James was a focal point in the community. The people seemed to genuinely respect him. He was the leader of this group even beyond his captaincy of the ship.
There was no sense of hurry, she noted. The children continued playing on the beach and in the water, while the adults sat around and enjoyed each other’s company. It seemed like a perfectly happy community. Not all of the men had women and families, but they participated in the communal life like everyone else.
This was so very different from what Gemma knew. Her life was filled with social structures, servants, etiquette and rules—none of which applied here, and the smiles and relaxed countenances of these people spoke that the absence of all the things that held her society together served them no harm, if not better.
Later in the afternoon, Gemma walked down on the beach and stood just on the waterline so the water would lap at her bare feet as it reached up on the beach. She would never show her legs and feet under any circumstances in the way she did now, standing here in the water. But there were effectively no rules to comply with and no-one cared if her ankles were showing. Complete absence of judgement was liberating if not a little disconcerting, and Gemma didn’t quite know how to feel about the freedom. She certainly couldn’t think what harm the sight of her feet actually did anyone.
“Come,” she heard a familiar voice behind her, “Let’s walk.”
James had found a linen shirt and his breeches had long since dried and were loose around his knees. Casually, he placed his arm around her shoulder as she joined him for a walk down the beach, away from the cottages and the rest of the people.
“This beach goes on forever,” he said. “Our little community has no real distinguishing features; it is just a place along a very long stretch.”
“I’m not sure I could find it again if I were to get lost. And I’d only have a half chance of eventually finding it depending on which direction I choose to walk in.”
“I highly recommend that you don’t get lost.”
The silence hung in the air as they walked. James felt there was something he needed to say. He needed to explain why he’d brought her here—perhaps then it would make sense to him as well.
“Have you brought someone else here before?” she finally asked as if she could sense what was on his mind.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There was no-one I wanted to bring.” He pulled away from her and sat down on the beach, bringing his elbows around his knees.
“But you brought me.” Sitting down next to him, she folded her legs under her skirt. She was so incredibly delicate in her manners. He knew she could be tough and analytical when she needed to be, then delicate like an intricate marble statue other times. He hadn’t quite figured out the paradox that was Miss Gemma Montague.
“I thought it would be nice, for a while. Do you like it?”
“They seem pretty happy,” she said looking back the way they’d come. “I suppose it is a clever way of letting families be together.”
“It’s a fool’s paradise,” he said, sifting sand through his fingers. He conveyed thoughts he’d never told anyone; thoughts that had plagued him since they’d established this place. “These children will grow up here, maybe too soft, and unable to make their way in the world.”
“I don’t think a happy childhood makes you unfit for the world.”
“You’ve only seen a small part of the world—a sheltered and protected one. Innocence does not provide great armor. And you see it in other people, even when it’s not there.”
“You can say what you wish about my innocence, but it took you on in battle—and won.”
He felt the challenge goad him slightly as she meant it to. Grabbing her legs, he pulled her down sharply until she fell back on the sand and he swung his knee across her until he straddled her upper thighs which were exposed by his quick actions. He had her wrists pinned at the sides of her head. Looking down at her, he saw no fear in her eyes, just amusement. She trusted him and it sent a little frisson of concern through him. He’d told her she could—in intent if not in words—and he’d been furious when she’d shown that she wouldn’t, but now, as she lay beneath him in complete trust, it felt like danger—like he was standing on the ledge of a sheer drop. He tried to clear his mind of the uncomfortable feeling. He had to get back on firmer ground.
“But it seems I have won the war.” Her lips parted slightly, drawing his attention. He wanted to kiss her right now, but the feeling of standing on a ledge lurked just outside his immediate consciousness—he could feel it. “That’s what innocence gets you, stolen by someone like me.”
“Apparently, or so I am told, these are the good things in life.”
His own words came back to him and he felt the impact of them. This was the good thing in life; this might actually be the best thing—equal even with taking command of his first ship. She lay underneath him, glowing as a picture framed by brilliant white sand. Her hair was spread out around her head in its natural form without any interference of style and structure. She was devastatingly beautiful. If she were a mermaid, he would go to his death, he thought.
He’d won the battle, his mind kept repeating to him, and this was what he’d won—a girl with joy and hope in her eyes—hope that he would kiss her. Something in him recognized that he may well be looking down at the most dangerous sight he’d ever encountered. Her eyes were drawing him in and true paradise would be found in her kiss.
This was what he’d fought for over the years and he’d won. “I’m never...” he started, but stopped, having not intended to voice this thought or even quite knowing where it’d come from. He pulled back, got off her hurriedly like she burned. Leaning up on her elbows, she looked at him in confusion. He didn’t know what to do, his heart beat heavily; he could feel it in his chest, hear it in his ears. He stroked his hand through his hair trying to get a hold of himself.
“James?”
