manifest of passengers, he was the only one Captain DuMont brought back to the Cay.”
“And it was he who taught you to be an acrobat,” she said, smiling. The story was
taking a much better turn and he was stroking her hand gently. Obviously the arrival of
the acrobat was a pleasant memory for him.
“We hit it off right away. I begged him to teach me the tricks he did and after a
while he agreed. He was a merciless instructor but within a few years I could do most
of what he could and then some. I learned to swing from a trapeze and—”
“A what?” she asked.
“It is a type of swing upon which you can do acrobatic moves, hanging from your
legs, your arms, even your chin or heels. Frederic had one built to his specifications
although it was—he said—far from being a good replica. Nevertheless, he taught me to
fly.” At her skeptical look, he grinned. “That is the term they use in the circus. You fly
on a trapeze. You can literally sail through the air from one swinging bar to another so
that is why they call it flying. Usually, there is another man on the other bar who will
catch you during the more difficult feats.”
“And you do this still?” she asked skeptically.
He nodded. “There is a young man named Remy who I’ve been training as I was
trained and he and I work out every morning when I’m at the Cay.”
She pushed up so she was looking down at him. “May I watch?”
His smile became soft and tender. “Aye, precious, if you’d like.”
She started to speak then yawned, her face turning red as she covered her mouth.
“I think we need to get some sleep,” Andre said, reaching up to pull her head back
down to his shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”
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Rylee settled against him, a bit confused about her changing reactions to this man.
He had been nothing but polite to her—patient, charming and respectful—and yet she
knew without a doubt that he could be as dangerous and vindictive as Alsandair. In
fact, the similarities between the two men were very striking. As she lay there in his
arms with his warm breath on her face, it was easy to imagine he was Sandair. She fell
asleep with an image of both men drifting lazily across her subconscious.
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Chapter Thirteen
It had been Ataa’s idea to build a beacon fire atop the rock upon which Alsandair
had sat and stared out to sea. The little boy had surprised the men with his ingenuity
and very adult way of figuring out problems. He was proving to be an invaluable
member of their group of castaways.
“Papa!” the child yelled as he ran toward Alsandair. “Papa, fast!”
Alsandair looked up from his moody contemplation of the fish grilling on his stick.
“What is it?” he asked.
Ataa was breathless as he plopped to his knees in the sand beside his adopted
father. He pointed excitedly toward the jungle behind them. “Gorbe!” he said excitedly.
“Gorbe?” Alsandair repeated.
The little boy’s shoulders slumped comically and he heaved a big, grownup sigh.
“Gorbe, Papa! Gorbe!” He put his fingers up to his cheeks—thumbs on his face and
fingers waving wildly. When his father just stared at him, Ataa made a meowing sound.
“Cat?” Alsandair said, smiling for a second before the smile drained completely.
“Big cat?”
“Little!” Ataa replied with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He hopped to his feet and
reached out to tug on his father’s shirtsleeve. “Pedar, fast!”
“I don’t know, Ataa,” Alsandair said. “Mama?” He mimicked a big cat and fiercely
growled.
“No, Papa, no!” the child whined, and tugged harder at his father’s shirt.
“All right,” Alsandair said, laying aside the fish. “But if we get mauled, it’s on your
head, little man.” He got up, smiling as the enthusiastic child grabbed his hand and
started pulling him toward the forest.
The forest seemed alive with insects clicking and chirping, singing along in
harmony to tropical bird songs and the strange crooning of unseen animals. In the high
canopies of the lush green trees, large colorful birds streaked from branch to branch and
monkeys scurried along the thick vines, swinging from tree to tree and chattering. Now
wrapped around a high branch, its forked tongue flashing.
Alsandair and his eager little ward had skirted a shimmering pool when the
warrior heard the unmistakable sound of a cat crying plaintively. He looked up for the
sound was coming from above their heads.
“Papa!” Ataa said, and led him over to a tall tree. He let go of his father’s hand and
pointed.
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It took Alsandair a moment to find the source of the pitiful lament. His gaze swept
past the animal once before darting back. High up in the branches sat a white and gold
feline, looking down at them with pleading golden eyes.
“How did you get way up there, little one?” Alsandair said, his hands on his hips.
“Meow,” the cat whimpered.
“Papa, climb!” Ataa said.
Alsandair wasn’t all that fond of heights, but the tree had good, thick branches and
it wouldn’t be hard to climb. There were vines to grab for as well and no visible signs of
vipers lurking about among the lush leaves.
“Meow,” the cat pleaded again.
“All right,” Alsandair said with a resigned sigh. He jumped up to grab a low-
hanging branch and pulled himself up, lifting a leg to dig the toe of his boot into the
wide trunk.
