Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (22 page)

The Turk had released the
squirming
boy to shield himself from what had become an attack from all quarters. Taking a step backward, he had stumbled, his balance thrown off even more by the hands that had pushed against his chest and sent him over the edge of the cliff. The last thing the Turk had seen as he'd disappeared over the edge had been two green eyes glowing like emeralds in a grotesque face that reflected like the sun.

"Come on, Tristram!"
Lily cried, grabbing his arm and pulling him after her down the other side of the headland and out of sight of their attacker.

Capabells scampered along beside them and Cisco swooped low over the sands as they raced along the shore and into the safety of the trees.

Out of breath, their hearts beating wildly, they stood staring at each other. With shaking hands, Lily removed the headdress and mask. "Who the devil was that?" she demanded.

Tristram continued to stare at her, unable to find his tongue or catch his breath.

"How did he get so close that he could grab hold of you like that?" she asked, pulling off the cape and folding it across her arm. "You fell asleep again, didn't you. I've warned you, Tristram. Did you think it was just a game?" she said angrily, for she'd never been so scared in her life and she still didn't know what they were going to do now that the pirates knew they were here.

"Where's Dulcie?"

Tristram's eyes grew wider than they already were, his horrified expression answering Lily's question.

"She was down on the beach looking for shells. I remember seeing her down there just before I-
-
"

"-
-
fell asleep," Lily finished his sentence for him.

"Oh, Lily! I didn't mean to! Honest. I just closed my eyes for a second. What are we goin' to do? Do you think they got Dulcie? Oooh, I'm sorry, Lily. I'm sorry," Tristram cried.

Lily stood watching the beach, just in case their attacker or any of his scurvy friends should be in pursuit. "I don't think they would've gotten her. Unless she had fallen asleep," Lily
speculated
, not seeing Tristram wince at her choice of words, "she would have seen them coming ashore. Dulcie is probably hiding somewhere, waiting for us to come for her."

"What are we going to do, Lily?" Tristram asked with a sniff. "He was a horrible man. He didn't look English. I would've known an Englishman, Lily," Tristram said.

"They must have just come ashore. Their ship is probably riding at anchor beyond the reefs. I don't think they would have come from the far side of the island. I bet they haven't found the hut yet. That must be where Dulcie is. She's waiting for us by the spring," Lily decided. "We've got to get to the hut first, Tristram. The table is set. Mother's things are in her chest. All of our belongings are there. They're a bunch of thieves and they'll steal everything," Lily predicted.

Taking the cape, Lily wrapped it around the headdress and mask, then hid them at the base of a nearby tree, covering them with several overlapping palm fronds.

"What were you doing with those?" Tristram asked, then frowned. "Why were you dressed in them?"

"No one will find them now. Come on, Tristram. We have to find Dulcie and clear out the hut."

"What if they're already searching for us?"

Lily smiled, her pale green eyes glinting, and in that instant she would have reminded many of Geoffrey Christian. "This is our island, Tristram. Just let them try to find us," Lily vowed before dragging him after her deeper into the forest.

Valentine Whitelaw eyed Mustafa curiously as the Turk drew his sword. The curved blade gleamed dangerously as he brandished it to the sky in what appeared to be a gesture of ceremonial significance.

All eyes were centered on the Turk, who had just survived a deadly confrontation with a strange creature. Someone said it had been a sea serpent, but the red-beard said he'd seen it fly and it'd had feathers. There was a lot of mumbling amongst the crew, and several had glanced for reassurance at the
Madrigal
riding at anchor just off shore, their beached boat within easy running distance of where they now stood.

"Mustafa," Valentine tried once again to draw the man's attention. "What exactly happened? Mustafa?"

Finally, the Turk turned to face him, but Valentine could not get the man to meet his eyes. Valentine began to suspect what was bothering the Turk. He felt he had lost face. He had been frightened by the strange apparition that had so suddenly confronted him. Fear was something the Turk was not accustomed to dealing with. It was a matter of personal pride. He had vowed to serve the man who had saved his life, and now, because he had shown fear, he felt he had betrayed that sacred vow.

"What did you see?" Valentine asked again.

"A young boy was asleep under the tree," he finally said in his low-voiced, thickly accented English.

"A young boy?" Valentine demanded doubtfully. "Are you
certain
it wasn't a girl?" he asked, thinking of Geoffrey Christian's daughter. "She would probably be small and thin."

The Turk shook his head. "It was a boy. Asleep. He woke up. I grab him. He fights me. Then"
-
-Mustafa paused, his mouth tightening
-
-"then, jinni come. Bad. Evil. Should leave island, Cap'n, before it is too late."

"Jenny? Who the devil's she?" one of the crew who'd been listening intently now demanded.

"Mustafa, listen. That was no supernatural creature you saw. That was no jinni," Valentine told him. "There was a human being beneath that feathered cape and mask. And he was probably just as startled as you, perhaps even more so."

The Turk muttered something beneath his breath, his eyes scanning the woods.

"Don't like the sound o' this at all," murmured one of the crew.

"How old was this child, this boy, you caught, Mustafa?"

The Turk held out his hand about waist-high, maybe a little higher.

"Not very old then. Too young to have been
.
.
." Valentine paused. "Did he speak?"

Mustafa frowned, trying to remember. "He cried out."

"What did he say? What language?"

A sudden look of surprise spread across the Turk's swarthy complexioned face and he grinned, startling the crew, since they'd never seen the man smile.

" 'SDeath! It's pirates!" the Turk said, remembering now the small boys
cry of alarm when he'd glanced
up to see him standing there.
"Lilyhelp.
Lilyhelp.
He say again and again
. Lilyhelme. Lilyhelme."

