Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “Just helping out a friend tonight.” He lifted a barrel of pickles onto the bar and felt Charlotte’s eyes burn a hole through his shirt.

  “You seem to have grown into a man since last I saw you, my pet. Although there was nothing wrong with you at all back then. No indeed.” Suddenly she stood right in front of him, her breasts jutting against his chest. He stepped backward.

  “Ooh,” Sabine squeaked.

  He had trodden on her toes. “I’m so sorry, Sabine, my dear.” She had her baby on one slim hip and a mug of beer for Reginald.

  Reginald eyed her up and down. A smile ripe with calculation lit his face.

  She backed up. She’d no doubt seen the look before as a former prostitute. “I put baby down.” She escaped into the living quarters of the house.

  Ian grabbed Reginald by his necktie. “Do not even consider approaching the girl. She is off limits.”

  Reginald backed up. “Ho! No cause for alarm, my friend. A man can look, can’t he?”

  “No,” Ian said.

  Vicar Andrews was in the throes of a coughing fit. Perhaps he’d overheard the conversation. His guileless hazel eyes followed Sabine until she disappeared. Poor hopeless lad.

  During his reverie, Charlotte had taken advantage of his distracted state to adhere to him like a lemming. She ran her hand down his upper arm. “Yes, you have changed, Ian.”

  He took her hand from his arm and stepped away. “Charlotte, I have changed in many ways. Most significantly, I am married and deeply besotted with my wife. The past is over.”

  She pouted. “A lady can try.”

  He bowed. “Well, madame, I’m not sure ‘lady’ is the word I’d use to best describe you.” Thankfully, Reginald popped his head on her shoulder, and she swatted him with her fan.

  “Besides,” Ian said. “You have Reggie at your beck and call.”

  “He’s so very boring after all these years. Are you sure I cannot tempt you? You’re a staid, provincial boy now?”

  “Most definitely,” he said.

  She leaned over the counter, affording him a view of her perfect, round breasts. He backed away and shook his head. “No, Charlotte.”

  “I can’t see your great love lasting.” Reginald surveyed the room.

  “You can be as cynical as you like, Reggie. But some day you will fall in love and forsake all others.”

  “I am already in love.” Reggie grabbed Charlotte’s tiny hand and kissed it. “But she is a most fickle creature.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Quite busy here. And I imagine you will be departing soon for greener pastures.”

  Reginald eyed Sabine, who had bent over to retrieve a fallen plate. “No, I believe we will bide here a while. King’s Harbour, despite being provincial, is a congenial place.”

  Charlotte’s open-mouthed stare was quite unattractive. “You want to stay here?”

  He shrugged. “If you won’t have me, I must look elsewhere. You may go on your merry way, if you wish.”

  “You would break up the Wandering Wastrels?”

  His dark eyes flashed like a pirate’s sword. “I would do anything for true love.”

  Her high-pitched giggle made Ian’s head ache. “You would never leave me.”

  “Don’t be too sure, Charlotte. I’m going to stay in this congenial town awhile.”

  She slapped Reggie on the arm and turned to Ian. “At least sing with us. I have missed your golden tongue, Ian.” She winked and turned with a swish.

  They sallied forth to find a table, thank Zeus.

  He filled three mugs and carried them over to Ed the butcher and his two friends.

  Ed tipped his head in the direction of Reginald and company. “Some friends of yours?”

  “They used to be, in another lifetime,” Ian said.

  “Yon strumpet seems to be quite fond of you.”

  “Charlotte is fond of most men, actually. But I assure you, I am not fond of her.”

  Ed nodded. “Do you have any oyster stew?”

  “I’ll check the kitchen.” With great relief to have the conversation at an end, he made a hasty retreat.

  By the time he deposited the stew and bread at Ed’s table, the visiting performers had begun singing. He couldn’t help mouthing the words silently. Ah, it’d been ages since he’d sung it. “Ever the Doting Suitor” was the kind of melody that made even the nonmusical whistle it for days after.

  “Come, Ian. Join us, for just one song!”

