A Pirate's Love (12 page)

“Neither, if the house belongs to that crude man!” Bettina replied heatedly, her dark-green eyes flashing.

Tristan laughed. “It's not Casey's house, but you have misjudged him. He's a good man, and was merely jesting about you. His crew is off carousing in the village, but he rarely goes there.”

“How far is this village?”

“About a mile inland.”

“Is that where the Comte de Lambert has his plantation?” she asked hopefully.

“No.”

“Then where—”

“Come,” he said, cutting her off. “I'll show you to a room where you can bathe.”

“How long will we be here?”

“A while,” he replied curtly, and led Bettina into the house. Jules had already taken Madeleine inside, and Casey had disappeared.

The entire square bottom floor formed one cool, dark room. There were only a few windows on three of the walls, and these were small and high, above
eye level, letting in very little light. The wall to the right held a stone fireplace, very sooty, which seemed to be used for cooking. A few wooden chairs stood beside the fireplace and a plain sideboard with pots and dishes.

A huge table stood in the center of the room, made of rough, uneven wood, with twenty or more chairs about it. Above the table, and oddly out of place in this big room, was a large crystal chandelier with half-burnt candles. There was no other furniture in the room, and nothing adorning the stone walls. A sturdy wooden staircase without railings led up to the second floor.

“There are six rooms upstairs, three on each side of the house. You may use the first room on the right side,” Tristan told Bettina.

“After I bathe, will we be leaving?”

“We will eat first. But you can take your time, for I have to see about the provisions.”

Tristan ordered a caldron of water to be heated over the fire, and left. Bettina put aside her annoyance at Tristan's evasiveness and turned to Madeleine.

“The
capitaine
said we could use the first room on the right. It will be good to have a bath after being so long at sea.”

“It certainly will,” Madeleine replied. “But I want to see to the meal first.”

“Very well,” Bettina said and started for the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a short corridor brightly illuminated by windows on both sides, one side looking out on the beautiful courtyard garden on the roof, and the other side looking down on the green lawns behind the house. The corridor continued into both wings, with bedroom doors on one side
of the passage and windows looking out on the garden on the other side.

Bettina walked into the large bedroom Tristan had said she might use. It looked comfortable, but there was dust on everything, including the thick green-and-yellow quilted bedspread. There was a very large black-green-and-yellow Oriental rug that almost completely covered the floor. A large sea chest was at the foot of the big four-poster bed, and two chairs, covered in light-green velvet, stood against a wall.

The room had no fireplace, but Bettina supposed there would be no need for one in such a warm climate. The window overlooking the lawn had a wonderful view of the horned mountain in the far distance. But Bettina was disappointed to see that the mountain was still dark and brooding.

She went to the large chest at the foot of the bed and opened it, but it was empty. There was an intricately carved folding screen in one corner that hid a fairly large tub. Bettina ran her finger along the rounded top edge of the screen to remove the dust, then laid her dresses over it. She set her silver comb on the table beside the bed, then stripped the heavy cover off the bed and shook it out, watching the dust particles float in the air. She put the spread back and dusted the rest of the furniture with her hands until young Joey, the cabin boy, entered the room with the first buckets of warm water. Madeleine following him with towels and soap.

With the door open, Bettina could hear the sound of female giggling coming from the first floor. “Are there other women here?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes. A couple of girls from the village just came,” Madeleine replied, “to help in the kitchen.
They're pretty girls, golden-skinned, dark-haired. They speak Spanish.”

“Really?” Bettina said. “I thought Saint Martin was occupied only by the French and Dutch.”

“Apparently not, my pet.”

T
he water was pleasantly warm, and Bettina lazily watched the floating soap bubbles, intending to soak for hours. She didn't hear the door open, and she started when Tristan folded the screen and set it against the wall. He stood looking down at her for a moment, but her hair floated in the water around her, hiding what he had hoped to see.

“Get out of here!” Bettina snapped. But he walked to the bed and sat down facing her. She wished now that she hadn't dusted the spread. “Leave now or I—I will scream!”

Tristan laughed heartily. “You should know by now that your screams will not bring help. But I came here to talk—nothing else.”

