Too Far to Whisper

by Arianna Eastland

  “Then you have decided to carry out my plan?”

  “I shall consider it. Lord knows I have no other options at present.”

  Rising to her feet, Rosalind brushed the back of her dress and then attempted to smooth her wild tangle of curls. “We should be getting back inside. I am certain we have been sorely missed by now. I must look a sight!”

  Ben used the cuff of his shirtsleeve to wipe her tear-streaked face. “Do not concern yourself about the people inside. I shall handle everything.” He took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Ready?”

  Rosalind nodded and took his hand.

  When the pair entered the Corwins’ house, anxious eyes immediately turned toward them. Ben, his arm protectively around Rosalind’s shoulders, calmly explained, “I fear that my sister misses Nathaniel more than she is willing to confess. Fortunately, a good cry has helped to ease her pain.”

  “You poor dear!” Abigail’s tone was sympathetic as she stared at Rosalind’s red, swollen eyes. “Take heart. Your Nathaniel will return soon. And then the two of you shall be together forever.” She turned to face Rosalind’s mother. “Are you aware that Nathaniel has decided to give up the sea after he and Rosalind are wed?”

  “How noble!” Mrs. Chandler exclaimed, looking extremely pleased with this bit of news. “You must feel very special, Rosalind.”

  “Aye,” she said. She took her former seat at the table. “But I assure you, I asked the captain to give up naught. ‘Twas all his own idea.”

  Ben struggled to conceal his displeasure. He had assumed Nathaniel would be away at sea for months at a time, giving Rosalind what he was certain would be much-needed respites from her wifely obligations. He could not help but feel sorry for his sister if Nathaniel planned to be with her every day…and night.

  * * * * *

  Rosalind spent the next several days trying to convince herself that Ben’s plan was the only solution to her dilemma. She tried not to think of all that could go wrong or what would happen to her family if the scheme failed. Still, all of her life she had been taught that dishonest people were doomed to spend the hereafter in Hell…and that concerned her.

  The next afternoon, Grace asked Rosalind to take a bucket of water out to the workers. It had seemed like years since Rosalind had seen Shadow Runner or Silver Cloud, so she eagerly accepted the chore.

  Struggling with the heavy bucket, Rosalind descended the knoll. She spied Shadow chopping down a pine tree that was well rotted and had not a needle left on it. She had forgotten just how greatly the sight of him affected her. His muscular chest and powerful arms as he swung the ax caused her heartbeat to quicken…although she was unable to comprehend the reasons why.

  “I have brought you some cool water!” she cheerfully called out to him as she approached.

  When Shadow turned, she was taken aback by the angry scowl that greeted her. He set down the ax, stepped forward and jerked the bucket from her hand, then presented his back to her as he drank his fill from it. Without a glance or even his customary nod of thanks, he thrust the bucket back at her and returned to his work.

  Shadow’s actions disturbed and confused Rosalind. He was treating her as if she had done him some great injustice, yet she could not begin to imagine what it might be. She turned to walk away, then paused.

  “They say that although you do not speak, you are able to understand.” Rosalind spoke to Shadow’s back. “I want you to know that if I have said or done something to offend you, it was purely unintentional, and I sincerely apologize.”

  Shadow stopped chopping and faced her. His expression was hard, cold. He was not worthy of this woman’s concern, he thought bitterly. At one time, he had allowed himself to believe he was her equal, for he, like she, was nothing more than a servant of the Corwins. But now, she was about to become a Corwin, and with the name would come power and wealth – everything that was important to the English – everything he loathed. He felt certain that in Rosalind’s eyes, he always would represent something primitive and savage – a lowly thief – someone undeserving of the attention of a Corwin.

  Bewildered, Rosalind watched Shadow’s jaw tighten as his dark, icy gaze penetrated her. She opened her mouth to speak, but when his chin rose and he narrowed his eyes at her, she took a step backward and said nothing.

