by Burton, Mary
Bounding down the stairs, he dashed across the yard to the lightkeeper’s cottage. He burst through the back door, expecting to see her in the kitchen brewing a pot of tea or sitting at the table mending one of his shirts.
She wasn’t in the kitchen. He hurried through the house calling her name. He pushed open the door to his bedroom. Nothing. The sheets were still rumpled from their lovemaking, but she’d vanished.
Rachel was gone.
He crossed the room and touched the sheets. Just hours ago they’d lain between these sheets making love. Her scent still clung to them.
He remembered how she’d touched him last night. How she’d whispered words of love in his ear. The fervor in her words hadn’t been a lie. Rachel did love him.
The image of Rachel’s bruised face slashed across his mind. The rage that had pumped so hot and fast gave way to a bone-crushing sadness. Only an animal would put that kind of a mark on a woman.
His shoulders sagging, he sat on the edge of the bed.
Small wonder she hadn’t trusted him. He fisted a handful of bedsheet in his hand as he pictured her living with a man like that, the spirit and fire draining out of her day by day.
God help her, she’d had the courage to run. She’d survived the shipwreck and had forged a new life here in a village so foreign to her old life. Even when the others hadn’t wanted her, she’d stayed. Long shadows cut across the stairway.
And he’d sent her away.
Memories of her haunted him. He remembered the days he’d watched her hanging sheets on the lines as the wind whipped her skirts around her ankles. The night she’d danced at the wedding reception, laughing as she moved expertly through the dances. And most vivid, the look of surprised pleasure when she’d climaxed last night.
He couldn’t imagine himself loving another woman as he did Rachel.
Save for the clock ticking in the hallway and the wind blowing outside, a deadly quite shrouded the house.
He pictured the rest of his life without Rachel—alone, manning the light, living among the villagers as they married and moved on with their lives.
An unbearable sadness settled on his shoulders.
Rachel had become a part of him—the half that made him whole.
Ben had to find her.
And prayed she would forgive him.
Rachel’s heart slammed against her ribs. Peter! “How did you find me?”
He wrapped his long, smooth hands around her neck and pulled her back against his chest. His lips brushed her ear. “Forever and always.”
“The ring. The captain.”
He nipped her ear with his teeth. “He’s a hearty sea captain, who knows how to survive. Though when I alert my men in Washington, he will find himself at the bottom of the Potomac River now.”
“You’re going to kill him.”
“You know how I hate untidiness. Besides, he was a greedy sort. And I know his kind. He’d have been back for more money one day, threatening to expose your flight and embarrass me.”
He spun her around and grabbed her hand. He smoothed his soft hand over hers. “Calluses? You’ve debased yourself in too many ways, my dear.”
She snatched her hand back. “I’ve learned that I can work and take care of myself.”
“You’ve grown too bold.”
“I’ve found myself.”
“You’ve grown a spine since we last saw each other. But don’t worry, by the time I am done with you, you will be quite biddable.”
“Never again.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, he pulled the ring from his pocket. He shoved the ring on her finger, tearing and scratching her flesh. He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed hard. “Until death us do part, Rachel.”
Her finger burned. The stones cut into her flesh. “I hate you. I’d rather die than return to Washington with you.”
The lighthouse beacon flashed on the path.
Peter laughed. “Funny you should say that. I hadn’t considered taking you back to Washington.”
Cold fear shot through her body. “What have you got planned?”
An unholy pleasure gleamed in his stark blue eyes. She could feel his arousal pressing against her. “You’re nothing like the woman who left me. Coarse, unrefined, a tramp. And your beautiful hair.” He ran his hand over the shorter tresses. Shivers snaked down her spine. “You shouldn’t have cut it.” He wrenched her arm behind her back, making her wince. “No, you aren’t going back to Washington with me. I’ve got more creative ideas about what to do with you.”
She forced herself to lift her chin. She’d never beg. “What are you going to do, Peter?”
“First, we are going to find a nice, quiet and very secluded spot. Then I’m going to teach you a lesson about disobedience.” He glanced around the barren countryside. “I can see why you chose this place to hide. It’s so wonderfully secluded. We shouldn’t have any trouble finding privacy. Now, be a good girl and come along with me. I promise to make your death quick.”
She jerked back, surprising him enough that she freed one hand. “I won’t make this easy for you.”
Anger warmed her blood. How dare he come back into her life and threaten her? In their marriage, she’d given in to his brutality. But no more. She’d die fighting.
Peter pulled a rope from his coat pocket. “I’d hoped you’d say that.”
He yanked her forward with surprising strength. He tied the rope around her first wrist. The rope cut into her skin.
Survival instincts took over. If he got the rope around her wrists, she’d be helpless. And by daybreak she’d be dead.
Rachel raised her booted foot and drove her heel into his shin. The unexpected pain made him fumble with the rope. Peter cursed. He reached for her hair, but underestimated the length. She skirted forward out of his reach.
“Bitch!” he shouted. “You are going to pay for that very dearly.”
