took both, along with what Ismay had requested, and delivered them with a tentative smile. “Are these the ones you need? As stupid and foolish as I am, I can never be sure.”
“These will do.” She took everything except the second bowl with the brownish-green substance. “Bring this back and never use it.”
“Why? Is it poison?”
“It has powerful magic to make one sleep.”
Her pulse leapt. “By putting it on their eyes?”
Ismay laughed. “In their food. Too much and they may never wake.”
Excitement warmed Canela more than a man pleasuring her. “I promise not to even look at it lest I grow tired from its power.” Fighting her smile, she raced back to the mud house.
* * * *
Netta wrung her hands. “We have to fix this.” Heath couldn’t leave. He’d given her the greatest gift, desiring her and accepting who she was despite her deformity. “You have to fix this.”
“Me?” Aimee paced their home the same as Netta. “How? We searched the forest, shore, and beach for him.”
“We should have gone to his house. I can do that now.”
“Wait.” She caught Netta at the doorway. “How can we make things better when he speaks nonsense? He wants us so much he has to leave? What man ever said anything that foolish? An islander would have made us his on the forest floor and moved in here or asked us to join him in his home.”
“Heath is English.”
“Do their men behave as he does?”
Tristan couldn’t keep away from Diana. James was the same with Gavra. Simone and Royce were always within each other’s arms. Peter was the worst. He thought of nothing except taking Laure. “Do you think he has an illness only some Englishmen get?”
“We have to find out.”
“How?”
“By asking someone who’s English. Come.”
Netta dug her toes in the dirt and refused to budge. “Not Tristan. He wanted to keep Royce away from Simone. They suffered greatly because of him. What if Tristan does that to us and Heath?”
Aimee cradled Netta’s face. “We can ask Diana to help us. She knows about English men.”
“What does it matter if she does? Although her French is improved, it’s still too poor for her to converse easily. Everyone has to talk slowly and point to things to make her understand. With her help, we might send Heath away even faster.”
“We can have someone turn our French into her English and back again so everyone understands each other perfectly and quickly. What Tristan calls translate.”
Aimee wasn’t making sense. If they asked Tristan to help, he’d know everything then. As a woman, Diana might keep their conversation secret. No man would, unless… “I know who can help us. Come with me.”
* * * *
Diana rested her head against the bedchamber chair, Merry on her lap. A more perfect child didn’t exist. A noisier one either. Hour upon hour, she cried. Diana nursed and changed her repeatedly. She rocked her and walked so much, she’d nearly worn a path in the marble floor. The screams didn’t abate. She showed Merry the splendid English gown Tristan frequently asked Diana to wear before their bed play. The rose silk and scandalous cut always set him on fire.
Unimpressed, Merry bawled endlessly only to stop without warning. Like now. She even slept. Blessed peace at last.
A fist hit the bedchamber door hard enough to shake the wood.
Diana flinched. Merry wailed.
Peter, Netta, and Aimee piled into the room. Peter screwed up his mouth. “Can we come in?”
“You already have. You woke Merry.”
Netta and Aimee exchanged a glance. Peter translated.
Netta gestured imploringly. “Nous pardonner. Nous voulions dire aucun mal.”
Sounded like an apology, but Diana couldn’t be certain. Fatigue had muddled her brain. English was hard enough at this point, French impossible. “Please tell them everything is all right and to sit.”
Peter rattled off the words effortlessly, his accent as fine as Tristan’s. There was hope her baby brother would eventually be the gentleman Diana wanted.
Aimee and Netta perched on the mattress. Peter paced like a caged animal and kicked the door.
So much for civilizing him. “Stop that.” Diana bounced Merry to calm her. “Why are you here?”
“They forced me. I had no choice. Everyone threatens me with Laure.”
Diana stroked Merry’s back. “What did you do with that poor girl now?”
“I took a moment, one single moment from my studies to speak to her. Aimee and Netta saw me and threatened to tell Tristan unless I brought them in here. They want to ask you something.”
“What? Why me?”
“I have no idea. I’ll ask.”
French flew furiously between him and the young women, the words so quick they slurred, confusing Diana completely.
Peter laughed.
Netta stood, hands on her hips, jaw clenched.
He sobered. “They want to know about Englishmen, in particular Heath. Why he’s behaving as he is.”
Good heavens, more problems. First Peter with Laure, then Royce with Simone, now this. “What has Heath done to Aimee? Or did he do something to Netta?”
“Before I tell you, you must promise not to scream or swoon. I’m not good with women who carry on so.”
Diana’s irritation doubled. “Poor Peter. We do try your patience, don’t we? Tell you what, I’ll try to keep my head as I did when Vincent threatened to shoot you and me in the longboat. Will that do?” Peter had nearly wept then. She’d been eager to tear Vincent apart and would have if given the chance.
Peter’s face colored. “I suppose. Heath said Netta and Aimee are both lovely, perfect in every way. He can think of nothing else. He wants them for his own but must never touch them. He plans to leave the isle and live amongst the natives we trade with or work his way back to England. Aimee and Netta don’t understand.”
Diana didn’t either. “Are you saying he wants two women at once?”
“Since they look alike, it’s probably like having one to him.”
“Have you lost all good sense? What he’s proposing is unheard of. In England, he’d probably face arrest. Perhaps hanging.”
“We’re
