A Pirate's Love

by Johanna Lindsey

  Tristan sighed heavily. "Very well. I will meet you back on the ship in a few hours."

  "Take your time, my friend. There is no hurry," Jules replied jovially.

  Tristan smiled and shook his head. He left the smoke-filled tavern and stepped into the blinding sun­light; then he sighed again. He had no real desire to see the widow, though he had always been anxious to visit her before. She was a beautiful woman, only three years older than he, and passionate beyond belief.

  Tristan passed a small jeweler's shop and decided to go in. A pearl necklace might pacify the widow's temper when he informed her that he wouldn't be staying the night with her. But then— Blast it, why shouldn't he stay the night with her? One day wasted wouldn't mat­ter, and it would be nice to make love to a woman who didn't constantly scream her hatred, who opened her arms and her legs gladly.

  Tristan started to leave the jeweler's, for there was no need to purchase a gift for Margaret now, but then a pair of earrings caught his eye. They were sapphires, tiny gems mounted in rings of silver, and suspended in the center of the rings were large dark-blue sapphires that reminded Tristan of Bettina's eyes when she was happy. He would like to see her eyes that color all the time, and in his mind he could picture the sapphires dangling from Bettina's ears, contrasting beautifully with her silky flaxen hair, and matching her dark-blue eyes.

  He purchased the earrings, and also a long strand of pearls—just in case.

  Margaret Hagen saw Tristan come up the stone walk­way leading to her three-story house. Before he had a chance to knock on the door, it opened, and he was met by a pair of angry dark-violet eyes. But the anger dis­appeared quickly, and Margaret threw her arms around Tristan's neck and kissed him intensely, molding her soft body against his.

  "Ah, Tristan, I've missed you so," she whispered against his ear. Then she pulled him into her house and quickly shut the door. "I was so angry when you didn't come this morning," she scolded. "But now that you're here, I can't stay mad at you."

  She took his hand and started to lead him upstairs, but he pulled her into the parlor instead. "You haven't changed, Margaret," he laughed softly.

  "But you have—in more ways than one. You used to carry me up those stairs to my bed before I could even greet you. Have you been with another woman this morning? Is that what kept you?" she asked heatedly.

  "No, I stopped to purchase a gift for you," he said lightly, and produced the pearls from the pocket of his longcoat.

  She beamed with delight, and she turned and lifted her black shoulder-length hair so he could fasten the pearls around her neck. She faced him again and smiled as she fingered the pearls lovingly.

  "I know these didn't take you all morning to pur­chase, but I won't reproach you anymore." She took his hand and led him to a black-and-gold sofa. "Now tell me, why did you shave off your beautiful beard? Not that I mind, but you look so much younger without it."

  "It was something I had to do. But since then I've gotten used to being without it."

  "Why would you have to shave? That is ridiculous," she replied.

  "It's a long story, Margaret, and I'm afraid I don't have the time to relate it," Tristan said. "I will be sail­ing in a few hours."

  "But why?"

  "You know that I can never rest until I find Bastida. And although preying on Spanish gold is very profit­able, it keeps me too long at sea. If I am to find that murderer, I have to devote all my time to hunting him down, and that's what I've decided to do."

  "Why don't you give it up, Tristan? You will prob­ably never find Bastida."

  "Our paths will cross one day, of that I am sure," Tristan said, his voice full of bitter hatred.

  "Then I might as well tell you. Bastida was here about two months ago."

  "Blast it!" Tristan exploded, slamming his hand down on his thigh. "Why didn't I come here first? That's twice now I could have found him, only my mind has been elsewhere!"

  "I doubt you would have found him here, Tristan. He was here only a few hours. It seems he is also search­ing for someone or something."

  "What can you tell me?"

  "Not very much, I'm afraid. Bastida was asking about a merchant ship, and he stayed only until he was satis­fied it wasn't in the harbor."

  "Why a merchant ship?"

