"You have to eat."
Jillian rested her head on the crisp pillowcase, her skin as bleached as the linen. "I can't."
"You have to; if not for your sake, then for that of the baby's." Beatrice sat on the edge of the bed, the bowl of warm tortoise soup in her hand. "Duncan would want you to eat."
"Duncan's dead." Jillian stared at the mosquito netting, blowing in the hot breeze.
Beatrice set the bowl on the bedside table and dipped the soft rag into a clean bowl of water brought by one of the servants. She pressed the cool cloth to her sister's sweaty forehead. "All the more reason why you have to eat. The baby only has you now, Jilly. You have to think of the baby."
Jillian turned her head to look up at her sister. She'd cried so many tears that there were none left. Now, she was numb, just numb. She couldn't think; she couldn't even pray. Duncan had said he loved her, and now he was gone, drowned by the sea. "What am I going to do?" she whispered.
Beatrice dropped the rag into the bowl of water and vinegar and picked up the hearty soup again. "First, you're going to eat. Then, you're going to dress and sit out on the verandah and get some sun. You're piqued."
"It's hot out there." She pushed away the spoon Beatrice offered. "It's hot in here. I can't get my breath."
Beatrice set the bowl down with a thump and left Jillian's bedside. She walked to the open windows to stare out at the verdant jungle.
Jillian rolled onto her back, throwing one hand over her forehead. "What?"
Beatrice kept her back to her sister. "Nothing. I didn't say a word."
"But you're thinking it! You're thinking that I'm just feeling sorry for myself. But you don't understand. I loved him. He loved me, and now he's gone."
"Can you change that?"
Jillian opened her eyes to look at her sister. This didn't sound like meek Bea. Why, she almost sounded angry. "No, I can't do anything about that," Jillian flung back.
"So, now what? Do you lie down and die, taking his child with you?"
"Indigo would never let me keep the baby. It would be sold off, just like Mrs. Amstead."
"So you give in now, four months gone? You don't give yourself a chance? You don't give the baby a chance?"
"We don't have a chance."
Beatrice shook her head. "I'm surprised by you, Jilly. I can't believe you're actually going to let someone get the best of you."
"He's dead!" Jillian shouted, picking up a pillow and throwing it at her sister. "Don't you understand? The only man I will ever love is dead and gone!"
Beatrice turned around, crossing her arms over her silky pink day gown. "Don't get angry at me. Why don't you use that anger to make the best of the situation?"
Jillian flung herself back on the bed. "You don't know what you're saying. That man, that futtering pirate who killed my husband, wants to marry me. He wants me to have his children."
"At least, you'd be alive. Duncan's child would have a chance."
"You're being ridiculous now, Bea. I can't marry a pirate. I won't." She picked up a pillow and covered her face.
Beatrice strode toward the bed, jerking the pillow away from Jillian. "I'm being sensible. It's what Duncan would want you to do."
"He'd want me to sleep with another man?"
"He'd want you to survive." Bea was almost shouting now. "He'd want his child to survive."
Tears ran down Jillian's cheeks. All these years she had been the strong one, and now suddenly the roles were reversed. "Oh, Bea," she whispered. "I'm scared. I'm so scared"
Beatrice sat down on the edge of the bed and took her sister's hand in hers. "I know you are. So am I. But I'm not ready to give up. And neither are you." She kissed Jillian's hand. "Now, why not get up and have a little soup on the verandah? It's already cooler outside. Can't you feel the breeze?"
Jillian allowed Beatrice to help her up out of bed and, arm in arm, they walked out onto the verandah. Jillian's heart ached to the very bottom of her soul, but she knew Bea was right. She wasn't ready to give up. For the sake of Duncan's child, the child she carried in her womb, she just couldn't.
Twenty-four
Days passed; weeks slipped through her fingers like the powder-fine sand from the white beach as Jillian struggled to pull herself out of depression. Her life seemed so unfair. There were mornings that she didn't want to get out of bed. She wasn't certain she wanted to live without Duncan. But for the sake of the baby, she knew she had to.
"Let's go for a walk," Beatrice said, patting Jillian's arm.
