Late the next night, the group gathered on the island, and Daniel’s patience was stretched thin. “We shall need more twine for that string of lights,” Samson said to Daniel and pointed to a long strand attached to one of the trees. “The knot you tied isn’t holding.”
Daniel looked at his ’ton and counted to ten. And then fifteen. “I am searching for the birthday candles,” he muttered, “which somebody supposedly dropped into this basket. Do you suppose you might manage the twine?”
“It requires the work of two. I’ll find Lewis. He’s adept. And patient.”
Daniel briefly closed his eyes as Samson walked off to find Lewis the Paragon and dug into the basket again, shoving aside linen napkins and flatware. He knew he should have kept the small candles in his pocket and vowed for the hundredth time that day that he would never again doubt his own judgment.
How could he have built an airship empire but still be stymied by a simple recipe?
That was what happened when a man who had no business being in a galley attempted to bake, which he’d known instinctively was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. He had left a cloth under the pan while putting it into the oven and had nearly set fire to his own blasted ship.
Bonadea, bless his practical soul, had helped remix the batter while Lewis added instructions to an auxiliary programming tin for Robert. Once that had been accomplished, they had baked a three-tiered cake, added blue icing despite Quince’s insistence that Isla would prefer pink, and prepared for what promised to be a scrumptious dinner of halibut, roasted potatoes, and asparagus, all things Isla said she loved and that were, blessedly, preserved in the galley’s icebox.
Isla had spent the day ashore on the island, and the others had joined her in the afternoon while Robert and Samson had stayed aboard to cook the meal. Bonadea and Quince had taken Isla to the waterfall so the rest of the group could string the portable Tesla lights Lewis had found in the cargo hold and set up dinner. The cake was safely tucked under a large dome and covered with a towel to keep it hidden, and Robert set up the ship’s small Victrola at the end of a second table.
Daniel looked over the scene as the sun set, ticking off items in his head. Dinner, done. Cake, done—miraculously. Decorations, done. Plates, glasses, silverware, napkins—all present. Water pitchers filled from the waterfall, done. Whiskey in a small flask secreted in Daniel’s pocket for later, done.
Bonadea, Quince, and Lewis said they each had gifts for Isla, and even Crowe mumbled something about it. Daniel had thought long and hard about how to acquire an appropriate gift for an unconventional woman, especially as they were on an uninhabited island, and had been quite stumped until he thought of the one thing he could give her. And she was literally the only woman of his acquaintance who would recognize its value. He’d felt strangely reluctant to give it to her in public, and decided to wait until they returned to the ship and he could steal a few moments with her alone. There was nothing about it the others couldn’t see, but he didn’t want to be just another of the group lining up to give her a gift.
It was a cozy scene, he admitted. The lights were a perfect touch, logs were in place for sitting by the fire, and dinner was ready. He whistled for the others to return with Isla, and while he waited, he turned the crank on the Victrola. The music blared out, and he hastily muted the horn so they could talk without shouting, and made his way across the warm sand to Lewis and Crowe.
“Everything set?” Lewis asked.
Daniel exhaled. “Everything but the small candles for the cake. I couldn’t find them.”
“Oh!” Lewis reached into his pocket. “I figured they’d get lost in that basket.”
Daniel’s nostrils flared as he took the candles from Lewis, supposing he should be grateful they’d turned up.
“All right now, watch your step.” Quince and Bonadea led Isla onto the beach with her eyes closed.
Daniel’s frustration melted away. She was lovely in her loose skirt and white blouse, no shoes, sun-kissed skin, and a light shawl. Her hair hung in tangled curls, free of pins, dark in the waning light but shimmering a deep red where the firelight shone on it.
He knew he wasn’t the only one affected; Lewis stilled, and even Crowe exhaled quietly. There was something arresting about the utter lack of convention in her appearance, and Daniel felt it would be a crime to truss her up again in anything confining.
“May I open my eyes?” Her smile was wry, and he knew Quince must have been the one to insist she be surprised.
“Yes,” Bonadea told her with an exasperated glance at Quince.
She opened her eyes and took everything in, and her eyes grew bigger, and her mouth slackened as the seconds ticked by. She put a hand over her mouth, and to Daniel’s horror, her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, no,” he muttered and hurried across the sand.
She held out her palm to stop him. The tears gathered and then spilled over, and she finally dropped her hand from her mouth. “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she whispered.
She smiled at Quince through her tears. “Thank you so much!” She wrapped her arms around the elderly man, who patted her head affectionately, his own eyes suspiciously bright.
Daniel pursed his lips together, trying and failing to not feel ridiculously immature. Quince saved him from saying something stupid by murmuring to Isla, “This was all the captain’s doing, truly. He is the one to thank.”
Daniel nearly scuffed his toe in the sand. “We all did it,” he said, and at the subtle ahem behind him, added, “It was Samson’s idea, originally.”
