Xavier strode away before either of them could question him further.
Chapter Eighteen
FAIRE ISLE WAS NOT A TRUE ISLAND. IT WAS CONNECTED TO the mainland by a narrow causeway. But time and tide were slowly eroding the rocky stretch. Only the most intrepid of riders ventured across it now and none dared attempt it during a storm. Both horse and rider were far too likely to end up in the sea.
Sheltered beneath a stand of trees, Xavier gazed in that direction, wistfully, it seemed to Jane. But as she drew nearer, she realized it was not the causeway that claimed his attention, but the sails of a small carrack, growing more distant by the minute as the winds bore it back across the channel toward Brittany.
Xavier’s face wore such a look of longing, Jane’s footsteps faltered. Word on Faire Isle spread fast and she had already listened to much speculation regarding the two men Xavier had drunk with at the Passing Stranger.
They surely must be members of his crew, coming to bring him word that the Miribelle had survived the storm. His ship was waiting for him. His men had returned on that carrack making its way across the channel. Obviously Xavier wished he was with them.
Jane was certain only one thing could have held him back, Xavier’s stubborn sense of obligation to her. Much as she respected him for that and was grateful, she took no pleasure in the thought.
Getting oneself with child was a pathetic way to hold on to a man. She wished she could smile and convince him that all was well with her, that her flow had finally come. But she was such a poor liar, he would see through her in a minute.
As the carrack faded farther into the distance, Xavier’s expression waxed more despondent. Jane judged it might be best not to intrude upon him at this moment. But before she could retreat, he glanced round and saw her. His countenance lightened.
“Jane.” He smiled and extended his hand to her in a way she doubted any woman would have been able to resist.
She approached him shyly. As soon as she came within range, he seized hold of her. They were not that far out of view of some of the cottages near the village green.
Xavier drew her deeper within the shade of the trees before bending closer to steal a kiss. It was chaste compared to the ones they had shared that night atop the cliff, but Jane felt a warm tide of color surge into her cheeks.
“I—I am sorry,” she said a little breathlessly. “I don’t mean to pry but I heard that you met with some gentlemen from the mainland today.”
Xavier smiled wryly. “I don’t think that is a word that I would ever use to describe Jambe and Pietro. But yes, I have finally been contacted by some of my crew.”
“Then your ship is safe.”
“No.” Xavier released her hand and paced a few steps away. He stared out at the channel, an empty look in his eyes.
“The Miribelle is gone, wrecked on the reefs near St. Malo.”
“Oh, Xavier.”
He shrugged. “At least my crew survived. The Miribelle was not much of a ship. Timbers rotting, she leaked like a sieve. One could hardly even call her seaworthy anymore, so it is no great loss.”
His pose of indifference did not fool Jane. She knew full well how much that ship had meant to him. She had heard it in his voice, seen it in the glow of his eyes when he spun tales of his voyages. The Miribelle’s name had rolled caressingly off his tongue, making Jane feel absurdly jealous at times.
She knew Xavier well enough to realize that he would not welcome any outpouring of sympathy. She contented herself with squeezing his hand and murmuring, “I—I am so sorry.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said gruffly. As he carried her hand to his lips, she thought he looked grateful for her restraint.
After a moment, she ventured to ask, “What will you do now?”
“That rather depends on you.” He searched her face questioningly and she knew what he wanted to hear.
She tried to smile and summon up a lie, but she ended up by miserably shaking her head.
His face fell, but he strove to conceal his disappointment. “Ah well, it is still early days as yet.”
“Yes,” she agreed. She felt so torn herself. The sensible part of her argued that she would avoid a great deal of trouble if her flow would but start. But another part of her, the part that had buried a stillborn babe and never cradled another in her womb, longed to bear Xavier’s child, come what may. Confused by the tangle of her own feelings, she sought to change the subject.
“You were not the only one who received ill tidings from that carrack today.”
“Oh?”
“I had a letter from my cousin who lives in Paris.”
“The one who cast you off when you became an exile? What the devil does she want?”
Jane winced. Xavier’s sentiments, although more blunt, were an uncomfortable echo of what her own had been upon receiving the note. Shamed by her uncharitable attitude, she sought to make excuses for her cousin.
“Abby was fond enough of me when we were girls. I am sure her attitude of late has been formed by her husband.”
“Would you have abandoned your only cousin at your husband’s command?”
“I hope I would not, but women are obliged to obey their husbands.”
“Perhaps I may have cause to remind you of that one day, lady.”
She responded to his teasing with a prim frown. “In any case, Abby is in a dreadful state. Her husband, George, has ever been a feckless man, an incorrigible gamester. He ran up so much debt in Paris, he was obliged to flee the city. He abandoned his poor wife. Abby writes that she has fallen quite ill from all the stress. She wants me to come to her.”
“I daresay marooned sailors want kegs of rum. That doesn’t mean they are going to get them.”
When Jane did not respond, Xavier studied her face. “Never tell me you are thinking of going to Paris.”
Jane shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. He seized her chin, forcing her to look up.
