Forbidden Desire

by Tina Donahue

  “Tuer mon équipage serait stupide.” Killing my crew would be foolish.

  Heath’s French was flawless. He stared her down, the same as Tristan had always done. Canela liked a strong man, but not too strong. “What I do is no concern of yours.”

  “Perhaps not, but you strike me as an exceedingly bright woman.” He used her language, not his. “Smarter than most men, given what you’ve accomplished here. Then again, I could be wrong if you kill me and my men.”

  Her cheeks heated from desire not embarrassment. He would be a worthy lover. His raw lust a perfect match for hers. “As I have my own crew, I hardly need yours.”

  “If you intend to get past Tristan’s shores, you will. Have you forgotten his men on watch? The moment they see you in the glass, they’ll cut you down, along with the prisoners you’ve recruited to help you. Tristan has a force of eighty or more men. All armed. You have what? Fifteen? Twenty? Think your bullets will last forever? What do you plan to do when you run out? That’s not your only problem. Given the looks of the men here, they haven’t had a proper meal in months. They’re no match against strong and determined islanders. Your crew and you will be dead before one foot touches sand.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I will see Tristan and Diana destroyed. Their child too.”

  Something flickered in Heath’s eyes. He hid it. “Not with your plan you won’t.”

  “Speak again without my permission and you die first.” She shoved her pistol in his face.

  “Kill me and I’ll be no use to you.”

  “Why would you want to be? You wear Adamo’s good luck charm. That makes you an islander as much as the others. Speaking our language. Believing in our customs.”

  Heath laughed. “As though I had a choice when Tristan took me captive with Bishop’s crew. Tristan said I could come here, which is hardly paradise, as you well know, or I could stay on his isle and serve him. I chose to feign loyalty to him so I could eat as a man should. As I deserve. The islanders there are nothing to me.” He yanked the medallion from his neck and spit on it. “Superstitious nonsense. There’s no goddess or god, only men who are brave enough to take what they want. What the world owes them.” He threw the carving aside.

  Michel gaped. Rollan and Etienne lowered their faces. All shocked at Heath’s betrayal.

  Facing death revealed a man’s true nature. Canela wanted to trust Heath’s, but didn’t as yet and kept her weapon trained on him. “Why did Tristan allow you to be capitaine?”

  “He has a child now. So does James. Simone is expecting one with Royce. An Englishman who was a castaway, or so he claimed. Each wanted to stay on the isle to protect his family. Peter’s too young and useless to be in charge. Since the islanders don’t have enough sense to command a ship as a white man would, Tristan sent me. I was the only Englishman left.”

  “With a ship you could take and then flee. Why would you come here instead? Why would you help these people or Tristan?”

  “I want to enjoy his isle and its treasures. Takes less trouble to spend my days in his luxury than working myself to death on a ship or engaging in piracy. A shrewd woman like you should know that.”

  She understood far more than he would ever guess. “What does Tristan call his child?”

  “Merry. A silly, stupid name.”

  Canela agreed. “Does she have Diana’s eyes?” Tristan couldn’t boast enough about their unusual color.

  Heath frowned. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been close to the brat.”

  “But you want Diana. An Englishwoman.”

  “Only for the price she’d fetch in Mozambique. A white woman as a slave would be quite enticing to most men there. She’d bring in nearly as much as Tristan took from merchant ships. Merry would set a fine price too. She won’t always be little. Once she grows, her youthful, untried flesh will yield an enormous amount. A good investment for a wise businessman.”

  An island child toddled to Canela and grabbed her leg.

  She shoved him aside. He fell to the ground and cried.

  Heath watched indifferently. “Are there many more here like him?”

  “Why?”

  “They’d fetch a fair price on the block. Not as much as a white slave, but there would be adequate reward.”

  “We have fifteen.” Goodwin had gathered the children in Fanette’s house so their wailing wouldn’t bother Canela. He’d missed this one. “Sixteen with him.”

