Chapter 8

 

Simone wished she could chase the storms from the isle and bring back the sun. Each gloomy day added to Royce’s sadness. He stared at the sky. White light streaked it. Thunder rumbled. He troubled over Edward’s pets, especially the birds, even though the one he’d pointed out hadn’t died.

She offered him the choicest food Gavra and the other women prepared, serving it in his bedchamber. The few times he’d joined her and the islanders in the kitchen had proved uncomfortable. No matter where he dined, he ate little. She asked James if Royce had his fill during the evening meals with him and Tristan.

James smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

Perhaps for food. She worried Royce’s craving might have returned for his home, away from this muddy isle, but didn’t want to ask.

Today, rain pounded on the birthing room. Gusts slammed the walls. An oil lamp lit his side of the floor, another near her, the healing materials, papers, and books spread around them.

Intense light flickered behind the shutter. A horrific boom followed.

He stopped reading a passage aloud and looked over. “Does it ever bloody end?”

“In time.” She wished she knew how to make things better. “It always does.”

“When?”

“Each year is different. Some worse than others.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Please have more bacon. I brought you the best Gavra made.” Simone pushed the plate closer.

“I’m not hungry. It’s so blasted stifling in here.” He stood and opened the door. Rain and wind burst inside. Papers flew.

Simone tried to catch them.

He pushed the door closed and sagged against it. “Sorry, that was idiotic.”

“What does that mean?”

“Foolish. Thoughtless.”

“You were warm and wanted air. I do too.”

“I messed everything up.” He swiped papers from the walls they’d blown against and pulled several from beneath the bed. “I’ve made a bloody wreck of everything.”

“The papers blew away. You did nothing to hurt them. What you wrote is still there.”

He dropped the stack on the books and paced, going nowhere. No different from his birds in their cages, trapped here as they were.

Simone didn’t want to face the truth, but she couldn’t ignore how he suffered. “Is something making you sad besides the storms? Do you long for home?”

He rested his fist against the door, head lowered. “I yearn for an end to trouble.”

She pushed to her knees. “What kind? Tell me. I can help.”

He laughed wearily. “There’s not a thing on God’s good earth you could do.”

“I could listen. I will. Talk as much as you want.”

“Wouldn’t change anything.”

“You mean you being here with no way to leave the island?”

He looked over, heartache in his eyes, the same that she’d know at losing him.

Royce hid his feelings quickly. “No, I didn’t mean that at all.” He joined her on the floor and took her hands. “I’m sorry. My intent wasn’t to make you unhappy. The damn weather is driving me mad.”

She sat on her heels. “The ale I brought will make you smile. It does for the men during our birthing celebrations, even when the new babe is a daughter instead of a son.”

“That’s rubbish. Forgive me for saying so, but it is. No man should complain about having a girl. It’s not right.”

“Do your people want female children? Was your father happy your mother gave him daughters?”

Royce released her hands and slumped against the bed. “I’m sure he didn’t want any of us. Well, perhaps, my mother at first because of her wealth. Eventually, we got in the way of his frivolous activities. Spending money as fast as he could on women, drink, wagers. Not necessarily in that order. Gambling was his favorite pastime. Thanks to my mother’s inheritance, he was able to indulge far longer than most, losing her resources and his own, every residence and farthing. That’s when he started swindling his friends and family acquaintances. Poor fools couldn’t see what he was doing until they’d lost nearly everything they owned. My mother, sisters, and I were no better. We had no idea what he was up to until everything came crashing down. Where is that ale?”

Simone poured him a cup from the pitcher.

He downed it quickly and ran his hand over his mouth.

She didn’t understand much of what he’d said. The same as the last time he’d spoken about his father. She did know what losing everything meant. She gave him more ale. “After what your father did, your mother and sisters had no food and died?”

“What? No.” He swallowed the drink and squeezed the cup, his face reddened. “They’re still alive.”

“How can that be? You said you had no one.”

“In England, where they should be. My father ended up in Newgate. Do you know what that is?”

“No.”

“It’s a prison. I mentioned that word when we last spoke about him. I can’t blame you for not knowing what I meant. You have nothing like that here.”

“What is this prison?”

“A cage for people like what I have for Edward’s pets. Those in charge keep men and women locked up until they hang them. Many die from disease you’ve never seen here or perish because they simply don’t have enough to eat. The lucky ones finally pay back their debts and gain release.” He poured himself another ale and drained the cup. “No one believed my mother, sisters, and I didn’t know about my father’s crimes. We were aware he drank to excess at times, but he kept his other activities well hidden from everyone. I lost my position as a barrister and couldn’t find employment anywhere, not even as a solicitor. Those are jobs men in my position, or I should say my old position, work in. I sold everything I had to support my mother and sisters, but the money soon ran out. Restoring our family’s good name was impossible. Too much had happened. As I’ve said, I took whatever work I could find, mainly physical labor that didn’t pay enough for me to manage everyone’s needs.”

