Forbidden Desire Page 16

  Not as they had on the bed, their feet bobbing. Fear tightened their features.

  If Heath had a choice, he would have avoided mentioning his departure until he sailed. He couldn’t. They had to discuss him leaving and returning. Especially his homecoming. “Royce promised to find the safest way. One where ships rarely go. Please don’t worry.” He stroked their cheeks. “There’s no need. The weather’s fine. Mariners seek deeper water to reach the African coast for trade. That’s not anywhere near here. Pirates follow them to board their ships. Those vessels are the ones with treasure, not what we use. The real danger I’ll face is missing the only women I’ll ever love.”

  He hoped his pretty words would produce a smile and put them back in his arms.

  Aimee didn’t look up.

  Netta smoothed her cloth. “Will you bring the priest back?”

  “He’s another reason I’m going. Several islanders and Diana want their babes christened.”

  Aimee wound a tress around her finger. “Will you speak to him about us?”

  Heath would rather face a pistol to his head. He’d had a bellyful of sermons at the workhouse, each filled with fiery threats for boys to seek a righteous way or else. Even as a child, he’d preferred the fury in Hell to the grim existence preachers inflicted on their flocks. At least before damnation, he’d have fun. “I won’t tell him about us, if that’s what you mean. It would be best if he and I got to know each other first. Become friends. That might ease the way for him to consider the vows.”

  “When he speaks of anything except his rules, the language he uses is different than ours.” Netta brushed dirt off her foot. “Tristan calls it Portuguese. Do you know it?”

  He didn’t. Could be a blessing. He wouldn’t have to lie to the priest and remember what he’d said. “No. We’ll have to wait until he’s here and Tristan can have a word.” Heath kissed their foreheads. “Breakfast is ready. I’m famished.”

  He ate heartily.

  They nibbled their food. Their silence lengthened and held.

  * * * *

  In the courtyard, Ourson had laid out carpentry tools but no wood. The other boys flanked him. They regarded Heath as they would a god descending from on high.

  “I told them about our rocks.” Ourson circled Heath. “Put the sacks down so I can show them what we found.”

  “Take care and don’t throw them at each other or anyone else.”

  “Only an infant would be so foolish. Not a quartermaster.” He hit his fist against his skinny chest, indignation on his face.

  Precisely the way Heath would have reacted. At that age, he’d longed to be a man too. Unfortunately, adulthood had proved nearly as challenging as his youth. “Of course, you wouldn’t. I spoke in haste. Here you are.” He lowered the sacks to the ground.

  Ourson gestured his friends back. “No one touches these. Only me.”

  A younger child with light brown hair stuck his finger in his nostril. “Why?”

  “They have fire inside.” He pulled two out. “See how red they are. When you break them open, flames pour out.”

  The boys’ eyes widened. The tallest leaned in. “Break them now.”

  “No.” Ourson cradled the stones to him. “Heath and I have to build a…” He looked up. “What did you call it?”

  “Smelting furnace.” He opened the book and tapped the drawing. “Like this.”

  Ourson looked down his nose at the boys. “No one touches the book either. It belongs to Tristan.”

  Heath had to return it and the other volume, plus speak to Royce. “I must be going.”

  Ourson jumped to his feet. “Can I go too?”

  “Not today. I’ll come back shortly. When I do, we’ll build a chair. Where is my wood?”

  “I can bring it here.” Ourson dashed across the courtyard.

  Several boys followed, shouting they wanted to help.

  No one was in the library this early. Heath returned the books to their proper locations but couldn’t find Tristan’s charts.

  Tristan, Diana, Merry, James, Royce, and Peter were in the dining area. Diana wore diamonds and a blue silk gown. The men’s chests were bare, but they had on new breeches. The surroundings were no less majestic. Sun streamed from an opening in the roof. Potted plants fluttered in the mild breeze. Fish, bacon, bread, and fruit filled silver trays on the table.

