by Tina Donahue
“You do it.” Netta held out her bag. “Being a healer is too hard. I like helping others with their work, not their good health.”
“Then help me.” She padded to the cowhide that served as their door. “And stay close no matter what happens.”
Netta drew back. “What do you mean? What do you expect?”
Aimee couldn’t tell her the truth. They’d never leave. “I expect lemurs, lizards, even flamingoes. No end of animals that could make you bolt.”
“What are you talking about? I like the pink birds and the other creatures never bother me if I do the same with them. You always jump and squeal when an insect buzzes too close.”
“Then you best protect me. Come.” She gripped Netta’s wrist and pulled her from their home.
“Wait. We forgot our food.” She ducked back inside and took too long to gather their morning meal.
During their walk to the stone house, Netta ate bread and fruit. Aimee declined her share. Her stomach fluttered too much to eat.
Heath’s scent, warmth, and strength lingered in her thoughts.
Netta stopped.
Aimee strode past, unwilling to delay their arrival.
“Where are you going?” Netta stood near the courtyard wall.
Aimee hadn’t seen it or anything else except her fantasies: Heath in her and Netta’s home, them in his, each sharing laughter, converse, meals, evenings, love.
Sun spilled past trees and drenched the courtyard in a golden glow. Earth gave up its rich morning scent. Dew clung to grass and leaves.
Near the looms and potter’s wheels, women hugged each other in greeting and smiled. Children dashed around vegetation or played quietly in the shade. Infants fed at their mother’s breasts and waved their tiny fists aimlessly.
Aimee’s chest hurt. She yearned for a real home, a large family, a future no one could take away. When the pirates had invaded, she’d lost everyone except Netta. During those dark times, she dreaded having a babe. After what those beasts had done to her, she wasn’t certain she could.
Melancholy pressed close. She pushed it away, ready for a new future even if she had to pull Netta into it kicking and screaming.
They greeted their friends and exchanged pleasantries.
Simone shuffled into the birthing room.
Aimee elbowed Netta. “Maybe you should give healing another try. Or at least helping Simone. Go on and ask her what the plants and petals should look like so you can collect what she needs.” Troubling over them in the forest would keep Netta busy before they ran into Heath.
“I think not.” She shoved the remaining bread in her mouth. “She may try to teach me about her potions again. When she talks, my head hurts. Tell me what berries you need.”
“The red ones near the trees.”
She followed Aimee past the wall into the forest. “Which trees? Tall? Short? Those with large leaves? Others with small ones?”
Follie had said Heath needed wood to build cribs for the coming infants. A task Royce had set him to do. “The sturdy ones.” What other kind could he use to make a bed?
Netta gestured to the trees surrounding them. Sunlight streamed through the heavy canopy and left bright dots on her palm and hair. “These look sound to me.”
“They have no berries nearby. We need to search for the bushes that do.”
“Where?”
“There.” Aimee pointed. Once they roamed that area, they could try another. Eventually, they’d come upon Heath.
She wandered through the woods, neck craned, alert to every sound.
Birds squawked and sang. Lemurs or other animals bounced the branches and shook leaves. Spotted butterflies took wing. Ones bluer than the sky joined them.
“Wait.” Netta inclined her head. “The red berries are over there. Enough to fill our sacks.”
“Those are the wrong ones.”
“How can you tell?”
She asked too many questions. “Because I can. Over here.” She avoided leaves and twigs that might mask other sounds.
Netta wasn’t as careful. Shuffling and crackling noises announced her steps.
Aimee stopped. “You need to be quiet.”
“Why? Will the berries hear us and run away?”
“You may coax out a snake.”
Netta chuckled. “Noise frightens the creatures. It never causes them to strike.”
“If you stand near one, it might.” A yellow snake slithered back into the foliage.
Netta shuddered. “I promise to take care.”
“While you follow me, you should look at the ground to make certain we avoid anything that might hurt us. I can search for the berries.”
They prowled through the vegetation. The air grew warmer, the breeze died down, and animals quieted, already sluggish from the increasing heat.
Perspiration clung to Aimee’s throat, intensifying her flowery scent. She ached to smell Heath’s. Fevered and wanting, she rushed through the vegetation.
Netta trotted to keep up. “Why are you running?”
Aimee halted.
Netta bumped into her and sucked in a breath.
Before Netta could flee, Aimee grabbed her arm.
Heath stood within a stand, his back to them. A large blade hung from a loop in his waistband. He ran his palms over a slender trunk and shook it.
Birds squawked. One left a nest and dove at him, its wings flapping furiously.
He covered his head and ducked. The thing persisted, trying to peck.
Netta pulled away from Aimee. “Take care!”
Heath twisted to her. The bird followed him. He staggered back.
Aimee waved her arms to frighten the thing. “Shoo. Go away.” Netta threw a rock.
The bird shot back to its nest.
Netta reached him first. “Are you hurt? Did it peck you?”
“I don’t think so.” He ran his hands over his face and naked chest. “Is there any blood?”
“No.” Aimee cradled his freshly shaved cheek, her thumb on his bottom lip. Never had she felt anything as silky and warm.
