Page 20 of His Betrothed
Chapter 6
The uncertainty and anger poured out of Roselyn in bitter tears.
Was she always going to live in fear, with never a place to call home? She couldn’t believe the gall of Spencer Thornton to threaten to send her away from Wakesfield.
How could she go back to her cottage, with him there, ready to reproach her for his humiliation, when he should be bearing much of the blame?
Whenher tears finally ended she felt drained. She would not allow him to destroy her life, not when he and his family had already tried once. And to think she had recently thought him capable of charm! He had a lot to answer for—especially his part in this war with Spain—and she would not rest until she knew the truth.
She suddenly realized it was not yet full dark, that anyone could have found hersobbing. Her face and hands—even her gown—were stained with dirt, and she needed to cleanse away her sorrows the only way she knew how.
It was but a short walk down the cliff path to the beach, and beneath the waning moon, Roselyn walked into the waves and submerged herself. She rose to the surface with a gasp, shaking the cap and pins from her hair until it fell long and tangled down her back.The chill salt water soaked through her garments, numbing her emotions until she felt only tired, no longer full of despair. For a moment, she again experienced the odd sensation of being watched, just like the night she’d brought Thornton to her cottage. But she heard nothing but the crash of the waves, saw nothing but the muted shadows thrown by the moon.
She had handled so much in her life—shewould be able to deal with Thornton.
Spencer lay back on the pallet, smelling the stew that bubbled above the fire, wondering what he was supposed to do next.
He held his anger restrained, simmering just beneath the surface. The prospect ofat leasttwo more weeks with Roselyn Harrington seemed intolerable.
In his mind flashed images of the humiliation he’d had to bear: standing on the churchstairs,watching his bride flee from him. The looks of shock on his family’s faces, the laughter in his friends’ eyes.
He had done his best to have the courtship called off honorably by being the scoundrel that he was. But Roselyn had gone too far and committed an offense no one—least of all he—would forget.
With a growl of anger, Spencer slid the knife from its hiding place and pulled the mattressback a couple inches from the wall. With quick, angry strokes he slashed seven small marks in the wooden floor, one for each day he’d been trapped in this cursed cottage on this cursed island. Fourteen more days and he would leave, he promised himself, as he slid the knife back into its hiding place.
Inside the cottage it had grown darker, with only the dying fire for light. Soon he heard footstepsoutside and he tensed. The door opened and Roselyn strode in, closing it behind her.
She was a mess—water streamed from her body and puddled on the wooden floor. Her long brown hair looked black with water, and it clung to her back and breasts. If possible, she looked even more slender and fragile, but she held her back straight and her chin lifted, as if she defied him to speak.
Spencer refusedto ask her what had happened; she’d probably fallen into a creek somewhere. Clenching his jaw, he watched her bend to stir the stew, then climb the rope stairs to the loft, dripping water as she went.
Sometime later she descended the ladder, wearing black as usual, her wet hair bound tightly to her head. She looked composed, if pale, as she removed the kettle of stew from the fire and placedit on the cupboard. He almost expected her to tell him to help himself, but she poured two helpings into wooden bowls and brought him one.
She stood above him, silent, while bitterness overwhelmed him. He couldn’t understand why she felt put upon, when she was the one who had refused to marry, who had refused to accept someone of his heritage.
“Would you rather starve yourself,” she said, “thaneat the food made by my hands?”
“There is little likelihood of that,” he said, propping himself into a sitting position. “I’ll need whatever strength I can get to foil your little schemes.”
“I have no schemes.” Her gray eyes were deceptively calm. “You are the one threatening me.”
“I make only promises, not threats.”
She ignored his outstretched hand, setting the bowl on the floor so hardthat some of the stew spilled over. They ate their meal in strained silence.
When Spencer finished eating, he lay back on his pallet. Roselyn came to stand above him again, and though he glared at her, she didn’t go away.
“I have to change your bandages,” she said, without a hint of any emotion in her low voice.
“Are you sure you’re not going to salt my wounds?” he asked sarcastically.
“WhenI realized who you were, I could have put you back on the beach where I found you.”
She knelt down, placing a basket of medicines and bandages beside him. Spencer scowled, suddenly not even wanting the touch of her against his skin. She reached for his shirt, and he gripped her small hands to hold them still.
“So you didn’t know who I was on the beach?”
She didn’t try to free herself, as ifhe wasn’t worth the effort.
