My Seaswept Heart (39 page)

But he didn’t. He simply stared at her, his
pale blue eyes narrowed, his gaunt checks sucked in. “I suppose you
might as well know. The secret will be out soon.”

“What secret?” Anne did take a step toward
the door now. His quiet tone, the hard expression on his face
frightened her more than his explosive anger.

“You tell
me
, Anne. You were always
the clever one. The one my father turned to for guidance.”

“That’s not true. He always looked toward
you. Losing you was the reason his mind went.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that.” Arthur stalked
closer. “He never cared a fig for me except where I could help him
with his beloved ‘Grand Experiment’. That’s all either of us ever
were to him. Bodies he could use to populate this godforsaken
island.”

Anne swallowed down fear. “If you feel that
way why don’t you leave?”

“Exactly what I intend to do, my clever
little cousin.” His hand snaked out, manacling Anne’s wrist. “But
I’m not going empty-handed.”

“You’re hurting me.” Anne tried to wriggle
free, but he was a lot stronger than he looked. In a panic she
reached through the slit in her skirt, grabbing for the knife she
kept lashed to her thigh. But Arthur was quicker, knocking her
aside. Anne stumbled and grasped for the arm of his chair to break
her fall, but she missed. In a tumble of petticoats and skirts she
fell to the planked floor.

He was looming over her before she could
scramble to her feet.

And now he had a pistol aimed her way.

“You know I’m rather glad you came to visit
me today, Anne.” He cocked the hammer. “I suppose I have much to
thank you for. If not for your penchant for taking charge, Father
might actually have expected me to do something around here. And of
course, I’m quite appreciative of your jewels.”

“How did you get them?” Anne inched away from
him until she felt the solid wall press into her back.

He stepped closer. “Why I took them, of
course.” He smiled benignly. “While everyone else was in a dither
over d’Porteau’s visit, I simply broke into the chest where you
kept them.”

“But d’Porteau, surely he—”

“What? Took them from me?” Arthur shook his
head and laughed. “You really don’t understand yet, do you? It’s
too bad Father is so mad, I’d love to show him how his doltish son
outsmarted the great Mistress Anne. Outsmarted everyone else on
Libertia as well.”

He nudged the stool toward him with the toe
of his silver-buckled shoes, then sat down. “You see, the Frenchman
came to Libertia at my suggestion. Oh, I see I’ve shocked you.”
Arthur made a “tsking” sound with his mouth sending a fine spray of
saliva over his chin. “But I assure you it’s true. Our scheme was
simple. And it worked like a charm.”

“But you saved me from him.”

“It may have appeared that way to you, but it
was a mere coincidence, I assure you. One that Willet was less than
pleased about. He apparently took a liking to you, Annie, and
didn’t care for my interruption. But he shall forgive me I’m sure
when I hand you over to him.”

“Oh, no you won’t.” Anne pushed herself
forward, barreling into her cousin and knocking him off the stool.
As she scurried to her feet she heard his surprised “umph” when he
hit the floor. Balling up her skirts she rushed forward. Her hand
was on the latch before the pain exploded in her head.

Then everything went black.

~ ~ ~

The fog in her mind lifted slowly. At first
Anne couldn’t separate the pounding on the door with that in her
head. She tried to move, but it was as if her limbs were weighted.
Her tongue suffered the same malady. She opened her mouth... or at
least tried to... but no sound came out.

The only function of her body that worked was
her hearing. The pounding was incessant. The screams a cruel taunt.
“D’Porteau is coming! D’Porteau is coming! D’Porteau is here!”

Anne struggled to think, to do
something
. Until the dark veil of oblivion settled back over
her.

~ ~ ~

Nightmares, torturous nightmares, plagued her
sleep. Anne woke with a start and this time a howling roared in her
ears. She opened her eyes, unable to tell if it was night or day.
She lay on a bed. On her back. Her hands were tied in front of her
and an experimental twitch of her legs showed they were bound as
well.

Panic seized her and Anne forced herself to
lie still and take a deep breath. The nightmares hadn’t been
nightmares at all, but the sting of a cruel reality.

