Beauty's Curse Page 14

  Although he’d seen no sign of Isaac since that morning, better to err on the safe side. “It’s merely a precaution.” He knew from experience what slavery could do to a man, the distrust it could foster, even against those who didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t been the only white man enslaved in Madagascar. Months after his capture, he’d seen two others. He’d heard tell that their shipmates had tried to rescue them and failed. Neither had survived long after. Both had died by their master’s hand.

  David crumbled more charred wood into the pitch and stirred it into the thick, black mixture. After he’d been told of their deaths, a hate had begun to grow, an irrational anger toward all black men, no matter if they’d done wrong to him or not. Fortunately, that madness had dissipated as quickly as it had begun, but he’d seen a flicker of that same hatred and distrust in Isaac’s eyes when they’d invaded his home.

  A female screech stilled his hands. His gaze darted toward the sea where Amelia held her foot in her hands and wavered on one leg. He sprang to his feet at the sight of the pain on her face. She wobbled until she had to set her foot down, then she stumbled and fell beneath the ocean waves.

  “Amelia!” He raced to the water and dove in, rushing to her side.

  She was struggling to rise when he scooped her up and carried her to shore. He cradled her against him, his pulse still drumming hard. “What happened?”

  Amelia sputtered and coughed as he set her down. Finally regaining her breath, she wheezed, “I tried not to step on it, but the force of a wave pushed me.” She took up her foot, and he spied several black projections protruding from the side. Spines. Likely from a sea urchin. One of his shipmates had come into similar trouble. He remembered the pain the wretch had been in and all of his howling and swearing.

  Her eyes bright with tears, Amelia grimaced.

  “I know it hurts, but I’ll need you to hold still.” David bent over the wounds and carefully extracted each spine, the process slow so he wouldn’t break it off beneath the skin.

  With each tug, new tears fell, but she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, save for a few pants for air. His brave girl. When the last was gone, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her wet hair. He murmured soothing words, offering what comfort he could. She felt so good in his arms, he only reluctantly let her go.

  Already her wounds had become red and swollen. He placed a coconut shell containing water to the edge of the fire and tore a strip from his shirt. “We’ll clean out what poisons remain as soon as the water is hot.”

  A weak smile brightened her tear-stained cheeks. “The way you abuse that shirt, you’ll soon have none of it left.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the shirt. I value you more.”

  A delicate blush rose to her cheeks, and he savored the sight with his heart and soul. She looked at him with such tenderness, a look that bordered on love. His chest constricted until he could barely breathe. “Let’s move you over to the fire,” he rasped. He carried her closer and set her down.

  The water now hot, he dipped the cloth and held it to her wounds. She hissed in pain at first contact, but soon the tension left her face, and her body relaxed.

  He dampened the cloth again and reapplied it to her foot. The worst now passed, his attention wandered up her bare, slender leg. He remembered well the smooth feel of her skin, the sensual way she reacted to his touch, and he longed to glide his hand along that limb again.

  When he lifted his gaze, their eyes locked, and the desire reflecting back at him stole every rational thought from his head. He leaned in and savored her lips, the taste salty and sweet, before his senses returned and he drew away. “I’d best return to my pine pitch.”

  His smile forced, he moved to crouch by the fire and picked up his stirring stick, ignoring the disappointment that flashed over her features—the same disappointment that now weighed down his limbs until he sank to the sand.

  Amelia would soon be in England. She would reunite with her family and forget about him. David stirred the pine pitch with vigor, his hand growing tired. If all went well, she’d meet a man worthy of her affection and finally find happiness. Who was he to get in the way of that future? He was a bitter man and a failure in so many ways.

  No, he’d do what was best for her. He’d take her to safety and send her back home to a bright future…with a more honorable man than him. The stick broke in his hand, and he muttered an oath.

  All he wanted was for Amelia to be safe and happy, dammit. That and to beat every honorable man in England into the dust.

