by Shana Galen
“Costa,” Locke said, indicating the man. Nick and each of the crew gave the fallen man a nod as they walked by, paying homage to their comrade. The Italian had sailed for all of his fifty or so years. He’d served Nick well and Nick was surprised when he’d asked to guard the island. Mr. Costa had a wife, and he’d brought the lovely woman to the island to live. It had taught Nick that even the most hardened sailors could give up the sea for love.
“Why haven’t you buried the bodies?” Red asked, anger in his voice. Nick had the same questions, the same anger.
“You’ll see,” Locke answered. At the edge of the village, Nick turned and signaled to the men to stay. Red ordered them to circle the perimeter and keep watch, and then he and Nick followed Locke back up the rise and into the trees. The trek was not an easy one for Locke with his injured ankle, but neither Nick nor Red assisted him. They moved deeper into the woods and higher. The underbrush grew thick and the air moistened and seemed to close in around them. The world came alive with buzzes and the calls of birds and insects. In the trees, macaques monkeys hooted and thrashed branches, trying to scare the intruders away. Suddenly, Nick knew where they were going. “The cave?” he asked.
Locke was too winded to speak and merely nodded. Nick could not extinguish the flare of hope now. “You mentioned others? Survivors?”
Again, Locke nodded. Nick did not wait. With Red right behind him, the two men crashed through the thick jungle, heedless of the branches that scraped their cheeks and caught on their clothing. There was a path, but Nick did not pause to find it. He barreled through until he reached the small plateau that led to the entrance to the cave. It was well hidden with vines and bushes. Of course the villagers would have run here to hide at the first sign of trouble. Was it possible? Please.
The sound of a cocked pistol brought him up short. Red plowed into him, and Nick held up a hand to silence the man. “It’s Captain Martingale. Don’t shoot.”
“The captain?” a female voice asked, her accent slightly French.
“We found Locke. We’ve come back for you.”
A woman stepped out of the shadows concealing her. She was the wife—or its equivalent—of one of his men. She’d been beautiful once, but now she looked thin and haggard. She all but fell into his arms, and Nick caught and steadied her. She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears, as though her long nightmare had finally ended. “Mon Dieu,” she whispered. Then she took his hand and led him into the cave.
Nick willed his gaze not to look for her, but he could not stop it. And there, so beautiful he was almost afraid he had conjured her, was Nerissa. His little Rissa.
She saw him and seemed to hesitate as well, not certain he was real. And then she ran toward him, throwing her arms about his neck and bursting into tears. “Papa!”
Nick sank to his knees cradling her. Her little body was so thin, but her hold on him was strong. Her long dark hair smelled clean against his face, and when he set her back so he could look at her, he saw no injuries. He took her in his arms again and surveyed the rest of the dark cave. A lantern was the only source of light, and in its glow Nick counted a dozen or so women and children. Locke was the only man to have survived. Less than twenty alive from a village that had numbered three times that.
He would hear the story later. He would know the horrors these women had seen, had survived. He would take them in and make them his own, allow them to feed his hatred and his desire for revenge. But for the moment he held Rissa and thanked God and the heavens and every angel whose name he could remember.
“Papa,” he heard Rissa murmur quietly. Her body seemed to shake with sobs. “Papa.”
Nick caught the eye of one of the older women, a friend of Rissa’s mother. Both women had been rescued from the markets of some godforsaken country. The woman shook her head, and there was so much pain in that simple movement. Nick sighed, his anguish all for Rissa who had seen God knew what. After Zorah had died from sickness when Rissa was barely two, the other women of the island had adopted the little girl. But she needed her father now. She’d needed him, and he hadn’t been there.
Locke rejoined the group and the women gathered the few belongings they’d salvaged. It was a somber march from the safety of the cave, through the woods, and down past the charred village. They skirted its ruins and the fallen, and there they caught up to the men who had come to shore with him. More reunions occurred. Too few, though. Nick wanted to yell to heaven that it was too few.
