The Bride of Blackbeard Page 7

  Pulling the smallest pup to her, she nuzzled its fur, taking deep breaths...the boys would be in any minute to start their lessons and she dared not let them see her so vexed.

  ~ * ~

  The sun was a mere amber slit in the sky and an autumn wind howled outside the school room door, warning the world winter was coming. Stanzy had missed the dinner hour, but after the row with Lucian, she had no appetite. Besides, the boys’ papers awaited correcting and she needed to analyze her plan of action with Megan. She found contemplation impossible in the estate house, what with the vast array of servants and constant flurry of activity. In the solitary nature of the school cottage, she did her best thinking.

  She slid out her mother’s old notebook containing handwritten concoctions of herbal remedies and common maladies. Running a hand over it, her fingertips caressed the cover gently.

  I miss you so much, Mama.

  It seemed so long ago she’d been taken away. Stanzy found it difficult to remember the time before her death. A time when Stanzy would do her best to stay happy despite the drunken rampages and fights that inevitably ensued between her father and mother. She examined her mother’s perfect penmanship and traced over it with her fingers.

  BANG!

  The door burst open and collided with the side of the schoolhouse.

  She looked up expecting to see a swirling wind, but filling the doorway, was her supposed betrothed, Edward Teache. Her breath left her chest at the sight of him. Gone was the slicked hair and clean-shaven face. His disheveled hair stuck out at all angles. His beard covered his face up to his eyes and twisted weirdly into strange worm-like tangles. The distinct smell of saltpeter and lime and...gunpowder permeated the schoolroom air.

  “Allo, Constanza. I assume you received my letter of intention? Please excuse me looks, I was in a bit of a hurry to get over to StoneWater. Have you collected your bags?”

  “Mr. Teache...”

  “Edward, now...surely a husband and wife should start by calling each other their God-given names...I have already spoken to Hopkins, and he approves of the match as long as you are still to stay on as his children’s teacher.” He advanced closer to her.

  “I am afraid I am already betrothed to another, Edward.”

  “How can that be so? I only left you a fortnight ago, and you were well on your way to spinsterhood then...which I cannot understand with one as pretty as you...and your deformity does not bother me a whit.” That said, his powerful arms swept her into an embrace and he shoved his tongue into her mouth.

  Retching, her fists beat uselessly against his bulk. Her hand pushed against his chin, and she vaguely registered hemp ropes woven into that formidable beard.

  The sound of the pistol cocking reverberated through the empty schoolhouse.

  “Step away from her, Teache. I prefer not to shoot a man in the back, but I will if I have to.”

  “Ahh...Lucian Blackwell. Well, let me guess...are you my rival?” He glared at Constanza. “You chose a farmer over what I could provide for you? And I thought you were the most clever woman I had ever met.” He released her, but not before he had wound a handful of her long, dark hair into his fingers. “This is not over.”

  Lucian kept the pistol cocked and pointed at Teache’s head. He followed him out the door, watching him walk away. Pausing at Constanza’s side, he said without looking at her, “This all could have been avoided if you'd been forthright with me from the beginning.”

  ~ * ~

  Staring out into the starry sky Stanzy couldn’t sleep despite the late hour. The rocking chair in Katrina's room had beckoned her, where she sat wondering how her sister fared with the master and mistress of Hawthorne House. She’d been gone for nearly a month and Stanzy missed her terribly, despite their frequent bickering.

  Will's loud snoring filtered in from the adjoining bedroom. Tiptoeing to the doorway, she permitted the comforting picture to soothe her anxious soul. Jack lay snoring in unison with his master at the bottom of the bed, and the new pup curled directly under Will's outstretched arm. Well, at least one of us is happy, she pouted. And she hated pouting and people who pouted!

  Although she didn’t want to admit it, she was still shaken by the encounter with Teache.

  The door to the servants' back stairwell flung open, smacking the wall with its force. In charged Lucian with a small frightened man in tow.

  “Stanzy, this is Pastor Brooke. He agreed to come and perform our marriage vows.”

