Forbidden Desire

by Tina Donahue

  * * * *

  Netta sat on the windowsill, afraid to sleep or even close her eyes. When she did, Heath came to her, his face troubled, heart pained.

  Diana said the unwelcomed thoughts were because Netta missed him so much.

  Tristan showed her and Aimee his charts. He traced Heath’s path and explained everything the ship would pass along the way. An easy journey. No rain fell, the clouds puffy and white, always allowing the sun to shine through here and on Faucon.

  Peter and James said Heath had reached the isle by now and would set sail for home by tomorrow.

  Netta begged the goddess and the priest’s deity for answers and solutions. She offered them new gifts.

  Her dread remained, more ominous than the darkness ahead.

  Chapter 16

  On the third day at sea, Heath worked his way next to Michel.

  He leaned away from Heath. Not an easy task with so many crammed inside the great cabin.

  The stink from too much humanity was sickening. Heat, hunger, and thirst put most in a stupor. Children slept draped over the men’s legs. Vincent’s chin rested on his bony chest. Heath worried most about him. Vincent would likely sell his own mother to the devil to get what he wanted. He and Canela loathed each other, but they’d band together to defeat anyone who stood in their way.

  With no one watching, Heath pushed into Michel and pressed his mouth to the man’s ear. “Forgive me for striking you on Faucon. I did so to save you and the others from harm, and to convince Canela that I lied to Tristan about my loyalty. Nothing could be further from the truth. The isle is my home too. Where I want to stay and help build our community. Ourson is the finest boy I’ve ever known. I love him as I would a son. I want you to return to him and Esme unharmed. If he lost his papa…”

  Heath sagged back, unable to continue.

  Michel stared, his eyes dull in the gloom.

  Much more of Canela’s treatment and none would survive. The few times she’d deigned to observe her prisoners, Heath had argued that without adequate water, she’d have bodies not pawns on her hand. She couldn’t prop corpses in the longboats and expect to fool the islander who watched.

  She’d increased their ration, but only enough to keep them alive not alert. She wanted them docile for her crew. The man who guarded the cabin door already showed improvement from ample food and drink. His step quicker, color less sallow.

  Too much outrage burned inside Heath for him to be manageable to anyone. Hatred for Canela’s injustice and his love for Netta and Aimee gave him strength he didn’t realize he had. He pleaded with Michel. “Please try to believe me. It means your life. I have no reason to trick you or lie. If I were loyal to Canela and wanted you dead, I would simply ask her to shoot you.”

  Michel licked his cracked lips and leaned into Heath, his mouth on his ear. “How do we escape this with our hands bound behind our backs?”

  They were lucky they didn’t have their feet tied too. If Canela’s crew could have spared the rope, no one would have been able to move. “She can’t keep us bound when we near the isle. She needs us to row the longboats. Otherwise, the lookout will know something’s wrong. The moment we reach shore, I’ll distract Canela and her crew. That’s your signal to run. Use the new path the islanders cleared after the last cyclone. She doesn’t know about it. Go to Ourson and Esme. Take them to safety.”

  “What about everyone else?”

  “I’ll alert those in the courtyard and mansion. Once you take care of your family, run to those houses close to yours. Tell the men we need them to fight. There are more of us than our captors. Hunt them down. Before Vincent awakes, tell Rollan what I’ve told you. He should tell the next man until everyone knows what we’ve discussed. Caution them to speak quietly so Vincent doesn’t see us whispering and the children don’t overhear. They don’t understand the grave situation we’re in and may repeat something without thinking. Surprise is our only weapon. Canela and her crew can’t suspect what we intend to do.”

  “How will you distract her?”

  Heath didn’t know. With her pistol and others likely pointed at him, he couldn’t plan every detail and expect events to unfold flawlessly. He wanted to reassure Michel with a lie. He deserved truth. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll find a way. Trust me. Please. I won’t let you or the others down even if it means my life.”

