They continued to force the burning liquid into her, and slowly the roaring in her ears diminished. She began to breathe evenly, although the room had begun to tilt and whirl. Through the thick fog that had descended she heard the blue-eyed man tell the other he could go, that he would stay with her, because she was falling asleep. He’d take care of things. What things? she wondered feebly, bitterly.
What was there to be done? It was over. Finished. Colt was dead. She was here. She didn’t even know where “here” was and didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. She hated God for letting her be rescued; she’d rather have kept on drifting on that damned crate…all the way to the netherworld.
She passed out, slept several hours without realizing it, and then the strange voice was back to interrupt precious dreams of Colt. “Can you hear me, Jade? Time for you to wake up and get something in your stomach. How do you feel now?”
She vaguely made out his face through the pink cloud that was dancing before her own. He was nice-looking from what she could tell. She did like his eyes. Blue. Drakar had blue eyes. Colt’s were steel gray, like his father’s. She liked steel gray better, but blue eyes were nice, too. And he had blond hair. Thick, wavy. With a heavy hand, she reached out to touch his face, and he caught her fingertips and pressed them to his lips and kissed them, and she wondered why his blue eyes filled with tears. Still under the effects of the whiskey, she asked in a slurred voice, “Why are you crying?”
He continued to hold her hand against his lips. “Because I’m happy that you’re going to be all right. ‘Twouldn’t be fair for the world to lose yet another beauty.”
She did not understand, supposed that, for the moment, it was not important that she did, especially when she felt so miserable. Grief began to creep upon her once more, but she fought it down, dwelling instead on her physical pain. Her head throbbed. She was still dizzy. Her skin felt terrible, too, burning, stinging. And her stomach. Dear God, how long since she’d had anything to eat? As if sensing her thoughts, the stranger asked how long it had been, and she told him about having been seasick before the storm, having only ginger juice and a little broth.
At once he said he’d get Walt to fix her some soup, got up to do so but paused at the door to offer an apology. “Sorry about forcing so much whiskey on you, Jade, but you were really going crazy there, and we couldn’t have that, not with you still so weak from your ordeal. Rest some more, and I’ll be back in a minute.”
He left, and Jade began to look around the cabin, saw the two portholes on one wall, felt a slight rocking, remembered he’d said something about her being on his boat. She took note of the canopy above the bed and absently wondered about such femininity. The other furnishings in the cabin were more masculine, functional—two upholstered chairs, a desk, a small table with wooden chairs. Several lovely oils and watercolors hung on the wall, so she decided the decor definitely had a feminine touch, but was puzzled that so far she’d heard only men’s voices. Was there another woman on board? And if so, where?
Then, suddenly, like a spider creeping across the intricate silken threads of its web toward its captured prey, the chilling acknowledgment of Colt’s death returned to stalk Jade’s mind and heart. She resisted, denied, fought to push it away, but relentlessly it came to wash over her in torturing grief. “Colt…no…please, God, not Colt, please…”
Bryan heard her moans as he maneuvered to open the door while balancing a tray. Rushing inside, he quickly set the food down and reached to scoop her into his arms and hold her tightly against him. This time he did not offer whiskey or try to calm her. Instead, he huskily urged, “Go ahead, baby. Let it out; I know how you feel. I’ve been there, too.”
He held her close, rocking her in his arms, and she did not protest, did not struggle, but let the tears come in great shuddering sobs. She cried until dry heaves shook her body. When he saw she was weak with exhaustion, Bryan lowered her once more to the pillows. She stared up at him with empty, mournful eyes.
Bryan forced a tight smile as he reached for the bowl of soup. “Let me help you with this. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
Obediently, because to concur was easier than to resist, Jade allowed him to spoon the still-warm broth between her cracked and bleeding lips. It felt good to her empty stomach, which had long ago given up on ever receiving nourishment again and began to release the painful constrictions of protest.
Jade managed to consume half the bowl of broth before waving it away. Then the blessed sleep came, the sleep from which she prayed never to awaken if it meant a life without Colt.
