A Pirate's Love

  Bettina laughed gaily, her eyes sparkling blue. "You would like to believe that, wouldn't you? Then you would have no doubt that the child is yours. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Tristan, but my calculations are correct. Now, if you do not mind, I am going to return to the house."

  He grabbed her arms as she started to pass him, making her drop the flowers she held. "But you say the child is mine?" he demanded.

  "I have told you it is."

  "You said you lied about de Lambert, but in truth you could be lying now."

  "Believe what you like, Tristan. I told you before that it doesn't matter."

  "But it does matter!" His voice rose to a high pitch, and his hands tightened on her arms. "For the love of God, Bettina! I can't stand this doubt anymore. Swear to me that the child is mine!"

  There was pain mixed with rage in his eyes, and Bet­tina felt a strong desire to see the relief on his face that only she could give. But then she remembered why she had planted the doubt in his mind to begin with. She had hoped to make him suffer, and he was suffering.

  She would not remove the doubt and give him peace of mind. This was a satisfactory revenge for all the misery he had caused her.

  "Every time I gave you my word, Tristan, it was be­cause you left me no choice to do otherwise. But I have a choice now, and I choose not to give you my word on this. I told you the child is yours—that is enough."

  "Damn you, woman!" he stormed, his eyes turning to icy crystals. "If you won't swear to it, it is because you can't do so! The child must be de Lambert's!"

  "Believe what you like," Bettina whispered. Her heart beat so loudly she felt sure he would hear it.

  Tristan lifted his hand to strike her, but then he shoved her away from him.

  "Get back to the house!" he commanded in a cold, threatening voice, and then turned his back on her.

  Bettina walked past him without a word, and hurried along the trail. After a little way, she looked back to see if he followed, but the trail was empty behind her. She smiled triumphantly to herself. She had weathered the worst of the storm, and the rest would be quite en­joyable. He would be angry and frustrated, perhaps so much that he wouldn't want to share a room with her— she hoped. She could feel her freedom drawing nearer.

  Joco Martel was waiting anxiously just outside the back door. "Did you see the cap'n? Is—is 'e still angry 'cause I let you go into the forest alone?" he asked quickly.

  "Why should he be angry over that?"

  " 'E feared you might go too close to the mountain, 'cause there's wild pigs up there," Joco replied.

  "Da captin so upset, he make others same," Maloma laughed. "You mama been walking floor with worry since he go find you."

  "This is ridiculous. I was perfectly all right—until Tristan found me," Bettina said irritably.

  Maloma laughed again. "You better tell you mama dis. She in big hall with Maddy and my Jules."

  "I will. And don't worry, Joco. I doubt the capitaine will speak to you about this. When he returns, he probably will be angry, but for something else entirely."

  When Bettina entered the dining hall, she saw that her mother was indeed pacing the floor in front of the fireplace. Madeleine was on the new sofa with Jules, berating him for letting Tristan go after Bettina in such an angry mood.

  "Bettina!" Jossel cried when she saw her. "Thank God, you are all right. If I had known there are wild animals on this island, I would never have let you go out alone."

  "I have never gone near the mountain, mama, so there was no need to fear. I always went to a little pool I found in one of the streams, but I will go there no longer." Not after what just happened there, she added to herself regretfully. It used to be a beautiful spot where she could find peace and forget about Tristan.

  "Where is Tristan?" Jules asked casually.

  "He stayed behind—to calm down, I hope."

  "So you had a fight about the child, eh?" Jules ven­tured, a knowing gleam in his brown eyes.

  "How did— What makes you think that?" Bettina asked.

  "I knew it would happen, though I thought he'd wait until after he—"

  "Jules!" Madeleine cried. "You will not speak so!"

  Jules stared at Madeleine and Bettina and Jossel tried hard to suppress their laughter. Jules was not accus­tomed to taking orders from a woman, even one who reminded him of his mother.

