Bacon’s voice boomed again. “Cousin William has declared me an insurrectionist and traitor. First he denies me a commission to fight the savages that bathe our land in blood; then he dismisses me from the Council. But benevolent soul that he is, he did grant me permission to beg for a pardon. What do you think I told him?”
“I’m sure you suggested that he take his permission and his pardon and place them somewhere unmentionable.”
Bacon’s laughter rang out, freezing Ceressa’s blood. Moving closer, she edged along the side of the ship but halted when her skirt snagged on a splintered board. Ripping it free, she resumed her stealthy advance, determined to see this Nathaniel Bacon, whom she feared was Latimer’s enemy.
“Kirkleigh, you know me too well. No one is ever as honest with me as you.”
“Perhaps if you return to James Cittie, you and Sir William might be able to work things out.”
“The time for talk has passed. I’m willing to die for my convictions. Are you?”
Ceressa clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Lifting her skirt and petticoats higher, she increased her pace, terrified that Bacon meant to kill Latimer. Dearest Lord, please don’t let that happen. Throwing caution aside, she ran, pushing her way past the startled seamen of the Virginia Princess who made no attempt to stop her. When she reached the front of the ship, she caught Bacon’s eye. Halting abruptly, she struggled to control her labored breathing, afraid her impulsiveness might have plunged her into more trouble.
Ceressa wanted to utter a warning, but Bacon’s gaze paralyzed her. A man of average height with black hair, his eyes held a look of wildness, and they radiated a fanatical light, as did the eyes of the men with him. It was a crew of zealous souls, and Latimer was openly confronting their leader.
“I see I’ve shocked Lady Kirkleigh. A pleasure to meet you at last. It’s common knowledge that Kirkleigh went to London to find a bride—that sort of news travels fast.” Bacon gave her a mocking bow, still swinging precariously from the rigging.
Everyone was looking at her, and her cheeks were ablaze.
“Welcome to Virginia. Please don’t think us uncivilized. Well, I suppose you are right, Kirkleigh. I should visit Cousin William. Gardner,” he yelled out, addressing the captain of the other ship, “come do whatever it is you were instructed to do by Sir William. The day is much too nice a one to spoil with a fight.”
Weapons were lowered, murmurs and mutters rising in place of the earlier shouting. Ceressa’s knees were so weak she had difficulty walking. Just as her legs buckled, strong arms banded about her, lifting her easily. She dared not peer at Latimer’s face, for she knew that he was furious.
“You don’t listen, do you?” Those words forced her to look at him, because she’d expected him to bellow. Instead, his tone was light and teasing, and the corners of his mouth were tilted as though he was amused. Ceressa was afraid to speak, certain her words would be incoherent after suffering through the agonizing fear that Bacon might kill Latimer. Latimer fell silent and purposely carried her toward the lower deck and the cabins.
****
The arrival in James Cittie, or Jamestown, as some called it, was chaotic as the two ships and the sloop came up a river congested with an amazing variety of watercraft and an anchored man-o-war, making the town look as though it was under siege. The landing was thronged with people. Silks, satins, and brocades mingled with plain homespun, linen, and coarse wool. Rich and poor, young and old all crowded close to the pier for a look at the rebel, Bacon.
The securing of the ship brought on more frenzied activity and once completed, Mr. Neathery assisted Ceressa and Mariette into the long boat and rowed them from the Virginia Princess to the wharf. As soon as he’d helped them out, he gave them a quick goodbye, apparently eager to get back.
Given the boisterous and irrepressible nature of the residents, Ceressa wondered where she and Mariette could safely await Latimer’s arrival. Glancing over at Mariette, she realized that the girl was trembling, her face unnaturally pale.
“Everything is going to be all right,” Ceressa assured, even though she had no idea what might occur next. Mariette smiled wanly and nodded.
Taking her hand, Ceressa led Mariette forward hoping to get a glimpse of what was happening. A half dozen soldiers carrying muskets and pikes marched before and behind several men attired in a manner bespeaking importance and passed them as they headed away from the wharf. The crowd broke into disrespectful chants concerning the governor and then erupted into cheers for Bacon who must have arrived at the pier. The crowd surged forward, bumping and jostling Ceressa and Mariette, separating them. Mariette screamed, but Ceressa couldn’t make her way back to the girl. What would happen if Mariette stumbled and was trampled by the crowd? “Mariette! Mariette!”
Her neck ached painfully as she struggled to see over heads and ridiculously high, plumed hats in her search for Mariette. The crowd pressed toward their hero, forcing her to do the same. It had been foolish of her to don so fussy a gown; it was now proving an encumbrance and a hazard. Snatching up the skirt, she hoped to make better progress. Instead, her next step was a trip as her heel caught in the trailing lace of a petticoat. She pitched headfirst into the back of a man directly in front of her.
Her forehead hit his shoulder, and she shrieked. Immediately, he whirled about brandishing a pistol beneath her nose. When she recovered from the shock, she looked up into unfriendly eyes of an unusual pale green. The man wore a black peruke topped with a stylish hat festooned with pheasant feathers. And he was tall; nearly as tall as Latimer. He lowered his weapon and took hold of her arm, his gaze softening.
“Forgive my barbaric rudeness, milady. I thought one of the rabble thronging the streets had taken it in his head to accost me. Never would I have imagined such a beauty at my back.”
“I apologize,” she said while taking in the costliness and superb tailoring of his clothing. “I tripped. It was clumsy of me.”
