My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  He shrugged, his movements not quite his own. "I couldn't find her. Then I heard the musket-shots. I heard the war whoops, the women screaming. My father ran through the kitchen with his weapon. He never made it out the door." Duncan pointed mechanically to the center of his forehead. "A war club, here." He paused, as if seeing his dead father for the very first time. Then, haltingly, he went on.

  "I hid under the kitchen table, coward that I was."

  "You were just a little boy," she whispered.

  "I could hear the screaming. Musket-fire. The hogs squealed. They were slaughtering the animals, too. For the sport of it." He wrapped his arms around his waist. "When I didn't hear any more sounds, I went out of the house the other way. I walked up into the field. That's when I saw my little sister . . . raped . . . scalped." His lower lip trembled. "They peeled off part of her face. I don't know why."

  Jillian caught her breath.

  "That was when I saw him. The Mohawk. He was coming toward me, his bloody war hatchet in his hand. There were dried human fingers hanging from the handle. I was so scared, Jilly, that I couldn't move. I knew I should run—" He shook his head slowly. "—but I couldn't I just couldn't.

  "Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother." He smiled as a boy would smile. "She was on a horse. She was coming to get me. She was going to save me from the red savages. She saw me. She saw the Mohawk." His face hardened suddenly. "She . . ."

  Tears ran freely down Jillian's cheeks. "What?" she whispered.

  "She looked me in the eye; she looked at the Mohawk, then she wheeled the horse around and rode away." He lifted his hand weakly. "Mama . . ."

  Jillian didn't know what to say . . . how to comfort him. She couldn't imagine his terror. "But he didn't kill you."

  "No. I wish he had. I've wished it a thousand times." He looked at her. "Instead, he took me home and adopted me. I became his son as if I were of his blood. I became one of them." His last words came out with such a hatred that it frightened her.

  Jillian started toward Duncan, but he shrank back. "Go to bed," he said. Then he turned away and, before she could reach him, he had disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

  Jillian thought about following him, but decided it would be better to leave him to himself tonight. It had to have been hard for him to tell her that story, that hideous story. Tomorrow, she would go to him. Tomorrow, she would convince him that he had to let her go to Maryland. Tomorrow, she would fix everything.

  So, wearily, Jillian returned to her bed and slept, all too aware of the empty place beside her.

  It was early morning. She still wore her sleeping gown and robe. The moment she'd woken, she'd come downstairs in search of Duncan. She'd assumed he'd slept in his office, but the room had been empty. Mysteriously, his maps and charts were missing.

  Jillian paled. "Gone? What do you mean? Gone where?" She stood at the door of the orangery, watching the dowager water a lime tree.

  "Gone to the docks, coward that he is. Woke me at dawn to say goodbye."

  Jillian froze as the dowager's words slowly sank in. "Goodbye? You mean he left already? He left without telling me?"

  The dowager moved on to the next tree. "He wasn't supposed to go for another fortnight. He didn't even take that Atar with him. The manservant came down ill this morning, so he's leaving him behind to follow on one of Duncan's own merchant ships."

  "But why didn't you wake me?"

  "He made me promise I wouldn't. Said I would be interfering in his life." She chuckled. "You've got my grandson running scared."

  "Me? It was his idea to go to Maryland without me. I thought I was going." She gripped the door frame, feeling faint in the knees. He'd gone without her. He didn't care. He hadn't even said goodbye. "I wanted to go to the Colonies with him."

  The dowager peered through a leafy branch in the tree. "I thought as much." She shrugged. "But what are we poor, helpless women to do?"

  "Do?" Jillian stepped into the orangery, the warm, humid air hitting her full in the face. The glass-walled room smelled of oranges, limes, and lemons. "I'm going to Maryland, that's what I'm doing."

  "Are you?" Daphne moved to the next tree and plucked a dead leaf, playing the devil's advocate. "But how? He says he's leaving on the evening tide. He won't wait for the passenger ship to sail. It's some merchant vessel. He didn't say which one."

  Jillian tightened the tie on her robe. "I'll find him."

  "He won't let you on board."

