Captive Innocence (32 page)

A vicious rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, followed by a slash of lightning, making her jump in fright. If there was one thing in the world that frightened her more than snakes, it was a storm such as this. In the brief illumination from the lightning she had seen something that looked like a crate in the far corner of the room. She advanced slowly, one hand holding the reins of the gray and the other stretched in front of her to ward off anything in her path. The stick tapped the crate, and Royall heaved a sigh of relief. She sat down gingerly, her back to the wall, watchful eyes straining to penetrate the gloom for signs of strange and fierce animals seeking shelter from the storm.

 

Carlyle Newsome stared at the small circle in his hand. It was all that remained of Jamie. That Royall Banner should be the one to give it to him was almost more than he could bear. Everything was her fault. All this was her doing. She was responsible for the straits he was in. His thin, aristocratic face darkened with rage and his eyes popped from his head. Great cords rose in his neck, almost cutting off his breathing. His heart pounded and thundered in his chest as he stomped up and down the veranda, the tiny head clutched in his hand like a lifeline. She had to pay for all of this. He couldn't let her sail back to New England after all the trouble she caused him. He was destroyed; he was no fool. There were no pieces to pick up. No place to make a new start. She had ruined it all, and she would be made to pay even if he killed her. The thought pleased him. There was nothing he would rather see than Royall Banner dead by his hand.

“Elena,” he shouted shrilly, caught up in his hatred.

“Yes,” the quiet, cultured voice answered.

“Fetch me a bottle of brandy, and make sure the glass is clean. God's sake, woman, don't just stand there. What are you waiting for? I thought I told you to fetch me a bottle of brandy.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask where the Senora is?” she questioned softly as she turned to leave.

“I have no idea. She handed me this,” the Baron said, holding out his hand for Elena to see the small soldier head, “and then she rode off on the gray.”

Elena's face drained of all color. How could she have been so remiss as to forget the one little head. She should have counted the soldiers and the decapitated heads. It wouldn't matter to Jamie, but it mattered to her. Lately she couldn't seem to do anything right. She also knew that the Baron had only showed her the little head to torment her, to make her suffer still more. How insidious he was. How she hated him. She had to keep her wits about her when she was with the Baron, and right now she had to serve him his brandy.

There was no expression on her face as she watched the Baron swallow the brandy. His face was hateful as he swore and cursed between swallows. “You should have warned the Senora of the approaching storm,” Elena said quietly. “She's never seen one of our storms. The gray may throw her, and she could be injured.”

“I couldn't be that lucky,” the Baron spat viciously.

Elena frowned with worry over Royall. Surely the Senora would seek shelter when the storm hit.

“I see that you're worried. Very well, Elena, I'll search her out. Will that make you happy?” he asked, his voice already slurred from the brandy.

“No, that will not make me happy. You're in no condition to ride, especially with the approaching storm.”

“Don't tell me what to do! Remember your place, Elena. I don't want you to take care of me; you can't be trusted. I trusted you with my son and you let him die. How do I know that you won't follow me into the jungle and try to kill me,” he said craftily.

Elena was shocked. Things were worse than she even imagined. He had never spoken to her like that before. But he was right about one thing: she would follow him into the jungle if he rode out. Not for him or his safety, but for the Senora. She owed her that much. After all, she had worked alongside the American during the fever and she knew what it cost the Senora to work as she did. She had saved the lives of many of Elena's people. Yes, she would follow the Baron, but only to save the Senora. Let the Baron think what he wanted. At this point he would listen to nothing she had to say.

“Yes, Baron,” Elena said dutifully as she withdrew from the veranda.

“Saddle my horse. And do it quickly!” he called to her retreating back.

The wind attacked Elena as she made her way to the stables. She was forced to walk bent over, her shoulders hunched into the shuddering gusts. The horses were nervous and restless with the approaching storm. In minutes she'd saddled the Baron's favorite gelding, then saddled the roan for herself. Leaving the roan tied to the hitching post, she led the gelding out of its stall.

This time the wind lashed her from the back, slicing into her legs as she led the beast back to the Casa. The man was insane if he thought he could ride out in this weather in his condition. And she was just as mad for planning to follow him.

She watched from beneath the kitchen shelter as the Baron climbed on the horse. The wind buffetted him, but he remained seated. He dug his heels cruelly into the flanks of the horse, who immediately bolted into a gallop down the graveled drive.

Anger and hatred churned within him as he rode with his head bent. At least he could be thankful for one thing—the strong wind was clearing his head, making it possible to hate with a clear mind. And he did hate the girl with the blond hair and strong voice. He raised his head as the first drops of rain fell on his hands. Because of the storm, it was dim, almost dark. His eyes raked his surroundings. He too needed to seek shelter. She had come this way; he could tell from the trampled vines and from the way the leaves curled back on the foliage along the trail. She couldn't be going to the old Casa. As far as he knew, she didn't even know where it was located unless Jamie or Carl had told her.

