A Pirate's Love

  "Yes, but they are not alone. He started to follow you, only that—that bitch taunted him into staying. Oh! She infuriated me so, I could have torn her eyes out!"

  Bettina smiled with an effort. "Those should have been my words, Mama, only I do not feel like saying them. You saw the way Tristan has been since she came. She has made him forget his anger. His black mood is gone because of her."

  "So you are giving up again? Have you considered that Tristan is only trying to make you jealous?"

  "How could he be? He did not know I was watching when he kissed her. Now, let us not discuss it anymore. It is late, and I am exhausted."

  "It is no wonder with all you have been through this day. But you must eat. You must—"

  "I know, Mama," Bettina interrupted with a smile. "I must think of the child."

  T

  HE wings of time seemed to be clipped, for a week dragged by with nerve-racking slowness. Bettina spent this week in tortured misery, though she tried hard not to show it. But the nights took their toll on her, and she could do nothing to hide her reddened eyes, caused by lack of sleep and spent tears.

  She lay awake each night, long after her mother had drifted to sleep beside her, hoping and praying that Tristan would come for her, that he would drag her back to his room. She foolishly imagined Tristan asking her forgiveness, telling her that she was the only one he wanted, that Gabby meant nothing to him. But her imaginings couldn't last long, for reality woud slip back to her mind and the tears would spill silently down her cheeks again. After sleeping in her mother's room for seven nights, Bettina knew Tristan wouldn't come. But God, why did it hurt so terribly?

  No one except her mother knew where she was spend­ing her nights now, for no one saw her come and go from Jossel's room. The others assumed nothing had changed, but Tristan and Gabby knew better, Bettina reminded herself.

  She supposed that Tristan had been relieved to find her gone that first night because he hadn't had to tell her personally that he had another to take her place. He hadn't even bothered to look for her that night, or any night since, and this was what hurt the most—that he could just completely forget about her.

  The days were bad enough, seeing Tristan and Gabby talking and laughing together. But Bettina could hardly bear the nights, for she knew that Gabby was lying in Tristan's arms, that she was sharing his room and mak­ing him happy.

  Tristan was in the best of moods each day, always smiling. Madeleine and Maloma couldn't understand why Bettina was so forlorn, or why Jossel looked at Tristan with such hostility, which he found amusing. And when Madeleine asked Bettina what was bothering her, she only made excuses.

  In the late afternoon of the eighth day following Gabrielle's arrival, Jossel found Bettina by the corral, staring moodily at the beautiful white stallion. It was very seldom that Jossel Verlaine lost her temper, for she was a quiet woman by nature, but Tristan had just ordered her to take a message to Bettina. Jossel had told him what she thought of him, only to have him scoff at her anger. She was still upset, but as she came up behind Bettina, drawing her daughter's attention, she successfully controlled her anger.

  "Tristan insists you join the rest of us for the eve­ning meal," Jossel said, gritting her teeth so she wouldn't say more.

  "Why, so he can ignore me as he has done this last week? I cannot stand to see that woman's obvious pleasure in gaining Tristan's complete attention."

  "I am only giving you his message," Jossel replied. Then she added thoughtfully, "He was annoyed last night when you did not come down to eat, and personal­ly I would like to see him upset again."

  "You do wonders for my morale, Mama," Bettina smiled. "If I happen to have a headache tonight, will you be able to bring me up something to eat?"

  "You can be sure of it," Jossel laughed.

  "Is Tristan in the hall?" Bettina asked, serious again.

  "Yes."

  "Is she—"

  "He was alone when he spoke to me," said Jossel.

  "Well, I have something to ask him. If he does not agree, I will be having a lot of headaches in the future," Bettina said, her voice edged with humor.

  "What are you going to ask him?"

  "Let me speak to him first, Mama, then I will tell you," Bettina replied. She set off across the lawn, leav­ing her mother to wonder what she was up to.

