He leaped to his feet before she moved, in order to offer her his hand and assistance to her feet. She put her hand in his and beamed at him, nearly lighting the night with the pleased glow of her eyes. “I hope you sleep well, Miss Everly. Duerme bien y dulces sueños.”
“Sleep well,” she translated, eyebrows drawing together. “And…?”
“Sweet dreams.” He bowed over her hand in as courtly a manner as ever he’d bowed. She curtsied. “Thank you, Señor Córdoba.” Then she left him, looking back once before fading into the shadows.
Heaven help him, but his heart went with her. Weeks and months of meeting other women in his travels, of escorting them to balls and theaters and church, sitting in their parlors, had not prepared him for what he felt now. His heart burned, his every thought full of Miss Everly’s beautiful blue eyes and bright laughter. How were they to dwell on the same island together if help did not come soon?
A hand landed on his shoulder heavily.
Alejandro’s jaw tightened, and he curled both hands into fists. He kept his voice cheerful, however, when he spoke. “If you wish me to remove your hand myself, it will not go well for you, amigo.”
The hand disappeared, and Alejandro took a swift step forward, turning at the same time to face the tall Englishman who had crept up behind him. Others still sat around the fire, but none gave heed to them.
Carlbury raised both hands to show he meant no offense. “I am only come to tell you, Córdoba. Miss Everly is a sweet woman. She is not for you.”
Bold words. “I have made no attempt to claim her.” Not yet. Alejandro tipped his chin up, taking the man’s measure.
“That isn’t what it looks like,” the arrogant man countered, a grimace twisting the features of his unremarkable face.
Carlbury obviously thought himself capable of winning in a fight, but his posture clearly marked him as one unused to so much as throwing a punch. Whereas Alejandro had grown up scuffling with the sons of the vaqueros, and then the vaqueros themselves, to pass the time and settle disagreements during long nights of the cattle hunt. In Northern America, he had learned to wrestle, and he’d worked every day to survive living on the island.
He almost wished Carlbury would try something. Anything.
“I cannot help what it looks like to you, señor.” Alejandro adjusted his stance ever so slightly. “Miss Everly is a lady, and I have treated her as such.” After all, she had returned his kiss rather than spurned it, so there was nothing dishonorable in that. “Should she express dislike for my company, I will not burden her with my conversation. You ought to consider acting in a similar manner.”
That made the other man jerk his chin upward. “Are you suggesting I am not—that I do not respect the lady’s wishes?”
“Not at all. I am saying you ought to ask if she wants your company rather than impose it upon her. Perdón. I have work to do elsewhere.” If he didn’t leave, he might say more that he would regret. There was no need to bring Miss Everly’s name into a disagreement simply because he disliked another man who admired her.
Without giving Carlbury time to respond, Alejandro ducked into the trees and went for the beach. Sleeping near the surf would do a great deal to ease his heart and mind, listening to the waves come in with the tide. Perhaps he would check the makeshift signal flag, too. Make certain it still beckoned ships to come closer. He needed to get the woman he loved off the island.
20
“What is the word for weave?” Hope asked, carefully focused on her net weaving. Alejandro had given her a section of the sail that had torn off in the wind, making their signal flag yet smaller, and shown her how to braid it to create a rope to use as a snare.
“Tejer. It is the same for knitting.” He was using a flat, sharp-edged rock to whittle the ends of long sticks, to create another fishing spear. “And rope is cuerda.”
“Like cord.” She grinned. “Teach me words such as that one. Give me the easy words.”
“Las palabras fáciles.”
Hope did not bother to hide her exasperation, scooping up a handful of grass and tossing it at him. “None of that was comprehensible.”
“I said what you told me to say.” He raised his dark eyebrows at her and leaned slightly nearer. “The easy words.”
She covered her mouth to muffle her unladylike snigger. “You are a rascal, Señor Córdoba.” She attempted to give him a withering look, though the way he looked at her sent her tingling from her fingertips to her toes. “You know what I meant.”
