Other Islands Page 6

  Through the polished oak doorway, a second, very curvy, woman appeared. Yulunga strode toward her. His low voice rumbled with pleasure and his wide dark face split in a smile. “Lily!”

  “Dark Prince.” Lily opened her arms. Yulunga snatched her up, planting a kiss on her full brown lips. She returned it, heartily, and without haste. The sailors shuffled in the grass. Mrs. Hanover blinked.

  Still clasped in Yulunga’s arms with her toes dangling over the earth, Lily exclaimed, “How good to see you again.” She beamed as he set her down. “And who have you brought to us? Your new men, I see.” She turned to face them. “I welcome you to the Clearing. Please, take off your boots and be comfortable as we become acquainted.” She indicated a ring of logs around a fire pit. A wisp of smoke still rose from a second night of festivities, and Mrs. Hanover recognized the acrid smell that accompanied her stab of jealousy to be the remnants of the fire. The men hurried off to sit and pry at their boots.

  “Red Fawn,” Lily called, “our company has arrived.”

  The third woman stepped from the house. Balancing a tray on her hip, she bore a flagon and wooden cups. Immediately, Pierre-Jean moved to her side to assume her burden. A fine display of dimples greeted him, and Red Fawn relinquished the tray, taking Pierre-Jean’s elbow in her shapely hands and guiding him toward the fire pit. Mrs. Hanover’s brow wrinkled until Yulunga spoke her name. At the sound of it, she indulged in a full-scale scowl.

  Her name was hateful to her. Hook himself had condemned her to its use. And she had earned it— was earning it still. Some nights she woke in a fit of perspiration from dreams so carnal she was compelled to shake Yulunga awake to indulge them. Dreams of her former lover who, even thousands of miles away by now, set her afire with his skill. Doctor Hanover was a man who studied love, researched it as a science. The art of desire was, in fact, his life’s work, his genius. In his hands he held an intimate knowledge of a woman’s body— and he had used it to seduce his daughter. When he’d found no other way to master her, he mastered her passions. As much her father’s prisoner as the pirates’, she hated him. And she adored him.

  “Lily, this is Mrs. Hanover. I am her provider. As you can see, she will be needing care in the coming months.”

  “If you ask it, I cannot refuse.” Lily’s eyes were tranquil as she observed Mrs. Hanover. “Please, Miss, make yourself at home.”

  “No.” Yulunga placed a heavy hand on Mrs. Hanover’s shoulder. “I thank you for your good manners, Lily, but the commodore has given strict orders. My woman is to be addressed as Mrs. Hanover. Nothing else.”

  Lily noted Mrs. Hanover’s grimace, but her tone remained neutral. “I see.”

  Mrs. Hanover saw Lily’s gaze strengthen upon her, but felt no judgment. Whatever this native woman knew about her she kept hidden. Mrs. Hanover relaxed her posture. Evidently what she had heard of the Women of the Clearing was true. Outcasts themselves, they accepted all who came to them. Mrs. Hanover’s relief showed on her face, and Lily greeted it with a smile.

  “Sit, and take something to drink. We will discuss your needs.”

  Yulunga stared at Mrs. Hanover, waiting. With an effort, she responded to Lily with the proper words. “Thank you.” Her voice could be low and lovely; right now it was coarse from lack of practice. Her accent was strange, but she never spoke enough for a listener to recognize it as the Austrian of her father, the English of her mother, or the African of her master. And her quick ears had already picked up a smattering of French that would be useful. Mrs. Hanover was a chameleon, adopting whatever characteristics would serve her best, and betraying them without a backward glance if better opportunities arose.

  Yulunga nodded approval of her words. He had a rich, fluid voice that Mrs. Hanover loved to hear. Especially when, in intimate moments, he poured it into her ear. He did so now, standing pressed against her back, wrapping his large, warm hands around her, and caressing her hips.

  “Listen to Lily. She knows how to make a man happy.”

  Mrs. Hanover’s too-responsive body began to melt. She wondered how, when the time came, she would live without Yulunga’s hands. Her gaze wandered toward Pierre-Jean, then played upon Lily’s near-naked men. Bearing armloads of firewood, they laughed with the Frenchmen as their bodies bent and flexed with the labor of laying the fire. No flame could be seen as yet, but Mrs. Hanover felt it flaring already.

