My Seaswept Heart by Christine Dorsey

jumped to his feet. “God, what are they
doing?”
    Without thinking Jamie pushed out of his
chair. His arm circled the old man’s shoulders by the time Anne
pressed a tumbler of dark liquid to his lips.
    “Drink, Uncle Richard,” she coaxed. “Yes,
that’s it. Everything will be all right.” Her eyes flashed to
Jamie’s. “I promise.”
    “But they took my boy. They took Arthur.”
    “He’ll come back. You’ll see. Just a little
more,” she said, tilting the glass higher. “There now.” Anne wiped
his mouth, then turned toward Israel, not surprised to see him
right behind her.
    “’Pears to me ’tis time for a rest, wouldn’t
ye say, Master Richard?” As Jamie stepped aside the wiry ex-pirate
slid his shoulder under Richard’s and led him toward the door. Anne
rushed to open it and through the wedge Jamie saw a bedstead and
chest. As soon as Anne, Israel, and Richard, who by this time could
barely walk on his own, were through the opening the door shut and
Jamie fell back into his chair. His hands were sweating and he took
a gulp of tea wishing it were something stronger.
    Richard Cornwall was mad.
    There was little doubt of that. Jamie took
another drink and tried not to let those memories of his mother
slide into place. But he wasn’t able to block them out. He was five
when she left so there were few things he remembered clearly.
Except the screaming. And the mad look in her eyes. Jamie blinked
and lurched to his feet when Anne reentered the room.
    She pressed a finger to her lips, then led
the way outside. Jamie filled his lungs with fragrant moist
air.
    “Now do you understand why d’Porteau must be
found?” Anne said when they’d walked a short distance from the
cottage.
    “I understand that your uncle would be better
off in Bedlam.”
    “Don’t say that!” Anne turned on him with a
vengeance, her fists pounding against the hard muscles of his
chest.
    At first too shocked to do anything Jamie let
her anger run its course, only pulling her against him when her
blows became no more than ineffectual thumps. She rested in his
embrace only a moment before pulling away and quickly scrubbing at
her tear-streaked face.
    “He isn’t crazed. Not really,” she insisted.
“Until the Frenchman came there were only certain times when his
mind failed....” Her voice trailed off, was stronger when she
continued. “He was fine until the pirate came. Just fine. And he’ll
be that way again if I can only find Arthur. And if we no longer
have to worry about that...” Anne turned away abruptly.
    When she looked back at him her expression
was composed. The late-afternoon sun caught the coppery highlights
in her brown hair. “You’ve seen what d’Porteau did. You dislike him
yourself. Why can’t you and your crew go after him?”
    “Because I’m not some damn crusader. And
whatever gave you the impression I am is beyond me.”
    “It was Israel.” Anne wiped her hands down
the panels of her skirt.
    “Israel?” Jamie laughed. “He has no reason to
think me other than a scoundrel such as himself.”
    “Perhaps, but he feels otherwise.” Her head
cocked to the side. “Do you recall the last time you saw him?”
    “Aye. He was standing knee-deep in the surf,
arms flailing, howling his head off. And blasting me to the devil,
I may add.”
    Anne couldn’t help smiling. She could just
imagine Israel doing such. “Well, blast you though he may have
apparently Israel thinks you have a compassionate nature.”
    Compassionate nature? What the hell was the
chit rambling on about? He was a pirate, for God’s sake! “I’ve a
notion your uncle isn’t the only one on this island going mad. I’m
beginning to think you all are.” Ignoring the flash of anger that
crossed her face, Jamie turned and strode down the path toward the
dock. This entire incident was like a crazy dream, a nightmare that
he was escaping. As far as he knew Israel was still with the crazed
uncle. But the way he felt now, he