by Meg Hennessy
Waves were so frequent, he couldn’t tell where the sea ended and the sky began, nor see his hand in front of his face. Sprays nearly thirty feet flew up and over the bow with each strike of the swell. Rain pelted their bodies like nails raked against soft skin until he thought he’d be bloody.
Wave after wave skimmed over the deck. The ship rolled from one side to the other. The force pulled free planks of wood in the only deck they had left. Donato ordered bare poles, and still they were thrown over the waves.
Finally, there it was, like a mirage of a beautiful sunset in spite of the churning ocean and driving rain. There was his island, emanating a beacon of light. They had only a few miles to go.
“Land ho!” he shouted just before a massive wave took him off his feet.
The main yard mast broke and crashed into the capstan. The bars broke, and the rope holding Colette unraveled. She screamed just before the water dragged her through a cannon port and out to sea.
Chapter Eight
“Colette! Speak to me.”
Her eyes fluttered until her mind was able to focus. She looked above her and glanced around. She was in a bed with Donato sitting next to her. She was dry, in a bedroom, in a home—on the island. “Oh my Lord. I live?”
Donato chuckled with a broad, pleased smile. She missed that laugh of his. “I believe that to be true.”
“I thought I would not.”
“As did I.”
“I remember flying out over the water and dangling off the ship. The rope, it held?”
“I caught it. It had started to fray and with the storm it was difficult to pull you aboard, but we did. You were not conscious and badly bruised. It might be a while before you are able to move about.”
“I think not. I’m giddy to be alive at all. Move about, I will.”
Colette glanced at her arms, they were indeed bruised. She was in a soft cotton nightdress, and even her hair was neatly tied to the back. She didn’t ask who dressed her. The nightdress felt so comforting to her body, she didn’t care who was responsible.
“I thought I would die, that I would never see Enio again,” she whispered, painfully remembering the million thoughts that had raced through her mind before she passed out. “I thought once I fell, that I was lost forever.”
“I would have come about. No storm would have stopped me.”
She glanced up at him. His words said so casually, so easily, she knew they were from his heart, and his compassion toward her after what she had done to him surprised her. When he caught her revelation, he looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn’t meant to say that so convincingly.
“I have food coming for you.”
“Donato, I will see Enio again, won’t I? We have lost valuable time.”
“In this storm, they most likely found port.”
The rain and wind were still scratching at the bedroom windows, still raging outside, a temper yet to be diffused.
“And my valise, did it survive?”
“Si, it did, but you have all you need here.”
A woman came in with a tray of hot soup and warmed whiskey. “La senora, you look good now.”
Colette smiled, recognizing the woman who had been her personal lady’s maid when she had lived here on the island. “I am breathing, Clarita.”
“Place the tray here,” Donato instructed. “And leave us.”
“As you wish, su excel—”
“Clarita, put the tray down,” Donato interrupted her.
Clarita clamped her lips tight and placed the tray down. She bowed her way out the door and closed it.
“What did she say to offend you?”
“She did nothing.”
The room fell silent, and suddenly Colette was aware how intimate that closed door made her feel. She was in the bed where Donato had made love to her many times.
She waited for him to speak, to say anything to relieve the tension she suddenly felt. How easy it would be to lift the bedclothes and invite him under. So many times, he had come at her bidding. Would he now? And why would she think about it? He had made his feelings very clear. He had promised Loul that he’d return her to Louisiana like a long-lost package.
Donato arranged the soup bowl, as if nothing were different about her once again being in her bedroom—his home. He raised a spoon to her lips. “Tomad, hermosa. Os hará bien.”
Colette closed her eyes briefly, recognizing the words of her dream, though they varied slightly. Was the dream a premonition instead of a lost memory? But here she was wounded and hurt, and he was taking care of her and calling her beautiful and telling her the soup would be good for her.
She opened her eyes, then her mouth, to accept his nourishment, putting those thoughts aside for the moment. “The ship is much damaged?”
He nodded, but she didn’t miss the pleased look on his face.
“You do not care, because it was my brother’s ship.”
“Makes it all that much sweeter.”
“You blame my brother and call him a swamp rat, when you are the same, en fait.”
He leaned forward, capturing her attention with his dark eyes, wide-set to show his power, high cheekbones to show his integrity, and a square chin to show his strength. “Did I look like a swamp rat in that pond of your brother’s?”
He did not, en fait.
“You are both men of vengeance.” She pulled free of his gaze, which made her hunger for more. She wanted the conversation to lead to anything that would validate her leaving him; instead, every breath she took screamed otherwise. Admittedly, he’d never look the swamp rat in any garb.
“Perhaps we are both men of vengeance, Colette. That will make our meeting in the future that much more interesting. I scuppered his ship with a shot below the waterline. But he should not take the issue too seriously; I left most of the ship behind in his swamp.”
“I don’t think Jordan will see it quite like that.” Colette couldn’t stop the chuckle that left her lips without permission. His laugh matched hers, and for a moment after the levity, her gaze hung with his for what seemed an eternity. Her body rushed with a blazing heat, and her heart pounded against her sore chest. Her scalp tingled, and her face was on fire.
