A Pirate's Love by Johanna Lindsey

  Tristan started to chuckle, now that it was over, and then he, too, burst out laughing.

  For the next few days, to the amusement of all, Jules wouldn't set foot from his house, for he refused to leave Maloma's side. And Tristan made a decision that he convinced himself was the only thing left to do. He couldn't go on wearing himself out each day in order to find peace in exhausted sleep at night.

  "I guess I've been acting like a blasted fool, haven't I?" Jules said when he finally came to visit Tristan.

  "To say the least," Tristan laughed. "I've even heard that you've sworn never to touch your lady again."

  Jules laughed sheepishly. "Well, I've changed my mind about that. Maloma is coming along fine. She's even been up and about this morning."

  "And your son?"

  "He seems tiny and frail, but they assure me that's the way he's supposed to be. He's so small, I'm afraid to touch him."

  "You'll get over that, I'm sure," Tristan replied with a smile. "Have you named him yet?"

  "Yes. Guy—Guy Bandelaire."

  "A fine French name," Tristan remarked; then he looked at Jules thoughtfully. "I have decided it is time I left for Spain. Bastida has had eight months to take care of his business in the Caribbean, and I feel certain I will find him there this time. I will also bring back the machinery needed for the sugar refinery."

  "Very well. When do we leave?"

  "I want you to stay here, Jules," Tristan replied firm­ly.

  "It is too dangerous for you to go alone! Even though we are not at war now, you will still be on Bastida's home ground. He will have the advantage!"

  "For once, Jules, do as I ask! I need you to stay here more than I need you with me. I may not return until after the new year begins, and you are the only one I can trust. Bettina wants to stay, but if Casey tries to take her away with him, you must prevent it. I will not take unnecessary risks if I can be sure Bettina will be waiting here for me."

  "I don't like it, Tristan," Jules grumbled. "You have never looked for Bastida without me."

  "Will you do as I ask?"

  "I suppose so," Jules said reluctantly.

  "Good. Casey need only know that I've gone after the machinery, for he would probably object if he knew otherwise. I will take those of my men who are willing to go, and also some of Casey's crew. I'll tell Bettina the truth, so she won't worry as the months pass. And if Casey becomes anxious and starts insisting that I'm dead and not coming back, you can tell him why I have been delayed."

  "Casey isn't going to like the risk you are going to take, when in his opinion you should have settled down and married his daughter."

  "The old bear is convinced I will come around even­tually."

  "And will you come around?" Jules ventured, his brown eyes studying his friend's face.

  "I doubt it," Tristan replied quickly, and then, with a half-grin, added, "You know how I feel about mar­riage. You've been with me long enough to know me well."

  "Yes, I know your views about marriage, but I also remember what you said when you first found Bettina, that you only wanted to keep her for a little while. You changed your mind about that soon enough."

  "I didn't want to keep her long because I knew she would take my mind from Bastida. She has succeeded in doing just that, but this voyage will wipe Bastida from my mind forever."

  "When do you plan to sail?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "Have you told Bettina?" Jules asked.

  "No, I haven't seen her alone yet, but—"

  "Then you might as well get it over with now," Jules interrupted him, seeing Bettina coming down the stairs. "I'll leave you alone."

  Tristan turned and saw Bettina. The thought of leav­ing her suddenly seemed absurd, but he had made his decision and he would see it through.

  When she joined him, her face alight with the plea­sure of seeing him, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. Then he led her to their favorite spot before the fireplace. He decided it would be best to come straight to the point, and to do it quickly, before he changed his mind.

  "I am sailing for Spain in the morning, Bettina. And before you object, know that this is something I have to do. I have to see Bastida dead before I will ever be content to settle down."

  "Then you will not be here for the birth of your child?"

  Tristan was surprised that she was taking his news so calmly. "No, but this is one reason why I am going now. I don't think I could bear to go through what Jules did."

  She smiled faintly. "I will miss you, Tristan, but no more than I have missed you this last month. Perhaps it will be easier this way. Will you be gone long?"

