A Pirate's Love

by Johanna Lindsey

  "No, little one, I'm French. I was born of French parents in a little fishing village on the coast of France," Tristan said.

  "Then why do you sail for England?"

  "I have no ties with France, and England has been good to me. France is my country, Jules's also, but we haven't gone back to her since we left twelve years ago. We've sailed with the English and lived in the Carib­bean since then. This is my home now."

  "So Jules is also French?"

  "Yes. When Casey pronounced Jules's name properly,

  I thought for sure you would realize it. That is why I couldn't tell you my surname is Matisse. It would not be wise for my crew to know they sail under a French captain. You will keep this to yourself?"

  "If you wish," Bettina laughed. She looked at him curiously. "But why have you kept my surname a secret? You would not tell Gabby or Casey my full name; yet they know I am French."

  "I only wanted to keep your name itself a secret. There is no doubt a reward out for information about your whereabouts. Though I trust Casey, I don't trust his crew, and I certainly don't trust Gabby. If they don't know who you are, they can't sell any information about you. And I want it kept secret that you are on this island."

  Bettina smiled. This was the most Tristan had ever told her, and she felt warmed by his new trust in her. But where did Don Miguel de Bastida fit into Tristan's life? Would he ever tell her about that part of his past?

  "Now answer one question for me."

  "What is it?" Bettina asked.

  "When you and your mother talked that day in this room, she said something that didn't make any sense— that you were at de Lambert's house for less than a full day."

  "There was a storm, if you will remember. You were caught in it yourself," Bettina said quickly.

  "Yes, I was caught in it. It came from the west and continued east, which took me off course. But your ship was far enough ahead of me to escape the storm. You would have been on Saint Martin two days before I came."

  "I—I had trouble finding the comte, that was all." She had forgotten about that horrible first day on Saint Martin, and she hated being reminded of it.

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing," she answered, biting her lip.

  "What happened, Bettina?" he asked again. He knew she was hiding something from him.

  "Very well, Tristan," she sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She told him everything that had happened to her before she finally found Pierre, even that she had actually wished he would rescue her.

  "And after all that, I bind you up and rape you again," Tristan said dejectedly. "No wonder you wanted to get even with me. I should be horsewhipped!"

  "You didn't know what I had been through, Tristan. You were only trying to teach me a lesson, which I learned well enough."

  "Did de Lambert take care of this Antoine Gautier?" Tristan asked.

  "I didn't tell him what happened, nor my mother. It was over, and I wanted to forget about it. You are the only one I have told. But I doubt Pierre would have done anything. You were right about him, Tristan. He is a self-centered man, just as Andree" Verlaine was."

  "Well, it seems every time you run away from me, you end up in danger," Tristan said with a half-grin. "I will have to remedy that by never letting you out of my sight again."

  He came to her then, with desire in the depths of his blue eyes. And as he pushed her gently on the bed, she forgot about everything else.

  TRISTAN helped Bettina from her chair at the JJL table and walked with her to the sofa in front of the fireplace. The fire had been lit along with the huge chandelier above the table, and other candles on the walls also, for though it was only the middle of the afternoon, the hall was dark and chilly with an ap­proaching storm.

  Tristan stirred up the fire, then came and stood in front of Bettina, looking down at her large belly where her hands rested.

  "Is he stirring again?" Tristan asked bashfully. The child was such a complete part of Bettina that he felt he couldn't share the experience with her—not yet, any­way.

  "Yes," she laughed. "It seems as if he is turning somersaults."

  She reached out, took Tristan's hand, and placed it on her large middle. She smiled while she watched the pleasure on Tristan's face as he felt his child move with­in her.

  "Do you still wish for a daughter?" he ventured, taking her hand in his.

  "A daughter would be nice, but as you said, every man wants a son."

  His eyes gleamed at her reply, and he bent to kiss her tenderly. "I will be back shortly, Bettina. There's no supply of wood for the fire, and I'll have to gather some before the storm begins."

