“Cassandra!”
Cassie pulled her mind from Luigi’s ghastly face and forced her eyes open.
“He is dead—really dead?”
He felt bewildered until Dilson shook his sleeve and pointed.
The sight of Luigi, the stiletto embedded into his throat like a stake, froze that moment into his mind. His face was ripped open, the jagged flesh laid back.
“He’s dead, Cassandra.”
He gathered her awkwardly into his arms, pulling her sodden dressing gown about her, and hauled her down the wooden steps.
“Dilson,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t let him wash overboard. Bring him below-deck.”
The cabin was in total darkness. He felt his way to the bed, laid her down, and turned to light the candles. He saw the broken fragments of glass, one of them covered with blood, and splotches of blood on the carpet.
Her face was turned away from him and she was shivering violently. He swallowed his questions, stripped off the wet dressing gown, and toweled her body dry. The streaks of blood came off on the towel, and his eyes traveled every inch of her. There was a cut in the palm of her hand. He could see nothing else.
“He was the fourth man—the other bravi.”
He did not allow himself to answer until he had tucked her beneath a mound of covers. Gently, he gathered her thick wet hair and spread it away from her face onto the pillow.
He realized that he himself was sodden and was drenching the bed, but he was loathe to pull away from her. He cupped her face in his hands. “Are you hurt, cara?”
“No,” she said, her voice calm, too calm for his ears. “He thought that since I am a woman that I could do nothing. He was going to kill us, my lord, both of us.”
“He told you that he was one of the assassins?”
Cassie couldn’t seem to stop her violent shivering. She was cold, so cold. She nodded in his hands.
“Cassandra, the babe. Is the babe all right?”
The babe. She tried to fasten her mind on her body, on her belly. She felt nothing, only the sickening rippling of the stiletto as it sank into Luigi’s throat.
“I couldn’t let him kill you.” She clutched his shoulders with frantic hands. “He would have killed you.”
The earl whipped his head up as the yacht shuddered from the force of the storm, the timber creaking in pained protest. He drew her into the circle of his arms and rocked her gently. “It is all right, Cassie. It is over now.” He kept talking to her, trying to calm her, to soothe the terror from her mind.
“I am all right, my lord,” she said finally, knowing that he must leave her. If he did not see to the yacht, they might all die. “Please, you must go now. I have nothing more to fear.”
He eased her down and tucked the covers tightly about her. “Sleep now, Cassandra. I will be back when I can.”
She nodded and forced her eyes shut until he closed the door.
She felt curiously light and supple, all her energy focused on hoisting the mainsail of her sloop. But somehow she didn’t seem to have the strength, and the flapping canvas slapped at her face. There was a man’s voice, deep and censuring, complaining that she hadn’t the wit to figure out the simplest of problems. How could she be trusted with her own boat if she was such a stupid child. I am not stupid, she yelled, unable to see the man’s face. It is too heavy! I am not stupid!
Cassie reared up. “I am not stupid, Father.”
She blinked at the bright light and the dream slowly ebbed from her mind. She gazed about the cabin, bathed in brilliant sunlight. The yacht was rocking gently in the waves. The storm had blown itself out. She turned slowly and saw the earl stretched upon his back beside her. He was snoring. It was a marvelous sound.
She slipped quietly out of bed, rose and stretched. She looked down at her slightly rounded belly, and lightly patted herself. “Both of us have survived this time,” she whispered.