  “There are many more on Tristan’s isle, as you know. And young women. Imagine the gold or jewels for selling them.”

  Her pulse raced. “You know who to talk to in Mozambique?”

  “Bishop had several agents there I can contact. All greedy for slaves. They tire of the dark ones. Your people’s brown skin would fetch a much larger price.”

  None would match what a buyer would pay for a white woman and child. Even in slavery, they outdid her. Canela gripped her pistol harder. She preferred to watch Diana and Merry suffering and dying than have them survive. A secret she’d keep until the time came. “You can sail without worry, unlike Tristan? You have no price on your head?”

  “Not yet.” Heath smiled.

  Canela did too. His long hair fluttered in the wind. Whiskers shaded his face. His bronze skin radiated animal heat. She’d enjoy their rule on Tristan’s isle. Harsher than the pirate who once lived there. Longer too, at least for her. If Heath dared dispute anything she said or did, she’d bring him down in a moment and would choose another man to ensure her reign.

  She spoke to Goodwin. “Collect the children. Stick bread in their mouths to keep them quiet and put them in the longboat.” She pointed her pistol at Michel. “You and Goodwin will accompany them to the Lady Lark. Tell the islanders an illness has claimed most of this community, leaving only the little ones and a few prisoners who are so weakened they pose no threat. The men have no reason to unload their cargo here. As soon as you return with Heath, those with him, and the prisoners, the Lady Lark must sail. There is no choice if the children are to survive.”

  She pressed her pistol to his forehead.

  He trembled.

  His dread made her calmer. “If you fail me in the least, Ourson and Esme will die while you watch their pain and terror. After their deaths, I promise to cut out your tongue and blind you, making you completely helpless with no way to survive on your own. I may put you in a pen, like an animal, so my crew can watch you struggle for the food they throw. The men will point and laugh. By then, you may wish for death.” She brought the gun back.

  He turned to Heath. “Please, you must stop this. She is mad.”

  Heath backhanded him.

  His head jerked.

  Heath crowded Michel. “Take care what you say to the lady. Do as she expects and be quick about it. Your son’s life depends upon you following orders rather than behaving like the fool I know you are. Convince the islanders or else.”

  Michel shrank from him and spoke to her. “To spare my son and wife, I promise to do whatever you ask.”

  * * * *

  Heath stepped into the chief’s house and stopped.

  A man sat on the floor, ankles shackled, a filthy and tattered cloth on his head, the fabric faded to beige. Had to be Yellow Scarf. His skeletal frame, shabby breeches, and fetters contradicted the heinous stories Heath heard about him.

  His eyes though…

  Craven schemes seethed in them. Canela’s male side. No wonder she’d kept him bound. He resembled a feral animal.

  A smile spread across his homely face, revealing his long, gray teeth. “Chadwick Vincent, here. Who might you be?”

  Canela hit Vincent with her pistol. Blood poured from a gash in his cheek.

  He grasped for her weapon.

  She skittered back, bumped into the table, and spoke English. “Move again and get worse than that.”

 
Pure hatred poured from him. “You can damn well kill me for all I care.”

  “I would rather you suffer.” She frowned at Heath. “Sit. You too.” She gestured Rollan and Etienne to chairs.

  They dragged theirs far from Heath’s. Wouldn’t look his way.

  He didn’t give a wit about their contempt for him. For the moment, they and the others, except for Julian, were alive. That’s all that mattered, along with keeping them that way. Michel’s death would destroy Ourson.

  Heath wouldn’t consider what his demise would do to Netta and Aimee, along with another attack on the isle, new beasts hunting them.

  Canela leaned into him, her breast against his arm, the pistol tantalizingly close but useless. Even if he wrested the weapon from her, she could shoot first, the bullet hitting Etienne or Rollan. Should they escape that, Heath still had no defense. There weren’t any extra pistols in here. All he had was brute strength to take Canela prisoner and threaten to break her neck unless her men lay down their arms then put their shackles back on. With the pirates’ freedom at stake and Tristan’s riches in sight, Canela’s life was inconsequential to them. They didn’t need her to get safe entry onto Tristan’s beach.

