by Tina Donahue
She hurried to Peter’s room, hoping he’d taken his pistol.
The weapon wasn’t on the tables, his bed, or under the mattress. Diana supposed he was armed. Of course, to protect oneself with a pistol, one had to have their eyes open and their wits about them.
Poor Peter.
She considered having her own pistol for protection. After a thorough search, she found no spare weapons in the mansion for the women to use, and wasn’t surprised. Peter had told her to let the men handle the danger because they’d been born to do so.
“You’re handling this quite well. You left me here without any protection, and God knows if you’ve even thought to protect yourself.”
She grabbed the largest knife she could find from the kitchen, the beach her destination. It was one thing to worry about coming upon Peter and Laure while they had relations. It was another to find them slaughtered because Canela had murdered them as they made love. After the incident on the point last night, most likely orchestrated by Canela, Diana didn’t know what the she-devil was capable of.
In the courtyard, Diana stayed near the mansion walls to hide the knife from the others. An infant cried in one of the rooms.
“Shhh, shhh, petit l’un,” Follie said.
Diana glanced in the window.
Follie’s dark hair fanned over her arms. She kissed her son’s cheek. He was perfect.
Diana cradled her belly, the new life inside. One she already loved and had to protect.
If anything happened to Peter, she’d never forgive herself. However, if she fell or Canela attacked her and Diana lost her unborn child, she’d surely die. She didn’t have an easy choice to make, but Tristan’s decision for her to stay within these walls finally made sense.
Peter was a man now with an obligation to protect himself and Laure. Diana’s duty was to her husband and child. She’d probably been worrying for nothing. Surely, Peter was armed, Canela wouldn’t attempt to harm him or Laure, and everything would be all right.
* * * *
Vincent had finally found Diana, Tristan, and treasure too. He couldn’t believe his good luck. At least not enough to trust the savage who said his name was Adamo. Vincent spoke to Storley. “Ask him if there’s anyone watching the beach.”
Storley did.
Adamo shook his head.
“I see.” Vincent stroked his pistol. “So absolutely no one’s watching the beach?”
The savage looked confused.
Vincent brought his pistol butt down hard on Adamo’s cheek. He wailed and sank to his knees, cradling his battered face.
There’d be more of that and worse if he’d lied. “Ask him again if anyone’s watching the beach.”
Storley did.
Adamo cried out in French.
Storley lifted his shoulders. “He says he was given the task. With him here now, no one’s watching over there.”
Vincent said nothing, did nothing, allowing Adamo’s fear to grow. When he was certain the savage understood the gravity of his situation, Vincent told Storley to ask him about the bare-breasted woman who had held the glass. He demanded to know who she was and why she was on the beach.
Once Storley finished with his questions, Adamo lifted his bruised face but didn’t answer.
Vincent struck him.
Blood poured from Adamo’s split lip. He cowered, trying to protect himself, and finally spoke.
Storley translated. “The savage said she was only amusing herself with the glass. She’s just a native girl.”
Not likely. To Vincent, she’d looked far too intent. He gestured his largest men forward. The savage screamed from their relentless blows.
Vincent held up his hand. “Enough.” He spoke to Storley. “Ask him again if anyone is watching the beach.”
Storley did.
Adamo lay curled at their feet. Pain slurred his answer.
“He claims to be the only one.”
Vincent finally believed him. No man would risk pirates beating him to death to keep such a secret. “Put the savage in the skiff. Get our boats and follow.”
Vincent gathered the silks and jewels. Once he had the treasure safely beneath his arm, he climbed into the skiff beside Adamo, pressed his pistol to the man’s temple, and spoke to Storley. “Ask him what to expect once we arrive on his island.”
* * * *
As Adamo claimed, the beach and rise above it proved deserted.
No telling for how long.
Scowling, Vincent left the skiff hurriedly and ordered the others to pull Adamo to shore. They left the savage on the sand, then stowed their craft within the foliage. The other men arrived and hid the longboats.
A young woman came from behind the trees.
Vincent recognized her instantly as the one he’d seen in his glass. Only now, her odd collar was gone and he wanted to know why, worried that its absence held some meaning. A sort of advance warning.
Adamo reached out. “Canela, no.”
“Quiet.” Vincent struck the savage into silence and straightened, pleased the woman carried no weapons. “Canela. That’s your name?”
She nodded despite his English, advanced, and stopped in front of him.
“You understand English?” he asked.
“Yes, though the others here speak French.” Her accent was thick, voice lilting.
“So I was told. Where’s the collar you had on before?”
She smiled. It was as cold as Christmas and said she knew what he didn’t. Vincent grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. “What’s the collar mean? Why ain’t you wearing it no more?”
Despite his fierce tone, she remained calm. “It is only a marriage collar. I removed it as I am no longer wed. Now, I belong to you.”
“Why am I so lucky?”
“You are the captain, are you not?”
“Why?”
She smiled, only this one was far warmer and promised a great deal of pleasure. “I belong to the captain who rules this land and has the stone house.”
