by Tina Donahue
She pulled away to keep him from bringing her to the ground. “What if a ship comes near while you enjoy me, the food, and drink?”
Laughter roared louder, the musicians playing a new tune. Adamo tapped his foot in time to the music. “There will be other ships. Where are you going?” He caught up and clamped his hand on her wrist. “Answer me.”
She suppressed her contempt and became the dutiful wife. “Go on and enjoy yourself with your friends. Afterward, I will yield to you.” She touched his chest. “Until then someone must see to our safety. I will go to the point and watch for the pirates.”
“No. Phillipe is there.”
“Will he see to the liberation of our island as you promised? Does he love me as you do?” She wrenched away, darted past him, and ran down the path to the vantage point.
Adamo overtook her easily.
Canela forced herself to smile. “If you send Phillipe away, you and I could keep watch.” She caressed his cheek. “We can also enjoy each other.”
His frown became a quick smile. “Once we do, then we will join the others.” He laced his fingers through hers and led her to the point.
Phillipe pushed to his feet. “Has something happened?”
“No.” Adamo squeezed her hand. “Canela and I will keep watch for now. Join the feast. Enjoy yourself.”
Muted music floated on a breeze scented with roasting beef, succulent pork, burning torches, and the sea’s tang.
Phillipe grinned. “I will, my friend.” He bolted up the path.
“Wait.” Canela lifted her hand. “Your glass.”
He tossed the telescope to Adamo who promptly dropped it on a thick cushion of grass. Before Canela could reach for it, he gathered her in his arms, kissed her cheek and throat, and murmured his love.
The gentle waves caught the moonlight and glimmered like thousands of diamonds, reminding her of the ones around Diana’s throat. Canela pulled away from Adamo. “Show me how to use the glass.”
He frowned. “Why do you keep moving away from me?”
“I want you to show me how to use the glass.”
“Why? Women have no need for such knowledge. I want you to come to me now.”
Her hatred flared, but she melted into him and used her sweetest voice. “I only wished to see a star.” She pressed her lips to his throat. “The most important one of all.”
He slid his hands from her back to her breasts. “One star more important than the rest?” He flicked his thumbs over her nipples. “Why?”
“The star is yours and mine. Legend says it would be a good omen for our union.”
“I never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither had I until Follie told the other women she wished on her and Étienne’s star, and today she gave him a son.”
Adamo’s face brightened. He fetched the instrument and instructed her on its use.
She put the glass to her eye and swept the sea for a ship or a skiff.
“Do you see our star?”
“Not yet.”
“The glass is too low.” He tilted it upward.
Canela tensed. “Merci.” She sidled away from him and searched the sea.
“I told you the glass is too low.” He took the instrument and flung it on the grass.
She bent to retrieve it.
Adamo stepped in her way.
She straightened. “What are you doing?”
“We can look for our star later, when we keep watch.” He untied her silk cloth and tossed it aside. With his hands on her naked flesh, he smiled. “Now I intend to have you.”
* * * *
As the musicians played a slow, seductive tune, Diana leaned into Tristan, recognizing the heat in his eyes.
When they left the table, no one paid attention, too busy with their own happiness. He led her toward the birthing room, empty now and clean, the closest hideaway for lovers. To Diana’s surprise, he bypassed the chamber and padded toward a thick stand in a secluded area.
It was a distance away from the tables filled with celebrants, but not far enough to subdue their laughter and the music.
Men sang a boisterous song. Infants stirred and cried. Older children, exhausted from too much food and play, slept on the ground near their parents.
Tristan pulled her into his arms, his mouth hot and hungry on her throat.
She softened against him but still worried. “The others.”
“They can’t see us.” His lips were to her ear. “This spot’s too dark.”
Shadows blanketed them, leaves blocking the moon and torchlight.
Her pulse raced at his arousal and the other’s proximity. Months ago, she wouldn’t have considered indulging in sex outdoors much less with a crowd nearby. She’d been too English. Far too proper. Now, she stroked his hardened cock.
He grunted lustily, then slid her gown to her waist and off, baring her to the mild night. Heat pooled between her legs, moisture dampening her soft folds.
He suckled her nipples, making her want everything he had to give, then kissed the hollow beneath her throat. “On your hands and knees. I intend to mount you from behind.”
His commanding tone was the same as when he’d first captured her. Eagerly, she assumed the position, spreading her thighs widely, lifting her buttocks. The breeze licked the dampness between her legs, confirming her base desire.
Settled behind her, he gripped her hip with one hand, dipped the other to her nub, and worked her flesh.
Heat, pleasure, excitement rolled through her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
He plunged his rod into her snug channel, filling and arousing her.
Diana shuddered.
With his next touch, she pushed into him, desperate to get closer.
Tristan quickened his thrusts, propelling her and him past the edge. She pressed her mouth to her arm to stifle her harsh breaths. His rough growl spilled out, quieted by the other noise.
Contentment replaced passion, both of them settling down.
He leaned over her, his lips skimming her shoulder.
His tenderness was delightful, but still an interlude. She didn’t want to stop playing or loving.
