“Kit, we must get them back. We can’t just leave them to their fate.”
“I’m afraid we must. Captain Fellowes is the one who makes the decision, and he is not in favor of pursuit. We lost a lot of men and will be sailing with a skeleton crew as is. The ship suffered a lot of damage. The carpenters will do what they can, but we’ll have to stop for repairs in the West Indies. We’ll never make it to America in this condition. We’ll be limping into port.”
“We can’t just give up on them. They must be terrified. Those poor women. What will happen to them?”
“They will be sold to the highest bidder at the slave market, but I doubt they will be killed.”
“Will they be raped?” Louisa asked, horrified.
“Most likely, but their fate will still be better than that of the captured men. They either put them to hard labor, or turn them into galley slaves. There is no fate worse than that. The slaves are chained to the benches, forced to row for years without leaving their spots. They hardly sleep, and are given just enough food to keep them alive. Their life expectancy is very short once they are sold to the galleys.”
“That’s absolutely barbaric.” Louisa felt more tears slide down her face. The thought of the Collins women on that ship was terrifying. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what they must be feeling.
“We have to go back for them. Please.” Louisa was pleading with Christopher through tears.
“I agree with you, but it isn’t my decision to make. I am not the captain. Captain Fellowes must do what’s best for the passengers and crew, and in this case, it’s to sacrifice a few to save many. I must go up, Louisa. The men will be ready for burial at sea. Do you wish to come up and pay your respects?” Kit rose unsteadily to his feet, holding out his hand to her. Louisa took it, and followed him out of the cabin and up the steps.
Fifty-two bodies were laid out on the deck, ready for burial. About thirty were corsairs, dressed in colorful kaftans and flowing pants. Their white turbans were still on their heads, a stark contrast to their dark skin. The bodies of the English sailors were stitched into sacking and laid out separately. Louisa looked around, but couldn’t tell who was missing. The rain was coming down hard; the sails overhead taught and flapping in the gusty wind that was taking them further and further away from the pirate ship and their captives.
Louisa watched as Reverend Blackley stepped forward, his prayer book in his hands. He waited silently while several sailors tossed the corpses of the corsairs overboard before beginning the funeral service. It was brief and poignant, bringing nearly everyone to tears. The bodies of the English sailors were consigned to the sea one by one, as their names were recited. Louisa wiped the tears from her eyes, saying her own prayer and asking God to have mercy on their souls. Her dress was soaked, her hair plastered to her face, but she didn’t care. At this moment nothing really mattered.
Her eyes found Mr. Collins. He stood, haggard and stooped, at the edge of the group, his eyes blank and his mouth slack. His fingers kept pulling at a button on his coat until it came off in his hands. He looked down at it in surprise, not really comprehending what was happening. Louisa was about to go over to comfort the man, when his head suddenly jerked up and he looked around wildly. No one was paying any attention to him. Mr. Collins pulled himself up onto the railing of the deck and sat there for a moment, as if unsure of what he was doing. His eyes met Louisa’s for a brief moment, before he fell backward into the roiling sea. Louisa’s scream was lost in the chaos that erupted, sailors shouting to Mr. Collins to stay afloat. It took mere moments for the waves to swallow the man; leaving an empty spot where only seconds ago a human being had been.
Chapter 29
Kit Sheridan stood on the bridge, swaying slightly. His arm was on fire where the corsair’s sword wounded him; the skin uncomfortably tight and swollen. His sleeve was tinged with blood, despite the driving rain that soaked his shirt and plastered it to his body. The gash was much deeper than he originally thought, and he bound it with linen strips in an effort to stop the bleeding. He should have wrapped it tighter, but it wasn’t an easy task with only one hand. Kit used his teeth to hold the bandage as he tried to tie it. Giant swells tossed the ship from side to side, making it difficult for him to keep his balance. He used his good arm to steer, spreading his feet further apart to give himself more leverage against the heaving wood beneath his feet.
