Falcon's Angel

by Judith E. French

  "Angel." His tone was harsh.

  She wondered if she'd made a mistake, if she should have left Huskanaw with the sloop. She had lived with hard men all her life, but in Will she sensed a strength, a sheer maleness that she had not seen before.

  Will strained at the ropes. "Let me go, damn it."

  She took a deep breath and pulled away his blindfold. He continued to swear as she started on the knots. "Hold still," she said. "You make it harder by wigglin'."

  "Now what? Am I to be pierced with spears? Burned at the stake?"

  She shook her head. "Nay. You will remain here for the space of a moon's cycle."

  "Why?" Wrists free, he tore at his ankle bonds.

  "You do not understand? It is our honeymoon."

  He got to his feet and heaved the rope away. Standing upright, he was taller and broader than he'd seemed in her house. His hands were strong enough to choke the life from her; his lean, muscular legs... his powerful thighs... would surely outrun hers.

  Alone on Huskanaw, she was surely at his mercy.

  The thought churned in her head as she backed a few steps away, not certain as to how to deal with his anger.

  "Another island?"

  "Aye. 'Tis Huskanaw."

  "I've not seen the name on any map."

  "Nay. 'Tis not likely. None live here but wild things. A herd of horses... deer... foxes and rabbits. Huskanaw is far from ships' routes and too distant from the mainland to swim ashore. There are bad currents, and some say sharks."

  "So I'm to be marooned with you?"

  "Not marooned. The Brethren will come for us in a month."

  Without warning, his fingers closed around her upper arms, and he yanked her against his chest. "We're alone here?"

  Fear turned her blood to ice. She forced herself to meet those deep blue eyes. "Aye," she murmured. Her heart was racing, and her head felt mazy.

  "You're not afraid to be here with me?"

  She wanted to tell him no, that she was no coward, but it wasn't true. She was afraid, more afraid than she'd ever been.

  "The tables are turned. You're mine to do with as I please."

  "Not if you value your life, outlander." She was trembling from head to foot, but she stiffened her spine and raised her chin defiantly. "Can you find fresh water in the sandy soil? Feed yourself? Build shelter? Make a fire to cook your food?"

  "Can you?"

  "Aye." She knew if she butted him hard in the chin, or punched the knife wound on his chest, even kicked him hard in the kneecap, she could break away from him. But she didn't want to cause him pain, and she didn't wish to make him even angrier. "I am not your enemy," she whispered. "Have I done aught to harm you?"

  He lowered his head. For a second, their lips were almost touching, and she had the craziest notion that he might kiss her. Instead, he thrust her roughly away.

  "No more ropes," he said. "And keep your clothes on around me, or I'll not be responsible for what happens."

  She shook her head. "No more ropes. 'Twas only that Cap'n wished you not to know where our settlement lies or in what direction we sailed to reach Huskanaw."

  "South. And east."

  He was right, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying so. "We should move our things farther up, into the dunes. I've some food in that basket, but it might be cold before morning. I should gather wood for a fire."

  "You know I'll escape the first chance I get."

  She nodded, fighting for time to regain her senses. "I ken—I mean that I understand," she corrected. "And I'll not try to stop you. But that chance will not be tonight or tomorrow. Can we not be friends for now?"

  "You claim to be my wife. That makes us rather more, wouldn't you say?"

  She picked up the basket, holding it as a barrier between them. "Mayhap," she said. "But I be no halter-less mare to be run down and mounted with a few bites and a kick or two. I will come to your bed on my own or not at all."

  "Do you take me for a rapist? You're the one flaunting your naked body."

  "If I thought you a scoundrel, you'd not be standing here drawing breath. I but warn you. You have seen that I know well what end of a knife cuts bait."

  "Is that a threat?"

  "No threat, but a promise." She motioned toward the remaining supplies. "If you would sleep warm this night, you can help set up camp." She turned her face away, not wanting him to see the flush in her cheeks.

