Читать книгу Forbidden Desire - Tina Donahue - Страница 9

Chapter 1

Tristan Kent’s island—1718

Heath Garrison swept his spyglass northwest past the Mozambique Channel. Thousands of miles in the distance lay England. Home. Odd word for a place where he’d faced unending struggle and barely survived. Still, a man couldn’t easily dismiss his birthplace, even when compared to this island paradise.

A balmy breeze grazed his naked chest and tugged his hair. Sun poured down. Lush vegetation, the sea’s tang, and flowers perfumed the air.

Or perhaps the sweet fragrance came from elsewhere.

Despite his captors’ innumerable warnings, he inched his glass to Netta and Aimee, island women no more than twenty. Born identical twins, a cruel pirate’s rule had put an end to their exact resemblance.

To Heath, they couldn’t have been more perfect.

He settled the glass on them.

His pulse quickened.

Their backs were to him, their focus on the leaves and flowers they gathered. Wind stirred their dark brown hair that hung straight and long to their waists. Both women wore silk tied low on their lush hips, one’s cloth a deep rose shade, the other’s bright blue. The fabric fluttered above their bare feet.

They abandoned the bush in favor of another.

He edged to the side, careful not to snap a twig that would disturb them. An insect buzzed near his ear. He brushed it away.

White petals overflowed Aimee’s palms. She dropped them into the silk sack Netta held. The difference in their hands gave away their identities.

He edged closer for a better view of Netta’s old wound.

A lemur cackled on its perch. Its companions jumped from tree to tree, rustling branches and leaves.

At the sound, Aimee and Netta turned. Their naked breasts quivered. The enticing nipples pebbled, ideal for a man’s mouth.

Heath’s watered.

Previous warnings rang in his head. He wasn’t to approach, talk to, or look at the island women. Didn’t matter. Weakened with desire, he couldn’t back away or flee even though they spotted him.

Their lips parted.

Their softened gazes and heightened color showed their approval at seeing him. Willing surrender registered in their dark eyes. Rose bloomed in their light brown cheeks, their skin satiny, flawless with youth, and surely scented with musk. An invitation no sane man could resist. If he didn’t mind being beaten or possibly set adrift from this isle located a week or more from even the most primitive civilization.

Heath lowered his glass. Face down, he called himself a bloody fool for entertaining the idea of enjoying two women at once, much less sisters. This place certainly wasn’t London, but that hardly meant he could behave like a rutting animal.

Dead leaves crackled beneath feet.

He didn’t dare acknowledge Netta and Aimee’s approach or retreat. Wasn’t his business what they did. He pivoted and froze.

Royce Hastings glared. The expression he always reserved for Heath and the other captured mariners. Months before, Heath, his mates, and Benedict Bishop had landed here to take Tristan prisoner. Royce promptly put a bullet in Bishop’s head and the fear of God into most of the crew.

“What are you doing here?” Royce stormed closer and put out his hand. “Give me the glass.”

Heath gripped the instrument. If need be, he’d fight for it. He’d done nothing wrong, except in his thoughts. “It’s mine, as you well know. Tristan allowed me to keep it to watch for intruders.”

“That would be ruthless pirates or worthless mariners like you and those bastards you sailed with. Not Aimee and Netta. What did I tell you about bothering the women?”

Too much. Despite Heath’s background, he wasn’t a schoolboy who needed daily lectures on how a proper gentleman should behave. Good sense told him nothing would come of his attraction. He’d have more chance to woo King George’s wife, Sophia, than he would either twin. “I haven’t said a word to them or any woman here, not even to thank the ones who give me food and drink in exchange for my work. Most think I’m addled or mute.”

“Keep it that way. Leave the islanders to their own people.”

“As you did with Simone?” She was the island’s healer and several months pregnant with Royce’s child.

He rested his palm on the pistol shoved in his breeches waistband. “You dare mention my wife’s name? Do you want to die?”