He ground his hand into his forehead. “My mother and sisters hadn’t a place to live in London. No one would house them at any price because of my father’s scandal. I thought we could move to the countryside. Life there was far less expensive but it takes time to find shelter and work. When I returned from a village with news about a room for them and field labor for me, they weren’t at the charity house where we’d parted. My fault. I hadn’t found a solution quickly enough. During my absence, they had to leave the institution. There wasn’t room for them any longer. I reasoned they’d gone to a workhouse, but learned a rich plantation owner had an agent nearby, advertising for laborers in the Colonies. My mother and sisters indentured themselves to that man.”

“Indentured?”

“They’re his slaves, Simone. Much like you and the islanders were to the other pirate captain. They’re across the ocean in a continent called America, a land that’s a thousand times the size of this isle. They work in the fields or his house, doing whatever he demands. He has a right to starve or beat them as he sees fit. I’m sure rape isn’t out of the question. Katie, my youngest sister, is only twelve, your age when the pirates attacked here. A little girl. Before Father ruined everything, Katie’s only problems were which frock she should wear or if she’d had a falling out with a friend. Nell, my other sister, hoped to make a good match, have a happy marriage, a house filled with children. After my father’s arrest, none of the young men who’d once courted Nell would look her way. Mother was raised a lady. She wasn’t prepared to earn a living or fend for herself and her children. To think of her in a field doing backbreaking labor at her age is more than I can bear. I became what I am to buy them back, return them to their rightful home, spare them the hell their lives must be like now.”

Sorrow flooded Simone. Shame too. She’d been selfish, thinking only of her loss, not his. She cupped his face. “You must leave here to see to your family.”

He pulled her into him. “I shouldn’t have told you. You’ve given me the only happiness I’ve known. I want you so much I can’t breathe or think.” He kissed her temple, cheek, and captured her mouth.

She tasted his love and her tears.

They sank to the floor, clasping each other, their passion as fierce as the raging storm, certain loss fueling their desire.

She tore at his shirt and breeches. He unknotted her cloth. Naked, they kissed and embraced, rolling across the floor, bumping into their materials, attempting to get closer.

Being a part of his heart and soul wouldn’t have been enough for Simone. To lose his touch, never hear his voice again, or not witness his smile would kill her hope. She’d thought the world had ended when her family died. It would when he left, sailing from sight, distance taking away his last wave to her, his final glance.

She pressed her mouth to his so forcefully, her teeth cut into her bottom lip. She suffered the pain gladly, his impassioned kiss making everything worthwhile. Yet this act only touched upon what she required. Beneath him now, she parted her legs fully.

He tore his mouth free.

His gaze held her. The same as this moment. She hadn’t lied when she told him a woman and man’s hearts were still together after they parted. “I will miss you until my last breath. Even after that. And I will never forget you.”

An anguished sound poured from him. He kissed her deeper than previous times, his shaft hot and hard against her cleft. Moisture bathed her entry, welcoming him inside, begging him to make them one. She wanted his child. A lasting reminder from these days of desire.

She pulled back her legs, encouraging his passion.

In one strong thrust, he entered her fully, breaking through her virginal barrier.

Her torn flesh burned. She gripped his shoulders.

Royce lifted his face, mouth rounded in horror.

“I want this.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Love me, please. As much as you can before you have to go.”

His eyes filled.

Simone touched his lips. “In the days ahead, we can think of this and smile.” She eased his mouth to hers.

They kissed, their shared sorrow making them tender, then insatiable for what they could claim now and everything they’d miss. His rigid shaft stretched and filled her more than she dreamed, the pain from her lost virginity already gone. She tightened her sheath around his thickness, adding to the friction, dazed by the enchanting pressure.

He pulled his mouth free and groaned. “What you’re doing is bloody wonderful. Don’t stop.”

“Not even if someone shoots me.”

Laughing, he stroked her nub.

Delight erupted from deep within. She gripped his arms. “I like that.”

“Then I must continue.”

He rubbed and pumped. His sac slapped against her buttocks, adding a wicked touch to the incomparable act. Their feelings true, hearts joined. No man and woman had ever loved each other more.

Whatever they faced in the coming days, there wasn’t anyone who could take this from them.

Simone didn’t try to delay pleasure, greeting the crest, riding the waves.