  When Bettina entered the darkness of the hall, she was discouraged to see that Tristan was no longer alone. He was standing with his back to the fireplace, facing Gabby, who was relaxed on the sofa. Aleia was lighting the candles in the chandelier.

  Bettina met Tristan's gaze, and his lazy smile nu .e her determined to speak to him now, but when she reached the sofa, she stiffened at the sound of Gabby's voice.

  "Well, if it isn't the little mother-to-be."

  Ordinarily, Bettina would laugh at such a remark, for she was taller than Gabby, but at the moment, she didn't find it amusing in the least.

  "I trust you are feeling better today?" Grvby con­tinued, referring to Bettina's absence of the night be­fore.

  Gabby was attired in a lovely black lace dress, with a gray underdress of silk that matched her eyes. She looked beautiful, she knew it, and she was pleased to see that Bettina noticed it.

  "May I speak to you—alone?" Bettina asked Tristan calmly, ignoring Gabby.

  "You really must teach this girl some manners, Tris­tan," Gabby remarked indignantly.

  "I agree," Tristan replied, grinning. "But not now."

  He took Bettina's hand and escorted her outside into the front yard, leaving Gabby fuming on the sofa. After they'd walked some distance from the house, Bettina stopped and faced him.

  "Tristan, I want you to release me from my promise. I want to leave the island now."

  "Haven't you always wanted to leave?" he asked with a mocking smile, his blue eyes alight with laughter.

  "Yes, but—"

  "Why should my answer be any different from the last time you asked to go?"

  "You know why!" she stormed, and her eyes instant­ly turned a turbulent green. "You have no reason to keep me here any longer!"

  "Now, why do you say that, little one?" he teased her.

  "Will you let me leave here now?"

  "No," he replied.

  "Very well, Tristan," she returned coldly. "You are stubborn, but then you always have been."

  "I'm glad to see you give up so easily," Tristan chuckled. "Now, come. It is almost time for the eve­ning meal."

  He took her arm to escort her back to the house, but she pulled away from him.

  "I will not be dining with you this night," she said haughtily.

  "No?" He raised an eyebrow.

  "I am afraid I am going to have a terrible headache in a few minutes. In fact, I expect to have many head­aches and other ailments in the coming days."

  "You will not start this game again, Bettina!" he said sternly.

  "You go to hell!" she blurted. She turned and hurried back to the house.

  "Bettina, what did you say to Tristan earlier?" Jossel asked excitedly when she came into her room, carrying Bettina's meal. "He was acting oddly at dinner."

  "I asked him if I could leave the island, but he re­fused. So I told him of the ailments I expect to have in the coming days," Bettina replied quietly.

  "Then that is probably what had him troubled to­night. You should have seen him, ma chirie. He just sat there without touching his food or saying a word. Even that woman could not draw him out. She became angry after a while and went upstairs. Tristan watched her go, then sighed and followed her. I came up right after them."

  "So he is with her now?"

  "I imagine so," Jossel replied reluctantly. "But I still say he is trying to make you jealous."

  "It has gone beyond that, Mama. Tristan has made her his woman, and I have to accept it. I don't want to speak of them any longer."

  Bettina put the tray of food on her lap and began to pick at it absently, but Tristan was still troubling her thoug
hts. She just couldn't understand why he still wanted to keep her. Unless—unless he was punishing her for the last months of anguish she had caused him! But in order for him to think that his taking Gabby would hurt Bettina, he would have to think that Bettina cared for him. And Tristan would be a fool to believe that Bettina cared for him just because she lost herself to him in passion. No—there must be some other reason why he wanted to keep her.

  Madeleine burst into Jossel's room just then, but stopped short when she saw Bettina. "What are you doing here, pet?" she asked, then continued, "She is gone!"

  "Who is gone?" Jossel asked patiently.

  "That woman—Gabrielle. She has left!"

  "How do you know this?" Jossel questioned, glanc­ing at Bettina's startled face.