He carried Rissa as he had when she’d been an infant, never once loosening his grip on her. She buried her head against his chest and for a time he thought she slept. But perhaps she did not want to see the destruction of the village. He did not want her to see it.
Nick understood now why Locke had not tended to the dead or the lost village. He had done his duty, protecting the surviving women and children and providing food and water for them. The small group had thought of surviving, not of the dead. That was as it should be. But now that he was here, Nick would see the dead buried properly.
When he emerged on the beach, he gave orders for the men to set up a makeshift camp. Red stepped in and gave orders as to the best place to pitch tents and cook food. Nick had not seen the man’s wife among the survivors. He allowed his bos’n to take over, knowing that keeping busy would also keep the man’s grief at bay for a time. Later he would take the man aside and offer his condolences.
Nick supervised the making of the camp, still holding Rissa. He murmured reassurances to her continually. “I’ve brought food and water, new clothes for you. You’re safe now, and I’ll have you looking as plump as ever.” By the time she seemed to recover enough to begin wiggling and pushing for him to set her down, Nick glanced out at the sea. The second rowboat was being lowered, and his gaze went to the bow and the blond beauty standing there. Even if she had not been the only woman amidst the group of men, a dazzling fair-haired creature, he would have found her. His gaze was always drawn to her.
Her eyes rested on him and then dipped to Rissa. It was then Nick realized he had made another grievous error.
“His what?” Ashley heard the wind rushing in her ears and wondered from whence the gale had come. It seemed Chante was still speaking, but Ashley could hear nothing over the storm in her mind.
A daughter? Nick had a child? Her husband had a child!
Was he even her husband? Perhaps he was already married, and their marriage was not even valid. She should rejoice, but she felt strangely ill. She was going to lose him—not that he had ever been hers. He hadn’t even thought enough about her to tell her what everyone else seemed to know. Nick had a child.
Ashley stared at Nick’s figure on shore. He was hard to miss with his confident walk and his dark hair. He carried a small child with dark skin and dark hair. The girl’s head was buried in his chest, and he held her as though she were a precious jewel. As Ashley watched, the little girl moved, and she heard Mr. Chante remark that the child was alive. The men gave murmurs of approval, but Ashley could not feel any such relief. What would she say when she met the girl? She had no experience with children.
She didn’t even like children. Maddie liked children. Maddie was always saying how dear that little boy was or how sweet that little girl. Ashley looked at the same child and saw snot running from his nose or something sticky and potentially gown-ruining on her fingers. Ashley stayed away from children.
She hadn’t even liked being a child. She’d hated how she was so much smaller than everyone else and how she had so many rules to follow. She still hated rules.
Another thought occurred to her, and she had to grasp the rail to keep upright. What if Nick expected her to act as the girl’s mother? What if she—Ashley Brittany—was to make the rules after all these years of breaking them? The wind in her ears swirled louder, and Ashley could not even hear herself think above the roar. She closed her eyes, blocking out the image of Nick and his daughter on the beach, and took a deep breath. She was not going to pan
ic. She was not going to allow a small child to scare her. She clenched her hands and took another breath. The wind in her ears quieted slightly, and she heard chuckling.
Ashley opened her eyes to the sight of Mr. Chante laughing. He was laughing at her! This was the outside of enough. She might be mortified that Nick hadn’t told her about this child, but she wasn’t going to show it. If nothing else, she was good at hiding her pain and embarrassments. Ashley straightened and narrowed her eyes. “Is something amusing you, Mr. Chante?”
“Just waiting for you to swoon, Mrs. Cap’n.”
She blinked at him, giving him her best you-are-beneath-me look. “I do not swoon. The heat of the day overcame me. That is all.”
“The heat? That one thing to call it. Come on, Mrs. Cap’n. Cap’n said you could come on the next boat.”
