Echoes From the Mist (20 page)

Bridget wondered if Judith would have the wherewithal to keep control of the family property and not allow it to wholly fall into the hands of her father’s slave trader business partners or the male cousins in England who would use this chance to try and increase their own holdings. She smiled to herself. Her niece was a smart, sensitive girl whose gentle demeanor went a long way towards hiding her strong will. Though it wouldn’t come easily, Bridget was confident that Judith would grow into her role as family matriarch and would be a force to be reckoned with. Bridget tried not to think of Judith’s twin, Elizabeth. The girl’s betrayal had cut Bridget to the bone and was still a source of shame and sorrow.

"You’re looking awfully serious," came the soft voice. Faylinn sat down beside her and the brittle wood shifted and creaked under the added weight.

"Faylinn! What are you doing here?" Bridget instantly scooted closer to the younger woman. She pulled the edges of Faylinn’s cloak tightly together and frowned at her pink, wind-burned cheeks. "You’re cold."

Faylinn laughed. "I am fine, truly." She shrugged one shoulder and looked a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to be with you."

In mild exasperation, Bridget lifted one of Faylinn’s legs and dusted her calf free of snow.

Faylinn grinned indulgently and held her tongue as Bridget fussed.

She repeated the process with Faylinn’s other leg and set it down gently. "So you tramped several miles through the snow to find me?"

"I knew where you were," Faylinn answered reasonably. She stretched her legs, and kicked her feet out in a mixture of snow and sand. "You told me yourself."

Bridget slid her hand out of one of the warm leather gloves Faylinn had given her for Christmas. She parted Faylinn’s cloak carefully and laid her palm on the still flat belly she found there. "How are you feeling?" Her eyes narrowed slightly and she considered collecting some wood for a fire. "Still nauseous?"

Faylinn laughed, absorbing the warmth of Bridget’s hand and her concern with almost giddy pleasure. "No," she replied dreamily. "I feel absolutely wonderful. But I do love you so for asking." For the millionth time she counted herself lucky that Bridget had been so accepting of her pregnancy. It had, she knew, complicated things to no end, but she couldn’t really bring herself to think of it as a bad thing. She firmly believed in her heart what Bridget had assured her on Christmas Eve: a child is a blessing to be treasured and cherished, a gift whose value cannot be measured, and that any future trials they would face would be handled together.

Bridget leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against Faylinn’s, drawing a soft sigh of pleasure from her friend. Then she wrapped her arm around Faylinn’s shoulder and they both looked out at the sea, content to share the gray afternoon together in comfortable silence.

Their physical relationship had not progressed past kissing, and though Faylinn wasn’t sure
what
they could even do past that, Bridget most certainly was. She’d been courted by several young men during her teenage years, all of whom would have been suitable mates and potential business partners for her brother and father. But even then, she’d already decided that marriage was not for her. Her mind, her will, and most certainly her body, were hers alone, and to her parents’ great distress and her brother’s endless censure, she’d outright refused to surrender them to anyone. Little did she know, a pair of soulful green eyes and a young woman’s fiery spirit would capture her so completely.

Whether or not to surrender every part of herself was never a really a question at all.

Bridget’s male suitors had been turned away without so much as a peck on the cheek. That did not, however, keep her from engaging in several brief but pleasurable liaisons with some of the Court’s most eligible young women. She snorted softly at the hypocrisy of these girls, who had privately been eager to taste the forbidden, but in public were among the first to vigorously scorn such disgusting, sinful behavior.

The noise drew Faylinn’s attention from the water and she turned to Bridget, bestowing on her a lovely, youthful smile that made Bridget’s heart beat faster.
Yes, dearest, we do need to have an intimate conversion.

Faylinn turned back to the water, enjoying the salty mist on her face and the warm body nestled close to hers.

The small hand on Bridget’s knee slid innocently up her thigh, stopping just short of the crease between her hip and leg. She swallowed hard. That talk would have to be soon.

