Beloved Castaway (31 page)

The doctor blinked hard, then sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and check on the patient before Mr. Carter goes in.”

The patient?
Josiah watched the doctor disappear behind the velvet drapes. “Isabelle?”

Miss Dumont stepped between Josiah and the curtains. “Yes, she’s been recuperating in the doctor’s study. It seemed the only proper thing to do as she certainly couldn’t stay upstairs. That’s where the doctor sleeps.”

“Of course.” He stared at the slight gap between the panels. “She’s been this close, and I didn’t know,” he said under his breath.

Something touched his hand, and Josiah looked down to see that Miss Dumont had placed two letters there. Josiah grasped the pages, both of which had broken seals, and shook his head.

“What’s this?”

She leaned close. “I found them in his jacket pocket, already
opened.”

Josiah looked down at the spidery handwriting and saw Emilie’s name. He moved that letter to see another below it addressed to Isabelle.

“Why give them to me? Shouldn’t you be delivering these to the ladies?”

“Possibly,” she said, “but I wonder if Emilie’s letter might need to wait a few days. I’m sure the events of today have come as a shock to her.”

He looked down at the Dumont woman, searching her face for any sign of guile but saw none. “I’m sure,” he echoed.
 

She frowned and touched his jaw. “What happened to you? It looks as if someone hit you.” When Josiah did not answer, a look came over her. “Those men on the sidewalk, they were with Andre, weren’t they?”

“Aye,” Josiah said. “But I doubt you’ll find any trouble from them. Men of that ilk don’t keep loyalties past the grave. I’ll warrant as soon as news arrives that their employer is no longer breathing, they’ll be shipping off on the next tide.”

“I pray you’re right,” she said. “Now about those letters. Give them to Isabelle. She can choose the proper time for her sister to read them.”

“Captain Carter?” Josiah looked up to see the doctor standing between the parted curtains. “Miss Gayarre will see you now.”

He held the letters to his chest and willed himself not to run.
 

In truth, the anxiety of facing a mob of angry headhunters in the Spice Islands paled in comparison to walking into the room where Isabelle lay. While the headhunters had been after his body, Isabelle Gayarre had stolen his heart.

Josiah stepped into the room where Isabelle lay, intent on telling her how much he’d missed her. But when he caught sight of the woman who had dominated his thoughts and stolen his dreams lying beneath the quilt his own mother had fashioned, Josiah forgot how to speak.

For a moment, he also forgot how to walk. Standing there like a fool, all he could do was fist his hands and wait for his senses to return.

The doctor busied himself at a desk in the corner of the room, providing Josiah with something to look at other than Isabelle, yet Josiah found his attention would focus nowhere but on her.

Her illness had chiseled Isabelle’s full cheeks into more sculpted angles, and she still bore the lightest of shadows under her eyes. When she smiled, the shadows disappeared.

“Isabelle,” he managed.
 

“She’s still quite weak, and I’ve given her another dose of
laudanum to keep her calm, so she may soon be sleeping again.” The doctor rose, a length of what looked like toweling under his arm. “But under the circumstances, I think a visit is in order.” He headed for the curtained exit, then paused. “Oh, and I conveyed our apologies for the disturbance in the foyer.”

“The disturbance?”

“I seem to have dozed through all but the crash of thunder,” she said in a voice still thick with sleep. “Odd, how the weather can look sunny yet portend rain. What a blessing that the doctor could offer his foyer for shelter from the lighting.”

“Yes,” Josiah echoed. “I don’t expect we shall see any more thunder today. What say you, Dr. Hill?”

The doctor peered into the foyer, then turned to meet Josiah’s stare. “No,” he said slowly, “all is quite clear. Now, Miss Gayarre, if you need me, I shall be just outside.”

“Thank you.”
 

Josiah approached slowly, the letters held down at his side. While his heart demanded he scoop Isabelle into his arms, his head told him to wait.

I missed you
demanded to be spoken
.
“This is a comfortable room,” he said instead.
 

Sea green eyes looked his way. “Yes, it is, although I must confess I’m a bit tired of it already.”
 

