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

by Christine Johnson

  By the time she reached the cemetery, her limbs had turned to lead. Each step took enormous effort, like slogging through water. Her knees wobbled. Spots danced before her eyes. The years of idleness in Charleston had taken their toll. She could not go on.

  Rourke waited beside a gumbo-limbo while Anabelle paced at the edge of the mangrove thickets.

  “Hurry,” Elizabeth gasped, unable to draw enough air to rejuvenate her limbs.

  Rourke held out his hand. “I will not leave without you.”

  “You must.” She turned at the sound of carriage wheels crunching over the gravel. “Father.” Even in the moonlight, she recognized their carriage.

  He took her by the shoulders. Desperation danced in his eyes. “I will carry you.”

  She wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it. To be with him always, to truly live. But if she agreed, then they would all fail. Rourke would be arrested, and Anabelle and her baby would be sold.

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Love does right even when it hurts.”

  His hands shook. “I will never see you again.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against that truth. Aiding a fugitive slave brought terrible penalties. If he managed to escape, he would not be able to return. To do so meant prison and destitution.

  “I know.” She drew a shaky breath and pushed him away. “Save my sister.”

  Instead of letting go, he stared into her eyes. “Your sister?”

  The carriage was drawing near. She could see Mr. Finch at the reins.

  “Go!” She wrenched from his arms.

  He held on until her fingers slipped from his.

  She could not watch him go. His ring burned against her throat, symbol of what might have been. Tears burned her lids as she stumbled toward Father’s carriage. Romeo to her Juliet. Separated forever.

  Father stepped from the carriage.

  Elizabeth dropped to her knees. Please help me, Lord.

  22

  Rourke saw Elizabeth drop to her knees, and it took all his will not to run to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and shield her from the pain to come, but he could not. She had given her happiness for another. Her sister. His mind reeled. Anabelle was her sister. Though his blood raged against a man who would do such a thing, he could not let Elizabeth’s sacrifice be in vain.

  How he loved the woman she had become. The impulsive child had been tempered with a depth of character he had not imagined possible. This Elizabeth could endure trials. This Elizabeth had the grace and compassion to overcome. Yet he must leave her, almost certainly never to return.

  “Father!” she cried, rising to her feet. “Papa. Papa.” She ran to the man and threw her arms around his neck.

  At the same moment, a thick cloud blotted out the moon. Rourke knew that was his chance, but he could not rip his gaze from the scene unfolding in front of him.

  Anabelle tugged on his arm. “Go.”

  The short command broke the hold that Elizabeth had on him. For her sake, he must leave. Tom had not returned. He was probably in Poppinclerk’s clutches. Only Rourke knew where the ship’s boat was hidden. Only he could get Anabelle to the Windsprite. Benjamin might still follow. They were not safe yet.

  He grabbed Anabelle’s hand and ran for the cover of the mangroves. She easily matched his stride. He led her down the narrow path toward the salt ponds. They had little time to outpace Finch and Benjamin.

  He let go of Anabelle. “Run!”

  The command wasn’t necessary. Anabelle proved fleet of foot and silent as the night.

  By the time they reached the salt ponds, his lungs burned.

  Anabelle still ran. If she panted, he could not hear it over the pounding of his heart.

  They had to run single file beside the ponds, where salt water was baked off in dry months until only glistening salt remained. During this rainy season, the holding ponds were wet. One wrong step and an ankle would turn or a leg break.

  He followed her, amazed at her speed and fortitude. More than fear drove her on. Her husband awaited her aboard the Windsprite. Rourke hoped his mate had the sloop ready to sail.

  Rourke dared a look back, and what he saw pushed him forward faster. Lights bobbed in the trees at the other end of the salt ponds. The men were following. If Rourke didn’t get Anabelle away from the open ponds and into the trees, they would be discovered. Soon. The pursuers had almost reached the first of the hundred-foot-long containment ponds. Ahead of him stretched the last pond.

  They wouldn’t make it.

  Rourke couldn’t grab Anabelle or she’d trip and fall. He couldn’t shout or the men would hear him. He searched for an avenue of escape and noticed that the overhanging branches on the far end of the ponds created just enough shadow to shield them until they reached the trail to the boat.

  Summoning every ounce of strength, he powered ahead and steered Anabelle toward the trees. One more minute, Lord. That was all they needed to get to safety.

  Voices shouted across the ponds. The men had arrived, and they’d seen them.

  “Follow me,” Rourke gasped. “A little farther.”

  The shadows loomed ahead, but their pursuers would see which direction he’d gone. There wasn’t time to mislead or throw them off. He had to get Anabelle into the boat and pull away from shore. Only then would they stand a chance.

  His mind raced over the possibilities. Benjamin and Finch wouldn’t have a boat here. They would have to return to town to get a boat under way, but Poppinclerk hadn’t come to the cemetery. If Tom didn’t have the worthless pilot tied up, Poppinclerk could bring a steam tug out of the harbor and intercept the Windsprite before Rourke got away from the island.

  Help us, Lord.

  He raced along the mangroves, looking for the trail that would lead them to the boat. He could hear the angry slap of the ocean, but he couldn’t find the path.

