"Mr. Watson can't know that we are in New York." Daniel hesitated. "Do not speak of it yet to anyone, but the major told me there is talk of evacuating Loyalists and freed slaves to Nova Scotia. We would be given land to farm."
"Nova Scotia?" She thought about it. "From what I know it's a cold, hard land, but a long way from Charleston."
"We will be safe there, honey child." He gave her a warm, intimate smile, reminding her how they had celebrated his return the night before. "After we are settled, it will be time to have another baby."
Though she yearned for another child, she had taken measures to prevent that during her years in New York. The war made life too uncertain to risk a second baby. But soon the time would come. "We will have a boy," she said, feeling prophecy stir within her. "He will be strong and handsome like you, and I will tell him tales of his father's bravery against the Americans since you will be too modest to sing your own praises."
Daniel laughed and gave her a good-bye kiss, patting her backside as she left to walk to work. Almost as soon as she arrived in New York, Daniel's commander, Major Blaine, had hired Adia to be his housekeeper. The major was a tall, austere man whose rare smiles were surprisingly warm. He treated Adia with grave respect, sometimes talking to her about his wife and children in a way he couldn't with any of the men around him. He was particularly fond of Molly, who often accompanied her mother to the major's quarters. He had a daughter of similar age.
Was Major Blaine fond enough of Adia and her family to protect them against being enslaved again? Perhaps, but even if his intentions were good, he might not be in a position to help. It was time to start planning a way to escape to Canada.
Though Daniel had fought with a company of black former slaves, they were not members of the regular British Army, and his group would soon be disbanded. They could leave the city as soon as that happened, but perhaps they should wait to see if the British would keep their promises to the slaves who had fought for them. If they were evacuated on British ships, their journey would be much safer than if they fled on their own.
Bitterly Adia wondered how often she would have to leave home and friends and start all over again. She and Daniel had created a life here in New York. Not long after her arrival, they were formally married by a blind Methodist preacher who had escaped from slavery and brought much of his congregation with him. Though Adia had always felt that she and Daniel were husband and wife, she was proud that the world and the law now recognized their union.
Daniel had also explained why he had chosen the family name Adams. "One of the rebel leaders is named John Adams, and they say he will not own slaves." He kissed the end of her nose. "And it sounded good with Adia. Adia Adams."
She had laughed and agreed. Having a last name of their own choosing was a mark of freedom. Now they had a home and a bit of garden. Molly was a student at a small dame school and already reading well. If it was safe for them to stay in New York, Daniel could use his carpentry skills to find work and surely Adia would be able to find a place as a servant in some other household when Major Blaine left.
Instead, they would have to escape again to a cold, inhospitable land. Luckily, she had saved most of her wages, so they had a little money. As long as she and Daniel and Molly were together and free, they would be all right.
She was on a quiet street halfway to the major's house when a tall white man stepped out in front of her. "You are Addie Watson?"
She halted, fear crimping her veins. "I know no one of that name."
"They said you are handsome and well spoken," he said as a man grabbed her from behind. "All of you runaways lie about your names. But I have been following you, Addie Watson. I know who you really are. Now you will be returned to your master, along with your pickanniny and your carpenter." He smiled chillingly. "And a fine bounty I'll get for the lot of you."
She struggled frantically against the man who held her. He was tall, lean, black, and familiar. There was also something familiar about the white man's cold blue eyes. She gasped, recognizing the captain of the slave ship that had taken her to the Indies. He must have been very young then, for he was no more than in his forties now. His evil companion, Kondo, had not aged at all. "Captain Trent! You swine!"
He looked interested. "Did I bring you to the New World? You should thank me for removing you from the savagery of Africa." He gestured to Kondo. Judging by his rich dress, the slave trade had been very good to the captain. "Chain her and take her to the cell. Then we can go for the brat. With luck, the carpenter will be there, too."
The thought of these brutes touching Molly drove Adia wild. Help me, Grandmother! Calling on the magic she had never properly mastered, she tore herself away from Kondo before he could chain her. As she whipped away, violet fire blazed around her.
Run, child! As shouts rose behind her, Adia bolted to the end of the block and turned into a much busier street. Many of the people here were black, and there was a good chance that they would help her escape if Trent came after her again. She risked a glance back, and saw Trent and Kondo staggering blindly where she'd left them. They didn't look burned. She sensed that the violet fire had confused rather than caused physical injury.
Thanking Grandmother, she ran the rest of the way to Major Blaine's lodging. She burst in as he emerged from his bedroom, ready for his breakfast. "Adia!" he exclaimed. "Did someone try to rob you?"
She looked down at her disheveled clothes. "Worse—a slave catcher tried to capture me so he could take me south, and he said he would also go for Molly and Daniel. Does the law allow a slave catcher to steal me and my family away?"
The major frowned. "With the city changing hands, the law is uncertain. Force will rule."
That was what she feared. "Daniel said that the British Army was arranging to evacuate former slaves and Loyalists to Nova Scotia. Can you help us get on such a ship?"
