Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  “He has done that once before.”

  “But…” Lean Wolf sought a reason to explain his vehemence. If he wished to retain Panther’s support in this battle for Raven, no flicker of passion for the pirate’s woman must be perceived. “But now I see that the mighty Black Chief wraps his only vulnerability in lies, believing us too stupid to discover it. As if we were dogs, he thinks to put us off her scent.”

  “And his attentions to Raven? How he dallied with her? I would think this the first reason you revile him.”

  “Yes….Of course.” Grimly, Lean Wolf reflected that his reasons for resentment were far more personal than those of the People. Perhaps no older reason existed for one man to murder another.

  But Panther seemed to accept Lean Wolf’s motives. “His behavior would show that he does not value his woman above any other. If this is the case, my heart softens toward her. But I cannot understand how she escaped us. Our eyes are sharp as the hawk’s, and we traveled like eels down the river.”

  “I reminded you then, Panther. If the female he raised from the river is the one we believe her to be, she once flew with the Golden Boy’s flock. No doubt she became a bird again.”

  “A bird with wet feathers. We should have spotted her in the waterway, or hiding along the banks.”

  “Well, perhaps she became a mermaid, as the Black Chief claimed.”

  “If she did, he is welcome to her. I know better than to tangle with those creatures. No man who swims with sea-maids returns with his spirit intact.”

  “Many times as a boy I fished for them in the Lagoon. Only once did I come close enough to touch a sea woman.” As he remembered her, Lean Wolf’s yearning returned in full. “She had flowing yellow hair, and sea-green eyes. And the veil of her tail was so filmy, I thought I could spy legs beneath it. Her tail was golden and shining, with scales so delicate I believed I might breathe them away to see her bare.”

  “How did you get so close, Lean Wolf?”

  “I did as the Black Chief claims to do. I brought jewelry, to tempt her. I searched the shores for a cycle of seasons, saving up the most unusual shells. All shapes and colors— coral, eggshell, brown like a yearling, striped and speckled. I polished them until they glowed, and I strung them on braided threads.”

  Panther’s expression was one of amazement. “And?”

  “And one day I sat on the big boulder in the Lagoon, stirring the water with my toes and wearing that necklace. The white clouds reflected in the sea, and drifted past my eyes many times before I saw her rising from them. Her hair was yellow, as I told you, but under the water it looked green as a spent leaf turning in autumn, and rippled when she moved, like seaweed in the current. I watched her circling around and around that rock, each time swimming a little closer. She was just as beautiful as the legends say, and she displayed everything…everything but shyness at her nakedness.

  “You can imagine how, as a boy, I became dizzy staring at her. I was thrilled to see that she kept looking at me, too, admiring my necklace. I pretended indifference, all the while the green-gold of her tail flashed the light of the sky at me from under the water. I was dazzled, but I would not show her. I sat and waited. Finally, when I made no move, she slithered right up on the rock beside me.”

  “Then?” Panther’s eyes were circles of brown.

  “I felt her hair dripping water on my elbow. I smelled the salt on her skin— oh, Panther…such a fragrance! Ever since, the smell of the sea bewitches me. And then I felt her soft, damp hand upon my chest. Not a clammy hand, as you might expect, but warm, like the waters that fall from the upper river. The golden scales on the back of her hand reflected shards of sunlight, but her palm was smooth, like a girl’s. I was already aroused, but just to feel her touch on my breast nearly unmanned me, and my eagerness became my downfall.”

  “She fled?”

  “No! She swished her tail in the water, to tickle my feet, and then she leaned closer, and she kissed me— with lips soft and moist as a willing woman. A trickle of liquid flowed from her mouth to mine. I lost control. I tasted the brine on her tongue, I seized her in my arms, and of course I had to caress her breasts. They were full, but not heavy, with lovely blue veins showing just beneath her skin— skin so pale above the surface, but blue-green in the water. I bent to press my lips to her nipple, perfectly round and pointed, the most solid thing about that soft, soft mergirl, and it was a shade of purple you could not conceive. She pushed close, as if she enjoyed my nibbling. She blew gentle breaths in my ear, like sighs of pleasure. When I raised my face, she took hold of my necklace and slipped it over my head to slide it over her own. I didn’t care about the necklace, it had done its work, but I reached for her hair so that I might feel the color of the sun, and the next thing I knew, I sat aching and alone on a wet rock, my mouth empty, my fingers bereft, and my branch as hard as the surface on which I perched, with no relief in sight…only the foam bouncing where she’d splashed. I swam through the cool waters to one of the caves in the cliff, and in the darkness there, I listened to her crooning in the distance, and conjured the feel and the taste of her long enough to end my torture.”