Wantonly, she squeezed her sheath around his cock, encouraging it to grow rigid. Approving sounds rushed from him. When he’d filled her to bursting, she pulled away.
He reached for her. “What are you doing? Come back here.”
“I shall.” Once she’d faced him, she held his member aside and licked his sac.
He started, then groaned quietly. “More.”
Delighted by his command, she eased one ball into her mouth, savored its salty flavor, and licked his hot, hair-roughened skin.
A gruff sound escaped Tristan, proving his delight.
She suckled gently, worshipping him with her tongue, then did the same with his other ball, proving her love.
He cradled her face, keeping her at the task.
Only a pistol to her head would have made Diana stop. She released his testicle and slipped his cock into her mouth.
His legs wavered. He drove his fingers into her hair.
Concentrating on his rigid shaft, she licked the veins dashing up the column and took his full length inside. Her lips touched the root nestled in his thick, fragrant thatch.
He fought climax as he always did, wanting to draw out pleasure, but couldn’t for long. He came, quietly like before, his strength weakened by what she’d done. She drank him dry and sheltered him in her tender embrace until he regained his strength and took her again.
They should have been exhausted. She’d never been alive as she was now. Given his devilish grin, neither had he.
Back on their feet and dressed, he kissed her lingeringly, then pulled back. “Nine months from now the celebration’s going to be for our child.”
She stroked his bristly cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
* * * *
Damn near giddy, Tr
istan escorted Diana back to the celebration.
He’d just poured himself more ale when Phillipe laughed loudly at the table. The man’s presence surprised Tristan for reasons he couldn’t immediately identify. The pleasure of having been with Diana, along with the food and spirits, had blunted his senses.
James told a tall tale, but Phillipe kept drawing Tristan’s attention. Something about the man nagged him.
“No.” Peter waved his hands, stopping James. “You’re telling it wrong. I was the one who helped you to…”
Tristan put his tankard down. Phillipe was here when he should have kept watch. Tristan swung his legs over the bench to leave the table.
Diana grabbed his arm and leaned close. “Where are you going? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Not wanting to ruin her happiness, he lied. “I just noticed Phillipe. I want to have a word with him about a gelding. It can’t wait till morning.”
He reached the man and gestured for him to follow, not stopping until they were on the other side of the courtyard, out of earshot. “What are you doing here?”
Bacon hung from his mouth. He shoved it inside. “Honoring the new infant.”
“Oui. But you were supposed to keep watch. Did you forget?”
“I was there until Adamo and Canela offered to take my place for a while.”
“Adamo and Canela?”
Phillipe swallowed his food and nodded. “Adamo told me to enjoy myself.” A number of men laughed loudly. Phillipe danced from foot to foot. “I thanked Adamo and came here. Must I return to my watch now?”
“No, of course not.” He squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Enjoy the celebration. I see one of Follie’s sisters has her eye on you.”
Phillipe laughed self-consciously and ran to the table.
Tristan held back. Although Adamo was hardly his friend, the man did have a close relationship with the others here. Given the recent events, Adamo might have found keeping watch more comfortable than attending the celebration. Canela, though, she’d never offered to do anything productive. Lazing in bed was her style.
Worried, Tristan slipped past the outer walls. Once his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, he ran to the path that led to the point. Music and laughter grew muted, replaced by the sea’s endless hiss. The sound reminded him of times past when land was only a memory and a ship his home. Never again. How he’d lived so long without a wife and the promise of his own family didn’t make sense, but then he’d had to wait for Diana to come into his life, rapier in hand and an order for him to stand.
Grinning, he reached the point. Adamo sprawled on the ground, arm draped over his eyes as he slept. Unless he was dead.
Tristan stilled.
Adamo’s chest finally rose and fell with quiet breaths.
Canela faced the sea, the glass to her eye, making a slow sweep of the water. Not as one would do if playing, but rather searching.
Until this moment, she’d never shown interest in anything other than jewels, silks, combs, and other spoils from his piracy. Yet, she was now eager to keep watch so Adamo could sleep. Not trusting such generosity, Tristan edged closer.
She lowered the glass and faced him.
He crossed over to her as quietly as he could to avoid waking Adamo. “What are you looking for?”
She hid the glass behind herself and lifted her chin.
A playful stance he knew well and wasn’t interested in seeing. “Answer me. What are you looking for?”
She stepped back.
He advanced. They were close enough to touch. “Why are you here rather than the celebration?”
She studied his mouth, her lips parting.
Surely, she wasn’t mad enough to think he’d kiss her. Quelling his frustration, he kept his voice low. “What did you see with the glass?”
Her features grew soft, seductive.
He put out his hand. “Give it to me.”
She turned from side to side, coy and teasing, keeping the instrument behind herself.
Bloody hell. He reached around her for the damn thing.
“How dare you touch my wife.” Adamo lifted his pistol.
Tristan backed away. “I only wanted the glass.”
Hatred twisted Adamo’s features, his brutal reaction saying it all. Until Tristan wed Diana, Adamo had never been a passing thought to Canela. The humiliation hadn’t been forgotten or forgiven, but tonight he might possibly avenge the wrong done to him.