Jillian had been sitting on the porch for more than an hour, a book lying open on her lap, unread. "I don't feel like a walk." Idly, she watched a small green lizard skitter along the bottom step.
"Well, I do, and you're coming." Beatrice took her sister's hand and pulled her out of the chair. "It's a beautiful day. The sun's not even too bright." She adjusted the brim of Jillian's beribboned straw hat, a gift from Indigo. One of many.
Reluctantly, Jillian followed Beatrice through the open, airy house and into the hot sunshine. She had to give Indigo credit for one thing: The man was persistent. He brought her gifts daily, even exotic foods to sample. To amuse her, he brought guests to the house. Last week he'd given her a small lap dog to keep her company. Jillian hadn't wanted to accept the gifts, not even the puppy, but Beatrice had insisted. She'd said it was rude not to accept; and considering their precarious circumstances, Jillian couldn't afford to anger the pirate captain. It was only his hospitality that was keeping the two sisters alive, together, and in good health.
Hand in hand, Jillian and Beatrice walked through the garden Indigo was attempting to establish. The air was filled with the sweet, humid fragrance of his success. Not halfway through the tangle of transplanted hibiscus flowers and exotic vines, they encountered him, on his hands and knees, tending a withered white rosebush.
"Ladies." The moment Indigo spotted them, he jumped to his feet, wiping his soiled hands on a towel he wore tucked into his pristine breeches.
"Sir." Beatrice dipped a curtsy.
Jillian nodded. "Indigo." It grated on her nerves to call her husband's murderer by his Christian name, but Jillian knew it was a fine-line she walked these days.
Indigo was anxious to be wed to Jillian. He was now pressing her daily. She knew that not only her life and the baby's, but Beatrice's as well, hung on how she responded to the pirate. If she made him too angry, if she turned him away too many times, he might well sell her and Beatrice, something she suspected was not an idle threat. Still, she hadn't yet been able to bring herself to agree to wed Indigo. For the time being, she tried to remain cool, but polite, telling him she was still in mourning for her husband and needed more time to recover.
Indigo wiped his perspiration-dotted forehead with a handkerchief. "And how are you two ladies today? I apologize for not making the morning meal, but Chuma had trouble with the slaves again. I was forced to go down and settle it myself."
When Jillian made no response, Beatrice jumped into the conversation. "I hope there were no injuries."
"No, no, no. It was all settled. The little monkeys are always demanding this and that. More food. A better freshwater supply. It's something different every fortnight." He tucked his handkerchief into the sleeve of his loose, woven white shirt. "So, there you have it." He was smiling at Jillian.
Jillian looked down at her feet, knowing she was expected to say something. "We—we were just going for a walk. Bea thought I needed to get out."
Indigo took her hand and leaned to kiss her mouth. Jillian moved her head so that his lips only brushed her cheek. Every time that he attempted to kiss her, all she could think of was the taste of Duncan's mouth on hers . . . all she could think of was his heady masculine scent, the feel of his touch. It was nearly enough to make her go mad.
"And wise she is, this sister of yours," Indigo continued, smiling at Bea. "She's absolutely right. You spend entirely too much time doing nothing but sitting and staring." He turned her hand in his a
s if to search for a tidbit of information that would please her. "Oh!" He looked up. "I'd almost forgotten, darling. We've been invited to sup tonight with the Carletons. They've just returned from Paris with oodles of gossip."
Jillian looked away. "I'm not sure that I'm up to it."
"Now, dear, you know we've talked about this. I want you at my side. I want everyone on the island to meet my intended. I want them all to love you as I do."
Jillian could feel Beatrice glaring at her. "Oh, all right." She finally gave in under her sister's scrutiny. "What time shall I be ready?"
He squeezed her hand before letting it go. "Seven on the clock. So there you have it."
She nodded, walking away.
"And dearest . . ."
Jillian halted on the path. She didn't look back at him. "Indigo?"
"Do wear that darling de' shabille' I just brought you. I'm anxious to see how the fabric plays against the color of your hair."
"All right."
"Have a good walk," he called after the two women.