"Bridget!"

The taller woman jumped and pushed Faylinn’s hand off her thigh, instantly feeling guilty for her lascivious thoughts. "What?"

"Look." Faylinn pointed to Cobb Island.

Approaching from the northwest was a large ship, sails of all three masts flying high.

"At last." Bridget sighed.

Faylinn looked at her curiously. Her memories of the Island were a mixture of joy and stark misery, and while the many good times with Henry and Bridget went a long way towards canceling out some of the horror she’d experienced, she shuddered at the thought of going back. "Why should it matter when the girls leave the island?"

"Because I intend to go back there and they must be gone before that can happen." Bridget looked at her companion compassionately. "I don’t expect you to join me, Faylinn. Though maybe someday you’ll feel differently. There is a beauty even in the harshness of Cobb Island."

"But—"

"You’ve been vomiting for weeks. Do you really want to embark on even a short trip across rough waters?"

Faylinn turned a peculiar shade of green at the mere idea. Bridget did have a point. "Can I ask why
you
feel the need to go back then? Surely, the house will be empty and your possessions gone?"

Bridget stood and brushed off her cloak. She offered her hand to Faylinn. "Because there is something important there that I want to reclaim. And if I know Judith the way I think I do, it will be waiting for me when I return."

*  *  *

Cobb Island
Mid-January, 1691

Will threw his back into the job and, with a great grunt and as much assistance as Bridget could manage, he heaved the rowboat up onto the shore. The dock in front of the house was only moments away, but Will was worried about the gloomy skies and had decided it was safer to walk the rest of the way to the house than it was to row there.

He and Bridget both dropped onto their backs on the island’s dark-soiled beach, panting from their exertions. They had each taken an oar, Bridget one-handed, and made good time from the mainland.

Faylinn and Katie had flatly refused to allow them to make the trip earlier in the month, insisting instead that they wait until the waters had calmed. Initially both Bridget and Will had refused, but then Faylinn made it clear to Bridget that if she was going to risk her life it wouldn’t be without her. And
that
threat was one Bridget took seriously. This particular trip was no place for Faylinn.

Nearly two weeks of solid rain mixed with high winds had delayed the trip far longer than Bridget would have liked. She had, however, ultimately found herself begrudgingly agreeing with the blonde woman’s sharp words. Coming home
alive
took precedence over her natural impatience. And so they had waited.

The skies were overcast and restless and even though it was still early afternoon the Island was cast in long, ominous shadows. Will took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm.

His muddy-brown eyes surveyed the land curiously and with more than a touch of apprehension. Even with the leaves gone and most of the plant-life dry or dead, a dense impenetrable curtain of vegetation surrounded the island, making it look like a fortress. He scowled. "The view of this island up from its own shores is even more harsh and ugly than from the mainland. The entire place looks damned to me. I can’t believe your brother chose to put a house here."

Bridget snorted harshly. "He chose to put a house here because it is the perfect port for slave trading. Large slave hulls can anchor in the deep waters off this island and avoid the reef closer to shore. Here, they transfer the slaves onto smaller, waiting boats that will carry them to the mainland and the auction block."

"Ah." Will nodded cautiously. That was a good idea. Many a ship had run aground on the reef that lined the shore for many miles. "Too bad the peddling of human flesh is such a nasty trade." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Bridget, wondering if she would agree, despite the fact that selling slaves had no doubt added to the Redding family fortune.

Her face was grim. "I know." She pushed awkwardly to her feet. "Let’s go."

Will called after her, "Where exactly are we goin’?" When Bridget announced she was planning a trip to the Island, Faylinn had begged him to go along so she wouldn’t be alone. To his surprise, Bridget had instantly agreed. She never would tell him exactly why. "Hey! Wait for me." He resettled his hat and sped up his pace as Bridget disappeared into the dry forest ahead of him.

