Amanda laid the sleeping baby on a pallet and covered him. “He didn’t get wet. He was under . . . under my cape.” She was shivering so hard that she could barely speak.
Noah tossed her a blanket. The thought of her and the boy alone on the streets made him furious. He wanted to shake her. Did she think this was the Eastern Shore where a woman was pretty much safe?
Amanda’s velvet eyes narrowed. “I don’t need this. I’ll just go back to the widow’s house. I’m sorry to have—”
“Damn it, woman, will you stop apologizing. You’re here now. What’s done is done.” He slid a three-legged stool across the plank floor toward her. “Sit down. I’m not going to eat you.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” she said.
He pulled on a shirt and vest. “Mistress Faulkner seems to me to be a woman who can take care of herself. It’s you who was in danger walking the streets so late.”
She averted her eyes. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”
He shrugged. “I never thought much about you one way or another.”
She sniffed. “Good.”
“Maybe it’s you who are afraid of your own kind.”
She raised her chin proudly. “It’s not my fault that my family happens to be white. I was an infant when they took me in. If you blame me for that, then—”
He lit a pipe and puffed, trying not to let her see how much she irritated him. “You’re jumping to conclusions again. Why should I care if you think you’re a white woman?”
“I never claimed to be. Should I reject the people who loved and cared for me because of their skin color?”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ of that.” He motioned toward the baby. Any fool could see that the child was mulatto. “But when you took a lover, I can see what color he was.”
“Jeremy’s father was white,” she agreed.
He frowned at her. “My point.”
“It was not my choice.”
“You were raped?”
She nodded.
“You’re unlucky. Garrett told me that Bruce Talbot raped you two months ago.”
“Yes, he did.”
“And the boy’s father? What was that? A year and a half ago?”
“Yes.”
“Same man?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“None of your damned affair, Noah Walker.” She stood up, threw the blanket off her shoulder, and moved to pick up her son. “I came here only because of Caroline. I thought you could help. I see now it was a mistake.”
Noah stepped in front of her. “No, don’t go. I apologize.” Shame flooded through him. “I had no right to judge you. I’m sorry.”
She stood there, back as stiff as a white-oak mast, eyes snapping.
“I said I was sorry,” he repeated. “You may as well wait here until the rain lets up. Then I’ll walk you back.” He picked up the fallen blanket and draped it around her shoulders. “He’s a fine boy, and you’re a good mother. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Well, you did.” She sat down on the stool again.
“Garrett and Caroline, they haven’t had any private time alone together,” Noah explained. “Garrett got passage for us all on a ship to the islands, but you women will be together and we’ll be bunkin’ with the crew. Not much of a honeymoon.”
“It’s not like that,” Amanda said. “Caroline doesn’t mean to have that kind of a marriage.”
Noah chuckled. “What other kind is there?”
“I mean, she doesn’t intend to . . .” She blushed. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”
“That’s what he told me too. But he’s been as jumpy as a bald bear covered with bees. I think Garrett likes your lady—likes her a lot.”
“She’s not my lady. We were raised like sisters.”
“And naturally, you’ll inherit a portion of that big plantation too.”
“No, not land. But Reed—that’s our . . . Caroline’s brother. He doesn’t get land either. He’ll get money and so will I—when I marry. If I marry . . .”
“If you have a good dowry, I suppose there’s men wouldn’t mind an uppity wife.”
“I don’t care to discuss my personal life with you, Mr. Walker.”
“No, ma’am. I suppose you don’t.” He chuckled. “But you’re still welcome to spend the night here if you like.”
“No, thank you.” She stood up. “If you’re certain that no harm has come to Caroline, then Jeremy and I will return to the widow’s. I’d not keep you from your night’s sleep.”
“There’s no need for you to go. I won’t harm you.”
“I didn’t suppose you would. But what if Caroline comes back and we’re not there? Then she’ll be frightened. You were right. I shouldn’t have come.” She put her cloak around her again.
