Days of Desire

by Tina Donahue

  Simone put out her hand, stopping Royce from crossing the room. “Stay where you are. Rest your leg.” She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

  James handed the clothes over. “Once Royce is dressed, I’ll escort him to the dining room.”

  “He needs to finish his food first. I have to put a new poultice and bandage on him.”

  “No rush.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the opposite wall. “I’ll wait.”

  She slammed the door.

  Royce washed at the basin. Water clung to his long lashes and chest hair. He scratched his throat.

  “I should shave you.”

  “Tristan’s not going to wait for that. I have to get dressed.”

  “Not before I change your bandage.”

  “It’s fine. Do you have a towel?”

  She clasped the clothes to her breasts and kept her voice low. “I enjoyed our kiss, did you?”

  He glanced around, then dried his face on the bedsheet. “What happened shouldn’t have.”

  “Why not? I want you and you want me.”

  “Give me the clothes.”

  She twisted, keeping them from him. “Are you worried that someday you’ll leave? I know you will. We can enjoy each other until then.”

  “No.”

  Her stomach cramped. “Why not?”

  “There’s no point, no future. You deserve better than me.” He pulled the clothes from her. “I’d appreciate if you’d make more poultices while I’m gone. Leave them and the bandages. I’ll take care of my wound from now on.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “You hate me so much you no longer want me to touch you? After one kiss?”

  He turned away, dressed, and hobbled from the room.

  * * * *

  If Royce could have run, he would have. Each time he put weight on his injured leg, white-hot pain shot to his teeth, keeping him at a great-grandfather’s pace. Having James at his side and armed didn’t help. The moment Royce dared shuffle away, James would shoot him.

  Tristan couldn’t want this meeting to exchange pleasantries. Something had happened and it hadn’t been good.

  Unfortunately, James kept his peace and Royce had no stomach to ask questions. Kissing Simone had been madness enough. An insane act he couldn’t shake.

  Lust sluiced through him, refusing to depart, weakening his knees. She’d smelled better than paradise could, her flowery scent captivating, her underlying musk far better, while her ungodly softness and heat…

  He craved more, everything she had to give, them naked and joined on the bed, floor, ground.

  Until Bishop sold her to the highest bidder or destroyed Royce’s sisters and mother because he hadn’t accomplished his mission.

  He clenched his jaw.

  “Here we are.” James led the way into a dining area, the mahogany table large enough to accommodate thirty.

  Diana and Tristan sat at the far end near bowls heaped with grapes, bananas, pineapples, and rice bread. Trays bore sizzling fish and bacon.

  Two pistols rested between the couple, one for each.

  “Good morning.” Tristan gestured Royce to a chair near him. Sun poured through tall windows and an opening in the roof, the rays glinting on the table and weapons. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Diana.”

  She inclined her head slightly. A stray tress glided across her creamy cheek tinted a soft rose, the same as her silk gown.

  Seeing her at a distance hadn’t prepared Royce for her exquisite features and coloring. No wonder Bishop wanted her. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “That’s James of course.” Tristan gestured to him. “Our friend.”

  “Yes, we’ve already met.”

  “That’s right.” Tristan regarded Royce. “He and Peter carried you to the chamber because you kept swooning. Do you know who I am? Did Simone tell you?”

  “Only your first name and that you’re a captain or were a captain.”

  “I’m a pirate with a price on my head.” He smiled. “Make of that what you will. Would you care for tea?”

  Royce wanted wine or spirits to calm his sprinting pulse. Forced civility charged the air, menace bristling beneath it. The fare he’d had in the chamber might be his last meal if this talk didn’t go as he hoped. “If it’s no bother.”

  “Not at all.” Tristan looked over. “Gavra, s’il vous plait, un peu de thé.”

  She carried a silver tea service, shot Royce a withering look, and filled his cup.

  At least she wasn’t armed except for her foul attitude. He tried a smile. “Merci.”

  She bumped James’s arm and left.

