A Perfect Curse

by Shereen Vedam

  “Lord Terrance,” Nevara said. “You are safe! We were terrified. Belle, she—” Nevara faltered and shook her head. She waved to Belle and Mendal who were hurrying toward her. “And Earnest, you survived! What a good brave dog!”

  Earnest retched.

  His lordship heaved himself onto an elbow, narrowly missing getting thrown up on. Ellison was not with them. This, however, was not the time to ask for an explanation.

  When Belle got there, she fell to her knees beside Lord Terrance, alternatively scolding her husband and kissing his sand-plastered cheeks.

  The wolfhound stood weakly and licked Belle’s hand.

  Oddly, the crew and the other passengers stayed away from Nevara’s group, all of them crowding around the captain. Finally, the captain strode up to Lord Terrance, his face set into a belligerent mask.

  “I am glad you made it to shore, milord. Many obviously did not. I am preparing to lead what remains of me men and me passengers to Sanlucar de Barrameda, a port town on the other side of the river Guadalquivir. It will take us two days. From there, we can head for Cadiz. You are most welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you.” With Belle’s help, Lord Terrance stood.

  The captain pointed to Mark. “But he is not welcome.” At Lord Terrance’s hard glance, the officer blanched but remained firm. “He is a witch as we suspected. And if he is not one, he is surely cursed. I will not have him with us.”

  With Nevara’s assistance, Mark also rose. “My lord, pray, take Nevara with you. I shall make my own way.”

  “I will not leave you,” Nevara said sternly.

  “And we cannot leave Nevara behind,” Belle said.

  Mendal groaned and then quietly sobbed.

  “Mendal,” Belle said, “you may go with the captain.”

  The maid’s tears instantly halted. “I will not leave you, my lady. I would die first.”

  “That might be our fate yet,” Belle said. “But thank you.”

  “It is decided then,” Lord Terrance said. “I wish you a good journey, captain.” He gestured for the officer to follow him, and they spoke confidentially.

  Mark staggered and Nevara wrapped her arm around his waist. Belle took his other arm and, together, they led him to the shady side of a dune. Mendal was quiet, but looked as terrified as Nevara felt. How would they proceed without the captain to guide them in this foreign country?

  Lord Terrance returned to sit beside Belle on the white sand, and they watched the crew and passengers depart. The beach stretched endlessly. On the ocean, figures bobbed with the waves.

  Belle and Nevara watched helplessly as Mark and Lord Terrance waded into the sea to collect bodies to drag to shore, checking to see if anyone was still alive. They were only half way through their work, having found no one who still breathed, when Lord Terrance called a warning. “Shark!”

  Soon several more fins surfaced and the sharks began to tug and tear at the unrecovered corpses. Nevara’s heart contracted with fear.

  “Rufus,” Belle cried out and ran toward her husband.

  “Stay back,” he said, as he and Mark swam to shore.

  The hot Spanish sun bore down on them as they viewed the many dead lining the shore. Mendal wept. Belle hid in her husband’s arms, unwilling to look at the dead or the blood soaked ocean.

  Nevara felt cold and numb. The number of deaths overwhelmed her. Almost all were men as most of the women and children had thankfully made it to shore on the skiffs. She recalled speaking to many of these men onboard the ship, sharing medicine for sickness, eating in the galley next to one and hearing another’s humor, one man’s stories of home, and another’s hopes for the future. There would be no future for any of them.

  She glanced at Mark and saw a similar desolation on his face. He had done more than anyone else to save these men. He was the one whom the survivors said had repeatedly returned to the ocean to rescue one more. He should not blame himself, yet he did. She finally took in his appearance. He had been taken out of his cabin, unexpectedly, and tossed overboard. So he only had on his breeches and a shirt. His feet were bare. Ahead of them loomed a long trek inland.

  “Mark, you will need boots,” she said.

  “And the rest of us will need more clothes and sturdier shoes.” Lord Terrance gave Nevara a nod of approval. He pointed to where bits of wreckage from the ship had begun to wash up along the shore. “Let us see what can be salvaged before we are forced to plunder elsewhere.”

