The Golden Cross (48 page)

Obviously fascinated by the huge winged ships that anchored in their waters, the natives of these islands prepared a feast on the shore. From the deck Aidan could see smiling faces, meat roasting on an open fire, and bright blossoms adorning the necks of women, men, and children alike. The sight of the scantily clad, raven-haired women was enough to drive the sailors into a near frenzy, and at last Tasman relented and gave the order for a shore party to disembark.

The natives met this shore party with celebration and open friendliness. They freely offered water, food, and hospitality, the
openness of which scandalized the prudish Dutch. As she waited on deck for the barge that would take her and Sterling ashore, Aidan overheard one of the rowers talking about the native women. “They demonstrate not the slightest hesitation in removing all their clothing,” he said in amazement. “And the most audacious among them actually
touched
our sailors, inviting them to—”

Aidan moved out of earshot to spare both herself and the talkative sailor from complete embarrassment. Sterling had gone back to the cabin to compose a list of useful herbs and supplies he might find on the island, and when he finally arrived, they boarded the last barge and pushed off for shore.

Her heart thrilled when the barge touched the sandy bottom of the bay and Sterling lifted her out of the boat. Aidan was wearing her breeches instead of a cumbersome silk skirt, and a group of native women immediately splashed toward her through the shallow tidewater, giggling as they reached out to touch her red hair, her face, her fluttering shirt.

“I’m very glad you wore trousers, my dear,” Sterling said as he lowered her to the sand. He took her hand, protectively leading her away from the horde of curious women. “I’m afraid they would have dived under your skirt in search of your legs if they were not readily apparent.”

The welcoming committee followed them up the beach. Apparently satisfied that Aidan was female, the sociable women next turned their attention to Sterling. Aidan stood, mystified, as one particularly lovely girl came forward and shyly pressed her hands to Sterling’s lips, then her own.

Aidan frowned. It was a primitive gesture, but effective, and its meaning—as well as the girl’s dark beauty—were not lost upon Sterling. Aidan could see a flush of dusky red advancing up his throat as he fumbled for words. “I, er, uh, you see—”

The girl laughed and stepped closer,
too
close, and an unexpected flash of jealousy sprang up in Aidan’s heart, stinging like nettles. “No,” she said, firmly wedging herself between the
forward beauty and her husband. Recalling the gestures of the natives at Assassin’s Bay, she placed her hand on her heart, then pressed her hand to Sterling’s chest. “Mine,” she said simply, shrugging at the other women in the circle. She looked the brazen beauty in the eye and repeated herself so there would be no mistake. “Mine.”

The girl rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together, then retreated to a chorus of giggles from the others. Another girl, still young and flat-chested, stepped out from the others and shyly took Aidan’s hand.

“I suggest we go with her,” Aidan said, pulling Sterling along. “I’m not leaving you alone with these—” She bit her lip, choking on the word she’d been about to say. She’d dealt with wanton temptresses at the wharf, but she couldn’t imagine trying to compete with an Eve in this Garden of Eden.

The child led them past the fire pits laden with roasting pig, fresh fruit, and cauldrons of bubbling stew, pausing only long enough to allow Sterling and Aidan to fill wooden bowls with a sample of each fragrant dish. The atmosphere here was heavy and sweet with the breath of flowers, the sharp tang of herbs, and the fresh scent of rain.

After they had filled their bowls, the little girl motioned to them again, and Sterling followed her dutifully. Aidan’s heart raced when she saw where the child had led them. A row of thatched huts sat apart from the feast—simple, primitive buildings much like those of the natives on Batavia. These people appreciated aesthetics, however, for wreaths of flowers adorned each doorway.

The girl led them to one of the huts, then stood beside the entrance. She pointed at Aidan, then at the door.
“Wa-go,”
she said simply, smiling. When Aidan shook her head, not understanding, the girl pointed to Sterling and Aidan, then to the hut again.
“Wa-go,”
she repeated, her brows lifting. She looked away toward the feast, where couples who had finished eating now stood with their
arms around each other and their minds clearly on something other than food.

Suddenly Aidan understood.
“Wa-go,”
she repeated with a smile.

The girl lowered her head in a stately salute, then pulled the circlet of flowers from above the door and held the wreath aloft. When Aidan lowered her head, the child slipped the garland around her neck and smiled sweetly.
“Ta-gush-ra-nay,”
she finished. She paused and grinned at Sterling.

“I think she likes you,” Aidan chuckled, breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers.

“I think she is a forward little imp.” His hand pressed against the small of Aidan’s back. “But she obviously wants us to go inside. Shall we obey before she calls attention to us?”

“Good idea.” Aidan smiled at the girl one last time, then pushed aside the woven mat that covered the low opening and crouched to enter.

This hut bore little resemblance to the starkness of her abductor’s hovel on Assassin’s Bay. Tightly woven grass mats covered the floor, and overflowing baskets of flowers sweetened the air. A lustrous stream of moonlight poured from a vent in the center of the roof, lighting every recess in a soft silvery glow.

“Well.” Aidan stood in the center of the hut, then slowly sank to the mat and rested her dinner bowl upon her crossed legs. “I suppose we might as well sleep here tonight. There seems to be no trouble afoot, and I don’t believe the captain will send a barge back to the ship.”

“Are you certain?” Sterling stood above her, hesitation evident in his features. “If you’d feel safer in our cabin, I could ask one of the men to row us back. I wouldn’t blame you for feeling nervous after what happened in Assassin’s Bay.”

Aidan smiled at the intense expression on his face. Always the doctor, he was thinking of her mental and physical welfare. “I’m not nervous,” she answered. “These people are friendly, we could
not ask for better hosts.” She lifted her brow. “Though they could be a little more reserved.”