Royce grunted, his complexion darker than before. Jaw clenched, he kept thrusting. Hair bobbed on his shoulders and around his face. He panted. “You must have another go at it. I won’t allow myself release until you do.”

“You have to. Your face is red. You keep forgetting to breathe.”

“I don’t care.” He stroked her.

Unimaginable delight filled Simone.

“Squeeze me.” He thrust into her. “Make your opening as tight as can be.”

Nothing else would do.

He worked her hard. She did the same to him. Their gazes locked. She surrendered first, as she had the last time, the tension impossible to withstand, the rolling heat irresistible.

Breathless and limp, she settled, her hands sliding down his damp arms.

He threw back his head and bellowed, louder than the storm. Silvery light lit the shutter. Wind howled, rain drummed, thunder crashed.

She giggled.

Royce sank to his elbows, gasping and smiling. “What’s so funny?”

“You were noisier than the storm, making it want to compete.”

“You do that to me.” He brushed his lips over hers.

She embraced him, holding on as hard as she could. “Rest. Then eat. Then we can do this again.”

He fell to the side, pulling her with him. Once he’d settled her on top, his shaft still inside, he smoothed her hair. “Are you all right? Do you have any pain?”

Only in her heart for what the coming days would bring. “No.” She kissed his chin. “You brought me joy. I will never forget it.”

“I shouldn’t have told you my problems.”

“Why? I want to know about your worry and sadness. How sorry I am for your mother, Katie, and Nell.”

He clasped her to him. “Please don’t tell anyone what I said about them. I’m too ashamed for others to know how I failed.”

“I’ll never say anything. But you have no reason to hate yourself. You tried to help them and you’ll do so again.”

“You’re too good.”

“Some would say I was bad.” She tightened her muscles, squeezing his rod. “I want to be that and more, as soon as you rest.”

He looked at her as he hadn’t before, more wonder on his face, far less misery. “I need to work.”

“Now? Wait.”

He rolled over, separating them, and grabbed his materials. “I have no time to waste.”

She pushed to one elbow. “Did you think of a way to help your family?”

His quill tip flew over the paper, words appearing swiftly on the page. He read what he’d written, scratched it out, and started anew.

She touched his knee. “What are you writing?”

He tapped the black feather against his cheek, then scrawled more words.

* * * *

Taking Simone’s virginity should have sent Royce into deep despair. Oddly enough, loving her energized him. He had to fix this escalating crisis or die trying, possibly his best choice once he’d settled everything.

She scooted next to him and ran a damp cloth over his cock.

He jerked. His pen skidded across the page. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning you and me.” She turned the cloth over and washed her slit.

The blood was scant but distressed him. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Oui. No broken bones.”

He chuckled and rested his hand on her mound. “Any aching here?”

“Much. You must fill me again to take it away.”

They were doomed, wanting each other too badly. That sorry truth didn’t erase his smile. “Perhaps later.”

“Only perhaps?”

He couldn’t talk himself out of having her again. “No. Surely later.”

Beaming, she poured ale and offered him the cup.

“Thank you, but no. I’m not thirsty.”

“Are you sure?”

His throat was so dry he could scarcely swallow. However, to imbibe more than he had might mean leaking additional secrets, speaking Bishop’s name, and telling her about the original plan. If she forgave him, he’d lose himself between her legs until they created a son or daughter.

Madness. His father had nothing on him.

“Do you want this?” She eased the plate beneath his nose.

Bacon and honey scents wafted up. His mouth watered, his appetite returned when he’d settled nothing for her, anyone else on this isle, or his family. “Half. You take the rest.”

“We can feed each other.” She slipped one end into her mouth and brought the other to his lips.

No lady in England had ever been as playful or entrancing. Pity the poor bastards who’d never known joy as he’d found with Simone.

They ate their respective ends, attention focused on each other, lips joined at last.

She drooped against him, her tongue in his mouth.

Royce had never had any food or drink that tasted better than she did. If he wasn’t careful, he’d think of little else except taking Simone and wouldn’t accomplish anything.

Fear for her future snapped Royce from his randy fog. He broke free and held up his quill. “I must work. You should too.”

She offered him more bacon, and took a slice for herself. “What did you write?”

His first message to Bishop, or rather his initial attempt at writing it. Difficult to do when he had yet to access the charts for the isle’s location, and hadn’t come up with the perfect words to not only delay but also please Bishop, so he’d willingly wait for more news. Once Royce solved those complications, the bird would deliver his communication as soon as the bloody weather cleared.

Nature seemed intent on mocking him and taking out her rage on this land, the rain harder, wind stronger, thunder unending.

Simone tapped his leg. “Tell me what your words say.”

