She dropped the stick at Olivia’s feet and looked up at her expectantly. “Fetch Portia,” Olivia said, bending to pat the dog. “Go fetch Portia.”
Juno’s bright eyes looked intelligently at her, but she didn’t move, merely picked up the stick and dropped it again in invitation.
“Stupid dog!” Olivia muttered. “You know what Go fetch means, and you know who Portia is.”
Juno gave a short hopeful bark.
Olivia put a hand on the dog’s collar. Juno tried to pull free. Olivia tightened her hold and Juno began to bark, short, frenzied little yapping barks that meant she didn’t like what was happening.
Olivia held on and prayed that Portia would come to see what was the matter with her beloved Juno. She prayed that it was Portia who would come, not one of the children or worst of all, Rufus.
She watched the party under the tree, holding Juno, who was now struggling for release, her barks more in earnest. Portia looked around, frowning, then she got to her feet and came across the grass.
“Juno? Juno? What’s the matter?”
“I’m holding her,” Olivia whispered through the bushes. “Come into the orchard.”
Portia pushed through the bushes as Olivia released Juno. The dog flung herself on her mistress as if she’d hadn’t seen her in a year.
“Good God, Olivia! Where have you been?” Portia stared at her incredulously. “We’ve been at our wits’ end trying to cover up your absence. What have you been doing? You look dreadful.”
“I feel dreadful. I can’t tell you all the details now. But I can’t come out looking like this. Can you bring me some clothes? I can just reappear then and say I got up very early and went for a long walk.”
“What exactly is going on?”
“I can’t tell you. But please get me some clothes so I can come out of here.”
“I assume this is pirate business,” Portia said. “Should I expect you to tell me?”
“No,” Olivia responded. She met her friend’s gaze steadily.
Portia nodded and she hurried away, Juno gamboling at her heels.
Olivia waited impatiently behind the bushes. To her relief, Cato and Rufus soon went back to the house, dodging wet children, leaving Phoebe alone. Portia reappeared in a very few minutes from the side door of the house. She paused by Phoebe, and Olivia saw Phoebe’s startled glance towards the bushes. Portia came over to the orchard, her step nonchalant. She carried a basket on her arm.
“This should get you into the house, duckie.” She handed Olivia the basket. “But you look such a mess; your hair’s like a bird’s nest and you’re filthy. You can’t be seen properly until you’ve done something to yourself.”
“I was out in the storm last night,” Olivia said, stripping off her doublet and britches. “I got soaked and then I was in a sandy cave…” Her blood surged with the memory. It was so vivid, she could almost smell and taste and feel his body on hers. Hastily she dragged over her head the simple print gown Portia had brought her. By the time she’d pulled it down and buttoned it up, she was mistress of herself once again.
“Did you bring shoes?”
“No, I forgot. Your boots are pretty well hidden by your skirt. You only have to get into the house.”
“Thank you.” Olivia bundled the britches and doublet into the basket. “I’ll join you on the lawn later.” She hurried away with the basket of memories, exchanging a glance with Phoebe as she passed. She slipped into the house by the side door, keeping her head lowered when she passed a maid on the stairs, and reached the haven of her bedchamber.
She looked at herself in the small mirror. She really did look a fright. Her hair was impossibly matted, and when she tried to brush it a shower of sand fell onto the dresser.
Now that she’d reached safety, her exhaustion overwhelmed her. Just the effort to raise her arms to brush her hair was too much. She sank down on the bed to pull off her boots, kicked them free of her feet, and then without volition simply fell backwards. She would just lie here for a few minutes in peace and quiet and think about her next move.
She fell asleep with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed, her head on the quilt.
Olivia awoke with a start, unsure how long she had slept. She glanced to the window and saw with a shock that the sun was now low. She could still hear the voices of the children from the lawn below the window.
She sat up. Her eyes felt gritty, her limbs heavy as if she’d been drugged. How much time had she wasted in sleep?
She struggled off the bed and went to the window. The scene on the lawn didn’t seem to have changed much, although the shadows were now long. The children were still playing in the water; Phoebe and Portia were still sitting beneath the tree. There was no sign of either Cato or Rufus.
Olivia splashed cold water on her face and renewed her attack on her hair. She managed to get the sand out and braid the tangled mess. She dug the grit out from beneath her fingernails and washed her filthy feet. Then, feeling relatively respectable, she took up a book in an effort to appear to be behaving quite normally and went downstairs and out onto the lawn.
“Woken up at last.” Phoebe assessed her with an experienced glance as she gathered a blue-lipped Nicholas into a towel. “You were so deeply asleep we didn’t want to wake you. You slept through dinner.”
“We told Cato that you’d been working at your books until late last night and were really tired,” Portia said.
“Thank you,” Olivia said. “Did he mind?”
“He didn’t seem to. It’s not as if he’s not used to it.”
“No,” Olivia agreed.
“I won’t ask what’s going on,” Phoebe said.
“What the eye don’t see, the ‘eart don’t grieve over,” Portia observed with a half smile.
“Precisely,” Olivia said, sitting down on the grass beside them.
She opened her book. Her head was clear now, the mists of sleep dissipated. It was perhaps an hour to sunset. Anthony was not going to make his move until after ten. He’d told Adam to make sure that the frigate was in the cove by ten.
A company of soldiers, and cannon to dismast Wind Dancer. While Anthony was on a fruitless rescue mission, he would lose his ship. He would go back to the beach and run into an ambush.
Olivia’s eyes remained on her book and she turned the pages at regular intervals although she read not a word as her mind raced, examining and discarding possibilities. The Barkers would know if it was possible to stop Wind Dancer from sailing into the trap. The flag at the oratory, if it could be seen at night, would bring someone from the ship, but they needed a much more urgent means of communication. There was no time for the leisurely progress of the sailing dinghy to and from the chine. But there must be some other kind of signal. If Mike was there, he would know.
Her mind filled with rioting images of soldiers with pikes and muskets, of the sound of cannon and the crash of a fallen mast.
She closed her eyes and was back with Anthony in his little boat as he ran it up on the beach. She knew the maneuvers so well now. She could almost feel the grab of the sand beneath the boat. She could see him as he jumped over the side, barefoot, the knee buckles of his britches catching the light as he hauled the boat higher on the sand. He was laughing, his crooked teeth flashing in the brown face. A lock of hair the color of golden guineas flopped over his eyes as he bent to his task, and he brushed it aside with a swift careless movement of his long, strong hand.
She could see him. She could smell him. The memory image was so vivid, so powerful, her senses swam.
“Olivia? Olivia!”
Portia’s imperative tone shattered the dream memory into shards of longing.
“Forgive me. I was daydreaming.”
“That was fairly obvious, duckie. In fact, I thought you were asleep. It’s time for supper.”
Olivia became aware of nursemaids retrieving their charges and wondered how she hadn’t noticed either the summons that had brought them or their arrival. Childish protests rose on the air as the little ones were borne away.