She was the precipice and he was in its pull. He needed air; he needed space to think. He stepped away from her; he couldn’t stay right now, something was out of control he needed to get a grip on himself.
He strode down the beach, seeking a place of sanity, of balance, and right now it wasn’t here with her. He needed to deal with the thought that he’d had to stop himself from voicing—that he was never letting her go.
Chapter 25
The jungle seemed to come alive at dusk. The noise clearly showed that there were many creatures great and small living in the vegetation behind them. There were squawks of birds, buzzing of insects and calls of simians. Together, the noise was almost deafening. Gemma wondered how far the jungle stretched behind them as she sat and listened to the jungle’s symphony while others prepared some of the day’s catch on the fire lit along their stretch of beach.
James was discussing something with a few of the men, not far away. She watched him as he gesticulated as he spoke. She didn’t know what had occurred to him when he’d left her so suddenly before. Thinking back on her own actions, she was certain it hadn’t been something she’d said. She saw no evidence of whatever concern had occupied him; he looked relaxed and comfortable here. She could tell he liked being here in this place.
The children were growing sleepy now that their bellies were full. They’d received their meals first and had sat around in groups eating off plates placed in the center of their circles. The playing was done for the day and Gemma watched as a little girl, who couldn’t have been more than three or four sought out her father’s shoulder to sleep on. Her father sat on the sand leaning back on a log and spoke animatedly, which seemed to sooth the girl more than bother her.
The little girl’s cherub face looked heartbreakingly lovely lying on her father’s shoulder. Gemma almost ached with the sight. Someday she could have adorable little children, whose only purpose in life was to play, grow and bask in the comfort of their parents’ arms. These were the important things in life—the good things. Gemma felt like she�
�d forgotten this. Her thoughts turned to her father and how happy they’d been when they’d been together. Their simple life that consisted of just enjoying each other’s company and their interests. She’d forgotten—had been so distracted with grief and trying to establish herself—she’d forgotten that this is what mattered.
They seemed to have achieved that simple happiness here and Gemma appreciated what they’d achieved. The adults were eating and drinking around the fire which seemed to draw the whole community. There were bottles of rum being passed around and everyone seemed to have a cup or drinking vessel of some variety or other.
Gemma wondered if she could live here, in this way—they had the happiness she sought. She looked over at the man who’d brought her here. He’d called her Mrs. Mallory once. If she was his wife, she’d be Mrs. Mallory; she would live here, have children here—children like the little cherub that was resting on their father’s shoulder. It almost felt like the earth wavered a bit at the idea—the idea of staying here in this remote place wasn’t as distressing as she would have thought. She wondered what it would be like to be his wife—be the one waiting on the beach for him as they returned from wherever it was they went. She didn’t know how she felt. It wasn’t a thought she could dismiss, but one she couldn’t immediately define either.
Gemma ate scallops and lobster off her fine china plate filled with the bounty that had been caught in the bay earlier. She also had some fish that had been blackened by the fire. Grilled fruit was sweet and warm, and went very nicely with the gentle flavor of the seafood. The meal was light and it left her feeling full but not weighed down by its heartiness.
Darkness grew and the fire and the moon provided the only light. With time, lanterns lit up the insides of the cottages as children were carried in to their beds.
“Have you had enough?” James asked her, sitting down on a log next to her. The light from the fire showed the angles of his face, but softened his eyes.
“Yes. I’m not sure I have ever eaten a meal like this. Our meals have always been much more formal.”
“We do live quite informally, by choice.”
“So how long do you stay?”
“Normally a few days, then we leave again—sail off for adventure and profit.”
“Am I to stay here?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice carrying little else but a simple answer.
Gemma felt a rush of emotion flow through her. She was to be the one waiting for him upon his return. She didn’t mind, she found. She certainly didn’t want to be a pirate and to experience the things he did in that capacity. She wasn’t comfortable with that part of him, but she knew it was a part of him.
“I cannot take you where we’re going next. You have to stay here. You have the cottage and the others here to help if need be. You will want for nothing,” he continued.
Knowing she could have challenged him about returning her as he promised, she nodded instead. A tension seemed to leave his shoulders as she did. He felt some unease over this, over her acceptance of his proposal. She couldn’t help but to wonder what type of proposal it was, but she was too scared to ask, because she wasn’t sure what kind of answer she wanted or what she would get.
He took her hand lightly and ran his thumb up her finger. It was a slight touch, but she felt it reverberate through every part of her body. She wanted the evening to finish and the night to begin—when it was just the two of them in the darkness of the cottage. Tension filled her insides, setting off a sharp sense of longing for more than the simple touch he gave her now.
Looking around the beach again, she saw that people were settling down after their daily activities. There was nothing left to do now, but to enjoy the evening and welcome the night. This was his place, the community he’d created out of nothing—a place that encapsulated the freedom he held so precious.
