by Tina Donahue
“Very good.” Bishop gestured to the crew.
They raised their pistols at Royce. The man nearest him seized his gun and shoved it beneath his belt.
Bishop’s eyes narrowed. “Pity you won’t be joining us. I’ll send my condolences on your death to your mother and—”
“Damnation.” A mariner pointed his pistol. “There. In the bushes.” He fired.
An islander dove for cover.
Bishop’s men shot into the blackness. Screams rose. Someone hit? Dying?
A deafening screech followed, the islanders’ voices joined in a battle call demanding blood, retribution, justice.
Everyone seemed to shoot at once, the explosions deafening.
Bishop pivoted to the longboat.
Royce slammed him with the torch, igniting his shirt.
He bellowed and swatted the flames.
A bullet whizzed past.
Royce ducked and groped for Bishop’s pistol. The bastard fought him for it.
The weapon flew out of reach.
“Royce, here!” Tristan tossed a gun.
He caught it and advanced on Bishop.
The swine lurched back.
Royce followed. “This is for Simone, my family, and Diana.”
Bishop dropped to the sand and crouched like the coward he was. “Shoot him, you bloody fools!”
“They can’t. They’re busy dying.” Royce shot Bishop square in his forehead.
He dropped back.
Natives felled the intruders nearest them. More islanders swarmed from the vegetation, pressing in on the crewmembers. Several dropped their pistols and sank to their knees, arms raised.
Others fought.
James shot one. Adamo raced down the path and fired on another, hitting him. Peter wrapped his arm around a man’s throat and wrestled him to the sand.
“James!” Tristan pointed at the path. An escaping crewmember pushed past Adamo and raced to the point.
Simone shot out from the trees and swung a large branch, hitting the man’s belly. He doubled over. She pummeled his head and back.
Royce tore up the path and pulled the limb from her. He pointed his pistol at the mariner. The man didn’t move.
“I felled him.” She smiled.
Royce wanted to scream. “What are you doing here?”
“Protecting you. You’re bleeding.”
Blood covered his left arm. He didn’t recall getting shot nor did he feel any pain. “Hide in the forest until I return. I must go back.”
She grabbed him around his middle and held on. “Tristan and my people have the others.”
Several men were on their knees, hands raised. Some lay dead. Island men surrounded the injured, their pistols, cutlasses, or spears lifted to keep the mariners from trying anything.
Tristan looked over. “Peter.”
“Aye.”
“Come with James and me.”
They ran up the path. Tristan stopped at Royce’s side and frowned at the blood. “How badly are you injured?”
“Not much. I can move my arm and fingers.”
“Go back to the house and tell Diana we had success here. We’ll ride to the ship now to help the other men.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. Stay there. Take Peter with you.”
“What? Me? Why? I’m going with you.”
Tristan clamped Peter’s shoulder. “You faced the worst and came through unscathed. That’s only because I shot the bloody bastard who was getting ready to kill you while you were on the sand with the other mariner, acting like you two were the only ones on God’s earth. I can’t watch you and save my own hide in the bargain, so don’t press your luck. I’m certainly not doing so with mine. Anything happens to you, Diana will never forgive me. You know how she is. I’d rather face a pistol than her wrath. Go.” He shoved him. “Where’s Adamo?”
Simone pointed to the beach.
Tristan shouted, “Adamo, you’re in charge. Please have the men fetter the prisoners and bring them to the courtyard.”
“What do we do with the dead ones?”
“Put them in the sea. Bishop first.”
“May he rot in Hell.” Royce wrapped his arm around Simone’s shoulders and led her to the mansion.
* * * *
Simone treated Royce’s injury in the dining area. The wound was shallow and stopped bleeding quickly. Nevertheless, she trembled. “You keep getting hurt here. You have to stop doing that.”
He laughed.
Diana and Gavra glared at him. Their men were still outside, facing danger. Both women circled the table. Round and round they went, making Simone dizzy. “There were only twenty white men on the ship. Far less than those who came to the beach. Tristan and James will not get hurt.”
Royce frowned at Simone. “How do you know that?”
“I talked to my goddess. She saved you. She listens to me again.”
“No. I meant, how did you know how many men would be on the ship?”
Simone shrugged. “I listened to you and Tristan.”
“You eavesdropped.”
“What is this eavesdrop?”
“You damn well know. You also disobeyed me and came to the point.”
“I stopped the man who ran away. I protected you.” She gave him a stern look. “I can do what I want.”
He sagged in his chair.
Gérard rushed into the room, dark hair flying. “Tristan sent me.”
“Why?” Peter stood. “Does he want me to join him?”
Diana shoved Peter back down. “What did Gérard say about Tristan?”
Royce translated.
Gavra ran up. “Is James all right?”
Gérard nodded. “No one is hurt. Once they see to the white man’s ship, they’ll return here.”
* * * *
In the courtyard, Simone treated the injured islanders and crewmembers by torchlight. Royce stood guard, protecting her. When it came to healing, she proved a stronger person than he’d ever be. She didn’t flinch at blood or hesitate to dig bullets from arms, legs, or shoulders.
