Constance rose to her feet. "Just kill him, Duncan. You'll not be safe until he's dead. He's a madman. None of you will be safe."
Struggling for each breath, Algernon pointed. "She had Atar help her. It was he, not I, that cut the boards on the scaffolding. He hired the man in New Forest. He found the pirates willing to murder you. I was just supposed to keep my mouth shut."
Duncan loosened his grasp on Algernon's neck, but only enough to allow him to catch a breath.
Where was the truth here? Could his faithful man Atar have done such a thing? The logistics were farfetched, but not impossible.
Duncan grabbed Algernon by his shoulders and shoved him into a chair. "Is it true, Constance? Did Atar do it? Did you ask him to?"
There were sounds of footsteps in the hallway and shouting. The door to Constance's bedchamber banged open, and Jillian appeared in the doorway. "Don't kill him!" she cried, stumbling in. "He didn't do it!" She was breathing heavily, her clothing rumpled. Sweat beaded above her upper lip. "It was Atar, Duncan," Jillian panted. "I'm sorry."
"But not alone," the dowager announced, following Jillian into the bedchamber. She swung a buggy whip. "He didn't do it alone, did he, Connie?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Constance backed up toward her four-poster bed. She hugged herself tightly, shaking her head, her voice suddenly odd. "I don't know what any of you're talking about. Care for tea? What of a sweet? My cook makes an excellent raspberry tart."
"Don't know what we're talking about, indeed!" Daphne shouted, crossing the room. She cracked the buggy whip in the air. "Let's see what a few welts will do for your memory, shall we?"
Duncan reached out to take the whip. "Grandmother, no." He looked to Jillian. She was very pale. "Where's Atar?"
With great effort, she walked toward him. "D—dead. He hanged himself before we could stop him. He must have seen you leave on horseback headed this way. He must have known the ruse was over."
"Jillian, you shouldn't be up. You shouldn't have come." He frowned. "Are you all right?"
Duncan put his arms out to catch her as she crumpled.
"Oh," she moaned, gripping her distended abdomen.
When he caught her in his arms, he realized her gown was wet. "The baby?" he whispered in her ear, praying it wasn't true.
She nodded, grimacing as another contraction gripped her.
"But it's too soon." Gently, he helped her to her feet.
"Sorry." Somehow she managed a guilty smile. "Too much excitement. I guess he's decided to make his entrance into the world a little early."
Duncan swung Jillian into his arms. "Out of here, all of you but Grandmother!" He glared at Algernon as he slipped by. "I'm not done with you, cousin. Don't you disappear on me!" He gestured toward Constance, who was now doing some sort of dance in the corner of her room. It was as if she had suddenly gone as mad as May butter. "And get her out of here before I kill her, too."
Algernon went around Duncan and Jillian and caught his mother's hand. "This way, Mother. Let's go."
Constance looked at Algernon. "You'll dance with me, young man, won't you?"
Duncan carried Jillian to Constance's bed and laid her down. "I'll send for help," he told Daphne. "But it will have to be someone from your place. I wouldn't trust anyone here. You stay with her. I'll be back as quickly as I can." Then he brushed his lips against Jillian's feverish forehead and hurried from the room.
The following morning, Jillian lay in Constance's bed drifting in and out of sleep, her newborn son cradled in her arm.
She heard the door open and sleepily lifted her eyelids. Someone had drawn the heavy crimson drapes so that only a few rays of sunlight illuminated the room.
"Jilly?"
She smiled weakly, exhausted. It had been a long night. "Duncan?"
"How's our son?"
She pulled back the counterpane. "Look for yourself. He's tiny, but Daphne says he's in good health." She brushed her finger against his cheek; and in his sleep, he turned his head to suckle.
Duncan sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "I've never seen anything so beautiful," he whispered, looking down at the precious bundle.
Her gaze met his. "Does he look like your other son?" she asked gently. "The one who died."
He shook his no. "But he touches me in the same place." He brushed his chest at his heart. "Here."
"Want to hold him?"
