Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  Jeremy seemed to read my thoughts. He stepped across the sand toward me and took my hand.

  “It’s going to be all right, lass,” he said quietly. “The men are probably heading for shelter at this very minute, probably rowed to shore as soon as the fog grew thick.”

  “How many men were there?”

  “Ten—no, nine, Cates was killed on the island. They’re all right. We’ll meet ’em at the cove as soon as this storm blows over. That’s a nasty bruise you’ve got there on your jaw. How does it feel?”

  “It doesn’t hurt much. It’s a little sore.”

  “And your throat?”

  “I’m fine, Jeremy.”

  “I should never have let you go back to the house.”

  “I insisted. Remember? I was quite stubborn about it.”

  “You were stubborn, all right. Lippy, too, if I recall.”

  He smiled. It was a beautiful smile that made something melt inside of me. I looked up at his handsome face, the slightly twisted nose saving it from being too handsome, too perfect. I wanted to place my finger over that deep cleft in his chin, wanted to run my fingertips over those broad, smooth cheekbones. His rich, unruly brown hair was thick and silky, spilling over his brow, his eyes so very blue, so vivid and lively, filled now with feeling I had so rarely seen in the eyes of any man.

  “I—I never thanked you,” I said.

  “Matter of fact, you didn’t.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy. I had just about given up hope.”

  “You should have known I’d come. You should have known I’d eventually find out what happened and come for you.”

  “I never thought I’d see you again. After that night in the gardens I didn’t think you’d give me another thought.”

  “I meant everything I said that night, Marietta.”

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to discuss it, not yet, perhaps not ever. I was grateful to Jeremy Bond, more grateful than words could ever express, but I had no intention of deluding myself that the gratitude I felt could ever develop into anything else. He was charming, yes, looking at me now with tender blue eyes and a softly curving mouth, virile in his buckskin jacket and faded corduroy breeches, the red-orange bandana tied around his neck, but I wasn’t going to succumb to that charm, that potent male allure. I intended to keep my guard up at all times, for my own protection.

  Once again, he seemed to read my thoughts. His smile widened, and he shook his head, eyes atwinkle.

  “You intend to fight it, I see.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said stiffly.

  “Ah, lass, you’re exasperating, the most exasperating female I’ve ever encountered, but fortunately I’m a patient man. With a lass like you a man has to be patient—or else resort to rape.”

  “I’ll sleep with you, Jeremy, if that’s what you want.”

  My voice was cold and deliberate, my manner aloof. He didn’t like that at all. His mouth tightened, and there was a glint of anger in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to strike me.

  “You will, lass,” he said sternly, “but of your own accord, because you want it as much as I. I shan’t take advantage of you—of your gratitude, nor shall I press you. I’m going to make you see what’s in your own heart, and when you do, you’ll come to me without hesitation.”

  “That day will never come, Jeremy.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, and I met his look with a level gaze, my chin held high. I had long since pulled my hand from his, and I reached up to brush a heavy copper-red wave from my temple. He clearly wanted to say something more, but he instead sighed heavily, turning to glance up at the sky.

  “I shan’t argue with you, Marietta. We haven’t the time right now. It’s going to start blowing like hell in just a few minutes, and we’ve got to find shelter.”

  He took hold of my elbow and led me toward the trees, holding me loosely but firmly, guiding me around a clump of driftwood. His moment of anger had passed, and our conversation might never have occurred. He was completely relaxed, moving in that long, bouncy stride that I had some difficulty keeping up with. The beach was soon behind us and we were moving quickly through the trees. The ground was wet and spongy, giving beneath our feet. This was marshland, cypress and willows in profusion, the whole area, as I was to discover, riddled with small lakes and narrow, greenish-brown rivers that snaked sluggishly along, twisting in every direction.