She had no doubt death at his hands would be slow and painful. She stumbled forward and started to run. He snatched at her skirts. Fabric ripped. She screamed and yanked free.
The beacon flashed.
Rachel glanced up toward the lighthouse. Ben. She had to find him. She started to run down the path.
Peter growled his frustration and started after her. His feet pounded the dirt path.
She’d traveled the path hundreds of times in the past few weeks and she’d come to learn every root and every hole. Even with little moonlight she dodged the protruding roots and sandy holes.
Peter was faster, but he didn’t know the path. He stripped, hitting the ground hard.
“Rachel,” he screeched.
The pure evil in his voice rattled her. She stumbled but didn’t fall. She kept running. Her side ached and her legs cramped, but she kept moving.
Rachel reached the base of the lighthouse and ran up the five steps to the open door. She didn’t question why the door that Ben always kept closed was open. She ran inside and slammed the door shut. She fumbled with the bolt but her trembling hands couldn’t budge it. Outside, she heard Peter running toward her, calling her name.
“Ben!” she shouted as she tried to move the latch.
No answer.
“Ben, please! Help me.”
Silence.
Abandoning the door, she ran past the oil reserve tanks to the base of the winding staircase. She glanced up the spiral, praying Ben waited at the top. She screamed his name again. Where are you? She started to climb.
Ben had just reached the back porch of the cottage when he heard a man scream Rachel’s name. In the moonlight he saw the shadowy figure reach the lighthouse door. The figure hesitated and looked back at Ben before he burst through the door.
Rachel’s muffled scream echoed from the tower before the door slammed shut.
Panic exploded in his chest.
Ben ran to the lighthouse. He vaulted up the brick steps of the base two at a time and reached for the door. It was locked.
Rachel’s head swam by
the time she reached the top of the lighthouse. Her side ached and sweat ran down her back. She glanced down the spiral staircase and saw Peter. He’d found a lantern and lit it. He’d climbed halfway up the stairs.
In that instant he stopped and glanced up at her. Lantern light glowed off his pale features contorted with rage and excitement. He enjoyed this. “You are trapped now.
“The lightkeeper isn’t up there. I saw him running across the lawn. He looked quite worried.” He started to climb the stairs. This time he didn’t hurry. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Rachel,” he said.
Outside, she heard Ben pounding on the door, shouting her name.
Tears welled in Rachel’s eyes. She pressed the heel of her hand into her eyes. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
She glanced around the oval room that housed the oil tanks that powered the lenses. She needed a weapon. There was nothing except a heavy metal bucket Ben used to haul supplies up the stairs. She grabbed the bucket and ran toward the smaller staircase leading to the room that housed the tall lights. Sucking in a breath, she forced her muscles to work. She climbed the last ten steps to the light chamber.
The bright light flashed.
“Rachel!” Peter’s voice sounded close. He’d reached the chamber below.
Taking her bucket, she went outside to the crow’s nest. The wind blew hard. She glanced over the low railing and saw Ben below. He hammered the door with an anvil.
Rachel’s hands were slick with sweat and she backed away from the door that led from the light chamber.
Peter’s fine leather shoes echoed in the chamber. She took in a breath and forced herself to stop. Her heart pounded in her chest, mingling with the sound of Ben’s hammer.
Peter moved closer. “Killing you is going to be a sweat pleasure.”
From inside the lighthouse, a loud crash sounded as the door below banged open and slammed against the wall.
Ben.
Peter chuckled. “Seems your hero is almost here. You know what? I think I’m going to share the pleasure of your death with your lover. I’ll make him watch as I bleed the life from your body. Then I’m going to kill him.”
Anger gave Rachel courage. Peter was a monster. And he had to be stopped here and now before he hurt anyone she cared about. She lifted the bucket over her head.
Peter stepped out onto the crow’s nest.
Rachel swung the bucket and hit him in the head as hard as she could. He stumbled toward the railing, clutching the bleeding side of his head. She ran toward him and pushed him.
His arms flayed as he tried to catch himself. His gaze locked briefly on hers. And then he fell two hundred feet to the ground below.
Ben heard a man’s scream as he dashed up the last few steps to the crow’s nest. He peered over the edge of the railing. Below lay the man he’d seen chasing Rachel. He lay on his back, his limbs and neck twisted. He was dead.
He found Rachel squatting, her back against the lighthouse. Her eyes were squeezed tight and her arms wrapped around her chest. Tears streaked her face.
He went to her and touched her shoulder. Her eyes flew open as she raised her fists. She started to strike out blindly. He absorbed her first blows before he captured her wrists. “Rachel, it’s Ben.”
She continued to struggle. “I won’t die. I won’t let you kill me.”
Ben wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against his chest. “Rachel, it’s Ben. Everything is going to be all right.”
A shudder passed through her body. Her muscles relaxed. “Ben?”
“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me.”
“Where is Peter?” She strained against him. “I saw him fall.”
He loosened his hold “He went over the side. He’s dead. You don’t want to look.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She pulled away from him and staggered to her feet. “I need to see. I need to know that he is truly dead.”
