by Tina Donahue
Yearning filled her eyes. Love softened her beautiful features.
He smiled gently.
She lowered her face.
Tristan and Diana entered the room. Her wan complexion and the dark circles beneath her eyes confirmed her distress at who might die in the attack. Tristan pressed his mouth to her ear. She nodded at whatever he said, but held on to his hand, forcing him to break free.
He joined Royce. “Best we begin. Do you want to explain things here as you did to the men?”
“No.”
“Don’t blame you. Women refuse to believe our tall tales about glorious conflict. They have to live with the enormous loss.”
“You should have killed me on the beach to keep things from coming to this.”
“Too late for that now. Besides, your family needs you. Never forget that. Your responsibility toward them will help you survive the battle.”
Tristan held up his hands to the women.
They quieted their children and bounced their infants. Several cried, their shrieks piercing.
Royce welcomed the noise, envying men who returned home after a long day to their wives, sons, and daughters. Such a small thing to expect and currently out of reach for him and Simone.
She peeked at him. He couldn’t look anywhere except her.
Tristan explained the coming problem to the women.
Gasps filled the room.
He spoke gently and confidently, promising the isle would remain in the islanders’ hands. He never touched upon the price for success, the possible gore and death.
Women murmured to each other. Children grew restless, pestering their mothers for attention.
The young woman next to Simone wept. Simone hugged her but didn’t cry.
Royce wagered she’d already known about the coming assault. She certainly understood his part in bringing it here.
A heavily pregnant woman slapped her hands together, drawing Tristan’s notice. “Will all the men fight or only some? My Étienne has trouble walking. He hurt his leg when he worked on Adamo’s home.”
Zola stood. “Adamo’s arm is weak. He has trouble seeing out of one eye, but he will fight to protect this isle and us. All men will, except those who are cowards.”
“You dare accuse my man of such a thing?” She shook her fist. “You should save your words for Adamo. He helped Canela bring Yellow Scarf here. Adamo deserved what he got.”
“Ladies.” Royce stood between the women. “Be careful not to say what you can’t take back. We’re preparing your men so they don’t get hurt. I’m the only one who’s going to face danger when Bishop and his men arrive. I’ll be the first one they come upon and I will be alone.”
“No!”
Everyone turned to Simone.
She ran from view.
Tristan clamped Royce’s arm. “Leave her be. There’s nothing you can do to make this better. We stand, fight, and die if we must.”
* * * *
Unspoken dread settled over the mansion, the women quiet, men tense, children more boisterous than normal, testing everyone’s patience.
Royce didn’t have to avoid Simone. He never saw her. Whenever he had a free moment, he passed her chamber. The door was always ajar, the area deserted. She wasn’t in the priest’s room either. Royce might have checked every space in the building if Tristan hadn’t kept him so blasted busy.
His tasks included making certain the islanders’ pistols were in good working order. Some also had cutlasses they’d taken from pirates. For good measure, Royce had them make spears.
Each evening, he, James, Peter, and Tristan debated strategies, arguing which might work best and finally settled on one that included suggestions from all involved.
“Are we agreed?” Tristan glanced around the table.
Everyone nodded.
“Then we stick with this unless Bishop surprises us with something that renders the plan useless.”
Royce rubbed his eyes. “What might that be?”
“I have no idea. No one could. But we have to be ready to change course on a moment’s notice. He and his crew certainly aren’t going to wait for us to decide.” Tristan slapped what they’d written into Royce’s hand. “Gather the islanders in the morning and tell them what we plan to do.”
He held the meeting in the courtyard as Tristan had with his. Puddles and mud covered the ground. Water dripped from the mansion and trees. The sky cleared, weak rays trying to burn through clouds.
At another time, the increasingly pleasant weather would have been something to celebrate. Now, it simply ushered the inevitable closer.
Royce read the papers aloud and paused frequently, waiting for questions.
Phillipe clapped his hands, pulling attention to him. “Will this rid us of the white man and his crew for good?”
A lie would have been easy to voice. Unfortunately, they deserved the truth. “There’s no way to tell until they arrive and we strike. However, we do have surprise on our side. We know they’re coming, while they have no idea we’ll be waiting for them. As I said before, I’ll be the first they spot.” He swept the crowd, including everyone in his answer. “Should something happen to me, you can…”
Royce forgot what he’d meant to say.
Simone stood to the far left, away from the men.
She edged behind a trunk but only partially hid herself. Her dark hair and green cloth fluttered in the breeze, painting the perfect picture of an angel he wanted.
Or a ghost he couldn’t have. She disappeared within the vegetation.
Someone tugged his sleeve.
Phillipe looked up at him. “We can what?”
“What? I don’t understand.” Royce hunkered down to leave the table.
“Where are you going?”
He’d planned to follow Simone and neglect these men for his selfish needs. “Nowhere. Where was I?”
“What should we do if Bishop harms you?”
“Leave and go to Tristan and James. Don’t try to save me. Spare yourselves.”
