Beloved Castaway (25 page)

“You’re certain?”

“
 
’Tis a far sight better to land hard on a wrecker’s vessel than to sink on a piece of floating debris.”

“You’ve a valid point, Banks.” Josiah did as he asked, and in short order, Banks was lying prone on the
Caroline
’s foredeck. “Can you see to yourself now?”
 

“Fetch the lady, Captain,” he said with a sigh. “Knowing I’ll have a warm bed and a meal that Cookie didn’t make has me content enough to rest a bit. You’ll be awakening me should anything exciting happen, eh?”

“I assure you, I shall.” Josiah dove back into the water and swam alongside Isabelle. This time when he reached her, he found her conscious and watching his every move.

Thank You, Lord. I’ll never ask for another miracle. You’ve just given me the only one I need.

A bruise decorated her right cheek, and blood was beginning to dry on her lower lip. Still, she looked more beautiful to Josiah than anything he could think of.
 

“Whatever happened to ladies first?” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Forgive me,” he said as he maneuvered her into the center of the wreckage. “Hold tight to my shoulders if you can.”

Isabelle made the attempt but could not keep her arms in place. On the second try, she fell backward and slipped beneath the water. Panicked, Josiah dove after her.

Finally, Josiah managed to cradle her to his chest and crawl carefully across the section of decking to reach the
Caroline
.
Pausing to catch his breath, he threw his legs over the side and crumpled to the floor of the
Caroline
with Isabelle still pressed against him.

Not caring for propriety, he remained at her side until she made a move to sit on her own. He helped Isabelle into an upright position, adjusting her torn skirts, then doing his best to remedy her water-soaked curls.

“I’m ever so thankful you’re not called upon to braid my hair except in dire straits,” she said when he’d finally given up.

“Aye, I’d best be left to coil rope and not hair,” he said, keeping his tone light as he noted that, in addition to her bruises, she lacked her normal color. Upon closer inspection, she seemed quite unwell.

“Isabelle, how fare you?” he asked as he moved to gather her into his arms again.

She winced, he noticed, when he wrapped his arm about her waist. Touching the middle of her back on either side produced the same reaction.

“You’ve taken a fall of some sort,” he said.

Isabelle remained silent. Her lips had begun to turn blue, and Josiah cast about for a blanket of some sort. Failing that, he removed his shirt, wet as it was, and wrapped it around her.

Grasping her hand, he brushed her fingers with his lips as he watched her eyes close. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered. “But God brought you back to me. I’ll never lose you again.”

Her lids fluttered open. “Josiah, there are so many reasons why we cannot be.”

Stung, he shook his head. “You do not love me?”

Her lips bent slightly in a near smile. “Aye, Captain, I fear I do.”

Josiah’s heart soared. “Then there is nothing that will keep you from me and I from you.”

“Yet there is.” Sea green eyes peered up at him, and given her soaked state, he could not tell if she cried. “There is the matter of my—”

He stood and began to pace. “I care not for anything save your future, so do not speak to me of your past. You are Isabelle Gayarre, daughter of Jean Gayarre, am I correct?”

“That is what I’m told.”
 

“Then there need not be anything more said.” He knelt to offer a quick kiss on her uninjured cheek. “Take care to rest while I bring this vessel to port. I warrant the doctor will be awaiting your arrival.” He looked past her to where Banks slumbered. “Both of your arrivals,” he amended.

With the wind and waves in their favor, the
Caroline
sped to shore twice as quickly as she had left. As he neared the dock, he noted a party of men awaited them.

“Look, Isabelle,” he said. “I wager ’tis the doctor come to fetch you.”

A glance over his shoulder told him the sea siren now slumbered, as well. At least he prayed it was sleep that overtook her.

Before he could tie the ropes, the men had boarded the vessel. Two he recognized as wreckers. The third, he did not know.

It was this stranger who crossed the deck to reach him first. As Josiah reached out his hand in friendship, the fellow slapped him in irons.
 

“What is the meaning of this?” he stammered. “There are injured from the
Jude
aboard.”

