Rising, Sabrina ran to her father and threw her arms around his neck. “Never, Father, no matter what happens.”
Catherine smiled at the pair. Their happiness made her decision to change places and become the wife of a renegade stranger seem almost rational.
Chapter Two
* * *
The coach carrying the two young women arrived at the first inn in the evening. Catherine found it hard to hide her growing excitement. She had never spent the night at an inn, let alone traveled the sea. Everything was new and piqued her curiosity. Sabrina, on the other hand, seemed bored and slept during most of the trip. Catherine didn’t mind. Her mind was so busy taking everything in, she didn’t think she could carry on a normal conversation anyway.
About to exclaim her feelings aloud, Catherine drew back at the door to the inn. It was not crowded, so she could not help but notice the dark gentleman seated inside. Sabrina appeared anxious to enter.
“Rafael, darling,” Sabrina sighed aloud when she saw the stranger. She stopped and awaited him. “How wonderful you arrived the same day as we.”
He approached Sabrina and grasped her hands, drawing them slowly to his lips in an overlong exchange. Finally recalling his manners, Rafael stepped back and reached for Catherine’s hand. “And this must be your charming cousin to whom I owe much gratitude.”
Catherine cast a suspicious glance toward Sabrina and frowned. This didn’t feel like an unexpected tryst. She gazed at Rafael. He appeared surprised by something, but she couldn’t fathom what it could be. Sabrina gave her no time to dwell on it.
“We are tired, Rafael,” Sabrina announced as she pushed between the two to retrieve Catherine’s hand. “We can take care of the amenities later.”
As she dutifully followed Sabrina, Catherine felt someone watching her. She glanced back to see Rafael smiling. His gaze made her nervous, though why she didn’t know. She turned and fled up the stairs.
* * *
The initially pleasant trip became a disaster after the Spaniard joined them. Sabrina became sullen. She often pouted, especially if Rafael were the least bit kind to Catherine. The only cure seemed to be for Catherine to withdraw into herself and let them chat together privately.
The next day, when the coach stopped at a second inn, Catherine was assigned a separate room. She was pleased not to have to share, but she had still not had the chance to ask her cousin about the details of what went on between men and women once they were married.
She was sure there was another reason for the separation than the one Sabrina gave. And after watching Sabrina and Rafael together in the carriage all day, she wondered if the rumors she’d overheard from the staff at Winthorpe were true. Rafael seemed free with his hands and not once did Sabrina object. Catherine knew a woman was not supposed to let a man play loose with her before they wed.
Disturbed by appearances, Catherine felt a responsibility to remind her cousin of propriety, but not with Raphael around. After the inn had grown quiet, Catherine slipped on her robe and made her way to Sabrina’s door. At the very moment she raised her hand to knock, she heard Sabrina gasp. Terrified her cousin was in distress, Catherine opened the door. Her mouth dropped open. She quickly retreated in silence. With God’s blessings, the lovers would never know she had been there.
The instant she was back in her room, Catherine threw the bolt and leaned her brow on the jamb, her eyes tightly closed. The image that appeared in the blackness haunted her. She fought confusion. Her cold hands raised to her burning cheeks. For a moment she thought she should return. It was possible Sabrina was being forced. Fool, she scolded herself.
She ran to her bed and threw herself across it. Sabrina was using her. She had lied about Rafael. The two were lovers. She couldn’t help but wonder what else had been a lie.
Catherine was filled with sadness. Surprisingly, it was for the Viscount Kent. Had she not agreed to this trip, he would have been equally duped. It seemed that Catherine was destined to save them both: she from the prospects of an impoverished life, and he from the clutches of a soiled bride.
Catherine realized she was glad that she didn’t understand what was expected of her. Let the viscount teach her what he wanted her to know. In an attempt to banish the memory of her cousin straining against Rafael’s dark flesh, she prayed her husband would not expect that from her!
* * *
The next morning, Catherine was surprised at Sabrina’s admirable job of acting. Judging by appearances, one would never suspect she had bedded her lover so vigorously. Catherine was so disturbed by the pretense she could not bear to look at her cousin.
She was comfortable by the thought that her presence had gone unnoticed the previous night by the time Rafael joined them at the table for the last repast they would share. She glanced up when he greeted her and gasped at the look of amusement on his face. He winked at her and she knew he had seen her.
Stunned and embarrassed, she lowered her head. Though they had to share the remainder of the journey until she boarded her ship, she refused to acknowledge him. Sabrina seemed well pleased with such an arrangement.
As the carriage finally drew up to the dock, Sabrina thrust the bold ring into her hands. “Now remember,” she said, “he must see this ring or he will not accept you as me. We have never met and, to my knowledge, he knows of me only what his father told him.”
Catherine nodded. She clutched the ring in fear. She had decided not to mention what she had seen to Sabrina. Her cousin had been good to her—and she was repaying her kindness with this voyage and marriage. The slate was clean. If Sabrina was determined to stray outside the perimeters of propriety, it was not her concern.