“I wrote a passage I recalled from the Latin medical text.”

She leaned against him, her breast pressed to his arm, and touched the parts he’d inked through. “Why did you do this? Did you remember it wrong?”

The words he’d written were too honest, then obviously deceptive. Bishop would take action on both, decimating everything in his path. “I thought I had, but maybe I didn’t. You spoke of tambavy. That’s what you use for men’s coughs.”

“No. Tambavy is to treat children.” She ran her finger along the words he’d inked through. “Tell me which one says tambavy.”

He pointed to Tristan’s name.

Simone grinned. “I like how it looks. Write it for me on another paper so I can remember it and learn.”

“I will later, with other passages from the books. Now, I need to compose something else.”

“Compose?”

“Write. A lesson plan for you to follow. Like Diana and Peter have from Tristan.”

Simone poured water, took a sip, then offered the cup to him. “Not so hard as theirs. Peter mutters in the library. Diana scowls. What they have to do must be terrible.”

“I promise not to make your studies that bad.”

“Read me the passage again about the potion for stomach sickness. Adamo’s face was pale this morning. He refused food. This might help him. While I mix what I need, you can write your lesson plan.”

Royce prayed the correct words would come, buying him time with Bishop.

He found the passage and read the ingredients. All had scientific names Simone didn’t understand. Even nobles would’ve had difficulty. Royce described how the plants should look and showed her the illustrations. She studied them, lining up her leaves and herbs to match. Some were quite close, others merely similar.

Mixing the incorrect materials might result in a poisonous elixir. He didn’t want Adamo dying unexpectedly. Tristan and the others barely trusted Royce now. The moment he had a death on his hands, they’d kill him or lock him in his chamber for good. During that time, Bishop’s men might storm the shore. “Do you test your potions before you give them to the islanders?”

“Test?”

“Try them out to make certain they’re safe. That they won’t cause more sickness.”

“Why would they? I told you, we always use these plants.”

“Mixed together as the book potion states?”

She looked at her materials. “No. How would I do this test?”

“Perhaps on an animal.” If the creature didn’t die, a human probably wouldn’t.

“Which one? We have pigs, cattle, hens, horses—”

“Fowl would be best.” Few would miss a chicken. “The younger the better.” If a chick survived, anything could.

“How would I get the potion in a chick?”

“Does Tristan have a medicine dropper?”

“What is that?”

“A tube you fill to give a child or an animal liquid.”

“I can ask if he does and get a chick too, then come back here.”

“Wait.” He circled her wrist. “Not in the storm.” The rain wasn’t falling as hard, the lightning and thunder subsiding. With any luck, fair weather might be here soon. “Things should be quieter in a few minutes. You can use the time to mix your potion.”

She set to work.

He did too, not writing anything yet, planning first. He’d begin with the truth, that he’d found the island, Tristan, and Diana. Lies formed next, as to who populated the isle so Bishop wouldn’t insist on a head-on maneuver that would kill everyone.

Of course, he and his men would want to know the correct location first or their preparations would be for naught. Tristan’s charts held the key to truth and deception…as soon as Royce could get to them.

His spirits rose. Perhaps he could draw this out until he found the perfect solution. If one existed. In any event, as long as he kept in reasonable contact with Bishop, he had a chance at success.

Simone slid her hand up his thigh.

He smiled. “What is it?”

“The storm is quiet, my potion mixed. I should leave now for the chick and medicine stop.”

“Medical stopper. You can tell Tristan we want to try your potion on the creature to make certain the mixture is safe for people.”

“I will.” She kissed him deeply. “Work hard until I return so we can enjoy other things later and definitely.”

He laughed. “I will. Promise.”

She draped a pigskin over her head and hurried outside.

Royce slapped wind-blown papers down, then filled his sheet with false starts and phrases he crossed out. He grabbed another paper and selected each word carefully before writing it, wanting to convey an optimistic yet cautious mood, while also keeping the message short enough to fit in the tube.

Not once did he offer an apology for taking so long to respond. Bishop crushed those he could cow, responding best to men he feared.

Before Royce and Bishop’s relationship ended, the swine would be sorry he’d hatched this plan.

With a rough outline of what he had to say, Royce perfected the words repeatedly, filling this sheet and another.

His fingers cramped. He read what he’d written:

 

B. B.

 

Arrived. T and D here as suspected. Pirate hideaway. 80 plus armed men. No natives. Shore watched constantly. Head-on attack impossible. Stealth best. Exact location unknown. Pinpointed isle proved incorrect. Storm swept me to correct one. T’s charts hard to access. Will send location when possible.

 

R. H.