Anne slid the book into the pocket of her apron. She would ask Alastair if she could keep it.
When at last she was done, Anne headed down the stairs and returned to the kitchen, surprised to see it empty. The coals in the fireplace glowed, warming the small pot of stew they’d left cooking. The back door stood open, a breeze blowing through the warm space. “Beth?” Anne called out.
Something scraped the kitchen floor, ever so slightly. Following the sound, Anne walked around the table toward the pantry. A red line trickled underfoot. Rounding the corner, Anne cried out at the sight before her, her hand flying to her mouth. Beth lay on the ground, clutching her stomach, while a pool of blood slowly spread beneath her.
No! No! No!
Dropping to her knees, Anne used Beth’s apron to try to stanch the crimson flow, her hands shaking as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She remembered another time, when her mother had come home, broken and bleeding at the hands of an earl’s son. “Who did this?” Anne asked, her voice trembling. She swayed slightly, unused to the sight of so much blood. “Who did this to you?”
Beth’s skin was dull. “The governor’s wife.”
A white-hot rage filled Anne and she bit her lip to keep from shouting. “I have to get help.”
Beth clutched Anne’s arm, her fingers smearing blood on the yellow sleeves. She gasped for breath, her words choked. “Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.”
Anne was unable to prevent the flow of tears down her cheeks, knowing that Beth’s wound was grave. A part of Anne wanted to run out of the kitchen as fast as she could. She needed to find Alastair, but if she left now, she might be leaving Beth to die alone. “I’m here, Beth. I’m right here.”
“Tell Alastair . . . I thought I could stop her. I should have told him.” Beth’s face twisted into a mask of pain. Anne wasn’t sure what to do, where to touch, what she could do to help her friend.
“Told him what? What did you want to say to Alastair?” Anne shot a frantic look toward the courtyard, but there was no sign of anyone.
“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, Anne.” Beth seemed stronger for a second. “You need to tell my Alastair that I love him. Tell him he never had to prove himself to me.”
“You tell him, Beth. You can tell him. Alastair will be here soon.”
Beth winced. “The governor. You must warn the governor. She’s using nightshade to poison him. Warn him.”
Shaking, Anne slid her arm under Beth’s head as the woman struggled for breath. “Don’t go, Beth. Please. Alastair will be here soon.”
“You can’t let them win, Anne. Don’t let them win. Make your place in this world. Claim it.”
“I will,” Anne whispered.
“Promise me—” Beth’s body seized up before lying perfectly still. Anne stared down at her, willing her to finish her sentence, but Beth’s eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. The red coals in the fireplace popped and a bee buzzed outside the kitchen door, hovering, as if waiting for permission to come inside. A breeze lifted the hair on Anne’s nape. Stunned, she waited stubbornly, but Beth remained motionless.
Fury against the governor’s wife threatened to choke Anne, and she took a steadying breath. Don’t let them win. Don’t let them win. Anne had no intention of letting the governor’s wife win. Beth’s death would not go unavenged.
Hearing a wagon enter the courtyard, Anne slowly lay Beth’s head back down on the ground, hating to leave her like that, but knowing she had to tell Alastair. They had to warn the governor.
Anne rushed out, stumbling over her skirts in her haste, her loose hair tumbling over her shoulders. But it wasn’t Alastair in the courtyard. It was Coyle, Cara, and Benjamin returning from the market.
“Anne!” Cara cried, seeing Anne’s bloodied clothes.
Coyle jumped down before the wagon had come to a complete stop, catching Anne in his arms while Benjamin brought the horses to a halt. “What happened? Are you all right?” Coyle asked.
Breathless, Anne shook her head, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “It’s Beth. She’s dead.”
Coyle blanched. “What? How?”
“The governor’s wife. Beth found out she’s been using nightshade to poison her husband. So she killed Beth and left her there to die.” Anne choked on the last word.
“Benjamin, you stay here and wait for Alastair with Cara. Let him know where we are,” Coyle said, reaching into the back of the wagon to remove the crate full of chickens before handing Anne up to the seat.
“She can’t get away with it,” Anne said, her voice urgent.
“She won’t. We’ll warn Webb.”
Clutching the rough wood, Anne tried to brace herself as Coyle turned the wagon and left the courtyard at a breakneck speed. She was grateful for Coyle’s presence. She didn’t have to face the governor alone. When her mother had died, Anne hadn’t been able to do anything. She hadn’t had the money to even pay for a proper funeral for her mother. Jacqueline was buried in a pauper’s grave.
Not this time. This time, Anne was determined to make someone pay for the crime.
? ? ?
Anne paced the room, her skirts stiff with dried blood.
Beth’s blood.
With a cry of frustration, Anne pushed the solitary chair out of the way, sending it skittering across the floor. Pushing her hair out her face, she realized the comb from Beth was missing. Her heart ached at the loss.
It had been three hours since she and Coyle had rushed through the streets of Nassau, her promise to the dying woman driving her to the fort. She shut her eyes to try to keep the nausea at bay. Some of the shock had subsided, replaced by anger.
Until today, Anne had only seen the fort from afar. From the outside, it had appeared staunch and stalwart. But from the inside, it was dark and sinister. The governor’s wife was much like the fort.
The men at the gates had brought them inside immediately. Coyle had insisted on seeing the governor, warning them that the governor’s life was in danger. They’d separated Anne and Coyle shortly thereafter. At the time, Anne had thought they’d believed them, but the more she waited in this room, the more she feared she’d been mistaken. She should have waited for Alastair to return.
Tears sprang to Anne’s eyes as she pictured Beth where she had left her. Alone, on the kitchen floor.
Where was Mrs. Webb at the moment? Was she sipping tea in her parlor?
Anne’s pulse spiked at the injustice of it all and she strode to the door, wrenching it open. The soldier stationed outside the room jumped to his feet, his chair toppling to the ground.
“Where is the governor?” Anne demanded.
“He’s been detained.”
“By what?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Anne gave a short laugh. “This is a matter of importance, but if he doesn’t care . . .” She shrugged and moved to exit the room, intent on finding Coyle. Alastair would make sure the governor’s wife paid. He would make sure justice was served.
The soldier stepped in front of her, bringing her up short.