Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  Entranced

  By

  Marion Clarke

  Contents

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  AWARD-WINNING GOTHIC WRITER

  MARION CLARKE

  PRESENTS HER FIRST HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  FOR ZEBRA

  WITH THE POWERFUL AND SENSUAL

  ENTRANCED.

  "Do you think I'm in danger?" Fiona asked.

  "I certainly hope not, but it might come in handy during a witch hunt. I pray it won't be needed," Giles answered.

  Fiona moved closer to him and drew a long, deep breath. "Giles, sometimes I get so frightened. I never expected anything like this… that ranting preacher, the congregation anxious to destroy people, and then Grace—"

  Giles pulled her swiftly into his arms and pressed her close.

  "You are such a comfort, Giles. I'm so glad I know you."

  "Even if I persist in kissing you?"

  In answer, Fiona raised herself higher and pressed her lips to his, feeling the heat sweep over her cheeks and her heartbeat pound. In the next instant, Giles smothered her with kisses.

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  850 Third Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  ISBN: 0821752928

  Copyright © 1996 by Marion Clarke

  First Printing: April, 1996

  Author's Note

  All events connected with the historical characters are as accurate as research could make them, except for the dates of Franz Mesmer, who actually lived in 1743. I moved his life earlier for plot purposes.

  There have always been wizards, magicians, and potions to alter people's minds, but Mesmer brought this to a height of such popularity that his name entered the English language.

  Hence, the word "mesmerized."

  Chapter 1

  The long voyage from England to America would have been unbearable, Fiona told herself, if it hadn't been for the presence of Doctor Giles Harmon.

  As she clung to the ship's damp railing, Fiona hardly heard the noisy creaking of the boards, the flapping sails, the shouts of sailors swarming up the rigging. Dreamily, while her green eyes gazed unseeing at the fast-running sea, she wished, as she had so often lately, that Giles would show in some way that he returned her feelings for him.

  Alas, he treated everyone the same. Sympathetic, calm, friendly toward all, the handsome young doctor had been kept constantly busy since the weather had turned rough. For many days, the ship creaked and groaned as the wind mounted, flinging the waves into towering peaks that crashed against the sides.

  Even now, Giles was seeing to her mother, who lay weak and pale beside many others in the sleeping quarters. Giles had sent Fiona up on deck for a breath of air after her long vigil, but now she must return, forget her dreams, and do what she could once more to aid the sufferers down below.

  She became aware that the deck was tilting worse than ever and was slippery with ocean spray. As she flung open the door to the steep companionway, Giles staggered away from her, putting out a hand to grab her arm as he lost his footing. In a tangle of arms and legs, skirts and shawl, and startled cries, they both fell down the steps, landing breathless at the bottom. Giles lay beneath, Fiona on top, clutching at his wide shoulders. For a moment, neither moved.

  "Fiona," Giles gasped, "are you all right?"

  Just a breath from him, Fiona felt her heartbeat thundering. Suddenly, she was very aware of everything about this intriguing specimen of young manhood. She stared at the wide gray eyes, the long black locks of tousled hair, the full, smooth lips. And then she felt the hard, strong body sprawled beneath her own, the muscles firm, the skin warm, his heart beating just as fast as hers.

  A blush covered her cheeks as she whispered, "I am not hurt. Are you?"

  "No." Getting up, he gripped her arms and helped her to her feet. "The sea grows worse, I fear."

  "I—I must see to my mother—"

  "She is sleeping. All I can do for these poor sufferers is give them laudanum to make them sleep, or a charcoal drink to ease their stomachs." Giles braced his back against the wall and muttered, "All my studies in medicine at London, and yet I have no cure for a simple thing like seasickness."

  Fiona pressed his arm, but his shirt was rolled up to the elbow, and when she felt the muscles quiver at her touch, she quickly took her hand away. Flushing a little, she told him earnestly, "No one could do more than you have ever since the ship's doctor became ill and you had to take his place. Eight weeks at sea and you have been unstinting in your care and always sensible and calm in the midst of all our terror." Too calm with me, Fiona thought, a little wistfully.

  He raked back his thick black hair and grunted. "Calm? Sensible? Is that how you see me? Well, I only hope I can retain those qualities once I get to Salem. But I seriously doubt it."

  Fiona drew in her breath. "What of the witch hunt we have heard about? Surely your parents and your brother are in no danger?"

  "I have received their letters regularly while at University, so I do not believe they are—not yet, at any rate. But I am worried about the others—friends and neighbors. When we left England, they were crying news that many were being jailed on suspicion of witchcraft."

  "Oh, Giles," Fiona laughed nervously. "That might have been just exaggeration to sell the daily papers."

  His eyes fixed gravely on her face, his mouth a firm, straight line. "Even so, I am afraid there is deep trouble in Salem Village; fear and suspicion can cause a great deal of harm. Even a beauty like you may not be safe, Fiona."

  "Nonsense!" She gave a little laugh, delighted at this sign of Giles's awareness. No one had ever called her beautiful in all her eighteen years, and to Fiona it sounded incredible… and pleasant. Back in Ireland, with its dire poverty under the harsh English rule, times had been most grim—no work, many people dying of hunger, more and more homes burned for lack of tax money and the owners thrust into the road to die. Although life had been too bleak for much merrymaking, still some lads had attempted to steal kisses until Fiona's laughter had cooled their sheepish ardor.

