Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (110 page)

The pains had become much closer; and though her water hadn’t broken, she knew from what her mother and sister had told her, that her time was near. She smiled even as she doubled over with a stabbing shot of pain, thought how proud and happy her husband would be if she delivered him a son; for though he was too good a man to say so, she knew in her heart he wanted a son to replace the ones killed by the white men. She recovered from the contraction, stood erect, proceeded on her way.

After several more contractions, she arrived at the spot, worked her way into the thicket, felt her water break. She quickly spread one deer hide on the bed of leaves, steadied herself with a branch as she knelt, leaned forward on her forearms, then rolled down onto her back. She immediately decided it was too chilly to lie uncovered, so she pulled the second deerskin over her and braced for the next contraction. When it had passed, she raised her knees, pulled her deerskin apron above her thighs, began to push. Won’t be long, she thought as an image of the Panther, a proud smile on his face, appeared in her mind, hovered there like a bird in a strong headwind.

Emily stopped in front of Tayler’s door, willed her pounding heart to quiet, but it refused. She took two deep breaths. Lord, give me the strength to endure. Isna . . . Mother . . . Father, pray for me. I love you, Isna. She heard people approaching, quickly opened the door, stepped inside.

Tayler stood by the fire, clad only in his linen smock, which hung almost to his knees. The two stared awkwardly at one another for a moment as Emily pushed the door closed behind her, flipped her hood down, allowing her long, black hair to fall freely over the front and back of her shoulders, cover the side of her cheeks, highlight her deep, blue, unblinking eyes, which had a wild, threatening look like a dangerous predator deciding to strike.

Beguiled for a moment, Tayler finally blinked, slowly, haltingly parted his lips to speak. “Good evening, Mistress. Let me help you with your cloak.” He stepped toward her.

Emily unconsciously leaned back against the door, silently watched his approach. Her heart again pounded; she stepped slightly forward as he removed the cape, hung it on a wood hook by the door.

He gently took her right hand with his left, led her slowly, almost ceremoniously, toward the fire. “Come . . . let us be near the warmth.” When beside it, he stopped, faced her, took her other hand, stared into her eyes, which glistened hauntingly in the dim firelight. “I’ve missed you, Emily Colman . . . more than you can ever know.” His voice quavered. “And I’ve thought again and again about what I would say to you at this moment.”

Emily closed her eyes.

“And I tell you three things. First, I deeply regret what happened in the forest that day; second, you are the most stunningly beautiful woman, inside and out, I have ever known, and I love you with all my heart; and third, with every ounce of my being, I want this night to be the most memorable and passionate of your young life.” He moved closer, laid his hands on her shoulders, kissed her slowly, softly.

She held her eyes closed, lips sealed, wondered if he could hear the wild, throbbing drumbeat of her heart.

“I know you hate me and have good reason to do so; but I hope, tonight, to replace those thoughts with new, amorous ones of the Hugh Tayler who will love and cherish you for all of our lives together.” He slid his hands down her sides to her tiny waist, brushed her breasts on the way, kissed her again on the lips, then on the cheek and neck.

Eyes still closed, Emily tensed her body; her breathing quickened with his.

He kissed the other side of her neck, slid his right hand slowly down her side to the firm cheeks of her behind, caressed them, pressed his body against her front.

She felt his stiff cock then a sudden, involuntary rush to her head, a surge of fear. Her mind flooded with images of him on top of her, ramming his prick in and out in ever-quickening rhythm. She trembled like
a frightened fawn. Dear Lord, help me. I do not want this. Mother, Isna, please . . .

Eyelids still pressed together, she felt him ease back, unbutton her shirt to the waist, untie the string of her smock, lay both back over her shoulders; felt the warm air of the fire swirl around her bare breasts; waited apprehensively for what would come next.

He began to kiss and lightly massage her breasts, whispered haltingly, “Beautiful . . . so perfect . . . so firm.” He teased her nipples with his tongue, caressed her side and behind with his hands.