"No. Let him sleep." But then he put out his arms. "Yes."
Jillian couldn't help but smile as she tucked the infant into his father's arm. Who would have thought the Colonial Devil would have been so sentimental over a child's being born, even his own? Most men barely gave a thought to the birth of offspring. It was simply something expected of a wife . . . a duty.
Duncan ran his forefinger over the crown of the baby's head. "Do you think he'll have red hair?"
Jillian tucked her hand behind her head. She was tired, but actually felt good, considering the number of hours she'd been in labor. She was hungry, too. "I don't know. He hasn't much hair at all right now. Bald as an apple, Daphne said." She studied her husband with amusement. "She said he looks just like you did as a babe."
He grinned. "She would. She's the only one who would dare."
Then Jillian brushed his arm. "So, how do you feel about this turn of events?"
He took a moment to answer. "I think I'm mostly relieved about Constance. Hurt Atar would betray me. Saddened by Algernon and his pathetic ways."
Jillian tucked the corner of the flannel blanket over the baby. In those three short sentences, Duncan had revealed more about his feelings than he had in the last six months. She was pleased. "So, what do you want to name him? Your son?"
The infant squirmed, and Duncan lifted him onto his shoulder and patted his padded bottom as if it were the most natural thing to him. "I was thinking William. Will."
Jillian nodded. "Good choice." She watched Duncan as he brushed his cheek against their son's downy head. "You know he forgave you for what happened back in London."
"I know."
"Do you forgive yourself, Duncan?"
He sighed. "I think so. I reacted in anger. I was hurt. I think Will knew that. He was always the one who understood me better than I understood myself."
The baby began to make mewing sounds, rooting against Duncan's shoulder. "Is he hungry?"
She put out her arms to take him. "Yes."
Duncan handed little Will to Jillian and then got up from the bed. He watched as she opened her sleeping gown and put the baby to her breast. "We're going to have a good life, Jilly. You and I and the boy." He took a deep breath. "I can feel it in my bones."
Jillian toyed with the edge of the infant blanket. She really didn't want to discuss this matter right now, but he was the one who had brought it. As far as she was concerned, nothing had changed between them. "Duncan, I'm not staying."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not. I told you I won't live my life with you, knowing you think I slept with another man."
"But I forgive you."
"You can't forgive me for something I didn't do!" She paused. This hurt so badly. All she wanted was Duncan and his love, but she'd not sacrifice herself for the sake of that love. Besides, she didn't care what he said. How could it not matter to him that he thought his wife had slept with another man? How could he help but wonder if it would happen again? "The point is," she went on with a sigh, "that you think I betrayed you and I didn't."
"I won't let you go."
"You can't hold me here forever."
"I love you." His green-eyed gaze met hers. "Isn't that enough?"
She shook her head, turning her attention back to the baby. "I'm sorry, Duncan, but it's not." It took great effort for her not to cry. They'd been through so much together. It seemed so unfair that it should end this way. "I need you to go back to Jamaica and bring my sister here, if she's still alive. Then she and I will return to London. I'll live at Breckenridge House as you or
iginally intended. There'll be no scandal. Your name will remain unscathed."
"But I want you here, Jilly, here with me." He balled his hands into fists, his voice filled with emotion. "Please . . ."
She closed her eyes, knowing she was right in her conviction, fearing it would break her heart. "I'm tired now, Duncan. Could you leave us?"
"I'll fight for you, Jilly. I won't let you go."
When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.
Thirty
Jillian sat on the front porch with Will tucked into his cradle at her feet. She was busy shelling fresh peas from Daphne's garden, enjoying the late August breeze that came in off the bay. Though it was warm on the Chesapeake in the late summer, thankfully, the heat was nothing like what she'd experienced in Jamaica.
"You don't have to do that," Duncan said, surprising her with his sudden appearance. She'd thought he was in the tobacco fields overseeing the cutting. She hadn't been expecting him until after sunset.
