And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest . . .
She would not lose heart. The African had not hazarded so dangerous a mission to let fear have sway. Too much was at stake. A great deal to be gained.
Unless he was a pawn of the enemy, luring them into a trap.
Surely this scarred, gaunt man had no guile, even at Laurent’s behest. His face was too beseeching, his eyes too haunted. His crude drawing of a cage struck her to the heart. It could lead to none other than Watseka.
But would they find her alive?
For the first time she felt thankful Laurent’s land adjoined their own, if only to speed their chase. As for Shay and what lay behind that front door, she could only guess. And Xander? Where was he in the midst of all this?
On they pressed through the last wind-beaten remnants of summer. How long they’d been walking she did not know. Chest heaving, she felt chilled and heated by turns. She tripped repeatedly, her skirts a nuisance. Weariness sank bone deep.
Without warning, Meihtawk slowed his pace and let the African lead. A loosened branch raked her cheek as the wind shifted with a moan. With it came a parting of the clouds.
Moonlight streamed down in silver ribbons, hastening their steps, taking them into a copse of woods that looked dangerously black. Jett plunged in first, nose to the ground. When Meihtawk held up a hand, halting her, she watched the African swallowed whole by the darkness. Breathless and light-headed, she dug her heels into the dirt to stay standing, Meihtawk’s sturdy shoulder against her own. The African finally reappeared, bidding them come as a flash of lightning lit the sky.
Lord, spare us any evil.
Briars tore at her skirts and skin as they entered what seemed a dense blackberry thicket. The men went ahead of her, standing tall one minute, then crouching the next. Tearing away underbrush. Digging. Had they been led to a grave? Everything within her recoiled.
Nay, nay. I cannot bear it.
The African was speaking in his strange tongue. Excitedly. Hurriedly. Thunder snatched his words away. Selah crept forward to where the men hovered, her pulse rapid as a bird’s wings. Reaching out, she touched something cold. Rough.
Iron.
Despite her shaking, she thrust a hand through the bars of the cage and felt . . . flesh. “Watseka?”
Over and over she called the girl’s name, fingers roaming desperately to find answers. Was she merely hurt? A cold rain began falling, driven sideways by the wind. It stole any reassurance that Watseka was alive. Her skin . . . so cold to the touch. And damp. Selah’s searching hands told her what her eyes could not. Watseka was encased in an iron cage used for criminals. The padlock confining her hung ponderous, denying them her freedom.
Meihtawk’s voice rose above the din. “Stand back.”
She obeyed, landing on her backside as he began hacking at the lock with his hatchet. Only this might open the cage too ponderous to move. Picking the lock was denied them in the dark. As he leveled blow after blow, Selah bent her head and prayed for deliverance.
Xander dismounted at Rose-n-Vale’s stable, sent the lathered horse into a stall, and woke a groom to tend him. Hurrying to the main house, he was heartened by a sudden bark and the flicker of light within. The riverfront door opened and Shay stood before him, Ruby wagging fiercely at his side.
Relief eased Shay’s tight features. “I feared ’twas Laurent again.”
Again. Xander’s hackles rose as he came through the door into the sanctuary of the still hall.
“To her credit, Ruby tried to have him for supper.” Shay moved to set down the lantern as a gust of wind slammed the door shut behind them. “So much has happened. I hardly know where to begin.”
Xander shrugged off his coat, none the worse for the tempestuous miles dealt him. “Start at the beginning.”
With a nod, Shay took a breath. “Not long after nightfall, when a gale shook the very rafters, an African appeared. We understood not a word, but he seemed to want you. We told him you weren’t here and tried to make out his purpose, to no avail. Finally, Selah cast down a sand bucket. With a poker, the African drew a picture that looked to be a cage. He bade them follow, so she left with Meihtawk and Jett and told me to stand watch here.”
Xander’s eyes sought the hall clock. Nearly midnight. “How long ago?”
“Full dark. Ten o’clock or so. I’ve no idea where they’ve gone to. Laurent came as they went out. Said at least one of his slaves was missing. He suspected the African came here.” Shay shook his head in disgust. “’Twas clear he’d been drinking. He left, murmuring threats against you.”
