Poseidon's Daughter

by Diane A. S. Stuckart

  He trailed off with a shake of his head, and Malcolm gave him a weary grin. “I was a bit concerned, myself, I must admit.”

  “So wot 'appened, then?”

  As Halia listened. Malcolm briefly recounted for the other man the events of the previous afternoon and night, save for mentioning how he and she had passed their enforced confinement. Wilkie made no comment, but the shrewd look he briefly turned on her told her that he guessed at the truth, nonetheless.

  “So, we're back safe and sound, for the most part,” Malcolm finished with a shrug, “though Miss Davenport did manage to stomp about on broken glass or some such and cut her feet.”

  “It was conch shells,” she stiffly countered, “and it was completely unintentional, I assure you. So perhaps, Mr. Foote, you might be so kind as to summon Lally to assist me.”

  “An’ what you be doin' to dat poor girl, leavin' her sittin' there like dat?” the woman sternly demanded from behind them. “You be bringin' her inside now, so I can be takin' care of her.”

  A few minutes later, Halia was settled against a mound of pillows in her own bed, Malcolm having carried her upstairs, as well. He had declined Wilkie's offer of assistance with a muttered, “She's my bloody responsibility, not yours.”

  His expression had reflected that such a burden did not rest at all well with him.

  Though a dozen sharp retorts had risen to her lips, Halia had found that, all at once, she felt too battered in body and spirit to care who carted her about. She had accepted without protest the sweet-tasting tonic Lally insisted she sip. Then, while the older woman smeared a pungent if soothing salve on her abused feet, Halia gave her an account of her abduction and what followed afterwards.

  “Your father, he still be aboard dat ship?” Lally wanted to know once Halia had finished.

  She nodded. Lally had shown no surprise at the earlier mention of Arvin's name, so doubtless Malcolm already had told the entire household that he'd also located the senior Davenport, alive and well, aboard the Golden Wolf with her.

  “The pirate, O'Neill, said that they still had some unfinished business to settle, and he refused to let Papa go with me. But no ships have yet been reported lost in the storm, so I am certain he is fine.”

  She paused to meet Lally's dark gaze, and something in the woman's expression spoke of a deeper knowledge. Halia frowned, and then softly exclaimed, “The entire time, you knew what he'd done, and even that he was alive. But how could you have been sure?”

  “Sometimes, what a woman be knowin' about a man, she be knowin' with her heart.”

  That simple statement, and the look of fierce pride on the other woman's face, spoke of years' worth of secrets kept. And Halia had been too blind to understand the truth, until now.

  “Why, you and my father, you love each other!”

  Her astonishment was not over the fact that these two people of different races and ideals had found each other. Neither was she appalled that her own father might still be enjoying the physical side of love at his age. What took her by surprise was the fact that they had kept their secret so well and for so long.

  “But why did you never say anything to me?” she wanted to know.

  “Your father, he be wantin' to tell you, but I be sayin' no,” Lally declared as she tied the last strip around Halia's foot and sat back, hands folded defiantly in her lap.

  Halia shot her a look of hurt accusation. “But surely you did not think that I would object, just because your skin is not the same color as his. Why, I would have been happy for the both of you.”

  “I be knowin' dat, chile,” she softly replied, and a small smile played upon her lips. “But sometimes, it just be hard enough to be lovin' someone, without you be worryin' about everyt'ing else, too.”

  “Yes, I know,” Halia said with a small sigh and sank back against the pillows again.

  Lally rolled her eyes heavenward. “So you be lovin' dat man, after all,” she declared. “I should have been givin' you dat potion, not him. An’ I suppose dat, last night, you an’ he be doin' what a man an’ woman supposed to be doin' together.”

  “We did, and more than once,” she admitted with a blush…and to her horror, promptly burst into sobs.

  Lally leaped up and settled herself alongside her, wrapping motherly arms around her shoulders.

  “It will be better the next time, I be promisin' you. Some men, they be so eager to take what they can, they don't be thinkin' about they woman.”

