by Tina Donahue
Peter had reached a longboat.
“No, Peter. Stop!”
The boy rocked the vessel and capsized it.
The men hit the sea, along with Canela, Vincent, and Diana.
Tristan swam as fast as he could toward her.
Vincent had the same notion.
Before the bloody bastard could lay a hand on Diana, Tristan slung one arm about Vincent’s throat and pounded him into unconsciousness.
More shots rang out.
Tristan’s men swam to the other longboats, overturned them, and captured the pirates.
Tristan shouted for James.
His friend swam toward him. “Want me to take Vincent?”
“Yes.” Not seeing Diana, he shouted her name.
“Behind you.” She treaded water and struggled to keep Canela afloat. “She hit her head.”
Tristan swam to them and took Canela from her. “Were you hurt?”
“No.” She craned her neck. “Where is Peter?”
Peter subdued a pirate with a skillful blow and grinned.
“He’s quite well.” Tristan hauled in another breath. “However, a farmer’s life may never be to his liking.”
“I refuse to accept it.” She gulped air. “Laure will change his mind when he slips the marriage collar about her throat.”
Love and pride filled Tristan to bursting. Despite the ordeal Diana had just been through, she was as confident as any man. “Your marriage collar’s on the beach. Shall we fetch it?”
“I believe we should.”
* * * *
On the beach, Tristan grabbed the collar and led Diana to a stand. They were well hidden from the others who’d reached shore. She lifted her hair and smiled when he fastened the collar on her throat, where the symbol would always remain.
He hugged her fiercely, emotion overtaking him. “I might have lost you.”
She returned his embrace. “You didn’t.”
“I might have.” His words were strained, his kiss hungry.
He branded her with his touch, scent, and far more, despite the others’ proximity. He worked his stiffened cock from his breeches. She lifted her gown and bared her sex to him. Once she had her arms around his neck and her legs about his lean hips, Tristan thrust into her, possessing and filling her completely.
Diana pressed her face against his neck, quieting her breathing as he made her his.
While they were still trembling from pleasure, she snuggled closer. “That wasn’t nearly enough. I want you until neither of us can stand.”
He laughed quietly, his breath warming her throat. “Must I tie you to my bed again to get you to behave?”
“Please do. Promise me.”
“You have my word to do so as soon as we see to the matter at hand.”
* * * *
Diana joined the others.
Canela had regained consciousness. She eyed Diana’s marriage collar, then Tristan, who was assisting the men.
Diana deliberately blocked Canela’s view. “No one died. You should be grateful.”
She regarded the water, indifferent as always. “What will become of me?”
“It’s up to Tristan and the rest, including your husband.”
Peter helped Adamo to the beach.
As dawn approached, the islanders voted to send the pirates to a distant island whose inhabitants were friendly with Tristan.
“I agree,” James said. “Without a ship, these men can’t cause us any more trouble.”
“No trouble?” Peter scowled at the pirates who either cursed or moaned. “If they hang as they should, we can be certain of never seeing their ugly faces again.”
Diana didn’t know what to do about her little brother. Hours before, Peter had been scared witless. Now he acted too boldly. She exchanged a glance with Tristan.
He spoke to the boy. “There’s never been a hanging on this island nor will there be as long as I draw breath. These men will go to the isle to live out their lives in service to the people there. It’s more than a fitting punishment. They sought to rule islanders and now those people will rule them.”
“I suppose.” Peter glared at Canela. “What about her?”
Even with an ugly bruise on her forehead and everyone’s rage to face, Canela refused to soften her stance, her bearing haughty, her attention at last on Adamo.
His handsome face was horribly swollen, his strong form bent in pain. A fate Canela had delivered him to with the false promise of love.
The adoring way she looked at him now sickened Diana. Canela seemed convinced the spell she’d woven around Adamo was so great, his passion so enduring, he’d plead her case, spare her from banishment.
Tristan faced her. “Adamo asked me to tell you what he’s decided.”
As James translated for the islanders, Canela tried to catch Adamo’s eye. He kept his face down.
Tristan snapped his fingers to get her attention. “Adamo said you’re no longer his wife. You removed the marriage collar.”
“No!” She cried out to Adamo. “S’il vous plaît. Vous devez écouter. Les pirates ont pris le collier de moi.”
Diana would have wagered Canela had told him the pirates removed her marriage collar.
Tristan stepped between Canela and Adamo so she couldn’t see him. “You’ll go to the island with the other captives. There you’ll serve the islanders as you would have had your people serve you.”
“No.” She leaned to the side to look past Tristan’s legs. “Je t’aime, Adamo.”
That phrase Diana knew: I love you.
Adamo’s back was to Canela.
* * * *
With the sun overhead, the men settled the fettered pirates and Canela in the longboats for their journey to the Lady Lark, after which James, Peter, and the others would sail for the island where the prisoners would spend their remaining days.
Peter joined Tristan and Diana. “We’ll be leaving now.”
“Take care.” She hugged her brother more soundly than she was certain he wanted and kissed his cheek.