  What could one song hurt?

  “Ever the doting suitor, ever the faithful man…”

  The crowd clapped their hands and beat them upon the table, singing the chorus. Charlotte moved to link her arms with him, and in self-defense, he grabbed the nimble Widow Jenkins sitting nearby, making her squeal as he wheeled her around. He knew Charlotte; she had more wiles than Cleopatra.

  Ah, but it felt good to sing in harmony again! To sing one song, when all the songs in his head fought for dominance. It calmed him—for the moment, at least.

  “More, more!” The crowd groaned as Ian broke apart from the group.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “But I have a warm and willing wife waiting for me at home, and she gets fractious if I deny her.”

  They roared and clapped him out the door. He stepped out into the night air and slowly turned, first toward the ocean. The white caps shone with the moon’s light, beckoning him like sea maidens. It had only taken one song, but the memory of those dissolute times sank into his skin. No. He would not go there again.

  With intense concentration, he practiced his breathing ritual. Where would he go if he was Josef, frightened, sick, and needing to feel safe? Where had they gone as children, when Josef hid to recover from Mrs. Stowe’s beatings?

  The stars glowed stark against the black sky, reminding him of the desert, the fragrant, willing women, limbs, mouths, endless pleasures. No. He must concentrate on the task at hand. For Josef and Lena, for Maggie.

  Think, man! As a child, Josef had learned how to blend into a setting; it explained his quiet, taciturn nature. But he had been a changed man since he married Lena. A good woman could transform a man.

  He headed up Siren Street toward the Landgate. He desperately wanted Maggie’s warm bed, to slide in beside her and sink into her warmth and protection, but he would go to her bed more worthy if he could find Lena’s husband.

  When they were children, they used to escape to an old abandoned cottage in the forest. Perhaps he hid there. But Josef was nowhere to be found. God only knew what kind of shape he was in now. Ian pricked his ears up at the sound of a dog howling, and the hair on the back of his neck rose.

  He would check the cave on the cliffs and make his way home by the water’s edge. They used to hide in the caves as children, pretending to be pirates. Josef had saved him from drowning there once. He smiled. Despite his small size, Josef was strong as a bull and an impressive swimmer.

  But the sun rose upon Ian’s failure. He had nothing to show for the night but a lingering melody and a feeling of deep unease.

  ****

  Early the next morning, a crowd gathered right inside the Landgate. They surrounded something, and Ian ventured closer to see what had transpired.

  “Ruthie,” Sarah’s voice rang unusually loud. “Do not touch it.”

  A large brown dog lay against the stone wall, swollen tongue hanging out of its mouth, eyes black with death.

  “Oh, Mother! No!”

  “Poor girl,” Sarah whispered, as Ian joined her. “She has such a tender heart. I wonder how she will survive in this world.”

  Ian nodded. “Yet you have done fine, have you not?”

  Ruthie backed away from the dog as a sailor arrived. He turned the stiff body over with his boot. A gaping hole had been ripped out of the dog’s stomach, and the entrails lay against the blood-matted hair.

  “Mother of God,” Ian exclaimed. “What kind of butchery is this?”

  “The dog’s been ripped open,” the sailor said.
“Looks like the work of the innkeeper, Josef.”

  Another man, reeking of gin, backed away. “One of the night creatures, transformed into a dog.”

  “Come now.” Ian stepped forward as the crowd backed away, fear etched on their faces. “I know this dog, saw him playing in the water the other day.”

  “He’s the devil’s own,” a woman cried.

  Sarah led Ruthie away.

  “But what about the poor dog?” Ruthie said.

  Sarah put her arm around her as she cried.

  Did this dog run Maggie over yesterday? Surely not, for what had knocked her over must have been stronger.

  “It’s a sign of evil,” Captain Jenkins cried.

  Shouts rang out from down the street. Josef ran into the crowd, breeches torn and filthy, his hair matted and dirt-filled. The crowd backed away.