“Stone house?”
“Where Tristan Kent and his woman, Diana, live. She, you may give to your men. Him, you will hang. And then you and I will rule this land.”
Chapter 15
Diana poured scented oil into her bathwater.
Something moved outside the windows.
Knife in hand, she hurried to the closest one.
Muted laughter sounded, the softer giggles belonging to a young woman. The foolish ones most certainly were her brother’s. Relief and dismay flooded Diana. “Peter, is that you?”
He groaned, then sighed. “What are you bothering me with now?”
Throttling him would be delightful. She tossed the knife on the bed and strode to the window. After a brief hesitation, she looked out.
Peter and Laure jumped away from each other, him in his breeches, she in her cloth. Laure turned her back to Diana.
He screwed up his mouth. “Do you mind?”
“I might ask you the same. If you insist on this behavior, why not entertain the young lady in your room?”
He brightened. “That would be better.”
He was still such a child, though one with a man’s needs. With Laure’s hand in his, he pulled her to his bedchamber window.
“Peter.” Diana leaned out, wanting to irritate him a bit longer. “You should use the door like everyone else.”
“Tristan prefers the window. He told me so.”
He would. She would definitely have a word with her husband this evening. Given the sun’s position, he shouldn’t be much longer.
She stripped naked and lowered herself into the warm, fragrant water to prepare herself for him.
* * * *
The waning sun streamed across the men who worked in the vineyards. As they detailed their concerns about the crop, Tristan couldn’t concentrate, agitated by Peter and Laure’s newfound love. He had no idea why they would be on his mind and didn’t
understand why he was bothered by their relationship.
James elbowed him.
“What?”
“Are you going to answer the men?”
“About what?”
James gave him a strange look. “They just asked you about the grapes. They said this crop seems inferior to the last. Given how I imbibed last night, I know I’m not at my best, but what’s your excuse?”
He had no answer except Peter’s desire for Laure troubled him, though that was clearly mad. Earlier, he’d congratulated the boy on his new status. He regarded the men and asked them to repeat their concerns.
They did.
Tristan didn’t listen this time, either.
“My God.” James huffed. “What in the hell is the matter with you?”
Tristan frowned. “The boy’s supposed to be watching her.”
“Peter? Who’s he supposed to be watching?”
“Diana, who else? He’s supposed to be protecting her, not going off with Laure.”
“Tristan, wait.” James grabbed his arm before he could mount his gelding. “Who says Peter’s with Laure?”
“Who says he’s not? He couldn’t stop bragging about her this morning. You were the one who said he’d be taking full advantage of her and not paying attention to his lessons.”
“Diana’s hardly a lesson, my friend, she’s his sister. Peter also knows the trouble Canela can cause. Not likely he’s taking any chances.”
Tristan wanted to believe that. The other men were more tired than he, certainly as irritated, and needed to get on with this so they could be with their women.
“Come on.” James smacked Tristan’s back. “We have a bit yet to do. The sun’s going to set soon and then we can go home.”
Tristan nodded, chiding himself for his needless worry.
* * * *
On one knee, Vincent studied the sand drawing Canela had made, depicting a large house hidden within the forest. The drawing showed a courtyard surrounded by rooms, though Vincent was only concerned with the one belonging to Diana and Tristan. He swung his pistol to the right and pointed the muzzle at a bedchamber. “This is Diana’s?”
Canela nodded.
“The room can be entered through a window?”
“Three.”
Vincent smiled. “Is Diana in the bedchamber now?”
Canela’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know if she is in the room? What does it matter? You can capture her and give her to your men no matter where she is.”
Vincent grabbed Canela’s throat and squeezed, ready to wring the life from her.
She gaped in quick fear.
“Is Diana in the bedchamber now?”
She nodded.
He loosened his hold. “Why would she be there at this time?”
“The Englishwoman sometimes bathes at this hour.”
He squeezed. “Sometimes?”
“Always.”
“Where’s Tristan when she’s doing this?”
“Finishing his tasks.”
“What tasks?”
“Those in the fields or the pastures.”
“So he’s not in the stone house at this hour?”
“Not until the sun goes down.”
Vincent relaxed his grip but kept his hand about her throat and lifted his face to the remaining light. He had enough time to take Diana in her bedchamber, then await Tristan’s return.
Grinning, he pushed to his feet, pulling Canela with him. “You’re going to take us to the stone house and warn us of any danger. Do you understand me?”
She softened her gaze, her manner seductive. “I will do whatever you wish so Tristan and his woman are removed. Tonight, you and I will share their bed. I will bring you great pleasure.”
“You’ll bring me safety or else. Afterward, you go to my men. They like your sort. For myself, I’m going to have Diana, an Englishwoman. If you don’t like it, it’s best you remember this. The first sign of trouble from your people, and you’ll get a bullet in your head for the problems you’ve caused me.” He tightened his hold on her throat, forcing away her rage, replacing it with renewed fear. “Understand?”
Canela nodded.
“Good. Now go on and do as you’re told.” He pushed her away.