The horse reared back, and the Baron almost lost his seat as a roll of thunder ripped through the sky. He dismounted and reached for the reins. He would have to lead the horse and hope for the best. It wasn't far now to the old plantation. If he hurried, he could reach it before the storm attacked in all its fury. Without warning, he stumbled and fell, his ankle twisted in a long, curling vine. He shook his head to clear it and looked around. The banyan tree to the left of him made him wince. In the darkness he had miscalculated. He was still a good twenty-minute ride from the old Casa. Goddamn it to hell, he cursed as he got to his feet, only to be driven to the ground again as the storm unleashed its fury with a torrential outpouring of rain. He lay still, not moving, as the rain beat at him like so many pebbles. He moaned over and over as the rain beat against him. Men had been known to drown in such storms. He prayed he wouldn't be one of them.

 

Royall woke as the last rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. It was getting light again as the storm moved eastward. She sat up and massaged her aching shoulders. The gray stood placidly next to the crate. She sat back again and looked about the room. She almost wished she could transport herself back in time to when the house was full of gaiety and laughter. How beautiful it must have been. Even now, with watery sunshine filtering through the broken panes, she could see the detail of the room. She was suddenly hungry. Then she remembered the papayas she had stuffed in the saddlebags as she left the stables. Always there was a basket of fruit near the door for the boys to nibble on during the day. Elena had also cautioned her early on that she should always take fruit with her when she set out for a ride. She was thankful now that she had gotten into the habit. The gray nibbled daintily from her hand as she broke off pieces of the ripe fruit.

Royall sat back down on the crate and started to eat her own piece of fruit. Bored, she looked around the room pretending she was arranging furniture. Something was wrong, out of place. She grimaced; there was barely any furniture, so what could be out of place? For that matter, there were only a few darkened beams above, with most of the walls gone. As she chewed and sucked at the soft, sweet fruit, she scanned the farthest part of the large room. It didn't have anything to do with the walls or the lack of furniture. She let her eyes go to the floor. Aside from the rotting wood, there wasn't anything out of place or wrong as far as she could see. She looked overhead at the beams. They were fire blackened, but the chandelier remained intact. The dirty, grimy glass prisms still twinkled in the pale sunshine. She wondered why it had never been removed and brought to the new Casa when it was rebuilt. That was it. That was what was wrong, what was out of place. There was something wrong with the great crystal globe that hung from the center of the ceiling. There was something odd about it. What? Royall stood up, her fruit dropping to the rotting floor in her excitement. She craned her neck, first one way and then another. Something must have caught her eye, just the way the small soldier's head had sprung into her vision. Whatever it was, it was eluding her. She walked around the room, watching where she stepped, so she could view the chandelier from different angles. She could find nothing out of the way. In her exasperation, she decided that it must have been her imagination. She was just nervous and jittery after her confrontation with the Baron and then the storm.

Shrugging, she walked back to the gray, who was waiting patiently. She should be thinking about starting back for the plantation, and she was going to have a long ride ahead of her. No, not yet. She stood up and pulled the crate over till it was beneath the chandelier. If she stood on top of it and stretched to her full length, she could just reach the monstrous globe. She arched her neck backwards and looked carefully at the dirty crystal. There it was! When the sun hit the globe, a glint of red showed. That was what it was, the pink ray had caught her attention. Anxiously, she thrust her hand into the depths of the lighting fixture and withdrew a red,. calf-bound book. What was it, and why was it hidden in such a peculiar place? Excited with her treasure, Royall climbed down from her perch and opened the book. The name Carlyle Newsome, Sr., was printed in large block letters inside the cover. Carlyle Newsome, Sr., was the Baron's father. Why would he hide his journal in such a strange place? Excitement and apprehension coursed through her as she made herself comfortable. The writing was small and cramped, but she could make out the words. How in the world had it remained intact all these years?

Royall started to read. It was a dull, boring account of the records of the plantation. She flipped through the pages till she came to a page that read: “I am disappointed in my son Carlyle. I fear it was a mistake on my part to send him away. He has just now returned home no better than when he . left. He is such a trial to me.” There followed more mundane things of no great importance. Then a later entry:

Startled, Royall looked up from her deep absorption in the journal. She thought she had heard a sound. Listening carefully, she decided it was probably some jungle creature. She turned to her reading again, although there was little more to read:

The journal ended abruptly. Frantically, Royall leafed through the rest of the dry, crackling pages. They were blank. The old Baron's intuition was right. He had died before he could make matters right. Or did someone help him into the path of the grim reaper: Hadn't Victor Morrison said he suspected the Baron had murdered his own father? And here was the reason Sebastian resembled the Baron! Not because they were father and son, but because they were brothers! There was that noise again!