Toward Love's Horizon

by Michele du Barry

  He released Angela at last but kept her hand clasped in his, as if their touching kept open the lines of communication between them. Slowly, with a gentle firmness Jack drew her story from her, making her relive the pain and horror of the past months.

  She told it as if it had happened to someone else, not her, and he worried over the cold unemotional way she spoke. At one point he almost told her to stop, touched to the quick by the suffering she had gone through. No wonder she was unhappy and couldn’t bear the thought of having this child.

  When Angela finished she sat silently staring straight ahead, not looking at him, and her hand was cold in his. To think that she had been driven to kill them with her own delicate hands, like a trapped animal goaded beyond endurance, protecting itself and its offspring.

  “My poor abused little girl,” murmured Jack pulling her stiff body into the circle of his arms.

  He rocked her like a child and spoke healing words that she couldn’t remember afterwards. Had she even heard the words over her sudden outpouring of tears or just derived comfort from their tone? But as they walked slowly back home, the afternoon spent, there was a peacefulness that descended like a balm upon her and she knew he had been right.

  two

  Fishermen scattered as the powerful black gelding pounded over the beach sending sand and water splashing in every direction. They were used to her—the mad English duchess who galloped about the island at breakneck speed dressed in a pair of loose white trousers and a white blouse. It was a wonder she didn’t fall off and kill herself but she seemed a part of the animal and clung like a second skin to his back.

  She rode astride like a man, unable to find a single sidesaddle on the whole island, and her hair, as black as a summer storm, streamed behind her like a hurricane. The locals were proud of her, it was almost like being visited by royalty. In all of these southern waters only Key West could boast of having a resident duchess. Why, sometimes she even deigned to bestow a smile on them but often as not she passed them by without a glance, a faraway look on her face.

  Today she left behind a silvery stream of laughter and they stared after her long after she had disappeared.

  Hundreds of birds streaked upward into the sky, a fleeing white cloud, and Angela slowed her mount and finally stopped. She was breathing as fast as her horse, Neptune, exhilarated by her wild ride. Her clothes clung damply to her perspiring body and she lifted her hair off her neck. It was so hot and still, hardly a leaf or blade of grass stirred. But there was a promise of relief sitting over the ocean.

  Huge thunderheads piled up on the horizon darkening the sky. She could see the storm forming, black angry clouds boiling as if in a cauldron. It grew and moved with a life of its own, surging ever higher into the sky. Distant tongues of fire flashed through the mass, proclaiming its awesome power.

  Angela sat motionless caught up in the drama of the birth of a storm. The birds circled warily and then glided back down to the salt ponds where they nested every year. She often came to watch the great variety of birds: herons, cranes, cormorants, ducks, and once a pink billowing froth of flamingos. But today there was electricity in the air and the birds were ignored.

  Her greatest pleasure was riding, and once she had gotten used to riding astride vowed never to use a ridiculous sidesaddle again. But there was a method to her madness and each day after a morning of galloping she went home and bathed, then she lay down, waiting and praying for the hot shooting pain in her belly that would free her from self-exile.

  Jack had given Angela back her self-respect but no one could make her want this baby. Amy had protested at first when she had bought the horse but Jack had silenced her with just a look. Then he went and found her a saddle and the wonderfully unrestrictive trousers. He hadn’t said so, but Angela knew he approved of what she was doing. Ever since their long revealing afternoon on the beach he never reproached her for her actions.

  It was just a matter of time before the baby would be jolted free, losing its tenacious grip on her life—of that Angela was sure. The thought of another seven months in Key West was unbearable. Not that she didn’t enjoy the Newtons’ company, but it was time to move on. She had things to do and goals to pursue and there was always the shadowy retreating figure of Scott just beyond her reach.

  How long she sat there motionless she didn’t know. A rapidly moving group of thunderstorms spawned by the Gulf Stream turned the eastern sky black. Sheets of solid rain manoeuvred, advancing like an army into battle. Angela could see the line of demarcation as if it had been drawn with a ruler; on one side a torrential downpour lashed the sea into a gray fury, next to it blue rolling waves sparkled with sunlight.

