Lovestorm (9 page)

“They were Spaniards. I heard them.”

“So.”

Elizabeth's heartbeat slowed to normal. “How did you know they weren't English?”

“The English fear the night. Bad men fear day.”

“Will they find our dugout?”

″Mata
.”

She tucked her hand into his. “I was afraid. How long were you hiding in the tree?”

“Shhh. I keep you safe, Eliz-a-beth.”

They waited in the darkness. Once the silence was broken by the muffled boom of a cannon and then a single musket shot. Cain's arm tightened around her shoulders when they heard the shooting.

Elizabeth's eyelids grew heavy, and she let her head rest against Cain's shoulder.

 

Someone was shaking her. Elizabeth groaned and tried to ignore them. She was dreaming of the grand ball at Lady Upton's country house. Two gentlemen of the King's bedchamber were—

“Eliz-a-beth!”

She opened her eyes and stared into Cain's face. It was broad daylight. “Oh. I . . .”

He smiled. “Come. The ship is gone. We go.”

Elizabeth stretched and sat up, realizing for the first time that she had been sleeping on a deerskin. A short distance away was the dugout, and beyond that, the water. “How did I get here?” She rubbed her eyes. “I thought—”

“I carried you.” Cain pointed west across the water. “We are on the far side of the island.” He handed her a waterskin and two corn cakes. “Eat. The tide turns, and we have far to go.”

His fingers brushed hers, and she pulled back as though she had been burned. In the night, she had welcomed his touch; now it was disturbing. She knew she must distance herself from Cain emotionally, but it wasn't easy. She concentrated on eating the corn cakes, keeping her eyes lowered and hidden from him. If he looked into them, she was afraid he would read the confusion and longing she felt.

I am a sensible person, she thought. My life is mapped in indelible ink. There is no place for Cain in my future.

He motioned toward the dugout, and she nodded. The sooner they reached Jamestown and her betrothed, the better. Elizabeth swallowed, trying to dispel the thick lump in her throat. I will miss you, she whispered silently. I will do as my position requires, but I will never forget or stop wishing that it could have been.

She took her place in the boat, and he quickly loaded their belongings and pushed off. Within an hour, they had reached the sea again and were moving south with the tide. As Cain had assured her, there was no sign of the Spaniards or their ship.

Elizabeth's attempts at conversation were met with stoic silence, and she soon gave up the attempt. Whatever closeness they had shared during the danger was gone. Lulled by the easy motion of the boat and the rhythmic splash of waves against the hull, she closed her eyes and dozed.

By midafternoon of the third day after they had seen the Spaniards, gray, heavy rain clouds hung low over the sea, and the waves became short and choppy. For the first time, Elizabeth noticed that they were out of sight of land. “Are you certain you know where you're going?” she demanded. He shrugged and continued to paddle without answering.

After a long time, Elizabeth caught sight of a line of trees ahead of them. This time when Cain paddled ashore, he covered the dugout with branches and led her inland. There he built a fire and left her alone while he went to spear fish for their evening meal.

As the fish grilled on green sticks, Cain fashioned a tiny shelter of live pine trees and a bearskin. Elizabeth was barely seated inside when it began to rain. The deluge drowned the fire and chilled the air, making her glad for the wrap Cain dropped about her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said.

“At least you have begun to learn some manners.”

She bristled. “The Queen found no fault with my demeanor.”

“De-meanor I do not know.” He finished the last morsel of his fish and tossed the bones away. “But your tongue is like the blue jay. It is your nature to argue.”

Elizabeth's eyes darkened with anger. “My
nature
is none of your concern.”

Ignoring her reply, he continued. “I think you be also slow to learn. Your hair looks like the nest of
honneek
the squirrel.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot with shame. The shelter was so small that if she put out her hand, it would have been drenched by the pouring rain. It was impossible to put any distance between her and Cain, and it took all her self-control to keep from smacking him. “You're insufferable.”

“You make a good teacher, Eliz-a-beth. There are many new English words to learn from you.” He took the end of her braid and began to unfasten it. ”Soon you will be with your people. I do not wish them to laugh at you.”

She slapped his hand away. “I'll comb my own hair, thank you.”

He chuckled and held out a carved ivory comb. It was the one he always used to dress her hair, but she stared at it with sudden comprehension. “Take it. It is a present.”

“That's ivory,” she said. “How could you—”

“My grandmother gave it to me. It was a birth gift to her from her grandfather, Gover Norwhite.”

Elizabeth blinked as her fingers closed around the precious comb. “Gover Norwhite,” she repeated, “Governor White.” Her mouth felt suddenly dry. “It's true then—she is Virginia Dare.”

