“Doctor Crenshaw will tend to him,” Delphine announced as they walked back to her home.
“’Tis more than he deserves,” Catherine added, rubbing the muscles in her arm.
“Oui.” Delphine sighed. “But I want no blood on my hands.”
“’Twould be onmyhands,” Emeline said, raising her brows, as they mounted the steps to the red door that marked Delphine’s house. “However, I do think you need to hire a groomsman for protection. I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn’t come home when I did.”
Smiling, Delphine nodded. “I fear you are right. For now, let us all forget this horrid event and enjoy our evening.”
An evening that consisted of a cold supper of cheese, bread, salted fish, and an early retirement to each of their beds. Beyond exhaustion, Emeline fell deep asleep despite the frightening events of the day.
Nightmares crept into her mind—the creak of her door opening, the pad of footsteps on the floor boards, the scent ofbergamot, a man’s whisper.
Then the slam of a hand over her mouth. A rag was stuffed within it. A cloth covered her nose. A sweet, smoky scent filled her lungs. A peace she didn’t feel threatened to drag her into unconsciousness. Nay! Flailing her arms, she tried to rise. Muscular arms hefted her up from her bed.
This was no dream. This was real!
Chapter 12
O
nce again, the familiar sounds and sensations of being out to sea drifted past Emeline’s ears—the creak and groan of a ship, the gentle purl of water against the hull, the rolling movement of waves. And the shouts of sailors going about their duties.
Only these shouts were in a foreign language.
Terror seized her, attempting to pull her from the fog that coated her mind. Prying her eyes open, she blinked in an attempt to clear the blurry scene. A cabin. A ship’s cabin. The bulkhead and door oscillated in her vision…grew smaller, then larger…then smaller again. Pain thundered in her head. She slammed her eyes shut and spread fingers over the cot beneath her. A soft quilt. An odd scent of bergamot stung her nose.
She pushed to sit up. The cabin spun. Nausea churned in her stomach. Gripping it, she forced it down, trying to remember what had happened.
The last thing she recalled was falling asleep in Delphine’s house.
Someone had come into her chamber!
Her head felt as though an anchor had embedded itself into it. Moaning, she dropped it into her hands.
The ship bucked over a wave, and she grabbed the cot to keep from falling. Shouts grew louder above her. Spanish? Nay, Italian.
Jesuits.
Fear clenched her belly, resurrecting her nausea.Lord, where are You? Why is this happening?
No peace came. No gentle voice assuring her all was well. Nothing made sense anymore. What could she have possibly done to be worthy of such punishment? She opened her eyes again and examined the cabin. An Italian chest of drawers was bolted to the wall beside a tall looking glass. A pitcher and basin sat atop it, along with two rather large books. Across from her, a brass-buckled mahogany trunk perched in the corner while a silk-woven rug graced the floor. Not an ordinary seaman’s cabin.
Lord, what do they want with me?
She remembered her father’s words.Whenever you don’t understand some tragedy that has befallen you, you must trust that God has everything under control. There is a purpose for everything. Our job is to obey and have faith.
At the time she had thought it wise advice from a godly man. Today, it seemed nigh an impossible task.
Alone. Alone again. She hugged herself. Whenever she’d been frightened, whenever she’d felt alone, she would seek out her mother or father or siblings. And her fear and loneliness would dissipate. But now? The cabin spun again. The bulkheads rippled in her vision and seemed to close in on her, shrinking the already tiny space. Was she to be crushed alive?
Heart racing, she gulped in deep breaths in an effort to calm her breathing. She’d been given a drug of some kind. That was it. She was not going mad.
A grinding clank sounded. The door burst open to a blast of salt-laden wind and a tall, lithe man dressed in black.Narrow eyes set too close together undressed her with their gaze above a grin reminiscent of a crocodile’s. Without saying a word, he grabbed her arm, hoisted her onto her feet, and yanked her out into a long hall. Lanterns perched onto walls mocked her with gruesome shadows as he dragged her behind him and then shoved her through an open door into a much larger cabin.
A captain’s cabin.Signor Arturo Della Morte set down his quill pen and rose from his chair behind an elaborately carved wooden desk. He flicked bejeweled fingers at the man behind her, and within seconds, the door slammed shut. A jolt of fear shrieked down Emeline’s spine, as dizziness spiraled through her head.
“Please, sit,Signorina.” He gestured to a chair upholstered with red velvet before the desk.
