Other Islands: Book Three of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “It is by remaining solitary that I hope to win back the woman I love.”

  “You have won those you don’t love, as well. You cut a romantic figure, Captain, with your devotion to your wife. The very quality that keeps you distant keeps you fascinating. Out of respect to your feeling, I will not urge the offer I made to you that first day you visited. You know that I will always welcome you in my arms. But, Captain, are you as determined as you were at the first to remain true to your lady Jill?”

  “More than ever, Lily.”

  “And tomorrow? I know nothing of the details, and we of the Clearing are sworn to keep silence. I wonder, though, if you will follow Jill in whatever battle she plans against Lean Wolf?”

  “I love her, but I will act as I believe to be right. I trust my own weapons, and what I do may not jibe with what Jill thinks best.” As he lay on his back, Cecco felt the rough skin of the scars there, and he recalled the one time he was moved to strike his wife. “I have paid for our differences of opinion in the past, and so has Jill.”

  “Such trials make our loves more rewarding. So I have found.”

  “I hold another assurance, from Jill’s own lips. At a moment of crisis, she told me that I will never be finished with her. Whether she speaks curses or comfort, Jill’s prophecies come true.”

  “I would not choose this gift. To hold such power is frightening.”

  “Well you may say so, Lily. Jill may have cursed even herself with her gift. Doctor Hanover waits for the day he can claim her.”

  “No! What words did she speak to give him this hope?”

  “At the peak of her victory, she mocked his conviction that she’d come away with him. She meant only to taunt the man, but I believe that the phrasing she used might commit her to follow him.” Cecco’s teeth clenched. “Hook and I will do all in our power to thwart that blackguard.”

  “Captain, I am sorry I led you into the dark forest of these thoughts. Please, put them away from you, and do not be distracted from tomorrow. Once the sun rises high, you, the commodore, and the lady must stand united against the Silent Hunter. I fear for the women here, if Jill’s strategy fails.”

  “Your advice is good, Lily. Yet my wife and I have been divided in our strategies before. Whatever happens in our hostilities with Lean Wolf, Jill and I may manage to agree, in the end.”

  “You and I disagreed, once. Tell me, Captain. Have you and Smee truly buried the hatchet?”

  Cecco’s body tensed within her arms. They both listened to the distant fiddle on the Roger. Lily was relieved, moments later, when Cecco sighed and relaxed.

  “Yes, Lily. My apology to him, witnessed by our men, was sincere. In the matter of your beloved Smee, my wife and I reached accord.” Sharpened by the starlight that pierced the dusk of his quarters, his deep brown eyes gazed into hers. “As I lie here with you, so tempted, how can I not trust my Jill to honor her word?”

  As if to affirm Cecco’s point, Lily took his face in her hands and touched his lips with her own. Her kiss was kindness itself, and Cecco warmed to it. The feel of her comely body in his arms, the scent of the woods in her hair, the pregnant air of his cabin on the eve of a dangerous game— all these elements entwined to snare his senses. He closed his eyes and indulged in her comforts.

  And as the couple pressed together from their feet to their foreheads, a sense of melancholy merged their spirits, too. From the keel of the ship, seething upward, the song of the sea-maids arose, slowly and irresistibly, penetrating the decks. Those notes crept from all quarters, to lodge in their hearts. As the sound swelled, Lily clung to Cecco, gasping with pathos, and, this time, it was he who comforted her. In one who had never heard the strains of the sirens so close, the sound infused heartache, and heartbreak. Tears rolled down Lily’s cheeks, and Cecco chased them with his fingers.

  “Poor Lily,” he murmured, and smiled as well as he could, under the burden of that music. “You came aboard for adventure, and found it.”

  They listened to the longing in that song. It shot through them like arrows. As the mermaids’ farewell lodged its barbs in the hearts of the sailors, the two in the captain’s quarters, like the others outside, ached with an anguish that tightened their throats, until the creatures, at last, sank away. The very air seemed to quiver, long after the melody drowned.

  “Poor Cecco,” Lily returned, sniffing, “I am recovering my spirits now. But for you, my dear, a siren’s song never ends.”

  “I will not let it end. I know that my mermaid loves me. Whatever Fate holds in store for each one of us tomorrow, my Jill will haunt me.” Cecco’s gaze left Lily’s face, to settle on his weapons. “Alive, or in death.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Thorn of the Rose

  Lean Wolf’s heart stopped beating. Red Hand had made sure of it.

