Saving Marina Read online

  The way her entire frame drooped said he’d hit a nerve. As gallantly as a king’s soldier, she once again lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “No. You’re correct, Captain. There is something else I was hoping to gain from you.”

  Taken aback, for he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, it was a moment before he asked, “Which is?”

  She gnawed on her bottom lip so hard he could expect to see blood at any moment.

  He set the milk pail down. “Money?” He should have thought of that earlier.

  “No,” she said. “I have no need for money.”

  That he did believe.

  Glancing toward the open door, she said, “The beans need to be stirred down and Gracie fed. After we eat, we’ll talk.”

  Richard shook his head.

  “Please,” she said despondently. “It will be dark soon.”

  “And you are afraid of the dark?”

  “Everyone here is afraid of the dark.”

  Her whisper went through him with the swiftness of a pirate’s sword. Terror had returned to her eyes, and though it went against his better judgment, he didn’t like it. Didn’t like knowing she was scared. He didn’t like not knowing what she was so frightened of, either.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said. “I swear.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not me I’m afraid of getting hurt.”

  “Then who?”

  “Gracie—” she bowed her head “—and you and Uncle William and John.”

  Lifting her chin, he said, “Look at me, Marina. I assure you, I haven’t been hurt in a very long time. You don’t have to worry about that. When I vow my protection to someone, I give it. Completely. No one in this household will be hurt as long as I’m here.”

  The tender smile that appeared on her lips was so endearing his heart almost stopped beating.

  “I believe you believe that,” she said softly.

  The desire to step forward and press his lips against hers hit him like a gale wind. Carnal actions had come close to ruining his life once. He’d learned to control them since then. Or so he thought. Marina had gotten under his skin and was stirring up things that should not be stirred.

  “Please,” she repeated. “We must go inside.”

  Frustration rumbled inside him. “As soon as we are done eating, we’ll talk?”

  She nodded and bolted toward the door. While crossing the threshold, she said, “And the kitchen is cleaned and Gracie is put to bed.”

  In the moment it took him to close the barn door, Richard surmised he’d just been hoodwinked. It was in a small way but significant nonetheless. Catching up with Marina before she reached the house, he said, “I will put Gracie to bed.”

  Richard had every intention of following through on putting his daughter to bed, but they were still eating when someone started pounding on the front door.

  The box Gracie sat upon clattered against the floor as she leaped from her chair onto Marina’s lap. Richard also took note of the searing look that crossed between Marina and William.

  “I’ll see who it is,” the old man said.

  Richard pushed away from the table. “I’ll go with you.” His gaze bounced to Marina, who was whispering into Gracie’s ear and rubbing the child’s trembling shoulders. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The fear in her eyes said enough.

  By the time he’d followed William down the hall and across the room, Richard’s frustration was boiling as hot as his anger. The persistent pounding had grown louder and had become continuous by the time William stopped to light a candle on the table beside the door. As soon as the wick flickered and caught the flame, Richard stepped around the man and pulled open the door.

  William’s shout of “State your business” was lost among louder voices.

  “That’s him! Restrain that man!”

  Richard didn’t need the evening light to recognize Hickman. He’d instinctively known who it was when the pounding had started, and the opportunity to release some of his pent-up fury greeted him like a long-lost friend.

  “Arrest her, too!”

  Richard paused in stepping off the stoop to glance to his side. Sure enough, Marina stood there. How did she show up out of thin air like that?

  A man stepping forward, arm out, caught his attention. “Touch her and it’s the last person you’ll ever touch,” Richard warned.

  The man slowed his approach until Hickman yelled for arrests again. As the man reached for Marina, Richard bounded off the stoop and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “I warned you.”

  Holding the man’s shirt with one hand, he planted his other fist directly in the man’s face. As the man hit the ground, Richard said, “Get inside, Marina.”

  Without checking to see if she obeyed or so much as glancing to see if the first man stayed down, he balled his fist again to give a second man coming at him from the right a solid punch. Richard’s knuckles burned as that man went down. He ignored the sting and continued a steady pace forward, never taking his eyes off Hickman.

  “Get him!” Hickman shouted. “Get him!”

  Richard grinned as a third man approached. He wished the men were more like the seashore ruffians he encountered regularly. At the moment, a brawl that would have them all bleeding yet coming back for more was his greatest desire. He wanted Hickman to know he wasn’t dealing with a simpleton afraid of hell and brimstone, but a man who wouldn’t tolerate his family being wronged.

  Richard snapped his fist into the face of the third, a bit disappointed when that man hit the ground without taking a punch at him.

  For every step he took forward, Hickman took one back. The fourth man who had accompanied the preacher on his late-night visit was already heading up the road. “You wanted to see me, George?” Richard asked, holding his hands out to his sides. “I’m right here.”

  “Get up,” Hickman shouted at the men. “Arrest this man!”