"Lilyhelp? Lilyhelme?"
Valentine puzzled. "At least we know the first thing he said was in English. Lily," Valentine said the name softly. "That was Geoffrey Christian's daughter's name."

" 'E wanted this Lily t'elp 'e, eh?" said one of the men understandingly, considering it was the Turk who'd caught the lad.

" 'Lily help me,' " Valentine said with a slight smile, but it quickly faded when he realized the boy had not called out to Basil for help.

"I thought there be
just
one child, Cap'n?" one of the men asked, then began to turn a mottled color as he realized some of his mates were snickering while others were beginning to look uncomfortable as they caught their captain's eye and remembered O'Hara's snide remarks in the hut.

"Take several men and return to the hut," Valentine ordered, unwilling, at least for the moment, to speculate on what might have happened on the island during those seven years when Basil and Magdalena had found themselves stranded. "They may try to return to it while we're here. If you do see them, I do not want them hurt. Try to catch them if you can, but do not harm them. They are just children. Remember that."

He sent the rest back the way they had been headed when they'd discovered the cannon. With Mustafa and Thomas Sandrick and a handful of men accompanying him, Valentine started toward the headland and the peaceful cove beyond.

"Here, Cap'n! Ye be right. The footprints head out across the sands toward that tall pine on the edge of the forest. Reckon they scurried off like a couple of scared rabbits. They be little ones, too. Ye know, I don't think they be quite as small as the ones o'er yonder, Cap'n," one of the crew said curiously as he knelt down to examine the imprints dotting the sand. "Well, I'll be," he said, rubbing his chin. "Don't likely know what kind these be here? Ain't human, Cap'n," he declared as he looked more closely at the monkey's paw prints.

"Jinni," Mustafa murmured, causing the man walking beside
him
to cross himself nervously.

They had nearly reached the row of trees bordering the sands when Valentine
suddenly
halted. He gazed at the tall pine, his eyes narrowed against the glare off the water as he stared intently at something in the cool shade beneath the tree.

Slowly, Valentine approached the two graves marked with simple crosses. In silence he stood before them.

"Basil."

Valentine closed his eyes against the pain, all hope gone now. Basil had been dead for over two years. Next to his grave was Magdalena's. Valentine opened his eyes. He stared down at the crosses. The lettering of Magdalen
a
's name had been carved with such precision and care, as had the date of her death. There was n
o doubt in Valentine's mind tha
t
Basil had made that cross and buried Magdalena less than two weeks before he himself had died. The lettering was ill-spaced and lopsided, as if carved by a child's unsteady hand, but the same "Our Beloved" that had been carved above Magdalena's name had been carved above Basil's.

Valentine knelt down on one knee beside his brother's grave. He reached out and touched the cross; then he stood. Without a word, he started to follow the tracks into the woods, his men hurrying to catch up to him. Only Thomas Sandrick remained a moment longer by the graves. His face was shadowed as he stood there deep in thought. Then he
turned
away to follow Valentine Whitelaw. He met the others halfway, for they hadn't gotten far before they'd lost all sight of the trail in the thick undergrowth and had to return to the beach.

During their search, they had traveled back toward the bay. They emerged from the woods on the far side of the headland, close to where they had beached the boat. Valentine started toward the path that led to the hut when suddenly a thin, black-haired child broke from the underbrush like a bird on the wing.

Valentine could hear the excited cries of his men just behind the child, whose small bare feet were carrying it directly toward them. When the child saw the man approaching from the opposite direction, cutting off its escape, it froze, and then bolted toward the surf.

Fast as the child was, Valentine's long strides quickly outdistanced it and with an arm outstretched, Valentine captured the child before it could reach the water.

Valentine felt as if he'd trapped a wild cat. The top of her head caught him on the point of his chin, slightly bloodying his lip as he bit into it. Cursing mildly beneath his breath, he felt her teeth sinking deep into his hand. He grimaced as her feet, kicking against his thighs, struck a vulnerable spot.

" I am not going to hurt you, child," he said softly, for he could feel her the trembling against him even as she struggled. " I want to help you. I won't hurt you."

Suddenly she stilled, but Valentine could still feel her shaking uncontrollably in his arms. He lowered her to the sand, but kept a firm hold on her arm. A wise precaution, for as soon as her feet had touched the ground she had tried to race away.

Valentine turned her around to face him. Her eyes were dark brown and fringed with thick, sooty lashes. Her black hair was long and tangled and she had a smudge of dirt across one sun-browned cheek. Gold earrings dangled from her ears and a necklace strung with delicate pink shells hung around her neck. She was dressed in a plain, silk shift that was faded to a colorless shade by the sun and sea.

She jerked back her head when Valentine reached out to touch a dark curl. Her face was filled with fear as she stared at him. For an instant her eyes slid away from him as the rest of his men reached them. Keeping a wary eye on them, she watched as they formed a half-circle around their captain. Valentine could feel her tensing, ready to spring free if he gave her the chance.

" What is your name? Do you understand me?" he asked.

" Maybe she'd don't understand English, Cap'n. Could be she's off that Spanish galleon that sunk. She kinda looks Spanish, so dark she is."

" Looks more like some gypsy's brat to me," one of the men offered, eyeing the dark-eyed girl suspiciously.

Valentine captured Dulcie's chin, holding it turned up so he could see her face clearly
. "
A gypsy's brat?" Valentine spoke softly, shaking his head as his fingers caressed her cheek, then one of the silky eyebrows that arched so delicately above her wide eyes. Had anyone looked closely at Valentine Whitelaw's own arched brows, they might have remarked on the similarity, especially the odd way the left eyebrow rose slightly higher than the right one, which gave a slightly quizzical, sardonic cast to the expression on both faces. Valentine did not need to ask who her father was; he already suspected that this wild child was Basil's daughter.