"I know. But since you sent Morning Glory on to the Robertsons and I've hired the new woman, things just haven't run smoothly in the kitchen." She dropped a handful of peas into her wooden bowl and tossed the shells into a basket. "Besides, it gives me something to do while Will naps.
Duncan peered into the cradle and touched one small bare foot. The infant slept on. "He's getting so big, so quickly.
The tension between them was like an electrical charge in the air. It had been almost three months since Will's birth, three months of stilted conversation, three months of sleeping alone. But Jillian had held to her decision. Either Duncan had to believe she'd not slept with Indigo Muldune or she would leave him.
Unfortunately, he held the last card. So far, he had refused to go to Jamaica to look for Beatrice, saying he knew Jillian would go as soon as he set sail. Jillian promised she would remain on the Tidewater until he returned with her sister or word of her death, but he refused to trust her. They had reached a stalemate, each as determined as the other.
Jillian's only hope was the cryptic note she had received when Will was about six-weeks-old. It came by way of merchant ship. Jillian still read it daily, trying to make sense of her sister's words.
J,
You once told me I would find
a man to love. Don't come
to me. I'll come to you.
B.
Jillian gave Will's cradle a push with her foot and reached for another handful of peas. All she could do for now was try to be patient. With or without Beatrice, she would have to wait until spring before she could return to London with her son. He was still too young to endure such a journey, and she wouldn't risk a winter crossing.
She looked up at Duncan, who seemed to be in no hurry. "Daphne said you went to see Constance this morning," she said, making conversation. "Is she any better?"
Duncan crouched on the top step, looking out over the wide lawn that led down to the water. One of the bond servants was cutting tall grass with a scythe near the shore. "No. Well, it's hard to say. Algernon swears she's lost her bread crumbs, but . . ."
"But Algernon would say or do anything for her; we already know that."
"Exactly."
Jillian continued to shell the peas. "I know it happens. Men and women do lose their senses, but this seems rather convenient to me. You discover she was trying to have you murdered to get your money, and suddenly she's no longer sane."
Duncan stroked again, his months had no lasting effects. Jillian had ever seen as well. What kind Sheriff on a deranged
Duncan stroked his chin. He was a picture of health once again, his months in the sugarcane fields seeming to have had no lasting effects. He was as robust and handsome as Jillian had ever seen him. "Aye. It seems convenient to me as well. What kind of man would I be to call the High Sheriff on a deranged woman?"
"So, what are you going to do with her? Daphne says her husband wants her out of his house. The children will remain with him, but the marriage is over and he'll no longer be responsible for keeping her. He claims she drank herself into insanity."
"Peter is a more sensible man than I realized." Duncan plucked a blade of grass from beside the step and poked it between his teeth. "I was considering sending Algernon and Constance back to England. They could stay at one of my properties. Hell, Algernon can have a house if he wishes. I can afford an allowance to keep them both, though perhaps not to the lifestyle they'd prefer."
"That's very generous when they tried to kill you."
He shrugged, rising to look at something on the water. "I've found I don't have time for thoughts of revenge or justice. I don't want either of them dead or imprisoned. I just want them out of my life."
Jillian couldn't resist a smile. "You're a good man, Duncan Roderick."
"Good enough to—" He halted in mid-sentence.
"What is it?" She rose from her seat to stare at the bay. "Duncan?" Fear trickled down her spine. It was a ship, and her first thought was of pirates. Each summer, Duncan had admitted, there was trouble with marauders on the Chesapeake. Most of the pirates only came for booty, but a few came for blood.
"We're not expecting any vessels, are we?"
Duncan started down the steps. "Take Will inside."
"Duncan!"
"Jillian, do as I say." He broke into a run across the yard toward the bell that would warn all the nearby workers of the potential danger. It was a call to arms. "Get the women and children and take them into the root cellar."
"But—"
"No argument for once, Jilly, just do it . . ."
The bell clanged, breaking the serenity of the summer morning.
Jillian took one last look at the ship sailing fast into their cove and ran. She scooped Will up out his cradle, shouting for Daphne. She would see to the safety of the women and children, but she'd not hide in the hole with them.