  His accusation shamed her. It was clear that he did not understand Brethren ways or that of the free folk. He thought her a slut. Pride would not let her say that she had never lain with a man or that her maidenhead was as untouched as that of a holy nun.

  He glanced back at the ocean. "They won't be back tonight?"

  "I told ye. Not for a month. It be the custom among the Brethren that a man and woman have time alone to come to an agreement between them."

  "And after that?"

  "After that, ye will be one of us."

  "And I'll be expected to murder and rob with the best of them?"

  "Mayhap ye should have stayed in Charleston."

  "I came for your Brethren, Angel," he said as he picked up the rest of her things. "And whether I make it back to Charleston alive or not, others will do the same. The penalty for piracy is death. Your lawless band will end by sword and black powder or by rope."

  "Blather on," she said. "Have you forgotten that only minutes ago you were fettered like a fattened shoat bound for market? The Brethren have roamed these islands for a hundred year and more. Finding them is like finding a pearl in an oyster, and catching them..." she scoffed. "A will-o'-the-wisp leaves more tracks than Cap'n."

  Shoulders rigid, she stalked away. He was trouble, this stranger that she had taken to husband, and she hoped mightily that she wouldn't live to regret her action.

  She didn't doubt that he would gladly see Bett and Nehemiah and the others dangling from a gibbet. Her as well, she supposed. Pudding-headed, Will was, for all his fine looks. Like most mainlanders, he believed the worst about the Brethren and their livelihood.

  Dyce was scum, and Tom little better. But they had not grown up among the Brethren as she had. She could not, would not believe that Cap'n would sanction piracy and murder. And if he could get rid of Dyce's bunch, things would be as they always had been.

  Ships sank, and someone may as well make use of what goods washed up on the beaches. Bett said that wrecking was an ancient and honorable trade, that her folk had followed the practice in Cornwall.

  Underbrush tangled around Angel's ankles, and she kilted up her skirts and forged on into the beach plum and stunted pines. She'd not been on Huskanaw in two years, but her sense of direction was good. She wanted to make camp near freshwater, and she thought she could find the low spot, even in the dark.

  "Do you have any idea where you're going?" Will called after they'd walked far enough that she could no longer hear the surf.

  "No one asked you to follow." She let go of a branch and it swished back, producing a satisfactory smack.

  "Ouch, damn it. Watch what you're doing."

  "Aye, sir, I will." Off to her left, she heard the rustling of a small creature. Clouds had passed over the moon, and she had to slow her pace so that Will was only a few steps behind her.

  The breeze was from the sea, strong enough to keep away mosquitoes. She was glad of that. There were precautions a body could take from biting insects, but tonight she need not worry about them.

  Being an island, Huskanaw was safe. Since she was a child, she'd liked to roam isolated beaches and forests. On the mainland were swamp bears and wild dogs. Here she need fear nothing but humans, so why was she so filled with unease and doubt?

  Abruptly, the clouds parted, and moonlight dusted the trees and bushes with shimmering silver. Just ahead she glimpsed the lightning-scarred pine she'd been searching for. She angled right, went another few hundred yards, and set down her basket in a small clearing.

  "Why here?" Will asked.

&
nbsp; "Would you drink salt water?"

  With swift efficiency, she brushed aside ground litter until she had a space of clean sand, gathered pine needles and twigs, and used flint and steel to strike a flame. She bent low and blew on the sparks, tenderly feeding the young fire until it grew in strength. "If you'll tend this, I'll fetch water," she said.

  Dumping the items in her basket, she removed a big clamshell and a drinking gourd. She replaced the shell and the gourd in the container and carried all three a few yards away. She felt in the darkness for two lengths of log, pushed them away, and began to dig a hole.

  She'd not gone more than eighteen inches down when the sand turned damp. She kept digging until she had a space deep and wide enough to hold the basket. She waited, and within a few minutes clean water had seeped into the artificial pool. She filled the gourd and returned to the fire. "Thirsty?" she asked, handing him the dipper.

  "Yes." He took it from her and drank. "You're right," he said, when he was satisfied. "We're in this together. There's no need for me to blame you."