Jillian waited until she was out of earshot before she spoke. "I hate it when he touches me," she whispered.
"He's really not a bad man, Jillian. He honestly seems to care for you."
"He killed Duncan."
"Forgiveness is the key to a Christian woman's life. You can't go on hating him forever. It'll eat you up inside." Bea squeezed her hand. "Indigo simply needs some guidance. He had no one to look up to as a child. For heaven's sake, his father marched whores in and out of the house for decades."
"Guidance?" Jillian couldn't suppress her laughter, and she had to admit that it felt good inside. "I swear, Beatrice, you sound as if you're attracted to the monster."
Beatrice's eyes grew wide, her rosy cheeks coloring. "Don't be ridiculous. What would I do with a man like Indigo?" They took the fork in the garden path that led into the jungle. "He's entirely too . . . too virile for me!"
Jillian threw back her head and laughed harder. She couldn't imagine her sister using such a word. Though she had to admit, Beatrice was right in thinking the man had an attractive nature about him. He seemed to have a way of charming females from young to old. It was unfortunate that Jillian couldn't see him in that light. It would have made her inevitable plight easier to swallow.
"Where are you taking me?" Jillian asked as they walked deeper into the jungle. "If it's to see another snake that's eaten a goat, I'm going to be ill."
"It's not a snake. I just wanted you to see the slave housing."
"So, you do have ulterior motives to getting me out in the blasted heat."
"Now you're beginning to sound like your old self again." Beatrice tugged on her hand. "Come on. It's not much farther."
The two sisters followed the path that wound through the jungle for another quarter of a mile before they reached an open place crowded with native huts. The dome-shaped structures were built from a few supporting beams of wood with woven mats making up the walls and roofs.
"So, this is where the slaves live and you wanted me to see it?" Jillian took her handkerchief from her short sleeve and dabbed her neck. "Why?"
"Jillian, I think it's time we took some responsibility here."
A naked toddler appeared from one of the round huts. The minute the little girl saw Beatrice, she came racing toward her. To Jillian's surprise, her sister lifted the baby into her arms.
"You've been here before," Jillian remarked in disbelief. "That child knows you."
Beatrice tickled the toddler's chin. "This is Maria. She stays here with her grandmother while her parents work in the fields. Isn't that right?" She addressed the little girl. "Isn't that right, sweetie?"
Jillian rested a hand on her hip, glancing at the camp. The huts were in ruin. Thin, mangy dogs wandered about, scavenging for food. In the distance, Jillian saw an ancient, stoop-shouldered Jamaican woman appear out of the jungle carrying a basket balanced on her head. As she walked, droplets of water splashed from the pitch-covered container.
"I want you to talk to Indigo about making some improvements here."
Jillian looked at her sister, wondering if she were suffering from a touch of heat stroke. "You want me to do what?"
"I want you to talk to Indigo." She pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead and put her on the ground. The child ran off in the direction of the old woman. "I couldn't ask. I have no influence over him, but you do."
Jillian ran a hand over her swollen abdomen. By her calculations, she was at least five months pregnant. Only the voluminous skirts of her gowns, and the fact that the baby was small, kept her secret. "I'm not exactly in a position to be asking favors. At some point the man is going to realize this isn't a basket of fruit I'm carrying under my skirt."
"Exactly why you should ask now."
Before Jillian could respond, Beatrice went on. "Why not do something good for someone? Why not let someone profit from this horrible thing that's happened to you?"
Jillian shook her head. Beatrice was serious. She was absolutely serious. "Indigo isn't going to do anything for these people because I ask. They're slaves, Bea. Cheap labor. Their lives mean nothing to men like Indigo."
"He treats his slaves like this because he knows no better. It's the same all over the island." Bea took Jillian's hand. "He will do it for you. He wants so badly to please you, to see you smile." She looked her in the eyes. "Please, Jilly, will you just try? This is important to me."
Jillian sighed with exasperation. The entire idea was absurd. "What do they need?"
"Decent wood to repair the huts." Beatrice began to rattle off a list, counting on her fingers. "More food or, better yet, permission to grow their own. Cloth to cover their nakedness. Medicine when they need it. And a well. They have to have a well, Jilly. The old women carry the fresh water here from nearly a mile away."