“Why would she lie?” Cain's gaze locked with hers. “Tomorrow we reach Jamestown.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoed. They had traveled for so many days that their destination seemed hazy.

Suddenly, his arms closed around her and he crushed her against him. His mouth covered hers in a brief, passionate caress. Before she could summon her wits to protest, Cain released her and ducked out into the rain.

“Cain! Don't . . .”

But he was gone, and she was alone with only the sound of the rain beating on the hide roof to soothe her shattered emotions.

 

Sunlight pierced the lush canopy of spring leaves and set the raindrops to sparkling like myriads of diamonds in the small clearing. Elizabeth stretched and rubbed her stiff back. It was early morning—she could tell by the location of the rising sun—but there was no sign of Cain. She wiggled her toes in her damp moccasins and ran a hand through her tangled hair. The comb lay forgotten on the leaves beside her.

“Cain?” she called. Had he stayed out all night in the rain?

There was no answer. As she listened, she realized the clearing was strangely quiet. No squirrel scampered along a limb over her; no bird chirped a merry song. A faint sense of uneasiness washed through her as she crawled out of the shelter and stood up. “Cain?”

Twigs snapped and branches parted at the far end of the clearing. To Elizabeth's surprise, a tall, red-bearded man appeared, followed by three other white men.

The redbeard's eyes widened as he caught sight of Elizabeth, and he lowered his musket. “Halt!” he called.

A shorter man in an old-fashioned round helmet put up his hand and called a greeting in a language Elizabeth assumed to be Indian. She didn't understand a word of what he said.

“Be careful. There may be others,” one of the party warned.

The leader took a few steps forward. He was wearing a leather breastplate and a wide-brimmed feathered hat. “She's no Indian. She's got yellow hair. She's a white woman.”

Elizabeth's shoulders stiffened and her chin went up. “Are you English?” she demanded. “State your name and rank.”

“In God's name,” the bearded man cried. “She's an Englishwoman.” He ran toward her. “I'm Captain William Trent of the Jamestown Colony.”

Elizabeth waited until he was close enough for her to see the blue of his eyes. “I am the Lady Elizabeth Anne Sommersett,” she declared. “And it would please me greatly if you would lower those guns and receive me in a manner fitting my station.”

The man's sunburned and peeling face turned a freckled puce. “You're Elizabeth Sommersett?”

“Who else would I be? Good Queen Bess?”

 

E
lizabeth crossed the bedchamber, pushed open the diamond-panel casement window, and leaned out to catch a breath of fresh air. Ignoring the hungry mosquitoes, she raised the heavy curls at the back of her neck and let the river breeze caress her damp skin.

Pale moonlight illuminated the muddy street and the wooden story-and-a-half houses on the far side. Elizabeth could barely contain a chuckle. Jamestown was the home of the royal governor and capital of the Virginia Colony, but in England, Jamestown would be considered no more than a rustic country village. She hadn't expected the town to be a sophisticated city, but this insect-infested swamp was far worse than she had imagined.

She glanced back at the sparsely furnished bedchamber. She was standing in the best room in one of the finest homes in Jamestown. Her host, Sir Thomas Baldwin, was a member of Governor Berkeley's council. Sir Thomas and his wife were exceedingly proud of their newly completed brick home and had insisted that she take their own chamber while she was a guest.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. The Baldwins had been exceedingly kind, and she hated to criticize. But in truth, the room and furnishings were plain, the pine floorboards were bare, and the walls lacked any paintings or wall hangings.

Laughter and the murmur of male voices floated up from the hall below. Although she had excused herself when the ladies had withdrawn to the parlor after the evening meal, she knew the gentlemen were engaged in a lively game of whist.

A light tap at the door drew Elizabeth's attention. “Yes?”

Lady Baldwin pushed open the door. “Are you well, child?” Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the open window. “Let me perish!” The stout, gray-haired matron hurried to the window as fast as her too-tight kid slippers would permit, pulled the casement shut, and locked it securely. “The night air here is known for carrying all manner of illness. You mustn't put yourself at risk, Lady Elizabeth, not after all you've been through.”

Elizabeth allowed herself to be led to the imposing poster bed. In the two weeks that she had been in Lady Baldwin's home, she had learned that feigned compliance was the easiest course of action.

The older woman laid her palm on Elizabeth's forehead. “You're overwarm, child,” she fussed. “I'll send Betty up to help you off with your gown and tuck you into bed. Cook can mash some onions and make them into a poultice. There's nothing like an onion poultice to ward off the ague.”

“I'm fine, really,” Elizabeth lied. In truth, her head had been aching all day, and she'd had no appetite at supper.

“You'd best heed me, my dear. I've raised four children, six if you count the two that lay in the churchyard.” Lady Baldwin stepped out into the hall. “Betty! Betty!” she called. “Where is that featherheaded drozel? Betty!”

