by Andrea Jones
Hook sneered. “Ah. Civilization demands conformity. ’Twas ever thus.” He grunted, shifting his position. He appeared to have difficulty concentrating. “And if White Bear tries to shield you?”
“To side with Outcasts against the ruling of the council is an offense beyond pardon. Once I am gone, White Bear will resent the dishonor, but he will not believe me to be abducted.”
“Ironic, since that is exactly what you are, my dear.” Hook smiled, half-way.
Raven’s heart drummed behind her ribs. Again, she was helpless to deny the Black Chief. She sensed she was a toy in a very large game. Unsure how best to respond, she held silence. The candle on the table guttered, giving off a smell of beeswax, and its yellow light flickered over their faces. Raven watched Hook’s pulse beating through the vein at his throat. Surely, it ought not to beat so brutally?
“And you believe Captain Cecco still intends to help you, now that his dream has come true?”
She recognized the pride and the pain in the man’s question, and countered it with care. “I have no wish to cause you hurt, but I know the captain better than I can know you. I find him a man of his word. When he had cause to wander, when he held small hope of winning his wife from you, he remained faithful to her. I cannot doubt that he will remain faithful to his promise to me.” She gazed at Hook, and her black eyes grew earnest, entreating him, “If you could only—”
“Granted.”
Raven shrank back, wondering why the conceding of her desire should make her shudder so. She felt that his barbed hand had snagged her, without ever moving. His next words confirmed that she was caught.
“Will you now prove as generous as I?”
She looked away, her fingers flying to rake her shorn hair.
“Think well. How badly do you wish to leave home?”
Through her mind flashed the faces of her sister, of the newborn baby girl. And White Bear. Raven was a danger to them all. “It is difficult to—”
She jumped when Hook growled, “Enter!”
“Sir.” Tom came in, bearing a pitcher of water and a plate of fruit. He arranged them on the table, then flung the stale water from the washbasin out the door and filled it again. He replaced the candle in the lantern and, as its light revived, the jewels in the necklace next to it sparkled. Tom’s forehead wrinkled as he looked at it, then he stood at attention to ask, “Will you be needing anything else, Commodore?”
“I need to be left in peace. See that the sentries keep alert, but bar them from the vicinity.”
The young man touched his forehead. “Aye, aye, Sir. I’ll guard your pavilion myself, and I’ll be back for Miss Raven before daybreak.”
Tom grinned at Raven, nodding his reassurance. When he left, the bright-striped flap tumbled down to enfold her in the tent with the Black Chief. The space itself seemed to dwindle, while the man loomed even larger. Raven now awoke to her situation. She had gained her future. Now she must live through the present.
Pretending she was safe again amongst the villagers on the day Hook intruded, she prepared to follow the instructions White Bear had issued. Her chore was simple: she must tend to the pirate chief’s needs. Now that she was secluded with him, with his men at a distance and all who might protect her beyond call, Raven relinquished thoughts of her own distress. Because there was no help for her, she was free to consider Hook himself, and the reason he sent for her. As she studied him, she began to comprehend his difficulty.
“You are in pain.” She leaned toward him, and slipped her hand to his forehead, beneath his tangled hair. The heat of his skin surprised her. “And you are fevered.” She poured a cup of water and served him. He swallowed some, but she was alarmed as his lips failed to close, and the liquid brimmed over, spilling on his beard and down his throat. His eyelids drooped.
She found a towel and dabbed at the moisture, then dipped it in the wash basin, to cleanse the sweat from his flesh. She smoothed his hair, next, gathering it from his neck, while with her fingers, accustomed to her own sparse locks, she indulged in its luxury. Raven recalled tending her husband, Ash, in this manner, and the comparison startled her. Like this man, Ash had been passionate. She had matched him, once, in an existence that seemed long ago— in her life as it was, before heartache invaded.
Recognizing his vulnerability— his grief for his lost beloved— she ceased to look upon the Black Chief as a legend, and saw him as a man. As she viewed him in this light, her task became manageable, and she clutched at the hope its performance extended to her. Both she and Hook teetered at the brink of painful change.
“I am sorry,” she said.
