Sleep refused to come to Ceressa as she lay in the cabin. After sharing the evening meal with her, the loquacious captain, and his officers, Latimer had excused himself. And Ceressa hadn’t seen him since. She wondered where he planned to sleep.
It was odd that she missed him. She was too frightened to sleep, afraid that Charles Herrington would appear in her dreams. Shuddering, she sat up and drew the coverlet about her considering the choices she’d made. Would it have been better to remain in London and take her chances? If she had demanded that Sir Geoffrey be sent for, would the drunken men have complied? If they had, she might well be in Cornwall searching for her parents. Instead, she was moving closer to Virginia.
A sob rose, but she choked it back. This wasn’t the time to feel sorry for herself. She had to work through the difficulties just as her father always told her, and she was not alone—she had God by her side. When they reached Virginia she would entrust a letter to Captain Stokeley to give to Sir Geoffrey. As soon as her godfather learned of her plight, he’d know exactly what to do. He might even come.
That thought calmed her, giving a glimmer of hope in a terrifying situation. But even as she tried to see Sir Geoffrey in her mind, another man’s face kept intruding, one with a jaw of iron, the glittering eyes of a dragon, and the thick waving hair of a Samson no Delilah would ever trick. Her pulse hammered as she recalled that moment on deck when she thought he would kiss her. What if he had? What would she have done? What drew her to this man who one minute made her furious and in the next made her want to fall into his arms?
“Latimer,” she whispered angrily into the darkness, her hands curling into fists even though the action caused her injured one to ache. Flinging off the warm cover, she snatched up her new cloak as her feet hit the cold floor.
Unconcerned that she was barefoot, she moved cautiously to the door and left the cabin. A lamp was lit in the companionway, and she had little trouble finding the steps that would take her up on deck.
The moon was hidden by scudding clouds. A few stars hung suspended in the murky heavens like a string of tiny pearls, playing a sort of celestial hide and seek. Moving silently to the rail, she leaned over, the wind whipping her cloak so fiercely that had the cord not been tied about her throat, it would surely have been snatched from her. There was something magnificent and marvelous about the waves, the crests forming foamy specters in the midnight blackness as they were tossed to and fro by the heightening wind.
Ceressa could feel God’s power. The events that had brought her to this moment seemed beyond her control, but she knew God would never forsake her. For some reason, He’d brought her to this point; therefore, she had to trust He would bring her through.
“You shouldn’t be out here. There’s going to be a storm. Go back to your cabin.” Ceressa didn’t have to turn around to know Latimer spoke.
“You don’t have to order me as though I’m your lackey.” The fractious wind chose that moment to unleash a gust that nearly lifted her off her feet.
Growling unintelligibly, Latimer wrapped his arm about her waist and hauled her from the rail. After removing her to safety, he kept his arm about her. She hated to admit it, but it was most welcome.
“What if you’d been blown over the side just then?”
“You would have been forced to find someone else to wear the clothes in the trunks.” The words flew from her mouth before she thought.
“I’ll have none of your flippancy.”
Ceressa jutted her chin.
Grasping her shoulders, he shook her a little. He was doing that a lot. “I was nearly frightened out of my mind.”
“You, frightened? I can’t picture you as ever being frightened.”
“Don’t think I haven’t known fear. But each time, I learn something new about myself.”
“Why make your home in Virginia? You could bring your niece to England. You say you have found contentment in that place, but it seems your presence in the colony is some sort of punishment you’ve imposed upon yourself.”
“Living in Virginia is not a punishment. I want to be there. Once I saw the land, I fell in love with it; the fertile soil, the lofty, soaring trees; the mighty James ebbing and flowing on its journey to the bay. When you see it, you’ll understand.”
Ceressa shivered; the cold of the wooden deck had at last penetrated her feet and chilled her entire body. Latimer looked down. “Where are your slippers?”
“I didn’t bother to put them on,” she admitted, feeling childish and stupid.
Drawing her to the crate she’d sat upon that afternoon, he forced her to sit while he took a seat on another. To her surprise, he took possession of an ankle and raised her foot, propping it on his knee. Cradling it between his calloused hands, he began to vigorously rub the sole of her frigid foot.
“I am sorely pressed in deciding if you’re just simply careless or dimwitted.”
“I am neither.” She glared. He ignored her. Methodically, he rubbed the warmth back into her foot. His ministrations felt wonderful.
Latimer silently massaged her other foot until Ceressa’s curiosity got the better of her. “How did Cameron come by the land in Virginia?”
“He was deeded the property by the first Charles for loyalty and service. The property was stripped away by Cromwell then given back to me as Cameron’s male heir after Charles II regained the throne.”
“Though I recall little of the events, I’ve heard my parents speak of it. How terrifying that time must have been for you and Constance.”
“The pages of history are filled with the tales of those who lost lives needlessly. When one wrests power from another, those loyal to the deposed bear the consequences. This Bacon reminds me a great deal of Oliver Cromwell, which is why I strongly disagree with his methods. No good can come of such extremity. One thing I’ve learned is that one cannot be hotheaded in a time of crisis.”
“Why must this Bacon stir up trouble between the colonists and the governor?”
“Bacon has a score to settle. His home was attacked by the Indians and a trusted servant was killed. After that, he and several nearby planters decided to take matters into their own hands. Bacon led the militia he formed against the Indians when Berkeley refused to give him a commission. He and his men were successful, elevated to hero status. Needless to say, Berkeley’s popularity dwindled for he was accused of self-gratification. Matters got out of hand.”
“Is there any chance things have improved since you left?”
“Not according to the last letter I received from my estate manager, Benjamin Harrell. It was written in December, and he mentioned the growing discontent.”