  She arrived ahead of him, before the sun soared to its height, and now she was gone. The pain he felt upon missing her tryst was excruciating. Unless he compelled her plans to alter, today her ship must sail away with her. Would she return before then, to salve this wound she gouged into his spirit? He could only wait, and see.

  She had left a basket full to overflowing with flowers. It stood abandoned on the gravel path, not far from the door of his cave. Obviously harvested from the Fairy Glade, the blossoms were large and varied— mums, iris and lilacs, daisies, roses and carnations and tulips. Their colors glared garish against the gray of the stone, in hues of purple, yellow, scarlet, orange. If those blooms had voices, Lean Wolf thought, they must cry out to the forest, alerting the Island’s inhabitants to the location of his secret place. Like her absence, the idea maddened him at first. Then, crookedly, he smiled, thinking how Red Hand’s voice exulted, like these flowers, every time he led her to a similar frenzy. Absurdly, she had aroused him, and she wasn’t even here.

  He slid off his bow and his quiver and set them down, crouching to roll the rock from the entrance. As he did so, the tie of Red Hand’s marriage band tightened on his biceps. Filled with anxious energy, Lean Wolf gained relief in exerting the muscles of his arms to their fullest abilities. A man who could move an implacable rock had no cause to fear a woman’s neglect. Once the cave lay open, Lean Wolf shoved the basket inside, inhaling its scents, and he lit a pine knot to illumine his lair. He pulled his weapons inside, too, setting them just within reach. Anticipating her arrival, he kept only his knife on his body, strapped over his leggings, below his knee.

  Soon, though, his restless heart lured him out again, where he could watch for Red Hand’s approach. In a curious state of sureness and uncertainty, he trusted that she’d come to him. He was tentative, too, about whether he’d let her loose again. Either way, he had prepared. Moments passed, in which even the rush of the waterfall seemed muted to listen; then she materialized as if she’d only been waiting for his reappearance. Floating down through the trees on a current of wind, she lit on the gravel path, a few feet from her husband. His heart, which before this marriage he believed to be so jaded, settled down to a more seemly rhythm.

  She had dressed her hair differently this time. She had tied it in a plait that snaked over her shoulder. Her braid reminded him of the women of the village, but, to Lean Wolf, it looked more odd than familiar, because of its sun-color. A pang shot through his body as he realized how— if he allowed her to leave the Island— he’d crave that heady height he reached when he plunged his fingers through it.

  She had changed her clothing, too. Instead of the flowing garments to which he’d become accustomed, today she wore only a man’s tailored jacket, and breeches. The cloth was a faded brown, old and fraying. Most likely that jacket was made for a youth, since it wrapped her small figure like a husk on an ear of green corn. She had fastened the coat with a belt, the rounding of her belly appearing more pronounced below the cinching. No weapon hung within the grip of the belt. Beneath the coat she wore no blouse, and Lean Wolf’s mouth watered to think of unbuckling that belt. Very soon, he’d let that garment fall open an
d taste the rosebuds on her breasts. He wondered if by her costume she’d thought to fool anyone as to her sex. If so, Red Hand made the first blunder he’d seen her commit. This garb failed to hide her womanhood, asserting her curves instead, and her feminine attributes were enhanced yet again by the smile she wore when she greeted him.

  As if the first basketful of blooms wasn’t enough, Red Hand carried a bouquet. It was another sign of celebration, he supposed, and despite his broad shoulders and his capacious chest, his spirit ballooned in ridiculous joy, like a boy’s. Directing another glance around the forest first, alert for intruders, Lean Wolf stretched out his hand in welcome. He kept his voice low, jealous of their privacy.

  “Red Hand.”

  “Husband,” she said, in a whisper, “I bring you a surprise.” She stood where she landed on the path, joyful, but venturing no nearer.

  “I find that whatever you do is surprising.” He beckoned to her, his fingers curling, insistent. “Come, Wife. Our pleasure awaits us.”