  We soon caught up with Corrie and Em and Randolph. Randolph had Em’s bundle slung over his shoulder, one arm curled around her waist. The bundle still rattled noisily. I wondered what all she had managed to snatch up in those frantic ten minutes before she hurried to the gardens. Corrie trudged along calmly behind them, still wearing a stoical expression. I relieved her of my bundle and gave her a reassuring smile. She smiled back, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was so exhausted she could hardly walk, no doubt still reliving the nightmare of that final hour on the island.

  We waded through a river not more than twelve feet wide, the water no higher than midcalf, willows lining it thickly on either side, and, beyond it, the land began to slope upward somewhat. We passed a large clearing with long wooden poles driven into the ground in circular clusters, pulled together at the top to form oval frameworks. Sheets of mothy animal skin hung over part of one of them, and I realized they had been huts. In the center of each framework there was a deep hole surrounded by rocks and filled with charred wood. The clearing was littered with dried gourds and strangely shaped vessels and pots covered with a rocky white substance Jeremy identified as asphaltum, but by far the most striking sight was the enormous pile of shells. It must have been at least ten feet in circumference and seven feet high at its highest point.

  “Jesus!” Em exclaimed, holding close to Randolph. “What—what is this place?”

  “Karankawa village,” he replied, “or at least it was until a short while ago.”

  “Karankawa! Aren’t they the cannibals!”

  “Don’t get yourself all riled up, gal. They’re gone. The Karankawas are a migratory tribe, rarely stay in one spot more ’n a few weeks at a time. They move about from place to place, stay as long as the food is plentiful, and when it begins to give out they pick up and move again.”

  “What are those shells?” she asked.

  “Oyster shells, from the looks of ’em. There must have been a big bed of ’em nearby.”

  “I thought they ate people.”

  “They eat whatever’s at hand,” he said teasingly, “fish, roots, berries, the occasional deer, the occasional white man.”

  “That’s not funny!”

  Randolph chuckled, and we moved on, passing through a heavy grove of cedar trees. The ground seemed firmer here. The sky overhead was almost completely opal colored now, dense, opaque, hardly a patch of gray showing, and it was so sultry that all of us were sweating freely. Jeremy was beginning to look worried again, his mouth tight, his eyes grim. Em let out a wild shriek as something dropped out of a tree and slithered across the pathway. Randolph held her close, chuckling again. She kicked him viciously in the shin, whereupon he let out a yell that startled birds and sent them flapping out of trees in a great cloud. Em smiled, extremely pleased with herself.

  “Here, minx!” he said angrily, slinging the bundle at her. “Carry your own bloody loot. It weighs a ton!”

  “I love a gentleman,” she remarked, heaving the bundle over her shoulder with considerable effort.

  “I’ll carry it, Miz Em,” Corrie said.

  “No you won’t, luv. It does weigh a ton. Those bloody candlesticks. I should have left them, but they’re solid silver. Six pairs.”

  Up ahead, through the trees, we Could see a hillside covered with trees and great gray rocks. Halfway up there was a large, gaping hole, the entrance to a small cave. Jeremy urged us to move faster, and we stumbled on, Em bent almost double under the weight of her bundle. After a short while Randolph grimaced, shook his head, and took it away
from her, slinging it back across his broad, muscular shoulder. She gave him a lovely smile.

  I stepped on a rock and lost my balance. Jeremy Bond seized my arm, steadying me, and as he did so there was a rumbling noise in the distance, like no thunder I had ever heard before. It sounded as though a gigantic iron roller was rumbling over the earth, flattening everything in its pathway. The ground seemed to shift under our feet as the rumbling continued, growing louder. The wind began to blow, singing through the treetops, mildly at first, the breeze a pleasant relief after the oppressive heat. I felt light drops of moisture as a cool scattering of raindrops sprinkled over us. In a matter of seconds the wind was blowing fiercely, howling, howling like a banshee, and the rain pelted us in swirling sheets.

  “The cave!” Jeremy shouted. “We’ve got to make the cave!”

