by Tina Donahue
“Oui.” Aimee grabbed Netta’s wrist and hurried to the birthing room.
* * * *
Simone met them at the doorway, her rounded belly leading the way, a leather marriage collar adorned with brightly colored beads about her throat. “What took so long?”
Aimee frowned and became as outspoken as Netta. “We returned as quickly as we could. The plants you wanted would confuse anyone. They all look the same. Green and more green.”
“Each color is different.”
“To you, a healer. Not to Netta and me.” She pushed the bag at Simone. “You should mix a potion for Tristan. He’s darting back and forth like a frightened chicken and is making everyone dizzy. Is Diana all right?”
Nude, Diana sagged against the whitewashed wall, her once pale skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her long black hair clung to her breasts. Each pant shuddered through her. She gripped Follie’s and Gavra’s hands and screamed, this outburst more deafening than the rest.
Men’s voices stopped.
Tristan’s loud oath sounded.
Children quieted.
Simone rifled through the bag. “Tell Capitaine his wife is fine. The best potion for a man is ale. Fill him with it so he no longer hears her cries. Where’s the bloodstop?” She dug deeper and made a face. “Did you forget it?”
Netta stiffened. “No. Look at the bottom. Aimee picked the bloodstop first. I added extra before we found the other plants you wanted. Do you expect Diana to bleed?”
“All mothers do, but too much will risk her life. Never tell Tristan that.”
Netta clucked her tongue. “And have him shoot me if I dared mention such a thing? I have no wish to die.”
Simone waddled to her mixing bowl and cups. Her green cloth matched Royce’s eyes. She told the women she’d prayed to mère de l’homme, the goddess who created this isle, for her unborn child to have Royce’s coloring. “Diana’s infant should be here before sundown. Tell Tristan his wife is as brave and healthy as any islander.”
Aimee doubted he’d hear those words even if James shouted them. Only Diana’s silence and Tristan’s son’s or daughter’s thin cries would quiet his worry. She took Netta’s hand. “We can tell him together.”
“No.” Netta pulled away. “You go. I want to wait here.”
Only because Heath was with Tristan. Nothing Netta said or did could convince Aimee otherwise. They’d been together in their mother’s womb and each second they’d drawn breath. Netta was too ashamed of what a pirate had done to her to let any man close, particularly Heath, whom she desired. She’d rather hide from him forever than risk him spurning her.
Aimee pressed her mouth to Netta’s ear. “You saw how Heath looks at us. He wants both, not only one.”
“He looks at you, never me, unless he thinks I might be you. Then he wants me until he sees…” She cleared her throat and kept her voice low. “Go to Tristan then stay with Heath. I can help Simone and the others with Diana.”
“And leave you without any man to love?”
“Go.” She shoved her gently. “I need no one. I never will.”
“Not even me?”
Netta’s dark eyes filled. She embraced Aimee. Her scent matched the sweet flowers she rubbed on herself. As girls, they played at being young women and perfumed themselves to tempt the boys. Their giggles filled the air, as did their boasts about how they’d each capture the strongest and bravest man’s heart.
The pirates came and changed everything.
“Of course I will always need you.” Netta hugged her even harder. “But only when you can take time away from the man who makes you mistress of his house and fills you with his children. Heath’s young and handsome with kindness in his eyes. If he wins your heart, he may let me care for his sons and daughters while you and he take time for your love.”
“No.” Aimee gripped her. “Never talk that way. Your loneliness would kill me.”
Netta’s features grew stony. “You see sadness when there is none. I know what my future brings and what I can never have. I accept my fate.”
She cupped Netta’s chin. “You have to fight for what you want as you did when we were girls. No matter what the pirates did, you and I are the same. If Heath refuses your love, he can never have mine.”
“Foolish talk.” She pushed Aimee’s hands away. “Never again will I be whole like you.”
“None of the islanders or the Englishmen cares about that.” She lowered her voice further. “Royce adores Simone despite her scarred leg. Look at Adamo. He can barely see out of one eye. His face is disfigured, his arm limp from the pirates. Zola gladly became his woman because he proved to be a good man. She made him forget Canela’s cruel treatment and lies.”
“That may be enough for Adamo, but I want no one’s pity or disgust.” She turned away. “Go. See to Tristan. Speak to Heath. I know you want to.”
“Not without you.”
Netta joined Simone at the table. “Teach me what to do so I can help.”
“With Diana?”
“Other women too and the men. I can heal as you do. When Aimee’s time comes, I can keep her safe and present her husband with his new son.”
Simone glanced at Aimee, her gaze questioning Netta’s sudden desire to heal.
Netta had never shown interest before. Sickness frightened her. She, like the other islanders, had known too much death from pirates.
“What of your infant when you have one?” Simone regarded Netta. “Do you intend to look after yourself during that time rather than have my help?”
“For me, that time will never come. There will be no children or marriage to any man. Aiding others is all I ask. Make me a healer like you.”
Aimee’s throat constricted. Simone had saved many but she couldn’t give Netta back what the pirates had taken from her. Heartsick, Aimee left the birthing room and stilled.
Heath had remained with the other men.
He looked at her.