  “You need to keep safe too.”

  “Worry about your family. They’re your first concern. The same with the others and their loved ones. Once on the isle, I’ll get to Tristan, James, Royce, and Peter. Go.”

  Michel leaned into Rollan.

  A child coughed.

  Rollan flinched.

  Michel bumped against Rollan and shook his head. They spoke so quietly, no whispers escaped.

  The dialogue continued around the cabin. When the last islander heard the plan, he and the others looked at Heath and nodded. They were as prepared as they’d ever be.

  Heath prayed to a god that he didn’t believe in to keep the men safe for their wives and children. For himself, he hoped to return to Netta and Aimee but couldn’t count on it. If he failed in his initial attack, many might die, including him.

  * * * *

  Aimee found Netta near the point where the islanders kept watch.

  The sea stretched endlessly, farther than anyone could see, except the goddess. Water glinted deep blue. Flamingoes and other birds rode the wind.

  Heath and the islanders would return there, the spot closer to their homes than the cove.

  No longboats approached.

  If they had, the islander at the cove would have already ridden to the stone house to tell everyone the Lady Lark had arrived.

  She took Netta’s maimed hand. Her forefinger and thumb were cold even with the heat. Aimee warmed her. “Tristan said Heath will arrive tomorrow. We can wait for him with Xavierre who has lookout duties. You can use the glass to see Heath in the lead boat and put your concerns to rest.”

  “When will the longboats arrive? Morning? Midday? Night?”

  Tristan hadn’t said. “I can ask.”

  “To learn what? Nothing?” Netta pulled her hand from Aimee’s. “The wind may blow hard or slow down and keep the Lady Lark at sea. You expect us to stay here all day to see the longboats?” Her chin trembled. “What if he fails to come?”

  “We wait another day.”

  “And another and another and…” She covered her face.

  Aimee pulled down Netta’s hands. “What have you dreamed?”

  Netta shook her head.

  Aimee felt ill. “Tell me, please. Did something happen to the boat?”

  “No. I saw sickness that made the other islanders lay on the ground and not get up. Maybe the fever. It could strike Heath. He could be ill as we speak.”

  “No.” Aimee refused to believe it. “He’s strong. The fever has come here but the sturdiest men always survived.”

  “With Simone’s healing. I fear for him.”

  “We mustn’t speak of this. We mustn’t even think it. If there was a fever on the other isle, the priest would have told Tristan when he sent the bird. Your dream is false. Your worry is needless. Everyone said Heath will return. You and I will be here for him.”

  “Not at the point.”

  “Then we can go to the cove and see the ship there and ride back here to meet the longboats.”

  Netta backed away. “Neither place is good. If he never arrives…”

  “Stop it. He will. Please believe that. If you want, we can wait for him in the stone house. I can ask Xavierre to tell us as soon as the boats reach shore and are safe on the isle, not in the water where you fear something may happen. Come.” She grabbed Netta’s wrist and pulled her toward the wall. “Until Heath returns to us, Merry can keep you busy and brighten your spirits.”

  * * * *r />
  Soon, the isle and its riches would belong to Canela. She’d already waited a lifetime.

  Stars twinkled on the left, the rising sun shone on the right. The contrasting sky matched the darkness she’d known for too long and the light she would have for her remaining days.

  They would be plentiful, filled with riches and wonder.

  With the journey nearly at its end, she washed on deck, using precious drinking water to cleanse her hair, face, and body.

  Goodwin and the other men watched. Their gazes were hungry, their moods restrained. Her pistols saw to that. She’d locked theirs away to make certain they behaved until she needed them to do her bidding. One pirate had actually asked why she’d demanded their weapons. She’d shot him dead for his impertinent question. She wanted meek followers, not those who challenged. On her command, the others hoisted him over the rail and gladly let her lead.

