He laughed softly at the thought and Olivia knew she had lost this battle. If he believed he could do it, then he would do it. And he would succeed. She had to believe that.
“And when you have the king, when you’ve taken him safely to France, will you c-come back?” Her voice sounded thick.
“I come and go,” he said obliquely. “But this is where my ship has her anchorage. Where my friends are, where my crew have their families.”
“And if the king isn’t here, then my father will leave,” she said, gazing straight ahead as the chestnut cantered across the clifftop. The sea was very blue, sparkling with the morning sun, and the Dorset coast stood out so clearly it was almost as if one could reach across the dazzling water and touch it.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is as it is.” Softly he quoted her earlier words, “Things being as they are. You being who you are, me being who I am.”
“What would you say if I said I would come with you?”
Anthony was silent for a minute, then he said, “I would be afraid that once the dream faded, as it must, you would not be happy.”
“And I would hamper you, constrict you,” she stated, her eyes still on the sea. The blue seemed fuzzy and she realized it was filtered through tears.
“I would worry that you were regretting the life you’d left. Your family, your loyalties, your place. Those are not mine and they mean nothing to me.”
He fell silent. Olivia stared ahead, feeling his hard body at her back. Was he right? Were passion, love, not strong enough to overcome such odds? But they had lived a dream, it had never been more than that. And one woke up from dreams.
“If we stayed on the island,” she said. “If we stayed on the island, then whenever you came back we could live the dream again.”
“But you cannot stay.”
“Would you wish to dream again?”
For a minute he didn’t answer her, then he said, making his voice flat and distant, “There was never a future to this. We both understood that. Be happy with what we’ve had. Carry the memories, as I shall.”
It took half an hour before they reached the boundary of Lord Granville’s property. A half hour in which their thoughts hung heavy and unspoken. As they approached the orchard, Olivia said, “Stop here.”
Anthony drew the chestnut to a halt and dismounted. He lifted Olivia down and held her hands. “I know of no other answer,” he said. “I would not be responsible for your unhappiness.”
“And I would not be responsible for yours,” she returned. Slowly she drew her hands from his. “Say goodbye. Say it now.”
He cupped her face and kissed her gently. “Farewell, Olivia.”
“Farewell.” She brushed his mouth with her fingertips, lingering as if to imprint forever the feel of his mouth on her skin.
Then she turned and ran from him. If he succeeded this night, the Granvilles would leave the island. She couldn’t bear to think then of Wind Dancer slipping into her chine in the darkness, when she herself was not asleep or wakeful in her bed in the house in Chale. Waiting for his return. She couldn’t bear to think of Wind Dancer on the open sea, with her master at the wheel and the deck beneath his feet, his hair blown back from his face, his strong throat bared to the wind as he looked up at the sails.
She couldn’t bear to think of him sailing away from her.
But she must bear it, because one couldn’t live entranced forever.
Anthony stood for a long time in the lane after she had disappeared into the trees. Had he been right? But he knew that he had. First would have come disillusion that would usher in contempt and then bitter dislike. They would have learned to hate each other as they pulled in different directions. There was no place for Olivia in his life, and he could not live hers. But he thought as he turned to go that his heart would break.
Olivia darted through the orchard, heading for the garden and the back stairs, hoping, although it seemed a forlorn hope, that she wouldn’t be seen in her strange garb by any of the servants.
She was so absorbed in her unhappiness that she nearly stepped into the path of her father and Rufus before the sound of their voices alerted her to their presence in the orchard. She froze, her heart banging against her ribs. Cato was talking to Rufus above little Evie’s importunate demand that her father carry her. They were so close, a mere row of fruit trees away.
Olivia almost without thinking scrambled into the branches of a crab apple tree whose massed foliage provided a perfect screen. The two men turned into the aisle and strolled towards Olivia’s tree, deep in conversation.
“How did the king take his removal?” Rufus asked, swinging his small daughter onto his shoulders.
“With dignity, as always,” Cato replied. “Newport barracks is rather more primitive than Carisbrooke, but he affected not to notice.”
“We found nothing at Puckaster Cove, or anywhere close to it,” Rufus said, adjusting his hold on Eve’s ankles as she bounced to grab a crab apple from the tree.
Evie pulled at the apple, bending its branch low.
Olivia shrank back against the tree trunk, holding her breath. Then the branch bounced back again as the men passed beneath the tree, and she breathed again.
She leaned forward to catch the continued conversation as it drifted back to her. The men were walking slowly and she could hear their words clearly.
Rufus was saying, “We combed the area; although we didn’t find anything it still looks a likely spot. A deep cove, deep channel at the mouth, sheltered by two headlands. Shall we set a watch over it? Could you take that crab apple away from Eve? It’ll give her the bellyache and I’ll never hear the last of it from Portia.”
“I’d like to catch the man,” Cato said, reaching up to take the crab apple from Eve’s small fist. “Even though the king’s out of his reach, I’d still like to catch him; he sounds a nasty piece of work whichever way you look at it. Since he won’t know that we’ve moved the king, he still might make his attempt and we might grab him in the act. Here, Evie, this is a nice ripe pear.” He plucked the fruit and gave it to the child, who accepted the replacement with serene good humor.
“Then we’ll give it a try. I suggest we station cannon on each headland. They’ll be positioned to blow the ship out of the water if she comes into the channel. And for the next couple of nights, we’ll put men in ambush on the clifftop. If he comes out, we’ll catch him.”
“I suppose Godfrey Channing didn’t join your expedition?” Cato inquired.
“No. Hammond asked me the same question. He seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Very odd. We’d best send out search parties. It seems likely he’s met with an accident.”
Not the kind of accident they’d ever imagine, Olivia thought fleetingly as she craned from her perch to watch them break out onto the lawn.
Now she climbed down slowly, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. They had moved the king. Tonight Anthony was going to go to Carisbrooke to rescue the king, but the king wasn’t there anymore, he was in Newport. And Wind Dancer would sail all unknowing into Puckaster Cove and be smashed to pieces by Parliament’s cannon.
She was exhausted; her sleepless night and the aching misery of their final parting seemed to overwhelm her. But she could not give in. Somehow she had to get this information to Anthony. But how in the name of God was she to do it? She had no idea where he was going after he’d left her. Since he’d changed his plans, he would presumably have extra preparations to make. He wasn’t going back to his ship, so where would he be?
She tiptoed through the trees to the edge of the lawn, where a screen of bushes marked the boundary of the orchard. From this concealment she looked out at the scene on the lawn. Phoebe and Portia were sitting in the shade of an oak tree while the children splashed in the ornamental lake, running under the fountain with shrieks of glee as Juno chased them, waving her unruly feathery tail. Cato and Rufus had joined the women and stood talking to them under the tree.