The world stopped and then spun too swiftly.
Sun blanketed his broad shoulders and turned his bronze skin to gold. Light brown hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders. Stubble shadowed his face, intensifying his masculinity.
She locked her knees. Her tightened nipples stung.
Even next to Tristan and Royce, a capitaine and a man of noble birth, Heath stood out. Hard labor on ships had sculpted his powerful body. Tall and sinewy, he had large hands that could destroy anything or provide great pleasure.
Instinctively, Aimee recognized his gentle nature and longed to see mischief and lust flare in his hazel eyes. For her to experience his protective embrace, heated skin, and breathtaking scent would be heaven.
Netta should be here, seeking what every woman needed, a good man to comfort and cherish her. Wasn’t fair or right to deny herself. Nor would Aimee let it stand.
Tonight, she’d change things for her sister, herself, and Heath. Somehow.
Uncertainty and her inherent shyness ate at her. She pushed her unease aside and marched to Tristan to tell him what she’d learned about Diana.
* * * *
Simone pointed. “Tell me what this is.”
Netta had no idea other than green leaves, similar to the others on the table. She hadn’t listened to Simone’s endless droning about plants that cured and flowers that saved lives. To Netta, blossoms made a woman smell good for a man. “Ah…”
Diana shouted vile oaths.
“You should go to her.” Netta gestured. “The pain seems worse. Her language certainly is.”
“The infant gets closer to its new life. Nothing to worry about. Pay attention. This is the soothing plant.” Simone shook it. “After I crush the leaves, I mix their juice with the others I showed you so I can…”
Tristan spoke loudly, the distance muting his exact words. James or Royce laughed.
Others joined in. Perhaps Heath.
Netta ached for his voice, the briefest touch. Madness. Wanting him would only frustrate and hurt. He belonged to Aimee, looked at her alone. The few times he’d glanced Netta’s way, she hadn’t the courage to remain and search his expression. He’d never crave her. Men wanted perfect females, especially if those women weren’t white like the English.
Simone shook Netta’s arm.
She pulled away. “What?”
“I asked you about this plant.”
“Is something wrong with its leaves? Should it have flowers?”
“No. Tell me what it does.”
“It stops blood or soothes pain?” Most seemed to do so even though they resembled each other.
Simone dropped her head.
“I can guess again. Does it cure rashes like Henri had before you treated him?”
“Are you certain you want to learn this? You barely listen to what I say.”
She’d focused too much on the courtyard, Aimee and Heath possibly leaving together for a private moment. Netta loved her sister more than life but she didn’t want to witness Heath embracing or kissing her. Their intimacy would wound too deep. “Forgive me. Can you repeat what you said?”
“Later. The infant is coming.”
Its head had crowned.
Unneeded, Netta backed to the doorway.
Children played boisterously, chickens clucked and squawked, feet shuffled, men grunted.
Royce and Adamo hauled a long table across the courtyard. Other men did the same or hoisted plank seats. Near a stand of palms, James and Tristan spoke quietly. Tristan’s color had returned.
Aimee must have convinced him all was well, yet she wasn’t around.
Heath was.
Unrelenting heat poured through Netta and curled deep within her belly. The folds between her legs dampened.
He carried two seats, one on each shoulder, and barely puffed from the weight. Scars cut across his back.
He’d known the same cruelness Tristan and Diana’s brother Peter once endured. The English had much to learn about kindness and decency toward others. Netta longed to stroke the horrible marks and bring Heath joy.
He faced her. His eyes widened in recognition. Perhaps surprise or maybe revulsion.
Shamed, she hid her hand as best she could and ran to the stone house.
Chapter 2
The setting sun streaked distant clouds orange, purple, gold, and rose. A mild breeze ruffled palm leaves and delivered wonderful scents: roasted beef, bacon, rice bread, bananas, pineapple, and other island fare for the celebratory feast.
Aimee prayed tonight would turn out joyous for her and Netta. No one could find a better evening for love. She delivered grapes to a courtyard table.
Netta placed a tray with sizzling fish next to the fruit.
Men lit numerous torches. Musicians played their reeds, lutes, and drums. Younger children bounced in place to the tune. The older ones wove in and out of the adults, getting in everyone’s way.
No one scolded. The goddess had created these moments to rejoice over a new life.
Tristan, Diana, and their daughter Merry had yet to leave the birthing room. To Tristan’s delight, the infant had Diana’s dark hair and lovely violet eyes.
Royce and Simone took seats at an empty table. Gavra sat to their side. James handed Willy over to her and settled close. Laure and Peter joined them. They barely stopped kissing to sit.
Heath wasn’t about.
Aimee hoped he hadn’t offered to keep watch for pirates or mariners who might approach the isle. If he did, she’d have to drag Netta to the point on the pretense of bringing him food. Hardly the romantic mood to strike.
She stopped her friend Follie before she passed. “Who watches the shores tonight?”
“Adamo. Zola went with him.”