  Well, so much for being quiet. “What, Lucian, have you gone mad? When the Hopkinses return, they are going to be livid.”

  “No one saw us arrive, but please, we have to make haste!”

  “Yes, Lucian has been a friend for years, and when he made me aware of the situation...” The pastor’s eyes dropped uncomfortably to her middle.

  “Lucian, you told him I was pregnant?”

  “I had to! To get him to come tonight, and besides, perhaps by tomorrow morning you will be...”

  She stared incredulously at him, but the impulsive fool was smiling from ear to ear, the previous irritation completely forgotten. “I will say it again,” she reiterated, shaking her head. “You are like no one I have met before...”

  ~ * ~

  Later, when he laid her onto the bed, she saw his eyes fill with apprehension, or perhaps regret. “You deserve so much better than this, but I am afraid Teache will return. I felt if we were already wed, it would dissuade Hopkins from just turning you over to him, like the coward he is. When everyone knows we are wed, we will have a gathering, with food and music.”

  Stanzy lay back on the bed and tugged his waist close to her with both feet. “I do not need parties and games. I just need you,” she whispered sincerely.

  The next morning, she felt him slide over to her again for the third time since last night. He raised onto one elbow. “You are so beautiful.”

  The door to her room opened. Bess stopped mid-walk and dropped the sheets she carried to the floor. Worse yet, behind her in the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins stood, mouths agape, staring at the spectacle of the two of them entwined in the sheets...and one another.

  ~ Chapter Five ~

  Lucian sat in front of Hopkins’ desk, his fingers fumbling as he tried in vain to lace his shirt. “I already explained this...we are wed!” Raising his hand, he showed Hopkins the ring—for the fourth time. “I know Teache will return and we both know bloody well he does not take no for an answer with anything!”

  “Yes, I fear for all on this plantation for what you have done.” Hopkins slammed his fist on the desktop. “You should have just let him have her Lucian. This town has any number of women more than willing to bed the likes of—”

  The rest of his diatribe was cut short by Lucian’s fist colliding with his mouth. A trickle of blood trailed to his chin. He angrily swiped it away.

  “That is my wife you are speaking of, you pompous moron! And it is not what I did. It was what you did. Perhaps if you would have put as much time into the tobacco as the bloody storehouse and cellar full of rum, we would not all be in this quandary in the first place. Yes, I know about all of it. Nothing happens on this plantation that I do not know about. I will finish out the year and crop season here, and then I want what was promised to me—my land. Then I am taking Constanza out of this house. If she decides to continue teaching will be her decision.”

  He stormed from Hopkins’ presence. Kicking open the front door, he left it to blow back and forth in the morning wind.

  ~ * ~

  Pilot flipped his head in the air in protest as Stanzy mounted him in the dim morning light. She adjusted herself in the saddle as he performed a skitterish dance, expressing his dislike at having to leave his barn at four thirty in the morning.

  She couldn’t sleep. The encounter with Edward Teache the evening before at the schoolhouse had made her realize how terribly vulnerable she was on the plantation. Teache was free to roam unchecked about the land, nay even encouraged to do so by he
r employer. She felt the rogue could be behind any tree or building on the property.

  No doubt, she could depend on Lucian to come to her aid in a heartbeat, but she was also aware that every day, from sunup to sundown, he was miles away in the fields. Far out of earshot of any cries for help.

  I am going to conceal a weapon on my person every day. The lecher could show up anytime he has a mind to...with that witless employer of mine.

  “Come on, Pilot,” she nudged. The horse quickened his gallop.

  Momentarily closing her eyes as the wind blew across her face, she savored the feeling of sitting atop the magnificent, powerful creature as he pelted forward. Weaving him along the stone walls that outlined the manor’s property, the labyrinth of rocks reminded her of her mother’s homeland—Ireland.

  She wondered if the architect of these walls had called Ireland his native land as well. From childhood she’d been raised on Irish folklore and tales. Her mother hadn’t been a stupid woman. On the other hand, her grandmother had more than likely been insane, not just exceedingly peculiar.