  To think it was attractive Dr. Giles Harmon who had mentioned "beauty" in connection with her! Trying to speak without betraying her nervousness, Fiona asked, "Why should I be harmed?"

  "I have heard even the most inoffensive matters can be fodder for an accusation of witch. Even the rarity of your red hair…" Giles told her grimly. "In addition, potion making is your mother's trade, is it not?"

  "Ah, Giles, I've known for several weeks how prone you are to worrisome thoughts. Have you no lass waiting for you in Salem who will make you laugh?" Hoping, as she spoke, that he would say "no."

  His lips twitched and he put out a hand to straighten Fiona's shawl. "None so merry and beguiling as you, young miss." Before she could reply, he pushed away from the wall, once more the dedicated young doctor. "I am going to have a word with Governor Phips. I imagine you are eager to
see your mother. I will not keep you."

  Fiona nodded, and with that each went his separate way.

  The ship now rolled worse than ever. Over a hundred feet long, the Seawynd was unusually large and sturdy. But thirty-five seamen and over fifty passengers with their belongings took up nearly all the space. Many had brought pens of poultry, goats, sheep, and swine with which to stock their new farms. These animals, now complaining loudly, were tied down on deck, as were a longboat and several cannon to repel the ever-present threat of pirates on the high seas. Fortunately, there had been no sign of the dreaded skull-and-crossbones flying from a mast. Probably the rough weather that had caused such misery among the passengers and lengthened the Seawynd's voyage had also discouraged pirates.

  There were only a few private cabins. The sailors bedded down on deck or in the hold, while the passengers slept amidships on hammocks or pallets of straw—wherever room could be found. If people wanted privacy, they hung up canvas strips or blankets, which made them very unpopular, as it cut off the circulation of air.

  With the arrival of turbulent seas, all portholes and hatches had been shut tight, and the stifling fumes of illness hit Fiona as she made her way cautiously among the sufferers. Her nose crinkled at the odor of spilled rum from a jug that a group of determined youths passed from hand to shaking hand. The swaying lanterns flickered dimly above men, women, and children, all wide-eyed with fear. Some prayed desperately; others lay white-faced and tight-lipped, trying to control their abject misery. The little ones whimpered constantly, restless from confinement and lack of fresh air.

  Suddenly, a scream tore through the quarters as a trunk broke loose and slid rapidly across the floor. Just in time, Fiona leaped forward and jerked a heedless toddler from its path, returning him to a grateful though distracted parent handling two other crying children. The trunk crashed harmlessly against a wall and two men secured it firmly with the jagged rope.

  When Fiona reached their bunk, her mother opened heavy-lidded eyes and groaned. "Oh, Daughter, by all that's holy, how much longer will this awful storm be lasting? Have you heard how far we are from making landfall?"

  Fiona had no answer and shook her head reluctantly. The waves and wind now seemed to reach a crescendo that sounded like the shrieking of a hundred fiends. Would the ship sink? Fiona wondered fearfully. Would they all drown? After eight weeks at sea with America nearly in sight, would it all end in this howling misery?

  Fiona knew she must hide her own fears from her mother and so she answered strongly. "The captain is a good man. I warrant he has weathered worse gales than this. We must trust in him to see us through."

  Staring blindly into space, her mother didn't seem to hear her. "Faith! Your father died at sea in weather just like this. At last I know how my dear David must have felt!" A sob escaped her lips.

  Patting her mother's hand, Fiona had to quell her own tears as she recalled her beloved father, an Englishman who was first mate on a British trading vessel that had shattered upon the rocks one stormy night. To please his Irish wife, he had lived in her village when ashore, but for years he had talked of living in America with his brother who wrote glowingly about New England, the prosperous ships, the plenitude of work and food and land.

  After his death that awful night, Fiona's mother kept the dream alive, and it became a dedication to his memory that she and Fiona would carry out his wishes. But with her father's income gone, the pressure of hard times had decreased the call for her mother's herbal remedies until only the passage fare remained. In desperation, Fiona's mother appealed to her brother-in-law, who lived in Salem, Massachusetts and he generously offered them a home in the New World.

  Seeing her mother so pale, ill, and worried, Fiona said, "Don't think about the past. We must be brave and look only to the future. Soon we will be safe and happy, beginning a new life. Uncle Matthew's letter was the answer to our prayers."

  "Sure and I know this was the only thing we could do." Her mother's thin fingers plucked uneasily at the worn blanket. "But I do wish we had had a reply to our last letter telling Matthew we were coming. Heaven knows we sorely need his help, but suppose he's moved away? It took nearly everything we had saved just to make this voyage."

  "If we remained at home any longer, we would be penniless with all our costs. Don't fret, dearest, we would have heard if he was no longer there." Fiona continued to speak soothingly until her weary mother fell into an uneasy sleep that left Fiona free to move among the other ailing people, straightening a blanket here, fetching a mug of water there, rocking a fretful child.

