Dangerous Dreams: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

“Actually, no . . . I . . . I don’t. My apologies, Mistress.” She goes to the point, he thought, forthright and confident for her years.
    “ ’Tis George who warrants the apology.” She smiled, nodded at George, then back at Tayler, waited for him to speak.
    Tayler was astounded that at eight years her senior, he felt like a gawky school boy when she spoke to him, felt her eyes melt his self-assurance like butter in a hot summer sun. “Indeed! My apologies, Master Howe.”
    George nodded once but held his silence, continued doodling on the ground.
    “Are you hungry, Master Tayler?” Emily held out the bag of hardtack.
    “Why, no. But thank you. I merely wanted to see how you fared this day. A long day it was.” He shifted his gaze to Emily’s father and the elder Howe, who had just looked his way. He stood, said, “Good evening, good sirs. How fare you this night?”
    George Howe said, “Very well, given the conditions.” Howe was on the portly side of fit and, when standing, had to lean slightly forward to see his toes. His head was bald, and he looked like a plump monk as he rose and extended his hand to Tayler. “And you, Master Tayler?”
    Colman, who at six-one was the tallest man in the colony, did likewise. “Good evening, Master—”
    Governor White and Manteo approached the group. “Gentlemen, I’ll have a word with you, if you please.”
    Tayler nodded, said, “Governor, as you know, I heard your announcements a short while ago; so, with your leave . . . ?” He again nodded at White, then at Howe and Colman, looked at Emily. My God, she’s stunning. “Adieu, Mistress. Until tomorrow.” As Emily started to stand up, he stepped closer, extended his hand to assist her. He’d never touched her before, and when she accepted his invitation, the pleasing warmth of her hand spread through his mind and body like a drink of good brandy on a chilly day.
    “Adieu, Master Tayler.” She curtsied, watched him turn slowly, walk away, then glance back as he stepped into the darkness.
    White said, “The men have returned. We’ve a good supply of firewood and enough water to get us through the night. Still, I ask you to exercise restraintwith both so all may share. Others will join us in the morning, and we’ll have to determine a proper assignment of dwellings and gather more supplies.”
    Colman said, “But what of the Chesapeake?”
    White paused. “I shall return to the ship on the pinnace in the morning when it delivers the next group, and I shall confront Fernandez about our plight here, inform him that since I’m the designated captain of the ship, and he’s but the pilot, his action is tantamount to mutiny. Trust me, friends. I
will
convince him to take us to Chesapeake. But meanwhile—”
    “And the Savages?” asked Howe.
    “We’ve guards posted around the perimeter. We’ll be safe enough for this night.” An uncomfortable twinge nibbled its way through his insides, made him wish he was in England, sitting by a warm fire, painting watercolors of his memories of earlier expeditions; not here, lying to people, trying to salvage an impossibly dangerous situation.
    Emily said, “Sir, what of the dead man the soldiers found this afternoon? Do you think the Savages killed him in retribution for Lane’s atrocities?”
    The firelight flickered on White’s suddenly blanched face. “How do you know of that, Mistress Colman? Who told you such things?” Anger then confusion flared on his face like a cup of whale oil tossed on a fire.
    Emily started to glance at Manteo, but a jab of caution held her eyes on White. Why did you ask that, stupid girl?
    White’s complexion grew redder; his look hardened; his nostrils, barely visible above his mustache, flared and collapsed with each breath. He glared at Emily, waited for her reply.
    Emily held her silence, cringed, knew she’d hear of her blunder from her father. She met White’s glare with a defensively bland, respectful look.
    The three