“Stay,” he said.
“No.” She picked up Jeremy.
“Hell, give him to me,” Noah said. “If you’re bound and determined to drown us all, I’ll carry him back for you.”
“I’m much obliged, Mr. Walker,” she said sweetly. For the first time, she flashed a shy smile.
“But if I die of pneumonia, it’s your fault,” he complained. Damn, life wasn’t fair. Here Garrett was bedded down someplace with a fine lady, and he was marching around in the wet with one as mean as a bay blue-claw with a cracked shell.
“If you die of pneumonia, I’ll personally put flowers on your grave,” she replied with a straight face. “Twice a year.”
“That makes me feel much better,” he replied sarcastically. “I was awfully worried about the flowers.” He opened the door and held it for her, then followed her out into the rainy night.
Chapter 12
The Caribbean
February 1778
Caroline stood on the deck of the Dutch merchant vessel and watched with growing fury as armed British sailors shackled the two young Americans. The mother of one boy—a lad hardly out of his teens—wept and clung to her son. “Don’t take him,” she pleaded. “For the love of God, don’t take my only child.”
“Cease your wailing, woman,” the lieutenant said. “His Majesty has need of able-bodied seamen.”
The hysterical mother, Abbie McGreggor by name, grabbed hold of the British officer’s coat. “Not my Will, please. Not my Will. I’ve lost two boys. He’s all I’ve got left.”
The lieutenant shoved her roughly aside and watched as a handful of brutish men in English naval uniforms forced the Americans down the swaying Jacob’s ladder. The white-faced Will McGreggor was the first prisoner to reach the longboat. Caroline stared helplessly as the boy looked up at his distraught mother, then over at the British man-of-war anchored a few hundred yards away.
“Will!” Abbie McGreggor screamed. Frantically, she flung herself at the rail. “Will!”
Before anyone could stop him, the boy raised his chained hands and dived over the side of the small boat. Caroline ran to the railing. Will began to thrash wildly as the weight of the manacles pulled him down.
The lieutenant shouted an order, someone swore, and a seaman in the longboat grabbed the rudder. A sailor cut loose the mooring rope that held the smaller boat to the merchant vessel and others began to row toward the floundering boy.
“Shark!” cried a passenger.
A rifle fired. Then Caroline froze as she saw a dark shadow slice through the clear, blue-green water. Will McGreggor rose partially out of the sea and gave a single inhuman shriek, and Caroline covered her eyes with her hands. When she looked again, the water swirled with black and there was no sign of the boy.
For a moment, there was stunned silence, then Abbie McGreggor began to sob brokenly.
The lieutenant swore again and turned his attention to the struggling black man being dragged from the fo’c’sle by three British seamen. Caroline’s mouth went dry as she saw that the prisoner was Noah. Blood trickled down his face from a cut on his temple; and his mouth was bruised and swollen. Sailors clung to each arm, w
hile the third man battered him from behind with a belaying pin.
Noah twisted and broke loose. He seized the wooden club from his tormentor and whirled it around him. The sailors scattered, and Noah backed up until he felt the solid bulk of a mast behind him.
Still swearing, the lieutenant motioned to a seaman carrying a Brown Bess musket. “What are you waiting for, you fool. Shoot him.”
“No!” Caroline lunged across the deck, placing herself between the musket barrel and Noah. “How dare you seek to impress my servant?”
The officer growled an order and the seaman lowered his musket. “Step aside, woman,” the lieutenant said.
“What’s your name?” she demanded. “Do you know who I am?”
“I only know that you’re obstructing my duty.”
Caroline glanced back at Noah. “Drop that ridiculous weapon,” she said. “This is all a misunderstanding.” She looked toward the Kaatje’s master, Captain Vander Voort. “Sir, please tell this officer who I am.”