  "I—ah—think I will go up to my room and rest for a while," Jossel said quickly. "I will join you later for dinner," she added, and left.

  Bettina smiled. "Now that Mama has gone upstairs, you may continue what you were going to say, monsieur. And you keep quiet, Maddy."

  "It—it escapes me now," Jules said uncomfortably, and stood up. "And I have things to do, so—"

  "Come now," Bettina interrupted him. "Let us finish our conversation. You were going to say you thought Tristan would wait until he had bedded me."

  "Bettina!" Madeleine exclaimed.

  "Oh, hush, Maddy. I know such things are not talked about, but we are not exactly in a drawing room in France." Bettina turned back to Jules. "You were right, monsieur, but how did you know we would argue?"

  "Tristan has been tormented these last months. The young fool fears he may not be the father of the babe, and this greatly troubles him. I suspected he would have it out with you when he returned." Jules paused and looked rather embarrassed. "He—ah—he is the father, isn't he?"

  Bettina laughed softly. "Of course he is. I told him so, but I am afraid he chose not to believe me."

  Just then, they heard Tristan's angry voice, and a moment later he threw the door open, slamming it back against the wall, the loud crash echoing in the hall. He stopped and scowled when he saw them by the fireplace; then he walked to the table and sat down heavily in a chair with his back to them.

  Bettina decided not to antagonize him any further with her presence, and she quietly mounted the stairs, hoping he wouldn't notice her depart. A frightened Madeleine followed behind Bettina. Jules, however, sank into a chair beside his friend.

  "Bettina tells me that you don't believe the child is yours," Jules ventured.

  Bettina heard Jules, and she stopped at the top of the stairs to listen, hidden by the wall of the corridor. When Madeleine reached the corridor, she was surprised to find Bettina standing there, but when her young ward motioned her to silence, she, too, stayed to listen to the conversation in the hall.

  "I know the child isn't mine!" Tristan growled, his face a mask of bitter frustration.

  "You're being unreasonable, Tristan."

  "The hell I am! That woman lies to suit her purpose, as I do. But when she gives her word, I know it's true, and she won't give it on this matter."

  "You have insulted her by even asking for her word!" Jules exclaimed.

  "Ha! I will do more to that woman than insult her! I wanted to beat the truth out of her today, and I've still a mind to do so."

  "I can't let you do that, Tristan," Jules said calmly.

  "You can't?" Tristan fell back in his chair, astonished. "Since when do you defend that vixen? You have told me time and again that she needs a beating."

  "When she deserved it, yes, but she doesn't deserve a beating now. And even if she did, I would have to stop you because of her condition. You could harm the child—your child—and I can't let you do that."

  "I tell you it's not mine! I know Bettina is lying, only I don't know why. When the child is born, you will see the truth of my words. And perhaps then I will dis­cover Bettina's game."

  "Perhaps then you will see what a blasted fool you have been!" Jules said harshly.

  Later, when Bettina came down for dinner, she passed Jules on the stairs. She stopped the big man and kissed him lightly on the cheek to thank him for de­fending her. Jules blushed considerably, the bright red showing through his bronzed tan, and Bettina continued down the stairs, leaving him shaking his head in be­wilderment.

  Tristan sat darkly by himself at the head of the table. He h
ad not seen her kiss Jules, and he glowered at her as she sat down beside him in her usual place. He said nothing as she quickly filled her plate. She had half-expected him to fight with her again, and so she was relieved by his silence.

  Tristan didn't touch his food, but drank an enorm­ous amount of rum, though, surprisingly, he seemed to stay quite sober. After the others joined them, the meal progressed in unnerving silence, and Bettina ate hastily so she could retreat back to her room.

  After several useless hours spent trying to fall asleep, Bettina heard footsteps in the corridor just outside her door. She had been sure that Tristan wouldn't want to share his bed with her that night, but as the minutes passed, she began to feel uneasy, wondering why he was still standing outside the door.

