by Tina Donahue
James stretched. “So what do we do?”
“The only thing we can. He remains on the isle and must keep to himself. There’s simply no other way to keep everyone safe.”
Chapter 7
Fanette raged around the community fire. “Stupid. Foolish. Lazy.” She shook her fist.
Canela seethed, but bowed her head and played the meek, frightened slave.
“I should beat you more senseless than you already are. I will.” Fanette stormed to her.
Ismay hurried between them. “She helps me now, not you. Find someone else to wash the clothes and clean your house. Or do the work yourself. Keep busy with your own life and stay out of ours and the others.”
Fanette glared. “You dare tell me what to do.”
“That and more. You have no power over me, only the chief does. From this day forward, Canela helps me and Yoland. Do you want our people to grow ill and die because you denied Yoland help?”
“From her, that…thing?” Fanette spat. “She ruined the men’s breeches and our cloths. When she cleaned, she broke my cup and plate. Simple tasks even a child could do.”
“Then you should have no trouble without her and will be far happier as you can clean them the way you like. I find nothing wrong with Canela. She brings me the most delicious tubers and plants for my cooking. She picks spices for me and herbs for Yoland. Without her, I have to cook constantly to make enough for everyone to eat, especially you. Yoland should mix a potion to improve your bad temper. Go.” She waved Fanette away. “You bother us when we have work to do. See to your own tasks. Threaten Canela again and the chief will hear about it from me and will deal with you.”
Fanette stepped around Ismay and hurried to Canela.
She covered her head with her arms.
“This is not the end.” Fanette pressed so close, Canela smelled her foul breath. “You will pay dearly for the trouble you caused me.”
Fanette would die before then, the first of the islanders.
Ismay joined them. “One more word and I call the chief.”
Foul oaths poured from Fanette. She stomped to her house.
Canela fell to her knees and kissed Ismay’s fingers. “I promise to serve you and Yoland well. I tried with Fanette but I was too clumsy for the tasks she gave me. She has reason to be angry. Perhaps I should try again.”
“No.” Ismay stroked Canela’s hair. “Gather what I told you I need and the herbs Yoland wants. If you find the choicest for both, you get more to eat tonight.”
“Merci.” She kissed Ismay’s dirty feet, proving what a good slave she was, playing the game that would put her in control. In time, everyone here would pay for what they’d done to her.
“Enough.” Ismay stepped back. “Take your sacks and fill both before you return.”
“I will never fail you.” Canela tore past houses toward the vegetable gardens and forest. Within the trees, she’d find spices and herbs. She’d collect some for Ismay and Yoland to fool them further. Another she’d keep for herself.
Days ago, Canela had found ample sleeping herbs. She’d wrapped them in a discarded silk cloth. While the others slept, she’d clawed dirt and buried the sack where she was supposed to rest. To make certain no one saw what she’d done, she covered the newly turned earth with rocks, twigs, and leaves. The herb waited for her use once Yoland gave up her healing secrets.
The woman delighted in praise. Curiosity about her potions and poultices loosened her tongue even more. Canela had feigned interest and begged to treat wounds, especially the vilest, to spare Yoland the blood or pus. Endlessly, Yoland taught what worked best and didn’t. It would be easy to trick her into telling how much sleeping herb to use, and what spices would mask its flavor in food and drink. Already, she trusted Canela far too much.
Canela bypassed the garden and hurried toward the forest mindful of anyone watching.
No one was. If they had been, she would have explained leaves and flowers were lighter to carry than tubers. Those she would collect last.
An easy lie to place her close to Vincent.
He scrounged the forest for fallen limbs and rotted logs to burn. Shackled, he could merely toddle, no different than a young child or the old who neared death. Metal had rubbed raw spots on his ankles. Some bled slightly. Others oozed a yellowish liquid. His filthy breeches hung on him, the cloth little more than rags. Insects buzzed close, drawn to his stink.
Revulsion and hate mingled with Canela’s pleasure at his state in comparison to hers. The breeze stirred her freshly washed hair. Flowers perfumed her clean skin. Ismay had no problem letting a slave bathe. That kindness might spare Ismay’s life, if Canela felt generous during her coming attack.
Vincent grunted beneath his load and faced her. Shock lit his face.
She needed to see lust, craving, desire so she could torment him further and crush him beneath her heel.
He glanced around frantically. They were alone, hidden within shadows. He shuffled closer. “You’d better have news I want to hear. I’ve tried to speak to you for days. Did you suddenly lose your sight and hearing? Didn’t you see or hear me?”
She smiled and turned away.
He swore. “Wait.”
She would not. He no longer gave orders or spoke to her as he would an animal. She’d do that to him.
“Please.”
Canela stopped but refused to face him.
Leaves crunched. A twig snapped. He winced and cursed, his approach painfully slow.
She yawned.
Breathless, he reached her. “Have you learned anything new? Are Tristan’s men on their way here?”
“You smell. Step away.” She flicked her hand. “You make me sick being so close.”
