Kiss of the Spindle

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  With the sun sinking toward the horizon, Lewis and Daniel dragged three large logs onto the beach. Quince and Isla gathered twigs and branches for firewood, while Crowe lingered, clearly uncomfortable. He seemed relieved when Quince handed him a kit and asked him to start a fire.

  Isla spied the dinghy approaching with Robert and Samson to deliver dinner. “I am quite famished,” she said and sat on one of the large logs. “I haven’t been swimming in an age, and I forget how much energy it requires.” She smiled at Crowe and Quince, who shuffled their feet in the sand and conspicuously did not look at each other.

  “Please, gentlemen, sit with me. You are obliged to provide a lady with conversation at a social event, yes?”

  Mr. Quince smiled and slowly lowered himself to the log, and Mr. Crowe eventually did the same on her other side. The ’tons neared the beach and rowed up as far as they could onto the sand, at which point they began arguing about who should perform which task.

  Mr. Quince rose and approached the two assistants. “Let us see if we can’t sort out this tangle, my friends.”

  Beside her, Crowe muttered, “He is aware they’re not human?”

  Isla was determined to maintain her good humor. “He treats everyone and everything the same. One of his more admirable qualities.” She stretched her hands toward the fire. “Now that the sun is setting, I am quite chilled.”

  “You’d have been better off staying aboard the ship.”

  She glanced at him. “Come now, Mr. Crowe. You cannot deny the beauty of this place. If you do, I shall not believe you.”

  He cleared his throat. “Passable, I suppose.”

  Coming from him, she figured it was high praise. “Very passable indeed. Have you traveled much?”

  He shrugged. “To Port Lucy. All of the rest of my time has been in England.”

  “I have been all over our British Isles and a few times to Paris, but I have never traveled this far.”

  He met her eyes. “And you are going to Port Lucy for research.”

  She nodded. “I have questions that need answers. I was given to understand they could be found in Port Lucy.”

  “I can’t imagine what questions the mighty Dr. Cooper might not be able to answer.”

  She smiled at him despite realizing he’d not meant his comment as a compliment. “So, you do acknowledge I am a doctor!”

  He scowled, and she winked at him. “I am teasing you, Mr. Crowe. I regret that I have never taken the time to understand your moral and political leanings. I would very much like to.”

  “Why? So you can use everything I say to defeat me?”

  “No. So I can use everything you say to better understand you—perhaps with an aim toward a smoother working relationship when we return home.”

  He rubbed his forehead and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “One conversation before a campfire will not an alliance make. Especially one with opposing goals.”

  “It is a good beginning.” She mirrored his stance. Quince and the ’tons faded into the background, and Daniel and the other two men had disappeared into the interior for larger firewood. “Why do you dislike shifters so much?” She kept her voice low, unobtrusive.

  His smile lacked warmth. “A shifter ruined my life. Took everything from me.”

  She nodded. “Will you tell me about it?”

  He looked at her. “No.”

  “And you dislike me because I offer therapy and help to shifters, when your belief is that harsher preventive measures, such as incarceration, is for the greater good.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Perhaps we can agree that there are many people who are predatory shifters who are not violent in the least, even in shifted form? Even the instinct is governed by the human’s moral principles.”

  “You are naïve.”

  She shook her head. “I have seen it myself, more times than I can count. I wish you knew others besides just the one who ruined your life.”

  He remained silent, examining something under his fingernail.

  “You must agree, you must, that in the time we have known each other I have brought to justice several shifters who have intentionally waited until shifting to commit their crimes. Why, I believe the first time I saw you was at the tribunal for a man who was particularly heinous.” She wrinkled her brow. “His name was Glad . . . Gladworth . . .”

  “Gladstone.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Yes! You remember. He was not a nice person, shifter or no. He had run afoul of the law repeatedly, abused a woman and her daughter as a man and, as a wolf, went on a killing spree.” She shook her head. “So you see, I fully admit that there are times when rehabilitation is not a viable option. It was a pleasure to see him stopped. To have a hand in it.”

  “Your testimony sealed the prosecutor’s arguments.” His tone was flat. Quiet. “Gladstone was executed.”

  She nodded slowly, confused. “You disapproved?”

  He gazed into the fire. “He was my brother.”

  She felt as though the breath had been punched from her lungs. “Your brother . . .”

  He raised a brow at her, his hands hanging between his knees. “Do not tell me you’re sorry, that if you had but known . . .”

  She shook her head, drawing in a desperately needed breath. “I am so sorry you had to share blood with such a cruel and tormented man.”

  He chuckled hollowly. “Not very understanding of you, Dr. Cooper. For all you know, I loved him and hate you for driving the final nail into his coffin.”

  “If you felt your brother was unjustly served, you would be marching with my cousin Emme, not remaining on the PSRC as one of its most extreme proponents of incarceration and execution.” She paused, understanding dawning. “Gladstone was the shifter who ruined your life.”

  He met her gaze but was quiet.

  “Why do you stay? Why remain on the committee? It can hold nothing positive for you. You would take vengeance against a whole populace for the actions of one?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “If the committee doesn’t remain vigilant, people like you will ensure that criminals run amok.”

