Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance)

by Christine Johnson

  “No.” He stroked her jaw, not in anger but with tenderness. “We all make mistakes. All of us. Myself included. I could regale you for hours, but the Lord washed those mistakes away when He died on the cross. I only had to accept that act of love. That’s what love is. It thinks first of the other person. It forgets itself. It does right even when it hurts.”

  She had heard all this many times before.

  “If He can forgive my mistakes,” he continued, “I can certainly forgive anything you have done.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Anything? Even four years of silence?”

  He smiled. “It was a long time but hardly silent. Your brother told me a great deal.”

  “My brother? How did Charlie know . . . oh, from my letters to our mother.”

  “He loves you. He needs you.”

  She shook her head. “Then why does he push me away one moment and act like a friend the next?”

  “He’s a boy. A boy trying to become a man. Wanting to be strong and afraid to ask for your love in case it makes you think he’s weak.”

  Elizabeth had never considered that. “I came home to take care of him.”

  “He doesn’t need a nursemaid.” Rourke settled beside her on the hatch cover. “He needs a sister.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. In her desperation to claim Rourke, she had cast aside her brother. “You must think me very selfish.”

  “No.” He clasped her hand. “Very passionate. Very determined. Very certain of what you want. But you must realize that a future cannot be founded on broken hearts and deception. I won’t take you anywhere without your father’s blessing.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  Elizabeth had thought her heart broken before, but this ached far worse. A sob escaped. “Father will never agree.”

  “Never is a long time.”

  She would not cry. She would not. She bit her lip to stop the powerful swell of emotion. “Will you return?”

  He brushed a finger across her cheek, sending shivers all the way to her toes. “God willing, dear Elizabeth.”

  She let her lids drift shut, hoping either that he would kiss her or that she would awake and find this a dream.

  Instead he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”

  Rourke hated hurting her. When she closed her eyes and those perfect lips parted, it took all his will not to kiss her. Her disappointment nearly changed his mind. She loved him. She was willing to give up everything, even her family, to be with him. He had dreamed of hearing such a declaration, but now it was impossible.

  She didn’t know about the plan. Based on what she’d said, she didn’t know John and Anabelle were married, least of all that he planned to bring her to freedom in the Bahamas. Taking Elizabeth instead of Anabelle to Briland wasn’t just selfish, it broke a solemn promise and locked a soul in bondage.

  Rourke dug the oars into the still water, now calm at slack tide, and reached the mouth of the cut in just four strokes. The boat glided silently onto the ocean. To the north and east lay his homeland. A favorable wind would bring them into the Gulf Stream and out of Florida waters in a few short hours. An unfavorable wind could keep them bottled up in the Keys. That was a problem.

  He lifted the oars.

  Elizabeth, sitting in the bow, eyed him. “What is it?”

  He motioned for her to be quiet, not from necessity but because he needed time to think. What would he do if the Windsprite was becalmed? He hadn’t provided that option to Anabelle. In fact, he hadn’t considered the wind at all. What kind of captain forgot to take into account the wind?

  He pulled once on the oars.

  Even if he did manage to weigh anchor and slip away from the island undetected, if the wind failed, the harbor’s new steam tug could easily catch him. Rourke had to get word to Anabelle. Elizabeth was the obvious choice, but she knew nothing of the planned escape. He was not going to tell her now. First, she might not approve of losing her maid. Second, it made her an accomplice. No, he would have to get word to Tom, who would then tell Anabelle.

  “Where are you going?” she whispered loudly.

  Rourke shook himself from his thoughts and discovered the boat had drifted east when he needed to row west. He plunged the oars into the water and gave three strong strokes.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t get word to Tom. He couldn’t risk being seen.

  “Something is wrong,” Elizabeth said again.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He rowed a few more strokes. Elizabeth could bring a message to Tom, who would then find Anabelle, but that was ridiculous. She could go straight to Anabelle. He just had to make the message vague enough that Elizabeth wouldn’t figure out its true meaning.

