"Perhaps you'll tell me later, tonight, when it's dark and the romantic moon is shining down on us. I can sing to you, quote poetry to your long eyelashes, and ---"
"I'm going to collect seashells."
"No, Diana, stay in the shade. I'll take my nap and leave you in peace." He closed his eyes.
She heard his breathing even into sleep. As if he didn't have a care in the world.
What had happened to Rafael and the Seawitch? She prayed he had escaped the French. If he hadn't, she and Lyon could remain here for a very long time. And that would prove impossible. She sighed and settled herself for her own nap.
"If I knew where we were exactly," she said that evening as they sat in front of their small fire, "we could perhaps construct a boat or something and go somewhere."
"You know how to make a boat?"
"Well, I've seen it done, but ---"
"But?"
"No, I can't. We could lash some logs together, I'm not quite certain with what, and make a raft."
"But we haven't a knife to cut your logs."
"No, we haven't. Well, we'll just have to build a signal fire, then. A pity that there really isn't a high point anywhere on the island." They'd explored the island in the late afternoon. It was depressingly small, shaped roughly like a mango. Diana couldn't find a landmark she recognized from any vantage point.
"Would you like some more breadfruit?"
"I'm stuffed, thank you."
"Did you know that the breadfruit was brought from the Hawaiian islands by Fletcher Christian?"
"Who the devil is that?"
"The man responsible for a mutiny against a very bad captain by the name of Bligh. From the stories I've heard about him they should have made him walk the plank. He survived the Bounty mutiny to sail again. He might still be alive and well and sailing about, for all I know."
"What's this about walking the plank?"
"A particularly nasty punishment the pirates invented. You see, they would strip the man naked, cut him up a bit so he was bleeding, then force him to walk down this stretch of board and jump into the sea. The sharks were waiting. That was the point."
"And you call this place civilized?"
"It was a long time ago, Lyon."
"You know something, Diana, even with your speed in building a fire, it would take us some time to make that signal fire visible to a passing ship. Worse than that, our only hope is that small rise at the northern end of the island. Someone would have to be looking for us to see any fire we built there."
"I know. I guess we'll just have to hope that Rafael comes back for us."
"If he can, he will." He grinned over the fire at her. "Otherwise, you and I will grow old and crotchety together on our own private island."
She said nothing to that and sat back, looking toward the gentle white-capped surf. It was a beautiful, clean night; then again, it was usually this way in the West Indies. "At least we don't have to worry about hurricanes this time of year."
"Thank you for reassuring me," Lyon said dryly. "I guess we wouldn't reach a very advanced age."
"Probably not. Look at the stars, Lyon. Have you ever seen such a sight in the English skies?"
"Brilliant as diamonds and so close you could reach out and caress them?"
"I suppose you could put it that way."
"I'm randy as a goat. How else should I say it?"