The Bargain (11 page)

Her Gareth. What a fine time to claim him. "Precious, don't waste your breath. The Xhosa will burn this place down first. She'll lose her livelihood. It's the only thing she cares about."
 

Precious nodded and came back down to Gareth's brow. "I'm not going to let you die in here, you hear me." She took his hand in hers and pointed his rapier at the Madame. "She's been keeping the chief hostage."

Mrs. Branddochter looked unnerved, almost frightened. Precious with his weapon in hand was a little scary.

"Lord Welling, the girl is nuts. She said you manhandled her."

Precious lifted his sword and looked like she might actually use it. "I said nothing of the sort. I let this snake go on with her foolishness to find the Xhosa. I had to save Port Elizabeth for you. I needed to do something for the finest man I know."

His heart warmed, but he leaned over and grasped her about her ankles. "No need to slice anyone up."

Feeling faint, he fell over. "Precious, get some cloth or bandages."

She spun. Indecision crossed her features. "Cai De, I need some bandages!"

Gareth tried to press the shawl into the bullet hole, but he couldn't feel anything.

When he refocused, Precious had cloth from two women. They held it in place while she tore at his shirt.
 

"It went straight through, but we have to stop the bleeding. We must clean good to keep the fever away." There was hope in Precious's voice as she spilled brandy on his wound. "I'm going to make you better."

He couldn't hold in the wince. "Such a waste of liquor. How 'bout a sip?"

She bent down and kissed his lips. "I'm going to take care of you." She ripped the cloth and wrapped it about him."

The sounds of the horns made the house rumble. Xhosa horns. He tried to sit up, but didn't have the strength. "It's too late."

Mrs. Branddochter leaned over him. "I didn't want trouble."

Mzwamadoda plodded back up the stairs. "A war is going to happen because my people believe the chief and his daughter are captive. The Madame woman will be the death of your people, Welling."

Once more, he tried to sit up. "There has to be a way to get to Bezile."

Tears streamed down Precious's face. "Don't move, Gareth."

"It's not about me anymore, Precious." He tried to mouth, all that was in his heart. "Love you, crazy woman."
 

Precious took her fingers sticky with Gareth's blood. She wiped it against her brow. "Your crazy woman. I'm not letting your legacy die."

The horns blared again. Precious shook her head and rose up from Gareth. If he was going to die, he'd know that his life work would be saved. "Mzwamadoda, can you go tell him that their chief is here? The daughter is here."

"Bezile is set to kill. At this point, only the chief himself could stop him. And he's
 
in too bad of form to move."

Gareth coughed. His face looked ashen. "Maybe there is someone else." His hand raised and pointed. "Thembeka, go stop the war."

The princess had come up the stairs. Her pretty face held the deepest frown. Maybe Gareth's bloodshed would change her care-for-nothing attitude about the war.

Precious rushed to her. "The Xhosa are about to attack. They have to know you've been held captive here not Port Elizabeth."

Mrs. Branddochter came to them. "Girl, you need you stop this. I don't want no trouble."

Thembeka folded her arms about her, creasing her silvery moss colored dress. "Mrs. Branddochter is not holding us hostage. She is my aunt. She has given us respite in spite of what you English have done to my father."

The madame's snide veneer collapsed. Fear trembled her lips. "Are they going to attack, girl?"

"Maybe."

"They will kill me too. Did you think about that, girl?" Mrs. Branddochter took Cai De's hand and ran to the room where she kept all the girls. "Ladies, we need to get out. Thembeka has killed us all."

In a low voice, Thembeka said, "Maybe they should destroy this brothel too for what my aunt has done to women."
 

The princess turned as if she was going to head back down the stairs. Precious panicked. The princess couldn't leave. Something had to be done.

Precious came to this house of sin to save Port Elizabeth. She didn't matter. Her flesh didn't. She'd go out to meet the Xhosa herself and die trying to help. "Wait, Thembeka."

Gareth looked at her. There was love in his eyes as he gazed at her but his strength was leaving.
 

She lifted his rapier. "Thembeka, you will go set this all straight. You have to tell the truth. They will listen to her, won't they Mzwamadoda?"