His jaw tightened. Rage smoldered in his eyes. If he’d been free, he would have killed her. Fettered and helpless, he edged back.
Canela lifted her chin. “The bird flew away. When it returns, I may know something.”
He scrunched his nose, the narrowed tip reddened and peeling from the sun. Sweat glistened on his bristly cheeks. “What are you talking about? Have you lost your bloody mind?”
“Insult me again and you may never know.” She pivoted.
“Wait. Forgive me. Please don’t leave.” He cradled the branches and glanced toward the community. No one approached. “What does our escape have to do with a bloody bird?”
“The creature is a special kind. What the English call a pigeon. The men are using it to send messages to Tristan and he does the same with them. The priest can read and write. He tells Tristan what the islanders need and when to bring it. The men sent the bird away this morning. When it returns, the news it carries will be from Tristan.” She shrugged. “I may share it with you.”
“Oh, you may? If you don’t, prepare to stay here for the rest of your days. You’re cunning and murderous, I’ll grant you that. But you’re also a damn woman. Do you think you have the strength to fight off Tristan’s crew or force them to do your bidding? Only a man’s power can do that. You need me and the other captives for this revolt and a return to your isle. So quit being sly and let’s plan this as we should. Did you find something to put the islanders to sleep?”
Her loathing for him urged her to leave. His usefulness made her stay. “I know what herbs to use for sleep but the healer has yet to tell me how to mask their flavor.”
“Put more damn spices than you need into the food.”
“I have yet to convince Ismay to let me try my hand at cooking. If I push her too far, too fast, she might suspect something. Is that what you want? Your liberation denied because of your impatience? No wonder Tristan defeated you. A child has more sense. When the time comes, your men will come with me and you can stay here to rot.”
“That would be a bloody mistake on your part. They fear me.”
“They crave free
dom. Nothing you say or do to them will change that. I can give them what they want. Without my help, you offer them nothing.”
“Go on then, leave me here. But you’ll lose your chance to destroy Diana and make her last moments on earth as horrible as possible. The same for Tristan. I thought you hated them. Was I wrong? Imagine how you and I can play with those two. I often dream of their tortured shouts and pleas.”
As she did. When Vincent had trapped Diana in the bedchamber, her alarm and hopelessness provided a wonderful moment. “If I allow you to join me, I decide what to do.”
“What about my say in the matter?”
“You never had any. I found the herbs. I made the plan. You do what I want or your men will finish off Diana and Tristan. Their pain will be over. Yours will go on. That is my only offer.”
Vincent’s anger drained away, replaced by a devil’s smile. “Guess I’ll take it. When do we meet next?”
“When you smell better. A hog stinks less than you and is more appealing. Tristan is always clean, his hair and clothes washed.”
“He wants to please Diana. An Englishwoman. He never truly desired a savage. Like most men, he made do with what he had until someone better came along.”
Canela dug her nails into her palms to keep from killing him. “You mock me because of your white skin, but Diana still ran from you as she would the vilest creature. You repulsed her.”
“Aye, I did. I’ll do so again with your sweet help.” He stared hard. “Our revenge for her and Tristan goes beyond the distaste you and I feel for each other. We must work together to succeed. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll accept my help. I’ll wait each night for you to come and tell me what you’ve learned and what you’ve decided. Do so at your own pace, if you must, but do it. What we think of each other doesn’t matter. What happens does.”
He shuffled away.
* * * *
“No, no, no.” Ourson pushed Heath’s hand from the tools near their feet and shoved the plane to him. “You need this, not the hammer.”
“How right you are.”
The morning was still new and already Heath had made too many mistakes. He couldn’t pay attention to his work, drifting instead to the evening he’d shared with Netta and Aimee. Their playful coaxing for him to take them in a way that wouldn’t result in a child.
He’d resisted, though hardly on moral grounds. As most mariners had, he’d indulged in women in every possible way.
His self-control would never survive him mounting Aimee and Netta in their tightest openings. He’d want to be inside their damp, heated sheaths next. Nowhere else would do. Not even their mouths.
Ourson stroked the plane. “Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Show me how to smooth the wood?”
Heath wasn’t certain he should. If he didn’t concentrate on his tasks, he’d injure himself or Ourson. “Perhaps you should help your mother. She’s having difficulty with the wash. You’re a strong boy and can assist her.”
His lower lip jutted. “Did I do something wrong? Do you want the other boys to take my place?”
First, Heath would have to corral them to his side. Once he’d become a fixture here, rather than an exotic attraction, they’d searched for other amusements and left Ourson as the sole spectator. If only Heath, Netta, and Aimee could be as invisible to the adults as he was to the children. “Of course not. Tell you what. I’m naming myself captain of the wood and choosing you as my quartermaster. That’s a man who helps his captain greatly. A fearless and strong fellow. Do you think you can do the job?”
“I can.”
“It’s yours…as long as your mother and father allow you to take on the responsibilities.”
“They do.” He bounced in place. “Can I smooth the wood?”
“’Tisn’t easy. Show me your muscle first.”