  The men got up but made a wide circle around him as they scurried to follow their other companion up the road.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, George,” Richard said. “Your companions have abandoned you. All four of them. I guess they don’t mind as well when you aren’t whipping them bloody.” Recalling how the man had always taken pride in having a big black man driving him around in Barbados, Richard glanced toward the coach harnessed to a set of horses. “It appears you don’t even have a driver. Don’t tell me you’ve learned how to drive a coach?”

  “Of course I know how to drive a coach,” Hickman spouted, his nostrils flaring as he stomped toward the enclosed carriage. “This isn’t over, Tarr. You’re the devil, a poison. I won’t have you infesting the good people of this village.”

  There were a dozen responses floating about in Richard’s mind, as was the urge to stop Hickman from boarding the carriage, but Richard let the desire fade away. A dark road in the middle of nowhere wasn’t the place. He wanted to see the man publicly humiliated. “I’d say this village has already been infested. Contaminated by greed. And you.”

  “Your lies won’t work here,” Hickman said, climbing onto the driver’s seat.

  “Lies? Who have I lied to?”

  Hickman’s response was to wave a fist in the air as he slapped the reins over the horses.

  Richard waited until the man steered the horses around and started up the road before he turned to make his way back to the house. William stood in the doorway, his flickering candle in hand.

  “I’ve never seen that before,” John said, peering over William’s shoulder.

  “What?” Richard asked. “A coward fleeing?”

  “No,” John answered. “Someone taking arms against a man of the church.”

  William shook his head. “The Puritans claim they don’t believe in violence.”

  Richard paused long enough for the other two to step inside before he entered and closed the door behind him. “Yet they hang innocent people.”

  In the silence that followed, R
ichard regretted his reply. John didn’t need a reminder, nor did William. Although he attempted to conceal them, thoughts weighed heavy on the old man, and Richard knew they were directly related to Marina.

  “They’ll be back,” William said as he crossed the room, heading for his chair.

  Richard made no reply. He didn’t plan on giving Hickman a chance on returning, but the confrontation would take place when and where Richard chose, where his family wouldn’t be in jeopardy.

  Finding the kitchen empty, Richard turned about.

  “Marina took Gracie upstairs,” John said. “Do ye want me to get her?”

  “No,” Richard said, his eyes settling on the meal that had been so crudely interrupted. “But you can clean up the kitchen.”

  The stairway was dark, as was the upstairs hall. No light shone beneath any of the four doors, but memory, as well as a gentle tune, told him which room held Marina and Gracie. Music was a rare thing on the ocean, other than the sweet songs nature sang, and he may never have heard a more perfect melody than the one currently filtering the air. It made him want to close his eyes and just listen to the blissful notes. A response as that had never created itself inside him before. That thought, in addition to the spellbinding tune, made him almost crack a smile.

  Some claimed a witch’s call could be disguised as many things and did strange things to a person. He shook his head at how his own mind was trying to convince him Marina was a witch. Then again, maybe it was her working so hard to convince him.

  Richard grasped the knob and turned the handle slowly to not interrupt the song. Marina turned his way but never stopped singing. Her gaze returned to Gracie, who was tucked beneath the covers. She too turned to look at him with sleepy eyes and a dreamy smile.

  He crossed the room and went to the opposite side of the bed, where he knelt down and placed a gentle hand on his daughter’s forehead. “Good night, Grace.”

  Her smile never faded as she closed her eyes to drift off into dreamland as peacefully as anyone he’d ever seen. Marina continued singing, her voice growing softer and softer until it was little more than a whisper. With the last note still floating on the air, she leaned down and kissed Gracie’s forehead.

  Neither of them said a word as she picked up the candle and stood. Richard followed her across the room and into the hall, pulling the door closed.

  “They are gone, I presume?”

  “Did you expect elsewise?”

  In the golden glow of the candle flame her features were intensified. The light made her skin shimmer and her lashes longer and darker. The blue of her eyes was deeper, too, drawing him in and leaving no room for him to think of anything other than her beauty. How was it possible for this woman to affect him the ways she did? He encountered women around the world. There had to have been others more beautiful, yet, at this moment, he couldn’t remember one. He couldn’t remember one who had intrigued him so acutely. It almost was if she had the ability to erase certain parts of his memory, implanting thoughts of her in their places.

  A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as if she knew his very thoughts, which sent a fiery chill as cold as it was hot shooting through him. He pulled his gaze off her and fought a few other internal reactions.

  “I’m not sure what to expect anymore,” she said quietly.

  Although he could relate to that, Richard made no comment as he reached for the candle to carry as they walked down the hall. She caught his hand with her free one as soon as the light of the flame settled upon his knuckles.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  His hand no longer stung and there wasn’t enough blood to pay it any attention. He’d had far worse battle wounds and most likely would again. “I may have knocked someone’s tooth loose.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said and sighed.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not him I’m concerned about,” she said heavily while letting go of his hand. “Follow me. I’ll put a bandage on that.”

  She hadn’t said it was him she was worried about, but his heart skipped a beat at the idea. “I don’t need a bandage.” He didn’t want her worried about him, but in an odd sense, it warmed his insides like nothing else ever had.

