She stepped back to allow him room to pullcanvas from beneath the bed and watched him saunter outside. “Whereare you going?”
He strung a contraption between two palms,devising a hammock.
She marched to the doorway. “What if itrains?”
He hefted himself up and into his bed. “Theskies are clear and the air is warm.”
There was nothing for her to do but retirefor the night. The coal-black darkness of the night hushed uponher. Satisfied that Nicholas could probably not see his handstretched in front of him, she removed her shift, washed it in thewater bucket, and laid it over a chair to dry. She sank into thebed beneath the quilts. How gallant Nicholas was.
Last night she had slept next to him becauseshe was afraid. Afraid he’d disappear and she’d be alone. What ifpirates or cannibals came to the island? She’d have no one toprotect her. She missed him by her side.
“Nicholas, are you asleep?”
“Would we be having a discussion if Iwas?”
“Nicholas?”
He groaned. “Yes?”
“About last night”
“What about last night?”
She took a deep breath. “The reason I sleptnext to you was not only for warmth but because I was afraid. Willyou protect me?”
Silence lay infringed by his snores. Asleep.Wouldn’t the night air grow damp and chill? Wrapping one quiltaround her, she gathered up the other, tip-toed outside and tuckedit around him.
Chapter Six
Alexandra stretched, dreaming of her room inDeconshire. Overhead, bound reed thatching lay on dark woodenbeams, securing the house against the winds and cold. Giving thedelicacy of Wedgewood pottery, the white stucco walls weredecorated with Molly’s pictures of pressed violets. Even Samuel’stouches were present with an oak chair and carved headboard hewnfrom his hands.
The rasp of metal filled her ears as Mollymoved kettles below in the kitchen. Soon bacon would crackle andAlexandra would rise and have honeyed tea, scones with jam andclotted cream while Samuel filled his pipe and spun a yarn.
She sighed, cuddling into her pillow.Familiar waves beat upon the shore and the ever-present wind rushedthrough the trees. She frowned in her dream. Trees clackedtogether, a wholly different sound.
Her eyes flew open. Palm trees. Not thesound that swept through the willows, yellow dunes and marramgrasses or green hills of her beloved Deconshire. She sat up, bitdown on her knuckles, smothering a sob.
She was not home. God only knew when shewould be…if ever.
Poor Samuel. He must be sick with worry andgrief, believing she was dead. She clenched her fingers into fists,rendering half-moon marks in her palms. If there was God, she’dbring Ursula and Willean to justice.
The grinding sound quit. Nicholas sat on thethreshold, sanding the musket, rust dustings and sand peppered thefloor. She clutched the quilt to her neck, concealing her nakedstate beneath. Had she kicked the covers off during the night? Heatrose to her cheeks.
“Good morning,” Nicholas greeted, andcommenced polishing the barrel to a blue-black patina as if nothingwas untoward.
Her shift lay across the chair. Not that thedratted garment concealed much.
“Something the matter?”
The soft tone in his voice startled her. Hadshe said something in her sleep? Oh, to tell him the truth of herpast. She couldn’t. Her grief and childish rebellion against Mollyand Samuel released a heavy anchor of shame. She shook off thethought. She couldn’t think about that now. Not when they had tosurvive long enough to be rescued.
So much work lay ahead of them. Gardens toclear and plant. Hauling water, a constant chore. Shutters had tobe fixed before another storm hit the island. Her breath hitched.No. She could not talk about home.
“I thought you were going to get your coat,”she said.
“I’ll do some hunting.” Gun in hand,Nicholas rose, towering over her. With the tip of the barrel helifted her shift off the chair, only to dangle the garment overher.
She snatched at it.
