A Change of Plans (19 page)

W
E CELEBRATED
the completion of the tree house by spending the entire afternoon the next day getting ready for the wedding, including working on vows.

From our little tree house deck, I admired the glitter of the full moon on the water. I leaned on the railing, holding the wedding lei I had made for Braedon. He stepped up behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder, and then sliding it around my waist. I shivered.

“There’s a little fruit bat up there to witness our nuptials.” He pointed to the top of the Banyan tree.

I leaned my head back against him for a second, completely calm. If anyone had told me at the start of the cruise that I would be getting married in a few months, I would have laughed. So much for all the plans I had made.

Facing him, I put the bright orange and yellow lei over his head and settled it on his shoulders, inhaling the sweet scent. He put a red and pink lei headdress on top of my head. A flower veil.

I pulled one of the three lengths of threaded flowers over my shoulder to admire. “I think you’ve missed your calling. You should open a flower shop.”

Braedon grunted. “If I had my phone, I could take orders.”

Laughing, I said, “Okay. Maybe not.”

Suddenly serious, he took my hands in his, lifting first one and then the other to his lips. “Gwendolyn Byington North, I, Braedon Fredrick Randolph, take you to be my wife and my friend, to join with you and to share what is to come, to be your faithful husband; a commitment made in love, kept in faith, and eternally made new.”

I blinked furiously; I wanted to be able to see him. “I, Gwendolyn Byington North, take you, Braedon Fredrick Randolph, to be my husband, my friend and partner in life, my one true love. I will trust you and love you faithfully through the good times and the bad times, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love forever.”

Braedon pulled another ring he had carved from his pocket, wider this time and with no gems, and placed it on my left hand. “As I place this ring on your finger, I commit my heart and life to you. I declare to the world that you are mine.”

I had woven one for him from my hair. I tugged the hair ring on his finger and met his gaze. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and my faith in our strength together.”

Braedon took my face in his hands, his thumbs moving down my cheeks, his warm lips soft as they touched mine. He slid one hand to the back of my head while dropping the other to my back, pressing me closer as he deepened the kiss.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging to him as I turned to putty and molded myself against him. The racing of my heart beat a harmony with his where our chests touched. He was mine, and my soul was complete.

Putting his arm behind my knees, he lifted me and carried me through the doorway into our home.

CHAPTER 19

T
HE FIRST
project after our wedding was the construction of a shower. Even though it was not as complicated to build as the house had been, it was still dirty work.

Braedon grinned as he rubbed his skin with the poufy plant to absorb the moisture from our shower. “You were right.” His eyes danced. “We should have done this before the tree house. I definitely prefer the view.” He picked up a leaf-wrapped parcel and handed it to me.

I unfolded it and stared at the object inside: a carved and surprisingly smooth wooden hair pick. “It’s exquisite!” I exclaimed, running my fingers over it.

Braedon held his hand out for me to give it back, taking the end of my mass of hair.

I tried pulling away. “My hair’s so nasty and greasy.”

He raised one eyebrow and began gently running the pick through the strands. “Aislinn’s always had long hair, and my father never had much patience with her about it when we’d go camping. I knew you’d need this.”

It took a long time for him to work his way up to my scalp.

“Thank you, my husband.” I accepted the comb, running it through my hair before pulling two clumps over my shoulders for a Lady Godiva look.

He strategically adjusted a lock of hair. “Well, my wife, I might even like this look better than that bikini of yours on the ship.”

My face flamed at the memory. “You weren’t supposed to see me in that.”

“That was obvious from the look on your face. That suit haunted my dreams for days.” Chuckling, he kissed me and went to work on his bowstring.

I slipped into my damp tankini and sat down to examine Braedon’s shirt. I had agreed to mend his clothes when I found I couldn’t hit anything with an arrow.

His clothing had gotten so threadbare I spent far too much time sewing up tears. His T-shirt was getting to be mostly stitches.

I sighed in frustration. “If we’re here much longer, we’re going to end up in grass skirts.” We had already discovered the need for some kind of clothing. Partly for protection from the jungle, but mostly because we never got anything done otherwise.

“Not for me, my wife. I’ll wear a manly breechcloth.” He eyed me knowingly. “We’ll have to risk it.”

Braedon was referring to his find of a couple of days ago when he had returned from checking out the sounds I had heard by Maria’s grave. Wild boars.

“It’s too dangerous,” I had said when he proposed we hunt them.

“We can use the skin for clothing and I will be glad for the change in diet.” He had shot me a sly look. “They have lots of fat on them.”

“Fat,” I had said with longing, distracted from my fear. “Maybe we can get enough fat to make some soap.” He knew my obsession with cleaning my hair. I had once tried using sand to absorb the oils from my scalp, and it had taken him almost half an afternoon to help me get it out of my hair, with him laughing the whole time.

As I sat there by the shower considering Braedon’s frayed T-shirt, my fear of a boar hunt returned. I looked at him as he worked on his bow. He seemed so confident and capable that he always managed to convince me.

I stitched a hole in his shirt. Maybe he was right. Maybe we could pull it off. I started a litany of confident statements, but deep down, I was still doubtful.