  Then the door burst open forcefully, crashing against the wall, and Bettina sat up quickly. When she saw Tristan's expression, she knew that he had slammed the door on purpose, to make sure she was awake. He closed the door quietly and stared at her coldly for some moments before slowly approaching the bed. He leaned against the bedpost and continued to stare at her.

  Angry and embarrassed, she started to speak, but he halted her with his own deep voice.

  "You will remove your shift now, Bettina. Despite everything that has been said and done today, I'm going to make love to you." He spoke calmly, but his eyes were a hard, icy blue.

  Bettina couldn't believe what she heard. He was filled with rage, and yet he still wanted her. Or did he just want to punish her?

  She started to protest, but he stopped her before she could say a word, his voice menacing.

  "That was not a request, Bettina, but an order. Re­move your shift!"

  Bettina shivered, though the room was quite warm.

  Tristan had told Jules that he wanted to beat the truth out of her, and she realized with sickening dread that neither Jules nor anyone else could protect her now.

  Bettina slipped out of her shirt, then pulled the covers up to hide her nakedness. She could stand anything, but she had to think of her baby and protect it from harm if she could.

  Though she had done what he demanded, there was no triumph on his face. His expression remained cold, even when he yanked the covers away from her and began to remove his own clothing with deliberate slow­ness.

  "I want you to understand that I will no longer tol­erate your feigned resistance, Bettina," he said harshly. "I have treated you with care because you are so lovely and I didn't want to mar your beauty. I have been too lenient with you, and that has been my mistake."

  He lay down on the bed and pulled her to him, daring her to resist him. His voice was a deadly whisper as he continued. "You are my possession. I should have lashed your back the first time you showed your hellish temper. I should have chained you to my bed so you could not escape me. But most of all, I should never have laid eyes on you. Then I wouldn't have this pain that eats at me. And God help me, even though I know you carry de Lambert's bastard, I can't stop wanting you."

  His lips came down on hers, hurting her with savage pressure. She knew that Tristan wa^ torn. He hated her, hated her for many reasons, but inevitably, his need for her won out over the hatred. And after a few moments, Bettina was also lost in his desire.

  Summer came, bringing with it a glorious new burst of color. Beautiful flowers that Bettina had never seen before bloomed everywhere. She was introduced to delicious new fruits and couldn't eat enough. Her fa­vorite was the large red-yellow mango, twice the size of her fist, and Thomas Wesley made a special trip from the village, where he lived, to bring her two of these tantalizing fruits each day.

  The days were hot, but made comfortable by the constant trade winds, and the nights were pleasantly cool, making the island a paradise in which to live. But the paradise was shattered by turmoil within the house. Tristan's black mood had only worsened in the month since he had returned to the island. Bettina avoided him as much as possible, for whenever he saw her growing shape, his anger flared anew.

  Bettina had never returned to her little pool in the forest. She imagined it would be even more beautiful with new summer flowers everywhere, but she told her­self stubbornly that Tristan had ruined her enjoyment of the secret place. Instead, she went often with her mother and sometimes Maloma down to the small cove where the ship lay at anchor. There she took off her shoes, raised her skirt, and walked along the beach in the cool, wet sand, letting the small waves lap at her legs.

  Bettina found contentment walking with her mother. They talked of pleasant things or just walked silently, each lost hi her own thoughts. When Madeleine joined them, they talked of France and the friends left behind, but mostly they spoke of the big celebration, held three weeks before, to honor the nine couples united in mar­riage by the priest.

  The party had been a grand one, and was not spoiled in the least by Tristan's sour mood. Despite his opposi­tion to the marriages, he allowed the dining hall to be used for the occasion. There was music and dancing. A feast was served that took all day to prepare and was entirely consumed as the night wore on. Most of the Indian villagers came, bringing with them a huge roasted pig, and they danced, too—wild, beautiful dances of their own culture.

  Bettina found it easy to lose herself in the happiness of the young native girls who were now married in the church. But Jossel was depressed every time marriage was mentioned. Bettina knew her mother wanted her to find such happiness also. But Bettina didn't see how that would be possible until she had left the island.

