The Golden Cross (42 page)

She fell silent for a long moment, her long hair hiding her face, then she pushed her hair aside and looked at him. “So what do you propose to do?”

“I propose,” he said slowly, formulating the idea even as he spoke, “to build us a raft—something small, anything that will float. Perhaps we can find a bit of wreckage from the barge. We’ll put it in the water, hold to it tightly, and kick our way out to the ships before sunrise. We’ll call out and be brought aboard, then the captain will be free to leave these waters with a clear conscience.”

“What about the others?” Her voice was troubled now. “Heer Van Dyck, and Visscher, and the chaplain—”

“Four are dead, including the old gentleman.” He gentled his tone. “I am truly sorry about the cartographer. I appreciated him very much.”

Aidan clamped her jaw tight and stared straight ahead.

Sterling stood and brushed the dirt from his damp breeches. He couldn’t do anything about her grief. He could only give his life, if necessary, to see that she got to safety.

He crouched by her side and gave her a careful smile. “Wait here, ketelbinkie, until I return. And trust me to have you home before sunrise.”

F
rozen into blankness, Aidan struggled to breathe. Her mind froze with the chilling reality. Heer Van Dyck—her teacher, her mentor, her friend—was gone. Orabel was gone. Like her father, who had carried her away from her tidy English existence, they had come into her life and passed out again, leaving her lonely and bereft.

She hugged her knees to her chest and turned her face toward the sea as a sense of loss welled in her chest. What would it have mattered if she had been abandoned in this uncharted wilderness? Her life, too, was nothing but a mist; surely she mattered less to the world than a man like Schuyler Van Dyck.

She closed her eyes as her mind turned to the last night they had shared aboard ship. “Do not fret so,” he had told her, watching as she frowned at the oil painting of a sea gull she had been working on all day. Something was missing from the bird’s aspect, but she could not discern whether it was the spot of light in his eye, the tilt of his head, or the elevation of his wing.

Finally she had thrown her brush across the cabin, spattering a trail of white paint across Heer Van Dyck’s map. Carefully he picked up a rag and wiped it off, his gentle voice snapping through her conscience like a whip. “The strength lies in the strain, Aidan. God does not give us overcoming life overnight; he gives us life as we overcome. You must learn to master the gift within you; do not let it master you.”

“I’m
trying,”
she cried, dismayed at the whining note in her
voice. “But you make it look so easy. Your pictures are so peaceful, you never have to blot or erase a sketch, you always seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Ah, my dear, you have found the key.” His gentle eyes crinkled when he smiled. “To know what you are doing, you must first know who you are. And it is far easier to sail through a thousand miles of sea and storms than to explore the private realm of one’s inner heart. Look inside, my dear, and discover who God meant you to be. When you discover
that
, your work will reflect the truth.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded and more confused than ever, but he placed the paintbrush back in her hand and urged her to continue. “This shows great promise,” he had said, thrusting his hands behind his back as he studied her poor little painting. “Great promise, indeed. You are very nearly there, Aidan.”

Very nearly where?
she had wanted to shout. She had come such a long way since beginning her work with Heer Van Dyck; she could paint and sketch and see the world with more clarity than she ever dreamed possible. He had opened her eyes to technique, to creativity, and to the possibility that God had gifted her out of love. But she had not attained the level of maturity he desired for her, and now he was gone.

She was still mourning his loss when Sterling returned, his arms burdened with vines and broken wood. “I could use your help,” he said, spilling the materials at her feet. “Time is short, for unless I’m mistaken, Tasman will sail away at first light.”

“What’s to stop him from leaving us now?” she answered dully. A sourness rose in the pit of her stomach. “It is all for nothing. It is no use. We are doomed to fail.”

“Believe
that
and you will never be what Heer Van Dyck intended you to be.” The doctor grinned at her as he knotted a length of vine.

“Heer Van Dyck?” She stiffened at the challenge in his voice. “What would you know about his intentions for me?”

“I know that he considered you a great talent,” the doctor answered, slipping a noose around the boards at his feet. “He once told me that the world would grieve if you did not succeed. He believed in you enough to risk your life and his honor by bringing you on this expedition.”

Mercifully, the moonlit shadows hid her embarrassment. She was neither a talent nor a lady, and now that Heer Van Dyck was dead, she would never be either. He would not finish his map. She would not draw the flora and fauna to adorn it, and no one would ever sponsor her so she could complete her book of engravings.

“Heer Van Dyck was a sentimental fool.” The words hurt her throat, as though she’d swallowed some sharp object. “He thought a great many things.”

“He thought you a great lady—far above the common realm, I think he said.”

Aidan lowered her head as blood began to pound in her temples. Had the old gentleman really said such a thing? Knowing where she had come from, how could he?

But he was faultlessly honest, she remembered. He could not even bring himself to lie when he brought her aboard the
Heemskerk
. Yet if he had told the doctor she was a great lady …

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked suddenly, searching the shadows for the doctor’s face.