  “Lean Wolf. How do I believe such a tale? Surely you would have told this story long before now, if it is true.”

  “Ha ha! Oh, no, Panther. Not I. I was young and proud. I boasted only of my successes…and this was the fish that got away!”

  Panther slapped his thigh and guffawed. “And, I think, the only one! But you were wise to bring her a gift, and lucky to have pleasured her. Otherwise she might have drowned you.”

  “I do not doubt it. Under such enchantment, a man thinks nothing of his need to breathe.”

  “It’s true! I myself stopped breathing as you described her.”

  “I learned a lesson. I am no fisherman. I am a hunter. Since that time I limit my pursuits to solid ground. I find creatures of the dry land much easier to catch.” Lean Wolf’s narrow face grew determined. “Still, I enjoy a challenge. Perhaps I can coax a bird woman, like the Black Chief’s, to fly to my hand.”

  “Or a raven, maybe?” Smiling at his joke, Panther stood to eye the festivities. “Come and dance now, Lean Wolf. She is watching the celebrants. You will have an opportunity to show off your plumage.”

  “Yes. I will come.” Waiting for the prerogative of indulging in Raven’s body was an annoyance, but Lean Wolf knew the remedy. And as he strutted with Panther toward the bonfire he thought again: how to catch a bird? How to clip her wings? He would need to use his strength; he would use persuasion; he would need a cage to keep her. And, mostly, he would need his cunning. Today he allowed her to escape. The next time he hunted, she would be his. He would hold that hair and, at last, feel the color of the sun.

  For he had tracked her down this afternoon. His hunter’s eyes had spotted the broken reeds where she’d dragged herself from the river. He had seen her disappearing behind a boulder in a shady, shallow bit of marsh, a doe’s leap from the stream. His eyes had locked in a stare with her startled, sea-blue gaze. She knew she was found.

  But she hadn’t moved, she hadn’t shied from him. She knelt stock still, exhibiting no trace of panic. Lean Wolf had glanced at Panther to make sure his friend had not glimpsed her, but Panther was searching the opposite bank. Lean Wolf steered the canoe toward the far shore. When he looked behind him, the red-handed one was sitting, panting, her head leaned back against the rock in a posture of exhaustion and relief. She wore a tunic of golden yellow, the exact same color as the tail of that intriguing creature in the Lagoon so many years ago, and just as clinging; he thought he could see her legs through it. The jewels at her breast twinkled topaz in the sun, like that sea woman’s scales, and her nipples rose from her breast, just as soft, just as solid. The human had proven nearly as elusive as the sea-maid, but the Silent Hunter had stalked her. The moment to lure her from hiding had not yet arrived. Lean Wolf wanted to take her captive, but, unlike the tribe, he didn’t want to harvest her scalp, and he didn’t
want her dead.

  Silent Hunter wanted the Black Chief’s woman very much alive.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “He saw me. I looked directly into those wolf-like eyes.” Jill’s gaze was intent on Mr. Smee as he finished tying her dressing gown. She was safe once more in the commodore’s quarters, dry and warmed by a brisk toweling and the cup of broth Smee insisted she drink. But the images of her ordeal kept flashing before her vision. “He had such a hungry look, like a half starved predator.”

  “The hungry look I can understand. The mystery is why he let you go free.”

  “I was sure he’d come after me. And I was so tired, and my clothing so heavy with water. It was all I could do to pull myself from the river. I had no strength left to cover my tracks, even if I’d had time.” She shivered again, and Smee refilled her cup. Gratefully, she wrapped her hands around its heat. “But why didn’t that warrior capture me?”

  “There’s no way of guessing, Lady. In all my dealings with those Indians, I’ve never known a brave to show mercy to a man. But to a woman now, that might be more understandable.”