He squirmed. “You mustn’t do that with the other men about.”
“I shan’t if you promise to become a farmer when you get back.”
He made a face. “You women are all alike. Laure’s already asked me to do the same.”
“She’s a bright girl and should be obeyed. Right, Tristan?”
He looked amused. “A man obeying a woman?”
Peter laughed. “There you have it. Tristan agrees with me. Women are the ones who—”
“Should be obeyed.” Tristan winked at Diana. “At least part of the time.”
Peter rolled his eyes and grumbled good-naturedly. “I best be going.”
Diana wanted to hug him once more, but kept her hands to herself. “Return as quickly as you can.”
“Less than a fortnight.” He kissed Laure, then ran to the longboats.
As he, James, and the others rowed toward the Lady Lark, Diana softened against Tristan, her back to his front, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist.
She stroked his fingers. “Do we have anything to worry about?”
“Not at all. Peter will eventually come to your way of thinking. If he doesn’t, I can assure you Laure will make him bend to her will.”
“I wasn’t speaking of them.” She eased from Tristan’s embrace and faced him. “Do we have anything to worry about as far as Bishop’s concerned? Do you think he’ll ever come here looking for us, or rather me, as the others did?”
“If he does, I’ll be there to greet him with my pistols, cutlass, and fists, as will James, Peter, and the island men.”
She rested her fingertips on his whiskered cheek. “I’ve caused you nothing but trouble.”
“I know. It’s been bloody hell.”
She laughed softly, but couldn’t push away her worry. “Never let me go.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “That’s an order.”
“A what?”
“A request.” She pressed her cheek to his, her dangerous angel. “One I’m begging you to grant.”
“You were mine from the first moment I saw you. We both knew as much, even though you were reluctant to accept the truth.”
She smiled at how she’d resisted him. “It was only because I wanted you to properly woo me.”
“Have I?”
“Oh, yes.” She brought his face down to hers. “First came desire.” Her lips brushed his. “Then friendship and love. I would say you wooed me quite well.”
THE END
Be sure not to miss Tina Donahue’s erotic historical romance
PASSIONATE PURSUIT
Is their passion strong enough to break her chains?
Andalucía Spain, 1489: Innocent Beatriz is desperate to escape the threat of a miserable marriage to a cruel Marquis. Forced into the betrothal by her ruthless merchant papá, her only hope is to conceal her identity and become a servant in a nearby castle—a life drastically different from her comfortable upbringing.
Tomás doesn’t know what to make of his well-spoken new servant girl. Her beauty and charm captivate the military hero; her mysterious nature intrigues him. And the desire she ignites burns brighter with each glance, as does his longing to claim her for his own.
Beatriz can’t resist Tomás’s passion, nor deny the heat of her own. But neither the lush countryside nor the walls of the opulent Moorish castle can entirely protect her—and if he were to discover her secret, she could be torn away from him forever. Yet how can she sustain his love if she’s living a lie?
A Lyrical Originals novel on sale now!
Learn more about Tina at
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/24772
Chapter 1
Andalucía, Spain—1489
The castle of Tomás de Zayas
The siege had begun. Not from bloodthirsty Moors. Oh, no. Tomás de Zayas would have welcomed such a prospect. He’d fought Spain’s enemies with ruthless determination during his service to the Crown. Those battles were frequently grisly, but the conflicts had always ended. What he’d face in the coming hours however…
Two carriages approached his estate. The first of many, less than half a league apart, wheels kicking up dust clouds within the heavily vegetated land. Inside each conveyance was a scheming mamá and daughter with naught but marriage on their minds with him the unwilling suitor.
His gut churned. He refused to budge from the parapet until dragged away.
If only he could fly from his castle as jackdaws were doing, their wings outstretched on the mild breeze, sweet scents beckoning. Several birds dipped to spring flowers and lush vegetation shaded from the heavy sun. He longed to ride past the scene, laughing, loving…with the right woman.
The dark-haired beauty he craved was hopelessly out of reach.
He gripped the stone, despising circumstances, dreading the arriving females.
He’d held them off for months, declining invitations to countless gatherings. The mamás had persisted with endless requests to visit his estate, claiming they and their daughters wanted to see how he was doing after his brush with death.
He was hearty as ever and wanted to enjoy life again, though not with them. The woman he desired was already here.
Heat, unbidden and insistent, rushed through him.
“Here you are,” Nuncio said.
Just what he didn’t need. His manservant. An ancient fellow who’d been with the de Zayas family well before Tomás’s birth. Despite Nuncio’s sixty years, the man held himself as erect as a Spanish knight. While his bearing and white hair gave him a courtly appearance, his casual manner was more intrusive uncle than groveling servant.
Nuncio arched a bushy white eyebrow at Tomás’s goblet.
Gleefully, he finished his wine, wanting more to fortify himself against the coming hours.
Clattering horse hooves and wheels quieted.
The first carriage had arrived. Mother and daughter left their conveyance, chattering endlessly. Their voices rang with excitement. Their silly giggles grated.
