LATER THAT EVENING, Nevara lay awake, unable to sleep, and relished her body’s tingles and shivers and aches from Mark’s need to prove his love for her. He was snoring softly now, his face and body masked by exhaustion. His breath brushed her face in even intervals. His arm was across her waist, heavy and secure, and he smelled heavenly—rich, male, warm and comforting, like a southerly wind—a scent she would remember all of her remaining days.
How could she spend the rest of this voyage without him holding her like this, absently, lovingly, as if she belonged to him? How could she have contemplated a life without Mark? He had come on this vessel to protect her, knowing he came to a cold welcome. That act alone proved that he loved her.
She cuddled her bare back into Mark’s warm embrace. Her movement woke him. She glanced back and noticed him frowning off into space. “Mark, what is the matter?”
He leaped off the cot and gathered her clothes, haphazardly bundling her into them.
Before she could protest, he rushed her out. “Lock yourself in your cabin. Do not come out under any circumstances.
“Mark, please, what is wrong?”
“A storm comes.” He closed his door, and within a few moments, his chanting began, this time louder than she had ever heard it.
Nevara’s pulse sped at the urgency in his voice. She hurried to her cabin worried about what was happening. Her head was throbbing again, and her insides were quivering, as if verifying his belief that something terrible approached.
Mendal was absent from the cabin, which was good since Nevara doubted that she appeared respectable. She rushed to the porthole. Outside, the netting brightened to a blinding light.
If Mark was the cause of that—she shivered at the very idea of a man wielding such elemental power—what would be his goal in building the brilliantly lit net? Was he trying to protect the vessel—and her—from whatever terror Lady Terrance said awaited Nevara in Spain. She hugged her midriff remembering the cord that had dragged her underwater in Hyde Park. Could that same evil be attempting to reach her here?
Her mind awhirl, Nevara turned away from the porthole. She combed her hair, but her hands shook so much, she ended up tangling her locks more than straightening them. She tidied her clothing, then got into her hammock. Her body still tingled from Mark’s caresses. Then another, more personal, thought intruded. What if their lovemaking had produced a child?
Her aunt had warned her against such consequences. Try as she might, though, Nevara could not regret a moment she had spent with Mark. Had her mother worried about passing on the family curse? No. Her mother’s letter had indicated she was anxious, but not about giving birth. No, she had been worried about her child’s welfare at the hands of her husband’s sister.
If Nevara did have a child, she would never make the baby feel unworthy. Whether the child turned out to be a strangeling like herself or even a witch like Mark. She laughed at that fantastical thought. Whatever the child turned out to be, he or she did not deserve condemnation.
Tears wet her lashes. Any more than she had.
Nevara was unsure when she fell asleep, but she woke up the next day to Mendal returning to the cabin having seen to her mistress’s breakfast. She said Lord Terrance had pointed out a white beach looming in the distance, a sure sign they approached Spain’s southwestern coast. He called this stretch the Costa de la Luz.
He had also apparently ordered Mendal and Nevara to stay in their cabin. The captain had said a storm was brewing.
Nevara ran to the porthole to look, and in the morning rays, behind the beach, she spotted sand dunes rising as majestically as the cliffs of Dover.
As their ship headed steadily toward Cadiz, Nevara’s nervous gaze swung from the attractive white sandy beach up to the sky where a looming mass of black streaks undulated toward the vessel. This must be the impending gale that had alarmed Mark.
“Hang on, Mendal!” She ran to sit beside the maid on the cot. “I think the storm we have been expecting is imminent.”
They held hands and repeated the Lord’s Prayer. A spiteful wind howled like a hurricane, its rage shaking the vessel. The wind ripped sails with horrendous tearing sounds, and calls to “Mann the halyards. Cut adrift the trapping lines. Hoist away,” filled the air.
The Magdalena rolled and pitched as sails shred open and sailors’ boots stomped as they scrambled across the deck, no doubt trying to tie down what they could. The sea rolled in immense surges, smashing across the port window, white with angry foam. Nevara could tell by the ship’s motion that the situation was dire.
