Other Islands: Book Three of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  Lean Wolf could see the question of Raven weighing like a stone around White Bear’s neck, dragging at his patience. He smiled his cynical smile. Perhaps White Bear didn’t recognize that Lean Wolf, not Raven, might be that stone. Perhaps Raven was grateful for Lean Wolf’s intervention, and found that she was drawn toward her suitor. At this thought, though, Lean Wolf discovered that he shared some frustration with his old friend.

  Imagining Raven lying under the skins, waiting naked for a lover’s embrace— not quite submissive and not quite rebellious— made firewater burn in his blood, as it had when he’d once found a half empty bottle on the beach of the bay. Even as he gained ground toward changing Raven’s mind, marriage to her felt too far away. His hankering for a woman increased in urgency every hour. But here he held an advantage over White Bear. Lean Wolf, the Silent Hunter, need not be as patient as White Bear, the Speaker for the Council. Lean Wolf’s longings could be eased outside the confines of the tribe.

  And Lean Wolf held a second advantage. If Raven wasn’t ready to surrender to her hunter, she was, at least, too busy caring for Willow to tend to White Bear. Time was both his enemy and his friend. The aching days he must wait for Raven could be spent profitably, providing him with opportunity to pursue another bird. The black-haired widow-bird was caged. She would keep. If the wild, yellow-haired bird was to be netted, she must be netted now, before time turned her ship in the bay, and she flew away on its wings of white, heading seaward.

  To deliberate upon his situation, the hunter hid himself in his secret cave. He wasn’t concerned about leaving the encampment tonight. No disruption was now necessary at White Bear’s tepee. As the sun met the mountain, Raven had taken Willow by the arm, and, halting every few steps while the pains nipped Willow’s womb, guided her to the birthing lodge. By the time Lean Wolf departed the village, the wisewomen had purified White Bear’s home. White Bear took up his position, sitting cross-legged in his open doorway, prepared for a vigil. He would spend this night, the night of his first offspring’s coming, deliberating in his own fashion, facing east and burning sweetgrass, the hair of the Mother, to welcome the spirits of birth and regeneration.

  The spirits visited Lean Wolf Silent Hunter, too, in his cave. He lay on his pallet under the phosphorescent glow of the ceiling, absorbing the chill that shrouded his body. Soon he slept, and, during the night, he dreamt of a third creature, a fawn, brilliant as war paint in a coat of red fur. The dream drew heat to his flesh, diffusing the cool of the cave, its color clashing with the dim greenish light beyond his eyelids. He awakened at morning with a plan in place. Revitalized, he crawled from his cavern.

  He stretched his arms and inhaled the crisp early air. After breakfasting at his leisure, he rolled the boulder back to cover the cave’s entryway. Dusting the grit from his hands, he sauntered the short distance to the river, where he washed himself and drank his fill at the pool below the waterfall. There, he revived his memory of the sea woman bathing, damp and ripe for lovemaking. There, the vision of her, the vibration of the earth, the thunderous sound and the swirling of the waters combined to stir his virility. With his resolution renewed, Lean Wolf strapped his knife near his knee and headed through the forest. His being rejoiced to be on the prowl again.

  He looked down to view the tiny red beads on his marriage bracelet. Held captive on his wrist by stitches of sinew, the beads formed the shape of a fawn. His hunter’s instinct set him in the direction of the Clearing. He traveled rapidly, and, cautious, listened to the voices as he neared. He wasn’t surprised when he glimpsed his former wife, Red Fawn, standing on the path with her comely back to him, blowing kisses to a burly, dark-haired European. Lean Wolf had known he would find her. With bright feathers in her hair and a nature too tame for dissembling, locating her was no task. She had always been easy to catch.

  Lean Wolf bent down, disappearing sideways into the underbrush. He smelled mint where his moccasins crushed the greenery, but he made no sound where he stepped. With huntsman’s eyes, he assessed the area. All clear here, except for the pirates Red Fawn was bidding goodbye. A pack of them was departing, carrying the poles of a carved and enclosed wooden chair on their shoulders.