She wiped her eyes, shaking her head. “I am not the crying sort, but this is truly lovely, and you are all so gracious and kind. This has been the most wonderful birthday of my life, and I’ve enjoyed every moment.”
“The celebration continues,” Bonadea said and gestured to the table. “Robert has outdone himself with the meal, and we even have dessert for afterward, followed by dancing, and perhaps a firework or two that I may have found in the cargo hold.”
A fissure of unease snaked up Daniel’s spine, and he swallowed, forcing himself to smile and gesture for the group to help themselves to the food. He wasn’t aware there had been fireworks in his cargo hold. He glanced at Lewis, who met his eye with a shrug. His friend didn’t smile, though, and Daniel wondered if Lewis also struggled with the strange aftereffects of battle. He took a deep breath and tried to shove his feelings aside. Tonight’s celebration was for Isla, and she was thrilled with it. He was going to enjoy it with her if it killed him.
The group filled their plates, sat around the fire, chatted, and laughed. Even Crowe managed a smile or two, but mostly remained silent. Since Isla’s conversation with him the night before, he’d refrained from his usual cutting remarks to the others, especially the three shifters. And while he’d not appeared for a few hours after Daniel’s invitation that morning, Crowe had joined them around noon to help with Isla’s birthday cake. He’d arrived in time for the oven fire, and the fact that he hadn’t turned around and gone immediately back to his cabin or mocked Daniel mercilessly was to his credit. He had helped throughout the day when asked and had replied when directly engaged in conversation.
Daniel retrieved one of the water pitchers and refilled glasses as Isla complimented everyone repeatedly on the dinner and the cozy setting. He looked at Samson, who regarded him with one raised brow as if to say, “You see? Was I not correct?” Daniel reluctantly smiled and gave his assistant a small salute.
Daniel ate absently, his attention focused on Isla. She was joy personified, and she held court with the odd assortment of gentlemen as would an accomplished queen. Yet unlike royalty, Isla was one of them. She understood them, knew them, especially Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis. Had he not seen the results of her work personally, Daniel might not have believed it. They were calmer when they were with her. More relaxed. She even affected him, Daniel realized. As he listened to her voice, her light laugh, he felt some of his anxiety diminish.
It was replaced with a different sort of stress, however, as his heart beat faster. He wanted to truly be the pirate who could throw her over his shoulder and take her to the waterfall and kiss her senseless. Knowing she would respond in kind had him wondering if perhaps he was sitting too close to the fire. The night was suddenly quite warm, and he would have tugged on his cravat, but he wasn’t wearing one. She must have known he was staring at her like a besotted fool. She smiled at Lewis for offering to take her empty plate and met Daniel’s eyes, her expression softening.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, and he nodded, his mouth dry.
“Cake!” Quince, who seemed possessed of energy belonging to a man half his age, stood and motioned to the group. “It is time for the birthday wishes! I do hope somebody remembered the candles.”
Isla laughed and took Quince’s arm, and they all made their way to the table where Quince removed the towel with a flourish. The cake, praise be to heaven, stood gloriously unharmed beneath the dome, and Isla’s eyes rounded with delight.
“This took some doing, my dear, I do not mind telling you. We worried for a moment we wouldn’t have a cake at all.”
“We worried for a moment we wouldn’t have a ship at all,” Crowe muttered to Daniel’s left, and when Daniel glanced at the man, he saw a reluctant smile twitch.
Lewis removed the dome, and Daniel stepped around the table to place the small candles on the top tier. “Mr. Quince, you have birthday candle history to share?” He took a box of matches from Lewis and began lighting the three candles.
Quince cleared his throat. “Yes. A tradition believed to have started with the ancient Romans but brought into the current day by eighteenth-century Germany, the candles represent the glowing moon, and the smoke represents your wishes and prayers ascending to the gods.” He patted Isla’s hand. “If anyone deserves wishes and prayers to be answered, it is you.”
“Oh, mercy, you are going to have me crying again.” Isla closed her eyes. “Making a wish,” she whispered, and then opened her eyes.
Daniel held her gaze as she softly blew out the candles. The others clapped and cheered, and he winked at her.
“Presents!” Quince shouted. “And then we can eat the cake. Bonadea’s present is becoming especially restless.”
Daniel looked at Bonadea, who was near the tree line, whispering to someone. Or something. “What does he have over there?” Daniel muttered to Lewis, who shrugged. “Blast it all, Lewis, he is supposed to be the practical one.”
Lewis glanced at him. “I thought I was the practical one.”
“No, wait,” Bonadea called out as something darted toward the group.
Isla turned and gasped. She dropped down to the sand and extended her arms, and a small monkey jumped into them as would a child. “Who are you?” she crooned to the little creature. “Mr. Bonadea, where did he come from?”
