by Tina Donahue
He bit back a curse, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her down the hall to the courtyard.
Naked children dashed about the common area, giggling in delight at their games. Nearby, their mothers worked the looms or potter’s wheels.
If not for the others here, Tristan would have raged at Canela for interrupting his pleasure, him schooling Diana in how she should obey and desire him. At this point, he might need years to bring her to his side and didn’t need anyone making matters worse.
“I heard you outside the door to my bedchamber.” He spoke quietly so only she could hear. “You were listening to what transpired within. Do it again and I’ll banish you from the house and the luxury it affords you.” He released her wrist to go back to Diana.
“I heard no pleasure.”
Tristan looked over.
Canela advanced. “The Englishwoman tells you to take her because it is your right, not because she desires you.”
His face warmed.
“You should beat her for her cruel words. You should turn her away from this house and its luxuries. You should—”
“Diana’s my wife.” He faced Canela. “Which makes her my business, not yours.”
Her lovely features grew hateful. “She does not love you.”
Canela didn’t, either. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known, but also the most ruthless. No matter what Diana had thought when she’d first met him, that he was a worthless pirate, a barbarian, or a coward, her judgement of him as a man was far better than Canela’s would ever be. To her, he was a means to an end to control the island riches. Nothing more.
He stared her down. “I’m warning you.”
“Aye, you warn me, a woman who bends to your will. Yet you make one who defies you the mistress of this house and land. Even though she will have the finest in silks and jewels, she will not obey you. You will never have her respect or—”
“Damnation, enough.”
James joined them. “Is there a problem?”
Peter and Gavra, the woman James loved, were with him.
“No problem at all.” Tristan tamped down his fury, then spoke to Gavra in French, asking her to make certain Canela remained outside the mansion, away from his bedchamber.
She stole a look at Canela and nodded.
“How can you do this to me?” Canela reached for him.
He stepped away.
She moaned. “I wish only to protect you.”
“Why?” Peter frowned. “From what?”
“Nothing,” Tristan said. “She’s mistaken.”
Canela smacked her fist against her palm. “My heart and my ears heard her words. The Englishwoman wishes you harm. The moment you are no longer awake, she will injure you.”
“Hurt him as he sleeps?” James scratched his freckled neck. “I hardly think Tristan’s going to slumber much today or tonight with Diana in his bed.”
Canela glared at him.
“Gavra.” Tristan inclined his head to Canela. “Please see to her.”
Canela dashed outside the courtyard walls. Gavra followed close behind.
James shook his head. “It appears she’s not taking kindly to you wedding another woman and making her mistress of the house that she believes should be hers.”
“Until I met Diana I had no intention of wedding anyone or siring children. Canela always knew how I felt.”
“Aye, but like most women she thought she could change your mind. From the moment you took over this island, she’s had her eye on ruling with you.”
Over his dead body. Hers too. “I hardly wish to rule, James.”
“Maybe so, but we both know Canela does.”
Tristan pushed his windblown hair off his face. “Isn’t it enough she already has all the riches any woman could possibly want and most of the island men desiring her? In particular Adamo?”
“He may love the girl, but he’s not a pirate who returns from a voyage with silks and jewels to give her.”
“Neither am I. Not any longer. Though if this continues, I may have to escape for a little while to preserve my sanity from female hysterics.”
Peter sniffed. “Women.”
Tristan smiled at the boy’s eagerness to join a man’s conversation. “Aye, women.” He stepped back, eager to return to Diana. “Such lovely creatures when they’re of a mind to be soft and yielding as God surely intended.”
“The reason beds were created.” James wiggled his eyebrows. “No better way to get a woman to do your bidding than to pleasure her greatly when she’s beneath you.”
Peter’s cheeks darkened. Although the boy was still a virgin, Gavra’s two younger sisters kept making advances toward him. “Tristan, wait a moment.”
Reluctantly, he retraced his steps, sensing what the boy wanted to ask. “When it comes to women be exceedingly patient, gentle as can be, make certain her pleasure comes afore your own, tell her she’s surely the prettiest thing on God’s earth, and you’ll have no problems whatsoever.”
The truth. At least until he’d met Diana.
Peter’s face flushed redder than his neck and chest. “I hardly want to know about such things. Will Diana harm you as you sleep? Are you in great danger?”
Indeed, he was. He craved her as he’d never had a woman before and proved it with his ardent attention to her pleasure. Yet, she refused to concede that he’d done more than take her, wounding him badly. Unwilling to admit the truth, he shrugged. “Not from your sister.”
“What of our shipmates? Do you think they might find us here?”
Tristan and James exchanged a glance and a wink. “Well now.” Tristan eyed Peter. “Not unless you told them about this island.”
“I did not. I kept the secret same as you.”
Tristan slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Then we’re safe. This island’s not near any harbor, and it’s far too hard to reach by sloop. Remember, I only found it by accident.” He directed the boy toward the mansion.
“What are you doing?” Peter looked behind them. “I was about to take a ride when I heard Canela’s stupid fit.”