  “But it was wonderful,” Halia protested with a sniff, dashing the tears from her cheeks even as she stifled a sudden yawn. Doubtless, Lally's potion was making her act in such an uncharacteristically emotional manner. “And he even threw away his emerald just to prove that he cared more about me than about it. That's why I don't understand why he seems so distant...even angry.”

  “Most men, they not be knowin' why they be thinkin' what they be thinkin', themselves. All you can be doin' is to be waiting for him to be comin' to his senses.”

  “But what if he doesn't?”

  “Den dat be dat,” Lally declared with a sage nod and stood. “Now, you be gettin' a bit of sleep, and when you be wakin' up, maybe things, they be better.”

  “But I just woke up, so how can I be tired?” Halia protested, even as her eyelids began to droop. Barely had the question left her lips than she slipped off to dreams of emeralds and ecstasy.

  ~ Chapter 23 ~

  ” ‘Ere now, ye can't be bloody serious,” Wilkie exclaimed, his pale brows beetling into a frown. ”Ye can't be sailin' off like that.”

  “I can, and I will,” Malcolm coolly declared as he stowed away the last of his clothes in his trunk and shut the lid. “You can join me or not, but, come this afternoon, I'll be on my way—westward, I do believe. I think San Francisco might prove an interesting destination.”

  ”Yer 'eartless, ye are. First, ye try to take 'alf 'er bleedin' treasure, then ye 'ave yer way wit’ 'er... an’ then, when ye find out there's no gold, ye run off an' leave 'er behind.”

  “And just what would you have me do—marry the chit, perhaps?”

  “'Tis a thought.”

  It was, indeed, a thought...and one that Malcolm had found himself entertaining ever since he and Halia had made love. For he realized he had found with her something more than simple physical pleasure. A hollowness of his soul that he had not known existed had been filled. And, just as a man who lived on bread crusts was satisfied with that simple fare until he tasted cake, so Malcolm had thought himself content with his lot until he'd glimpsed a different sort of future open to him.

  Last night, he'd been tempted to continue feasting on cake the rest of his life. Thankfully, he had come to his senses this morning.

  “I appreciate your concern, Wilkie,” he replied, careful to keep his expression bland as he paused in the midst of buckling the trunk's final strap and glanced at his friend. “Unfortunately, I have no wish to marry anyone, least of all Miss Davenport. And as we have been partners for many years, I do hope you'll take my side in this matter.”

  “I'll take yer bleedin' side, but that don't mean I'll like it.”

  So saying, Wilkie turned on his heel and stomped out. Malcolm waited until the door had slammed after him. Then, with a muttered, “Bloody hell,” he crossed the room to the open French doors and strode out onto the gallery.

  In the distance, he could see Bimini's wide harbor, where beneath a bright sun, numerous boats and ships that had fled to the open sea to avoid yesterday's storm were now limping back to port. Had the Golden Wolf and her crew made it safely through, as well? More to the point, had his half-brother survived the waves?

  If so, then Seamus would be coming back in search of him.

  Idly, Malcolm reached into his trouser pocket, his fingers closing on a familiar, sharp-edged object, the talisman that had gotten him through this whole bloody mess. He had not realized just how much it meant to him until he had wakened from an unbelievable night of passion to a single pan
ic-stricken thought, that he'd tossed away Poseidon's Tear as casually as he might have discarded a worn pair of boots.

  He had tried to dismiss that realization, reminding himself that he had done it for a reason, and that he did not regret the gesture, in the least. But finally, pragmatism and old habit had superseded sentimentality.

  He'd stealthily eased himself from Halia's sleeping embrace and pulled on his clothes, then hurried out into the garden to search for the lost gem. He had walked in a straight line from the open window, frantically searching for a different sort of green among the verdant tangle. Whether by luck or by fate, he had stumbled upon the emerald within minutes, scooping it from where it lay half-buried in the sand.

