Journey of the Wind Read online

  manifest of passengers, he was the only one Captain DuMont brought back to the Cay.”

  “And it was he who taught you to be an acrobat,” she said, smiling. The story was

  taking a much better turn and he was stroking her hand gently. Obviously the arrival of

  the acrobat was a pleasant memory for him.

  “We hit it off right away. I begged him to teach me the tricks he did and after a

  while he agreed. He was a merciless instructor but within a few years I could do most

  of what he could and then some. I learned to swing from a trapeze and—”

  “A what?” she asked.

  “It is a type of swing upon which you can do acrobatic moves, hanging from your

  legs, your arms, even your chin or heels. Frederic had one built to his specifications

  although it was—he said—far from being a good replica. Nevertheless, he taught me to

  fly.” At her skeptical look, he grinned. “That is the term they use in the circus. You fly

  on a trapeze. You can literally sail through the air from one swinging bar to another so

  that is why they call it flying. Usually, there is another man on the other bar who will

  catch you during the more difficult feats.”

  “And you do this still?” she asked skeptically.

  He nodded. “There is a young man named Remy who I’ve been training as I was

  trained and he and I work out every morning when I’m at the Cay.”

  She pushed up so she was looking down at him. “May I watch?”

  His smile became soft and tender. “Aye, precious, if you’d like.”

  She started to speak then yawned, her face turning red as she covered her mouth.

  “I think we need to get some sleep,” Andre said, reaching up to pull her head back

  down to his shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

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  Rylee settled against him, a bit confused about her changing reactions to this man.

  He had been nothing but polite to her—patient, charming and respectful—and yet she

  knew without a doubt that he could be as dangerous and vindictive as Alsandair. In

  fact, the similarities between the two men were very striking. As she lay there in his

  arms with his warm breath on her face, it was easy to imagine he was Sandair. She fell

  asleep with an image of both men drifting lazily across her subconscious.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  It had been Ataa’s idea to build a beacon fire atop the rock upon which Alsandair

  had sat and stared out to sea. The little boy had surprised the men with his ingenuity

  and very adult way of figuring out problems. He was proving to be an invaluable

  member of their group of castaways.

  “Papa!” the child yelled as he ran toward Alsandair. “Papa, fast!”

  Alsandair looked up from his moody contemplation of the fish grilling on his stick.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Ataa was breathless as he plopped to his knees in the sand beside his adopted

  father. He pointed excitedly toward the jungle behind them. “Gorbe!” he said excitedly.

  “Gorbe?” Alsandair repeated.

  The little boy’s shoulders slumped comically and he heaved a big, grownup sigh.

  “Gorbe, Papa! Gorbe!” He put his fingers up to his cheeks—thumbs on his face and

  fingers waving wildly. When his father just stared at him, Ataa made a meowing sound.

  “Cat?” Alsandair said, smiling for a second before the smile drained completely.

  “Big cat?”

  “Little!” Ataa replied with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He hopped to his feet and

  reached out to tug on his father’s shirtsleeve. “Pedar, fast!”

  “I don’t know, Ataa,” Alsandair said. “Mama?” He mimicked a big cat and fiercely

  growled.

  “No, Papa, no!” the child whined, and tugged harder at his father’s shirt.

  “All right,” Alsandair said, laying aside the fish. “But if we get mauled, it’s on your

  head, little man.” He got up, smiling as the enthusiastic child grabbed his hand and

  started pulling him toward the forest.

  The forest seemed alive with insects clicking and chirping, singing along in

  harmony to tropical bird songs and the strange crooning of unseen animals. In the high

  canopies of the lush green trees, large colorful birds streaked from branch to branch and

  monkeys scurried along the thick vines, swinging from tree to tree and chattering. Now

  and again a snake slithered away from the rotting vegetation underfoot or perched

  wrapped around a high branch, its forked tongue flashing.

  Alsandair and his eager little ward had skirted a shimmering pool when the

  warrior heard the unmistakable sound of a cat crying plaintively. He looked up for the

  sound was coming from above their heads.

  “Papa!” Ataa said, and led him over to a tall tree. He let go of his father’s hand and

  pointed.

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  It took Alsandair a moment to find the source of the pitiful lament. His gaze swept

  past the animal once before darting back. High up in the branches sat a white and gold

  feline, looking down at them with pleading golden eyes.

  “How did you get way up there, little one?” Alsandair said, his hands on his hips.

  “Meow,” the cat whimpered.

  “Papa, climb!” Ataa said.

  Alsandair wasn’t all that fond of heights, but the tree had good, thick branches and

  it wouldn’t be hard to climb. There were vines to grab for as well and no visible signs of

  vipers lurking about among the lush leaves.

  “Meow,” the cat pleaded again.

  “All right,” Alsandair said with a resigned sigh. He jumped up to grab a low-

  hanging branch and pulled himself up, lifting a leg to dig the toe of his boot into the

  wide trunk.