  She shook her head. “You arrived on the committee last year just before Gladstone was put on trial. What did you do before that? I know nearly everyone in our line of work, and you came from—well, not London. Not another government agency.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I am an artist. Commissioned portraits, some architecture. Now then, are we sufficiently informed about the other? Will we work together splendidly?” His familiar sneer was back.

  “Perhaps not, but at least I understand your point of reference.” She tipped her head. “Answer one more question for me.”

  He rolled his eyes briefly. “It’s no wonder shifters talk so much in your offices—your questions never stop.”

  “Gladstone ruined your life, took everything from you, and I was the one to brought him to an end.” She paused, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I understand frustration with a sibling—all too well, in fact. But ought we not to share some small moment of communion? A mutual respect if nothing else?”

  His jaw worked, but then he said, “I believe I’ll return to the ship.”

  Suddenly she was aware of Quince working with Samson and Robert to set up dinner, and Daniel, Bonadea, and Lewis talking as they emerged from the island’s interior. Crowe stood and turned to leave, but Isla called after him.

  “Nigel. Wait.” She shivered despite the heat from the fire. “We need not be friends, or even pleasant colleagues. But do not return to the ship. Stay here and have dinner, at least. I will leave you in peace.”

  “I do not recall giving you permission to use my given name, Miss Cooper.”

  She raised a brow. “And I specifically recall instructing you to use mine.” She motioned toward Quince
and the ’tons. “Get something to eat and enjoy the fire before we all return to the ship for the evening.”

  “You mean before we all make a pretense of returning to the ship and retiring for the evening?”

  She deliberately ignored his insinuation about the three shifters. “Oh, I will retire, I assure you. I am out like the proverbial light at midnight, no questions.”

  He paused before shaking his head almost imperceptibly. She wasn’t certain, but she thought the corner of his mouth may have twitched slightly, and when he turned away from her, he went to the makeshift buffet table, not immediately back to the ship. Perhaps it wasn’t a lost cause, perhaps she might be able to breathe easier for Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis. Maybe Crowe would begin to see them as people rather than animals. And perhaps, when she returned to London, Crowe might make an effort to pull the reins on his combative approach to her profession. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly more than she’d had upon awakening that morning.

  Late the next night, the group gathered on the island, and Daniel’s patience was stretched thin. “We shall need more twine for that string of lights,” Samson said to Daniel and pointed to a long strand attached to one of the trees. “The knot you tied isn’t holding.”

  Daniel looked at his ’ton and counted to ten. And then fifteen. “I am searching for the birthday candles,” he muttered, “which somebody supposedly dropped into this basket. Do you suppose you might manage the twine?”

  “It requires the work of two. I’ll find Lewis. He’s adept. And patient.”

  Daniel briefly closed his eyes as Samson walked off to find Lewis the Paragon and dug into the basket again, shoving aside linen napkins and flatware. He knew he should have kept the small candles in his pocket and vowed for the hundredth time that day that he would never again doubt his own judgment.

  How could he have built an airship empire but still be stymied by a simple recipe?

  That was what happened when a man who had no business being in a galley attempted to bake, which he’d known instinctively was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. He had left a cloth under the pan while putting it into the oven and had nearly set fire to his own blasted ship.

  Bonadea, bless his practical soul, had helped remix the batter while Lewis added instructions to an auxiliary programming tin for Robert. Once that had been accomplished, they had baked a three-tiered cake, added blue icing despite Quince’s insistence that Isla would prefer pink, and prepared for what promised to be a scrumptious dinner of halibut, roasted potatoes, and asparagus, all things Isla said she loved and that were, blessedly, preserved in the galley’s icebox.

  Isla had spent the day ashore on the island, and the others had joined her in the afternoon while Robert and Samson had stayed aboard to cook the meal. Bonadea and Quince had taken Isla to the waterfall so the rest of the group could string the portable Tesla lights Lewis had found in the cargo hold and set up dinner. The cake was safely tucked under a large dome and covered with a towel to keep it hidden, and Robert set up the ship’s small Victrola at the end of a second table.

  Daniel looked over the scene as the sun set, ticking off items in his head. Dinner, done. Cake, done—miraculously. Decorations, done. Plates, glasses, silverware, napkins—all present. Water pitchers filled from the waterfall, done. Whiskey in a small flask secreted in Daniel’s pocket for later, done.

  Bonadea, Quince, and Lewis said they each had gifts for Isla, and even Crowe mumbled something about it. Daniel had thought long and hard about how to acquire an appropriate gift for an unconventional woman, especially as they were on an uninhabited island, and had been quite stumped until he thought of the one thing he could give her. And she was literally the only woman of his acquaintance who would recognize its value. He’d felt strangely reluctant to give it to her in public, and decided to wait until they returned to the ship and he could steal a few moments with her alone. There was nothing about it the others couldn’t see, but he didn’t want to be just another of the group lining up to give her a gift.

  It was a cozy scene, he admitted. The lights were a perfect touch, logs were in place for sitting by the fire, and dinner was ready. He whistled for the others to return with Isla, and while he waited, he turned the crank on the Victrola. The music blared out, and he hastily muted the horn so they could talk without shouting, and made his way across the warm sand to Lewis and Crowe.