"I am going to sit with my father."

Precious took her arm. "I said, you are going to set this right. Gareth can't die without his Port Elizabeth living."

Thembeka shook free. "I don't care. And take your hands from a Xhosa's chief's daughter."

Think Precious. What would Gareth say to her if he was able? She looked around and then it came to her as shiny as the sword in her hands. It was all about worth. "Go to him. Let him see the coward you are before he dies."

Mzwamadoda stepped in front of Precious. "Please don't talk to my cousin like that. She's young and woman. What can she do?"

Thembeka spun and poked him in the arm. "You take that back, both of you."

Precious came forward held out her hands that were stained with Gareth's blood. "I know the hate you have inside. I have it too. All these men, even a relative has stolen your dignity. You hate them and you hate yourself."

The princess balled her fists. She nodded.
 

"You are bigger than your pain. There is evil out there, in here." She pointed to her chest. "But you are bigger than the pain. Come with me. Let's show them."

"The Precious one is right. You know your father wouldn't want the innocents to die, mate."

"If you call me mate one more time, I will take this one's rapier to you."

The sound of the horns grew louder. The Xhosa had to be close.
 

Gareth pushed up for a moment then fell back. His head banged on the floor. Precious felt every ounce of his pain. "Careful with my rapier. All lives matter, even the ones who've wronged you. Go stop this war, brave daughter of Zifihlephi, Chief of the Xhosa."

Precious looked at the unconscious Grossling. She had to suck in a breath to keep from wretching.

Almost panting, she took Thembeka's hand. "Set aside the pain, the hurt. Come with me and save Port Elizabeth. My friend, she reads to me about a queen. Esther went against fear to save life. Come on, princess."

Precious turned to Mzwamadoda. Help Gareth to live until I get back. Her eyes locked with Gareth's. Maybe he knew how she felt for him, always would feel for him.
 

Rapier raised, Precious and Thembeka ran out of the brothel. They charged up the path from the brothel, waving their arms and shouting.

The horn blowing stopped. A few of the lead horses charged down the hill.

Thembeka took hold of the rapier. "How do you deal with the hate, Precious one?"

The wind whipped up the dust. It flew about them. Precious thought about her half-brother, her enslavement in Charleston, Palmers the hateful butler, nasty Grossling. Then fresh images of Gareth, and Jonas and Clara. The love of that Sometimes God who felt as if he was near today. "I'm still learning, Thembeka. But I know it begins with believing that there is something better for me. That I'm not my scars."

The lead horseman came closer. "Great Thembeka, have you escaped the English dogs that held you captive? Where is your father?"

The princess lifted her chin to the man, big like Mzwamadoda, but with large grey eyes. "Bezile, if you care so much for my father, give him back his reign."

The warrior laughed with a bitter chuckle. The two plume of feathers from the band on his head shook. "I ask again, where is your father?"

Precious stepped in front of the bronze man and kept him from Thembeka.
 
"Her father is sick. He is dying. Let him be in peace."

"Is it true, Thembeka?"

"Yes." The princess made her voice loud. "We are not prisoners. Call off the attack." Her voice gained strength. It became louder, ringing as if she had cupped her hands to her mouth. The words, the sounds were so strange and foreign but held power. The lines of warriors on the hill put their spears back into the sheath on their backs.
 

Thembeka yelled again. Her voice sounded like a song.
 

In response to whatever she said, the line of warriors backed away. Soon the hills became bare. The threat for now had gone away.

Thembeka held her head high, every inch a queen. But the nasty Bezile and two of his henchmen stayed. "Where is your father? He can come back and be at peace with the Xhosa. You will join with me and rule Xhosa at my side.

She reached for the rapier, but Precious held it firm. She wasn't going to let the girl do something reckless.
 

Letting go of the weapon, Thembeka drew her arms to her side. "I will not justify your rule. Go enjoy what you have stolen."

"No, you shall return." He reached to grab the girl and take her with him.

Without any hesitation, Precious stepped in front of her and lifted the rapier so the sharp point would stab the Xhosa man if he tried to come at them again. "She told you good bye."