  “Indeed, it does.” Soberly, now, she set the flowers down on a stone, then walked toward him with her arms open in welcome. “I have longed for this day.” She moved close, her footfalls silent. The birds in the foliage fell quiet, too, as if they wished to witness this reunion. Halting only a hand span away, so that her lover sensed the excitement of her body, his new wife raised her scarlet hand to burrow in his hair, thence to draw his lips to hers, for a kiss. The heat of her redness seared again, seeping from her palm to the back of his head, and on his mouth, through the blood-red lips that matched the flame of her touch. Lean Wolf, too, had longed for this.

  As they pressed their bodies together, he pulled her toward the cavern. She followed, yet, disappointingly, she broke off the embrace. Smiling, she twisted from his grip, pushing him to arm’s length. Now that he stood this close to her, he saw that her jacket was threadbare. Strings dangled loose from the fabric.

  She laughed at the puzzlement on his face. “Never mind the sad state of my clothes. You won’t have to look at them long. But wait, Lean Wolf. I must fetch your roses.” Turning back, she retrieved the flowers and started to return. But her footsteps halted.

  Through the trees at her back floated an unexpected noise. Lean Wolf stilled, too, listening. No birds made that kind of sound, but it might be a fairy. Lean Wolf knew Red Hand trusted one such creature; perhaps it carried some message to her. With her blue eyes, Red Hand signaled a caution to her husband, then he and she turned to the forest, toward the source of those musical tones.

  They both startled as, from the shadow of the branches, twenty paces away, Captain Cecco strode into sunshine.

  His body looked solid, harsh against the glossy green of the trees. Lean Wolf had seen him before, but this time the gypsy left off his headdress and vest, so that he appeared primitive, his chest and his shoulders naked and powerful. His hair was tied back; a rose-red sash bound his waist and hugged his knife. The reason for the noise became apparent. He had raised his forearms, and his motions had set his bracelets jingling. Their merry music belied the smolder in his eyes, and denied the omen of his stance.

  But the captain’s bangles hung quiet now. In each of his hands he gripped a pistol. One pointed to Lean Wolf’s heart, and one aimed at Red Hand’s. Both targets knew better than to move.

  The pirate spoke in his outlandish accent.

  “So, Amore, you have run to another lover.”

  Lean Wolf’s pride fired as he watched his woman. She did not falter.

  “Yes, Giovanni.”

  “You do not trouble to try to hide him from me?”

  “You know me.” Red Hand turned to the side, as if to deny the pirate’s importance. As she did so, she placed herself between the muzzle of Cecco’s gun and the bulk of Lean Wolf’s body. “I rarely flinch from the truth.”

  Lean Wolf’s every sinew tautened, but he never stirred. From beneath his headband, his sharp eyes shone, yet, an experienced warrior, he only watched, and waited. Clearly, Cecco rode upon the edge of strong emotion. Lean Wolf would hold patience until the moment the pirate’s passion made him reckless. The warrior’s arms hung ready at his sides, and his hand dangled only inches from the knife at his knee.

  He wished he dared reach for his bow, but even so, this Cecco should be easy to defeat. Lean Wolf was quick and lithe. His blade would find a way to dodge those guns. Secretly, he sneered at the clumsiness of this European. The gypsy had come barefoot, to muffle his steps, but he neglected to stifle his jewelry. Unlike Red Hand’s first husband, Lean Wolf was a silent hunter. He bore no noisy bracelets to alert his prey to stalking.

  Cecco snarled at her, “I warned you.”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin. “And I warn you.”

  Lean Wolf expected a forceful reaction. Instead, Cecco smiled. He shook his head, maybe feigning amusement. “Ah, my Jill. You stand and defy me, as I have enjoyed to see you do before. And still, you hold no weapon but your charm.”

  “Will you gamble your life upon it?”

  “I gamble nothing. As I have sworn, the man who touches you must die.” Cecco’s grip on his pistols held steady. “And I found that kiss you shared to be very touching.”

  “I have sworn, too, Giovanni, and you vowed to honor my wishes. This brave is mine.”

  “That kiss will be his last.”

  Red Hand squeezed the stems of her flowers. Lean Wolf saw her knuckles go white. “You must listen to me,” she urged her pirate. “The fleet sails today. I promise you that I will be aboard.”

  A moment of silence, then Cecco’s voice grew grimmer. “No. I do not think you will.”

