A tall and stately woman with a coronet of salt-and-pepper braids wrapped about her head stepped into the hall and moved swiftly toward them, a look of consternation about her tightly pinched mouth.

  “Welcome, welcome, Juffrouw,” she smiled, her florid complexion offsetting strong white teeth and a square jaw. “Come in out of the heat, please. Come in! I am Frau Holtz, Mynheer’s housekeeper. Come in!” she repeated in a thick German accent.

  Sirena and Caleb stepped into the cool hallway. Frau Holtz quickly stepped behind them and quietly closed the heavy doors. “We wish to keep out the heat,” she stated simply, as if Sirena and Caleb were ignorant schoolchildren who didn’t know enough to keep the doors closed against the elements.

  An assemblage of servants now appeared in the wide, stone-floored hall, including the tearful young girl who had answered the door.

  Frau Holtz explained, in clipped tones, “This stupid girl will be dismissed, Juffrouw. It is because of her that you rode all the way from the village in the baggage wagon. She is incapable of delivering a message correctly! As if the new lady of the house would be made to ride in a baggage wagon! There was a proa at the Batavia quay sent to meet you purposely. This idiot,” she said, pointing a finger at the trembling girl, “mixed everything up. Even now Mynheer is at the landing, where he was ready to greet you. Ach! These lazy servants! Be sure, Juffrouw, this girl will be dismissed as soon as the Mynheer learns what trouble she has caused.”

  Sirena glanced at the young honey-colored servant and experienced a pang of pity for her. Besides, she didn’t care for Frau Holtz’s imperious attitude. It was clear that the van der Rhys house was the woman’s domain. She had probably managed the household for years and years and secretly resented the intrusion of a new “Mevrouw” to answer to. More to be perverse than to assert her rights, Sirena said, “I do not want the girl dismissed. The message concerning my arrival should never have been entrusted to a child to begin with, Frau Holtz. You should have seen to it yourself.”

  The housekeeper’s jaw slackened and she stammered for words, but Sirena spoke before the woman could answer:

  “I’d like to be taken to my rooms now. Also, my brother will need quarters and a fresh change of clothing until a new wardrobe can be made for him.”

  “Ja, Juffrouw, I shall see to it myself.” Frau Holtz motioned toward the wide, Gracefully curving stairway.

  “That won’t be necessary, Frau Holtz,” Sirena said coolly. “The girl whom you find so offensive will do very nicely. I believe I will even have her for my personal maid. I should think she’d be easy to train, once she is given kinder treatment!”

  Frau Holtz stepped back from the staircase to allow Sirena and Caleb to pass in front of her. As they mounted the stairs, they heard the housekeeper’s voice. She spoke coldly to the girl. “Do not stand there, Juli, the Juffrouw wants you for her servant. Now, show her to her rooms—and the young señor also. Pieter will be up in a moment to see to his needs.”

  Frau Holtz’s tone was so clipped and cold that Sirena regretted overruling the housekeeper’s authority. Juli, as she had heard Frau Holtz call her, had made a terrible bungle in delivering the message incorrectly and justly deserved the housekeeper’s scorn. Now that Sirena had come to the girl’s defense, it would go very hard with her.

  Just as Juli lifted the hem of her long, colorful, sack-like garment to climb the stairs, Frau Holtz spoke again; this time her tone was softer and not unkind. “Juli, the Juffrouw has found the kindness to forgive your blunder, which must have caused her great discomfort You are to serve her well and be helpful and loyal.”

  Turning to look at Frau Holtz, Sirena was surprised to see that the expression in the woman’s eye matched the softness in her tone. Juli’s expression brightened, her ink-dark eyes glistened with happiness as she smiled at the woman. Sirena felt instantly contrite for her misjudgment of Frau Holtz. In spite of the woman’s overbearing manner, it was evident that she was fair and just to the servants. Frau Holtz would consider herself above petty grievances, and Juli and the other servants apparently knew this and respected her for it.

  Sirena turned to climb the stairs.

  “Juffrouw, it is much cooler in here,” Juli said as they entered the suite of rooms set aside for Sirena.