  When Tristan left, Madeleine joined Bettina by the fire, and they talked about the double wedding that was planned for the following week. Maloma's two sisters would be the brides, and Madeleine couldn't be more excited if she were their mother herself. She loved weddings.

  It was the middle of July, and Bettina had to wait until the middle of September before her child would be born. After seven long months of carrying her baby, she wished the rest of the time would go by quickly. But the past month, despite the discomfort caused by her large shape, had been filled with happiness.

  She touched her sapphire earrings, which she wore every day, and remembered that Tristan had said he hoped they would always match her eyes. Her eyes had remained blue since the night Gabby left, and she saw no reason for them to change in the near future. She let each day take its course and didn't try to analyze her feelings for Tristan or think about what would hap­pen come December when her year with him would come to an end.

  Tristan treated her with the gentlest care and saw to all her needs personally. He acted like a husband in every way, and Bettina was content. They never spoke of marriage or love, but their happiness was obvious for all to see.

  "We have visitors," Jules called out as he came in the front door.

  Bettina sighed heavily, remembering the last visitors they had had. But she was relieved when she turned and saw Captain O'Casey standing in the doorway, looking back at the threatening sky.

  "I wonder if me men will make it to the village be­fore this storm breaks," Casey remarked to Jules with a chuckle. Then he turned and showed obvious surprise when he saw Bettina and Madeleine by the fire.

  Bettina stood up to greet Casey, and she laughed when his eyes widened even further at her swollen shape. Then he smiled warmly and started to approach her.

  Glass crashed on the floor, and Bettina turned to see her mother standing motionless with a broken vase of flowers lying at her feet. Jossel's face had turned as white as her hair, and she stared with wide eyes at Captain O'Casey. Casey was also stunned, unable to move.

  "Jossel?" Casey whispered in a torn voice. "Dear God, can it be?"

  Bettina was filled with confusion as she watched her mother run to Casey and throw her arms around him. He held her to him as if he were afraid to let her go, and Bettina knew then who he was, even before her mother spoke his name.

  "Ryan—my Ryan! I thought I would never see you again!" Jossel cried, tears of joy running down her cheeks. "Why did it have to be so long?"

  "It was fourteen years before I was free to return to you, but after so many years had passed, I was sure you wouldn't have waited. Even though I still loved you, I thought it best not to disrupt your life."

  "I told you I would wait forever."

  "Fourteen years seemed like forever. And you were so young when we parted—only sixteen. A young heart changes," Casey said, holding her face between his hands.

  "I gave up hope that you would come back, but I never stopped loving you, Ryan."

  They kissed, oblivious to all who were watching. Bettina couldn't take her eyes from her father. Why hadn't she sensed the truth when she first met him? He was still as her mother had described him—an Irishman with flaming red hair and laughing green eyes.

  Bettina glanced at Madeleine and was surprised to find her smiling.

  "I knew your m
ama never loved Andree Verlaine, and I suspected many years ago that she had found another man to love," Madeleine whispered to Bettina. "I am glad they have found each other again."

  "It seems they don't even know we're here," Jules laughed when he came up beside Bettina.

  "Can you blame them?" Bettina asked. "They have not seen each other for twenty years."

  Bettina leaned back on the arm of the sofa and watched her parents with loving eyes. She wondered how Casey would react on learning he had a full-grown daughter, and one who would soon make him a grand­father.

  Jossel and Casey looked tenderly at each other, lost to everyone but themselves. They had so much to say, so much to make up for, that they didn't know where to begin.

  "How did you come to be here, of all places?" Casey finally asked. "Is your husband here also?"

  "Andree died last year."

  "So we can be married immediately?" Casey said hopefully, taking her hands in his.

  "Yes, my love. And as for my being here, I came to the Caribbean for our daughter's wedding, but it never took place. Tristan brought me here when he kidnapped Bettina from Saint Martin."

  "Bettina," Casey whispered. "When I first saw her, she reminded me of you, but I never dreamed she was my daughter."