"You and Daniel qualify, but the first ships won't leave for Nova Scotia for weeks. We are still negotiating with the Americans about procedures. They want the right to challenge every black man, woman, and child in the city. There will be registrations and lists and certificates."
"Sir, we need help now!" She caught the major's gaze. "Can you do anything for us?"
His gaze narrowed as he thought. "Though the Nova Scotia transports aren't ready, there's a British naval vessel sailing for England on the afternoon tide. I know the captain, and I believe I can obtain passage for you and your family. Can you leave so quickly?"
"London?" Thinking of the cool evil in Trent's eyes, Adia said flatly, "Yes."
"Then, go home for Molly and your husband. You will be able to take only what you can carry easily. I'll send two soldiers to guard you. When you're ready, come here. I'll arrange for you to be taken to the ship." His voice dropped. "And may God watch over you."
Major Blaine was as good as his word. His men escorted her home by a route different from her usual walk. Daniel was horrified to learn of the attempt to capture Adia. Mouth tight, he began packing the small amount of luggage they could take. The two of them had become very good at leaving. Adia told a neighbor that they were going, and why, but not where. Then they left their snug home forever.
Eight hours later, they were sailing from New York harbor on the tide. Adia and Daniel stood on the rear of the ship, Daniel holding Molly as they watched the city diminish behind them. The child said wistfully, "I didn't have time to say good-bye to my friends."
"I'm sorry, sweeting," Daniel said. "But there will be new friends in England."
"Look!" Molly's sadness vanished, and she pointed toward the bow. "Big fish jumping!"
"We'll go look at them." Daniel set her down on the deck and took her hand.
"I'll join you soon," Adia promised.
Her husband nodded, knowing she wanted to say her private good-bye to the city she loved, which had sheltered them so well. When Adia was alone, she leaned on the railing, blinking back tears. She couldn't say that she was sorry they wouldn't have
to cultivate raw wilderness in Nova Scotia. She liked cities, and the idea of London drew her. She and Daniel were hard workers, and Major Blaine had given them twenty pounds to help them get started in England. The Adams family would survive, and Molly would have a better life.
Adia was about to go to join her family in fish watching when a young black sailor passed nearby. On impulse, she asked, "You are a free man, sir?"
He paused, his warm gaze moving over her. "Aye, mistress. You're bound for London?"
"I am." She gestured toward the bow. "With my husband and daughter."
Looking disappointed that she was unavailable, he replied, "You will like London. Many Africans live there."
She noticed that he wore a strand of beads around his neck, and guessed that it supported a medicine pouch. Lowering her voice, she said, "Are there any African priests?"
He instinctively touched the pouch hidden beneath his shirt. "Aye, mistress." He studied her with narrowed eyes. "You are a witch?"
"No. But I have some power, and would like to learn to use it."
"You will find priests and priestesses to guide you in London. Good luck to you and your family, mistress." He inclined his head, then returned to his work.
She turned back to the sea. The American coast was only a thin dark line. Deep, powerful feelings were stirring inside her, and for the first time, she felt that she was not fleeing from something, but running toward something better. Will I find what I seek in London, Grandmother?
Aye, child. Freedom, teachers, destiny. You will find them all there.
Above all, destiny.
Chapter
SEVENTEEN
Nikolai wondered what Jean Macrae thought of his house, with its cool tile, white walls, and colorful fabrics. He found the simplicity soothing, but the style was that of peasants, not aristocrats.
Telling himself it didn't matter what she thought, he ushered her outside onto the cobbled street. She studied everything with interested eyes as they strolled down the hill.
The villagers studied her in return. Though Santola had a wide range of nationalities, red hair was rare so everyone recognized her as the stranger who had not been a slave. As they neared the docks, Nikolai made a mental note to get her a hat so her face wouldn't burn. Then he remembered that she would be gone in a matter of days.
She would leave, taking with her that fierce independence, winsome figure—and her knowledge of magic.
As they halted on the terrace above the ship repair dock, he said harshly, "Don't go, Jean. Not yet. I want to learn more about magic. My education has been erratic. I must learn how to fully use my power. It will make me more effective in my work."
"Surely you also want to learn for your own sake." She glanced up at him thoughtfully. "Talent usually brings a powerful need to use it. You need training, but I doubt I am the best teacher. There is too much between us."
"You are the best because you're the only one available," he said bluntly. A string of pack donkeys was passing, so he pulled the straw hat off one and dropped it on her head. "If you aren't careful, your fine white skin will be bright red."
She laughed and adjusted the hat back so it didn't fall over her eyes. "I will smell of donkey. But I suppose that's better than burning."
"I want you healthy to answer my questions, not perishing of sun-stroke."
"Speaking of which, I'm tired. I'd like to return now."
Reminded that she had been unconscious for several days, he turned to guide her back up the hill. "When you struggled with the tempest—what was happening then?"
She looked thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure, but the storm proved that I inherited a good share of the Macrae sensitivity to weather patterns. I've become more aware of weather since sailing from London. Perhaps my talent works best now that I'm farther south.