“I understand completely. Say,” Josiah said lightly. “I believe that’s my quilt.” He touched the fabric. “Aye, my mother made this with her own hands. I’m glad it was not lost with the ship.”

“Yes. It’s beautiful. Perhaps you want to fetch it home with you.”
 

“I have no home.” Josiah cringed. “What I mean is, at present I have no need of the quilt. Please continue to enjoy it.”

Why are we discussing blankets?

He crushed the letters in his palm and stuffed them into his pocket. Miss Dumont could see to the delivery of these items. It was all Josiah could do to keep the conversation going. He’d not explain the bloodstains on the pages or the broken elaborate wax seals marked with the letter
G
.

Not now.

Not today.

“You’re injured.”

Isabelle touched his cheek. “An inconvenience caused by slow reflexes and a trusting nature,” he said. “Do not trouble yourself.”

“I see.” Isabelle watched him intently, her fingers worrying with the edges of the quilt. “Might I ask you something, Josiah?”

She said his name. He swallowed hard and managed a nod.

“I have many questions. I remember little of how I got here.” Her gaze dropped to the quilt. “I do not even know where
here is.”

But do you remember your feelings for me?

Pulling a chair near the bed, Josiah offered a smile he hoped would pass for genuine. “Here is Fairweather Key. As to how you got here, well, you were fetched here by boat some three weeks ago.”

“The
Jude
?”

“No,” he said gently. “Suffice it to say that the locals have a double meaning in the name they have given their island.”

Isabelle released her grip on the quilt and began to toy with the ruffle at the neck of her bed jacket. “Oh?”

Put your hand in mine, sea siren.

“Aye.” He inched the chair closer. “As it happens, a vessel can only negotiate the reef in fair weather. As the main occupation of the men here is wrecking, it’s a fine day when the rain begins to fall.”

She seemed confused, yet a smile dawned. “I see,” she said. “The
Jude
. Did it arrive in fair weather or foul?”

“Foul, I’m afraid. It is no more.”
Are we?

Closing her eyes, Isabelle looked as if she were attempting to conjure up a memory. “Mr. Banks.” Her eyes flew open. “He was ill.” She shook her head. “No, he was injured.”

“Aye. Burned in a fire upon our exit from New Orleans. You were his nurse,” he said.

“I was?” She seemed genuinely surprised, then supremely dis-appointed. “I don’t remember.”

His heart sank.
Nor do you recall your love for me.
“Perhaps it’s best, then.”
 

“No. I mustn’t forget. Something important happened.”

Aye, that it did.

Josiah reached across the quilt to touch Isabelle’s hand. “Mr. Banks is no longer with us, Isabelle. Hard as you tried to save him, the injuries from the fire were just too severe. ’Tis my understanding that Mr. Harrigan succumbed, as well. On the morrow, I intend to see to the welfare of the remainder of the crew. As their captain, ’tis I who am responsible, and I take that responsibility seriously.”

“Banks and Harrigan.”
 

Her eyes welled with tears, and he reached to wipe them away. “You’re remembering now, aren’t you?”

Chapter 26

If the truth were known, Isabelle had never completely forgotten. While her memories of the voyage were hazy and fraught with holes where pieces had been removed, she knew the important things.

The fire at the docks, a storm near the reefs, and Mr. Banks recalling scripture in the hold of the
Jude
were recollections still as real and present in her mind as if they’d just happened.

So was the kiss she shared with Josiah Carter.

He called her a sea siren, and she’d wondered what that meant but had never dared ask. He had also taken to reading her Bible, yet never had he admitted on which side of the Lord’s favor he rested.

Asking him now was quite tempting, as was requesting just one more kiss. Neither was possible, however. Not if she were to go ahead with her plan to release him and flee to England. To stay was a fool’s dream, as was the idea that she might try and pass for someone she was not. She stared past Josiah to the scene unfolding outside the window and felt a wave of dizziness. Focus became impossible for a moment; then her mind cleared.
 

A group of men stood in a half circle outside the undertaker’s office across the street. Several women and children milled about. It seemed as though they were waiting for something.

Someone, perhaps.