“You must never call a woman’s fit stupid. And you may ride only after you’ve finished your lessons.”
Peter drooped. “There’s no sense in learning things I’ll never use.”
“I want you educated as a gentleman, and so does your sister.”
“But she fancies books as you do. I don’t. I want to take me ride.”
“My ride. Say it.”
“Very well, my ride.”
“Try to remember it for the next time.”
“I never forgot. I don’t like getting beat up.”
“You won’t here.” Once in the structure, Tristan led the boy to the library. “No riding until you’ve finished your lessons, understood?”
Peter nodded but dragged his feet. “I hope you know, books will never tell me how to keep this island safe from our—Diana.” He halted.
So did Tristan.
His bride was in the hall dressed in her mariner’s clothing.
She stopped in front of Peter. “What did you mean when you mentioned keeping the island safe?”
Tristan pushed the boy toward the library. “Do your studies.”
“Aye, Captain.” Peter fled.
Diana was immune to Tristan’s mood, intent on following Peter.
Tristan swept her into his arms, put her on her feet in the bedchamber, and bolted the door. “Your vows said you’d obey me, and you will.”
“The vows were in a language I hardly understood, and you left me in here without your protection.”
“You have it now, so take off your clothes and get into my bed.”
She edged back. “Canela was listening at the door, wasn’t she?”
“The matter’s been settled.” He shrugged out of his robe. “Take off your clothes.”
“You were gone quite a while. Does it take so much
time to soothe Canela’s feelings?”
“It takes far longer to see you naked, but I have a solution.” He undressed her, since it appeared she would never get to the task, and brought her to his bed.
The moment he was between her legs, she planted her hands on his chest. “Tristan, wait.”
“What for? I want to have you now.”
“As is your right, but a matter concerns me greatly.”
He stroked her jawline. “Never fear, you’ll enjoy this act as you did the last. Probably far more as you’re no longer a timid virgin.”
Diana gave him a cool look. “You would know, but my former or present state isn’t what concerns me.” She grew quite somber. “Peter spoke of this island’s safety. What did he mean?”
“Nothing. You have absolutely no need for concern. In fact, I forbid it. I want to see you smiling constantly and laughing gaily.”
“Like one who’s feeble-minded or insane?”
“Like my wife who’s drunk with pleasure and trusts her husband will protect her. Now lift your legs. I want you to take all of my cock inside.”
“Be serious, please.” She cupped his face. “Are you in danger from your old crew and mine? Will they be able to find you here?”
His bluster fell away. Her worry for him surprised Tristan. “No need to fret, please don’t.”
“I can’t help it. You beat and betrayed them to save me.”
He’d do so repeatedly, endlessly, to have another moment like this. More intimate than he’d hoped, stoking his hunger for her, his need to be close. “Do you mind lifting your legs for your husband?”
“Are we through talking about this?”
He was, but feared she’d never be. “For the moment.”
“I need to speak of this again at length, please. I want your word.”
She would. “You have it.”
Smiling, she lifted her legs.
He drove his shaft into her silken heat, lost in comfort and wonder. Her channel sheltered him, making him feel wanted, giving him peace.
Grateful and humbled, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and fought his emotions. It was time for pleasure, not talk.
She stroked his hair. “Are you all right?”
No. Since meeting her, everything had changed for him and he couldn’t bring things back. Wasn’t certain he even wanted to. “I have something to say.”
She stilled. “What?”
He lifted his face, pained by her dread. “No matter what your men and mine may want, there is no way in hell they’ll ever locate this island or me.”
* * * *
Montgomery called out, “Did you find it?”
“No.” Wiping sweat off his face, Vincent slogged down the beach from the Quest and stopped short of the man. “No skiff’s been hid in any of them trees or mangroves. Tristan’s charts are still in the cabin. He and the others must have rowed to a different beach than this.”
Montgomery made a face. “Do you think they drowned?”
“Not with Tristan and James being such skilled swimmers. Even young Peter can hold his own.” He faced the sea. Beneath the setting sun, the water seemed to catch fire, shining as brightly as the gold Bishop used to powder his wigs. Vincent wanted that for himself and eating off silver plates with diamond-encrusted edges. Items he’d never have if they couldn’t find and ransom Diana.
Montgomery looked north. “Where else was the Quest careened?”
Vincent named the spots. Every one would have taken Tristan over a week to reach. Unlikely he would have rowed to them.
Montgomery sighed loudly. “What islands are nearest to where the Lady Lark is anchored?”
There were several, but Vincent didn’t name them. “Are you thinking Tristan and the others might have gone to one of them?”
“If you’re convinced they haven’t perished, then they’re surely somewhere, and we’ll not rest until they’re found.”
* * * *
Given his hunger for Diana, Tristan was surprised to have slept the night. Come morning, he reached for his bride but felt cool silk and emptiness instead.
His pulse leaped. He pushed up but didn’t leave the bed.
She stood at the closest window, her attention on the outside. A mild breeze stirred her hair and the fresh sheet she held tight to her throat. Her diamond collar twinkled. Two lemurs darted past, scattering brilliantly colored butterflies. She raised her face to watch their flight before regarding the sea.
