“When you want to talk, Alexandra, I’m herefor you.” His deep baritone voice was quiet. Infinitelypatient.
In the pearly morning light, Alexandraswallowed the lump in her throat and whispered through parchedlips, “I-I can’t.”
He angled his head toward a bunch of bananason the table. “I went out early and acquired breakfast.”
He took the powder horn off the wall, stuckthe knife in his belt. He had his shirt back on with his sleevesrolled up. “I’d prefer a rare sirloin, coddled eggs, bacon, withwarm cinnamon bread and butter, but that is not on the menu. I’mgood at hunting.” He bowed and strode out the door, his lithemuscled form moving with perfect grace.
He vanished like vapor before the sun, theforest swallowing him up. Alexandra missed him the minute he left.To take up the time, she swept the cottage, and then getting on herhands and knees, scrubbed the floor until it gleamed like beatenmoonbeams. She made two trips to the river to get water, the heatof the day rising with the sun. On the last trip, she dipped in theriver, enjoying a midmorning bath.
Carrying the buckets back to the house, shepicked two mauve orchids, and then placed them in a flagon on thetable. Savoring a sweet banana, she prided herself on her hard workin transforming the fresh condition of the house.
Her shoulders slumped as she scrutinized themassive job of clearing the garden. Tugging at bristly vines, herhands grew raw, piling a large heap to burn later. She sat back onher heels, observing the rich surrounding greenness, the bright andsolitary loveliness of a new world emerging, quieting all herqualms. Kneeling, she stuck her hands into the deep rich loam, awedby her connection to the earth, the soil so much better than inDeconshire. Everything would grow here.
A shot rang out. Close. She cupped her handsand shouted up the mountainside. “Nicholas, are you all right?” Noanswer. She bit her lip, how he wanted to prove to her he couldhuntthat he was useful. Had he shot himself? She started up theslope.
Between two palmettos, a gigantic boarcharged.
“Nicholas!”
Sharp tusks protruded from the beast. Shepicked up a rock and threw, the missile sailing over its bristledback.Run. Move! Now!Spinning around, she leapt through thepineapple plants mindless of the razor-sharp leaves, cutting herlegs. She looked over her shoulder, the beast’s eyes bulged,grunting, thrashing through the vegetation, head lowered ready topierce her with its sharp tusks. She tripped on a root and sprawledin the dirt, her hands skidding through briars.
She jumped to her feet. An impossible wallof undergrowth trapped her. A tree loomed three feet away, and sheleapt, reaching high to grab the lower branch. Her sweat-slickedpalms slipped off and she crumpled to the ground. The boar stopped,clawed the ground with his pointed hooves, bloodlust in its eyes.“Nicholas!”
Where was Nicholas? She scuttled farther,pressing into the bush. The boar charged. She screamed, thrustingher hands up in front of her.
A shot exploded. The boar dropped. Nicholasappeared, smoke curling from his musket. Alexandra pressed herhands to her face and cried. He pulled her up and put his armaround her.
She pushed him away. “That pig nearly killedme. What took you so long?”
“I thought you’d be congratulating me on myexcellent marksmanship,” he said, his smile jubilant. “We havedinner, breakfast and supper for the next several days.”
Breathing hard, she pushed her toe into thebeast to make sure it was dead. “Is that all you can think of isyour stomach?”
He dropped the carcass under the shade of alignum vitae, the blue flowers so beautiful and at odds with themacabre process below. His forehead furrowed when she rolled acrock from the lean to, filling it with water and mixing in ameasure of salt.
“To make a brine, we shall soak most of themeat before smoking to preserve.” She took a chunk of meat andsubmerged it in the brine, still waiting for her racing pulse toslow.
Alexandra gathered wood and started a firein the lower berth of the beehive oven. After procuring a ribsection, she placed it on a spit to roast. Nicholas finished histask, filling the crock to the brim and burying the remains.
Her mind still reeling from her near death,she said, “Thank you for saving my life.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” he said over hisshoulder as if it was no great feat, and then joined her by theoven with two fresh buckets of water.
“Hauling water is an onerous task. I wishthere was a well closer to the house.”
“Let me worry about the water. I don’t wantyou lifting buckets.” He had bathed in the river, his shirt spreadout over a croton bush to dry, and she marveled at how she wasbecoming accustomed to his half-naked splendor. He brushed back hissinfully thick black hair and a damp strand still stuck to hisforehead. She itched to smooth it back.
“You have provided us with worthysustenance. I don’t think that there is a thing you cannot do.” Shesprinkled salt and patted rosemary leaves onto the roastingmeat.
Nicholas plunked down in the grass,stretching his long legs in front of him. “There’s plenty I can’tdo.” His laughter had an edge.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Ask my father. My greatest critic.”
Perhaps the relationship with his fathercaused his anger. She turned the spit, keeping her eyes on themeat. “He is disapproving?”
“There are many things I want to do todevelop the estate. But my father won’t listen. He is stuck withthe old ways and won’t listen to any of my ideas.” He plucked thegrass and chewed it. “It doesn’t matter now. Despite the fact, thatI haven’t given up hope that my father is yet alive, I remain atthe edge of the world and unable to implement any of my conceptsanyway.”