Gavra and Follie offered the men food and water.
When given the option of staying on this isle or lifelong service to natives on another, seven prisoners chose to remain here. Of those, Heath Garrison was the most civilized, a strapping young Englishman. After thanking Follie for the food, he asked if he could help his mates in any way.
“Stay put.” Royce pointed his pistol. “You and the others have to prove yourselves before you can move freely.”
Heath lifted his hands. “Understood.” He ate quietly, his gaze averted from the females.
Many of the unwed ones peeked at him.
Royce sensed trouble. The same he’d faced when Simone had stolen his good sense and heart with little effort.
Tristan joined him. “We need to have a word. James, Peter, and the other men will keep Simone safe while you’re inside. Come on.”
They went into the library. Tristan closed the door. “Thank you for killing Bishop.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to if not for you. Why didn’t you take the shot?”
“You’d earned it by being a good man and friend. I’ve been speaking to Diana…or rather she’s been speaking to me.” Tristan moved a bookcase away from the wall as Simone had done with the armoire. He pulled out a red silk bag and tossed it on the table. “That’s yours.”
“What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and pearls as big as birds’ eggs spilled out, along with gold and silver jewelry. A fortune. “Is this for killing Bishop?”
“It’s to free your family and bring them back to England. That should easily support your mother for life and allow your sisters to move in the right circles so eligible gentleman will offer marriage.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think?
”
The gems were larger than any Royce had seen. “This is too much.”
“I have far more. I hoped to give everything to Diana. She only wants the diamond marriage collar and me. About Simone.”
Royce straightened, prepared to fight if need be. “I love her. Not that it’s any of your business. Don’t try to talk me out of it. You can’t.”
“I came to that conclusion when I discovered you were using the priest’s room for your trysts. What do you plan to do about her?”
Royce touched an emerald the size of a baby’s fist, a plan forming. “I want to take her with me.”
“To England? You’d expose her to ridicule from those who’ll never be half the person she is. I doubt she’d want to endure that or leave Gavra, even for you.”
“I know and that’s not what I meant. You’ve given me a way out of my dilemma.”
“Which is?”
Royce dropped into a chair. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
Epilogue
The storms had retreated for another season, the surf calm, morning bright, sun warming Simone’s shoulders.
Diana and Gavra hugged her, their swollen bellies getting in the way. She laughed as they did.
Tristan and Royce spoke to islanders who traded here. Today, their boats held prisoners who would spend their lives in service to natives they’d wanted to harm, as Bishop did.
Diana stroked Simone’s cheek. “Soyez bien.” Be well.
She nodded.
Gavra blinked back tears. “Come back to us soon.”
“What else? This is my home. Royce’s too. You will grow to love him.”
“Are you giving me a choice?”
“No.” When the priest had returned to this isle, Simone and Royce stood before him, promising their futures to each other. Royce slipped the marriage collar around her throat. Their child grew inside her. “Gavra, you must make certain not to have your infant until we return.”
“How long will you be away?”
“Royce said weeks.”
With the islanders’ help, they were sailing to Mozambique in Bishop’s ship. There, Royce knew an agent he trusted who could get money to Nell, Katie, and his mother to free them. A banker would handle the arrangements for their return to England.
Simone hadn’t understood much of what Royce had said. What mattered was that he wanted her to come with him on this voyage, unable to spend a night apart, and that his loved ones would finally be safe.
Someday they might come here to see him.
He crossed the sand to her, faced shaved, hair tied back, shirt and breeches clean. “Do you ladies need more time to say your farewells?” He spoke in French, then English.
Gavra and Diana hugged Simone again.
At last, they parted. Royce led her to a longboat and swept her into his arms.
She touched her nose to his. “Am I to sit on your lap while the other men row to the ship?”
“I can’t think of a better way to travel.”
“You want them to do all the work?”
“I’ll do some. I have it—I’ll take care of you. That’s my job from now on.”
“And I’ll protect you.”
He laughed, then kissed her deeply, warming her more than the sun, making her his.
Simone melted into him and the world faded away.
Be sure not to miss Book 3 in Tina Donahue’s Pirate’s Prize series
FORBIDDEN DESIRE
Heath Garrison had known only hardship and danger until his capture then liberation on a tropical isle. The days are balmy, food plentiful, and the twins, Netta and Aimee, irresistible. Bare-breasted and guileless, they celebrate life and sexuality in a way Heath has never known. Choosing one over the other won’t be easy. Or necessary.
Sharing is the sisterly thing to do. Enchanted with the virile Englishman, the twins won’t rest until they win his attention and heart, delivering all of them to ecstasy. Too bad pirates have a different idea with the island their intended prize and murder their goal.
A Lyrical Originals novel on sale December, 2017
Learn more about Tina at
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/24772
Chapter 1
Tristan Kent’s island—1718
Heath Garrison swept his spyglass northwest past the Mozambique Channel. Thousands of miles in the distance lay England. Home. Odd word for a place where he’d faced unending struggle and barely survived. Still, a man couldn’t easily dismiss his birthplace, even when compared to this island paradise.