  Suddenly, a loud crash sounded up on deck, causing everyone to start from their beds with cries of fear. A wild-eyed woman leaped to her feet with an anguished scream. "The ship is breaking up! Oh, dear Lord, save us!"

  Fiona raced back to her mother. "I'll go topside and see what's happening."

  "No, no," her mother cried, reaching out a shaking hand. "It might be dangerous!"

  "I'll be careful," Fiona answered.

  Up on deck, Fiona saw a group of sailors surrounding a screaming man. They parted to let Giles through, a black bag swinging from his hand, strong purpose in his stride. For an awful instant, Fiona saw the sailor's bloody leg, bones protruding from one end. With a strangled cry, she staggered forward. "Oh, dear God, what happened?"

  "A loose cannon," Giles flung across his shoulder. "I must try to save his leg, but first we set the bones. You, Jack, on one side, Peter on the other."

  He glanced back at Fiona. "Can you help us?" His gray eyes looked steady but demanding.

  Fiona dug her nails into her palms and drew in a deep breath. "Tell me what to do."

  "Hold his head and give him sips of this laudanum. Talk to him. He must lie still." Without another word, he went to work, cutting away the pant leg and scraps of skin. The seamen didn't hesitate to follow directions, shielding the injured man as best they could.

  Fiona took the screaming seaman's head between her hands and bent her lips down to his ear. "You are Billy, correct? The one from York? Listen, Billy. You are going to be all right."

  With a mighty effort the man clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes to her. "Be they cuttin' off m'leg?" He gave a sob. "I likes to dance, I do."

  "No, no. Here, Billy, swallow deeply. You will sleep and soon be well."

  He gulped the liquid. "D-does the young doctor say so?"

  Giles glanced up, his mouth a hard, taut line, but with eyes of deep compassion. "I do say so. Trust me, lad. I aim to save your leg, but you must help us and be very steady." He jerked his chin toward Fiona's cup. "Once more. Now, then, men, we pull on three."

  Fiona gripped the seaman's head, another gripped his shoulders. At the signal, Billy shrieked louder than the crashing waves and fainted dead away.

  At the bloody scene and against the violent rocking of the ship, Fiona felt like doing likewise. Instead, she inhaled several deep breaths, then moved back a little averting her eyes from the young man's leg. A splint was found, the leg was wrapped, and the sailors carried the unconscious boy away.

  Giles rinsed his hands in a nearby basin of rainwater, then packed away his instruments. He glanced up at Fiona, who still hovered near, and his smile was warm. "My thanks, Fiona, I knew you could do it." Another call came for Dr. Giles and he hurried off.

  Fiona flushed with pleasure. How proud she was of him—so sure and steady, so strong of hand and will. How lucky for the Seawynd to have him when the ship's doctor had been stricken.

  She went below, then, to see who needed her. The sea grew calmer after that. When twilight came, several of the stronger passengers crept up on deck to heat some tea or soup at the little cookstoves anchored on the lee side of the ship. There also was an open "hearth" for them to use, a five-hundred-pound cast-iron stove filled with charcoal.

  Fiona joined them but had to wait her turn. She set down her small kettle and leaned beside the hatchway while she munched a piece of hardtack, a very dry and tasteless biscuit which
abated her constant hunger but did little else.

  Hearing voices next to her on the bridge, Fiona saw Giles talking to Sir William Phips, the newly appointed royal governor assigned to Massachusetts Colony. The two men exchanged a spyglass, which they centered on the far horizon while snatches of their conversation flew on the wind to Fiona.

  "I fear the storm is not quite over." Sir William spoke loudly above the flapping sails. "Just see those big black clouds!"

  "The wind may move them from our path," Giles called back. "I pray we make land soon, or there may be deaths on board. Some passengers cannot hold down even a crust of bread or sip of tea."

  The big, broad-shouldered governor, whose hair flamed as fiery a color as Fiona's own, swung a gold coin on a black cord from his waistcoat pocket. "I still have my lucky piece, doctor. Some folks claim its power will keep the ship from harm."

  As if to test this power, the deck suddenly lurched violently. The governor's coin sailed over Fiona's head to land beside the railing.

  Without another thought, Fiona whirled around and reached out for the coin. It slid away, then, before her eyes, it vanished over board. Fiona ran to the edge and saw it dangling, caught on a piece of splintered wood below her. Grasping the railing with one hand, Fiona leaned far over the side. With a triumphant cry, she pulled it free. Sinking back on the deck, she held the coin against her chest and shut her eyes, waiting for her gasping breathing to abate.

  Suddenly, loud, angry voices sounded in her ears, and looking up, she saw Giles and Sir William hurrying toward her. Giles reached her first and jerked her to her feet. "You little idiot! What were you doing, dangling above the rail in seas like this?"

  "My God, lass," the governor cried, as distraught as Giles. "Were you attempting suicide? Has this fearsome voyage driven you to such madness?"

  Wide-eyed, Fiona looked from one angry face to the other. "Why, no. I simply wanted to save this." She held up the coin. "I heard you say 'twas lucky for the ship, and so I could not let it get away, now, could I?"