Netta touched his chest. “The mama was only trying to protect her brood.” Tiny chirps sounded. “You need to be careful.”
“I shall. I didn’t know they were there. I…ah…I…”
Aimee leaned in. “You what?”
He made a frustrated sound and pulled them into his embrace. He kissed Netta hard and long then Aimee.
She accepted his tongue willingly.
He tore from her too soon and returned to Netta. Back and forth he went, his passion deepening, their lips and mouths molding. They fought to get closer. Netta moaned. Aimee couldn’t find enough air to produce a sound.
Heath pulled away and backed into a trunk. Longing blazed in his eyes. Fear too. “Go to the courtyard. Now.”
Netta took Aimee’s hand. Together, they approached him, both of them brave.
Aimee spoke first. “Why do we have to go?” No one was around. If they had been, she would have chased them away. “We want more of your kiss.”
Netta squeezed her fingers. “Far more. Everything you have to give.”
Sadness replaced his previous emotions. He spoke to Netta. “I want to apologize for the other night in the storage room. I didn’t mean to hurt you because of your…”
She turned from him.
He slumped. “Please don’t do that. You have no reason to hide from anyone. You and Aimee are the loveliest women I’ve ever seen. You’re both perfect. Exquisite beyond compare. You need men who’ll protect and love you.”
Netta stiffened. “Other men. Not you.”
“Never me.”
“Because of my hand.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know what’s in your heart. I can see it in your eyes.
Refuse me, if you must, but take Aimee. Make her yours. Love her.”
“No.” Aimee wrapped her arm around Netta’s waist. “Love us both.”
“I can’t.” His face reddened, neck muscles corded. “Netta, hear me out. What I’m saying has nothing to do with your hand. You’re beautiful. Always will be. Even if the pirates hadn’t done any harm, I can’t let either of you near me.”
Aimee’s hope sank. “Because our skin is brown not white?”
“Damnation. None of that bloody matters. The most enchanting Englishwomen can’t compare with the two of you. You’re too good for me. I’m nothing. I don’t deserve you. You need good men. Not—”
“No.” Netta stamped her foot. “Never say those words again. No man is finer than you.”
“I’m leaving the isle as soon as the other natives come here to trade or your people sail there to do so. Surely no more than a few months, hopefully in a week or two. Before long, I’ll be gone and won’t return. Ever.”
Netta covered her mouth.
Bile rose to Aimee’s throat. The world kept spinning and she couldn’t make it stop. “You want to leave because being with us makes you unhappy?”
Heath growled. “Don’t you understand? I want you both too damn badly. It’s all I think about and dream of. I can’t—I won’t take either of you, alone or together. Matters are already settled. If you refuse to leave here, I will.” He sprinted into the forest.
* * * *
Canela hadn’t kept her word to speak to Vincent. She liked toying with him as he’d done with her. Let him think she’d forgotten what they’d discussed. Let him worry that she’d told their captors about his plan.
More than once, he’d tried to catch her eye by whistling, waving his hand, or bouncing in place like a foolish child. She pretended not to notice. His scowl faded to concern then panic. The same as hers after his betrayal.
Today he tended the hogs. His bony frame was no match for their bulk. Their snouts poked him. Their grunts and squeals demanded food. Snarling at them, he dumped the swill. Greasy hair clung to his head and neck. His yellow scarf had faded beneath the sun. Holes decorated it. Its worn state and his ugly scowl didn’t improve his homely features.
Deliberately, Canela strolled close to the pen, her hands filled with tubers for the cook’s stew.
Vincent stared then glanced over both shoulders.
No one watched them. She’d made certain before edging near.
He made a noise to get her attention. She raised her eyebrows to acknowledge him but didn’t stop. He’d have to wait until she decided to hear him again. In a few days, perhaps. Maybe a week. Her people weren’t expected until next month, if they came. She’d learned that shortly after she and Vincent had spoken.
At the community fire, Canela offered the vegetables to Ismay, the cook. She was half Fanette’s size. Ismay’s food was terrible but she was young and easy to fool. She’d agreed readily to Canela helping her, not guessing why she’d offered this time but never before. “Are these all right? If you want, I can dig for others.”
“Those are plump enough but you need to clean and cut them so they soften in water.” She handed Canela the blade.
Its long, sharp edge would easily slice through human flesh and make the victim squeal. Canela smiled sweetly. “Merci. Do you need anything else? Rice perhaps? Or herbs? I can fetch them.”
“The spices are already here. Yoland keeps the herbs.” She was the community’s healer.
Ismay named what she wanted, explained how each looked, and where Canela could find them.
“If I forget, will Yoland help me?”
“She’s with her mama today. No one expects the poor woman to live. The priest is there to help her journey past life.”
He’d done nothing to save Canela’s people when the pirates invaded. Like a meek woman, he’d hidden in the forest. Here, he barely looked her way, unconcerned with her suffering. Him, she’d truly enjoy killing. “Should I disturb them to get what you need?”
“Both are at her sister’s. You can go to Yoland’s home.”