“How?”
Heath made a fist to display his biceps, large and bulging from rough labor.
Ourson’s eyes nearly popped out. He poked Heath’s arm. “Hard.”
“A man must be fit to do his daily tasks, as your father does his. Come now. Show me what you have.”
He made a fist and grunted but produced little change.
Heath prodded the tiny mound. “Well done. I wager you’ll be stronger than me before long. Now lift the plane.”
Ourson did.
“Is it heavy?”
“No.”
He struggled to keep it up.
“I think you’re ready to use it.” Heath placed it on the wood. “Grip it tightly.” Once the boy had, Heath rested his hand on top. “Push forward at a slow pace. No need to rush. You want it to skim the surface not dig in. Go on.” Heath tempered his strength and barely pushed the tool.
Ourson squealed. “I did that.”
“Indeed you did. Shall we have another go?”
“Oui.”
“Heath.” Tristan gestured him over.
“Give me a moment.” He spoke to Ourson. “You’re not to touch anything while I’m gone. If you do and hurt yourself, your parents will never let you help me again. Do I have your word as my quartermaster not to do anything you shouldn’t?”
“You do.”
“Will you keep the other children away from these things?”
“If they try to touch anything, I promise to hit them.”
“No, you won’t. Good men don’t use violence, they use words, like your father does. Am I right?”
He nodded.
“I’ll return shortly.” He joined Tristan. “I assure you, Ourson’s in no danger. If he were, his mother would have kept him far from me by now.”
“Follow me.”
They entered the birthing room. Tristan closed the door and shutter, casting the space in deeper shadows. “After much deliberation, I’ve decided you cannot leave this isle.”
“What? After everything I told you, you still expect me to stay?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Heath wanted to bellow. Leaving this isle was his only recourse and the best decision for Aimee and Netta even if it devastated him. At least, they’d fall in love with island men and would have the homes they deserved. “You said before that I proved myself enough for you to trust me.”
“I also said even the most honorable man will talk when faced with a severe beating or death, which could happen if you take to the seas again. We can’t risk it. I have a family to think of, as does James, Royce, and many islanders. No one has a right to put the women and children at risk. As to your desire for a woman…”
Heath ached to escape. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Tristan glared. “If the situation were up to me, I wouldn’t stand in your way. God knows I never lasted long without a female’s sweet touch. The islanders could feel differently. You have to please them, not me. Until things change, you’ll have to endure.”
“Wait.” He rushed past Tristan and blocked the door. “That’s all you have to say?”
“It’s my final decision and not up for discussion.”
This was madness. “You expect me to continue as I have until things change. In what bloody way?”
“The islanders accepting you as one of them, not an intruder on their land. If a man from another culture came here and wanted your daughter, would you gladly hand her over? I think not. The man would have to convince you of his good intentions.”
“By asking for the woman’s hand or permission to see her? No adult here has parents any longer. Pirates killed them. Who am I to impress?”
“The islanders who are still here and grown now. Before the slaughter, their parents had forged a strong community. Since then, the survivors are even more protective of each other. I can’t blame them. Dismiss their feelings at your own risk. W
e’ve never hanged anyone on this isle. You could be the first should you test their patience. I’m only one man. I couldn’t stand against eighty or more armed with pistols, clubs, and blades. Again, I’m sorry but this is the best I can do.”
He pushed past Heath and left.
* * * *
Netta waited for Aimee and Heath outside his house. He hadn’t returned for the midday meal when they’d arrived after helping Gavra. Nor was he here when they’d finished tending the children for their mamas. The sun dipped below the trees. Soon, darkness would blanket the isle.
Worried, Aimee had run off to search for him at the stone house, the fields, pastures, or wherever he might be.
Netta chided herself for allowing Aimee to go. If anything happened to her, she’d never forgive herself. If Heath had left the isle and them…
Impossible. He had no ship. None had sailed from the island or had arrived. The men would have signaled if pirates had attacked. Heath would have been here to protect her and Aimee.
Moist wind whipped Netta’s hair and cloth but did little to cool her fevered state. She’d never loved a man before. The turmoil wasn’t easy to bear, her fear that she’d lose him always too great, but she couldn’t turn back now. She’d fight for Heath to be at her side and Aimee’s.
An indeterminate shape bobbed in the shadows.
Netta stood on tiptoe and craned her neck.
Aimee darted into the torchlight, cheeks reddened, chest heaving. “Did he come back?”
“No.” Netta gripped her shoulders. “Did you search the courtyard and stone house?”
“Everywhere I could. I asked Diana about him. She told Peter to look. He took his horse and returned without Heath. What should we do?”
Netta lit another torch and handed the first to Aimee. “Take this and go to the point. I can search the glade.”
“What if we never find him?”
“We will. Go.” Netta ran in the opposite direction.
Heath emerged from the darkness. Netta jumped back, hand to her throat, heart pounding wildly. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Aimee! Over here. He came back.” Netta touched his chest and arms. “Are you bleeding? Did something hit your head? Did you just wake up?”
