“Burke said that?”
“Aye. He told me you always got yourself in trouble and I should have nothing to do with you.”
“That sounds more like him.”
“He cares about you.”
“He cares about his own hide,” he said, surprised that Burke said anything at all. But his own words were a lie. Burke had had many opportunities to leave him, and he would probably have fared better by doing so. Burke was as loyal as any man alive. This discussion was going nowhere, though. He could not let it go anywhere.
“We should go back. They will be getting impatient.”
“That means we have to eat.”
“Aye.”
She shuddered slightly. “I am not sure that I can.”
“There is hard bread, too.”
“I like that much better.”
Any other woman would be screaming rather than looking a little smug at finding a solution to the problem. He found himself smiling again. And not just on the outside.
They paddled down the river for three more days, then the men carried the two canoes over land and started down another waterway. Even Alex helped. He’d not had a relapse since the snake episode.
Jenna thought it was willpower. She had discovered by now that he had an iron will and steely control. He was like that with her, too. Since that night when she needed him so badly, he’d very carefully drawn a line between them. She would catch him watching her, and every once in a while he would hold out a hand to help her in and out of a canoe, or when she tripped, but mostly he kept the distance he’d always tried to keep.
Not that there was time to indulge in anything other than survival. The priest was confident they had lost their pursuers, but they must know that Alex’s ship had to be somewhere along the coast. Their big problem was reaching the Ami before the ship was discovered by the British.
The priest knew the island pinpointed by Mickey and agreed upon by Claude. They knew that much depended on Claude. He could just return to France, reporting to their sponsor that he had been chased by a British frigate. He could then keep the captain’s share of the prize. There was that, and there was also the chance that the British would find the ship. That would leave the five of them in a country where they would be hunted by both Portuguese authorities who looked unfavorably upon smuggling, and the British who would like nothing better than to find the pirate and any of his friends.
Alex seemed to gain strength every day, although when they made camp each evening he limped badly. She knew every step was a mammoth effort. It hurt her to watch as he grimaced when he folded his legs when they took a brief rest.
They slept only during the deepest hours of night. She’d had one nightmare—again the snake—and Alex had held her until she slept. She had awakened alone.
She said no more about love. She knew he viewed the future with skepticism, but she’d said what she had to say and did not intend to inflict her hopes or needs on him. She’d almost died that day, and she was not going to leave the world without making him realize someone could—would—love him.
The only thing she could do now was try to avoid being a burden to either him or anyone else. Except for the snake, she ate what they gave her, tried never to complain, and washed their clothes when the priest said it was safe. She thought often of her life in Scotland. Servants had done everything. She had never washed a piece of clothing in her life.
Now she would not return to that kind of useless life for anything. She felt valued here. Liked for what she was doing, not for her bloodline, or wealth, or position.
“How much farther?” Alex asked.
“Another week,” the priest said. “We have to stay in the forest, and that slows us.”
Jenna already knew that. The priest had told her the coast was patrolled and the mountains to the west were often well-traveled by treasure hunters and planters. That left them to hack their way through overgrown trails. A mile took far longer to traverse in the jungle than in the cool Scottish hills.
They built a small fire and cooked river fish. Then, exhausted, Alex lay down and was asleep within minutes. Jenna remained awake, too tired to sleep, too emotionally drained to rest. The others in their party made it nearly impossible for any kind of intimacy, even if Alex would allow it. He made sure they were never alone. Even when he accompanied her for her brief bouts of needed privacy, they did not venture out of earshot.
She did not know how long she sat, unwilling to lie down. She feared the nightmares and the questions about the future that haunted her. She wanted to stand and wander, to be by herself for just a few moments, but she was not a fool. A few feet outside of where they were and she could become lost forever, or worse.
A star appeared directly above. It appeared alone, the others hidden by the tree cover above. And even that lone light winked on and off as clouds drifted across the sky. She watched as they grew heavier, eclipsing the star altogether. The air grew dense, and she felt the moisture in the air. It would rain tonight.
She sighed and lay down. She might as well try to get some sleep before it came.
“Put the paddle down, senhor,” the priest shouted to Alex over the noise of the rushing water.
Alex took his paddle from the water as Tomas and the priest continued to guide the canoe through ever more rugged rapids. He knew he wasn’t as skilled enough to be of help, nor did he have the strength of the other two men.
Water sloshed into the canoe even as they were assaulted by rain above. The rain had tortured them for the last three days, coming in torrents, then suddenly stopping. Steam rose from the forest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
After the river, there were clear trails, according to the priest. Once they disembarked this time, they would have two days’ walking, then he knew a fisherman who would take them to where the Ami lay waiting for them.
Alex hoped. He prayed—something he hadn’t done in a very long time.
Jenna’s clothes were splattered with mud from getting in and out of the canoe and walking in mud that sometimes sucked at her ankles. Her hair was pulled back into a braid but wet tendrils clung to her face. She looked wretched. She looked glorious.