  …

  Amelia rubbed her eyes as she staggered from the foliage where she’d relieved herself. The air humid, she trudged through the brush under the light of the full moon, thankful David had convinced her to sleep in her shift. When her feet met cool powdery sand, a figure in the shadows caught her eye. She squinted to see… Isaac, a knife in his hand, hovered just outside their shelter. Dear God.

  She looked around for a weapon. Her pulse taking flight, she picked up a heavy stick and rushed forward. “David! Wake up!”

  Isaac’s attention jerked toward her, but he made no move her way. Instead, he ducked under the shelter. No! David! She ran full out, her sore foot a hindrance, and tripped when her legs couldn’t keep up with her. She landed in a heap in the sand. Regaining her footing, she grabbed the stick and raced ahead.

  Inside the wall-less shelter, David raised the pistol, but Isaac smacked it out of his hands. In a quick move, David unsheathed his dagger and stepped away.

  The two men faced each other, their knives out. They took a few swipes, testing the other’s reflexes. She didn’t wait. As soon as she reached them, she swung her stick.

  She struck Isaac in the arm and the back before he turned to her with a wild slash that could have sliced her through if she hadn’t jumped to the side. David let out a war cry and barreled forward out of their sleeping place, knocking Isaac into a tree trunk. Isaac’s knife fell from his hand, and the two men grappled over David’s blade.

  Amelia snatched up the knife Isaac had dropped, then remembered… She scanned the sand and found the pistol. David cried out. No! Blood spilled from a wound in his side as Isaac reared back for another strike.

  “Stop,” she screamed, the pistol pointed at his nose, close enough to ensure she wouldn’t miss, but at a distance he couldn’t reach. “Get away from him!”

  Isaac slid on his backside, putting several feet between them, his eyes wide.

  Her arm shook. She wished she could shoot, but killing a man… She couldn’t. “Go!”

  He flinched, then rose to his feet and ran into the forest, leaving David leaning against the tree trunk, clutching his side with bloodied fingers.

  “David.” She fell to her knees beside him, the pistol gripped in one hand as she jumped at every sound around them. Would Isaac return?

  Her vision blurred as tears spilled from her eyes. David had taken precautions. All day he’d been watchful, his knife or pistol always at hand. She’d thought him foolish. Now…

  “Amelia.” David grabbed her hand and squeezed. “It’s going to be fine,” he groaned.

  Amelia raced into the shelter and brought back her petticoat, in time to see a coconut drop from the tree above David. It hit him on the head, and he slumped to his side. Her jaw fell open. “That hadn’t just… Not possible.” The familiar cold fingers of dread clamped down on her shoulders. Bad luck. Extremely bad luck.

  She shook the thought away. No time for that now. “We need to move you out from under there.” She rushed to his side, peering up to make sure nothing more would fall. David blinked slowly, but helped her as she moved him several feet from the tree. After a quick inspection of his head, which revealed a growing lump but no blood, she tore off a large piece of the petticoat, followed by a long strip. So much blood. She pressed the cloth to his side and bound the injury with the strip, then scanned the trees for any sign of Isaac. They had to leave here, and soon. He’d surely try to attack again.
>
  Amelia rushed to gather their things, although they hadn’t a lot to take. The pistol, David’s knife, her gown, and his violin. She placed them in the rowboat and tried to push it across the sand to no avail. Her feet digging in the sand, she dragged the thing inch by inch until she reached the shore, her lungs heaving and her injured foot throbbing.

  She found David with his eyes closed, his hand resting loosely on his wound. “David?” Her blood ran cold when he didn’t stir. She grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him. “David!”

  His lids fluttered open, revealing those beautiful brown eyes. A feeble smile came to his lips. “It’s going to be fine.”

  Would it? She checked his wound. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Thank heavens. She held his face in her hands, bringing his attention to her. “We’re leaving. I have to get you up, and I’ll need your help.”

  At his nod, she wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled him to a sitting position. “Ready?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before using all her strength and some of his to get him to his feet. He hissed with the movement, but soon stood.