  "Yes, but you will have the child to occupy your time—the months will pass swiftly. When I return, you will be slim again, and if I have to kidnap you from my own house in order to make love to you, then I will do so."

  She laughed now. "I will look forward to your kid­napping me this tune."

  "So will I, little one. In fact, the thought of it will sustain me in the coming months."

  Bettina carefully controlled her emotions when she said good-bye to Tristan, just as she had the day before, when he'd told her that he was leaving. But as soon as his ship sailed around the forested point that hid the little cove, she burst into tears.

  She felt in her heart that it would be a very long time before Tristan returned, for he would not find Don Miguel de Bastida. Tristan would end this trip eventu­ally and come home, but he would leave again and again to search for a man he would never find. But she didn't want him to be successful. She would rather suffer through his long absences than have him find Don Miguel and possibly die.

  For two days, Bettina worried about Don Miguel and the mystery surrounding him. She questioned Jules about him, but since Tristan hadn't told her anything, neither would Jules. The only thing she could think of was that Don Miguel might be responsible for the scar on Tristan's face. But how could Tristan hate the man so passionately because of a scar that didn't even mar his handsomeness?

  It was as if by thinking about Don Miguel de Bastida so much, Bettina had willed him to the island, for on the afternoon of the second day, he sailed boldly into the little cove. No one knew that he had come until he burst through the front door of Tristan's house with a dozen armed men behind him.

  Bettina was on her way downstairs, and when she saw Don Miguel, she was forced to sit down as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Casey was at the table with Jossel, and he rose quickly to his feet, ready to do battle even though he was unarmed. Jossel stared with wide green eyes when she recognized Don Miguel, for she remembered the conversation he had had with Bettina about Tristan, and she could well guess his reason for being here.

  Don Miguel took off his hat and bowed to Jossel quite formally. "It is a pleasure to see you again, madame," he said in French.

  "Who are you, monsieur?" Casey asked angrily in the same language, before Jossel could say a word.

  "Don Miguel de Bastida," he said with a humorless smile.

  "Bastida! So you are the one Tristan searches for."

  "Yes, and I have come here to end his search," Don Miguel replied. He sheathed his sword and said, "Now, where is this young man who wants to see me dead?"

  "You have come too late, for Tristan sailed two days ago. He will not be back for at least a month," Casey replied. He stepped around the table to face the man.

  "Come now, monsieur," Don Miguel said impatiently. "Must I search this island for him? His ship is anchored in the cove. He must be here."

  "That ship is mine!" Casey returned heatedly. "I have no reason to lie to you, Bastida. I couldn't care less if you have it out with Tristan!"

  Bettina slowly descended the rest of the stairs and caught Don Miguel's attention.

  "Ah, Mademoiselle Verlaine. I see you have been un­able to escape from this Tristan again."

  "I have no wish to escape any longer, monsieur," Bettina replied, trying to remain calm.

  "Pierre will be disap
pointed," Don Miguel said. He stared at Bettina's large belly and asked, "Is Tristan the father of your child?"

  "That is no concern of yours!" Casey stormed.

  Don Miguel laughed shortly. "Yes, Pierre will surely be disappointed. But enough of this! I have no intention of waiting here for Tristan to return." He looked at Bettina and smiled, though there was no warmth in his dark-gray eyes. "You, mademoiselle, will collect your things quickly. You are coming with me."

  Jossel gasped, and Casey turned quite livid with rage.

  "You are not taking my daughter anywhere!"

  "Your daughter? I was under the impression that her father was dead."

  "Her stepfather is, but I am her real father!"

  "This is most amusing, but it does not matter," Don Miguel said. He motioned to his men to seize Casey. "She will come with me, and I'm sure that Tristan will follow. I have a small residence in Santo Domingo, and I will wait for Tristan there. Do not worry, for no harm will come to the girl if all goes well. After I take care of Tristan, I will deliver your daughter to Saint Martin."

  "But she cannot travel in her condition!" Jossel final­ly spoke as Casey struggled to throw off the men who were holding him.