"But while I can feel the patterns, I haven't the raw power needed to control great storm systems. That's why I needed to draw on you." Her brows furrowed. "I'm sorry there wasn't more time to prepare you. I'm told that having one's power seized so abruptly is disturbing and often painful. Usually power sharing is done only after careful discussion and gradual preparation. And only between friends."
Though it had been painful, he brushed her words away. "Your actions were needful. But at the end, I felt another energy as well, as if another person was present. Did I imagine that?"
"You're perceptive," she said with a nod of approval. "I was about to lose control of the storm's center, and I knew I didn't have the strength to master it again. So in sheer desperation, I reached out to see if I could get help from my brother, who is the most powerful weather mage in Britain."
"Your brother was joined to us?" he said, revolted by the thought. He had to some extent made peace with Jean Macrae, but her brother was another matter.
"Without him, the ship would have sunk and all of us drowned," she pointed out. "I would not have been able to reach him over such a great distance if not for the bond between us. So he, too, was essential in saving us from the storm. Surely that means you should give up your desire to revenge yourself against him."
"Damnation, Jean Macrae, is no one in your family to pay for your father's crime?" he exploded, furious at her brazen request.
"If my father were alive, I would put the two of you in a room to talk about what happened that day you were captured. You might find the truth different from your memories. But even if my father betrayed you…" Her eyes narrowed. "Duncan and I have done nothing to harm you. Nothing. In the storm, we saved your ship, your crew, and all your future battles against slavery, not to mention your precious neck. That cancels any blood debt you feel you are owed."
Rage blazed through him. He wanted to slam his fists into the stucco walls of the nearest house or kill a slaver with his bare hands. Anything to release the violence of his long-held fury.
He had lived for revenge, clinging to it as a lifeline when he lay bleeding from the lash on a galley, or perishing of thirst in the desert. He wanted to kill Macrae, who had promised him a home and safety, then casually broken that promise. At least as much, he wanted to destroy Duncan Macrae, the favored child, the true son, who had effortlessly possessed what Nikolai had wanted with such frantic need.
But he could not deny the truth of the witch's words. She and her brother had not harmed him directly, and together, they had saved the Justice and her crew. All three of them had been needed—he and Jean Macrae together had not been enough.
He forced himself to remember the touch of her brother's mind at the end of the struggle with the storm. What kind of man was Duncan Macrae? Bleakly he admitted to himself that there had been nothing in the man's energy to hate. Under other circumstances, they might have met and become friends.
Though Nikolai burned for justice, he also valued honor. Bitterly he accepted that Macrae, the true betrayer, was beyond reach. Any justice the Scottish lord received would have to be at God's hands, if there was such a creature and He believed in justice.
Hating every word, he said, "Very well. I will not pursue my vendetta against your brother or his family. But I will neither forgive nor forget."
"As you wish. Hate us if you must, as long as you don't hurt my family." She halted, swaying, and reached out to a wall to support herself. "I...I need to rest."
The damned woman looked on the verge of collapse. Why had he suggested she walk through the village when she had just woken from a three-day collapse? He scooped her up, thinking that she must have burned off weight when using her magic, for she weighed almost nothing.
She struggled feebly. "Let go of me!"
She was right, he shouldn't have touched her—the contact between them was profoundly disquieting. He shouldn't be feeling raw lust for a woman who was so feeble. A woman for whom his feelings were so complicated. But the longer they were together, the harder it was to regard her with detachment.
If he set her down, she'd probably crumple up on the street. An unloaded donkey was heading down the
hill, so he signaled the driver. The fellow obligingly brought the donkey over so Nikolai could set the witch on the beast's back.
Her fingers locked onto the donkey's scraggly mane. "Thank you." She smiled warmly at the driver, ignoring Nikolai. The driver, a usually cantankerous Berber from North Africa, stared at her with dazed pleasure. The woman was definitely a witch.
By the time the small group reached Nikolai's house, she was able to slip off the donkey and thank its owner with another smile. When they entered the building, she looked at the steps to her room with some dismay.
"Can you climb the steps? Or should I carry you?"
She scowled and began to climb, relying heavily on the railing. He stayed a quiet two steps behind her until she made it to the top. Once sure she was safe, he said, "You need more to eat. And perhaps a cup of tea. That is a very British remedy, I think?"
She turned and smiled crookedly over her shoulder. "I'd like that."
As he headed down to the kitchen, he thought that the sooner she sailed from his island, the better.
He could not bear the thought of her leaving.
Scalding hot tea sweetened with honey and served with bread and cheese went a long way to restoring Jean. By the third cup, she was able to regard Gregorio with equanimity. He had agreed to drop his vendetta against Duncan, so she and her family were safe. Soon she would be back in Marseilles, able to tell her friends about her adventure before sailing for home. For now, she sat on one of the chairs in her room rather than the bed, since that would be far too suggestive.
Of course, there was the matter of the captain wanting to be tutored in magic. "I could find you a Guardian who will teach you how to use your power. There are surely men in Marseilles who would be willing to do so."
A Distant Magic Page 13