  Hearing this threat, Red Hand appeared shaken. Yet, once more, she dared to move. She took one step toward Lean Wolf. Distrusting Cecco’s tone, Lean Wolf commanded, “Clear the path, Red Hand. I guard myself.” Uneasily, he watched the pirate from over her shoulder. Her position was too vulnerable.

  “I fight for my rights,” she declared.

  Cecco retorted, “There is nothing right in your obsession with this warrior, Jill.” With his gun, he waved her to one side. “I will deal with him, and then, if you are fortunate, I will take you back.”

  “No. We have an accord.”

  “You have stretched it to its limit. Our accord is done.”

  At this declaration, she swayed, as if her balance was disturbed. Lean Wolf braced to catch her, but she hesitated for only a moment. “Where is Hook?”

  “Hook is here.”

  The arrogant voice rose behind Lean Wolf, and the hairs stood up on his scalp.

  Red Hand whirled to find him, and Lean Wolf followed. He of the Eagle’s Claw stood rooted on the gravel path, ten paces behind them. He posed, sword in hand and hook at the ready, dressed simply, in shirtsleeves. In his three-cornered hat, a jay feather glowed brilliant blue, caged in a shaft of sunlight.

  “Hook…” Red Hand uttered. “I should have known you’d spy on Cecco.”

  “And why not? The two of you offer such entertaining displays.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk. Look how you flaunt your conquest! Raven would blush to see you sport her keepsake so boldly.”

  “Raven?” Lean Wolf wondered, aloud.

  Red Hand said with disdain, “A gentleman would have the decency to hide his doxy’s token.”

  In a flash of memory, Lean Wolf saw Raven in her new headdress; she had taken to wearing a cluster of blue jay feathers in her hair. With his lip curling, he also recalled the fascination the chief of the pirates dared to show for her, even as the People held him captive on the shore of the camp. Lean Wolf felt an old stab of jealousy. “What has the widow to do with the Black Chief?”

  “What, indeed? She has more to do with Hook than she lets on.”

  The Black Chief shrugged. “You speak in temper, Jill. But, at the moment, it is not I who signify trouble. For that, you may look to your husbands.” So saying, he lowered his weapons. “I shall retire from the fray, and merely revel in the spectacle.” Wi
th an ironic smile, he assumed a casual stance.

  Resentment bled through Cecco’s words. “It is well that you leave my wife to me, Commodore— as you failed to do with Raven.” He aimed a malevolent stare at Red Hand. “Come, Jill. I offer you one chance. And only one.”

  “Red Hand, woman who tells tales,” Lean Wolf said, sternly, “you will tell me this story.”

  “The widow deceives you, Husband. While she shies from you, she entices my pirates. Even now, she means to sail with us— this very day.”

  “That is not possible!”

  The blaze of Red Hand’s eyes gentled. “Lean Wolf,” she urged, solicitous, “do not concern yourself for Raven. Your cares are at an end.” She turned on Cecco, “As is my marriage.”

  Deliberately, she strode toward the captain. Clenching the flowers in her right hand, she raised up her left, the colorless one, to exhibit her ring. A thread from her ragged clothing snagged her thumb, but, regal, she ignored it. “And I mean to keep my golden trophy.” Before Cecco’s eyes, she flaunted his wedding band. She sneered his endearment, “Amore.” Kissing her hand to him, she turned her back.

  Lean Wolf guessed the significance of Red Hand’s gesture, because Cecco’s shoulders fell, and his expression turned tragic. As if hypnotized, he gazed at her over the barrels of his guns. He responded, “Amore.” His voice sounded low, and listless; “Amore,” he murmured, once more.

  Red Hand left her first husband behind. Gazing triumphant into Lean Wolf’s admiring eyes, she strutted toward him. She paid no heed to the Black Chief, who seemed to lounge benignly behind him. But she stopped, dead, at the sound of Cecco cocking his pistols.

  Slowly, the woman rotated to face him. She watched her pirate’s eyes as he drew a bead upon her brave. “No!” she ordered him, and flung herself toward Lean Wolf.

  The gun discharged. The blast resounded through the woods, scattering birds, like shot, to fly into the sky. Its impact propelled her forward. Red Hand’s arms flung outward, her eyes flew wide. She exhaled in a grunt of pain, and, while a bloom of blood began to seep and stain her belly, she fell into her Indian’s embrace.