He drew himself up, escaping the point of the blade and made his horse circle them. "Woman, who are you to stop me?"

Dirt kicked up, choking and blinding Precious. She waved Gareth's prized weapon and stood up tall. She'd defend Thembeka as if she were protecting her love's colony or his son. This young woman didn't let pain win today, and neither would Precious. "I'm the captain's—"

"Wife!" The voice said strong and clear.
 

She turned to see Gareth supported by Mzwamadoda coming toward them. Though he leaned to the side and held his ribs, her love propelled toward her, handsome and in control. Was it an act?

Gareth took the last few paces unassisted. "Go back to your people, Bezile, and let mine be. The peace between my uncle and the greatest Xhosa chief is still in effect."

Mzwamadoda shouted a command to the henchmen. They responded in kind. The language didn't sound like music but the tones and changes in their expressions seemed to be working for the two henchmen withdrew. They moved at least fifty paces away, a full stretching of Precious's fingers if she were to measure it.

 
"Mate, I've seen the chief. He's not a prisoner, and he is more shamed by your attack on the colonists than the loss of his lobes. He's forgiven his transgressor. He's made his peace. Go back to the inlands. Seeing Thembeka not in shackles might make the Xhosa think you lied. Some one else may be bucking for your throne."

Bezile turned his horse. "You are crazy, Thembeka. Maybe you do belong here with the other half-breeds and the unworthy English. You will be sorry."

As the warrior rode away, Thembeka pivoted. "You will all be sorry. I will find a way to get back the kingdom."
 

Her words were whispered, mixed with the fleeting hoof beats but Precious heard them clearly. The poor girl trudged back to brothel. Rage still filled her, and it would only grow worse when her father died. Precious promised herself to figure out a way to help Thembeka and all the trapped girls of Mrs. Branddochter.

Gareth hobbled to her and took back his rapier. He stabbed the ground with it and pulled her into his arms. "Woman, when I get you home…"

She tried to hug his neck, and spied the reddening spots of the makeshift bandage. She pulled at his coat, just as he fell again to his knees.

She lifted her face to Mzwamadoda. "Help me get my man home. I need to tend to his wounds."

Gareth stretched out on the ground, a smile grew from his wincing lips. "Yes, get us home, Mzwamadoda. I need my woman, my Precious, to doctor me now that Port Elizabeth is safe."

"Mate, the Xhosa are not done with Thembeka or Port Elizabeth. Bezile will try again."

Precious knelt by Gareth and applied more pressure to his wound. None of that foolishness mattered. She needed to get him home where she could tend to him, so no fever would set in. He had to live. She needed to feel pure in his love again.

The light outside his lids seemed brighter. Gareth opened one eye then the other.
 

Pain shot through him. His side ached. He sniffed the foul smell and hoped that one of Precious's rues or other weed poultices hadn't been stuffed near his bullet wound. He felt well enough to know he wouldn't die, but the smell just might cause him to lose his composure.

He peaked under his blanket and saw wide white bandages wrapped about his waist.
 

The bullet missed his organs or anything else vital. One thing was for sure, bullets hurt just as badly as shrapnel.
 

What if he lost more than he knew? He wiggled one foot then the other. So far so good. He lifted the blanket again and saw that the rest of him survived as well.

The door swung open and Precious came inside. She was back to her usual mobcap and high necked collar. Nothing like Eliza's gown she'd worn to the brothel. He closed his eyes and tried to forget how fetching it looked on Precious's curves or the look of sheer horror on her face when she stepped out of that bedchamber. What had happened in that room with Grossling? Had she suffered more trying to save Port Elizabeth?

She came close and lay a palm on his head. Her wrist smelled of his pine soap. It smelled nice on her skin.

A sigh sounded. "No more fever, but he hasn't awakened. Please, Sometimes God, let him be well again."

Between his lashes, he watched her float about praying aloud. He must've given her some kind of scare. When she started wiping at her eyes, he coughed to let his voice sound strong. "Lass, you seem to be fretting over a little metal."

She pivoted and gazed at him. Her lip, that full tender work of art, quivered. "I've been so worried, Gareth."