  Neptune tossed his head, stirring restively as a blast of cold air accompanied by a loud clap of thunder encompassed them. Angela kept a firm hand on him mesmerized by the savage rampage that unleashed a primitive response deep inside her. She could only think of that other storm in the Highlands that had snatched the shredded flag from her grasp like a living entity. The dreadful, stained piece of tattered silk that she had discovered beneath the peaked roof of the round tower at Seafield Castle.

  No modern person, no matter how superstitious, could possibly believe in a curse. But at times Angela felt a very real fear of the Bratach Sith. Why even the legend was laughable—a flag given to Clan Campbell aeons ago by a fairy, to be flown in times of disaster or war to bring victory to the clan. Now really—a fairy! But her ancestors had obviously at one time believed in the legend and the curse. Good lord! The curse. Pregnant with Laporte’s child she could actually believe that some indescribable malediction was conspiring against her and Scott.

  What horrendous events had occurred since Scott flew the Fairy Flag to win a war—the very real war that he and Angela had fought since the first day they met. And he had won. She gave in and married him; she broke down completely and loved him with all her heart and soul.

  And then, when everything in the world went wrong and life wasn’t worth living another day, Angela had taken matters into her own hands and shredded the flag to pieces. It didn’t matter that whoever touched the Bratach Sith was doomed to be showered with evils for the rest of their lives; she had to be rid of it once and for all. Ever since then things had gone from bad to worse and it was so easy to blame her desperate straits on an ancient curse rather than on herself. But almost everything that had happened had been outside Angela’s sphere of influence. So she fluctuated wildly between belief and disbelief, and right now she believed. Both she and Scott had touched the Bratach Sith and they were apart.

  A jagged bolt of lightning plunged into the sea, ending her daydream, flashing silver-white, so brilliant that for a time she couldn’t see. When her eyes once more became accustomed to the encroaching dimness she cried out in surprise.

  In the midst of the commotion stood a huge unwavering rainbow. Never in her life had Angela seen such a brilliant vault of colors seeming to span the whole breadth of the ocean. The magnificence was breathtaking, vivid colors arching into the heavens. The bright splendor dazzled her eyes and at that moment she wished she was more artistically inclined, for to capture that sight on canvas would be a coup beyond compare.

  As quickly as it had appeared the curve of colors dissolved into mist. A spattering of raindrops preceded the storm, and Angela saw the grey curtain move swiftly toward her. She laughed and wheeled the horse. She would race the storm and see who was fleeter, Neptune the god of the sea or Aeolus the ruler of the winds.

  A gust of raging wind almost blew her off her mount and she urged him on. With a quick glance behind she saw the rain gaining on her and a minute later huge stinging drops lashed down on her. She was soaked to the skin in an instant, thunder ringing in her ears. She laughed out loud. It was wonderful—nature’s wild assault!

  The whole sky was falling and she was drowning in the tempest, bending low over Neptune’s neck as flashes of lightning sizzled around her. On a flat island like this the electric charges were att
racted to the highest objects and Angela on her horse was a moving target. But she wasn’t afraid, feeling really alive for the first time in months.

  As she raced past a huge old banyan tree a firebolt from heaven rent the air and the crash of thunder was like cannons booming in her ears. The whole world coruscated a blinding white and the tree glowed, then exploded into a million burning pieces. Every hair on Angela’s body stood on end and blazing chunks of the tree showered down on her.

  Neptune reared in sheer panic and streaked away almost as fast as the lightning. She couldn’t control the crazed animal and held on for dear life as the landscape whirled by in a blur. She saw the gale uproot a tree and a bush blew right in front of them.

  Her breath came hard and fast, her heart pounding like a drum against her ribs. Angela’s legs ached from clasping Neptune’s back and her arms strained to control him. But in spite of the danger or perhaps because of it, she was fiercely invigorated, her wild laughter louder than the thunder.

