"No, he's well," Griffin said. "Mr. Hamilton and some friends found Mr. Mason at Dixon's, and I gather there was a bit of a tussle. Threats were exchanged, and not a few patrons of the establishment took sides."
"Violence. Men glory in it," Lady Graymoor proclaimed. "Any excuse for brawling will do." She patted Will's pillows and brushed a straying lock of hair away from his forehead. "Julia is beside herself with worry, and not just for William."
Griffin nodded. "Mr. Hamilton has a serious heart condition."
"Julia is afraid that the excitement might be too much for him. And rightly so. Richard needs to be conscious of his health. One invalid in the family is enough." Lady Graymoor frowned. "Sorry, child, I forgot that you've only just arrived in Charleston."
"Mrs. Hamilton is confined to her bed with a condition," Griffin explained.
"A permanent condition, I fear," Lady Graymoor said. "Quite tragic. Her mind has deteriorated." She tapped her forehead. "Gabrielle Hamilton suffered several miscarriages before Julia was born and more after. The last was the son Richard wanted so badly. The babe lived for nearly a day. Poor woman never recovered from his loss."
"That is very old news, I'm afraid," Griffin said. "I was attempting to inform Mistress Angel of yesterday afternoon's tidings."
Lady Graymoor sighed impatiently. "Richard Hamilton called Edward Mason out, but Edward refused another duel."
"He insulted Mr. Hamilton by calling him an old man," Griffin put in. "Naturally the villain denies any culpability in the attempt on Mr. Will's life."
"When Edward wouldn't meet him on the field of honor, Richard tried to have him arrested." Lady Graymoor spread her graceful hands, palms up. "Many in the city believe that Edward tried to have Will murdered, but there simply isn't any proof of his guilt."
"Unfortunately, being a blackguard isn't enough to condemn him," Griffin said.
Lady Graymoor stood for a few moments staring down at Will, before taking a chair and addressing Angel. "You look as pale as death yourself, child. Has she eaten anything, Delphi?"
"No, ma'am, not a bite. I brought up biscuits and ham and some of my she-crab soup, but Miss Angel jest let it sit and get cold. I can't get her to take a mouthful."
Angel nodded. "I'm not hungry."
"You'll do William no good lying flat on your back in a faint."
"I'm strong. I won't faint. But I can't leave him."
"Has Dr. Madison returned?"
"No, ma'am," Delphi replied.
"Hmmp." The countess sniffed. "Absenting himself from the scene of the crime, no doubt. Not that there's much for him to do. Time and God's mercy is all that can help our William."
"He's not going to die," Angel said.
Lady Graymoor glanced around the room. "That chaise longue will do. Griffin, can you move that closer to the bed? Good," she said when he complied. "You can rest there, Angel. Delphi, could you send up another tray? That, I assure you, she will eat. Won't you?"
"I'll try," Angel answered. In truth, she had not the faintest appetite. But if that was the price of remaining with Will, she'd eat what they forced her to.
"We've set stout guards with cudgels around the house," Griffin said. "You're not to worry about Mr. Will's safety."
"Not even Edward Mason would be so stupid as to try to murder William in his own bed," Lady Graymoor said.
"Mr. Hamilton will be leading the expedition to destroy the pirates," Griffin explained. "He challenged Mr. Mason to prove his innocence by accompanying the group with ships and crews at his own expense. If he refuses, Mr. Hamilton is certain that he will find a judge to issue a warrant for—"
"Yes, yes," Lady Graymoor fussed. "That is all well and good, but..."
Angel felt suddenly sick. Vaguely, she was aware of the older woman's continuing chatter but all she could think of was Bett and Cap'n and her friends among the Brethren. A part of her wanted to run from the room, to steal a boat, and sail north along the coast to warn them. But doing that would mean leaving Will, never to know if he lived or died. And to her discredit, she could not desert him... not even to warn those who had loved and cared for her all her life.
A single tear welled in her eye and trickled down her cheek. Her place was there on the island. She should be among the Brethren, taking her chances with her own kind. By staying here, she betrayed not only them but herself.
