Other Islands: Book Three of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  A glimmer of light flared in the air above Raven. The fairy, Jewel, kept high and out of sight, trailing the native woman as she traveled toward her home. Both females paused at the edge of the camp. One hesitated, to find her resolution. The other hovered, waiting for resolution to be met.

  The master’s instructions rang clear in Jewel’s mind. Follow Captain Cecco’s paramour; identify her tepee; learn how to find her again, speedily, in any kind of light, at any time of night.

  Jewel hadn’t visited the Indian encampment since the day she’d rushed off in despair to plot revenge on Peter and the Wendy. That urge had been a bleeding need, staunched only by the commodore’s care for Jewel. Today, his fairy acted only as an observer.

  Revenge, should any be required, belonged to Hook.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Lightly of the Air,” Panther said, “I am pleased that the council saw fit to dismiss your dealings with your mother as filial duty. I, too, was nurtured by a strong woman.” He looked outside the tepee, following the Old One’s departure. “We would not be honorable sons if we neglected to pay such mothers the homage they deserve.”

  Panther’s wife, a pleasant-faced woman with long, beaded earrings, smiled at him. “Well said, my husband. Every day, I remind your sons of that sentiment.” She had already sent their grown boys to the common, and as she cleared the remains of the feast, she shooed her two younger daughters out of the tepee, too, to clean the cookware in the stream. They went giggling, whispering to each other as they surveyed Rowan and Lightly one last time.

  The matriarch, the Old One, had enriched the family’s gathering with tales of her generation’s hunts and battles. She had left with one hand on her staff and the other on Ayasha’s arm. The camp was becoming quieter as evening fell, and the fire reflected in Panther’s round brown eyes. His pungent pipe smoke twisted upward in the air, giving the illusion of intertwining with the white streak in his braids. Over the dew cloth that brightened the tepee’s inner wall, his shadow wavered among the painted figures behind him, like the shades of which his mother had spoken— warriors of a time long gone.

  The company and the atmosphere were all that could be wished, but now that the feast was consumed and Lightly, too, had enthralled the family with his account of yesterday’s tiger hunt, he and Rowan sat uneasy, waiting for a question to be asked.

  Although the food was delicious, Lightly felt his stomach resisting the little he’d been able to consume. He swallowed again to dislodge a lump in his throat and answered, “Rowan and I appreciate the elders’ acceptance. We can’t change the fact that our relatives are unusual. And in return for the council’s understanding, we’ll make sure that our loyalties don’t conflict with the People’s interests.”

  Panther lounged now, puffing out a mouthful of smoke. “The elders have come to depend upon the pair of you, enough to give you freedoms that other young braves might not be granted. Your virtues are rewarded, but your knowledge of the Golden Boy, alone, is worth their indulgence.”

  Rowan sat in his customary posture, rigid and proud. He said, “We feel the distinction of the council’s trust. It is a privilege to serve as Messengers.” So that his knee could nestle into Lightly’s, he had settled cross-legged in front of the fire. He felt his partner’s anxiety, and wished to end his suspense as soon as possible. His answer to Panther’s question was ready— but still, his jaw ached from clenching.

  “And Rowan,” said Panther, “how do Lily and your little red-haired sister fare at the House in the Clearing? I could not ask before, without the council’s sanction, but are they well?”

  “They are flourishing. Lightly’s twin brothers, the Men of the Clearing, are fine providers. Strange as it may seem to the People, they are all grateful to the Black Chief for arranging their situation. My mother and the others miss the village, it is true, but now that their pirate benefactors have dealt with the boy thief, their worries are few.”

  Panther’s wife had finished fussing over the men, and Panther gestured to her that she should sit down beside him on his mat. “Our laws are made to protect us. As I counsel my three daughters, breaking with custom can lead one, especially a woman, into danger.” He leaned toward the fire to relight the remnants of tobacco in his pipe. After enjoying his smoking for some time, he continued, “Lily, Lelaneh, and Red Fawn are lucky to be protected by men who, as I can guess from knowing their brother Lightly, are worthy.”

  Rowan and Lightly exchanged glances. The gloom they detected upon each other’s features wasn’t cast only by the firelight. The young men’s tension increased as Panther led the conversation toward the subject on everybody’s mind.