Of course. Zola adored her man and Adamo would willingly give up the festivities to prove his loyalty. Nearly a year ago, he’d betrayed his people for Canela who’d said she loved and wanted no one except him. All lies. She persuaded him to watch for pirates and direct them to these shores so the islanders could take back the land from Tristan. She hadn’t mentioned that she’d then rule with the pirate capitaine. When Yellow Scarf and his crew had arrived, she’d torn off Adamo’s marriage collar and begged the invaders to murder Tristan for choosing Diana over her. Tristan, James, and the islanders had captured the pirates instead. Canela’s people banished her, Yellow Scarf, and his men to a distant isle where they would serve those people for life.
Children and adults chose their tables here.
Heath strode from the stone house, Tristan’s spirits in hand.
Relief flooded Aimee. Excitement and hard lust filled her too.
Netta padded to the closest table.
Aimee grabbed her hand and pulled her back.
“What are you doing?” Netta twisted her arm. “Let go.”
“In a moment.” Before they chose a table, they needed to know where Heath would sit. “I want to make certain we brought everything out that we should.” She made a show of glancing around.
Netta tapped her foot.
Heath placed the bottles on the table near Royce and sank to the empty bench opposite him.
Given Royce’s scowl, Aimee wasn’t convinced Heath would stay there long.
Royce eyed the brandy. “Some is missing.”
Heath smiled coolly. “Care to smell my breath?”
“Enough.” Simone elbowed Royce and frowned at Heath. “You two bicker worse than the youngest children. Try to get along.”
Royce wrinkled his nose. “With him? Never.”
She jabbed him again. “Have you forgotten how James wanted to shoot you when you brought the white devil here?”
“You mean Bishop.” Peter dragged his hair off his shoulders. Sun had bleached his dark locks and turned his skin golden. “Bloody swine. I haven’t forgotten what Royce did.”
“Nor have I.” James leaned across Gavra and Willy to glare at Royce. “You still deserve a good thrashing.”
He slumped. “I have apologized repeatedly.”
“As I have.” Heath drummed the table. “Unlike Royce, I didn’t know what Bishop had planned. I was an innocent bystander.”
Aimee pulled Netta to the bench. “I believe Heath. He meant no harm.” To hide Netta’s hand, she shoved her sister to his left.
Netta sprawled on the bench, her cloth falling away from her legs.
Heath stared at her thighs. His breathing picked up. “Allow me to help.”
She shrank back.
He lowered his hand. “Are you all right?”
Aimee answered, “She is.”
“I doubt that.” Royce pointed to a faraway table. “There’s room over there.”
Aimee bristled. “Netta and I have a right to sit here. How dare you ask us to leave.”
“Hold on. I haven’t. What I said was meant for him.” He jabbed his thumb at Heath.
“Everyone stays here.” Aimee spoke to her sister. “Go on. Sit. Now.” She blocked her from leaving.
Jaw clamped, Netta swung her legs over the bench.
Aimee lifted her cloth and sat to Heath’s right. “We should forget the past and look to the future.” His clean, musky scent drew her closer. She touched his forearm. Pleasure unlike any she’d known rolled through her. “You must be hungry from carrying so many benches and tables.”
Peter sniffed. “Do be serious. We all did that.”
“Not you.” Netta chuckled. “I saw. I heard.” She made smacking sounds to resemble lovers’ sloppy kisses.
Peter colored worse than Laure did.
Heath’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, as did James’s and Royce’s.
Aimee offered Heath a grape cluster. Juice f
rom the plump fruit splashed his wrist. She resisted an urge to lick the drops. “Netta has a wonderful way of making everyone smile and laugh, no?”
He swallowed his grape and nodded.
“We both like to tease, but she’s much better at it that I am.”
Netta lowered her face. “I am not.”
“You are.” Aimee leaned into Heath. Her breast snuggled against his arm. “Go on, ask her if she is.”
He stared at Aimee’s nipple. His face turned a deeper red than Peter’s had, closer to Netta’s current shade.
Until he and she got over their shyness with each other, as Aimee forced herself to do, none of them would know passion.
Aimee prodded gently. “Ask.”
Netta kept her face down.
Simone, Gavra, and Laure leaned forward, not even breathing as they waited for Heath’s first word. Even Willy had quieted. The men rolled their eyes or shook their heads.
Aimee gave them a hard stare.
Heath cleared his throat. “I don’t have to ask. I’d say Netta does have a splendid sense of humor, which is greatly appreciated. Well done.”
Netta’s eyes rounded, but she managed a smile. “Merci.”
He made an appreciative noise. “I’d say the thanks go to you. What else can you tell us about poor Peter? Something amusing I hope.”
“Always. But I better not.”
“Why?”
“We may never get away from the table. It would take me until sunrise and past to finish.”
Everyone laughed.
Peter drew in his scrawny shoulders. Although tall like a proper Englishman, he’d yet to put muscle on his lean frame. “Are none of you going to eat? Must you stuff your mouths with foul words rather than food?”
James poured his ale. “Indeed we must. Making sport of you is far more enjoyable, unless someone would care to tell Heath what happened with Royce during our last celebration.”
Simone put up her hand. “No one speaks of that again.”
“I will.” Peter crossed his arms over the table. “He tried to teach us the marionette.”
“Minuet.” Royce curled his upper lip. “A marionette is a puppet.”
