Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Help me—up—Corrie,” I whispered.

  “Is—are you hurt bad?”

  She helped me to my feet. The floor seemed to tilt and sway beneath me, but the sensation soon passed. The dizziness vanished. My head cleared. I coughed again, wincing at the pain. Corrie still had hold of my arm, her brow furrowed with concern.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said carefully. It hurt to talk, and I winced again, forcing myself to continue. “We must hurry. The gardens. Get the bundle on the—dressing—stool.”

  Corrie nodded and snatched up the bundle, and we left the room. As she paused to pick up the dress and cloak she had left in the hall, I looked back through the doorway at the man sprawled out on the carpet with arms thrown out and head turned to one side, copper hair gleaming richly. Red Nick was dead. The bloody scissors lay on the carpet nearby where Corrie had dropped them. Nicholas Lyon had loved me in his own, curiously twisted way, and that love had brought about his downfall. I looked at the body, feeling no remorse, feeling no horror, feeling nothing but relief. Corrie took my hand and I turned away. We started toward the stairs.

  I held on to the banister, still weak, trying to move as quickly as possible. Corrie moved ahead of me, my bundle and her own dress and cloak under her arm. We were perhaps halfway down when the armory went. The explosion caused the walls of the house to shake. The banister trembled under my hand. One of the huge chandeliers in the foyer crashed to the floor, shattering. The entire lower floor glowed a bright, dazzling orange. Corrie paused for only a moment, then straightened her shoulders and continued down the stairs as the glowing light grew brighter, flickering wildly, as the first explosion was followed by a dozen smaller ones like a fireworks display gone mad. At the foot of the stairs she turned and took my hand, and we hurried down the narrow hallway to the back door.

  It flew open before we reached it. Em and Jeremy Bond tore into the house with frantic expressions and stopped short when they saw us. Em took one look at me and gasped and gathered me into her arms, holding me tightly, and Jeremy Bond frowned and herded all three of us out the door and into the gardens. The noise was still deafening. We could hear loud, hysterical voices over the crackle of flames and the minor explosions as kegs of powder blew and boxes of ammunition caught fire and split open with the noise of a thousand firecrackers going off at once. The whole sky seemed to be a bright, blazing red-orange, and the gardens were as light as day as the flickering, flaming glow spread. Great clouds of smoke spilled over the house, filling the air.

  “My God!” Em cried. “What happened to you! Your jaw! Your throat! We were waiting out here in the dark, and I was getting worried and then—”

  “Later!” Jeremy Bond barked. “We’ll talk later. Right now we’ve got to get our tails out of here before that crew comes looking for us.”

  “She’s been hurt!”

  “She’s walking, isn’t she? Shut up and follow orders!”

  “Oh, he’s charming, luv,” she said spitefully. “You really can pick them, I’ll say that for you.”

  She turned to pick up a large bundle from beneath one of the shrubs, and as she did so a tall, powerfully built man with straight golden-brown hair and stern brown eyes came rushing around the side of the house, his leather jerkin flapping open, a pistol in his hand. Corrie stiffened. Em clutched her bundle and gave a shrill scream. Jeremy Bond looked relieved, motioning for the man to join us.

  “Damn!” the man yelled. “When you do it, Jeremy-boy, you do it big!”

  “What are you doing here, Randolph? I thought I ordered everyone to meet on the beach.”

  “I know you did, lad, but I finished settin’ up the explosives in the warehouse and figured you might be needin’ a little help up here. I started up the road toward the stockade, got halfway up when the damn thing blew. The front of the place flew apart, stones hurtlin’ in every direction. Flames shot up in the air, lickin’ the sky.”

  “Who’s he?” Em demanded.

  Jeremy ignored her. “Since you’re here, Randolph, you can give me some help with the women. We have to get them over the wall and down to the beach.”

  “Happy to,” Randolph retorted. “We’d best hurry it up, lad. The courtyard is swarmin’ with pirates. No one paid any attention to me as I passed—too much confusion, guess they thought I was one of ’em—but some of ’em are bound to come back here any minute now.”