  Ayasha’s mother smiled at them, and Lightly thought how kind she was, a generous hostess, a good cook, and, no doubt, an excellent model for her oldest daughter. The girl, too, had behaved in a seemly manner, keeping her black-lashed eyes sober tonight instead of flirting. She had assisted her mother, and made polite conversation throughout the meal. As Lightly narrated the story of Red-Handed Jill and her tigress, Ayasha had appeared fascinated, and her comments showed intelligence. She’d displayed proper respect for her parents, and waited graciously on her grandmother, the Old One, whom she was now attending as was her duty. Ayasha was pretty, and bright, and loving. Lightly could not come up with one reason why Rowan should not marry her.

  But, after all, reason was not why people married. Reason lived in the head. Love lived in the heart. Lightly’s heart felt on the brink of decease. No matter how Rowan answered Panther, some kind of ending must ensue. If Rowan accepted Ayasha, Lightly of the Air would be the odd man out. If Rowan did not accept this woman, or any woman, but instead adhered through the years to his lover, banishment could bring the end of their life among the People. Only one conclusion was clear and inevitable to Lightly: the end of the life he loved, here, among his adoptive tribe.

  Panther sat up, tapped out his pipe, and settled his arm around his wife. “We have devoured a fine dinner; we have relived exciting histories. Now, let us talk of a hopeful future.”

  With only their knees touching, Rowan and Lightly sat as still as the totem pole. Rowan’s features looked as mask-like as the faces on the totem pole, too.

  “Rowan, it is no surprise to you that my eldest daughter, my Ayasha, has cast her eye upon you.” Panther smiled and raised his hand. “No, you need not find something polite to say yet. I will make my speech and get it over with. Rowan Life-Giver. Can you accept Ayasha as your wife? Can you love her, can you provide for her, and, as my daughter’s husband and the father of my grandchildren, be welcomed to our family?”

  Panther and his wife gazed hopefully at Rowan. Lightly turned his head only slightly, enough to witness Rowan’s answer. Rowan still sat unbending, and his charcoal eyes did not blink.

  The fire popped, and three sparks leapt from it. One landed on Rowan’s arm. Without haste, he brushed it back into the fire. Another landed on Lightly’s leggings. He let it smolder, smelling the singeing deerskin and welcoming the sting as it burned toward his thigh. The third spark simply disappeared, burning out in midair. Panther’s wife poked the fire with a stick, to settle the flames. The night noises of the camp came soft through the tepee door— the snap of a blanket being shaken before bedtime, a mother’s voice calling to her children.

  Next came Rowan’s voice.

  “Yes, Panther.” Rowan’s chest rose as he inhaled, deeply.

  Lightly felt his own chest collapse.

  “Yes, I will be honored to be welcomed to your family, and to accept Ayasha’s affection.”

  Lightly of the Air felt dizzy. The remains of Panther’s pipe smoke made him gag. As he forced himself to sit with his knee next to Rowan’s, he looked straight ahead, but blindly now. He’d reached the end of his vision. Only his hearing continued to function, and what he heard next was so odd, he could not believe his ears.

  “But, Panther,” Rowan resumed, “because you trust me with the care of
she whom you raised to a woman, I will be truthful with you.”

  Panther’s face dimmed. His wife pushed her hair behind her ear, as if to hear better, and her beaded earring dangled alone by her cheek.

  “Rowan Life-Giver and Lightly of the Air are closer than brothers. We two are as one man. So sworn, we can enter into no pledge, one without the other.”

  The couple waited, silent, trying to understand. Appreciating their stillness as he searched for words, Rowan went on.

  “You already know that Lightly and I live not strictly within tradition. Only today, the Council of Elders deemed us worthy enough for leniency toward our circumstances.”

  Rowan opened his hands and held them out, as if to accept a gift from his would-be father-in-law.

  “When you entrust your daughter to Rowan Life-Giver, you entrust her also to Lightly of the Air. We will both feel the honor of bearing Ayasha’s marriage token. If you resolve that she will make for us two bracelets…we will make for her two husbands.”

  Lightly closed his eyes. He heard the fire pop again. Then, finally, came Panther’s voice, sounding older.

