Grace moved to sit on the edge of the bed and then pulled Rosalind into her arms. “There, there, child,” she whispered, patting her on the back. “You must not upset yourself this way. ‘Tis not good for you. You are safe now, you need not fear anything.”
Rosalind sobbed against the plump woman’s breast. When she finally was able to catch her breath, she whispered, “I wish to die!”
Grace directed an accusing look at Nathaniel. “What on earth did you say to her to upset her so?”
“She asked how she came to be here and I told her,” he responded.
“Obviously you made her relive her terrible ordeal with the savage!” Grace said. She smoothed Rosalind’s hair and murmured several soothing words into her ear before turning back to Nathaniel. “Perhaps ‘twould be best if you left us alone for a while, sir.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Nay, I wish to remain here by Rosalind’s side.”
Rosalind lifted her tear-stained face and choked out, “I mean you no offense, but I truly wish to be left alone right now. I beseech you both to leave.”
Grace eyed her, her concern evident. “Are you certain that is what you want, child?”
Biting down on her quivering bottom lip, Rosalind nodded.
“Then we shall take our leave.” Grace stood and grasped Nathaniel by the elbow. “Come, Captain.”
Nathaniel gazed at Rosalind and hesitated. “If you need anything,” he finally said, reluctantly allowing Grace to lead him toward the door, “just call out.”
Ignoring him, Rosalind rolled onto her side and turned her face toward the wall.
Once out in the hallway, Grace attempted to calm the distressed captain. “You must have patience, lad,” she said. “The girl needs time to heal her mind as well as her body. After all, we have no way of knowing what terrible things the savage did to her ere you found her…and killed him. Please try to get some rest. I fear you are going to make yourself ill.” She headed down the stairs and called over her shoulder to him, “Get yourself to bed, Captain.”
Nathaniel sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He blamed Rosalind for everything that had occurred since she left Adam’s house. Had she not been so eager to run off with Stoddard’s guide in the dead of night, he thought bitterly, the savage never would have been afforded a second opportunity to assault her.
But something occurred to him at that moment that even he could not comprehend. He suddenly realized that Rosalind’s purity, which previously had been of the utmost importance to him, no longer mattered. All he desired was for her to get well and strong again and become his bride.
“Lord in heaven,” he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. “Could it be that I actually care about a woman for the first time in my life?”
Left alone in the silent, dark chamber, Rosalind cried until her pillow was wet and cold against her cheek. Shadow was dead…murdered by the very man to whom she was betrothed. She hated Nathaniel, despised everything about him at that moment, yet she could not blame him for killing Shadow. After all, had she not, by her own words, convinced him that the Indian had held a knife to her throat and taken her hostage? Was it any wonder that Nathaniel had feared for her life when he heard her scream and then spied Shadow standing over her? She had no one to blame for Shadow’s death but herself.
Fresh tears spilled down Rosalind’s cheeks as guilt and remorse consumed her. Shadow had died believing she hated him – that he was not good enough for her. Why, then, she wondered, had he chosen to follow her? And why had he not made his presence known sooner, when she was lost and wandering alone? The feeling she had experienced in the woods – the feeling someone was watching her – must have been Shadow stalking her, she realized.
She did not believe for one second that the bump on her head had been inflicted by his hand. Even if her words had angered Shadow, she still could not imagine him doing something so violent to her. He had been naught but kind and gentle to her, even though she had caused him nothing but trouble ever since their first meeting. Had his path never crossed hers, he still would be alive. And for that, she never would forgive herself.
Rosalind slept restlessly that night, her tears frequently waking her. The pain in her head worsened until every move caused her to grit her teeth. She assumed that the lump above her eye actually had been caused when she had swooned and hit the ground. She could not help but think, with a shiver of revulsion, about Jonathan and what had happened to him when he had fallen on a rock. At least, she thought bitterly, her own head still was intact.