  "Or I you. Ye have your ways, as I have mine. I ask only that you do not judge me without reason."

  "Fair enough," he agreed.

  "Shall we make a peace between us?" Her skin prickled with anticipation. Of what, she didn't know. She wanted to bolt, to run far and fast. He'd never catch her. But some force stronger than fear held her motionless.

  "Yes."

  Moonlight gleamed on his handsome face, and Angel's breath caught in her throat. "A bargain, then," she said huskily. "And to seal it, a kiss of peace." And, pulse racing, she stepped forward, tilted her head, and brushed her lips against his.

  Chapter 7

  She hadn't known she was going to kiss Will until it was too late to stop. And by then, committed to the action she'd begun, she'd expected that her caress would be swift, a mere touch of her mouth to his.

  But nothing in her experience had prepared her for the array of stunning sensations that struck with the ferocity of a lightning bolt.

  Or, for Will's reaction...

  He was honey sweet and as powerful as a storm tide. When his arms closed around her and his lips parted, she was as helpless as a skiff without oars or sail caught in that gale.

  Her knees went weak, and intense pleasure spiraled through her, jumbling her thoughts and making her cling to him as the kiss turned from tender hesitation to kindling desire.

  Will Falcon was all hard muscle and rigid sinew, and she fitted against him so seamlessly that moonlight could not pass between them.

  His male scent filled her head with every breath she drew and she sighed, reveling in the erotic glide of tongue against tongue and lips molded to lips. Shivers of excitement shimmered through her body, blocking out every shred of uncertainty.

  Vaguely, she was aware of Will's voice murmuring her name and his hands moving over her, pressing the curve of her spine... running intimately over her bottom. But she didn't care. All she wanted... needed... was to keep kissing him.

  Until Will groaned, breaking the spell. "Angel." Raw emotion rang in his voice.

  Shocked, she realized Will's hand was cupping her breast; his fingers teasing her swollen nipple.

  "Nay!" Breathless, she pushed away. "I did not mean to let..." Tears sprang to her eyes. "I only..." The words died in her throat as she raised trembling fingers to her lips. With a cry, she whirled and fled through the darkness.

  "Angel! Come back!" Will shouted. When she didn't, he cursed.

  Hours passed, and she still didn't return. He'd considered going after her, but knew he'd have little chance of catching her. And right now, he wasn't certain he wanted to.

  Whatever she was up to, he couldn't fathom it. She'd come into his arms willingly, had kissed him.... He swore and kicked at the roll of blankets he'd carried from the beach. Angel had fired him up, and gotten him so aroused that he couldn't think straight. And then she'd backed off.

  He'd been hungry on the walk from the water, but he was too angry to eat now. She was a crazy woman. Worse, she was a tease. He'd seen others like her, but most could be bought with a flash of silver. Somehow, he didn't think that would work with Angel. Whatever she wanted, he didn't think it was money.

  She'd forced him into a mock wedding, come alone with him to this island, and let him think that she was willing. He could still taste her... still smell the wild, sweet scent of her... feel her in his hands.

  He swore again and reached down to try to adjust his aching cod. Maybe it had just been too long since he'd been with a woman. Not since the Cuban wench in Savannah on his last voyage. What was her name? He couldn't remember any more than he could remember her face. She'd been clean and eager, and she could hold her liquor.

  Out of respect for the Falcon name and position, he'd never sought out a whore in Charleston. Not that Julia or any other properly brought-up lady would have expected her husband to come innocent to her marriage bed. But his father had asked for his word that he'd sow his wild oats in other fields far from his homeport, and he'd never broken a promise to his father yet.

  Nor was he about to.

  Will bent and tossed another branch on the fire and unrolled a threadbare quilt. He glanced around, picked a spot where there seemed to be a thick mat of leaves, and spread out the blanket.

  His father was the main reason he'd found himself in this kettle of fish. He'd vowed on his father's grave to take his revenge on the pirates who'd destroyed Falcon Shipping, and he'd not back away from the task no matter what price he had to pay.