  “Two husbands, where I looked for merely one.” Ayasha’s father found the grace to chuckle. “Well, Rowan; Lightly….Of any other pair of braves, I would ask that you take two of my daughters.” Panther paused as if to consider, purchasing time to weigh the young men’s reactions. At length, he learned his answer. “As I perceive, however, you are not other braves.” He adjusted himself on his mat. “You are both of you your mothers’ sons.”

  He looked to his wife. She had paled, but, after a moment, she nodded. Her husband spoke again, managing to deliver his words with a neutral tone.

  “I will consult Ayasha herself. Her father will inquire if she will accept the two hands of an honorable son of an outcast, and the honorable son…of a pirate.”

  The honorable sons breathed again. It was an odd sort of ending, but, as Rowan intended, no question remained to be asked.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  In the quiet of the commodore’s quarters, Jill lifted the hourglass in her crimson hand. As the last grains drained from the bulb, she tapped it with her fingernail, then turned it over to count the next hour. Setting it down at its post on her lover’s desk, she smiled and murmured, “Midnight. David’s story is done.”

  Hook reclined on the cushions of the window seat, the jeweled buttons on his dressing gown, like his claw, glinting in candlelight. His strained ankle lay wrapped and raised on a pillow before him. He laid down his book. “Douse the light, my love.”

  Jill did so, and joined him at the window. With the cabin in darkness, they pushed the drapes aside, then leaned out, together. The lush and living scent of the Island greeted them. They peered, but in the starlight no sign of movement could be distinguished, on land, sea, or air.

  Mr. Smee’s knock sounded at the door, and he entered with a lantern. “Good evening to you, Commodore, Lady. All’s well, Madam, it’s just as you were telling us. Pan’s pack have come and gone, trailing their parcel behind them.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smee,” she said, “And so begins an adventure. For my true believer, who shall serve me all his days.”

  “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but how will David free his hands from his chains?”

  “Pan will try to break them, but in the end he’ll ask the twins for help. It’ll be a good excuse for him to make peace with them. And while they’re at the Clearing, David will make amends for his thefts.”

  Hook said, “Thus assuming responsibility for his actions. The boy is already maturing. I gather that he is as you were, my love. ‘The kind that likes to grow up.’ ”

  “As all children, except one, are meant to do.”

  “And, Ma’am,” asked Smee, “will I be getting my shackles back?”

  “Yes, Mr. Smee. We’ll send the key to the twins. No damage will be done to our property, but they’ll put on a good show for the Lost Boys, with hammer and tongs.”

  “Odds bobs, Madam!” Hook laughed, “A fitting end to the story. Well, Mr. Smee. Jill has settled her boys. Now, what of our men?”

  “Tom Tootles is calling them home from the Lady, Commodore.”

  “We shall say good night, then.”

  “Aye, Sir. Let me be helping you to bed now, so you’re not putting strain on that ankle.”

  “It is much improved, thanks to your ministration. In the morning I intend to visit the denizens of the Clearing, where I shall deliver that key, and a cordial invitation to our celebration. Prepare my chair and assemble an escort, if you please. You will take my compliments to Captain Cecco, and request that Mr. Yulunga and a few of his Frenchmen accompany me.”

  “Mr. Yulunga?” Jill turned in surprise. “To inquire how Mrs. Hanover is behaving?”

  “How shrewd you are, my love. Indeed. In order to command two ships’ companies, I must maintain a vigilant eye upon each.”

  Smee nodded. “Right you are, Sir. That vixen can’t be trusted.” Nor, thought Smee, might Captain Cecco. But Smee said nothing of the latter opinion, and he ushered Hook to the bed, where he turned down the covers and drew the dressing gown from his commodore’s shoulders. Next he unbuckled the hook’s harness and hung it at its mooring place close by the bunk. He asked, “And will the lady be joining you on your jaunt to the Island?”

  Jill answered, “Not this time, Mr. Smee. I’ll be stationed at my desk tomorrow. I’ve my new story to set down.”

  “An history, rather,” Hook said, gazing at Jill, and in his eyes shone admiration.

  “Aye. An history.” Jill returned his gaze, and smiled her tigress smile.

  Smee sensed the charge in the atmosphere, and, expeditiously, he turned the lantern low, excusing himself from the room.

  As the door clicked closed, Hook settled under the bed linens. “And pray tell, my love. What happens next in your story?”