Hasty footfalls pounded up the stairs. “Yes'm?”

“Mercy me, girl! Why the Lady Elizabeth would want to train you as chambermaid is beyond me. Where were you? No. Never mind. I've no time for your excuses. Her ladyship is not well. Help her make ready for bed.”

“Yes'm.”

Lady Baldwin popped back into the room. “Would you like me to sit with you awhile, child?” she soothed. “My guests can simply—”

“No,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I'll be fine. I'm just tired. I insist you return to your friends.”

Betty's thin freckled face was anxious. “I kin build a fire fer ye, yer ladyship. Be ye wantin′—”

“No! No fire.” Elizabeth felt like someone was driving a hot needle through her head. She desperately wanted to crawl between the linen sheets and be left alone.

Betty began to undo Elizabeth's borrowed damask silk gown as Lady Baldwin left the room. “Don't hesitate to call if you need me,” Lady Baldwin said. “I'll put Cook to work on the onion poultice at once.”

Betty was awkward but blessedly silent as she helped Elizabeth out of her petticoats and brushed out her hair. “Ye want I should blow out the candle? ” she asked when Elizabeth was undressed and tucked into bed.

“No, leave it, and open that window. It's stifling in here.”

“Ye wants the window open, m'lady?”

“I just said so, didn't I?”

Betty's lower lip quivered. “Mistress Baldwin says—”

“I want the window open, if you please. I'll risk the ague rather than suffocate in here.”

The girl did as she was told, then bobbed a hasty curtsy. “Be that all, m'lady?”

“Yes. No. When Cook gives you that onion poultice, sneak it outside and throw it on the kitchen midden.”

“Ye wants me t' throw out the poultice and not let nobody see me doin' it? M'lady,” she added hastily.

“Tell Cook to give you an apple pastie and a mug of goat's milk.”

Betty grinned. “Ye wants me t' bring that up t' ye.”

Elizabeth forced herself to remain patient with the child. Betty was willing and good-natured, but none too bright. “No, I want you to tell Cook that it's for me and then I want
you
to eat the pastie and drink the milk yourself. You're much too thin, Betty. After that, you're to go directly to bed. You can bring me my coffee in the morning.”

“Yes'm. Thank ye, m'lady.” She closed the door quietly behind her.

Elizabeth blew out the candle, rolled over onto her back, and rubbed her aching head. For an instant she found herself wishing she was back on the beach with Cain. Nothing about her arrival at Jamestown had gone as she had supposed it would. Nothing.

Her first shock had been when Governor Berkeley had told her that her betrothed was no longer in the Colonies. He explained that Edward Lindsey's father and older brother had been tragically killed in a coach accident on route to a remote Welsh estate. Edward, now earl of Dunmore, had returned to England on the first departing vessel to be with his grieving mother and to assume the duties of his title.

Secondly, the governor explained that her aunt and uncle had not drowned as she had feared. They and all the members of the first lifeboat, including little Betty, had reached the coast of Virginia safely. Believing Elizabeth lost and having no wish to stay on in such a barbarous land, her aunt and uncle had left Jamestown on the same ship as Edward.

Elizabeth had come to the English settlement expecting a joyous welcome and a wedding. Instead, she had found a community of total strangers. Time and time again, she was questioned at length about the Indian she claimed had saved her life. The governor and his councilors wanted to know exactly where she had come ashore, how many Indians she had seen, and whether they had seemed hostile.

Although she was treated with the utmost respect by Sir William Berkeley, Elizabeth was not certain he believed her tale of kind treatment by Cain. When she mentioned meeting Mistress Dare, the governor could not suppress a chuckle.

“You've been through an ordeal,” he soothed. “It's only natural that your mind would play tricks on you.” The other gentlemen had all smiled condescendingly and nodded.

“Rest is what she needs,” a burgess had pronounced solemnly. “Rest and the gentle ministrations of Lady Baldwin.”

“As soon as you are strong enough, we'll put you on the first ship for home,” the governor promised. “You're safe now, and that's all that matters.”

Elizabeth had been so annoyed by their patronizing behavior that she had pleaded weariness and refused to answer any more questions.

She was so hungry for a familiar face that when she had spied Betty on the street as they returned from Governor Berkeley's mansion, she had asked Lady Baldwin to procure the girl's services for her.

Elizabeth's aunt had been unwilling to pay the maid's passage back to England, and so the child had been bound out to a tanner's family. Lady Baldwin had purchased Betty's indenture in Elizabeth's name and brought the girl into her home as a servant.

Betty, who had wept with joy when she saw Elizabeth alive and well, had been beside herself when she realized her good fortune.

