by Tina Donahue
In the storage area, Royce crouched near a large pen filled with pigeons. Some pecked seeds. Others enjoyed water or strutted.
Heath stopped and stepped back quietly.
Royce looked over.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb.” Heath affected an innocent air and braced for whatever crime Royce would accuse him of. “I wanted to fetch a banana for Ourson.”
“Do you often use the children as an excuse to steal?”
Heath wouldn’t allow this to come to blows. Royce’s goodwill toward him was as important as everyone else’s. If Heath couldn’t win him over, he’d have little chance with the islanders. Royce would make certain to poison their minds against him. “Tristan told me I had to stay here for life. I’m trying to settle in and do my best. I hope you won’t make matters difficult for me, but if you do, I understand. You don’t know me. In your situation, I’d feel the same.”
Royce opened his mouth and closed it.
Long ago, Heath had learned how impossible it was to argue with someone who agreed with you. “I don’t mean to pry, but I am curious. Are you raising those birds to eat?”
There were several younger ones mixed in with the others, each sturdy, though they wouldn’t provide much meat.
“Do you always ask such preposterous questions?”
“Didn’t know I had. If they’re not for food are you keeping them as pets?” Seemed cruel to keep a bird from flying.
Royce blew out a breath. “You are daft. We use them to communicate with the islanders who trade with us.”
“How?”
“How else? With messages.” He stood and brushed dirt from his knees.
“I didn’t realize those islanders knew how to read and write. The ones here don’t.”
“Not yet. I’m holding lessons for those who want the skill. Only Simone and Gavra have attended with any frequency. As to the islanders we trade with, they have no one to teach them except the priest, if he’s so inclined. He’s with them now and offered his assistance in telling them what the messages say. Not a simple task given their French and his Portuguese. He knows only enough of their language to pound his teachings into them, request food, drink, and a soft bed. With any luck, someday things may be easier. We just started doing this.”
“You found the birds on this isle?” He stepped nearer to the cage, though not too close to alarm Royce. Heath simply wanted distance from the entrance so those in the kitchen couldn’t overhear him. “They look like English pigeons to me.”
“They are. I brought them here to communicate with Bishop. Unfortunately, that landed you on our shores.”
Heath had wondered how Bishop knew the exact coordinates for this isle, how many resided here, and when to attack. “Quite brilliant. But surely Tristan questioned why you had them with you when you washed up on shore or pretended to.”
“Why do you want to know? Are you planning on using the birds to bring other mariners here?”
“That would lead to Aimee and Netta getting hurt. The islanders too. So my answer is no. I’d never do anything to harm them. I’m certain you felt the same about Simone before everyone accepted you.”
“I proved myself.”
“Indeed you did. Aimee told me how you fought off a hundred mariners by yourself, each armed with blades, pistols, and clubs. Some breathed fire.”
Royce laughed.
A rather pleasant sound. Certainly better than harsh words, a threat, or growl. “I told her and Netta you were magnificent even if I witnessed the real truth in your brave deeds.”
“You have little to boast of. You surrendered immediately.”
“I’ve no wish to die. I thought what I did showed good sense. Would you have done otherwise?”
He regarded the birds.
His silence proved he agreed with Heath. “You strike me as a man who would do anything to protect the woman you love.”
Royce tightened his jaw. “Take care with what you say.”
“I mean no harm. You would do for Simone what I would for Aimee and Netta.” Heath lowered his voice even more. “I realize our feelings for each other are unconventional, but—”
“Immoral is closer to the truth.”
Heath conceded with a small bow. “Blame the commoner in me. As a noble, you wouldn’t debase yourself in such a way.”
Red stained Royce’s forehead and cheeks.
Just as Heath thought. Royce wasn’t the saint he pretended to be. Few nobles were. “I take full blame for my feelings. As a man, though, I’d like you to counsel me on how you’d love this woman but not that woman, especially sisters so close they practically breathe as one. Do I turn away from Netta and let her believe her hand repulses me? Or do I ignore Aimee because she can’t, or at least believes she can’t, bear children? Would her hurt be any less than Netta’s? Give me an answer to my problem and I’ll fix it. Tell me how to stop loving and wanting them so badly I’d rather die than spend my days deprived of their presence. How would you do that with Simone? Your answer would help me.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Because of your noble birth?”
“You’re challenging convention.”
“As you did by wedding Simone.”
Royce threw up his hands. “What makes you think I’d have an answer for your problem?”
“Then tell me what you’d do in my place. The truth. Not a heroic tale like you battling hundreds with your bare hands and steely determination.”
Royce lowered his face but couldn’t quell his laughter. It soon turned into a frustrated moan. “Very well. What you face would kill me if I couldn’t resolve it.”
“What would you do in my place? Heed others or do what you had with Simone?”
“You already have the answer.”
Indeed, he did. Heath put out his hand. “Thank you. I hope we can become friends. You’re not a bad sort.”
Royce laughed and shook, his grip firm. “Neither are you. But you are treading in dangerous waters and best take care.”