  “The oars blistered my hands,” she said. “Are they hurting yours?”

  He shook his head. “I have a little more experience rowing than you do.”

  “I used to row Charlie’s skiff.”

  “That was Charlie’s boat? I always thought it was yours.”

  “Father gave it to him, but he was scared to use it because he couldn’t swim.”

  “How did you learn? I always figured Charlie showed you.”

  She grinned. “I watched you and learned how.”

  “Don’t let your father hear about that. It’ll be another strike against me.”

  “I promise.” She inched toward him a little. “You looked a million miles away just then, like you were riding on the stars.”

  He smiled at the image she painted. Elizabeth was like a freshening breeze, promising a fine adventure ahead. “I was thinking that I needed to get a message back to Tom.”

  “I’ll do it.” She leaned toward him. “And I’ll be discreet.”

  “I know you will, but it would be better if you sent Anabelle. People might already be talking about you showing up at the boardinghouse.”

  “No one saw me. It was after dark, and Tom happened to be on the veranda.”

  “How fortunate, but you can’t rely on that happening again. No one will think twice of a servant bringing a message. You may write it in a note if you wish.”

  The moonlight shimmered off her wide, eager eyes. “Tell me what you want me to write.”

  Rourke stopped rowing. Better he say this where he could see that no one was around to hear. “Tell him to proceed if the wind is favorable.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “The first day it is.” Tom had the experience to understand that message, but Rourke hoped it never got that far. Would Anabelle know a fair wind from a foul one? The voyage to Charleston and back ought to have taught her that much. If not, she would at least get the note to Tom. “And make sure he knows that he is to get everyone ready.”

  “Everyone? You have more crew in town?”

  He hadn’t anticipated that reaction. “One or two more.” If he counted Anabelle as crew.

  “All right. Let me repeat the message. Proceed if the wind is favorable. If not, wait until it is, and get the crew ready.”

  “Close enough.” Tom would know what to do with that. “Also make sure he gets it tomorrow. All right?”

  “I will,” she promised.

  Rourke resumed rowing, this time at a steady pace. “Keep quiet now. We’re approaching the island.”

  She nodded and slid forward to the bow. With her right hand, she grasped the painter, ready to leap ashore and tie off. With her left, she held the gunwale. Elizabeth Benjamin knew boats.

  He chuckled inwardly at the memory of her misstep years ago that had landed her in the water instead of on the Windsprite’s deck. She had popped to the surface like a drowned rat, sputtering mad and saying he’d pushed the skiff away at the last minute. She’d been even angrier that he had the audacity to laugh. He had adored her like a kid sister then, but the years flew past, and she’d become a young woman. Still impulsive and adventurous, but very much a woman. His affection for her had blossomed into romance. Then she left. Those years in Charleston had shrouded
her finer qualities so thoroughly that he hadn’t spotted them until tonight. The night he had to say goodbye.

  As Rourke lifted the oars and let the boat drift ashore on the island of Key West, he wondered how he would endure the separation. A year might as well be forever if Benjamin announced Elizabeth’s engagement to Finch.

  She tied the painter to an overhanging mangrove with a triple half hitch and hopped ashore before he had a chance to assist her. Then she stuck out her hand to assist him. That was the Elizabeth he loved. That was the one he would miss.

  They walked in silence past the salt ponds, quiet at this hour. The salt-growing process had begun for the year, and the ponds were flooded. Paths ran between the rectangular ponds, which were sealed off with gates. He chose the path next to the mangroves. Something rustled in the underbrush.

  She squeezed his arm. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Is this the same woman who earlier tonight ran through this very spot alone?”

  “I didn’t think I’d have to go back.”

  The sorrow in her voice brought a lump to his throat. “I’ll stay with you until we reach the cemetery. You should be able to get home safely from there.”

