Ownership Disclaimer: These characters originated in the deep dark recesses of my mind, and thus belong to no one but me. Copyright © 2000 by Advocate. All Rights Reserved.

Violence/Profanity/and Sexual Content: This story contains moderate levels of violence as well as profanity. This is a work of alternative fiction that depicts two women as well as an opposite sex couple in both a physically and emotionally loving relationship.

Thanks: I've got the best beta readers a bard could hope for. These guys (Barbara, kd, Ellie and Medora MacD) simply rock. They kindly supplied any semi-colons, or other such funky punctuation. Kamouraskan, your editing suggestions were greatly appreciated. In addition to my wonderful beta readers, several friends offered me their support and encouragement. To them I offer a heartfelt thank you.

Dedication: This is dedicated to the one I love. If I had more than my heart to give... it would already be yours.

Comments or Questions to: advocate8704@yahoo.com

Liv relit several candles in the room, knowing that dawn was soon approaching but wanting the additional light for reading, anyway. She settled onto the sofa, her gaze wandering briefly to the doorway, through which she expected to see Kayla hobbling any moment.

The storm had finally stopped raging, allowing more windows to be opened and a temperate breeze to fill the room. Liv took a deep breath of fresh moist air, letting it out slowly. She was comfortable, cool, and sated. I could get used to this feeling, her mind supplied happily.

They had made love with a soul-searing passion that took her breath away just remembering it. It had gone beyond her most intense prior experiences -- and then some -- taking intimacy to a level she didn't even know existed. Kayla had treated her with a tender reverence that left her feeling utterly worshipped and caused her heart to ache with happiness. Liv's thoughts were interrupted by the soft footsteps of her lover.

Green eyes twinkled at the sight of Kayla in yet another clean white T-shirt and pair of shorts. "Hi... Mmm... These are really good but they'd be so much better with a cold glass of milk," Liv mumbled, taking another large mouthful of chocolate chip cookie and humming contentedly. "We gotta get off this island tomorrow and back to modern refrigeration or my stomach will be in big trouble."

Kayla perched on the arm of the sofa, towel drying her freshly shampooed hair for the second time in so many hours. She regarded her companion fondly, pleased to see that Liv's appetite seemed to be making a reappearance. "Did ya save any for me?" she teased, gesturing toward the tall stack of cookies Liv had piled on a paper plate and set next to the history on the library's coffee table.

A pale brow lifted and the tip of a pink tongue poked out impudently. "I WAS going to share. But now..."

Kayla moved closer to Liv, tilting her head slightly and leaning forward. Liv swallowed hastily, her eyes fluttering closed as she prepared for another heart-stopping kiss. When Kayla was a hairsbreadth away, her breath caressing Liv's mouth, she shifted quickly, snatching Liv's cookie out of her hand with sharp teeth.

Liv's eyes flew open and she stared at her empty hand dumbly, then pinned a very smug looking ghostbuster with outraged eyes. Her fingertips were still tingling from Kayla's wet lips. "You ate my cookie?!" she shouted in disbelief, turning her hand over as if she still expected to see the tasty treat hiding somewhere in between her fingers.

A sexy smirk stole over Kayla's face as she opened her mouth...

"Don't."

"But..."

Liv shook her head. "Just don't."

Round blue eyes peered at Liv, trying their best to convey complete innocence. "I was just going to apologize for taking your cookie," she lied sweetly.

The linguist just snorted.

"Here." Kayla retrieved a cookie from the stack and brought it to Liv's lips, lifting her brows in entreaty. "You can have this one."

Liv remained unmoved.

"C'mon," Kayla tempted. "You know you want it."

Green eyes narrowed. Yummm... Chocolate. The rich, tantalizing scent wafted up to Liv's nostrils, making her mouth water in anticipation. But even as her lips twitched she refused to move towards it. "You're going to yank it away from me when I try to take a bite, aren't you?" she asked knowingly.

"Would I..."

"Yes," Liv said flatly.

Kayla chuckled softly, bringing her other hand up and resting it against Liv's warm cheek. "You are so beautiful," she whispered, her heart welling with affection as she admired how the candlelight bathed Liv's skin in a muted, golden glow. "I missed you."

A dazzling smiled crossed Liv's face as she tried to push down an impending blush. "We've only been apart for 15 minutes, Kayla. I just shower faster than you do." Her hand wandered into thick, wet hair that was cool and silky to the touch. Liv idly considered how much she'd enjoyed shampooing it. She'd never washed another person's hair before. Well, except for the time Dougie got gum in his when he was 8 years old. And despite her best efforts, he'd ended up with a very short haircut that summer.

With a gentle tug, Liv pulled Kayla closer and softly kissed her lips, taking her time, and removing any hint of chocolate with a thorough tongue. "And I missed you too," she admitted quietly when they finally broke apart, drawing a broad smile from Kayla.

For long seconds the women said nothing, enjoying their closeness, and reveling in the peace and comfort that each other's company brought.

Kayla leaned over for the history, letting out a quiet groan.

"Your knee?"

"Yeah..." She let out a tense breath. "It's pretty sore but I think I'll live."

"Do you have another one of those emergency ice-packs?"

A dark head shook. "I'll have to wait until tomorrow." She pointed to the closed book, wishing she had taken the time to learn something besides English. Despite her high IQ Kayla just didn't have a knack for languages. She'd tried to learn German in college but her natural impatience wouldn't allow her to get past the basics. "Can we do some more?"

"Of course."

"If you're too tired... Then..."

"No, I'm ready," Liv assured, surprised that Kayla had managed to sit quietly for the past few moments without asking. She knew the younger woman was anxious to find out more, and had almost offered herself, but was loath to break the moment.

*******************

November, 1690

A cold rain had soaked the island and the late autumn temperature had plummeted. Not wanting to be out slogging through the mud, or near Cyril or any of the other iniquitous slave traders, Bridget had holed up in the stable, happily soaking in the smell of sweet hay and horse flesh.

She ran a brush down Apollo's gleaming coat, working by rote as her mind rapidly conjured, then disregarded, plans to get Faylinn and Henry away from her brother. "I know she loves me, boy," she informed the stallion, patting his sleek muscular neck with a loving hand, her breath sending puffs of fog into the early evening air as she spoke. "Even if she doesn't know it herself yet... I'm sure of it. I can feel it."

Bridget rubbed the horse's nose affectionately as he nuzzled her chest. The young stallion snorted with pleasure when her hand began to move in a firm scratching motion between his eyes. "Hedonist," she laughed. "But it's time for me to go inside. You'll have to wait until tomorrow for me to spoil you again."

With a loud creak the stable door swung open and Afia dashed inside, her breath coming in short gasps, a panicky look marring her normally cheerful features.

"What is it, Afia?" Bridget turned sideways to don the heavy black cape that she'd draped over one of the stall walls. She shook it out, then with a twist settled it around broad shoulders.

"It's Master Henry! He's... He's..."

"Slow down, woman. Here." Bridget guided the older woman to a bale of hay and sat her down. She wasn't sure whether Afia's teeth were chattering because she was cold or just plain jittery. "Now, what about Henry?"

"He's ga... gone. He should have been back hours ago, but I've looked everywhere and I can't find him."

Bridget scowled, her heart speeding up at Afia's obvious distress. "What do you mean gone? He can't be gone." With a snap, she fastened the clasp, securing the cape around her neck. "I saw Faylinn bring him to you myself."

The black woman's gaze dropped from Bridget's and rooted itself firmly on her feet. She shook her head quickly. "I had Master Henry all ready for our trip to the duck pond when Master Redding stopped us on the way out the door. He told me to see to dinner for his guests and said the two new slaves could take the boy to the pond."

Bridget's brow creased as she tossed Apollo's brush into a shallow bin just outside the large stall. "Jasper and William?"

