Days of Desire

by Tina Donahue

  * * * *

  Upon his return to the mansion, Royce could barely keep his eyes open, tired from physical labor he’d deliberately sought to keep from thinking and worrying.

  Before his head hit his pillow, Simone peppered him with questions on strategy, what success they’d have, and failure they’d endure. His promise not to lie kept Royce too honest, stealing any chance for tranquility. She clung to him throughout the night. He held her tightly.

  One day passed, then two.

  Rain returned. Gentle and soothing.

  Simone brightened and hugged him at the basin. “I talked to the goddess last night. She listened this time. Do you hear the storm?”

  “It’s a shower. Ships sail in this weather all the time.”

  “It comes before the gale, showing the dark clouds the way to this isle. The priest told us about Noah. For him, it rained forty days and nights. The sky can do the same for us.”

  He lifted her chin. “Do you want me to answer honestly or lie?”

  She bit her lip. “Not one or the other. Hold me.”

  He did until they had to go to their respective tasks, him to check the islanders’ security, Simone to her patients. Children had coughs. Men needed treatment for their scrapes and cuts.

  The third day ended and turned into the fourth, then the fifth. Soon enough for the bird to have reached Bishop, rested, and for him to have sent a message back, if he intended to do so.

  At the evening meal, Tristan drummed his fingers on the table. “Why hasn’t he responded yet? The weather’s been mostly clear, the rain mild and brief.”

  “I don’t know his reasoning.” Royce lifted his cup. “Could be he worries that someone here might intercept the bird before I can get to it, read the message, and destroy his plan. Whatever that may be.”

  Peter paced. “I say we send another bird.”

  “Not yet.” Royce forced down his cold tea. Eating wasn’t possible given the knot in his stomach. “I can’t let Bishop think I’m too eager to get him here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Exactly.” Diana put down her fork. “Given that his arrival will mean you met his terms and can free your family, you wouldn’t be casual about this. You’d want him here.”

  “I agree. However, if I send him frequent messages, that indicates I can move about as I please, attach tubes to birds’ legs, and put them in the air at will. My first message told him the isle has over eighty armed men on patrol. He’ll wonder how I can keep communicating with him without anyone seeing or questioning what I’m doing. He may then consider that this is a pretense meant to trap him. I don’t think we should take that chance. I say the islanders should maintain a constant lookout, as we decided, and be at the ready. Especially during those times I’m supposed to be keeping watch. If anyone has a better idea, I welcome it.”

  Diana slouched. Peter slumped against the wall. Tristan and James rapped their fists on the table.

  Royce stood. “I want this to be over as quickly as possible, the same as everyone here. If nothing happens by week’s end, I’ll word another message, making certain to keep Bishop’s suspicions at bay, and will send a new bird. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He returned to his chamber, worry gnawing at him. Bishop might have guessed their game and had already planned a new one, those rules in his favor. Or the bird never reached its destination because a hawk enjoyed it for breakfast. Or the message had fallen into the wrong hands, say a pirate or a Mozambique official, one wanting to storm this isle for plunder and the other delighted to have new victims to hang.

  The possibilities were endless.

  He lay across his mattress, grateful Simone helped an island woman birth her baby rather than being in here with him. Royce didn’t have the strength to pretend everything was all right and they’d have their golden future. This torturous wait might go on for weeks or months.

  Or it could end quickly and unexpectedly, Bishop somehow taking them by surprise.

  Royce wanted to howl. He rolled onto his belly, praying for sleep, darkness, peace.

  Someone grabbed his shoulder.

  Bishop.

  Royce flung out his arm, ready to fight. Tristan and Simone stared. Light poured through the unshuttered window, the angle telling him it was late morning. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I just did. The bird returned.” Tristan handed Royce Bishop’s note.

  R. H.

  Departing immediately. Will arrive during your watch. Expect four longboats. Twenty men will remain on the ship. If needed, they will join me in taking T.

  Find an excuse to fill him and the others with spirits to lessen their fight. Additional funds available if you succeed.

  Light one torch for your location.

  D.’s future and those on the isle are in my hands now.

  B. B.

  Chapter 16

  Simone couldn’t stop trembling. She joined the other woman in the dining area for Tristan and Royce’s talk about the coming trouble. Mothers held their children more closely than normal. The tiny girls and boys squirmed. Weeping, Jacqueline cradled her new infant to her breast.

  Men filled the courtyard to hear the news regarding Bishop. After Tristan spoke, the islanders lined up on two sides. James and Peter went to each man, telling him what he had to do.

  Simone collected healing leaves and herbs to treat the expected injuries. She had no preparation for death. Dizzy, she leaned against a trunk, offering her life to whatever god would listen and spare Royce.

  “He cannot die, please. His mother and sisters need him. Take me.”

  The islanders could always find another healer. Six-year-old Isabelle had already taken to following Simone at times, showing interest in plants that cured. Simone’s passing would affect Gavra the most. However, her love for James and their coming infant would give her a reason to live.

  Royce would return to England with his family and find a white woman to love.

  Men hurried past Simone to the point, reminding each other what steps to take so they’d survive.