“Colette, when you were swept off that ship…” He allowed the words to drift away, brushing her hair to the sides of her face and fanning her curls out on the pillow. “For just this moment, I wish to pretend you never left me.”
…
Donato watched as Colette ran a nervous tongue over her lips. Her gaze never disengaged from his. He wanted her at that very moment, in his bed, in his life, with their son. He wanted her, but she had made a choice, and he was not it. But for this one moment of pretense––
“Donato,” she started.
He regretted suggesting the charade. How foolish a man could be when in the presence of a beautiful woman who still held his heart in her hands. He needed to keep his head about him, remind himself her presence was nothing more than the logistics of getting their son back. With her refusal coming, he pushed off the bed and winked at her. “Only wanted to see if you have fully recovered.”
“I have, I mean, Donato…”
He motioned to the tray. “Let Clarita know if you need anything more.”
Before she could respond, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him. Needing his distance, he took the hallway to the stairs, crossed through the courtyard and entered his office.
“How goes your esposa?” Ramón asked.
“She will be fine, needs rest.”
“Is she glad to be back home?”
“She will be fine.” Donato sent Ramón a look meant to silence further discussion about Colette, though his mind was on nothing but. He couldn’t shake the images of her hair draped across the pillow, her soft nightgown that opened at her throat. He had watched that small point of pulsation, wanting to touch it lightly with his lips, run his tongue over it and savor the life’s breath of her. No, he wouldn’t discuss Colette, the
mother of his son. He wouldn’t discuss the memories of seeing her with his child, holding him, loving him, caring for him, the times they had enjoyed him together. He wouldn’t discuss the nurturing, passionate woman she was, beautiful inside and out and how her so-called true life had drawn her spirit dry. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. She had left him.
He marched to his bookcase and pulled free a large map, spreading it out on the desk. “We must map our next voyage.”
“To?”
“Spain. That is where Rayna is taking Enio.”
Other men joined them in the office, each with a cigar in his mouth and whiskey in his hand. They were good men. Men who, like himself, had been wronged by their own government, the Absolutists, the French corsairs, and the Americans, forced into a shadowy life of crime and hidden agendas until the time was right. The men would go because they were loyal to Donato and because they knew that Donato would take off across the ocean in search of his son, whether they went or not.
As they discussed the map, questions surfaced. Returning to Spain was a great risk for all of them, including Donato. Could they avoid that? Could they catch Rayna de la Roche, and if so, how? And what then? It would be impossible to pack provisions for a return journey without a port.
Most of them had sailed from Spain to Cuba only once, but after much discussion, a navigational route was mapped and the supply list developed. They would take the schooner, La Revolución, for it was the most seaworthy of Donato’s fleet and would provide the best accommodations for provisions, guns, and…a woman.
Preparations had to wait out the storm. Donato hoped, if his sister faced the same storm, that she had found safe harbor, for the sake of his son. If anchored, she wouldn’t build the miles on him. He could catch her, he was certain. He had a ship, a schooner, that would provide all he needed for a journey across the ocean.
The planned departure would be the moment the storm lifted, but he had one detail to yet attend. Colette. If he couldn’t catch Rayna and she reached Spain, that would be thousands of miles to travel, months at sea. He had to make her understand it was too dangerous. But he wasn’t sure for who? He shook his head, refusing to accept what his heart already knew. The danger was not what the ship would encounter, but close quarters with Colette.
All his men departed for the night, having families and homes on the island, as well, except Ramón. He had been on his own since his wife died several years ago.
“I will have dinner served, Capitán.”
Donato nodded, thinking through the impending journey, wondering how long this had been planned by Rayna and who had financed her? He looked up to find Ramón still waiting for affirmation. A comrade of many years, he and Ramón had fought side by side through the endless Peninsular War. He trusted no one more than Ramón, and over the years, they had become friends and family.
“Gracias. Please inform mi esposa she may have dinner served in her room if she’d like, for she is not well, as of yet. If not, I will await her in the comedor.”
Donato returned to his room to change his attire for dinner. Colette was in the adjacent room with only a connecting door between them. On the other side of her room was Enio’s room. The room where he had entrusted her with his son.
Here she was, back in his house, but not as a rescued captive with a lost memory, nor as his wife. She was here as his adversary. Or so he had thought, but when she’d gone over the side of the ship, he had felt his heart rip from his chest. He did not want to give her such power. Having thought the past had been sealed, he had learned otherwise; the moment she had disappeared through the bulwark, his heart had opened up and bled.
After he washed, he pulled on a white ruffled shirt, a doeskin waistcoat, matching breeches, and a pair of recently polished shoes with silver buckles and white stockings. After tying his hair back into a queue, he pulled on his coat of black velvet. Though anticipating dining alone, it was only proper to dress appropriately when eating off china, with silver utensils in one’s hand. A long-standing tradition of his upbringing.