When Rosalind did manage to doze for a spell, she dreamt of Shadow, holding her hand and smiling as the two of them walked through a great field of wildflowers. Abruptly, the dream transformed into vivid, terrifying images of Roger Beckford’s blue, contorted face and Shadow’s bloodstained body, each flanking Jonathan’s corpse as it lay in a shallow grave. Trembling violently, Rosalind awoke, her body soaked with perspiration, her bottom lip bloody from biting down on it to keep from screaming.
* * * * *
The next morning, Grace visited Rosalind’s chamber a number of times. The housekeeper fussed over her, fed her, brushed her hair, washed her and helped her into a fresh nightdress. Her visits never were lengthy, for Grace had far too many other chores to tend to, but Rosalind found herself looking forward to seeing the woman’s cheerful, apple-cheeked face in her doorway. She welcomed any diversion that afforded her a respite from lying in bed and dwelling on the deep sense of loss and guilt she was feeling.
Rosalind had considered her bedchamber to be warm and comfortable, but now it seemed cold and depressing. As she lay on her back and stared at the white canopy overhead, she desperately wished she could be a child again…to return to a carefree time of pillow fights, snowmen, girlish giggling with her sisters, and sitting by the fire and listening to Ben’s tall tales before bedtime.
She drew a long breath. Never again would her life be simple, she thought. Her father once had told her, “You can return to a place, but not to a time.” Only now was she able to fully comprehend the meaning of his words.
Grace came in to fill Rosalind’s water pitcher later that afternoon.
“How is Abigail?” Rosalind asked her. “No one has made mention of her, nor have I heard her in her chamber since my return.”
Grace moved closer to the bed and spoke in a hushed voice. “Truth be told, she did not fare well at all during your absence. She refused to eat or take her medicine, and she fretted constantly. She does seem to be doing somewhat better now since your return, however…and she is most eager to see you.”
“Think you that it might be a good idea to open the door that adjoins Abigail’s chamber with mine so that perhaps we may share some conversation?” Rosalind asked.
“Now why did I not think of that?” Grace immediately moved to open the heavy door.
As soon as the task had been completed, Rosalind called out a greeting to Abigail.
“Rosalind!” came the weak response. “’Tis a blessing to hear your voice again!”
For the first time since her return, Rosalind smiled.
The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly, with Rosalind and Abigail exchanging bits of conversation when one or the other was not napping. The topics were kept light, with neither woman broaching the subject of Shadow. Rosalind also was relieved that Abigail made no mention of any wedding plans. Instead, she seemed content to discuss the weather, the latest fashion trends in England, and the local gossip about the new family from Boston that had moved to town during Rosalind’s absence.
During the late afternoon hours, Nathaniel delivered Rosalind’s supper to her. Just the sight of him caused her mood, which had been slightly improved by her chat with Abigail, to once again sink.
“Grace tells me you did well with the broth today,” he said, “so I thought you might want to try something more nourishing. The sooner you build up your strength, the sooner you and my mother can sit outdoors in the sunligh
t again.”
He helped Rosalind to a sitting position, then placed a second pillow behind her back. Carefully, he set the tray on her lap. It held a bowl of steaming stew and a chunk of thickly buttered bread.
The smell of the stew surprisingly appealed to Rosalind. Grasping the spoon, she eagerly dug in.
Nathaniel, immaculate in a crisp white shirt, white neck cloth, gray breeches and knee-high boots, pulled a stool close to the bed and straddled it, then watched Rosalind eat. “You seem much improved since last I saw you,” he said. “Grace advised me not to disturb you today. Perhaps it was wise of her to make me stay away, even though it was torture for me.”
“Actually, ‘twas your mother who lifted my spirits,” Rosalind said. She took a bite of bread.
Nathaniel’s eyebrows arched. “Mother was up and about?”
“Nay.” She shook her head. “Grace left the door open so we could talk. Although we were unable to set eyes on each other or speak face to face, we still managed to gain comfort from each other’s voice.”
“I am pleased,” he said, his smile displaying his dimples. “I believe both of you soon shall be back to good health, now that you are in the company of each other once again. Mother was beside herself with worry while you were gone.”