“I rather liked their … friendliness.” Balancing his bowl upon his palm, Sterling casually sank to the mat beside her, and Aidan’s heart jolted as his arm brushed hers. This was not what she had planned. He could have sat across the room or across from her, where they might regard each other as two equals, as two friends, but he had chosen to sit next to her, so close that she could feel his breathing.

She stared down at the floor and nibbled at a piece of meat from her bowl, confused by the curious quivering in her stomach, a sensation that left her feeling like a breathless, giddy girl of sixteen. Despite the native girl’s shy smile and none-too-subtle innuendoes, this should be a night like all the others. They ought to just whisper their goodnights and turn their backs on one another, struggling to sleep as well as they might. This night was different only because they were away from their cramped quarters and free from the stench of illness. For once they were alone, away from sick sailors. But that was no reason to forget all the things that kept them apart.

As if he’d read her mind, Sterling suddenly asked, “Where is Captain Tasman?”

“Far away, I expect. He would certainly be upset—” She lowered her eyes, terribly conscious of his scrutiny. “—to find us here, like this.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” He spoke in a voice husky with contentment … probably due, Aidan supposed, to the delicious meat in his bowl.

“These people are too forward,” Aidan said. “Those women are worse than—well, I’ve heard stories about women who live down at the waterfront. There are procuresses less forward than that girl who came up to you—”

His eyes gleamed with an odd light when she looked up at him. “I don’t want to talk about the riffraff down at the docks.” He set aside his bowl as if he had suddenly lost his appetite. “I want to know if you meant it.”

“If I meant
what?
”

“You said I was yours.” His voice was velvet edged with steel, and Aidan knew she could not lie to him. She gripped her arms, feeling an unwelcome surge of excitement at the question.

“Of course you are mine.” She smiled, taking pains to keep her voice light. “Until we return to Batavia and a judge can undo all the skipper did, we are lawfully wed. Later, of course, I will be safe and you will be free to return to Captain Tasman’s house and beg his forgiveness.”

“I don’t want his forgiveness.” Her pulse skittered alarmingly when he stretched out and reclined beside her, propping his head on his hand.

“But you said—”

“I never wanted his daughter. I could never want her—” His hand reached through the growing darkness and touched her arm, sending a brief shiver rippling through along her flesh. “—the way I want you.”

Aidan’s blood surged hot. She felt her heart beginning to melt, and her eyes lowered to meet his gaze. “Sterling,” she whispered, “I don’t want you to think you must—”

“I don’t want to think anything, if thinking means I must analyze the feelings that have drawn me to you. You are my wife, Aidan, and I am glad of it.” His extraordinary eyes blazed as he looked up at her. “I don’t want to hear another word about undoing what Tasman did. I want you to remain my wife. Not in name only, but in truth. Forever and always.”

“Sterling—” She halted as a wave of emotions rose and crested inside her, then broke into a flood of tears. How could she speak the things she felt? She was an artist, not a poet, and yet she wanted to tell him that in her heart he had sown hope where there had been none, that his care had caused a rare and tender feeling to blossom in her soul.

“Darling,” he whispered, gently reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. His hand fell to her neck, and he pulled her
toward him. She pressed her hand against his chest, trying to think of all the reasons she should not allow herself to be close to him, but her reasons and excuses had flown away. She was his wife. He was her husband. And she knew, despite all her protestations, that she did not want this marriage annulled. She wanted to be his forever.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his breath warm and moist against her face. “I did not mean to make you cry.”

“Nothing is wrong,” she answered, relaxing into his cushioning embrace. Their eyes locked as their breathing came in unison, and then Aidan willingly lost herself in his arms.

D
awn had spread a gray light over the bridal bower when Aidan awoke to the soft chirping of tropical birds. Her eyes flew open and memories came flooding back; then she felt the solid presence of Sterling’s body behind her. She smiled and brought his hand to her lips, blushing as she remembered the hunger in his kiss and the gentleness in his touch.

Aidan clung to the strong arm that encircled her waist, her mind curling around sweet memories of giving and receiving and loving. Sterling Thorne, the man who legally possessed her body and will, now owned her heart and mind.

Let the morrow come
, she thought.
Whether we live here, in Batavia, or in England, nothing matters except that we are together
.

It was not like this for everyone, she realized. Not for Lili’s women. Sometimes men paid for pleasure without spending a whit of care or concern upon the women their money provided. Yet Sterling had been careful with her, gentle, tender—he had treated her like a lady.

She wanted to keep the memory of last night pure and unsullied, but other images enveloped her—dark and shadowy recollections of a troubled night in her childhood. She had been fourteen and recently arrived from England. Searching for Lili, she had walked into the tavern’s darkened storage room and lifted the lamp to discover her mother with a strange man.

She had backed out of the room, fighting down the bile that rose in her throat. The man was not married to her mother; he was
not even a friend. And her mother—how could a God-fearing woman do such things?

Aidan had run through the narrow streets until she thought her lungs would burst, then reluctantly returned to the tavern. She had nowhere else to go. Her mother had changed in the months since Da’s death. Aidan had heard her weeping at night, beating her breast and railing against a God who would take a good and decent man out of the world and leave his wife and child defenseless.

Aidan felt surprising calm when she confronted her mother the next day. She had expected Lili to be embarrassed and remorseful, but her mother’s eyes were flat and her voice sharp as she told Aidan that she had no other choice. If men wanted to pay for fleshly conversation, that was their business. Since God had taken Lili’s husband, the Almighty shouldn’t mind if she took what had rightfully belonged to Cory O’Connor and used it to eke out a living.