The Black Rose

by Christina Skye

  Tess felt a raw curse rumble through Andre's broad chest as he crushed her back against him. Abruptly his hands withdrew from her flushed skin, and she felt him jab the row of tiny buttons into their holes. "Don't show yourself again on deck in such a way," he ordered hoarsely. "Other men would not refuse such an offer."

  His harsh warning struck Tess like icy water. "Offer? Why you pig-headed, insufferable —"

  "Man, bihan. Your man. As you are my woman. Do not forget this."

  Her blood pounding with fury, Tess spun about to face him. "Not yours. Not any man's! I —"

  Suddenly a ragged cry burst from her lips. She swayed, then flung a trembling hand across her face.

  Explosions of light. Tendrils of fire and blinding color. Pain — wave after wave — exploding behind her eyes and roaring through her head.

  "No!" Tess sobbed, grinding her teeth, driving her hands into her eyes at the cruel sensations. "Dear God."

  "What is it, bihan?" Andre demanded hoarsely, catching her to him. "What's happening?"

  "M-my head. Like knives. F-fire!"

  Then the lights exploded, blinding and inhuman, dragging Tess down into their merciless embrace.

  An eternity later she awoke to the low murmur of voices.

  In her head? she wondered dimly. No, outside they were, ranged in a circle around her.

  But why did they speak so low — the way people speak in a sickroom? For some reason the thought irritated her. "Speak up," she tried to say. "Don't mumble so."

  But her throat was strangely dry; the only sound that emerged was a raw, choked whimper.

  "Bihan?" Hard fingers swept the tangled mane from her face. Something cool and damp slid across her flushed brow. "Can you hear me?"

  "I — I hear you," she managed. Pain made her fretful. "My eyes are damaged, not my ears. Why — why is everyone whispering?"

  A stunned silence ensued, broken finally by the soft rumble of Andre's laughter.

  Tess winced, trying to rise, only to feel the Frenchman's hard hands clamp down on her waist and hold her still. It was then that she realized she lay cradled in his lap, her head nestled against his knee. "Why — why am I down here?"

  "I was just going to ask you the same question, bihan."

  Once again Tess tried to sit up, only to feel a dull pressure build behind her eyes. With a little whimper, she lay back against those rock-hard thighs.

  "Tell me what happened."

  "Like — a great burst of flame. Light — colors everywhere. And then ..." Her voice trailed away. Even now it hurt to remember.

  "Go on," he prodded.

  "Then nothing. Only darkness."

  And pain, Tess thought bleakly. Dull, throbbing paroxysms that shredded her very soul. But she did not mean to tell him of that. Curling her hands into fists, she fought to deny the pain that still pounded through her head.

  "And now?"

  "Just as before. Darkness — that's all." Tess's dry lips quivered for a moment, then she managed a smile. "Now, will you please take me to see this island you've been forever boasting about."

  "You're lying, bihan," the Liberte's captain growled. "I want the truth, by God!"

  "It is as I've told you. The feeling has passed. Why do you delay, when your crew must be anxious to be off?"

  A rough murmur of disagreement went up from the unseen figures ranged nearby. Padrig's gruff voice filtered down to her. "Not that anxious. There's a doctor at Vannes, Andre. Shall I —"

  "I need no doctor," Tess announced sharply. "What good would a mountebank do me anyway?"

  "You should be seen," Andre growled. "Perhaps —"

  "Perhaps he might wave a magic wand? Perhaps he might scatter moondust over me, restoring my vision? No, enough of these false hopes. Let me accept what must be." Tess's lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth. "Do you mean to take me to this island of yours, or do I have to find a boat and row there myself?"

  A tense silence fell around her. Andre's thighs bunched and tensed beneath her neck. As he shifted, the hard, swollen line of muscle at his groin grazed her shoulder.

  Tess's heart lurched, and she felt an answering heat sweep over her. Her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips.

  A long, low curse erupted from the captain's mouth, followed a moment later by a rapid-fire stream of orders to his crew. Tess felt herself lifted roughly, locked in a pair of granite arms, and carried across the deck.

  She was in the rowboat before she knew it, dipping and pitching toward shore.