“You are! Damnation, Jane.”
“She is the last of my family. It would be my duty—”
“Your duty be damned. You are under no obligation to Abigail Benton. That woman threw you off.”
Jane regarded him earnestly, trying to will him to understand. “I have never fashioned my behavior after what others do. I must look to my own conscience. If I am not with child, I should go to Abby. It—it would be the right thing to do.”
When he scowled at her, clearly exasperated, Jane offered him a wan smile. “I must do something. I cannot remain forever on Faire Isle.”
“Why not?”
“I—I don’t know. Perhaps because it is too wild and strange, too different from anything I have ever known.”
He sighed and traced his fingers gently over the curve of her cheek. “Ah, Jane, you remind me of a little wren caught in a cage. Your door has been left open, but still you won’t come out, too afraid to fly free.”
“Freedom often comes with too high a price.”
“You mean our present predicament. I know you have been often at church. No doubt making confession and doing penance for the night you spent in my arms.”
He tried to sound teasing, but she thought he looked a little wounded by the notion.
The church of St. Anne’s was little more than a chapel, all that remained of the convent that had once been situated on Faire Isle. Jane had been on her knees there every morning, praying, but even she was not sure what she wanted. To be safe and respectable again or to be blessed with a child regardless of the consequences. Could even God find a way to answer such ambiguous prayers?
“I have been in attendance at St. Anne’s,” she said. “After being denied my faith for so long, the mass is a most precious gift to me, the one blessing of being forced into exile.
“But I have not made confession. One can hardly ask for forgiveness and do penance when—” She felt her cheeks flame. “When all one wants is to repeat the sin.”
It was a dangerous thing to admit to Xavier. Perh
aps for once she should have tried harder not to be so honest. His eyes darkened, simmering with heat. He drew her closer and this time the kiss he bestowed upon her was not so chaste.
The man’s mouth was sin itself, his tongue hot and thrusting, stirring her to respond with the same madness that had seized her that night atop the cliffs. She fought against it this time, although it took all her will to break free of his embrace.
“And—and what of you?” she asked striving for a normal tone as though the man had not just kissed her senseless. “If there is no babe, I am sure you will be wishing to be at sea again.”
Xavier blinked and frowned like a man who had just been snapped back to reality. “Even if you are with child, I shall have to seek employment aboard a ship eventually. I must get our living somehow, and the way of the corsair is all that I know to make our fortune. Not that I seem to be that good at it.”
“You—you were not a successful pirate?”
Xavier laughed. “I did well enough, but any wealth I gained has always trickled through my fingers. It has never been about the pursuit of gold for me.”
“What then? Revenge against the Spanish?”
“Perhaps in part.” Xavier appeared a little sheepish, a tinge of color darkening his cheeks. Intrigued, Jane urged him to go on.
Looking embarrassed, he said, “This will sound foolish, but for me, it is about the adventure. When my father took me to the New World, he was content to confine our voyage only to those places other Europeans had gone before.
“But I always chafed to see what was around the next bend of coastline, across the next expanse of uncharted sea. I wanted to be an explorer the like of your Sir Francis Drake, my course ever fixed upon the far horizon.”
Xavier could be so cynical, but his eyes glowed as he spoke, his face almost boyish, softened by such dreams, it made Jane wistful. It had been so long since she had even allowed herself to have any.
If she was the caged wren, Xavier was more like an eagle tethered to the shore and Jane feared she had become the chain.
“Xavier, even if I am with child, there is nothing to hold you here,” she said. “You yourself have pointed out to me how women are freer of convention on Faire Isle. Carole Moreau bore a child out of wedlock, yet here she is still esteemed. She appears to be doing just fine.”
Xavier’s dream-ridden look vanished, his features hardening into stern lines. “Perhaps Carole is, but what of her son? He is not much more than a babe now. But soon he will grow savvy enough to ask about his father. When he realizes he has none to claim him, he will feel the hurt and the shame, I promise you.”
Xavier’s voice constricted with strong emotion. “I realize I am a poor prospect as a husband and father but at least I can spare our son the pain of being a nameless bastard.”
“H-husband?” Jane stammered. “You intend to marry me?”
“Yes, I thought you understood that.” He frowned. “Should I have asked you first? Dropped to one knee and begged for the honor of your hand? I did not think you would require any formal or romantic gesture. You have been wed twice before.”
Yes, but never to a man that she loved, one of her own choosing. For a moment her heart lifted with a surge of joy only to plummet as she recalled that none of this would be of Xavier’s choice.
She shook her head only to be stopped by Xavier seizing her chin.
“Nay, Jane. Don’t shake your head at me. I will not be gainsaid. You do not have to worry. I will not be around much to plague you, although—” He pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. “Perhaps I could become a fisherman or seek a place on one of those ships that trade between England and the Netherlands. That way I would not be gone for years at a time.
“I could return to Faire Isle to visit my sister and satisfy my wife’s needs.” He cast Jane a wicked look that caused her to blush again. “And I could teach our boy a few things, how to sail, to swim, and to wield a sword.”