  The wind dried her. She rifled through new silk cloths meant for the Faucon islanders and chose a violet one. Identical to Diana’s eyes. Nearly a year ago, Tristan had the island women make gowns for Diana in the same shade. The morning they presented them to her, he’d told Canela that Adamo waited for her outside. Before she could respond or rail at Tristan, he turned away and joined his wife, leaving Canela forgotten, humiliated.

  He’d chosen the wrong woman to rule beside him and would pay greatly for that.

  She sat and slapped the wood. “My food. Now.”

  The men served her as she’d once done for the chief and his advisors. As rulers, they’d worn silly feathers and talons like children at play. She’d clothe herself in silk and jewels, beginning with the diamond marriage collar around Diana’s throat.

  Canela ate fruit, bread, and salted meat ravenously. The first time she’d filled her belly since Tristan had banished her. She let Goodwin lick her fingers.

  Vulgar animal sounds flowed from him.

  She cradled his cratered cheek. “Throw bread and fruit to the prisoners, but no meat.”

  He kissed her palm. “What about water?”

  “Only enough to keep them alive. Give Vincent what I left in the basin. Wait until he finishes then tell him where it came from.”

  Quiet laughter quivered Goodwin’s throat. “He ain’t going to be happy.”

  “If he opens his mouth, hit him. Make sure you draw blood.” She stroked Goodwin’s bristly upper lip. “You would like that, no?”

  “I would. For the times he treated me poorly.”

  “Once we take over the isle, Vincent is yours. Do whatever you wish with him, except death. I want him alive. I expect him to suffer.”

  “I’ll see he does, and anyone who gets in your way.”

  * * * *

  Nothing the islanders could have said about Canela would have prepared Heath for her viciousness. This journey proved her people had good reason to loathe and fear her.

  Goodwin tossed food into the great cabin as one would to penned animals.

  With their hands bound, the men were helpless. Vincent shouldered a child out of his way, bent to the floor, and grabbed bread with his teeth.

  The youngest boys and girls ate with no thought to anyone except themselves. Two older boys held bread and fruit to Heath and the islanders’ mouths.

  With a half-filled basin in hand, Goodwin sidestepped legs and held the thing to Vincent’s lips. “Drink.”

  For the first time, Goodwin didn’t ration.

  Vincent drank quickly. Water streamed over his chin and flowed down his chest.

  Children cried for a taste.

  He ignored them and finished it all.

  Heath expected him to fall over, dead from Canela poisoning him. A game she’d surely enjoy.

  Goodwin shoved the empty basin beneath his arm and worked his way to the door. “Care to guess where that water came from?”

  Vincent stopped licking the remnants off his mouth. “Where, you bloody bastard?”

  Goodwin laughed. “You’ll be my pet on the isle. Canela gave you to me. I’ll fashion a collar to put around your throat and build a pen to keep you in. A small one fit for the swine you are.”

  “You won’t live that long.”

  “Don’t be so certain.”

  Goodwin delivered water to the rest. Barely enough to quell maddening thirst.

  The scant food did little to quiet growling bellies.

  The heat grew worse. Heath drifted and jerked awake. Light bled around the shutter that covered the sole window. Still morning? Midday? Early evening?

  He strained to think, fuzzy from inadequate nourishment. His shoulders ached more than he could bear. He rolled them and stilled.

  The ship had slowed considerably.

  No one else had noticed. All slept, including Vincent.

  Heath knocked his arm into Michel’s.

  He lifted his head and look at Heath dumbly. “Quelle?” What?

  “We’ve arrived. Listen.”

  Something heavy splashed in the water followed by rattling chains. The anchor going down. Hurried footfalls sounded overhead.

  The door swung open.

  Canela.

  Next to her prisoners, she might as well have been a monarch, her hair washed, skin clean, cloth new. She regarded everyone with disdain.

  A little girl grabbed her fingers.

  Canela slapped her.

  The child wailed.

  She pushed the girl away. “Never touch me unless you want to lose your filthy hand. Goodwin.”

  He joined her.