  Though they lived a grand life in this place, Heath wasn’t envious. He liked the home he’d share with Netta and Aimee. Hopefully, their pensive moods had passed and they’d get used to his departure. He dreaded them worrying even more.

  Tristan peeled a boiled egg. “What brings you here?”

  “I was looking for Royce.” He spoke to him. “I returned late with Orson and continued home. Sorry. Are you still mapping the route?” A chart lay to his side.

  Peter had another at his.

  Heath prayed Diana hadn’t changed her mind and Peter would now be accompanying him. Keeping Peter in line during the voyage wasn’t a task Heath welcomed. His worry about Aimee, Netta, and the priest was enough.

  Royce finished his tea. “Working on it now. We can discuss the details after breakfast.”

  Diana stroked Merry’s back. She slept peacefully. “Would you care for something, Heath? We have plenty.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ve already eaten. I would like to ask Tristan about the priest.”

  He finished his egg and gestured Heath to a chair. “What do you need to know?”

  “What sort of man he is.” Heath sat next to Royce. “His personality and beliefs. Is he strict or does he understand men can’t always be proper when it comes to…” He couldn’t go on with Peter here. “Perhaps we should speak in private.”

  “About Netta and Aimee?” Peter rested his arms on his head and grinned. “I already know about you and them. They came to me and I took them to Diana. Who do you think translated for everyone?”

  Warmth shot to Heath’s face and throat. “Thank you for being helpful.”

  James snickered.

  “Enough.” Tristan scowled at the men. “In a moment, you’ll have Heath in tears.”

  Diana slapped Tristan’s arm. “You’re not making matters any better. Answer the poor man’s question.”

  “He didn’t finish asking it.”

  Heath sagged in his chair. “How does he feel about women being with men? Intimately so.”

  “Oh that.” Tristan swiped a linen napkin across his mouth and dropped it on the table. “He loves the ladies. Can’t get enough for himself.”

  Diana regarded Heath sympathetically. “Forgive my husband. He loves to tease.”

  James laughed. “Not this time. He’s telling the truth.”

  Peter nodded.

  “What?” Diana sat up so quickly, Merry mewled. She soothed her. “Are you saying he indulges himself with women? Unheard of for a priest. I thought their church insisted on celibacy.”

  “As far as I know, they do.” Tristan shrugged. “He doesn’t hold firmly to that tenet.”

  “Clearly. What does that mean for the vows we exchanged before him? Were they true? Why didn’t you tell me, and don’t you dare say it’s because I’m a woman and a mother. I had a right to know.”

  “Sorry, love.” Tristan patted her hand. “He was the only religious man on the isle. I had no choice except to use him for our nuptials. Since the Church doesn’t know what he does here, he hasn’t been excommunicated. If they even do that for wayward priests. Perhaps they look the other way. In any event, he’s still a holy man and the vows should stick.”

  “They had better. We have a child.”

  “And many more to come, I trust.”

  They exchanged an intimate smile.

  Heath rubbed his neck. He admired Diana and Tristan’s devotion to each other but their bloody passion kept get
ting in the way when he had real problems to solve. “Does this mean he’d be tolerant of my situation? Aimee and Netta have their hearts set on a proper wedding. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen.”

  “The most I can do is speak to him when he arrives.”

  Peter tented his hands and rested his chin on them. “You should threaten to withhold his food and drink until he agrees to see things as Netta and Aimee do. Given how he loves to imbibe and eat, he’d yield in a moment.”

  Diana stroked Merry faster. “Does he lack any vice?”

  “Not that I know of. He sailed with me, Tristan, and James many times. When we boarded ships, he cut down several mariners before we had to.”

  “He murdered innocent men?”

  Peter crinkled his nose. “They were hardly innocent. If he hadn’t done them in, one of us would have been dead.”

  Hope sprang anew for Heath. Perhaps he could persuade the man to see matters his way. “This has been most enlightening.”