  "I have no idea. But if he is searching each island as you are, with only a day's stop on each one, then the odds are greatly against your finding him until one of you happens on the same place," Margaret replied.

  "Perhaps you are right."

  "Then you will stay here for a while?" she asked hopefully, running her hand over his chest.

  "No," he answered, and stood up quickly. "I must be leaving."

  "There is another woman, isn't there?" she asked, making an effort to smile.

  Tristan decided to tell her the truth. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

  "Is she pretty? Of course she would be," Margaret said. "When you said your mind has been elsewhere, you were referring to this woman. You must love her very much."

  "I don't love her, but I want her. She has obsessed my mind," he replied irritably.

  "And how does she feel about you?"

  Tristan laughed shortly. "She detests my very soul, and yet I can't blame her. Perhaps it is because she hates me that I still want her. She is a challenge."

  "I find it hard to believe that any woman could hate you, Tristan." She stood up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "But if you're sure you don't love her, I can wait until you get her out of your blood."

  "Well, don't give up your countless lovers while you're waiting," he teased.

  "You know I could never do that," she laughed. "Unless, of course, you were willing to marry me. I could give up any man if I had you, Tristan. You would surely be worth the loss."

  Tristan left the widow's house in a carefree mood. He had intended to stay the night with Margaret, but somehow he just couldn't. The old desire for her was gone. He didn't know what was the matter with him, but he didn't want to worry about it at present.

  There was no point in continuing to search for Bas-tida now. He would wait awhile until Bastida found whoever it was he was searching for and returned to Spain. But for now—now Tristan would go home.

  After a long two and a half months of absence, Tristan could hardly contain his excitement when his island was sighted. He had been a fool to leave Bettina just when he had learned she was carrying his child. He had missed her so. She would be four and a half months.' pregnant now, but he prayed she wouldn't be too big to make love to.

  Tristan paced nervously across the foredeck until his ship sailed into the small cove and the anchor was dropped. Then in a loud, booming voice, he informed the crew that they could take their leave immediately. He would order the men who had stayed on the island to come and secure the ship. If the men on board were as anxious to see their women as he was to see Bettina, he might have had a mutiny if he had delayed them on the ship.

  Father Hadrian stood by idly, watching the men hastily lowering the small boats. He wondered if he should speak to the captain about keeping these men from their so-called wives until after the marriage cere­monies. But seeing the happy anticipation on the faces of the crew, he doubted they would listen to reason.

  No, he would just have to close his eyes and pray that the ceremonies took place quickly. Besides, Cap­tain Tristan would offer no help. The priest had been told about the Frenchwoman the captain was keeping on the island, and the young man had made it quite clear to Father Hadrian that he would tolerate no moralizing about his way of life. He thought it absurd that some of his men wanted to marry when they didn't have to, and he had no intention of marrying his lady.

  In less than twenty minutes, the boats were ashore, and after another ten minutes of half-walking, half-running, Tristan stood just inside the doorway of his house, completely amazed at the changes.

  "It looks as if the women kept busy while we were gone," Jules said when he came up beside Tristan.
"I must say it is a definite improvement. They've turned this old fortress into a home. And look, they've even hung curtains!"

  Tristan glanced at the white curtains and smiled. At least Bettina hadn't made a wedding dress with the material, as she had wanted.

  Tristan laughed as his crew made a terrible racket running past the house on the way to their homes. The shouting and laughter brought Maloma to the top of the stairs, and Tristan stared openmouthed when he saw how big she had grown. They had never stayed home long enough before to see the women grow with child, and he prayed again that Bettina wasn't that big yet-But he wondered why she didn't appear.

  "I will see you later, Tristan—much later," Jules said over his shoulder as he started for the stairs.

  Tristan smiled as he watched Jules join his wife.

  Davey volunteered to take Father Hadrian to the village, where he had asked to stay, and Tristan was relieved that the good father would not be sleeping in the room next to his.