Ataa’s little face was tipped up as he watched his father cautiously climbing the
tree. He had tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and was quiet, somehow sensing it
would be best not to bother his father at such a time, though he shifted back and forth
on his bare feet as he waited impatiently.
Alsandair knew better than to look down. He could feel the sweat popping out on
his face and under his arms the higher up he went. The cat was perched about five feet
above him and kept making little mewing sounds.
His boot slipping down a patch of fungus growing on the trunk, Alsandair almost
lost his grip on the branch above him and stilled, breathing heavily, closing his eyes to
the real possibility of falling and breaking his back or neck. He swallowed, opened his
eyes and looked up into the triangular face of the cat. “You’d better make my son one
helluva good pet, cat, or I promise you I’ll turn you into bow strings,” he mumbled.
“Meow,” the cat complained, and rubbed the side of its face against the tree trunk.
Slowly and methodically, Alsandair climbed higher until he could reach out a hand
and grasp the cat by the scruff of its neck, pulling it from the branch upon which it sat.
He wasn’t surprised and had prepared himself for the feline to dig its claws into his
forearm as he brought it toward his chest.
“Goddamit, that hurts, you little brat,” Alsandair said through clenched teeth. He
could feel the sharp points drawing blood but apparently the cat recognized help for it
&nbs
p; released its death grip on the warrior’s arm and turned so it could perch on Alsandair’s
chest—though it still dug its claws into the human male’s shoulder in an effort to hang
on as its rescuer started moving back down the tree.
Carefully making his way down the tree, Alsandair could hear the cat purring
contentedly. It was rubbing its soft little face against the side of his unshaved jaw even
as it clung painfully to his shoulder. Even when his boot slid out from under him and
he scraped his knee against the rough bark, the cat held on, the vibration sound
continuing softly.
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Ataa held his hands up for the cat as Alsandair hopped to the ground. Plucking the
cat from his clothing, wincing at the prickly claws still clinging to him, he gave the
feline into his son’s keeping.
“You’re a wicked little widget,” Alsandair grumbled, wiping his palms down his
pants.
“So what are you going to name him, Attie?”
Alsandair turned around to see Kyle leaning against a palm tree with his arms
crossed and a wide grin on his face.
“Widget!” Ataa pronounced, and went running off with his prize tucked securely
against his scrawny little chest.
“If that thing climbs back up the tree, I’m not going up after him again!” Alsandair
shouted after his son.
“Widget?” Kyle questioned with an arched brow.
Alsandair shook his head. “I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut one of these days.”
“That’s a coon cat, you know,” Kyle said. “A very expensive breed.” He
straightened up and fell into step beside Alsandair. “How do you suppose it wound up
on the island?”
“Probably off some ship, wouldn’t you think?” Alsandair asked. “In the last four
days we’ve been over every inch of this island and there’s no one else here but the
animals and us.”
“Which begs the question—if Widget arrived with other castaways where are
they?”
“Probably rescued but the cat couldn’t be—or didn’t want to be—found.”
The two men walked back to the beach and Alsandair wasn’t too surprised to see
his son feeding his new pet the fish his father had been grilling. He chuckled lightly.
“Someone is bound to see the beacon sooner or later,” Kyle said. “I am more than
ready to get off this gods-be-damned island.”
Alsandair’s attention drifted to the two jolly boats that had been pulled up on the
beach. Both had holes in the bottom courtesy of the pirates who—before they’d lowered
the boats from the Mary Constance—had created the holes so the boats would not be
usable upon reaching the island. As it was, Alsandair and the other men had to
scramble to get the boats to land before they sank. With no way to patch them, the boats
were useless—just as the pirates had intended.
“Eventually, the Anlusian military will come looking for me,” Alsandair said. “I’ll
be absent without leave in another few days.”
“And surely the company that owns Drake’s ship will send someone out looking
for him when the cargo doesn’t arrive back at Dellymal,” Kyle commented. “I imagine
his wife and daughter will sound the alarm, as well. He’s supposed to be at a wedding.”
“All I want is a ship to take me to Wicklaw Cay,” Alsandair said, stopping to stare
out at the waves rolling to shore.
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“You have to believe she’s all right, Sandair,” Kyle said. He put a hand on his
companion’s shoulder. “I truly don’t think he would hurt her.”
“Fuck her but not hurt her,” Alsandair snarled. Hurt entered his dark eyes. “Just
imagining that makes me want to kill something.”
“I know,” Kyle said, and took his hand away.
“The gods help him when I get my hands on him again,” Alsandair said. “One of us
will be on our way to the Gatherer before it’s all said and done.”