Slumped against the pillows, Tristan tried to gauge her mood. Yesterday, she’d been worried about him. Now, he sensed she might be thinking about England, her true home. His belly knotted at her craving her old life, not this place or him. He should have asked outright, but wasn’t brave enough to face her answer. Skirting the issue was all he had the courage to do. “England’s to the left.”
She looked over at him, then back at the sea.
Her response did little to dispel his doubt. “Were you very happy there?”
She laughed softly. “Quite miserable I would say.”
He grinned, then killed his joy, lest she see.
Diana faced him. “Were you happy there?”
Hungry would have been a better word. Frustrated too, at least during the times when he wasn’t afraid or close to having his spirit broken. “Quite miserable I would say.”
“Then you miss it too.”
He laughed. “Aye. At times I fear I do.”
She smiled.
Her tenderness touched Tristan’s soul and quickened his pulse, making him want her as he had no other woman.
She dropped the sheet. Sunlight caressed her smooth skin and made her diamonds sparkle wildly. Her rosy nipples had pebbled, telling him what she refused to admit. She desired him.
He simply had to coax those words from her and ease his uncertainty. However, first he needed to know something else. “Turn around and lift your hair.”
She gave him a questioning look but obeyed.
Her shoulders were narrow, back slender, legs long. A small mole graced her buttocks, the only thing interrupting her flawless flesh. Satisfied, he relaxed. “Lower your hair and face me.”
“Were you looking for marks?”
He hid his surprise and nodded.
“Why?”
“I know what a man’s touch can do to a woman’s flesh. Too many times my mother’s face and body bore evidence of a lover’s rage.”
“Your mother?”
“Aye. She was a doxy. I never learned who my father might be, other than someone named Rhys Kent. I’m quite certain he also left his mark on her.”
Diana looked aghast. “You left no marks on me. That’s not the kind of man you are, no matter your upbringing. What happened with your parents wasn’t your fault.”
He already knew that and didn’t much like her sympathetic words. They weren’t what he wanted to hear and cursed himself for being too forthright. “You and I have better things to do than to speak of times past.” He put out his hand for her to come to him. In fact, he demanded it.
She knelt on the mattress just out of reach. “Why does compassion frighten you?”
“Pity has always disgusted me.”
“Compassion isn’t pity.”
“You honestly believe such a thing?” He looked down his nose as a schoolmaster might. “You’re wrong. Both words have the same meaning. A woman your age should know so, or didn’t you take lessons as a girl?”
Her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t give into anger or hurt at his unkind words. “The truth is I did, though I can see it was quite unnecessary as my husband insists on instructing me in other matters. Ones that hardly come from books.”
“How right you are. There’s still the matter of you admitting your desire for me.”
She lowered her face.
Her silence cut deep, but he cast off his feelings, leery of opening himself to additional grief. “Very well, see to m
y pleasure. Do it now.”
“Is that what you truly want?”
His face got hot. He refused to look at her. “It is.”
“All that you want?”
He couldn’t think of anything else except her consistent obedience, her confession that she desired him, and her respect rather than condolences for his horrid past. Not hoping for such a miracle, he shrugged.
On a heavy sigh, she rested her hands on his chest and pressed her lips to his throat in a gentle, promising kiss that tightened his balls and curled his toes. She glided her tongue over his jaw, then licked the cleft in his chin.
Her mouth’s wet heat registered deep within Tristan, feeding his passion.
She traced his nipples and suckled his neck.
He pushed into her. “Bloody hell.”
She pulled in her tongue. “Is that the proper language to use around a reverend’s daughter?”
He laughed. “Surely is when the girl’s my wife.”
“Woman, not girl. Not any longer.” She licked his tiny nipples quite well, swirled her tongue around his navel, then flicked it over the hairs arrowing to his groin, tickling, warming, arousing. At length, she buried her face in the thick curls above his cock.
He’d reached the doorway to heaven.
* * * *
Diana inhaled deeply of his musk, adoring the provocative scent. Shamelessly, she glided her tongue down his beefy rod and cupped his balls. Their weight and warmth were dizzying.
He squeezed his fists and muttered lewd comments that excited her.
She explored his thick, long column and gently fondled his sac. Lovingly, she licked his velvety crown, dipped her tongue into the small slit, and tasted the clear fluid beaded there. Its saltiness surprised her, as did her wanton hunger for him. She desired everything Tristan was, her actions proving what she couldn’t say. Someday perhaps. Right now, her zealous attention to his pleasure would have to do.
Determined to give him the only sanctuary he’d allow, she slipped his shaft into her mouth.
He gasped. “I said pleasure me, woman, not kill me.”
She released him. “Are you complaining?”
“Demanding.” He pulled in another shuddering breath. “Enough of what you’re doing. I want your cunt.”
Another word she’d learned since taking to sea to find him. The term thrilled rather than disgusted. In this bed and room, she’d forbid no pleasure, nor deny any delight.