  “Then why did they hunt for me at all? Surely the People are eager to take Hook and his mate together. What a prize we would be to them!”

  “I shudder to think how readily they’d have murdered you, once they’d trapped you both.”

  “I wish I knew what is happening to Hook.” Jill’s eyes strayed to the hourglass sitting on Hook’s desk. How long had Cecco and the men been gone? It seemed to her that the sands dropped slowly, as if freshly dredged from the Indian river bottom. After her own troubles, Jill’s resistance was low, and she had to blink the weary tears away. “If only I could save him, as he saved me, twice over, this afternoon.”

  “You’re knowing as well as I am, Ma’am. He’s content just having you safe here with me.”

  “Conor.”

  Smee responded to her cue; she had called him by his given name. “Jill,” he gathered her into his arms. She needed him, and Hook counted on Smee to watch over her. Smee would do anything the commodore commanded, but this obligation was no chore. He was accustomed to the silky feel of her dressing gown. With her body inside it, though, it felt like heaven.

  Jill sought reassurance in his hold. “Do you think Captain Cecco can free him?”

  “I’m thinking he can.” Smee peered over his spectacles. “But it remains to be seen if he did.”

  “You don’t doubt that Cecco would fight for Hook? You saw how quickly he ordered the boats and rallied the men.”

  “Aye, I saw him. But he’d have to make a show if he wanted to be keeping you, now wouldn’t he? Cecco’s no fool. He’s aware you’d be turning your back on him if he shirked his duty in any way— let alone throwing the commodore to those bloodthirsty natives.”

  “He saved Hook from the doctor.”

  “That he did. But time’s been passing, and he’s had long enough to brood over that decision. Time he didn’t have before he made it.”

  “Hook tested him then. He trusts him now. And so do I.”

  “Then it’s up to me, isn’t it, Lady, to keep a protective eye on you both?” Smee drew the cup from her fingertips to set it down, then he took off his spectacles and pulled her closer. “Now I’m duty bound to be following the commodore’s orders. He’d brew to a fury if I let you stand here fretting, and neglected to remind you of his love. So kiss me, lass.”

  A smile wavered on Jill’s face. “I’ll kiss you, Conor Smee. We’d neither of us disobey his orders.” Her spirit drew strength as she thought of the constancy of her lover’s consideration. He had arranged that she should never be left wanting for his affection. “Hook always knows what I’m needing. He’s an insightful man.”

  “And a generous one.” Smee lingered a finger’s width from her lips. “And you’re just like him…with one important difference.” Smee was accustomed to strong concoctions, but, hardy as he was, he got the heady feeling he always got when Jill stood close. His great heart ached, and the room seemed to turn. He’d felt something like this years ago, the first time he laid eyes on the commodore, so fine and so capable. To serve such a man had given Smee’s drifting life direction, a purpose to fulfill. Smee felt needed. He planted his feet more firmly and, with tenderness, he drew Jill to his embrace. The blood rushed to his head again. She was Hook’s woman. She was Hook himself. In Smee’s mind, his duties to the two were inseparable.

  But the kiss was brief. It lasted only long enough to steady them both. Grounded once more— as Hook intended— in the comfort of their companionship, they addressed the concern that never left them: Hook’s safety. Smee retrieved his spectacles and threw a glance at the sluggish hourglass, then guided Jill to the cushioned window seat that ran from port to starboard under the stern windows of the commodore’s quarters. Here they sat, framed by the elegance of the woodwork, and held each other’s hands. Together, they gazed anxiously toward the Island.

  Jill said, “I’d never caught the Indian war cry so close at hand. It’s a ghastly sound. Exhausted as I was, I nearly dropped when I heard it.”

  “Don’t upset yourself, Lady. The commodore has heard it before. It’ll not be fazing him.” But Smee’s worry wasn’t easy to hide. In spite of the lilt in his accent, his voice betrayed it. “You’re sure he wasn’t injured in the rapids?”

  “I really don’t know. He seemed all right when he sent me away, but I had no time to inquire.”

  “I’ll see to him when he gets back. Your shoulder will be tender for a week or so, but that poultice will soothe the bruising. It’s as well you took a dip in cold water. Keeps the swelling down. Washed the bloodstains right out of your tunic, too.”