  Ataa’s little face was tipped up as he watched his father cautiously climbing the

  tree. He had tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and was quiet, somehow sensing it

  would be best not to bother his father at such a time, though he shifted back and forth

  on his bare feet as he waited impatiently.

  Alsandair knew better than to look down. He could feel the sweat popping out on

  his face and under his arms the higher up he went. The cat was perched about five feet

  above him and kept making little mewing sounds.

  His boot slipping down a patch of fungus growing on the trunk, Alsandair almost

  lost his grip on the branch above him and stilled, breathing heavily, closing his eyes to

  the real possibility of falling and breaking his back or neck. He swallowed, opened his

  eyes and looked up into the triangular face of the cat. “You’d better make my son one

  helluva good pet, cat, or I promise you I’ll turn you into bow strings,” he mumbled.

  “Meow,” the cat complained, and rubbed the side of its face against the tree trunk.

  Slowly and methodically, Alsandair climbed higher until he could reach out a hand

  and grasp the cat by the scruff of its neck, pulling it from the branch upon which it sat.

  He wasn’t surprised and had prepared himself for the feline to dig its claws into his

  forearm as he brought it toward his chest.

  “Goddamit, that hurts, you little brat,” Alsandair said through clenched teeth. He

  could feel the sharp points drawing blood but apparently the cat recognized help for it

&nbs
p; released its death grip on the warrior’s arm and turned so it could perch on Alsandair’s

  chest—though it still dug its claws into the human male’s shoulder in an effort to hang

  on as its rescuer started moving back down the tree.

  Carefully making his way down the tree, Alsandair could hear the cat purring

  contentedly. It was rubbing its soft little face against the side of his unshaved jaw even

  as it clung painfully to his shoulder. Even when his boot slid out from under him and

  he scraped his knee against the rough bark, the cat held on, the vibration sound

  continuing softly.

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  Ataa held his hands up for the cat as Alsandair hopped to the ground. Plucking the

  cat from his clothing, wincing at the prickly claws still clinging to him, he gave the

  feline into his son’s keeping.

  “You’re a wicked little widget,” Alsandair grumbled, wiping his palms down his

  pants.

  “So what are you going to name him, Attie?”

  Alsandair turned around to see Kyle leaning against a palm tree with his arms

  crossed and a wide grin on his face.

  “Widget!” Ataa pronounced, and went running off with his prize tucked securely

  against his scrawny little chest.

  “If that thing climbs back up the tree, I’m not going up after him again!” Alsandair

  shouted after his son.

  “Widget?” Kyle questioned with an arched brow.

  Alsandair shook his head. “I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut one of these days.”

  “That’s a coon cat, you know,” Kyle said. “A very expensive breed.” He

  straightened up and fell into step beside Alsandair. “How do you suppose it wound up

  on the island?”

  “Probably off some ship, wouldn’t you think?” Alsandair asked. “In the last four

  days we’ve been over every inch of this island and there’s no one else here but the

  animals and us.”

  “Which begs the question—if Widget arrived with other castaways where are

  they?”

  “Probably rescued but the cat couldn’t be—or didn’t want to be—found.”

  The two men walked back to the beach and Alsandair wasn’t too surprised to see

  his son feeding his new pet the fish his father had been grilling. He chuckled lightly.

  “Someone is bound to see the beacon sooner or later,” Kyle said. “I am more than

  ready to get off this gods-be-damned island.”

  Alsandair’s attention drifted to the two jolly boats that had been pulled up on the

  beach. Both had holes in the bottom courtesy of the pirates who—before they’d lowered

  the boats from the Mary Constance—had created the holes so the boats would not be

  usable upon reaching the island. As it was, Alsandair and the other men had to

  scramble to get the boats to land before they sank. With no way to patch them, the boats

  were useless—just as the pirates had intended.

  “Eventually, the Anlusian military will come looking for me,” Alsandair said. “I’ll

  be absent without leave in another few days.”

  “And surely the company that owns Drake’s ship will send someone out looking

  for him when the cargo doesn’t arrive back at Dellymal,” Kyle commented. “I imagine

  his wife and daughter will sound the alarm, as well. He’s supposed to be at a wedding.”

  “All I want is a ship to take me to Wicklaw Cay,” Alsandair said, stopping to stare

  out at the waves rolling to shore.

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  “You have to believe she’s all right, Sandair,” Kyle said. He put a hand on his

  companion’s shoulder. “I truly don’t think he would hurt her.”

  “Fuck her but not hurt her,” Alsandair snarled. Hurt entered his dark eyes. “Just

  imagining that makes me want to kill something.”

  “I know,” Kyle said, and took his hand away.

  “The gods help him when I get my hands on him again,” Alsandair said. “One of us

  will be on our way to the Gatherer before it’s all said and done.”