I
T TOOK
a couple of days to prepare before we were ready to go hunting. Since we planned to cook the beast in the ground, luau style, we had to dig a big pit. We also built a bamboo corral of sorts in the event we caught one of them alive.

My stomach persisted in churning all day. I didn’t mention my worries to Braedon because I wanted to be a team player and was worried I would sound like a whiner. I held up the carrot of homemade soap as a personal incentive.

None of my efforts could control my dreams, however, which changed that night from a watery nightmare to dark fantasies of a fiendish boar with huge tusks ripping Braedon to shreds.

When I woke him for the third time, he asked, “It’s different tonight, isn’t it?”

I remained silent.

“Lyn. Don’t hold back from me.”

I told him about the dream.

He pulled me tight, his voice soothing. “You’re only scared because you’ve never hunted before. We’ll be fine. Didn’t we agree we need this animal?”

I didn’t argue, but I wasn’t convinced.

B
RAEDON PUSHED
through the jungle and headed toward me, where I sat next to the fire.

“We’re about ready. Come running when I whistle.” He paused and eyed me wickedly. “Hmmm ... I like the idea of you coming when I whistle.”

“Then you’d better get a dog.” I nodded to the jungle. “Where?”

He pointed to a spot on the edge of the foliage.

My stomach knotted. He squeezed my shoulder and left. I closed my eyes with a shiver. We were really going to do it.

A few minutes passed before he whistled. A few minutes where I sat with butterflies fluttering in my gut—that turned into hawks dive-bombing at the lining of my stomach at his signal. I swept up my spear, hands sweaty, and dashed in the direction of the whistle, my heart battering the inside of my chest. Blinded by fear, I didn’t see Braedon and was about to plow past him when he grabbed me from behind. He stopped my cry with a swift hand.

“Don’t spook them; they’re up ahead about thirty yards.” He slid his hand from my mouth, turning the gesture into a caress of my cheek. “They’re in the closed valley, so they have no place to go but toward us. Their instinct will be to run, but they’ll fight if cornered. I’ve set up several snares along the path, and we only have to drive them in that direction.”

I shook my head in denial. No way could it be as easy as he made it out. “What happens if they don’t want to go?”

“Use your spear, but remember we’re only the sheep dogs driving the cattle,” Mr. Calm said.

The knot in my stomach tightened as an image from my dream flashed through my mind.

Braedon gave my neck a peck and stepped around and in front of me, signaling that I should follow as he filed ahead. I stepped behind him along the path for a few yards, and then he stopped and turned.

“I want you to go up there—very quietly.” He pointed to a dead end. “Make lots of noise when I raise my third finger. The only place they can go will be toward me. Loudly follow up behind them—but not too close. If we’re lucky, one or two will hit my snares.”

Gripping my spear, I advanced softly to the spot he had indicated. I took slow, deep breaths. From a distance, I could see the animals rooting in the ground. I glanced back at him; he had raised his right fist.

One finger. I took a cleansing breath.

Two fingers. I relaxed my knees, preparing to run.

Three fingers. I burst from my hiding place, bounding through the jungle. Using one of my best karate kiais, I waved my arms, spear in hand.

The animals bolted just as Braedon had predicted, running straight ahead. When they began to veer off his intended path, he shouted, driving them back against the steep cliff. I took up a rear position, still yelling. It seemed ridiculously easy.

At first.

Then this big, old boar turned back. Toward me.

The beast was fast. I came to my senses and threw my
spear. It hit the boar in the head ... and bounced off. Now he looked ticked!

Spinning, I took off. “Braedon!”

I darted toward a tree with low branches. Twigs and brush ripped at my exposed legs and arms. The thudding sounds of the beast’s feet drew closer. The huffing of its breath urged me on.

The tree. I had to get up the tree.

My back prickled as the creature got closer. Then the tree was in reach. I grabbed a lower branch and swung up. But not fast enough. The boar sliced my left calf before running on. An arrow whizzed past me and struck the beast in the rear haunch. It squealed and continued to run with an unbalanced stride. Another arrow struck, bringing it down.

Braedon charged past me with my spear in his hand and slammed it into the animal’s ribs. It went still. As he pulled the spear from the boar, he called back to me, “You okay?”

With shaking hands, I dropped from the branch. Pain shot up from my calf. I cried out and staggered, trying to keep all my weight on my right leg. Something warm and moist trickled down my calf.

At my cry, Braedon dashed to me. As soon as he saw the bleeding cut, he swore and picked me up, jogging to our camp on the beach.

“Sit still while I boil some water,” he commanded. “Is your tetanus shot current?”

I nodded and clenched my teeth. “Should I put pressure on it?”

“No. It’s not bleeding that bad, and the blood will help flush out the wound.”

Braedon poked at the embers of the fire. Fortunately, I had already boiled water, even if it had cooled somewhat by now.
He pulled his ragged shirt off to use as a potholder and rinsed out a bottle before filling it with sterilized water. Setting it aside, he poured the rest of our bottles into the pot.

He handed me the bottle with the sterilized water and examined the cut more closely. When he poked around the wound, I moaned as a wave of dizziness and nausea hit me. “None of the muscle tissue appears to have been damaged.”

He grabbed his pack and pulled out the catamaran’s emergency kit. He lifted my leg and, without looking up, held out his hand. “Bottle.”