The Bargain (7 page)

Mzwamadoda's Arabian matched Gareth's gelding stride for stride. I'll ride with you to the town's edge. It will be too light for a Xhosa to venture into Port Elizabeth. The English are trigger happy. I'll let them save their bullets for the battle ahead."

Riding a little faster, Gareth waved him forward. "You're under my protection. No one would dare harm you."

"You might think that. I don't believe the colonists think that." He thumbed his chest. "My dark life doesn't matter to them. They'd rather we were enslaved or dead."

It did matter. Just as Mzwamadoda saved Gareth's life minutes earlier, his was worth saving as well. Xhosa lives mattered. "Anyone helping to save or build Port Elizabeth matters. Go back to Bezile. See if there is another way. A ransom payment. A public flogging. There must be a way to avoid an attack."

"We'll see, Welling. Once you are back to Port Elizabeth, I will go find my cousin and hope he can see reason. But for now, I will make you ride faster. Perhaps, you could still wheedle out of me the details of my visit to your Precious Jewell."

Smirking on the inside, Gareth turned his gaze solely to the dirt trail. Though he wanted to know more than anything what had transpired betwixt the two, he wouldn't give his friend the advantage. Five more hours of hard riding, Gareth would know all. Then maybe, he would say all.

The rue started working a few hours after Mzwamadoda left. Precious watched her friend sleep and the occasional movement of her tummy. It gave her a moment of peace. She took a deep breath, maybe the first filling one of the day. The night Eliza died felt too close. So much so, Precious dared not shut her eyes.

For like that day, everything had been overcast. And Gareth wasn't there. Not that he could've saved Eliza but surely he could've made peace with her. Then Jonas wouldn't have been nearly abandoned for two years. Maybe the guilt Precious had for liking Gareth wouldn't be so strong.

Why did she like that man? Why did he go away when she needed him? Well maybe if she had told him, things could've been different. She folded her hands and almost started to pout. She and Eliza had a lot more in common than Marsdale blood.
 

"Precious." The rue made Clara's voice sound distant, as if she talked in a dream. "Get some sleep. I am fine."

"I'm not leaving you. I've nowhere else to be. Jonas has been fed and went down easily to sleep." Being awakened by the storm and a late night visitor seemed to have tuckered him out all day.
 

"I've made it through the night and most of the day without another large contraction." She wiggled a little on the pillow Precious had put under hips to get the baby moving in the right direction. "Where did you learn these things?"

Precious sat up straight and stared into Clara's cheery eyes. A comfort gripped her. For once, saying the truth aloud didn't make her fear. No, there were much bigger things than ghosts of the past filling her head right now. "My pa. He did doctoring in South Carolina. He used to take me with him on his rounds sometimes."

Clara smiled and shut her lids. "That's nice. It's the first nice memory you shared of growing up."

Precious drew her shawl up tight about her. A chill set in her bones but she didn't crumble. As good as it was to say the truth, it still didn't change things. There would always be a hole on the inside for not being able to call Old Doctor Marsdale, Pa or Eliza, cousin. A sigh leaked out. "There weren't too many good ones."

"Please, dear friend. Beautiful precious friend, get some rest. In a couple of hours, you will hear me yelling for you."

 
In her heart, Precious knew this was true and she feared it. Clara was so nice and caring. And she'd lost so much. She and the baby had to survive.
Sunday God.
Well, it wasn't Sunday, but Thursday.
Sometimes God, please save these two.
"Lord, tell me what I need to do."

A tear sprinkled from Clara's lashes. "I said go get some sleep."

Precious put a hand over her mouth and popped up. "I…I think you are right."

She leaned over and batted a red curl back from Clara's brow. "You rest. Then you and I will fight for this baby."

Clara lifted her palm from the bed sheets and clasped Precious's. "You promise to put this baby first. If things go wrong, my husband's legacy must survive. And you will love him just like Jonas."

Another deathbed promise. Her heart ripped as she nodded. "But don't talk like that. Just focus on this baby coming out the right way."