  Diana shook her head.

  Royce pushed the chart toward Heath. “This is your best route.” He ran his finger northeast from this isle to Faucon.

  “Or he might try this.” Peter brought his map over and showed another way. “James and I took this passage when we brought the prisoners there.”

  Heath’s unfamiliarity with the area made him cautious. “I’m an excellent mariner, but I don’t know these islands. Tristan, which do you think is best?”

  Though Bishop had called Tristan a worthless fool, no man could have evaded capture as long as he had unless he knew the sea better than himself. Heath trusted his opinion.

  Tristan pored over the maps and selected Royce’s choice.

  Peter crossed his arms. “I still say my way is best.”

  Heath committed the route to memory. “Perhaps the next time.”

  “Next time?” Diana bounced Merry, who’d awakened and whimpered loudly. A cry or shriek could be next. “If you’re able to marry Netta and Aimee will you’ll be doing this again?”

  “Even if I can’t wed them, this will probably be my last voyage. They worry greatly. For no good reason. Perhaps you could talk to them.”

  “My French isn’t fluent enough yet. If I upset them and they start speaking quickly, I wouldn’t be able to follow.”

  Peter leaned against the table. “I could translate. What would you like me to tell them?”

  “To keep their man here.” Diana transferred Merry to her other shoulder. “Where he belongs.”

  Peter pinched his nose. “I should have asked Heath.”

  “Very well.” Heath rapped the table. “I’d have Diana say what I’ve told them repeatedly. The journey is short and simple. Absolutely no danger. Nothing bad will befall me.”

  * * * *

  Vincent lay face down in the pen he shared with the other prisoners. He hadn’t budged in three days except to sip water and take in scant food. An islander had whipped him for not hauling enough wood and not digging a hole fast enough. Bloody savage. Stupid fool. Matching wits with everyone on this isle proved easy for Vincent. He’d deliberately caused trouble to encourage punishment, pretended the welts on his back burned worse than they did, and feigned grievous injury by taking in little water and almost nothing to eat. At least while anyone watched.

  When no one could get him to move, the healer had examined him. He supposed she said he was unfit for labor. Once she left, he didn’t have to work any longer and everyone else stayed clear.

  Not Canela.

  Since he’d claimed this spot, she’d taken to strolling by at night. Close enough for him to smell her dark skin and the cloyingly sweet flowers she rubbed on herself. They didn’t remove her island stench. She’d never be more than an animal to him. Her kind had no purpose except to serve his people. He’d bloody well make certain she did so.

  He waited for her approach.

  The waning moon barely lit the sky much less the earth. Even with his eyes adjusted to the inky blackness, Vincent couldn’t see any better than a blind man. However, his hearing was excellent.

  Across the pen, a man coughed. Surf swelled and broke. Bushes rustled when they shouldn’t have. There wasn’t significant wind to disturb them. Someone was out there.

  Feet padded close. Canela’s sickening fragrance wafted toward him.

  He breathed through his mouth but didn’t expect her to acknowledge his presence. Ample time had passed for the bird to deliver its message and return. She could have told him days ago.

  Tonight, she laughed softly, derisively. The sound pinpointed her location.

  Vincent jumped to his shackled feet, clamped his hand around her throat, and pressed his mouth to her ear. “You best not be treating me lightly unless you care to die.”

  She writhed and clawed him.

  He tightened his grip. Not enough to strangle her but to prove she’d never best him. Not even in his current state, fettered and half-starved.

  Her hands fell away.

  A good first step. He loosened his hold slightly. “Tell me about the bird. Don’t lie. I’ll know if you do and you won’t live to tell another one.”

  She stiffened.

  He squeezed.

  “It returned. Tristan’s men sail here next month to deliver seeds and to bring the priest back with them.”

  The seeds made sense. The crops here were failing miserably. Damn islanders weren’t intelligent enough to grow food unless an Englishman showed them how. The priest though… “Seems you do want to die. Tristan isn’t a pious man. He wouldn’t risk a ship or his crew for a bloody priest.” He pressed his thumb into her throat.