  "You've the temper of a crazed boar, do you know that? By all the saints, I think I shall have to beat you," Andre said grimly. "Unless I can find better ways of taming you. But one thing I know clearly. There is pain, Anglaise — I can see it in the way you flinch at the pitch of the boat, the way your lips tense and turn white. You can never hope to hide such things from me, and it is as well you learn that now. If you choose to ignore this pain, I will not argue with you. I ask only that you tell me when it grows too great to bear. Then I will give you something to make it better. And, of course, you will see the doctor from Vannes when he arrives tonight." Andre's voice was cold and unyielding, leaving no room for protest. "Stop arguing and let me tie this dampened cloth over your eyes. Perhaps it will make you more comfortable until the doctor can be summoned."

  Tess nodded silently, feeling tears slip in a silent flood down her checks. She was ashamed of her weakness in relenting, but too tired for once to fight, content to leave the decision to this hard, enigmatic stranger. She turned away, scrubbing furtively at her cheeks. "Tell me about Padrig," she said, anxious to change the subject. "Is — is he married?"

  Andre did not answer immediately. He sighed, long and rough, mumbling something under his breath. "Very well, stubborn creature, he is married and has been so for ten years. To a woman as tiny and exquisite as he is vast and brawny. Four sons he has already."

  Was there a trace of regret in the captain's voice? "Do they resemble him?" Tess asked, wishing she might see his face.

  "Exactly so, each with ruddy cheeks and piercing green eyes. And each one bigger than he is."

  "What does his wife think of this work that takes him away from home for weeks at a time?"

  "She accepts it, as all Breton women must. She has a great love for her husband. Yes, an odd pair they make, but never was there a rarer love." He turned, and Tess felt him looking down at her. "Except, perhaps, for mine, bihan," he added roughly.

  * * * * *

  Soon they drifted into the quiet, sheltered waters of the gulf. Tess could hear the waves lap gently, the air rich with the mingled perfume of camellias, mimosas, and pine. Scattered around them, Andre told her, were two hundred tiny islands studding the silver gulf, and Tess could only marvel at the difference between this place and the angry, raging seas to the north.

  A place of magic, she thought, listening to the lap of the waves on the hull. A place to dream.

  A moment later Andre put down the sculls, and the hull whispered over a bank of sand.

  "Come, sea gull, this day is yours. First I want to show you my home. Then I want to feed you, for you are too thin. And then" — his voice dropped to a husky whisper — "then we shall see."

  The next thing Tess knew, she was bundled into his strong arms once more.

  "Ah, there's Marthe now."

  "Marthe?" Tess frowned, unable to keep the tension from her voice.

  But the Frenchman only chuckled. "Yes, a woman very dear to my heart. I've loved her for almost two decades."

  Tess stiffened, her fingers shoving at his chest.

  "And she has loved me for three, since the day I was born," Andre continued. "Yes, she is eighty years old this day, bihan, and has served my family for nearly all of those years." His lips dropped to Tess's ear. "So quick to jump to conclusions, sea gull? It pleases me, nevertheless. If you are jealous, you cannot be so indifferent as you pretend," he whispered, nipping her ear.

  "What have I to be jealous o
f?" Tess snapped. "I have no hold over you. Nor you over me," she added bleakly.

  "Ah, but there you are wrong, mon coeur. And before the night is over, I mean to make these bonds tighter still," Andre vowed grimly. Then his voice changed. "Ah, Marthe, you've come straight from your garden, I see."

  "You always did have a terrible notion of time, Andre, ever since you were a boy. But where are your manners, boy? Who have you brought home to meet me?" The woman's breath checked as she took in the white bandage knotted over Tess's eyes. She clucked sympathetically.

  Tess's lips curved at the thought of this hard, brawny Breton being called a boy.

  "I've brought a friend, Marthe. She was hurt and will stay until the doctor arrives from Vannes. As for her name, you may call her bihan, as the rest of us do."

  Even now there were to be no names, no details, Tess realized. In Andre's line of work, names — at least real ones — were too dangerous. With that thought came the cold realization that her time here would be only brief.

  It must be so, for her mere presence brought danger to all of them.