  Oddly enough, he had regretted this bit of deception the minute he returned inside to Halia's sweet kiss and her most enticing embrace. He had nearly confessed, then and there, and would have done so if Halia had not cut him short with her gift.

  Now, he reached into his other pocket, plucking forth the chain from which dangled the Poseidon coin. Gold glittered beneath the sunlight, reminding him of the treasure that could be his, if only he would take it.

  And he might have, too, had not Halia inadvertently reminded him of one fact about their relationship that had slipped his mind...that his feelings for her likely were not genuine, but a product of Lally's voodoo hexes.

  With another muttered epithet, Malcolm shoved the coin back into his pocket. Turning his back on the bustling harbor scene, he headed into his room. Now was the time to make good his departure—his cowardly escape, an inner voice taunted—while Halia slept and Seamus remained at sea. He'd send the manservant, Levar, to find someone with a boat willing to take himself and Wilkie back to some sort of bloody civilization today.

  For he'd be damned if he'd let himself be held hostage by a love potion, no matter how much joy it brought him.

  ###

  With a sigh of pure bliss, Halia settled into the hip-deep little tub of hot water that Sadie had left her. She had slept all the morning and part of the afternoon, Lally's potion having had its intended effect. She had awakened quite rested, the ache of her injured feet having subsided to merely a twinge.

  The only thing the woman's elixir had not done was to ease the uncertainty of Halia's heart.

  She bit her lip and reached for the sliver of scented soap beside her, determined not to give way again to weak tears. Neither would she cravenly pursue the man and insist he declare some tender feelings to match her sentiments for him. For she could not force him to love her…that much, she realized, just as she knew she could not make herself stop loving him, despite it all.

  She sank back into the warm water and shut her eyes, recalling their night of lovemaking. Never had she known that a mere touch could bring her to such rapture—nor, that having once experienced it, she would find herself wantonly craving more. But though she suspected he might oblige by bedding her again, she could not bring herself to settle for just the physical pleasure he might give her.

  She wanted his heart, as well.

  It was with a sense of regret that she scrubbed away the scent of him from her flesh and rose from her hasty bath. Still, by the time she had dried off and dressed in her own clothes again—the borrowed shift having been sent back to its owner via Sadie—she had come to a decision.

  First, she would make her way down to the docks to wait for word of her father's fate. Indeed, perhaps the Golden Wolf had already returned to port, and her father even now was on his way to see her. Once that was settled, the second thing she would do was seek out Malcolm—for perhaps, as Lally earlier had suggested, he might have come to his senses in the intervening hours and would be waiting for her, as well.

  Of the two possibilities, the former seemed the more likely, she decided with a sigh. No matter, she would still give the infuriating man another chance. If he proved unwilling to discuss their personal relationship, she would approach Malcolm with a purely business proposition, that they continue their previous partnership.

  It would be quite straightforward. She'd continue her exploration of the underwater site which, though perhaps not the ruins of lost Atlantis, might still prove to yield important finds. All the work would fall to her, while half of whatever she discovered she would turn over to Malcolm, to do with as he chose.

  Of course, chances were that the surrounding waters had been churned into a sandy pool by the storm, which would mean that the work could not begin until the sea had settled. And if the ocean bottom had shifted, that also would mean that she would have to begin her digging all over again.

  She gave a small, satisfied smile. The project might last several months, she judged. Surely that would allow sufficient time for him to come to the obvious conclusion—that he could not do without her in his life.

  ###

  “That's it. That's the Golden Wolf.”

  Halia stood on the bustling dock two hours later, clutching Lally's arm as she spied the familiar ship sailing into harbor. Even from a distance, she could see that the pirate's vessel had sustained damage, so that they must have been caught in the worst of the storm. What remained now was to learn if all hands had also survived yesterday's cruel onslaught.

  Trying to divert her impatience, she scanned the harbor waters. The setting sun spread a pink glow across the waves that appeared far different today than usual. For, as she had suspected, the storm had churned the sea bottom until a haze of fine sand was suspended in the island's blue-green waters, turning them a milky white. It could take days or even weeks for the ocean to settle again back to its familiar translucence.