  James pulled out his chair on the other side, next to Diana. Both stared.

  Tristan broke his bread. “How’s the leg?”

  Royce’s heart proved the greater worry, beating so fiercely he had trouble speaking and standing, his legs watery. He sank to his seat. “Hurts, but it stopped bleeding.”

  “Good. I trust you find our accommodations adequate.”

  Tristan lived better than many nobles Royce knew. “Did you build this house?”

  “My husband killed the pirate who owned it.” Diana touched his hand. “Didn’t you, love?”

  “Indeed I did. Sadly, a necessity as he planned to kill me first.”

  James placed his pistol on the table, muzzle pointed at Royce, and smiled. “That wouldn’t do.”

  “No.” Tristan leaned back. “I value safety. I’m sure you agree, Royce.”

  He nodded.

  “Good. What’s the name of your ship that sank?”

  He couldn’t think. “The ship?”

  “That’s what I asked.”

  “It wasn’t mine.” He sipped his tea. Scalding. He suppressed a wince. “It was called Sea Sprite.”

  “Never heard of it.” Tristan glanced at James. “Have you?”

  “No.”

  Tristen faced him. “Are you certain that’s the name?”

  Bishop had sworn he owned the vessel. Royce wasn’t a neophyte at deception, especially against a worthy opponent like Tristan. “I’m quite sure. Why? Did the logbook from another ship or other materials wash ashore? Was there a second tragedy?”

  “Did the Sea Sprite belong to Benedict Bishop?”

  The hairs on Royce’s neck rose. “I have no idea. The vessel was either his, Jenkins, Gaspar, or any others who provide transport. My greatest concern was booking passage on a ship that would take me where I needed to go.”

  “What did you say the name of your company is?”

  He hadn’t, unless he’d spoken in his sleep about the beast who’d put his mother and sisters at risk. Perspiration rolled down Royce’s back. “I do business under my own name. I’m a merchant who serves as a broker for others, dealing with them rather than the public. The man I worked for this time is Quentin Wister.” A boyhood friend who didn’t travel in the same circles as Tristan. Those in Parliament were more Quentin’s style. “I merely roam the world and make deals to bring him and others the finest merchandise for their customers.”

  “How fortunate for Mr. Wister.” Tristan’s neutral expression gave nothing away. “What exactly do you deal in?”

  Royce recited the information he’d committed to memory before coming here.

  “No slaves?”

  His throat constricted. “Mr. Wister has no market for them.”

  Diana’s teacup clinked against the saucer. “How well do you know Bishop?”

  “Not at all. I do know of him, though. Most everyone in business does. Why do you ask?”

  “I loathe the devil.”

  Royce feigned surprise. “Why?”

  “He tried to trap me once but will never do so again. I have unfinished business with him or anyone who dares try to harm my husband, our children, and my brother. If Bishop were ever foolish enough to come here or send an agent, I would shoot him and that man on the spot. No regret. Then I would go after their f
amilies. Hurt mine, and theirs will not live.”

  Determination flared in her eyes.

  Tristan kissed her thumb. “Diana was magnificent against the pirates who attacked here. She outwitted them, ensuring their capture. Peter wanted them hanged. We don’t do that here. Of course, I would make an exception for Bishop.”

  “And his agent,” she said.

  Tristan smiled softly at her. “Quite right. For them, we would have no compassion. Lucky you haven’t anything to do with this foul business, Royce.” Tristan’s easy manner faded, replaced by hard distrust. “You don’t, do you?”

  His blood ran cold. “No. I can assure you, I do not.”

  “Then you’ll live to see another day.”

  Chapter 4

  Later in the morning, Simone rapped lightly on the open library door.

  Diana and Tristan stopped their quiet conversation, their broad smiles greeting her. He stood and gestured to a chair. “Come in, please, and sit.”

  The books with healing magic weren’t on the table. Rolled up papers lay to the side. Gavra had told Simone that Tristan and Diana wanted to see her, not what they’d say.