The black woman nodded.

"Cyril purchased them only last month. He left Henry in the care of almost complete strangers?" she asked incredulously. Cyril was a pig. Of that she was certain. But she couldn't imagine him being so careless with his son, whom he so plainly valued, if not loved.

"Yes, child. By Allah, I swear that I tried to explain to Master Redding that Henry would be happier with someone he knew, but he simply took the boy out of my arms and handed him to Jasper who just happened to be passing by."

Bridget scratched her jaw and began pacing, her dark cape billowing out behind her and her boots scattering bits of hay and kicking up an occasional puff of dust. "God, they should have been back from the pond several hours ago." Her nose twitched as she sniffed the cold air. "It's nearly freezing out." She stopped her restless motion and stood in front of Afia. "Have you checked the pond?"

"Of course! It was the first place I looked after I scoured the house. I've been back twice, and there is no sign of the child or Jasper and William." She hugged her wool shawl tighter around her wiry body.

"Damn!" Bridget cursed fiercely as she began saddling her mount. "Have you told Faylinn?"

"No, Miss." Tears began to well in worried dark eyes. "Master Redding took a row boat out to his business partner's ship to pick up a few supplies. He left Mistress Faylinn entertaining a group officers from His Majesty's Navy in the dining room." Afia swallowed nervously and laid a cool hand on Bridget's shoulder. "I thought you would want to be there when I told her, child. I would have come for you sooner, but I was looking for Master Henry."

Bridget nodded, knowing Afia had long since recognized her feelings for Faylinn. There was no reason for pretense around her. Anxiety caused Bridget's fingers to fumble with the bridle as she quickly prepared Apollo. "Bloody hell!" She tore the unfastened saddle from the animal's back, deciding it would just be easier to ride bareback. "As much as I'd like to avoid it until the boy is found, we must inform Faylinn."

Bridget pushed open the stable door and marched out into the cold evening air with Afia hot on her heels struggling to keep pace with her long, smooth strides. Blue eyes turned skyward as her gait continued to eat up ground. "It will be full dark soon. We'll need lanterns." She tightened her cape around her shoulders. "And a blanket for when we find the lad."

Afia let out a shaky breath. The island was a harsh, unforgiving place, but everything would be all right. Mistress Bridget would see to it.

An owl bellowed from an old tree beyond the garden. His call, the rhythmic thump of footsteps, and the light rustling of dead leaves were the only sounds that fractured the tense silence as the women made their way back to the house.

********************

Faylinn stood in her green, long-sleeved gown that showed off her creamy white shoulders and slender neck. Her red-gold hair was worn in a loose, becoming braid. She was surrounded by a group of fulltime naval officers/part-time businessmen, who wore their full dress uniforms and wigs, each buckle and sword sparkling in the candlelight, their black leather boots gleaming. One particular young officer never left Faylinn's side. He seemed a cut above the rest in both manners and demeanor, and she wondered why such a sweet, if tiresome, young man kept such wretched company and whether it was the nature of their business that lured in the scourge of the earth, or the other way around.

"Oh look!" Out of the corner of her eye Faylinn spied Bridget, who was standing quietly in the doorway of the dining room. She said a little prayer of thanks, grateful for any excuse to remove herself from the presence of Cyril's loathsome business partners. Their over-inflated egos, and generally repugnant natures, were matched only by her husband's. "If you'll excuse me," she said politely. "It appears that I'm needed elsewhere." Thank God! With a gracious bow of her head she lifted her skirts slightly and headed toward the far entrance of the room and Bridget. A relieved smile split her face.

As she approached the darker woman, Faylinn noticed that Afia was standing at her side, slightly behind her. The redhead's smile faded as she observed the lines of tension that creased the skin around two sets of eyes. Both women were flushed and breathing heavily as though they had just rushed in out of the cold evening air. A knot formed in Faylinn's belly. "What's wrong?" she asked immediately. She looked to Afia who wouldn't meet her eyes, then Bridget. "Is it Henry?"

"Faylinn, my dear, sit down." Bridget pulled over a chair and gestured toward the cushion. "Please."

"No!" She pushed the chair away angrily. "What's the matter? You're frightening me!"

Blue eyes closed. Even though there was no time to waste, Bridget found herself dreading the words she knew she had to say. "I'm afraid Henry is missing."

Round verdant eyes widened further. "What do you mean miss… missing?" Her voice was thick with disbelief and growing fear.

"Cyril removed the boy from Mary's care and instructed two of the new slaves to take him out this afternoon. They haven't returned yet."

Faylinn sucked in a breath and her face went ashen. "Oh, God. Oh, God," she muttered. "We've got to find him!" Desperate eyes pleaded with Bridget. "He can't still be outside. It's too cold!"

Bridget pulled the trembling woman into her arms, tucking the fair head under her chin, and running a calming hand down her back. "Shh… Shh… I'm going this very minute. I will find him," she soothed, as the men gathered around them, having picked up the young woman's distress from all the way across the room.

One of the men motioned for a young slave, who was standing quietly in the shadows with a bottle of wine in his hands, to come forward. "Boy!" he barked, clapping his hands together. "Don't just stand there! Go fetch Mrs. Redding some brandy."

The boy complied, walking to the long dining room table on suddenly wobbly legs and grabbing a bottle. His hands were shaking so badly that he soaked the linen tablecloth as he tried to fill the crystal glass.

A dark eyebrow rose as Bridget watched the nervous slave.

Licking dry lips, the boy wordlessly handed Faylinn the crystal glass, but before he could disappear completely Bridget released the younger woman to Afia's care and followed him out of the room. Directly behind Bridget came the officer who was so clearly taken with Faylinn. He hadn't missed the young slave's curious behavior either. That boy wasn't upset because of Henry's disappearance. He knew something.

"Michael," Bridget rumbled low in her throat, causing the boy to stop mid-step.

He turned around, his lip twitching nervously. "Yes, Mistress Bridget?" His voice was barely audible.

Bridget walked up to the boy and grasped his shoulders tightly, looking down at him with icy, intense eyes. "Do you know what happened to Henry?"

"NO!" the boy blurted out, fearing he'd soil himself. The slaves were all talking about what she'd done to Master Redding that very afternoon. He was right to fear her.

Don't lie to me, Michael! We have to find him, she projected directly into the boy's thoughts.

Michael paled, his coal black eyes widening larger than Bridget thought humanly possible. She maintained her stare until the boy's jaw began to quiver.

Were it not for Bridget's strong grip, the frightened slave would have crumpled to the floor.

The British officer stood several paces behind the powerful woman who clearly was unaware of his presence. He was totally mesmerized by the scene before him. Unable to see Bridget's face, he wondered what manner of browbeating it would take to cause a black boy to appear as white as a ghost.

Michael tried not to think of Jasper and William's plan to escape from the island on a raft they'd built and hidden under the dock, but in a few short seconds Bridget had all the information she needed.

You knew they were taking Henry but said nothing? she boomed silently. Is he to be ransomed?

Then, before he even realized he was doing it, he began responding to her questions in his mind. I... I don't know, the boy thought wildly, his heart racing a mile a minute when he heard Bridget's acknowledging grunt to his words. Sweat poured off his face and neck. I don't think so. They had talked about leaving this afternoon. They were always talking. I did... I didn't know what to believe! I don't think they meant for... for Master Henry to be with them. I was there when Master Redding handed over the child. Jasper said they were too busy working on the dock to take him to the pond but Master Redding slapped him in the face and told him to shut his insolent mouth or he'd remove his tongue.

Bridget let go of the frightened boy's arms, having been able to understand enough of his mental ramblings to get an excellent idea of what had happened. She turned around only to run right into the perplexed naval officer. She didn't bother trying to explain, nor did she offer excuses to the slack-jawed man, instead, she pushed past him and sped back toward the dining room.