“How long were you an indentured servant?” she asked. “You were very young when you ran away. Surely you cannot have been born such?” She knew much of the rage that drove him stemmed from the treatment he’d received.
“No, you are not born such.”
“Were your parents indentured?”
“I’ve never known my father. I was born in Ireland—Dublin, actually. My mother was not. She was poor, but she was never indentured.”
Gemma watched him intently, urging him to continue. There was something missing, she felt, something she didn’t know about if he was indentured at such a young age.
“I was one of the children who were taken,” he said without emotion after a while.
“What do you meant taken?”
“Grabbed off the streets.”
“You can’t be serious? They can’t just take children off the street,” Gemma said, like it was a preposterous idea.
“They do. They grab you, chain you in the hold and sail off. They sell you to landowners in the colonies. I wasn’t the only one. It’s a common practise. Declining a bit, but it still happens.”
Gemma stared at him disbelievingly. “You mean they just kidnapped you? How old were you?”
“Five or six. I’m not sure.”
“That’s awful,” Gemma said, not quite able to comprehend what she was hearing. He wouldn’t have been much older than some of the children here. “That’s wrong!” The idea of someone stealing a child off the street was incomprehensible.
“The world is a cruel place. Now enough of such topics.” He rose and went to flip some fish cooking on sticks over the fire.
Gemma still couldn’t get her head around what had happened to him. She understood more of his anger now. He must have suffered greatly as a child, being stolen and thrust into the world alone at such a tender age—an age where children couldn’t manage without their mothers. She couldn’t imagine the cruelty required to perform such acts, let alone condone it. And then the people who’d purchased his indenture. What kind of person would purchase the indenture of a small child? Actually, she had some idea considering the scars he bore. He’d been preyed upon by so many people, while completely defenceless. Gemma felt her eyes prickle with the injustice and cruelty ... the utter callousness. She could imagine the little boy he was, scared witless and chained as they carried him away from his mother and all he knew. It was wrong and cruel on every level and it hurt to think about. The lump in her throat refused to budge as tears pricked her eyes. Things like that should not be allowed to happen and it was devastating to think that people let it—no-one had defended him when he’d needed it.
He’d grown into an angry man who could defend himself. His abject rejection of society made more sense considering his treatment by it. He felt no purpose in supporting the rules that had failed him so completely. The rules that served to profit some by the misery of others. It should not be that way.
She understood that he’d built a life that punished them. When he’d taken her, she’d accused him of greed and callousness—causing misery to everyone who was unlucky enough to cross paths with him. But he was punishing the people that had failed him so severely. And he had built his life here, in complete rejection of society—none of their rules applied here, their community served the needs of its members and not some over others.
He’d built all this—refused to accept the usage and the profit that others were making off him. And he was being hunted for it. He would hang if they caught him. That was unfair, grossly unfair, but that was the whole point.
Chapter 26
They didn’t leave the cottage the next day, in fact, they hadn’t left the bed. The sun shone, making patterns along the wooden veranda outside the large doors, and the community went on with their business, leaving them alone. They made love, and then just stayed where they were, just being together.
Gemma lay between James’ thighs, resting her chin on his chest and just watched him. She memorized every form and feature of his face, then traced them all with her fingers. She couldn’t get enough of his dark slate eyes, which he gave her whenever she sought them. She
couldn’t even consider wanting to be anywhere else. His skin felt so right under her hands. It was as if she’d lost the ability to tell where his body started and hers finished. His hands felt as familiar as her own.
Leaning down, she kissed the skin her chin had been resting on, then kissed the palm of his hand as his hand came up to stroke her hair. She didn’t feel the urge to do anything other than to just be there. He’d come insider her three times already that morning, driven her to encompassing release to build up the tension again, and now she was completely sated. But neither of them sought to go anywhere. They would make love again, but for now, they were content just to lie there together.
“I’m not sure I can bear to be without you,” she finally said.
“It is the way it is.” His hand came to hers and their fingers intertwined, with him squeezing her hand slightly as his fingers closed around the back of her hand.
“Then I must wait for your return.” Her face grew serious. She didn’t want to be alone, without him, but she knew it was the way of things, how things worked. This little paradise was made possible because of the things they did when they left. “While you take chances, run risks and the naval men of several countries try to chase you down.”
She sought out his eyes again, losing herself in their cool depths. She wanted to kiss him; it had been too long since they’d kissed. It must have been five minutes at least and that was too long to be deprived of his lips.
“Am I yours?” she asked. It was the question that had preyed on her mind like nothing ever had. She was scared of asking, but she needed to know.
“As none has ever been.”
The answer pleased her and she smiled broadly. It was important for her to hear that this was meaningful; it felt meaningful—enough for her to give up everything else. This was worth everything.
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