  "Very well," the old woman said complacently. "Now come inside and rest, while I fix you a proper meal. I'm sure that good-for-nothing Le Fur has given you nothing but cider and omelettes for the last week," Marthe added with a sniff.

  "But his omelettes were very good," Tess could not help but protest.

  "Ah bah, you have yet to taste mine, bihan. Or even Andre's. He has a fine hand, so he does."

  "But then I had the best of teachers, Marthe." The Frenchman laughed. "Very exacting. Diaoul, I still wince to remember how you whacked me with a spoon when I spoiled one."

  "Don't curse before me, young man," the old woman said curtly. "Forgetting all your manners, that's what you are. Soon you'll have the young lady believing I'm some sort of ogre." She sniffed shortly. "Now I go to cook. Your room is ready. The sheets have been aired."

  Tess felt heat stain her cheeks. Vainly she struggled against Andre's chest. "Put me down," she whispered. "Whatever must she think?"

  "Marthe? She is delighted to see that I've brought a female home at last. She was beginning to think me unnatural in my tastes, I fear. And you are the first woman who has ever come here, gwellan-karet. Do you believe me?"

  Tess could not doubt him, not when there was so much fierceness in his voice. Suddenly she seemed to have difficulty breathing.

  "Tell me, sea gull — tell me that you believe it. Tell me that you have learned to trust me." There was an edge of desperation to his voice.

  "I — I do believe you, Andre. As for trust —" Her voice checked. It was too soon to ask that of her.

  "Who hurt you in such a way?" the Liberte's captain demanded harshly. "Tell me and I'll rip his heart out."

  "It — it was a long time ago, Andre. Please — let's not speak of it. Not now, while there is so much beauty around us."

  His fingers tightened on her ribs; Tess felt his eyes search her face. A low curse erupted from his lips. "Diaoul, woman, you are a stubborn creature! But you will see that I, too, can be stubborn!"

  They sat in a little, sun-warmed garden with the humming of bees and bird song for a lulling background. From the kitchen came the smoke of the fire and the sharp tap-tap-tap of a whisk as Marthe beat feather-light omelettes. After those were gone, they feasted on buckwheat pancakes lightly sprinkled with sugar. Tess discovered she was ravenous.

  "Here, me kalon."

  Tess frowned, cocking her head.

  "Open your mouth."

  When she did as Andre asked, Tess felt him place a delicate bit of seafood on her tongue. It slid down smoothly with a faintest taste of lemon. "Carp?"

  "Istrenn." His voice was dark and rough. "Oysters, Anglaise."

  Tess felt her cheeks burn crimson. Her heart pounding, she swept her tongue across suddenly dry lips.

  Andre growled. "No more of that or I'll forget my good intentions. Now eat." Once more he slipped a delicate Belon oyster onto her tongue, then took another for himself. A long sigh escaped his lips. "Gwerhez Vari, but it is good to be home. To smell the camellias in bloom. To hear the bees droning, just as they have done here since I was a boy." Regret clouded his voice for a moment. "Yes, it has been too long ..."

  "Since what?"

  "Too long since a great many things, bihan. Since I went hunting for oysters in the bay. Since I climbed along Trech Point and walked the Forest of Sighs. Since I saw the thirty-six standing stones of Kergonan. But enough of these incessant questions. Here is Marthe with more food, and we must eat or she will be very angry."

  Tess could barely hold back a groan of protest at the thought of more food. But there it was, more sweet rich cakes of buckwheat and butter, cider, and creamy, washed-rind cheeses.

  Finally Marthe pronounced herself satisfied and returned to the kitchen. With a sigh of relief, totally replete, Tess lay back against the pillows Andre had scattered over the ground. Drowsy from sun and food and wine, she allowed herself to drift off.

  When she heard Padrig's deep cough a short while later, she barely stirred.

  The two men spoke for a few moments in Breton, and then Andre's hand brushed her cheek. "I must go down to the ship, but not for long, bihan. Stay here and rest. Marthe will be nearby if you need anything."

  Tess yawned, nodding, and somehow managed a sleepy smile.

  When she woke the bees had gone and the air was cool. She had just sat up and was combing awkward fingers through her hair when she heard Marthe come out from the kitchen.

