She'd thought it a grand idea,
and Mavis had agreed, so she'd put her guards to work helping her rearrange both the master bedchamber and this tiny room off of it. But she hadn't expected to end up lying next to it all trussed up like a turkey ready to go in a cooking pot.
"You are awake. Sorry. Good."
Jetta lifted her head and glanced around at the woman standing behind her and then rolled on her back to gape at her.
"Cateline." The name was a whisper on her lips as her memories were instantly all back. They did not suddenly come rushing into her mind like water into a cup. Instead, it was as if a veil had been lifted and everything was just there, where it had always been. And it wasn't the appearance of her sister that did it. It was the old nickname Cat had used. Sorry, a bastardization of her true name that she'd always hated. Probably because it was usually followed by the taunting, "Sorry Sorcha, such a sorry creature."
This time there was no aching head with the memories, but then she wasn't having to struggle to try to find them. They were all there: her full name, her home at Fitton, her childhood, her parents and this woman, her twin sister who was as different from her as darkness was from light.
Jetta also abruptly recalled how she'd come to be strapped to a mast, floating in the ocean. The memory made her scowl at her twin before she said coldly, "My apologies, Cat, but if you were hoping still to force me to France to marry your betrothed in your place, your plan will not work now. I am already married."
"Aye. I watched the wedding," Cat said with amusement.
Jetta stiffened in surprise. "You watched--? How long have you been at Buchanan?" she asked. It was a question she hadn't considered before this. She hadn't really considered anything since finding Cateline standing over her. Like why she was lying on the floor in the small anteroom off the master bedchamber? Why she was all trussed up? Where Aulay was? He'd been there when she'd got the memory back that Cateline was her twin, and that she differed from her greatly. He'd stood beside her as she'd tried to remember more, sure something important waited just outside her reach . . . and he'd attempted to get her to stop trying, she recalled. But she'd been determined despite the pain it was causing her, and then . . .
"I fainted again," Jetta said with a frown.
"I do not think fainting is the right word," Cateline said thoughtfully. "Nothing worked to wake you up after your husband finally left the room. Not slapping your face, not dumping water on you . . . You did not even wake up when I rolled you off the bed, and dragged you in here by your feet."
Jetta peered at her with disbelief, then glanced down at herself, noting that her hair was damp and she was now wearing only her shift, which was caught up around her waist. Scowling, she struggled to a sitting position and did her best to push her shift down with hands that were bound and could only reach her sides, and that with some pain as her bindings cut into her skin.
"Why am I tied up? And where has my gown--" She stopped midquestion as she looked at her sister and realized Cateline was wearing it now.
"I like it. So I took it," Cat said with a shrug. "I think it looks better on me. Do you not too?"
Straightening her shoulders, Jetta glared at her sister. "What are you up to now, Cat?"
"Finishing what I started," Cat said emotionlessly.
Jetta narrowed her gaze. "I told you, you and Father cannot make me marry your betrothed. I am already married."
"Father cannot make you do anything," Cat said idly, beginning to toy with a knife she held that Jetta hadn't noticed until she now began to turn it between her fingers.
"Why is that?" Jetta asked warily.
"Because he is dead," Cat said as if announcing that the sup was ready.
Jetta's eyes widened at the news. She waited for dismay or grief to claim her, but mostly all she felt was resignation and relief. Her father had been drinking himself to death for years now. From the day the healer had told them that Mother would never recover from the illness slowly ravaging her, that, unable to keep down food of any kind, she would simply grow weaker and thinner while suffering more and more pain, and then finally, mercifully expire. Unable to accept that, her father had retreated from life and hidden away in a flagon of ale. Although he'd alternated that with hiding in a flask of whiskey, or a cask of wine at times. It had depended on his mood and what was available to him.
"He finally drank himself to death," Jetta guessed quietly.
Cat gave a little huff of laughter, and said with disgust, "You always did think you knew everything."
"Am I wrong?" Jetta asked, watching her closely as she began to pick at the knots of the rope binding her hands. It had suddenly occurred to her that Cat may be behind the attacks here at Buchanan. She had no idea why that had not occurred to her before this. Perhaps because she had been too surprised that she was even here. She may even have been a little overwhelmed by the return of her memories. It was a lot to take. But the fact was, Cat was not only here, but apparently on finding her unconscious, had stripped her of her dress, dragged her into this small room off the bedchamber and tied her hands behind her back. That hardly suggested she was here to apologize for what she'd done in the past, and hoped for a closer relationship now that their father was dead.