  They silently gathered what they might need which included a pair of knee high black boots for Mark, three sets of men’s ankle boots that fit Belle, Mendal and Nevara reasonably well, and some fairly dry and intact clothes from a couple of sea chests that washed up on the beach. Using the paddles from the little boats, they dug a large makeshift grave as far inland as they could manage and then carried over and covered the corpses with sand. Lord Terrance said a quiet prayer.

  Later in the afternoon, while everyone else rested, Lord Terrance went on a scouting mission. He returned having discovered an ancient watchtower further up the beach where the party could take shelter for the night. With hunger as a companion, they bedded down, glad to be far from the dead.

  Inside the cramped and crude stone tower, Nevara lay awake—protected from the elements, yet troubled by the number of lives lost. She turned restlessly, feeling filthy, inside and out. The vessel had been attacked because she had been onboard. Her mind would not stop replaying the sound of screams, the loss of Ellison, and finally the gruesome sight of the frenzied feeding sharks.

  Lord Terrance said he had made it halfway down to the hold of the swiftly filling vessel when his manservant’s form floated by. Then the ship cracked. He and Earnest had waded up to the next deck, and raced up the stairs to the top deck, then jumped overboard. He had helped a flailing Earnest to swim toward shore. When the dog tired, the earl had slung his pet onto a piece of debris drifting by. Then, like a miracle, Mark popped up beside them. Together, the two men towed Earnest to safety.

  After hearing this, Belle spent the evening scolding her husband for being so foolish as to go below decks of a sinking ship. Beneath her anger thrummed her terror.

  “I do not wish to go to Cadiz,” Nevara said. When her friends gazed at her in surprise, she added, “I would rather head straight for Seville.”

  “Before he left, that is what I told the Captain we would do,” Lord Terrance said. “To assure the crew and passengers that we would not be trailing them. Going from the maps I had studied while onboard, our best route inland is over the dunes and past the mouth of the river Guadalquivir, which is marshland.”

  “We have no supplies,” Belle said.

  “Except for what we can forage along the way,” her husband agreed.

  An earl scavenging for food along a Spanish river. What would the Ton think of that? Still, the idea did not seem to bother his lordship, for he continued that if they kept the river to their right and moved inland, within a week, they should reach Seville, or “Sevilla” as the Spaniards called the town. Whatever they had to endure, Nevara was glad of the direction they had decided upon.

  Very soon the exhausted men and wolfhound fell asleep a few feet away, snoring in counterpoint to the waves brushing the seashore. Belle and Mendal, too, nodded off.

  Nevara skimmed her fingers over her mother’s box. Once they reached Seville, they might discover the origins of the items inside. Such as those enchanted stays. Perhaps the one who had cast that spell might have also been the one to curse her family and the Rue Alliance. That person would be long dead, but he or she could have left some written evidence of the spell, something that might help them break the curse and free the alliance from living a shadowed existence for generations to come.

  And who was behind the sinking of the Magdalena? For Nevara was certain that gale had been no ordin
ary storm. The de Rivera family mentioned in the ancient wedding letter likely held the key to all these mysteries.

  She had come this far, and so many lives had been lost. She was tired of being beaten by her aunt, by her curse, and by this enemy who was willing to sink a ship to kill her. It was time to fight back. On that determined note, she, too, fell asleep.

  At dawn the next morning, Nevara, the first to awaken, tiptoed away from the group. Outside, the day seemed lovely—fresh, clean and salty. She brushed dirt from her torn and crushed gown and dislodged dried white sand wedged between her toes. How ghastly she must look with her sticky hair. She did not care. This new day promised opportunities that had seemed impossible the night before.

  Striding along the beach, she surveyed what they had put out to dry last night. Dresses, shirts, and pantaloons were spread along the sand. Also present were the sturdy shoes and boots belonging to those less fortunate who had not survived. She shuddered, refusing to dwell on the deceased.