  Lean Wolf had spied this contrivance before. He knew the Black Chief rode inside. He knew also that the pirate was satisfied, for his men were jingling and joking as they marched, showing no sign of apprehension either of their chief or of their position. Even the giant black pirate with the ax at his belt grinned as he herded the men forward. He strutted as if confident that their weapons were sharp and their reflexes ready. But Lean Wolf had no business with white men or black men today. It was the woman he was after, and his weapons were ready, too.

  Silent Hunter stretched his neck now, to discover the whereabouts of the People of the Clearing. They were all there, men, women, and children, chattering as the devil men departed, withdrawing to their various occupations. The Men of the Clearing looked warily around before they relaxed, their brown eyes alight and their bright hair unkempt, but Lean Wolf shielded himself from their gazes. Thanks to the pirates’ visit, the parrot they had trained to guard the Clearing squawked away in a treetop, its warning unheeded.

  As the sea men’s footsteps faded, peace settled upon the woodland. The hunter moved closer, edging near Red Fawn, hoping to cut her off before she rejoined her people. Unaware of danger, she straggled in their wake, picking Neverlilies as she retraced her steps. She bore no weapons. Still slender, she wore a deerskin dress, silver earrings, and a smile of contentment that softened her dimples.

  Lean Wolf, too, was pleased. His dreams had led him to his target, straight and true as an arrow from his quiver.

  And, as quickly as an arrow, he ran toward her, snatched her up, and covered her mouth. Before she knew what happened, Lean Wolf, with the strength of his arms, had carried her almost to the pirate band, where any noise he might make would go unheeded by the Men of the Clearing. He ran boldly to the pirates’ very heels, then ducked into a thicket. Once secluded by foliage, Lean Wolf settled on a stump and set his former wife on his knee, imprisoning her in his grip.

  As she recognized her abductor, her large, dark eyes filled with fright. With a look, he warned her to silence. She stared at him, clutching the remains of the flowers. Rust red petals spattered her dress. Lean Wolf had only moments to act before her absence would be noticed at the Clearing. Only moments to secure two things: information, and a vow of secrecy. He knew how to get them. He used her fear.

  “Red Fawn, once wife. You see how easily I take you. If you wish me to go, you will do as I say.”

  What could she do, but agree? Anxiously, she nodded. Lean Wolf took his hand from her mouth, and no trace of her dimples remained.

  “What did the Black Chief say?”

  A few seconds passed as Red Fawn recovered her wits and began to think beyond the threat of the hunter’s presence. “He…He told us that the Golden Boy will visit us.”

  “Huh! They are enemies. How would he know?”

  “The Lady Jill. She foretold it.”

  “The Golden Boy does not interest me.” But the Lady Jill did. He prodded, “What else did he tell you?”

  “He said— he came to— He asked about Raven.”

  Unprepared for this answer, Lean Wolf gaped, relaxing his hold. Red Fawn lunged for freedom, and he had to seize her arms to prevent her flight. “No,” he said, keeping his voice down. “You will stay until I command you to go, and you will answer my questions. What is the pirate’s interest in the widow of the warrior Ash?”

  “He asked Lily for her story. He didn’t say why.” She twisted, trying to pull away. “Now let me go!”

  Covering her mouth again, Lean Wolf squeezed her jaw, admonishing, “Quietly now.”

  Red Fawn stilled, as if recalling old bruises, and watched him from the edges of her eyes. The sight of her marriage bracelet, still tied to his wrist, seemed to haunt her. When he allowed her to inhale again, she gasped for air.


  “What more did he say?”

  Obedient, she answered, “He invited us to a celebration.”

  The hunter’s black eyes lit with mischief. “Ah, I see. When?”

  “The fourth night from tonight.”

  “On the ship?”

  “On the beach. But, Lean Wolf, no harm will be done! It is only a party. The pirates will not attack the People.”

  “You trust those devil men, but you do not trust me.” He smiled at her, bitterly. “Truly, Red Fawn, you earn the name of Outcast.”

  “Set me free now. Oh, please, Lean Wolf, set me free!”

  “You know what you must do next, if you don’t want me to return.”

  “Yes.” She dropped her gaze from his face. “I know.”

  “I am the Silent Hunter. I can penetrate the Clearing, and no one— not the braves nor the babies— will hear me stalking.”

  “Yes, Lean Wolf. I am aware.”

  “And?”

  “As always…I will tell no one that you caught me. No one will know that we spoke.”