Come to that, neither did her attitude, Jetta thought grimly. Cat had always been a selfish, spoiled brat, but at least prior to this she had tried to camouflage it somewhat behind simpering smiles and batting eyelashes. There was none of that now. The woman before her was cold and bitter and so filled with rage . . . Where Jetta had always just found her exasperating and even infuriating. The Cateline before her now was actually a bit terrifying. She could believe she was behind the attacks, and was here to try to kill her. That being the case, getting herself free so that she had half a chance at defending herself seemed a good idea. But she needed time to do it. She had to keep Cat talking.
"Aye, ye're wrong," Cat sneered.
"Then why do you not tell me what has happened since I left?" she suggested quietly. "I presume after you and Father saw me tied to the mast on the merchant ship, and on the way to marry your betrothed in your place, you rode back to Fitton in triumph?"
"Aye." She smiled crookedly. "I thought I had won. I was very happy that day. I grinned all afternoon and all the next day during the journey back to Fitton."
"All afternoon and the next day?" Jetta asked with surprise. "It took us only the one morning to make our way to the ship."
"Aye, but you would not allow Father to drink on the journey out."
"And you did on the way back," she guessed sadly.
Cat shrugged. "We were celebrating on the way back . . . and I was so happy I did not mind the travel or even that our having to stop to allow Papa to recover from his drinking made it take longer than the journey out, and you know how I hate travel." She grimaced.
"Aye. You always considered it torture."
"'Tis torture," Cat snapped. "Hours being bounced around on a horse's back, usually in rain or at least a cold wind, followed by relieving yourself in a bush, eating cold food or something charred almost to ashes over the fire, and then sleeping on the cold, hard ground." She shuddered with disgust. "There is nothing I hate worse than travel . . . but for that journey," she added, her voice softening. "'Twas sunny every minute of both days, the food was bearable, and even the ground did not seem so cold or hard for sleeping." Her smile faded and she sighed. "And then we got home, I slept snug in my own bed, and I woke up in the morning to find Captain Casey waiting below."
Jetta blinked. She'd forgotten the name of the captain of the ship she'd been on. But then she hadn't known him long, and he'd been a contemptible cur: unwashed, sour-smelling and more than happy to tie her to his mast and deliver her to her death for a couple coins. Aye, she remembered him now. He and the ship he captained, Le Cok, had been at the center of her worst nightmare.
"The ship had hit a storm, he said," Cat continued grimly. "And he had lost the mast and you along with it. His ship had been blown south, and he'd limped back into port t
he same evening he'd left. So, of course, once he'd finished seeing to the repair of his ship, he had rushed to Fitton to find out what Father wished to do about that."
Voice turning hard, she added, "Father apologized prettily to me, but explained everything would be lost if we broke the contract. We had done our best, but he had to send me. When I protested, he had me bound and gagged, and laid over the back of the Captain's horse to send me to the man you had managed to elude."
"He was your betrothed, Cat," Jetta pointed out angrily. "My own betrothed died in infancy."
"So?" Cateline cried bitterly. "What? That makes it all right that you escaped and fled, leaving me to have to marry him?"
Aye, Jetta thought, but said, "I did not escape and flee. In fact, I nearly died. The storm was horrible, Cat. The waves were as tall as mountains and at one point the ship got buffeted about so that it was sideways to the waves and trapped between two of them. The ship tipped, the top of the mast and part of the crow's nest dipped into the water of one of the waves, and the whole mast ripped free, taking me with it," she explained, recalling it as she did.
That storm had been terrifying, and one she had been sure she would not survive, even before the mast was ripped away. It had struck shortly after they'd left port, coming on quickly. It had seemed like mere minutes passed for it to go from a bit rough, to wind and rain lashing at them, and thunder crashing around them so loud she'd thought she'd go deaf. The size of the waves was like nothing she had ever seen, and had left her trembling in terror and awe. Just when Jetta had thought it could not possibly get worse, the mast she'd been strapped to had sort of vibrated, a loud creaking striking her ears, and she'd opened her tightly closed eyes to see the top of the mast had disappeared into the wave that had moments ago been beside them, but was now above as the ship tipped in the water.
Jetta had barely realized that when the mast had snapped just behind and a little above her knees with a thunderous crack that she'd felt in her very marrow. The next thing she knew, the mast was loose in the water, and her with it, being tossed about as the monstrous waves had crashed down, driving the mast under the water where she was sure she would drown before the mast bobbed back to the surface. Jetta would catch a quick, panicked breath, only to find herself driven down under the water with the mast again. And each time it had happened, her head had crashed against the hard wood behind her, eventually leaving her dazed, confused and aware only of pain and the struggle against drowning.