“The wind is winning, Mendal.” Nevara’s body trembled as uncontrollably as the vessel’s timbers. She released the maid and stumbled to the window. Sure enough, they were moving away from the port of Cadiz and further north, along the sandy coast.
A commotion in the corridor drew her attention. Men with raised voices pounded past her cabin door. Did one of those shouts mention Mark’s name? She hugged the wall and inched toward her cabin door.
“Miss, do not go out there,” Mendal said.
Nevara had to know why people were interested in Mark during such a dangerous time. She eased open her door and gasped. Sailors held Mark in a headlock and lugged him toward the stairs. As they passed by her door, Mark shouted. “Nevara, stay in. Lock your door.”
“Let him go!” Nevara beat on one man’s shoulder.
The sailor shoved her back, and she fell onto her cabin floor. Nevara sprang up and ran after the sailors.
Lord Terrance came out of his cabin and drew Nevara inside. “Stay with Belle while I take care of this madness.”
“No, I am coming too.”
Belle shut the door, barring Nevara from leaving.
Earnest barked in frantic concern.
“Belle, move aside, I must help him. Let me go.”
“There is nothing you can do that Rufus cannot do better,” Belle said in a harsh voice. “This is a matter for men.”
Nevara opened her mouth to argue, but the countess held up her hand. “There is nothing either of us can accomplish other than to show patience and wait for matters to be resolved.”
“They mean to toss him overboard. I heard them. They think this gale is bewitched and that Mark caused it.”
“I know,” Belle said. “They are not far wrong.”
Nevara stood back, her heart racing. How could Belle believe that Mark would want to harm them this way? Yes, he did not wish her to go to Spain, but he came aboard to keep her safe. Besides, even if he were a witch, he would never intentionally hurt her or anyone else.
“I thought you liked Mark,” Nevara said.
“I do. You mistake my words. What I meant is this storm is bewitched, not that Mark caused it to be so.”
So Belle mirrored her suspicions about this unnatural storm. Nevara gazed outside. The black threads had grown larger. Questions bombarded her. Who was doing this to them? Not Mark. She would never believe that. It must be as Belle had said, that something or someone in Spain wished her ill. Why? And how could this person be so powerful as to know that Nevara traveled on this particular vessel?
Nevara prayed Lord Terrance would be able to calm the crew and engineer Mark’s release.
Belle placed her arm around Nevara’s shoulder. “I, too, pray that my husband can make those men see reason.”
Nevara frowned. Had Belle read her thoughts?
“I am sorry,” Belle said, “but when someone thinks pointedly about a matter, especially when they see events like a series of moving scenes, I can see them too. I foresaw this storm when you visited my townhouse.”
That news startled Nevara. “Do you know if we . . .”
Belle shook her head. “No, I do not know the outcome.”
“Then why did you and Lord Terrance agree to escort me here? It could lead t
o your deaths.”
Belle sighed. “You would not be persuaded to stay in London, and I could not allow you to come alone. I sensed that if we survived this day, you would need my assistance in Spain. Someone there harbors a great fear and hatred of you, Nevara.”
“But why?”
The countess shrugged. “If I knew that, our next few days might go smoother.”
“So you see a future for us?”
Earnest leaned his great heavy bulk on his mistress’s left leg, and Belle absently ruffled his ear. “Some of us will land safely. I do not know who will not.”
The door burst open, and Lord Terrance entered. The regret on his face ripped Nevara apart.
“No!” She rushed to go forward.
Belle held her tight until eventually she stopped fighting her hold and sank into the embrace, crying. Mark was dead.
A gust of wind burst the porthole open, spraying them with seawater. Earnest whined pitifully and hid behind his master’s legs. The ship tipped, listing dangerously and knocking Belle to the floor and Nevara with her. Lord Terrance helped them up, but he could barely stand, himself. Screams came from the other passengers.