Her delight was clear, and the monkey seemed equally besotted. He patted her cheeks and kept turning her face toward his. She palmed his head and held him close as she stood, swaying and stroking his little back.
Bonadea, looking abashed, joined the group, shaking his head. “He found me earlier this afternoon when I hiked to the third waterfall. He is the only of his species I’ve noticed, although he shares the same genus as many of the others. His kind is often adopted as exotic pets; perhaps you’ve seen some in street shows with organ grinders.”
She laughed when the monkey rubbed his cheek along hers. “I have indeed. Quite smart, are they not?”
Bonadea nodded. “Smartest of the lot, near as science can tell.”
“He must have been quite taken with you to have followed you all day,” she observed, turning the monkey’s face this way and that, examining its markings.
“Indeed. I’ve studied the species; I speak his language, if you will. I hoped he would linger so that I might gift him to you as a charming, albeit temporary, gift.”
She leaned toward him. “Thank you ever so much. He is lovely, and I shall enjoy his company as long as possible. No family that you noticed? No mother?”
“No, which leads me to believe that either whatever family he did have here was killed by a rival group or perhaps another ship passed this way and this little one was left behind.”
She frowned and tickled the monkey’s chin. “Little fellow, left behind without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“Why do women always do that?” Lewis said in an undertone to Daniel. “Show them a small furry animal and they ogle all over it like a child.”
Daniel glanced at him, brow raised. “I don’t know what kind of women keep your company. Most I know would have run screeching for the ship if something had darted at them like that.”
“I think I like my women better than yours.”
“The bulk of my social circle would never be seen in anything less than perfection. Not a hair out of place, not an outfit older than a Season. Plenty of money in the family bank account.” He looked at Isla, the monkey in her arms and his head on her shoulder. “And definitely no affection for small, wild animals.”
Lewis looked at him. “Well, then, it seems that this woman fits much more into my social circle than yours.”
“Are you baiting me?” Daniel tried to smile.
“Mmm, testing the waters, perhaps. I may have been mistaken in my earlier observations about soul mates and all that. May I inquire as to your intentions?”
He looked at Lewis. “My intentions are to marry her and buy her an island.”
Lewis smiled. “All I needed to know.”
Daniel looked back at Isla and realized every word was true. He wanted to marry her, wanted to be with her always, to have her in his bed at night and know she was safe by his side. He wanted to know her world, to see her at work, to learn how her brain worked, how she’d formed her business and how she managed it. He wanted all of her so much it spread like an ache in his chest.
She’d said she wasn’t interested in marriage, that a husband had no place in her life. He’d grown to love her in a matter of weeks, something his cynical self scoffed at, yet it was true. But he did not know if she returned that deep affection. She was attracted to him—but then many women were; he could admit it practically and without guile—but he did not know if she loved him. According to Samson, she didn’t need his money. What she didn’t have in her mother’s empire she’d earned on her own. There was nothing unique he could offer her but himself, and he didn’t know if she wanted him.
She laughed at something Bonadea said and made her way to Daniel’s side, still holding the monkey. When the monkey reached up with his hand, she held his wrist, and he wrapped his little fingers around her thumb. “I should name him, don’t you think?”
Daniel smiled, but narrowed his eyes, trying to be stern so he wouldn’t fall on his knees and beg her to marry him right then. “That thing is not boarding my ship.”
“No, that’s much too long. He needs a shorter name.” She grinned. “Of course he isn’t coming back to the ship. He’s staying here with his other monkey friends.”
“According to Bonadea, he doesn’t have any other monkey friends.”
“I shall introduce him to some.”
“More presents!” Quince called from the fire ring.
She glanced at Quince. “He is the party king, is he not? His grandchildren must have the most splendid celebrations with him.” Her smile faltered. “Will he ever see them again, do you suppose?”
“I hope so. Bonadea’s wife and children have a flight booked eight weeks from now to Port Lucy.”
She nodded, her brow creased. “I know.” She motioned with her head, and he walked slowly with her toward the others. “But that’s different than a man’s grandchildren, isn’t it? They won’t move here, as their parents have lives in England. Will you bring them to visit him?”
Isla and the monkey looked up at him, and he would have promised her the moon. He nodded, his heart in his throat. “Of course I will.”
Something roared and split the night behind him, a shell shooting into the sky and setting his pulse racing along with it. Without thought, he wrapped both arms around Isla and took her to the ground, monkey and all, and shielded them with his body.
Chaos sounded around him, concerned voices, cursing, muttered questions. The monkey screeched, and he felt something scratch at his face. The noise and confusion sounded far away, as though he were in a bubble, and all he could hear clearly was the furious beating of his own heart and his harsh breathing. He gulped for air that wouldn’t fill his lungs quickly enough. They would die. He would see Isla shredded and lifeless before his eyes.