According to his brother, Enrique, and sister-in-law, Sancha, this was Tomás’s proper future, with someone from his own world. His wayward passion for a woman not of his station couldn’t amount to anything, ever, except trouble and heartache.
He slumped against the railing.
“Are you planning to throw yourself off?” Nuncio sighed tiredly. “Should I be alarmed?”
He would be when Tomás tossed him off the side. “You should do your duty and see to my desires.” He held out his goblet. “I need more wine.”
Nuncio remained planted to the spot, wrinkled hands folded in front, striking a lord of the manor pose. “Your guests might believe otherwise.”
The carriage and footmen were off to the side, the women nowhere in sight. Presumably, mother and daughter were within the castle, waiting for what they believed would be a private visit with him.
Pity that.
He offered a pleased smile. “As they have no regard for my feelings, I hardly care what they think. If you remember, I politely declined their requests to come here, until you hounded me about my indifference to their marriage plans with me as their grudging victim. Now, I have a chance to tell the mamás I have no intention of wedding any of their daughters.”
“By gathering all of them here at the same time.”
“Clever, no?”
“Some might say reckless, considering their families are your political allies, though they may not be after today.”
Tomás waved away Nuncio’s comment. “Better to get this over with at one time rather than dragging the matter out through countless visits. Besides, my public declaration will keep gossip to a minimum. None of the women will be able to say I rejected any señorita because of her shrill laugh, slow wit, poor shape, or dull converse. They were all equally lacking.”
Nuncio looked heavenward. He might have even started to pray.
Tomás gritted his teeth. “Equally lacking in my desire for them. Never fear, I shall be unfailingly polite and let each lady know how wonderful she is. More beautiful than stars sparkling in the night sky, more promising than the hint of spring after a brutal winter, more—”
“Forgive me for interrupting, but one would hope they would still be listening at that point.” He squared his narrow shoulders. “Cook prepared a feast for your guests. If any of them have an appetite after your pretty speech, I propose we hide the knives. For your safety, of course.”
“I can take care of myself. And I refuse to settle for less than what Enrique and Fernando have.”
“You mean the families they started.”
Not entirely. However, Isabella had given birth to her and Fernando’s first child, a daughter. They named her Juana after Isabella’s late mother. Sancha hadn’t yet delivered. Given what Enrique had repeatedly said, he didn’t care whether she bore him a son or a daughter. He simply wanted her and the child’s health and happiness.
Nuncio cleared his throat delicately. “If I may be so bold…”
“You will be, anyway. Get on with it.”
“Very well. If you seek children, I advise you wed first as your brothers had.”
“They fought for the women they wanted. Neither let convention get in his way.”
“Your brothers wed women from their own backgrounds.”
“They fell in love with them first and overcame numerous obstacles to be at their sides even though none were originally meant to be together. Have you forgotten Fernando’s betrothal to Sancha was long before she married Enrique instead? What about Isabella pretending to be Sancha and wedding Fernando before he knew the difference between the two sisters? Despite such chaos, all are blissfully happy now.”
“Miracles do happen, though in your case you best not hope for one.”
Tomás shoved his hair back from where the wind ha
d blown it. “As the youngest son, who I end up with, or if I end up with anyone, is of no consequence. Enrique inherits everything from Papá. Building upon the family dynasty is his duty. I can do as I please.”
Nuncio looked off into the distance, his expression suddenly a mask, though the lines in his face seemed to have deepened. “Is this about Beatriz?”
Tomás’s heart slammed into his chest. Lightheaded, he gripped the stone for support and pretended to drink from his empty goblet, since he was unable and unwilling to answer. Above, a jackdaw cried out. Below, wheels rattled against stone, announcing more guests. Three carriages drew near.
He wanted to run. His legs were too leaden to work properly. “Where is she?”
Nuncio shook his head.
Frustration oiled Tomás’s limbs, allowing him movement. Fist clenched, he approached, prepared to thrash Nuncio to get an answer.
He stood his ground and kept his tongue.
Tomás crowded him further. “Answer me. Where is she?”
“Seeing to her tasks as the other servants are doing.”
And would most likely finish her work before Nuncio offered anything more than he had. “Inform my guests I shall be delayed slightly.”
“You plan to clean up a bit? Excellent. I suggest your dark green robe and doublet. The blue you have on hardly does you justice. As to your hose, one in peach, the other in white will work far better than the striped ones you chose. You should also have a shave.”
Tomás slapped his goblet into Nuncio’s palm and hurried down the steps, his shoes ringing on the stone. On the next level, he rushed through the castle once owned by a Moor, the same as Fernando’s castle had been. Their service to the Crown had won them the reconquered estates. Although Tomás’s new home was far smaller than Fernando’s and certainly Enrique’s, he still had to search numerous halls and countless rooms for Beatriz.
He wanted to see her. No. He needed to. A compulsion he couldn’t seem to resist despite her being a servant. A matter important to Nuncio, Enrique, and Sancha, with them advising Tomás not to take advantage of his position and Beatriz, since a dalliance between them could lead nowhere.