Captain Fellowes was in his cabin being tended to by young Mr. Willis. The boy showed incredible courage and ingenuity last night, earning the respect of the crew; however, Kit strongly doubted that he would be able to keep Fellowes alive. A cutlass had pierced one of the captain’s lungs. He was gasping and wheezing, his eyes rolling in his head, waiting for death to claim him. If the captain died, Kit would have to take command.
He hadn’t been completely honest with Louisa when he told her he would have gone after the captives. He felt profound pity and regret, but to risk the leftover crew and their already damaged ship to rescue two women would not be practical. Even if he could go back and find the pirate ship in this storm, they would still be vastly outnumbered, turning a rescue into a suicide attempt. Their best bet would be to head for Jamaica or Trinidad, restock and make repairs, before continuing up the coast to Virginia.
You would go back for Louisa, his mind whispered. Yes, he would go back for her. He would risk everything and everyone to get her back. He supposed that made him a treacherous cur to pick favorites, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He would do anything to get her back. The thought of Louisa being dragged onto a platform at a slave market, stripped to show her assets, made his blood boil. He knew full well what happened to white women who were sold into slavery. They didn’t last long. Very few of them were ever ransomed. Most ended up in the brothels or harems, used by countless men until they died a lonely and horrible death. Mrs. Collins might have a chance of survival since she was older and less desirable. She might wind up in the kitchens or someone’s laundry. Anne, on the other hand, was doomed. The girl was young and fair, and presumably a virgin. She would fetch a lot at auction, and her owner would most likely not be kind.
Kit was distracted from his morbid thoughts by the appearance of Louisa. She was dripping wet, the bodice of her dress clinging to her breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her taut nipples were clearly visible through the thin material, and he had to force himself to look up at her face. Louisa’s hair hung loose, drops of water sparkling on her eyelashes.
“Go down, Louisa. You’re soaked.” Kit didn’t really want her to leave, but he didn’t want her catching her death.
“I came to check on you. How’s your arm?” Her look of concern made him feel a little warmer, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile.
“I am well. Please don’t concern yourself.”
“You don’t look well.” Louisa stood up on her tippy toes and reached for his forehead. His skin felt very hot to the touch, despite the cool rain bathing his face. “You’re burning up. You need to be in bed, and your wound must be cleaned and disinfected.”
“Disin-what? It’s just a flesh wound. It will heal in no time.” Kit was lying through his teeth, but he didn’t want to alarm her.
“Disinfected so that it doesn’t fester. Come with me, and that’s a direct order. Who’s next in command on this ship?” She looked so determined that Kit nearly burst out laughing. It had been a long time since anyone cared enough about him to show this kind of spirit.
“Mr. Prescott is the second mate. He’s next in command,” he answered reluctantly.
“I’ll go get him and bring him to stand shift.” With that, Louisa disappeared down the stairs, leaving a bemused Kit smiling to himself.
Chapter 30
Louisa had no trouble finding the second mate. He was in the galley with a few other men, drinking to the memory of the departed sailors, and cursing the corsairs, using some very colorful language. His eyes opened wide in utter shock as she ordered him to the bridge, leav
ing before he had a chance to comment or refuse. She had to run another errand before tending to Kit. Louisa knocked gently on the door of the captain’s cabin, so as not to disturb him.
The smell of impending death hit her as soon as she walked into the spacious room. Mr. Willis sat by the captain’s side, his childish face full of worry and fear. Captain Fellowes looked deathly pale, his face clammy; horrible wheezing sounds coming from his chest. She couldn’t see the wound that pierced his lung beneath the heavy blanket, but it had to be very bad. The captain’s lips were cracked and bleeding, moving soundlessly in an effort to either pray or say something to the cabin boy.
“Mister Willis, I wonder if I could have a cup of claret.” Louisa whispered.
“Certainly, Mistress Jamison. It’s over there on the desk. You must be very shaken. I quite understand.” Daniel Willis looked quite shaken himself, but he was trying to put on a brave face for her sake. Louisa gave him her warmest smile, wondering how long he had been at sea, and where his family was, if he had any.
