devoid of color, except for two bright spots on her cheeks.
“Sarah!” The name was torn from Cal’s lips in a breathless cry. “God in heaven. You’ve come…”
He scrambled to her side and dropped to his knees. In that instant he realized his mistake. Not Sarah. Up close, this stranger bore no resemblance. But his voice still trembled. “You’re alive, then. Can you sit up?” He placed one arm carefully around the young woman’s shoulders.
“I…Yes…” Dulcie’s words trailed off as everything went black for a moment. Then a man’s face came into focus. She had a quick impression of dark hair. Dark eyes. A tight angry mouth. A big man. Scowling. Threatening. Even kneeling, he filled her line of vision. She shrank from his touch, shivering violently.
The movement wasn’t lost on Cal. There was a look of fear in her green eyes. A most unusual shade of green, which seemed to glow with some inner fire. Most probably fever. Or shock.
Very deliberately he lowered his hand to his side and backed away.
She relaxed her guard. “Where are we?”
The breathy voice was cultured, distinctly Southern. It whispered over his senses, touching a chord deep inside him. For as far back as he could remember, the women in his family had spoken in just such a soft, genteel manner.
“This bay is known as the Bay of Storms, and it’s on Jermain Island. Off the coast of Charleston.”
“How far from Charleston?” she asked a little too quickly.
At once he was alert to the terror that rippled through her. “An hour or more.” He saw her fear slowly turn to relief. “But I would recommend a sturdier craft than this if you venture out to sea again. I don’t know how you survived this wicked storm. You were indeed fortunate.”
He glanced around as several of the others began to move or make little sounds of distress. Relief flooded through him. His first impression had been wrong. They were not dead. But barely alive, from the looks of them.
“I’ll help you to shore.”
As he reached for her, Dulcie realized with a shock that his left hand was missing. Instinctively she recoiled from his touch.
At her reaction, Cal went still.
It was an awkward, shattering moment. One that set both their faces to flame, hers in embarrassment, his in anger. Then, moving quickly to cover her feelings, Dulcie swept past him.
“I can manage, thank you.” She was mortified by her reaction. Though it had been purely reflexive, it jarred her sense of fairness. After all, this stranger had already lost his hand. He should not have to suffer a loss of others’ civility, as well. Nevertheless, she couldn’t think of any way to make amends. “But if you would help the others…”
She scrambled over the edge of the boat and was nearly swamped by waves. Cal watched, making no effort to assist her, as the current tugged at her already soaked gown, dragging her to her knees before she managed to find her footing.
His eyes narrowed. He’d be damned if he’d offer his help a second time. Still, he kept careful watch to see that she made it to shore.
As soon as she dropped safely into the grass, he turned away and lifted out a small child who had begun to cry. When he’d carried the child to the grass, he returned to the boat again and again until all had been deposited on land. Assured now that everyone was alive, he called to Dulcie, who lay, breathing heavily, “I’ll go now.”
“Go?” She lifted her head in alarm, a challenge in her eyes.
As patiently as if he were addressing a child he said, “I have to go back to the barn and hitch the team if I’m to take all of you to safety.”
“Oh.” She turned her head, but not before he recognized the look of relief.
So, he thought as he trudged away, she’d expected to be abandoned. It was a typical reaction in the aftermath of the chaos that had swept the land. But it was not his problem, he reminded himself. There wasn’t a soul left in these parts who hadn’t been affected by the damnable war. And he certainly couldn’t heal all the wounds. Hell, he couldn’t even heal himself.
Leaning a shoulder into the heavy door, he entered the barn and breathed in the scents of warm dry hay, moist earth and dung. Scents that had been with him since his childhood on this island. Even now, all these years later, they soothed his troubled spirit.
Speaking softly to the horses, he hitched the team to the wagon, then hurried to the house for needed supplies.
When he returned a short time later, he found Dulcie kneeling in the midst of the others, soothing tears, calming fears. Most of them had managed to sit up. But two figures had not moved—the injured young woman and child.
“Which is the most seriously wounded?” Cal asked.
“Fiona.” Dulcie knelt beside the slender figure and pressed her hand to Fiona’s forehead. A low moan issued, but the woman’s eyes remained closed.
Cal dropped to his knees beside her.
“A wave nearly swamped our boat. My friend was tossed about and hit her head as she fell. It was the last time she moved.”
Cal lifted the young woman and placed her gently in the back of the wagon, which was strewn-with an assortment of quilts and feather pillows.
“Clara was also thrown backward, and she’s lost quite a bit of blood,” Dulcie said, indicating the child lying in the grass.
Cal wrapped the child’s arm in clean linen, then placed her beside Fiona. When he turned, Dulcie was urging the other children to their feet.
“Climb into the wagon,” she called, and the little ones did as she bade, moving slowly, as though in a daze.
As Cal attempted to help Dulcie into the back of the wagon, she nearly slipped in the mud. At once he brought his other arm up to steady her.
The contact jolted them both.
Dulcie froze, unable to move, unable even to breathe, as his arm encircled her waist. Shock sliced through her, leaving her dazed. For a moment his face lowered to her, and she felt the warmth of his breath across her temple. Tiny sensations skittered along her spine.
Cal, too, seemed mesmerized by the touch of her. His hand lingered at her waist. Feelings long buried seemed to push their way to the surface of his mind, triggering half-remembered pleasures. He’d forgotten how soft a woman was. How warm her breath, how sweet her scent.
From behind came a little boy’s innocent remark. “Sir, did you lose your hand in the war?”
At once the mood was shattered. Cal’s mouth pressed into a grim, tight line.
“Hush, Nathaniel,” Dulcie admonished.
But the damage had been done. Without a word Cal lifted Dulcie into the back of the wagon, then bent to the boy. When all were settled, he circled around and climbed into the driver’s seat. With a crack of the whip, the team leaned into the harness and the wagon rolled through the mud with slow, lurching movements.
