Would she tell Phoebe the truth of what had happened? It was almost impossible to imagine keeping anything from the woman who had been her dearest friend for so long. Someone who shared her life in its most intimate details.
The door opened behind her and Anthony came in. “I have to close the windows and draw the curtains.” His voice was cool and neutral. “And I’m afraid you must stay in here. Our destination is secret. No one who is not of this ship can be aware of it.”
He was almost accusing her of treachery. Anger was a much easier emotion to indulge than the wretchedness of a revulsion she could not explain.
“I know it must be somewhere above the cliff path where I fell,” she retorted. “It’s insulting to imagine I would betray your anchorage to anyone.”
He shrugged indifferently and leaned over her to pull the windows closed.
Immediately Olivia slid off the window seat, ducking beneath his arm as she moved away from him. It was as if she could not bear to be near him; a muscle twitched in Anthony’s cheek and his eyelid flickered, but Olivia was not looking at him and saw nothing.
He drew the curtains across and the light was immediately muted. “We will reach our anchorage just after dark.”
He struck flint on tinder and lit the oil lamp above the bed. “I need to remove the stitches from your leg. I would leave them for your own physician, but the farmer’s family who have been caring for you these last days would not have had the skill to stitch the wound themselves or the coin to pay a physician. There would be questions.”
“It seems illogical that you trust me enough to lie about what happened on this ship, and yet you insist upon hiding your anchorage from me.”
Anthony had taken the wooden casket from the cupboard. He said in a tone of near indifference, “I trust your instincts for self-preservation. I can’t imagine that you would risk the scandal that would result from the truth of your disappearance, however careless you say you are of your reputation. But if you do so choose, then what you know will do me no harm, as long as you do not also know how to find me and my ship.”
Olivia thought now that even if she could explain why things had changed between them, it would make no difference. This man had no forgiveness, no compassion, no understanding in his eyes. She had offended him and that was sufficient. But how could she have been so mistaken in him? And yet in all honesty she knew that he must also be feeling that way about her. She had shown him a person who didn’t exist, one who could embrace entrancement and yield to passion. So she had deceived him.
“Come.” He opened the box and took out a pair of thin scissors. “This will take no time.”
Olivia raised her skirt and petticoat and this time there was no suppressed excitement, no sense of a dangerous lust. It was a matter-of-fact business that, as he had said, took no time at all.
He closed the casket with a snap. “Adam will stay with you to ensure that you’re not tempted to draw back the curtains.”
“I need no jailer,” Olivia protested. “I will not look if you do not wish it.”
He paused at the door. “If you will not give me your confidence, how should you expect me to give you mine?”
She had no answer and turned from him with a shake of her head.
Adam came in with a large basket of mending. He sat stolidly on the window seat and began to sew. After a minute Olivia returned to her cogitations over the charts.
Wind Dancer crept along the coastline, tucked beneath the cliff in the deep channel known only to island mariners. In the shadow of evening she passed St. Catherine’s Point. As the sun dipped well below the horizon she slid past small deserted coves under minimal sail. And then she vanished into the cliff.
Olivia felt the cessation of motion. She heard the rattle of the anchor chains. Adam had refilled the oil lamp several times during the hours they’d been immured in the cabin. He had offered no conversation and Olivia herself had been disinclined for any. She had lost herself in the charts until they were as easy to read for her as for any experienced mariner.
“Reckon we’d best get ready to go on deck.” Adam broke the long silence, laying aside his needlework.
Olivia followed him on deck. It was very dark and she could see only the faintest sliver of sky and the smallest pinprick of a star. Almost as if they were in some kind of a cave. The night air was warm and felt enclosed. Very different from the brisk freshness of the open sea. But it was still sweet, and she could detect scents of sea pinks, the warm grass of the clifftop, honeysuckle and clover. They may not have landed, but land was not far distant.
“Are you ready?” The master of Wind Dancer spoke at her shoulder and she turned her head, meeting the steady gaze of those deep-set gray eyes.
A wash of sadness, of remorse, of longing for what might have been surged over her. “Forgive me,” she said involuntarily.
“For what?”
It was so cold, so unforgiving. Wordlessly she just shook her head.
“Can you climb over the rail?”
“Yes.”
“The boat’s waiting below. I’m afraid they’re going to have to cover your eyes until you’re put ashore.”
Olivia made no response. What could it possibly matter now what they did? She went to the rail and looked down in the darkness to the small single-masted bobbing boat. “Should I go now?” Her voice was without inflection.
“Yes.” He offered her no help as she swung over the rail and lowered herself into the boat. She looked up at him. His face was pale in the darkness, his eyes glittering like gray ice. Then he took the kerchief from around his neck, balled it tightly, and tossed it down into the boat. One of the crew picked it up.
The linen was warm over her eyes. The scent of him was so powerful her stomach dropped. She inhaled in the soft darkness and there was a space, a clear space where entrancement was so strong, so clear, that the horror of the past was no longer there. She could feel his body against hers, his hardness against her softness. His lips. She felt faint, dizzy, and clung to the edge of the thwart.
“You all right, miss?”
The concerned voice brought her back. “Yes, thank you. Will we soon be there?”
“In a while.”
Olivia listened to the soft plash of the oars as they rowed away from Wind Dancer. The wind was suddenly fresher and she heard the crew hoisting sail. She had no sense of direction, or even of time after a while. Someone began to hum softly and was joined by another. It was a sweet melody. And then the humming stopped. Sand grabbed the bow of the dinghy and there was a jarring stop.
“May I take this off now?” Olivia put her hands to the blindfold.
“Aye, miss.”
She untied it and blinked into the half-darkness. She had no idea where they were, except that it was a small cove. The sea was black; cliffs rose high on three sides. But she could see the sky again and the mass of stars. Of Wind Dancer there was no sign, but that was hardly surprising. She’d been in the sailing dinghy for quite some time.
The men jumped out of the boat, hauling it up onto the beach. They were solicitous as they helped her out onto the sand. “It’s a bit of a climb up the path, miss.”
“That’s all right, I c-can manage,” she said, smiling at the man who had spoken. He looked so anxious.
“Ye want us to wait fer ye, Mike?”
“Nay, I’ll spend t’night at ‘ome.” The man called Mike started off across the beach towards a thin white line in the cliff. “This way, miss. The cart’ll be waitin’ at the top.”
Olivia followed, stuffing Anthony’s kerchief into the pocket of her gown.
Anthony surveyed his image in the mirror in his cabin. He adjusted the curling mustache now gracing his lip and with a frown took a dark pencil to his eyebrows.
“What d’you think, Adam? Will it do?” He spoke in the broad accents of the island people.