She swallowed, trying to dissolve the lump in her throat. She nodded when Lady Graymoor asked her a question, although she had no idea what she had agreed to. She allowed Delphi to lead her to the chaise lounge. Woodenly, she sat. But each breath seemed a struggle.
Without the Brethren, she would have no one... nothing to return to but loneliness and the memories of her own cowardly betrayal. She lay back and closed her eyes, vowing she would not sleep, and cursing her own weakness to surrender everything for a man who could not love her.
* * *
"Bett! Bett!" A woman's scream tore through Angel, ripping her out of soft darkness into a smoke-filled chamber. Steel clashed against steel, and she heard the muffled crack of a pistol. The room shuddered, and she tumbled onto the floor in a tangle of blankets. "Bett!"
Heart galloping in her chest, her clothing damp with sweat, Angel struggled free of the imprisoning quilt. The room was as quiet as death. The smoke that had filled her nose and burned her throat was gone. The floor was solid and unmoving.
"Will?" Trembling, terrified of what she might find, she went to his bedside. He lay as she had last seen him. Sinking to her knees, she laid her cheek against his cool fingers and sobbed.
"What's wrong? Angel?"
Will's voice was a grating rasp, but when she looked into his blue eyes, nothing could dim the joy that filled her to overflowing. Her knees were almost too weak to hold her, and she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
"Oh, Will, you're yourself again. Ye vexed me... near to... near to dyin'," she said, all the while showering his face with teary kisses. "Ye hamper-arsed cod's head. Ye frightened us all."
"You... you were crying for me?"
"'Twas nothin'. 'Twas but an old nightmare."
He closed his eyes, and for a second, she thought that she'd only dreamed that he'd spoken to her. But when she shouted his name, he spoke again.
"Easy, easy, woman. Don't... don't shake... the bed."
Will's words came faint and hoarse. She leaned close. "Did Mason... shoot me?"
"No." She needed to touch him, to feel every inch of his body against hers. "You were shot from ambush," she said as she stroked his face. "Some craven varlet tried to put a bullet through your head before you reached the dueling field. Mayhap he was Mason's bawd."
"His bawd?"
"In his hire. 'Twas a seaman. His hair was drawn back in a pig's tail and tarred."
"You saw him?" Will touched the bandage on his head. "How could you see my assailant?"
"'Tis... I mean it is a long story, and one that can be told when you're feeling stronger."
He nodded and glanced wearily around the room. Each movement seemed to take every drop of his strength. "I'm thirsty," he whispered.
"No doubt, with the ocean of blood you lost. You leaked like a rotten skiff. And a horse danced on your arm to boot."
"Are you certain... certain it didn't dance... on my chest?" Will's crooked smile tugged at her heart.
"Shhh, don't talk. Ye need rest." She forced herself to action in an attempt to regain control of her shattered emotions. Quickly, she filled a cup with water from a blue and white flowered pitcher and lifted it to his lips. "Could you eat a little soup?" she asked him.
"Soup?" His eyelids fluttered, and he drifted off again. But it seemed to her that his breathing was more regular, and his color better. When she pressed her fingers to his throat, she could feel the slow, steady pulse of his blood.
Late in the night, Will's cheeks flushed with fever, but his temperature did not rise dangerously high. And so improved was he by morning that Dr. Madison—who had come to pronounce him dea
d—found his patient sitting up and sipping spoonfuls of chicken soup.
"He's not out of danger," Madison insisted after examining Will's injuries. "We cannot know for four or five days if laudable pus will form in the wound. If it doesn't, there is no hope. I strongly recommend both cupping and bleeding to—"
"Yes, yes," Lady Graymoor said, sweeping into the room. "If William survives, the credit for his recovery shall go to you. If he does not, you may defend yourself by saying that a deranged old woman and a red-haired wench prevented you from practicing your art."
She glanced at Angel and winked before squeezing Will's hand. "Your father would be proud of you, lad," she said. "Good stock."
"You were to call back last evening, I believe, sir," Griffin reminded the physician.
"I was called away to a case of yellow fever near the river."
