Rapture in His Arms (29 page)

“I’m sorry if she’s upset. I shall apologize to her.” Jillian sat in a chair and stirred her tea.

“Jillian, my dearest, Mammy Polly is a slave. You don’t apologize to slaves. Besides, you should really apologize to me.”

“To you? Whatever for?”

“Because you have spent less than one hour with me since your arrival here.”

“Goodness, Tyler, don’t tell me that you are jealous of the time I spend with your son, a little motherless boy?” Jillian shot him a condemning look which Tyler didn’t fail to notice. Immediately, Tyler’s attitude changed.

He moved his own chair closer to hers and grabbed her hand. “Forgive me, my dear. I only wish to find favor in your eyes, and I am very grateful for the time you take with Benjamin. You are aware how much he misses his mother.”

“Yes, Tyler. He misses Dorcas very much. And I admit that Benjamin fills a gap in my own life.”

Tyler’s eyes sparkled with sincerity. “I know how you can have the child as your own, and how I can have the wife I have always wanted. Marry me, Jillian. Marry me and take care of my son. As my wife, I shall cherish you forever.”

“Tyler, I can’t marry you, I can’t marry anyone now, not when I don’t know for certain about Donovan—”

“Shay is dead!” Tyler ground out and clutched her hand until she was forced to pull it away. “How often must I tell you that he is dead? The jailer told me that he watched him die with his own eyes. He was gravely wounded, Jillian. You must accept the fact that he is gone.”

“I find that very difficult to do.”

Tyler sighed his exasperation. What more could he do to get through to this stubborn woman? He wondered what sort of a hold Donovan Shay had possessed over Jillian to cause her to, if not doubt Shay’s death, then, not to accept it. Tyler was used to amenable women, women like Dorcas who cowered in terror of what he might do if they displeased him. Jillian, however, was different. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him. He didn’t know how to deal with a woman like Jillian, so he always resorted to using Benjamin as the pawn in his attempt to get her to agree to marry him. Yet even her devotion to the child wasn’t enough to sway her to accept his proposal. Perhaps she needed another inducement. Maybe she needed to be shown that Tyler Addison was an important man in the colony. And he knew just the way to change her mind.

“Jillian, I would deem it a great honor if you would accompany me tomorrow evening and pay Governor Berkeley a visit on his ship. I have been invited to a supper, given in honor of the Duke of Rockfield. I believe a change of scenery would do you a deal of good.”

Jillian knew that Berkeley was running the government from his ship in the James, now that Jamestown was burned. She nearly declined, but then she decided Tyler might be right. She had been at his home for a number of weeks, doing little but take care of Benjamin. A change might be the very thing she needed. “All right. I accept.”

“Wonderful. I know you shall enjoy yourself.”

~ ~ ~

The bounty served at the governor’s table the next evening was far superior to anything Jillian had eaten in a long time. They feasted on tender roasted turkey with rice, and a delicious plum pudding. A sparkling madeira, presented to Berkeley by the guest of honor, was served to everyone at the table.

Jillian was quite happy to see Sir William again, and she thanked God that he hadn’t inquired about Donovan. How would she have told him that her husband had fought on the side of the rebels and was now dead, killed by the governor’s own men? If Berkeley did know about her husband’s allegiance, he was gentlemanly enough not to remind her. Tyler had Berkeley’s ear for an extended length of time, and Jillian guessed that he was trying to impress her. He also attempted to speak too familiarly with the Duke, a distinguished-looking older gentleman, who to Jillian’s eyes wasn’t the least interested in Tyler.

Beginning to find the tight dining quarters too confining, Jillian walked onto the deck and gazed up at the millions of gleaming stars above her. She wondered if Donovan was somewhere up there and watching her even now. A tear slipped from her eye, the first and only one in weeks. She hurriedly wiped it away when she heard footsteps behind her.

“’Tis truly a beautiful night,” noted the cultured voice beside her at the rail.