Heath held up his hands. “I’m not the enemy. I’ve stated repeatedly, I’m with you and everyone else here. Bishop only told us Tristan needed to hang for his piracy. Not once did the swine mention his intent to claim Diana and the treasure here. He certainly didn’t disclose his plan to sell the islanders as slaves. At least not to me. Given what I escaped as a boy, I wouldn’t have signed on for that.”

“So you say. Why should anyone believe you, considering your attack?”

A strange argument coming from a man who’d posed as a shipwrecked merchant to infiltrate the isle for Bishop and help him bring down Tristan. How convenient Royce had forgotten his misstep. “We both came here for less than honorable purposes. Or have you forgotten your role in Bishop’s unending plot to see Tristan dead?”

“I had good reason for what I did.”

According to gossip, to save his mother and sisters servitude and worse in the Colonies. “Indeed. And I sailed to this isle solely because a man must work to eat. My employment was on ships. Unfortunately, I wasn’t born a noble like you.”

“You didn’t have a wastrel father either who lost every farthing to drink, whores, and wagering.”

“How right you are.” Heath smiled pleasantly. “I had no father at all, good or bad. If you find me so distasteful and untrustworthy, allow me to leave when the other islanders come here to trade or we go there.”

The only solution. He couldn’t be an outcast for life. His early years proved hopeless enough. To witness other men building their lives and families while he remained alone was inconceivable, especially with Netta and Aimee tempting him. He didn’t think he’d survive their union with men they’d someday love. There wasn’t a thing he could do to change their futures, nor would he approach them in any way. But that didn’t make him a blasted saint without human need. “I want to leave during the next visit.”

“Impossible.” The wind blew Royce’s dark hair. He pulled it back. “Tristan can’t risk you telling the world about this island.”

“As you told Bishop, bringing him, me, and the rest here?”

“Tristan spared your hide, which means you’re here for life. You’re lucky we feed you.”

Heath tightened his fists. “I labor for each morsel, same as everyone else.”

“Not today you haven’t. We need you in the courtyard to set up tables for the celebration. Come on.”

“Wait. Diana’s already had the child?” Her and Tristan’s first in an unlikely union. Despite being a reverend’s daughter, she’d waylaid Tristan to rescue her younger brother from a pirate’s life. Tristan captured her instead and made her his.

“She’s begun the ordeal. Simone said it shouldn’t take long. Follow me.”

Some distance past his original spot, Heath lost his resolve not to glance back.

Surprise crossed Netta’s and Aimee’s faces. The look women wear when caught doing something they shouldn’t, or when a man gazes into their hearts and souls to uncover their secrets.

Netta returned to her work first, her movements forced, unsettled. Aimee blinked slowly as one would when drugged.

Rumfustian had never intoxicated Heath as they did.

He lumbered forward and bumped into something.

“Watch where you’re going.” Royce shoved him.

Heath twisted to regain his balance and reined in irritation. Better to earn Royce’s trust than to trounce him and get a bullet in his brain or heart for the affront.

They passed through the forest and an opening in the courtyard walls. A sprawling stone mansion, white as snow, surrounded the vegetation.

Naked island children of varying ages scurried past palms and plants. Their laughter rang in the heated air. Men set up plank benches and tables. Squawking chickens flapped their wings in an effort to avoid too many feet.

Tristan’s blond hair stood out like a beacon. So did his heavily scarred back, courtesy of a cruel captain who’d nearly whipped him to death. He paced to and fro, his usual bronze complexion pasty, features haggard, a pistol in his waistband. Diana’s silver-and-diamond marriage collar dangled from his fist.

James, his friend and former quartermaster, watched from the side, red locks flapping in the breeze. Also armed, he caressed his two-week-old son to his heavily freckled chest. The infant’s complexion was islander brown, like his mother’s, not a spot in sight. James spoke to Tristan. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Simone’s taking good care of Diana. Gavra is too when she should be here tending to our Willy. He’s hungry.”

Willy squirmed and wailed.

James simultaneously bounced his son and followed Tristan. Both wore a path in the dirt.

Heath quelled laughter at the once fierce pirates. If their enemies and those whose ships they’d taken could see them now…

A screech tore from a side room.