  Tristan started to walk toward the stairs, then began to run.

  "Capitaine, she is not in your room."

  Tristan halted abruptly and swung around to see Jossel standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He walked to her, scowling, imagining the worst of possi­bilities.

  "Where is she?" he demanded brusquely.

  "There is no reason for you to be upset. Bettina went for a walk—as she does every afternoon," Jossel said calmly.

  "Where?"

  "I have no idea in which direction she goes. She al­ways walks alone."

  "It's good to see you back, Cap'n," Joco Martel said when he came from the back of the house. "Was your voyage successful?"

  "No, but I left you in charge here, Joco, and I'll have your hide if you can't tell me where Bettina is right now!" Tristan bellowed.

  "She's in the forest, Cap'n," Joco replied weakly. "She always goes the same way, leavin' the path where it turns toward the village."

  "Straight or to the right?"

  "Straight."

  "And now tell me why in blazes you've let her go into the forest alone?"

  "You trusted 'er before you left, Cap'n, and she 'ad a fit when I tol' 'er she should 'ave someone with 'er. She insisted on goin' alone, and I didn't really see no 'arm in it," Joco answered nervously.

  "Blast it! That woman has no right to insist upon anything. I gave you instructions when I left. You were to carry out my orders, not hers!" Tristan stormed.

  "My daughter is no longer a child, Capitaine. She can take care of herself. And she has always cherished her privacy. In France, she always took walks through the countryside alone," Jossel said.

  "This is not France, madame! There are wild pigs living at the foot of the mountain. If Bettina walked too far, she could be attacked and killed!"

  "Killed!" Jossel turned pale.

  "She was never gone long enough to reach the moun­tain, or I would 'ave gone after 'er," Joco said quickly.

  "How long has she been gone?"

  "Only an hour," Joco replied.

  Tristan said no more, but left the house by the back door. Running, it took him only a few minutes to reach the bend in the path. As he left the path and followed the trail of trampled grass that led toward the mountain, he wondered if Bettina had found the same shallow pool that he used to come to. If that was where she went on her walks, he could understand her wish for privacy.

 

  hen Tristan saw that the trail indeed led to the stream, he slowed his pace and decided to surprise Bettina. But when he came to the trees bordering the stream, he was the one who was surprised. Bettina was lying on the soft grass beside the pool, completely at ease, and completely naked.

  The blood rushed through his veins as Tristan's eyes covered her entirely. Her whole body was a golden tan. She lay on her back with the sun caressing her, one leg raised, her hands clasped behind her head, and her damp hair spread on the grass above her. Tristan stared for long moments at her slightly protruding belly and the plaguing doubts surfaced again. A child slept there, but whose child? But Tristan pushed the thoughts of the child from his mind, for the throbbing in his loins was the only thing that mattered now.

  "Tristan!" Bettina gasped when she opened her eyes to find him standing above her.

  She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, unable to say anything. She felt desire rise in her, almost like an ache. He stood, legs astride, with his hands on his hips. The sun lit the edges of his hair to liquid gold, and she wanted to run her hands through it, to touch his bronzed cheeks, to taste his lips on hers.

  Bettina watched with anticipation as Tristan removed his shirt, then his knee-length boots and breeches. But when he was naked, and she saw the look of triumph on his face as he bent down to her, she finally broke out of her trance. She quickly rolled out of his reach and grabbed her dress to hide her nakedness, then scrambled to her feet, holding the dress in front of her.

  Tristan laughed heartily. "It took you long enough to remember that you hate me. But then, you don't really hate me, do you, Bettina? Why don't you give in to what you were feeling a moment ago?"

  Oh, God, why had she stared at him so long? He must have seen the desire in her eyes.

  "I don't know what you are talking about!" she re­torted. Her cheeks were bright pink, but she was in con­trol now.

  "Yes, you do, little one," he said huskily and started to approach her.

