you and I have pressing business.” He looked past her to the ill-disguised gentleman. “Shall we continue on the morrow?”
The man seemed to consider the question a moment before slowly nodding. Another round of quick Spanish followed; then one by one, the rough crowd drifted into the hallway. The last of their heavy footsteps faded away, leaving Isabelle standing in trembling silence before Josiah Carter.
“Sit,” he demanded, standing to push the crude wooden chair in her direction.
Rather than accommodate him, she grasped the back of the chair with both hands to steady herself and regarded him impassively as she began to recount silently the words of the Twenty-third Psalm.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down—
“Sit down!”
Stunned, Isabelle mutely obeyed. Beneath her feet, she could feel the roll of the deck as, outside, the squall’s intensity increased. A furtive glance at the captain’s face showed that his countenance mirrored the ferocity of the storm.
He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul—
The captain pounded a fist upon the table, and its contents jostled about. A decanter half filled with some dark liquid toppled and emptied its contents. “Upon my soul, Isabelle Gayarre, I shall have the answer I seek.”
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness—
“For all that is righteous,” he shouted as he threw his chair to the floor, where it splintered, “I should have you keelhauled and hung upon the yardarm for attempting to defraud me. In my world, the penalty for deception is death.”
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me—
“Where are you, woman? Awaken from your stupor and answer me.”
Isabelle forced herself to blink as she watched the captain reach for a piece of wood from the remains of the chair. He pounded it on the edge of the table, then wielded it over his head like a man gone mad.
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies—
“I demand your attention,” he said, his voice suddenly and eerily calm.
Rather than acquiesce to his demand, Isabelle began to count the amber drops of wine as they spilled onto the floor.
My cup runneth over.
Suddenly the decanter of wine disappeared, swiped away by the hand of Josiah Carter. It landed in a heap of shattered glass. The remainder of the chair followed.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me. . .
“Follow me,” the captain said as he pulled her to her feet.
“No,” she whispered, unable to give a stronger voice to the plea.
Just as his colleague before him, Captain Carter began to haul her into the darkened hallway. Behind her, the yellow glow of the lantern beckoned while nothing but blackness stretched on forever.
Then something inside Isabelle snapped.
She jerked away from the captain’s grasp and stopped short, her slippers still within the ring of light from the lantern. The hem of her cloak swung against the back of her legs, and she felt the coins shift. Mentally, she counted them, tabulating the cost of freedom should she have to cast her garment aside to escape.
But as she watched the fury cross Josiah Carter’s face and saw his hand tremble when he reached for her, she knew no amount of money could save her now. Her only hope lay in the Lord.
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
This thought gave Isabelle comfort as her control slipped away, giving panic and abject terror free rein. She began to scream.
Chapter 7
J osiah clapped his hand over the howling banshee’s mouth and instantly regretted his action. At best, Mademoiselle Gayarre would but harm herself; at worst, her flailing arms and legs just might harm him, as well. All his shouting and flailing about hadn’t worked one whit to cower the lass, and he knew he could carry on the ruse of playing the madman for only so long before
The man seemed to consider the question a moment before slowly nodding. Another round of quick Spanish followed; then one by one, the rough crowd drifted into the hallway. The last of their heavy footsteps faded away, leaving Isabelle standing in trembling silence before Josiah Carter.
“Sit,” he demanded, standing to push the crude wooden chair in her direction.
Rather than accommodate him, she grasped the back of the chair with both hands to steady herself and regarded him impassively as she began to recount silently the words of the Twenty-third Psalm.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down—
“Sit down!”
Stunned, Isabelle mutely obeyed. Beneath her feet, she could feel the roll of the deck as, outside, the squall’s intensity increased. A furtive glance at the captain’s face showed that his countenance mirrored the ferocity of the storm.
He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul—
The captain pounded a fist upon the table, and its contents jostled about. A decanter half filled with some dark liquid toppled and emptied its contents. “Upon my soul, Isabelle Gayarre, I shall have the answer I seek.”
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness—
“For all that is righteous,” he shouted as he threw his chair to the floor, where it splintered, “I should have you keelhauled and hung upon the yardarm for attempting to defraud me. In my world, the penalty for deception is death.”
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me—
“Where are you, woman? Awaken from your stupor and answer me.”
Isabelle forced herself to blink as she watched the captain reach for a piece of wood from the remains of the chair. He pounded it on the edge of the table, then wielded it over his head like a man gone mad.
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies—
“I demand your attention,” he said, his voice suddenly and eerily calm.
Rather than acquiesce to his demand, Isabelle began to count the amber drops of wine as they spilled onto the floor.
My cup runneth over.
Suddenly the decanter of wine disappeared, swiped away by the hand of Josiah Carter. It landed in a heap of shattered glass. The remainder of the chair followed.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me. . .
“Follow me,” the captain said as he pulled her to her feet.
“No,” she whispered, unable to give a stronger voice to the plea.
Just as his colleague before him, Captain Carter began to haul her into the darkened hallway. Behind her, the yellow glow of the lantern beckoned while nothing but blackness stretched on forever.
Then something inside Isabelle snapped.
She jerked away from the captain’s grasp and stopped short, her slippers still within the ring of light from the lantern. The hem of her cloak swung against the back of her legs, and she felt the coins shift. Mentally, she counted them, tabulating the cost of freedom should she have to cast her garment aside to escape.
But as she watched the fury cross Josiah Carter’s face and saw his hand tremble when he reached for her, she knew no amount of money could save her now. Her only hope lay in the Lord.
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
This thought gave Isabelle comfort as her control slipped away, giving panic and abject terror free rein. She began to scream.
Chapter 7
J osiah clapped his hand over the howling banshee’s mouth and instantly regretted his action. At best, Mademoiselle Gayarre would but harm herself; at worst, her flailing arms and legs just might harm him, as well. All his shouting and flailing about hadn’t worked one whit to cower the lass, and he knew he could carry on the ruse of playing the madman for only so long before
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