by Pamela Clare
“I knew ye were goin’ to say that, ye bein’ such a noble bastard and all.” Nan shook her head. “It’s a right and worthy thing ye do, Zach. God be wi’ ye.”
“But, Zach, if you don’t … ” Elly found herself kneeling next to the bed, clutching his hand.
“I might die? Would that be so bad, Elly, dear?” His eyes were hard, cold. He jerked his hand away.
“Aye,” she answered, her own voice a whisper. “Zach, I—”
“You care for me, Elly, sweet? You love me?” He smiled ruefully. “Get out.”
Only when she heard herself sob did Elly realize she was crying.
“Come, Elly. It is best if ye take this medicine to the mistress and send Luke with water and linens.”
Elly wiped her face with her apron and stood, swallowing her tears. “No. You go, Nan. I’m staying, whether he wants my help or not.”
Zach moaned in protest.
Nan started to scold her.
Elly cut them both off. “I’ll not leave this cabin until Zach is well.”
Surprised at the strength in her own voice, she squared her shoulders and smoothed her apron. She was no child to be ordered about. No one and nothing would make her leave Zach’s side.
“Well, he’s too weak to argue with ye.” With that, Nan turned to go.
“Don’t bet on it!” Zach’s shout followed her out the door.
* * *
According to the map Cassie had given him, he should now be well onto Robert Carter’s land. Corotoman lay not far ahead. He’d left the road, hoping to save time by cutting through the forest. Somewhere here along the river should be Carter’s wharf, busy with men loading and unloading the cargo that had made him his fortune.
Alec gave Aldebaran his head. The stallion found his way over logs, through dense stands of pine, along strands littered with debris left by the retreating tide. Distances in England were nothing compared to the vast spaces that stretched between neighbors here. Already this journey had taken more time than Alec had imagined.
He’d begun to worry he’d somehow gone in the wrong direction, when he saw it in the distance—first a thinning of the trees, then boats nestled in a small natural inlet. Men bustled about, carrying crates and pulling drays laden with hogsheads and other crates. Urging the stallion on, he rode to meet them.
“Ho, there!” came a voice.
Alec reined Aldebaran to a halt and dismounted to see a man running toward him from out on the pier. His clothes were stained with sweat, and, as he drew near, Alec was assailed by the rancid stench of unwashed flesh.
“Ye’re Blakewell’s convict.”
The man, an overseer most likely, appraised Alec with squinting eyes, and without waiting for him to answer, took a pistol from his belt and aimed it at Alec’s head.
“Aye. I’ve come to have a word with Carter on Blakewell’s behalf.” The man hesitated, his eyes darting from Alec to the map still in Alec’s hand to the stallion and back again.
“More likely ye’re tryin’ to escape. Are ye surprised to find yerself here, convict? Thought maybe this was a port town?”
“If I’d not known this was Corotoman, I’d not have asked to speak with Carter, would I?”
The man paused for a moment, thinking it through. “And what would the likes of ye have to say to me master?”
“Do you always pry into your master’s business? I should think he’d find that disagreeable in a servant.”
The man licked his sunburned lips nervously. “This way, convict. But keep yer hands where I can see ’em. And if ye try to run, I’ll shoot.”
Alec accompanied him across the dock toward the outbuildings—drying sheds, a warehouse, enough slave and servant cabins to constitute a sizable village. It was said Carter owned more than two thousand slaves. In the distance, Alec could see the three-story great house, enormous by Virginia standards. Not far from it were the charred remains of the original Corotoman, which Cassie said had burned to the ground two winters past. Though larger even than Crichton Hall, the new house wouldn’t have amounted to more than a modest country manse in England.
Stopping in front of one of the warehouses, the man gestured for Alec to stop and disappeared inside. Securing Aldebaran to a nearby wooden railing, Alec waited, aware that more than a few had stopped work to stare at him. Finally the man emerged, holding shackles. Two slaves followed behind him.
Something lurched in Alec’s gut, some half-forgotten memory of chains and pain and darkness. Instinct told him to fight, to flee.