  She didn’t say anything, though she clung close to his side. How perfectly she fit, as if she had always belonged there. Rourke placed an arm around her waist. When they crossed the first street, he breathed out in relief. Soon she would be safe.

  At the cemetery, she slowed and halted. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  Rourke couldn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to leave her either, but he must, preferably without sending her into tears. He held her hands. “I’m relying on you to complete your mission.”

  The military-style command was meant to stiffen his resolve. It made her laugh.

  “Of course.” She squeezed his hands in return. “I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”

  The hint of desperation nearly undid him. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  She cupped his chin in that delicate palm. “I love you, Rourke O’Malley. I always will.”

  Emotion battled sense. He wanted to give her hope, but with no certainty he would ever be able to return, to declare love now would be cruelly selfish. “You are the finest woman I have ever known, Elizabeth. You have had my heart for years.”

  A sob wrenched from her. “Such a sorry pair we are, your Romeo to my Juliet.”

  He knew enough Shakespeare to understand her reference—and to fear it. “Promise me you won’t do something foolish.”

  “Promise me you will return.”

  That he could not do. Except she hadn’t asked when. She hadn’t demanded a time. He couldn’t have given one if she had. Maybe she realized that. He pulled the leather thong from around his neck and removed his grandmother’s ring.

  He pressed the ring into her hand. “This belonged to my grandmother. Take it as a pledge.”

  She turned the ring over and over in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful.”

  He lifted her chin. “Not as beautiful as you.” Then he kissed her, slow and soft and filled with the promise of what he hoped would be one day. She responded gently at first and then with the same hunger she’d once had for sailing. She clung to him, held on with all her strength, clearly afraid to part.

  But part they must.

  He held her one last time. Kissed her forehead. Drank in the jasmine scent and the taste of salt. He ran a finger across cheeks soft as a lapping wave, marveled at eyes bright as stars. A bell rang in the distance. Much as he wanted to stay here the rest of the night, he must let her go.

  “Godspeed.” He pushed her toward home before he lost the will. Then he walked away, not daring to look back.

  “Godspeed, my love,” she echoed.

  18

  The kiss warmed Elizabeth all the way home. It followed her when she slipped through an open window undetected. It nestled with her beneath the bedsheets and welcomed her into the new day. It confirmed what Rourke could not say in words. He loved her. He would return for her.

  She lay against the bolster and pillows, letting the sunlight dance across her face. Her body ached with fatigue, but the memory of last night wiped away any sleepiness. He had pledged his love and honor. She pressed his ring to her lips. It fit her third finger perfectly, as if it had been made for her rather than his grandmother. Though she could not wear it publicly, this pledge gave her the strength to face as much as a year apart. Please, Lord, make it less.

  She turned the silver ring, examining its intricate pattern. It looked very old. It must be an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. A man would only give such a ring to the woman he intended to marry.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Miss?” Anabelle was already here.

  Elizabeth twisted the ring from her finger. “Please come back in ten minutes.”

  After Anabelle’s footsteps faded away, Elizabeth flitted across the room to her dressing table and opened the rosewood box. The ribbon she had used for her trunk key would work. She removed the key and threaded the ring onto it. Then she slipped the ribbon over her head and beneath her chemise. Until Rourke put this ring on her finger before witnesses, she would wear it secretly near her heart.

  Secret. Oh dear, she had promised Rourke to get a secret message to Tom today. She must hurry.

  Elizabeth kept paper, pen, and ink in the reading room. When she was growing up, this space had been a nursery and then a room for play and studies.

  One day she and Rourke would have children. How they would laugh and play together. They would all learn to sail—boys and girls alike. Swim also. The gossips could blather all they wanted about how unseemly it was for a girl to swim. But a child of the sea must know such things.

  Another knock sounded on her bedroom door.

  “One moment,” Elizabeth called out as she gathered up the necessary writing implements.