“I’ll keep it with me always,” she murmured, not daring to look into her cousin’s eyes. She was too afraid her disappointment might show. Her luggage was sorted from Sabrina’s and she watched as it was loaded on the squat ship she would be sailing. It was time to part company.
“Good bye, Sabrina,” she said softly. “I hope you are happy . . . with your decision.”
Sabrina took her hand and Catherine was forced to face her. Her cousin’s smile seemed very sincere. “And may it work out well for you also, dear Catherine.”
Catherine hugged her cousin and only friend. She had no right to judge. “It will,” she sighed. “I am sure it will.”
She moved to exit the carriage and frowned. Rafael was standing there waiting to assist her. She could hardly deny him without explanation. She set her hand in his, shyly mumbling her gratitude. As she passed, he lowered his head close to her ear.
“I wish it had been you,” he whispered softly.
Appalled, Catherine stiffened. She walked toward the ramp that led to the ship and her future. She didn’t look back until she heard the wheels of the carriage squeaking. It was done. Her fate was sealed. She lifted her chin.
Lady Thorpe stepped aboard the ship.
* * *
It was difficult for Catherine not to become enraptured by the ship and life aboard it. Her cabin was small, but it fit her needs nicely. She chuckled when she saw how little room there was. Sabrina surely would never have survived the accommodations. There were no luxuries aboard, only necessities. Her meals were taken with the captain and his first officers. She was nervous at first, but the crew soon put her at ease. They attributed her nerves to it being her first time sailing.
“It is unfortunate your companion left you to travel alone. She feared sea travel would not agree with her, I understand.”
Catherine smiled weakly at the captain. “I, too, must admit to some fears of my own,” she said honestly.
“I assure you, we should have no problems, Lady Thorpe. The weather may get cold, but we should not meet any storms this late in the winter,” the captain told her. “At least not until we near the coast. Then if we meet with foul weather, we can make for shelter at one of many ports.”
“And what of the privateers I have heard of?” she asked, still recalling the articles
she had read in the London papers.
“We have a treaty with them. We will carry people and posted letters only. As a Dutch ship, we are a threat to neither side. Your countrymen have also agreed to this. It is the only way they can communicate with one another, just in case they decide on peace.”
Catherine thought of the nearly two years since the war had begun in America. England was already fighting in France against Napoleon. With two fronts, things had been difficult, but there seemed little choice.
She was not sure how this war had started. Some articles said the Americans had accused England of impressing her seamen, while others thought it was simply a means of aiding the French. Since the French were often accused of stealing American ships, she doubted it was the last. Either way, the new year of 1814 had seen the war continue.
“And what of the blockade?” she asked the captain, curious about reports heard dockside about the United States, as they preferred to be called.
“I have no doubt we will be stopped and checked.” He wiped his mouth after a sip of wine. “If you wish to send any mail back to England, you can give it to whomever halts us.”
“There will be no post,” she sighed. She had forgotten to get any contact information from Sabrina, and there was no one else to whom she could write.
“But your father, surely he will want to hear from you as to your safety.”
“I shall wait until I meet my . . . betrothed,” she shyly told him. “Only then will I know whether or not I have arrived safely.”
* * *
Catherine gripped the rail as she shivered with cold. Heavy winds stirred, causing the sails to pull at their riggings. They were rounding Cape Cod on their southerly course along the American coast. She had spotted land several times and the small ship had been boarded and released twice.
She remembered to play her role well for the British captains. Fortunately, luck was on her side. No one knew the real Lady Sabrina Thorpe. They had spoken of the duke with admiration and politely mentioned they had heard of her, but their comments were vague and Catherine was able to relax for the duration of the voyage.
Still she kept to herself for most of the voyage, afraid she would make some mistake that would draw unnecessary attention to her.
She was certain that the few other passengers assumed she considered herself above them, but she didn’t care. When the ship landed, she would probably never see any of them again.
The wind shifted and a strong gust tossed the ship precariously to one side. A youthful sailor advised her to go to the safety of her cabin. She did, post haste. The sea was angry, and they were still almost two days out.
Sleep was impossible that night. Catherine desperately clutched the sides of her narrow bunk in an effort to stay in place. But before the first streaks of dawn appeared it was obvious that the small Dutch ship was in trouble. Catherine overheard a seaman say the ship had taken on a great deal of water in the rolling sea. There was damage to the sails and the ship responded too slowly to the wheel.
The captain finally suggested they had sailed far enough west to safely turn north and seek one of the fine ports of Massachusetts or Rhode Island. He had charts for the coast, he said, but there were a great many unnavigated areas between the ports. The question was whether the ocean bottom was sandy enough to ensure their survival should the ship run aground.
Catherine appreciated the man’s honesty, but she was defenseless against the fear welling up inside her chest, especially when the captain ordered passengers and crew topside. A person could be trapped below decks, unable to reach the deck in time to avoid going down with the ship, the youthful ensign explained.
