by Tina Donahue
The greatest. On the day they’d met, she thought her only challenge would be lying with Tristan, allowing him to rule her future. Now, she understood how quickly her world would end if she were to lose him or their children.
“Diana?”
She ached to say what was in her heart; only now wasn’t the time. Perhaps tonight when they were in their bedchamber. “I’m managing.”
He nodded slowly. “Good to hear. However, if you could spare a moment I need to have a word with you.”
Peter looked up and gaped at Tristan. “Have you been in a fight? Your face has cuts all over it.”
“Worry about your work, not my face.”
“Why do I have to keep at this when she gets to stop?”
“She’s my wife.”
Peter sighed loudly but resumed his work.
In the hall, Tristan regarded her toga. “Quite unusual and fetching.” He rested his hands on her upper arms. “Tell you what, I’ll have the women make several gowns in the same design. Would that please you?”
She wanted his and their children’s safety. She required their future. “It’s very thoughtful of you.”
He gave her an odd look. “Are you feeling all right?”
She lied with a nod. “You wanted to have a word?”
“Right. Earlier, when James and I were out riding, we saw Canela sharing a tender moment with Adamo.”
Diana couldn’t believe it. “Are you quite certain?”
Something passed over his face.
“You aren’t certain.”
He shrugged. “All I can say is they seemed quite intent on each other, so I thought now would be a good time for her to go back to her usual attire. It suits this climate far better than those foolish English gowns.” He stroked the swell of Diana’s breasts. “If your overwhelming jealousy has passed.”
“I doubt that moment will ever happen when it comes to you. As I recall, you’ve repeatedly threatened to murder any man who fancied me.”
“The threat holds. You are in agreement concerning Canela, right?”
Diana could hardly relax about any decision concerning the girl. However, insisting she cover her breasts would only increase the tension and make Canela more headstrong, possibly dangerous. “I am.”
“Splendid. I’ll have Gavra tell her.”
“No, wait. I will.”
He shook his head.
“Please.” She rested her palm on his chest. “As long as we’re here I want to belong.”
“What do you mean, as long as we’re here? Where else would we be?”
She couldn’t get into her concerns now. “Nowhere. We’ll be here, of course. And I must belong, so this can be my first step in doing so.”
“I’d prefer you avoid the first step and go straight to the second.”
“I can’t hide from her forever. Do you want her to think I’m afraid and she has the upper hand?”
“Of course not.”
“Then we agree. By telling her, I can prove I respect the islanders’ customs. I’m certain it’s important to the other women and men.”
“It is.”
“Well then, where can I find her?”
He rubbed his neck. “As I came in here, I saw her in the courtyard feeding the fowl.”
“I should get on with it then.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.” She kissed him softly, then backed away. “Allow me to do this on my own. Go back to your work. I’ll be fine.”
* * * *
In the courtyard, traveler’s trees and other types of palms rustled in the light wind, Canela nowhere around. Squealing and giggling children ran past Diana. Affection filled her, reminding her of the babes she might have, and if they’d be happy and safe here.
As Peter’s comments dogged her, children of all ages engaged in play. Infants nursed at their mothers’ breasts. Needing to be a part of this, no matter her concerns, she smiled in greeting to the new mothers and gestured to their infants. “Beau bébés.” Beautiful babies.
They beamed.
Pleased, Diana approached the women who worked the potter’s wheels and looms. When they noticed her watching, she tried to relax and look friendly. “Bonjour.”
They returned her greeting, expressions expectant.
She struggled to put together a proper French sentence to convey how happy she was on the isle and hoped to stay forever. Sadly, she had to settle for something far less. “Beau jour.” Beautiful day.
Despite her poor pronunciation and the difference in dialect, the women’s faces brightened. One after the other spoke, the words coming so fast Diana had no idea what they said.
At last, they fell silent and waited for her response. She offered a wobbly smile and a nod, hoping that would do. Surprisingly, they seemed pleased.
She stopped holding her breath. “If you’ll excuse me.”
They exchanged glances.
She turned and started. Canela was only a few feet away, dressed in the crimson gown, flinging feed to the fowl. Their wings fluttered wildly. Their cackles filled the sticky air along with the children’s excited shrieks.
Steeling herself, she approached Canela. The other women fell silent. Diana was tempted to check if they watched, but didn’t.
Striving to be civil, she inclined her head. “Good day.”
Canela stopped tossing the feed and stared at Diana’s diamond collar.
The thing seemed too tight, like someone’s hands around her neck. “I want you to know, it’s my sincere intent to make everyone’s life on this island as pleasant as possible. Therefore, my husband and I have decided—”
“Tristan.”
“Yes, Tristan. My husband.”
Jaw clenched, Canela regarded the collar.
Diana cleared her throat. “He and I discussed the matter of your attire. We’ve agreed you should wear what the other women do as it’s far more comfortable in this climate. However, please keep the gowns. You can use the silk for the cloth you tie about your hips.”