  We were running now, the wind at our backs, pushing us forward like an invisible giant bent on smashing us to the ground, the rain swirling, blinding us as we rushed toward the hillside. Corrie slipped, but she didn’t fall. She flew forward, feet off the ground, arms flailing at her sides, her skirts billowing up over her legs. Em screamed as Corrie crashed to the ground. Jeremy rushed forward, picked the girl up and said something to Randolph. Randolph nodded and scooped Em up into his arms and started running. Jeremy set Corrie back down and came toward me, his buckskin jacket flapping wildly as he struggled against the wind.

  “What are you going to do!” I yelled as he seized my arm.

  “You’ll have to trust me, lass!”

  He quickly untied the bandana from around his neck and tied one end of it around my right wrist. The rain pelted us with the force of bullets, and we could hardly stand. Corrie, crouched on the ground, seemed to skid as the wind slammed against her. Jeremy tightened the knot around my wrist and then pulled me over to the trunk of a tree.

  “No!” I cried.

  “Trust me! I’ll be back for you!”

  He forced both my arms around the trunk of the tree and tied the other end of the bandana around my left wrist and left me trussed up there, hugging the rough trunk of the tree. The wind tore at my skirts and hair as I turned my head to watch him scoop Corrie up and carry her off after Em and Randolph. The wind howled with the sound of a thousand demons, and limbs began to break off and fly through the air. They were gone now and I was alone, tied to the tree that shook and trembled and seemed intent on uprooting itself. A limb from another tree came hurtling toward me, crashing against the trunk only a few inches above my head.

  The world had gone mad. The elements raged. The air was full of flying debris and rain, rain that crashed down in solid sheets of gray, great waves of wetness that slammed against me and turned the ground into mud. The noise was horrendous, the howling wind, the crashing rain, the shrieking of wood splintering. A thunderbolt darted from the sky, splitting the air with silver fury. It slammed into a tree only a few yards away from me. There was a great cloud of smoke and a burst of searing flames, and the tree split in two, splintering apart with a tearing, shrieking noise that was like a demented wail.

  Lightning struck again, and again, and a limb overhead split and flew into the air. I saw flames explode over my head, flaring quickly, doused immediately by the rain. I clung to the tree, my eyes closed now, my cheek resting against the rough bark. I could feel the trunk swaying, swaying, straining against the wind, and I knew that in just a matter of minutes it was going to snap in two and I would be torn apart as well. I was drenched from head to toe, and still the great waves slashed against me, pounding my body. The wind continued to scream, shriller and shriller, and the rumbling grew louder as the giant roller drew nearer, crushing everything.

  I prayed they had made it to the cave. I was going to die, I knew that, but perhaps the others had made it to safety in time. A tremendous gust hit the tree and the tree swayed, roots tearing from the ground, and I was picked up and thrown into the air and would have been blown away had my wrists not been tied. I slammed back against the trunk with an impact that knocked the breath out of me, and there was a painful slap against my thigh as the heavy bag of jewelry hit against flesh with bruising force. I held on, eyes closed still, waiting for the inevitable.

  Great roots had been pulled out of the ground. The tree was at an angle now, and I was no longer standing. I was swaying, held only by that tightly knotted bandana. Sheets of rain slammed against me, and water rose, swirling above my ankles, above my calves. If I wasn’t torn free and blown away, flying to a shattering, splintering death as I crashed against tree trunks and rocks, I would surely drown, tied here, helpless as the water rose, whirling higher by the second, coating my skirt and legs with mud. Another limb tore free above my head, sailing away, and bolts of lightning flashed all around like jagged silver serpents striking with venomous force.

  I was going to die. I faced the fact with curious objectivity, beyond terror as I swayed from the trunk that tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. More roots pulled free and the tilt grew lower and I dropped down into the raging water that was waist-high, rushing in torrents that would have carried me off were I not tied. Minutes passed, hours, it seemed, and reality faded and I was in the middle of a howling, shrieking, pounding nightmare that would never end. My mind seemed to quicken and spin, and images flashed with dizzying speed and vivid color.