  Reluctantly, she accepted the chair he’d offered.

  He closed the door and returned. “While we speak, I’ll have to explain to Diana what we’ve said. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted her here as she cares for your well-being, as I do.”

  Simone’s face warmed. They shouldn’t be concerned for her. She’d done nothing wrong. “Do you want me to talk slowly?” Sometimes that helped Diana to understand.

  “No need. I can communicate whatever you tell me.” He spoke English to Diana.

  She smiled gently at Simone. “Ah…soyez vous-mȇme.” Just be yourself.

  Simone nodded.

  Tristan took his seat. “How are Royce’s injuries coming along? With your excellent care, I trust he’s recovering.”

  “His wound still pains him, but I see no illness inside. I change his poultice and bandage more than he wants.”

  Tristan smiled. “I can imagine.” He conveyed the information to Diana. “Gavra said you spent the night in his room.”

  Simone bristled. “I had to. I feared for his good health.”

  “Of course. Philippe said he saw Royce put his hands on you.”

  She stood. “He did not. I shoved Royce back on the bed. He wanted to leave.”

  “You mean escape?”

  Diana waved her hands, her words hurried yet halting. “Que ce…passe-ti-il? Qu’est-ce que…vous…avez dit?” What’s happening? What did you say?

  He spoke to her. At the word “escape”, her eyes widened.

  Simone squeezed her fists to keep from shouting. “Royce told me to take the bed. He said he would sleep in the hall so I could be comfortable. I told him no. I pushed him. Philippe saw nothing bad or wrong.”

  “Of course not,” Tristan said. “I wasn’t accusing you. Philippe wasn’t either. Please sit.”

  She perched on the edge of the chair.

  Tristan spoke hurriedly to Diana. She flushed and said something in return.

  Simone didn’t like this. “What did she say?”

  “That we mean no harm. We don’t know Royce and worry about anything untoward happening to anyone here. Has he mentioned where he hails from or who his people are?”

  “He said he has no one.”

  “Have you ever heard him say the name Benedict Bishop?”

  “No.”

  “Has he talked in his sleep about anything?”

  Simone tensed. “You think he wants to hurt us? No. He was kind to me, worried for my comfort. He has terrible nightmares that make him moan and break my heart. I have never known a finer man. He reminds me of you.”

  Diana looked from her to Tristan.

  He translated and turned back. “Did he tell you what his nightmares are about?”

  “They must be of losing Edward in the storm.”

  “But he didn’t say?”

  “No. His soul is sick, his pain as great as mine when I lost my family. I already told you, he has no one. He and I are both alone. I understand his sadness.”

  Diana patted Tristan’s arm.

  He held up a finger as he always did when needing a moment. “Do you want to continue treating him, Simone? You don’t have to if he reminds you of your loss. I can ask Gavra to take your place.”

  “No. Gavra isn’t a healer. She could harm or kill him. I see how she frowns.”

  “Very well, tend to him as you have been. However, I want you take care, please. Royce seems like a good man, but we don’t know him fully yet. Diana and I would never forgive ourselves if anything bad happened to you.”

  It already had. She hungered for Royce and he’d turned her away, wasting precious time they didn’t have. “Are you going to keep him prisoner here?”

  Tristan sagged in his chair. “No one is that on this island. However, he has to stay until he heals and we find a means to return him to his land.”

  Her heart sank. “How long will it be before you do?”

  “I can’t say. James and I will try to come up with a plan to help Royce. Please don’t tell him that. I wouldn’t want him disappointed if we fail.”

  She wasn’t certain whether to be happy for herself or sad for Royce if he could never return to his people. “Forgive me for being angry at you. I promise to take care. May I leave now?”

  “Of course. If anything unusual happens with him, you will tell us?”

  “I would never hurt our safety and peace. How could I when Adamo, Philippe, or another islander is always outside Royce’s room, watching everything we do?”

  Tristan tapped the table. “I intend to keep a man there, at least for the time being. Not because I don’t trust you. I worry.”