  Alone, perched on top of Pilot, seemed to be another way she could think clearly. She was perpetually surrounded by children, or other hired hands. Her mind was in need of solitude. Something vexed her, something keeping her from enjoying the happiness of her new marriage. The dubious problem pricked her conscience like a thorn on a rosebush. She tried to deny the source of the anxiety, but it was time to face it.

  Contained in a portion of the letter from Teache that she’d destroyed after reading it was: “Ye will be wantin’ to accept me offer, for as ye are probably aware, there be curses that happen on women who refuse a pirate’s offer to wed. And I be likin’ ye too much to hand ye that fate.”

  This was a ridiculous notion, she well knew, and her scientific brain, inherited undoubtedly from her father, scoffed every time the concept entered her conscious thoughts. However, her feelings kept nagging at her, and a sense of dread drenched her heart as she mulled the pirate's words over and over in her head. She had to get control of her mind.

  You are being as daft as your grandmother. Stop it you fool! You finally have some happiness, just accept it graciously.

  She remembered her mother’s extreme behaviors when Stanzy was but a child. Every September, when the Irish festival of Samhain would have taken place in her native land, her mother would make them stay indoors for days at a time, as this was the time the Dollahan would ride. Legend claimed the fairie unstoppable, except for one Achilles heel—gold. Obsession often drove her mother to check outside her children's windows at night, to reassure her tortured mind the piles of coins she placed there remained untouched. Her grandmother had passed down this tradition to her daughter, and although her mother was a Christian, she couldn’t shake the customs she'd been raised on. Stanzy’s knowledge about fairies rivaled her wisdom on birthing babies. She was delivered the teachings in equal measure, each from her parents’ separate views.

  Pulling up on Pilot’s reins, the horse stopped abruptly. Had she heard something in the dark? The gloaming was coming and a hazy light faintly illuminated the distant ground where the earth met the sky.

  It sounded again—the snort of a horse.

  Her primitive brain awakened as her heartbeat filled her ears. A horrid recollection arose. Her mother's disjointed portrait of the Dollohan, illustrated at the end of her life, when her mind revolted against sanity. A fairie depicted atop a black steed, his fly-like compound eyes bulging—searching for its next victim. As a child, she completely avoided the room housing the picture.

  The snort of the Dollahan’s horse is what is heard as he sits outside your gate, bringing with him the announcement of death if his horse ceases its ride.

  In the misty distance, Constanza spied him—a cloaked rider, holding a large, round object in his hand at the side of his horse.

  It is his head, which he will hold aloft to scan the fields for me, and when he sees me, he will call my name...and I will die, her unchecked brain screamed within her head.

  She involuntarily put her fingers in her ears, and still heard the horse’s whinny as the rider pivoted to face her. Beneath her, Pilot pranced back and forth and whirled to face the manor from whence he came. His obedience knew its limits, the horse reared and bolted like a shot in the direction of the barn.

  This cannot be real. Am I losing my mind? The first time in my life I am happy and now I am going daft? What is next, another fantastic fairie portrait from the next generation of lunatics?

  As Pilot whipped her around, from the corner of her eye Constanza caught the rider’s hand, rising to lift the round satchel high into the early morning air. Body curled toward his neck, she urged the horse on. Sweat wet her palms, making the reins slip. Pilot's flanks were white with perspiration as the horse fled on instinct.

  Who could that have been?

  She resolved to tell no one, for fear they would think her mad. Indeed, Father had fastidiously hidden many of her mother’s behaviors from anyone outside their household. He knew of her grandmother’s mental illness, and the fear that it might be passed on in her mother or his children had been a real concern.

  So, she was very reluctant to discuss this incident with anyone. But reconsidering, she felt surely she could...should...tell Lucian.

  Would he really want a mad bride? her brain purred viciously.

  She locked it in the Pandora's box in her mind, which now contained so many secrets she pictured a hairline crack forming in its façade. She decided not to decide. Best to think on it later, when she was capable of more rational thoughts.

