At last, Ceressa looked up from the Bible, her gaze one of haughty indifference. “Did you wish to speak to me?” Her tone was regally cool, and he was tempted to give her the paddling she so richly deserved.
“What are you doing?” His tone resonated peevishly, for it was impossible to retain control of his temper when confronted by her open hostility. He shouldn’t expect to be spoken to in any other way; he’d done nothing to deserve a pleasant word from her. Other than save her pretty neck, he reminded.
“It appears you are lacking in more than manners. As a former divinity student, you should easily know that I’m reading the Bible.”
“Thank you for pointing that out.” He propped his booted foot on a crate next to the one upon which Ceressa sat. By doing so, he created a barrier from which she could not easily escape. Latimer fought down the smile of victory that threatened.
Ceressa pretended not to notice his proximity, but he saw the tremble of her hands as she smoothed her skirt. “I suppose it must fall to someone’s lot to do so.”
“So, it’s the first chapter of Joshua you’ve chosen to read.” Then to prove he had taken his studies seriously, he began to quote. “Be strong and of a good courage: for unto this people shalt thou divide for an inheritance the land, which I sware unto their fathers to give them. Only be thou strong and very courageous, that thou mayest observe to do according to all the law, which Moses my servant commandeth thee: turn not from it to the right hand or to the left, that thou mayest prosper withersoever thou goest.”
Ceressa’s gaze moved from his face, and she now looked out over the sea. She began to speak softly. “Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.”
Silence slipped between them, and Latimer wondered if Ceressa found comfort in those words. He had when he’d first sailed to Virginia.
“Clearly, you’ve spent much time in Bible study,” Latimer said, hoping she perceived it as a compliment and not sarcasm.
“My parents thought it important to study the Bible and other subjects.”
“So, you managed to work that in between needlepoint and dance instruction?” He was teasing and, as her gaze met his, he saw a hint of a smile.
“No, I managed to work it in between fencing lessons and philosophy. For your information, I’m more adept at fencing than I am in taking a stitch. Mariette is the one who managed to make over this gown”—she swept her hand over her skirt—“so that I would have something to wear. At this very moment, she is laboring over another gown. If not for her, I would be without a stitch to wear.”
Latimer swallowed hard, clamping down on the pictures her innocent words conjured. He cleared his throat.
“I’m not surprised,” he replied, earning a confused look from Ceressa. “That you can fence better than you can sew,” he added. “After all, it was I who taught you.”
“So you did, but Father’s’ valet, once a fencing master in France, helped with my technique. It’s well known the French are superior swordsmen.”
Latimer felt the heat of insult. “Such has also been said of the English.”
Ceressa shrugged as though not in the least impressed.
For some reason, he wanted her to be impressed—by him and everything about him. “Perhaps we should test our skill?”
“I’d like nothing better. But I apologize beforehand as I will best you.”
Latimer absorbed her words, then genuine laughter escaped. When he sobered, he looked at her again, seated so primly upon her crate as though it were a throne. “I don’t doubt your skill, but your confidence could be bolstered by a far too high opinion of your untested ability.”
“Then test it,” she challenged with sugary sweetness, but such sugar he would gladly consume until he was wretchedly ill. And then beg for more. He knew he needed to seriously rethink this marriage and not just because he had no wish to spend a month or two sleeping on a hard deck.
“Perhaps I will, at a more appropriate time and place. However, in the event you wish to peruse a volume of philosophy, I have a few books. Are you acquainted with Francis Bacon’s Novum Organum?”
“I’ve not read it, though Father and Sir Geoffrey have. I have read his History of Henry VII and was most impressed with the man’s research.”
“You’ll find it interesting to know that Bacon’s descendent is working hard in the Virginia colony to wreak more havoc than the Viscount Saint Albans did when he was found guilty of accepting bribes.”
“What do you mean?” Ceressa appeared intrigued by his comment, for her beautiful eyes brightened.