After a half-hour of climbing over brittle vines, and weaving between endless dead branches, they rounded a corner and the landscape seemed to open up, bringing the house into view.

"Gadzooks!" Will’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t get over how quickly the look of the Island had changed and the amazing, undeniably beautiful house he was now face to face with. "It’s… why it’s enormous!" he sputtered, craning his neck to get a better view of the third floor.

A bored expression crossed Bridget face. "Cyril’s architectural masterpiece." She snorted. "If it were up to me, I’d burn the place down." Then she remembered the history that Afia had sworn to compile and hide someplace deep within the bowels of the house. God willing, it would be discovered by future generations. "But I cannot."

Will’s eyes darted from side to side, then he rocked back on his heels and grinned engagingly. "I don’t see anyone here to stop us."

Bridget smiled.
Will Beynon, a rebel at heart? Who’d have guessed?
Despite his grumpy, usually gruff mannerisms, she truly liked Will. And he adored Faylinn. In Bridget’s estimation, anyone who felt that way had exemplary taste and was obviously a person of keen insight. "It’s not my place to decide what happens to the house. My niece is the head of the household now."

They walked up the winding path that led to the front door, but instead of going inside, as Will had expected, Bridget detoured around the side of the house, her boots crunching loudly in the shallow snow.

When she reached the back, she lifted her fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. "Apollo! Show yourself! Apollo!"

Will’s eyes widened. "You’re…" He swallowed. "You’re calling to a pagan God?" He looked around nervously, half-afraid of what would happen next. Perhaps she was a witch after all.

Bridget’s face was a cross between compassion and impatience. "You needn’t fear me, Will. Apollo is my steed. And I’ve sorely missed him."

"Ahh… Whew." Relief flooded through him. "Now that I can understand." He tugged up on his waist of his trousers, a little ashamed at his sudden fear. "Back home, when I was a lad in Wales, I had a brown filly that ran like the wind." He smiled wistfully. "Since coming to the Colonies I haven’t been able to afford another. Mules are cheaper and better suited to frontier life anyway." His voice was somber and tinged with regret.

He scratched his bristly, square jaw. "Wouldn’t the Navy have taken the horse with them?" That was his nice way of saying that no officer of the Crown would have allowed a beast of quality to be set free in the wild, not if there was profit to be made by its sale. Transporting horses from England to the Colonies was an expensive and risky proposition at best. Their price at market reflected that fact.

Bridget frowned. "Perhaps. But I won’t know for certain until I look, now will I?" She strode towards the stable calling out ‘Apollo’ the entire way. When she reached her destination she stopped dead in her tracks. The stable door had been propped wide open by a bale of hay. A bolt of fear lanced through her. "Apollo?" Carefully, and with Will trailing curiously behind her, she poked her head inside the doorway. It was dark and the building had lost most of its familiar scent. Patches of dirty snow covered the ground and the bales of dried grass near the door.

Bridget’s gaze narrowed as she peeked into the darkness and stepped inside. Her heart began to pound wildly and she told herself she had to be strong no matter what she found. She hadn’t shared with Will her deepest fear, that Apollo had been killed. Animals were often believed to be in league with their witch masters and it wouldn’t be unheard of for a horse to be hung by the neck or burnt at the stake exactly as his master had been.
Exactly as they
tried
to do to me.

Just then her gaze lit upon a dark, still shadow in the corner stall, and her face went ashen.
No,
she anguished silently. Her breath exploded from her chest in harsh pants as she tried to make out what she was seeing. Her feet refused to take her any closer.

Then… she heard it. Something in the corner. Her eyes darted back and forth wildly but she couldn’t see what was producing the noise, she only knew it was coming closer and closer.

"Buh!" Bridget jumped backwards as family of raccoons darted out from beneath a pile of hay and made for the door. Her presence has scared them nearly as badly as they had frightened her and they ran in panicked circles until finally skittering over her boots and escaping out the door.