  The room was draped, all around, in silk gauze embroidered with gold threads depicting pomegranates and birds with glorious plumage. Fresh pale blues deepening to indigo were woven into the thick carpeting. The window hangings were sheer, of a pale blue silk, and the light streaming through them gave Sirena the impression that the whole room was a soft, pale blue cloud.

  “Would you like a bath?” Juli asked as she stood behind Sirena undoing the buttons of the black bombazine gown.

  “Yes, Juli, a bath is just what I need. But before you go to prepare it, tell me where my brother’s room is to be.”

  “Down the hall, I believe, Juffrouw, to the left. But I’ll see to the bath now. Mynheer will want to see you soon.” Juli’s eyes dropped. “I have shamed Mynheer before his wife-to-be, he will be most angry with me.”

  “And well he should be!” Sirena chastised her, reinforcing Frau Holtz’s position in the matter. “But I’m sure that if you promise to serve me well, he will deal fairly with you. Now hurry my bath water!”

  “Yes, I will get the water. Then you can rest. Mynheer will want to have dinner with the Juffrouw. I heard him order a very special dinner!”

  Sirena paled visibly as a knock sounded on the door. What if it was Mynheer van der Rhys! She couldn’t possibly meet him now! Not in this condition!

  Juli opened the door cautiously to admit Frau Holtz.

  “I came to see if you needed …” Sirena’s blanched face alarmed Frau Holtz. She bustled into the room and immediately took command. “Juli! A cool cloth for the Juffrouw’s brow! There, there, sit here, my lady. Hurry with the cloth, Juli!”

  By Frau Holtz and Juli’s ministerings, Sirena’s normal color returned.

  “Frau Holtz, when Mynheer returns to the house, you are to go to him and explain that I can’t see anyone in my condition. Not for several days at least. I am prostrate with grief, and only my brother is to be admitted.” Although Sirena’s voice was quiet and soft, there was a ring of iron to her words.

  The Frau stayed with Sirena and saw to the placement of the trunks that the djongo had brought up from the verandah. Juli now returned once more, leading two djongos, who toted large pewter urns of steaming water and poured it into a gilt hip bath which Juli revealed by the removal of a lacquered Chinese screen. Several urns of cool water were added to the steaming wetness to bring it to a comfortable tepid temperature.

  After the djongos had gone, Sirena addressed Frau Holtz. “I wish to have a bolt on my door! Please arrange to have this done as soon as possible. No one is to enter my room without my permission! I am in mourning. I hope I am understood?”

  “Yes, Juffrouw,” Juli and Frau Holtz chorused.

  The housekeeper considered Sirena’s instructions peculiar but said nothing. God only knew what strange ways these olive-skinned Spaniards practiced!

  Frau Holtz impatiently bided her time until Regan returned to the house. Marching to the library, on his instructions, to answer his inquiries concerning the señorita, she closed the teak doors discreetly behind her and promptly explained the mix-up concerning his bride’s arrival.

  “She is not … receiving anyone,” the housekeeper said, lifting her eyebrows. “She knows you expect her for dinner, but she claims she is prostrate with grief. She also requests a bolt to be put on her door and that no one—no one,” she repeated—“was to enter unless she admitted him!”

  Regan suppressed a grin. It was so rare that Frau Holtz felt displaced, and he was enjoying it. The elderly and imperious housekeeper prided herself on her proprietorial rights due to long years of service first to his father and now to himself.

  Acquiescing to the anger he knew Frau Holtz expected of him, he raised a shaggy brow. With what he hoped was an angry tone, he said, “I’ll go and speak to the Juffrouw immediately.” He wanted to meet this woman who could so effectively rattle the unflappable Frau Holtz!

  The Frau smiled her satisfaction and dismissed herself. As she left, Regan noticed the thick salt-and-pepper hair at the back of her head creeping out from its heavy coronet of braids. Now Regan was even more eager to meet his Spanish bride, for the last time he had seen a mussed hair on the housekeeper’s head was when, as a boy, he gave the dictatorial lady a few healthy shocks.