“Rachel don’t.”
She didn’t hear him. “I have to go.”
He followed her down the long twisting staircase. He stayed right behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. But her steps were quick and deliberate as she hurried down the last steps, across the tiled floor and out the door.
He trailed behind her as she went around the side to Peter’s body. She stared at it for several long minutes, as if she couldn’t believe it. Then she yanked off her ring and tossed it on Peter’s body.
Ben came behind her. He laid his hands on her shoulders. She flinched and pulled away. He felt so helpless. “It’s over, Rachel. He is gone. You are free.”
Rachel faced Ben. Her face looked so pale in the moonlight. “Free. I never believed I’d ever be free.”
“Let me take you home,” he said, holding out his hand to her.
She stood as inflexible as a statue. “I don’t have a home,” she said. “You told me to leave.”
Her quietly spoken words hit him squarely in the chest. He wanted to hold her. But her body was so rigid he feared she’d break if he tried to touch her.
“I was upset,” he said. “Add to that wounded pride and arrogance, and you’ve got a fool. I’m sorry.”
“I needed you to love me and to understand.”
“Rachel, you cannot leave like this. We need to talk.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I was on my way to find you before he came.”
She looked up at him. “Peter planned to kill you, too. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Her hair hung loosely around her face. Angry scratches marred her left hand. The marks sent a fresh wave of anger boiling inside him. He took her left hand in his and gently rubbed the mark left by the ring. “Dear Lord, I expected you to trust me when you had that monster after you. I am sorry. You have every right to be afraid, to be cautious.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I should have told you the truth.” She wiped a tear from her face. “I wanted to so many times. But I feared you would look at me differently—that you wouldn’t want me.”
He took her in his arms and held her close. His body remained tense from the fight. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I woke up and saw you sleeping in my bed. Rachel, I love you. Nothing will ever change the way I feel about you.”
She turned her face up to his. Her eyes looked expectant. “You still want me after all this? Peter hasn’t tainted this place for you? Tainted me?”
“Never.” He wiped a tear from her face. “He can’t ruin anything unless we let him. He is the past. We are the future.”
She laid her cheek against his chest. “The sheriff must be contacted. I killed him.”
He could feel her heart hammering against his chest. “He will see that you acted in self-defense.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “There were no witnesses.”
Ben touched her chin. “There’s me and I’ll wager if the sheriff spoke to the villagers, he’d find that they, too, saw everything—that you acted only to save your own life.”
“I love you.”
He hugged her fiercely, as if realizing he could have lost her tonight. “You are my life, Rachel. I love you.”
Epilogue
Present Day
Marilyn Mitchell stood in front of the lighthouse. The sweeping winds of March cut across the sandy soil over the scattered patches of grass. The once-bright beacon was dark, the black and white stripe that had identified the lighthouse to the ships chipped and the brick base cracked.
The tower that had served this coastline for well over one hundred years was crumbling.
“Beyond me why you’d want to take on a project like this.”
Marilyn turned toward the real estate agent, Frances Tucker, a gray-haired woman with dark eyes and red lips. “She deserves more than to tumble into ruins. She deserves to be saved.”
“Gonna cost you a fortune.”
Marilyn shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’ve already set up a foundation. We started fundraising over a year
ago. Work will begin on the cottage next week.”
“Why this lighthouse? There are others that people want saved.
“My mother was born in the cottage. She lived here until it closed.” Weather and neglect had dulled the whitewashed cottage. The front steps had caved in and the roof had collapsed on the north side.
Mrs. Tucker shifted so that her back faced the cold wind. She pulled a cough drop out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth. “Mitchell. You said your name is Mitchell.”
“That’s right. My mother was Sara Mitchell. My grandfather and great-grandfather were keepers here until the station closed in 1948.”
Mrs. Tucker stamped her feet to ward off the cold. “Mind if we get back in the car?”
“No, of course not.” They started to walk back toward Marilyn’s Suburban.
Mrs. Tucker rubbed her hands together as Marilyn pulled the keys from her purse. Silly to lock the car out here, but living in Washington had ingrained certain habits.
“I’ve heard tales about both men. Ben Mitchell was quite the hero.”
Marilyn smiled. “He and my great-grandmother Rachel are credited with over a hundred rescues.” She unlocked the car and they climbed in. Out of the wind, she warmed immediately.
Mrs. Tucker rubbed her gloved hands together. “Rachel Mitchell was the one who saved three fisherman when she was six months pregnant with her first child.”
“Ben had been on the mainland that day. She was carrying my uncle. He was born a month early and still weighed eight pounds, according to the family bible.”
Marilyn had grown up with stories of Rachel and Ben Mitchell. Ben had been awarded the Medal of Honor from the U.S. Coast Guard for his many rescues. Rachel Mitchell, featured in several books, had become a legend of sorts. She’d started the first school on the island, given birth and raised four children, and worked beside her beloved Ben for the fifty-seven years of their marriage.
“This lighthouse deserves to be saved.”
Mrs. Tucker stared out the windshield at the lighthouse. “You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”