Xander called Ruby, his every thought of Selah. “Lock everything till I return. If Laurent reappears, do not open the door or exchange a word.”
He passed into his study and opened a cupboard where his weapons were kept. Selecting a flintlock, he shoved it into his pistol pocket before returning to the stables for fresh horses, Ruby on his heels.
Meihtawk was growing tired fighting iron. His efforts began to lag, Selah’s hopes along with them. She crouched in the rain, a sodden lump, one arm thrust through the back of the cage with a hand on Watseka’s bent head.
Lord, please lend Thy strength to the blows.
Before she finished the prayer, Selah heard a final clang and the lock was cleaved in two. She scrambled to her feet as Meihtawk yanked open the heavy door of the cage. And then raw force faded to tenderness as he extracted Watseka. In his sinewy arms, her body hung limp. Raising her hands, Selah took the girl from him. Light-headed again, she sank down upon the muddy ground. She lowered her face to Watseka’s nose and mouth and tried to detect the faintest breath. The barest flicker of movement. But the weather showed no mercy and denied her knowing.
A miracle, Lord. One is sorely needed.
Meihtawk uncorked a flask and dribbled water into Watseka’s open mouth. Gently Selah shook her and called her name, to no avail.
She’d nearly forgotten Jett till the big dog lowered his head and began licking Watseka’s face. The long, rough tongue did a thorough if gentle work.
Could it be? Watseka moved her head ever so slightly.
Selah swallowed down a sob of gratitude, tears streaking her cheeks like rain. Just as hope soared, fear swooped in like a devouring raven. A great rustle of brush sent the African fleeing as a horse charged into the thicket. For a moment even the rain abated. The rider jumped to the ground, the fickle moon sliding behind a bank of clouds. Selah’s heart seized.
Laurent? They were on his land—
“Selah?”
Xander. She went weak with relief, her answer lost to another gust.
He sank to his knees, hands roving Watseka, assessing, much as hers had done. “I’ve brought two horses. Meihtawk will carry Watseka, and I you.”
“Where is the man who brought us here?” She half believed him to be no African but an angel in disguise.
Xander shook his head. “There’s none but us four. At least now.”
Selah released her burden to Meihtawk, only too glad to return to her husband’s arms. Atop the horse they took a different route to Rose-n-Vale, the wind giving way to deafening thunder.
44
The shutters were closed in Oceanus’s room, the dim morning light soothing. Watseka lay on her back atop the bed, eyes closed, her face a frightful spectacle of scratches and insect bites. Freshly bathed and dressed in a loose smock, she had a linen sheet pulled to her middle. Selah perched on a near chair as Candace and Widow Brodie came and went with food, drink, and tonic. These sat mostly untouched under Selah’s sleepless gaze. Though her eyes stung and she needed a good soaking of her own, she wouldn’t leave the girl’s side. Not yet.
Xander stood by her at intervals, having summoned the Mount Malady physic. They listened for his arrival as the sunny morning lengthened, making their travail of the night before naught but a bad memory.
“She is so still,” Selah whispered. “Alarmingly so.”
“After
such an ordeal, rest will restore her better than anything else.”
“Mother has made sure she is well watered. She ate but a few bites of porridge, then fell back asleep. But she’s spoken nary a word.”
“I know one unerring remedy.”
She looked up at him in question.
He smiled. “Oceanus.”
“Shall you summon him?”
“Meihtawk is already on his way.”
The news rose inside her like the sun. Reaching out, she stroked Watseka’s bug-bitten arm, the welts covered by a poultice. “Oceanus will help restore her, aye.”
He kissed her before returning downstairs to his study. Stifling a yawn, Selah started to rest her head on the bed’s coverlet when a noise at the front of the house sent her to a window instead.
Below on a large gray horse sat Nicholas Claibourne, a fierce if former opponent of Xander and all his endeavors on the governor’s council. A friend of Laurent’s, he had an equally rakish reputation. Selah watched him dismount and walk to the front door, where a housemaid admitted him after a loud knock.