“Be a good girl and learn your duties as chambermaid, and I'll take you back with me to England,” Elizabeth had promised her.

“Bless ye, m'lady,” Betty had cried dramatically. “I'd rather cross the sea again than rot in this place. If there's another storm and we sinks, fer certain, hell can't be no worse.”

Silly little Betty was no substitute for Edward Lindsey or for Elizabeth's aunt and uncle, but she was a link, however tenuous, to Elizabeth's former life, and Elizabeth welcomed the girl's company. Betty was as loyal as a sheep dog, and she did whatever was asked of her with good humor. Having one friend in Jamestown seemed important to Elizabeth.

As she had expected, the town gossips, male and female, had had a fair day with her return and the story of her escapades since the
Speedwell
had gone down. She could not enter a room without hearing the whispers or carry on a conversation about the weather without fending off insinuations about her questionable morality.

Most would not dare to insult her to her face, but she was nevertheless well aware of general opinion. Earlier, after supper, when Elizabeth had excused herself from the ladies' company, she had paused in the hall and listened to the hushed voices.

“She puts on airs, but Dunmore could hardly be expected to marry her now,” one goodwife had hissed.

“What if she's carrying a red bastard?” another had chimed in.

“Ladies, please,” her hostess had protested. “I won't have you going on so about a guest in my home. The child is blameless. Surely you cannot place guilt on her, regardless of what she may have suffered.”

“She wouldn't let the governor send soldiers after that savage, would she? Where there's a stench, there's sour milk, I say.”

Elizabeth sighed and tossed off the damp sheet. The heat in Virginia was oppressive, and this was only June. Men and women dressed here in the fashion of home, and England was never so warm. After the freedom of the deerskin dress, she was very aware of the scratchy clinging of wool garments and the odor of silk bodices too infrequently washed.

Odors seemed to trouble her more than they ever had before. Cain had bathed several times a day in the sea, and she had adopted the unnatural habit. In truth, most of these Jamestown matrons could stand a bath. One woman at dinner had reeked of onion. Elizabeth wondered if she was wearing an onion poultice as protection against fever.

Elizabeth's mouth was dry. She got up and poured herself a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. The water tasted muddy, but at least it was wet. She drank the whole cup and then another.

She returned to the window and rubbed her eyes, trying to ease the throbbing behind them. She wondered where Cain was tonight. Had he returned to his home on the beach . . . or was he out there, somewhere, in the all-encompassing forest?

“I miss you,” she whispered. “I do.”

She felt light-headed and a little scared. Was it possible she was ill? Everyone swore that the night air carried disease. But if that was true, why hadn't she gotten ill on the beach?

Elizabeth took a few wobbly steps toward the bed. The pain in her head made it hard to think. She was thirsty again and . . . Soft blackness enveloped her. She didn't even feel the floor when she fell.

 

Dr. Rupert Montgomery stepped into the narrow hallway outside Elizabeth's bedchamber and deliberately removed his spectacles to polish the thick lenses with the hem of his velvet doublet. The physician was nearly bald, and he affected the speech and mannerisms of a much older man. “Lady Elizabeth's condition is very grave,” he said. “I see no improvement.”

Betty sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on her sleeve as the doctor pulled the door shut behind him. Undaunted, the girl pressed her ear against the inside of the door and listened.

“But she has lain like this for two weeks.” Lady Baldwin's voice wavered. “Surely there is something you can—”

“Lady Elizabeth has taken an ague,” the physician continued. “I explained that when you first called me to her bedside. My potions and repeated bleedings have done nothing to lower her fever or to bind her bowels. She is in God's hands. There is nothing more I can do.”

No wonder, Betty thought, scowling. A hound couldn't keep that nasty brown stuff down. As fast as I spoon it in her, it comes back up.

“Poor child,” Lady Baldwin murmured. “I warned her about night sickness, but she left her windows open anyway.”

“Then ′tis a lack of common sense that has brought her to the brink of an early grave, not your tender care.” The physician's words grew fainter as their footsteps moved toward the stairs. “Be certain the girl keeps that fire going in her room. Lady Elizabeth may have a chance if we can sweat out the fever. I'll come again . . .”

The rest of their conversation was lost as Lady Baldwin and the physician descended the stairs. Betty sighed and turned back to her patient.

When she had first found Lady Elizabeth unconscious on the floor, Betty had been terrified, afraid that Elizabeth was dead. When Lady Baldwin assured her that her lady was only ill, Betty had been certain she would die soon.

Betty pushed up her sleeves and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The bedchamber was as hot as an oven. How her lady could have a fever in all this heat was beyond her.

She crossed to the bed and took the rag off Elizabeth's head, replacing the cloth with a wet one. Elizabeth moaned and tossed her head.