Bridget's mind spun out several different scenarios. Either the slaves would have killed Henry outright, or simply left him somewhere near the dock. If there was to be no demand for ransom, it wouldn't make sense for them to take a burdensome child along to the mainland.

********************

"I'm going to search the duck pond," Faylinn announced determinedly, tearing a lit oil lamp from the wall to use in her search.

"Of course," an older man replied, sending one of the men to fetch Cyril from the ship anchored off shore. "My men and I will gladly help you search."

At that moment Faylinn would take assistance from any source she could. The redhead nodded her thanks. "Come then. Let me lead the way. It's but a few moments walk south."

"Wait," Bridget called, striding into the room, stopping directly in front of Faylinn. "The child's not there. He'll be somewhere on the other side of the island near the dock that's under construction. I'll need the men to come with me so we can search the area thoroughly."

"How do you know he'll be there?" Faylinn asked anxiously, tangling her fingers in the taller woman's long, ebony cape.

"I... I..." Bridget fumbled momentary as she swung her gaze up from Faylinn's to see the waiting eyes of nearly ten men. Damn! But I've no time to waste. "Michael, the young slave told me."

"He did nothing of the sort!" The officer who had been in the hallway with Bridget and Michael inserted himself between Faylinn and Bridget, literally prying the younger woman's hands off Bridget's cape. "She's lying," he accused self-righteously. He looked at Bridget with disgust; he'd seen the tall woman comforting Faylinn when she told her the news of Henry. He had heard of her kind preying on sweet young women, but thought them restricted to the slums of London and other wretched places. He would not stand idly by and allow such a creature to lie to a woman of such obvious quality. "I was there. The boy said nothing."

Faylinn looked confused. Her mind was already reeling. "Bridget?" she questioned bewilderedly.

"I have never, nor would I ever, lie to you, dearest. You know that," she reminded.

"But the dock is across the island. There is no way Henry could have wandered that far through the dense forest!"

The darker woman shifted impatiently, knowing every moment they wasted here reduced their chances of finding Henry alive. The temperature was continuing to drop and the moon was already lighting the sky. "Faylinn! Believe me, I beg you! I don't have time to explain everything now."

"She's lying. The boy never said a word. I swear it as an officer of the Crown," the man vowed solemnly, his green eyes flashing in challenge.

Bridget's mouth curled into a sneer; she wanted to bury her knife in the bastard's heart. Why was he doing this?!

Faylinn's head warred with her heart in a struggle so fierce she felt light-headed. Bridget wouldn't lie to me, would she? Of course not! came her heart's immediate reply. She must just have misunderstood. Yes, that has to be it. Faylinn desperately wanted to believe her sister-in-law, and yet, she could not conceive of a single reason why her son would be over two miles away. "He has to be near the pond," she finally said. "Mary must have simply passed him by. The woods are so thick there, it would be easy to miss a sleeping child, especially in the waning light."

"By God, Faylinn! Listen to me! I need the men to come..."

"She's made her decision," the man said coolly, looking back towards his superior for confirmation. Receiving it, in the form of a crisp nod, he continued. "We shall follow Mrs. Redding to the pond." Turning towards Faylinn he bowed slightly. "We are honored to be at your service."

The hurt in Bridget's eyes caused a stabbing sensation in Faylinn's own heart. No. No. No. She wouldn't lie to me. The young mother opened her mouth to change her mind, but before she could speak Bridget turned on her heels and tore out of the room. Oh God, what have I done? she agonized briefly as her stomach threatened to rebel and Bridget's furious boot steps grew more and more distant.

Bridget exploded out of the stable atop a racing Apollo, her fingers tangled tightly in his coarse white mane. Muscular legs were bent at the knee and pressed firmly against the steed's sides, compensating for the lack of a saddle. She leaned forward over her mount's muscular shoulders, her cape flying straight out behind her, her midnight black hair gleaming in the moonlight as they rounded a small hill and made for the rugged beach. It was a longer route than cutting across the island. But with only the moonlight to guide her, she knew this was her safest choice. It would be faster in the long run because she could ride Apollo at the very edge of the surf, avoiding most of the larger rocks and branches.

The salty spray stung eyes gone violet in the moonlight as Apollo splashed through the shallow water, having to turn inland several times when the beach simply disappeared or the water began to deepen. After minutes that felt more hours, Bridget finally saw the half-completed dock in the distance.

She extended her senses, calling to Henry in her mind, only to be greeted by a thunderous silence. "C'mon, lad," she mumbled as she slid off the panting horse's back, landing in ankle deep, cold water.

"Henry!" she called, her eyes flickering on and below the dock. "Henry!" Her search began in earnest and she literally left no stone unturned, moving every branch, poking through every wiry bush, even peering into pitch black tree hollows that appeared about the right size. The possibilities for where a two-and-a-half-year-old could be hiding were nearly endless. Her mind kept up a constant stream of calls, seeking, searching her consciousness for any sense of the boy. Still she heard, felt, nothing. After more than two hours of endless hunting and yelling, her voice began to grow hoarse and self-doubt began to cloud her mind.

What if she was wrong? What if Faylinn needed her help, far across the island? She had read Michael's thoughts clearly but that didn't guarantee that the boy was correct. Oh, damn! I frightened him. I confused him and pushed too hard. What if... What if...

She stopped and tilted her head to the side. An animal? No. She squinted in the darkness, taking in the rich scent of wet leaves and sand and the salty surf. "Henry," she called out again. But this time she was greeted with a faint whimper. Yes!!

She moved toward the barely audible sound, trying not to stumble over the thick underbrush. "Henry? Where are you, lad?" The whimpers grew louder until just off to her right she spied a huddled mass under a tall tree, blending in almost perfectly with the shadows.

"Thank God!" Bridget dropped to her knees, running her hands over the toddler, flinching at the icy feel of the boy's clothing and skin. "By all that is holy! Is there no end to your mischief?" she joked weakly, her eyes brimming with tears. "Did you have to play in the water, too?" He was soaked to the bone.

As gently as she could, Bridget scooped him up, carrying him out into the moonlight where she could see his face. He was unconscious but still murmuring and crying quietly as though in the throes of a nightmare. His skin was frigid and held a bluish tinge. Thick, dark hair was matted with dirt and leaves and clinging damply to his forehead. The tall woman pulled the boy close and tucked her cape around his shivering form, whistling for Apollo.

She took several long strides then leaped onto the horse's back, managing not to jostle the boy any more than necessary. With a stiff kick, she set Apollo in motion, his hooves pounding through the surf once again.

The trip home seemed even longer than the trip out and she cursed the house's position on the farthest, outermost corner of the island. The child began to fuss in her arms and she pulled him a bit closer, feeling his fever through his clothes. A nervous dread welled within her and she urged Apollo faster.

She didn't stable the stallion. Rather she flung one leg over his head and dropped off his back right in front of the house, leaving him to his own devices until later. As she passed through the doorway she could hear yelling and correctly guessed that Cyril had finally showed up. Then she heard more muffled voices and cursing as she ran into the dining room with Henry still tucked neatly inside her cape. The boy hadn't as much as made a peep over the last few moments.

The first person she saw was Faylinn, who, by her dress and the rosy color to her cheeks, had obviously just returned to the house herself. She was arguing with Cyril and trying to wrench free of the grasp he had around one of her arms. Several slaves were furiously pouring oil into lanterns and most of the naval officers that Bridget remembered from earlier were in the room, preparing to go back out into the cold once the lanterns were ready.

Bridget didn't even get a chance to call out before Faylinn turned around and they locked eyes. The smaller woman rushed forward, crying out when she saw that Bridget held Henry in her arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she whispered fiercely, kissing Bridget hard on the cheek and immediately taking the filthy toddler and wrapping him tightly in her arms, oblivious to the wet leaves and grime, staining her dress.