The man called out and several others joined him. None were familiar to him save the two wreckers. While Banks and Isabelle were removed from the vessel, those remaining blocked Josiah’s way.

“Tell them who I am,” Josiah said. “You know me as captain of the
Jude
. I must see to the injured.”

One of them, the burly redhead who had led the wreckers, stepped forward. “Aye, I do know you as the captain of that sinking ship. Have you ownership papers for it?”

“Tate, they are aboard her. If your men rescued my sea chest, they have them.”

He nodded. “I’ll inquire of it then. Perhaps you might tell me why you took the
Caroline
tonight.”

Josiah weighed the question while he studied the irons on his wrists. “I did not take her,” he finally said. “I borrowed her to fetch survivors that the others refused to go after.”

Tate seemed to give consideration to the statement. “My men swore there was no one left aboard the vessel. Are you contradicting this?”

“Those your men now carry speak the answer.”

Tate turned to the stranger. “I wish to press charges. Take him away,” he said. “I’ll not have thieves about. It’s bad for business.”

Before Josiah could protest, the stranger knocked him to the deck. A second later, all went dark.

Chapter 21

How fares Isabelle?”

Josiah asked the question before his eyes opened, for thoughts of her permeated his dreams and slipped into his mind even as he tried to awaken. The room was small, dark, and not a place one might expect to offer up as lodging for a traveler.

His stomach complained, and he rolled over in an attempt to settle it. Something stabbed his shoulder, and he sat bolt upright to find he’d slept atop a nail.

The smell of something frying assailed him. Coupled with the scent of salt air, rain, and fresh-caught fish, the odor nearly did him in. Muscles Josiah had forgotten he owned complained as he swung his legs onto the floor and scrubbed at his face with his palms.

His head swam with the effort. When he touched the back of his head, Josiah felt crusted blood. At least that’s what he assumed was there.

Then he remembered. This was no boardinghouse room.

He was in jail.

Josiah cast about for his footwear, then recalled he had left them aboard the
Caroline
. “Perhaps I could bring a countersuit for theft of my boots,” he muttered.

Daylight had not yet touched the barred windows bordering three sides of the cell. It was early, or perhaps late. There was no way of knowing.
 

Josiah lay back on the bunk and stared into the blackness. Outside, the wind rustled the palms and whistled through the gaps in the walls. A low humming began, and as it neared, Josiah recognized a woman’s pleasant voice coming from the hall outside the door. In truth, the sweet singing could have been the voice of an angel.

“Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease.”

Weak lamplight, the color of fresh-churned butter, spilled under the door and filtered through the boards on either side as the singing halted. Something clanged and rustled; then the singing returned.

“I shall possess, within the vail, a life of joy and peace.”

The door flew open, and along with the blinding glare, a woman of great bulk and small height hastened in.
 

“The Lord has promised good to me. His word my hope secures.”

Something clanged again, and he assumed the door had been shut behind her.
 

“He will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures.”

As Josiah’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the woman had placed the oil lamp, its cut-glass shade proclaiming great value, on a small table made of some sort of intricately carved wood—rosewood, perhaps.

Josiah turned his attention to the matron, who wore her dark hair gathered into a knot atop her head and covered with a white, bonnet-type hat. Her ruddy complexion could have been from too much heat or excessive sun, such was the scarlet on her cheeks. It matched the tiny sprigs of flowers on her plain frock. In sharp contrast, she wore an apron of some sort of fine linen that looked as if it had been a nobleman’s tablecloth in a previous life.

“Good morning,” she said as she set an elaborate silver platter heaped with breakfast fare on the bunk beside him. “I dare not ask if you slept well, for I’m sure you’d prefer to be lodging elsewhere.”

Her manner was too sweet to ruin with a sharp retort, so he said nothing.
 

The woman fussed with setting out the serving pieces, all of the finest silver and decorated with a coat of arms that vaguely resembled that of the Duke of Willingham. Beneath the platter of food was a gold-rimmed china plate. It matched the cup the woman now filled with coffee.

