A wave broke around her knees, and she leaned down and splashed water over her face. “I’ve nearly drowned,” she said, keeping her eyes clenched shut. “I’m marooned on an island with a Scottish brigand, and instead of running for my life, I nearly raped him. I’ve got enough trouble without ghosts. Go away!”
She took another breath and began to count to ten. When she opened her eyes, he would be gone. He wasn’t really there. He couldn’t be. He was something she’d dreamed up as a child, a will-o’-the-wisp that she’d created because of the wild tales her grandmother had told her.
On ten, she opened her eyes and looked back. The bit of sand where Kutii had stood was empty except for a clump of sea grass swaying in the wind.
Bess sighed with relief. It was true. All she had to do was will the Incan’s image away and he’d be gone for good. Maybe she wasn’t crazy after all. Maybe—
“Bess.”
She scrambled to her feet and whirled around. He was standing behind her, not really in the water, but on what looked like air above the rolling foam.
“Damn it, Kutii.”
He held out the hand with the parrot resting on it and motioned toward the beach. “Come out of the water, child of Star Woman. You are wet enough.”
Dumbly, Bess followed him up the slight rise to the shade of a scrub pine and slumped down again.
“When did you begin to doubt yourself and your powers?” he asked sternly.
“You don’t understand,” she began. “I—”
“No, little one, it is you who do not understand. Why did you run from him? He is the one for whom I have waited. He is the man you must marry and the father of your children.”
“I have no children,” she flared, “and I’ll have no husband. Fortune’s Gift is mine, and I’ll not share it with a . . . with a fortune hunter!”
“And what are you? Do you not seek the gold of my ancestors?”
“It’s not the same thing,” she protested. “It was you who told me to hunt for the treasure. You said it was mine.”
“I did,” he admitted, driving the butt of the heavy ax deep into the sandy soil and transferring the bird to the jaguar head of the weapon. The parrot squawked and bit his finger. Kutii popped his finger in his mouth and sucked at the bite.
Bess couldn’t help wondering why he carried the dumb bird around when it always bit him.
Kutii laid a hand on her shoulder. It was as warm and alive as her own hands. She rubbed her eyes with her hands. “Why is everything so complicated?” she said. “No one else is haunted by ghosts. Why does it have to be me?”
Kutii laughed, a low rustle, like autumn leaves tumbling in the breeze. “You have the power. You see what others have forgotten to look for. You listen to words too low for the foolish to hear.”
“I’ve done something terrible,” she admitted. “You know I’ve never been a light-skirts, but I let Kincaid . . .” Her mouth was dry and her throat thick. She looked up at the Indian with bloodshot eyes. “Kutii, I—”
“Do not blame yourself. It was my doing.”
“You?” She rose to her feet and glared at him. “You made me—”
He shook his head. “It was not so difficult to make you do what your heart wished.”
“A spell? You put a spell on me?” she cried.
He shook his head again and made a sign against evil with the fingers of his right hand. “What talk is this?” he demanded. “After all your grandmother and I have taught you—to speak of spells like an ignorant Englishwoman. My belly is full of sorrow.”
“Your head will be full of worse than sorrow if you ever do anything like that to me again. I acted like the worse sort of common tavern slut. I let him do things—”
“Things that a man and wife do without shame,” he said.
“He is not my husband. Kincaid is a criminal—a common mercenary. I’d not have him for husband if he was—”
“He will be your husband.”
“He will not!”
“He is the guardian. He has always been.”
“No! Not this time, Kutii. This time I win. You won’t talk me into this. He’s arrogant and crude and . . . and—”
“He saved your life when the boat sank.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “He did. I never said he wasn’t brave, but—”
“You must marry, little Bess. You are the child of my heart, but I will not be swayed in this. You must have a child to continue my line. Blood to blood. So long as the family of Star Woman lives, my people live. If the chain is broken, the souls of those I love are as dead as the shards of a shattered clay bowl.”
“I’ll not be forced into marriage and a man’s control. I love Fortune’s Gift. I love the dirt and the grass and the trees. I love every inch of shoreline, and the way the house looks when the moon rises over the bay. I’ll not hand it over to a stranger. It’s mine, and, by God, I’ll hold it fast!”
“And a child, little Bess. Will you have a child alone?”
“My father is young enough to have other children.”
“You are the carrier of the flame. The line of Star Woman runs through you.”
“I will not marry Kincaid. Not now. Not ever.”
Kutii’s lips thinned and his devil eyes narrowed to dark slits. “Do not say words you will live to regret.”
“I’ll not have him, I tell you,” she repeated.
“Woman!”
Bess’s eyes widened in surprise as she heard Kincaid’s voice behind her. Shocked, she turned toward him. He stood feet apart, arms akimbo, brown eyes seething with ire. His face was a hard mask, his sensual mouth an angry slash.
“Are ye bewitched, that ye talk to trees?” he demanded sarcastically. “And whether ye be mad or not, no word of marriage has passed between us. Nor ever will.”
“Kincaid.” Hesitantly, she let her gaze fall to his midsection. To her great relief, he was once more wearing his water-stained breeches.