  "She came down the stairs, changed to her sailing clothes, and her face was red with anger. I was still at the table with Jules and Maloma, and Gabrielle looked at me with murder hi her eyes. Then she turned to one of her men and yelled at him to get her chest, and she sent another to find the rest of her crew and meet her at the cove. Then she stormed out the front door!"

  "Are you sure she is leaving the island?" Jossel ven­tured.

  "Yes. Jules said that she had never stayed this long before. He expected her to leave days ago."

  "Mama, you must help me!" Bettina said urgently, coming to her feet. "Now that Gabby is gone, I will not go back to his room. I refuse—"

  "Go back?" Madeleine interrupted. "You mean you stayed with your mama this whole week? Why did—" Madeleine broke off when the door opened again and Tristan walked slowly into the room.

  "No!" Bettina cried as Tristan came directly to her and grabbed her hand.

  He didn't say a word as he pulled her gently yet firm­ly behind him down the corridor to his room. Only after he closed the door and leaned back against it did he release her hand. She backed away from him.

  "We are even now, Bettina. Though a single week hardly equals the months of torment you caused me, I have decided to be merciful," Tristan said in a low-pitched voice.

  "What are you talking about, Tristan?" Bettina de­manded.

  "Don't you know, little one?"

  "If I knew, would I ask you?" she stormed, green eyes flashing wildly. "You are talking in riddles!"

  "I was referring to this week, Bettina. And how Gabby came at just the right time, giving me a solution to my problem."

  "Of course / was that problem," Bettina said coldly. "Gabby's coming was most convenient for you, I am sure. Why did she leave so suddenly?"

  "Because I told her to go."

  "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

  "Believe what you like," said Tristan, smiling.

  Bettina stared at him. A frown creased her brow. Tristan had used the same phrase she had used so many times. What game was he playing now?

  "Am I confusing you, Bettina? I thought you would realize the truth by now. I sent Gabby away because she had served her purpose—too well. There was no point in continuing the game if you wouldn't come down and observe it."

  "Are you trying to say that all the attention you gave Gabby was only to make me jealous?"

  "Of course."

  "And I suppose when you made love to her, that was also to make me jealous?" Bettina stormed. "You will not get me back with these lies!"

  "I don't have to get you back, Bettina—I never lost you. Come with me," Tristan said softly. He opened the door and walked to the room at the other end of the corridor.

  Bettina followed him, only out of curiosity, but she was surprised at what she found. The room was in com­plete disarray. The tub was full of dirty water, with puddles around it. Crumpled towels were on the floor, along with the beautiful bedspread. The sheets were all mussed, and Bettina saw copper hairs on the pillows.

  "Why is this room such a mess?" Bettina asked.

  "This is where she stayed on previous visits, and she always left the room hi this fashion. She won't let any­one pick up after her, and she won't do it herself. She would only let Kaino in to bring her water for the tub— you can ask the girl yourself."

  Bettina glanced about at the thick dust and noticed that the table by the bed had a message written in the dust—fifteen little words that filled Bettina's heart with joy:

  you wanted her when you could've had me i'll never forgive you for that tristan

  "You have not been in this room since she left?" Bettina asked quietly as she drew her hand across the message, wiping it clean.

  "No."

  "And I suppose you will tell me now that you slept elsewhere this whole week, that you did not share this bed with that woman?"

  "I swear it is the truth. I give you my word!"

  "I find that hard to believe, Tristan. She is a beauti­ful woman. She offered herself to you. How could you refuse her?"

  "She intrigued me once, but that was a long time ago," he said. "It's only you I want now."

  "How can you say that when I have lost my shape, and—and she is so slim?"

  "Ah, Bettina," Tristan sighed. "What does it take to make you believe me? I have given you my word—what more do you want?"

  "I want to know why you did this, why you let me believe she was sharing your room."

  'To make you jealous—I told you that!"

  "Then—"

  "If you are going to ask me questions all night, let us go back to my room where we can be comfortable."