“Because I want you to live.” His voice, soft and vibrant, seemed to fill the hollow where they crouched. “Because I see that you are sorrowing, and sorrow will do you no good now. Mourn if you must, but wait until we are aboard the ship and away from this place. Then you can reveal yourself to the captain and know that you are safe. And you can be the great lady you truly are.”

“What?” Startled at the sound of her own cry, Aidan glanced up, half-expecting the forest beyond to erupt with blood-thirsty savages. When none appeared, she lowered her voice and leaned closer to hiss in Sterling’s ear. “Why would I want to reveal myself? I have just resisted one savage, why would I want to resist the
advances of a hundred men until we return to Batavia? Are you insane? I cannot think of a more lunatic idea!”

“You won’t have to fight off the other men.”

“And who will stop them?”

“I will.” His voice was a salt-encrusted croak, rusty with weariness, but still a tremor of emotion ran through it. “Marry me, and I will protect you. No man would dare dishonor another man’s wife.”

Aidan looked up, shocked beyond words at his proposal. But her heart betrayed her—it leaped at his words like a child promised her one desire.

Sterling heard her quick intake of breath and silently cursed his own clumsiness. He ought to have prepared her for this. A lady ought to be gently wooed and won, but he had no time for such civilities. Indeed, he could scarcely believe his own brashness, but when confronted with her beauty, her sorrow, and her passion all in the space of an hour, heaven itself could not have stopped the words from his lips.

“Marry you?” Her words were quick and cutting. “Heavens above, how could I? You are promised to another.”

“Well, I—” He paused, his mind sputtering as he fumbled with the boards and vines. He could think of no honorable way to dispute
that
objection. In truth, every man aboard both ships knew he was betrothed to Lina Tasman. He could not marry Aidan without incurring the disapproval of his captain and most of his companions—excepting, of course, those who would applaud him for recognizing a bit of delectable female flesh when he saw it.

“Forget my honor,” he snapped, furiously lashing the boards together with the raw vine. “Better to let my honor be tarnished than to let yours be violated by the likes of those men aboard yonder ships! Let them think me a worthless cheat and a scoundrel.”

“You may be both, for all I know, but what would they think of me?” Every curve of her body spoke defiance; doubtless he had offended her modesty and virtue. “They would say I tempted you, that I came aboard to catch a handsome husband and did not hesitate to take another woman’s betrothed. Well, sir, that is not true. And just as I would have fought off that savage, I would fight you, too, if you—”

“Be assured, my lady—” He stopped, forcing himself to calm down. By heaven, why did this girl arouse such strong passions within him? He was only trying to help, to save her from an impossible situation, and yet she looked at him as though he wanted to use her like some cheap hussy.

He reached out and took her arm with gentle authority. “Listen, lady, and hear me well. I am only attempting to keep you from certain disgrace and hardship. You are a lady, and I respect you. You need not fear me.”

She looked up, her eyes like green ice, and Sterling suddenly realized that color had begun to bleed back into the air. The heavy darkness had thinned, and as he glanced over his shoulder he could see a definite brightening in the east.

An oddly primitive warning sounded in his brain. The sun would soon rise, even now the seamen were awake and slogging down their morning cups of coffee. In a matter of moments, the ships might bloom with sail.

“We should go now,” he said, gesturing abruptly toward the beach. “There is no time to waste.” He dropped the boards, then reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. “This is the plan,” he said slowly, his voice urgent and low. “We will walk as quickly as we can into the water. As soon as it is over our heads, you must lean forward upon these boards and kick with all your strength. The planks will float, and the vines will hold them together. But don’t look back, don’t argue with me, and don’t worry.”

Her face clouded with uneasiness, but she bent down to grasp one end of the wooden planks, then looked up and nodded.

“Let’s go,” Sterling said, lifting the other end of the boards. “The sun is rising.”

Aidan pushed herself forward, struggling to match her stride to Sterling’s longer steps, the wooden planks heavy and cumbersome in her hands. There were three planks, three thin pieces of wood which would keep her afloat, preserving her life, lifting her to freedom … and who knew what else. For she had not had an opportunity to rebraid her hair. Dressed like this, with her hair curling and her long shirt wet and dirty, few men would look at her and not see a woman.

The sharp shells on the edge of the beach sliced her bare feet, but Sterling’s cry urged her forward. They pressed through the breakers, resisting the snarling waves that pushed them back toward the island, and soon the water had risen to Aidan’s chest. “Now,” Sterling said, spreading the entwined planks upon the water. He turned and spanned her waist with his hands, then lifted her up until she fell forward. The planks formed a raft beneath her, and held firm. In an instant Sterling sprawled by her side, his broad form warming hers, his left hand firmly over her right, holding her tight even as his strong kick propelled them toward the waiting ships.