  Jill slipped off her dressing gown. The rays of the lantern cast an intimate light upon her, kissing the tresses that fell curling down her arms, and tinting her figure a golden hue. She stood, unashamed, enjoying the sensation of her lover’s gaze upon her nakedness. When she answered, her voice came low and clear.

  “A pirate queen retires to her chamber. There, her loved one waits. Her bed is warm, her lover warmer, and, although he possesses only one hand, it is an open one.

  “She lies down beside him,” Jill sank into the bed. “The glimmer of his rubied ring is almost as lustrous as her eyes.” Smiling, she lifted his hand to her face, so that he could compare his several jewels.

  Hook filled his eyes with their glow, then turned his hand to cup her face. “Aye. As always, my queen, you speak the truth.”

  Her eyes fell closed, and she nestled her cheek in his palm. The intensity of his attention never failed to excite her. Ripples of pleasure coursed through her body. “If you continue to touch me so, Hook, I’ll not be able to finish the story.”

  “And yet you yourself placed us in this circumstance. But there is no need for you to continue. I shall complete the narrative.”

  He resumed the tale, “The pirate queen, whose taste for treasure is legendary, knows a greater craving still. All the day, she longs for evening with her king. Now, at last, their moment is upon them.”

  Gently, he brushed the gemstones of his ring along her face, stroking, “watching her lips open as if to taste the rubies, like cherries.” He pulled the gems away then, but, “so that she might not go hungry,” he delivered in their stead a satiating kiss.

  And yet, “A kiss is never enough for the pirate queen.” Hook turned the ring around on his finger, so that, next, when he stroked Jill’s bosom, the satin surface of the gems circled round her breast, teasing the tip, rousing her nipple to a peak, its color a paler version of the rubies. She pressed closer, her breaths becoming faster, shallower. Yet again, he drew the jewels away.

  She sighed in regret, but her flesh thrilled again as her lover slid his jeweled fingers beneath her breast and downwar
d, leaving a burning trail. Over her ribs he moved his rubies, down her torso, and, irresistibly, toward her point of desire. She indulged in the pleasure as he toyed with it there, rubbing the rubies’ gloss against the fire of her loins. As his adornment stroked his adored one, the sensation penetrated her center, bringing her closer, and closer yet, to rapture. It was then, at the edge of her ecstasy, that Hook sought his own. He slid his burning ring behind her, while he pressed himself into the wealth of her womanhood. And still the story did not end.

  “To slow the midnight hour for their lovemaking, he takes up the hourglass, and tosses its sand in the sea. He fills the vessel up again, to dazzle his mistress, with golden grains he has stolen from the stars.”

  Thus beguiled, Jill’s senses filled, grain upon grain, with rich impressions— gems and gilding, beauty and bliss, and, not the least, with love for her consort, both physical and mystical. With words, with wealth, or with passion, he was, as she had described him, an openhanded man.

  The lovers eluded the boundaries of time, but the hourglass, whether seething with sand or trickling with treasure, measured each instant of intimacy. Counting, counting, steadfast and stealthy, the nighttime carried Hook and his Jill as it carried lesser mortals, inevitably, toward trial.

  CHAPTER 15

  Of Mers and Men

  Lean Wolf Silent Hunter felt the old, familiar craving incite his vitals. He wanted a woman. In the long term, his hopes hinged on Raven. He’d done all he could to prevent a joining between her and White Bear. At the People’s celebration, he had danced before her, his chosen one. He’d felt his sincerity shine like the fire, and, as he observed her, he was certain that she saw it, too. He’d sensed a kindling in her spirit as she watched him, just as his kiss inflamed her that day in the woods. But her urge proved elusive, for she quickly subdued it. Still, Lean Wolf felt one step closer to winning her, knowing that he had roused Raven, too, to feel the craving. She needed a man.

  Later, when his old friend White Bear puffed up with the day’s successes, Lean Wolf watched him retire to his tepee. He saw that White Bear expected to triumph again there, with his sister-in-law. But Lean Wolf had hunted the owl as an excuse to disrupt the quiet, hoping to interrupt any exploits taking place under Raven’s blankets. Judging by the irritation on White Bear’s face this morning, Lean Wolf’s strategy had worked. Plainly, White Bear had not yet enjoyed the delights of his sister-in-law, and his too-pregnant wife could be no consolation. For White Bear, the victories of the day had not fathered the night’s.