  Neptune was tiring, slowing down, heading by instinct to the shed that served as his stable not far from Jack’s house. He stopped, quivering all over just outside and Angela slipped from his back just as Jack threw open the door. She led him into the shed.

  “You were magnificent!” Jack grasped her by the waist his hands circling it easily. “I watched you through the telescope. I have never seen anyone ride like that. You should have been a highwayman!”

  The wind rattled the shed, threatening to tear off the tin roof and the rain sounded like a barrage of shot. Jack’s eyes darkened to slate-gray as they glanced over her, clothes and hair plastered to her body. She looked like a mermaid dredged up from the bottom of the sea, streaming with water, her breasts heaving beneath the now transparent blouse.

  He was soaked too, leaving nothing to the imagination, and Angela knew what he wanted, why he had been waiting and she wanted it too.

  They came together like the sea and the storm, his mouth devouring hers with kisses so violent she felt like the tree that had exploded when touched by lightning. She surged against him in a frenzy, hanging with her arms around his neck because her legs gave way.

  There was no storm, no Amy; only Angela and Jack falling onto the pile of fresh sweet-smelling hay in the corner, an elemental passion unleashed within them.

  The buttons ripped from her blouse and Jack’s lips moved on her bare breasts scorching her nipples. His hands tugged at the white trousers that clung maddeningly to her like a second skin. So shaken was Angela that she could only cling to his shoulders, gasping beneath the unexpected eruption of desire that possessed them both.

  Jack tensed and his head lifted with a frown furrowing his brow. It was still raining but the worst was over. Angela’s hands were teasing him beyond endurance but then he heard the sound again.

  “What was that?” asked Angela, not really caring, only wanting his full attention again.

  Distant shouts penetrated the shed and he surged to his feet rearranging his clothes and shaking his great silvery head as if to clear it of his momentary madness. Then she heard it, the words ringing out clearly.

  “A wreck on the reef! A wreck on the reef!”

  “Sorry, Duchess,” was all he said as he ran from the shed.

  Angela looked after him in confusion. She tingled all over and felt like screaming with frustration. Was he sorry he had almost made love to her or sorry because he had left without completing it?

  There were sounds of horns—no the huge conch shells they blew into to attract everyone’s attention.

  “Damn!” She jumped to her feet clutching the blouse over her bosom. “I’m not going to miss out on all the excitement!”

  Running as fast as she could Angela rounded the shed and cut through the garden. Everyone was on the beach or headed for it and she was no exception. Reaching Jack’s boat as he and Ezra launched it into the surf she plunged in after them and heaved herself aboard.

  “What the—get out, Angela!” Jack shouted over the commotion. “A wreck is no place for a woman!”

  “I’m going,” she stated determinedly. “Or are you going to waste time talking me out of it? Hurry! Almost everyone has a head start on you!”

  As he bent to the oars he swore but ended up laughing. “If you’re going to be in the thick of it would you please do something with your shirt! My men won’t have their minds on wrecking—and that’s for sure!” Angela gave him a sidelong glance that Ezra couldn’t help but notice. The whole exchange and her state of dishabille could mean only one thing. He wondered if they had been dressing or undressing.

  “You could have left me with some buttons!” she said tartly, tying the blouse beneath her breasts. It wasn’t much better so she shook her hair forward over her shoulders to cover what the material could not. Jack started to protest her words but she cut him off. “Don’t be a prude—Ezra knows. I can tell by the look in his eyes. Don’t worry, he can keep his mouth shut.”

  With two such powerful men propelling the boat through the water with all their might they reached Jack’s ship in record time. She scrambled nimbly up the rope ladder and stood carefully on the slippery deck. Everything was in readiness and as soon as they were aboard the ship plunged through the sea.

  The ship was fast and sleek, more than a match for the rowboats and smaller vessels. Soon they were outdistanced, and Angela stood clinging to the railing in the steady rain scanning the ocean for the wrecked ship.