“Daniel.” Her soft voice penetrated the bubble. “Daniel, look at me.”
One side of his face was on fire, the other cradled in her palm.
“Look at me, Daniel. Shh, monkey, stop.”
He felt her thumb smooth his brow, and mercifully, the sharp pain on his other cheek subsided. “Breathe with me. In, and out. Good, slow down. Inhale, and exhale.” She kept pace with him at first, slowing by degrees until he breathed with her. He thought of nothing but pulling air in and letting it back out.
The tunnel of muted noise receded in a rush, and he was suddenly present again. He became aware of people crowding around them, of his arms wrapped tightly around Isla and buried in the sand, of an angry little primate who had stopped clawing his face only because of the influence of a strong empath.
He shuddered, and a low sob escaped, eclipsing his humiliation. He registered the rawness of his throat, the taut ache of every muscle, the ghost pain in a shredded shoulder he no longer had. How could he live his life this way? He couldn’t control himself. What if he hurt someone? What if he hurt her? He touched his forehead to hers. His eyes burned, and he felt the hot sting of tears that escaped his lashes and fell onto hers.
Isla’s hand curled around the back of his neck and nestled in his hair. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “We are safe.”
He swallowed. “I am so sorry,” he managed on a shuddering breath. “Isla, I am so sorry.”
“Shh. We are fine, Daniel. You’ve no need to apologize. You reacted to what you remember as danger, and you saved me.”
He pried his eyes open enough to see tears on her face. He didn’t know which of them they belonged to.
“So, thank you.” She rubbed her thumb along his cheek. “Thank you for saving me.”
He shook his head and told himself to open his arms, but they wouldn’t move. “I didn’t save you. I nearly crushed you. What if we had been near the waterfall? All those rocks . . . you might have hit your head.”
“No. Look at where your hand is.”
He realized his right hand cradled her head, his fingers burrowed deeply into her hair.
“See?” She smiled, and this time he knew the sheen of tears was hers. “Rocks or no rocks, I was safe.”
He closed his eyes briefly and released a long, slow breath. “Was it one of the fireworks?”
She nodded and bit her lip. “I believe so.”
The monkey squawked, and he realized Isla’s empathic hold on the creature would probably expire soon. “Sorry,” he muttered to the hissing bundle of fur and slowly lifted himself, helping Isla sit up.
“Apologies,” he said to the group and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
“An accident, sir,” Samson said. The ’ton hovered nearby, the whirring of his gears evident as he was likely sorting through the combined biorhythms, seeking out Daniel’s first, as he’d been programmed to do. “I sense your alarm. Robert was cleaning the dinner remains and placing items into the crates. The fireworks were on the bottom of one, and I believe the matches must have slipped, made contact. I’ve yet to gather all the information.”
“I understand, Samson.” He cleared his throat. “Was anyone harmed?”
“Only Robert, sir.”
Daniel looked across the sand at his chef. Robert’s head was missing, wires protruding garishly from his neck. He grimaced, grateful it was wires and not blood. Bonadea and Quince hovered nearby, and Lewis sat on one of the logs at the fire, his head in his hands, elbows braced on his knees. His friend’s trembling was visible from where Daniel sat.
Nigel sat near Lewis, his brow drawn in concern, but he didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Oh, monkey,” Isla murmured. She fumbled in her pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and held it to Daniel’s face. “I’m afraid he scratched you quite fiercely.”
Bonadea inched closer to examine Daniel’s face. “Luckily this species doesn’t have claws.”
“There’s looking at the bright side,” Lewis remarked, his head still down. “I hear there always is one.”
Isla laughed, and some of the tension eased. Daniel stood and helped her to her feet. The monkey glared at him and put his head back on her shoulder. She dusted off her skirt and blouse and smiled gently at him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, embarrassed beyond words.
She shook her head. “We all have something we battle. Nobody escapes this life unscathed.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I should clean up, take things back to the ship.”
She took his hand. “We will clean up soon. Please sit with me. I have more presents to receive, after all.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled on his hand and led him over to the fire circle. She and the monkey sat beside Lewis, and she pulled Daniel down next to her.
She threaded her arm through Lewis’s. “Doing better?”
He sat up straight and offered her a half smile. “I’ll be well soon enough. Just takes some time.”
Daniel nodded.
“Has this happened to you often? Perhaps since your return from India?”
Lewis lifted a shoulder. “A handful of times. Mostly around family. I never know what to say, and nobody wants to discuss it, which is fine with me.”
“Perhaps finding someone to discuss it with would help. I know you don’t want to air all of the details with friends and family, but keeping it all locked inside isn’t good.” She shrugged. “My own opinion, of course. Many would disagree with me.”
Lewis rubbed his eyes. “I’ll consider it. I would rather just forget it.”
Daniel completely understood. What he wouldn’t give to forget.