Phillipe nodded.
“No.” Adamo shoved Philippe aside and faced Royce. “We save everyone. We fight together. We survive together.”
Royce shook his head. “Think of the women and children. You want to come back for them. I don’t matter. Let’s get on with this.”
He read the sheets and answered the men’s questions, repeatedly emphasizing their safety. “How are the spears coming, Gérard?”
“We have thirty.”
“That’s good. However, we need one or more for each man.”
“My brothers and I will work hard until we have them.”
“Merci.” He addressed the crowd. “Let Tristan know if you have any concerns. That’s all for now.”
They dispersed to their usual jobs.
Royce ran to where Simone had been. Gone. She wasn’t near the palms or the other courtyard trees either. Outside the wall, he stepped in muddy water and on rocks, unmindful where he trod.
Green flashed to the side. He rounded a tree and stopped.
She lingered by the periwinkle, silk bag in hand to gather her healing leaves, her face down, shoulders trembling.
Her tears sapped his hope. By all that was sacred, he should leave her in peace as Tristan had warned.
Royce pushed forward, stepping on a fallen branch.
At the rustle, she flinched and looked over.
He prayed she wouldn’t run. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she stayed. Only a few yards separated them, and insurmountable difficulties. They never should have met. He held out his hands. “I love you.”
Simone ran to him.
He lifted her into his arms, their mouths melding, tongues dancing.
Her tears were salty, lips strikingly soft, her desire as untamed as his. He couldn’t fill her deeply enough. She wrapped her legs around him and tightened her arms on his shoulders.
Men’s voices sounded
from behind, near the courtyard wall.
Royce pulled his mouth free and carried her behind a trunk. “Will the birthing room be free today?”
She shook her head.
“We can go to the priest’s room then.”
“No.” She cupped his face. “You have to forget me. Your family needs you. You have to leave. I cannot bring you sadness.”
“Without, you I have no joy, no reason to live. I’d be better off dead.”
“No, no, no.” She touched his mouth. “Never say that. You cannot go to Bishop first and alone. The other men need to help.”
“I don’t want them killed for the trouble I’ve caused.”
“You did this for your family.”
“How do you know that? Did someone tell you?”
“You told me by what you say, how you look, the way you touch, and your sad smile. You could never be an evil man and hurt me or the islanders because it pleases you. If you die, I die. If you go to Bishop alone, I’ll follow you and will kill him with my hands.”
Royce kissed her so hard his lips tingled. She struggled for air. He did too. “I want you safe. You’ll obey me in this.”
“Let me go.” Tears fell from her chin. “Never look at or speak to me again. I make you want things that are bad and will see you hurt. I am poison to you.”
“You’re my life. Did Diana tell you to say this?”
“She tells me nothing. She understands nothing I say.”
“Tristan talked to you then.”
“He wants you to do what you must.”
“I know, but he damn well better mind his own business when it comes to you and me. Can we use the birthing room?”
“Jacqueline’s infant may come today or may wait until tomorrow or longer. I have no way to know.”
“The priest’s room it is.” He gave her another kiss, this deeper than the last. “Are you with me?”
She pressed her cheek to his. “My heart belongs to you. I can never say no.”
Royce loved her even more. “Don’t ever change, please. Always want me.”
She hugged him.
He carried her to the courtyard walls and put her on her feet. “Do you want to go in first or shall I?”
“Me. I’ll be in the priest’s room. You too. No matter how wrong this is.”
Them being apart was the bigger crime. “I give you my word, we’ll make our love right someday.”
“We have now.” She gave him a quick kiss and tore across the grounds.
Two island men looked over at her, then resumed cleaning up the downed vegetation.
The sky cleared quickly, warm wind tearing the clouds apart, the sun poking through. If the weather held, the bird would be in the air soon, winging its way to Bishop who would hopefully be dead before a fortnight had passed.
Royce waited as long as he could before entering the courtyard, not wanting to draw attention to himself and Simone. The men’s backs were to him. He strode past as any islander might, accepted by the others, allowed to move about as he pleased without anyone querying him.
Except for Tristan. He might question the route Royce intended to take, guess the purpose, then lecture him as he would a schoolboy on avoiding lust.
“Peter.” Royce grabbed his arm before he could pass. “Where’s Tristan?”
“Seeing to the cattle, the fields, the horses, and no end of other tasks. The trouble you’ve caused won’t change that.”
“I didn’t get involved with Bishop to deliberately hurt you or anyone else here.”
“I know that. Your family comes first. So does mine. I don’t want anything happening to Tristan. Promise you’ll protect him.”
“We both will. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Peter offered a small smile and took off.
In the priest’s room, Simone stood on the bed, touching the cross and speaking softly.
Royce closed the door. “What are you doing?”
She started and blushed. “Talking to your god. I already talked to mine.”
In the nude no less. Her soul was more innocent than the most devout parishioner. No god could ever find fault with her. “About what?”