Tristan whirled around and reared back before he ran into James. “Bloody hell. That was worse than the last one. I thought having Diana take off the collar would allow her to breathe more easily, not scream like the devil’s after her. What in damnation is going on in there?” He pushed past.

James grabbed his arm. “You don’t want to go into the birthing room. Trust me. What you’ll see is for no man’s eyes. It could stop your heart.”

“Don’t be daft. I have to help her.”

“How? Was you who got her into this or have you forgotten?”

Tristan yanked his arm away. “If Diana survives her ordeal, I’ll never lie with her again.”

James howled. “No bloody chance of that happening. If you don’t take her, she’ll do that to you, at the point of her rapier if need be. The same as when she captured you at the Quest before I saved your hide.”

“Must you keep reminding me of—”

Diana’s prolonged moan cut through the other noise.

James gestured Royce over. Heath followed. They surrounded Tristan, keeping him from the room.

He glowered. “I know Gavra will try her best. Simone too. However, that doesn’t address all eventualities.”

James transferred Willy from his right shoulder to his left. Willy spit up yellow liquid that oozed down James’s back. He groaned. “You speak of events that will never be. My mother birthed eight children and survived each ordeal. If not for her advanced age, she would have had ten more.”

“That’s you—her. A farmer’s daughter used to hard labor, sturdy to a fault. Diana’s father did nothing except preach and rail at her for everything she did. Her days with him never prepared her for life on this isle.”

Royce chuckled. “I would think not.”

Tristan shot him a look.

He lost his smile. “I’m only saying with the woman going about as they are—not Diana of course. She’s always fully clothed—that is, her gowns are quite nice. They suit her, because she’s English, not—I’m not sure what I meant. James is right. Since time began, woman have birthed with few problems. My mother thrives in England with my two sisters.”

Diana swore in English then even louder in French, the islander’s language Heath understood.

Once his goal had been to better himself, learn all he could, and become more than what he’d been born as. Being a lifelong celibate on this isle hadn’t been in his plan. He should plead his case to Tristan and James.

Tristan scowled at Heath. “What have you to say?”

“Nothing.” Surely he hadn’t spoken his thoughts aloud. “I’m here to work.” He backed away.

Tristan gripped his forearm. “What of your mother? How many infants did she have and survive through?”

“I don’t know. I never saw her.”

“Because she bloody well died giving you life?” Tristan dug his fingers into Heath.

Pain shot up his arm. He suppressed a wince. “No. The workhouse beadle told me I wasn’t an orphan like the rest, which annoyed him greatly. My mother left me there because she couldn’t feed herself, much less me. After that, I have no idea what happened to her.”

James gestured dismissively. “Probably married some willing fellow and had half a dozen more children. Isn’t that right?”

For Heath to say otherwise might get him killed. Even pirates hunting a prize weren’t as ruthless as a future father worried about his wife and coming child. “I’m certain she had the largest family she could and is with them as we speak.”

“There you have it.” James smacked Tristan’s shoulder. “You can calm down. To make certain you do, I’ll have Aimee and Netta check on Diana.” He motioned them over.

They approached gracefully, more a glide than walk, their breasts bouncing with each step. Aimee held her silk bag in front. Netta hid her left hand. Both peeked at Heath.

His legs weakened, cock stiffened.

“Bonjour.” James smiled. “Allez-vous verifier sur Diana? Voir comment elle va?” Will you check on Diana? See how she’s doing?

Diana wailed.

Tristan covered his eyes.

“Now.” James shooed them away.

“Oui.” Aimee grabbed Netta’s wrist and hurried to the birthing room.

* * * *

Simone met them at the doorway, her rounded belly leading the way, a leather marriage collar adorned with brightly colored beads about her throat. “What took so long?”

Aimee frowned and became as outspoken as Netta. “We returned as quickly as we could. The plants you wanted would confuse anyone. They all look the same. Green and more green.”

“Each color is different.”

“To you, a healer. Not to Netta and me.” She pushed the bag at Simone. “You should mix a potion for Tristan. He’s darting back and forth like a frightened chicken and is making everyone dizzy. Is Diana all right?”