“Do you know Nathaniel Bacon?”
“When he first arrived, we were friends. After he made it known he supported insurrection, I ended our association. In all good conscience, I could not alter my allegiance to the governor.”
“Some would accuse you of cowardice,” she said and instantly regretted her words. But Latimer didn’t seem offended.
“Men will judge me thusly, I have no doubt. Though I don’t support Bacon and his followers, neither do I agree with how the governor has handled the situation. I feel strongly about certain issues, but there are other ways to bring about change. I prefer that path.”
“When the outlying settlements were attacked, and Bacon, not the governor, led a force against the Indians, I daresay your preferred path might not prove popular.”
“I’m not seeking popularity. I’m asking men to be reasonable.”
“It’s hard to be reasonable if a savage has an arrow aimed for your heart. If my home was burned and my family attacked, I would favor Nathaniel Bacon over William Berkeley.”
“Those Indians are fighting for their survival.” Latimer’s words held a hint of hostility, and he ceased massaging. “Doeg Indians were accused of murdering a man on a Stafford County plantation a few years ago. When the infantry was dispatched, the soldiers killed innocent Susquehannocks, not the Doegs. There followed another confrontation between the English and Indians when five werrowances—the ‘great men’ of the tribe—offered to parley but, instead, were brutally murdered.”
“No,” Ceressa cried, horrified by his words. The English could be as bloodthirsty as they accused the Indians of being.
“Bacon promotes butchery. Sir William, however, upon learning of this terrible crime, stated that even if the Indians had killed his closest family members and they came to him afterward seeking peace, he would have allowed them to leave in peace. There is no easy answer.”
“Sir Geoffrey told me that Constance and her husband were murdered by her husband’s people.”
Latimer lowered his head, and Ceressa suspected he wrestled with emotions he didn’t want her to witness. At last, he raised his head. “There is prejudice on both sides. Kitchiwanok was Powhatan’s great nephew and was already betrothed to a kinswoman.”
Ceressa had heard of the great chief and his daughter who’d married the Englishman, John Rolfe. “After falling in love with Constance, he openly defied his father, accepted banishment, and chose to marry Constance in a Christian ceremony. Other males of the tribe, who want the white man forced from Virginia, decided that Kitchi should be made an example. They attacked Kitchi and Constance, killed them, and burned their cottage. It so happened that when the attack occurred, Constance was hanging the wash and baby April was sleeping on a blanket out of sight. The child slept through the nightmare and was never noticed. Praise God she survived. There are those on both sides who refuse compromise and choose destruction over peaceful resolution. Yet, the natives of Virginia deserve to be treated with the same respect as any Englishman. That is what I plan to say when the time is right.”
“How will you know when the time is right?”
“I will rely on the Lord.”
“You may be forced to fight.”
“I’ve been fighting all my life in one form or the other.”
Latimer’s words filled her with inexplicable sadness. “Perhaps that’s why I want to see peaceful negotiations conducted by reasonable men. Or it could be I’m getting too old to keep fighting. Some things don’t seem worth it any more.”
“I don’t think you’ll ever be that old.”
He chuckled wryly. “You don’t, eh? How can you say that after so brief an acquaintance?”
Ceressa could tell he was teasing, and she was glad his somber mood had lifted. “Re-acquaintance,” she suggested. “I know you would fight for your Tidelands.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I don’t want to lose the promise it holds. I have this dream of raising sons and daughters who will love the land as I do, who value the freedom and cherish the wonder of molding and shaping a destiny.”
“When you speak, I can almost see it.” Ceressa marveled at the emotion his words inspired. Expectation and hope rose up within as she met his gaze.
Latimer leaned toward her and lowered his head, his mouth close to hers. Suddenly rain drops splattered. Raising his head, Latimer looked up at the pitch black sky.
“You should return to the cabin,” he said huskily. Standing, he drew her up.
“Latimer, you can’t stay out here.” His gaze locked with hers, but he wrenched it away when a jagged bolt of lightning lit up the sky.
“Go back to the cabin. Now,” he added sternly, but rather than take offense, and fearful of the ferocity of the wind, Ceressa obeyed. She wanted him to come back to the cabin, yet she couldn’t find the words to tell him. Turning away, she hurried toward the steps just as the heavens unleashed their fury. As she entered the cabin, her cheeks were damp, but not from the rain—from her tears.
Crawling into the bunk, she pulled the coverlet up and lay there thinking of her conversation with Latimer. Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep though the ship tossed violently, and she woke each time thunder boomed. A frantic pounding on the cabin door roused her from unsatisfying repose, and she wondered if Latimer had decided to take shelter from the storm. Throwing off the coverlet, Ceressa left the bunk. She made her way precariously toward the door while the ship lifted and lowered with stomach churning lurches. Opening it, she was surprised to find a terrified Mariette standing there, nervously twisting her hands. Had something happened to Latimer? What if her wish that he’d fall overboard had come true? No—no—no.
“What is it, Mariette?” she asked, taking hold of the girl’s hands and drawing her into the cabin.
The girl was crying. “It’s Grandfather. He’s burning with fever as are several others below deck. I didn’t want to bother Lord Kirkleigh or the captain as they and the crew have their hands full with the storm.”
Dear God, Ceressa prayed silently, keep Latimer safe.
“I’m afraid, Lady Kirkleigh. I don’t know what to do to help him or the others.”
“I’ll go with you to see your grandfather. Let me put on my robe and shoes.” Turning away, she moved to the chair where she’d thrown the garment.
Then, Mariette cried out. “Lord Kirkleigh, what’s wrong?”
Just as Ceressa whirled around, Latimer took two steps toward her through the door then slumped to the floor.