A chicken cackled. Canela kicked the creature and faced Diana, her mouth a hard line, hands gripped on the feed bowl.
Diana wanted to flee, but recalled what she’d said to Tristan about being afraid, allowing Canela to have the upper hand. Diana leaned in so the others wouldn’t overhear. “About you looking into the bedchamber when my husband and I are in there.”
Rage burned in Canela’s eyes, her hatred even deeper than before.
Diana’s skin crawled but she couldn’t let the girl cow her. “This is your first and last warning. Never look into our room again.” She left.
* * * *
Tristan didn’t see Diana until the evening meal. When he asked if she’d handled Canela to her satisfaction, she claimed the matter was settled and offered nothing else. She picked at her food, followed none of the converse, offered no comments, but chose instead to stare at Peter.
Peter noticed and frowned.
She retreated further into herself, keeping her thoughts from everyone.
When the islanders brought out their musical instruments, she declined the entertainment and went to the library.
Tristan had business to conduct at the stables and entered their bedchamber hours later. The room was so stuffy he threw open the shutters to let in the cooling night air.
Diana immediately extinguished the lamps, save for one that offered scant illumination.
“What are you doing?” He squinted, scarcely able to see her in the gloom. “There’s no moon tonight. Light the lamps at once. When I have you, I intend to see what’s going on.”
“Close the shutters first.”
“It’s too warm in here to do so. Light the lamps now.”
“No. Someone might see.”
“What? You mean someone might watch us?”
“It’s possible. All one has to do is come up to the windows and look inside.”
“Here?” He chuckled at the preposterous notion. “The islanders are proud people. They’re hardly concerned with our activities. I would think they find our pale flesh and features quite repulsive. Go on. Light those lamps and quit behaving like a silly virgin. You’re hardly one anymore.”
“I am well aware of that.”
He’d meant to tease, not irritate her, and offered a smile.
She didn’t soften. “My purity or lack of it has nothing to do with this. I’m simply trying to be civilized and retain some measure of decency.”
“Very well, but since when?”
She made an annoyed sound, held a sheet to herself, and lit the lamps.
He glanced at the windows. “This is about Canela, isn’t it? Have you seen her out there, looking in?”
Diana drew the sheet to her throat.
“You have. When? This morning? While we were—”
“While I was shaving you.”
Rage shot through him. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
She lit the last lamp and sat on the mattress. The sheet covered her from throat to toes. “I handled the matter.”
“Are you quite sure? Given your current modesty, it would appear you’re hardly convinced of her obedience.”
“She’s determined.”
“So am I.”
“Where are you going?”
He stopped at the door. “To turn her away from this house. I told her what I’d do if she didn’t respect our privacy.”
“Tristan, wait.” Diana pulled her legs under her. “I need to have a word with you on another matter. Please. Hear me out.”
He closed the door and leaned against it. “What’s wrong?”
She looked at the opened window, the inky night beyond. “Earlier today I came upon Peter kissing one of the young women.”
Tristan grinned. “Well done.”
“What?”
“Not you seeing it. Him doing it.”
“What?”
Tristan tempered his approval. “Peter is of an age when those things happen. You should have expected it.”
“I hardly expected any of this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought Peter was going to be educated as a gentleman.”
“You think I’m not accomplishing that?” Tristan held up his hand. “Wait a moment. This is about the tutor I promised, isn’t it? I meant myself, Diana. I didn’t tell you at the time as you wouldn’t have believed me capable, but I fully intend to tutor Peter until he knows everything he should and more.”
“Why bother?”
Tristan frowned. “It’s hardly a bother.”
“It’s hardly necessary as Peter will never have an opportunity to use his skills.”
“If he applies himself, he will.”
“How can he do so here? He can only use the knowledge in England with no likelihood to return there, since he’d face the gallows, the same as you and James. You’re here for life, as I am. For myself, I can accept it. But for Peter? He’s only a boy. He could have been anything in England, though here his only options are farming or engaging in piracy, as he so aptly explained. What of the children yet to be, our sons and daughters?”
As warm as he’d been before, Tristan was now as chilled. “What about them?”
“Will there always be enough here for them to eat? What if a storm destroys the crops and cattle? What will our children survive on then? What will they become? Once they’re grown, whom will they wed? The islanders?”
Until she’d entered his life, he’d never considered marriage for himself or having a family. His past had been too bleak. Only now, she spoke of the future, needing to know what it held for them.
“Will our children be safe here?” Her eyes glistened in the lamp light. “Will you? Will your former crew—”
“I’ve already told you, they’ll never be able to locate the island as they’re unaware of its existence. I happened upon it quite by accident. You’re safe here, and I would never allow anyone to harm my children. They and you will never starve, nor want, nor be in any danger. I give you my word on it.”
Before she could ask anything else, Tristan left the room.
