The legend of the gypsy.., p.26
The Legend of the Gypsy Hawk, page 26
‘Already have, told you that too.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Zach. At least show me that much respect.’
Carefully, he replaced the china dog on the shelf, hoisted the sack over his shoulder and turned, fixing her with a swaggering stare. ‘Are you quite finished?’
‘No!’ She curled her fingers into fists. ‘No, I’m bloody not! How dare you treat me like this?’
He blinked. ‘How dare I?’
‘You humiliate me—’
‘Amelia—’
‘—punish me—’
‘Leave it, now.’
‘Lie to me!’
‘Enough!’ His shout echoed in the silent house, seemed to rattle the very windows. ‘Enough.’ He glared at her, smouldering with a rage she’d known was there all along. With a clatter the sack fell to the floor and he prowled towards her, slow and deadly. ‘Very well then,’ he hissed, ‘you’re right. I don’t forgive you. I’ll never forgive you for your theft, because you stole something you can never return, no matter where in the world you sail. And after you stole it, you broke it beyond repair. Cast it aside.’ He reached out as if to touch her face but stopped at the last moment, making no contact, his gaze seeming fixed on her lips. ‘I can’t forgive that, Amy. Can’t forget it, neither.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, refusing to back away from him despite the way her heart was hammering. ‘What …?’
His gaze lifted from her mouth, that bitter smile lingering in the black depths of his eyes. ‘You chose him, Amy. You chose Luc bloody Géroux. What else did you think this was about?’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zach left as soon as the words were spoken, pushing past her and out of the room, leaving Amelia standing rooted to the floor. She barely trusted herself to interpret his meaning. What had she stolen from him? What had she broken? Could it be …? Could he mean his heart?
Her breath returned in a gulping gasp and she turned on her heel, racing from the room. ‘Zach!’
He was already halfway down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, and didn’t turn when she called. She could only stand on the landing and watch him stride across the entrance hall and slam through the door towards the kitchens without a backward glance. Amelia was left alone with only the fading echoes of his anger.
For all his flamboyance, Zach was a private man. She knew that following him now would achieve nothing, might even drive him off entirely, so she didn’t move from where she stood; they’d speak later, when he’d cooled and they’d both had time to consider the significance of his words. Even so, Amelia felt something ignite in her chest, a heat – a hope – that had not burned for years. If it were true that, against all expectations, he still harboured some feelings for her …
Pressing her lips together, she turned and made her way slowly back to the cosy room they’d shared. She had much to think about, and before she spoke to Zach again her own mind would need to be clear.
She stayed the rest of the day in their room, building up the fire and watching the rain against the windows. Eventually daylight succumbed to the deeper darkness of night and the room plunged into dancing shadows. Amelia dragged a couple of blankets from the bed and sat close to the fire, wrapped up against the cold and thinking on Zach’s words.
You chose him.
And so she had, in those golden days before her father’s death. She’d chosen to stay in Ile Sainte Anne, to trade not run. She’d chosen hope over despair. Then the storm had come, her father was taken, and Zach … Even now, she shied away from the image of his hanging, the hurt, fear and sorrow in his eyes as they’d tightened the noose. Her doing, all her doing.
There was not enough hubris in the world that could have convinced her Zach would feel anything less than contempt in the aftermath of her betrayal, nor that she deserved anything more. In those dark days, only Luc had defended her against Overton’s bitter anger, only Luc had held her as she wept for her father, only Luc had shielded Ile Sainte Anne from Morton.
In truth, then there had been no choice at all.
Now, however …
She closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees, remembering Luc’s earnest face. He was a good man, honest in his heart if not always in his deeds. He claimed to have been as misled by Morton as herself, though she didn’t know how much credence to give his words. He was full of shadows, his soul as enigmatic as his manners were plausible. He’d felt responsible for what had happened to her – that much she did know – and bound to protect her as best he could.
He’d sailed far and often though, chased by something she didn’t understand and that he refused to discuss. While he was away, she’d embraced her role as the new leader of Ile Sainte Anne. With Overton at her side, she’d read and re-read the Articles until their profound truths had marked her heart like the ink beneath her skin. She’d taken lovers to her bed, distracted herself with the pleasures of the flesh, and all the while not felt a heartbeat of guilt. For Luc, she knew, did much the same.
But this? This was different. This was her soul longing for the touch of another; her heart aching to be filled after so many empty years. This was love. She was brave enough to name it so at last, but was she brave enough to claim it for her own?
She knew there was only one way to do so and the thought of it was terrifying. Zach must be told; her heart must be laid open to him. Though the prospect made her tremble, Amelia Dauphin had never been a coward. She owed him the truth, and he would have it.
Gathering her resolve, she left the warmth of the blankets and went in search of Zach.
There was no sign of him in the kitchens, but there was a lingering thread of cold air that betrayed the slightly open door. It was bitter outside with only her light coat, and she knew he couldn’t have gone far. Sure enough, when she rounded the corner, she found him.
He stood near a log pile, stripped to the waist and wielding an axe with precarious precision. The pile of chopped wood at his side and the sheen of sweat on his skin told her he’d been working hard.