  But would her battered heart rebound as swiftly?

  She had learned the bitter truth but an hour before. Impatient to confront Malcolm, she had finally given in to the inner voice that urged her not to put this off any longer. She had hurried to the door that connected their two chambers and unbolted her side of it, then slipped into his room.

  The first thing she had noticed was that the doors to his wardrobe were swung wide open to reveal an empty interior.

  A sudden trepidation seizing her, she had taken a closer look about her. His clothes were gone, she saw, as was his traveling trunk. A glance at the dressing room showed the mirrored washstand clear of any razor or shaving brush. Indeed, any sign of his earlier presence was gone save for one thing... her gold Poseidon coin neatly placed upon his pillow.

  With an anguished cry, she had snatched up the coin and fled his room for Wilkie's chamber. The older man's belongings were gone, as well.

  With another sound of disbelief, she swung about and almost fell into Lally's arms.

  ”Dat man, he be gone,” the older woman had simply said. “Levar, he be takin' the two of them to the dock this morning.”

  This morning. Why, that had been hours ago!

  “But why did you not wake me?”

  “Because it wouldn't be makin' no difference,” was her blunt reply. ”A potion, it can be helpin' a man along when he's already of a mind to be doin' somet'ing, but it can't be makin' him go against his heart.”

  Though her own heart cried out that this was not true, that she could convince him to love her, the logical corner of her mind conceded the wisdom of Lally's words. He had made his choice... and she was not it. All she could do was gather up the scattered pieces of her pride and go on with her life.

  Now, a cry from the approaching vessel returned Halia to the moment. At the ship's railing, a white-haired man stood waving.

  “Papa,” she breathed in relief, turning to the woman at her side. Though her expression was calm, Lally's black eyes gleamed with what looked suspiciously like tears. The woman caught her look and proudly lifted her chin, shrugging as she did so.

  “I told you, he be on dat ship.”

  They waited as the ship dropped anchor a short distance out. Then, after a seemingly interminable delay, the Golden Wolf’s dinghy was lowered. By dint of squinting, Halia made out two figures in addition to the seaman who was rowi
ng.

  Her father's white-blond mane was bright against the dying sun, so that he was easy for her to distinguish. The other man was dark-haired, and something about the way he held himself was hauntingly familiar.

  The frisson of hope that had risen in her breast died, to be replaced by a sense of unease as the dinghy drew closer. The second man was not Malcolm, as she had prayed, but was instead his half-brother. The boat pulled even with the pier, and the pirate gracefully clambered onto the dock, closely followed by Arvin.

  Rushing as fast as her cut feet would let her, Halia hurried to embrace her father.

  “Halia, child, I was afraid I would never see you again,” he softly exclaimed as he threw his arms around her. “All O'Neill could tell me was that he had left you on the beach. I could only pray you had made it to higher ground before the storm hit.”

  “We were fine, Papa,” she replied, drawing back from his hug to meet his familiar indulgent gaze. “I was more worried about you, because he”—she shot a condemning look at O'Neill—“said he would not let you go. He claimed you two had some matters to settle between you, still.”

  The pirate's blue eyes reflected an expression of chill unconcern as he shrugged. “So we did, but no more. Sure, and yer father is a brave man—or else, a bleedin' fool.”

  Halia frowned. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  ” Tis quite simple. Yer father, he saved me life.”

  “It was by mistake, I tell you,” Arvin interjected, his face turning a dull red as he glanced from the pirate to Halia. “The waves were high and his dinghy capsized just as it reached the ship. I saw him hit his head on the hull and knew that was my chance. I jumped into the water, hoping to get to the dinghy before it sank. The only reason I ended up saving him was because his men threatened to shoot me there in the water if I didn't.”

  “Intentional or not, he saved me life and evened the scores between us,” O'Neill finished the tale. “I told yer father he was free to go.”