“Hold him.” The overseer motioned the slaves forward.
Fighting the urge to strike out, Alec shrugged off the slaves and held out his wrists.
“If it makes you feel safer, by all means.” He smiled coldly, and the slaves laughed, evidently amused to see the overseer frightened of someone who offered no resistance.
His face red, the overseer fastened one end around Alec’s right wrist before locking the other to the wooden railing. The click of the lock and the feel of cold, hard iron against his skin sent chills up Alec’s spine.
“Watch him.” The overseer turned and vanished behind another warehouse.
The two slaves dropped into conversation, speaking some language Alec had not heard before. Obviously, they were not the least bit concerned he might somehow escape. Sweat trickling down his back, Alec forced himself to relax, leaning against the warehouse to escape the hot sun.
The overseer hadn’t been gone long, however, when he reappeared, with Carter trailing behind him. The old man was dressed impeccably despite the heat, his face beaded with perspiration. Carter stared at him with a discerning eye, his gaze coming to rest on the iron shackles.
“Why is this man in manacles?” he asked the overseer, who shifted uncomfortably under his master’s gaze.
“He’s a convict, master. He wandered out of the forest onto the dock. I thought he might be tryin’ to escape and didn’t want him runnin’ off. He has a map.”
“Yes, yes, well, it’s not likely that he’d ask for me by name if he hadn’t meant to find himself on my land, now, is it? Loose him.”
Following his master’s instructions, the overseer clumsily produced a key from his vest pocket and released Alec.
“Just why are you here?” Carter dismissed the overseer and slaves with an impatient flick of his wrist.
“I came on Blakewell’s behalf to purchase a quantity of quinquina powder.”
“The ague, eh?”
“Aye.”
“And what makes Blakewell think I’ve enough to spare? My people have been hard hit this season, and I’ve far more to tend to than he does.”
Alec smiled. He’d not play that game. “He’s prepared to offer you something quite valuable in return.”
“Ah. Of course. And what would that be?”
“He’ll lend you Aldebaran to stud.”
Carter’s eyes widened with amazement. “Perhaps I should have you locked up. That’s hardly like Blakewell.”
“The stakes are high for him this time.”
“His daughter is ill?”
“His son. And no powder.”
“His only son and heir. That is a problem.” Carter considered Alec for a moment, his brown eyes staring unflinchingly into Alec’s. “Well, Braden, let’s get out of this damnable heat. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Aye. And not much time.”
* * *
Cassie bathed Jamie’s fevered brow with a cool, damp cloth. He was hot and sweating now, chills having given way to restless thrashing. She’d given him the second draught—the one Zach had refused—less than an hour ago, saying a prayer for Zach as Jamie swallowed the last drop. She’d refused it at first, sending Nan back to Zach’s cabin, medicine in hand. But then Nan had returned, saying Zach was as obstinate as ever and had refused to touch the lifesaving concoction.
Moved though she was by Zach’s sacrifice, Cassie couldn’t help feeling remiss in her care of him. Though one dose would have h
elped but little, to have no quinquina at all was surely a death sentence. Some died quickly, consumed by fever. Others died slowly, the fever wasting their bodies. Zach knew this. He had chosen to die if it might save her brother. She hadn’t stopped him.
“Cassie?” Jamie’s eyes fluttered open, and he reached for her, whimpering.
“It’s all right, sweet boy. I’m here.” She lifted the crying child into her arms, wrapping a blanket around him to ward off chills. A lump caught in her throat to see him so ill …
“I’m hot.” He struggled weakly to kick free of the blanket.
“That you are, love. I must keep you covered, else the air will give you chills.”
His eyes closed, and for a moment Cassie thought he’d fallen asleep again.
“Where’s Pirate?” He lifted his head and looked about for his puppy.
“Outside causing mischief. I didn’t want him to wake you.” Jamie nestled against her, pressing his face to her breast. His skin was pale, his lips parched and drained of color.
“Tell me a story.”