The rapids became fiercer and the two men paddling moved in a quick, sure rhythm, spitting out words to each other, words he could not understand. Jenna clutched the sides of the canoe. Her face paled as the white water became more and more vicious.
The canoe behind carried Burke and Mickey and the tight-lipped guide.
Tomas and the priest steered the canoe clear of some rocks. Suddenly, the canoe dipped as the water fell beneath them. It hit some rocks and Alex flew into the air as it turned over. Even as he was pushed under the water, horror struck him. Jenna could not swim. She’d admitted that to him several days ago.
He struggled to the surface. He saw two other heads in the foaming water. He did not see Jenna.
Alex took several strokes, fighting a whirlpool beneath the small fall, then swam forward. No Jenna. He dove underwater and then he saw her. She was caught in the whirlpool, her arms frantically clawing the water.
He grabbed her and pulled her up to the surface. She fought him, and he put an arm around her and dragged her along with him. He headed for the banks as the current pulled and tugged and tried to drag him back underwater.
Finally she stopped struggling, and he was able to get to the bank. He laid her on the ground. She coughed up water and he turned her over. More water erupted, then she stuttered, “The … others?”
He looked around. They had been swept downstream. He saw the canoe downstream, tumbling along in the water. Then he saw Tomas helping the priest. The other canoe was still upright and heading for the bank.
“All alive,” he said.
The breath seemed to go out of her body then. She lay motionless. He touched her neck. The pulse was throbbing. Exhaustion. Shock.
He sat beside her as the others reached them. He nodded to let them know she was all right.
&nb
sp; But she wasn’t all right. She would never be all right again. Not after what she had gone through during the past few days, weeks, months.
One thing he knew for sure now. He was her Jonah.
Chapter Twenty-seven
They remained on the bank through the night. Tomas was able to retrieve the overturned canoe, but they lost Jenna’s bag of possessions, including her dresses, change of clothes, and what money she had.
She regretted that, but not too much. She was alive, and that was no small thing.
Nor was it any small thing that again it was the captain—Alex—who had saved her.
She’d been sick for a while. She’d swallowed a great deal of water, and it took time for the panic to fade. She could not get over the queasiness, the pain in her stomach.
Alex looked even sicker than she did. She’d heard him curse and knew it was aimed at himself. “Ah, Jenna,” he said then. “If anything had happened …”
“You didn’t let it,” she said.
“Almost,” he said. “I almost didn’t see you down there.”
He looked so miserable. “I do … have a tendency for getting into trouble, I fear.”
He did not answer but she knew he continued to blame himself and that only drove him farther and farther from her.
Marco and Tomas started a fire and she huddled close to it, willing her clothes to dry. Everyone but Alex filtered away on various errands or perhaps to leave them alone.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand. Instead, she put her arms around her knees and huddled next to the fire.
He was not going to take her in his arms. That much was clear. But perhaps she could learn something more about him, anything that would help her understand him. She knew, of course, that he was Scottish, that he had fought at Culloden, that he had protected a band of children for nearly a year. She still did not know his true name.
And as long as she did not, she would not know him, would not know how to find him, or what made him what he was, or how to reach anyone who cared about him. She thought how terrible it would be if he simply vanished from her life, and she’d have no way to know whether he was alive or dead.
And with him, directness always worked best.
She watched him trying not to watch her. “You said you have a sister,” she said.
His gaze met hers. “Aye.”
“Where is she?”
“In Scotland.”
“No one else?”
“Nay, they died not long before Culloden. My sister was already married.” He looked at her for a long moment, then he added, “To a Campbell.”
“A Campbell,” she whispered.
“Aye, a branch of your family. His name was Alasdair.” His voice was cold again.
She searched her memory. She had heard, though, of a scandal. Alasdair was a distant cousin who had died last year. His wife had been accused of murder, but then found innocent by no less a personage than the Duke of Cumberland himself. “Leslie,” she said. “Janet Leslie.”
“Aye. A Campbell nearly killed her.”
She could not breathe for a moment. She’d known, of course, that he’d hated the Campbells, but she’d believed it was the disdain of a Jacobite for a clan who allied itself with the English. She had not known it was so much more than that.
“Is that why …?”
“That is why another one of your cousins accused her of murder.”
“There are a lot of Campbells,” she said softly.
“Aye, they are a plague on this earth,” he said bitterly.
Jenna bit her lip. Now she knew why he had never quite trusted her, why he had kept so much to himself.
His eyes had hardened as he told the tale, but suddenly he reached out and took her hand. “I should not have blamed you for something you knew nothing about.”
But he had, and he might again. And, aye, she did know something about the ruthlessness of her father, of the other Campbells. She had heard them plotting to wipe out all the Jacobites in Scotland. But she had been a lass and could do nothing.
Or could she? If she had but spoken up …
“Nay,” he said as if knowing her thoughts. “You could have done nothing.”