Clara's fingers became light and slipped back to the mattress. Precious bent and kissed her forehead. Leaving the room, she gently closed the door. Thirty more minutes and it would be fifteen hours since her water broke. By dark, the labor should start again and this time that baby would come out or Precious would lose another dear friend and the babe. "Oh, Sometimes God, could this be one of those times you showed up."

She slipped down the stairs into the parlor. The sofa, the dusted mantle, Gareth's orderly desk, everything looked in place. A portrait of him sitting in his chair, going over correspondences, would've made the room complete and as fine as anything in Charleston or London. Well, maybe not as fancy, but it was good, solely good. No bad memories here. This place had to survive. But how?
 

Flopping onto the sofa, she tried to close her eyes, but every creak of the wind made her lids open wide. She could lose Clara and the baby tonight. If Mzwamadoda didn't find Gareth, he could be lost too. She'd never have the chance to tell him how much she cared for him or how angry she was at him for leaving, even if it was to save everyone. Stupid, heroic, lovely man.
 

Turning again and again for comfort, she fell off the cushions onto the floor. Sleep wasn't to be hers. She stood, dusted off her skirts and went to the window. Maybe sitting there, watching the sun set on Port Elizabeth would restore her calm.

Parting the curtains, she saw a familiar blur. The blur took form, a decidedly masculine form. Before she could stop herself, she fled the parlor, slid through the hall and unbolted the front door. She started running.

"Precious!" he called out to her. She ran straight to Gareth.

She hugged him, enjoying the strength of his arms, the earthy musk of his neck, but the pent up fear for his safety, the angst of him walking away, merged with her easy temper.
 

She beat on his chest. "I told you trouble was to come. You didn't listen."

Instead of saying anything, he wrapped his arms about her tighter. She wanted so much to just melt into him and feel that strong heart of his. But how could she get past her hurt? "I told you things would be bad, but you didn't listen."

His man Ralston came from behind laughing. "Captain, glad you're back. But I see you still can't handle your woman."

"Ralston, I know exactly how to handle my woman." He flipped Precious over his shoulder; just like he did the night on the Margeaux when he saved her from drowning.

Breathless, she hung to his back. Blood drained from her face. "Put me down."

"Nothing doing, woman." He pivoted to his first mate, making her head bobble. "Ralston, head back to the fort. Make sure the men are on alert. No one shoots unless we are shot at first. They may send a lone emissary. He is to arrive and leave in safety. Is that clear?"

Upside down, her vision blurred. She couldn't see Ralston but heard the respect in his voice. "Yes, sir."
 

Precious watched Ralston's boots trudged back toward the fort.
 

"Now it's time to deal with you, Miss Jewell." His steps quickened as he marched back to their residence. He kicked open the door and pounded into the parlor. "You just don't know how to do a homecoming do you?"

Still dangling down his back, next to his smelly grass stained rucksack, she didn't have a chance to respond. All she could do was push against his thick legs to keep from smashing into him with each of his movements.

With a flip and a light swat to her fanny, he tossed her onto the sofa. "Woman, I'm home."
 

He dropped his sack, came round and plopped onto the floor in front of the sofa. He folded his arms and leaned his head back against the cushions.
 

They both sat there in silence with the sun fading. Soon the rays would stop pouring through the lead glass. Only the candle's light would remain. Who would speak first?

Finally, he sighed long and hard. "Precious." His voice sounded tight, as if he struggled to sound calm and reasoned. "Tell me what that was about. Mzwamadoda told me you actually wanted my return. I've ridden like a crazy person to be here."

"You should've never left."

"If he'd said I was to be made a fool of on Main Street, I might have taken more time. Maybe even gotten a nap. We will be the talk of the colonists. The captain and his argumentative governess."

He was right. She'd shamed him, but none of that mattered now. He was back. He could save her friend. "Miss Clara needs you. The baby is in trouble. Her water has come out."

He swiped at his brow. Is the babe still quickening?"

"Yes. He's still active, though I've slowed her contractions with the rue."

He stood up and peeled off his jacket and sank on to the sofa. The man was sweaty and tired. The most wonderful man she'd ever seen. "Well, its seems I'm back in time for her. Is she the only one who needs me, Precious?"

