Page 102 of The Pirate and the Pagan
She closed her eyes and uttered a prayer. It was for poor Edwin Bruckner, a great lord’s brother being carted off in such an ignoble manner, it was for her own beloved brother so deathly ill inside the dreaded number 13, and it was for herself and her precious unborn child.
She had descended to the pump eight times before she had scrubbed the rooms enough to remove some of their putrid offensiveness. Between buckets she continually checked on Spider’s condition, but he was sleeping heavily and she shoved from her mind the suspicion that he might be unconscious. She had pushed herself far beyond the limits of her strength and knew she needed some sort of sustenance, but she did not dare to rest until she had lit the fire and set the kettle to boil. She would make some tea and force herself to sit and rest before the fire while she drank it.
Absently she moved a chessman on a board which had been set up before the fire. A tear slid down her face. The boys must have been playing an innocent game of chess before the angel of death paid them a visit.
A sudden hammering on the door nearly made her jump out of her skin. She grabbed the pistol, not knowing what to expect, and cautiously approached the door. It was going dark and the lord mayor of London had ordered a curfew, so she knew whoever was at the door spelled trouble.
She opened it slowly. Ruark Helford stood on the threshold, dressed in black with a powder blue ostrich feather in his wide-brimmed cavalier’s hat, exactly as she had seen him the first time they’d met. Her heart turned over in her breast at sight of him. His eyes were blazing with anger. He shoved the door open all the way and demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doing in a place like this?” He grabbed her roughly. “I’m taking you out of here now, this minute, madame.”
“No, Ruark, I can’t leave,” she said wearily.
He raised his voice. “I’ve nearly gone mad looking for you. Finally I broke into Cockspur Street and found this address on a piece of paper. If you don’t give a damn about yourself, at least think of my child! To be in London this week is your death warrant.”
Her heart cried out to him to take her into his arms because she was so afraid, but her lips uttered very different words. “So all you care about is this baby—you don’t give a tinker’s damn about me!”
“Like a bloody fool I ran all over Salisbury looking for you and now, to add insult to injury, I’ve spent two days running all over London for you.”
“Why were you looking for me—to tell me the annulment has gone through?” she demanded sarcastically.
He was so angry he lied. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it has.”
“Oh,” she whispered, all the wind taken from her sails.
As he looked at her he saw her face was tinged with gray like a dirty gown. Her beautiful hair was a disheveled mess and she looked weary beyond belief. “Are you coming or do I have to carry you?” His voice brooked no disobedience.
She raised her pistol and said between her teeth, “Get the hell out of here, Helford, or I’ll blow your bloody head off!”
The anger set like stone in his face. He brought his hand up and struck her in the face. She fell down and at the same time pulled the trigger. As the acrid smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils she thought wildly, I’ve killed him … I love him! The ball had ripped open the shoulder of his coat. It was the only damage apart from his pride. He snatched the gun from her. “I’m going to beat you for that,” he said very deliberately, and reached down for a handful of her hair.
Remembering his violent temper, she cried out, “Ru, please help me … my brother is dying with plague.” She buried her face in her hands and began to sob brokenly.
“My God,” he said hoarsely, and stepped over the threshold to pick her up. He carried her to the fire and gently sat her in a chair. His nose had already told him what she had been battling all day.
“When I got here, I found Edwin already dead,” she choked.
“Young Edwin Bruckner?” he asked in disbelief.
“I had to get rid of the body … the death cart came … I had to do it, Ruark.” She clutched at him.
“Of course you did. The plague doesn’t respect wealth or title, sweetheart, that’s why I have to get you out of here. I have my coach and driver below.” He brushed back her hair and stroked the cheek he had slapped so hard. “Darling, listen to me. I’ll get Spencer a nurse. I wouldn’t let you stay here even if you weren’t in a delicate condition.”
She shook her head. “I won’t leave him.”
“You will die if you stay,” he said emphatically.
“Then I will die,” she said simply.
He knew she meant it. Every instinct told him to pick her up and forcefully remove her from such a pest hole, yet he knew if he did so, she would hate him forever. He took off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “If you are staying, I’m staying with you. Where is he?”
“No,” she cried. “You will die if you stay.”
“Then I will die,” he said flatly.
She laughed through her tears. “Come, he’s been sleeping for hours.”
Ruark strode up to the bed and was alarmed at the dark red flush on the boy’s face. “He’s not asleep, Summer … I think he’s unconscious. He cannot last much longer. The choice is yours —will we allow him to slip away peacefully or will we try to revive him and put up a hell of a battle with the Grim Reaper? A battle, I might add, which we’ll probably lose in the end.”
“Fight and survive or fight and die … we’ll fight, I know no other way.”