“Easy words.” He narrowed his eyes at her and pressed his lips tightly together a moment. “I will teach you as I have seen children taught. Here.” He tapped his nose. “La nariz. The nose.”
“La nariz,” she repeated, pleased to finally get somewhere. “That is close to the French word. I can remember that. What are the eyes?”
“Los ojos,” he answered simply, as a gleam appeared in his.
Hope huffed and glared at him. “That is not at all like the French word. Los o-hos.”
“Ojos,” he corrected. “You have bonitos ojos azules.” The way he said that phrase, staring intensely at her, made heat rush into her cheeks. Obviously the man flirted with her and thought to get away with it by speaking in his native tongue.
“One thing at a time,” she said, purposefully looking away from him. “The ears?”
“Las orejas.”
An English equivalent that helped her remember that word came to mind. “Like orator.”
“If you say so, hermosa.” He lowered the fishing spear and lifted another branch, ready to transform it into a hunting weapon, too. “Mouth. La boca.”
“La boca.” She glanced at the doctor and his wife beneath the trees, catching another glimpse of Mrs. Morgan with her hands across her abdomen. Hope watched the two Morgans speak with one another, their voices not carrying to where she and Alejandro sat on the other side of the clearing. Their expressions were strained while they spoke, though they leaned near one another. Their troubles unified them rather than parted them, growing their affection rather than straining it.
“Sí. Now. Bésame.” Alejandro’s deep voice instructed clearly, his words warming her. She repeated him without thought.
“Bésame.” She started when he took her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles, the heat from her cheeks spreading quickly throughout the rest of her. “Alejandro,” she whispered, though she did not remove her hand from his.
“Bésame means ‘kiss me.’” He gave her an unrepentant grin, then sprang to his feet with both spears in one hand. “You must excuse me now, mi hermosa. I join the fishermen today. Though I had much rather sit with you.”
“You are a brazen flirt, Señor Córdoba.” She bit her bottom lip when he bowed. Perhaps some distance between them would be a good thing, given how easily she blushed in his presence. “Enjoy your fishing.”
“Gracias.” He went on his way, his step lighter than she had seen it thus far.
The task in her hands, though not strictly necessary, captured her attention again. At home, she detested sewing and embroidery, while Grace excelled at both. Hope could create lovely things when she set her mind to it, but it took her three times as long to finish a project as it did Grace. Hope simply had no patience to sit at what felt like idle work. But this, creating an item that might prove useful to survival, felt entirely different.
Her mind wandered to her sister as Hope hummed to herself, to how Grace kept busy with Hope away. Likely she went about her life as always, making visits to their neighbors and the poor, listening to the problems of others and offering well-thought-out solutions, proving a calming influence everywhere she went.
Grace would have been a better friend to Irene in the aftermath of the shipwreck. The patience Grace possessed, the ability to bite her tongue, to soothe others before worrying over herself, would have been invaluable to their little group. Instead, it fell to Hope to fill the place meant for her sister.
Thus far, Hope ha
d proven less apt than Grace at soothing ruffled feelings and feathers alike.
Movement in the brush alerted Hope to the return of members of their party, and she stopped humming when she saw Irene and Albert coming through. They both wore large, satisfied smiles. Hope raised her eyebrows. What had they been doing all morning?
Albert’s stare met hers, and his smile faded slightly. Irene looked from her brother to Hope, then tugged him forward.
“Oh, Grace. You simply must come with us on a walk. We have had such a diverting morning.” She gave up on tugging her brother closer when Albert took no more than a step out from the growth, still under the shadows of the trees. “Albert has found such a lovely place. Do come.”
Hope’s hands stilled and she lowered them to her lap. “But you have only now returned. Surely you have no wish to turn back.” Irene’s sudden cheerful behavior ought to have been a relief. Instead, Hope found herself suspicious. Hardly the mark of a good friend.
