Isabeau had mentioned a child. “Marisa came with the child” or something to that effect. His mother was always around children; he hadn’t thought much about that. He hadn’t inquired as to whose child it was.

“She would have told me if she had another child,” he said. He couldn’t imagine his mother hiding her child, not for any reason. But she had stayed near Adan’s village, even after he’d left. Could she have found love with a member of the tribe? He raised his eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Not your mother’s child, Conner. A babe was brought to our village by a woman, one of your people. She didn’t want the child.”

Conner’s stomach lurched. He knew what was coming, and the child in him remembered that feeling of absolute rejection. Without thinking, he turned his head to look at Isabeau. He rarely felt the need of anyone, but in that moment, he knew he needed her support. She came out of the brush without hesitation, striding across the clearing, looking regal, her face soft, her eyes on him. She flashed a small smile and greeted the two tribesmen as she sank down close to Conner. She laid her palm on his thigh and he felt it burning there. He pressed his hand down over the top of hers, holding her to him while she looked at him.

He didn’t want that moment to end and the next to begin. She smiled at him, showing him without words she would support him whatever was coming. She knew he was upset, yet she didn’t ask a question, simply waited. His mother had been like that. Calm. Accepting. Someone to stand beside a man and face the worst. He wanted that trait in the mother of his children.

“My father had another child.” He made himself say the words aloud. Saying them served a dual purpose. Isabeau would understand, and he could better grasp the reality.

Will nodded. “You were already in Borneo. Your father had another woman and when she became pregnant, he told her she should abort or get the hell out. She wanted to stay with him, so she had the baby and gave him away. She went back to your father.”

“Damn him to hell. How many lives does he have to destroy before he’s satisfied?” Conner spat on the ground in disgust.

Isabeau shifted slightly, just enough to lean into him, as if shouldering whatever burden he had. He loved her for that small movement. His fingers tightened around hers, his thumb brushing back and forth in small caresses over the back of her hand.

“You know your mother, Conner,” Gerald continued. “She took one look at that child, without parents to love him, and she immediately bonded. She was living in the cabin with the baby part of the time and the village during the rainy season.”

“That’s why she was in the village,” Conner said.

Will nodded. “The boy was in Adan’s house playing with my cousin when Cortez’s men attacked. Your mother tried to stop them from taking the boys. They thought your brother was one of us. He’s only five, Conner.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell you about having a half brother?” Isabeau asked.

Conner hung his head. “She knew I would have gone to the village and killed that son of a bitch. I despise him. He uses the women and if they become pregnant, he throws away the child—and the woman—if she won’t get rid of it.”

The bitterness in his voice sickened him, but he couldn’t help it. He always had a handle on his emotions—except when it came to his father. The man hadn’t been physically abusive to Conner, but emotional abuse was far worse, in Conner’s opinion. It was like Marisa to put her child first and build a life for him. And she would have done the same for his brother, even though she hadn’t given birth to the boy. He knew he couldn’t do less.

He brought Isabeau’s hand to his jaw and rubbed absently over the faint shadow while he turned the problem over and over in his mind. If Imelda’s rogues took too close a look at the child they might recognize the leopard in him. With a female it was nearly impossible at a young age, but boys . . . one never knew when the leopard would emerge and there often were signs.

“What’s he like?” Conner asked.

Beside him Isabeau stirred, drawing instant attention. “What’s his name?”

Conner nodded and used the pads of her fingers to press tight against his throbbing temples. “Yes. I should have asked that.”

“Your mother called him Mateo,” Will said.

Conner swallowed hard, picturing his mother with the small baby. He should have known. Should have gone home to help her. “What’s he like?”

“Like you,” Gerald answered. “Very much like you. He will be grieving for your mother. He saw her killed.”

That wasn’t good. His leopard would try to emerge, to help the boy. Conner remembered the anger beating at him continually as a child, rage throbbing like a heartbeat in his veins. The boy would believe he had no one now. If he was like Conner, he would die before he could ever ask his father for help. He would want vengeance.

“Will Artureo be able to keep Mateo under control? Keep him from revealing his leopard even under duress?”

There was a small silence. “He’s a headstrong boy,” Gerald said. “And devoted to your mother.” He glanced uneasily at Isabeau.

“She knows everything,” Conner said. “You can talk freely.”

“One of the men shot her when she tried to get Mateo back. They thought she was dead.”

“I saw her go down,” Isabeau admitted. “Artureo hid me in the trees and ran to help. They took him too. I never saw her animal form. I didn’t know about her being leopard.”