When love was involved that wasn’t possible.
* * * *
Aimee kneaded the dough so forcefully her arms ached, yet she couldn’t keep still. She feared speaking to Gavra about Heath but had no choice. The other women respected Gavra. If she approved of something or someone, most usually agreed. When she’d accepted Royce, he gained status and became an islander despite being an Englishman.
Gavra had to do the same for Heath. If only Aimee’s words would come.
Nose wrinkled, Gavra was cleaning a large fish.
Veronique wiped flour from her hands. “I have to go. I promised to work the potter’s wheel.”
“I need to tend my son.” Follie scooped the crying infant from his cradle and padded to the door. “As soon as he finishes his meal, I can help again.”
Gavra nodded. She’d just nursed Willy. He was sleeping in his cradle.
With the others gone, only Aimee, Gavra, and her younger sister Laure remained.
“What are you doing?” Gavra pointed her bloodstained knife at Aimee. “If you keep beating the dough, the bread will come out too hard to chew.”
She stopped. “Forgive me. I have other matters on my mind.”
Laure bent over the table, chin cupped in her hands. She was as lovely as Gavra, eyes large and dark, skin light brown, hair long and silky. “What worries you? Not Netta, I hope.”
“No.” Aimee had scant time for conversation before Follie returned. She steeled herself to say what she must. “If I tell you something will you promise to keep it in your heart and never repeat it to anyone else until I say you can?”
Laure rocked. “I do. Tell us your secret.”
“Gavra? Will you keep your tongue too? Please?”
“I never gossip. What you tell me stays with me.” She gutted
the fish. “What is this about?”
“Heath. I love him.”
Laure smiled.
Her approval gave Aimee hope. “Netta does too.”
Laure shook her head. “Does too what?”
“Loves him. We both do.”
Gavra sank to the bench. “What?”
“We want him to put the marriage collar around our throats. Please say you agree.”
Laure made a face. “Peter has yet to put one on me. Can all of you keep from saying the vows until I do so no one pities me for having to wait endlessly?”
Gavra shot her a frown and gave it to Aimee. “You and Netta want to wed the same man?”
“We share everything. If you approve, you can convince everyone how wonderful our union will be. The islanders listen to you.”
“Not with this. No.” She stood. “What you want to do is madness. The priest would—”
“Forget him. Our goddess wants us to be happy. When we worshipped her, there were no rules, only love and kindness. White men changed everything. First the French then the English. They made our lives harder and filled us with guilt for not being like them.”
Laure nodded.
Gavra slapped her arm. “As free women, you and Netta can do what you want, but many have taken the priest’s words to heart. Especially the women. They may never understand what you told us. Some will turn away from you.”
“Do you hate me and Netta now?”
“What? I could never do that.” Gavra embraced Aimee. “I want both of you to live wonderful lives. With separate men.”
* * * *
Herbs scented the healing room. Candles flickered. Netta paced, breathless from her confession to Simone.
She rocked in her chair and cradled her protruding belly. “Does Heath make you happy?”
“Oh yes.” She sank to Simone’s feet. “I no longer hide my hand from him. He kisses the ragged edge and tells me how pretty I am. The island men always glance away from my deformity, disgust in their eyes.”
“They mean no harm, but I will tell you something.” She leaned forward. “Until I met Royce, I refused to look at my leg. My scars have never bothered him.”
“Then you know how I feel. Aimee too. She may be whole on the outside, but if she wed an islander and failed to birth his children, he might turn away and want another woman who could give him a family. Heath is different. He accepts us as we are and calls us perfect. When he holds me, I feel safe. What islander or Englishman has the right to say our love is wrong or take it from us? No one better try to hurt Heath.” She shook her fist.
Simone cradled it in her hands. “You need to give our people time to accept one man loving two sisters.”
“How long? If we wed, no one would have a choice except to honor our marriage collars. You could say the words over us.”
“Me? You need a priest for holy matters.”
“The English and French taught us that. What of our customs before the white men came here?”
Simone lifted her shoulders. “No one speaks of that time or remembers. We do what the priest demands.”
“Not any longer.” Not her, Aimee, or Heath. They would have their happiness.
Chapter 9
Heath returned to the courtyard, encouraged by his progress with Royce who’d been his most outspoken critic. Next came the islanders.
Ourson arrived with his mother. Upon seeing Heath, delight registered in his eyes but he held back.
Heath couldn’t blame him. A wise man always treated a child and a woman’s trust seriously. He shouldn’t have broken his promise to return or forgotten the treat he’d planned to use as a peace offering. Now, he had nothing more than a smile and gestured him over.
Ourson approached slower than usual, his manner shy.
“Bonjour. Please sit.” He patted the ground.
Ourson shifted from foot to foot.
Heath deserved no better treatment. “I’m sorry I failed to return yesterday. I had an important matter to attend. You did a splendid job protecting my tools. You’re a fine quartermaster.”