  She let him pull her back along the corridor, and into his room. She was angry with him, but she was also so elated she thought she would burst. She felt like laugh­ing, only she couldn't let Tristan see her joy.

  "If you will relax and be quiet for a few minutes, I think I can answer the few questions that you have yet to ask," Tristan said as he sat down on the bed to pull off his boots and remove his shirt. "Right before Gabby came, I was lying on the sofa in the hall, trying to de­cide what to do about you. I heard you come down­stairs, and when you went into the kitchen, I started to follow you. But then Gabby walked in. I knew that you could hear everything she was saying. And when she kissed me, I prolonged it only because I knew you were watching. That was as close as I came to her the whole tune she was here."

  "Then why did she act so smug and satisfied every time she saw me?" Bettina asked. She stood looking out the window.

  "She knew what you thought, just as I did. She was too proud to let you think otherwise. She knew you had moved out of my room, and she thought she could win me over. That was the only reason she stayed as long as she did. If you hadn't run to your mother's room the night Gabby arrived, I would have had to sleep on the sofa downstairs in order to make you believe what I wanted you to believe. As it is, you fell right into my plans."

  "Why have you bothered to explain this to me?"

  "Because I want you back in my bed as if nothing happened," Tristan replied tenderly.

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "No," he said, smiling.

  Bettina was pleased with Ms answer, and she turned to look out at the moonlit yard so he wouldn't see her joy. But there was still something that puzzled her.

  "Tristan, tell me one more thing," Bettina said. "When Gabby came, your disposition changed completely, and you were happy. Now, perhaps she was not the cause. Perhaps it was because you found pleasure in thinking I was miserable—which I wasn't, mind you. But now that this farce is over, why have you not returned to being the tyrant you were before Gabby came?"

  "I was happy before she came, Bettina. That is why I sent everyone out of the house that day—because I didn't want them to know it. Gabby's coming gave me an excuse to show it openly."

  Bettina swung round to face him, her green eyes enormously wide and filled with seething anger. He had spoken in French! He spoke fluent French!

  "It is as well we get this all over with now," Tristan said in English once again. "But before you assail me with loathsome names, consider everything I know, Bet­tina—-everything you told your mother a week ago. I left the ro
om that morning, but I did not go downstairs immediately. I waited outside the door and heard every­thing. Can we not call ourselves even?"

  Bettina gritted her teeth and turned away from him. She recalled every time she had spoken French in front of Tristan, and felt furious at his deception. No wonder he had interrupted her the time she had asked Captain O'Casey to help her escape! And he had heard her whole confession to her mother.

  "Well, say something, little one."

  "I hate you!"

  "No, you don't. You want me," Tristan whispered.

  "Not anymore!" she cried. "You have deceived me for the last time!"

  "Blast it, Bettina! You should be glad I deceived you this time!" He crossed to her and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Then he continued in a softer tone, "You wanted me to know the truth about the child, the truth about what you had done, but you were afraid I wouldn't believe you. Well, you were right. I wouldn't have believed you if you had told me yourself. But after hearing you tell your mother, when you thought I had left and you were alone, this con­vinced me the child is mine. I should have been furious with you, but instead I was overjoyed that you would bear my child."

  Bettina did not pull away from Tristan when his arms wrapped around her. And when he kissed her, a sweet, gentle kiss, she welcomed it, savored it. She was tired of arguing with him. And he was right, as always. She was glad he knew the truth.

  "Is all forgiven?" Tristan asked, holding her head against his chest.

  "Yes," she whispered, and looked up into his smiling blue eyes. "But how did you learn to speak French so well? Is it taught in your English schools?"

  Tristan laughed deeply. "The only schooling I've ever had was from a crusty old English sea captain. I signed on his ship as cabin boy when I was fourteen. And out of necessity, he taught me to read and write, and to speak English."

  "But you are English!" Bettina said in surprise.