Jade slept through the remainder of that day and on into the night, and it was only toward the wee hours of morning that the nightmare came back again to taunt and torture: the vision of Colt lying so still, blood pouring from his head, her last glimpse, before the railing gave way, sending her crashing into the dark, cold, raging ocean.
She awoke screaming.
The strange man was once again beside her to hold her while she cried. When she quieted,’ he left her, returning with a pot of steaming coffee, bacon, and eggs.
“I think,” he said, fluffing her pillows and helping her to sit up, “that it’s time we were properly introduced and had a little talk.”
He unfolded a napkin from the tray he’d brought, placed it across her lap. He started to speak once more, but Jade felt somewhat naked in the sheer, sleeveless nightgown she saw she was wearing and gently interrupted. “May I borrow a robe, please?”
Without a second thought, Bryan went to the closet and took out a soft blue velvet robe that had been a favorite of Marnia’s. He helped Jade slip it on.
“I’m glad it fits. Seems you and Marnia were the same size.” He placed the tray across her lap, began to pour her coffee.
Jade welcomed the intoxicating aroma of the coffee. Despite the ache of sorrow within, she eagerly reached for her cup. Colt would want her to try to go on, she knew, but just thinking of him brought tears to her eyes once more, and she could not hold the cup in her trembling fingers. It clattered against the tray.
“I know what you’re feeling,” Bryan quietly murmured, “but nothing I can say is going to make you feel any better. It’s something you’ve got to get through alone, any way you can. Meanwhile, I’m here if you need me.”
Suddenly, sharply, she reached out for anger to take her away from her grief. With a furious swipe at her eyes with the backs of her hands, she testily demanded, “Would you mind telling me who you are? And I’ve got a right to know where I am and where we’re going.”
He was unmoved by her fury. “I would’ve told you sooner, but there hasn’t been a chance. My name is Bryan Stevens. I’m from New York. This is my yacht, the Marnia, named after my late wife.”
She eyed him warily. “And you say you found me in the water?”
“Floating on a crate at dawn yesterday morning. Do you have any idea how long you were adrift? We figured you couldn’t have been out there long because your sunburn wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”
Her anger, which had only been fabricated to escape the rising hysteria, subsided. She told him that as best as she could remember, she’d fallen overboard just before dawn. Together, they surmised she had drifted that day, through the night, and mercifully, he’d spotted her the beginning of her second day out.
“You wouldn’t have made it through another day.”
Jade laughed shortly, bitterly. “Am I supposed to care?”
He ignored her remark, held the cup of coffee to her lips. She took it from his hands, at last able to hold it steadily. He asked if she felt like telling him everything she could remember.
She said she would try, and she succeeded, finishing with her nightmare vision of Colt. She was even able to say, without breaking down, that she was sure he was dead. “If he weren’t, he’d have come after me. I know it.” She drew in her breath, held it to quell the fresh threat of tears, then let it out slowly. “Where are we headed?” she asked, to change th
e subject.
“I own a private little island near Bermuda. I was on my way there when I found you, so we’re continuing on our way. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. He was not only attractive but he was nice, and somehow she felt he was genuinely sincere, that she had nothing to fear. “You’re very kind,” she murmured gratefully. “I owe you my life, although right now I don’t feel I’ve much to live for.”
The smile he gave her was strangely sad. He reached out to caress her cheek with his fingertips and solemnly whispered, “Give me a chance to change that, Jade.”
Chapter Eleven
For the remaining night and day of the cruise, Bryan moved out of his comfortable cabin into much smaller accommodations with Walt. The Marnia could have reached his island much sooner, as scheduled, but he had ordered they move at slow speed, wanting Jade to be able to relax and rest as much as possible.