  "You have met her?"

  "When Tristan first brought her here," Casey an­swered. "The lass asked me to help her escape. By the saints, I've been a fool!" He looked at Bettina now, and his eyes narrowed at her protruding belly. "Did the lad marry her?"

  "No, but—" Jossel was cut off when Tristan came through the kitchen door.

  "Casey! It's good to see you again," Tristan said.

  "You won't be thinkin' that for long, me friend," Casey growled. His fist slammed into Tristan's jaw.

  Tristan stumbled backward from the force of the blow and fell up against the wall. He shook his head and rubbed his jaw. Then he looked at Casey in con­fusion.

  "Blast it, man! Why in hell did you do that?"

  "There'll be more where that came from, lad," Casey said without humor, as he stood waiting for Tristan to come at him.

  Despite her clumsiness, Bettina ran across the room quickly and stood in front of Tristan, facing her father with pleading eyes.

  "I don't want him harmed," Bettina said in a low voice.

  "You can't mean to defend the lad after what he's done to you!" Casey shouted.

  "I tried to tell you, Ryan, that they are happy," Jossel said quietly.

  "Will someone tell me what is going on?" Tristan asked, losing his patience.

  Casey ignored Tristan and looked to Jossel. "Did you tell her about me?" he asked, frowning.

  Jossel smiled knowingly. "I told her last year, when she left home to be married."

  "You two know each other?" Tristan asked in sur­prise.

  Casey sighed as he looked at Tristan. "I don't know what to do about you, lad. I'd like to tear you limb from limb, but me daughter doesn't want you harmed."

  "Your daughter!" Tristan looked from Casey's stern expression to the smiling Bettina. Then he stiffened and said, "I don't believe it!"

  "It's true enough," Casey returned. "It's me daughter you've been sleepin' with all these months, and had I known before, she'd not be in the condition she's in now."

  "Is this true, madame?" Tristan asked Jossel.

  "Yes," she answered proudly.

  "Mother of God! Both parents under my roof!" Tris­tan exploded. "Why you, Casey? Sweet Jesus! Of all the men in this world, why do you have to be her father?"

  "That's a fool question, lad," Casey answered. "Bettina's mother is the woman I love, and have loved for twenty years."

  "Very well. You're her father, but that changes noth­ing," said Tristan.

  "It changes one thing, Tristan. You're goin' to marry me daughter."

  "I will not!" Tristan bellowed.

  "Then Bettina will be sailin' with me as soon as the storm is over."

  "Like hell she will! She has given her word she will stay with me for one year. Would you have her break her word?"

  "Is this so, Bettina?" Casey asked.

  "Yes."

  Casey sighed heavily. "If you won't be marryin' her, lad, then you won't be sleepin' with her, either. And I'll be stayin' here to make sure you don't."

  "No one tells me what I will or won't do, Casey, especially in my own house!"

  "Then you leave me no choice but to take Bettina away."

  Tristan could see that Casey meant what he said. What could he do? He wasn't prepared to give up Bet­tina yet.

  "Why don't you ask her what she has to say about this?" Tristan returned.

  "It doesn't matter what she has to say," Casey re­plied. "She's me daughter, and I'll not see her sleepin' with a man she's not married to."

  "Blast it, Casey! I can't do anything to her, anyway, with the way she is now. What difference does it make if she shares my room or not?"

  "A good point," Casey said, smiling. "Since you must leave her alone, why are you bein' so obstinate, lad?"

  "I still want her beside me when I sleep," he said stubbornly.

  "I'm sorry, Tristan, but I can't allow it."

  Tristan saw that he had lost, and he could think of nothing to do about it.

  "Then you had better go see Father Hadrian before the storm breaks. I insist you marry your lady also, // you plan to share a room with her," Tristan said sar­castically, and walked away.