He dragged his big toe over the dirt, immune to praise, eager for honesty.
Heath liked him even more for his principle. It would serve him well as a man. “Do you forgive me?”
“I waited and waited. What matter kept you away?”
“Ah…I walked the isle.” He had.
“Why would you do that?”
Heath had no choice except to lie. “I worried about using too many nails for the crib. What if I ran out before I finished the other beds? I searched for the special rocks I told you about. The ones metal comes from for tools and such.”
“Did you get any?” Ourson sat cross-legged. “Show them to me.”
“I failed to find even one. However, I intend to keep looking.” Having their own metal source would help the community greatly. Surely, Tristan had books on the subject as he did everything else. Heath wasn’t as knowledgeable as him but he could read and would teach the islanders what he’d learned. That would prove he cared about their survival and wanted them to thrive, thus building their faith in him. “If you want, you can come with me next time I search. If your mother and father allow it. I must speak with them first and have their consent.”
“Ask them now.”
“After I finish with the crib. We wouldn’t want to keep Bella waiting for her bed. Are you ready to smooth the wood?”
“I am.”
Heath positioned the plane. Another idea struck. “Who among the islanders knows how to carve a name or images to decorate the crib and make it special for Bella?”
“Adamo. He made a box for Zola. She shows it to everyone whether they want to see it or not.”
Heath chucked Ourson’s chin. “You must always show interest in what pleases a woman. Makes them happy. That’s what men were born to do. Where can I find Adamo?”
“By the wash tub.”
Using his good arm, Adamo dragged the metal container to where the women wanted it and hefted several buckets of water into the thing with one hand.
His muscles bunched. His strain obvious. He didn’t ask for assistance.
Heath waited until Adamo had finished and called him over. “Bonjour.” He stood and offered his hand.
Adamo wiped his fingers on his breeches and shook. His fierce strength contradicted his infirmities. One corner of his mouth sagged to his chin. His right lid hung halfway down his eye, its color no longer dark as the other, but milky. A permanent symbol of his betrayal fueled by hopeless love.
Canela certainly deserved her servitude on the other isle for bringing the poor man to this.
“Ourson tells me you’re a skilled carver. I wonder if you’d like to decorate the crib I’m making. Flowers would be nice for Bella, unless her mother prefers something also suitable for a future son. Perhaps you can decide what images or symbols would be best. To pay you, I can help with your tasks. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“I need no one to help.”
Everyone did. “Then I can teach you how to make nails and tools. Would you like that?”
“How do you make them?”
“I have no idea.” Heath smiled sheepishly. “I need to read Tristan’s books to learn. Once I have the skill, I can show you as payment for your carving.”
“I do that to make the islanders happy. But I look forward to learning what you know when you know it. Merci.”
Heath grinned. “De rien.” You’re welcome.
Children squealed behind them.
The girls covered their heads and dashed away from the storage room entrance. Boys formed a circled to trap something within.
Surely not a falcon or eagle. The bird would have fought viciously.
A pigeon strutted past an opening in the children’s legs. They tig
htened their circle to keep it from escape.
“Excuse me.” Heath left Adamo and Ourson and rushed to the boys. “Step aside, please. Don’t hurt the bird.” Fastened to its leg was a small cylinder.
Heath scooped the creature to his chest.
Ourson ran to him. “Will you keep it?”
“No. It belongs to Royce. As soon as I get it back to him, I’ll return to you. Guard the tools well.”
“Oui.”
Royce wasn’t in the storage room. After removing the cylinder, Heath put the pigeon in the cage and joined Adamo who studied the cut wood. “Do you know where Royce is?”
“No.”
Ourson bounced. “Are you leaving again?”
“Sorry, I must for the moment. I need to find Royce to tell him about his bird, otherwise he may worry.”
Heath roamed the stone mansion. Its dining room loomed large and airy, the finely crafted table long enough to serve thirty.
Empty now.
Women’s voices sounded in the kitchen, Aimee still among them. Everyone spoke quietly and quickly.
Not wanting to get involved in whatever they discussed, Heath backed away and wandered the halls.
Tristan’s laughter spilled from the library. “I told you. We should have wagered on this. I love to win.”
“Indeed.” Diana made a dismissive sound. “However, you haven’t. It’s still too early to tell if Merry’s eyes will remain as they are or turn brown, gray, or green. All babes have blue eyes when they’re first—” She glanced at Heath in the doorway.
James and Royce looked up.
Tristan held Merry on his lap. Bubbles poured from her mouth. Spittle ran down her chin. Quite adorable and a beauty with her mother’s pale skin, dark hair, and violet eyes, for the moment.
“Forgive me for intruding but the pigeon came back. Royce.” Heath tossed him the cylinder.
James slung his arm over his chair. “Did you read the message?”
“The seal hasn’t been broken, I can assure you.” He spoke to Royce. “I put the bird with the others and made certain to latch the cage so they couldn’t escape.”
“Good man.”
At the friendly exchange, Tristan and James traded a surprised glance.