“Our boy?” Jane demanded. “What if it be a girl?”
Xavier looked daunted for a moment, but then he grinned. “If she would prove to be anything like my spitfire nieces, I would be obliged to teach her how to fight as well.”
She laughed in spite of herself, the future that Xavier painted all too tempting if only she could believe he wanted it as well. But she feared he would always regret the loss of his far horizons and grow to resent both her and the child in time.
But when she tried to reason with him, he stopped her mouth with a kiss. “Spare me any more of your logic, my lady. You ought to know by now I am completely ruthless and unprincipled when it comes to gaining my own way. I will march you to church at sword point if need be. You shall not be rid of me so easily.”
That was the problem. She didn’t want to be. When he drew her closer, she subsided, resting her head against his shoulder with a deep sigh. It seemed pointless to argue about an event that would never happen, a child that might not even exist. Instead of fretting over the future as she too often did, she should simply savor the moment, having Xavier with her. It likely would not be for long.
Xavier brushed his lips against her brow. A man could do far worse than to spend the rest of his days with a good woman like Jane Danvers. Even the prospect of the babe no longer seemed so alarming to him.
He longed to be back striding the deck of a ship, but the call of the open sea was not as simple as it once had been. He would miss Jane with a stronger ache than if he had parted with his right hand.
Was this … was this what it felt like to love a woman?
The question itself should have been enough to make him shy away from her. But he only released her when he thought he espied someone coming. He had done his best to spare Jane the embarrassing speculations of the other women of Faire Isle. The one he glimpsed approaching was the last he would have wished to catch him kissing Jane.
Meg. He expected that she was bearing down upon him, to wrest Jane away in a storm of indignation. But Meg didn’t seem to have noticed either of them. The girl was too bent upon her own purpose.
With a nervous look over her shoulder, she veered off onto another path, disappearing into the trees. She was obviously up to something she shouldn’t be. Xavier had been in enough devilment himself to recognize all the signs.
THE COVE WAS SECLUDED FROM PORT CORSAIR BY THE FOREST of fir trees, a place where Meg could find the solitude she craved. She felt she had not had a quiet moment to think since the excitement of being named the next Lady of Faire Isle.
She took off her stockings and shoes and seated herself on a flat rock near the edge of the shore. She dangled her feet, allowing the waves to lap over them.
The water was cold even at this time of year. Meg shivered, but welcomed the bracing chill with a tired sigh. She had discovered that elation could be as exhausting as despair. Perhaps because her happiness was tempered by the constant fear it might all be snatched away from her in a heartbeat.
The women on Faire Isle had become more receptive to her, although Meg knew that owed more to Carole’s influence and Seraphine’s persuasions than any of Meg’s own merits.
Ariane assured her that she would win them all over in time. Meg only hoped that that was true, but time was not something she was sure that she would have.
She drew her crystal from her pouch, the glass orb sparkling in the sunlight. Meg had not consulted it for weeks. Ariane had changed her destiny that night upon the cliffs, or so Meg desperately wanted to believe. But she needed to be sure, so she had determined to consult her crystal one last time.
Meg drew in a deep breath, peering into her scrying glass, straining hard to focus. She stared until pinpricks of light dazzled her eyes before coalescing into an image. She braced herself, fearing that once more she might see herself being handed over to the Dark Queen’s soldiers, her shadowy betrayer lurking behind her.
But the scene that unfolded before her eyes was worse. She saw a sick old woman laid out upon a bed with costly hangings. Meg strained
harder, honing her vision until the woman’s face came into focus. It was the Dark Queen and she was dying …
Meg wanted to shrink away from the malevolent face glaring up at her from the pillows. But Catherine’s withered hand clutched at Meg’s wrist. The queen’s voice was a weak rasp as she accused, “You! You have done this to me.”
“No,” Meg cried. “You brought this upon yourself. I never wished you any harm. Why could you not leave me alone?”
The hard light in the queen’s eyes dimmed to a look of sheer desperation. “Help me. I am so afraid of the darkness, sinking into the grave alone, forgotten. I know you have the power, child. Undo all of this, please.”
“I can’t,” Meg whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “It is too late … for both of us.”
“See anything interesting in there?” The voice drawled close to her ear, snapping Meg’s concentration and driving her heart against her ribs.
She whipped around to find Xavier bending over her. The water splashed as she leaped up. She nearly slipped on the slick sand and would have fallen if Xavier had not seized her arm.
Righting herself, Meg wrenched away from him. She panted, glaring at him.
“How—how dare you? What do you think you are doing, spying on me?”
He appeared unfazed by her temper or her righteous indignation. He cocked one brow. “The question ought to be, what are you doing?”
Meg moved to hide the crystal, but she realized it was far too late for that. “What—what I do is none of your affair.”
Her haughty assertion was ruined when she could not help quavering, “Are you going to tell Ariane?”
“As you say, it is none of my affair. I am not your keeper, thank heaven.”
Twilight of a Queen Page 23