  They shuffled forward, each step making him wince anew. When they finally reached the boat, she helped him inside and pressed a new piece of cloth from her petticoat to the wound. The bleeding had grown worse, but she could waste no more time.

  Straining until her muscles ached, she pulled and pushed until the rowboat was free from shore, then climbed in and took up the oars. David’s head lolled against the side of the boat. “David,” she called, steering them into the waves, her movements awkward.

  His eyes opened a crack, and he blinked.

  “Stay awake.” She almost whimpered the request as the hopelessness of their situation threatened to weaken her will. “Please. I need you.”

  Those few words seemed to have an effect. David’s eyes opened a bit more, and he tried to smile. She rowed through another wave, fighting the water’s insistence to send them back to shore, or flip them over. Lord help them if they flipped. She couldn’t even swim. And David… Stop. She had to focus on David, not on what could happen. Given his head injury, she’d best keep him alert, but how? Her mind turned to the obvious—the question that plagued her. “Why would Isaac attack us? We were nothing but friendly.”

  “I don’t blame him,” David muttered as he tried to sit up higher. He succeeded, but groaned in the process.

  A strange thought coming from him. He saw the world in a dim light, ready to believe the evils of men. “Why not?”

  “When I finally escaped my master, I would have done anything to prevent my recapture.” He huffed out a short exhale. “I did do things I now regret.”

  Yes, the man he killed whom he thought to be a guard. “But we’re no threat to him or Ruth.”

  “He may see it differently.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her arms grew tired the more she rowed, although her strokes had improved. At least the waves had stopped trying to turn the boat since they’d reached calmer waters.

  David blinked slowly. “The way he looked at your dress, with distrust. I’m sure the plantation wives wear much the same.”

  Her dress? She’d felt the tension when they’d spoken with Isaac and Ruth, but… “It was me he had an issue with?”

  When he shook his head, it barely moved. “They didn’t accept our story of a pirate ship, and the more likely place we would have come from is the other island… We asked so many questions about them… If we told anyone about Isaac and Ruth, they could be caught.” His eyes closed again.

  “David?”

  He didn’t respond, and her heart squeezed so hard, she could barely draw air.

  “David.” She bent over him, her cheek to his mouth. He still breathed. Her fingers shaking, she lifted the cloth now spotted with blood. His wound had stopped bleeding. Good.

  Resuming her position, Amelia grabbed hold of the oars and rowed as fast as possible. She’d been the one who’d asked Isaac and Ruth questions they hadn’t wanted to answer. She’d been the one who’d insisted she wear the blasted dress. She’d told David they were no threat, convincing him to wait until morning before using their newly repaired boat—he’d looked so tired. She should be the one lying unconscious on the far side of the boat, not David. Never David.

  Clenching her jaw tight, she resisted the urge to cry, although the tears clogged her throat. She had to stay strong and focus on getting David to a doctor. If the neighboring island had a plantation, they probably had access to a physician.

  The thought of losing David, of his…death. She couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t let that happen. She rowed harder, ignoring the way her muscles burned. David would survive this, and she would travel to her aunt just as she’d planned from the first.

  She watched David’s chest rise and fall with each breath. He’d be better off without her. She stared at his handsome face, the lips she’d kissed so ardently. She memorized his every feature, dark brows that quirked in curiosity, a stubbled jaw that grew rigid with frustration.

  A tear escaped the corner of her eye. She’d miss him terribly. Already the familiar loneliness was settling in. No, not only loneliness this time, an ache of such enormity, she could hardly feel anything else. She loved him. She’d told herself time and again she couldn’t love him and wouldn’t, but in truth she’d had no choice in the matter. Her heart had whispered his name since the moment he’d vowed to protect her. What use in denying it any longer?

  Still, it changed nothing. Once David was well, she’d be on her way.