  One morning, Bettina stayed alone in her room to put the last trims on a baby's pink dress that she had started a few days before. She was surprised when

  Tristan walked in through the open door, for he very seldom came to his room in the morning. He crossed to the bed where she was working, and saw the little dress.

  "So you hope for a daughter," he said sardonically, leaning against the bedpost. "I can see how this would amuse you if the child were mine, but what excuse have you to wish a daughter on your beloved comte? Every man wants a son, and I'm sure that whore chaser is no different."

  Bettina ignored him, for she knew he wanted a fight. When he failed to gain a response from her, Tristan moved to the chair by the window and began to polish his sword. They ignored one another, though they were totally aware of each other's presence. After a while, it became a contest to see who would speak first or leave the room in irritation. But then an angry, flushed Jossel came into the room, and she drew both Bettina's and Tristan's attention.

  "Honestly!" Jossel exclaimed in French. "What is the matter with him?" She nodded at Tristan.

  "Why not ask him?" Bettina said quietly.

  "He would not tell me, but you can. I have tried not to interfere, but your quarrel has gone on too long."

  "Mama, can't this wait until we are alone?"

  "No. He does not understand our language, and I wish to speak of this now. I was just told that he made the servant girl, Kaino, run from the house in tears this morning. She brought him his food, and it was not hot enough to suit him! She refuses to return. She is scared out of her wits that he will find fault with her again!"

  "He only voices threats, Mama. He will not see them through," Bettina replied.

  "The servants do not know this. With his blustering and raving, they fear to go near him."

  "I will talk to the girls. I will explain that he is only finding a release for his anger, that he will not do them harm," Bettina replied.

  "But Madeleine tells me that you could put an end to Tristan's evil mood."

  "Do not say his name, Mama! He will know we are talking about him," Bettina gasped.

  She looked at Tristan, but he was preoccupied with cleaning his sword and seemed to be paying no attention to them. She frowned slightly, wondering why Tristan had let her converse so long in French, when he had al­ways stopped her before. But then, as if he had some­how seen into her mind, he stood up scowling, and stalked from the room, mumbling angrily about women and their blasted secrets. br />
  Jossel was too upset to notice Tristan's abrupt de­parture. "Can you put an end to the way Tristan has been acting?" she asked her daughter.

  "I probably can," Bettina whispered.

  "Then for God's sake, why do you hesitate?"

  "You do not understand, Mama."

  "Then explain it to me!" Jossel said in exasperation. "Why has Tristan been such a monster since he re­turned a month ago?"

  Bettina sighed and stared at the door Tristan had left open.

  "Tristan thinks the baby I carry is Pierre's."

  "Madeleine said this was the problem, but I could not believe her," Jossel said heatedly. "The notion is ridiculous. You were at Pierre's house for less than a full day. Tristan must be mad to think you would be intimate with Pierre before you were married!"

  "I gave him reason to think I was."

  "But why?"

  "I was furious when he stole me back. And then he humiliated me more than I could stand, to punish me for running away from him. I had to get even with him. So I lied to him and said I slept willingly with Pierre.

  "Tristan became so enraged that he scared me, so I admitted I had lied. Only—only I did so in a way that left doubt in his mind. He forgot about it until I told him I was pregnant. Then he demanded to know whose child I carried. I told him truthfully that the child was his, only again I left doubt. When he asked me to swear that the child was his, I refused, and he assumed Pierre was the father."

  "But why have you done this, Bettina? Why don't you tell him the truth?"

  "I have told him the truth," Bettina replied.

  "Then why have you purposely planted this doubt in his mind?" Jossel asked.

  "You talked me out of seeking his death, so I chose a different revenge. And this revenge was sweet to begin with, only—"

  "Only you are sorry now?" Jossel interrupted.

  "Yes."

  "Then tell Tristan what you have done."