“Aye, Your Grace.” She smiled at Grayson Chandler, but she was a bit put off because he didn’t return the smile. In fact, she recalled that when Sir William had introduced her and Tyler, the duke’s affable expression had switched to one of cold civility.

“I have just spoken to your Mr. Addison,” the duke said with a strained tone to his voice. “He has told me that you and he are to be married.”

Married? Jillian was so stunned by this news that she couldn’t reply. Why had Tyler told this man such a lie? Well, she would set this right and let the duke know that she had no intention of marrying Tyler Addison. “Your Grace, I think I must inform you—”

“Ah, Grayson, there you are!” blustered Sir William who appeared on deck at that second and drowned out Jillian’s voice. “Come join me for another glass of that wonderful madeira.”

The duke declined and insisted that he must be leaving for the Laytons. He took her hand and kissed it politely, but Jillian noticed a hardness in his eyes, a cold expression that caused her again to wonder what she had done to displease this important man.

Later that night when she reached Tyler’s home and had made certain that Benjamin was asleep, she went to her room and began packing her clothes. She would leave on the morrow; she was not willing to stay another day, not after the preposterous lie which Tyler had told the Duke of Rockfield. The danger in the area had died down since Bacon’s death. There was no good reason why she shouldn’t return to Cameron’s Hundred. And she knew now why she had allowed Tyler to talk her into staying with him. The memories at home had been too strong, too potent, too many of them swirled around and reminded her of Donovan. Well, now she wanted to remember, no longer afraid of the pain they would bring. Because memories were all she had of him.

~ ~ ~

“I spoke to your wife tonight.”

“What did she say?”

Grayson shrugged and lowered himself into the chair beside Donovan’s bed. “Not much, but I was a bit put off to see her in the flesh with this Tyler Addison person. Your wife is quite beautiful.”

“Aye, she is,” Donovan agreed but he braced himself for what more his grandfather had to say.

“I spoke to Addison, too. He admitted that he is going to marry her.”

“And is Jillian in agreement?”

“She didn’t deny it, son.”

Donovan clenched the quilt with both hands and breathed deeply. Now, he knew.

On a chilly November afternoon, only tentative rays of sunshine were cast upon the Virginia landscape. Jillian surveyed the desolate fields with a grimace. She had been gone from Cameron’s Hundred for too long a time, she knew that now. In her absence, Bacon’s troops had foraged for food, and they had taken whatever they could find during their campaign against the governor after they had left Jamestown. She supposed she was lucky to have anything left to eat at all, as the men had tramped through the corn crops and torn down fences, even taking some of the livestock. Thankfully the soldiers hadn’t discovered the foodstuffs she had hidden away from the main house in a root cellar. But ever since her return, weary and hungry men on their way home from battle had begged at her door, and she hadn’t had the heart to turn them away. She did her best to fill their empty stomachs, in return receiving their undying gratitude.

A crow landed on a fence post and cawed. Such a sad sound, she thought dispiritedly, more aware than ever of how very alone she truly was now. Lizzie and Zeke were still at the house, and old Mr. Thompson was doing his best to oversee what was left of the plantation. Some of the slaves had returned, as well as a few indentured servants. But Donovan was gone, and she spent many a night tossing and turning in the bed they had shared, unable to sleep but dreading sleep for the nightmares it would bring. Always, she dreamed the same dream. Donovan was holding her, kissing her, and then he was leaving her and she was shouting at him that he was a traitor. But still he left her. And then she would see a freshly dug grave with a cross above it, and on the cross was scratched Donovan’s name with TRAITOR written beneath it. At that point, Jillian would waken, and for the rest of the night, she could do little else but cry. Finally, she was able to cry for all she had lost after Donovan had left her. But the tears didn’t ease her pain, and she doubted if she would ever feel whole again.