“Kentke.” The soft voice was more warble.
Surprised, Selah turned and moved toward the bed. Watseka’s eyes were open. She repeated the word, this time more clearly.
“Your pup? Last I knew he was with Shay in the orchard.” Selah smiled and squeezed her hand. “Would you like me to fetch him?”
A nod. Selah was hard put to contain her joy. She hurried downstairs just as Claibourne entered Xander’s study, the door shutting soundly behind them. Ignoring the dart of worry his presence wrought, she hurried outside to find Shay. He was at work cleaning up the battered orchard, the ground littered with ripe fruit and windblown limbs and leaves. Several trees had toppled. Nearby, curled up in a patch of sun, was Kentke, asleep.
“Watseka is asking for her pup.” Selah scooped the furry creature up, his gangly legs a testament to his growing. He licked her face with a dart of his tongue, reminding her of Jett reviving Watseka.
Shay smiled. “So, Miss Mischief has come to her senses at last.”
“’Twould seem so. Being missing for more than a fortnight takes a toll.”
Shay looked past her to the house. “Why has Claibourne come?”
“I know not. He and Xander are confined in the study.”
“’Tis not a good sign.” He grimaced and tossed aside a worm-ridden apple. “He’s in league with Laurent, no doubt.”
Kentke squirmed in Selah’s embrace, hastening her to the house. “Pray,” she said over her shoulder. “And be on your guard.”
“I am here as Helion Laurent’s second, to challenge you to a duel.”
“A duel.” Xander faced Claibourne across a desk littered with work left undone. “While my fields lie in ashes and I’ve just reclaimed a peace child.”
“Indeed, a duel is required.” Claibourne’s eyes narrowed to slits in his pockmarked face. “For impinging on Laurent’s honor.”
“Honor?” Xander did not hide his disgust. “He has none to defend.”
Flushing, Claibourne rapped his coiled riding whip against the side of the desk. “How dare you, Renick. Your words bear the craven mark of a coward.”
Xander crossed his arms. “Let us return to the matter at hand. Why a duel?”
“For trespassing on Laurent land. For spreading malicious accusations that a gentleman of his merit would stoop so low and set fire to your acreage—”
“I spread no accusations. The truth has an uncanny way of surfacing. As for trespassing, did Laurent not do the same when he showed himself last night at my very door?”
“He simply wanted to reclaim his wayward African and challenge you himself. Denied that, he sent me instead to secure a date and time. Not pistols but swords.”
“Your arrogance knows no bounds.” Xander moved to the study door and opened it wide, when what he wanted to do was grab Claibourne by the throat and let him fly. “Get off my land lest I fight you after I finish him.”
With an epithet beneath his breath, Claibourne went out and slammed the front door after him.
Watseka’s face brightened when Selah appeared with her pup.
“Kentke has missed you. See how he wriggles at the sight of you?”
The pup gave a little bark, which led to Watseka’s first smile since her return. She stretched out her arms. “Kentke. He grows big.”
Risking Widow Brodie’s ire, Selah turned the pup loose atop the clean coverlet. “I’ll return in a few moments and see what merriment you two have been making.”
She sailed back down the staircase and into Xander’s study. He stood at the window, arms crossed, as the hoofbeats of their visitor grew fainter. Though she’d heard not a word of their exchange, ill will suffused the room and made her choose her words with care.
“Claibourne is an unwelcome caller.”
Xander turned toward her. “He comes to issue a challenge as Laurent’s second. A duel.”
She put a hand to her throat. “You have more reason to call him out than he you.”
“Aye. Pride blinds them both. I expected the challenge, but I will not bow to it.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. “His sword is formidable, some say, but no match for yours. If you did fight and best him, he’d surely go to his eternal punishment. At least alive he stands some chance at redemption.”
“Well spoken by a wise wife whom I have no wish to worry.” He came and rested his hands upon her shoulders, his gaze tender. “How is our charge?”
“Playing with her pup.” She smiled past her weariness. “I’m going to fetch something more from the kitchen and coax her to eat.”
“The physic should be here shortly, though we might have no need of him, God be thanked.”