Not five minutes later, Jillian had the female serving staff and their offspring settled in the root cellar. With a kiss, she pressed Will into his great-grandmother's arms and started back up the cellar steps. In the kitchen, she retrieved a loaded blunderbuss kept for this very purpose.
By the time Jillian reached the front lawn, Duncan and a dozen men, some armed with muskets, others with scythes and farm implements, were standing on the shore, waiting, watching. Jillian ran down the hill to the water, her petticoats bunched in her free hand.
"Is that a white flag they're hoisting?" she asked, squinting in the bright sunlight.
Duncan glanced at her, surprised by her appearance. "thought I told you to put the women and children in the root cellar."
"I did."
"I meant you, too, Jillian, and you know it. Now, I want you to go back to the house and down into the cellar until I figure out what's going on here."
She watched the ship as it grew closer, ignoring him. "Is that a flag of surrender?"
"It is."
"I don't understand. Why would a ship sail into your cove and surrender to you?"
He shook his head. "I've never seen such a thing in all my days."
"Is it a pirate ship?"
"Could be. It's the right size; it has a shallow draft, the right rigging."
"And you have no idea who it is?"
Duncan glanced at the weapon she carried in her hand. "I've my suspicions."
They watched, standing side by side as the unknown ship set anchor beside the Royal Fortune. "Could it be Indigo?" she breathed.
"That would be an educated guess." He looked at her. "Jilly, I'd really rather you went up to the house."
"He's my son, too. I have the same right to protect him that you do." She looked out onto the water. "I have the same right to know who that is as you do."
"Jillian, I . . . Look, they're putting a small boat over." Duncan pulled a spyglass from his breeches and peered through it. "I'll be damned."
Jillian could feel her heart pounding. Did this have something to do with Beatrice? Could the pirate have possibly sent her to the Colonies? "Who is
it? Is it Indigo?" Then she spotted a woman in a bonnet with billowing white petticoats. "Duncan?" She could barely get her breath. "Is it Bea? Has he brought her home to us?"
"See for yourself." Duncan passed her the spyglass. "Back off, men," he ordered. "The two come alone. Just watch for fire from the ship."
Jillian raised the glass to her eye, almost afraid to look, for fear of what she would see. What if it weren't Bea? "Oh, I can't believe it!" she whispered, breaking into a smile. "It is Bea! It's she. Duncan, it's Bea!" She grabbed his bare, suntanned arm. "He's brought her home to me!"
Duncan was grinning, perhaps because she was so happy. "I suppose I won't need to make the trip to Jamaica now, will I?" He took the gun from her hand and passed it to one of his men who was retreating up the hill. "Shall we greet your sister, Jilly?" He offered his hand.
Jillian couldn't resist a smile, realizing that no matter how far from Duncan she ever went, she would always love him. There would never be another man for her. "Let's go."
So, hand in hand, they walked up the beach to where the small boat was landing. A salty breeze blew in off the bay, ruffling her hair. The blue-green water lapped at her shoes.
Jillian ran the last few feet, leaving Duncan behind. "Bea! Bea!" she cried.
The boat slid up onto the beach.
"Jilly!" Beatrice smiled from beneath her parasol. She was wearing a French-cut white gown and a broad-brimmed straw hat. Diamond earbobs glimmered from beneath her silky blond hair, which was pulled back in a sleek coiffure.
Indigo offered his hand to help her from the boat; and the minute Beatrice's slippers touched the sand, Jillian was in her arms. "Bea, Bea . . ." Jillian was laughing, but Duncan could see she was near to tears with relief. "You came home to me!"
"But just for a visit." Beatrice brushed her lips against her sister's cheek. "Then I'll be sailing back to Jamaica."
"Back to Jamaica?"
Beatrice turned to Duncan. "It's good to see you."
He nodded, then awkwardly took a step forward and brushed her cheek with a kiss. "Good to see you safe, sister."
"I take it from Jillian's appearance that you're now father," she said, adjusting her bonnet.
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 32