  She clenched his wrist. “He would for Diana. They had a child and want the priest to christen her.”

  The last time Vincent had seen Diana, she’d been in her tub naked save for the diamonds about her throat. When he’d attacked, wanting them and her, she clutched her belly as a woman would when carrying something more precious than jewels or gold. “What do you know, Tristan’s a father now. How interesting.”

  “Oui. We can use the child to bring him to his knees.”

  “Quite right. I’d wager him losing his little girl would drive him quite mad.”

  “And destroy Diana.”

  Canela’s venom impressed Vincent. Once harnessed, her rage could prove most useful. “You claim they sail to this isle next month. The beginning? The end? When?”

  “No one said.”

  “Of course not, but you’ll tell me when they do, eh? Not good enough.” He yanked her to him. “I want dates and details now. Everything you overheard. If you don’t tell me, I’ll share your secret with these savages. If they don’t kill you outright, they may hack off your arms and legs. Other pirates told me they do that here to those they don’t like. Without your limbs, how will you escape? How will you eat or even survive? They’ll leave you to starve to death slowly. Perhaps on display for everyone to point at and laugh. If you cry out, they’ll cut out your blasted tongue. That’s another torture these animals love.”

  She whimpered.

  Sounded fearful but could be an act. With her, anything was possible. He maintained his caution. “Talk.”

  Canela turned her face into his, her mouth on his ear.

  “Bite me and you’re dead. To hell with escape. I’ll gladly kill you right here and now.”

  “If you tell them about my secret—our secret to leave here, the men would come after you next. Do you think anyone here would spare you?”

  “I have no doubt they’d murder me in a second. I’m not talking about our plan. It’s not the only thing you’re keeping from them, is it?”

  “What do you mean? There is nothing else.”

  “No? What about the cook nearly dying because you fooled with her food? Used too many sleeping herbs, did you? That was an unfortunate mistake
. A damn foolish one too. You might have ruined everything. Luckily, she’s as sturdy as a bull and survived. What do you think she and the others would do if they knew what you were up to?”

  Canela stilled.

  Vincent wagered she no longer breathed. “Betray me in the least, keep even the smallest information from me and I’ll tell them everything I know.”

  “How?” She sniffed. “You only speak English, not French.”

  “I can point. First to you, then to where you hid the herbs in your pen, then to the pot you cook food in. Even a dolt would be able to figure out what I was trying to say. The cook might not believe me. I can see she likes you, fool that she is. But the large woman wants you dead. She’s waiting for a chance to bring you down. Want me to help her?”

  “No. We need to do this together, as you said, so we best Tristan. I had to test the sleeping herbs to know how much to use for our escape.”

  How sweet. She spoke of them as partners again, rather than him as an inconvenience. Vincent didn’t trust her for a second. “Use all of it when it’s time to leave. Who cares if these savages ever wake up? If they’re dead they can’t stop us, now can they?”

  “No. What about Diana’s child?”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s mine, not yours.”

  “Take the brat if you like. Do whatever you choose with her. I want the jewels, gold, and Diana. At least until she bores me and I put a bullet in her head.”

  “Have you said anything to your men about this?”

  “I bloody well can’t if I don’t know details.” Even with the information, Vincent would keep everything to himself until the last moment. The safest way so no one could cross him. Except Canela. Protecting himself from her would prove difficult enough. “When do they set sail?” He squeezed her throat. A warning that her answer had better not evade the issue as it had before or disappoint him.

  “The second week.”

  That would put them here during the third. Considering wind conditions, it should take approximately a fortnight to leave Tristan’s island, arrive here, and return. Unless some island custom required a ceremony in addition to trade. Thus far, the natives here had traveled to Tristan’s isle, not the other way around. “Do your people have a celebration after they trade with these savages?”