“She’s more herself by the hour, truly. I pray she has no more bad dreams.” Last night had been fraught with them, Watseka’s restless tossing and cries only soothed by Selah’s whispered words and soft embraces.
“You need to sleep.” He touched her cheek. “My aunt will watch over her tonight.”
She nodded, needing little convincing. “Enough about me. What of you?”
“For now, I need to ride about the estate and assess the wind’s damage.”
“Take your weapon.” Though she hated to say it, she could not avoid the truth. “Watch your back.”
“Look for me at supper.” He kissed her, his ire of minutes before gone. “We shall have a peaceful eve, Lord willing. And we’ll continue praying for Oceanus’s safe return.”
Once Kentke was returned outside, the physic arrived and spent a thorough hour examining Watseka and talking with Selah.
“She’s a hardy little soul.” He shut his portmanteau at visit’s end. “I see no cause for bloodletting or any treatment save bathing in chamomile-infused water for her irritated skin. An extract of lemon balm should help her sleep more soundly. Be especially vigilant about her eating and drinking.”
Once Watseka ate a bowl of broth, Selah herself grew drowsy. The maids went about on tiptoe, shutting the door of Oceanus’s bedchamber as the afternoon wore on. Selah nodded off. They slept till supper, finally rousing when Xander came in.
“Ah, our Powhatan princess is good as new.” Taking her from Selah, he tossed her into the air and gained a fit of giggles before carrying her down to the dining room.
Seated on his knee at supper, Watseka ate from his plate, then moved to sit with Selah when Izella served apple tansy for dessert. This she ate two bowls of, though Selah feared she would be sick. Understandably, Watseka was ravenous in her recovery.
“We shall ask her no questions of her ordeal and torment her further,” Xander had said when they’d found her. Yet so many questions remained. Selah nearly grew dizzy from guesswork. After Nurse Lineboro and the factor had stolen her away, it seemed Laurent had foiled them by moving her to where she’d been found. Somehow the African knew where Watseka was. He might have seen Laurent move her or aided him somehow. But for the heinous s
cars upon his back and bony shoulders, Selah would still rather believe him a guardian angel.
“How much storm damage, Alexander?” Widow Brodie dabbed her lips with a napkin at meal’s end. “Precious little, I hope.”
“Mostly fencing down in the pasturelands. Felled trees that will make fine firewood. Nothing of lasting damage.” Xander took a drink of small beer. “Hopewell Hundred needs visiting next. Shay and I will see what begs repair.”
“I’ve a hankering to return,” Shay told him, “and collect a few of my belongings.”
Xander nodded. “We’ll go on the morrow and take a wagon. I have need of some empty barrels from the warehouse.”
“Take care.” Candace looked at them fondly. “Till this matter between McCaskey and Laurent is settled, I’d be very wary. And now Claibourne has come calling . . .”
The room stilled. Selah stroked Watseka’s silky braid, her mind on Claibourne’s challenge. As second, should he not address McCaskey instead since the factor had laid the blame at Laurent’s door to begin with? Yet McCaskey was not considered a gentleman, just a middling merchant, and only gentlemen dueled. She’d seen little of him since he’d been banished to the quarters and was now shadowed by a farm manager in Meihtawk’s absence.
“No sign of Nurse Lineboro, I suppose?” Widow Brodie still nursed her displeasure. “Surely she is at the heart of this misguided tryst with both men and should be punished. I would like to retrieve those candlesticks, besides.”
To his credit, Xander eyed her with amusement. “A loss of silver is far preferable to her duplicitous presence here, aye, Aunt?”
She gave a wry chuckle. “Well, framed such as that, I must agree.”
Watseka yawned and ended the matter. Easing the child onto her feet, Selah stood, hardly able to stifle her own yawning.
“’Tis my turn to spell you tonight, Selah.” Widow Brodie intervened, taking Watseka’s hand. “Go to bed, the both of you. My nephew looks worn as yesterday’s breeches.”
“I’ll not deny it.” Xander stood, eyes on Selah as she came toward him. “A peaceful good night to all, then.”
Tidewater Bride Page 31