Hook turned to her, his brow dark and furrowed. The voice that oozed so smoothly that first day now sounded muddy. “The captive, apologizing to her captor?”
“No. A woman regretful of her mistake. I see the meaning of your ‘parley’ now.” She knelt beside him, encircling his one hand in hers, noticing how it shook. “In this agreement, we both receive what we need. Not without cost, but without rancor.” She blushed. “I understand, and I, too, say to you…Granted.”
Relieved, Hook no longer tried to hold his fervor at bay. He locked her hand in his, pulling her to his chest, and he hissed in her ear, urgently, “I am burning.”
Through the bristles of his beard, the heat of his cheek blazed against hers. His heartbeats banged against her breast.
“Oh, Sir, what sickness consumes you?”
“My illness is Jill. To your eye I lie alone, but she drags me with her.” He gasped, “She will not let me go.”
“You are not a weak man, nor do you imagine this malady. Some spirit must drive you.”
“I closed my mind to her, but we are linked by magic.” His lip jerked again, in a spasm. He seemed powerless to control it. “In my body, I feel her frenzy.”
Raven remembered her own body’s responses to Cecco. How much more deeply must Jill’s passion run, a wife reunited with her husband, after absence, after turmoil? “I will soothe you, Commodore.”
But she balked, and he caught her staring at his hook, reluctant to trust it. He pushed her away to sit up, hauled his shirt over his shoulders, and flung it from him. Shaking his hair from his face, he leveled a look at her. She quailed at the sight of his harness.
“You are not too dainty, I hope.” He allowed her no time to reply, but seized the clip on the strap, opened it, and shrugged off his brace. “Jill was my right hand. I feel it sear, as if she slashed it off— again.” He clutched his wounded wrist, cradling it at his breast. Then he snatched a tattered blue scarf from the floor and wrapped his stump with it, shrouding the scars from her gaze.
Raven moved close to him again, tying the ends of the scarf to hold it in place. It covered half of a tattoo, too, a lovely painting of a mermaid, whose tail swirled round his wrist. When she finished concealing his hurt, she felt able to breathe more freely. She froze, though, when Hook took her chin in his hand.
His grip was strong, but unsteady. With his iris-blue eyes, he studied her face, appraising. “You are a handsome woman.” His thumb brushed her lower lip with an intimacy she’d forgotten, and something fluttered in her middle.
His voice lowered, to turn throaty. “I have been wanting you.”
He kissed her.
He handled her gently, to start. Raven tasted sweetness on his tongue, a flavor that matched the smell of the bottle by the basin. Soon, she felt his restraint diminishing. With his one hand round her neck, he forced her lips against his, hauling her down to lie atop him on the blanket.
She now realized the power of the control he had exerted. He was fully stimulated, nearly mad with arousal. He must be feeling every nuance of the lovemaking his woman was sharing, this moment, with another. He dispensed with his breeches, then bustled her dress from her body.
Raven felt little discomfiture; this man’s attentions were not of a personal nature. He was a flame, and Raven, the fuel he consumed. His was not the passion of begetting, but of letting go, o
f getting back, of regretting. He laid her down, he rolled to cover her, his full naked weight pressing her into the sand beneath the carpets. Another convulsion overtook him, and, after that, no trace of tenderness remained. He was wild as any lion.
Many tales were told of the Black Chief. Unlike the pirates’ lady, Raven was no storyteller. She pressed her ear to his heart, heard it thunder with his lust, and resolved that, once he freed her, her lips would never part to hint at the happenings of this night.
✽ ✽ ✽
A seagull cried and Nibs the Knife grunted, waking at last to see a purple sky above him. From the snores of the men on the beach, he supposed the night was nearly over. Discovering that he wasn’t alone on his blanket, he looked about to see Lelaneh stretched warm against him on one side, and Red Fawn tucked in the curve of his arm on the other. Careful not to disturb them, he patted at his chest and thighs, disappointed to discover that he was fully clothed.
But no, something was missing. He felt the sea breeze ruffle his hair. When he touched his aching head, he felt a strip of bandage, and muttered, “Curse me for a lubber. I’ve lost it after all.”
