Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (46 page)

Jocelyn willingly accepted the villagers
’ prayers and gifts of food, for between nursing Thomas and caring for Regina, she had little time to rest. Regina, now a rambunctious two-year-old, demanded her constant attention during the day, and Thomas shivered and moaned as his fever rose throughout the night.

He had not spoken directly to her since she came home, yet his eyes were often open and she frequently spied him looking at her as though he did not know her. More often, though, he tossed in delirium, sweating profusely, and Jocelyn was hard pressed to keep his bedding clean and dry.

One day just before sunset, Thomas moved and mumbled something.
Jocelyn rose from the table where she had been feeding Regina and from the dark corner where she sat praying, Beth Glane leaned forward in the vaguest of movements, a shifting of shadows.

“
Did you speak, Thomas?” Jocelyn asked, placing her hand on his fevered forehead.

“
Anna,” he mumbled, shaking his head from side to side. “Anna—don’t.”

Jocelyn could feel Beth Glane
’s triumphant smile and knew the story would be spread throughout the village by morning.
Of course I knew that girl was not a fit minister’s wife
, she could hear Beth saying.
Why, even in his sleep the minister calls out for someone else, a woman called Anna.

“
The sun is setting, Miss Glane,” Jocelyn said, pulling the blanket to Thomas’ chin. “Mayhap you should take your leave now.”

Beth said nothing, but slipped from the house, and yet her spiteful presence seemed to linger in the corner she had occupied.
Jocelyn sighed, but turned to her daughter and began wipe the remains of pottage from Regina’s chin. “For this God sent me back?” she asked as her daughter smiled innocently. “To nurse a man who cares nothing for me and endure the hateful glances of a woman who would lief take my place?”

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

The words rang in Jocelyn’s memory as she put Regina to bed.

The fever worsened that night, and Thomas writhed in pain.
Jocelyn sponged his brow and chest with fresh water, but the damp cloths grew hot within minutes of applying them to his burning, red skin. He spoke often as he tossed, repeating broken phrases about Anna, his guilt, and God.

“
What about Anna?” Jocelyn asked, not expecting a reply. She wet his hair and ran her fingers through it to keep the damp tendrils from his face.

“
Anna,” he repeated again, moving restlessly under her ministrations. Then: “God forgive me.”

Genuine pathos echoed in his words, and Jocelyn felt a whisper of terror run through her.
What happened to Anna? Who was she and what had she to do with Thomas? A sister, mayhap? A friend? A niggling fear rose in her mind: his first wife?

She wanted to hold him, to find the source of his apprehension and smooth it away, but he was too hot to be comforted by her touch and too restless to relax.
After sponging his fevered body through the long hours of the night, Jocelyn put her hand on his forehead and sighed deeply to discover his fever had broken. Exhausted, she lay on a blanket on the floor and fell instantly asleep.

“
Mistress Colman.”

Someone tugged on her sleeve, and Jocelyn opened her brick-heavy eyelids to see the round face of seven-year-old William Wythers.
“Yes, William,” she said, pushing herself into a sitting position on the floor. “Is anything amiss?”

“
Aunt Wenefrid sent me with this loaf of cornbread,” the boy said, pointing to an oblong bundle in his hand.

“
Thank you, William,” Jocelyn said, struggling to keep her eyes open. She glanced up at the bed. Thomas slept deeply, his arms flung across the mattress, his face pale. The bright red flush of fever had vanished.

“
Aunt Wenefrid,” William persisted, not leaving, “would have me ask if there is anything I can do to help you.”

“
No,” Jocelyn replied automatically, then she spied Regina standing upright in her trunk. The baby, at least, had slept well, and was ready to be fed and entertained.

“
Well, mayhap there is one thing,” Jocelyn said, smiling at the eager boy. “Regina loves to play, and she needs her breakfast. Do you think your Aunt Wenefrid would mind feeding another baby this morning?”

“
No,” William said, his eyes bright. “Can I take her home?”

“
Yes, and thank you,” Jocelyn said.

She watched as William carefully lifted Regina from her trunk, then held the baby
’s hand as she toddled double-time to William’s longer steps. Jocelyn felt her heart soften when William reached out to touch Regina’s auburn curls.

“
She’s beautiful,” he said gallantly, still holding her baby hand in his. “Much more beautiful than my aunt’s new baby.”

“
Thank you for saying so,” Jocelyn said. “But I wouldn’t say anything about that to your Aunt Wenefrid. I’m leaving her in your care until I come to fetch her.”

“
I’ll take care of her,” William promised, herding Regina through the doorway. Jocelyn lay back down on the floor and was asleep again before the door had closed.

Forty-four

I
n the islands of the Azores, John White discovered that Abraham Cocke was unwilling to return south to Croatoan Island. Once again, privateering and the temptation of treasure distracted the captain’s interest from the planters in Virginia. After four weeks of chasing treasure ships to no avail, on the first of October 1590, the
Hopewell
turned for England.

John White made a last entry in his journal:

On Sunday the twenty-fourth, we came in safety, God be thanked, to anchor at Plymouth.

Forty-five

A
udrey Bailie smoothed her new buckskin skirt and adjusted her bodice, a worn garment that would not last many more months. From across the room, her husband took a long look at her legs and smiled appreciatively. “You are a sight in that skirt,” he said. “But I wouldn’t be wearing it to church, if you take my meaning.”

“
I’faith, I’m not that thick,” Audrey said, laughing. “I wouldn’t even wear it to the minister’s house, except that I hear he doesn’t notice who visits. And if he doesn’t know who’s standing over him, he’s not lief to know what a body’s wearing, is he now?”