She stepped back. Dam-drat! She had insisted on going ashore, hadn’t she? Now she wanted to stay on the ship for as long as possible. Perhaps she need not leave the ship at all. It felt quite a bit larger now than it had yesterday. “I…Already?” she began, her mind working furiously to form an excuse.
“Don’t tell me you afraid to go. You afraid of a little girl?”
“Afraid?” Do not let him bother you, she told herself. Do not listen! But she couldn’t help it. No one called her a coward. “I assure you it takes more than the likes of a little girl or even a man like you to scare me.” That was true. She’d faced down the worst gossips in the ton. This little girl was nothing compared to the old dowagers and their sharp, bloody claws. Yet even as Chante escorted her to the ladder above the rowboat being prepared to go ashore, she had the overwhelming urge to run back to Nick’s cabin and pretend none of this had happened.
Instead, she climbed down the rope ladder. It swayed and she had not realized quite how much ship there was between the water and the deck. Her arms and legs were shaking when the men on the rowboat caught her and helped her to find a seat. She didn’t even care that they’d been a little over familiar in the way they’d grasped her about the waist. She sat on the small boat, trying to keep her spine straight, and watched as the shore and Nick with his daughter became inextricably closer.
Nick set the wriggling Rissa down and watched as she scampered off to play with a crab one of the other children had found. He waded into the surf and lifted Ashley off the boat. As soon as he touched her, she stiffened.
“I can explain,” he said.
“Oh, really?” She pushed him away and insisted on walking ashore herself, thought the water must have dragged her heavy skirts down. “You have a wife and a child. How do you explain that?”
“Rissa’s mother is dead.”
Her expression immediately softened, and the thin line of her mouth relaxed. “Nick, I’m sorry.”
“If you’ll just allow me to explain—”
“Cap’n?” Chante called. “Where you want these casks of water?”
He looked at Chante then back at Ashley, who surprised him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll talk later. Right now, tell me how I can help.”
Hours later a makeshift camp had been established on the beach, campfires blazed, and the men of the Robin Hood dozed. A hunting party had taken down several birds, and the men had eaten well. Nick had given every man a ration of rum, and he felt pleasantly warm from the portion he’d drunk. He’d spoken with Red at some length, comforting his bos’n and, in turn, the other men who’d lost wives and lovers. Words were not enough, but they were all he had at the moment. Words and promises of vengeance.
Chante and a small group of sailors had returned to the ship, keeping watch from the topmasts should there be trouble. Tomorrow the ship would be careened and repairs begun. It would take several days to complete the repairs, and Nick had needed the rum in order to find the patience to wait. How he wanted to find Yussef now and wrap his hands about the pirate’s neck.
In his arms, Rissa stirred and snuggled closer to him. She was sleeping, her face so innocent and sweet in her slumber. He prayed she slept well and did not dream of the attack that had taken so many of her makeshift family. He looked about, wondering where he should put her for the night, and one of the village women came forward and nodded to her and then to a small tent where her two children slept. The girl and boy were Rissa’s playmates, and Nick smiled as he handed his daughter to the woman. Though he might have liked to keep her close, he was not yet ready to retire and he did not want her to wake alone if nightmares should trouble her.
As the warmth from Rissa’s small body faded, he glanced about the various campfires. He’d seen Ashley sitting at one with Mr. Fellowes earlier. She’d been sipping rum and making a face at her cup. Now he did not see her. Had she found a place to sleep or had he overlooked her? He stood, brushed his trousers off, and began to move toward the nearest fire. Before he took more than two or three steps, his neck prickled, and he turned. She stood in the tree line, her back straight, her long silvery hair a beacon even in the dark.
When he reached her, she moved toward the beach and the lapping waves. “Shall we walk a little ways?”
He nodded his agreement and for a time they followed the shoreline, the moon lighting their way and the sounds of the crew’s voices fading gradually. Finally, when they were far enough away so as not to be overheard, she stopped. “You never told me you were married or that you had a child.” Her hands went to her hips. “Those facts seem like more than minor points of interest.”