  “No one but Red Fawn the Outcast, who has too much sense to spill secrets.”

  “Yes, Lean Wolf.”

  “Where have you been just now, to make you late returning to the Clearing?”

  She looked solemnly into his eyes. “I think…I ran after the pirates, to give Flambard my flowers…?”

  Lean Wolf picked a straggling blossom from her bosom. It was crushed, and even its scent was sickly. His lips twisted with jealousy— jealousy that would die with the foreigner. Flambard. “That’s right. Flambard, the husky dark one. And you wanted to kiss him, one final time.”

  The word escaped in a whimper. “Yes,” she said, paling.

  Lean Wolf could smell the fear on her skin. It made him want her. He pulled her toward him and pressed his mouth to the chill of her lips. Out of fright, out of habit, or out of greed, she opened her lips to accept his own. Like a pass-around woman, he thought, and, repulsed, he shoved her to the ground.

  “Woman, you are not my wife.” He stood, and pulled her up by her hair. “You are everyone’s wife. Now go back to your patrons, and do not, by word or by action, dare me to hunt you down again.”

  He watched her run away from him, while a mixture of emotions danced in his breast. Her backside undulated as she hurried, exciting his lust again. And yet he abhorred her, as she rushed back to her life without him, to the degradation she’d chosen over life as his wife.

  He didn’t need her now. In two minutes, she had opened his path to the two women he did need. In the long term, his hopes flew with Raven.

  But on the fourth night from tonight, he’d cast his net for his yellow-haired bird.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Not a soul sought the shade of the tree on the cliff top. Not a creature crept on the chalky ledge. The sun had ascended to its mid-afternoon post, and only one thing was positioned on the place described by Captain Cecco as neither water nor woods: his spyglass. Cursing, he shoved the telescope closed, and threw it on the padded locker beneath his window.

  Cecco himself had visited the meeting place. Eager to see Raven again, he’d arrived early for their assignation. A jaybird scolded from up in the branches as he waited, and the surf teemed below. By noon, their trysting time, his mind was full of questions to ask Raven, notions to impart to her. He imagined conversations with the lonely woman, who shared, if not his culture, then his experience. His heart felt lighter this morning than at any time in the weeks since Jill deserted him.

  As the noon hour had passed and afternoon encroached, Cecco was deserted, again, by the words he’d imagined he would speak with Raven. With his hopes disappointed, he’d trudged back through the forest toward his boat, seeking the darkest paths, only to be blinded upon reaching the beach, by the brilliance of the sun. While his men rowed him home to Red Lady, plowing through the swells of the bay, his heart transformed again into a weight as dull and as burdensome as lead.

  While he watched the cliff top from his cabin, still Raven did not come, nor did Cecco sense even the shade of the Shadow Woman. He could think of any number of reasons why she might break her promise. As she had told him, her life was not her own. Her sister’s needs must be met, and her brother-in-law obeyed. But reasons didn’t matter. Cecco was alone, and, somewhere, so was Raven.

  Begrudging, he admitted defeat. He tore his gaze from the Island and strode to his cabin door. Yanking it open, he surprised Mrs. Hanover, tucked into an angle of the companionway. She gasped, but didn’t cry out. Swiftly, she slid from the sailor who stood leaning over her, then snatched up her skirts and pattered down the stairs. Cecco surmised that Mrs. Hanover had believed him to be ashore, and, presuming no one would wander near the captain’s precincts, she had seized her opportunity to corner Pierre-Jean.

  Frowning, Cecco noted that the girl wore her hair swept up and her feet bare, in imitation of Jill. Her stature was petite like Jill’s, too, but, with a jolt, Cecco realized that the rounding of Mrs. Hanover’s belly was something that might never happen for Jill. A sting of even deeper disappointment turned Cecco’s countenance fierce— fiercer than was warranted by the transgressions of his subordinates.

  Facing the wrath of his captain, Pierre-Jean stared with his china blue eyes as he backed and stuttered, “Mon Commandant…it is mistake, I am fault. Pardonnez-moi.”

  “I know Mrs. Hanover. No man is safe with that woman.”

  “No, no, Captain. You and Mr. Yulunga, excuse little Madame, excuse— please.” Saluting, Pierre-Jean made to depart.