After dressing, he waited in the comedor as he had done many times when he and Colette had lived here as man and wife. He extended an invitation as a matter of politeness, but with her injuries would not be surprised if she had opted to dine in her room. But to his amazement, she sent word that she’d attend.
Her attending would give him the opportunity to discourage her from making the journey with him. He would provide transportation back to the mainland, thereby eliminating Jordan Kincaid’s need to interfere, knowing he’d pursue Colette the moment he returned to New Orleans.
Tipping his hand to Loul by stating he’d return Colette but not Enio had been a mistake. He had let a moment of frustration come out in words that might haunt him. That admission only emboldened Colette, making her all the more determined, as she said, to keep him in her sight.
He poured himself a small glass of wine when the double doors slid open and Colette stepped inside.
His breath slid into his stomach, and for a moment he couldn’t speak.
She was wearing one of the green silk dresses he had had a seamstress make for her when she lived with him. A Spanish style, the dress hugged her curves and accentuated every beautiful attribute the woman had. She was gorgeous as she sashayed around the room, the hem of her skirt swaying with her movement. Her hair had been rolled and tied up on the sides and adorned with sparkling jewels of glass. A lace shawl draped her arms, covering the bruises that remained from when she had been swept overboard. She wore a small peineta, and a black lace mantilla draped down along the small of her back. Exquisite. Exotic. Sexy. That was the Colette he knew, not the plain-dressed, inhibited woman who needed rescuing by her brothers.
He rose to his feet and bowed, pulling out a chair opposite him.
“I am pleased mi senora joins me.”
She smiled, that square smile that made her face look so impeccably balanced, as if finely chiseled by a loving artist pleased with his work. Yet her smile was measured, polite, lacking passion, making him suspicious she had an agenda, for the spark of her rescue had faded.
“Merci.” She moved into the chair.
“I didn’t expect you to recover so quickly, or to see you at my table awaiting dinner.”
“I am much better and needed to feel active again.”
The first course was set with a glass of wine. He wondered what she was thinking, sitting in this room where they had once shared many candlelight dinners. His inference in his statement as having returned home had gone unchallenged.
She sipped the wine poured for her enjoyment. “I want to thank you.”
“For?”
“Saving me, pulling me aboard. At least this time I remember all of it, every second. I remember so little about the other ship, the one taken by pirates.”
He swallowed the deception, hating every moment she would try to remember, because one day…she would. One day she would remember that he was a revolutionist, and because of his war with the king of Spain, he had taken her ship, that he had been the one responsible for her terror at sea and the loss of her memory and family. “What do you remember?”
She took another swallow as if thinking about her answer.
He downed a large swig of wine, not waiting to enjoy the taste, but keeping his mind busy, or he’d dwell too long on the past and what she might remember someday.
“Not a lot.” She placed the glass down next to her plate. “You rescued me from those awful men who took me, but I don’t remember the robbery or the immediate after. But I will remember. Each day, tiny bits come forward, little flashes of things. You’ll see. I’ll remember.”
Donato watched her over the flickering light. Taking a sip of wine to silence the angst that filled his chest. Someday her mind would flood with memories of that night and the truth about him. What would she do then? Would she poison Enio against him?
…
Colette hadn’t missed the glances from Donato over the candelab
ra. His dark eyes and slight perspiration across his forehead reflected the flames. He had combed his hair back in a queue and off his face. He wore a striking black velvet overcoat with a tawny vest, had rings on nearly every finger, and one gold earring. For a man who protested the swamp rats, he did indeed look the pirate.
The wine was good, lingering in the back of her throat with a woody, fruity taste before warming the pool of her stomach. Maybe it wasn’t the wine, but the handsome man who sat across from her. A man whose touch she had never stopped craving, whose kisses had lingered on her lips long after she had left the island, leaving her weak and wanting.
For a while, they ate in silence with only an occasional stilted conversation about the food, the storm, anything to avoid the obvious that they were here, together again. After the dishes were cleared, Donato refilled her wineglass. She braced herself, knowing he’d try not to take her on this voyage, and she had prepared herself a defense.
“Colette,” Donato said, and she tensed. “About Enio…about the journey. I will not take you with me. The mishap aboard the last ship convinced me of this.”
Colette didn’t react, having expected as much. Keeping her face impassive, her body cool, her shoulders relaxed, she calmly sipped her glass empty before raising her eyes to meet his. “I do not need your permission.”
He glanced around them as if she wasn’t aware of where she was, then smiled in a checkmate type smile. “Si, mi senora, you do.”
She pushed her chair back, bringing Donato to his feet. He was always the gentlemen. She had not intended to disturb his meal.
“Sit, finish your wine, s’il vous plaît.”
“A gentleman does not sit as a woman stands.” He remained on his feet.
She ambled over to the dining room window that overlooked the water. Tonight the waves slammed against the island, water in turmoil, like her and her husband, but he was right— he was in the position of power.
She faced him, forcing a tight smile. “You gave your permission when you said you would stay with me until Enio was in our hands. Are you not a man of your word?”