She did not move from the bed. Her skin felt better after the lard Walt had applied, and her stomach had, at last, settled down. She supposed she was comfortable but did not care. What difference did anything make anymore? Colt was dead. Everyone on the ship evidently thought she was, too, because Bryan had said a search party would’ve been sent out after the storm subsided, had they thought she was still alive. Maybe Colt had washed overboard, too, and neither of them would be missed until much later. All the passengers had been ordered to their cabins, hadn’t they, so who would look for them till the storm was over? And since they were on their honeymoon, maybe no one would wonder why they weren’t seen around the ship.
She slept from weakness, and to escape, for the dreams were sweeter than the reality. Each time she opened her eyes, Bryan was there. He would urge her to drink, eat, and talk, if it made her feel better.
He asked her questions about her family and Colt’s, and she tonelessly answered. Then, slowly, it came to her that, painful though it was to admit, there was nothing for her to go back to. Eventually, the shipping line would notify the Coltranes that their son and his wife had been lost at sea, and they, in turn, would send word to Russia. There she would also be presumed dead, and so what? At the moment, she didn’t care whether she was alive or dead, knew only that she had no desire to return to the cold, loveless life she’d known as a member of the Imperial Court, merely tolerated but never truly accepted. What did the future hold? Who cared? She would live one day at a time, and if the sun didn’t rise, so be it. Darkness was the best…darkness and sleep, when the dreams came…dreams of Colt, and his love, and the happiness they’d shared.
The morning they reached the island, Bryan opened the closet and began to rummage through dozen and dozens of gowns. “Marnia loved clothes,” he told her, “and she kept a selection of gowns and dresses here so she wouldn’t have to take time to pack if we decided to sail on the spur of the moment. That never happened,” he added with a laugh, “so it was just an excuse for her to have more clothes.”
Her brought out a cotton dress, lime green, the full skirt spattered with tiny embroidered white and yellow daisies. “Perfect for the island.” He spread it across the bed. “There’s a matching shawl in case the weather gets cool, but I’ve been on deck, and it’s a glorious day. Warm and sunny.”
Jade stared at the dress. She’d never have picked out anything quite so bright, but this was a different part of the world from the conservatism she’d grown up with.
“She kept more clothes at the house. You’re welcome to anything she had.”
Jade asked how long they’d be on the island.
He told her he had no idea. “Since neither one of us has much of a reason to be anywhere else, let’s try to enjoy ourselves. I think you’ll find it’s a beautiful place, and maybe you can think things out, decide what you want to do with your life.”
She dressed slowly, still feeling weak and tired. Her sunburned skin had started to peel, and she absently thought it ugly but didn’t truly care. It was difficult to care about anything these days.
Her hair was limp, needed washing and styling, but she wound it in the tight, sleek ballerina bun that was a trademark of her art. There was a matching bonnet to the dress, with a long lime satin ribbon, and she tied it on. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she thought she looked like a fruit basket. Marnia must have been a very cheerful woman to have dressed so brightly, she thought.
Gingerly, she made her way from the cabin up to the deck. Bryan saw her and rushed over to take her arm as she blinked against the startling brightness of a golden sun. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked out at the dazzling blue water, had never seen such brilliance.
Bryan helped her to the gangplank that led to a long, narrow pier stretching from a glimmering white sand beach in the distance. “Let me help you. You’ve got sea legs, and you’ll be wobbly when you first stand on land.”
It was true, she silently acknowledged, reeling back against him as the wooden planks beneath her feet seemed to toss upward, rippling to and fro.
They made their way up the pier, and Bryan held her. She noticed he’d changed also, into a white coat and bright blue pants, a white cotton cap perched jauntily on his head.
As they walked, he told her how he’d come to build a home in so remote a place. “I first came here with an uncle when I was just a young boy, and I fell in love on sight. This part of the Atlantic is called the Bermudas, or sometimes referred to as the Somers Islands. There, must be over three hundred islands and islets around, but submerged coral reefs make navigation difficult. That’s why only a few of the larger islands are really able to be inhabited. I’m fortunate, because my little island has a deep channel into it on this side.”
