Philip, hardly more than eight, but obviously his father's son, fidgets with his suit too, nods agreement with his father.
Equally formal in an elegant, flowing white gown and equally youthful in appearance, Samantha Blood puts her hand on her husband's arm and says, "Charles, you promised…" She looks at me. "You'll have to excuse my husband. We rarely have company."
Charles Blood shakes his head, steps forward and extends his hand. "You needn't excuse me at all." He squeezes my hand, his grip tighter than Derek's. "You just have to endure me."
He locks eyes with me. For all the warmth that shows in his eyes, they could be true emeralds, cold and hard. I stare back without blinking, my hand held captive by his. "You're related to that old scoundrel, Captain Henry Angry?" he asks.
I'm well aware of the anglicization of my family name and like it no more than Father did. He told me, in the old days the English had called our island Angry Key just as they pronounced Caya Oeste as Key West-even though the Spanish words translated as Bone Key.
"Don Henri DelaSangre was my father," I say. "When he was alive, no one dared call him by any other name."
Charles barks out a laugh, slaps my back. "No offense intended, son. My father, Captain Jack Blood, sailed with him. The captain told me many stories… Made me wish I'd been born in those times when our people could do as we wished."
Near us a Jamaican woman busies herself sweeping the stone floor. I glance at her iron collar and say, "It looks like you recreate the old times fairly well around here."
He nods. "Just because the British were fool enough to release their slaves doesn't mean we had to follow suit. Whatever goes on outside Cockpit Country, Morgan Hole is our land. We rule it as we desire."
"Now," Charles says, tightening his grip on my hand, a smile appearing on his face for the first time. "Tell me, Peter, just what did you bring for us?"
He frowns and releases my hand when he sees the blank look on my face. I glance back to Derek, hoping he will explain.
"Sorry, old man." He shrugs. "I thought you had a reason for coming without gifts."
"Gifts?" Wishing again my parents had educated me more on our traditions, I dig in my pocket, bringing out the gold necklace I've brought for Elizabeth and hold it in front of me.
"I brought this for your daughter," I say.
"A trinket?" Charles Blood's face turns bright red as he stares at my outstretched hand. "You want me to exchange my oldest daughter for a bloody trinket? How dare you, sir!" He turns his back on me and starts to stomp away. Philip follows on his heels.
"Charles… for pity's sake, come back right now!" his wife says. She turns to me. "Please excuse my husband's temper. It sometimes gets ahead of his reason."
Elizabeth's father stops ten paces away, and glowers at us.
"Your daughter warned you he was brought up strangely," Samantha Blood says to him, as if I'm not in the room. "I'm sure if Peter had been aware of the custom, he would have brought an appropriate tribute."
For the first time in my life, I find myself empathizing with humans and their in-law problems. I'm tempted to tell them all just what they can do with their customs and their feast. Instead, I take a deep breath, think of Elizabeth and the life we can have on my island far away from these people. "If someone would tell me what the custom is, I'd be glad to try and work things out," I say.
When no one else speaks, Chloe throws an angry glance at her father, another at her mother, and says, "You're supposed to bring your bride's family gifts, expensive ones like gold and gems. I was taught, the more valuable your gifts are, the more obvious it's supposed to be-how much you care for your bride."
"Oh." I nod, picturing the chests of treasure crowding the underground vault at home, thinking how little of it I ever use. "I wouldn't want you to feel I didn't value your daughter," I say to Charles. "If I send you twice Elizabeth's weight in gold, once we return to my home, will that reassure you enough?"
"Righto!" Derek says. Chloe and her mother both beam at my answer.
Charles Blood grins, walks over to me, takes my hand captive again. "My apologies, son. The anger sometimes gets the best of me. Bloody good gesture that. Your gift is going to go a long way toward replenishing the family's treasure." He frowns at his older son. "Derek could learn from you. All he ever brings home are baubles, cameras, watches and pocket change. I think he lacks the piratical spirit we and our fathers had. He's certainly taken out more gold than he's put in the last few years."
"Sorry about my father," Derek says later, as he guides me to my room. "He likes to muck things up a bit, see who he can scare and who he can't. Honestly"-Derek's voice lowers-"there are times he still can scare me. Wait till you see him in his natural state. He can be most fearsome."
He pauses outside my door. "Mum said to tell you, we're to meet just after sundown, in the great room on the third floor. She'll have one of the servants ring a bell when it's time. Wear your jacket. I think they expect you to."
I pace the floor after Derek leaves and wonder how to pass the next few hours. I feel as if I've gone back in time. Nothing adorns the room's unpainted stone walls. I doubt there's any television, radio, books or magazines in the whole house. What little furniture graces the room-an oversize bed and a chest of drawers next to it-are made of rough-hewn wood.
Two wall sconces holding candles and a candelabra on the chest give testimony to the house's lack of electricity. A pile of hay on the far side of the room looks just as tempting to me as the lumpy, horsehair mattress and worn linens on the bed.
A gust of wind blows a few leaves into the room and I realize the window has no glass, only wood shutters to hold off the outside world. I shake my head, wonder why Derek, at least, doesn't do something to bring his family into the modern world.
Someone knocks on the door and I open it to find an old Jamaican woman, her face averted, carrying a wash basin, a pitcher of hot water, some homemade soap and towels. I allow her to carry it all in, and place it on top of the chest.
After she leaves, I undress and bathe, using a wet towel, standing up next to my bed.
By now I've calmed enough to be aware of the sensations of the place, the dank and musty aroma that seems to permeate every inch of the room, the ongoing murmur of the servants, the distant sobs of captives, held in cells, deep under the house, the faint whiff of their unwashed bodies. I shudder, tell myself it's the chill of the air on my wet skin.
It is full dark outside by the time the bell rings. I listen to the gong reverberate, wait for the sound of doors thrown open and footsteps upon the stairs before I venture from my room. I've no intention of rushing up to the feast, looking like a nervous suitor once again. As far as I'm concerned, Charles Blood has already had as much fun with me as I'll permit.
The bell rings once more and I take measured steps as I ascend the stairs, candlelight flickering around me, shadows blending into the dark.
Another gong rings as I reach the third floor, and I blink at the bright light that fills the room, candles burning everywhere, a fire roaring in the massive hearth that takes up almost one full wall.
I stop and smile at the sight of Elizabeth, waiting alone in the center of the great room-the light glowing around her, shining through the form-fitting, almost gauze-thin, white cotton dress slipped over her body.
My eyes lock on hers and I walk to her, oblivious to the surroundings, ignoring her family gathered nearby. "You look beautiful," I say, taking the necklace out of my pocket and fastening it around her slender neck, breathing in the fresh, clean smell of her, wanting to take her away this instant.