  Her shift was drenched in sweat and David’s blood, and the pain in her arms became almost unbearable by the time she reached sight of a ship moored offshore. So close. She forced her arms to move, although each stroke brought a low groan to her throat. The pier came into view, a shadow in the moonlight. Off to its side stood a man holding a lantern. Her destination in sight, she rowed all the faster until she drew up alongside the pier.

  Dressed in a worn suit, his belly straining the buttons of his vest, the man with the lantern met her there. “Where have you come from?” he asked.

  “No time to explain. I need a doctor.” She gestured toward David. “He’s been stabbed.”

  His curious eyes took in her meager shift, but he nodded. “I’ll get a wagon,” he said, then rushed away.

  While she waited for his return, she checked David’s wound and smoothed his hair from his forehead. “We’ll get you to a doctor soon, and then you’ll be on the mend. I’m sure of it.”

  The lie didn’t set well on her tongue. She wasn’t sure of anything, but she had hope. At least they were here.

  Wagon wheels rattled and thumped along the pier. The man climbed from the driver’s seat and helped her lift David from the boat and into the wagon bed. She sat next to David, holding the cloth to his wound as they were jostled with every bump and divot in the road.

  They passed by fields of tall grasses before they reached a small town. Several buildings lined either side of the street. The wagon stopped before one that was two stories tall and covered in stucco. The man leaped from the driver’s seat and rushed to the entrance. “Doc Hale,” he shouted, pounding on the door. “Doc Hale!”

  A servant with rich brown skin and a slightly rumpled suit answered.

  “We need Doc Hale,” the driver told him before the servant had a chance to issue a greeting.

  The servant disappeared for a matter of minutes before a disheveled, balding man came to the door, buttoning his waistcoat. “What is it, Henry?” he asked.

  Henry motioned him toward the back of the wagon. “Over here.”

  Doctor Hale took one look at David and the bloody piece of petticoat covering his wound and climbed into the wagon. “Well come on then, Henry. Help me get him inside.”

  The doctor hoisted David’s upper body while Henry took his legs, and together they carried him into the building. Judging by the furnishings, she could only assume this was the doctor’s home. Amelia followed on
their heels, ignoring all else but the man in their arms. David roused enough to groan once before slipping back into unconsciousness. Soon they set him on a bed in a main floor room and the doctor hovered over him, taking a good look at the wound. “How long ago did this injury happen?”

  “I’m not sure.” Rowing here had taken longer than she’d hoped. “An hour?”

  “Came in on a rowboat, she did,” Henry explained.

  The doctor gave a grunt and glanced her way. In just her shift, blood covering a good deal of the front, she crossed her arms over her chest. If he found her attire strange, he didn’t say so. Instead, he rifled through a dresser drawer, bringing forth a thread and needle. “You can go now, Henry.”

  Henry bobbed his head and turned to leave. “I should be getting back to the night watch.”

  “Thank you for your help,” she said to him before he reached the door.

  His gaze darted toward her and then away as quickly as it had come. “No thanks needed.”

  The doctor set to work stitching David’s wound closed. “Rowed a boat here,” he muttered. “Where did you come from?”

  Worry set her pulse to a rapid pace. “The island just east of here.” Not that it mattered. “Will he recover?”

  “Hard to know for sure,” the doctor said as he tied off the string. “No trouble breathing, no blood in the mouth… If he was bleeding internally, he would have bled to death by now. I’d say his chances are good.”

  Frustration welled up, but she choked it back down. Medicine wasn’t an exact science. She only wished he could tell her for certain. Footsteps approached from behind her, and Amelia looked at a woman about her own size with blond hair swept up beneath an intricate lace cap. The streaks of gray in her hair and the slight lines on her face placed her near Amelia’s stepmother’s age.

  “Hello, I’m Mrs. Margaret Hale.” As soon as Mrs. Hale’s blue eyes caught sight of Amelia, she laid a hand to her chest. “Oh my. We’d best find you something to wear.” She took Amelia by the shoulders and ushered her toward the door. “This way, my dear.”