  Regan strode down the hall and up the stairs and stopped at the door of his intended. He grasped the ornate door handle and hesitated, but only for a second, before he swung open the door.

  Sirena, bathed, with her thick dark hair in a tight, discreet knot on the nape of her neck, and dressed in a loose-flowing blue wrapper, turned with a gasp as he burst into her room. Maddened by the sudden intrusion that was precisely against her request, her first impulse was to vent her anger; but she held herself in check, conforming to the pattern of a well-bred Spanish lady in bereavement—which after all, was true.

  “I told Frau Holtz I was not receiving anyone. I am in mourning,” she choked out, lowering her lids over dangerously glittering eyes.

  Angered by her abrupt statement, Regan explained hotly, “I came to wish you welcome to your new home and to apologize for the confusion which caused you to ride in the baggage wagon.” A vision of this aristocratic Spanish lady riding along the hot, dusty roads in the back of the wagon floated before his eyes and he fought to suppress a smile. He continued, striving for a note of sympathy in his voice: “Ever since Jan Verhooch, told me how he and his crew rescued you and your young brother from the sinking frigate and brought you here to Batavia …”

  “Your apology is well offered, Mynheer,” Sirena interrupted as she turned away from him to look out over the gardens.

  Regan noticed that she had not really accepted his stumbling apology, but he decided not to press the issue. He was momentarily stunned by the picture she created standing before the long windows through which the late-afternoon sun filtered—outlining her slim, softly rounded body. Pulling his eyes away from the shadowy outline of her full, round breasts to her exquisitely molded oval-shaped face, he was conscious of his good fortune. Other men could have searched a lifetime for a bride of such beauty. Her gleaming dark hair offset the slight ocher tint of her flawless skin; her features were delicate: high cheekbones, wide-set eyes fringed with thick, lush, black lashes … When she had spoken to him, he had seen a flash of straight white teeth behind her full, promising lips. She was exquisite!

  Regan van der Rhys was a man accustomed to culling an unintentional envy among his associates. Immediately, he recognized the advantage of having a beautiful woman to grace his table and drawing room. He owned the most opulent home, the most productive groves, held the highest position with the Dutch East India Company in the islands—and now he would have the most stunning wife on Java. A white wife, who was not a “company daughter”: one of that heartlessly exploited group of girls, instruments of one of the company’s schemes to keep their agents contented and useful, and sent out East for the purpose of ensuring the continuance of the white race in the East Indies. “Company daughters” were mostly girls of poor or unknown beginnings, some of them rescued from the gutters and alleyways of Holland’s port cities; they were given some formal education, a bit of the social graces, and then were exported like any other product—to marry any planter, agent, merchant, or clerk who had failed to secure a white wife for himself. Since not many “proper” girls cared to leave behind family and homeland for the uncertainty of a tropical island and a never-before-seen husband, the company’s scheme worked exceedingly well and initiated many happy marriages.

  If the only criterion for a wife was being white, Gretchen Lindenreich would have been a logical choice. But Gretchen’s reputation certainly would not have enhanced Regan’s prestige on the island.

  Regan was still not reconciled to marrying anyone, but since he should marry, this Spanish señorita held both a promise of delight and auspicious possibilities …

  The jolt of his good fortune registered on Regan’s handsome features, and Sirena took his expression to mean he was surprised to find she had escaped the ravages of his pirates apparently unscathed. Her gaze flicked over him steadily now for the first time, and as she took him in her shamrock-green eyes widened with the impact of his appearance. Instead of an aging, fat, milk-skinned barbarian, there stood before her this tall, muscular sun god whose rugged features were offset by a crop of hair as pale as the moonlight shining on a still, black sea.

  Raising her ire with an amused twinkle in his agate-blue eyes, he spoke softly in thickly accented Spanish: “We will settle this matter now, so you may be left to your mourning,” he scoffed. “Our marriage was arranged by our fathers—an agreement which we will fulfill as soon as it can be done.”

  Sirena lowered her eyes, her thoughts racing. She had not been prepared for this handsome, virile man —one who would never allow his wife to play a chaste, prayer-filled “nun.” Not this man! Heart thumping wildly, Sirena looked up, forcing her face into lines of placidity.