  Jeremy Bond nodded tersely and scooped me up into his arms and started moving toward the trees. I clung to him, my arms wrapped around his shoulders. Randolph slung an arm around Em’s waist and took Corrie by the wrist and hurried them after us. Em protested vehemently, struggling to break loose and informing him in no uncertain terms that she could walk unaided. Randolph merely grinned, tightening his hold and dragging her along. I closed my eyes, beginning to feel dizzy again, growing weaker by the second. I rested my head against the side of Jeremy Bond’s neck and breathed in his musky odor, feeling I was in the middle of a nightmare that would never end. He carried me up the stairs and along the walkway and then set me down gently beside one of the cannons. Randolph brought Em and Corrie up, holding both of them firmly as the sky glared orange and great billows of smoke filled the air.

  “You can let go of me now!” Em snapped. “I’m not a baby!”

  “You’re a saucy wench, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t like being manhandled by a great brute like you!”

  “My name’s Randolph, Dick Randolph. You can call me Randy.”

  “I’ll bet you are,” she retorted.

  “Get ’em down,” Jeremy ordered.

  “Come on, Saucy,” Randolph said cheerfully. “You’re first.”

  Before Em could protest he bent down and wrapped his arms around her legs and slung her across his shoulders as though she were a sack of corn meal. Em let out a shriek and clutched her bundle. It rattled noisily as Randolph took hold of the rope tied around the base of the cannon and leaped over the side of the wall. Em continued to shriek as he scrambled down and deposited her on the ground. Jeremy held me in his arms. I felt faint, so weak I could hardly keep my eyes open. Randolph scrambled back up the wall and spoke very gently to Corrie. She nodded meekly and wrapped her dress and cloak over my bundle, holding them firmly as he picked her up and carried her over the wall.

  “I—I’m so sleepy,” I said. “I can’t make it, Jeremy. You’ll have to go without me. I—just—can’t—make it.”

  “You’re going to be fine, lass.”

  I closed my eyes, reeling, and I felt him sling me over his shoulder as Randolph had slung Em, but it seemed to be happening to someone else. I seemed to sway in midair as he moved slowly, carefully down the wall, one arm wrapped tightly around my legs, holding onto the rope with his free hand. He must be terribly strong, I thought, and then I seemed to be swallowed up by darkness, sinking into a blessed oblivion.

  I opened my eyes later and saw trees and rocks and was vaguely aware that we were moving downhill toward the beach. I was nestled in his arms. He carried me lightly, easily, as though I weighed nothing at all. I sighed, closing my eyes again, swimming in darkness. Then I stirred and saw that we were on the beach. Several other men had joined us, and they all seemed to be talking at once. Three boats rocked on the sloshing waves. Em and Corrie were already sitting in one, Em having a spirited conversation with Randolph who stood waist-high in the water, steadying the boat. Moonlight shimmered, and in the distance the red glow spread over the top of the island. Jeremy Bond looked down at me, a worried frown creasing his brow.

  “I’m perfectly all right,” I told him. “I’m just sleepy.”

  “Of course you are, lass. Of course.”

  “Don’t humor me. I’m not a child.”

  “We’ll just get you in the boat, lass. You’ll be fine.”

  He carried me through the water and set me down beside Em. She gathered me to her, stroking my hair.

  “Delayed shock,” Jeremy told her. “She’ll rally in a little while.”


  I heard them talking about me, and then I heard the slap of oars in the water. The boat rocked pleasantly, and I rested my head against Em’s shoulder. Later, much later, I sat up and brushed the hair out of my eyes, acutely aware of the cold. My head was perfectly clear. Em sat beside me, her arm around me, and Corrie huddled on the other side, stroking my hand. Randolph was sitting at one end of the boat, Jeremy at the other, both rowing in strong, steady unison. An icy wind blew across the water, chilling me to the bone.

  “How are you feeling?” Em asked.

  “Not too marvelous,” I replied. “I’ll survive.”

  “Corrie told me what happened, luv.”

  “It’s over now,” I said. “It’s all behind us.”

  Silvery strands of reflected moonlight danced on the dark water, and there was a heavy haze in the air. I could see another long rowboat up ahead of us, and, turning, I saw another behind. Far, far in the distance I could see glowing orange light as fires burned on the island. We must have come at least halfway, I thought, turning back around and gathering the folds of the cloak around my shoulders.

