Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

“Yes, I suppose so. They’re all so honorable, aren’t they?”

“They aren’t scum like you,” Jules said.

“Now, little girlie—” Hawkins began.

“Shut up, both of you,” Wilkes said, and got to his feet. He cursed the damned pain, but managed to keep his expression impassive. He wanted more opium, needed it desperately, but he couldn’t allow himself to escape, not yet. He said to Jules, “You will stay put, my dear, or I will kill Mr. Hammond. Hawkins, you come with me.”

Jules watched the two men leave. She scrambled to her feet, looking about frantically for a weapon, any kind of weapon. She feverishly clawed through the bedrolls. Nothing. She felt dirty, her bones ached from sleeping on the dirt cave floor, and she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. Before, it had been just her. Now it was Brent.

She crept toward the cave opening and peered out. She could see Wilkes’s back, Hawkins just behind him, and Grabbler off to her left in the notch of a pine tree. She saw the ocean beyond, calm, gray like a whitetip reef shark.

“This is it,” Josh said, his voice low, nearly a whisper.

“Yes,” Brent said, nodding. He looked up at the cliff above them and scanned the wall. He heard a horse nicker. He held up his hand for silence, then rode forward a bit.

He called out, “All right, Wilkes. We are here. What the hell do you want?”

“Hammond?”

“Yes, of course. You know that Jules’s husband is with my wife. What do you want?”

Jules, Wilkes thought blankly. How odd. It sounded ridiculous. He much preferred “Juliana.” Had her damned husband given her that nickname? He wanted to kill him.

“You may be certain I don’t want you,” Wilkes shouted. “I want you and your niggers to take a message back to Saint Morris. He’ll come here alone, or he will never see her again.”

“Why didn’t you just wait until he would track his wife?”

“Very simple, Hammond,” Wilkes called out. “She wasn’t out of his sight and wouldn’t be until your dear wife started her birthing pains. He would not allow his innocent wife to be present, of that I was certain.”

Brent cursed softly. Why had he imagined all sorts of wily, bizarre plots on Wilkes’s part? It was all so simple really. And Wilkes was right, completely right. It was the first time Saint had let Jules out of his sight. Saint and Thackery had dogged her every step.

“Now, as I figure it, Hammond, by the time you get back to that town of yours, your baby will be born, that or your precious wife will be dead. In any case, Saint Morris will be free to come after his wife. Give him my message.”

Brent felt his jaw tighten until pain seared his face. What the hell could he do? Byrony, no! You won’t die. Saint promised.

Jules felt her blood run cold. Wilkes not only wanted her, he also wanted to kill Michael. She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t know what to do. Suddenly she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Brent, don’t get Michael! He wants to kill him. Don’t let him leave Byrony!”

“Jules, are you all right?” Brent yelled back. His horse shied sideways, and it took a moment of his concentration to get him back under control.

“I’m all right,” Jules shouted back. “Don’t let Michael come here!”

Wilkes was beside her, pulling her roughly back into the cave. He flung her to the dirt floor. “You keep your mouth shut, Juliana, or I’ll kill Hammond, and his niggers can deliver my message to your precious husband.”

She stared at him, hatred for him filling her. She wanted to spew her hatred out to him, but at that moment she saw his face pale, saw him clutch at his belly. My God, she thought, he’s ill!

“You stay put,” Wilkes said again, his voice low, his teeth gritted, “or I’ll plow your belly in front of your precious husband. You understand me?”

“I understand,” Jules said. She was silent a moment, then said very quietly, “Do you want my husband for revenge or do you want a doctor?”

“Interesting question,” Wilkes said, and laughed. “Don’t move, Juliana!” He walked from the cave, not looking back, for there was nothing she could do. Nothing.

Saint ripped off the sheet that covered Byrony. He couldn’t allow it to go on any longer. He had to do it. “Mammy,” he said curtly, “take her hands and hold her steady. Byrony, you’re not going to give up, you’re going to push with all your strength.”

She made a soft mewling sound. “No, I can’t,” she whispered.

“Damn you, Byrony, do as I tell you!”

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile on her white lips. He saw the contraction and splayed his hands over her belly. “Push!” he shouted at her, and bore down with his hands. Almost, he thought, hope welling up in him. “Again, Byrony!” This time he slipped his hand inside her. He felt the baby’s head, gently found the tiny shoulders and pulled. He shut his mind to Byrony’s screams and eased the baby from the birth canal. Damn him for a fool, he should have given her more chloroform, but there hadn’t been time.