  Cecco stopped him, dropping a heavy hand on the sailor’s shoulder. “You will be frightened of what Mr. Yulunga will do with you, and well you should be. But,” Cecco glared at Pierre-Jean, his white teeth bared. “Be warned, my boy. If you tangle with that girl, she will be the death of you.” Cecco’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “Comprenez-vous?”

  Pierre-Jean winced at the pinch of his captain’s conviction. He nodded. “Oui, Monsieur. I hear it— Sir.”

  “Send Mr. Yulunga to me, then get on with your duties.”

  “Aye, aye, mon Sir.” The sailor touched his hand to his forehead, then his pale pigtail flew behind him as he tore down the steps.

  Cecco shook his head as the Frenchman rushed away. If he had any room in his heart, he would pity Pierre-Jean, an ill-fated fool attracted to trouble. Like a siren, Mrs. Hanover lured the lad toward his ruin. In recent days, Cecco had witnessed his pining. Now Pierre-Jean, like Cecco himself, had succumbed to forbidden trysts. Cecco understood his sailor too well. But, he thought, a struggle was pointless, for either of them. What use to resist? Every breath a man drew dragged him closer to the last. Once one unique woman got a hook in your heart, you were a doomed man anyway.

  Cecco turned, slowly reentering his quarters. He dropped down on the locker to sit, elbows on thighs, and contemplated the spyglass. His impulse was strong, but he restrained himself, for a time. Yet the siren’s call was compelling, too, and, at length, he snatched up the telescope. He yanked it open. This time, he positioned it on neither water, nor woods, but, rather, on the place he described as heaven.

  He cursed again.

  His wife’s window was curtained.

  Worse, the Irishman knocked at her door, his red face smiling, and entered without a pause.

  Cecco’s spyglass shattered as it hit the bulkhead. His hands, empty but for his wedding band, squeezed into fists.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “You know, Guillaume, you’re a kind of Lost Boy yourself. That’s why I thought you’d feel at home on the Neverland.” Tom Tootles lay basking on Marooners’ Rock alongside his friend, second officer of the Red Lady, with whom he shared a brief but binding history. Tom and Nibs had obtained shore leave this morning, to enjoy a reunion with Rowan and Lightly, and to show Guillaume the wonders of Mermaids’ Lagoon.

  The other three were swimming like mermen, but Guillaume had not mastered the skill, and, at the moment, Tom felt too lazy to dive in. Bo
th men looked relaxed on the outside, but they kept alert for a flash of fins on the horizon. No female creatures had surfaced as yet, but the men’s hopes were high.

  Guillaume replied, “Lost or not, this boy sailed a long way from where he started, in the gutters of a little port town.”

  “I’ve seen how you’ve progressed since leaving LeCorbeau. And Captain Cecco trusts you with responsibility.” Guillaume usually dressed in his dapper red and blue uniform, and Tom hadn’t seen him appear so informal since the night he stabbed Guillaume’s hand and pinned him to the deck, and then kissed him to make up for it. This morning they’d all left their clothes in their boat, which was tied to one of the rusted rings driven into Marooners’ Rock, grisly evidence of executions here, death by tide and time.

  Its notoriety notwithstanding, the Lagoon was a smiling place too, and Tom felt that, like the Neverland itself, this outing was beneficial to the skinny young Frenchman who, despite the scar Tom inflicted on his hand, had chosen freedom and friendship over subjugation to his former captain. So far, the newcomer was delighted with the unusual nature of the Island and its inhabitants. Guillaume was awed by the beauty, and astonished at his first introduction to a fairy. As Tom let his glance rove around the Lagoon again, he grinned in anticipation of Guillaume’s response to the mermaids.

  Lightly and Rowan had no eyes for mergirls. Their relief at Ayasha’s recent refusal to marry buoyed them up, and they splashed with Nibs in the opal-green waters of the Lagoon. The young men played like boys, ducking and racing, the sound of their games echoing off the rocks. Even Nibs submerged his gravity today. The crease between his dark eyebrows relaxed, and he smiled as they dove for sport, and for the odd pearl that might have settled on the sea bed, dropped by a mermaid. For all their high spirits, each man’s scalp bristled as mysterious eyes watched from secret spaces.