  Though Rourke suggested she send the note through Anabelle, Elizabeth would not give up the chance to talk to Tom. He might be able to tell her what Rourke had not—why he’d been called home.

  Anabelle stuck her head in the room. “Are you ready for me, miss?”

  “Not yet. I have a note to write. Come back in another ten minutes.”

  Anabelle frowned but acquiesced.

  Alone again, Elizabeth settled at her dressing table and dipped the pen in ink. What had Rourke wanted her to write? She searched her sleep-muddled mind. Oh yes, something about when they were sailing. The wind. That was it. She scratched out the note.

  Captain O’Malley wants you to proceed at the first favorable wind. Otherwise wait.

  There was something else. What was it? She searched her memory. Ah yes. The crew.

  Prepare everyone.

  She folded the note and wrote Tom’s name on the outside. All it needed was a seal. She rose to fetch the sealing wax when Aunt Virginia’s strident voice rose from the floor below.

  “It’s gone, I tell you.”

  Aunt must be in the dining room, which was situated directly under Elizabeth’s bedroom.

  “I didn’t lose it,” Aunt Virginia declared. “Someone stole it.”

  Not the string of pearls. Elizabeth hoped Aunt hadn’t misplaced her pearls or the entire household would be turned upside down looking for them.

  Father’s reply was so muted that she could not make out a single word. Doubtless he knew that voices carried. He also didn’t rattle easily, even though Aunt Virginia could discombobulate the most placid soul.

  “Impossible,” Aunt cried. “My trunks were locked. I made sure of it by giving my keys to Captain Poppinclerk as soon as I reached safety. I was not going to let those pirates and darkies near my belongings. They would have stolen everything.”

  That explained how Aunt’s trunks had gotten locked.

  “Someone in this house must have stolen it,” Aunt continued. “If you ask me, it was that maid of your daughter’s. I don’t trust her.”

  E
lizabeth gritted her teeth. Any number of people had entered this house. Aside from the servants, dozens of callers had passed through, as had Mr. Finch. True, only the servants had been granted access to Aunt’s bedroom, but it was still possible that someone had wandered upstairs unchecked. Yet in Aunt’s eyes, Anabelle was automatically guilty. Elizabeth could not understand why Aunt hated Anabelle so much. It made no sense. Anabelle had shown the utmost deference in Charleston. She obeyed every order, yet Aunt still treated her with contempt.

  Elizabeth glanced to the closed door. Had Anabelle heard this latest tirade?

  “In my opinion”—Aunt gathered steam and volume—“that girl thinks she’s above her station and needs to be brought into line. I’ve told Elizabeth to discipline her time and again, but she refuses. At most she gives the girl a slap on the hand. If nothing is done, the hens will be running the henhouse. You must step in. Do what must be done, like you did with her mother. The missing document gives you the perfect reason.”

  The scrape of a chair indicated the conversation was over, but it left Elizabeth both puzzled and disturbed. Mammy had been sent away. Surely Father wouldn’t sell Anabelle simply because Elizabeth had refused to punish her. Moreover, Aunt said the fuss was all over some missing document. What document? Was she referring to the inheritance? But that made no sense. Father had informed her of the inheritance when they first arrived. He had said nothing about needing a document.

  The sound of a door clicking shut roused her from her thoughts. She turned to see Anabelle standing with her back against the door, eyes wide and countenance pale. Her hand trembled where it rested on the doorknob. She had heard.

  “Don’t let him sell me,” Anabelle whispered.

  Elizabeth had never seen her friend more terrified and unsure. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  Anabelle’s lips pursed and then quivered. “Help me. Please.”

  “Father won’t send you away,” Elizabeth repeated, this time taking Anabelle by the shoulders. “I won’t let him.”

  Anabelle averted her eyes, gulped, and then looked straight at Elizabeth. “Perhaps you can save me, but—” She drew in a rasping breath, clearly struggling over what she wanted to say.