  "I'll stow away."

  "That's my girl." She winked. "It's the red hair. I've had confidence in you since the first day you set foot in this house and set Algernon on his ear."

  "I won't let Duncan leave me behind," Jillian said, as much to herself as to Daphne. She looked up at her. "He told me about his mother. Last night. He told me what she did." Jillian followed her around the tree. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Wasn't my place, child. Besides, it wouldn't have been the same, coming from my mouth as his. He hasn't told but a handful of people, not in twenty-five years, he hasn't. My grandson must care for you deeply, else he wouldn't have told you."

  "Oh, certainly." Jillian was awash with doubt. "He cares for me so deeply that he's run off to the Colonies without so much as a goodbye."

  The dowager came around the tree. "You have to understand something about Duncan, Jillian. The man hurts inside."

  "I know that. And I want to help."

  "That's the trouble. He can't let go. He can't forgive himself."

  "Forgive himself for what?" Jillian opened her arms in confusion. "He was a child. His mother left him, and he was forced to live among savages."

  "He says he became one of them."

  "To survive."

  Daphne shook her head. "He says he did terrible things in the name of survival. He thinks he should have died in the field with his sweet sister."

  "That's ridiculous." Jillian rested her hand on her hip. "What terrible things did he do?"

  "I don't know, and I don't know that I'd tell you if I did. All I know is that the Earl of Cleaves is going to have to forgive himself before his past kills him."

  Jillian sighed, staring off into the lush greenery of the orangery. "I'm with child, Daphne."

  "He told me this morning."

  "Would I be risking the baby's life if I made the journey."

  The dowager's eyes narrowed speculatively. "How far gone are you?"

  "About two months."

  She threw up a hand. "I rode a camel across a desert eight months gone with Duncan's uncle. Did him no harm."

  "How long will the journey take if I make it on board this merchant vessel?"

  "Three to four months by the southern route you'll be taking. 'Course you might find another vessel willing to take you by the northern route in less time." She slapped her thigh. "Wouldn't that be something, to beat the smug bastard there?"

  "No." Jillian was emphatic. "I have to be with him. I have to make him understand that I'll never leave him." She looked at the old woman whom she admired so greatly. "I love him."

  The dowager smiled. "Then go. Go and have a good life."

  "I hate to leave you."

  The old woman kissed her wrinkled palm and blew Jillian a kiss. "I'll be fine, sweetling. Go, go, and take that sister of yours." She chuckled, reaching for her watering can again. "Marry her to one of those redmen if you have to, but see her wed. Do that for me."

  "I don't know if she'll dare go."

  "She'll go. For you, she'll do it."

  Jillian smiled. "Thank you."

  Daphne ducked beneath the branch of a lemon tree with the agility of a woman half her age. "What for?"

  "For your advice. For your support."

  "Stuff and nonsense. What else are the old and weary here for but to show the young the path?" Then she turned away, moving on to the next plant, and Jillian ran out of the orangery. She had a million things to do, and the first involved an audience with Will Galloway.

  "Thi
s is wrong," Beatrice whispered, hurrying down the dock behind Jillian, who walked behind Will. "Father will be terribly angry that I've gone. That you've gone."

  "Think, Bea," Jillian whispered harshly. The salt air and the heady scent of stagnant water assaulted her nostrils. "When was the last time we heard from Father or Mother? I don't mean to be cruel, but they consider their work done. We won't be terribly missed, you or I." Jillian didn't mention her parents' relief at no longer having to try to find their eldest daughter a suitable match. There was no need to hurt Bea's feelings any more than necessary. Jillian could speak the truth without speaking the whole truth.

  "But what of Daphne? I—I should stay and care for her."

  Jillian stopped and spun around, both hands occupied by large, heavy carpetbags. Only what they could carry, that was what Will said they could bring. The merchant vessel would have very little room for passengers. The quarters would be cramped. The only reason there would be room at all for them was that the captain of this particular ship had altered the vessel so that he could carry a few passengers with each trip as a means to earn extra money.

