by Tina Donahue
Of course, he and his men would want to know the correct location first or their preparations would be for naught. Tristan’s charts held the key to truth and deception…as soon as Royce could get to them.
His spirits rose. Perhaps he could draw this out until he found the perfect solution. If one existed. In any event, as long as he kept in reasonable contact with Bishop, he had a chance at success.
Simone slid her hand up his thigh.
He smiled. “What is it?”
“The storm is quiet, my potion mixed. I should leave now for the chick and medicine stop.”
“Medical stopper. You can tell Tristan we want to try your potion on the creature to make certain the mixture is safe for people.”
“I will.” She kissed him deeply. “Work hard until I return so we can enjoy other things later and definitely.”
He laughed. “I will. Promise.”
She draped a pigskin over her head and hurried outside.
Royce slapped wind-blown papers down, then filled his sheet with false starts and phrases he crossed out. He grabbed another paper and selected each word carefully before writing it, wanting to convey an optimistic yet cautious mood, while also keeping the message short enough to fit in the tube.
Not once did he offer an apology for taking so long to respond. Bishop crushed those he could cow, responding best to men he feared.
Before Royce and Bishop’s relationship ended, the swine would be sorry he’d hatched this plan.
With a rough outline of what he had to say, Royce perfected the words repeatedly, filling this sheet and another.
His fingers cramped. He read what he’d written:
B. B.
Arrived. T and D here as suspected. Pirate hideaway. 80 plus armed men. No natives. Shore watched constantly. Head-on attack impossible. Stealth best. Exact location unknown. Pinpointed isle proved incorrect. Storm swept me to correct one. T’s charts hard to access. Will send location when possible.
R. H.
Chapter 9
The weather cleared that evening, moon heavy and bright, stars twinkling by the hundreds.
Royce grinned hard enough to make his cheeks hurt, but didn’t trust his good luck. For hours, he sat on the windowsill, alert to any change, dreading even the wispiest cloud. Islanders’ voices floated through the trees, fading as the men said their farewells to each other. A cough sounded close to the mansion. Foliage rustled farther away, that individual striding to the point, most likely to keep watch. Simone had said Tristan gave the men his glass to check the distant sea for intruders.
Given Tristan’s vigilance, it was a miracle no one guarded Royce any longer, and he wasn’t about to waste his chance.
He closed the shutter, casting the room in deeper shadows. Silvery light spilled through the seams but wasn’t enough to help. Once he’d groped his way to the bed, he retrieved his pouch from beneath it, then his message that he’d slipped between the mattress and another slat. After some difficulty, he rolled the paper tightly enough to slip into the container, returned the others to their hiding place, and kept the prepared missive under his pillow.
Despite his fatigue, sleep didn’t come easily, too many possible complications besieging him. The air was still close and muggy.
He tossed for what seemed hours and woke with a start, surprised he’d drifted off.
Faint light at the windows told him the morning had barely begun or the damn clouds and rain had returned. He yanked back the shutter and sagged against the sill. Dawn broke, golden light streaking the blessedly clear sky, the wind mild. Hurriedly, he washed, combed his hair, and secured the tube to loose threads inside his waistband. His shirt hid the thing further.
Naked feet slapped the floor outside his room. Simone burst inside, her smile as bright as her yellow cloth. “Did you see the sky?”
“I did.”
She threw herself into his arms and kissed him breathless. He did the same to her, his joy and hope unsurpassed. This had to be a new beginning where loving her and succeeding in his family’s rescue proved equally possible.
Simone had become his future. He couldn’t imagine spending a day without her smiles, sweet voice, heat, and scent. He had no idea how he’d stay here, or return to her if he left, but he had to try.
She hugged him, then bounced like an excited child. “The sky is a good omen. Baylee’s infant waited till now to come so the sun could bring good fortune.”
“Then what are you doing here, wasting time with me? You must hurry to the birthing room to make certain all is well.”
“I have my materials ready.” Her brow furrowed. “I never waste my time with you.” She stroked his cock.
He leaned into her. “No, you do not.”
“We have other trouble.”
“Gavra?” He prayed the problem couldn’t be worse than her disapproval.
“Not her…well maybe. Has she said something to you?”
“I only see her when I go through the kitchen.”
Simone wagged her finger. “Never go in there again. Climb out the window in here to get to the courtyard. The new trouble is the priest should be here for the birth. Tristan warned him not to visit the other isles. Our infants need him to bless them. The weather has kept him away.”
“And will bring him back once it remains fair long enough for his journey. Until then, the bébé will have you to see to its good health. Won’t it?”
“Of course. I have to go.” She kissed him soundly. “I’ll miss you while I tend to Baylee. Today, we have a celebration of new life. You must be there too.”
“At your side, the moment you’re through.”
Her luminous smile lightened his mood further. She tore from the room.
Royce checked the ground outside his window. Slimy muck. The hall was coolish, clean, and deserted. Close to the dining area, he held his breath, praying Tristan and the others weren’t there yet. Their expected conversation would keep him from his plan.