  “They blew up every single ship in the harbor,” Em told me, “all the warehouses as well. The whole island’s aflame now. It looks like Red Nick’s men are out of business—those that survived. Did you get your jewelry, luv?”

  I nodded. “It’s in a bag, strapped around my waist.”

  “Mine, too,” she said, “and I’ve got some other things in my bundle. Randolph gave me a lot of trouble about the bundle, said it was too bulky and heavy. I told him to take a flying leap. He’s something, that one, stubborn as a mule—and strong as an ox. I think I’m in love.”

  “You talkin’ about me?” Randolph barked.

  “Never you mind, luv,” she called gaily.

  The haze grew thicker, billowing across the boat in foggy clouds. The wind blew vigorously. Spumes of icy spray splattered us as the men continued to row. The boat rocked precariously, bouncing on the waves. I looked over my shoulder, but I could no longer see the island, nor could I see the boat that had been behind us. I huddled between Em and Corrie, shivering as needles of spray stung my cheeks and wet my cloak. We had survived the island and its horrors. We were on our way back to civilization at last. As the wind grew stronger and large, angry waves slashed the side of the boat, I prayed we would make it.

  BOOK THREE

  The Rogue

  Twenty

  The wind stopped abruptly, so abruptly that it was startling. One minute the waves were hitting the sides of the boat, spraying us thoroughly, and the next the boat was rocking gently from side to side and the water was still. I was vastly relieved, but there was a worried look on Jeremy Bond’s face. Through the fine cloud of haze I could see a deep furrow above the bridge of his nose. His mouth was set in a tight line. He looked over my head at Randolph.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “I don’t like it either, Jeremy-boy. Not a bit.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “The wind’s stopped blowing.”

  “That’s just it, lass,” Randolph said.

  “Jesus, you two are scaring me,” Em exclaimed. “I don’t like the tone you’re using. Are we going to sink?”

  “How far to the cove?” Jeremy asked.

  “A mile, maybe, maybe a mile and a half.”

  “I think we’d better head for shore, Randolph.”

  “Aye, it might be a good idea.”

  “Will you two please tell us what’s going on!” Em snapped.

  “Maybe nothin’,” Randolph retorted, “nothin’ for you to get all stirred up about. You just sit there and keep that saucy tongue still for a few minutes while we row to shore.”

  “We’ll probably be eaten by cannibals!”

  “Hush, Em,” I warned.

  Jeremy Bond straightened his shoulders, took a firm grip on the oars and dipped them into the water. Randolph did the same, and the boat turned in the water, pointing toward the shore which was barely visible, a dark line in the darkness which, I realized, was gradually lightening. The haze swirled and lifted, thinning out. There was no sound whatsoever except the splash of oars dipping into water. Everything was still, frighteningly still. It was almost as though the earth were holding its breath, I thought, apprehensive now as the men rowed with grim determination.

  “I’m getting a queasy feeling,” Em observed. “I’ll feel much better when we’re on dry land.”

  “So will I.”

  Corrie looked up at us, silent, stoic, refusing to show the alarm I knew she must be feeling. Only a few minutes ago I had been shivering as icy wind assailed us, and now I felt warm. The sudden change in temperature was as disturbing as the abrupt stillness. The haze lifted, evaporating quickly, and a curious opal light began to seep through the semi-darkness. I realized that it was almost dawn. Layers of darkness melted away, revealing a sky the color of slate, deep, deep gray stained with the strange opal light that should have been pink and gold.

  The oars struck bottom. Jeremy Bond climbed out of the boat, took hold of it, and began to pull us toward the beach. Randolph joined him, and a few moments later the bottom of the boat scraped on sand. Em grabbed her bundle and held it tightly as Randolph clamped his hands about her waist and heaved her out of the boat, setting her on the beach. She brushed her skirts and gave him a hateful look. He grinned, then turned to help Corrie out. Jeremy Bond reached for my hand, clasping it firmly. I climbed out and stood beside Corrie and Em. Jeremy picked up the remaining bundle.

  “We’d better drag the boat over there behind those trees,” he said, “and then we’d best hunt for shelter.”