"It's all right," the older woman said gently, although she was still feeling the sting of Faylinn's lack of faith. "I told you I would find him. I'm only sorry it took me so long."

Faylinn shook her head frantically. "I should have believed you. You would never lie... I just... I..." the words came out in an endless stream until she stopped abruptly, seeming to notice the boy wasn't just sleeping. "Henry?" she searched his face, then felt his forehead. "Sweet mother of God! He's burning up!"

Judith and Elizabeth stood mutely alongside their father, who seemed to be in shock. The girls stared nervously at their brother's limp form.

"We need to get him out of these wet clothes and into a warm bed," Faylinn said in a calm assertive voice that was so different from that of the nearly distraught woman that Bridget had left only a few hours ago. The determined mother began heading toward the stairs but not without a backward glance at Bridget. Tired green eyes glistened with unshed tears, easily telegraphing profound relief, thanks, and devotion. She wanted to voice her feelings, but her throat felt as though it was in a vice.

"It's quite all right, Faylinn," Bridget assured with what she hoped was a comforting smile. "Go now and get Henry out of those clothes. I'll track down what medicines we have for a fever."

Faylinn nodded and pulled her son's face next to her own cheek, cooing softly to him as she moved up the stairs. Afia and Judith soon followed, wanting to do anything they could to help.

Bridget dropped down on a chair and placed her palms over her eyes. It spread dirt across her cheeks, but she didn't care, she was already filthy and exhausted, her heart aching for Faylinn and her son, who she knew was not nearly out of danger.

Bridget's world was suddenly tilted on its side when a heavy blow exploded against her jaw. She fell off the chair and retreated backwards across the floor trying to gather her bearings. Her tongue snaked out and she tasted the sharp metallic flavor of blood.

Cyril had hit her with the hilt of his sword and now stood over her, gray eyes blazing. "You helped them, didn't you! You helped those savage slaves escape and steal my son!"

"Brother, what in the devil are you raving about?" She was truly astonished. Had she not just found Henry and returned him home?

"Admit it! You want me destroyed," he spat. "I know how you feel about the slave trade. You've made no secret of your disgust and loathing for me and my business!"

The eyes in the room all turned to Bridget, as several of Cyril's partners stepped behind the raging man in a show of support. They needed this island, and it was his. That made them all his new best friends.

"You're mad!" Bridget accused, rubbing her jaw and rising to her knees.

"How then? Henry was supposed to be at the duck pond. Not miles away!"

"I know how," the young officer who had accused Bridget of lying earlier that evening stormed into the room with Michael in tow. The boy was squirming and crying and was obviously frightened out of his wits.

The officer pointed an accusing finger at Bridget, who merely sneered in his direction, her sharp, bloodstained canines glistening in soft candlelight. "The woman is a witch!"

Liv paused when Kayla made a soft hissing noise and closed her eyes at the word 'witch'. The blonde winced, surprised at the sudden turn of events, though she could see that Kayla wasn't. "I don't think he means that in the 'you’re a little grumpy today' way, does he?"

"No. I don't think so." Kayla smiled weakly at her friend's attempt to lighten the mood. "Umm… throughout history the Reddings have been accused of witchcraft and sorcery. Even during feudal times, when it was common for people to die in the very house where they were born, rumors of black magic kept my family moving around England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales."

Kayla grasped Liv's hand and brought it her lips, staring into compassionate eyes, full of affection and empathy. Do you know I'm falling in love with you, Liv? Kayla swallowed hard as a sudden surge of raw emotion tore through her.

The dark-haired woman cleared her throat awkwardly. "The stories of persecution have been kept alive in the histories. My parents didn't want to frighten me so they kept them from me, which only made things worse because it made me learn the hard way how people might react to my ability. I didn't start reading the histories for myself until a few years ago." After what already seemed like a lifetime of disappointment. "The accusation was actually a rather common one."

The note of sadness in Kayla's voice didn't escape Liv. God, no wonder she's so sensitive about being 'different'. "No one would accuse you of witchcraft nowadays, but their rejection and ignorance still hurts," she said softly, instantly regretting that she had stated the obvious when pale blue eyes turned glassy. Liv suddenly felt extremely protective of woman beside her. "Kayla?"

"Hmm?" Kayla's eyes were firmly trained out the window.

"Kayla?" she repeated until the taller woman reluctantly turned to face her. "Those people, whoever they were, who didn't accept you for who and what you are, were just… just… just dumbshits." She paused for a moment, allowing her words to take hold in Kayla's brain. "I, on the other hand, am not a dumbshit. I would never make that mistake. I'd be missing out on way too much," she whispered earnestly, relieved to see the beginnings of a small, lopsided grin shaping Kayla's lips. She felt Kayla's grip on her hand tighten and saw the younger woman's throat working as she swallowed.

"Thanks," Kayla finally said, knowing that didn't begin to express how much Liv's acceptance meant to her, but trusting that Liv would understand nonetheless.

"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart. Trust me…" She placed a soft kiss on Kayla's cheek, then wiped it away with a gentle swipe of her thumb… "It's purely selfish on my part."

Kayla's grin broadened at the use of the new endearment and she hugged Liv tightly, releasing her only after the smaller woman squealed with laughter, confessing that she couldn't breathe.

When Kayla didn't say anything else, but looked much more relaxed, Liv took that as her cue to continue.

*******************

Bridget physically recoiled at the word 'witch', hearing several gasps around the room as the men shifted nervously.

"Shut up, whelp," Bridget spat at the young officer. "You don't know what you're saying!"

The soldier puffed up his chest indignantly. "The slave has turned on you, witch! Rightfully, he does not want his soul rotting in hell."

Cyril looked back and forth between the man and his sister, clearly confused.

"Sir," the young officer turned toward Cyril, who was still clutching his sword, his blade pointed toward Bridget. "The slave has admitted that which I witnessed with my own eyes. You sister used some form of magic on him to find out about the runaway's plans. She wormed her way into this boy's very mind!" He shook the slave, who looked ready to pass out from fright, for emphasis.

"Sister, you had best explain yourself!" Cyril's mind was reeling and he felt sick. He would not let Bridget ruin everything. He could not! This had to stop now… before the entire family was tainted by these wild allegations.

Bridget rose to her feet, wiping away a trickle of blood from a small cut on her jaw with the back of her hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Cyril. You know I'm no witch."

At her slight inflection of the word 'know', Cyril went pale. "Search her room for evidence!" he commanded finally, enjoying the look of astonishment in wide blue eyes. "I'll tolerate no servants of Satan in this household." Once she was discredited, nothing she could say would matter.

"Of course, Sir." The young officer snapped to attention, despite the fact that Cyril didn't appear anywhere in his chain of command. He took a step forward, then paused, unsure of where to start looking in the massive house.

Cyril flicked his wrist toward Elizabeth, who had been silently watching the scene in quiet satisfaction. It was about time her father grew a spine and dealt with his arrogant sister.

"Take Officer Richards to Bridget's room, daughter. And be quick about it. Wait!" He held up his hand to stop the officer. "Don't forget to gather any evidence that leads you to believe Bridget was in collusion with the runaway slaves."

A round of approving hums sounded in the room and Cyril squared his shoulders, basking in his business partners' support and admiration. He'd just cemented in their eyes that he was not a man to be trifled with, even by his own kin. It was the kind of respect he'd always sought and never been able to achieve… until now.

"Yes, father." Elizabeth smiled sweetly at her aunt, arching an amused eyebrow, before leading the eager young man upstairs.