“Nathaniel Bacon, kinsman to none other than Sir Francis—or the Viscount St. Albans—is trying his hardest to assume leadership of the Virginia colony. Much to the displeasure of his other kinsman, the governor, William Berkeley.”
“Why would Bacon question the governor’s leadership if the two are related?”
“Because the two men are strong willed, and neither wishes to back down. Berkeley’s governing style is heavy-handed and unsympathetic, but Bacon won’t convince the man of that without diplomacy. The colony is torn by troubles with the Indians, unfair taxation, and inadequate representation in the local assembly. Berkeley is more worried about his share of the fur trade than in defending the western counties against Indian attacks. He’s done little to make friends among the frontier farmers and the Indians. The natives are justified in their anger for we, the invaders, wish to kill them and take their land.”
“These Indians—there are many near Tidelands?” Ceressa’s eyes conveyed her fear, but Latimer wouldn’t lie. She was to become part of this strange, new world, rife with discontent, discomfort, and danger. It would be unfair of him to tell her anything other than truth.
“There have been attacks upon outlying settlers, some who live not more than a few hours ride from the James River. Just before I left for England, the local militia was called up, and I experienced the fighting firsthand. It wasn’t pleasant.”
It was difficult to keep the grim look from his face as he recalled the carnage that had left fifty Indians dead as well as ten male residents of James Cittie and the surrounding counties. His arm still ached from the arrow wound he’d suffered during the mêlée. And Latimer would never forget the dazed look of the bronzed warrior when the ball from his musket had knocked him down. Latimer wondered if the man had lived or if he had died. Never had he found anything more difficult than fighting against Kitchiwanok’s people.
Ceressa clasped her throat and the color drained from her face. He sought words that would allay her fear.
“Virginia is a place where a man can live his dream but not without sacrifice. Nothing of worth comes easily.”
“Working hard to achieve a goal is one thing. Living in an uncivilized land is quite another. You’ve painted a terrifying picture.”
“Then let me paint you another picture. Hard-working, honest people live there. They love and laugh; they cry and they mourn. They go to church on Sundays to thank God for His blessings and Monday morning they’re back in the fields toiling. Their dreams keep them going. And their faith.”
A companionable silence slipped between them, and Latimer wondered if he dare kiss her. He had only to lean over. He reached out and brushed her cheek. Ceressa remained motionless.
“Lady Kirkleigh, I’ve finished another gown. Would you come try it on—oh,” Mariette ended a bit breathlessly, then halted. Blushing, the embarrassed girl backed away, but it was too late to recapture the tender moment.
Ceressa stood and clasped the Bible to her chest. “Mariette needs me.”
Latimer nodded and lowered his leg, moving aside so she could pass. Their eyes locked briefly, and she gave him a fleeting smile.
She joined Mariette and the two hurried off the deck.
Latimer expelled a deep sigh.
Fire Dragon's Angel
13
Slee
p refused to come to Ceressa as she lay in the cabin. After sharing the evening meal with her, the loquacious captain, and his officers, Latimer had excused himself. And Ceressa hadn’t seen him since. She wondered where he planned to sleep.
It was odd that she missed him. She was too frightened to sleep, afraid that Charles Herrington would appear in her dreams. Shuddering, she sat up and drew the coverlet about her considering the choices she’d made. Would it have been better to remain in London and take her chances? If she had demanded that Sir Geoffrey be sent for, would the drunken men have complied? If they had, she might well be in Cornwall searching for her parents. Instead, she was moving closer to Virginia.
A sob rose, but she choked it back. This wasn’t the time to feel sorry for herself. She had to work through the difficulties just as her father always told her, and she was not alone—she had God by her side. When they reached Virginia she would entrust a letter to Captain Stokeley to give to Sir Geoffrey. As soon as her godfather learned of her plight, he’d know exactly what to do. He might even come.