  And then she stiffened. Yulunga had turned to Lily, and his mesmerizing voice broke faith with its victim.

  “Be on your guard, Lily. If fear meant anything to me, I would fear this woman.”

  Lily’s gray gaze stared at him, somber.

  With his matching ring gleaming on his ear, Yulunga pinched Mrs. Hanover’s one empty earlobe. The pain started tears in her eyes. He looked at Lily and shook his head.

  “Don’t trust her.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Sister, I do not claim that any man, even White Bear, can take the place of Ash in your heart.” Willow’s words, soft as they fell, grated on Raven’s sensibilities. “Our tribe boasts no other brave like Ash. He was a fiery man, full of flash and valor.”

  Raven set her sewing aside and held her shorn head high. “My husband died in the manner of his choice. Nobly, in battle.”

  Willow nodded and shifted her position on the floor of White Bear’s tepee. With the birth of her baby impending, she found it difficult to sit in comfort. The plush fur of the albino bearskin was her favorite refuge. A patch of mid-morning sunlight illuminated her beadwork, slanting in cheerfully from the open door on the east. It lightened Willow’s worries. “Ash was a true warrior, and you have shown your respect for him.”

  “I do not believe White Bear understands why I cut my hair.”

  “He understands that you mourn.”

  “I followed the ancient custom.”

  “And rightly, Sister. But remember that White Bear came to us from the People of the Other Island. Some of our customs, especially the older ones, are not familiar to him.” Willow smiled in her gentle way. “I remember how strange he looked to me, that first time I saw his long scalp lock. You must have appeared just as strange to him, after you cut your hair.”

  “You were a tiny girl when he underwent his naming ceremony and caused all but his lock to be shaved.”

  “Now the young braves imitate him.” Willow couldn’t hide her pride. It shone in her face. “Once a stranger from a sister tribe, he has carved his place as a leader in our own.”

  Raven held silence, letting the warmth of the morning rays penetrate her back. Sometimes she could feel Ash’s passion in the sunshine, as if he stood, not in the land of Dark Hunting, but behind the sun itself. Until Lean Wolf’s kiss reawakened her body, the Shadow Woman had hidden from the sun, refusing to indulge in this fantasy. But this morning, Raven found relief from her anxiety in memory. Lost in her daydream, she allowed herself to drift from her sister’s discourse.

  “Raven! You must listen to me.”

  Opening her eyes, Raven attended her sister.

  “Since the day the pirates arrived, he is most concerned about you.”

  “I told you then, Willow. I can still run like a deer. And I was not assailed by bears or pirates in the woods. Not even by the hateful Golden Boy.”

  “But something happened to you. You came home breathless and disheveled.”

  “Everyone was breathless after the guns went off.”

  “But your dress was drenched. Whatever happened to you, by walking out alone you made yourself vulnerable to it. In the old days, I would have accompanied you.”

  “If I cannot walk when and where I please, I am no more than—” Raven stopped, dissatisfied with herself. Until the day before yesterday she was resigned to her role as the Shadow Woman. Twice now, she had defied it. Difficult as it was, she must discipline herself. Already she had aroused the unwanted attentions of a warrior— if the stories were to be believed, a less than honorable warrior. Raven admitted that her young sister’s
advice was sound. With Lean Wolf on the prowl, she would require White Bear’s good will more than ever. She looked down at the albino fur on which Willow rested. “Please assure White Bear that I will be more cautious.”

  “You must assure him yourself. He wishes to counsel you, today.”

  A flash of panic leapt from Raven’s stomach to her throat. “No! You must speak for me.”

  “He has already decided. But Raven, you are pale! If I didn’t know of your courage, I would think you are afraid of White Bear.”

  Raven looked at her generous sister, whose heart made room for so many. “Of course I do not fear him.” She tried to smile, but could not force it through her lie. How could her sister be so blind to danger? Raven was older, more experienced. She understood the ways of men so much better than Willow. She felt her heart thundering; she had good reason to fear White Bear. And now he wanted to speak to her— alone.

  In a milder tone, Willow soothed her sister, “Surely, and soon, you will recognize White Bear’s goodness. He will care for you, as a woman needs to be cared for.”