Rosalind pushed the bowl of stew aside. “I fear I can eat no more.”
“You did well,” Nathaniel said, rising to remove the tray from her lap. He cleared a space on the bed table and set the tray there, then dropped back onto the stool. Leaning forward, he covered Rosalind’s left hand with his. His hazel eyes were troubled as they searched her face. “We must talk,” he said.
The seriousness of his tone made Rosalind feel uneasy. She had no desire to subject herself to one of Nathaniel’s lengthy discussions.
“It has been a long day and I am weary,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the pillows. “Can it not wait?”
“Nay,” he said, tightening his fingers over hers. “This matter needs to be settled without further delay.”
Rosalind sighed and opened her eyes. “Pray tell, then. What is so urgent?”
“I wish to know how you feel about me…about us.”
Rosalind suppressed the urge to groan out loud. She wondered how the captain would feel if she told him the truth – that she could not bear the sight of him because he had murdered the only man she had ever loved…ever would love. Although she had no intention of marrying Nathaniel, she knew she could not confess as much to him, especially while convalescing under his very roof…and while he still held the threat of evicting her family against her. She needed sufficient time to devise a plan in which to convince him to call off the wedding. It was imperative that he be the one to make that decision. That way, he would have no reason to seek revenge and make good on his threats. She knew she needed only to say that yes, Shadow had raped her, and Nathaniel would forever be out of her life, but she hoped she would not have to resort to further tarnishing Shadow’s memory by adding to his list of false crimes. She could only pray that given time, another solution would come to her.
“I know not how to answer your question, Nathaniel,” she finally said. “I feel naught but numb inside since my…ordeal.”
“I do understand,” he said, “but I was hoping that now that you have witnessed all I have done…my endless search for you and saving your life, you might feel more…fond of me.”
Rosalind came very close to laughing. Fond of him? She could not bear the sight of the murderer…the blackmailer. He was no better than the ‘savages’ he was so quick to condemn, yet his air led everyone to believe he was the perfect man.
When Rosalind did not respond, Nathaniel looked into her eyes and softly added, “I just want you to know that even if the savage did…have his way with you, Rosalind…it matters not to me. All I want is to move on from here and forget the past. What is done is done and no one can undo it. Nothing is of concern to me now other than our future together. I need you, my love, just as I feel you need me…whether you realize it or not.”
His words rendered Rosalind speechless. He no longer cared about her precious purity? Was this the same Nathaniel who had told her it was imperative that his wife be chaste? She found herself wondering if he also might have endured a head injury during her absence and it somehow had affected his character. The problem now, however, she thought dismally, was that if he truly no longer placed any importance on her virginity, she was left with no means whatsoever in which to cause him to call off the wedding.
A knock at the chamber door postponed any further discussion. Relieved, Rosalind welcomed the interruption.
Elias Corwin, looking thinner and more fatigued than when last she had seen him, entered. He reached the bed in three long strides, then took Rosalind’s hand in his, wrapping his thick fingers around her slender ones.
“My dear girl,” he said, “I am pleased beyond words to see you looking so well. Pray tell, how are you faring?”
“I am still as weak as a newborn babe,” she said, offering him a slight smile. “But I do believe I shall be fine.” In body, but never in spirit.
Elias dropped her hand and smiled, but his eyes looked troubled. Rosalind sensed that he was trying to gather the courage to ask her something. Her assumption proved to be correct.
“Mistress Chandler,” he began somewhat uneasily, “I regret that I must broach a most unpleasant subject…but I must take your deposition.”
“Deposition?”
“Aye,” he responded, absently scratching the back of his neck. “Although it is common knowledge that the Indian was a ruthless murderer who deserved to die, the fact remains that Nathaniel is the one who shot him. For the court’s – and my – peace of mind, you must state in writing that your very life was in danger and you would not be alive if Nathaniel had not intervened when he did.”
The small amount of stew she had managed to eat began to rise in her throat. “I remember naught,” she whispered. “I swooned ere Nathaniel came upon us.”