She couldn't say it, could she? Pushing up on the cushions, she got on her knees and reached up to his dusty mop to order his hair. "No, she isn't the only one who needs you."

He clasped her hand and pressed a kiss into it. "Maybe you should tell me who else needs me. Is it Jonas?"

The moan in her throat evaporated all her reason.

Gareth splayed apart the fingers she used for measuring. He kissed the soft spot at the crevice. "Maybe you did miss me."

She couldn't be wanton right now. Her friend needed him more than she. "Wash your hands really good. There's hot water in the kitchen. I've been keeping it warmed to prepare. Then come upstairs, and save my friend."

He didn't let her stand. Instead he pulled her back. His powerful arm swept her into a full embrace. She didn't resist and rested against him. The counts of his heartbeat were musical. She could stay like this forever.
 

His lips graced her forehead and nibbled an ear. "The next time I come home, I expect a much warmer greeting. Is that understood?"

Who could think with him teasing her? She pushed at his chest. "Go wash up and put on a fresh shirt. You've a baby to deliver."

He nodded and left the parlor.

Precious smoothed the collar of her smock and tried to push away the feeling of warmth and love bubbling inside. Or the craving to fully submit to the emotions running through her crazed veins. But she shouldn't think of herself right now, only Clara.

At Precious's insistence, Gareth put on a fresh shirt and breaches. He didn't quite see the purpose since birthing was a process that left things soiled. And difficult ones meant a great amount of soiling. He left his chambers at the darkened end of the hall and went back down to the kitchen.

 
After scrubbing his hands for the third time, he plodded back into the parlor. Surely he would pass inspection now. He swallowed. Turmoil built inside. This was again one of those time where good intentions and best efforts didn't lead to success.
I get it, Lord. Let Your hands drive mine.
There had to be joy in this house for a few more hours, if even if war drove it away tomorrow.

Letting his hands air dry, he trotted up the stairs. With a breath and another quick prayer for guidance and mercy, he crossed Mrs. Narvel's threshold.

"Captain." The woman's eyes shone brightly though her voice was weak. "So glad you are safe."

He nodded and approached the bed. "May I?"

Her head whipped up and down as she bit down on a whimper. "No need for shyness now, Captain. Seems we are going to be very familiar soon."

"About that familiarity. For the record, I know some about births. My ship rescued a slave ship during the war. It had women from Jamaica on board. I had to deliver a child or two, but that's it."

The poor woman nodded as she gritted her teeth. "That will have to be enough, Lord Welling. Precious knows some things. She's helped me to last until your return."

He looked over to Precious as she mopped Mrs. Narvel's brow. She looked threadbare, about to fall over with concern. The lovely girl had a big heart. He couldn't let it break with the loss of Mrs. Narvel. Pivoting back to the panting woman, he nodded. "I suppose together, we'll make a good team."

"We're gonna have to be."

He leaned down and started to poke at the blanket covering the lady's legs. Then stopped himself.
 

Precious crept closer to his shoulder. The whisper of her soft breath fell upon his neck again pushing his thoughts far from this bedchamber to his own.
 

"Go on, Gareth. We can't delay."

He stood back and folded his arms. "It's not that simple, Precious. This may not be England, but I'm an English gentleman about to compromise a widow woman to view her privacy. "

The feisty governess latched onto his shoulder. "Clara just told you she didn't care."

"Captain." Clara's strained voice came between them. "You're going to marry Precious. She's the captain's woman. I heard her tell that to someone yesterday. Nothing changes that. Isn't that right, Precious?"

He tried to hide a smirk, but failed miserably. "So that is what you told Mzwamadoda? Well, you made your own bargain this time or did your dear friend hear wrong?"

Precious thinned her lips as if she tried to think of an excuse. She spread her shoulders back. In a voice that sounded almost prideful, she said. "Yes. That's exactly what I told the bounder.
 
Now, help me bring this baby in the world."

He wasn't going to hold her to something said in duress, but she didn't have to know that now. Smiling, he moved back to the sheets. "I'll do my best, my intended."