Herreo was in his bunk, a cup of juice at hand and the healer’s salve nearby. Isabelle raised the bed linen to look at the wound and felt physically ill. Esmé had stitched it closed, not the right course of action for a “dirty” cut.
“What do you think, Mistress Nurse?” Herreo’s mother asked.
“Please let me cut the stitches open. The wound should be cleaned. Please, Mistress Mother.”
Herreo’s mother looked at her husband.
“If you do not allow it,” Isabelle spoke quietly so Herreo would not hear, “the wound will become infected. Even now he should go to the hospital to have it treated properly.”
“If he goes to the main island, he will not come back,” his mother said.
“I think he will come back. He is young and he wants his mother and father more than he wants the pleasures of the main island.” Isabelle looked at Herreo’s father. “Would you rather have him die here or live there?”
“He can go if the master gives permission.” Esmé made her announcement from the door of the cottage. “Go ask him now.”
“Have you been watching me?” Isabelle did not care if her outrage showed.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was coming to tell you that the master wants to speak with you and saw you walking here.”
“All right.” She calmed a little. “I’ll go ask him but let me cut the stitches open first.”
“No. Go to the master.”
It was the worst of medical protocol to argue in front of the patient’s parents, so Isabelle hurried to the castle wondering why Sebastian would send his message through Esmé when he usually used Cortez as a courier.
At the castillo, the servant was welcoming, but when she asked for Sebastian, the man shook his head. “He is busy now, mistress. You can sing, but he is busy.”
“I have to see him. Right now. This is an emergency.”
“An emergency?” the man said as though he did not know the word.
“Someone might die if I do not speak to him quickly.” That was a lie. It would be days before Herreo’s injury was life-threatening. She would ask forgiveness for her dishonesty later.
With a troubled nod, the servant let her in and, despite his urging that he would “bring the master down,” Isabelle ran to the steps and up to Sebastian’s quarters.
She knocked on the door of his study and waited. No one answered. She opened the door and called, “Sebastian. Where are you? This is important.”
He came then, from his bedroom, barefoot, his shirt open, his pants unbuttoned, as though he was about to undress. “What is so pressing that you have to interrupt me?”
He could have slapped her with less insult. For, as he asked, a woman came out of his bedroom. She was fully dressed but there was something proprietary about the way she put her hand on his arm. “What is it, Sebastian?”
Isabelle wanted to scream, yell and throw things. With the greatest of effort, she prayed for wisdom and focused on her errand. She could deal with this insult later. “Herreo is badly hurt and should go to a hospital. Esmé said if I got your permission, I could take him.”
He did not react at first, but then nodded. “You have my permission. Leave, and, Isabelle, I do not want you to come back.”
This verbal sucker punch caught her where it hurt the most. He spoke with such command that she knew he was serious. If she was not coming back, she would leave him with one last truth. “You know, Sebastian, you can have sex with a dozen women, but none of them will be me.”
“I thank God for that,” he shot back. “I do not want your heart and you cannot have mine. I do prefer variety. I thought I made that clear.”
Numbly, Isabelle left his room, unable to think of anything that might convince him. Her patient was her first priority, but as she reached the courtyard a hymn came to her, one that summed up all the longing she felt. On impulse, Isabelle Reynaud sang to Sebastian Dushayne one last time.
“Come back to me with all your heart. Don’t let fear keep us apart. Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.”
Hosea’s song had always been one of her favorites. It was true on so many levels. From God to his lost children, from a couple who are estranged even though they were meant to be together, to a family longing for their prodigal son. For Sebastian Dushayne. She wanted him to be happy and fulfilled, but as she let go of her ego and her pride, Isabelle realized that his choices were not in her control.
Father Joubay had said that one person could change the fate of the world. Isabella had taken that to mean that one kindness would make change possible. But there was more to it than that. The one in pain had to accept the act, accept the love, and build on it. She had given all that she could, but Sebastian had rejected it.
Isabelle left the courtyard, wishing that she could see Sebastian again before she left for the hospital, just one last time.
Sebastian gave the woman a handful of coins and moved as far away from her as he could. “Take this and give Esmé her share.” He could feel anger building and did not care what story this woman took back with her. “I know she sent you here to discredit me with Isabelle. And I allowed it for my own reasons.” That there would be retribution he left unsaid.
The woman’s fright showed in her hurry to leave the room, and Sebastian realized he had never once seen fear on Isabelle’s face. For all his cruelty to her she had never been afraid and had almost always managed to mask her hurt. He did not know if that was weakness or virtue.
Forbidding her return was the most unselfish action he had ever taken. His love for her made her as fragile as an orchid. If she came back, she would surely die, be taken from him as Angelique had been. Better to send her away than risk that.
Weariness stole his strength and he sank down on the sofa and wondered if Isabelle’s God would listen to him. Protect her, he prayed, feeling awkward and stupid. Please. “I am begging.” He shouted out loud and then whispered, “I love her.”
Isabella’s hymn reached him even as he heard a voice whisper, “Tell her.”
“Come back to me with all your heart. Don’t let fear keep us apart. Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.”
Sebastian struggled into his boots, and ran from the castillo. A train of people followed him. The master never hurried anywhere unless it was very important.
“Who is dying?” one asked.
“Has he found something?” another wondered.
“He can’t run far,” a woman observed.
He found Esmé in her house with a bottle in her hand.
“She has already gone to Herreo’s house. She said she is leaving and told me that I have built my entire life around vengeance and for the curse to end, both you and I have to make the right choice. Isabelle insists that I have suffered as much as you.”
Esmé looked at the spirits in her mug. “She is right. I am a healer. Doing my best to see you in pain is destroying me too.”
She poured the bottle of spirits into the sand.
“Will she come back safely if I tell her I love her?”
“Am I seeing the master ask a question?”
“Yes, you poisonous woman. If you have found wisdom, stop needling me and give me an answer.”
“You stupid man. End the curse. Follow her. Your love for her and hers for you will see you to safety.”
He found Isabelle halfway across the strip of land that connected the castillo with the main island. Herreo’s father carried him and the mother walked quickly to keep up with them.
“Isabelle!” he called.