He pointed toward lush greenery growing up a hillside from the beach they were approaching. “The house is up there, on the other side of those banana trees. I had the pier and dock built here, on the side of the channel, and faced the house to the other side of the island so there’d be an unobstructed view of the sea. Wait’ll you see it. It’ll take your breath away.” He gave her hand an excited squeeze and grinned down at her.
“My uncle,” he went on to say, “fell in love with the area during the Civil War. He was captain of a Federal runner, looking for blockade runners. The South, you see, had to try and get their cotton out for trade with England, and the Bermudas served as a transshipment port.”
Jade politely listened with her mind, but her heart was somewhere in time…with Colt. She blinked back tears, rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Oh, dear God, she shuddered within, was it ever going to stop hurting? Would there ever be a waking moment when she did not grieve?
“It’s like one big flower garden,” Bryan was saying proudly, gesturing toward a sweeping view of oleanders and dazzling pink cyclamen.
They reached the end of the pier, and he pointed to the sand. “Have you ever seen anything lovelier? The color of pink-tinted coral, ground powder-fine by the wind and the waves. Marnia used to say it was like fine-sifted flour against your skin.”
Jade glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes, wondered if she would ever be able to speak Colt’s name so easily…the sound flowing with pleasure, not pain. Now the very thought of him made a lump rise in her throat, her bosom heaving with pain too deep for words.
They made their way up a slight rise, then through the grove of banana trees, the leaves crackling and rustling in the balmy breeze like the applause of leprechauns, celebrating their arrival. The house loomed ahead, appealing, colorful. Bryan explained it was made of limestone coral rock, which was soft enough to be cut from the ground with a wood saw, but once exposed to the air, hardened with age; then it was painted pink. The roof was made of overlapping coral shingles, about ten by fourteen inches and an inch thick. Painted white, they were washed periodically with a coating of lime for sanitary purposes, because drinking water was channeled from rain over these shingles, funneled into a reserve tank.
“Look at the steps,” he said. “T
ypical of the islands. See how they’re wider at the bottom than the top? They’re called ‘welcoming arms’.”
He also drew to her attention the great chimney, told her how the windows were small-paned, with shutters hinged at the top to swing up and out.
“It’s no mansion like the one I built along the Hudson River in upper New York State, of course,” he said without apology as they reached the top of the steps and started to enter, “but it’s lovely and comfortable. Marnia loved it, and so shall you.” He flashed a hopeful smile.
A plump black woman, a native, Jade decided, displayed incredibly white teeth as she grinned and curtsied.
“Marnia taught all the servants to do that,” Bryan whispered, amused. “Meet Amelia, your housekeeper. Amelia, this is Miss Jade.”
“Missy Jade,” the woman cried, delighted. “She take Missy Marnia place?”
Jade tensed, did not miss the quick shadow that touched Bryan’s blue eyes before he tightly corrected the servant. “She’s our guest, Amelia, but you’ll obey her and serve her as though she were mistress of this house. Understand?”
The woman nodded obediently and eagerly, and Bryan guided Jade inside. One huge room ran from front to rear, with glass affording the most spectacular view of the ocean. Blue water glistened in the sun; a bright green lawn led away from the pink sand, sentinels of rose bushes lining the way.
To each side of the huge room, in the rear, were service areas, Bryan explained. He pointed out fireplaces at ankle, knee, and waist levels, and tray ceilings—to cool food. Beyond, there were separate little buildings added on, called butteries, having no windows, only a door, air vents at the top, shelves along the walls—all this for keeping food as cool as possible.
He led her to the front, where a wide terrace beckoned. There was a large bedroom on each side, with French doors opening to the outside. Bryan showed her to the one on the right, dominated by a huge lace-canopied bed, not unlike the one on the yacht. “This was Marnia’s room,” he announced quietly, reverently. “You’re welcome to anything you like.” He gestured to the dressing table with its frothy pink net skirt and then to a huge mahogany wardrobe, which he opened to display a rainbow array of stunning gowns and dresses.
Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6 Page 10