her portrait. But even as the thought occurred toXavier, he frowned, knowing that was wrong. Evangeline was long dead and buried like his own mother. In any case, this woman was far too young to be Evangeline. This could only be Ariane, the eldest daughter.
At least that was the word Xavier meant to form. But the whisper that escaped his lips startled even him.
“Sister.”
“M-my God! Who are you?”
“Nobody that you want to know.”
“Avoiding your acquaintance may prove difficult, monsieur, since the fates have chosen to cast you up on my island.”
“The fates had nothing to do with it. It was the
Miribelle
when she listed during last night’s storm.”
“The—the
Miribelle?”
she faltered. “You can’t possibly mean … my father’s ship.”
“No,
my
father’s ship.” Which Xavier prayed had somehow managed to ride out the storm and avoid breaking up on the rocks.
The lady bit her lip. He noted that she chose to avoid challenging him on the issue of fathers. Instead she asked, “What about the chevalier? Do you know—”
“Dead.” He stabbed the word at her, effectively killing the flicker of hope in her eyes. Xavier felt a fleeting regret for his cruelty, but he was in too damned much pain to soften the blow.
She lowered her lashes, sorrow and resignation softening her features. But the steel was back in her gaze when she regarded him again.
“And you are claiming to be …?”
“I am not claiming anything. If you are as good at readingmen’s minds as I have been told, I am sure you can figure out who I am for yourself.” Despite the pain throbbing behind his eyes, Xavier looked defiantly up at her.
She frowned, her gaze narrowing as her eyes locked on his. Xavier returned her stare, refusing to blink, but damned if it didn’t feel like the witch had cracked open his skull as deftly as he flung open the lid of his sea chest, his thoughts threatening to spill like treasures into her lap.
He gritted his teeth and slammed his mind closed, though the effort to resist cost him in pain and sweat, beads of perspiration gathering on his brow. Still, he refused to surrender, their eyes clashing in a merciless duel until Jane rushed forward to intervene.
“Ariane, please.”
His mermaid had been so quiet, Xavier hadn’t even noticed she was still there. Her puzzled gaze flickered between him and Ariane. Jane rested her fingers on Ariane’s sleeve.
“I don’t know what is going on or who this man is. But surely the important thing is that he needs your help. His arm must be set to rights.”
The lady pinched the bridge of her nose and drew herself up more erect. “Of course, you are right, Jane.” She forced a tight-lipped smile. “Very well, monsieur. Let us have a look at this injured arm.”
“There is nothing wrong with my damned arm,” Xavier denied despite the pain radiating up his right side. He shifted, half raising his head. “I only need—”
He choked off a cry of horror as he realized himself the full extent of his injury, the dried blood crustingaround the rent in his sleeve, the hint of bone protruding. Ariane bent closer to examine the wound, but even her gentlest touch drove spikes of fire into his flesh.
“Leave it alone,” Xavier snarled. Bracing himself with his left hand, he struggled to a sitting position. Over the protests of both women, he drew his injured arm protectively close to his chest, although the effort caused black dots of pain to dance before his eyes.
“Oh, monsieur, pray don’t. You are only going to make it worse,” Jane said.
Worse? How could this possibly get any worse, Xavier thought as his vision cleared and he stared at the wreckage of his once powerful right arm. He’d witnessed the kind of accidents that could happen too easily upon a ship, sea dogs injured in brawls or falls from the rigging, wounded during fiercely fought battles. He’d realized how fragile a man could be, hale and strong one moment, shattered beyond
At least that was the word Xavier meant to form. But the whisper that escaped his lips startled even him.
“Sister.”
“M-my God! Who are you?”
“Nobody that you want to know.”
“Avoiding your acquaintance may prove difficult, monsieur, since the fates have chosen to cast you up on my island.”
“The fates had nothing to do with it. It was the
Miribelle
when she listed during last night’s storm.”
“The—the
Miribelle?”
she faltered. “You can’t possibly mean … my father’s ship.”
“No,
my
father’s ship.” Which Xavier prayed had somehow managed to ride out the storm and avoid breaking up on the rocks.
The lady bit her lip. He noted that she chose to avoid challenging him on the issue of fathers. Instead she asked, “What about the chevalier? Do you know—”
“Dead.” He stabbed the word at her, effectively killing the flicker of hope in her eyes. Xavier felt a fleeting regret for his cruelty, but he was in too damned much pain to soften the blow.
She lowered her lashes, sorrow and resignation softening her features. But the steel was back in her gaze when she regarded him again.
“And you are claiming to be …?”
“I am not claiming anything. If you are as good at readingmen’s minds as I have been told, I am sure you can figure out who I am for yourself.” Despite the pain throbbing behind his eyes, Xavier looked defiantly up at her.
She frowned, her gaze narrowing as her eyes locked on his. Xavier returned her stare, refusing to blink, but damned if it didn’t feel like the witch had cracked open his skull as deftly as he flung open the lid of his sea chest, his thoughts threatening to spill like treasures into her lap.
He gritted his teeth and slammed his mind closed, though the effort to resist cost him in pain and sweat, beads of perspiration gathering on his brow. Still, he refused to surrender, their eyes clashing in a merciless duel until Jane rushed forward to intervene.
“Ariane, please.”
His mermaid had been so quiet, Xavier hadn’t even noticed she was still there. Her puzzled gaze flickered between him and Ariane. Jane rested her fingers on Ariane’s sleeve.
“I don’t know what is going on or who this man is. But surely the important thing is that he needs your help. His arm must be set to rights.”
The lady pinched the bridge of her nose and drew herself up more erect. “Of course, you are right, Jane.” She forced a tight-lipped smile. “Very well, monsieur. Let us have a look at this injured arm.”
“There is nothing wrong with my damned arm,” Xavier denied despite the pain radiating up his right side. He shifted, half raising his head. “I only need—”
He choked off a cry of horror as he realized himself the full extent of his injury, the dried blood crustingaround the rent in his sleeve, the hint of bone protruding. Ariane bent closer to examine the wound, but even her gentlest touch drove spikes of fire into his flesh.
“Leave it alone,” Xavier snarled. Bracing himself with his left hand, he struggled to a sitting position. Over the protests of both women, he drew his injured arm protectively close to his chest, although the effort caused black dots of pain to dance before his eyes.
“Oh, monsieur, pray don’t. You are only going to make it worse,” Jane said.
Worse? How could this possibly get any worse, Xavier thought as his vision cleared and he stared at the wreckage of his once powerful right arm. He’d witnessed the kind of accidents that could happen too easily upon a ship, sea dogs injured in brawls or falls from the rigging, wounded during fiercely fought battles. He’d realized how fragile a man could be, hale and strong one moment, shattered beyond
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