  Not thoughts of Fairies and Dollahans.

  When she heard a horse snorting in the distance, goosebumps covered her entire body.

  ~ * ~

  In the schoolhouse the next day, Constanza held the girl’s small body close to her own. She released her and checked the window for what seemed the fifteenth time...where was he?

  She gently rocked Megan. Stanzy’s face flushed as she thought of Sarah Hopkins. Birthing babies with her father, it had been very clear to her—not all women should be mothers. Maternal instinct was not inherent in every creature, as she’d witnessed too frequently in her lifetime. Many babes had been dropped on their doorstep over the years—babies abandoned by their mothers. Constanza had decided men and women contemplating parenthood should be tested for compassion, as too many were so selfish, their children merely represented a status symbol or another pair of laboring hands. They had no inclination that their role was to love, nurture, and help their children reach their full human potential.

  Katrina, for instance, should never have children...

  “It is all right, baby,” she said soothingly as Meg's eyes darted frantically back and forth. Her hands flew to her ears, and her eyes opened and shut against the bright light. The sunlight still plagued her at times, occasionally making her cry out in pain.

  Constanza's gaze was drawn to the chains in the corner of the room. It was her turn to close her eyes.

  The door to the schoolhouse opened, and Lucian rushed in, face flushed from running. “I’m here, I am sorry. I was detained by a problem with the water and the fields. Hello, Meg.” He moved slowly, dropped to his knee in front of her as he searched her face. “You want to go play?” With his left hand he simultaneously made the sign for play Stanzy had taught him.

  They kept Meg between them, each holding a hand, as they walked toward the back field, out of sight of StoneWater.

  As they walked, Stanzy reflected on this man who was her husband.

  Husband.

  Unbelievable.

  She’d been sure she was fated to be alone. Facets of his personality continually revealed themselves to her like rings in a tree, each idea larger than the next, but all still part of a master plan.

  He is so quiet one might think he never has a clever thought. Quite the opposite. When he finally speaks, I am astounded with his ability to discern the character of others.

 
“I hope we can get our homestead finished soon,” Lucian said. “This is going to be a bad winter.”

  “Oh, really. Tell me farmer, how is it you are so sure of this?”

  “All right, Mrs. Blackwell. You may know a lot about how my body works, but as for the seasons and the dirt...well I think there is no contest there.”

  “Please, amaze me.”

  “Well, number one, it is almost November and the trees have not shed their leaves as yet. That is a sure sign that this winter will be hard.”

  Stanzy looked around and indeed the trees were all still sporting the amazing fall kaleidoscope of red, yellow, brown and green. She so loved this season. In England, the seasons changed so quickly that the leaves merely fell off the trees, missing the colorful landscape North Carolina provided.

  “Number two, again it is almost November and it is still very warm. Number three, the wooly worms are almost completely black, not brown. These are all signs we’re in for a bad winter.”

  “Hmm. I believe you need to come and give the boys a lecture on the North Carolina climate.”

  “Well, maybe I will.”

  Stanzy’s head whipped around—a crackle in the underbrush echoed in the still air.

  Lucian calmed her. “Don’t worry, Stanzy, I have a whole plan arranged. Bess and Alphonse are to alert Ben or one of the boys if the Hopkinses arrive home early from chapel. They know where to find us.” Then he changed the subject. “I remember what you said the other night about Megan needing to improve her balance, so...”

  An old tree with a massive trunk towered ahead, overlooking the meadow. A newly mounted wooden swing oscillated in the breeze. Meg wrenched free her hands and broke into an all out run for the tree, whooping with nonsensical words—her language as they called it.

  Lucian caught up and propelled her tiny body forward, sending her flying into the air. Megan dipped her head backward, smiling from ear to ear. Her long, dark hair fluttered behind her like a bride's veil. Stanzy tore her eyes from Megan to regard Lucian. Tears streamed down his cheeks, or so she thought. She could barely see through her own.