“We have nothing more to talk about,” she said, “except returning me to my betrothed. And that can wait until I have finished my bath. So please leave.”

“This is my room, and I choose to stay.”

“Your room!”

“Yes. And I would prefer you remained where you are.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because you're at a disadvantage, and that is the way I want you.”

“I do not understand.”

“You see, Bettina, this is not only my room. This is my house. And we will be staying here for a while.”

“But you—you must be mad to tell me this! You know I will inform the
comte
, and he will come after you.”

“How so?” Tristan asked, amused.

“You live on the same island. It will not be hard to find this house again.”

“Ah, Bettina.” He sighed heavily. “Is it so hard for you to accept the obvious? No one will ever be able to find my house. This is not Saint Martin, but only one small, uncivilized island among many.”

“No! You are lying to me again!”

“I speak the truth—you have my word. I changed course a week ago. I know that you don't like it, but you might as well accept it. We will stay here a month—perhaps two.”

“No—no! I will not stay here with you! Why did you change course? Or did you never intend to take me to Saint Martin?”

“I didn't lie to you at first. I simply changed my mind and decided to come home for a while. We were headed here when your ship was sighted. We have been at sea for two years, and my crew needs a rest. I will still take you to your betrothed if you wish. But you must consider this your home for the time being.”

“No—I will not stay here!”

“Where will you go, little one?”

“You spoke of a village—I will go there,” she said haughtily.

“You won't find any help in the village, Bettina. The Awawaks are peaceful farmers, but they distrust
the white man. A hundred and fifty years ago, the Spanish used them mercilessly to mine for silver, and none survived but a dozen families who had escaped to hide in the foothills. When the island was drained of its worth, the Spaniards left, and the runaways returned to the deserted village. When I first found this island, I claimed this house as my own and decided to make it my home. We deal fairly with the Indians and trade for what we want. They speak some Spanish and have learned a little English since my coming, but they won't help you. And even if they did, I would find you and bring you back here.”

“Why did you decide to bring me here, Tristan?” Bettina asked, trying to stay calm. “You would have delayed only two weeks by taking me to Saint Martin, and would have gained much gold.
Mon Dieu
, I was so happy—thinking I would never have to look upon you again. Why did you change your mind?”

“We were coming home for pleasure and relaxation, and you are my greatest pleasure,” he replied softly, then stood up to leave. “Finish your bath, little one, and then come downstairs. The food should be ready.”

“Tristan, you will have no more pleasure at my expense,” she said, her eyes dark with loathing.

“We shall see,” he returned.

“No, we shall
not
see! If you insist upon raping me again, I will find the means to escape you again. I give you my word!”

“And I give you
my
word that I will keep you prisoner here if I have to!” Tristan shouted, finally losing his patience. He left the room and slammed the door behind him.

 

Bettina's hair was still damp when she came down the stairs an hour later. She had braided her hair into a long plait and wore her dress of lilac cotton. Madeleine left the table and met her at the foot of the stairs.

“Jules told me we will be staying here for some time,” she whispered. “I am so sorry, Bettina. You must be terribly upset.”

“I have nothing to be upset about,” Bettina said calmly. “I don't have to stay here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if that arrogant fool touches me again, I will run away.” She glanced at Tristan, who was sitting at the table staring at her, and smiled coquettishly at him.

“Bettina, you must not do anything rash,” Madeleine said fearfully.

“I do not intend to!” Bettina snapped, but stopped at the sight of her servant's stricken face. “I'm sorry, Maddy. I am forever taking my anger out on you. You must forgive me.”

“I know.” said Madeleine. “You have changed much since you have been with the
capitaine
, and I understand why I would rather you took your anger out on me. If you show anger to him, it could endanger your life.”

“Have no fear, Maddy. He will not kill me. It is just that he inflames me so with rage, and he has yet to pay the price. Sometimes my emotions are so strong that they scare me.”

“But Bettina,
why
do you hate him so?”

“Why? I—never mind. Come, he grows impatient.”

They walked to the long table, and Bettina took the empty chair beside Tristan. Madeleine went to
the kitchen area, leaving Bettina with Tristan, the man called Casey on her right, and Jules, who was sitting across from her.