Lelaneh woke, and hushed him. “Lie still, man. You are hurt. You must rest until daybreak.”
At once, Nibs conjured the scene upon the beach. He’d been watching the woods when a burst of stars filled his brain, and now he lay on the other side of the bay, by the dying bonfire. “Is Jill all right? What happened?”
Rising, Lelaneh arranged her long hair over her shoulder, then stirred the fire to awaken the flames. “The Lady Jill is with her husband. Your brother is tending to the commodore.”
“Jill, with Cecco? But she refused to—” A dart of pain interrupted. He closed his eyes and clutched his head.
“Be comforted. We all know you did your duty, and no one blames you for Flambard’s death. Drink this, now. It is good medicine. You will sleep.” Lelaneh steadied his head and held a cup to his lips.
The herbal mix smelled pungent. It was tepid, but strong. Nibs swallowed it. Once her words caught up to his brain, he fastened his focus on Lelaneh. He exclaimed, “Flambard’s death? How did he die?”
“Do you not remember? You cut his throat, with your knife”
Nibs blinked, then examined his hands. In the firelight, they appeared to be clean. He held them out to Lelaneh. “Did you wash me?”
As she realized the implication, she looked stunned. “No! The only blood on you was at your head.”
“Who has my kerchief?”
Lelaneh thought, then shook her head. “No one here. It was not found where you lay.”
The crease between Nibs’ eyebrows deepened. “And you say Jill isn’t here, either?”
They locked gazes, and stared at one another.
“I will fetch Tom,” Lelaneh said, but as she padded through the cool, dry sand toward Tom’s post nearer the pavilion, Nibs’ eyelids sagged to close. To ease his hurt, Lelaneh had used her most potent herbs. Before the taste left his tongue, Nibs faded into stupor.
He dreamt of a seagull’s cry. Or had his mother screamed?
✽ ✽ ✽
Jill rose from the cave entrance to stand in the clear, cool air. Relief revived her spirit. She wasn’t disposed to panic in cramped spaces, but after the long night of captivity, she shed her dread like drops of water. Unwilling now to confine even her arms, she dropped her long yellow scarf on the grass. Behind her, the rock scraped, but she declined to watch as Lean Wolf pushed the stone over the hole again. She breathed deeply, to fill her lungs with freedom. One item remained to be managed, then she could walk, run, and fly toward home.
As she turned to Lean Wolf— fierce and formidable, even in the open air— she masked her urgency to escape. Still, a hint of doubt marred his face. It dissolved as she moved to him and circled her hands around his biceps, where she had tied the orange kerchief that bound them as husband and wife. She had folded it thin, wrapped it round his arm, and knotted it firmly. Nibs’ blood upon it, she felt, made the vow it sealed all the more binding— and augmented the curse she cast by marrying him.
“Now you wear my marriage bracelet,” she said. “We cannot share our lives, but we can share our hearts. I will send a message when we may join them again.”
He scoffed, “What messenger can travel between our camps? A bird, perhaps?” He ran his hands through her hair again, as if enjoying its color one last time.
“Yes, a bird: my son, Lightly of the Air. He will do as I command, and with discretion. None of our two peoples will distrust his presence.” Jill raised up on tiptoe, and kissed her brave. “When I can come to you, we will meet at this spot, as the sun sets.”
“You are certain you can come away from your pirates?”
“I am no man’s slave. I proved that to you.”
“Truly, you did.” He smiled and touched his new armband. “I am the caged one now. And yet we both walk free, until our next meeting.” He pulled her close, his embrace revealing his anticipation, and he murmured in her ear, “Red Hand. Do not make me wait too long.”
“My timing will be flawless. You must trust me, Husband.” She clung to patience one last time, waiting for him to ease his hold. Then she slid from his side, scooped up her scarf, and turned to travel down the gravel path toward the waterfall.
As soon as Lean Wolf rolled the stone from the door, she’d known where she was. The sound of water informed her, and she recognized the line of hollows in the rock along this forest track. How many times had she passed them on the way to the waterfall, never realizing their depths? This place was another mystery her Island held for her, adventures as yet undiscovered. If her plan evolved as conceived, the secret of these caverns would endure another age.