Glancing up at the sky, Jillian saw that the sun had sunk lower in the west. By now, Lizzie would have finished preparing supper, though Jillian possessed little appetite, which was a good thing since she always gave away her portions to the others. Poor Mr. Thompson could use an extra plateful; Jillian thought the old man was much too thin. And Lizzie needed the extra food because she was expecting a baby, though she tried to hide her condition from Jillian’s sharp eyes. Jillian made a mental note to speak to Zeke the next morning. It was about time he made an honest woman of Lizzie.

A dark speck in the distance caught her attention. But the sun momentarily blinded her, and it took Jillian a few seconds to focus and realize that she was watching a black horse with a dark-clad rider. It must be another hungry soldier, she thought, and hoped there was enough food to feed him. But there was something odd about this approaching figure, something ghostly and familiar in the waning light of evening. For a second, she imagined the man was Donovan, but that couldn’t be, she decided, as a wave of numbing fear swept over her. Donovan was dead, and this man, if it was a man and not a demon, seemed very much alive. As he bore down upon her, Jillian discerned that the rider was not only wearing a black flowing cape, but that he also wore a dark hood and a half mask to cover his face.

This was no hungry, homeless man but a specter straight from hell. And he was coming for her!

Jillian started to run in the direction of the house, but she was a good distance away, obscured by a hedge line. If anyone happened to be looking out of the upstairs window, she wouldn’t be seen by them. She cursed herself for not having ridden her horse to survey the fields. She hadn’t intended to be away from the protection of the house for such a long time. Her breath came in gasps as she gathered her skirts in her hands and ran in zigzag fashion through the fields, until she thought her chest would burst with the effort. Once, she turned around and saw the rider was gaining on her. She sprinted forward. Somehow she knew that if this person caught her, she wouldn’t see home again.

Her linen cap loosened and fell to the ground, but she didn’t stop to retrieve it. She now heard the deafening sound of the horse’s hooves behind her, getting ever closer, stalking her like one of Lucifer’s henchmen. Run! Run! she silently screamed, but her legs wouldn’t carry her any faster or further. By the time she knew the horse and rider were upon her, she found her waist enfolded by the rider’s arm, encircling her like an iron-forged band and effortlessly plucking her from the ground to place her in front of him.

“Set me free! Put me down!” she cried and would have raked her hands over his masked face. But his two arms came around her and tethered her before him. Jillian found herself unable to move, so frightened that she shivered like a baby rabbit cornered by a hound. Her fright made no impression upon her kidnapper. Without slowing one bit, the rider controlled the wickedly fast horse. The familiar landscape rushed past in a blaze of autumnal glory and then finally, they entered the woods.

Night fell like a velvety black shawl after they had ridden for a number of miles. But the horse had slowed and carefully trotted, nimbly picking its way across an extensively wooded area. What did this man want with her?—she asked herself over and over, and each time she shakily asked aloud, she gained no response. It was the man’s silence which frightened her more than his strange attire and the ropelike imprisonment of his arms.

The horse broke through the woods and into a small clearing with a tiny house in the middle. Even in the darkness, Jillian recognized it as the house she had shared with Donovan on a rainy night which seemed like years ago. The man halted the horse and effortlessly slid from the animal. His strong hands grabbed her by the waist and helped her down, but he practically dragged her into the house. She kicked out at him, but her foot missed its mark. “Release me, let me go!” she screeched. But he paid no heed to her and pulled her through the sitting room and into another room. Then without a word to her, he abruptly released her and Jillian found herself spinning in midair until she fell to her knees onto a hooked rug in the center of the room. The man stood above her, and he watched her for what seemed like a long time while she stayed put on the floor. She waited, and she wondered. What was he going to do with her now?

The soft glow from a candle in a wall sconce illuminated the room which Jillian quickly noticed was a bedroom. Where had this furniture come from? The house had been empty for a long time, and now there was a bed, a dressing table, and a chair. Had this man placed the furnishings here, and if so, for what purpose?