She blinked back tears that had not fallen throughout the trek. Not when she was attacked by the snake. Not when she almost drowned. Not even when she feared for Alex’s life. One of her family nearly killed his sister, and another accused her of murder. Because she was a Jacobite? No wonder he hated her family.
His hand tightened around hers. She looked up at him. His beard had grown, and he looked like a bandit. His clothes were drying but were wet enough that they stuck to a body grown lean during his illness. His hair was also darker with moisture and those piercing dark blue eyes were filled with an intensity she had not seen before.
“My sister remarried,” he said after a moment. “The man also sided with the English at Culloden but I’ve never met a better man. I came very close to killing him. In fact, I wounded him so badly he hovered between life and death.”
“He lived?”
“Aye, he lived, and not because of my doing. I judged him without knowing him.”
It was an apology, and yet distance was still between them. His anger was still there too, though it was not aimed at her. He was a very complicated man who was full of contradictions. She wondered whether she would ever understand him as well as he seemed to read her thoughts.
“She is happy then?”
“Aye,” he said, then lapsed into silence.
“Good,” she said.
He was silent for a few moments. “Are you always so honest and forthright?”
“Nay. I used to hide in the shadows.”
“Because of the birthmark.”
“Aye. And I was plain.”
“You are anything but plain, Jenna. You are the bonniest lass I know.”
She looked down at her soiled clothes and felt the heaviness of her hair clinging to her face. Self-consciously, she pushed it back. “Nay,” she said. “You are still ill.”
“I do not know if I can ever get over the anger, lass. I’ve turned into a thief. I almost murdered a man who did not deserve it. I allowed hate to color everything. I have become my enemy.”
With those words, Jenna suddenly knew the battle ahead. The enemy was no longer her family. It was not that she was a Campbell. It was a self-loathing that went far deeper.
Her fingers wound around his and brought it to her lips. “And the good things?” she asked. “The children? The men who would do anything for you?”
“Saving the children was a way to strike back at the English,” he said. “Don’t turn it into something else.”
But it had been something else. Would he ever realize it? Or believe he was worth loving?
They reached the coast five days later. Tomas had been able to retrieve the second canoe. It had taken all of Jenna’s courage to step back in, but she knew they could not walk through the forest to the coast. It would take them weeks.
Nothing else could happen, she told herself. And nothing else did.
Not even a kiss. Not a moment of affection. Nothing. Instead Alex drove himself mercilessly. The fever struck him again, but he wanted Burke to look after him. She watched him suffer through such chills that she thought he might rock the earth, but he still flinched whenever she neared him.
The priest had taken her aside. “It is best for him that you stay away,” he said.
She had looked at him with misery but knew that he was right. Alex grew worse when she tried to do something to help him. He was able to travel again the next day, the medicine working small wonders.
Alex Leslie. She now knew his name but it made no difference. He trusted her, but he did not trust himself, and that seemed an even worse burden for him to carry. He had undertaken this venture thinking he would probably die. And he had not cared.
She did not know what to do to change his feelings. She could only look at him, knowing that each f
urlong they traveled brought them closer to a departure she did not want. Because he did not feel he had a future? Because he did not think he had anything to offer? Or was it still her name?
Jenna was a realist. She could look after herself. She’d left most of her jewelry aboard the Ami. The few pieces she had brought with her in the event of emergency had now disappeared down the river. If they did not reach the Ami, she would be penniless. She would also be unable to return home. Rumors would live with her throughout her life. She knew the misery of a birthmark. The shame of being a fallen woman would make her position untenable.
And Meg and Robin? The thought of the children had kept her going these past five days. She made up stories she could tell the lass, including descriptions of the parrots and flowers that so enchanted her.
When they finally reached the mouth of the river just before dusk, she asked whether she could use the water to wash her hair and her clothes.
“Stay close to the bank,” the priest said. “Tomas and I will keep watch.”
She had no soap, but just rinsing out her hair and her clothes made her feel better. The trousers and shirt had been clinging to her body, and she wore them into water that looked almost as muddy as she already was.
To her surprise, Alex came in with her. The chills had stopped yesterday, but his clothes, like hers, were caked with sweat that seemed to attract insects.
She kept an eye out for alligators, but the priest said they would be unlikely to see them here. Still, there was always the danger of snakes. She was not sure whether Alex had come in to bathe himself or to watch over her.
Jenna wondered whether she was making things worse.
But at least she did not think anything else could happen. In the past two months or so, she had survived cannon fire, a storm at sea, a giant snake, and rapids. Perhaps she was just becoming numb to it all.
She stayed close to shore and did the best she could. The priest produced a small bar of lye soap, and she scrubbed and scrubbed, then handed it to Alex. Then, reluctant to linger in the water, she climbed up on the shore and watched him soap, then dive into the water. She remembered the strength of his arms when he’d pulled her from the river, but it had been only three days since his last attack.
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