“Aye, but first you must drink some cider. Can you do that for me?”
Jamie nodded.
Cassie held a cup of cool cider to his lips and encouraged him to take several swallows. She laid him back onto his bed and began telling him the story of Robin of the Hood.
Jamie shook his head. “Blackbeard. Tell me the one about Blackbeard.”
It was the tale Alec had always told him, and it had replaced that of Robin of the Hood as his favorite.
“I’m afraid I don’t know that story well, my sweet.”
“Cole knows it.”
Cassie suddenly found it hard to speak. “Aye, but he’s gone … riding.”
“When he comes back, can he tell me a story?”
Hot tears sprang to her eyes. When she’d heard the sound of Aldebaran’s hooves disappearing into the distance this morning, she’d thought she would die. Her heart had seemed to shatter, leaving nothing but pain behind her breast. Only Jamie’s plight had drawn her mind from Alec.
Why hadn’t she told him? She had let Alec ride to what might well be his death without telling him she loved him. The thought pained her more than knowing she’d likely never see him again.
She’d have to report his escape soon. Strange no one had questioned her about his absence. It was well past suppertime.
God, grant him speed and keep him safe.
She’d give him one more hour, then she’d alert the authorities. One hour, maybe two. “He might not be back for a while, sweetling.”
She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled.
“Will you help me tell the story?”
“Aye.”
“There once was a pirate named Blackbeard, who was the scourge of the seas,” she began, ringing out a damp cloth and pressing it to his cheeks.
“And the colonies,” Jamie added, his voice weak.
“There once was a pirate named Blackbeard, who was the scourge of the seas and the colonies,” Cassie corrected herself.
The sound of a horse’s hooves and Pirate’s excited barking interrupted her. The horse drew nearer, until its steps rang off the cobblestones below. A familiar whinny, a familiar deep voice.
Scarcely able to breathe, Cassie stood. It could not be. Yet …
Pulse racing, she rushed to the window to see Alec talking with Nan in the courtyard below.
“Fetch Takotah,” she heard him say.
But this made no sense. Why had he returned?
She scarcely had time to ponder the question before he bounded up the stairs and stood in the doorway. Cassie stared, unable to believe her eyes. There he was, his shirt stained with sweat, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His gaze caught hers and held it, his blue eyes reflecting the same worry and anguish that had consumed her all day.
“Cole!” Jamie called, a smile lighting his wan face. “Tell me the story about Blackbeard.”
“Aye, tadpole.” He walked to Jamie’s bedside and stroked the boy’s curls. Then his gaze returned to Cassie. “I prayed I’d not be too late.”
He pressed something into her hands, and Cassie found herself staring mutely at a leather pouch.
“Quinquina.”
Cassie stared at him, astonished. “But how? Where?”
“Honestly and fairly, but we’ll discuss that later. Right now I hear there are several people, including a wee lad and a stubborn sawyer, in need of this remedy.”
Cassie’s heart soared as she opened the pouch and found enough powder to cure at least a dozen people. Her knees grew shaky, and she found herself needing to sit down.
Alec stood before her, smiling, steadying her. “Have a care, Mistress. Don’t swoon.”
“I never thought to see you again.” Her voice was a whisper.
He brushed a curl from her cheek. “I could not leave until I knew Jamie was past danger. How is he?”
Cassie glanced over at Jamie, who watched them through heavy lids. “He is weak, but no worse than expected, though I feared that, without more powder, he’d—”
“Shhh, love.” Alec touched a finger to her lips “We have all the powder we need. We shall see him well cared for. I shall personally make certain you get some sleep. But now for Blackbeard.”
He sat next to Jamie, his voice taking on a deep, dramatic tone.
“Tis said Blackbeard was the scourge of the high seas and a bane to His Majesty’s colonies. And a more terrifying pirate there ne’er was. Why, ’twas said he lit his own hair and beard on fire as he stormed the decks of captured ships.”
Cassie looked at the pouch in her hands, then stood. God willing, both Jamie and Zach would survive.