  Overhead, a whiskered tern wheeled and circled, calling out rudely. The irate bird brought an idea to mind. It was late in the season, but that bird could be acting protective because it had a nest nearby. Terns nested on the ground. Hungry as she was, the thought of cracking open eggs that might have baby chicks inside turned her stomach. She decided to comb the beach first for anything that might have washed ashore overnight.

  As she prowled, she had the distinct impression of being watched. There, on the highest dune, an animal regarded her with interest. Nevara skidded to a halt, her pulse speeding up. She squinted against the sun. What was it? A wolf? This region was known to have many. Yet, wolves traveled in packs and this creature was alone. Its shape resembled a wildcat, or perhaps a lynx. She had seen several pictures of those in the books about Spain that she had scoured for the past year. Whatever it was, this was a big one. If she ran back, it might give chase.

  She was taking a cautious step back when the animal’s gaze turned skyward where the tern flew low over Nevara’s head. She ducked as it dived toward her. “I am not trying to steal your eggs!”

  By the time she checked on the wildcat again, it was gone. She waited a while, but when it did not return, she continued down the beach. It had probably found something smaller to chase. Then she spotted several casks that had washed ashore. Some were broken and their contents spilled, but three were intact.

  She knelt to examine her find. The first cask was filled with clear water, though it was only half full. She tasted it to see if it was seawater. It was not. Another cask held oranges, and a third had liquid that definitely tasted like brandy.

  “You are up early.”

  She twisted around. Mark! She stood slowly, dusting sand off her skirt and brushing her fingers through her hair. Suddenly she cared a great deal about how she appeared. She should have been scavenging for a comb.

  Mark looked tastier than the brandy and adorably unkempt. His long white cambric shirt had a foot long slit at the neck and billowed about his midriff like a tacked-down sail. His breeches had dried tight about his limbs and his bare toes were buried in the sand, his ankles streaked with black dirt. Her vision blurred and she impatiently shook her head to clear her sight, not wishing to miss a detail of his breathtaking physique which was more tantalizing in the early morning light than when she boldly watched him undress for her by moonlight onboard the Magdalena.

  Yet, something was not right. He seemed more remote and closed off, as if he had lost a part of himself in the shipwreck.

  Even Lord and Lady Terrance must have noticed the change in Mark, because they had treated him gently all last evening. Miguel had died in Spain. Had the deaths of the passengers and crew brought back memories of his brother’s passing?

  She indicated the casks. “Water, oranges and brandy.”

  “Enough for all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He stared across at the ocean where the Magdalena’s remnants still showed above the ocean’s surface like the fins of a pod of whales. “I would rather have—” he said, then stopped.

  “What?” Her heart tightened to see him so sad.

  He studied his bare feet, sunk into the warm sand. Then he gazed at her with tormented eyes. “You know what I wish.”

  She thought of all those who had died. Of Miguel. None of them would ever have breakfast again.

  “Yes,” she said, “I know.”

  BACK BY THE watchtower, Nevara shared the oranges among her friends. Mark had carried the cask of water and each of them took turns scooping up a handful. Belle fed several pieces of orange to Earnest, and Nevara scooped up water in a piece of broken cask for him to lick.

  “We should begin our trek toward Seville,” Lord Terrance said. “We will need as much daylight as we can spare.”

  “Are we likely to find shelter before nightfall?” Belle asked.

  “I hope so, my love. Once we reach civilization, the money Mark and I have pooled together should see us well set up for a few days until we reach Seville. Once he reaches Cadiz, the captain promised to send word to my estate manager requesting further funds to be forwarded, care of the Governor of Seville.”

  They quickly changed into fresh clothing. The women put on the borrowed boots, and the men carried what little else they wished to bring along in makeshift sacks.

  As they set off, Earnest raced ahead, the only one enjoying the open landscape. He snuffled at every scurrying animal or slithering reptile that crossed his path.

  By mid-morning, the group stood at the top of a dune, tired, mouths and eyelids encrusted with sand, and throats dry as tinder. They had finished off the water and needed more.