“Aye, ‘tis me.” His words cracked like a blacksnake whip. “And who were ye expecting, my lady, Peter the Great?”
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I was just . . . just . . .”
“Cantin’ to yourself like a bedlamite,” he snapped. “I’ll have an explanation from ye, woman, and I’ll have it now.”
Chapter 12
In desperation, Bess glanced back to Kutii for help. He was gone. I knew it, she cried inwardly. I knew you’d leave me to face him alone. For an instant, she closed her eyes and summoned up all her courage. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, willing herself to appear composed as she gave her attention to the angry bondman once more.
“The fault was mine,” she said, ignoring Kincaid’s question about talking to herself. “What I did was inexcusable. I can only say in my own defense that nearly drowning must have made me temporarily out of my mind. I’m sorry, Kincaid. I know how you must feel, but—”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “Ye dinna ken how I feel. There is a word for women who lead a man to the brink and then run.” His expression of disgust made her twist with shame.
“I am no harlot,” she said brokenly. “I’ve never done such a—”
“ ‘Tis plain ye are no virgin,” he scoffed.
Bess felt as though she’d been dashed with icy water. “How did you know?” she asked.
He shrugged. “How could I not?” He eyed her suspiciously. Either the wench was the best actress he’d ever seen, or she really didn’t know that he’d found proof of her previous experience with his own fingers. Bess’s face flushed a deep crimson, and he thought she was about to burst into tears. Her obvious distress touched a protective chord within him. “We will say no more of it,” he replied. “But if ye ever tempt me again . . .”
She stared into his eyes with all the vulnerability of an abandoned pup. “I am truly sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I said we’d speak nay more of it,” he answered gruffly. “My own control was
less than I’d like.” It was true. He hadn’t been himself. Bess Bennett was not a woman for the likes of him, and if he’d been thinking clearly, he’d not have kissed her in the first place. She’d been half drowned, for the love of Christ! Perhaps he had taken advantage of her when she was too confused and frightened to ken gratitude from desire.
“You’re right,” she murmured. “I am no maid, but I swear to you that the losing of my virginity was not of my own choosing.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I . . . I was raped by a man I trusted.”
“There’s no need for ye to spill your guts to me,” he began.
“Yes, but there is a need,” she said quickly. Another tear followed the first. “I was only sixteen and foolish. I let myself be put into a situation where he could take advantage of me.” Her stubborn jaw firmed. “It won’t happen again.”
“Then ye have never made love to a man.”
She shook her head. “What happened between you and me . . .” Her taut features drained of blood until her freckles stood out stark against her pale skin. “I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t enjoy it.”
He nodded. The proud British wench was speaking truth. She had nerve—he’d give her that. “Why, then, did ye run away? What use to lock the barn door after the—”
“I am a woman alone with the responsibility of a great plantation,” she said, regaining some of her composure. “I refuse to trade my independence to become a husband’s play toy. Marriage to a rich woman is a good arrangement for the bridegroom and a poor one for the bride. Once I sign a marriage contract, all that I have I place under my husband’s control. He can sell off my land, dismiss my faithful servants, gamble away my money, beat me—even separate me from my children, should I produce any. At his whim, I may be locked in a madhouse, or sent across the ocean to rot.”
“It is unnatural for a woman to remain unmarried.”
“No. It would be unnatural for me to give up all that I have been educated for and taught to love, for the physical pleasures of the marriage bed.”
“Then ye dinna deny that ye have the same wants as any normal woman?”
She nibbled at her lower lip.
“Do ye not?” he demanded.
“I have them,” she said breathily.
Her low, husky tone cut through him like a knife, sending his stomach plummeting. “You were meant to be loved,” he said, feeling his own growing tightness in his loins. “I’ve never held a woman with more joy in her.”
Abruptly, her mood shifted, and he felt the softness draining away from her spirit.
“I shall never marry,” she said. “Never. If my father wants more heirs, he can have them himself.”
“If he lives, he can.”
“He’s alive. I know he is.”
“Knowing and wishin’ are two different things, lass.”
“My father is alive,” she said, “and he will be coming home.”
“He may be, but we won’t if we don’t do something about finding fresh water and food.” He looked toward the west, where dark thunderheads were building again. “And unless I miss my guess, we may be having more rain soon.”
Bess nodded. “I’m so thirsty I could drink pickle juice.” She glanced back toward the beach. “I don’t suppose anything was salvaged from the sloop.”
“Aye. I found the keg with your saddlebags.”
She smiled. “And I still have this.” She turned away from him and reached down inside her bodice to assure herself that the gold and coin were still inside her stays where she’d sewn them. “No wonder I had so much trouble swimming.”
“This island’s barren. I can tell by the stunted trees that we’ll find no freshwater ponds here.” He pointed. “But if we cross that narrow gut, there’s another bit of land.”
“An island or the mainland?”
He shrugged. “I dinna know, but the trees look taller over there. We should be able to rig some shelter from the rain.”
Bess looked dubious. “More swimming?”
“I can’t say how deep the water is, but ye can use the wooden keg to keep yourself afloat.” He allowed himself a hint of a smile. “I’ll nay let ye drown in such a quiet stretch of water.”