  Will sat on the blanket and stared into the fire. In the past two days, he'd given scant thought to his father's death or the loss of the company and most of their family possessions. Money could be won or lost on the turn of a card or a captain's skill, but losing his father had left a black hollowness where Will supposed his heart had once been.

  Exhaling softly, he eased himself back on the blanket. Whatever happened here on this island was of little consequence. Even the girl didn't matter. His life, his future, lay in Charleston. And in the end, whether he captained Hamilton's vessels or his own, it was much the same. So long as he had a good ship under him, he'd be content as any man had reason to expect.

  This island girl intrigued him. Hell, he lusted after her body. She'd helped keep him alive, and he'd return the favor if he could. But finding joy in each other's arms was a temporary pleasure. Be damned if he'd lose any sleep over her.

  Still, old habits were hard to break. On shipboard, he'd learned to nap lightly. Tonight was no exception.

  After several hours, he'd come fully awake when he'd heard a twig snap. He didn't move, just lay there watching beneath lowered lids as a shadow detached itself from the trees and crept toward him.

  "If you're cold, you're welcome to a blanket," he said. "But if you've come to pick up where we left off, I'm not interested."

  "I'm sorry," Angel said.

  "I doubt that." He sat up. "It's late. Whatever excuses you have can wait until morning."

  She snatched up a blanket and retreated to the far side of the fire pit. The wood had burned down to glowing embers, but heat still radiated from the coals.

  "I wanted to see what it felt like," she said. "What you felt like."

  "I told you I didn't want to hear it."

  "I didn't know kissing would be like that," she continued. "That I would want—"

  "Enough. Go to sleep. I won't touch you. You have my word as a gentleman."

  She shook out the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You're angry with me."

  "Damn straight." It was a lie, and he knew it, even as the words spilled out of his mouth. He was angry with himself... angry and aching to have her.

  "Will, I—"

  "One more word out of you, and I'll—"

  "I can make a camp someplace else if ye want. Ye don't have to holler at me."

  "I'm a patient man. But you're trying that patience. Sleep in a futtering tree, for all I care. But stop talking, an
d stay over there."

  "Aye, Will."

  "Good night." He lay back and closed his eyes.

  "'Tis sorry I be to vex ye so, but—"

  "What? What is so damned important that you can't hold your tongue until morning? That you'd rather drive me to strangle you before—"

  "No need to be so nurly," she replied in a contrite voice. "I know you're tuckered, but was I you, I'd move my blanket."

  "And why, Mistress Angel," he snapped. "Why might that be?"

  "Because, sir, ye be lyin' on a bed of poison ivy."

  Swearing, he shifted his blanket to another spot.

  * * *

  When Will awoke in the morning, the fire had burned out. Angel was gone again, and he was alone in the camp. He rose, studied the suspicious flattened foliage a few feet away, and inspected his exposed skin for any sign of a rash.

  "Poison ivy," he muttered. She must have taken him for a fool to settle down in a bed of the stuff. He wasn't completely ignorant. As a boy, he'd spent hours roaming the fields and woods around Charleston, and he'd suffered from several bouts of severe ivy poisoning. He simply hadn't noticed the stuff in the darkness, and he wondered how it was that Angel had.

  Maybe she wasn't human. Or maybe he hadn't been swept off the Katherine in that storm. Perhaps he'd fallen in his efforts to save Isaiah, struck his head on the deck, and this was all a bad dream.

  The theory was a good one, except for the wounds on his back and chest. He couldn't remember any dreams where he'd awakened in the morning with chunks missing from his anatomy and wearing bandages and smelly poultices.

  No, this was worse than a nightmare. He hadn't dreamed Angel or the Brethren or this God-forsaken island. It was all too real.

  Gingerly, he removed the strips of linen around his chest and scraped off Angel's potion. To his surprise, Dyce's knife wound seemed to be healing nicely without infection. When he flexed his muscles, the crooked stitches pulled at the edges of the cut, but the gash was neither red nor swollen. He hoped his back was doing as well.