  Then she saw it, sitting lopsided buffeted by the wind and sea but immovably fixed on a hidden reef. Only someone that knew these waters would have known the danger there. To Angela it looked as safe and deep as the rest of the ocean.

  Jack had reached the wreck first riding several hundred yards away lest his ship too succumb. A triumphant cheer went up and the men lowered all boats ready and eager for the grueling work ahead. Jack was Wrecking Master!

  “Oh no!” said Jack as Angela eyed one of the boats. “You stay here. If my guess is right they are caught on the edge of that reef. Below is a deep trench and the ship could break up or go down at any minute.”

  “But—”

  “No! There will be passengers to rescue. Make yourself useful and see that they are comfortable. Put them anywhere but in my cabin.”

  With that he left and Ezra came to stand beside her. “Aren’t you going?” she asked petulantly.

  “No, I don’t know what to do and would only be in the way. So would you.” His amber eyes were full of questions. “Why?”

  She turned away concentrating on the action below. She had given no thought to the consequences of her actions with Jack.

  “If I knew myself, do you think I would tell you?”

  “That’s right, my lady, put me in my place!”

  “I’m sorry, Ezra,” she said genuinely repentant. “I wish I knew myself. Sometimes things just happen.”

  “Don’t I know! I’m not trying to pry. I’m just concerned about you. I don’t think you should get in over your head.”

  “I haven’t!”

  The boats reached the disabled craft and she saw the sailors swarm onto it. While most of them went into the bowels of the ship looking for cargo several were assigned to help get the passengers into the boats. Not all captains were so scrupulous; some were interested in money first then survivors.

  The smell of cooking food came from the galley. The men would work straight through the day and night, as long as the ship was accessible, only taking time out to gulp down a hasty meal and a ration of rum. They were big, hearty men suited to the hard life of wrecking. Physical fortitude and grit were prerequisites as they toiled for sometimes twenty-four hours in storms and other adverse conditions.

  The boats were returning, and Angela and Ezra learned that the ship was Spanish. Among the survivors were several women and children who weren’t quite sure what to make of Angela in her outlandish garb and eyed her as if she was a female pirate out to do them mischief. Once they were settled in the cabins she went
back to the deck, this time with Jack’s spyglass in hand.

  Looking through the instrument was almost like being on the stranded ship and she watched, fascinated. Jack directed the activities mostly from the deck sometimes going below. The seamen worked fast with no wasted movements. They had done this dozens, sometimes hundreds of times before, knowing the dangers involved but ignoring them.

  Piles of crates, baskets, chests, and boxes were stacked on the tilted deck, each awaiting a short trip over the side, into the boats, and onto the Silver Bear. The clutter gradually grew on Jack’s ship and Angela had to be careful where she walked. It would be later when the Spanish ship was devoid of cargo that there would be time to organize the spoils.

  She saw Jack and the Spanish captain arguing vehemently over a group of massive, handsomely carved wooden chests, each one carefully padlocked. Finally throwing up his hands in defeat the Spanish captain gave in to whatever they were fighting over and sat down dejectedly on one of the chests.

  They worked on as the rain gave way to a light drizzle and then stopped completely. The clouds moved westward and as the sun slipped toward the horizon it lit up the storm blood-red and edged it with gold. The whole sky flamed, shading from red to orange to delicate pink and in the distance silver streaks of lightning still flashed.

  What a day of nature’s beauty and destruction! Angela would never be able to forget the sights she had seen. The first star appeared in the darker blue patch of sky in the east and she gave a stifled scream as the Spanish ship shifted, tilting alarmingly. Boxes, crates, and men flew in every direction, wreckers reaching out and clinging to masts, railings, whatever was fastened down.

  One man was crushed beneath an avalanche of crates and some boxes broke through the railing at the stern splashing into the sea. When the ship settled everyone was back to work again as if nothing had happened. She saw Jack bending over the motionless form of the man that was injured and gave a sigh of relief. He was safe for the moment. The day was flying and darkness was taking over. Soon there would be only lantern light making work much more dangerous.