  "It will not take long to reach Santo Domingo. She will be all right."

  Don Miguel turned to one of his men and told him to watch Bettina as she packed her things. There was nothing she could do but go with him. Unfortunately, Jules and the rest of the men were miles from the house, still clearing the new fields, and they wouldn't be back for hours yet.

  When Bettina was escorted back downstairs, Don Miguel turned to Casey with a parting warning.

  "Do not try to rescue the girl yourself, monsieur. If anyone comes but Tristan, I will kill her. And he must come alone, do you understand?"

  Don Miguel de Bastida wasted no time in leaving the island. On his ship, Bettina was shown to a small cabin that was scantily furnished with a hammock, a little table, and one chair.

  When the door closed and she was alone, she sat down in a daze. How could this be happening? She should have said something. She should have told Don Miguel that Tristan wouldn't return for five or six months, but then Don Miguel would only have come back again when Tristan was home, and they would have faced each another then. And Bettina wanted to prevent that.

  Don Miguel expected Tristan to come to Santo Dom­ingo to rescue her in two months or less. But Bettina knew that Tristan had gone to Spain and wouldn't be back for many months. A plan grew in her mind, and she decided on a story to tell Don Miguel. Though it would not be the truth, she must make him believe her.

  When the sun disappeared, Bettina was invited to Don Miguel*s cabin to dine with Hm. She went wifling-ly, for she was anxious to set her plan in motion. She had resigned herself to the possibility of never seeing Tristan again, but she would do her best to save his life.

  When Bettina entered Don Miguel's cabin, she saw that her own room was a small closet compared to his. The room was luxuriously furnished, but held none of the instruments and charts that usually cluttered a captain's cabin. Don Miguel obviously did not command his own ship, but employed someone else to do so.

  They did not speak until after Don Miguel's personal servant had left the room. Then Bettina's curiosity prompted her to open the conversation.

  "From the sea, that island looks uninhabited. How did you know it was where Tristan lives?" Bettina asked, trying not to sound too interested.

  "I had a map," Don Miguel answered as he studied her face. "Though until I found that hidden cove, I was beginning to think I had been misled."

  "But Pierre burned the map I gave him! Where did—"

  "So you knew about that," Don Miguel interrupted her with a laugh. "Well, the map I have was drawn by a female's hand."

  "That is impossible!"

  "On the contrary, it is quite possible. I had searched everywhere for the ship that rescued you from that island, but I had no luck. Then last month I met a remarkable woman—a Gabrielle Drayton. She was more than happy to help me locate Tristan."

  Bettina tried hard to hide her anger and loathing. Color sprang to her cheeks, and she wanted to curse Gabby aloud for betraying Tristan. Instead, she opened a new line of questioning.

  "Why do you want to find Tristan?"

  Don Miguel looked surprised. "You know the an­swer to that as well as I, Mademoiselle Verlaine. You yourself told me that Tristan wants me dead. Knowing this, I could not wait ior him to find me and take me unawares."

  "If that is your reason, then I am afraid you have gone to a lot of trouble for nothing, Monsieur Bastida. Tristan has given up searching for you," Bettina said. Don Miguel laughed. "You must think me a fool.

  The man has spent most of his life hunting me down. It is inconceivable that he would give up the search."

  "I assure you he has," Bettina returned. "Tristan considered it a waste of time to continue searching for a man who would soon die, anyway."

  "Die? I have many years left. What nonsense is this?" Don Miguel asked, flustered.

  "It is my doing, monsieur. When Tristan kidnapped me from Saint Martin, I was furious. The one thing he wanted most in the world was to kill you. I knew this, so I told him he would never have the chance. I told him I had met you and that you had aged beyond your years, that you were in fact dying of an incurable di­sease. I purposely destroyed his hopes in order to strike back at him."

  "You lied to him!"

  "Yes, but Tristan believed me. I had my mama also swear it was true. He was furious that he had been cheated out of your death, but he soon forgot about it— and you. He decided there could be no pleasure in kill­ing a dying man."