She felt her nipples stiffen, her breath quicken. Mother, dear God, make me hate this. She began to pant.

He continued to manipulate her nipples with his tongue while he pulled her skirt and smock up to her waist, slipped his hand beneath them, then began to smoothly feather the tender flesh of her thigh and behind. “I love you, Emily Colman . . . and I need you.”

Her breasts heaved as his lips and tongue alternated between her nipples. She panted harder. How can I do this? Hate him. Lord, make him stop.

Through his smock, he pressed his cock against her, moved it in a slow circular motion against her crotch. A minute later, he eased himself to the side, slid his right hand between her legs, eased it up her soft thighs to the top, caressed her there.

Emily’s mind enlivened with remembrance: his touch, his forcing himself between her legs, his first thrust inside her; the rupture of her maidenhead, the pounding of his body against hers; her pleasure, her hate, her climax, her despair. She felt the rising dampness between her legs; her chest, back, and forehead beaded with sweat. Her body rose and fell in sync with his hand until suddenly she felt the same urging she’d felt in the forest—that wild, desperate yearning for some mysterious fulfillment, a release from her burgeoning tension. Dear God, don’t let it happen again. As she neared the precipice, Tayler suddenly removed his hand, untied his smock, dropped it to the floor; he touched her bare shoulders, pulled her gently toward his bed, then stopped, started to unbuckle her belt.

As his hand tugged on the belt, an unforeseen rage suddenly erupted in Emily’s mind like an exploding powder keg.
Damn
the consequences! She
reached behind her back, felt beneath her laid-back shirt and smock, yanked her knife from its sheath, and thrust it into his left side. It hit the bottom rib, deflected downward and vertical, penetrated only two inches instead of eight. She tried to force it deeper, but he jerked sideways, screamed in pain; he pushed both hands violently into her stomach, grabbed his bleeding side. “Damn you, witch! You’ve wounded me.”

Emily stumbled several steps backward, gasped for breath, held the knife blade toward him. “Stay away from me, you bastard!”

He stepped toward her.

She waved the knife at him. “I said stay away!”

He stopped, leaned over, picked up his smock, pressed it against his wound. “You bitch! You’ll pay for this!”

As she backed toward the door, Emily grabbed her cloak with her left hand. She flipped her shirt and smock up over her shoulders, flung the door open, rushed outside; twirling the cloak around her, she ran for the Dares’ cottage. Dear God, what have I done? She burst into tears. I’ve killed Virginia and Isna. Don’t let them die, Lord. Please! ’Tis my fault, my selfish fault . . . foolish temper. Punish
me
! She glanced behind as she neared the cottage, then stopped at the door, pounded frantically.

Chapter 23

W
aters sat by the fire in his cottage, eyed his three sergeants with a somber look. “So that’s where we stand with the Assistants. As far as Newton, I expect information from him on the morrow.” He smiled. “But if he fails me, we’ll pay him a late-night visit with a rope.” He paused for the three to snicker, add their assent. “That said, the primary reason we’re here tonight is so I may confirm what you already know.” He sighed deeply. “I do not wish to sound defeatist, but I fear greatly for this colony’s survival. Clearly, the Powhatans are a dangerous threat—strong and determined— and they’ve demonstrated their intention to effect our demise. Indeed, I expect them to attack soon . . . in the night . . . with overwhelming force.” He shook his head. “I must confess . . . each night I awake and wonder if this will be the night. Forsooth, I fear that unless Governor White reaches us within a fortnight, we’ve little hope . . . not to mention the fact that we’re slowly starving to death.” He looked at the fire, murmured, “I’m loathe to say it, men; but if there were somewhere to escape to and the means to do it, I’d order an immediate evacuation of this place and go there with great haste . . . but there is no such place. So we shall remain here and do our duty.”

The three sergeants nodded slowly, glanced solemnly at one another.