  * * * * *

  Rylee clapped her hands as Andre let go of the trapeze bar, twisted in midair and

  hooked his hands around Remy’s wrists as the younger man hung by his knees on the

  second trapeze, swinging them both high into the air. She never tired of watching the

  performance that was a morning ritual for the two men. The area in which she was

  sitting had been set aside with a tightrope strung between two palms, the two trapeze, a

  set of uneven parallel iron bars, two rings hanging on ropes from a tall tree and a

  cleared place with soft white sand where Andre and Remy could do somersaults,

  handsprings and myriad moves she could not name but observed with astonished

  wonder. She clapped again as Andre twisted out of Remy’s hold and caught the bar of

  his trapeze once again.

  “Captain?” Gaston called out, drawing Rylee’s attention to the wizened little man

  standing at the edge of the clearing.

  “Aye?” Andre asked. He was sitting sideways on the trapeze bar.

  “He’s back,” was all the old man said before turning around and heading back to

  the house.

  Rylee looked around and saw Andre was frowning. She heard him tell Remy that

  was enough for the day and watched him begin pumping the swing higher with his

  legs until he could reach one of the two platforms that braced the trapeze rig. He

  slipped off the bar and onto the platform then slid down the ladder that gave access to

  the platform. He came toward her, dusting the rosin off his hands.

  “Your brother?” she asked, putting up a hand for him to help her to her feet.

  “Aye,” he said, a muscle grinding in his jaw.

  They started back to the house in silence. Andre’s bare chest glistened with sweat as

  he unwound the wristbands that absorbed the moisture on his arms to keep his hands

  dry.

  It was the morning of the fifth day since he had brought her to Wicklaw Cay and he

  had yet to physically claim her. Each night she slept beside him—wrapped securely in

  his arms—but he had made no attempt to even touch her in an inappropriate way. The

  threat he’d made to have the Brotherhood set aside her Joining to Alsandair had yet to

  happen.

  “I will have to go to see the Council today,” he said quietly.

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  Rylee looked up at him. “Why?” she asked, though she figured she knew the

  answer already.

  “Louis will demand I marry you before the sun sets or else move you into a

  separate bedroom,” he replied. “He has very strict notions of propriety where I’m

  concerned.”

  “Yet he has a mistress who lives with him,” she said. “A woman he’s not married

  to. I’ve overheard Suzette and her mother talking about her.”

  Andre grunted. “True but Antoinette was a two-bit whore when he brought her to

  the Cay. He has no intention of ever making an honest woman of her since she wasn’t

  one to start with.” He glanced down at her. “You are a different matter altogether.”

  She knew he had been dreading her meeting with Louis and as soon as she saw the

  burly man come striding toward them with an ugly sneer on his face, she understood

  why.

  “Where the fuck was your head, boy?” the newcomer snarled. He was tall like


  Andre but barrel-chested with a full beard, shaggy salt and pepper hair lying loose on

  his shoulders and he wore a brace of deadly looking pistols on his hips.

  Andre reached out to take Rylee’s hand. “I intend to marry her,” he said.

  “And why the hell haven’t you done so before now?” the man who called himself

  Louis Corsair demanded. He swept his eyes over Rylee and grunted. “She’s gentry if

  I’ve ever seen it, and you don’t fuck gentry and—”

  “I have not taken her,” Andre interrupted his brother.

  Louis blinked, seemingly taken back by the admission. “Why the hell not? What’s

  wrong with her?”

  “I was waiting for the proper words to be said over us to make it legal,” Andre

  defended his decision. “As you say, she’s a lady and you marry a lady, Louis.”

  “I’m told she’s already married,” Louis said. “And that you set her husband down

  real gentle-like so’s not to injure the little bastard. You do know he’ll come after her,

  don’t you?”

  “More than likely,” Andre agreed, “but I’ll handle it if he does.”

  Squinting his dark eyes, Louis stared openly at Rylee. “Red hair and green eyes,” he

  said with a disgusted shake of his shaggy head. “Temper and willfulness. You’ll need to

  beat both of them out of her if you’re to live even a single day in peace.”

  Rylee kept quiet for she had developed an immediate dislike of Louis Corsair. It

  was more than just his crude manners and the vulgar looks he was directing at her that

  made her want to stay clear of him. Whether or not his suggestion to beat her was real

  or meant to intimidate her, she knew from the way he said it, he was letting her know

  there would never be friendship between them.

  “Get yourself before the Council now,” Louis commanded then spun around and

  stalked back the way he’d come.

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  She heard Andre release a long slow breath. “Are you g-going to the Council?” she

  asked, fearful of his reply.

  “I have to, bébé,” he stated. “We’ll be Joined before the day is out.”

  Rylee wanted to scream her denial of that happening. She had started to think of

  Andre as a friend—not unlike Kyle—and had begun to hope he would not make good

  on his threat to marry her. He hadn’t seemed in any hurry to do so and hadn’t forced