  "Tristan, stop!" she screamed, backing away from him. "Come no closer to me!"

  "I'm going to make love to you, Bettina, and you know it. You want it. So why don't you give up this pretense?" he asked softly.

  "You are mad!" she cried fearfully. "If I wanted you to touch me, would I ask you to stay away? I still hate you, Tristan—have no doubts about that."

  "You're lying, Bettina, especially to yourself," Tristan said quietly. He leaped forward and grabbed her about the waist.

  "Tristan, please!" she begged as he pulled her to the shade and lowered her to the ground. "If you make me fight you, it will harm the baby!"

  He mounted her despite her pleading, and held her arms stretched out at her sides as he leaned over her. "You're not going to fight me, little one. I have thought of this moment every day I was away from you, and you know there is nothing that will stop me from having you now." He released her arms and leaned on his el­bows, careful not to press his full weight on her. He held her face with his hands and kissed her softly, then smiled lazily at her. "You will have to give up your resistance for a while, for the baby's sake. The child will give you an excuse not to fight me, so relax and enjoy it while you can."

  "But I do not want an excuse! Why don't you take the excuse and find another to force yourself upon?" Bettina asked heatedly.

  "It's you I want—and it's you I'll have. You don't want to fight me, Bettina. It's only your pride that makes you continue to do so."

  "That is not so!" she cried indignantly.

  "Why must you be so stubborn?" he asked in exas­peration. "You have a reason now to give up—without losing your pride. For God's sake, I won't taunt you for it!"

  "No!"

  Tristan kissed her passionately then, stopping her mouth. He entered her, burying himself deep inside her. He felt her nails begin to dig into his back, and he tensed, waiting for pain. But then she ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his back. The fires that were always between them grew, and as the pleasure exploded inside Tristan, she kissed him intensely, send­ing him to heights that he could reach only with this woman.

  When Tristan rolled to her side and lay on the grass beside her, Bettina sat up and clasped her knees, her hair covering her body like a white silk cape. She stared moodily at the little waterfall.

  "I've missed you, Bettina," Tristan said softly from behind her. He moved her hair aside and caressed her back. "I've thought about you constantly—every day, and especially at night, when I would lay in my cabin remembering how we shared it."

  "I am sure when you went ashore you found
suitable companions to relieve your misery," she replied sarcas­tically.

  "You sound jealous, little one," Tristan laughed.

  "That is absurd!" she bit off angrily, turning toward him. "I have told you time and again to find another."

  "That's easy enough to say, even when you don't mean it. Consider your true feelings, Bettina. You've missed me, too, haven't you?"

  "Of course not. How could I miss you when I prayed that you would never return. And why did you return so soon? Did you find Don Miguel?"

  "No, I've decided to wait some time before I con­tinue the search."

  "How much time?" she asked.

  "These last months that I've been away from you have seemed like an eternity. I've decided to stay here until the year you promised me comes to an end."

  "But—but you cannot!" she cried. "When I gave you my word that I would stay here for a year, it was only because you said you wouldn't be here the whole time."

  "And I haven't been. You already had two and a half months alone, and that is enough."

  "Then I suppose I must be thankful that I am with child, because it will free me from your advances when my time grows near. Then you will have to find an­other," she replied tartly, standing up to dress.

  Tristan frowned at her words as he reached for his own garments. What if the child were born with black hair? Worse, what if the child were graced with Bettina's white-blond hair and dark eyes? Then he would never know the truth.

  "You look troubled, Capitaine," Bettina teased him as she bent to pick a bouquet of violet flowers. "Are you finding it difficult to decide who will replace me?"

  He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes falling to her waist. Now that she was dressed, her shape looked the same as when he left her.

  "I saw Maloma at the house," Tristan remarked, ignoring her question. "She has grown quite large al­ready, and yet you have changed very little. Are you sure that it's four and a half months that you've carried the child?"