"You bastard!" Bridget spat, lunging toward her brother just as several soldiers moved in between them. "I had nothing to do with Jasper and William's escape. And I'm no more a witch than you are!" The soldiers had meant to physically restrain Bridget, but stopped several feet from the woman. She was covered in mud and blood was slowly dripping down her jaw, splattering one drop at a time onto the wooden floor. Her inky hair was windblown and tangled, her wild eyes glinting with rage. They could easily believe this woman was a witch.

"Then you have nothing to fear," Cyril stated unequivocally, his voice hard and full of hatred.

Bridget turned icy blue eyes to the men now surrounding her. "Do not presume to lay a single finger on me," she warned gravely, her voice quivering with barely suppressed fury. Her stare and the deep growing timbre of her words caused several men to draw their swords and take a step backwards. I won't forget this, brother! she boomed in his head.

So help me, Bridget… he silently replied, his internal voice shaking with anger. …If Officer Richards finds one shred of evidence that links you to Jasper and William's escape, I'll see you hanged as a conspirator in Henry's kidnapping! I will not allow your pious notions of right and wrong to affect this family's future prosperity. By helping those savages…you've gone too far!

Cyril's hard gaze began to falter as his thoughts briefly drifted to the toddler upstairs.

Officer Richards came barreling into the room, breathless from taking the stairs two at a time, his sword rattling in its scabbard as he jumped off the last step. He had removed his jacket and was clutching the wadded material to his chest. Several seconds later Elizabeth was at his side. They both stood silently in front of Cyril as the room collectively held its breath.

"Well, fool? What's the delay?" Bridget hissed. "I've nothing to hide. What did you discover that was so interesting you find it necessary to cradle it against your chest as though it were a wee babe?"

The man's face colored. "I found nothing that leads me to believe your sister conspired with the escaped slaves," the officer addressed Cyril, pointedly ignoring Bridget's remarks.

Bridget smirked at her brother, who was already thinking of ways he could escape this vile situation gracefully. Cyril's shoulders slumped a bit. He was so sure she'd helped those savages escape.

"I did, however, find ample evidence of witchcraft." The young man lifted his jaw… vindicated.

"What?" Bridget and Cyril shouted in unison, both clearly taken aback.

The officer carefully opened his jacket, revealing a pile of handcrafted charms and amulets. Beneath these were several short candles. The soldier withdrew one, and held it up, making certain everyone in the room saw his find. "These candles were sitting atop a chest of drawers and arranged in the shape of a pentagram," he announced in a clear loud voice. Then he pulled a soiled handkerchief from the pile. It was stiff with dried blood, and appeared a reddish-brown in the glowing lamplight. "This was sitting in the evil design's center."

"That's mine!" Cyril snatched the cloth out of the soldier's hands, immediately recognizing it as the one he'd used to wipe his bloodied nose after Bridget's cowardly attack, earlier that very day. He turned disbelieving gray eyes on his sister. "You kept something soiled with my blood? For some manner of magic?" The disgust in voice was clear even as it was tinged with fright.

"It is obvious, Sir, that your sister was attempting to cast a spell using the devil's own tools," the man finished triumphantly. His word was his bond. There could be no mistaking what he had seen between Bridget and the slave… once he had all the facts.

Bridget was in shock. Save the handkerchief, which Cyril discarded as rubbish, she'd never seen these items before. She opened her mouth to protest but before she could speak the room's senior officer, an older white-haired man with an enormous belly that hung over his belt, stepped forward.

"I arrest you in the name of the Crown for crimes against man and nature." He jerked his chin toward Bridget. "Take her into custody to await judgement!"

Cyril stood by silently as several men tackled Bridget, and a violent scuffle ensued. It took nearly 5 minutes for one of the men to finally knock the powerful woman unconscious. They continued to rain blows upon her still form until the senior officer called them off, ordering her bound and gagged.

Elizabeth's lips curved into a small but cruel smile.

*******************

"Lord, have mercy," Doug whined into the pillow he had crushed against his face. How can I be so thirsty after drinking so much? It doesn't make any sense. He lay quietly for a moment, trying to listen, and wondering at what point he ended up buck-ass naked. A constant 'pitter patter' was filling the otherwise quiet room. It's still raining? Reluctantly, the teenager pushed the pillow off his face and pried open one sea-green, very bloodshot eye.

Gingerly, he opened the other. "Marcy?" he said in a hushed voice, closing his eyes at the first rays of sunlight that streamed between the curtains and into the dingy room. Pushing the pillow farther aside, he glanced from wall to wall seeing no sign of his girlfriend. He realized that it shouldn't be sunny and raining at the same time. Shower? He lifted his head and cocked it slightly to the side, listening as intently as his pounding head would allow. Yep. Well, at least she's up and moving.

He moved his leg and the warm sheets brushed against the sensitive skin on his upper thighs, drawing his attention back to his nakedness. He closed his eyes again, searching his mind -- replaying the events of the night before.

Marcy had gotten sick. Yeah, that was sort of unforgettable. But he'd tried to help the dark-haired teenager the best he could, which really consisted of nothing more than whispering words of sympathy and running a cool washcloth over her pale face. When her stomach finally expelled the last of the beer, she'd pulled out a toothbrush that she always carried around in her purse and disappeared into the bathroom. A long time later, so long that Doug had actually fallen asleep, she curled up next to him on the bed and thanked him for taking such good care of her, waking him with her soft words. Gentle fingers roamed across his face and scalp as Marcy let tendrils of dark-blond hair curl around her probing digits. Rolling over, he looked deeply into her eyes before leaning in to softly kiss her lips.

Doug groaned just thinking about it, shifting in the bed as his body began to remember as well. The kissing had been... he groaned a little louder, covering his face with the soft pillow to muffle the tortured sounds. It had been the most intense thing he'd experienced in all his seventeen years. With a will power he didn't know he had, he'd backed off once, asking Marcy if she wanted to continue... if she was sure.... as Liv's words about doing something that they'd both regret rang out annoyingly in his head. But Marcy was insistent and it wasn't like he needed any real persuading. Neither one of them had wanted to stop there. So they didn't.

Sheets and towels fell away as hands and mouths roamed over naked skin. A moment's fumbling with a condom that had taken up permanent, but hopeful, residence in his wallet and they were making love.

He hadn't known what exactly to expect. Sure, the guys had talked about it, boasting about this and that. But Doug was smart enough to realize that most of what they were saying was a combination of wishful thinking and outright lies.

All he knew was that he had not been disappointed. Marcy had been sweet and luscious and loving and he shivered remembering her skin sliding against his. But how would she feel about him this morning?… 'The morning after'… He suddenly frowned. He hadn't meant to break the land speed record for sex... but he couldn't help himself! He'd wanted her for forever and just the thought of actually 'being' with her caused things to be nearly over before they began. She was friggin' gorgeous! And she was touching him everywhere and he was doing the same thing to her. It was all too much and his senses had simply gone into overload.

Doug's brow furrowed and his frown deepened. Marcy hadn't complained or laughed in his face. But she hadn't screamed his name in ecstasy either. And she didn't writhe around moaning like he'd seen in the movies. I must have been doing something wrong. Or not doing something. Shit! Who can I ask about this? Nobody, that's who. He gave a fleeting thought to asking Liv. Then he nearly coughed up a lung. Nope. That would be way uncool, not to mention totally disgusting. He shook his head to clear the repulsive thought from his mind.

"Stamina," he mumbled to himself, figuring that was the biggest problem. None of the guys had ever mentioned that. Useless bastards.