  “I will take some of that water, Mistress Chandler.” Silver Cloud’s voice came from behind her. He approached, knelt before bucket and splashed water over his face and the back of his neck.

  He rose and smiled at her. “I understand that good wishes are in order,” he said. “Although I must confess we were surprised to hear of the news of your betrothal. It was quite sudden, was it not?”

  Rosalind bent to lift the bucket and then straightened . “’Tis not unusual for love to strike one’s heart quickly and unexpectedly.” She feigned sudden interest in an earthworm as it wiggled about in the freshly turned soil.

  “Then you have fallen in love with the captain?” Silver Cloud persisted.

  “Indeed,” she answered, her eyes still downcast. Her grip tightened on the handle of the bucket until her knuckles turned white, an action that escaped neither Indian’s scrutiny.

  “Forgive me, Miss,” Silver Cloud said, “but your voice betrays your words.”

  “’Tis no concern of yours,” Rosalind said, not looking at him. She turned on her heel, the water splashing over her feet as she did. “Good day!”

  Silver Cloud shook his head, his eyes trailing Rosalind as she disappeared over the knoll. “What she does not say speaks louder than her words,” he said.

  Shadow’s brow creased in response. Something about this betrothal, he decided, was wrong…very wrong.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rosalind sat up in bed and used a corner of her quilt to wipe the perspiration from her neck. The heat in her chamber was nearly suffocating. Climbing out of bed, she tiptoed on bare feet to the window and threw open the shutters, hoping for a breeze that would offer some relief from the humidity that had robbed her of her sleep. But the night air was calm. Sighing, she returned to bed.

  Although she blamed the heat for her restlessness, she could not deny it was the thought of Nathaniel’s return that was keeping her awake. The captain was expected to arrive home within two days’ time, and she could not recall when she had dreaded anything more.

  As Rosalind tossed and turned, silently cursing even the smallest lumps in her bed, she came to realize she no longer appreciated the luxury of having a bed to herself. She craved the company of Nellie and Elizabeth and their giggles as they exchanged silly stories before nodding off to sleep. The silence in Rosalind’s empty chamber served only to magnify the disturbing thoughts that constantly had plagued her of late.

  She found herself wondering what sharing a bed with Nathaniel would be like. Would he sleep naked, with his arms around her? She shuddered, clamping her eyes shut to dismiss the thought. At times, she actually believed she possessed the courage to wed Nathaniel. This not was not one of those times.

  Wrestling with her pillow, Rosalind alternated between bunching it up and punching it down, but it still felt like a pile of rocks beneath her head. With a defeated sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that another long, sleepless night lay before her.

  From somewhere outside, a man’s voice, singing, sliced through the night’s calm. Rosalind sat up in bed and cocked her head. There was something familiar about the voice, yet she could not immediately place it. The off-key crooning grew louder, bolder, until it drew Rosalind from her bed to peer out the window. The moon, although still several days from being full, provided just enough light to reveal a dark figure, bent and staggering, moving about near the stables.

  Rosalind gasped. It was Nathaniel! The captain’s erratic movements and enthusiastic singing led her to suspect his early return had likely been celebrated at the local tavern. She frowned. Abigail had been so eagerly awaiting his return, she had spoken of little else all week. Rosalind could well imag
ine the disappointment the woman would feel when her beloved son staggered into the house in the middle of the night and awakened the entire household.

  Although a voice in Rosalind’s head advised her to return to her bed and turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to Nathaniel, she knew she would be unable to forgive herself if Abigail were made to suffer a setback due to the stress caused by her drunken, inconsiderate son.

  Muttering under her breath, Rosalind flung a cloak over her shoulders to conceal her thin nightdress, then silently made her way through the dark hallway and down the stairs. With great care not to make a sound, she unlatched the front door and creaked it open, then scurried outside.

  The rocks on the path jabbed at her bare feet as she hastened toward the stables, but she paid no mind to the discomfort. She prayed she would be able to convince the captain to spend the night in the stables and sleep off the effects of his drink. She also prayed that in his current state, she would be able to fend off his drunken advances, which she was certain would be inevitable the moment he set eyes on her…especially when he discovered she was clad in her nightdress.

