Her hand picking up a lit taper.
The sizzling hiss of the taper igniting the end of a fuse.
And then . . . the cacophony of a horrific explosion.
Again and again.
Once remembered, it wouldn’t stop.
The memory felt . . . important. Like it had presaged something significant.
But what?
A knot coiled in her stomach.
She was being willfully obtuse.
Sheknewwhat she had to be seeing.
She simply could not countenance it.
Yet . . . what was it that Kieran had said?
My Jamie absolutely would have blown upThe Minervahad she had a good enough reason.
The very thought nearly sent Eilidh racing for the nearest chamberpot, bile rising in her throat.
As she and Kieran walked back to Kilmeny Castle in the midmorning sun, Kieran kept glancing at her, the dent between his eyebrows deep and concerned.
Eilidh hastened her footsteps, unequal to his probing questions.
Upon reaching the castle, she immediately retired to her bedchamber and stayed there, refusing entry to everyone, taking luncheon and then dinner and then supper from a tray sent up from the kitchens.
Her mind churned, her chest devolved into a maelstrom of agitation.
After a maid took away the supper tray, Eilidh found herself pacing the floor between the fireplace and the tiny window—flames, pivot, step, step, step, sea, pivot, step, step . . .
Had she done it? Had she murdered 127 men? Blown up the ship, risking her unborn baby’s life, and killing Mr. Chen along with everyone else she had known?
She could scarcely fathom it.
If she had blown up the ship . . . why?Whywould she have done it? Yes, Captain Cuthie was a despicable human being by all accounts, but why would she have felt the need to do something about it?
Could it have been an accident on her part?
But even the memory negated that thought, did it not? She had been intent on lighting the fuse.
She dared to test the memory, pushing at it, trying to recall a wee bit more.
Surely, it wasn’t as deliberate as it seemed—
Agitation and nervousness pummeled her chest. This was it. This was the culmination of all her plans. It had to work.Please, dear Lord, let it work.
She picked up the taper. Her hand was shaking so badly, she could scarcely light the fuse. It hissed when it caught. She lurched back, scrambling for safety before—
BOOM!
The memory, more vivid and intense this time, had her racing for the chamberpot in earnest, emptying the contents of her stomach.