  “I beg of you, Mynheer, to respect my year of mourning. I have many prayers to be said. And I must see to my small brother …”

  “Our marriage will take place one month from today. That should give you ample time to recover from your ordeal. You’ll find that although Java is far removed from the courts of Europe, propriety must be served.”

  Regan assumed that the wild ray of disbelief that lit her eyes was because he was insisting upon an early wedding date. In fact, Sirena was finding it almost impossible to keep from lashing out at him and demanding to know exactly what part he had played in the “ordeal” of which he spoke so lightly.

  Regan hoping to smooth the lines of dismay from her lovely, cameo-like features, amended his previous dictum: “Señorita, it is only to protect you that our marriage must take place in what seems such a short length of time. I will not expect you to share my bed until your mourning period is over.”

  How magnanimous of him, Sirena thought spitefully, but she quietly murmured, “Thank you, Mynheer,” and clasped her hands before her to prevent their trembling.

  What had come over her? No man had ever made her tremble, except her father—and then only when she was guilty of something and knew she deserved his wrath. Not even the pirate captain, as he wielded the lash against her naked back, had had this effect on her.

  Regan stepped closer, his height intimidating her. “Señorita …” he began, then hesitated, “I cannot always refer to you as Señorita Córdez, can I?”

  “No, Mynheer. In view of our relationship it would be absurd.” Lifting her eyes and challenging him with her voice, she blurted out, “You must call me Sirena.”

  “Sirena. Your name suits you. Quiet, poised …” he continued with his gallant flattery.

  All the while Sirena’s mind screamed: You curt You son of a viper! Hijo de puta—son of a whore! Not to realize that the girl you were to marry was named Isabel and that she was, in truth, all you are saying of me!

  Regan saw her lower her lids and sensed her withdrawal, and he was angered by it. “Look at me!” he commanded softly.

  Sirena raised her eyes to meet his and was once again impressed by his height. There were few men she had to look up to, for, tall herself, she met most men at eye level. Standing close to Regan, she realized she only stood as tall as his shoulder and noted he was deeply tanned from the sun. Did he also love the freedom of the seas, the tangy salt spray stinging his face? Sirena looked at his hands. Yes, she answered her own question: he would know how to hoist a sail, and captain a ship. There were rough calluses on the palms of his capable angular hands. She wondered what it would be like to have those hands stroke her … Blushing, she again lowered her eyes.

  Noticing the riot of color that now stained her cheeks, Regan smiled. There was something about the girl. Was it in the eyes? He couldn’t be sure, she seemed so timid and generally avoided looking directly at him. Was it possible that he somehow offended her delicate sensibilities? Rot! He preferred women with spirit and vivacity. A woman who would answer his caresses in bed. Bah! This frightened girl would lay like a newborn calf, mewing for homeland and mother. He would have to find his pleasures elsewhere. The Spaniard could grace his table and he would give her the considerations due a wife. He would feed and clothe her and her brother, and in her spare time she could pray for his soul!

  Suddenly, he reached out and grasped her face in his callused hands. His grasp was firm, yet gentle. Cool green eyes returned his mocking stare. Regan was perplexed for a moment. Was he mistaken? Something stirred in him as Sirena continued her now-bold scrutiny. Regan was the first to look away in confusion.

  “I will expect you to keep your word, Mynheer, that I won’t be expected to consummate the marriage until my mourning is over.”

  Once again her emerald eyes sparkled dangerously. Regan drew in his breath. Perhaps he had been hasty. A spirited newborn calf, perhaps. With the proper … Stunned, he found himself a moment later in the dim, cool hallway, and not quite sure how he got there.

  Sirena collapsed on the edge of the blue-and-white bed, consciously attempting to control her quaking and trembling. Regan van der Rhys would be a formidable opponent. She realized that he was not a man who could be easily fooled. His keen intelligence was mirrored in his cold, agate-blue eyes. His stubbornness was evident in his lean, square jaw. With great accuracy of thought, however, she also realized it was not his strength as an adversary that troubled her—it was the man himself, his animal magnetism.