  This dune was completely bare of vegetation, but it overlooked the most magnificent lowland valley through which part of the Guadalquivir’s estuaries spread out. The river, having dried out over the hot summer, had left behind stagnant pools, ponds and the occasional jet of water. The autumn rains had hardly begun to replenish the river, so silt, raised sandbanks and little islands peppered the marshy area.

  On the far side of the marshland, a forest of pine, cork, and tall eucalyptus trees beckoned them onward.

  “Look.” Nevara pointed to an egret, a tall white bird with a long narrow black bill, drinking from a pond. “That water might be safe to consume.”

  “Then the pond is our destination.” Lord Terrance assisted his wife to scramble down the dune. Mendal and Mark followed. Nevara strayed a little behind, enjoying the privacy.

  A large bird flapped low overhead, and Mendal cried out.

  Nevara glanced up. The bird’s body was bulky and barrel-shaped, and it sailed on the wind with its wings spread wide. It had a small pale head and short tail. “It is only a vulture,” Nevara called ahead. “Do not fret, Mendal. You will be safe enough as long as it does not consider you carrion. I am more worried about encountering the wildcat I saw this morning.”

  “What cat?” Mark asked, turning back toward her.

  “I only caught a glimpse. It sat on a dune, watching me. Then it vanished.”

  “This is dangerous territory, Nevara. Do not stray far behind, and tell me if you see this cat again,” Mark insisted.

  Mendal gave a nervous look around and hurried to shadow Belle’s steps as they navigated this marshy area.

  They drank their fill at the pond and made their way to the river’s main flow, being careful to step only on solid land.

  “The water flows shallow here,” Mark said, slowing his steps until he walked at Nevara’s side. “With plenty of fish.”

  “Think we should stop here to catch something for our dinner, Alvaro?” Lord Terrance asked him over his shoulder.

  Mark agreed.

  “And I itch abominably,” Belle said. “We ladies would like a chance to wash the dried salt and sand off us.”

  They agre
ed to halt. The two men waded until they were knee deep in water, then bent to attempt to scoop up fish. Earnest ran in after them, and his barks and splashes sent the fish scattering. After the dog made him lose his third slippery catch, Lord Terrance said, “Earnest, out!”

  Mark chuckled.

  Standing upstream, washing her arms of sand, Nevara rejoiced to hear his good humor. It was surely a sign he was recovering from his melancholy.

  The wolfhound slunk back to them, his tail between his legs. Belle petted him in sympathy, giving Nevara a side grin. Without the dog’s distraction, the men managed to catch several trout-like fish. Once the ladies pronounced themselves clean enough, they tied the catch with long strands of woven grass and set off again.

  It was late afternoon by the time they reached the border of a cork oak forest. Belle stopped. “Rufus, my legs are shaking with each step. I cannot go any further.”

  “We, too, are sorely tired, my lord,” Nevara said. Mendal nodded her fervent agreement.

  Lord Terrance put his free arm around his wife and kissed her forehead. “With the forest for cover, this is a good place to stop, rest, and eat. What do you say, Alvaro?”

  “We will need a fire.” Mark set to gathering tinder.

  As the men worked, Nevara strolled to the edge of the clearing for one last glimpse of the beautiful marshland. The wildcat was back, watching her from a sandbar. Now it was closer, its tawny brown coat showed many dark spots. It had a short tail that ended in a black tip, which matched its prominent black ear tufts. It also had a bit of a beard, definitely marking it as an Iberian lynx. It licked a paw and set it down, the limb twitching once before it stilled.

  Finding its stare unnerving, Nevara hurried back to camp.

  Mark looked up from lighting the fire. “What?”

  “The wildcat is back,” she said. “And it is a lynx. I recognize its markings. It acts strange, though. It just sits and stares at me.”

  He was on his feet in a trice. “Where is it?”

  Nevara pointed.

  Lord Terrance took the lead, asking Mark to stay behind and guard the women.