“What if she finds out I was in there instead of you?”
“How would she? I have no plan to tell her.”
Despite the assurance, Canela bit her lip, feigning caution.
“Fanette will never know either. She’s also with the sick mama. Now go.” Ismay flapped her hand.
“Merci.” Putting on a show, Canela kissed Ismay’s fingers and darted to the mud house.
It stank of dried earth and filth, identical to everything else on this isle. Herbs filled bottles and cups. In the past days, she’d learned which Yoland used for the sleeping potion. However, now two cups held similar brownish-green contents that resembled dried moss. Canela wasn’t sure which was for food, the other for rest, or if they were the same.
She took both, along with what Ismay had requested, and delivered them with a tentative smile. “Are these the ones you need? As stupid and foolish as I am, I can never be sure.”
“These will do.” She took everything except the second bowl with the brownish-green substance. “Bring this back and never use it.”
“Why? Is it poison?”
“It has powerful magic to make one sleep.”
Her pulse leapt. “By putting it on their eyes?”
Ismay laughed. “In their food. Too much and they may never wake.”
Excitement warmed Canela more than a man pleasuring her. “I promise not to even look at it lest I grow tired from its power.” Fighting her smile, she raced back to the mud house.
* * * *
Netta wrung her hands. “We have to fix this.” Heath couldn’t leave. He’d given her the greatest gift, desiring her and accepting who she was despite her deformity. “You have to fix this.”
“Me?” Aimee paced their home the same as Netta. “How? We searched the forest, shore, and beach for him.”
“We should have gone to his house. I can do that now.”
“Wait.” She caught Netta at the doorway. “How can we make things better when he speaks nonsense? He wants us so much he has to leave? What man ever said anything that foolish? An islander would have made us his on the forest floor and moved in here or asked us to join him in his home.”
“Heath is English.”
“Do their men behave as he does?”
Tristan couldn’t keep away from Diana. James was the same with Gavra. Simone and Royce were always within each other’s arms. Peter was the worst. He thought of nothing except taking Laure. “Do you think he has an illness only some Englishmen get?”
“We have to find out.”
“How?”
“By asking someone who’s English. Come.”
Netta dug her toes in the dirt and refused to budge. “Not Tristan. He wanted to keep Royce away from Simone. They suffered greatly because of him. What if Tristan does that to us and Heath?”
Aimee cradled Netta’s face. “We can ask Diana to help us. She knows about English men.”
“What does it matter if she does? Although her French is improved, it’s still too poor for her to converse easily. Everyone has to talk slowly and point to things to make her understand. With her help, we might send Heath away even faster.”
“We can have someone turn our French into her English and back again so everyone understands each other perfectly and quickly. What Tristan calls translate.”
Aimee wasn’t making sense. If they asked Tristan to help, he’d know everything then. As a woman, Diana might keep their conversation secret. No man would, unless… “I know who can help us. Come with me.”
* * * *
Diana rested her head against the bedchamber chair, Merry on her lap. A more perfect child didn’t exist. A noisier one either. Hour upon hour, she cried. Diana nursed and changed her repeatedly. She rocked her and walked
so much, she’d nearly worn a path in the marble floor. The screams didn’t abate. She showed Merry the splendid English gown Tristan frequently asked Diana to wear before their bed play. The rose silk and scandalous cut always set him on fire.
Unimpressed, Merry bawled endlessly only to stop without warning. Like now. She even slept. Blessed peace at last.
A fist hit the bedchamber door hard enough to shake the wood.
Diana flinched. Merry wailed.
Peter, Netta, and Aimee piled into the room. Peter screwed up his mouth. “Can we come in?”
“You already have. You woke Merry.”
Netta and Aimee exchanged a glance. Peter translated.
Netta gestured imploringly. “Nous pardonner. Nous voulions dire aucun mal.”
Sounded like an apology, but Diana couldn’t be certain. Fatigue had muddled her brain. English was hard enough at this point, French impossible. “Please tell them everything is all right and to sit.”
Peter rattled off the words effortlessly, his accent as fine as Tristan’s. There was hope her baby brother would eventually be the gentleman Diana wanted.
Aimee and Netta perched on the mattress. Peter paced like a caged animal and kicked the door.
So much for civilizing him. “Stop that.” Diana bounced Merry to calm her. “Why are you here?”
“They forced me. I had no choice. Everyone threatens me with Laure.”
Diana stroked Merry’s back. “What did you do with that poor girl now?”
“I took a moment, one single moment from my studies to speak to her. Aimee and Netta saw me and threatened to tell Tristan unless I brought them in here. They want to ask you something.”
“What? Why me?”
“I have no idea. I’ll ask.”
French flew furiously between him and the young women, the words so quick they slurred, confusing Diana completely.
Peter laughed.
Netta stood, hands on her hips, jaw clenched.
He sobered. “They want to know about Englishmen, in particular Heath. Why he’s behaving as he is.”
Good heavens, more problems. First Peter with Laure, then Royce with Simone, now this. “What has Heath done to Aimee? Or did he do something to Netta?”