  She filled her bag with what she’d need and returned to the stone house to prepare and to wait.

  * * * *

  Royce, Tristan, James, and Peter huddled around a chart on the dining table.

  “Bishop’s ship will most likely anchor here.” Tristan pointed.

  Royce leaned in. “This is the only possible location? We have to be certain.”

  “I’m aware of that. There are more spots, but his captain would be a fool not to use this. It’s ideal.”

  “How far is the Lady Lark anchored from there?”

  “Close but hidden in a cove. If they look hard enough with their glass, they should be able to spot it even in the dark. I wager they will. It will prove to them that they reached the correct isle.”

  James had already drawn a larger version of the island on paper. His image bore crude depictions that represented trees and large rocks. “Where do I put the X to show the islanders where to go?”

  Tristan made the mark for him and looked at Royce. “Can we believe Bishop’s note that he’ll leave no more than twenty men on his ship?”

  “There’s no reason for him to lie unless he suspects something. However, he could change his plans during the voyage for reasons unknown to us.”

  “We can’t send too many men there to take the ship. We need them here for those in the longboats.”

  “Why?” Peter rested his elbows on the table. “Here, we have surprise. We can shoot them before they step foot on the beach, eliminating their numbers quickly as we would when hunting animals.”

  Royce frowned. “Except they’re not that. They’re men. I know I said Bishop employs only the most vicious and they deserve to go down with him. Those were words said in haste and anger. Facing reality is far different, especially when it comes to murder. I didn’t become what I am because I enjoy this life. Nor did you, Tristan. As Diana pointed
out, some in the crew could be as you and I are. What if they want to surrender?”

  Tristan fingered the map. “They’d have to prove their loyalty to me and those on this island to remain here. Those who don’t will have to go to the isle where we sent Canela and the pirates. It’s the fairest solution I can offer.”

  James held up his drawing. “Is this settled, Tristan? Nothing will change about it?’

  “We stay with that. You and Peter choose the islanders who’ll mount an attack on the ship. I’d like to send more than twenty men, but we need an impervious force here to protect the women and children. Tell those you select to haul the longboats and skiffs to the location they need and ready them for the night in question. When the islanders strike, every man must have a pistol and spear. Those who have cutlasses must bring them. If the crew surrenders, the islanders can take prisoners. We’ll deal with them later. About Adamo. He’ll surely hear from his friends what they’re going to do. Under no circumstance do you allow him to join them. Although he’s eager to prove his loyalty to this isle, his infirmities will hold him back. I don’t want his death on my hands. He stays at the point so no can get past it to here. Tell him Zola needs his protection more than anyone else.”

  “Laure too,” Peter said. “I’d like to stay behind and protect her, but my place is at your side, fighting to the death if need be.”

  “You’ll go where I put you. No argument.” He pulled the chart closer. “From now until Bishop arrives, we do the same thing each day and evening, preparing for him, making our actions second nature. This attack must unfold flawlessly. The islanders, our women, and coming children are depending upon us. We can’t fail them.”

  * * * *

  Simone ate little that evening, Royce even less. They held each other in bed, neither of them sleeping. Days ago, she’d wanted nothing except truth. Lies seemed kinder now. Daydreams too. Imagining a full life, love, wearing a marriage collar, having his children.

  A future without him meant nothing. She’d die willingly to see him safe and back home where he always should have been. “Tell me about England.”

  “In what way?”

  “Is there more than one to talk about?”

  He laughed gently. “There certainly is. You have its history, what it looks like, the weather, the government, people, buildings, culture, amusements, wealth, poverty, laws, crime, no end of things.”

  “Before your father hurt everyone, did you like this London where you lived?”

  He eased her to the mattress beneath him. “If you’re asking if I regret coming here, then no, except for the trouble I’ve caused. Meeting you changed my life, including how I see things. Although England was my home and I liked it well enough, that was before I knew this isle existed. Bishop won’t best me. There isn’t a god that would allow such a horrible outcome. You’re not going to protect me either. If I have to, I’ll have Gavra tie you to your bed to keep you in this building.”

  “She will never listen to you.”

  “Then I’ll have Diana do it.”

  “I’ll fight her and win.”

  “Very well. If you show up on the beach to help me, I’ll be so worried about you I won’t be able to fight properly. While I’m keeping you safe, I’ll forget to protect myself, which will leave an opening for Bishop or his men to shoot, stab, or knock me down with a blow. Is that what you want?”

  “You know it isn’t.” She punched the mattress. “I promise to stay here.”

  “Merci.” He embraced her tenderly.

  Her frustration drained away, replaced by desire.

  Their searching kiss lasted until they both needed air. He pressed his cheek to hers. “Are you too tired for us to enjoy each other?”

  “Never.”

  He entered her lazily, as he would if they had endless time, not a few short days. He left his scent on her. She did the same with him. They joined in every possible way: their bodies, minds, hearts, souls. Hope shone in his eyes.

  She masked her lingering doubt and surrendered to his warmth, the wonder of being his.