She set the cup on its saucer and stood back to admire her handiwork. In truth, had he not been dining in the dank confines of a prison cell, he might have been impressed at the splendor laid before him. Instead, he merely felt confused.

Confused and suddenly famished.

“We don’t have many prisoners here.”

He looked over at the woman, who now stood with her hands on her hips. What sort of response did a man give to such a statement?

She moved a step closer and seemed to be studying him. “You don’t look like a thief.”

Josiah lifted a fork and studied it. “And you don’t look like the Duke of Willingham’s wife.”

“Mercy, no.” She clutched her hands to her chest, and Josiah noted her bejeweled fingers. “My Clarence, he’s a wrecker. At least that’s his main job.”

“Well, that certainly explains the splendor of my breakfast tray.” He stabbed at the most bland-looking item on the platter and held it to his lips. “Although I’m sure the duke is wondering where his silver has gone.”

Clarence’s wife giggled. “You don’t know about wreckers, do you?”

“I know a bit.” He willed his parched throat to swallow.
 

“All we have’s bought and paid for,” she said. “There are no thieves among us.” She blanched. “Forgive me, sir, but it’s the truth. I’m sure the duke was well paid by his insurers for the loss. Clarence and the others, they were paid when the items they salvaged were auctioned. Sometimes we are rewarded in coin, and other times it’s in the bounty of the vessel.”

“I see, Clarence’s wife.” The bite slid down and stayed, and, to Josiah’s surprise, it was quite tasty. “So it’s legal stealing. Interesting.”

Her back straight, she affected a stern look. “Look here,” she said. “This isn’t stealing. Not at all. Besides, who would save the people off these vessels if it weren’t for the wreckers? Our men risk their lives every time they leave port. You don’t think these ships sink in fair weather, do you? No, it’s most always in the storms.”
 

She seemed to be waiting for him to agree. A nod would have to suffice.

“I’ll come to fetch the tray when you’re done.” Her bluster
eased, the woman sighed then made for the door. “And my name is Rosemary,” she said. “Rosemary O’Mara.”

“Wait.” Josiah set the tray aside. “I would have news of my passengers and crew. In particular I’m concerned about a young lady.”

“A young lady?” She gave him a sideways look. “Is she your wife?”

He paused. “I am as yet unmarried.”

“I see.”
 

“Aye, the lady was grave injured. In fact, these wreckers you’re so fond of had gone and left her for dead in the wreckage of the
Jude
. My man Banks was also abandoned to the elements.” He fisted his hand but kept his temper. “In order to fetch them, I appropriated the
Caroline
. ’Tis this act of desperation that landed me in your hospitality.”

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but something in her face told
Josiah that Mrs. O’Mara believed him. “I’ll inquire on your behalf, but
I cannot make any promises. Your fellow is Banks?”

“Aye.”

She nodded. “And the woman, what is her name?”

“Ah, the woman.” He looked away. “She is called Isabelle. You will know her by her eyes, which are the same color as the sea that devoured my vessel.” He shifted positions. “And, Mrs. O’Mara?”

“Yes?”

“I would like very much to petition for my release. How and when may that be done?”

Mrs. O’Mara shrugged. “That’s up to the judge. I’m sure when he’s weighed the evidence he will make his decision.”

“Surely he will speak to me before that decision is made.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Carter,” she said. “We rarely have prisoners here.”

The door shut behind her, and Josiah was alone. With the pale light of the morning sun filtering through the palms and dancing across the dust motes of the small cell, he resisted the urge to gobble the fare placed before him. Did Isabelle yet live to enjoy a meal today?

And what of the others? How many of his men awoke to see daylight this morning?

He held his head in his hand and willed it to stop throbbing. Perhaps a few bites would be in order to keep up his strength and stave off the hunger that caused his stomach to rumble and complain.

By the time he heard Mrs. O’Mara coming, his belly was satisfied, and his head had nearly ceased its pounding. The worry over Isabelle, however, had increased. A different verse of the same song greeted him.

“ ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.”
The door swung open, and Mrs. O’Mara stepped inside the cell, a folded blanket in one hand and a bucket in the other.
“How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed!”