That thought calmed her, giving a glimmer of hope in a terrifying situation. But even as she tried to see Sir Geoffrey in her mind, another man’s face kept intruding, one with a jaw of iron, the glittering eyes of a dragon, and the thick waving hair of a Samson no Delilah would ever trick. Her pulse hammered as she recalled that moment on deck when she thought he would kiss her. What if he had? What would she have done? What drew her to this man who one minute made her furious and in the next made her want to fall into his arms?
“Latimer,” she whispered angrily into the darkness, her hands curling into fists even though the action caused her injured one to ache. Flinging off the warm cover, she snatched up her new cloak as her feet hit the cold floor.
Unconcerned that she was barefoot, she moved cautiously to the door and left the cabin. A lamp was lit in the companionway, and she had little trouble finding the steps that would take her up on deck.
The moon was hidden by scudding clouds. A few stars hung suspended in the murky heavens like a string of tiny pearls, playing a sort of celestial hide and seek. Moving silently to the rail, she leaned over, the wind whipping her cloak so fiercely that had the cord not been tied about her throat, it would surely have been snatched from her. There was something magnificent and marvelous about the waves, the crests forming foamy specters in the midnight blackness as they were tossed to and fro by the heightening wind.
Ceressa could feel God’s power. The events that had brought her to this moment seemed beyond her control, but she knew God would never forsake her. For some reason, He’d brought her to this point; therefore, she had to trust He would bring her through.
“You shouldn’t be out here. There’s going to be a storm. Go back to your cabin.” Ceressa didn’t have to turn around to know Latimer spoke.
“You don’t have to order me as though I’m your lackey.” The fractious wind chose that moment to unleash a gust that nearly lifted her off her feet.
Growling unintelligibly, Latimer wrapped his arm about her waist and hauled her from the rail. After removing her to safety, he kept his arm about her. She hated to admit it, but it was most welcome.
“What if you’d been blown over the side just then?”
“You would have been forced to find someone else to wear the clothes in the trunks.” The words flew from her mouth before she thought.
“I’ll have none of your flippancy.”
Ceressa jutted her chin.
Grasping her shoulders, he shook her a little. He was doing that a lot. “I was nearly frightened out of my mind.”
“You, frightened? I can’t picture you as ever being frightened.”
“Don’t think I haven’t known fear. But each time, I learn something new about myself.”
“Why make your home in Virginia? You could bring your niece to England. You say you have found contentment in that place, but it seems your presence in the colony is some sort of punishment you’ve imposed upon yourself.”
“Living in Virginia is not a punishment. I want to be there. Once I saw the land, I fell in love with it; the fertile soil, the lofty, soaring trees; the mighty James ebbing and flowing on its journey to the bay. When you see it, you’ll understand.”
Ceressa shivered; the cold of the wooden deck had at last penetrated her feet and chilled her entire body. Latimer looked down. “Where are your slippers?”
“I didn’t bother to put them on,” she admitted, feeling childish and stupid.
Drawing her to the crate she’d sat upon that afternoon, he forced her to sit while he took a seat on another. To her surprise, he took possession of an ankle and raised her foot, propping it on his knee. Cradling it between his calloused hands, he began to vigorously rub the sole of her frigid foot.
“I am sorely pressed in deciding if you’re just simply careless or dimwitted.”
“I am neither.” She glared. He ignored her. Methodically, he rubbed the warmth back into her foot. His ministrations felt wonderful.
Latimer silently massaged her other foot until Ceressa’s curiosity got the better of her. “How did Cameron come by the land in Virginia?”
“He was deeded the property by the first Charles for loyalty and service. The property was stripped away by Cromwell then given back to me as Cameron’s male heir after Charles II regained the throne.”
“Though I recall little of the events, I’ve heard my parents speak of it. How terrifying that time must have been for you and Constance.”