A balmy breeze grazed his naked chest and tugged his hair. Sun poured down. Lush vegetation, the sea’s tang, and flowers perfumed the air.
Or perhaps the sweet fragrance came from elsewhere.
Despite his captors’ innumerable warnings, he inched his glass to Netta and Aimee, island women no more than twenty. Born identical twins, a cruel pirate’s rule had put an end to their exact resemblance.
To Heath, they couldn’t have been more perfect.
He settled the glass on them.
His pulse quickened.
Their backs were to him, their focus on the leaves and flowers they gathered. Wind stirred their dark brown hair that hung straight and long to their waists. Both women wore silk tied low on their lush hips, one’s cloth a deep rose shade, the other’s bright blue. The fabric fluttered above their bare feet.
They abandoned the bush in favor of another.
He edged to the side, careful not to snap a twig that would disturb them. An insect buzzed near his ear. He brushed it away.
White petals overflowed Aimee’s palms. She dropped them into the silk sack Netta held. The difference in their hands gave away their identities.
He edged closer for a better view of Netta’s old wound.
A lemur cackled on its perch. Its companions jumped from tree to tree, rustling branches and leaves.
At the sound, Aimee and Netta turned. Their naked breasts quivered. The enticing nipples pebbled, ideal for a man’s mouth.
Heath’s watered.
Previous warnings rang in his head. He wasn’t to approach, talk to, or even look at the island women. Didn’t matter. Weakened with desire, he couldn’t back away or flee even though they spotted him.
Their lips parted.
Their softened gazes and heightened color showed their approval at seeing him. Willing surrender registered in their dark eyes. Rose bloomed in their light brown cheeks, their skin satiny, flawless with youth, and surely scented with musk. An invitation no sane man could resist. If he didn’t mind being beaten or possibly set adrift from this isle located a week or more from even the most primitive civilization.
Heath lowered his glass. Face down, he called himself a bloody fool for entertaining the idea of enjoying two women at once, much less sisters. This place certainly wasn’t London, but that hardly meant he could behave like a rutting animal.
Dead leaves crackled beneath feet.
He didn’t dare acknowledge Netta and Aimee’s approach or retreat. Wasn’t his business what they did. He pivoted and froze.
Royce Hastings glared. The expression he always reserved for Heath and the other captured mariners. Months before, Heath, his mates, and Benedict Bishop had landed here to take Tristan prisoner. Royce promptly put a bullet in Bishop’s head and the fear of God into most of the crew.
“What are you doing here?” Royce stormed closer and put out his hand. “Give me the glass.”
Heath gripped the instrument. If need be, he’d fight for it. He’d done nothing wrong, except in his thoughts. “It’s mine, as you well know. Tristan allowed me to keep it to watch for intruders.”
“That would be ruthless pirates or worthless mariners like you and those bastards you sailed with. Not Aimee and Netta. What did I tell you about bothering the women?”
Too much. Despite Heath’s background, he wasn’t a schoolboy who needed daily lectures on
how a proper gentleman should behave. Good sense told him nothing would come of his attraction. He’d have more chance to woo King George’s wife Sophia than he would either twin. “I haven’t said a word to them or any woman here, not even to thank the ones who bring me food and drink in exchange for my work. Most think I’m addled or mute.”
“Keep it that way. Leave the islanders to their own people.”
“As you did with Simone?” She was the island’s healer and several months pregnant with Royce’s child.
He rested his palm on the pistol shoved in his breeches waistband. “You dare mention my wife’s name? Do you want to die?”
Heath held up his hands. “I’m not the enemy. I’ve stated repeatedly, I’m with you and everyone else here. Bishop only told us Tristan needed hanging for his piracy. Not once did the swine mention his intent to claim Diana and the treasure here. He certainly didn’t disclose his plan to sell the islanders as slaves. At least not to me. Given what I escaped as a boy, I wouldn’t have signed on for that.”
“So you say. Why should anyone believe you, considering your attack?”
A strange argument coming from a man who’d posed as a shipwrecked merchant to infiltrate the isle for Bishop and help him bring Tristan down. How convenient Royce had forgotten his misstep. “We both came here for less than honorable purposes. Or have you forgotten your role in Bishop’s unending plot to see Tristan dead?”
“I had good reason for what I did.”
According to gossip, to save his mother and sisters servitude and worse in the Colonies. “Indeed. And I sailed to this isle solely because a man must work to eat. My employment was on ships. Unfortunately, I wasn’t born a noble like you.”
“You didn’t have a wastrel father either who lost every farthing to drink, whores, and wagering.”
“How right you are.” Heath smiled pleasantly. “I had no father at all, good or bad. If you find me so distasteful and untrustworthy, allow me to leave when the other islanders come here to trade or we go there.”
The only solution. Heath couldn’t be an outcast for life. His early years proved hopeless enough. To witness other men building their lives and families while he remained alone was inconceivable, especially with Netta and Aimee tempting him. He didn’t think he’d survive their union with men they’d someday love. There wasn’t a thing he could do to change their futures, nor would he approach them in any way. But that didn’t make him a blasted saint without human need. “I must leave during the next visit.”