She stumbled into Storley. He slipped his arm around her waist and caressed her naked flesh. She glared at Vincent. “I helped you.”
“So you did, you filthy savage. Now keep your bloody tongue or I’ll cut it out.”
Fury darkened her face. Tears filled her eyes.
* * * *
Diana rested her head against the back of the tub. Outside, lemurs rustled leaves, birds sang sweetly, and the sea hissed. In here, giggles and impassioned noises sounded from Peter’s room, him and Laure experiencing no end of pleasure.
Diana covered her eyes. Come morning, she’d insist he move to a bedchamber across the courtyard. She was too English and civilized to fully accept this. At last, she hit the tub. “Will you be quiet?”
After several moans and grunts, they were, and the silence held.
She guessed he and Laure were asleep. If only Diana could be as lucky.
In an effort to relax, she closed her eyes, rotated her shoulders, and then lifted her legs from the tepid water to stretch.
The wind carried the children’s shrill laughter, then a sudden shriek, one of them excited or upset about something.
She inhaled deeply and blew out her breath.
Leaves swished in the wind. Air whipped the silk sheets against the bedframe. An animal cried, or perhaps the sound was a newborn’s thin wail.
A foot scraped ever so softly on the windowsill, its owner not wanting her to hear because he needed to surprise.
She smiled. Tristan had finally come back to her. Thank God. She opened her eyes to greet her husband.
A man wearing a yellow scarf grinned quite cruelly.
Diana screamed.
* * * *
Peter’s eyes flew open. He sat up.
Diana screamed again.
“Damn you,” Vincent said. “Be quiet.”
Peter froze in surprise and confusion, not understanding how the man could be here.
“Pierre.” Laure grabbed his arm. “Que—”
He put his hand over her mouth, his lips to her ear. “Don’t say anything or make any noise. I’ll see to my sister. Go to the vineyards and get Tristan and the others. Tell them our security’s been compromised. Diana’s in danger from his former crew. Do you understand?”
Laure nodded.
Vincent laughed and said something too muffled for Peter to hear. He released Laure. “Hurry.”
With the silk cloth tied about her hips, she ran to the window, then pivoted and raced to the bed. “Men are outside. I have to use the door.”
He grabbed her wrist. “Be careful. There may be more men in the hall.”
Cautiously, she opened the door so the hinges wouldn’t squeak. She looked out, then glanced back at Peter and mouthed ‘be safe.’
He nodded. Once she left, Peter grabbed his pistol.
* * * *
Diana crouched in the tub, knees pulled to her breasts, hands protecting her marriage collar.
The pirate glared. “I told you to get to your feet and toss them diamonds to me. You’ll do so now or I’ll break your fingers one by one for the trouble you’re causing.”
Diana intended to cause far more. She’d only screamed to alert Peter, praying he’d escape and warn Tristan to protect himself. Rage, not fear, coursed through her. How dare this beast invade her home and look at her as though he had the right. She clenched her jaw and waited for his next move.
He plunged his hands into the tub, grabbed her ankles, and jerked her legs up.
She fell backward. Water covered her face. Panicked, she gripped the sides to pull up.
He pried her left hand from the metal.
She swung her
fist but kept missing him.
He punched her right hand.
Holding on, she grabbed his shirt with her other hand, fear and fury giving her enormous strength. She pulled him down and lifted herself. Gasping for air and coughing, she dug her nails into his face and used the leverage to lift herself further.
He bellowed and tried to wrest her hand away.
She drove her other fist into his jaw.
He fell backward on the floor.
Cradling her belly and the new life inside, Diana rocked the tub and tipped it over. Scented water surged over the floor, carrying her with it, away from him. She crawled to her sodden gown, pulled it on, and rushed to the door.
He leaped up and used her wet hair to pull her into him. With one arm about her waist, he reached for her collar.
She yanked his hand to her mouth and sank her teeth into his flesh.
Shrieking, he fought to pull free.
She bit harder, then elbowed his ribs and kicked her heels into his shins.
His arm dropped from her waist.
She bolted for the window and stopped at Canela, flanked by two pirates.
“You.” Diana wanted to kill the girl for the danger she’d brought.
Canela looked past her.
Diana ran.
The pirate caught up, wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, and reached for her collar.
She twisted and fought.
“Release her at once!” Peter shouted.
Diana froze.
The pirate used her as a shield. “Go on. Fire. It will be your sister who gets the bullet.”
“Peter, run.”
The pirate gripped her neck.
She struggled to breathe, everything happening slowly.
Peter glanced from the man to her and back. Sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. He looked ready to cry, a boy again.
“Mr. Vincent.” Peter’s voice trembled. “You must heed what I say. Release her.”
In the hall, a pirate rushed into view. “Not bloody likely.” He struck his pistol butt against Peter’s skull. Peter dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Diana tried to scream, but Vincent’s grip didn’t allow it.
The pirate who’d struck Peter laughed. “Another prize to ransom to Bishop when we arrive in Mozambique.”