  “Bring Heath out, then Rollan, Michel, and Etienne. Put them in the first longboat so the islander with the glass sees them before anyone else. Has Zimmerman found what I need?”

  “It awaits you on deck.”

  “Bring them up now.” She left.

  After sitting so long, Heath swayed on his feet.

  “Come on.” Goodwin gestured him to the door. “I ain’t got all day.”

  Vincent put out his foot to trip Heath.

  He kicked Vincent’s balls.

  His howl followed Heath to the deck. The crew had anchored the Lady Lark in an area where a ship this size couldn’t risk drawing closer to land. The water ahead wasn’t deep enough. There were too many barriers to pass. Tristan’s isle rose in the distance. On this side, his land had countless rocks and sheer cliffs. They’d keep even the most determined pirate from coming onshore.

  No islanders watched from there. Wasn’t necessary.

  Canela had discarded her silk cloth in favor of breeches. She pulled a linen shirt over her naked breasts. Since the male islanders wore their hair as long as the women did, no one would suspect her sex. She simply had to keep her face down to avoid alarming the man on watch.

  She padded to Heath and touched her lips to his.

  He steeled himself against disgust.

  “Do I smell sweet enough for you?”

  “Far better than what I’ve become used to these last days.”

  Her laughter filled the balmy air. “You need to wash and change.” She snapped her fingers. “Goodwin. New breeches. Water.”

  “Tell him I’d prefer to drink it than wash. If you don’t mind.”

  “You can do both, but quickly.”

  Heath wanted to request water for the others but feared she’d wonder why he’d worry about them since she didn’t. “My hands. I can’t drink, wash, dress, or row until they’re free.”

  Canela untied the rope and stroked his palms.

  Heath squeezed her fingers playfully and endured her giggles. After drinking his fill, he washed and changed.

  Michel, Etienne, and Rollan joined them on deck, along with Heath’s remaining crew who would follow in the other longboats. The islanders finished their water hurriedly, her men’s pistols trained on them.

  Vince
nt arrived last, stumbling between two pirates he used to command. “I can’t bloody well walk in these shackles. Take them off.”

  Canela snatched his scarf and threw it overboard. His thinning hair barely covered his scalp. “If he talks again, gag him. Find something to put over him in the longboat. No one can see him until we reach the beach.”

  Vincent swore. “How do you expect to get me in the blasted boat with my feet shackled?”

  She slapped him, her full weight behind the blow.

  He tottered back.

  Canela snapped her fingers at Heath. “Unlock his shackles. Goodwin, if Vincent breathes too deeply, shoot him and throw his body over the side.”

  No one misbehaved. With everything in place, they piled in the longboats and rowed.

  She pressed her pistol into Heath’s back. Her crew did the same with the islanders.

  * * * *

  Diana hurried into Netta and Aimee’s chamber, Merry in her arms, the infant’s face red, cries shrill. “Désolé.” Sorry.

  One of the few French words Diana knew well. Netta nodded and waited for more.

  “Ah, me montrer encore une fois, s’il vous plaît.” Show me again, please.

  She wanted Merry quiet.

  Unfortunately, Aimee had gone to gather bread, fruit, and beef from the kitchen. Netta hadn’t wanted the midday meal. With that hour well past, Aimee insisted on getting Netta food to keep her nourished.

  Given her maimed hand, Netta sat on the bed to avoid dropping Merry on anything except a soft mattress and showed how to soothe her tears.

  As always, Merry calmed.

  Diana sagged against the bedpost and rattled off more English than Netta ever heard and couldn’t understand.

  Aimee had been wrong. Caring for Merry didn’t calm Netta’s worries. They flared again. Harder and stronger than ever.

  Diana smiled weakly and pointed at her room. She spoke hurriedly, her English and French words combined and laced with repeated désolés.

  Before Netta could respond, Diana hurried out.

  Left with no choice except to tend Merry, Netta rocked the gurgling child and ignored her building apprehension.

  * * * *