She gave her husband a smile and slipped out of the house.
Now that the harvest was nearly done, Roger had promised to build her a kitchen, an entirely separate room from their bedchamber, and Audrey was thrilled by the thought of living in the biggest house in the village. Let Eleanor Dare and Rose Payne pride themselves on their status as gentlewomen, Audrey Bailie would show them what a wise marriage and a doting husband could do for a woman’s status.

The clearing in the center of the village stood empty at this mid-morning hour, for most of the women were busy in the fields and most of the men had gone to their duties on the river or in the forest.
A group of men came out of the storehouse, however, and Audrey recognized the hoarse voice of William Clement. Ducking quickly behind the shadow of the Jones’ house, she pulled a tortoise-shell comb from the leather bag at her waist and pulled it through her hair in quick strokes. There. A girl didn’t have to look like a hurried housewife if she didn’t want to.

She lifted her chin and stepped back into the clearing.
If she could reach Jocelyn’s house without attracting attention . . . but she had no such luck.

“
Hey, Audrey, me love, where are ye goin’ in such a hurry?” William called, pulling himself away from the men as they dispersed to their work.

“
Can ye be thinkin’ that I should take the time to talk with ye?” she said, pouting prettily. “After I saw ye yesternoon walking close to Jane Pierce?”

“
Aw, Jane’s as good as married to William Browne,” Clement answered, leaning against the wall of a nearby house to block Audrey’s path. “And her eyes don’t sparkle as devilishly as yours do, girl.”

Audrey drew in her cheeks and pretended to be angry.
“I believe I don’t know what to think of ye, William,” she said, planting her arms akimbo on her hips. “Ye ask me to marry ye, and then tell me to marry Roger. Ye pledge your loyalty to me, then sport with the other women—”

“
Beshrew the other women,” William said, moving dangerously close. Audrey could smell the lusty odors of earth and sweat, and the jolt of desire in William’s eyes forced her to look away. “I must go see Miss Jocelyn,” she said, the playfulness gone from her voice. “Pray let me pass, William.”

“
Why?” he asked, reaching out for her. The touch of his hand ran up her arm, and her senses throbbed with the strength and feel and scent of him. ‘Twas dangerous, this. If anyone saw them, if anyone read the hot blush on her face—

She tore herself away.
“Later, William,” she cried, running in the opposite direction. I’faith, she’d go around him. Any girl who played with fire would surely be burned sooner or later.

William remained where he stood, leaning against the house with one hand, the other confidently cocked on his hip.
He watched Audrey’s flustered retreat with an appreciative grin that vanished when James Hynde broke his concentration.

“
When will you leave that dolly alone?” James said, carrying a basket of fish from the river. “She’s happy with the old man, can’t ye see it?”

“
She may look happy with that shrunken bag o’bones—” William paused to spit casually on the ground at James’ feet— “but she doesn’t know what pure pleasure is. When we’re married, then she’ll know.”

“You are wasting your time.”
James shifted the basket he carried from his arms to his hip. “If ‘tis pleasure you are wanting, I hear Jane Pierce is eager and willin’. Or the savage women—the men trade the unmarried ones like candy. Go do some favor for the chief, and he’s likely to reward you with his daughter.”

“
The devil can take the savages, for anything I care.” William’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve my eye set on that red-haired girl, and nothing else will do. The time’s coming, my friend, when the old man will drop and I’ll be free to claim her as my bride. Then I’ll have the house, the goods, everything. If I take a savage woman, what’ll I have? Nothing, except mayhap a case of the pox.”

James
chuckled, and William suddenly unsmiled. “‘Tis not funny, my friend. When I’m married to Audrey and living in Roger Bailie’s house, I’ll be lief to take his place on the council, too. Power, possessions, and a bonny red-head with legs that could stretch from here to England—those things are worth waiting for.”

Audrey sat uneasily on the small stool in Jocelyn
’s house and battled her guilty conscience. Only a few years ago it had been her job to clean, cook, and help Jocelyn, but now Jocelyn treated Audrey like visiting royalty. The minister lay under a pile of blankets in the bed, pale and quietly sleeping, and seemed not to care that his young wife had dark circles under her eyes and had lost at least twenty pounds from her already-thin frame.

“
Ye ought to let me help ye,” Audrey protested, standing up for the fifth time.

“
No,” Jocelyn said, corking her hands on her slender hips. “Think you that I should forget that you are a married woman now? You served me oft enough; sit back and let me bring you some water and bread. Little William Wythers brought me a loaf of corn bread just this morning—”

“
William Wythers.” Audrey shivered. “Every time I see that boy I think of the day of his whipping. Do you recall it, Jocelyn? ‘Twas soon after we landed on Roanoke, and I thought for certain that ye had married a monster—”

“
I remember,” Jocelyn interrupted, placing a slice of corn bread on a plate before Audrey. She gave the girl a fixed, polite smile, and Audrey knew ‘twould be best to change the subject.

“
So,” she said, daintily breaking off a piece of bread, “how is the minister faring? I see the praying priestess hasn’t come today.”

“Faith, she did come early this morning,” Jocelyn answered, cutting a slice of the bread for herself. “But I turned her away.”

“
In truth?” Audrey nearly choked on the bread. “I cannot imagine her leaving without a fight.”

“
I told her I had stripped my husband down for a bath,” Jocelyn said, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “And that the sight was unfit for virgin eyes. She left as quick as she had come.”