  Only he and his crew could do that.

  Playing for time, Heath forced himself not to pull away or show anything except interest in her. Within reason. If he grew too friendly too fast, she’d sense deception and he’d lose whatever ground he’d gained. To keep Etienne and Rollan from further alarm, Heath spoke English. “When should we leave?”

  She eased his hair behind his ear and stroked his lobe. “When do you think?”

  “If the decision was mine, not until tomorrow morning. The chief expected us to feast with him. Tristan would surely wonder why we returned too soon and would certainly grow suspicious.”

  “So would the islanders who stand guard. Will it be Adamo?”

  Vincent laughed. “Not likely with how I left him.”

  “You’re right.” Heath inclined his head in deference to Vincent’s depravity. “Adamo’s nearly blind in one eye. His arm doesn’t work properly. He’s as ugly as you now.”

  Canela ran her thumb over Heath’s bottom lip. “Does Adamo suffer?”

  “Every day. His pain never ends. The islanders shun him. His life is over.”

  “Is it?” She snapped her fingers at Rollan. “Adamo souffre-t-elle? Il est toujours dans la douleur? Les insulaires lui détestez?” Does Adamo suffer? Is he always in pain? Do the islanders hate him?

  Sweat broke out on Heath’s neck and back. If Rollan or Etienne didn’t verify what he’d said, she’d kill him for lying.

  He knew better than to toy with a poisonous snake but had flattered her thirst for destruction, her desire to humiliate. If he died, the islanders wouldn’t fare as well as he had. They lacked her guile.

  Rollan glanced away. “Ils détestent le plus.” They hate you more.

  She laughed. Delight in her eyes. “As they should, along with fearing me. No one will get in my way.” She spoke English. “Will they, Vincent?”

  He spat.

  She trailed her fingers over Heath’s chest. “Where does Diana keep Merry?”

  A foul taste rose to his throat. He swallowed it down. “In her and Tristan’s bedchamber, I suppose. Isn’t that what mothers do? I have no idea.” Thankfully, Etienne and Rollan didn’t either. Nor did they understand her question, asked in English.

  Canela stroked Heath’s nipple. “When Tristan goes to the pastures and stables, he has no islander guarding her or Diana?”

  There was no safe answer. Heath opted for the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t spend time in the mansion. I work in the courtyard building cribs and chairs.”

  She pressed her mouth to his ear, her pistol to his neck. “Does Tristan love his child very much or is he indifferent because Diana failed to birth a son?”

  Tristan’s adoration and concern for his family would have stunned Canela. And fueled her rage. “If you’re asking if hurting Merry would destroy Tristan, I don’t know the answer to that either. He doesn’t discuss her with me. I’m not even a full citizen on the isle like the others.”

  “Do you have a woman there?”

  Heath faced her. Their lips nearly touched. He fought revulsion. “None like you.”

  “You mean beautiful?”

  “No woman can compare.” An easy truth. She was exquisite and repugnant. Poison wrapped in a lovely package. Rather like preacher tales about Eve’s apple in Eden. “I trust you already know that.”

  “I do.” She ran the pistol barrel over his jaw. One wrong move or word and he’d be dead. “Now you do too.”

  Vincent snorted. “Don’t be too certain. Ask him that when he has the gun to your throat rather than his.”

  She swung the weapon to him. “I should kill you now but I want Diana to suffer from your vile attention. Look at you. Nothing but bones with dirty hair, breeches, and a stink worse than pigs. A perfect lover for Diana in the bed she shares with Tristan. Your horrible face, not his, above her. You using her while she screams and begs for mercy.”

  “She’ll not get it from me.”

  “Nor me.” Canela pushed away from Heath. “We go to the beach now and wait for the longboat. Tonight we sleep on the ship. Tomorrow, we sail. Etienne. Rollan.” She spoke French. “Bring him outside.” She inclined her head to Vincent. “Drag him if you must.”