Doug's frown turned sad and his heart rate began to pick up as he let his insecurities have free rein. She probably didn't enjoy it at all. Maybe she was bored! I'll bet she's in there thinking of ways to dump my pathetic ass! Doug's bleary-eyed gaze drifted to the bathroom door. Apologize. That's what I need to do. Girls like sensitive men like those wusses on the soaps. I could fall on my knees and profess my undying love. It's not like it's a lie. I love her more than anything. Maybe I can convince her to give me another chance. He threw his pillow against the wall and sat up forcefully, immediately regretting the quick movement as his stomach roiled. He wrapped his arms around his middle. "Fuck!" he hissed with a grimace that quickly shifted into a pout. "I'll improve with practice, Marcy. I just know it!"

A dark, wet head poked its way out of the bathroom. "Who are you talking to?" Gray eyes surveyed the room half-expecting to see Kayla or Liv with Doug.

"Oh... ah... hi Marcy." At least she's still talking to me. "Mornin'."

"Good morning. Dougie, I..." the girl stopped mid-sentence as her eyes locked on his face. "Hey," she prompted in a gentle voice. "Are you okay?" In three steps she was out of the bathroom and at his side, her thumbs brushing across his cheeks. She searched his face worriedly, waiting for an answer, noticing that his eyes refused to meet hers. "What's wrong?" She felt a pang of worry. Uh…Oh. Was he regretting what had happened?

"You're just in a towel." Brilliant, asswipe. State the obvious, why don't you?

"I was drying off when I heard you talking to someone. Why? Is that a problem?" she asked incredulously, a little hurt creeping into her voice. "It didn't seem to bother you yesterday. Or last night for that matter."

A disheveled, pale head shook and Doug cringed at the mention of the night before. "Do um... do you remember last night?"

"Of course!" Gray eyes widened with realization. "Why?" She licked her lips, suddenly nervous. "Don't you?"

"Um... sure. I remember everything. I wasn't that drunk." Doug shifted so he could look into Marcy's eyes, his embarrassment evident. "You um... well, you just didn't say much after and I... well..." Christ! Why can't I talk without bumbling like an idiot? Isn't it obvious that she just didn't want to hurt my feelings?

Oh. Marcy tried not to look as guilty as she suddenly felt. "I fell asleep really quickly after we... you know... didn't I?"

Doug just nodded.

"It was the booze, Dougie," she offered contritely, taking one of Doug's hands in hers. "You know I've never drunk like that before."

"Was it really horrible?" Doug suddenly blurted out of nowhere, only able to concentrate on one thing and confusing Marcy.

Dark brows drew together. "Well, it started out fun but now I feel like crap, I'll have to admit." Marcy scrunched up her nose in disgust. "All I know is that I'm never doing that again. I've learned my lesson."

"Never?" Doug squeaked, his heart sinking. Oh, shit! Never? As in not EVER again? Ever? No more?

Marcy thought about that for a moment. "Well, I guess that's not totally realistic. Maybe I'll try again in a few years. Just on special occasions, mind you."

"I didn't think..." the boy swallowed hastily and lowered his eyes. "Was it really that terrible, Marse?"

"Hell yes," she chuckled ruefully. "But at least I don't feel like I'm gonna throw up anymore."

"Oh God," Doug moaned. It just keeps getting worse and worse. The teenager jumped to his feet, taking the sheet with him and clutching it around his waist. "I'm so sorry, Marcy. I... I'll never ever touch you again. Shit. Shit. Shit," he berated himself ruthlessly. "I promise. I..."

"What?" the tall girl asked, obviously startled by Doug's prattling. "What in God's name are you talking about?"

"I know last night wasn't what you wanted." Doug's free hand began to flail around as he spoke, a gesture he'd picked up from Liv. "We never should have done it. God, but when you started touching me... I just, I just..." Short-circuited!

"Hang on just a minute. And quit freakin' out for a second, will ya?" Marcy rose to her feet, grabbing his wildly gesturing arm. "Doug, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"The sex of course! What else?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." He squared his shoulders ready to admit his apparent deficiency out loud. "I blew it big time, I know."

A relieved but tentative smile shaped Marcy's lips as she finally caught a clue as to what was happening. "I was talking about the beer, not about making love with you, Doug."

He pulled away from the girl's grasp and began to pace around the bed. "We don't have to do it again," he said firmly, hating that idea more than words could express. "And I won't pressure you. I... What did you say?"

"Jesus, you're neurotic." Marcy shook her head as she rolled her eyes. Doug was nothing if not predictable. If I had been thinking straight last night I would have done something to head this off, she thought grumpily. "While I was in the shower you were out here thinking all kinds of crazy, stupid things, right?"

Doug's eyes widened a bit. "Well, I uhh... No!" he immediately denied, pretending Marcy didn't know him as well as she obviously did.

Marcy crossed her arms across her chest and waited as a dark eyebrow arched.

Doug visibly flinched. Fine. I won't take the coward's way out. I'll just ask! "Was it everything you wanted it to be, Marcy?" he finally questioned softly, plopping back down on the bed and dejectedly sprawling across it, wishing he had some aspirin and was somewhere else.

Oh boy. Ask me something easy, why don't you? "Umm..." she hesitated, not wanting to lie but wanting to make sure Doug didn't misunderstand what she was saying. "That's kind of a toughie, Doug."

"No, it isn't. A 'yes' or 'no' will do nicely."

Marcy made a face. "Okay, then the answer is yes and no." She joined him on the bed, rolling onto her belly and tucking a pillow under her chest as she propped herself up on her elbows.

"You were disappointed." It wasn't a question.

A drop of water rolled down her throat and onto the bed. "Not by you."

"You're lying."

Marcy blew out a frustrated breath. Doug was the kind who always made her work for things. Lucky for him, he was totally worth it. "Look, I would have preferred that we had been someplace a little more romantic than this flea trap." She rolled over on her back and began to study the ceiling, noting the dingy brown smoke stains directly above the bed. "And I would have preferred that we were both completely sober. But it felt right at the time," she added honestly. "So, I'm not sorry it happened."

Doug thought about what she said, pretty much agreeing with her but still not feeling much better. "But what about me?"

"What about you?"

"Did I... make you feel good." He felt himself blushing, but was unable to stop it.

A small nod came without hesitation. "You sure did."

Doug waited expectantly. "And?" he finally prompted.

Marcy shrugged. "And what?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he exploded, finally tired of beating around the bush. "Did you have an orgasm or not?!"

"Hey!" Marcy yelled back indignantly, her hackles rising at his tone of voice. "Don't you think that's a little personal?"

"Personal?" he asked flabbergasted. "After what we did, why is that personal? I wanna know!" he demanded.

"Don't get all huffy with me, Dougie! Fine, then. The answer is 'no'."

Doug's anger suddenly melted away. "Aww... Crap," was the only thing he could think to say. He rolled on his side, facing the wall.

Grey eyes softened at the sight of the teen's slumped shoulders. "It's not like that's the end of the world."

"It's not, huh? Call me crazy, but I was hoping you'd enjoy yourself too."

"I did enjoy myself." God, do people actually talk about this with each other? That can't be right. "Well, it's not like we've had any practice or anything," she reminded him sensibly.

"That's true," he admitted reluctantly. But for some reason, Doug was determined to stew in misery for as long as possible. He sighed and rubbed his face. "Practice could only help, right?"

A dark head nodded, and Marcy paused, but decided since they were already talking about it.... "And I've sort of talked to my girlfriends about this and they said it might take a little time to... you know... work on things so that... well... we both enjoy ourselves to the fullest extent possible." Oh. Great job, Marse. That made sense.

Doug turned back over and stared at Marcy with wide eyes. "You mean you've actually talked to girls who admit that their boyfriends couldn't... that they didn't..."

"Well, it's not like it's a character flaw or anything!" she smacked him with a pillow, drawing a reluctant laugh from the boy. "Women are ruthless and talk about everything, Dougie. And sometimes we're even honest with our friends," she drawled wryly.