Her memory opened slowly like petals of a
hateful flower. Finding the brooch. Confronting Arthur. His
admission of guilt and his association with d’Porteau. D’Porteau.
Was she still dreaming or could she hear his high-pitched, nasal
voice over the keening of the wind?

Anne concentrated on listening, a cold sweat
breaking out on her skin when she recognized his hated voice. She
was in the bedroom of Arthur’s cottage. Her eyes were accustomed
enough to the eerie light to recognize the chest where she found
her mother’s jewels. The sound of the voices... D’Porteau, her
cousin, and several others she didn’t recognize... came from the
parlor.

She tried but could not understand what they
said, that is until the door slammed open and Arthur and d’Porteau
stepped into the room.

“All, there is our little flower.” D’Porteau
leaned over her, his oily black curls grazing her cheek. “Awake at
last.” He chuckled at Anne’s futile struggles, then turned toward
Arthur, who stood beside him. “I’d begun to fear you’d given her
too much laudanum.”

“What difference does it make? I don’t like
the idea of tarrying here.”

D’Porteau shrugged. “You worry too much,
mon ami
. There is nothing these cowardly villagers can do
now. You saw the way they practically welcomed me with open
arms.”

Arthur stopped his pacing. “Don’t forget that
was my doing.”

“
Non, non
, do not fear. I shall
remember it was you who told them all was lost and their best
chance was to surrender.”

“It saved you a fight,” Arthur said with a
nod of his head.

“One I would have won.” D’Porteau lifted a
black velvet-draped shoulder. “But
oui
, you are correct.” He
turned his attention back toward Anne, tracing beringed fingers
down the center of her chest, smiling when she tried to shrink
away. “Besides, there is nothing we can do in this weather, but
allow ourselves a bit of pleasure.”

The smacking of something against the outside
wall of the cottage caught d’Porteau and Arthur’s notice. Anne’s
cousin moved to the shuttered window and tried to peer out between
the louvers. “This isn’t some little storm,” he said, twisting
around toward d’Porteau. Seeing the other’s eyes focused back on
the woman on the bed, he gave a deep sigh.

“Take her and be done with it, by God.”

D’Porteau’s laugh was as nasal as his voice.
“Ah, but that would ruin the anticipation.” He caught Anne’s eye.
“For the both of us.” Then with an evil sneer he turned and pranced
from the room, his stout body balancing tenuously on the
high-heeled shoes.

Arthur stepped to the side of the bed and
looked down at Anne, his expression full of contempt. Then he, too,
left her alone.

As soon as the door latched behind them Anne
spread her hands as wide as the constricting rope would allow and
clutched fabric. Slowly she pulled upward, bunching her skirt and
petticoat, revealing an inch of ankle. Again and again she repeated
her movements, trying to hurry, ignoring the pain as the rope tore
into the skin of her wrists.

Outside the rumble of the storm grew louder.
Lightening flashed, spearing the room with hot, white light, and
thunder roared, vying with the fury of the wind to be heard.

Inside, too, the noise increased. She could
hear their voices. It was only her cousin and the Frenchman who
talked now. They were arguing about something. And drinking. She
heard the clinking of glasses as their words became louder and more
insistent.

Anne had almost bared the leather sheath that
held her knife to her thigh when she heard the gunshot. There was
only one and it came from the next room. Her heart pounded faster,
and her fingers no longer remembered to be cautious lest she knock
down her skirts, undoing all her tiresome effort. She grabbed at
the ruffles, pulling them as best she could, lifting her head to
keep a wary eye on the door.

She had no idea what happened but she
expected the door to burst open any moment. When her hand clamped
around the bone handle she gave a small cry of relief, muffled by
the gag stuffed in her mouth. She yanked it up, careful, despite
her haste not to let the knife slip from her fingers.

Leaning forward she hacked at the rope
binding her feet, nearly dropping the knife when the blade sliced
through the rope. Freeing her hands was more difficult. She wedged
the handle between her feet, then sat up, sawing the rope binding
her wrists back and forth over the honed surface.

There was still no sound from the other
room... there hadn’t been since the gunshot, but Anne’s eyes still
strayed to the door often as she slowly hacked through the rope.
When her hands broke free she pulled the gag down, gulping air in
through her sore mouth, then leaped from the bed.