“A penny for your thoughts, Isabelle.”

“My thoughts,” she said, “are scattered, truly.”
 

Isabelle watched a wagon pulled by a swayback mare stop in front of the collection of townsfolk. Two men made short work of carrying a body wrapped in what looked to be toweling.
 

Isabelle tried to make out the faces, but suddenly her eyes seemed to rebel. They wanted to close, and she let them.

“Isabelle?”
 

Opening her eyes, Isabelle tore her gaze from the goings-on across the street to seek out Josiah. She found him and forced herself to focus.

He reached across to grasp her hand. “I don’t want to press my suit until you’re well and able to respond,” he said, “but I do wonder how much you recall of our conversations at sea.”

I would have you kiss me.

Yes, she knew that statement quite clearly. The kiss, she would never forget. It would have to carry her all the way to England and the farmhouse where she would surely call it up on lonely occasions as she quietly lived out the remainder of her days.

Or would it? Be it from the elixir Dr. Hill gave her or the presence of Josiah Carter, her ability to imagine that life began to fade.
 

The Virginian’s broad shoulders slumped. “Your lack of response leads me to believe either you do not recall or you’ve had a change of heart.”

A tear welled up, and she quickly made the attempt to swipe it away. On the second try, she managed the feat. “Neither.”

“Neither?” Josiah ducked his head, then looked up to reveal the smile that turned his face from merely handsome to unforgettable.

“I fail to see there might be a third option, Isabelle. Either you love me, or you don’t; you want a life with me, or you do not.” He rose and returned the chair to its spot by the window, lingering a moment. “Forgive me. I had not intended to speak so freely. I know you’re only just beginning to recover, and I’ll not trouble you further on this matter.”

He made to leave, and Isabelle almost let him go. “Josiah?” she said as he reached the velvet curtains.
 

Josiah froze but did not turn around. “Aye?”
 

Isabelle spoke before good sense could prevent it. “Before you go, I would have you kiss me.”

“ ’Tis the laudanum speaking,” he said.

“Perhaps.” She had to concentrate to see him clearly, an endeavor quite worth the effort. “But perhaps not. Are you willing to take the risk?”

He turned and moved toward her slowly, deliberately. “The risk?”

Her bravado began to fade. “Yes,” she said with more courage than she felt.

“Isabelle, Isabelle,” he said, his voice low, husky with emotion, and his smile ripe with promise.

Her heart did a flip-flop even as she fought to keep her eyes on him. What had she done?

Josiah reached the end of the bed and, without looking in her direction, began to run his hand across the quilt at her feet. “I am not a man to be trifled with.”

Indeed.
 

Abruptly he stopped.
 

Their gazes collided. His smile was gone. “Rest assured that once the laudanum has run its course, you will not find you can make such an offer and see me walk away from it.”
 

How the man did vex her, even as his image swayed and righted itself. “Perhaps I am under the influence of some sort of truth serum. What say you to that possibility, Captain Carter?”

Josiah closed the distance between them yet did not touch her. He smelled of soap, sunshine, and salt air, and his overlong hair had been captured with a single leather cord. Where once his face bore the signs of good health, he now appeared a bit gaunt.

“You need a haircut. And something to eat. You’re too thin.” She giggled. “But otherwise your appearance has not suffered in the process. You smell nice, too.”

Isabelle inhaled readily, willing her fractured senses to memorize the moment as her fingers captured his face. Running her hand across the stubble of his cheek, she tried to smile.

“Isabelle, open your eyes.”

She complied, not having remembered closing them.
 

“Listen carefully.”
 

Isabelle placed her forefinger on Josiah’s lips, and he captured her hand in his.
 

“Are you listening?”

Somehow she managed a nod.

“Good, because this is important.” He released her hand and took a step back. “Never have I wanted so much to believe you speak the truth, yet never have I been so uncertain of it.”

“But, Josiah, I—”
 

“I am also uncertain of my ability to remain a gentleman in your presence; thus I shall not return to this place lest I once again find you in this condition.”

Her focus fell from his lips to his starched white collar, then rose again. “I am not in a condition,” she said.