"I know. I know. But I bet their boyfriends still wouldn't like it." Doug suddenly felt worlds better. If girls were talking about it then it couldn't just be him. And Marcy sounded prepared to 'work on things', which meant he would get another chance. Hopefully, lots more chances. Yeah. He could live with that. "How long do you figure we can hide here and 'work on things' before our sisters root us out?" He smiled and reflexively, Marcy smiled back, snuggling closer.

"They're probably asleep. I think it's way too early to call them now, don't you?"

Doug's grin broadened. "Absolutely."

"Don't be mean."

"It's not mean," Kayla insisted, even as she was unable to keep a devilish smile from curling her lips.

Two pale brows rose in disbelief, but Liv grinned right along with her companion. "Of course it is. Otherwise, you wouldn't bother doing it."

"You know you want me to," the taller woman taunted in a sultry voice as pale blue eyes sparkled beneath thick dark lashes.

Sea-green eyes narrowed. "You're bad."

"Of course."

Liv bit her lower lip and chuckled. "Okay."

"Ha! You're easy."

"Clearly."

Kayla pressed *69 on her cell phone and retrieved the number of the motel Marcy and Doug were staying in. It wasn't even 6 a.m. but she decided a little wake up call was in order. Especially, after the kids' drinking escapade.

Grinning wickedly, the younger woman gathered several sheets that were draped over pieces of furniture to keep the dust off. With her free hand, she grabbed the history and tucked it and the sheets under her arm. Grasping Liv's hand, she led the blonde out onto the porch. The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, dimming the blanket of twinkling stars above and painting the sky with shades of crimson and violet and finally gold.

Shocked eyes surveyed the land.

"Jesus!" Kayla splashed through shallow puddles as she crossed the wooden porch, leaning over a side railing to get a better look of the island. Absently, she tossed the sheets onto the wet porch swing, letting out a slight groan as her knee twisted to the side.

Liv's jaw sagged as she stood speechless.

"Jesus!"

"You already said that," Liv finally muttered, spinning in a circle as she took in the damage.

Nearly a third of the trees had been downed, strewn in a tangled mass all along the shore. Most had simply snapped in half from the force of the wind, but several had actually been uprooted. There was another sizeable group that had been reduced to charred, smoldering splinters from the numerous lightning strikes. The fresh salty air brought with it just the lightest hint of smoke and the pungent fragrance of wet, burnt wood.

"Jes..."

"And you wondered why I don't like storms?" Liv interrupted.

A dark head shook. "Not anymore."

Liv joined Kayla along the railing, the phone forgotten for the time being as they focused on the sea. The taller woman wrapped her arm around Liv's waist pulling her close as several strands of blonde hair brushed against her shoulder. "Were they ever this bad in Africa?"

Liv nodded. "Oh yeah. But most of the damage was done by flooding, not lightning." She briefly closed her eyes, trying to block out visions of entire villages that were there... then simply weren't. All in a matter of moments.

Kayla could feel Liv's mood beginning to darken. She turned to face the shorter woman, and cupping her cheeks in her hands, placed a tender kiss on soft, red lips. "Are you tired?"

"Mmmm..." Liv hummed into the kiss, continually amazed at the depth of emotion and eroticism that could be conveyed in such a simple, nearly platonic gesture. "A little," she admitted. "I never was very good about staying up all night. I'll probably crash later today." She took a deep breath of the cool air. God, it's good to be out of the house.

The confines of its walls seemed dark, and heavy -- oppressive even. Liv tried to shake off the feeling, considering that it might be nothing more than lingering fear from the storm. But then why was 'misery' the first word that came to mind when she thought of the house, despite the fact that she and Kayla were obviously safe? The deeper she delved into the history, the worse the place seemed. The thought of a spell protecting the ancient home only made it seem 'haunted' in her mind. She couldn't leave this island soon enough. But the water was still churning heavily and she knew it would be hours before it would be safe enough for the kids to make the 3-mile trip to the island. She sighed heavily, training her eyes on the ocean and concentrating on the fresh feeling of the outdoors.

Kayla gestured toward the porch swing and adjusted the layers of sheets across the seat and back to protect them from the wet wood. She sat down with a barely audible groan, making the swing creak loudly under her weight. Liv immediately joined her. For a few moments they continued to watch the sunrise. Allowing a profound sense of peace and togetherness to envelop them. Finally, Liv's attention was drawn to Kayla's lap when she heard a faint beeping as Kayla dialed her cell phone.

The brunette grinned and brought the phone to her ear, listening to it ring. On the forth ring she began to scowl. On the eight ring she was ready to hang up. Kayla was about to push the 'off' button when she heard a faint voice.

"Lo."

"Doug?"

Kayla heard the rustling of sheets. Blue eyes narrowed. Was that a moan in the background? "Doug, is that you?"

"I..." A shuddering breath. "I'll call back later. Bye." Then the line went dead and left Kayla simply staring at the phone.

"Well," Liv asked, snuggling a little closer and enjoying the much cooler morning air. "What'd he say?"

"He hung up on me!" Kayla continued to stare evilly at the phone as a dark blush worked its way up her neck and onto her face.

"What?"

"I think they um...." Kayla's flushed deepened. "They were busy and Doug said they'd call back later."

"Busy! Before 6 a.m.? What in the hell..." Sea-green eyes widened as Liv's own blush made a startling appearance. She covered her ears with her hands. "No. No. No. I didn't need to know that," she whined pitifully, shaking her head as if trying to remove the thought.

"God, neither did I." Kayla made a face. "I will not go crazy and rant. I will not!" the dark-haired woman chanted not quite under her breath.

The blonde sighed. "If you won't. I won't." A moments more thought on the subject she shivered. "Let's finish the history. It only looks like there are a few sections to go." She glanced up to the sky. "It'll be nice not to read by candlelight. I just couldn't stand it in that stuffy house anymore."

Kayla nodded and wordlessly passed over the book, her eyes roaming over the red highlights in Liv's hair that were accentuated by the rising sun. She smiled gently but her face quickly melted into a more stoic pose. Kayla had a bad feeling about the history's outcome but didn't feel the need to share that with Liv. She'd been wrong plenty of times before and she could hear the empathy in Liv's voice as she read the tale.

"Huh." Liv traced in the ink stained paper with the tip of her finger as her eyes took in the neat lines. "Her hand writing looks bolder in natural light." She turned to Kayla who had her arm wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes closed. An involuntary smile shaped Liv's lips. God, she's drop dead gorgeous. "Are you ready?"

A short nod and small smile were Liv's answer as Afia's words were carried away in the light morning breeze.

*******************

"It was four days before I saw Mistress Bridget again. And when my eyes first lay upon her, the very breath was sucked from my lungs. She had not been washed since her search for Master Henry or the brutalities that were inflicted upon her that very same night. Allah knows she was a sight. Her appearance, and the strength she showed despite it, compels me to take time to detail it, even now.

"Her cheeks were sunken and I wondered if she'd been given any food or water during her captivity. She had one black eye that was still nearly swollen shut and several jagged cuts adorning her forehead and chin. The wounds had not been stitched and one look told me they would scar her lovely face. Another long cut began at her collarbone and disappeared beneath the stained, white, man's, rough spun cotton shirt she still wore. The wound appeared to be infected, and red streaks shot out from it in several directions, marring her lightly tanned skin. Her hair was a loose and tangled mess, streaked with dried mud and blood.

"Mistress Bridget's clothing reeked of rancid wood, urine, and death. It was a smell I remembered all too well. With shocking certainty, I knew that she had been housed in the slave hull, in the bowels of the ship anchored off Cobb Island. My heart ached for the child, knowing she'd been kept in that horrid, squalid place, even as her experience could never match mine, when the hull of my ship had been crammed with living and dying bodies on my never ending journey across the great sea.