  “I’m glad. Hook loves to see me wear it. He says the color matches my spirit.”

  “Aye, it does. Bright and bold. But why ever were you bold enough to go swimming in the first place, and right there at the head of the rapids? And how the commodore could leave every weapon but his hook behind is beyond me.”

  “I do wish you had allowed me to see Lightly and Rowan, to thank them for collecting our things. I see you’ve cleaned them already.” The swords and pistols hung in their places on the cabin wall, waiting for the next adventure. Jill’s jeweled dagger slumbered beneath her pillow, where she herself had declined to lie, knowing rest would elude her.

  “You were in no condition to receive visitors, Ma’am.”

  Shouts from the quarterdeck caused Jill and Smee to sharpen their watch. Soon the lookout hailed Captain Cecco’s return. Boots stamped overhead as men ran to the taffrail, and Jill held her breath, scanning the mouth of the river. She snatched up a spyglass.

  Across the bay and past the cliff, the boats were returning. Their oars pulled at the water in regular rhythm, and all seemed orderly, as if no struggle had taken place aboard them. Jill let out her breath. The boats appeared to be returning at least as many men as they had carried to the encampment.

  Squinting, Jill tried to distinguish the figures. The setting sun cast the river’s mouth in shadow, and at first the boats were shaded by the Island. As the lead craft pulled into the sea, left of the cliff face, the light fell fully upon it. Jill saw two familiar figures standing at the prow. Her husband’s jewelry twinkled brightly now. And then, Hook’s white shirt took precedence, seeming to bloom as the sun illuminated it.

  “Smee, look! He’s safe! They’re both safe.” She squeezed Smee’s arm and gave him the glass.

  “Aye! Thank the Powers.”

  Jill didn’t need to hear the sailors’ cheering to confirm it, but she relished the sound. Her heart felt light again, and hardly required the following boom of Red Lady’s cannon to buoy it. Hook lifted his arm to returned his sailors’ salute, the metal of his claw bright against the shadows from which he had emerged, unbeaten. Another round of “Huzzah!” rolled forth from the ships.

  Jill jumped up, preparing to race to the deck, but Smee held her back. “No, Lady. It wouldn’t be fitting to go among the men in ju
st your robe. Best to wait here. I’m sure the commodore will want to greet you privately, anyway. Come and sit you by the window again.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She knelt on the pad of the window seat to lean out the casement. Smee held her waist to secure her. She’d been so tired when Cecco brought her home. Wet and bedraggled, she’d barely managed to fly to Red Lady, and Cecco himself had carried her to the Roger, swinging across on a cable with the lady in his arm. He’d spoken strictly to Smee, instructing him, unnecessarily, to get her into dry clothing and lay her down to rest. Her face had been white with anxiety and fatigue. Smee was encouraged to see her color returned with the commodore…and with the captain. Smee’s hold on her waist tightened.

  As the parade of boats entered the arms of the bay, two men looked eagerly toward the Roger. A patch of blue at a window of the master’s quarters set their minds at ease. Jill waved to them, blowing kisses from her scarlet hand. Both officers smiled and returned her greeting, until one of them stopped abruptly. The longboat floated near enough now for him to see, quite clearly, the possessive arms of the bo’sun clasping her waist. Captain Cecco leveled a malevolent stare at Smee. He watched, darkly, as his wife turned without thinking, and hugged him.

  Without thinking, Cecco felt for his weapons.

  A restraining hand covered Cecco’s.

  “We have left the enemy behind, Captain.” Hook released him. Darting a glance to the rowing sailors, Hook reminded Cecco that he was observed.

  Cecco showed only as much animosity as he dared. “That is your opinion. Sir. It may not be mine.”

  “Perhaps you will listen to the signora’s, then. And, no doubt, you would like to assure yourself of her welfare. Come to my quarters, Captain. I owe you a drink, after all.”

  “Aye, Commodore.” Cecco muttered only to himself, “You owe me.”

  Hook, as Mr. Smee had stated, was a generous man; as Jill asserted, he was an insightful one. While the gypsy captain anticipated a meeting with Jill, Hook watched his features smooth. But haunting those dusky eyes was a hungry look. Like a half starved predator.