  Please, Lord.

  It should be near. He caught his foot on a mangrove root and went flying—right onto the path to the boat. Unfortunately, the crash echoed across the ponds.

  Time was running out.

  He scrambled to his feet and plunged onto the narrow path, trusting Anabelle to follow. Love could drive a person beyond her endurance. Rourke had to count on that.

  When they emerged at the ship’s boat, she said, “Now we go home.”

  “Now we row.” Rourke struggled to untie the painter, wishing he had the cutlass so he could sever it. “In this choppy sea, it’ll take longer than I’d like.”

  Anabelle stepped into the boat and took a seat.

  The knot finally loosed. Rourke pushed off and hopped in. The boat glided out, but the wind and seas pushed it right back into the mangroves. Rourke grabbed the oars and put his back into each stroke. Soon they pulled away from shore, but if Benjamin had a ship lying in wait, all that effort would be for naught.

  The seas fought them. The waves fought them. The race across the island had sapped his strength. Facing backward, Rourke saw the lights drawing near, but he couldn’t see the Windsprite. His stroke faltered.

  “She planned to join us,” Anabelle said.

  Rourke didn’t need further encouragement, but Anabelle provided it.

  “She will wait.”

  He rowed with renewed vigor.

  Father brought Elizabeth home when Captain Poppinclerk arrived. After a brief discussion, the ship’s pilot and Mr. Finch left to hunt down Rourke. Father drove the carriage. That left Elizabeth alone inside. She spent the short drive on her knees praying that Rourke and Anabelle would reach safety.

  Once home, Father escorted her into his study and closed the door. “Sit.”

  No “please.” No smile. No leniency. He was furious.

  Elizabeth hadn’t the strength to stand anyway. Rourke and Anabelle were now in God’s hands. She sank into the chair farthest from Father’s desk.

  He stood behind the other, unblinking gaze fixed on her. “Why?” When she didn’t answer, he clarified. “Why would you send a
way your maid?”

  At least he had acknowledged that Anabelle no longer belonged to him. Nor did she belong to Elizabeth. “She is not mine.”

  “Of course she’s yours. What is wrong with you, Lizzie? Have you lost your mind?”

  The rebuke gave her strength. “On the contrary. I have found it.”

  He scowled, crossed to the decanter of brandy, and poured a glass.

  “Now is no time to drink spirits, Father.”

  He whipped around. “Do you think to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

  “I can’t tell you anything. Neither could Mother.”

  He stiffened. “Leave your mother out of this. Tonight’s debacle is entirely about your willful defiance.” He downed the brandy in a single gulp. “Mr. Finch informed me that you insinuated you would get no inheritance. I told him it was another attempt on your part to dissuade him from marrying you.”

  “I did not insinuate. I stated a fact.”

  His face flushed red. “You lied.”

  In the past, such an accusation would have sent her into a cowering panic. Tonight she felt only calm. “No, sir, I did not lie. I told the truth. I discussed the matter with Aunt Virginia and arranged to have the inheritance distributed to another more deserving person.”

  “What?” His hand shook. “Do you know what you have done?”

  “I know exactly what I have done. How could I take money for a dowry when my brother needs it? Aunt Virginia agreed. Late this afternoon she hired an attorney to draw up the paperwork.”

  Father’s jaw literally dropped open, and all the fire went out of him. “Your brother?”

  “Yes, Charlie.”

  He dropped into the other chair, shoulders slumped, and rubbed his forehead. “You gave your inheritance to Charlie?”

  She nodded. “Aunt Virginia will verify it.”

  He blinked, once or twice at first and then more rapidly. His Adam’s apple bobbed above the loosened cravat. “Perhaps I misjudged you.” His voice came out ragged. “I thought you were defying me.”

  “Most of the time I was. I could never marry Mr. Finch, not after he tried to take liberties with me.”

  His head shot up, the old fire rekindled. “He did what?”

  She almost regretted saying that. “He forced himself upon me.”

  “How?”

  “He attempted a kiss I neither wanted nor encouraged.”

  “Oh.” Father waved a hand. “Is that all?”

  “That is quite enough. It proves he does not love me, though I can’t imagine why he insisted on marrying a woman who despised him.”

  “You would grow to love him.”

  “Like Mother grew to love you?” she snapped.

  “Precisely.”

  She didn’t. The words were on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them, for they were spiteful, hurting, and the diary had ended years ago. Rourke’s admonition came to mind again. Love does right even when it hurts.

  “You know I love Rourke O’Malley.”

  Father’s face twisted with distaste. “He is not good enough for you.”

  “He loves me. He waited four years for me. He is a good and honest Christian man.”

  “He is a barefoot Bahamian wrecker with no future.”

  This argument was old. She knew every point. “Many wreckers came here from the Bahamas. Some have made a goodly fortune.”

  “Not Mr. O’Malley. He still sails his father’s sloop.”

  “The fastest ship in the fleet.”

  “And the oldest. He will never earn enough to give you a life of comfort.”

  She would not give up. “Love is comfort enough.”

