“Whatever have you done to your hand?” Ellie asked as Sylvester struggled to cut his food.
“Didn’t you hear?” Lucinda cut in before Sylvester could speak. “Cousin Sylvester was so shocked by the appearance of some of our little group that he crushed his wineglass in his hand.”
Connie risked a glance at Sylvester’s face. It was impassive, but there was a flash of something in those blue eyes that might have been anger. He turned to Ellie. “Lucinda is joking, of course. I have nothing to blame for my injury other than my own clumsiness.” His voice was dismissive and Connie got the distinct impression he was making an effort not to look in her direction as he spoke. Perhaps he was able to convince himself that what he said was true. She knew better, and so did everyone else who had been present at the time.
Determinedly, Connie turned back to Guthrie. She had made a pact with herself to keep her distance from Sylvester. She should probably include eavesdropping on his conversation as part of the deal. Not an easy task in a group as small as this one.
Once he was free of Lucinda’s tight rein, Guthrie proved to be surprisingly good company. He kept Connie entertained with a steady stream of anecdotes about his job as a junior manager in a convenience store chain.
His life appeared to lurch from one comical episode to another. Although he was at pains to let Connie know how invaluable he was to his company, reading between the lines she speculated about how competent he actually was. An alarming number of unfortunate incidents seemed to occur in his working life. She decided Guthrie was one of those people for whom it was always somebody else’s problem or somebody else’s fault. He consumed a remarkable amount of alcohol during the course of the meal and Connie couldn’t help wondering how much of a contribution drink made to the mishaps that befell him.
It was during the main course of Spanish-style chicken and rice that Connie’s attention, along with that of everyone else at the table, was drawn back to Sylvester as Lucinda began to question him about the history of the island.
“The word Corazón means heart in Spanish, of course.” Lucinda’s penetrating voice carried around the room. “And the island is well known for its heart-shaped coastline. So I assume that is where the name came from?”
“You assume wrong.” Although Sylvester’s tone was softer, his words were equally compelling. Other conversations stopped as they all turned to look at him. “The island’s full name is Corazón de Malicia. It means ‘malevolent heart’ or ‘heart of malice.’”
“But that’s nowhere near as pretty.” Lucinda pouted. “In fact, it makes it sound quite nasty.”
“That’s because the story of how the island came by its name is nasty.” Sylvester paused, taking a sip from his glass.
As though drawn by a force beyond his will, he looked directly at Connie for the first time since he had entered the room. And nothing else mattered. The people around them faded into insignificance. Time stilled. In that instant she could sense his feelings as clearly as she knew her own. There was no doubt in her mind. She knew his reaction on the beach had not been about the scars on her neck. This was something deeper and darker, and it was inside them both. Neither of them wanted it, yet at the same time it was unavoidable. They could be silent and reserved, avoid each other’s gaze and pretend, but when their eyes did meet—as they met now—there was no hiding place for either of them. Connie didn’t try to understand what was going on; all she knew was that when she gazed into Sylvester’s eyes her heart leaped with a combination of joy, fear and something older and unfathomable. And she never wanted to look anywhere else.
“Well, you can’t say that and then not explain!” Lucinda’s indignant exclamation had the effect of rousing Sylvester from his trance.
Connie caught a brief flash of regret in his eyes as he withdrew them from hers. Then a slightly mischievous smile touched his lips as he turned to Lucinda. “Very well, but it’s a strange tale and an old one. I can’t vouch for its truthfulness. It concerns an ancestor of mine, one Máximo Silvestre de León y Soledad.”
“Are you named after him?” Ellie asked.
The smile deepened. “Of course. The name was handed down through the generations...and Americanized in the process, of course. Máximo was the founder of our great family.”
“And is it true? Are you descended from Ponce de León himself?”
“There are no formal records, but it’s a link that has repeatedly been made. Not necessarily within my own family.”
“How amazing!” Lucinda’s eyes sparkled. “To think you can trace your family tree back to the man who discovered Florida.”
Sylvester’s smile had vanished now and his voice held a harsh note that was unlike his usual charming tone. “I prefer to think Florida was here all along and needed no discovery by the Spanish. But, back to the story of Máximo...
“Juan Ponce de León’s intention when he arrived here in 1521 was to set up a Spanish colony in La Florida, or the place of flowers, as he had named it on his earlier visit. When he arrived, he encountered a hostile reception from the native Calusa Indians. In a skirmish, Ponce de León was shot in the thigh with a poisoned arrow and, although he managed to escape to Cuba, he died of the wound. Máximo fared rather better. His life was spared by the Calusa. It was an unusual move. They were not known for their merciful nature. On the contrary, they were known to be quite savage to their enemies.”
“Is it known why they changed their habits for Máximo?” It was Matt who spoke up this time. Although he lounged back in his seat, he, like everyone else around the table, appeared to have picked up on the tense atmosphere generated by the story.
“There has been much speculation. Perhaps it was Máximo’s personal charm—according to records kept at the time, he was accounted a very charismatic man—although the ability to enchant an entire warlike tribe must have been quite an achievement.”
Watching his face as he spoke, listening to that, soft, lyrical voice, Connie could believe the Máximo of all those years ago had possessed that sort of magnetism. His descendant certainly did.
“The most popular theory is a high-ranking Calusa maiden, possibly the daughter of a chief, appealed for mercy on his behalf.”
“So Máximo was a bit of a ladies’ man?” Guthrie gave a smirk around the table.
“What makes you say that?”
Somehow, although she couldn’t say how, Connie sensed an undercurrent of anger in Sylvester’s question.
“Well, you know...”
“On the contrary. We don’t know. So let’s stick to the facts, shall we?”
Guthrie, muttering under his breath in the manner of a sulky schoolboy, subsided into his seat.
“Although we can only speculate about the reasons, Máximo lived among the Calusa for some months. It’s not clear how he parted company with them, or how he came to claim this island. One thing we do know is a curse was placed upon our family by the mother of the Calusa king. It was that curse which gives this island its name.” When Sylvester paused, the only sound was of the waves caressing the sands.
“What was the curse?” Overcoming her nerves, Connie spoke directly to Sylvester for
