"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."
Chapter
The 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," sa
id 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.
'ETTINA asked Tristan if she could walk on the grounds and was a bit surprised when he nodded his assent. She left by the front door, walked to the side of the house and around it. As she scanned the edge of the forest, she saw a corral just inside a clearing beyond the trees. She walked there slowly, unbraiding her hair as she went to let it dry in the breeze.
At the edge of the forest, a path led the few feet to the corral. There were seven horses inside, and one beautiful white stallion that caught her eye. She beckoned to him, but he shied away from her as the others did.
Bettina wished that she knew how to ride. Her father, Andree, had insisted it was not proper for women. But it shouldn't be too difficult to learn, she thought, if the horses were tame.
A soft crackling of twigs made Bettina tense, and she turned abruptly, thinking to find Tristan. But a man with coal-black hair was coming quickly down the forest path. He edged his way around her, blocking the path to the house.
"If this ain't my day of days," the man smirked. "Where'd you come from, girl?"
"I—I came from the—"
"Never you mind," he chuckled. "I should've known better than to question a gift from heaven."
He started to approach her with his hands outstretched, and Bettina panicked. He was stocky in build, with bulging arms, and was a bit taller than she. It was not hard to guess his intent, and she was able to scream once before he reached her and clasped his hand over her mouth.
"What're you scared of, wench? I'll not hurt you. What I've in mind don't hurt none," he laughed, holding her to him tightly. "We'll just go a little farther into the trees, just in case someone happens to come this way."
Bettina was desperate now. She could think of only one thing that might protect her, and she prayed that it would work. She jerked her head away from his chest.
"You do not understand, monsieur—I am Tristan's woman!"
The man released her and backed away warily, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Captain Tristan ain't on the island," he said nervously; then he looked her up and down and grinned.
"He—he is at the house. We came this morning," Bettina said hastily.
"I think perhaps you're lying to me, girl."
"Please, monsieur! I would not want to see you die because of me."
"Die? How so?"
"Tristan has sworn to kill any man who touches me."
"That don't sound like Captain Tristan. He don't give a damn about women, and that proves you're lying, girl. Even so, you might just be worth dying for."
He grabbed her again before she had a chance to run. Bettina struggled fiercely, pounding the man with her fists while he sought her lips. And then, suddenly, he was lifted away from her and thrown forcefully to the ground.
"You blasted whoreson! I'll—" the man shouted, but stopped short when he turned over and saw Tristan standing above him, dark with rage.
"He did no harm, Tristan," Bettina said quickly. "You cannot kill him for no reason!"
"He tried to rape you! You call that no reason?" Tristan bellowed.
"But he did not," she replied weakly.
"What have you to say, Brown?"
"She said you came in this morning, Captain, but I didn't believe her. None of your crew has been to the village. I thought she was lying when she said she was your woman. Honest, Captain Tristan, if I had known she was yours, I wouldn't have touched her."
"You haven't seen your captain, then?"
"No. I just came from the village now."
"Very well. Since you're Casey's first mate, I'll let it go at that. But I give you warning now, Brown. Don't ever come near this one again," Tristan said, nodding to Bettina. "Now go and find your captain. I believe he's taken the other path to the village."
"Thank you, Captain Tristan," Brown said. He left quickly, without another glance at Bettina.
"I would also like to thank you, Tristan, for coming in time," Bettina said quietly.
He walked to her slowly, forcing her back against the fence with his nearness. He took her in his arms, and his lips found hers in a hard, forceful kiss. Bettina melted in his arms for a moment, letting him have his way with her. But then she regained control and pushed him away.
"I did not escape one rape, Tristan, only to be in danger of another!" Bettina snapped, angry at herself for responding to him.
"You didn't escape rape, little one; you were rescued from it. I only thought you would wish to thank me properly."
"I have thanked you already."
"So you have. Now tell me, why did you defend Brown when he nearly raped you, when you would kill me for doing the same?" Tristan asked.
"Because he did not rape me. But you have—many times! You have tricked me, lied to me, and used me. I hate you, Tristan, with all my being, and I will yet have revenge!" she stormed, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"Must I again fear for my life, little one?" Tristan asked, smiling at her.
"You do not take me seriously, Tristan, but you will one day. As for my revenge, it will wait until I escape you."
He laughed derisively. "And how do you propose to take this revenge you speak of?"
"I will find a way."
"Such hate from my woman. And by your own words —you are my woman," he reminded her.
"I am not!"
"What? Do you deny it now? Do you admit it to everyone but me?"
"You know why I told him that! But it seems you are not as feared as you like to think,
Capitaine Tristan, for the man still persisted," Bettina said. She turned and walked away from him toward the house.
"Maddy, will you stay with me tonight?" Bettina asked nervously. She was sitting in the middle of the big brass bed, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "If he forces me to sleep with him again, I swear I will run away."
Bettina had moved her things into the room at the end of the hall. They had cleaned this room in the afternoon, while the two Indian girls had cleaned the rest of the house. Bettina would have preferred to move to the opposite wing, but Jules had taken one room, and Captain O'Casey and Madeleine had the others. Tristan wanted privacy on his side of the house.
"I will stay with you if I can, Bettina, but I do not think the capitaine will allow it."
"You could say that I am sick," Bettina ventured. "That something I ate disagreed with me."
"I could say that, but Tristan would be suspicious. You do not look sick," said Madeleine.
"Then you must not let him in the room."
"Bettina, he is the capitaine, and although I don't fear him as much as before, you forget that he is the one who rules here. He holds our lives in his hands."
"How many times must I tell you—he will not kill us!" Bettina said with exasperation. "He has given his word to me that eventually he will take us to Saint Martin."
"Why do you still resist him, Bettina?" Madeleine asked, changing the subject. "He is a handsome young man. Even the Comte de Lambert is not so handsome and virile as this one. It would be much easier on you if you gave in. And it would be no disgrace, my pet, since he gives you no choice."
Bettina was astonished. "He uses my body, even though he knows I detest him! I would prefer any other man to him!"
"He rapes you because you resist him. He wants you, that is all. I thought you would have accepted your situation by now," Madeleine said, ignoring Bettina's anger. "Tristan treats you better than a husband would —he gives you much. He even continues to shave his beard for you. Jules told me how furious Tristan was when he cut his beard."