  When Rosalind neared the stables, she noticed, with a measure of relief, that Nathaniel’s singing had dwindled to a soft hum. He was seated on the ground with his back toward her, his head hanging forward.

  “Nathaniel,” she whispered, squinting into the shadows. “In all good conscience, I cannot allow you to greet your parents at this late hour and in your present condition. I implore you to stay in the stables until morn, when you will be able to make a more proper entrance.”

  Nathaniel ceased his humming, but did not turn. He gave no indication he even had heard her words. Rosalind hesitated, then moved closer and bent to gently lay her hand on his shoulder. “Please heed my advice. You have my word that no mention will be made of this and no one will be the wiser.”

  “How about giving your betrothed a proper welcome?” The words were so slurred, Rosalind barely was able to understand them. A calloused hand reached back and roughly grasped hers, which still was on his shoulder.

  Rosalind winced. “You are hurting me! Please, Nathaniel, I beseech you – go lie down in the stables and sleep this off ere you do something you may later come to regret!”

  Not loosening his grasp, the man stood and turned to face her. Rosalind’s mouth fell open as she stared into Jonathan’s leering face. His breath reeked of strong drink and his eyes looked glazed. His brute strength, however, did not seem the least bit impaired by his drunkenness.

  “Release me!” she demanded in a hushed voice, so as not to disturb anyone in the house. She struggled to pull her hand free from his forceful grip.

  “How disappointed you must be that I am not your precious captain!” Jonathan responded with a crooked, taunting smile that revealed his rotted teeth. “I shall, however, be more than pleased to take his place until his return.”

  “Let go of me this instant, or I swear I shall scream!” Rosalind said through gritted teeth.

  “Go ahead, scream,” he said shrugging. “Wake everyone in the house. And then you can explain to them what you are doing out here with me in the middle of the night while wearing naught but your nightdress!” His gaze boldly dropped to where her cloak had fallen open, revealing the full swell of her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightdress. “Do you really think anyone will believe you mistook me for Nathaniel? We look nothing alike!”

  “’Twas dark!” Rosalind protested, her cheeks blazing. “And you were seated hunched over with your back to me. Anyone could have made such a mistake!”

  She once again attempted to wrench free from his grasp, but his fingers were like steel bands around his wrist. “And to think I believed Abigail when she informed me you had given up drinking!”

  “The lady was sadly misinformed.” He chuckled. “Actually, there is little in life I require to make me happy…except a good strong drink and a good lady.” Brazenly, his eyes once again dropped to Rosalind’s breasts.

  “Release me!” she repeated. “Return to the shed and sleep this off!”

  “Do not tell me what to do!” Jonathan jerked her forward until her face was within an inch of his. “I shall do as I damned well please, little lady, and neither you nor Old Man Corwin can stop me!” With his free hand, he clutched Rosalind by the back of the neck and forced her mouth to his. His stubble of a beard scraped at her tender flesh, his foul breath invaded her nostrils.

  Rosalind opened her mouth to utter a cry of protest, but immediately regretted the action as Jonathan seized the opportunity to ram his tongue into her mouth. Nausea and panic rose in her throat as she futilely struggled against him. Her mind raced, thinking back to all that Ben had taught her about defending herself…primarily against savages. But at present, she could think of no one more savage than Jonathan.

  Recalling Ben’s advice about the most vulnerable part of a man’s body, Rosalind drew back her leg and rammed her knee into Jonathan’s groin. A loud, shocked, groan escaped him and his eyes bulged as he released her and sank to his knees on the ground. Despite the breathlessness and violent trembling that immediately overtook her, Rosalind did not hesitate to make her escape. Grasping her long nightdress and hiking it well above her knees, she ran toward the house as fast as her bare feet would carry her. With every painful step, she prayed she would be able to cover the distance before Jonathan was able to recover from her assault.

