Finally, the dark-skinned man spilled his seed inside her, letting out a low, animalistic groan. They both collapsed on a pile of musty tarpaulins. They nuzzled and squirmed for a long while afterward, cherishing the wantonness they both felt. It had been much the same the six other times they’d been together. It seemed neither wanted the feeling to end nor looked forward to the coming weeks upon weeks they always spent apart.
Ki-Nan Renald was a fisherman by birth, a trader in training. He had first visited Port Lancaster nearly seven years ago, at the behest of his employers, the brothers Connington. He had happened upon her in secret one night while Matthew was away in Veldaren, coming to ask if the lord of freight would be interested in forming a truce in regard to the disagreements between the two houses. Catherine knew she should have been distrustful, but Ki-Nan disarmed her with his direct way of speaking and his exotic beauty. He’d said he was from Ker, the unofficial southern province of Ashhur’s Paradise. How a man from Paradise had come to be in the employ of merchants from Neldar was lost on her, and it was a subject Ki-Nan never broached, even when she asked.
That was fine by her, for though his voice was deep and soothing, what Catherine wanted from him had little to do with talking. They had made love that very first night, and every time they’d seen each other since. Catherine had stopped taking crim oil in the aftermath of his visits long ago, and the results of that decision now slept peacefully in the estate and showed in the puffiness of her abdomen. No one in Port Lancaster save her trustworthy maids Lori, Penetta, and Ursula, who had helped her keep the affair a secret, knew it. She had even kept Bren in the dark.
Ki-Nan’s hand went to her belly. “I can feel it,” he said.
She playfully slapped his cheek and nibbled his chin. “You can? So tell me. . is it a boy or a girl?”
“I am not clairvoyant, love,” he said. “But I feel much.”
“Yes, you do.”
Ki-Nan rolled onto his back, staring at the dockhouse ceiling while fiddling with his chest hair. “And how is my son?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“He’s fine. Perfect.” She leaned up on her elbow and stared at him gravely. “But Ki-Nan, you must promise that those words are not spoken by you in any company but my own. Should anyone find out that Matthew’s only heir is not of his own blood. . ”
“No need to explain that to me, love. But my son is two years old, and I have never laid eyes on him.”
“You will. Please believe me, you will. If everything falls into place, and I can convince the other houses to join my cause, I will no longer be simply a regent. I will be the lady of the house, in station as well as name.”
“You rely too much on things beyond your control,” he said, shaking his head. “And what of the war in the west? If Karak should return home, all your careful planning will be for naught.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “That is what you are here for, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” he sighed. He looked to the window on the western side of the room, set high on the wall, and Catherine followed his gaze. The sun shone in the cloudy glass. It must have been two hours at least since she’d entered the dockhouse. It was amazing how time seemed to have little meaning when they were together. “It is late. Is the new cargo in my skiff as I asked?” he inquired.
She nodded. “It is. Sixty extra swords, lifted off Karak’s own dead soldiers. Bren nearly pitched a fit when I told him we needed to give them up, but I convinced him they served a greater purpose. Speaking of which, you do have the three crates my late husband gave you, correct?”
“I do. They are well hidden, and guarded by those I have pulled to my side.”
“Good.”
“And now seriously, my love, I must be going.”
Catherine groaned as Ki-Nan gave her one last kiss on the lips, then stood up, retrieved his leather breeches, and slid them on.
“Promise me you’ll come back,” she said. “Promise.”
“That I cannot do.”
“If you promise, then I will promise to take you for my husband.”
His lips spread into a wide, toothy grin.
“With such reward, how could I not? I promise with all my heart. Now if you will excuse me, Lady Catherine, my ship awaits. Shower my son with kisses for me. War waits for no man. . especially when that man is a giant twelve feet tall.”
CHAPTER 5
Rachida Gemcroft watched waves crash against the jagged black rocks, lapping and withdrawing, leaving behind a coat of shimmering water. Sea spray accosted her cheeks, soaking her. She shivered and pulled her fussing babe closer to her breast, making sure his head of soft red fuzz was covered by his woolen blanket. The waves crashed yet again, the seawater coming within inches of engulfing her sandaled feet. Lifting her eyes to the horizon, she saw the three dark shadows approaching through the day’s stormy gloom.
“What’s out there?” asked Gertrude Shrine, the only practitioner of the healing arts on the Isles of Gold.
Rachida turned to the older woman and felt her cheeks run pale.
“Ships,” she said.
“Friendly ships?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not? Perhaps Master Brennan has sent reinforcements to assist us.”
Rachida shook her head. “Matthew has no ships, Gertrude. All but ours were conscripted by Karak’s Army.” She pointed toward the three rapidly approaching vessels. “Besides, those boats are large, far larger than any built in Paradise. What approaches is either an envoy from the Conningtons or. . ”
“Or Karak?”
She nodded.
Gertrude frowned, the lines of age around the corners of her mouth deepening. “What do we do, then?” she asked.
“I must go speak with my husband. You, Gertrude, are to take Patrick for me and find his wet nurse. He seems to be hungry.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
Rachida handed the swaddled babe over. The older woman held the child with easy familiarity, pulling him close and gently rocking him as she strolled across the rocks. Though Gertrude was obviously frightened about the coming ships, her gait showed none of it. She walked confidently, smoothly, a natural mother as she made her way up the incline toward the collection of hovels carefully hidden by a wall of glimmering volcanic stone. Rachida couldn’t help but feel a tinge of resentment, for she had often found herself struggling with motherhood of late.
She began walking in the opposite direction, heading for the cliffs that bordered the island’s eastern shore. Everything around her was drab; the land beneath and above were varying shades of black and brown, and even the ocean seemed more gray than blue. There were many times when Rachida wondered if the name “Isles of Gold” was given just to mock those who came to live there, as she had for the last three months.
Then again, the islands weren’t named for what sat atop it.
Peytr had come across the islands during one of his many ventures around Dezrel, and discovered great veins of gold hiding inside the caverns beneath the archipelago’s many cliffs and crags, waiting to be mined; hence the name he gave it. Yet despite its treasures, the Isles were a dank and dreary place. The only landmass that was hospitable was the large central isle that Peytr had dubbed “Provincia.” The others were harsh and barren, the waters shallow and filled with lurking dangers to both man and ship. Each day Rachida found herself pining after Moira, the love of her life, whom she’d left behind in Port Lancaster. If not for her son, magically born from Patrick DuTaureau’s seed, she might have gone insane. . or slit her own wrists.