“I’ll wager I can swim better than you can,” she retorted. “It was the gold that weighed me down.”
He chuckled. “ ‘Tis no insult I meant ye. You survived a storm that drowned two men and a lad.”
Bess looked stricken. “Are they all dead, do you suppose?”
“Likely, unless they made another beach. It’s been my experience that few sailors know how to swim. They put their trust in boats and God. Sometimes, both fail a man.”
“My grandfather taught me to swim. H said it was something every girl needed to know. He used to throw me in the river fully dressed. Once, he did it in November. I always managed to save myself, but if I hadn’t, I know he’d have pulled me out.”
“A wise man,” Kincaid conceded. “I taught myself when I was but a wee scrap of a lad. A cart I was riding in overturned at a crossing in the Hebrides. ‘Twas sink or swim.”
She gave him a pensive look. “I’d say you’ve always been a man with a talent for survival.”
“So far,” he answered. “I’ll fetch the keg, and we’ll see about getting safe to the other side.” He left her standing there and walked away down the beach. Part of him was still angry with her for promising something she wouldn’t give, but to give the devil his due, he’d asked her yea or nay at a time when any man with a lick of sense in his head would have pressed his suit. And if the wench had spoken the truth—if she had been raped when she was little more than a lassie-then he could see why she’d be skittish.
He scanned the water’s edge as he strode south, looking for anything else that might have washed up from the wreck. They were lucky to have the keg with a pistol and powder and shot, not to mention the flint and steel for making a fire. He didn’t want to think what the chances had been that they’d recover the supplies. Bess Bennett was one lucky woman, that was certain. And maybe, just maybe, some of her luck would rub off on him. It was past time he had some in his life.
They reached the western shore without incident, and after a few hours’ search, Kincaid came upon a low spot. An hour’s digging produced fresh water, a little sandy, but neither of them was complaining.
By dusk, Bess had a fire going and she’d dug a few dozen clams in the shallows to steam for dinner. It was too early in the year for beach plums or berries to be ripe, so theirs was a one-course meal. Kincaid had busied himself making a rough hut with the sloop’s sail for a covering. By the time the first drops of rain hit the canvas, he and Bess were snug inside, toasting themselves at the fire and stuffing themselves with clams.
The hut was just big enough for the two of them to stretch out and not high enough to stand in. Bess was nervous in such close quarters; she took care not to brush against him. It was almost laughable in a way, considering what she’d let him do to her that morning.
“Ye needn’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll not bite ye.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she answered.
“Nay? Ye give a good imitation of it.”
She ducked her head and concentrated on passing a hot clam from hand to hand and blowing on it. “No, I’m not. I just think it’s better, under the circumstances, if we don’t get too familiar.”
He laughed. “Is that what ye call it?”
“Don’t think I’ll roll over for you,” she snapped. “What happened was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s a long journey to Panama. There’ll be a lot of nights like this, with just you and me and—”
“I said, it won’t happen again. I’ll never let a man take advantage of me—”
“Is that what ye think I was doin’ ?” he asked softly.
“No. I know better than that. Your behavior was more honorable than mine.”
“So ye admit that I’m not always a monster.” He re
ached for her hand. It was cold and trembling, but she didn’t pull away from him. “Bess, I’m nay your enemy,” he said. “For better or worse, we’re in this together.” He turned her palm over and looked at it in the firelight. To his surprise, her skin wasn’t soft and white like that of most gentlewomen, but hard and lined like a man’s. “You’ve spent many hours on horseback,” he said. “And I’ll wager you’ve done your share of planting.”
“And harvesting,” she said. She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I like the way you make me feel, but there can be nothing between us.”
“Nothing permanent,” he agreed. “I’ve been married once, and I don’t care to try it again. A man doesn’t always get the best of a bargain either.”
“Where is your wife now?” she asked.
“In Hell, I hope.”
“She’s dead?”
“She’d better be. I buried her.” He shook his head, trying to rid himself of Gillian’s memory. “I’d nay speak of it. She betrayed me with my best friend, and I killed him for it.”
“Did you kill her?”
“I wanted to.” He toyed with Bess’s hand, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles around the center of her palm. “Because a man and woman have no intention of marrying doesn’t mean they canna give each other comfort,” he suggested. Bess’s dark auburn hair was spread out around her shoulders invitingly, and the firelight played off her face in a way that made his chest tight. The woman scent of her was strong in his nostrils. He’d not take her against her will; that went against his grain. But, as God was his witness, he still wanted her, and he would use all his wiles to turn her to his way of thinking.
The pressure of Kincaid’s fingers on her palm made shivers run up and down her back. How easy it would be to respond to him, to forget everything but the nearness of this virile rogue. Bess had wanted him to make love to her—she still wanted it. But if she gave in, it would mean falling into Kutii’s trap.
Deny it all he would, Bess was certain that Kutii had done something to cloud her reason on the beach. For all she knew, the wily Indian had put Kincaid under an enchantment as well. Kutii wanted them matched, and he would stop at nothing to have his way. He was stubborn for a ghost, and when he set his mind on a goal, it was impossible to change him.
Fortune's Flame Page 15