  Raven turned away. She couldn’t bear for Willow to see the turmoil such a thought stirred in her. The thought of White Bear…touching her.

  “Is it Lean Wolf Silent Hunter? Do you wish White Bear to accept his suit after all?”

  “I have told you many times, Willow. I will not marry again.”

  “Yes, but now that a formal declaration has been made, a gift bestowed…”

  “His gifts change nothing.”

  “Gifts? Were there more than one?”

  Raven met her sister’s gaze with a stubborn stare, and lied again. “No.”

  Willow’s pretty face smoothed. “I am glad. Since Red Fawn ran away, I have doubts about Lean Wolf’s suitability.” Willow would not betray her husband’s confidence by divulging his friend’s indiscretions. “And of course I am happy you wish to stay with me.”

  “I will help you raise your children. I do not require much ‘care’ from your husband.”

  “You have always been an independent spirit, braving the forest all alone, running for the fun of it. But you may find, when your mourning-time is over, that you do need more.”

  Protesting, Raven opened her mouth, but Willow interrupted. “But for today, White Bear seeks only to remind you that his rules are for our family’s safety. I know you will listen to him. If we are guided by his wisdom, his burden as our protector is lightened. And please, remember that it is I who asked him to assume that burden. Now, with the return of the Black Chief and his pirates, he has the welfare of the tribe on his mind as well. The council rely on him.”

  “You need not remind me of White Bear’s importance!” Then, ashamed to see the surprise on Willow’s face, Raven relented. “I know very well that he has earned it.” Her hand fell to stroking the precious white hide on which Willow sat. The pelt was dense, both soft and tough, and full of comfort-bringing warmth. White Bear prized it. Each night as he lay down beside his wife, he wrapped her in its sanctuary, a token of his affection.

  Willow smiled and ran her fingers through the fur. “Only a great hunter could slay a beast as fierce as this one.” Taking Raven’s silence for agreement, Willow went on, more confidently, “With our son so near his birth, I look forward to seeing you settled.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead, her eyes aglow. “Raven, you don’t yet know the peace the prospect of a child brings to a woman. White Bear can give you a son of your own to cherish.” She laid her hand on Raven’s arm. “Please, do not turn away from life. Embrace it.”

  The shock Raven experienced would not be subdued. “Sister.” She backed away. Her voice trembled with intensity. “You do not know what you are asking.”

  “You could bear a boy to White Bear, to fill the hollow of Ash’s passing.”

  Heat flushed Raven’s cheeks at the same moment a chill struck her back. A shadow blocked the sunshine, and Willow looked up, smiling. Raven held still. From the corner of her eye, she saw White Bear’s feet in his beaded moccasins, stepping into the tepee. She listened for the timbre of his voice, to determine his mood. It was gruffer than usual. Raven sat straighter.

  “You must leave us, Wife.” White Bear stood tall, his scalp lock nearly brushing the upward slope of the tepee. “It is time for your sister to hear my words.”

  Willow accepted Raven’s arm, to rise ungracefully to her feet. Her docile voice answered, “I understand you, Husband.” Turning to Raven, she encouraged her with a smile. “White Bear has your best interests at heart, Raven. As does your sister.” Unable to bend down in her pregnancy, she bent her knees to gather up the leathern water pails, then slipped through the tepee door, closing the flap behind her.

  Raven guessed that her sister was tempted to linger to overhear her husband’s advice, yet she knew Willow was too proud to eavesdrop. And Willow trusted White Bear. Raven imagined Willow turning from her door to walk in her swaying way toward the river, relying on her husband to settle her sister’s hurt.

  At the moment, Raven felt anything but settled. As the tepee flap fell to, the darkening space encroached upon her spirit, its soft sides enclosing her. The hides that flexed to keep out wind and rain now felt smothering to Raven. The stoic presence of its headman was the one uncompromising element in her sister’s home.

  White Bear stepped closer. He knelt down at her right to lean back on his heels. Raven could smell his man-smell, a mix of sweat and sun and muscle. Her every instinct told her to flee, to run as desperately as she had run from Silent Hunter.

  But to whom?