Nude, Diana sagged against the whitewashed wall, her once pale skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her long black hair clung to her breasts. Each pant shuddered through her. She gripped Follie’s and Gavra’s hands and screamed, this outburst more deafening than the rest.

Men’s voices stopped.

Tristan’s loud oath sounded.

Children quieted.

Simone rifled through the bag. “Tell Capitaine his wife is fine. The best potion for a man is ale. Fill him with it so he no longer hears her cries. Where’s the bloodstop?” She dug deeper and made a face. “Did you forget it?”

Netta stiffened. “No. Look at the bottom. Aimee picked the bloodstop first. I added extra before we found the other plants you wanted. Do you expect Diana to bleed?”

“All mothers do, but too much will risk her life. Never tell Tristan that.”

Netta clucked her tongue. “And have him shoot me if I dared mention such a thing? I have no wish to die.”

Simone waddled to her mixing bowl and cups. Her green cloth matched Royce’s eyes. She told the women she’d prayed to mère de l’homme, the goddess who created this isle, for her unborn child to have Royce’s coloring. “Diana’s infant should be here before sundown. Tell Tristan his wife is as brave and healthy as any islander.”

Aimee doubted he’d hear those words even if James shouted them. Only Diana’s silence and Tristan’s son’s or daughter’s thin cries would quiet his worry. She took Netta’s hand. “We can tell him together.”

“No.” Netta pulled away. “You go. I want to wait here.”

Only because Heath was with Tristan. Nothing Netta said or did could convince Aimee otherwise. They’d been together in their mother’s womb and each second they’d drawn breath. Netta was too ashamed of what a pirate had done to her to let any man close, particularly Heath, whom she desired. She’d rather hide from him forever than risk him spurning her.

Aimee pressed her mouth to Netta’s ear. “You saw how Heath looks at us. He wants both, not only one.”

“He looks at you, never me, unless he thinks I might be you. Then he wants me until he sees…” She cleared her throat and kept her voice low. “Go to Tristan then stay with Heath. I can help Simone and the others with Diana.”

“And leave you without any man to love?”

“Go.” She shoved her gently. “I need no one. I never will.”

“Not even me?”

Netta’s dark eyes filled. She embraced Aimee. Her scent matched the sweet flowers she rubbed on herself. As girls, they played at being young women and perfumed themselves to tempt the boys. Their giggles filled the air, as did their boasts about how they’d each capture the strongest and bravest man’s heart.

The pirates came and changed everything.

“Of course I will always need you.” Netta hugged her even harder. “But only when you can take time away from the man who makes you mistress of his house and fills you with his children. Heath’s young and handsome with kindness in his eyes. If he wins your heart, he may let me care for his sons and daughters while you and he take time for your love.”

“No.” Aimee gripped her. “Never talk that way. Your loneliness would kill me.”

Netta’s features grew stony. “You see sadness when there is none. I know what my future brings and what I can never have. I accept my fate.”

She cupped Netta’s chin. “You have to fight for what you want as you did when we were girls. No matter what the pirates did, you and I are the same. If Heath refuses your love, he can never have mine.”

“Foolish talk.” She pushed Aimee’s hands away. “Never again will I be whole like you.”

“None of the islanders or the Englishmen cares about that.” She lowered her voice further. “Royce adores Simone despite her scarred leg. Look at Adamo. He can barely see out of one eye. His face is disfigured, his arm limp from the pirates. Zola gladly became his woman because he proved to be a good man. She made him forget Canela’s cruel treatment and lies.”

“That may be enough for Adamo, but I want no one’s pity or disgust.” She turned away. “Go. See to Tristan. Speak to Heath. I know you want to.”

“Not without you.”

Netta joined Simone at the table. “Teach me what to do so I can help.”

“With Diana?”

“Other women too and the men. I can heal as you do. When Aimee’s time comes, I can keep her safe and present her husband with his new son.”

Simone glanced at Aimee, her gaze questioning Netta’s sudden desire to heal.

Netta had never shown interest before. Sickness frightened her. She, like the other islanders, had known too much death from pirates.