  I saw an auction block and two men, one tall and stern with hard features and gray eyes and black hair, the other lean, lounging against a tree, his blond hair all atumble. They were bidding for me, both of them. Then I saw a wagon and a run-down plantation house and Derek Hawke was delirious from snakebite and I was smoothing his brow. I looked into his eyes and they turned from gray to dark brown, and Jeff Rawlins was teasing me as we organized a ball in the gambling hall in New Orleans. I shook my head to clear it, and I saw oak trees and mist and saw the pistols and heard the shot and Jeff fell to the ground and I hurried toward him and he looked at me with the harsh brutal face of Helmut Schnieder and I was in the mansion at Natchez, Roseclay, and it was burning and he was laughing, pulling on my wrists, pulling them apart.

  “Let go of me!” I screamed. “Let go!”

  “Easy, lass! I’ve got to untie you!”

  I opened my eyes and saw his face only a few inches away from mine as he struggled to untie the bandana. His brown hair plastered over his skull in thick, wet locks and splayed across his forehead, and his mouth was set in a determined line and his blue eyes were determined, too. I shook my head, trying to tell him it was useless, unable to speak as my legs kicked in the rushing water, skirts weighing me down, pulling me. He caught hold of my arm and held it tightly as my other arm swung free, the bandana still tied around my wrist. The suction of the water pulled me away from him, but he held on, somehow he held on. It seemed my arm was going to be pulled out of its socket as he drew me toward him, gathering me in his arms.

  He was standing. Legs spread wide, he was standing in the raging waters that rushed violently, swirling with debris, threatening to carry us both away. He looked into my eyes, and his own were calm, deliberately calm, reassuring me and warning me not to panic. He held me tightly, so tightly I felt certain my ribs would crack. Over the shrieking wind and pounding rain I heard him tell me to wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold on fast. He was yelling directly into my ear, yet I could hardly hear him over the nightmare din, and I didn’t try to answer. I merely obeyed.

  He swung me around and ducked and for a brief instant both of us were under water as he moved beneath the trunk of the tree I had been tied to only moments before. He pulled me up and I coughed, water spilling from both of us as he half-walked, half-swam away from the tree. There was a great, groaning noise as the trunk tilted more and roots tore free. The trunk fell into the water with a great splash and immediately swirled away, banging against the sides of other trees, limbs splintering, shattering. Had Jeremy Bond not arrived when he had I would have been crushed to death, every bone in my body broken.

  Jeremy wrapped one arm aro
und me, reached with the other and caught hold of a tree trunk and pulled with all his might. I held on to him, knowing it was futile, knowing we would never make the cave. He let go of the tree trunk and took another step, his foot slipping, then holding, his legs trembling as he took yet another step and then another. The water was up to his thighs and any moment now his legs would give way and both of us would go cascading to our deaths. A bolt of lightning struck. Half a tree crashed into the water directly in front of us. Jeremy caught hold of it, swung it around and let go. It swirled away.

  He could have saved himself, and he had come back for me. Now both of us would die. He claimed to love me. He must. He must love me. He had risked his life and the lives of all his men in order to rescue me from the island, and now he was risking his life again and we would die together. I had wanted to die before. Before, after Derek was murdered, I had longed for death, but now, as those strong arms held me pinioned tightly against that muscular chest, as the wind shrieked and the rain slashed and treetops swayed and broke and limbs flew into the air, I wanted desperately to live, if only to thank this man for all he had done. I clung to him, my face buried in his neck, and I could feel every muscle in his body straining as he continued to move through the torrential waters.

  It was no longer waist-high. It was up to his knees now. How far had we come? How much more could he endure? His knees were growing weak from the effort. I could feel them give slightly as he struggled upward. Yes, upward, he was climbing now, moving up that first gentle slope of the hillside. I lifted my head and through the raging gray sheets of rain it seemed I could see someone moving toward us. Jeremy called out and took another step. I felt him sway violently as his right leg slipped, and he fell face forward, his arms flying out instinctively to break the fall.