“We are only hungry,” Albert said, finally coming closer. He regarded Hope with something like curiosity. “After we eat and drink, we are on our way again.”
“Do say you will accompany us,” Irene said over her shoulder before disappearing into the shelter, where baskets of dried berries and nuts were kept.
Hope stared after her friend, then glanced up at Albert where he stood close to her, towering over her. “What have you found to cheer her so greatly?” she asked, her voice too low to carry to Irene.
Albert lowered himself to the ground, almost hesitantly. He took up a stick and poked at the embers of the fire. “You will have to come and see for yourself if you wish to find out.” His gaze darted away from her when she tried to meet his eyes again. To find him undemanding surprised her nearly as much as Irene’s sudden agreeableness.
When Irene emerged with the basket of food and shared it out between the three of them, guilt smote at Hope for her suspicions. Fate had dealt them a hard blow, marooning them on the island. She could not be angry that Irene reacted differently than Hope. To regard Irene’s change in attitude with such apprehension did not seem like something Grace would do.
“If you two truly wish it,” Hope said at last, as she examined the dried berries in her hands, “I should be happy to accompany you on a walk.”
“Marvelous.” Irene popped several nuts in her mouth and shared a superior sort of smirk with her brother. “See? Though Grace is not as fond of exploration as her sister, she will certainly appreciate something other than sitting about here all day.”
Hope winced at the comparison. As much as she wished to reveal her true self to Alejandro, to give him a name to call her other than the formal Miss Everly, it would be wrong to disclose the truth to him while those that knew her better still had no thought that she had taken Grace’s place. This walk, as reluctant as she was to venture anywhere with Albert, would prove a perfect opportunity to tell the truth at last.
They began their ramble through the trees after both Carlburys pronounced themselves refreshed for the journey. Hope had managed to tie her hair up and back again, presenting at least some semblance of respectability, and she trailed along behind Albert and ahead of Irene.
“I am surprised you wished to enter the trees again, after the incident with the spider,” Hope said after they had walked for a short time.
Irene made a sound of disgust. “Horrid creature. We saw another on the path this morning. Albert took care of it.”
Somehow, Hope doubted that meant he hurried the spider out of the way. Most likely the poor creature had met the bottom of Albert’s boot in an unexpected manner. Hope wasn’t one to enjoy the creeping creatures of the world, but she did let them alone if they did nothing to bother her.
She fell quiet and before long the brother and sister were having a conversation about the weather. Though something about it felt unnatural.
“Do you think it will rain?” Irene asked.
Albert answered as haughtily as ever. “If I thought it was going to rain, I would not have arranged things as I did. That last storm blew over and everything is finally dried out. We will be fine.”
“It does not seem as though such things are so easily predicted out in the middle of the sea.” Irene’s response, though somewhat petulant, gave Hope leave to relax. They were themselves after all.
“I know what I am doing.” Albert held a branch out of the way for both women to pass, then took up the walk again next to Hope. “We are going nearly to the opposite end of the island. We will break from the trees here and walk along the beach, if you like. To save your feet.”
She looked down as she walked and sighed. “Nothing will save my poor feet now, I am afraid. They are as tough as a bloodhound’s paws.”
Irene made a sound of distress. “You poor darling. I have nearly worn my shoes through, but at least they have offered some protection.”
Though Hope did not mind going about barefoot most of the time, as it had reminded her of the childhood she left behind, Hope did not deny that the sand would prove easier for her. They veered out of the steep tree-lined path and emerged onto the beach somewhat above where the little boat had been wrecked.
The sailors had not allowed anyone to pull apart the board of the vessel, though it was no longer sea-worthy. Perhaps they yet held hope in repairing the split and cracked boards well enough to row away from the island.
She couldn’t guess how it might be done.