  “It is him,” he screamed, guttural and primitive. “My Nikolaus. He has transformed. I saw him last night.” His throat worked convulsively. He seemed to be having trouble swallowing. “What has happened to him?”

  “Josef, you must come with me. Let’s get you away from here.”

  Ian’s friend did not seem to hear him. He ran to the dog, kneeled beside him, laid his head on his bloody, matted fur. “I have searched for you, but I could not find you. I could not protect you. Oh, Nikolaus, what have they done to you?”

  “The man’s been taken over by the devil, by the vampires he brought with him. He is one of them now, cost me my boat.”

  Ian reached down to help Josef up. “You are frightening these good people. Come away.”

  Josef turned to Ian, bared his teeth in a bloodied face.

  Ian backed away. Josef sat on his haunches, eyed the crowd, and suddenly leapt up, hands dripping with blood. He ran toward the Landgate. The crowd stood motionless, then began to speak at once in a cacophony of fear.

  “We must bar the doors tonight.”

  “He will be out there, looking for blood.”

  “What has our town done to deserve this?”

  “We are cursed, and it is the innkeeper’s fault.”

  Ian straightened to his full height. “Good people. Josef’s behavior is the result of illness. Use your reason, I implore you.”

  He followed after Josef, to the grove of trees where his nephew had been buried. He grabbed him by the arm.

  Josef flung his head toward him, growling, teeth bared, eyes red with rage.

  “Josef, my good friend. Please, let me help you. For Lena’s sake.”

  A dim light of recognition passed over his face. He became Josef again. “My Lena?”

  “You are going to die. There is no cure, but I will make you as comfortable as I can.”

  Josef’s eyes filled. He did understand him, then. “I want my Lena. The child.”

  Ian fought for control. “I’m sorry, friend.”

  “My Lena,” he cried. He tore at his hair, spittle frothing from his bloody mouth.

  “You would keep her safe?”

  Josef nodded, blood dripping from his face.

  “You must come with me. We will go where you cannot harm anyone.” He reached for him.

  “No.” Josef snarled, the light of recognition gone. He knocked him to the ground, and disappeared.

  He could not cure Josef’s descent into madness and death, but if he could find him, he could perhaps prevent the gentle man from harming someone else. His aggression would only worsen. Where could he take him if he could find him? Henry and Samuel would help. Perhaps they could tie him down, keep him isolated, ease him into death, if possible. Oh God. Not this gentle man.

  Josef could not be free to roam the town. Once the townspeople found out he had the dreaded hydrophobia, there would be panic. No one must know; better they think he was a monster than know of his disease. Should he tell Maggie, Lena? What good could it do?

  He would not wish this death on his worst enemy. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to staunch the flow of pain gushing like blood through his mind. Not his good friend.

  ****

  Josef ran. Could not see. Only black. Red. Blood, blood of Nikolaus. He pulled the words from the part of him still human. The wind slammed against his face, his throat closed and he gasped for breath.

  His Nikolaus. Tried to help the boy, but failed. Could not swallow, but must bite, warm flesh, teeth sinking in sinew. How could he tell his sister her son was dead? No, for soon he would not care. Lena. His love for Lena, the last bit of his soul sliced away with bloody talons, tooth and claw.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maggie sat in her Sunday clothes, nursing a cup of tea. Where had Ian gone? Widow Jenkins had already visited her, telling her all about his activities at the Siren Inn, his singing, flirting. Perhaps the appeal of an old flame’s bed was too tempting to withstand.

  She was so beautiful, this Charlotte, like a China doll, and no doubt practiced in the arts of love. And she was just Maggie—a midwife, plain and serviceable. With so many aches and pains this morning, she might as well be an old crone. Last night, when he gave her such pleasure, why did he not take his? Did he not desire her? Had he met another woman in his travels who soured his desire for her?

  She warmed up her tea and added an extra dash of sugar. Mayhap it would sweeten her disposition. The door opened to his characteristic humming.

  He came straight to her and embraced her, not letting go. “Maggie.”

  “You’re soaked through! Where have you been all night?” Would he tell her the truth? “Old Widow Jenkins was just in, on her way to church, looking for some chamomile tea for her grandson.”