He didn’t stop as she approached, just picked up another log and swung the axe, sending splinters flying. Amelia kept her distance, watching him in silence. In the dim light of the single lamp that hung from the eaves of the woodshed, he seemed to glisten in gold and ebony, a tangle of ink about his arm and back. He moved with curt, angry strokes, slamming the axe into the wood as though dispatching an enemy in battle.
She wondered how long he would ignore her, if she’d be forced to brave the flying axe and stop him before he’d listen. In the end, after he’d splintered yet another log, he drove the axe into the stump and, breathing hard, lifted his eyes to look at her. He said nothing, revealed nothing.
‘You’re right,’ she said quietly. ‘I chose Luc. I chose duty over love. But I am my father’s daughter, Zach, and I cannot be any different. You must take me for what I am, or not at all.’
His gaze dropped, brow creasing as he stared at the top of the axe handle, scrutinising it in great detail.
Amelia drew closer. ‘Those were dark days, for us all. Did any of us truly know the consequences of our actions? Did you?’
He didn’t answer, just looked out into the night, and in the icy wind that blew she saw him shiver.
‘Come inside,’ she said gently. ‘Come in where it’s warm, Zach. I’m so tired of the cold.’
With that she turned, arms hugged about her chest against the biting wind, and didn’t look back to see if he followed.
She returned to their room and curled up by the fire. Wrapped in a blanket, on some pillows from the bed, she lay in the warmth and watched the flames dance. She didn’t doze though, despite the gentle crackle of the fire and the patter of the rain outside, because all she could see in the flames was the darkness in his eyes and the depth of his anger.
Would he come to her now, or had her confession come too late? Had their time passed, their lives been swept too far apart by the same relentless tides that had borne death to Ile Sainte Anne?
As she gazed into the fire, her mind drifted back to those dark days, when the might of empire had been thrown against her and she’d had to face it alone, without Luc and without Zach. The island had fallen, toppled in an inferno worthy of Dante himself, and as she lay by the fire, watching the logs spit and hiss in the flames, she realised how futile was their protest. The flames were unstoppable, like the turning of the world, and the fate of the logs was sealed – as was hers, as was Luc’s, as was Ile Sainte Anne’s. They all burned, helpless against their destiny.
So lost was she in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the door open, and it seemed that Zach appeared out of nowhere. She simply looked up and there he was in the doorway, watching her. In his arms he carried wood for the fire, his shirt hanging open as if flung over his head without him caring how it fell.
When she caught his eye he glanced away before stepping further into the room and kicking the door closed behind him. Amelia said nothing as he walked towards her, though she sat up to make room by the hearth when he crouched to put some wood on the fire and to pile the rest nearby. In the firelight, he was gold once more, rum-dark eyes catching the glint of the flames and reflecting it like long-lost sunlight. He didn’t look at her, though, not for a long time. He just gazed into the flames as she had done.
When he spoke at last, his voice was quiet and not at all like Captain Zach Hazard. The legend was discarded and the man who spoke was no more nor less than that – a man. ‘I’ll not argue with you about those days,’ he said, ‘nor about who has the greater share of blame. Whatever you thought, I knew well enough that it was a trap, but I came to you anyway when you asked. That choice was mine.’
He was silent then and Amelia wondered if that was all he had to say. She wondered whether he was expecting some kind of answer from her, but she had nothing to add; he’d spoken the only truth they both knew.
Then he shifted, wiping the fingers of one hand across his mouth as if the words he was about to utter displeased him. He glared deeper into the flames. ‘I have sworn’, he said, in a voice quieter still, ‘not to love you. I have sailed the world to be free of you, yet always you bring me back and I cannot—’ His voice broke and for a moment he said no more. The only sound between them was the crackle of the fire. ‘Amy, I must know. If I had stayed all those years ago, would you have chosen differently?’
He went very still as he waited for her answer; not a muscle moved and his shoulders were a rigid line of suspense. Because she would have no more truck with half-truths and lies, Amelia said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have done then. I can’t answer for the child I was.’
Zach nodded, or perhaps he just bowed his head. A stray lock of black hair fell forward, hiding his face. After a moment, in a strained voice, he said, ‘Now, then? If you can’t answer for four years past, then answer for now. Answer for this night. Would you choose differently, if you could?’
She closed her eyes. Suddenly it was as if she were standing on the very tip of the mast, ready to dive and dizzy in anticipation of the fall. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, feeling the air start to rush past her face. ‘This night I would; this night I do.’
His breath caught and then there was silence. When she opened her eyes, he had turned from the fire and was watching her intently.
‘I choose you, Zach,’ she said. ‘My heart has always chosen you. It always will.’
‘And what of Géroux?’
‘You think me cruel.’ She didn’t make it a question, for she wasn’t in any doubt of the answer. ‘A woman’s heart cannot be bound, Zach. It must roam free.’
‘Not a woman’s heart,’ he said, and for the first time a smile touched his eyes. ‘A pirate’s heart. That, you’ve always had.’
‘Do you despise me for it?’
He shook his head and drew closer, a cautious predator. ‘How could I when it’s the mirror of my own?’
‘Fickle?’