A sailor ran down the corridor shouting, “Abandon ship!”
Lord Terrance led Belle, Nevara and Earnest out of the cabin. In the corridor, people jostled each other in their rush to leave.
“What about Mendal and Ellison?” Belle asked.
“I will check on Ellison,” Lord Terrance said. “You and Miss Wood see to Mendal. Meet me outside her cabin.”
They fought against the crowd going in the opposite direction. Mendal was in her cabin, down on her knees, praying.
Belle helped her rise. “We must leave the ship now.”
Nevara hesitated, glancing at her sea chest and then dug inside to pull out her mother’s box. This was all the evidence she had left of her past. If she survived this night, she would not let Mark’s death be wasted. She would break the Rue Alliance curse. Lord Terrance met them in the corridor without the valet.
“Where is Ellison?” Belle asked.
“Not in his cabin.” Lord Terrance made brief worried eye contact with his wife before he herded the women quickly along with the crush of passengers trying to escape. Water invaded the decks and pooled around their ankles. He led them straight to one of the few skiffs and then pulled Mendal back to whisper something. Then the two of them re-joined Belle and Nevara.
The captain shouted orders as his men held everyone back. There were only three usable boats on the Magdalena, so after women and children, only those of quality were to board. The rest must swim to shore. There was a cry of protest and a surge forward by the men, but the sailors formed a wall around the boats and beat them back.
Lord Terrance helped Belle inside one of the boats and once she was seated, he said, “I am going to look for Ellison.”
“No!” Belle shouted and made to get out.
Mendal held her back by force, practically sitting on her mistress. “I am sorry, my lady, but his lordship has ordered me to keep you here.”
“Nevara, stop him,” Belle cried. “I cannot lose him.”
“My lord!” Nevara turned around. “Ellison is probably in the hold, where the whiskey casks are kept. It is too dangerous to go so far below, and he may already be dead.”
“He came aboard under my protection, Miss Wood. Now get in that boat and keep Belle safe for me.”
Before she could argue, he picked her up and set her inside. Nevara stumbled, scrambling to find her feet and then clutching her box, she sat at Belle’s side. The boat quickly filled up with another child and two more women.
The captain urged the earl to take the last empty seat. “There are no more women and children left to disembark, milord. Take your place in that skiff. Do not be foolish.”
He shook his head. Earnest barked once and sat down beside him, as if in agreement.
A young man clawed his way to the front of the panicked crowd, falling to his knees before the captain. “Sir, I do not know how to swim, you must save me.”
Lord Terrance lifted him up. “Get in.” He sat the man in his place, and he and Earnest moved beyond Nevara’s sight.
“Rufus, do not go below,” Belle shouted.
“We shall be fine, my love. Once you get to shore wait for us on the beach’s north side.”
“I pray you are a good swimmer, milord,” the captain said.
All three skiffs were lowered, one after another, swinging wildly and banging against the ship’s side before each splashed onto the rolling water. Nevara’s little boat set away, battling against the wind. Their crewman, John Small, valiantly rowed the skiff away from the imperiled vessel.
Rain pelted and waves sprayed up. Nevara wiped stinging seawater from her eyes as she gazed back at the Magdalena. Some men were jumping overboard, while onboard, the crew had lined up beside other passengers.
“What are they doing?” Nevara asked.
“Pairing non-swimmers with crew who can,” John Small said.
Nevara wondered if Ellison would be sober enough to make it to shore even if Lord Terrance found him. She kept an arm around Belle. Both of them were shivering. She prayed his lordship would not die trying to save his unhappy manservant.
Land seemed so far away. The gale pounded, and waves crashed over their little boats and onto the heads of swimmers. Would any in the water survive?
A great crack rang out, reminding her of the thunderstorm that pummeled them. The Magdalena split in two. In horror, she watched the last few men still onboard scream in terror and jump overboard. There was no sign of Lord Terrance or Earnest. Belle began to sob, and Nevara hugged her, entirely in sympathy with her friend. They might both have lost the men they loved tonight.