  Rollan eyed her warily. “What do we say about his shackles? Our people will want to know why only he wears them.”

  “Tell them I lost the key.”

  She’d tied its cord around her wrist.

  Heath wagered it served as a constant reminder to Vincent how close his freedom was and how far away. “You best hide this if you want the crew to believe you.” He tapped the key.

  Canela spoke to Etienne. “Bring Heath his medallion.” She trained her pistol on Rollan. “Delay and he dies.”

  Etienne returned promptly.

  Holding the pistol in one hand, she used her other to untie the cord and tossed the key to Heath. “Fasten it behind the medallion and put it back on. My people will wonder why you no longer wear Adamo’s good luck charm.”

  “Smart. Just as I said.”

  She didn’t smile at his empty compliment. “Time for us to leave this loathsome place. Stay in front of me. If you signal to anyone in the longboat or on the Lady Lark, you die.”

  They piled outside, Etienne and Rollan in front, Vincent between them.

  Heath squinted at the brilliant sun, brighter than he recalled, the air warmer, everything more colorful, his senses on high alert. He breathed through his mouth. The stench from death overwhelmed.

  “Help!”

  Men waved their arms and jumped within a fenced area. Some Heath didn’t know. Many he did. His mates from Bishop’s ship, as obstinate as Bishop had been. Tristan had offered them relative freedom and a fairly easy life on his isle. They chose Faucon. Perhaps they hoped to escape.

  None could with shackles about their ankles.

  “Move.” Canela pushed her pistol into Heath’s back.

  “Aren’t we taking them with us?”

  “I have enough men.”

  Left here, the prisoners would eventually find a way past the fence. However, freeing themselves from the shackles…

  While hobbled, they’d have to collect water, find food, and protect themselves from whatever roamed this isle. A death sentence that would prove slow and grueling.

  No one deserved to die like that. Not even Canela. For her, a bullet in the head would do.

  Several prisoners shouted at once.

  “Wait!”

  “Please!”

  “Help us!”

  Heath couldn’t. Not if he intended to stay alive, keep his crew from harm, and find a way to keep Netta, Aimee, and the
others safe on Tristan’s isle.

  * * * *

  Canela wanted to taste Heath’s mouth, revel in his cock pounding within her sheath, his large body on hers.

  She didn’t dare indulge her lust. He could turn on her in an instant as males always did and would take command, give orders, and choose an Englishwoman to rule beside him. She wouldn’t chance it this time. Once they returned to the stone house, she’d keep Heath her prisoner, seducing him so he’d never consider another female in his bed. Wouldn’t want anyone else except her. Only then would she allow him the slightest freedom.

  Her men easily captured the unsuspecting crew. Michel had lied well. To reward him, she wouldn’t kill Ourson. He’d go on the block with the other children and the younger, virginal women who would fetch the greatest price. His parents would die as hers had.

  Canela hadn’t missed them or her other relatives for a moment. With them gone, she no longer had to follow foolish customs and rules or pretend to. The pirates who’d invaded had their decrees to follow, but as long as she gave herself willingly to them, she could soar like a hawk, strike like a falcon, live like a man with no restrictions.

  Her life with Tristan had offered that until he’d found Diana.

  Canela looked forward to their anguish when she tore Merry from Diana’s arms, and gave Diana to Vincent.

  On Canela’s orders, Goodwin and her crew tied up Heath and his men in the great cabin, the ropes sturdy, knots complicated so they couldn’t help each other escape. Vincent and the children were also in there. Everyone packed tight like pigs in a pen, helpless to stop her. An armed pirate guarded the door. The remaining men took over the Lady Lark. Some slept. Others prepared for the coming journey.

  No one spoke.

  The soft night embraced, the air cleaner than she’d known in nearly a year, the sky vaster than it had ever been.

  She should have been fatigued and hungry. Excitement pulsed through her. In days, she’d return triumphant and would crush everyone in her path.