Bart nearly carried him down to a small, windowless chamber on the ground floor that night, but Nathaniel had taken a few steps, at least. Granted, the pain threatened to bring up the broth and small amount of bread he’d eaten, but he’d kept his food down. While it might have been a tiny victory, he’d take it.
After Bart had gone and Susanna fretted over Nathaniel, he asked, “How about some Don Quixote? I haven’t heard that in years.”
Susanna winced as glass shattered in the distance, the upper floor of the house in particular taking a lashing from the storm. The wind howled, and Nathaniel wondered for the hundredth time where Hawk was and if he suffered.
Would the privateers treat him fairly? He had once been one of them, and if their letter of marque was revoked for any reason, they would suddenly be deemed pirates too. Perhaps Hawk could appeal to their reason. Nathaniel didn’t hold out much hope, but it was all he could cling to.
“Yes, a good choice. I’ll fetch it from the library.” Susanna left the door ajar, and Nathaniel listened to the household staff bustle about.
Walter was holed up in his study, the baby and wet nurse in the sitting room, where Susanna would sleep as well. The upper floor had been deemed unsafe, even with boards hastily nailed over the windows.
Earlier, Susanna had insisted she wasn’t tired in the least, and Nathaniel was happy to hear her read to him again while the baby slept for a few hours. He needed something—anything—to keep his mind from fixating on Hawk.
Have they hurt him? Is he angry with me? Does he love me as I love him? I do love him, more than anything. Is he afraid? Does he despair?
Nathaniel had last beheld him much as he had the very first time: Hawk wearing his costume—his armor—that announced him a fearsome pirate king. The rings on his fingers and slash of red around his waist, the steel of his cutlass winking on his hip; the coat that acted almost as a cape.
Yet he would remember Hawk not as the myth, but the man—scarred and tired, passionate and tender. The raw terror on his face as he’d uttered Nathaniel’s name aloud, leaning over him, shielding him, holding his fingers so tightly before tearing himself away.
“All right, here we are.” Susanna jumped as a gust of wind shrieked, rain battering the house. From what little Nathaniel had seen of the two-story building, it was solidly constructed, with at least a dozen rooms.
How would the rest of the colony fare? From the sound of it, there was little left. Susanna pulled her winged chair close to the narrow bed, which was more of a cot. She cleared her throat and began.
Her familiar voice and cadence soothed Nathaniel’s raw edges enough that he could unclench his fists and breathe evenly. Susanna read into the night as Mother Nature railed, threatening at times, it seemed, to tear the house from its foundations.
Nathaniel closed his eyes and tried to focus only on Susanna’s warm, familiar voice. As she read, the wind and rain keened. He shivered, the earlier heat chased away.
Soaked to the skin, Bart stuck his head in, water dripping into his eyes from his floppy curls. He had an appearance not unlike a massive shaggy dog. Susanna waved him in, assuring him the baby was sleeping comfortably, at least until the next time she woke wailing, as babies inevitably would.
“You must promise not to go out again!” Susanna said. “Please stay here until this passes.”
Bart sighed, wiping water from his face. “The remaining people are in need, and there aren’t enough hands. It feels cowardly to hole up here with the women and children.” He looked guiltily to Nathaniel. “What I mean to say is—”
“I know,” Nathaniel assured him. “I take no offense. I possess the strength of a kitten at the moment.”
“Father is here, and he’s not infirm,” Susanna said.
Bart raised his eyebrows. “Regretfully, your father is not a man I aspire to emulate.” He took her hand. “Forgive me for speaking so frankly.”
She sighed and plopped back into her chair. “No apology necessary. We all know Father’s…limitations. Which have become all too clear.”
Nathaniel asked, “Bart, what do you mean, the remaining people? What is happening on this island? There’s something going on that no one wants to explain. I know the colony was struggling, but it sounds as if it has collapsed. I assure you I can withstand the cold truth.”
Sharing a look with Susanna, Bart said, “Let me get another chair.” When he was settled, the door pulled halfway shut, he nodded to Susanna, who leaned toward the bed, her voice low.
“Oh, Nathaniel. It’s a disaster. They say the terrain is all wrong. Too sandy in some places, too rocky in others. Far too hilly. The men who initially proposed this colony to England were fools. Overconfident that no matter the landscape, it could be molded and tamed to do our bidding.”