Tristan tensed as he always did before battle, except this time he was unarmed and had no real desire to kill Adamo. The man loved a woman who hardly deserved him. “Tell your husband I only wanted the glass.”
Canela said nothing. Despite Adamo’s rage and the weapon, she showed no emotion.
Tristan bared his teeth. “Tell him.”
“Quiet!” Adamo’s shout tore through the night. “You will not speak to my wife in that manner.”
Sweat ran down Tristan’s back. His pulse pumped hard. “Consider what you’re about to do. I didn’t dishonor your wife. Not only does she wear the marriage collar, but I love my own woman. I wouldn’t disrespect Diana by touching another.”
“You have had Canela before.” Adamo stalked closer. “You seduced and used her.”
His throat tightened at the lie Canela had surely put in Adamo’s head. From the moment Tristan arrived on the island, she’d pursued him. To argue the truth now would get him shot. To admit he’d used her wouldn’t be any better. “She loves you. She wed you.” Tristan looked at her. “Isn’t that true?”
“He never used me as you did.”
Alarmed, Tristan tried to reason with Adamo. “I simply wanted the glass. Only the men are supposed to use it to watch our shores.”
Canela made a derisive noise. “My people’s shores, not yours. You have us do your work keeping watch. So why are you at the point tonight?”
He focused on Adamo. “I saw Phillipe at the celebration. I asked why he wasn’t here. He told me you and Canela had offered to keep watch.”
“So you came here to humiliate me by seeing me lie with my wife.”
Tristan frowned. “No. Of course not.”
“Then why are you here?” Adamo trained his pistol on Tristan’s heart. “You came to watch us and to reclaim Canela. How dare you. I should have shot you long before—”
Diana shouted, “Lower your weapon!”
She stood on the path above them, gown fluttering in the wind, moonlight touching her marriage collar, the diamonds winking. With both hands, she lifted Tristan’s pistol that he’d left on the table, and pointed the muzzle at Adamo.
“Diana.” To Tristan, his voice seemed to come from far away, this scene a nightmare he wanted to end. “Get out of here, now.”
She didn’t take her eyes off Adamo. “Vers le bas.” Down. “Arme.” Weapon.
Adamo stared at her pistol but didn’t lower his.
“Harm my husband in the least and I’ll kill you.” She inched the weapon to Adamo’s head rather than his heart.
His fury drained away, fear replacing it. He looked from her to Tristan to Canela.
Diana inched closer. “Tristan, tell him to put down his weapon.”
James appeared behind her, his firearm trained on Adamo. “Abaisser votre pistolet.”
Peter arrived next, a pistol in each hand.
Tristan spoke to Adamo. “Lower your weapon.”
“No.” He trembled. “You will kill me if I do.”
Tristan held up his hands. “No one’s going to be shot. Not if you lower your weapon and put it away. I give you my word on it. James?”
“I also give mine.”
Peter said, “As do I.”
Confusion swept over Diana’s face. Tristan didn’t have to ask why. They’d spoken in French for Adamo’s benefit and she had no idea what they’d said.
James and Peter lowered their weapons.
She gaped. “No. You must stop
Adamo. He’s going to shoot—”
“Diana.” Tristan wanted to run to her but didn’t dare move with Adamo still wielding his gun. “Lower the pistol.”
She frowned. “Not until Adamo lowers his.”
Tristan looked at James.
She backed away from him, though not quickly enough. James took her weapon.
Tristan pleaded. “Go back to the celebration. James and I will handle this.”
“No. I fully intend to remain.”
His shoulders ached, his heart hammering uncontrollably. Adamo finally lowered his pistol but didn’t shove it beneath his belt. He could still fire on anyone, including Diana. Fear and fury constricted Tristan’s throat. “Peter, escort my wife back to the celebration, now.”
“No!” She fought hard but couldn’t win. Although younger, Peter was far taller and stronger. He slung her over his shoulder and plodded up the path.
* * * *
Diana lifted her face to see what was going on, terrified the worst would come.
Tristan spoke to Adamo. The man still hadn’t put his weapon away. James edged close, his firearm raised. Either of them could shoot at any moment.
She smacked Peter’s back. “Put me down.”
He stomped toward the mansion.
“Please. I have to stay and make certain Tristan’s all right.”
“He will be.” Peter breathed hard and shifted her on his shoulder. “As long as you stay out of his way and stop messing things up.”
“If I hadn’t arrived when I had, Adamo would have shot him.”
“It’s hardly likely. You’ll have to walk from here. You weigh far too much for me.”
Her feet hit the ground with a thud. She whirled around to go back to the point.
Peter promptly grabbed her arm and hauled her to the walls.
“Stop it.” She pummeled his hand. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
They entered the courtyard. The others stopped talking and stared.
Peter gestured dismissively. “Elle et Tristan a eu un combat.”
Diana yanked her arm. Her brother held tight. She glared. “What did you just say about Tristan?”
“I told everyone you two had a fight.” He released her. “Now, sit down and stay here until your husband tells you to move.”
She ran past him into the mansion and raced for the bedchamber. Once there, she slammed the door and bolted it.