“What of your infant when you have one?” Simone regarded Netta. “Do you intend to look after yourself during that time rather than have my help?”

“For me, that time will never come. There will be no children or marriage to any man. Aiding others is all I ask. Make me a healer like you.”

Aimee’s throat constricted. Simone had saved many but she couldn’t give Netta back what the pirates had taken from her. Heartsick, Aimee left the birthing room and stilled.

Heath had remained with the other men.

He looked at her.

The world stopped and then spun too swiftly.

Sun blanketed his broad shoulders and turned his bronze skin to gold. Light brown hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders. Stubble shadowed his face, intensifying his masculinity.

She locked her knees. Her tightened nipples stung.

Even next to Tristan and Royce, a capitaine and a man of noble birth, Heath stood out. Hard labor on ships had sculpted his powerful body. Tall and sinewy, he had large hands that could destroy anything or provide great pleasure.

Instinctively, Aimee recognized his gentle nature and longed to see mischief and lust flare in his hazel eyes. For her to experience his protective embrace, heated skin, and breathtaking scent would be heaven.

Netta should be here, seeking what every woman needed, a good man to comfort and cherish her. Wasn’t fair or right to deny herself. Nor would Aimee let it stand.

Tonight, she’d change things for her sister, herself, and Heath. Somehow.

Uncertainty and her inherent shyness ate at her. She pushed her unease aside and marched to Tristan to tell him what she’d learned about Diana.

* * * *

Simone pointed. “Tell me what this is.”

Netta had no idea other than green leaves, similar to the others on the table. She hadn’t listened to Simone’s endless droning about plants that cured and flowers that saved lives. To Netta, blossoms made a woman smell good for a man. “Ah…”

Diana shouted vile oaths.

“You should go to her.” Netta gestured. “The pain seems worse. Her language certainly is.”

“The infant gets closer to its new life. Nothing to worry about. Pay attention. This is the soothing plant.” Simone shook it. “After I crush the leaves, I mix their juice with the others I showed you so I can…”

Tristan spoke loudly, the distance muting his exact words. James or Royce laughed. Others joined in. Perhaps Heath.

Netta ached for his voice, the briefest touch. Madness. Wanting him would only frustrate and hurt. He belonged to Aimee, looked at her alone. The few times he’d glanced Netta’s way, she hadn’t the courage to remain and search his expression. He’d never crave her. Men wanted perfect females, especially if those women weren’t white like the English.

Simone shook Netta’s arm.

She pulled away. “What?”

“I asked you about this plant.”

“Is something wrong with its leaves? Should it have flowers?”

“No. Tell me what it does.”

“It stops blood or soothes pain?” Most seemed to do so even though they resembled each other.

Simone dropped her head.

“I can guess again. Does it cure rashes like Henri had before you treated him?”

“Are you certain you want to learn this? You barely listen to what I say.”

She’d focused too much on the courtyard, Aimee and Heath possibly leaving together for a private moment. Netta loved her sister more than life but she didn’t want to witness Heath embracing or kissing her. Their intimacy would wound too deep. “Forgive me. Can you repeat what you said?”

“Later. The infant is coming.”

Its head had crowned.

Unneeded, Netta backed to the doorway.

Children played boisterously, chickens clucked and squawked, feet shuffled, men grunted.

Royce and Adamo hauled a long table across the courtyard. Other men did the same or hoisted plank seats. Near a stand of palms, James and Tristan spoke quietly. Tristan’s color had returned.

Aimee must have convinced him all was well, yet she wasn’t around.

Heath was.

Unrelenting heat poured through Netta and curled deep within her belly. The folds between her legs dampened.

He carried two seats, one on each shoulder, and barely puffed from the weight. Scars cut across his back.

He’d known the same cruelness Tristan and Diana’s brother Peter once endured. The English had much to learn about kindness and decency toward others. Netta longed to stroke the horrible marks and bring Heath joy.

He faced her. His eyes widened in recognition. Perhaps surprise or maybe revulsion.

Shamed, she hid her hand as best she could and ran to the stone house.