  “Church! I had forgotten.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you had.” She pulled away from him.

  “Maggie, what is wrong?”

  “You were out all night, and I did not know where you were.” She sounded churlish even to her own ears.

  “I am sorry. I was helping Lena, and…”

  “Yes, and singing. I heard. I hope you enjoyed your reunion.”

  “What? No Maggie. You think I would break our marriage vows to be with her?”

  “I may be a plain ordinary midwife, but I saw the look passing between the two of you. What am I to think?”

  His eyes burned into hers like fire’s blue flame. “You would think me so shallow? When every touch, every look you give me makes life flow through my veins? I stayed at the inn to help Sabine with the crowd and walked outside of town, looking for Josef. It had nothing to do with Charlotte.”

  He took both of her stiff hands in his. “You do not understand the depth of my feelings for you, Maggie. Plain and ordinary are words I would never use to describe you. The word ‘beautiful’ shames me as a wordsmith, so I will not use it.” He kissed her. “I will take you upstairs and show you what I mean.”

  She sighed. “But for one thing: it is Sunday. Did you not hear the church bells? I cannot miss church when I’m able to go, husband. As a midwife I am supposed to be pious.” She did not feel very pious at the moment, watching him as he unbuttoned his shirt, rubbed a linen towel upon the muscular planes of his chest, eyeing her as if she sat naked before him.

  “I know. I will accompany you, for I do respect your calling.”

  Confusing man. One minute he did not seem to want her, and the next minute it seemed he would ravish her on the spot. She shook her head.

  “What, my love?” He had stripped down completely now and bent to dry his legs. He took an inordinate time drying off his cockstand, watching her.

  Warmth pooled in her privities, and she could not help but stare, for it had a life of its own.

  “You see,” he said, with the devil’s own grin. “It only has eye for you.”

  “You are impossible.” She did not bother fighting her own grin. “We are going to be late, if you are going.”

  “Of course I’ll accompany you. I won’t be long.” He bounded up the stairs, and her center turned liquid at the flexing of his buttocks and his muscled back.


  By the time she’d splashed the heat off her face at the basin, he returned looking refreshed, but sober. He told her about Josef and the dog.

  “What manner of disease would cause a man to act so irrationally?”

  And then he told her about his diagnosis of hydrophobia, a disease she’d never seen. They stood in the middle of the apothecary shoppe, the comfort of his arms her only anchor. What would Lena do without her Josef? How would she tell her friend her husband would die a horrible death?

  “Come, Maggie.” Ian took her hand and led her out the door. “We must go to church and pray. What else can we do?”

  He took her arm as they walked down the street. “By the by, you look lovely today, Maggie.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  Darkness pooled below his eyes, and a quiet desperation lined his face. She understood; he was trying to achieve a bit of normalcy. No one must know of Josef’s fate.

  There was no shortage of comments regarding Ian’s night at the Siren Inn. Apparently, looking for Josef wasn’t the only thing he did last night.

  “Pierce, some fine singing with the China Doll last night. Don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more,” the chandler called out as he waited at the door for his wife. “Every Sunday she says she’ll be right out. Every Sunday I wait. It’s enough to make a man insane.”

  Ian grinned. “My Maggie. Always punctual. You’d rather poke a stick in your eye than be late.”

  She harrumphed.

  The baker, walking arm in arm with wife Martha, greeted them. “Mistress Maggie, you should have seen your husband last night. Put on quite a show he did, with the fancy singing woman. Their voices blended together just so.”

  Walking behind Martha and her husband, their daughter turned to her sister Bess. “I heard tell they did more than sing.”

  They both giggled, eyeing Ian.

  Martha turned around and gave them the gimlet eye. “Shut up, Isadora, before I slap you silly. I am shocked at you both. You know I don’t abide by idle gossip.”

  A laugh bubbled up from Maggie’s throat. She coughed to cover it.

  “You will not malign our good friends in this way,” Martha continued. “If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, you’d best be mute.”