  "You can stay if you want, Bea." Jillian set down one of the bags to ease the ache in her shoulder. "That's up to you. But you heard what the dowager said. Your best chance at finding a husband is in the Colonies. Besides, I need you."

  "Hurry," Will called under his breath "The dockworker I bribed won't wait. Seven on the hour is when he said he would load the last crate. The ship sails on the tide at eight."

  Jillian scooped up her bag and ran down the uneven planks of the dock to catch up. In the shadows, she saw a rat scuttle by. She prayed Beatrice hadn't spotted it.

  "Wait for me," Bea murmured. "I'm coming! I'm coming."

  "That's the sport," Jillian whispered over her shoulder. "This is an adventure you'll never forget, sister."

  "An adventure I'll regret is more likely." Beatrice stopped to stare up at the hull of a merchant vessel that loomed over their heads. "Is this what we're going to sail on?"

  By the light of the shipboard lanterns and the torches that illuminated the dock, Jillian could make out the gold letters that bore the ship's name. Kelsey Marie. It was a three masted Dutch-built flute, Will had informed her. The length was fifty feet on the keel, with a beam of sixteen feet. He had assured her the Kelsey Marie had crossed the Atlantic many times and was as seaworthy as any vessel.

  "This is it," Jillian reassured her sister. "Duncan is on board. Will confirmed it."

  "Hurry, ladies." Will stopped near a stack of barrels and waved them on. "I see the boy now. They've already got the pulleys in place to load the crate. Are you coming?"

  "We're coming, we're coming." Jillian followed in his footsteps to the stern of the Kelsey Marie.

  Will told Beatrice and Jillian to wait while he went to speak with the dockworker who had agreed to help them. The two sisters watched nervously, from a distance, as money exchanged hands. Then Will waved them on again.

  Before Jillian knew what was happening, she, her sister, and Will were seated inside a five-by-ten-foot wooden crate and the side was being nailed on. Suddenly, they were immersed in darkness.

  Beatrice gave a start as the dockworker sank the first nail home.

  "It's all right," Will assured them. "He's just putting enough nails in to keep the crate shut. When we're ready to show ourselves, there'll be no problem getting out."

  Jillian heard the squeak of rope against rope. The box shifted and creaked ominously.

  Beatrice grabbed Jillian's hand and hung onto it.

  "It'll be all right," Jillian whispered as the crate was lifted and swung precariously in the air. "We're going to be fine. I'm going to be with Duncan, and you're going to find yourself a handsome tobacco planter."

  As the crate went higher and began to swing toward the deck of the ship, Jillian looked through the darkness to where she knew Will sat. Nervous energy coursed through her veins. She was so intent on reaching Duncan that she wasn't even afraid. "Everything's happened so quickly," she said. "I haven't had a chance to thank you, Will."

  "No need." His voice came out of the darkness. "I'd had enough of London. Enough to last me years."

  "But your things—"

  "Not a problem. What little I own of value will be shipped. I told you, the arrangements have all been made. It's time I returned to the Tidewater, too. It's my home now, just as it's Duncan's and will be yours."

  In their preparation to stow away, neither Jillian nor Will had mentioned what had taken place between him and Duncan. "But your friends . . ."

  "There was no one to say goodbye to. All-I have is Duncan, and you. What have I got to lose? I just hope that once I get the Colonial Devil trapped on the bowsprit, I'll be able to talk some sense into him."

  The crate was beginning to lower. They could hear the shouts of sailors as the last of the cargo was loaded on board ship.

  "He'll have to listen to you then, won't he?" she asked, hoping he read the support in her voice.

  "If he doesn't, I guess I'll just have to push him overboard into the ocean, won't I?" His laughter came easily. Then after a moment, he whispered. "Shhhh. We'll touch down on the deck in a moment. The sailors will have to strap us down. We wouldn't want them to hear us." He tossed a blanket to the two women. "Cover up, my ladies. It's going to be a cold, damp night."

  Seventeen

  That night in the crate, on the deck of the Kelsey Marie, was the longest Jillian had ever spent. She slipped in and out of sleep due to sheer exhaustion, but was plagued with nightmares. She dreamed Duncan wouldn't take her back. She dreamed he set her afloat on a raft in the ocean. She dreamed her baby was born, a boy, with his father's bear claw tattoo on his cheek.