  "Well, he will be surprised to find me well and strong when he comes for you," Don Miguel returned with humor in his voice.

  "He will not come for me. In fact, he will probably thank you for taking me off his hands," Bettina said quite easily. She took a sip of the dark-red wine that had been offered to her.

  "Now I know you lie!" Don Miguel replied angrily. "You carry his child!"

  "I carry his bastard, which he couldn't care less about. As soon as I conceived, Tristan cast me aside for another. He had grown tired of me, anyway. And since I no longer had to suffer his attentions, I saw no reason to escape again—the island was a pleasant place to live."

  "If all this is true, why did your father not take you away?" Don Miguel asked.

  "He was going to as soon as I gave birth."

  "For some reason, I do not believe you, Mademoi­selle Verlaine," he said.

  "When Tristan does not come, you will see the truth of my words. And when you grow tired of waiting, monsieur, what do you intend to do with me?"

  "Either way, I will give you to Pierre as a present."

  "I see," Bettina whispered, her eyes downcast.

  Casey wouldn't come after her for fear of endanger­ing her life, and Tristan wouldn't be back until the new year. She would be living on Saint Martin by then, with Pierre, and Tristan wouldn't want her back, she thought miserably.

  Chapter

  Bettina was a prisoner in Don Miguel's small house. It stood on the outskirts of Santo Dom­ingo, with the nearest neighbor a mile away, and was surrounded by high walls in the Spanish fashion. The single door in the front wall opened into a large entry-way that served as a drawing room. On the right of this were two bedrooms, with a small den between them. The kitchen and dining room were on the opposite side of the house.

  The outside doors and the heavy wooden shutters over the windows were kept locked at all times. Bettina knew there was a walled patio outside her bedroom, but not once had she been allowed to walk in it, or feel the soft breeze against her face. She had the freedom of the house during the day, but she preferred to stay in her room. And at night, the door to her room was locked.

  Bettina's room was small, but nicely furnished. The bed was large, four-postered, and quite comfortable. A handcarved chiffonier stood behind the door, and a beautifully carved cha
ir with a velvet seat and back was in the corner by the bed. There were several tables, and against the remaining wall, opposite the shuttered window, was a huge bookshelf that held a few books and many polished statues of marble, jade, and ivory. The little sculptures ranged from a few inches to a foot in height, and depicted different animals.

  There were only two servants in the house, a cook and a maid, but Don Miguel had given them strict orders not to converse with Bettina. Even had they had attempted to do so, it would have been useless, because the two women spoke only Spanish. Bettina saw the cook only once, but the maid brought her meals and water for her baths. Bettina tried many times to speak to the maid, to communicate with her hands, but the older woman completely ignored her.

  Bettina grew more depressed as the days went by. She saw Don Miguel only in the evenings, when they dined together. He spent each day on the docks, care­fully observing every ship that came into the harbor. Each evening, Bettina repeated that Tristan wouldn't come; then she would say no more. Though she was starved for conversation, she couldn't bring herself to talk civilly with this man. She knew that he was setting a trap for Tristan, but Don Miguel would tell her noth­ing about it. And she could think of no way to warn Tristan, if by chance he should come.

  Bettina had been at Don Miguel's house for three weeks. The end of September was nearing, and she still worried about Tristan. At least she had no time to worry about the fact that her child was a week overdue.

  Many times she thought her time was at hand, for she would experience cramps and pressure in her womb.

  But then the cramps would disappear and she would be filled with disappointment, for she wanted the birth over. These small discomforts were so frequent that soon she didn't even notice them anymore. She had awakened this morning with the pressure in her womb much stronger, but she put it down to yet another false alarm.

  When the maid unlocked the door and came into the room with Bettina's breakfast, Bettina noticed that the little woman seemed unusually cheerful. The room was dark because of the locked shutters, but the usually sullen woman was humming a merry tune as she lit the candles. Bettina supposed the maid was anticipating the fiesta she and the cook would be going to that day. Don Miguel had told Bettina last evening that he was giving the servants the day off so they could enjoy themselves in town.