“The pages of history are filled with the tales of those who lost lives needlessly. When one wrests power from another, those loyal to the deposed bear the consequences. This Bacon reminds me a great deal of Oliver Cromwell, which is why I strongly disagree with his methods. No good can come of such extremity. One thing I’ve learned is that one cannot be hotheaded in a time of crisis.”
“Why must this Bacon stir up trouble between the colonists and the governor?”
“Bacon has a score to settle. His home was attacked by the Indians and a trusted servant was killed. After that, he and several nearby planters decided to take matters into their own hands. Bacon led the militia he formed against the Indians when Berkeley refused to give him a commission. He and his men were successful, elevated to hero status. Needless to say, Berkeley’s popularity dwindled for he was accused of self-gratification. Matters got out of hand.”
“Is there any chance things have improved since you left?”
“Not according to the last letter I received from my estate manager, Benjamin Harrell. It was written in December, and he mentioned the growing discontent.”
“Do you know Nathaniel Bacon?”
“When he first arrived, we were friends. After he made it known he supported insurrection, I ended our association. In all good conscience, I could not alter my allegiance to the governor.”
“Some would accuse you of cowardice,” she said and instantly regretted her words. But Latimer didn’t seem offended.
“Men will judge me thusly, I have no doubt. Though I don’t support Bacon and his followers, neither do I agree with how the governor has handled the situation. I feel strongly about certain issues, but there are other ways to bring about change. I prefer that path.”
“When the outlying settlements were attacked, and Bacon, not the governor, led a force against the Indians, I daresay your preferred path might not prove popular.”
“I’m not seeking popularity. I’m asking men to be reasonable.”
“It’s hard to be reasonable if a savage has an arrow aimed for your heart. If my home was burned and my family attacked, I would favor Nathaniel Bacon over William Berkeley.”
“Those Indians are fighting for their survival.” Latimer’s words held a hint of hostility, and he ceased massaging. “Doeg Indians were accused of murdering a man on a Stafford County plantation a few years ago. When the infantry was dispatched, the soldiers killed innocent Susquehannocks, not the Doegs. There followed another conf
rontation between the English and Indians when five werrowances—the ‘great men’ of the tribe—offered to parley but, instead, were brutally murdered.”
“No,” Ceressa cried, horrified by his words. The English could be as bloodthirsty as they accused the Indians of being.
“Bacon promotes butchery. Sir William, however, upon learning of this terrible crime, stated that even if the Indians had killed his closest family members and they came to him afterward seeking peace, he would have allowed them to leave in peace. There is no easy answer.”
“Sir Geoffrey told me that Constance and her husband were murdered by her husband’s people.”
Latimer lowered his head, and Ceressa suspected he wrestled with emotions he didn’t want her to witness. At last, he raised his head. “There is prejudice on both sides. Kitchiwanok was Powhatan’s great nephew and was already betrothed to a kinswoman.”
Ceressa had heard of the great chief and his daughter who’d married the Englishman, John Rolfe. “After falling in love with Constance, he openly defied his father, accepted banishment, and chose to marry Constance in a Christian ceremony. Other males of the tribe, who want the white man forced from Virginia, decided that Kitchi should be made an example. They attacked Kitchi and Constance, killed them, and burned their cottage. It so happened that when the attack occurred, Constance was hanging the wash and baby April was sleeping on a blanket out of sight. The child slept through the nightmare and was never noticed. Praise God she survived. There are those on both sides who refuse compromise and choose destruction over peaceful resolution. Yet, the natives of Virginia deserve to be treated with the same respect as any Englishman. That is what I plan to say when the time is right.”
“How will you know when the time is right?”
“I will rely on the Lord.”
“You may be forced to fight.”
“I’ve been fighting all my life in one form or the other.”
Latimer’s words filled her with inexplicable sadness. “Perhaps that’s why I want to see peaceful negotiations conducted by reasonable men. Or it could be I’m getting too old to keep fighting. Some things don’t seem worth it any more.”
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