  “Possibly not,” she said. “But I don’t want to have to wash blood out of sheets tomorrow.”

  She was a witty one and knew exactly what he’d thought. “I’ll wash before I retire,” he said, while taking a hold of her elbow. “Right now, you are going to tell me what it is you want from me. Things have gotten too dangerous.”

  * * *

  Marina braced herself for the onslaught. Each time he was near or touched her, no matter how briefly, her insides caught fire as if there was a tiny wick inside her and he a flint. It had grown stronger all day, and a moment ago, while staring up at him in the darkened hallway, she’d discovered why. She was full of admiration for this frank and courageous man. He appeared to be a bit untamed and dangerous, and the men who had just left probably thought he was a living relative of the devil himself. She’d witnessed how anger turned his eyes a perilous shade of amber, and she could only imagine in the evening darkness their glow had confirmed the other men’s beliefs.

  She knew differently. A man could talk for hours, demanding things or singing his own praises, but words meant nothing compared to deeds. The tenderness Richard bestowed upon Gracie, the respect he displayed to Uncle William, and the friendship and protection he’d so readily granted John told her the kind of man he was inside. That was what affected her. She’d missed the strong and powerful men she’d known all of her life. Missed how wonderful it had been to feel safe and protected, and the idea of being shrouded by such comforts was something she couldn’t deny she secretly longed to have again.

  Knowing Grace and, perhaps, Uncle William would have those comforts was the most she could hope for, and that should be enough, but it wasn’t.

  Marina shook her head at the thought and told herself he was right—things had gotten too dangerous. Not wanting Uncle William to hear, she turned to open the door across the hall from where Grace slept.

  The past few days, she’d sat in this room, sewing clothing for Gracie while being close enough at hand to respond to the child’s softest whimpers. Although she’d been extremely worried about the little girl, she’d relished each minute. The days caring for Gracie would be the closest she’d ever have to being a mother, and as much as she knew they had to, she didn’t want them to end.

  Another trait of being a witch. Selfishness.

  Marina sucked in a breath against how badly her heart ached, knowing there wasn’t anything she could do about it. As Richard followed her into the room, she held out a hand. “May I?”

  He handed her the candle. She used it to light several others that sat upon the long table she’d used to lay out material and cut it into pieces before sitting in the nearby chair to stitch the sections together. The remnants of that work, as well as another partially sewn dress, still covered the table.

  “For Grace?” Richard asked.

  “Yes.” Marina made no effort to explain the condition of Gracie’s clothes when she had brought her home. There was no need. He was an intelligent man and had already comprehended such things.

  “Where did you get the material?”

  “Uncle William has a large supply of yard goods,” she told him. “From his sailing days, along with other items I used to take to the marketplace to exchange for things we needed.”

  “Used to?”

  “Before I had the opportunity to plant our own garden and buy a cow. I purchased Nellie, as well as the chickens, from John’s family.” Recalling the bare cupboards upon her arrival, a smile overtook her lips. “I honestly don’t know what Uncle William ate before my arrival.”

  “Sailors are a hearty lot,” he said. “They can survive on most anything.”

  “I discovered that. He had a large barrel of salted fish when I arrived, which I fed to the birds and hoped
it didn’t kill them.”

  His chuckle lightened her heart at the same time it increased the ache. She wished she could laugh again, freely, happily, if even for a short time.

  Envy. Another trait.

  “How did you come to live with William?”

  Marina swallowed. She’d recalled the event often enough that pain no longer seared her throat, but it would forever remain inside her. Dissecting how the devastation of her village came about helped. Perhaps because when she did that, she didn’t have to take responsibility. That too, blaming others, had to be the witch inside her.

  “The fur trade in Maine was prosperous for many, including my family. My father and brothers had several fishing boats and did a great deal of trading fish for furs with the Iroquois League.” Her knees began to wobble at the memory of the home that had been so full of love and laughter, and she lowered herself onto a chair before continuing, “There are several bands within the league, some friendlier than others. My brother Ole married a Mohawk woman, Nessa.”

  The tightening of her chest stole her breath and pulled her brows into a tight knot at the thought of little Gunther, Ole and Nessa’s baby. He’d been only three, but so smart Ole had already started taking him on the fishing boats. If only they’d been fishing that night, but the storm had kept them off the water.

  “What happened?”

  Attempting to remove herself from the explanation, she said, “The battle between the French and the English for control of the fur trade. At least, that was the basis.” She took a breath to disguise the pain. “A band of marauding Indians aligned with whichever side had promised them the most attacked our village.”

  “Your family?”

  “Were all killed,” she answered. “Everyone.”

  “Except you.”

  That part of her story was not open for discussion. “A short time later, a ship captained by a friend of Uncle William and my father arrived in the bay and brought me here.” Captain Farleigh had done more than that; he’d saved her life. Was that why she found herself liking Richard more each hour? All the sea captains she’d known had been likable. Honorable, too, and caring.