"Pray it does not strike nearby," Lady Graymoor said. "Call again tomorrow," she commanded. "Doubtless William will continue to improve. No need for you to trouble yourself over bandaging his injuries. The girl can do it. She has gentle hands."
Griffin opened the bedroom door. "Let us not keep you, gentlemen."
Madison and his apprentice barely made it through the door before Richard Hamilton and his daughter arrived. "Will!" Hamilton cried. "By God, I knew the rascals couldn't keep you down."
Angel retreated to the corner window overlooking the garden as Julia and her father approached the bed. From there, it was only a few steps to the doorway leading to a dressing room. She slipped into the smaller chamber and then found her way down the servants' back stairway.
She was bone-weary, so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. An aching hollow in her belly reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the day before Will's attempted duel.
As she crossed the kitchen, she snatched a biscuit from a tray that Sukie had just removed from the bake oven beside the wide brick hearth. She tossed the hot bread from one hand to another as she left the house.
A gate led to the garden Angel had admired from Will's bedchamber. She pushed it open and went in. She took the first pathway and then another until she discovered an arch of greenery that opened onto a plot of thick moss. In the center of this space stood the tiny pond with the stone fish spouting water from its mouth.
Angel sat on the lip of the brick pool and nibbled at the biscuit. Yellow butter oozed from the feather-light bread, and it smelled heavenly, but to her it had no more taste than tree bark. How could she eat when her heart—her very soul—was in such turmoil?
Her gaze strayed to the second floor of the grand house. Will was there, living and breathing as she had prayed he might. But she wasn't with him. Julia was. Julia, her father, Lady Graymoor, and Griffin were beside him. They belonged to him as she never could.
Nothing ever changes, she thought. Why should she expect otherwise? She'd always been alone... always been different.
When Lady Graymoor and Julia had decided to find her a husband, they hadn't asked her opinion. Protest seemed useless, since she had no intentions of remaining in Charleston. And if she couldn't convince Will that they were man and wife, how could she possibly make Lady Graymoor believe her?
Slowly, she crumbled the biscuit and tossed the pieces to the sparrows that hopped across the brick walk. She was thirsty, but she didn't taste the water. It was warm and had a green cast that warned her it might be foul to drink.
The stone pond was a disappointment. She didn't know how the water moved from the pool up through the hollow fish to spray from the statue's mouth, but it was plain that the body of water had no link to either earth or sea. Could it be that all this grandeur of the outside world was the same? That behind the tall brick walls, gleaming windows, and painted carriages life wasn't as true and real as on her ocean's washed islands?
If she had the slightest bit of courage, now would be the moment to escape—to flee back to the Brethren stronghold and warn them. But she couldn't, not when Will hadn't yet recovered fully.
"Soon," she promised herself. "Soon, I'll go." But the words sounded like a lie, even as she said them.
As Angel wandered away from the fountain and walked the boxwood maze, she trod on the sharp edge of a broken brick. Her shoes were under Will's bed, but she'd not go back to fetch them now.
"You, girl! What's your business here?" a man shouted.
Startled, Angel looked up to see a black-bearded stranger with a belaying pin in one hand striding toward her. She fled down the path into the maze, taking first one turn and then another. The man pounded after her.
She came to a dead end, dropped onto her hands and knees, and crawled through a hole in the hedge. When she scrambled up, she saw a small vegetable garden and, beyond that, a high wooden fence with a gate. In seconds, she was dashing between two rows of turnip greens. As the gate slammed behind her, the cries of her pursuer faded. Without glancing back, she ran down the deserted lane and didn't stop until she was several blocks from Falcon's Nest.
When she did slow down to catch her breath, it was on a narrow street between tall wooden houses. She was sweating from running, and her injured arm ached. It was so hot that she felt as though she were in an oven. No breeze stirred the leaves of the single tree in sight.
"Out of m'way!"
Angel jumped back as a surly-looking man rattled past in a pony cart. Crowded together in the back of the vehicle were a skinny pig, a white goose, and a freckled-face boy about five years old. The child stuck out his tongue at her.