No one was about. Dishes and food absent.
In the kitchen, Gavra stopped kneading dough. The other women glanced at him, then looked away.
Royce inclined his head. “Bonjour. I need to tend Edward’s pets. Have a lovely day.” He strode through the room to the storage area. Children giggled and shrieked in the courtyard, men laughed, women chattered, none close to here.
Alert to possible intruders, he turned away from the door, broke the thread around the metal tube, and quickly selected the largest bird.
It writhed, trying to free itself.
Royce’s pulse raced. He stroked its feathers. “Easy. Didn’t mean to hold you so tightly.”
After a seeming eternity, the creature settled, allowing him to slip the tube on its leg and to hold it to his chest, his hand hiding the cylinder. He edged outside. Islanders gathered in the courtyard. Men hauled out long tables and benches. Children jumped in puddles. Women scolded gently.
He sprinted past an opening in the courtyard walls to the forest, deliberately choosing the opposite direction from the beach and the man who guarded it. Royce put a fair distance between himself and the mansion, its white façade barely visible through the heavy foliage.
The sun broke free of the earth and spilled through the trees.
Breathing hard, he turned from the light and lifted the bird. “Please get there. Do not fail me.”
There’d be no way to know, of course, if it had completed the journey. Royce could only hope.
Icy dread filled him. He pushed the emotion away and released the creature.
It took wing instantly, drenched in the brilliant rays, and flew west, as it must, to return to its proper home.
No birds of prey followed.
He shaded his face. Against the brightening sky, the creature became a speck, then faded from sight. Relief washed over him, followed by renewed worry. He remained longer than he should, fearful the thing would return here and force him to do this
again or choose another bird.
His prolonged wait merely made him a curious object for the lizards to skitter around. He returned the same way he’d come and stopped abruptly.
James and Tristan stood at the storage room entrance, peering inside.
Good God, they couldn’t have seen anything. They would have run after him and shot.
Braced for the worst, Royce forced himself to join them. Neither man wore a shirt but each had a pistol beneath his belt.
Tristan looked over. “Where have you been?”
His stomach clenched. “There.” He pointed at the trees behind him. “Relieving myself. Isn’t that allowed here?” He feigned surprise.
James’s expression remained as unreadable as Tristan’s. “We have chamber pots for that.”
“Yes, I know. But since I was tending Edward’s pets, the forest was closer than my bedchamber.”
Tristan glanced at the courtyard. “We need you to help the men set up tables and such for the celebration. Think you can handle that?”
“I’m used to hard labor. In fact, I welcome it.”
James smiled. “You are an odd one, aren’t you?”
“Simply trying to get along and be civilized.”
“Ah, a word my wife adores.” Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Make certain you never do anything vulgar to displease her. She’s had enough trouble refining me.”
James clamped Tristan’s shoulder. “Which she hasn’t come close to doing, my friend.”
“True. She actually prefers me as I am. Not you two, though. Watch your step or I’ll let her thrash you soundly.”
Royce chuckled, pleased to be included in the banter. When Tristan and James let down their guard, they were easy men to like. To become their friend was a worthy goal and seemingly possible on such a splendid day.
He matched the islanders’ jovial spirits, helping where needed. Most accepted his presence easily.
Not Adamo. He stood across from Royce, a children’s table held between them despite Adamo’s limp arm. He made up for his infirmity by using his chest to brace the furniture and gripped the side in his uninjured hand, muscles bulging.
No way to carry a table.
Royce sensed Adamo wouldn’t appreciate anyone pointing that out, or telling him that he wasn’t man enough to help. To make things easier on him, Royce took most of the weight on himself.
Rowdy laughter and conversation surrounded them. They were silent. Mindful of the mushy ground, Royce sidestepped the mud. Adamo stepped in it. His foot slid backward, knee bending, the table careening his way.
“Hold on, I have it!” Royce reared back and dropped the table to the side. The blasted thing was heavy enough to break a rib or two if it fell on someone.
He offered Adamo his hand. “You all right?”
“Oui.”
“Good. Now, aren’t you glad you didn’t shoot me in the back?”
Adamo sniffed. “I had to stop you. You refused to stay put. Even little ones are better at obeying orders.”
“I agree. I put you through a lot when this is your home, not mine, and I’m glad you’re here to protect it and me.” He offered his hand in friendship.
Adamo accepted, grip firm, his crooked smile faint at first, then wide. “Your strength is like an islander’s.”
“It will never match yours, I can assure you. What say we get this table to its proper place and then work on the benches?”
“I can carry each by myself.”
“Excellent. I’ll sit by the palms and relax while you do everything. You are a good man.”
“Zola tells me I boast too much. She may be right if you sit as I work.”
They laughed.
“Is Zola your woman?”
“She wants to be.” He flushed. “I like her. She’s sweeter than honey and smells better than any flower. I should have chosen her instead of Canela.” His smile faded. “You know about her?”
“Simone told me a little. Zola sounds wonderful, exactly what a good man needs. I wish you two great happiness.”