“I heard of your bravery, Mr. Willis. You are a very impressive young man. You will make an excellent captain some day.” The boy’s face went pink with pleasure, and Louisa had the most overwhelming desire to give him a motherly hug. He was just a child, after all. Instead, she took a pewter cup and filled it with claret. She had to admit that drinking it seemed very appealing at the moment. She was shaken, but she had things to do before she could allow herself to deal with her own feelings. She thanked the boy and left the cabin.
Kit was already in his cabin by the time she got there. He had managed to pull off his boots and lay wet and dripping on his berth, his eyes partially closed. Louisa set down the cup of claret and the basin of rainwater she carried under her arm, and went to shut the door. She nearly laughed at his expression of shock. Unmarried ladies didn’t go to a man’s cabin unchaperoned, much less shut the door behind them. The fact that the man in question was barely conscious didn’t diminish the impropriety of the situation.
“Can you take off your shirt, Mr. Sheridan?”
“So, it’s Mr. Sheridan again, is it?” he mumbled, as he tried to sit up without moving his injured arm.
“Let me help you.” Louisa helped him sit and started to pull off his shirt, leaving the sleeve of the wounded arm for last. She peeled off the wet fabric from the filthy bandage and helped him back down. At least the shirt wasn’t stuck to his arm. The linen bandage was soaked with blood and covered his arm almost from elbow to shoulder.
“Let’s have a look at it, shall we?” She tried to sound soothing, but he just laughed.
“The last time someone spoke to me like that I was five and skinned my knee. Help yourself, Angel of Mercy. I am at your disposal.”
Kit closed his eyes and let her untie the bandage. Louisa tried not to stare at the jagged wound that gaped open to reveal muscle and a glimmer of bone. Right. It was deeper than she expected, but it didn’t look infected. Not yet. Louisa dipped some clean cloth into the rainwater and began to sponge the wound. She was glad it had rained, since salt seawater would have been the worst thing to use. The salt would have burned, causing Kit a lot of unnecessary pain. The cloth was quickly saturated with blood, needing to be washed out every few minutes.
“I’m going to disinfect your wound by putting some claret on it. It will probably sting, but it will kill any infection,” she informed him.
“Are you mad, woman? You’re going to waste good claret on my arm? Give it here. It will do more good.” Kit was staring at her as if she had taken leave of her senses, reaching for the cup. Louisa reminded herself that he knew nothing of germs or infections, and was lucky if he washed his hands from time to time.
“I know what I’m doing, Mr. Sheridan,” she snapped, pressing the claret-soaked cloth to his arm. He stiffened, but remained quiet, watching her.
“Have you cared for wounded men before? And how much good wine have you wasted?” he asked with a slight smile. She could tell he was in pain, but he had to have the last word.
“Don’t concern yourself with that. Just drink the rest of the claret and try to sleep.” Louisa handed him the cup and watched him drain it in one gulp. He lay back, still watching her.
“May I ask you something?”
Louisa nodded, afraid of what he might ask. She knew the question would be very personal, and had to figure out how to answer him without arousing suspicion.
“Why did you never marry?” he asked softly.
“No one ever asked.” It was the truth. Louisa had been with Doug for nearly eight years, but he never asked her to marry him. He seemed happy with the way things were, and told her he loved her without needing to make it official. His love for her didn’t stop him from leaving though, did it?
“I don’t believe that. You must have had dozens of offers.”
“No. There was a man I loved, but he never asked me to marry him.” Louisa turned away, embarrassed by his direct gaze.
“He was obviously a fool to let you get away,” Kit replied, taking her hand in his. “I am asking.”
“Asking what?” Louisa could feel the heat coming off his hand. He was still feverish.
“I am asking you to marry me.”
“Mr. Sheridan, Christopher, you are fevered and you don’t know what you’re saying. You are married already.”
“Why would you think that?” He looked a little confused, making Louisa wonder if she had been wrong.
“I didn’t mean to read it, but it fell out of the book. There was a letter from your wife.”