“It matters not,” Elias said. “I am certain that a thorough description of the Indian’s actions from the time he took you hostage until the day he died will be more than sufficient to convince the court he was a bloodthirsty killer who had to be stopped.”
Rosalind could concentrate on naught but the disturbing thought of Shadow lying lifeless on the ground. “What happened to the bodies?” she asked, purposely avoiding Elias’s expectant gaze.
“I left the savage and your guide where they lay,” Nathaniel said. “My immediate concern was to get you home. I carried you, which slowed me. The journey took just over two days.”
Rosalind was stunned to learn she had been unconscious for so long…and concerned that her care had solely been left to Nathaniel during that time.
“Nathaniel should have taken you to Portsmouth to seek help for you,” Elias said, frowning. “’Twas much closer than Eastwell.”
Nathaniel turned toward his father. “I wanted her to be in a place where she could heal undisturbed. Had I brought her to Portsmouth, she then still would have had to make the long journey back here afterwards, which would not have aided in her recovery.”
“So Roger’s and Shadow’s bodies still lie in the woods where they died?” Rosalind asked, impatient for an answer.
“Nay,” Elias said. “I dispatched several men on horseback to the area. They saw to it that Mr. Beckford was returned to his kin, and that the savage’s body was handed over to Mr. Stoddard to be returned to his people. Nathaniel had informed me that Stoddard was friends with the savages, so I figured ‘twas safer for him to venture into their territory than to risk the lives of my own men.”
Nathaniel frowned. “Although I strongly felt the Indian should be left as food for the wolves, my father warned me that if he was not properly laid to rest in the Indian way, his spirit would be forced to wander the earth…and the savage would haunt me.”
Rosalind was surprised to learn that Elias an
d Nathaniel were so superstitious in nature. She, however, was pleased that they were. At least Shadow had not been left lying in the woods…and he finally would be back with his people, where she felt he rightfully belonged.
The thought of never being able to see Shadow again suddenly was too overwhelming for Rosalind to bear. The familiar knot in her stomach returned and she quickly realized, with a good deal of embarrassment, that her supper was not going to stay down. She frantically grasped for the bowl of stew Nathaniel had set on the bed table and retched into it.
Nathaniel rushed to hold the bowl beneath Rosalind’s chin just as she retched again. “See what your talk of murder and corpses has accomplished?” he snapped at his father. “I warned you she was not yet strong enough to be subjected to your interrogation! Please, take your leave now.”
Elias hesitated, gazing with concern at the pale child who, having emptied her stomach, collapsed back against her pillows, closed her eyes and moaned.
“Now!” Nathaniel glared at his father.
Still hesitating, Elias finally turned on his heel and, muttering an apology, strode out the door.
“I am so sorry,” Nathaniel whispered, setting the bowl on the floor. He wet a cloth and wiped Rosalind’s face and lips with it. Smoothing her hair from her forehead, he asked, “Feeling a bit better?”
She nodded, not opening her eyes.
“My father can be very inconsiderate at times,” Nathaniel said. “He oft allows his duties as magistrate to take priority over all else, including compassion for the victim.”
“I shall be all right,” Rosalind said, finally meeting his concerned gaze. “The only thing I crave is a good night’s rest. It has been a long and trying day.”
“Then I shall delay your sleep no longer,” Nathaniel obliged. He leaned to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my love, until the morrow.”
The moment the door closed behind him, Rosalind pulled the quilt over her head and sobbed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grace tiptoed into Rosalind’s chamber the next morn and quietly set about her duties, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. The housekeeper placed a clean pitcher of water, a fresh basin and a tray of biscuits and dried fruits on the bed table, then flitted about the chamber, giving it a light dusting. Before departing, she opened the door to Abigail’s chamber, thinking that when Rosalind awoke she might appreciate the opportunity to share some conversation with Abigail again, as she had the day before. Both women had so enjoyed and benefited from their chat, Grace felt certain no physician’s medicine could possess as much healing power.
Too Far to Whisper Page 22