  “Bound to be a cave or gully or somethin’,” Randolph replied, taking hold of one side of the boat.

  They dragged the boat toward the trees. The haze had vanished entirely. The dark opal light continued to spread over the dark gray sky. The water was dark gray, too, faintly tinged with green, perfectly still it seemed, barely lapping the shore. Not a breeze stirred, the air pressing down with almost physical force, so sultry I could feel sweat beginning to dampen my dress between my shoulder blades. I removed my cloak and took the bundle from Corrie, tying the cloak around it.

  “It’s going to storm,” she said. “It’s going to storm bad.”

  “How can you tell, luv?” Em asked.

  “I seen it like this once before, when I was with Miz Henrietta. We was on the plantation near the coast and the air stopped breathing and everything grew still like it is now. The sky turned dark, like now, and there was that funny purple light. Mister Dale, he was the foreman, he got us all down into the storm cellar quick.”

  Em sat down on a piece of driftwood, spreading her pale blue cotton skirt out, revealing the ruffled petticoats beneath. “Just what we need,” she said wryly, “a bloody storm.”

  “It was a hurricane, Miz Em. It done—did ever so much damage, uprooted trees and picked houses up and blew ’em away. There was a tidal wave, too, and land was flooded, shacks and chicken coops under water.”

  “I’m feeling cheerier and cheerier, luv. Keep talking.”

  The men returned. Their faces were grim indeed. Jeremy Bond stepped over to the edge of the water and slanted a palm across his forehead, peering up and down the shoreline, looking for another rowboat.

  “No sign of ’em,” he told Randolph. “I’m worried, Randolph. Those waves were pretty choppy, and there’re a lot of rocks in these waters. The fog was so thick you couldn’t see a foot in front of you.”

  “Them boys aren’t stupid, lad. When the goin’ got rough, they headed for shore, probably a lot sooner ’n we did. They’ll turn up.”

  “I hope so. I feel responsible for those men.”

  “I know, lad, but right now we gotta worry about our own skins, and judgin’ from the light I don’t reckon we have a helluva lot of time to dally.”

  “You’re right, of course:”

  Those blue eyes, usually so merry, were dark with concern a
s he turned to us. He was wearing tall brown boots and a pair of tan corduroy breeches that had faded to a light pinkish-orange. Beneath the fringed brown buckskin jacket he wore a thin white cotton shirt opened at the throat. An orange-red bandana was knotted around his neck, ends flapping over his lapel, and a leather holster hung from his belt, the butt of his pistol pushing the tail of his jacket up at one side. He bore very little resemblance to the foppishly attired dandy I had known in New Orleans.

  “Are we going to have a hurricane?” Em asked.

  “We’re likely to have a bit of wind, a spot of rain,” Randolph told her, “but don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. We’ll find us some place snug and cozy, and you and I can get to know each other better.”

  “That won’t be any treat for me, luv, I can assure you. I’ve rarely seen an uglier lout in all my born days.”

  “You’re joshin’ me, gal. I’m as good lookin’ as they come. Why, the women fall all over me, can’t fight ’em off.”

  Em got up from the piece of driftwood and picked up her bundle. “There’s no accounting for taste,” she snapped.

  Dick Randolph grinned. With his square jaw and broad, flat cheekbones he was far from good-looking, but there was a merry curl to his mouth and his dark brown eyes were merry, too. Thick golden-brown hair flopped over his forehead in unruly waves, and there was a tiny crescent-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, pale pink against his tan complexion. Tall, lean, powerfully built with massive shoulders, he exuded brute strength and casual self-confidence. I suspected that his easygoing amiability could be quite misleading to any enemy he might encounter.

  “Come along, gal,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll lead the way.”

  Em sighed and put on a martyred expression that fooled no one, Randolph least of all. He gave her a tight squeeze and led her toward the trees. Corrie picked up the bundle tied up in cloaks and followed them. I turned, looking at Jeremy Bond with a tight feeling inside. I knew he was terribly upset about the other men, and I felt it was all my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, they would all be safely in New Orleans at this very moment. Although neither Jeremy nor Randolph had voiced it, I was sure both of them considered it likely that one or both the boats had either crashed on the rocks or capsized in the heavy fog and tumultuous waves.