“My wife is dead, Mistress Jamison. That was the last letter she ever wrote to me. There was an outbreak of Black Death that spring and she was infected, as was my mother. I’ve been a widower for two years.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know. I assumed she was waiting for you at home. Please forgive me.” Louisa felt ashamed of herself, first for snooping, and second for jumping to conclusions.
“There is nothing to forgive, which brings us back to my question.”
Chapter 31
Charles felt growing unease as the sun began to make its ascent into the June sky. The forest was still shrouded in shadow, darkness pooling between the trees and in shallow depressions, but the tips of the trees were already bathed in the pink glow of the coming dawn. He had been searching all night, and he was bone-tired and hungry. Charles hadn’t fully realized until last night just how much he loved his cousin. Finn could be annoying and whiny sometimes, but he was Finlay’s son and that made him special.
Charles had adored his older brother, and wanted nothing more than to be just like him when he reached manhood. He had been the “fun brother.” Alec was always busy with the business and his own life, devoting most of his time to Violet. Charles hadn’t been jealous. He loved Violet. She had been beautiful and sweet, unlike his sister Rose, who was always crying and praying. Finlay had already been in his teens when Charles was born, but he never treated him like a baby. He took him hunting and fishing and taught him how to ride. Once, he even took him into a tavern in the village.
Then everything changed. The bloody flux wiped out most of the Whitfield family within a few days. Charles lost his parents, Violet, and her newborn son, as well as several servants. Only Finn, Alec and Rose had been spared, leaving Charles scared and bewildered. Rose ran away to a convent, and Alec spiraled into a drink-fueled depression that only worsened his horrible grief. Only Finn took the time to comfort the little boy and ease his terrible pain. Charles didn’t blame Finlay for bringing him to Uncle Thomas and Aunt Lottie. Finlay wanted what was best for him, and his aunt and uncle became his surrogate parents, until Alec and Valerie came with baby Finn.
Charles had been overjoyed to see Alec again. He missed both his brothers terribly, not really understanding that Finlay was gone. He kept imagining him back at Yealm Castle, riding his spirited gelding and flirting with tavern wenches. Eventually, it sunk in that his beloved brother was dead, and buried in a lonely
grave by the abbey ruins. He wasn’t even in a proper cemetery. His grave was probably overgrown with weeds and flowers, obscuring the cross bearing his name. It had been Alec’s idea to bury him by the abbey, away from prying eyes, and people who might wish to desecrate the grave of the traitor.
Charles had been happy for a few years after Alec and Valerie came. He liked Valerie, and enjoyed playing with little Finn. He had been so adorable, toddling everywhere after Charles. It wasn’t until one night in November when Charles had been thirteen, that he overheard the conversation that changed his life. He wished to say goodnight to Alec and Valerie, but heard them talking and stopped outside their bedroom door. They were speaking of Finlay. It was the anniversary of his death, and he heard Valerie crying softly.
“Oh, Alec, I know you had to do it, but sometimes I still dream of it. I can still see him in that horrid cell, beaten and bloody, shivering with cold. He was just barely alive, but he was still with us. I have dreams of you holding that coat over his face, his legs twitching and his fingers clawing at the floor, fighting death with everything he had. I will never forget that moment as long as I live.”
“I dream of it too. May God forgive me for what I’ve done.” Alec’s voice was very low, but Charles heard it loud and clear. He ran to his room and was violently sick. Alec killed Finn in the Tower. He suffocated him until he was dead. How was this possible? And then Charles understood. Alec coveted Finn’s wife. No wonder he married her less than six months after Finn’s death. It even said in the Bible that you shall not covet thy brother’s wife. Alec was a murderer and a sinner, and Charles would never forgive him. Never. He would bide his time and avenge Finlay’s death, no matter how long it took.
Charles had to learn to live with his resentment of Alec, but life wasn’t finished with him yet. When Uncle Thomas died, he left everything to Alec, not to Charles, who had been his ward since the age of six. Alec had not only killed his brother, but stole his inheritance. He was now the wealthy landowner, while Charles would have whatever Alec chose to give him. It was time to act.
A Leap of Faith (The Hands of Time: Book 2) Page 10