‘Free, once.’
‘And now?’
His answer was a shaky breath against her lips, a whisper of her name. She ached to lean in, to close the gap that had opened between them so many years ago, but it was a breach only he could cross.
His forehead touched hers, long fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin of her wrist. ‘The world’s turned upside down, Amy, and I hardly know which way to fall.’
‘To me,’ she urged, slipping her hands across the taut muscle of his shoulders, drawing him closer. ‘Always to me.’
He shivered and closed his eyes, a butterfly kiss of lashes against her cheek. ‘You can’t catch me, Amy.’
She wanted to deny it, to tell him that she would always catch him, but she had no words for lies; she was bound to her duty and to another man. She could not save him. ‘Then we’ll fall together. Fall with me, Zach.’
‘To the end, I swear it.’ And with a soft sigh of surrender he bridged the void between them, his mouth closing over hers in a scalding kiss that claimed her as his own at last. Pickpocket fingers tangled in her hair, caressing her neck, tilting her head so his lips could blaze along the line of her jaw, her throat.
She slipped her arms around his neck, holding him close as he lowered her down into the pillows and blankets, kissing her breathless. Kissing her as if it were the end of the world.
One hand slid beneath her shirt, his rough palm grazing her nipple, teasing and glorious. He growled her name low in his throat and she gasped as she felt fabric ripping. Then his mouth was there, hot on her breast, and she arched towards him, fingers knotting in his hair as his tongue and teeth drove her to distraction. It was almost too much to bear, her heart was too full. ‘Zach …’
Breaking free, he lifted his head to look into her face, eyes liquid with desire. And behind that something else, something darker and deeper. Doubt. Despair.
With trembling fingers she touched his cheek, his lips, his throat, lingering on the scar about his neck. ‘I did this,’ she realised, sudden tears in her eyes.
He shook his head, took her fingers from his throat and pressed them to his lips. ‘Not you. It was never you.’
Forgiveness, at last. She hardly knew whether to laugh or cry as a bittersweet wave of relief washed away years of remorse and regret, but she could do neither because Zach was kissing her again. Her torn shirt pooled around her as he skimmed her belly with his lips, kissed her breasts, her throat. His breath was hotter than the fire that cast dancing shadows over his skin and she craved his heat, his touch.
Curling fingers into the linen of his shirt, she pulled it over his head, desperate to feel the heat of him next to her bare skin. He helped her, kneeling up and casting his shirt aside. Reaching for him again, she tried to pull him back down, but he resisted. Instead, he just gazed at her, drinking in the sight of her lying there naked and wanton. She watched his pulse quicken in the hollow of his throat, chest rising and falling, eyes reflecting firelight from behind a fall of black hair. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said in a scratchy whisper, ‘nothing will have changed.’
Though the truth broke her heart, she could not deny it. ‘Yet now is not tomorrow.’
Zach closed his eyes in an expression akin to pain, then cursed softly and pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest and kissing her until her head swam with starbursts. There was no more talking after that, only feeling – his mouth on her throat, her breasts, trailing kisses lower still. Clever fingers stripped her, rendered her naked in the firelight, making her writhe and whimper beneath his adept touch. Driving her to the edge, but too skilled to let her fall. Not yet.
At last, when she could bear the torment no longer, his eyes locked with hers, asking a single unspoken question. Her answer was the nip of teeth against his collarbone, the scratch of fingernails along his back, and with a ragged groan he buried himself deep inside her.
She gasped as he began to move, steady and measured at first, then harder, deeper, less controlled. Urgent. ‘Amy …’ It was a plea, a curse. ‘Oh God, Amy …’
But something was wrong. She felt it in her heart, in the depths of her soul; they were racing for a horizon they could never reach, seeking something that could never be theirs.
Desperate, she held him close, wrapped herself around him, yet somehow it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t get close enough to fill the emptiness at their core.
And then he slipped a finger between them, touched her right there, and tore a cry from her lips as he tipped her over the edge. He followed while she was still falling, muscles tensing like iron as he gasped her name in hot breaths against her neck, over and over and over.
Clinging to him as the storm abated, Amelia found her face wet with tears. For though their bodies had found incandescent release, their longing went unsated, their hearts remained but half-filled; deep down they both knew that it was too late, that the world had shifted and their time had passed.
Afterward, as he lay sweat-damp and glistening in the firelight, it didn’t surprise her when he said, ‘God, Amy, but that was a sweet death.’
‘Shhh,’ she scolded, putting her fingers to his lips. ‘Don’t say that.’
He spoke no more, just gathered her into his arms and held her there against the slowing beat of his heart; in a matter of days they would reach the sea and this glimpse of what might have been would be swept away by the remorseless tides that had always torn them apart.
Amelia woke first, as dawn crept into the room, a mere lessening of the darkness beneath heavy clouds. The morning was thin and grey, cold despite the fire, and Zach looked pale in its light. He slept by her side, in the bed to which they’d retreated as the night grew colder, one arm curved above his head and the other resting on his stomach. The ink that wound about his arm was black in the early light, black as the hair that sprawled wild across crisp white pillows, and he seemed too vivid for this bleak winter landscape.