“Bettina, I'd like you to meet my good friend, Captain O'Casey.”

She glanced at Tristan, turned to the tall man sitting beside her, and was met by a friendly smile. Casey was still a handsome man, though he seemed twice her age, she thought. His red hair was graying slightly at the temples, but his body was healthy and muscular.

“I've been talking with your servant,
mademoiselle
, and she tells me you are French,” Casey said in that language.

Bettina was delighted to hear her native language, though he spoke it with an odd, Irish accent. She smiled beguilingly at him as an idea came to her.

“Is it your ship I saw in the cove,
Capitaine
O'Casey?” she asked.

“That it is, lass. But please call me Casey, as my friends do.”

“I would be happy to, Casey. Will you be staying here long?” she continued.

“Perhaps another day or so. I was on my way to Tortuga, when I encountered a Spanish galleon. I stopped here to make a few repairs.”

“When you leave, could you take me with you?” Bettina asked, still in French.

“But why do you want to leave?” Casey asked, frowning.

“Please—I cannot stay here!” Bettina pleaded. “If you will take me to my betrothed, he will pay you handsomely.”

“And what is this lucky man's name?”

“Enough!” Tristan bellowed, making Bettina jump.

She turned, noticing Madeleine's pale face and Jules's amused one, but Tristan was decidedly angry.

“If you wish to continue your conversation, you will do so in English,” he said.

“But why?” Bettina asked innocently.

“Because, my little one, I don't trust you!”

Jules's laughter shook the table.

Tristan glared at him and said, “What, may I ask, do you find so amusing, Bandelaire?”

Ignoring Tristan, Jules turned to Casey. “My young friend here has good reason not to trust the wench,” he said. “She tried to kill him once, and he probably thought that she was conniving with you to try again.”

“Not exactly,” said Tristan, his anger gone. “She has thoughts of escape, and I have no doubt that she will try to enlist your aid, Casey. For reasons of her own, the lady doesn't care for my company. I, on the other hand, enjoy hers extremely. I tell you now that she is mine by right of capture. The spoils of war, more or less.”

“I am not!” Bettina stormed, coming to her feet.

“Sit down, Bettina!” Tristan ordered harshly. “Would you prefer I explained the situation in simpler terms?”

“No!”

“As I said, Casey, she is mine,” Tristan continued. “No one touches her, and no one takes her from me.”

“Have you marriage in mind, lad?” Casey inquired.

“No. You should know there is no room in my life for marriage,” Tristan replied.

“That I know. So you've not yet found Don Miguel de Bastida, then?” Casey asked.

“No.”

“How many years have you been searching now?”

“Twelve. Not that I'm counting. I'm beginning to think that someone might have reached him before me. He has many enemies.”

“True, but I think he's still alive,” Casey replied. “I talked with a sailor in Port Royal, who escaped a Spanish prison by the grace of God. He had a horrid tale to relate, but the man who sent him to that death hole was the same man you seek.”

“Did the sailor say more?” Tristan asked, excitement in his voice. “Where was Bastida last seen?”

“The trial took place in Cartagena three years ago. And the man had not seen Bastida since.”

“Blast it! When will I find that murderer? When?” Tristan stormed.

“You won't be findin' him here, lad. Of that I am sure,” Casey said, looking at Bettina.

“No, you're right, I won't find him here,” Tristan replied softly. He gazed at Bettina for a long moment, an odd mixture of emotions crossing his face. “But the search can wait for a few months.”

The conversation died when the two Indian serving girls carried large platters of food to the table. They were as pretty as Madeleine had said, with long, silky black hair and brilliant black eyes. They wore brightly colored full skirts and low-cut blouses, but no shoes. They looked much alike, probably sisters, she thought, and they both shot Bettina curious glances as they put the food on the table.

Bettina turned her attention to the food. She passed up the ship's fare of dried beans and salted
meat, but gorged on fresh, exotic fruit that she had never tasted before.

The crew drifted in, one by one, to eat also. Bettina wondered who this Bastida was, and reminded herself to ask Tristan about him later.