Lean Wolf watched her go, her topaz tunic reflecting the violet of the sky as it filtered through the leaves, preparing for dawn. She did not turn to him again and, if she had, she’d have seen only the stone, the moss, and the path. He left no visible trace of his presence; his impact on Jill pressed far deeper than the prints of his moccasins in the forest.
Soon the rushing of the waterfall drowned the early morning sounds of the woods. The piping of the birds became subdued beneath it, as were the sighs of the breezes. Jill smelled the fresh scent of water, and the sweet aroma of grass as it bent beneath her feet. These messengers were kindly reminders of home, and of liberty.
Anxious as she was to return to Hook, even urgent as she knew his concern must be, Jill stopped at the waterfall. Last night, she defied the role of victim. She was not about to return home looking like one. With a heart full of joy, she flew up to the ledge, threw off her clothing, and dove into the deluge to scrub herself clean. Jill was mother to six sons; a wife three times over; lover to another. But she was no man’s slave.
✽ ✽ ✽
Refreshed, Jill squeezed the water from her hair and donned her tunic. Her flight home required only minutes, and from the air she smelled the brine, and saw the white line of waves rolling up the dusky beach. The figures of Tom and Lelaneh stood close together in the faltering light of the bonfire. Eager to see Hook first and relieve his anxiety, Jill was drawn like a moth toward the light of his pavilion. Her feet touched down on the pile of the carpet, and she smoothed her hair and skirt. Then, unobserved by anyone, she flicked the door up and ducked inside.
The tent glowed in the warm lantern rays. No one was about, nor had the camp bed been disturbed. Of course Hook had not slept this night; he must be out searching for her. Jill spied a half empty bowl of fruit on the table, and a bottle. After her ordeal, she could use a taste of something strong. She hurried toward it, tossing her scarf on the bed. She poured a tot of rum and quaffed it. The liquid sent a pleasant blaze cascading from her tongue to her stomach.
Her necklace lay on the table, as scintillating as she herself felt in her restored state of freedom, and she took it up and fastened it round her throat. As she stroked it, enjoying its beloved contours, a dear, familiar sound rose behind her.
It was the voice for which she had longed all that night. Her head raised up, and her smile grew radiant. She closed her eyes to savor the sound.
“That treasure no longer belongs to you.”
Something in Hook’s tone wasn’t right. Perplexed, Jill turned her ear his way, to hear him better.
“And nor do I.”
The smile fell from her face. As she rotated to view him, shock replaced her joy, and she gasped.
Hook reclined on the carpet behind the camp bed, leaning on one elbow. He lay unclothed and unkempt, his eyes hard as sapphires. The peacock blue scarf wrapped his damaged wrist. Sheltered within his arms, his stump intimate with her skin, lay a woman, exotic, striking, and bare. She appeared almost as astonished as Jill. Jill reached behind herself, clutching for the support of the table.
“Hook…?” A piercing pain lanced her heart. “How— what—” she stammered, and then she gave up speaking, and simply stood there, propped up by the table and panting from the blow.
Deliberately, Hook covered Raven with the blanket. He murmured to her, “My apologies,” and he took his time, rising leisurely to stand. As he looked down upon Jill, the air between them felt too thick to breathe.
He saw her hair, dark gold with moisture, and curling. Her face was ruddy from love, as he so often viewed it. Unlike every previous occasion, to witness her this way, now, was maddening. She appeared weary, but he sensed the triumph that radiated from her soul. The sight of his necklace emblazoning her throat incited him the more. He clenched his teeth at her audacity, resentful that she should confront him thus, to revel in his pain.
At that moment Tom entered the tent. His eyebrows shot up, and he exclaimed, “Jill! I knew you’d be back.” Remembering Raven, he reddened, and dropped his gaze. “I mean to say, excuse me, Commodore. I’m here for Miss Raven.”
Hook’s eyes never wavered from Jill. Raven had slipped her dress over her nakedness. Taking up the blanket, she draped it over Hook to shield his own. He surprised her, then, covering her hand to retain her touch on his shoulder. He waited until the lady averted her eyes, and only afterward turned from her to take Raven’s cheek in his palm.