"It seems that Master Cyril couldn't stand the putrid stench of the ship's underbelly when he'd gone to see his sister and he requested that the prisoner be kept in the house, or perhaps the satble on the island. Mistress Bridget was manacled by heavy irons that circled her ankles and wrists and Master had had a rather easy time convincing the senior officer that there was really no need for her to be held aboard ship while she awaited trial. Truth be told, the naval officers were relieved by this request. None of them wanted to be anywhere near the fearsome 'witch' who had fought them with the Devil's own strength. Now, in shifts, they would simply stand guard outside her door.

"Mistress Bridget was led into a spare room; she couldn't be trusted in her own room, for fear she'd use some unknown device to ply her witchcraft. Her feet shuffled along in short, abbreviated steps that contrasted sharply with her normally purposeful stride. Even in those small steps it was apparent that she was favoring one side. At the time, I wondered if it was her leg or ribs that had been injured. I soon found out that it was both.

"Before the guard shut the door Mistress Bridget sneered at him, flashing white, straight teeth in a chilling, feral grin. The young man nearly soiled himself on the spot. It was the first time that I had smiled in four days. I had no way of knowing at the time, that it would be the last for many days to come. It was also then that I realized that although her body appeared broken, Mistress Bridget's spirit clearly was not."

 

*******************

"How is she?" were the first words out of Bridget's mouth when the room's door clicked shut. "And the lad, how is he?" she questioned eagerly.

Afia's eyes remained on the cloth she was dipping into a basin of warm water. Now that she was in the house, Cyril had ordered that his sister be made more presentable. Witch or not, she was still a Redding and she would face her judgment in as dignified a manner as possible.

"Afia?"

A deep sigh. "Not well, child." The dark woman wrung out the thin cloth. "The boy's fever has only gotten worse; it has been over two days since we were able to awake him to feed him or give him water." The skin around Afia's eyes crinkled deeply with worry. "Now he only sleeps."

Bridget sucked in a breath, her eyes taking on a slightly dazed quality. "Damn!" she hissed. She'd heard nothing about Henry's condition deteriorating. "And his mother?" she asked a bit shakily.

Afia picked up a bar of soap, absently wondering how Mistress Bridget was supposed to wash while manacled. "Mistress Faylinn hasn't left his side since you found him. She is beyond the point of exhaustion, and she continues to ask about you." Afia left out that Faylinn had gone into an all out fury when she found out what happened to Bridget, smashing every piece of furniture the room held, save the bed where Henry lay unconscious.

Bridget said firmly, "I must go to her."

Afia finally turned to face Bridget, her chocolate brown eyes warm and soft. "You cannot, child. Your brother forbade it."

Bridget squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. "Dammit, Afia! She needs me. And maybe I can help the lad! The natives on the mainland showed me..."

A heart-wrenching wail filled the house, immediately followed by a slightly higher pitched keening that seemed to drown out every other noise.

The island went still.

Afia and Bridget stopped breathing and just as abruptly as the keening began, it was replaced by a sobbing the likes of which neither woman had heard before. Afia simply dropped the wet cloth and rushed out of the room, leaving Bridget to stare blankly at the closed door, a solitary tear streaking down her cheek. The tall woman's heart twisted painfully in her chest as a wave of nausea swept over her. She tried to raise her hands to cover her ears and block out the horrific cries, but her chains had been securely fastened to the heavy chair in which she sat. The lone tear splashed silently onto her thigh, landing atop a crusted stain of dark, crimson blood.

The sound had been Faylinn and could only mean one thing.

Young Henry was dead.

*******************

Liv paused in her reading, swallowing convulsively as she looked up from the yellowed page.

"Let's stop," Kayla said gently, her voice breaking a bit as she reached for the history. "I've already found what I was looking for. We don't need to continue."

"No." Liv sniffed and looked up at Kayla with glistening eyes. She smiled weakly. "I'm just being silly, I know. I mean, they're all already dead. It doesn't really matter now how they got that way."

Kayla frowned. "It's not silly, Liv. He was just a baby. It's right that you should feel sad for him and his family." Long slender hands reached up and tucked back an errant wisp of golden hair that fluttered in the morning breeze.

Verdant eyes welled again, and this time a couple of tears managed to escape, only to be swept away by gentle lips as Kayla claimed them.

Long arms circled Liv, squeezing her with a firm, steady pressure. "Let's…"

"No. I don't want to stop. I want to know what happened."

Kayla deposited another soft kiss on the soft skin just below Liv's ear, the warm breath tickling Liv's throat and sending a small shiver down her spine. "Okay. If that's what you want. Let's keep going."

Liv nodded and the women settled back into what had become 'their' reading position and began again.

*******************

"The day that Master Henry died, his father went a little mad. Master Cyril charged into the room where Mistress Bridget was being held, and beat the poor child into a stupor while she sat restrained to the chair. I believe the only thing that stopped him from murdering her right then was the sure knowledge of what was to follow.

"Master Cyril insisted that his sister be tried for witchcraft, Henry's murder and conspiracy involving the slaves escape that very moment. When it became clear that no amount of torture would convince her to confess these crimes, Bridget was bound, gagged and placed in the corner of the room to watch the 30-minute proceeding.

"The 'trial' was a farce from beginning to end, with Officer Richards, Elizabeth, Cyril, and the young slave Michael being the only persons permitted to testify. The Master's business partners acted as judge and jury.

"Elizabeth informed her sister of what was to happen only moments before it was to begin. Mistress Judith went into such a state, demanding that she be allowed to make a statement on her Aunt's behalf, that Cyril locked the nearly hysterical child in her room until the trial was over and she could regain her senses.

"As Bridget sat in the parlor, her trial going on almost in spite of her presence, her gaze continuously traveled to the door. My heart ached from the realization that it was Faylinn she was waiting to see. At Master Cyril's direction, Mistress Faylinn, who remained in the room with Henry's body, remained oblivious to the entire proceeding.

"The look on Bridget's face when the child finally realized she would truly face her judgment alone was a sickening combination of hurt, bewilderment, and anger. To my everlasting shame, I confess here, as I have in my prayers to Allah, that it was only my own fear that kept me from rushing upstairs and informing Faylinn of these abominable proceedings myself. I know in my heart now, as I did then, that the young woman would have done everything and anything in her power to help Mistress Bridget.

"It surprised no one that Mistress Bridget was found guilty of all charges. Her judge, being a senior officer of the Royal Navy, felt it well within his rights to impose her sentence immediately -- as military law governed in the colonies. For Mistress Bridget, 'justice' would be swift and severe. Her brother, as the injured party along with the Crown, was consulted on the proper form of punishment for her crimes.

"I know at several times in the pages of this history I have spoken of things I shall remember and my dreams. The judge's voice echoed in the parlor while slave, soldier, and family alike looked on with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

"Cyril's eyes locked on his sister's, and for a moment, the room went deathly still. The sound of my own breathing was thunderous and I had to force myself to relax for fear I would faint. I half-expected something to happen between them, although neither sibling said a word. After a moment where neither one would break their gaze, Cyril walked over to the judge and spoke quietly in his ear. His exact words remain a mystery. But the judge nodded and rose to his feet, sucking in his belly as Bridget pinned him with an intense stare that literally caused a sweat to break out across the fat man's brow.

"His words are forever scalded on my soul. They chill me even now, as I put pen to paper.

'Bridget Katherine Redding, having been found guilty of crimes against man and God, which include conspiracy, murder and unspeakable acts of witchcraft...

You are hereby sentenced to death.
As punishment for your crimes, and in the name of His Royal Majesty King George, I direct that you be burned at the stake
until you are dead, and your ashes scattered in the sea without benefit
of Christian burial. Your sentence to be carried out immediately.
May God have mercy on your wretched soul.'"

 

Return to The Bard's Corner