He ran down the hall to the courtyard, then outside the walls. The breeze whipped his hair. Blood pounded in his ears. At a hilltop, he stopped and rested his forearm against a traveler’s tree. What a damn fool he was. Worse, a bloody bastard for not having considered how selfish he’d been.
He’d captured Diana, thinking only of the pleasures he might have with her. She was such a delicious challenge he’d been determined to win and have her desire, love, and respect. To make certain she blessed him with many children.
Not once had he considered the real future.
He rammed his fist into the trunk, pounding his knuckles, drawing blood. A cry caught in his throat, though not at the pain in his hand. The agony lay deep in his heart at Diana’s questions about the crops failing, her and their children having nothing to eat, a storm striking the island destroying everything.
Even if none of those events happened and his children grew to adulthood that hardly settled things.
He slammed his fist into the trunk repeatedly and bellowed his torment.
There were no Englishmen on this island for his daughters to wed. His sons would have no commerce. His children would face a future as bleak as their father’s, unless he brought Diana back to civilization before any babes were born.
He was here for life, but she wasn’t. She’d done nothing wrong, nor had Peter. It would be easy to explain how the boy had no choice except to join a pirate crew. If words didn’t suffice, then gold would convince the authorities of his innocence. Peter and Diana could easily escape, provided Tristan released them.
He shivered, cold seeping into his soul. The ceaseless surf mocked him. The salty air did the same, reminding him of the only solution.
He had to provide Diana and Peter safe passage to England. With the gold and jewels he’d give them they would do well. The marriage collar alone could support Diana for decades. The gems would also be a fitting dowry and might possibly capture a noble for her, the aristocratic husband she deserved.
He sank to the ground, drew his knees to his chest, and rested his head on them. Wind washed over him, no longer balmy and caressing, but raw and wretched. As his future would be when Diana was in another man’s arms. Even if she were already with child, her new husband could raise the babe as his own. The boy or girl would call him father.
Tristan squeezed his eyes, despair defeating him. “I love you, Diana. My God, I adore you.”
He’d wanted to tell her, but hadn’t. She’d asked if they were almost friends.
They were, but what she’d said tonight convinced him they could go no further. She had to return to England where she’d be truly safe and could thrive under another man’s protection and love.
Away from Tristan Kent. A coward and pirate.
Chapter 9
Vincent’s rage built at the endless, unproductive search, Tristan and Diana still out of reach. He’d been so certain they’d be on this isle, he had the men comb the remaining vegetation in the dark. One had fallen into a pit, the tumble breaking his spine. Careless fool. Served him right that the crew left him there for the animals and birds to finish off.
As to Tristan, this had been the last location he might have rowed to and survived. Yet, they’d found nothing. Vincent ground the heel of his hand into his forehead.
The crew gave him wide berth at the fire. A short distance away, Montgomery sprawled over the sand, having enjoyed too much rumfustian. His hearty snores matched his overwhelming girth.
Filthy pig. Vincent had a new plan for the captain, which didn’t include Diana or the ransom. He’d have those prizes for himself. All he had to do was find his damned quarry.
Fury flared. He drew his pistol and fired.
Someone let out a startled
cry. Others looked over. A lemur fell from a tree behind them.
Vincent shoved his pistol back into the brace across his chest. “Cook it.”
Two men fetched the animal.
The sea was a great black mass rolling and licking the beach. Even when Vincent squinted, the Lady Lark was invisible to him, the night too dark, though the ship was out there waiting.
Here, firelight danced over the longboats the crew had used to reach shore.
The men threw the lemur to the cook, who proceeded to skin the animal. The promise of warm food brought a festive air to the crew. Some played their fiddles and reeds. Others traded tales. Vincent made no move to stop them or join in, his attention on the longboats. They were much larger than the skiff Tristan had used in his escape.
Damp wind trailed over Vincent’s unshaven jaw. His yellow scarf fluttered.
The younger men danced. The older ones drank.
Vincent’s pulse beat hard. There were islands in these parts few vessels could get near, which meant a man had to use the smallest craft possible. No wonder Tristan had taken the skiff.
Vincent laughed heartily, startling many in the crew. Knowing what his next move would be, he ignored their fearful looks. Come morning, he would implement his plan.
* * * *
Diana waited for Tristan in their bedchamber. He never came back. She worried herself into a fitful sleep and a nightmare in which his crew was on the island stalking them.
She awakened with a start, heartsick at the empty space next to her. Morning light spilled into the room. Dressed in her canvas trousers and Tristan’s shirt, she left the bedchamber and ran from room to room. He wasn’t in any of them. She rushed to Canela’s chamber but didn’t enter. He couldn’t be inside. No matter his anger or whatever else he’d felt when they last spoke, he wouldn’t betray her.
She hurried to Peter’s room, rapped once on the door, and opened it.
His arm hid his face. His upper lip fluttered with soft snores.
She shook his shoulder.
He pulled away.
“Peter, wake up. Have you seen Tristan?”
He ran his tongue around his mouth. “How could I? I’ve been asleep.”