  The tree root appeared from nowhere, its tentacles reaching up from the depths of the earth to snag Rosalind’s foot as she ran over it. Stumbling, she fell forward, her stomach smacking hard against the ground, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. She lay there momentarily stunned, unable to breathe.

  A full minute passed before she found the strength to pull herself up to a sitting position. Moaning, she folded her arms across her stomach and leaned forward, gasping for air.

  “Allow me to assist you,” Jonathan’s voice offered from behind her. Rosalind felt his hand clamp around her upper arm and pull her to her feet. His fingernails dug into her skin as he did. “I shall make you pay for what you just did to me,” he whispered against her ear. “And I shall make certain the good captain will not have the pleasure of finding a virgin in his wedding bed. Perhaps by the time your wedding day arrives, my seed already will be growing in your belly! Would not that be a nice wedding gift for your beloved husband?”

  “No!” Rosalind cried, panic gripping her as she struggled against him. “Release me!”

  “’Tis a pity your fine hero of a captain is not here when you need him, eh?” Jonathan twisted Rosalind’s arm up behind her back and held it there as he roughly shoved her ahead of him in the direction of the stables. “Try to kick me now!” he said with a laugh.

  Even though Rosalind felt more frightened than she ever had before, she was not going to allow her fear to force her to obey Jonathan. She made a silent vow to do everything within her power to fight him off. Years ago, when the Indian had taken her, she had been unconscious and defenseless, but now she was fully awake and was prepared to claw, kick, bite – anything to fend off Jonathan’s attack.

  “Here we are,” Jonathan announced when they reached the door of the stables. “Now, my sweet, you will learn what it feels like to be made a woman. Truth be told, I do not know which will give me more pleasure…feeling you beneath me in the straw, or taking something from Captain Corwin that he values so highly. I have never liked the man…nor the way he always looks down at everyone.”

  Rosalind swallowed against the panic that rose in her throat. She knew she had to think of some way to prevent Jonathan from forcing her into the stables, because once inside, she was certain her chances of escaping him would greatly be diminished.

  “Move!” Jonathan commanded, shoving her toward the doorway.

  Mustering all her strength, Rosalind kicked back at him, her heel catching him squarely on the kneecap. Although her small, shoeless foot was capable of inflicting little damage, the unexpectednes
s of her kick caused Jonathan’s leg to buckle, and for a brief moment he loosened his grasp on her arm – just long enough to allow her to break free. Rosalind whirled around to face him, and without pausing to consider the action, clenched her hand into a tight fist and delivered a solid blow to his jaw. Not allowing Jonathan any time to react, she hit him again, this time squarely on his nose.

  Stunned, his body swaying as he struggled to keep his balance, Jonathan reached out for something to grasp, something to prevent his fall. His fingers found and clutched the front of Rosalind’s nightdress, but the thin fabric easily tore. Cursing, he staggered several steps backward before falling and landing hard his back. Rosalind heard the sickening crack of his skull hitting rock. Jonathan’s mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back as a pool of red slowly spread out from beneath his head.

  “Dear Lord!” Rosalind gasped, her trembling hands flying up to her mouth. “I have killed him!” She stood there, immobilized by fear, waiting for Jonathan to stir. When he did not, she inched toward his lifeless form, dropped to her knees, put her ear to his chest and listened for a heartbeat…or for any sign he was still alive.

  She found none.

  Stifling a scream, she sat back on her heels and stared in horror at the body. Should she, she wondered, awaken Elias and tell him what had occurred? He and Abigail were so fond of Jonathan, would they even believe her if she told them what he had attempted to do to her? And Abigail was convinced the man no longer drank!

  She could not believe the irony of everything that had just occurred. She had come outside to quiet Nathaniel and prevent Abigail from any undue stress, and instead, she had done something that was a hundred times more stressful than a drunken Nathaniel ever could have been.

  Feeling lost and frightened, Rosalind looked up at the sky. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, “if you are looking down upon me, please guide me, for I know not what to do!”