  * * * *

  The hours and days dragged by, driving Royce close to madness. He couldn’t sit still or think coherently, his mind going in too many directions.

  The islanders’ tempers were short, everyone unsettled.

  Each morning brought weather fairer than the last with intermittent showers and brief gusts during the afternoons.

  Not enough to delay Bishop’s ship.

  When Royce wasn’t on watch or helping the men prepare, he secluded himself and Simone in the library.

  She regarded the passages he’d recorded from the medical texts on proper methods to stop bleeding, avoid infection, dress wounds, use tourniquets, remove bullets, save limbs. “What do these say?”

  “I’ll be through in a moment and will read them to you. When you have the skill, you’ll be able to do so on your own.”

  She lowered her face.

  “Damnation, Simone. I will have the time to teach you. Don’t argue with me.”

  “I said nothing.”

  Didn’t matter. Her face told him she didn’t believe a word he uttered. He wrote furiously, taking his tension out on the paper and pen. “Done. While I’m speaking, stop me if you have any questions. If I can, I’ll find answers in the volumes.”

  She nodded.

  He read.

  Her color drained. She held herself as one would when cold.

  Royce didn’t stop. To save the injured, she had to know what to do. At last, he came to the final word. “Events may not come to this many injuries. The crew might surrender when they see our force. Bishop isn’t the sort anyone would willingly die for. We have that in our favor.”

  She tightened her arms. “Read the words to me again. I want to be ready.”

  * * * *

  During their earlier preparations, Royce, Tristan, and James had determined how long Bishop would need to reach here.

  That night had come, his arrival pressing close.

  A crescent moon did nothing to chase away shadows in Royce’s chamber. Stars illuminated the sky, though nothing else. Inky dark ruled, perfect for an ambush from those here and for Bishop from a longboat.

  Although Royce had been anxious for this moment, he didn’t leave his room just yet. He had ample time to reach his vantage point before Bishop’s ship arrived. Right now, Simone needed him more.

  She paced ceaselessly.

  Before she passed him again, he caught her and forced a smile. “I adore you.”

  She held him tightly. “Be safe.”

  “I shall. We’ll have tonight and many others to look forward to. Please believe me on—”

  “Royce!”

  Tristan.

  Royce opened the door. “What is it?”

  “Philippe just rode in from the longboats. Bishop’s ship approaches. He’ll anchor soon.”

  “This early? Are they certain it’s his?”

  “It damn well better be. We haven’t the means to fight two crews and battles. Get to your post. Don’t forget your torch. James and Peter are moving the men into position now.”

  Royce embraced Simone a final time and flew down the hall.

  * * * *

  Never had Royce longed for darkness as he did now. The torchlight made him feel horribly exposed. A target. Once Bishop confirmed this was the correct isle, he only needed to know if the fabricated pirates had collapsed from drink, then where to find them, Tristan, and Diana. If Bishop didn’t have the patience for more conversation, he might order a crewmember to execute Royce immediately.

  With him dead, there’d be no fee to pay. A good business decision.

  He put the torch well away from his post, then crouched in the vegetation and gripped his pistol. The only weapon he allowed himself. He had to put on a good show for his guests, convincing them of his welcome, luring them more deeply into a trap.

  Around him, foliag
e rustled from the damp breeze and men reaching their destinations.

  Chirping insects competed with the rolling surf, both dreadfully loud. Something crawled on his calf. He flicked it off.

  His pulse couldn’t have beat harder without bursting a vessel. He wiped sweat from his eyes and rolled his shoulders.

  In the distance, something interrupted the scant light that shone on the water. He squinted.

  An oblong shape neared. Others followed behind it.

  He guessed each longboat held ten oarsmen, forty in all. Forty-one with Bishop. Counting the crew left on the ship, the men on this isle outnumbered them.

  Either Bishop was a bloody fool for bringing a small force to fight eighty plus pirates, or his arrogance had convinced him he’d win against inebriated marauders. Given his greed, he might not have wanted to waste funds on a larger crew.

  The boats reached shore.

  Bishop sat in the rear of the first one, a seat reserved for a frightened little girl. Like Katie. Too young to understand what brutal men had done to her. Too innocent to realize what the future held. Intense loathing whipped through Royce for cruel men who didn’t deserve to draw another breath. Tonight, he’d balance the ledger in his favor or die trying.

  Bishop struggled to his feet, giving Royce a clean shot.

  The closest mariner glanced up, then pointed to where Royce stood.

  He cursed himself for losing his chance. Shooting Bishop now and surviving the men’s return fire wasn’t likely. He fetched the torch and padded down the path.

  Bishop lumbered forward, his belly leading the way, his full wig and clothing regal. Silk, velvet, and brocade in this clime. Sweat ran down his corpulent face. “Are all asleep?”

  “Every last one.” Royce kept his voice as quiet as Bishop had.

  “Did they imbibe?”

  Royce smiled. “We had a celebration. They won’t recall anything tomorrow.”

  “Dead men never do. Where are they?”

  Royce pointed in the direction away from the mansion. Anyone unfamiliar with the terrain would run straight off a cliff in the dark.