“How fortunate for me that you did.” Ceressa warmed to his voice; smooth and cultured and unexpected. Though he exuded a touch of arrogance, he wasn’t offensive, and had she not been so frightened, she might have laughed at the way he pressed his scented handkerchief to his nose to block the unpleasantness of the odiferous crowd. The man still possessed her arm, and Ceressa tried to gently pull free. Tightening his hold, his eyes locked with hers. Where, where, where is Latimer?
“I really must find my maid. We were parted by the crowd, and I know she must be frightened half out of her mind.”
“Perhaps I could be of assistance. Might I ask your name?”
Panic pumped through her veins.
Ceressa’s mind spun wildly with the answer. She was Latimer’s wife, at least in name, so she replied, “Ceressa Kirkleigh, wife to Latimer Kirkleigh of Tidelands.”
The man shocked her by cursing then halted himself as though remembering his manners. Sweeping off his hat, he bowed. “Forgive me for my uncharitable words. Indeed, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Straightening, he looked at her as though she’d sprouted warts. Had news already reached the colony that she was a wanted woman? Certainly that couldn’t be, she reasoned.
“And you are?” she asked, aware that her voice quavered.
“Torrence Willshire, Lady Kirkleigh, assistant to our royal governor, Sir William Berkeley.” His name meant nothing, but his mention of the governor interested her greatly. Willshire was examining her again, a little too closely for her comfort.
“I’m glad to make your acquaintance,” she said even as she silently apologized to the Lord for a bit of dishonesty. Sometimes the social niceties were tedious.
It was time to get away from this man, she decided, even if she had to leave the sleeve of her shift in his hand. His intense scrutiny of her person was unsettling.
“If truth be told,” Willshire said, “I’ve eagerly awaited your arrival.”
“Why?”
“News travels quickly, and Kirkleigh’s man, Harrell, let it slip at Lawrence’s ordinary that Kirkleigh was in London in search of a bride.”
Why was Latimer’s decision to marry of such interest, she wondered? Bacon had made a similar comment. “I, for one, never thought he’d speak vows with any woman. Everyone knows Latimer Kirkleigh avoids any permanent attachments. I’m sure that you will soon find that the two of you are horribly unsuited.”
Torrence Willshire was fast becoming an irritation she could do without.
“I can look at you and see that you appreciate the finer things of life. As do I.” To her horror, he took hold of her chin and tilted it upward. “Mayhap I can make you forget those vows you spoke to Kirkleigh.”
Outrage warred with fear as she absorbed his words. Before she could jerk away, Willshire’s hold upon her was broken. She stumbled backward then managed to regain her balance. Latimer thrust his fist into Willshire’s face. A crowd had gathered about them, broken apart as another man, this one of medium height and a solid build, rushed toward the fighting men. Ceressa nearly fainted with relief when she spotted Mariette behind the new arrival.
Willshire dropped to his knees with a groan, but Latimer hauled him to his feet. He drew back his fist as though to hit him again until the man with Mariette caught hold of Latimer’s arm. Latimer released Willshire, who once more collapsed, this time with a resounding thud. The governor’s assistant now wore ruined clothes, had lost his hat, and no longer looked the dandy. Two men hoisted him and dragged him away.
Ceressa focused on the young man who’d ended the fray. He grinned at her, pushing back an unruly lock of dark, curly hair that had fallen over his eyes. Exuding an air of vitality, he stepped forward with hand extended. As Ceressa took it, she noted that his flesh was as bronzed as Latimer’s and his clothing, though simple, was clean and in good repair. He bore none of the unpleasant odors that clung to the crowd and appeared most gentlemanly in manner and bearing. There was no mistaking that Mariette’s blue eyes were fixed upon him. How had they come to be together?
“It’s good to meet you, Lady Kirkleigh. I hope you’re not too upset by all this.” He released her hand and turned to Latimer. “He’s certain to shoot you now.”
Latimer snorted then directed his gaze to her. His jaw tensed. He couldn’t possibly think she’d encouraged that roué.
Without speaking, and ignoring the etiquette of introductions, Latimer grasped her arm. Angered, Ceressa wrenched free, certain her poor arm would be black and blue by the morrow’s morn. Latimer walked away.
“Why are you angry with me?” Ceressa now ran in her efforts to match his long strides. She was hungry, tired, and shaken, and he had no thoughts for any save himself. Tears threatened, but she was determined not to cry.
Latimer remained silent, so she tried a different approach. “Where are we going?” It was impossible to ignore the chaos that surrounded them—the yelling and shouting above the rattling of carts and carriages was almost as terrifying as Bacon.
“Don’t worry.” Looking around, Ceressa noticed cottages of brick and thatch. Ahead of them, in the center of the town, raised the imposing tower of a church. Beyond that was a wooden palisade, obviously the James Cittie fort.
Latimer was forced to slow by a man herding ten bleating goats, allowing Ceressa to look behind her. Mariette was in animated conversation with the young man who’d ended the fight between Latimer and Willshire. A pretty blush brightened Mariette’s cheeks.
“Who is the man with Mariette?”
“Bengie.”
With the goats and their herder now passed, he resumed his rapid pace. Ceressa refused to suffer through another minute of his humiliation as she grabbed his arm, dug her heels into the dirt, and forced him to halt. She met his glare with one of her own.
Suddenly, her world upended; Latimer was no longer in focus, and her breathing grew shallow. Her head ached, and her stomach rumbled with emptiness. Then blackness engulfed her as she fell against Latimer.