* * * * *
Rylee clapped her hands as Andre let go of the trapeze bar, twisted in midair and
hooked his hands around Remy’s wrists as the younger man hung by his knees on the
second trapeze, swinging them both high into the air. She never tired of watching the
performance that was a morning ritual for the two men. The area in which she was
sitting had been set aside with a tightrope strung between two palms, the two trapeze, a
set of uneven parallel iron bars, two rings hanging on ropes from a tall tree and a
cleared place with soft white sand where Andre and Remy could do somersaults,
handsprings and myriad moves she could not name but observed with astonished
wonder. She clapped again as Andre twisted out of Remy’s hold and caught the bar of
his trapeze once again.
“Captain?” Gaston called out, drawing Rylee’s attention to the wizened little man
standing at the edge of the clearing.
“Aye?” Andre asked. He was sitting sideways on the trapeze bar.
“He’s back,” was all the old man said before turning around and heading back to
the house.
Rylee looked around and saw Andre was frowning. She heard him tell Remy that
was enough for the day and watched him begin pumping the swing higher with his
legs until he could reach one of the two platforms that braced the trapeze rig. He
slipped off the bar and onto the platform then slid down the ladder that gave access to
the platform. He came toward her, dusting the rosin off his hands.
“Your brother?” she asked, putting up a hand for him to help her to her feet.
“Aye,” he said, a muscle grinding in his jaw.
They started back to the house in silence. Andre’s bare chest glistened with sweat as
he unwound the wristbands that absorbed the moisture on his arms to keep his hands
dry.
It was the morning of the fifth day since he had brought her to Wicklaw Cay and he
had yet to physically claim her. Each night she slept beside him—wrapped securely in
his arms—but he had made no attempt to even touch her in an inappropriate way. The
threat he’d made to have the Brotherhood set aside her Joining to Alsandair had yet to
happen.
“I will have to go to see the Council today,” he said quietly.
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Rylee looked up at him. “Why?” she asked, though she figured she knew the
answer already.
“Louis will demand I marry you before the sun sets or else move you into a
separate bedroom,” he replied. “He has very strict notions of propriety where I’m
concerned.”
“Yet he has a mistress who lives with him,” she said. “A woman he’s not married
to. I’ve overheard Suzette and her mother talking about her.”
Andre grunted. “True but Antoinette was a two-bit whore when he brought her to
the Cay. He has no intention of ever making an honest woman of her since she wasn’t
one to start with.” He glanced down at her. “You are a different matter altogether.”
She knew he had been dreading her meeting with Louis and as soon as she saw the
burly man come striding toward them with an ugly sneer on his face, she understood
why.
“Where the fuck was your head, boy?” the newcomer snarled. He was tall like
Andre but barrel-chested with a full beard, shaggy salt and pepper hair lying loose on
his shoulders and he wore a brace of deadly looking pistols on his hips.
Andre reached out to take Rylee’s hand. “I intend to marry her,” he said.
“And why the hell haven’t you done so before now?” the man who called himself
Louis Corsair demanded. He swept his eyes over Rylee and grunted. “She’s gentry if
I’ve ever seen it, and you don’t fuck gentry and—”
“I have not taken her,” Andre interrupted his brother.
Louis blinked, seemingly taken back by the admission. “Why the hell not? What’s
wrong with her?”
“I was waiting for the proper words to be said over us to make it legal,” Andre
defended his decision. “As you say, she’s a lady and you marry a lady, Louis.”
“I’m told she’s already married,” Louis said. “And that you set her husband down
real gentle-like so’s not to injure the little bastard. You do know he’ll come after her,
don’t you?”
“More than likely,” Andre agreed, “but I’ll handle it if he does.”
Squinting his dark eyes, Louis stared openly at Rylee. “Red hair and green eyes,” he
said with a disgusted shake of his shaggy head. “Temper and willfulness. You’ll need to
beat both of them out of her if you’re to live even a single day in peace.”
Rylee kept quiet for she had developed an immediate dislike of Louis Corsair. It
was more than just his crude manners and the vulgar looks he was directing at her that
made her want to stay clear of him. Whether or not his suggestion to beat her was real
or meant to intimidate her, she knew from the way he said it, he was letting her know
there would never be friendship between them.
“Get yourself before the Council now,” Louis commanded then spun around and
stalked back the way he’d come.
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She heard Andre release a long slow breath. “Are you g-going to the Council?” she
asked, fearful of his reply.
“I have to, bébé,” he stated. “We’ll be Joined before the day is out.”
Rylee wanted to scream her denial of that happening. She had started to think of
Andre as a friend—not unlike Kyle—and had begun to hope he would not make good
on his threat to marry her. He hadn’t seemed in any hurry to do so and hadn’t forced