Jillian stood in the middle of the jungle clearing, shaking her head. The toddler had picked up a stick and was now pounding on one of the kettledrums near the central fire pit in the middle of the Jamaican slave village. It was the hollow sound that Jillian heard each night when she lay in her bed unable to sleep. It was the same sound that haunted her dreams. It was the sound that brought Duncan's image to her when she slept.
"All right," she conceded after a moment. She threw up her hands. "I can try. What can he do but say no?"
With a shout of delight, Beatrice threw her arms around her sister's shoulders and hugged her. "I knew you would do it! I knew it. Thank you. Thank you."
"Don't be so quick to thank me," Jillian answered drolly. "You and I may yet see Mrs. Amstead's fate."
The iron bars of the door slammed shut and Duncan fell to his knees in the filthy straw that lined the jail cell. He rubbed his aching shoulders, wincing at the touch of the raw spot where the oxen yoke cut into his flesh. Day in and day out, seven days a week, twelve to fifteen hours a day, he served as a beast of burden, pulling carts of loaded sugarcane through the rutted fields beneath the scorching sun.
"Easy day, eh?" Duncan heard a man's voice call out of the darkness of the tiny, crowded cell.
Duncan chuckled, reaching for the ladle in the water bucket he knew was near the door. It was too dark to actually see anything. That bastard foreman always worked the men until well past sunset.
Duncan sipped the stale water greedily, spitting out a bit of straw he took with it. "Relaxing day, Jake, and you?"
"A stroll in the gardens . . ." The black man who had befriended Duncan laughed easily.
The first week Duncan had arrived at the sugarcane plantation, he'd heard Jake's voice in the communal cell beside his. He had recognized his accent immediately as coming from the Chesapeake Bay area. Jake was a freeman, a ship's first officer by trade. He and his crew had been captured when their ship had sunk in the Caribbean waters, taking their captain with it. Most of Jake's crew was here, those who were still living, working the sugarcane fields.
Duncan dropped the ladle into the water bucket and crawled across the fe
tid straw to his spot against the back wall. The cell reeked of sweat, human excrement, and suffering. Men parted the way to make room for him. It was a territorial thing, Duncan had learned his first night in the cell. He'd been forced to fight a man to have a bit of warped wall-board to rest his weary head against. When a worker died and was pulled out of the stall, bare feet first, all of the men lunged for his sleeping spot. Duncan didn't blame them. It was a matter of survival.
Duncan backed into his corner, in the space beside Jake, and let his head fall back, closing his eyes.
"Saved ye a bit of bread," Jake murmured, pressing it into Duncan's hand. "I had to clobber Clyde to get it, but get it, I did. Only got a few bugs in it."
Duncan accepted the weevil-infested heel of bread and gobbled it ravenously. It made no logical sense to him to expect a man to work as hard as the foreman expected his men to work and then not to feed them. It was poor business. But Jake said it was cheaper for the master to buy new men than to feed the ones he had.
His supper over, Duncan closed his eyes again. This was his favorite part of the day, if a slave could have a favorite part working a sugarcane field. Now was the time he could close his eyes and think of Jillian. Now was when he could remember the taste of her lips; the smell of her clean, bright hair; the feel of her hand touching his. He remembered the oddest things about her: The sound of her laughter when together they'd discovered the rocking horse from his childhood . . . the contented, drowsy smile on her lips when they'd just made love . . .
Duncan sighed. At nighttime he allowed himself to remember such precious moments. Now was the time that he could plan how he would torture Indigo before he killed him. Now was when he made his plans to rescue Jilly.
"How many wagonloads you haul today?" Jake asked, making conversation.
"Hell, I don't know. Lost count after awhile. Twenty, thirty maybe."
Jake chuckled. "I watch those men cut down that cane as I roll my wheels by and I drool."
"You want to cut?" Duncan opened one eye. A thin strip of moonlight came through a crack in one of the ceiling boards overhead, the same board that leaked water when it rained.
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 26