  “You will think differently when your hands are raw from cooking and cleaning all day, when the parade of babies has worn you out, and your husband is gone for months at a time. This is not the life you have been raised to lead. You don’t even know how to cook or clean.”

  “I’ll learn.”

  Father poked again and again until it hurt. “Will you learn to do without food and clothing and shoes? Will you die in childbirth because he can’t afford to hire a physician?”

  “Yes, yes, I would do all that,” she cried, hating the bits of truth in what he said.

  “Enough, Elizabeth. I will not see my only daughter throw her life away.”

  “I’m not your only daughter.” The words struck with the force of a tidal wave.

  He stiffened. “What did you say?”

  Though her heart pounded and her breath grew short, she could not deny the truth now. “I know about Anabelle.”

  His hand trembled until he fisted it. “What about your maid?”

  She took a deep breath. “Anabelle is not my maid. She is my sister. My half sister.”

  All the color drained from his face. “Whatever she told you, it’s a lie.”

  Elizabeth felt eerily calm. “She didn’t have to tell me a thing. Mother spelled it out in her diary.”

  That clearly surprised him. “Her what?”

  “She kept a diary.” She rose. “Mother’s words shocked me, but once I looked, really looked, the truth became obvious. Anabelle and I share your nose and chin and hands.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “So too our stature. Moreover, Anabelle’s skin is light.”

  “Stop!”

  She could not. “Mother made you promise to treat her exactly the same as me. That’s why you let her grow up as my friend, why she learned to read and write, why she slept in my room.”

  “You know nothing of what happened.”

  “I know what Mother wrote, how disappointed she was, how her heart broke when she discovered what you had done.”

  He rose. “Silence!”

  Though he towered over her, she could not stop. Once begun, the words must run their course. “I love my sister and want the best for her and her baby. Yes, she is married. She has been for four years. It’s time she lived with her husband.”

  “That decision was not yours to make.”

  “Wasn’t it? You gave her to me.”

  “Upon your wedding, which you have done everything to ruin. Anabelle is still my property.”

  “She’s your daughter.” Elizabeth would not back down. “The truth cannot be hidden. The harder you try to smother it, the more it wiggles free. Now even Charlie knows.” She had left the diary and Mother’s Bible with him before leaving tonight for what she had expected would be her farewell voyage.

  “Charlie? You told Charlie?” The veins bulged on his forehead. His cheek ticked, but she ignored the warning.

  “I gave him the diary.”

  The blow snapped her head around and spun her backwards. She slammed against the wall. Pain shot down her spine and robbed the strength from her legs. She slid to the floor and into darkness.

  23

  Shadowy images and muffled sounds drifted in and out of Elizabeth’s consciousness. Whether dream or reality she did not know. Heaviness pressed upon her. Even her eyes could not open. Pain knifed marrow from bone and soul from body. Death beckoned, promising the peace that life could not bring.

  Rourke.

  His name tugged her back toward the pain.

  She looked for him in this land of shadows, but he was always just beyond sight. She tried to call to him. Her mouth moved. Her lips opened, but no sound came out.

  Rourke.

  There he was, just above her. He grasped for her hand, but she slipped away, falling, falling. She clung to the last bit of canvas. The abyss beckoned. The black ocean tugged. He called out for her, stretched forth his arm. She could see his hand, could nearly reach his fingers, but the distance was too great.

  Don’t leave me.

  He looked back. Just once. Then he was gone.

  Forever. Somehow she knew that he would never return. That knowledge weighed upon her. The pain and emptiness were too much to endure.

  She let go. The waters closed over her, yet she gasped for breath.r />
  A murmur of voices broke through the shadows, pulling her back from the depths.

  A woman’s frantic cry. “Will she end up like her brother?”

  A man’s hushed reply. “It’s too early to know.”

  Though the murmuring continued, she slipped away again, this time to the shore. Her toes dug into the narrow fringe of glistening white sand. The turquoise sea stretched before her, endless as the sky. If only she could get to the other side. Then she would find Rourke. He’d been here, nearly within her grasp moments before, but now he was gone. She searched the horizon for his ship. She called out his name. She reached out her arms and wept for their emptiness.

  “Lizzie, my Lizzie,” a man wept. “Can you ever forgive me? Please open your eyes. Please give me a chance to beg your forgiveness. The fault is all mine. I was wrong, so wrong, in so many ways.” Sobs muffled his words until the last. “Please, God, don’t make her suffer for my sins.”

  Not Rourke.

  Father. His agony pleaded with her, yet she recoiled. Ran. As fast as she could along the shore, where the glassy waves lapped against her toes.

  Again she looked for Rourke. Again she reached out.

  Return to me.

  Yet the horizon remained empty.

  With a shudder, Elizabeth awoke. Her eyelids flew open, and she immediately closed them against the blinding light.

  “Good afternoon, Lizzie.”

  “Charlie?” His name rasped against her dry throat.

  “At least you know who I am. I don’t suppose you’re ready to play chess, though.”

  She cautiously opened her eyes a fraction. “Bright.” And closed them again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She heard a thumping sound, then sensed diminished light. This time she lifted her eyelids a bit at a time.