She laughed, stepped over a sleeping dog stretched in the shade of an overhanging balcony, and kept walking. A few doors away, a black girl in a white cap and apron came toward her, carrying a covered basket. "Can ye tell me how to find the harbor?" Angel asked.
The maid pointed. "That way."
Angel nodded thanks and hurried on. She didn't know who had chased her out of Will's garden or why, but finding the docks would be the first step in returning to a world she understood better than this one.
* * *
"Give me two weeks," Will said. "Finding the Brethren's hideout will be difficult enough with me along. Without me, your search may end as so many others did—empty-handed."
"It's out of the question," Lady Graymoor insisted. "You might go into coma again. Your recovery may be difficult. Infection—"
"Two weeks, Richard," Will repeated. "If I am not well enough to stand on a quarterdeck by then, you can sail without me. It will take you near that to fit out the ships, assemble your men, and get backing from our esteemed governor."
"I've told Papa over and over that he shouldn't go," Julia said. "And now I'll tell you the same thing." She drew near Will's bed. "We almost lost you to those scoundrels once. I don't want to risk you a second time."
Will struggled to keep his eyes open. The room kept spinning, and the effort it took to form words was almost too great to overcome. "Water," he murmured.
Julia brought a cup to his lips.
"We need to talk," he said to her.
"Yes," she replied. "I'd like that."
"That woman, what exactly do you know about her?" Richard asked. "I understand you feel you owe her for saving your life. But... is there a chance she's one of the pirates?"
"Her name is Angel," Lady Graymoor said. "And I admire her greatly. I doubt very much that she is involved with this pack of cutthroats and brigands."
"I don't believe she's a criminal, Papa," Julia said. "She's rough in speech and manners, certainly, but—"
"I don't trust her," Richard answered. "You know that you are too softhearted when it comes to strays, Lady Graymoor. She could be a danger to you and your household."
"No," Will said. "Not Angel. I'd trust her with my life."
"But would you trust her with Lady Graymoor's?" Richard asked. "Or Julia's." He patted Will's good shoulder. "You rest. As you say, we'll not pull anchor in less than two weeks, perhaps three. Since we'll sail into North Carolina waters, it is only common courtesy that we inform the local au
thorities of our intentions."
"No more talk of pirates," Julia insisted. "Can't you see how ill he is? We'll leave you to your rest, Will."
"I need to talk... talk to you," he said. He let his head sink back on the pillow in an attempt to slow the room's spinning. "Julia, I want—"
"Enough!" Lady Graymoor proclaimed. "Out, everyone. Sleep is what he needs. The rest will sort itself out in time."
Can it? Will wondered as he heard their footsteps moving away from the bed. Then he smelled the faint scent of roses, and a woman's lips brushed his forehead.
"Do get well," Julia whispered.
He forced his eyes open. "Julia, I..."
"Tomorrow," she promised. "I'll return tomorrow, and we can talk then. Sleep, dearest. Sleep and grow strong."
He tried to speak, but the words lodged in his throat. And then the waves of pain smothered his determination and pulsing darkness closed over him again.
Chapter 20
Morning turned to afternoon and finally evening. Will slept, awakened, and slept again as his fever rose and fell. Delphi took charge of the sickroom. She ordered the cook to prepare kettles of both beef and chicken broth to tempt her patient, and she kept the maids and her grandchildren busy running up and down the stairs with cool well-water and mugs of willow-bark tea. Dr. Madison did not return. Instead, he sent word to Lady Graymoor that he had been called to a possible case of cholera near Washington Square.
At quarter after eight, Lizzy came to Will's side, her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth drawn down with worry. "How are you, dear boy?"
"Where is she?" he asked.
"Who?"
"You know who. Angel. Why hasn't she been here? Is she ill?"
"Don't fret yourself. You're still warm. When is the last time this dressing was changed?"
"Angel," Will repeated. A feeling of cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "What aren't you telling me?"
"I put her to bed. She's not recovered from her own wound, and—"
"You're a bad liar, Lizzy. Tell me the truth!"
Delphi backed quietly out of the room. Sukie and Delphi's grandson did the same.
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