  "Had a good sleep, did you?" The old woman began collecting dishes from the ground, not waiting for Tess's answer. "Yes, there is something special about this place. Food, sleep — everything is better here. Flavors are sharper, colors brighter. Andre says it's because we're up on the cliffs, where the sun and sea wind scour things clean. Myself, I say it's because of the flowers. They grow everywhere here — camellia, fuchsia, hydrangea, and rhododendron. We even have lemon and orange trees." The rattling ceased. "You're the first one he ever brought here, you know."

  Tess swallowed, suddenly dry-throated. "Truly?" she managed to ask.

  "Oh, there was that other one. From Morlaix, she was. Andre brought her to the island, but never overnight. I always thought the whole thing was more her doing than his, but never mind that. She died six months ago, poor creature. Andre was gone to sea, and the soldiers came, damn their black souls to Hell eternal. No one even knew until it was too late." The old woman's voice shook, and she rained down a string of Breton curses. "When they were done with her — well, she was not right somehow. Her mind was never the same. She carried a baby, and lost it three months later. When Andre came back, she barely recognized him, though the sound of his voice seemed to comfort her. She died not long after the babe." Tess heard the old woman turn, looking out to sea. "She was buried down there in the churchyard, in the lee of the wind, not so far away from my own dear Pierre."

  Tess heard a sniff, then the rustling of cloth.

  "But I've talked enough, even for an old and very foolish woman. You have a way of making people talk, bihan. It's the way you listen, I think, all still and bright. I see why he loves you."

  Tess's heart began to hammer wildly. A thousand questions rushed to her lips. "But why —" she began uncertainly.

  Marthe's next words cut her short.

  "Ah, here he is now."

  Tess started, feeling like a child caught in the act of eavesdropping. She heard his quick step on the grass and caught his distinctive smell, a mingling of crisp sea air and the tang of a citrus soap.

  "Has Marthe been talking you to sleep?" the captain demanded. "If she's been recounting all my boyhood exploits, I'll —"

  "No, truly," Tess said quickly, afraid Marthe would tell him exactly what they had been speaking of.

  "Enough of your bullying, young man. Listen to your lady, that's my advice to you. As for me, I go out to my garden, where I can think of my poor dead Pierre and how I will soon be with him." He
r footsteps moved slowly away.

  In the sudden silence, Tess could feel Andre nearby, studying her face.

  "Spread your skirts, Anglaise, and prepare to receive your tribute. These are from Le Braz." A cluster of roses plummeted into Tess's lap, scenting the air with dizzying sweetness. "These from Le Fur." The scent of mimosas drifted up next. "And these are from me."

  Camellias, Tess thought, enveloped in their haunting perfume. Her throat grew suspiciously tight. "Oh, Andre," she breathed. "How lovely."

  Warm and thick as honey, the last slanting rays of the sun touched her shoulders. Somewhere in the bordering hedge a bird began to croon contentedly. Sitting down beside her, Andre sang an old Breton song, then translated the sad, sweet words verse by verse while the sun melted in fiery glory over the calm waves of the gulf.

  Later, much later, when she could again think with anything like clarity, Tess was to realize that the whole day had been a seduction. With the rich beauty of his rough voice, the Frenchman had seduced her; with his laughter, with his stories, with the potent Breton foods he had fed her, using his own fingers.

  Seduction — every part of it. And she had tumbled into his trap totally, caught before she had any notion she was being pursued.

  Even the doctor's arrival soon after this had not broken the spell — not at first.

  The fingers that probed her bandage were light and deft. Taut with expectation, hoping that the recent pains in her head signalled the return of her sight, Tess could barely endure the mounting tension.

  The doctor hummed and clucked, listening carefully to her account of the accident. With careful fingers he released the knot holding her bandage in place. "Look at me," he ordered.

  Tess tried; with all her might, she tried. But only darkness was there to meet her.

  A choked moan escaped her locked lips. Ashen-faced, she fought the disappointment that slammed through her like a fist.

  Nothing. Nothing but blind.

  Why had she dared to hope?

  Her breath came and went in jerky gasps as she listened to the doctor speak words of hope and encouragement, with Andre interrupting often to ask a question or clarify the doctor's advice, meager though it was.