THE MOMENT THE crew rammed through his cabin door, Mark’s concentration broke and his protection spell scattered like autumn leaves chased by a brisk breeze. He tried to rebuild it, but spotting Nevara rushing to save him had him scrambling to remember the right words. Once he was thrown overboard, water drowned his words. He came up for air and clung to the side of the vessel, but the wind dragged him under. The next time he surfaced, the Magdalena had drifted too far away to reach.
The gale whipped at him, pushing him relentlessly toward Spain’s taunting shoreline. Fear of his feet touching ground and leaving him powerless pounded as fiercely as the gale. He fought to keep moving, his arms furiously pushing at the water to take him closer to the Magdalena’s side. He chanted as he swam but each wave sent water rushing into his mouth, silencing him, while the undercurrent dragged at his legs, yanking him below the surface.
His feet brushed a sandbar.
In a trice, with a singular pain-filled wrench, his magic swooped down through his body. Mark screamed in agony, his cry lost in the triumphant howl of the gale. His magic dissipated, leaving behind a tingling by his feet as lone witness of his once incredible gift.
He stood, shoulder deep in water, weak, uncontrollably shivering and as helpless as any normal man. Like Nevara, he had craved this ordinary state all of his life. How shortsighted he had been. In gaining that one reckless wish, he lost the ability to save those for whom he cared.
Nearer the beach, the little boat carrying Nevara struggled against the fierce gale that refused to yield. Closer to him, the Magdalena cracked and shuddered in its final death throes. Screams came from everywhere. Men splashed into the ocean in a desperate bid to swim to safety.
Each head that dipped underwater and did not resurface stabbed at Mark like a thousand swords thrust into his belly. Those innocents desperately fighting the looming waves freed Mark from his paralysis. He dived into the Atlantic, intent on using the last of his reserve to help those he could reach.
Chapter Eleven
NEVARA’S SKIFF WAS the first to la
nd on the beach. The rain slashed them as everyone onboard scrambled out and waited for the other two boats to reach shore. The next one arrived, and they ran to help the women and children disembark.
“Somebody help us!” The third little boat was floundering.
“We are coming,” a sailor near Nevara shouted. “Hold on!”
A terrifying whoosh boomed. Past the third skiff, far on the horizon, bubbles burst to the surface as the remnants of the Magdalena’s hull sank beneath the ocean sending a giant wave toward shore. Those on the sand ran further inland to avoid being smashed by debris.
Then the gale died.
Huddled beside the tall dunes, far from the receding water, the survivors watched to see if anyone else had survived the sinking of the Magdalena. Over the next hour, Nevara, Belle and Mendal roamed the beach helping those who swam to shore to reunite with their mates or children.
As the morning wore on, Nevara was astounded to hear from several survivors about a fearless man who had found them desperately clinging to bits of flotsam and towed them to shore, only to return to the sea seeking others to assist.
As survivors gathered, Nevara and Belle continued to search, desperate for any sign of Lord Terrance, Ellison and Earnest. With each hour that passed, Belle seemed to lose hope. She was haggard and pale and her eyes spoke of lost hope.
Then, up the pearly-white beach, Nevara spotted two men and a dog sprawled on the beach, face down. Heart pounding with relief, she shouted for Belle and then ran toward the three survivors. She was filled with wonder that Ellison and Lord Terrance and Earnest had survived to reach shore. Bending, she turned over the first man.
It was not Ellison or Lord Terrance.
“Mark!” she cried, astounded. “Oh, Mark, you are alive!” She kissed his cheek, his nose, his mouth, uncaring if anyone saw her. She rose to properly look him over.
There was shock and horror in his gaze, and then he recognized her. Tenderly, he touched her cheek.
“Do not mind us,” the second man said from beside the dog.
A Perfect Curse Page 17