For a time, they walked in silence. The surf’s dull roar made it difficult to exchange conversation without shouting, and a breeze came up from the other end of the island. If they ever stopped, Hope had determined to reveal her identity to them both. It might cause some embarrassment, given the number of times Irene had spoken of Hope’s attributes in a less than kind way. But the truth would most likely alleviate Albert’s concern at her continually ignoring his advances.
They turned into the land again, where a hill sloped upward. How long had they walked? A quarter of an hour, at least, bringing them to the northeastern edge of the island.
“You have done some exploring,” Hope said, nearly panting in the upward climb. “What is it you have found?”
The wind shifted, coming from ahead of them, whisking a curl out of Hope’s eyes. She lifted her head to enjoy the sensation, only to stop in her steps so abruptly Irene bumped into her shoulder.
“Grace, are you—?”
“Something is burning,” Hope whispered, unable to keep the horror from her voice.
“Oh.” Irene laughed. “Come. It is safe.” She took Hope’s arm and tugged her forward. Albert had gone ahead several yards and did not even realize they had stopped. “Albert has been so clever about it. You will see. I do not know why we ever trusted that horrid Spaniard with anything. He obviously knows nothing of being rescued or he would not have been stuck here for so long. Perhaps he wants to stay. Some people are not right in the head, and this life might appeal to him. But I am quite finished with it.” Irene chattered on, her hand on Hope’s arm.
Hope had to know what they had done. She kept moving up the hill, the scent of fire growing stronger with each step.
They emerged on a flatter area, where only a few yards from the trees a strange fire burned. It looked like something out of a druid’s tale, with logs stacked upon one another to form a large box. The logs were stacked up taller than Hope’s waist, with fire burning inside, a plume of white smoke rising up.
“We have been collecting dry leaves and twigs, and a few green branches, too, to help with the smoke,” Irene said with obvious pride. Hope turned, shocked, to regard the absolute glee on her friend’s face.
“This isn’t safe,” Hope said, pointing up to the branches hanging nearly over the fire. “What if those trees should catch?”
Albert snorted. “They are far enough away. And after the rain, I doubt much would light even if they caught an ember or two.”
Hope wrapped her arms about her waist. What would Grace do? How would she diff
use the situation? Grace was forever stopping arguments and solving disputes— But Grace wasn’t here.
“This is the most idiotic thing I have ever seen,” she said, her voice steady and firm as she glared from Irene to Albert. “The sun has dried out what the rain did, and fire does not care if the earth is wet when it leaps from tree to tree. Put it out, Mr. Carlbury. Consult the others before taking such risks.”
Albert’s eyes grew dark as he stepped toward her. “Miss Everly, you have no say in the matter. I have considered our options and built this signal fire with absolute confidence in my abilities. Look.” He pointed upward where a plume of smoke rose nearly thirty feet. “A passing ship will see this.”
The white smoke made her cringe. “Will they? This is not the highest point of the island. The smoke is white, which hardly stands out against the blue of the sky or the clouds on the horizon. And while it seems large to us, ships will be miles off. How will they see it?”
“Acting as though you know things is not the same as actual intelligence,” Albert said, the last word nearly a hiss. “Do not be foolish, Grace. This will work, and then everyone will thank me. We will be off this island without the assistance of the Spaniard.”
Hope turned from him to Irene and tried to take her friend’s hand. “Irene, you must come with me. It isn’t safe—”
Irene snatched her hand back. “Staying on this hateful rock is not safe. Albert is right. We must get off the island and go home. I miss my mama and papa.”
They would not listen to her. All thoughts of confessing her identity fled, and she did the same. Hope ran down the hill to the beach, though she realized belatedly that Alejandro would be fishing to the north rather than the south. She cut back into the trees, making her own path despite the brambles that tore at her dress and the roots scraping against her feet.
Lifting her skirts higher than anyone would ever think decent, she ran through the trees, her lungs burning from the inhaled smoke and her exertion.
Saving Miss Everly: A Regency Romance (Inglewood Book 3) Page 19