  Casey saw Bettina's saddened expression, and said, "I am your father, lass, though Jossel's husband raised you. I was wrong to leave you and your mother behind, and I've regretted it for more than half me life. But I was a poor man and I couldn't see takin' your mother away from the luxury she was accustomed to. I've thought of you so often, though in me mind you were a son. But I'm glad now that you're what you are. I've never been able to be a father to you, Bettina—until now. Don't hate me for doin' right by you where Tristan is concerned."

  "I could never hate you, Casey," Bettina replied, touched.

  She came into his arms and hugged him closely, feel­ing as if she had known him all her life. But then she looked at Tristan again, and her eyes filled with tears. She left the hall quickly without another word and went to her room. In privacy, the silent tears turned into heartfelt sobs.

  "Was I wrong, Jossel?" Casey asked after watching Bettina run up the stairs.

  "I cannot say," Jossel replied. "Bettina has been very happy recently."

  "When I was here before, Bettina hated Tristan. He was keepin' her here against her will. Has that changed? Does she love him now?"

  "Yes, but she has yet to admit it to herself," Jossel answered. "Perhaps this is the best way. If Tristan is separated from her long enough, he might relent and marry her. But I think you will have a hard time keep­ing them apart in the meantime."

  "I will worry about that," Casey smiled. "But Tristan mentioned a priest. Is there one on the island now?"

  "Yes. He brought one here because some of his men wished to marry properly."

  "Then why are we still standin' here, I'd like to know?" Casey asked with a chuckle.

  Jossel laughed merrily, unable to contain the happi­ness that was bursting inside her. After so many wasted years, the man she loved with all her heart would finally be hers. If her daughter could only find this same joy, she would be the happiest woman alive.

  Jossel and Ryan O'Casey's wedding day was blessed with the worst storm of the season, and un­fortunately they were caught in it on their way back from the village. They were soaked to the skin by the time they reached the house, but they were so absorbed with each other that they didn't seem to notice.

  Casey was in the best of moods, for Jossel was his wife and nothing on this earth would ever part them again. When they entered the hall, not even Tristan's resentful attitude could dampen his mood.

  "I see you wasted no time in doing the honorable thing," Tristan remarked after Jossel had gone upstairs to change her wet clothes.

 
"It's what I wanted to do, lad," Casey replied. He peeled off his wet shirt and went to stand by the fire.

  "What would you have done if Father Hadrian had not been on the island to give you his blessing, Casey?" said Tristan. "After twenty years of separation from the lady, could you have restrained yourself until you had found a priest?"

  "It's hard to say. But I'm thankful that I won't be put to the test. Now, bein' we're nearly the same size, lad, how about lendin' me some dry clothes—I left me things on the ship."

  "I should let you catch your death of cold."

  "Now is that any way to treat your child's grand­father?" Casey chuckled.

  "Sweet Jesus! I don't need to be reminded that my child will have you for a grandfather," Tristan grum­bled. "And don't think you'll have any say where the child is concerned."

  "You forget, Tristan, that Bettina will be leavin' here at the end of the year, and the child goes with her."

  "Blast you, Caseyl Must you stab me at every turn?" Tristan raged and turned on his heel, leaving Casey with a contented smile on his lips.

  Bettina could not remember when she had seen her mother so happy. They were all still seated at the table, though they had finished the meal sometime before. But Casey, as he held Jossel's hand in both of his, was re­lating what had happened these last twenty years to keep him away from France.

  He had already told of the first five years that it took him to amass a small fortune. Even Tristan listened attentively, for he had never heard Casey speak of his past. Tristan was reminded that he spent almost the same amount of time to save enough gold to purchase the Spirited Lady. Only their goals were completely op­posite. Whereas Casey had amassed his fortune for the sake of love, Tristan had scrimped and saved with hatred goading him on, for only with his own ship could he search for Bastida at will.

  "And so after five years I was on me way back to France," Casey continued. "But after seven weeks at sea, we encountered the worst storm that I've ever seen. For two nights and a day the small vessel was battered and tossed about, sustainin' heavy damage. After the storm was over, it was discovered that six men had been swept overboard, and the ship would be crawlin' the rest of the way home.