Chapter Twenty-six
Within three days, Jamie had grown hale enough to refuse to eat Nan’s chicken broth. Within a week, he was on his feet, though he was too weak yet to run about with the other children. Cassie had stayed by his side throughout the illness. Alec had been there to tell Jamie stories and cheer her when her spirits flagged. When Jamie’s fever had finally broken, Alec had taken her to her bed and held her as she fell into an exhausted sleep.
Zach, too, was recovering, though not as quickly. Senseless with fever by the time Alec had arrived with more powder, he’d refused to take the quinquina at first, believing the women meant to trick him into taking Jamie’s portion. Only when he was unconscious and so weakened he could not fight them had they been able to force him to drink. Elly had nursed him to health—with some skill, Takotah said—staying by his side night and day until the fever broke.
Only two more had fallen ill since then. Thanks to the additional powder, they had survived. With the summer nearly at an end and the marsh air cooling, Cassie did not expect the ague to return, though one could never be certain. She’d seen it kill in the dead of winter. But the danger was ebbing, and with the harvest nearly complete, an air of near celebration had overtaken Blakewell’s Neck. There was cider to make, vegetables to pickle, and buildings to strengthen against the onset of cold weather. All tasks were being taken on with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.
Cassie sat on the steps of the cookhouse, shelling peas and watching blue jays compete with chickens for the corn she’d sprinkled about the courtyard. The scent of approaching autumn tickled her nose. Soon the leaves would change and the days would grow cooler. Autumn had always been her favorite season. Not as rainy as spring nor cold as winter, free of the sticky heat of summer, fall brought with it a feeling of calm and contentment, as the world began to slip slowly into its winter sleep.
“Leave me be, woman!”
It was Zach. He was walking slowly toward the well, Elly beside him.
“You’ve barely escaped the grave, Zachariah Bowers. I’ll not have you up walkin’ about when you should be in bed.”
Elly was right, of course. Zach was weak, though he tried valiantly to hide it. His face was gaunt and pale, and Cassie could see that walking from his cabin to the courtyar
d had left him out of breath.
“I’ll not have ye telling me what I can and cannot do!”
Cassie turned her eyes back to shelling peas, feeling as if she were intruding on something private. Nan predicted Zach would soon get over his hurts and forgive Elly, despite the fact that she carried another man’s child. Cassie silently prayed it would be so, though watching the two of them together, it seemed unlikely. Cassie knew that Takotah had offered to rid Elly of the babe, but Elly had refused, saying the child, though a bastard, would at least love her. In this she’d had Nettie’s support. It was most strange that Nettie, who only a few weeks ago could barely stand the bondsmaid, seemed to have become Elly’s only friend.
“That’s far enough!” Elly sounded truly angry now. “If I must, I’ll get Luke to tote you back to your bed like a sack of oats!”
Cassie looked up to see Elly, who was at least a foot shorter than the sawyer, wrap her arm around his waist and turn him back toward the cabins. For a moment Zach accepted her support, clearly sapped of what little strength he’d had. Then he pushed her away.
“I don’t need your help.”
Elly fell backward onto the cobblestones. She cried out and clutched her belly.
Cassie dropped the bowl of peas and bolted down the cookhouse steps. By the time she’d reached Elly, Zach was already kneeling at her side.
“Curse me! Is it the babe?”
Elly nodded, drawing several deep breaths.
Cassie was astonished that Zach would do such a thing. “I suggest you leave women in peace and seek out a field hand for your sport! Otherwise someone might think you a bully!”
“Aye, and rightly so.” His face was pale with remorse, his brown eyes pleading. “I’m sorry, Elly, love. I never meant for you to fall.”
“I tripped on my hems.” Elly slowly sat up. “It was but a passing pain.”
Zach lifted the girl into his arms and stood. “I’ll take care of her, Miss Cassie.”
Cassie realized her mouth was agape. One minute Zach couldn’t bear to be near Elly. The next he was carrying her off like a knight in shining armor.
“But, Zach, you’re weak—” Elly protested.