  She cast her gaze down. Her spirit ran; the Shadow Woman took her place.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Except for one couple, the mountain camp lay deserted. Cold cooking fires sat waiting, surrounded by colder stones, for the people of the Indian village to move with the seasons. They’d move upward, and homeward, to populate the empty tepees and crowd the long lodge at feast times, filling the air with savory flavors. The Black Chief had driven the tribe to the mountain camp early this year. A few days later, the People migrated down again, as he and his pirates sailed away. The village rhythm was disrupted, but except for the singeing of the totem pole, the Black Chief had caused no lasting harm. Rowan Life-Giver had testified: He of the Eagle’s Claw had merely counted coup at the expense of his enemies. His valor was proven and he had won his woman. In a final thrust much more to the People’s liking, the Black Chief had slain the terrible crocodile. Then he, in turn, had deserted his island berth.

  Rowan Life-Giver emerged from the one warm tepee with his old friend, his tomahawk, at his thigh. He held the flap for his other companion, whom the elders had named in ceremony at the last new moon. Lightly of the Air was a lucky brave. He had been adopted twice in his short life, once by the Golden Boy’s girl, once by Rowan’s tribe. The natives were not a diverse lot, had even cast Rowan’s mother out— not for bearing his redheaded sister, but for consorting with pirates, a transgression of taboo made obvious by his sister’s coloring. Yet the People were wise enough to welcome Lightly, whose appearance was as different as could be. He had been born in London, and found by the Golden Boy in the park. Whoever his natural parents were, they were blond-haired and blue-eyed, for so was Lightly. Tall and rangy, Lightly topped his companion by a hand-span as he straightened and stretched outside the door. “Will you come along, then?” he asked.

  “I will accompany you, Lightly, but judging by our first meeting with the Black Chief, we must use caution.” Rowan Life-Giver was a stolid young brave, eyes like chips of glass and cheekbones so pronounced as to seem carved into his face. His nut-brown skin contrasted with his partner’s, his tightly braided hair as black as Lightly’s was blond. Rowan had been taught by his mother’s example. Like Lily, he was observant of custom, yet unafraid to think for himself. Even in his choice of partner, he declared his independence.

  “Yes, we’ll have to be careful,” Lightly agreed, “And consider that one entire ship’s company of those p
irates have never seen us before. They’re bound to be hostile— after they get over the shock of seeing Indians fly like birds.”

  “We shall travel by canoe, this time,” said Rowan.

  “Maybe we should do like the twins and bring some women along.”

  Rowan smiled. “One would believe you were nurtured by a pirate, Lightly. And in truth, you were. Although your mother was not yet aware as she raised you that she was destined to become a pirate matriarch.”

  “The word’s ‘queen,’ Rowan.”

  “Yes. An unnatural concept. But one that succeeds in the society of wild men in which she dwells.”

  Laughing, Lightly flung an arm around Rowan. “It is amusing to walk in two worlds. Both my clans think of themselves as civilized, the other as wild. In truth, I think, civilization has yet to be achieved. The closest to approach it are the fairies. They dance and feast all day, welcome anyone, large or small, who cares to join them, and then they make love together among the flowers. And even they have their uncivilized element, Jewel being the prime example.”

  “Fairies!” Rowan scoffed. “Next you will sing praise of the mermaids.”

  “There is no question of mermaids. Not one of them would save a drowning man, as the stains on Marooners’ Rock can show.”

  “Still, plenty of men take the risk.”

  “Better to leave the mergirls to Pan. He and his lads are too young to harbor expectations, and so are not disappointed. Or drowned. But let’s get going. It’s time we did our duty for the elders. And I’m eager to see Jill again.”

  An unusual pair in several ways, these men served the tribe with their power of flight, a holdover from Lightly’s childhood as a Lost Boy. This rare capability had made them Messengers for the council. Speeding about the Island as the need arose, they reconnoitered, delivered messages, collected herbs for medicine from the garden in the Fairy Glade and, most importantly, kept an eye on the wild boy. Indeed, Lightly knew the Golden Boy better than did almost anyone else. He advised the council in all that concerned that minor menace. The boy’s ally, the crocodile, was dead and skinned now, but during the nightmare of its reign, Rowan and Lightly had paid each other life-service, rescuing one another from its jaded jaws. Since that day, the two formed a curious couple, so curious as to violate taboo.