“Taking away our troubles. Keeping you safe. That more than anything.”
He tossed the papers and his clothes aside and padded to the mattress. “Come here before I perish waiting for you.”
She slipped her arms over his shoulders, her legs around his hips, her damp slit to his cock. “I like this. Will you take me standing?”
“The bed’s softer.”
“I like that too.”
Laughing, he dropped them to the mattress, keeping her beneath him, captive to his view, touch, and unquenchable love. “I missed you.”
“Every night I saw you in my dreams.” She eased his hair back. “I wanted morning to never come. I stayed away to give you peace.”
“It was more like Hell. But it’s over. Swear it is.”
“Love me so it will be…and promise not to sleep after you do.”
He chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, but I won’t close my eyes for hours.”
“If you do, I’ll shoot you.”
“I believe you would.”
She brought his mouth to hers, their smiles touching.
Her passion fed his but Royce couldn’t rush. Each second was too sacred to do anything except savor and explore. She felt warmer than he recalled, smelling of flowers and musk. No one on earth could have softer skin. She loved him.
He shouldn’t be this lucky but didn’t question his good fortune. Fighting lust, he entered Simone gently to prove how much he honored her, then sank into her heated depths. His scalp tingled. Their bodies touched.
She pulled her mouth from his and made a pleased sound he’d always hold dear. He kissed her chin, then pumped, an easy slide meant to arouse.
Her color rose. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Her breathing hitched.
She was almost as far gone as him. Wanting her to surpass his passion, he touched her nub.
“Ah… I like that.”
He adored everything about her. “What say I do it again?”
“For always.”
And beyond. Their first look, touch, and kiss had sealed their fates, precluding anything else. He tended her with more zeal than the most licentious rake, except that Royce gave, rather than taking, and delivered release. Her unrestrained cries stirred him as much as his own relief would when he allowed it. Maybe in an hour or two. Or at the end of today. Perhaps tomorrow.
He had to hold off and keep this dream alive.
She breathed noisily and looked at him through hooded lids.
He kissed her lashes. “Are you falling asleep on me?”
“Only a little.”
“I’ll have to wake you.” He straightened, pumped, and stroked between her legs.
Simone clutched the sheet. “More. Never stop.”
He pushed her over the edge a second time and thrust as she descended, dooming himself to surrender. His carnal craving demanded its due. He shuddered unable to pump any longer. No need. Her pulsing sheath pulled him deeper.
Perspiration dampened her face. She matched his smile. “You stare.”
“You do too.”
They gazed at each other until he couldn’t support himself any longer and sank to his elbows.
She caressed him. “Are you all right?”
He fought to keep his eyes open and suppressed a yawn. “I’m not tired. I won’t sleep.”
“Maybe we both will.”
“Merci.” He rolled them over so she could lie on him. “Only a few minutes. Wake me.”
She kissed his throat. “Rest.”
Royce wanted to tell her he would, but he floated instead, soothed by her weight and quiet breathing. Darkness descended.
A loud knock sounded.
Startled, he sat up.
Simone lay on the ot
her side of the mattress, still slumbering. He had no idea how she’d gotten there or how long he’d been out.
A fist or foot hit the door. “Royce, are you in there?”
Tristan.
Simone lifted her head and blinked sleepily. “Why is he here?”
“I don’t know.”
She sank back to the mattress. “He told me I could do whatever I want. I want to do this.”
Royce wasn’t certain whether to laugh or moan. “Put on your cloth.” He looked over and called. “Yes, I’m in here. Give me a moment.”
He dressed hurriedly and opened the door a crack. Tristan showed no emotion. “The sky is clear. We need to begin our plan.”
Chapter 15
Simone rolled off the mattress. The bedframe creaked.
Without looking at her, Royce motioned her back.
She stayed where she was, uncertain where he wanted her.
He faced the door, not opening it more than he had and spoke English.
“No,” Tristan said. “Utilisez le français. Je ne veux pas de Diane entende et s’inquiète.” Use French. I don’t want Diana to overhear and worry.
“You want to work on our plan now? Not in the morning? Another storm may come.”
“That’s always possible. But we need to be ready.”
“Understood.” Royce joined him in the hall and closed the door.
He couldn’t meet Bishop alone. If that devil hurt or killed Royce… Simone knotted her cloth and sped from the room.
He and Tristan were already far ahead, conversing quietly in French, their backs to her. They turned a corner.
She followed as closely as possible, her steps light to avoid making too much noise. The house was quieter than it had been, the good weather bringing everyone outside. Sun shone around shutters.
The warm light had once promised good fortune, pleasant days, celebrations for new life. Now it would bring danger and death. Her stomach twisted.
Royce and Tristan entered the library. The door closed.
Pressed against the wall, she waited to make certain no one else worked or lingered nearby. Women’s voices floated from the courtyard. Children hollered and laughed. Simone crept to the library and pressed her ear against the wood.
Chair legs scraped. Royce spoke. “Toujours en français?” Still French?