  Dawn's light was just beginning to seep through the cracks in the crate when the gentle roll of the ship began to change. Within minutes, all three occupants were fully awake and clinging to the sides of the crate to keep from sliding to and fro with the movement of the ship.

  Will said they were hitting rougher water, that it wasn't unusual. Jillian hung onto Beatrice, huddling under the wool blanket for warmth, and prayed she had not made a mistake in coming after Duncan.

  By the dull morning light, Jillian could make out her sister's face. She was as green as one of Daphne's houseplants.

  Jillian reached under the blanket to take Beatrice's hand. "Bea?"

  "Oh, sweet heaven, Jilly, I feel so sick," she muttered.

  "Are you going to be ill?"

  "I—I don't know." She panted, pressing her hand to her stomach. "I haven't eaten since yesterday noon."

  Jillian dug through the closest carpetbag and pulled out a bundle of bread wrapped in a linen napkin. "I've sweet muffins and water. Would that make you feel better?"

  At that moment, Beatrice turned her head and delicately wretched into the corner of the crate.

  Will groaned.

  "Hush," Jillian hissed, stuffing the muffins back into her bag. "It's rough. She can't help it if she's sick!" She got up on her knees, trying to comfort poor Bea.

  "I told you this would be no picnic at Banstead Downs, Jillian," Will said from his corner. "I told you to think twice about bringing her."

  Jillian hugged her sister, smoothing her damp hair. Beatrice was sweating profusely. "It's all right, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

  Beatrice moaned and pressed her face into Jillian's shoulder.

  "We've got to get her into a bed," Jillian whispered to Will.

  "No. It's too soon. If they find us now, Duncan will just order the ship back to the dock. I told you when we agreed to try this, a full twenty-four hours in the box is required. And even then, I can't guarantee the captain won't turn back. It depends on how hefty a bag of coins the good Earl of Cleaves offers him, I suppose."

  Beatrice lifted her hand weakly. "I'm fine. Really. Just let me sleep. I don't want to ruin this for you. I won't."

  Holding Beatrice with one arm, Jillian retrieved a bottle of fresh wa
ter from her bag. "Will, have you a knife?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "Give it to me. I want to make a compress."

  Will crossed the short distance between them at a crawl. "Want me to help?"

  "No." She took the knife, speaking coolly. She was annoyed that Will didn't have more compassion. "I can do it myself."

  Will retreated to his corner. "Sure stinks in here, now."

  "Hush!" Jillian chastised. "Count your luck it's not you." She tore a square from the bottom of her shift with the aid of Will's knife and saturated the cloth with water. "There. How's that?" she asked Bea, as she pressed the cloth to her perspiring forehead. "Better, dear?"

  Beatrice could manage nothing more than a limp nod.

  After a few minutes of silence, Will spoke. "This wasn't a good idea." He cradled his head. "I should never have agreed to this crazed notion of yours. Your sister's not up to it."

  "She's only seasick. We'll be fine."

  "How about you?" he asked. "Feeling ill?"

  "I'm fine." The truth was, Jillian was a little queasy, but she refused to give in. She'd not get sick. She just wouldn't. She had to stay well so she could care for Beatrice.

  "Duncan will have my head if you get sick or injured. For that, I vow, he'd never forgive me."

  "I said I'm fine," Jillian repeated, wedging herself into a corner of the crate so she wouldn't sway with the roll of the ship.

  She could hear the howl of the wind and the splash of the water that now surrounded them. Dampness seeped from the walls of the box. From somewhere in the distance she could hear the faint call of one of the ship's crew as they trimmed the sails.

  "Promise me that if you feel poorly, you'll tell me."

  "I promise."

  He chuckled in the semi-darkness. "You lie."

  After a moment she laughed with him, any anger she felt toward him dissipating.

  "It's not fair," Will chided.

  "What?"

  "That Duncan found you first. I'd have married you in a heartbeat, Jillian."