“Again, Lieutenant, I must protest,” Captain Vander Voort said angrily. “The Kaatje sails under the Dutch flag. You have no right to board my vessel, and no right to—”
“Naturally, you must take that up with the proper authorities, Captain,” the British officer replied. “I have my orders.”
“And your next orders shall send you to Botany Bay if you touch my property. I am Mistress Caroline Faulkner. My husband is first cousin to Lord Cornwallis.”
The lieutenant’s brow furrowed, and Caroline noticed for the first time that he was barely older than the deceased boy, Will McGreggor. “Naturally, any property will be paid for,” he said. “You have but to make a claim in writing to—”
“A claim? A claim?” Caroline laughed sarcastically. “You cannot be serious. “I am to be deprived of my slave while I wait for months—perhaps years—to be reimbursed. I think not.” She waved a gloved hand airily. ”Go about your business, young sir. I am a good English citizen and I would not dream of interfering in your duties. But doubtless your superior never intended to insult relatives of Lord Cornwallis. Or”—she tried to look heartily offended—“or did he?” She brushed an imaginary bit of lint off her sleeve. “Surely, this is not a personal attack on Lord Cornwallis. Did you board this ship intending to—”
“No, ma’am,” the officer said, clearly in retreat. “We have a warrant for a pirate known as Osprey. The search we made of the Kaatje was for that purpose. Impressing British citizens for service in His Majesty’s navy is only a routine matter. There was no intent to interfere with your—”
“Interfere?” She laughed in what she hoped was a scornful manner. “I should think it is more than that. Deliver my regards to your commander. Return and ask him if routine matters meant seizing the property of Lord Cornwallis’s family. Doubtless you would enjoy the climate at Botany Bay. I understand it is quite . . . unusual.”
“Yes, ma’am, I mean . . . no, ma’am. This has been a misunderstanding.” The lieutenant removed his hat and gave a quick bow. “Your servant, Mistress Faulkner. Sir.” He nodded to Captain Vander Voort. “My men assure me that the criminal Osprey is not on board. I bid you a good day.” Signaling to his men, he crossed the deck and descended the ladder.
Caroline went to Noah. “Are you all right?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Where is Garrett?”
“I’ll be fine,” the black man said. “Thank you.”
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. You did more for me on the Gillian. Where’s Garrett?”
“Hidin’ in a better place than me, apparently.”
“But why would he hide? Surely he has nothing to fear from the British. It’s not as if they’d impress a well-born man like him.” She touched the wound on his head. “You’d better let me treat that—”
Noah shook his head. “I’ll see to it. I’ve had worse.” He nodded toward Abbie McGreggor. “Best you see if you can do anything for her.”
“All right,” Caroline answered. “But if you reach Garrett before I do, please tell him that I want to talk to him.”
Later, when she’d seen Abbie safely in the care of another woman, Caroline returned to the deck of the Kaatje. The British man-of-war had already pulled anchor and was sailing north toward the American coast. Captain Vander Voort had gone below, and the first mate was ordering sailors aloft into the rigging.
There had been no sign of Garrett yet, and Caroline was worried and increasingly annoyed. Coward. The word rose in her mind, and she immediately banished it. That was ridiculous. Her husband was no coward. No man who’d fought as he had against the wreckers off the Carolina coast could be lacking in courage. So why then had he hidden from the British boarding party?
And what twist of fate had placed her on a ship suspected of carrying Osprey? And why would the English put out a warrant on him after he had betrayed the American cause and gone over to the British side?
“I wish Osprey was aboard,” she whispered, running her hand along the smooth wood railing. “I’d love to have the chance to come face to face with him. I’d send him to hell faster than the British.”
“You are bitter.”
Caroline’s head snapped up and she stared wide-eyed at the vague outline beside her. Swirling colors formed the transparent image of a man, then dissolved until all that remained were two dusty clay-colored feet in a pair of twisted rope sandals. Scarred ankles rose almost to the knee; then there was nothing.