  “Everything set?” Lewis asked.

  Daniel exhaled. “Everything but the small candles for the cake. I couldn’t find them.”

  “Oh!” Lewis reached into his pocket. “I figured they’d get lost in that basket.”

  Daniel’s nostrils flared as he took the candles from Lewis, supposing he should be grateful they’d turned up.

  “All right now, watch your step.” Quince and Bonadea led Isla onto the beach with her eyes closed.

  Daniel’s frustration melted away. She was lovely in her loose skirt and white blouse, no shoes, sun-kissed skin, and a light shawl. Her hair hung in tangled curls, free of pins, dark in the waning light but shimmering a deep red where the firelight shone on it.

  He knew he wasn’t the only one affected; Lewis stilled, and even Crowe exhaled quietly. There was something arresting about the utter lack of convention in her appearance, and Daniel felt it would be a crime to truss her up again in anything confining.

  “May I open my eyes?” Her smile was wry, and he knew Quince must have been the one to insist she be surprised.

  “Yes,” Bonadea told her with an exasperated glance at Quince.

  She opened her eyes and took everything in, and her eyes grew bigger, and her mouth slackened as the seconds ticked by. She put a hand over her mouth, and to Daniel’s horror, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, no,” he muttered and hurried across the sand.

  She held out her palm to stop him. The tears gathered and then spilled over, and she finally dropped her hand from her mouth. “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she whispered.

  She smiled at Quince through her tears. “Thank you so much!” She wrapped her arms around the elderly man, who patted her head affectionately, his own eyes suspiciously bright.

  Daniel pursed his lips together, trying and failing to not feel ridiculously immature. Quince saved him from saying something stupid by murmuring to Isla, “This was all the captain’s doing, truly. He is the one to thank.”

  Daniel nearly scuffed his toe in the sand. “We all did it,” he said, and at the subtle ahem behind him, added, “It was Samson’s idea, originally.”

  She wiped her eyes, shaking her head. “I am not the crying sort, but this is truly lovely, and you are all so gracious and kind. This has been the most wonderful birthday of my life, and I’ve enjoyed every moment.”

  “The celebration continues,” Bonadea said and gestured to the table. “Robert has outdone himself with the meal, and we even have dessert for afterward, followed by dancing, and perhaps a firework or two that I may have found in the cargo hold.”

  A fissure of unease snaked up Daniel’s spine, and he swallowed, forcing himself to smile and gesture for the group to help themselves to the food. He wasn’t aware there had been fireworks in his cargo hold. He glanced at Lewis, who met his eye with a shrug. His friend didn’t smile, though, and Daniel wondered if Lewis also struggled with the strange aftereffects of battle. He took a deep breath and tried to shove his feelings aside. Tonight’s celebration was for Isla, and she was thrilled with it. He was going to enjoy it with her if it killed him.

  The group filled their plates, sat around the fire, chatted, and laughed. Even Crowe managed a smile or two, but mostly remained silent. Since Isla’s conversation with him the night before, he’d refrained from his usual cutting remarks to the others, especially the three shifters. And while he’d not appeared for a few hours after Daniel’s invitation that morning, Crowe had joined them aroun
d noon to help with Isla’s birthday cake. He’d arrived in time for the oven fire, and the fact that he hadn’t turned around and gone immediately back to his cabin or mocked Daniel mercilessly was to his credit. He had helped throughout the day when asked and had replied when directly engaged in conversation.

  Daniel retrieved one of the water pitchers and refilled glasses as Isla complimented everyone repeatedly on the dinner and the cozy setting. He looked at Samson, who regarded him with one raised brow as if to say, “You see? Was I not correct?” Daniel reluctantly smiled and gave his assistant a small salute.

  Daniel ate absently, his attention focused on Isla. She was joy personified, and she held court with the odd assortment of gentlemen as would an accomplished queen. Yet unlike royalty, Isla was one of them. She understood them, knew them, especially Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis. Had he not seen the results of her work personally, Daniel might not have believed it. They were calmer when they were with her. More relaxed. She even affected him, Daniel realized. As he listened to her voice, her light laugh, he felt some of his anxiety diminish.

  It was replaced with a different sort of stress, however, as his heart beat faster. He wanted to truly be the pirate who could throw her over his shoulder and take her to the waterfall and kiss her senseless. Knowing she would respond in kind had him wondering if perhaps he was sitting too close to the fire. The night was suddenly quite warm, and he would have tugged on his cravat, but he wasn’t wearing one. She must have known he was staring at her like a besotted fool. She smiled at Lewis for offering to take her empty plate and met Daniel’s eyes, her expression softening.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, and he nodded, his mouth dry.

  “Cake!” Quince, who seemed possessed of energy belonging to a man half his age, stood and motioned to the group. “It is time for the birthday wishes! I do hope somebody remembered the candles.”

  Isla laughed and took Quince’s arm, and they all made their way to the table where Quince removed the towel with a flourish. The cake, praise be to heaven, stood gloriously unharmed beneath the dome, and Isla’s eyes rounded with delight.