Her knife was poised as she slipped to the
door, placing her ear against the paneled wood and listening. Then
carefully she lifted the latch and peeked through the small wedge
of space. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her when she saw
Arthur sprawled on the floor, an ever blossoming flower of crimson
blood on his chest.

Anne quickly looked around the room, but
d’Porteau was nowhere to be seen. Avoiding the blindly staring eyes
of her cousin. Anne raced across the room and yanked open the door.
Before she stepped outside her hair and clothing were soaked by the
torrential rain. The wind blew so hard it was difficult to get her
bearings. The murky, yellow-tinged sky and the howling wind seemed
like a part of her earlier nightmares.

But Anne had no time for fantasies. She had
to do something. Get help somewhere. She clutched her knife and
raced toward her uncle’s cottage.

“Uncle Richard!” Anne screamed his name as
she ran inside. But the rooms were empty. Back outside she dashed
toward Matthew Baxter’s, her head bowed by the storm.

She let out a piercing scream when she plowed
into the hard body. In the dim light it was difficult to recognize
Israel until he spoke.

“Oh my God!” Anne dropped her knife in the
mud as she reached up to grab the old man’s shoulders. “Jamie,” she
yelled. “Is he with you?”

Israel gathered his wits, cupping his hands
and calling to a dark shape farther up the path. Anne was barreling
toward him before Jamie was turned around. She flew into his arms,
burying herself against his soaked chest as his arms wrapped around
her.

The wind tore at her skirts and hair,
whistled about her ears, but for this brief moment he was her safe
harbor against the storm. Anne reveled in his strength, dreading
the moment when reality pulled them apart. It came sooner than she
anticipated. His hands cupped her shoulders, drawing her back,
until she could make out the anxious expression on his face. Water
streamed from his hair, down the hollows of his cheeks.

“What are you doing out in this weather?”

Anne could tell by his expression that he was
yelling, but such was the intensity of the storm that she could
barely hear him. “D’Porteau,” was all she answered as the horror of
the past hours surged back to her.

“I know.” Jamie tucked her under his arm,
protecting her as much as he could from the elements and head down
trudged toward the nearest cabin, Richard Cornwall’s. He fought the
wind to open the door and push them both inside.

His hands bracketed her face, brushing away
the wet strands of hair from her forehead and cheeks. “I kept close
to Libertia. I just didn’t trust that d’Porteau wouldn’t return.
When he did, I followed,” Jamie said after his lips touched hers.
“The
Lost Cause
is hidden in a cove on the lee side of the
island. When the Frenchman lands we’ll be ready for him. What is
it, Annie?”

“He’s already here.” Words tumbled from her
mouth so quickly Anne wasn’t sure she made any sense. “Uncle
Richard found my mother’s brooch and I confronted Arthur. He was in
on it, Jamie. He helped plan d’Porteau’s raid on Libertia. And he
grabbed me and drugged me, I think. Then I heard them talking and
d’Porteau shot him. He’s dead.”

“Who’s dead? Annie, tell me.” He shook her
shoulders, until she looked back up at him, crystal droplets
tipping her lashes.

“Arthur. D’Porteau shot him.”

Jamie let his hands drift down her arms. “Ye
stay here. I’m going to find him.”

“But I want to come with you.”

“Nay. There’s a hurricane blowing out there,
Annie.”

Anne’s eyes widened and she grasped his
forearms. “Uncle Richard’s missing. He’s begun to wander around the
island of late and this is his cottage and he’s not here.”

“He’s probably a hell of a lot drier than we
are, huddled safely in someone else’s house.”

“No.” Anne shook her head. “No, I just know
he’s out there.”

“Anne, listen to me.” He shook her again.
“There be nothing ye can do now. Where’s d’Porteau?”

“I don’t know. I saw him only once, when he
came in the bedroom and threatened me. That was at Arthur’s cabin,
but he’s not there now.” Anne sucked in her breath, trying to
regain her composure. She knew Jamie was right about her uncle.
There was no way she could find him in this weather. And d’Porteau
was a threat to everyone’s safety.

“He could be anywhere. No, wait.” Anne
clutched his shirt. “I heard him say something about the sugar
mill. He said his men were there, and the prisoners.”