“This time I trust what I know is right. I’ll protect Tristan and this island to my death if I must.”
Royce prayed matters didn’t come to that.
Simone waved from the birthing chamber. He returned her smile. “Is everything all right in there?”
Adamo bumped his shoulder. “Never ask a woman that. They will tell you and tell you and tell you.”
“I know. It’s bloody difficult to get a word in edgewise sometimes. Do you mind that they talk so much?”
He chuckled. “No. Do you?”
“With the right woman, never.”
Simone called out, “The infant wants to come. Baylee wants to wait.” A shriek tore from the room. “We will have to see who wins.”
“I’m wagering on the infant.”
“Me too.” On the next screech, she ducked back inside.
Royce helped Adamo set up benches. Together they spread banana leaves and palm fronds over the dampened ground, as the men had done in other areas, then brought out more tables, emptying a room that stored the furniture.
Sweaty and winded, Royce plopped on a bench. “I need to rest.”
Adamo sat. “We did much but will do more once you can. Rest as long as you want.”
“We both should.”
They shared a glance and smiled.
High-pitched laughter rang from behind. Royce looked over and stood. “What are you doing?”
Four young boys stopped, his cages held between them. The tallest one smiled. He was possibly six or seven like the others. “While we celebrate, the creatures should too.”
“Put those down. Now.”
They dropped the cages. The birds beat their wings. Hens squawked.
Tristan crossed the courtyard and stopped at Royce’s side. “Best not to use a sharp tone with the children. They’re not used to our English ways. The islanders are far more tolerant with their offspring. What’s the matter?”
Royce pointed. “The boys brought Edward’s pets out here. They should be in the storage room.”
“Why? Creatures need fresh air and sunlight, the same as we do.”
“Yes, of course. But the children will get curious and may open the cages. What then?”
“The things will be free as they were meant to be, rather than caged. I would think they’d be healthier that way.”
“They could escape.”
“To where? The hens will surely stay in the courtyard near their food. I’d wager the birds will do the same.”
Not likely when their true home was in Mozambique, their memories urging them to wing back there for a meal. “I don’t mind the hens going loose. You’re right, they won’t fly away, but I can’t take a chance on the birds. Edward babied them. They’d have no chance in the trees with falcons, eagles, and buzzards about. I need to keep them safe, and have, by only setting them loose in the storage room while I clean their cage. Will you please tell the children not to fool with them?”
Tristan related the message firmly but kindly.
The boys grew solemn and nodded.
Tristan ruffled the shortest lad’s hair, then regarded Royce. “Is it all right if they free the hens or would you rather do it?”
“They can. I’ll return the birds and the empty cage to where they should be.”
Younger children chased the chickens around their new home.
Royce put the cages where they belonged and sagged against the doorframe, his lies and panic about discovery draining him more than the physical work he’d done. He envied how easily the islanders interacted. No guile or subterfuge. Simply decent people living their lives.
The English could learn much from them. He already had.
This island was more home to him than London could ever be.
* * * *
Diana embraced Simone. “Vous êtes une merveille. Nous ne pouvions pas faire sans vous.”
You are a wonder. We couldn’t do without you.
Given how easily the words had glided off Diana’s tongue, Simone suspected Tristan had told her what to say to keep from struggling as she usually did. “Merci. You should tell Baylee the same thing. She did all the work to birth such a beautiful daughter.”
Diana’s smile faltered as it always did when she didn’t understand what an islander said. “Ah, oui.”
Laure placed the infant in Diana’s arms for her to present to the others. An island custom.
She stepped out of the room. Men cheered. Women smiled and wept.
Simone leaned against the jamb, legs unsteady from too much joy. She’d delivered a perfect new child to a healthy mother and had Royce waiting for her. He stood next to Tristan, James, and Adamo, belonging there. As much a part of this island as she’d always been.
Catching her eye, Royce winked.
She blushed hotly and looked back into the room.
Gavra avoided Simone’s gaze.
She hurt from their bickering, but also had her own life to live. “If Baylee needs me, will you call?”
“You should stay here and tend her.”
Baylee slept, mouth open, perspiration dampening her face. “She needs no healing.”
Gavra dropped soiled towels into a basket.
Simone joined Royce. Women rushed into and out of the kitchen carrying baskets of rice bread, bananas, grapes, and pineapples. Men handled trays laden with roasted beef, bacon, and fish.
Peter ran up to Tristan. “Time for the spirits? Or is it too early?”
The sun hadn’t dipped to the trees.
“Go on. The infant didn’t wait and neither will we.”
James sighed. “I best pace myself. Last time that I imbibed nearly did me in.”
“I recall that.” Tristan bumped James’s arm. “I doubt any of us will forget it.”
Royce leaned down to Simone. “What happened?”
“Most had too many spirits and slept late the next day. Pirates attacked.” She lowered her voice further to keep Adamo from overhearing. “The ones Canela brought. Come. Time to feast.”
Adamo and Zola sat to the left of Simone and Royce, James on the right, saving a place for Gavra. Tristan, Diana, Peter, and Laure faced them.