“You’re right,” he said, and her face showed surprise at his easy capitulation. “I did not think of it. My mind was otherwise occupied.”
“With contemplating how you might lure me into your bed? Even though you already had a wife waiting for you?”
“With punishing the bastard who did this to my island and my villagers. They looked to me for protection, and I failed them.” Now the extent of that failure was glaringly clear.
“I’m sorry your wife is dead,” she said, her voice somewhat softer. “I can see how much you love the little girl. You must have loved the mother.”
Nick sighed. He did not want to have this conversation now. He did not want to allow the pain to gain a foothold by acknowledging what he had lost. But Ashley deserved answers, and he could not make her wait for them. “Zorah was not my wife. I’ve never been married.” He glanced at her. “Before.”
Ashley blinked at him, the enormity of what he was saying becoming clear. “But the child—”
“Yes, she is mine.” He shook his head. “For a woman who claims to want nothing to do with Society’s rules, you tend to appear rather shocked when someone breaks them.”
She said nothing, and he could not read her expression. Whatever her thoughts, she kept them close. He would say this now, tell her all, and think of it no more afterward. Not until the pain had lessened. Not until Yussef was dead. “Zorah had been part of a sultan’s harem. I never knew his name. I only know she escaped him and feared for her life. Perhaps she killed him or she feared he might try and take her back. I met her in Morocco, and she begged me to take her far away. I agreed.”
“You saved her.”
“Difficult to imagine me as a hero, isn’t it?” He gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t worry. You needn’t begin to form a good opinion of me. She had money to pay for passage, so my act was not completely selfless. I took her here,” he said, gesturing to the branches of the palms blowing in the gentle breeze. “In time we became lovers. By the time Rissa was born, our passion had been spent. I never loved her nor do I think she loved me, but we did love our daughter. Zorah died three years ago of illness, so Yussef is not responsible for her demise. Censure me if you will, but I would change nothing, do nothing differently. I regret nothing that led to my daughter.”
“I can see you love the little girl. Do you intend to bring her to England? Am I to be her mother?”
He had not thought of Ashley as Rissa’s mother, but of course, Ashley was his wife. She would want to know if he expected her to accept hi
s bastard child into her home—if they ever had a home. “I’ll take her to England. I’ll take all of them who wish to go because Isla de las Riquezas is no longer safe. After I kill Yussef.”
“How can you be so selfish?”
He gaped at her. She was calling him selfish? He had met few women so spoiled and selfish as she.
“What if you are killed? Then what happens to your daughter and all of these people?”
He didn’t like the question. “You might rejoice. You’ll be free of me.”
“Oh, it’s not you I care about,” she snapped. “I know your selfish plan already. You’ll leave me—all of these women and children—here until your great quest is complete, and if you fail, we’ll be trapped here forever. It’s your ship I care about, not you.”
She was bluffing. He knew she cared for him, and still her words were thorns in the soft parts of him, the parts he tried not to think of too often. She moved past him, probably intent on making a great show of stomping back to camp, but he caught her arm and pulled her against him. “One day, Ashley Martingale, you’ll regret your words. One day you’ll beg me to stay by your side.”
She tossed her hair. “Ha. Not likely.” She tugged her arm, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her closer, until their mouths were just inches apart. “One day you will do anything to keep me in your bed,” he whispered, dipping his mouth to kiss the angle of her jaw. She shivered. “You will beg me to make love to you.” He kissed her ear lobe then drew back. Her eyes were closed, her breathing rapid. She opened her eyes, and they were dark with desire.
“Never.” But even as she said the word, she moved closer, her lips brushing his. His body wanted release. He’d been denied the last time she’d aroused him. He could have her now. But he would not take her in anger. He would not take her in an effort to forget the horrors of the day. He still had some integrity, even if he was a pirate.