  “You have nothing to fear. Royce will do nothing to me.”

  He’d as much said their one kiss would not happen again. Anything more between them was certainly out of the question.

  * * * *

  A native Royce had never seen before stood sentinel in the forest, pistol in hand, his full attention on this room.

  Royce’s already perilous situation had worsened into a nightmare he wasn’t certain he’d escape.

  During the planning stages for this operation, he’d never underestimated how difficult success would be, or what he’d have to do to outwit his opponent. He’d dismissed rumors that Tristan acted fairly, wasn’t prone to violent rages or killing sprees like most pirates. When a situation involved family and love, a saint would turn to murder.

  Royce had prepared well, informing Bishop that once he’d located the isle, he’d pretend to be shipwrecked, gain Tristan and the other pirates’ trust, then find a way to get Diana alone to spirit her away to a skiff and finally Bishop’s waiting ship. Royce had created Edward, the cabin boy, as a reasonable explanation for his worry about the carrier pigeons. Using them, he’d send messages to Bishop and his men in Mozambique, telling them when to set sail for this locale and where to hide to await him. Once Diana was in Bishop’s hands, the other men could do whatever they pleased whether storming the island or burning it to the ground. Particulars hadn’t mattered to Royce. He’d believed his only remorse would be taking Diana and her unborn child, if she proved pregnant. After Bishop paid Royce for his work and he killed the swine, Diana would be free to do whatever she wanted. A pleasant outcome for everyone involved, except for Bishop.

  Pity, Royce’s idea hadn’t worked as simply as that. He hadn’t anticipated so many island men, each armed. Nor had he considered Tristan would be suspicious so soon that the shipwreck might be Bishop’s doing. No way for Tristan to know for certain, of course, but his distrust would make life difficult.

  Then there were the innocents. Women and children Royce hadn’t expected to meet firsthand, foolishly hoping there would only be men here, except for Diana. Bad enough to ruin her life, but the others too?

  He
held his head, not wanting to think about them and especially Simone. A sweet, trusting soul, lush as Botticelli’s Venus, seductive as sin, ripe for a rapist and master’s cruel acts.

  If Royce executed his plan, she and her people would suffer greatly. Halting the scheme was impossible. His mother and sisters would never return home. The horrors they already faced would intensify once Bishop exacted his revenge.

  Even the devil wasn’t as vile.

  There had to be a way out of this to spare everyone, including Royce’s family, Simone, and Diana. If only he knew what.

  Royce’s shoulders and arms ached. His head throbbed from too many competing thoughts, none feasible. If he did nothing, everyone on the island would be safe. Bishop might actually believe Royce had perished in the fake shipwreck.

  That would spare all here but not his mother, Nell, and Katie. Katie was only twelve, a little girl who should be laughing not struggling for food and shelter.

  He wanted to scream. Anguish tightened his throat, not letting him breathe. If he could have moved without pain, he would have paced until he’d worn a path in the marble. For what seemed an eternity, he considered options, discarding each, beginning anew, going in circles.

  The door swung open.

  Gavra. Wearing another frown, she carried in bread, meat, cheese, fruit, and a teacup on a tray. Sun slanted across the fare, rays brightening the room. Hours gone without him realizing it.

  Royce stood. Pain ripped through his leg ruthlessly. He clutched the chair. “Is it time for the midday meal?” The sun wasn’t at its highest point.

  He hoped Gavra hadn’t drugged the food, inducing him to sleep and talk.

  She placed the tray on the table and pivoted.

  “Wait.” He followed unsteadily. “Where’s Simone?”

  Gavra glared. “Not here.”

  “I can see that. Where is she?”

  “Not here.”

  His belly clenched. “You mean on the island? She left? How? To go where?”

  “You leave her alone.” She poked his chest.

  He teetered back, favoring his good leg. “I haven’t done anything to her. I simply want to know if she’s all right. Is she?”

  “As long as she stays away from here and you.”