“Kutii,” she said sharply. “Don’t do that. Either appear or disappear. You know I hate it when you do that.”
A flash of copper became a muscular arm without a hand or a shoulder. “I am an old man. You expect too much of me.” She was not sure if the sound was coming from the spot beside her, or from inside her head.
“Kutii, where have you been?” In truth, his absence had disturbed her greatly. More than once, she’d wondered if he’d remained at Fortune’s Gift, if she was leading Garrett, Amanda, and the others on a wild goose chase to Arawak Island. “Do you know how long it’s been?”
“Your time means nothing to me, granddaughter.”
“You promised you would help me find the treasure.”
“This one made such a promise?”
His soft laughter seemed to surround her, and she shivered. Was he really there? Or was she simply as mad as May butter?
“Kutii told his granddaughter of the gold that the Star Woman brought from the bottom of the sea. This is true.”
“You said only part of the treasure was ever recovered. You told me you saw the rest in a cave on the island.”
The worn rope sandals rose into the air, ankles folded, and the rest of the Incan began to appear, faint but whole. Caroline blinked twice and saw him clearly, sitting cross-legged on the gunnel. In his hair was a bone comb. He was combing out his waist-length black hair and rubbing it with fragrant oil from a small pottery container. The strange pattern of tattoos on his bronze chest were bright blue, as vivid as if they had been painted only minutes ago. Caroline reached out to touch them, and her fingers found only warm air.
He laughed. “The barriers between us are not so easily crossed, child of my heart.” He looked into her face with sloe eyes as black as pitch.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
He looked offended. “This warrior cannot look upon the chosen one without harsh words? Are you with child yet? Your husband has a mighty spear. I thought—”
“No. I am not with child yet.” Caroline felt her cheeks grow hot. She and Garrett found little chance to be alone on this ship, but when they did find privacy . . . Her eyes widened. “You’ve been spying on me,” she accused.
Kutii shook his head. “He is a better man than the first, this new husband of yours. I think you should make a child with him. The sooner the better.”
“I don’t want children,” she lied. “At least not now, I don’t. And my marriage is my own affair. What was wrong with Wesley?”
Kutii put the l
id back on his bowl and tucked the container and the comb into a woven pouch slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a red-cotton wrap around his waist, a gold armband, and a silver nose ring. Now he carefully threaded silver hoops into his ears. Dangling from each earring was a curved jaguar tooth. “He was not worthy of you,” he said.
“Wesley died a hero. How can you say that about him?” she protested.
The bosun came toward her hesitantly. “Are ye all right, missus?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. Damn! Anyone watching her would believe she was out of her mind. She glanced sideways at Kutii.
He was watching her with an amused expression. “Do you care what these people think of you?”
She took a deep breath. “How can you expect me not to care? For the love of God. A few years ago, I would have been burned at the stake for being in league with Satan. Am I a witch? A madwoman?”
“You are who you are,” Kutii answered in his low, lilting voice. “You carry the blood of your ancestor the Star Woman. And you have her powers.”
I didn’t ask for this, she thought desperately.
“This one senses a great unease within you, child,” Kutii said. “You are descended from a great warrior people. It is right and good that you fight for freedom, but I feel in you a destructive hate for one man.”
“Osprey,” she whispered. Even his name on her lips was enough to make her tense with seething anger. “I will see him in hell.” She owed that much to Wesley . . . to Reed.
The bosun was giving her odd looks again, and she forced herself to think rather than speak to Kutii. What news of my brother? Is he all right? Have you seen him?
The Indian shook his head. “My energy is weak so far from you and from the earth where the Star Woman lies. You must seek out Reed yourself. Why do you hesitate? Use what the Creator has given you.”
“But I . . .” Her protest died on her lips as she watched the swirl of colors. One instant she was looking at an Incan nobleman, and the next—air and sparkling sea. Do not stay away so long next time, old friend, she said silently. I miss you. Her lips curved into the hint of a smile. I love you.
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