Catherine stood in the center of her cabin for one more look around before she went topside. She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. She could not believe they had managed to cross the hundreds of miles from England to America with no problems. Now, off the coast of her new homeland, they were in peril. Was it an omen? Was this God’s way of punishing her for the deceitful game she had joined?
The ship listed heavily to one side. Catherine gasped. With cape in hand, she was at the door when she stopped and turned around. She fought her way back to her bed, and searched beneath the pillow. She was not going to leave the ship without the one item she needed to survive in this new land.
Her fingers touched cold metal. Clasping it in her hand, she drew it to her chest like a talisman. A ring this large would never stay on her finger if she were tossed into the sea. The ribbon that held the end of her bedtime braid was yanked free. She fed it through the ring and tied it around her neck.
“I pray that if I am found, alive or dead, someone will tell him,” she sighed aloud. She owed the viscount that much at least.
A grating sound on the bottom of the ship impelled her to make for the deck. Through driving rain and lashing wind she heard someone yell that they could see land. With luck, they could survive.
The crew tried to launch a boat, but crashing waves drove it back against the ship until it was shattered like kindling.
“Into the water!” the captain cried above the roar of breakers slamming against the ship. “Grab something that floats and hang on! Let the wind carry you ashore!”
Lady Thorpe watched her fellow passengers plunge over the side, one by one. The water was already on the deck lapping at the feet of those who hesitated. Catherine stood frozen. Thoughts of her parents lost to the sea kept her from that first step. She found herself backed away from the rail. Just as she turned to run back to her cabin, someone gripped her arm.
“Come, m’lady!” A seaman shouted to her over the cacophony of splitting timbers and screeching winds. “I’ll help you.”
Catherine screamed as he tossed her in. She regretted the loss of oxygen the scream cost her as she slid beneath the cold, churning water. She kicked and fought, but could not reach the surface. She was ready to accept her fate when a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her upward. She gasped, fresh air rushing into her aching lungs as soon as her head topped the water.
“Hold on to this,” the sailor instructed. He pushed a wooden plank beneath her arms.
She clung to it for dear life. When she turned to thank him, he was gone. Even with the water all about her and spilling over her, she knew she was crying. Whether it was for the valiant sailor or herself, she didn’t know.
Something hard slammed into her ribs. She screamed, almost losing her grip on the plank that was keeping her afloat. Water covered her again and again but pain helped keep her from falling into an oblivion of darkness and fatigue. A wave slammed her in the face and she sputtered. She couldn’t hold on much longer.
It was at that moment her foot brushed against something.
A surge of hope filled her. She tried desperately to find whatever it was she had touched. For several moments there was nothing. Then she felt it again. Sand. It was the bottom. Unable to swim, she held on to the board. She could feel herself rising and falling in the surf. If she could just hang on, she would make it.
With the next ebb of the tide, her knee slammed into the bottom. It was impossible not to cry out in relief. As she got closer to the shore, she released the plank, knowing she could walk ashore, albeit with difficulty. Her feet found solid ground and she took a step.
The sand swirled about her feet, sucking at her, trying to keep her captive. But she could see the beach ahead. Several other people were making their way ashore. There would be survivors—and she would be one of them.
A hand reached toward her. She missed it twice before she felt it wrap securely about her wrist. Someone else called out. It sounded like a warning, but she was too exhausted to care. As her rescuer hauled her ever closer to the shore, a huge wave crashed over her.
Excruciating pain exploded in her head. As though in a dream, she felt sand scrape against her cheek before she was lifted on the next wave. A blessed darkness slowly engulfed her.
* * *
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
“Which of the passengers is she?”
“Don’t know. Her face is so bloody, it’s hard to say.”
“We better get her to the wagon. They can figure it out in Newport.”
Catherine could hear the words, but they didn’t really register in her mind. She tried to speak, but her mouth refused to move. She struggled to open her eyes, but they would not respond, either. Strong hands lifted her. She heard a scream. As she slipped into the void, she realized the sound came from her.
* * *
Ransom Kent’s horses were still skittish from the storm the week before. He’d had to work hard to get his favorite, Lucifer, to take the bit the next day—and every day since. Of course, it might have been that the horse was defying him just to be stubborn.
When he had a moment, memories invaded his thoughts. Where he was now was a direct result of choices from his past. He knew part of the reason everyone condemned him so quickly after the duel in England was his prior reputation. Although he had had his share of married women, Lady Marshant had not been one of them. Unfortunately, her husband had chosen to believe exactly what she told him. It had been a fatal mistake.
He had been bored with London for many months before the duel. The results of it had simply become his means to this America. He felt an affinity for this new country, perhaps because he was born the day the peace treaty was signed, finishing its war for independence thirty years before.
Lucifer tossed his large black head, gaining Ransom's attention. “So you want to run, do you?” he asked the magnificent beast as he patted its sleek neck. “Then let’s go.” He kicked its flanks and the two swept joyously through the landscape.
The Rebel's Bride Page 2