Waters looked back at them. “But perchance more imminent—and ultimately more dangerous than the Powhatans—is the threat from within.” He frowned, shook his head. “Tayler and his conspiracy.” He again paused. “While
that
threat is direct and serious in itself, it also aggravates the Powhatan threat, and my meaning will be clear in a moment. For now let us hope Newton provides information we can act upon to thwart these
traitors.” He paused, took a sip of water. “What worries me is that even if Newton spills his guts with valuable, damning information, unless we’ve enough loyal forces to prosecute the conspirators, it will matter not. So let us now identify each civilian and soldier we know is a conspirator.”

They quickly identified five soldiers besides Taverner: Tydway, Butler, Farre, Dutton, and Allen, and five civilians besides Tayler: Willes, Stevens, Sampson, Newton, and Gramme. They also identified two additional soldiers and one additional civilian as
possible
conspirators. Waters then said, “That’s more than a trifling proportion of our total strength, which returns me to the statement I said I’d clarify a moment ago. Whether the conspirators are hanged, jailed, or alive and free is immaterial, for we cannot depend on their help in defending the colony under
any
circumstance, and that is equivalent to the lot of them dying in the opening volley of the attack. Therefore . . . somehow . . . we must convince them to fight
with
us and settle other matters later; for ’tis certain the Powhatans will not care who fought and who didn’t, once they’ve overrun us. They’ll torture and kill everyone”—he stared briefly, resolutely into each man’s eyes as he spoke—“ but no matter what happens . . . how bad or hopeless the situation becomes . . . we four must do our duty and lead by example . . . until we breathe our last.” He paused, again glanced from man to man, nodded once at each. “I know for certain you three will stay the course.”

The three spoke simultaneously. “Aye, sir.”

“Very well. By the bye, we will immediately execute any soldier who refuses to fight, whether before or during the fight . . . without discussion or trial. We’ve no room for leniency in this regard. Understood?”

The three again replied in unison, “Aye, sir.”

“Good. Now, in order that you know what we face . . .” He coughed, smiled, shook his head. “Excuse the smile, but there’s naught else one can do about this situation. I’ve heard the Powhatans can muster over four hundred warriors, not counting the Chesapeakes. So we, with less than sixty fighters—most of them untrained, and most unskilled—are outnumbered between seven and fourteen to one.” He again shook his head, held his sheepish smile. “Encouraging, eh?”

The sergeants chuckled, smirked at one another and at Waters. Myllet shrugged. “Only seven or fourteen to one? Come now, Sir, that be a Sunday parade for Her Majesty’s troopers. We thrive on the impossible. Bring ’em on.” The others shouted
aye
s and
huzzah
s.

Waters smiled. “You’re right, Michael, yet ’twould be better if the palisades were complete. Since they are not, next best is for us to find ways to compensate for that deficiency. So as a start, we mobilize and train every untrained civilian in some form of weaponry—matchlock, sword, bow, pike, pistol, spear . . . even slingshot; and we preposition powder and shot at each barricade, so we’re not faced with shortages or delays during the fight. We also preposition water buckets, deer bladders and stomachs, and anything else that will hold water, at the barricades to cool our barrels if they overheat, at the cottages in case the Savages use fire arrows, and for drinking water in the event of a siege. We also keep candles lit, so we can quickly ignite our gun matches when the fight begins. And we enlist the women to make bandages . . .
now
. . . be before the fight . . . and instruct them in the care of wounded. That brings me to the most distressing part of this . . . and that is what becomes of the women if we are overrun.” He again studied each man, noted Gibbes’ suddenly fearful look. “ ’Tis with great difficulty that I say what I shall now say. Every man must know that when only a few men or the last of the ammunition remains, those few must immediately, and mercifully, dispatch our women and children in whatever manner they can . . . before they’re taken by the Savages and suffer Mistress Chapman’s fate.” He paused, watched revulsion creep over each man’s face like the shadow of an approaching storm cloud. “Have any of you heard of Masada?”