fro, his usual bronze complexion pasty, features haggard, a pistol in his waistband. Diana’s silver-and-diamond marriage collar dangled from his fist.

James, his friend and former quartermaster, watched from the side, red locks flapping in the breeze. Also armed, he caressed his two-week-old son to his heavily freckled chest. The infant’s complexion was islander brown, like his mother’s, not a spot in sight. James spoke to Tristan. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Simone’s taking good care of Diana. Gavra is too when she should be here tending to our Willy. He’s hungry.”

The babe squirmed and wailed.

James simultaneously bounced his son and followed Tristan. Both wore a path in the dirt.

Heath quelled laughter at the once fierce pirates. If their enemies and those whose ships they’d taken could see them now…

A screech tore from a side room.

Tristan whirled around and reared back before he ran into James. “Bloody hell. That was worse than the last one. I thought having Diana take off the collar would allow her to breathe more easily, not scream like the Devil’s after her. What in damnation is going on in there?” He pushed past.

James grabbed his arm. “You don’t want to go into the birthing room. Trust me. What you’ll see is for no man’s eyes. It could stop your heart.”

“Don’t be daft. I have to help her.”

“How? Was you who got her into this or have you forgotten?”

Tristan yanked his arm away. “If Diana survives the birthing, I will never lie with her again.”

James howled. “No bloody chance of that happening. If you don’t take her, she’ll do that to you, at the point of her rapier if need be. The same as when she captured you at the Quest before I saved your hide.”

“Must you keep reminding me of—”

Diana’s prolonged moan cut through the other noise.

James gestured Royce over. Heath followed. They surrounded Tristan, keeping him from the room.

He glowered. “I know Gavra will try her best. Simone too. However, that doesn’t address all eventualities.”

James transferred Willy from his right shoulder to his left. The infant spit up. Yellow liquid oozed down James’s back. He groaned. “You speak of events that will never be. My mother birthed eight children and survived each ordeal. If not for her advanced age, she would have had ten more.”

“That’s you—her. A farmer’s daughter used to hard labor, sturdy to a fault. Diana’s father did nothing except preach and rail at her for everything she did. Her days with him never prepared her for life on this isle.”

Royce chuckled. “I would think not.”

Tristan shot him a look.

He lost his smile. “I’m only saying with the woman going about as they are—not Diana of course. She’s always fully clothed—that is, her gowns are quite nice. They suit her, because she’s English, not—I’m not sure what I meant. James is right. Since time began, woman have birthed with few problems. My mother thrives in England with my two sisters.”

Diana swore in English then even louder in French, the islander’s language Heath understood.

Once his goal had been to better himself, learn all he could, and become more than what he’d been born as. Being a lifelong celibate on this isle hadn’t been in his plan. He should plead his case to Tristan and James.

Tristan scowled at him. “What have you to say?”

“Nothing.” Surely he hadn’t spoken his thoughts aloud. “I’m here to work.” He backed away.

Tristan gripped his forearm. “What of your mother? How many infants did she have and survive through?”

“I don’t know. I never saw her.”

“Because she died giving you life?” Tristan dug his fingers into Heath.

Pain shot up his arm. He suppressed a wince. “No. The workhouse beadle told me I wasn’t an orphan like the rest, which annoyed him greatly. My mother left me there because she couldn’t feed herself, much less me. After that, I have no idea what happened to her.”

James gestured dismissively. “Probably married some willing fellow and had half a dozen more children. Isn’t that right?”

For Heath to say otherwise might get him killed. Even pirates hunting a prize weren’t as ruthless as a future father worried about his wife and coming child. “I’m certain she had the largest family she could and is with them as we speak.”

“There you have it.” James smacked Tristan’s shoulder. “You can calm down. To make certain you do, I’ll have Aimee and Netta check on Diana.” He motioned them over.

They approached gracefully, more a glide than walk, their breasts bouncing with each step. Aimee held the bag in front. Netta hid her left hand. Both peeked at Heath.

His legs weakened, cock stiffened.

“Bonjour.” James smiled. “Voulez-vous vérifier Diana? Voir comment elle va?” Will you check on Diana? See how she’s doing?

She wailed.

Tristan covered his eyes.

“Now.” James shooed them away.

“Oui.” Aimee grabbed Netta’s wrist and hurried to the birthing room.