Bride of the Night by Heather Graham Page A

the seabed.”
    â€œHe knows how to dive,” Tara said, setting a hand on Finn’s chest to force him far enough away so that she could push up to a sitting position. “I’m excellent. I can help.”
    â€œAnd you can disappear in the water, too,” he said crisply, rising.
    â€œYou know that I won’t leave. You know quite well that I could have left already,” she said, finding her feet, as well.
    â€œRichard in the water, you in the water…not a good scenario for me, I dare to think. The men hunted down a boar, and there’s coffee and dried meat that came from one of the rescued barrels. I left a special canteen, just for you, near the palm where you watched over Richard yesterday…”
    He turned away from her.
    â€œAnd where are you going?” she called after him.
    He paused, as if surprised by the question, or surprised that she would dare to question him.
    â€œTo help with the salvage, of course,” he told her. “I’m not from an island, I fear, but time has taught me well. Billy is tending the camp, should you need assistance.”
    He had been by her side…and he had refused to let her dive while Richard was doing so, and yet, he seemed to think that it was safe to leave her to roam the island. Well, it was, of course; he knew that she would certainly try to escape—but only if she had Richard at her side.
    She splashed some of the canteen’s water on her face and rinsed her mouth, then headed for the tantalizing scent of the boar that continued to sizzle on the stake.
    She found Billy tending coffee and the meat by the fire.
    â€œGood morning, Tara,” he said pleasantly.
    â€œGood morning, Billy.”
    He had a soldier’s mess kit out, and quickly poured her some of the hot coffee. “There’s still a chill here. Seems that winter’s cold can seep into the bones, even if it doesn’t begin to compare with the brutal snow and sleet of the north.”
    â€œIt’s a wet cold, Billy, and that’s why we feel it,” she murmured.
    â€œThe meat’s a bit stringy, but decent,” he told her, cutting her a slice from the carcass.
    She accepted the plate and sat on one of the logs that had been dragged close to the fire. Tasting the meat, sherealized that she was ravenous. She didn’t eat daintily, but devoured the portion.
    Billy poured himself more coffee, looking over their camp area. Blankets and a few pallets lay in order beneath the tarp. With their longboats, the Union men had managed to come away with a fair amount of supplies. She had the feeling that Tremblay was a man who had sailed the sea so long that any situation was a matter of following regulation. His ship was floundering and going down, and therefore you set to the task of securing the most necessary supplies. When survivors became beached on an island, there was still order, and men were set to work.
    Billy cleared his throat, looking at her.
    â€œThere are books in Dr. MacKay’s trunk, if you would like something to occupy your time,” he suggested.
    â€œThank you, Billy. I will most certainly see what reading material the doctor carries. But I thought I would amble about a bit—if your job isn’t to stop me from doing so?”
    â€œYou are free to wander the island.”
    She smiled, rose and started for the spit of ground where she had buried Richard beneath the branches the day before.
    Just as Finn had said, there was a canteen leaning against one of the palms, half-hidden by branches. She unscrewed the top, and discovered that it was indeed filled with blood. She sniffed it.
    Boar’s blood.
    Tara drank her fill, and discovered that she yearned for more, and then more. The previous day had taken a great deal of her strength, and the blood washed through her body like an elixir.
    She drank it all down, and returned the canteen to its place, wondering if she should have been so selfish. How