Hoisting the saddle off the horse’s back, he draped it over the side board of the stall and then turned around to pull off the blanket. “Don’t try to frighten me away with such foolery. I’m not leaving until—”
“Until they kill your daughter?”
* * *
The giant that arose inside Richard wasn’t the one he expected. Instead of the old, guilt-driven ogre, an angry one emerged. One that was as driven to protect his daughter as it was to protect his own life. Tossing the blanket over the saddle, he marched out of the stall, slamming down the end board. “Nobody will harm my daughter ever again. Nobody.”
“Others have boasted as much, but they couldn’t stop their loved ones from being imprisoned or worse. Sometimes evil can’t be stopped.”
Richard paused, both in his steps and his thoughts. The last bits of color had slipped from her already white face, leaving even her cheeks ashen. “Yes, it can,” he replied, although he knew she spoke of more than Grace. A touch of compassion for this woman arose inside him, for she clearly was afraid of something, but he’d been here for the better part of an hour, and other than discovering his daughter was ill, he knew no more than when he’d read her note back in Boston last evening. “With the right information, and that’s what I want. I want to know who almost let my daughter starve to death. I want to know where her grandparents are and how she came to be living with you and your uncle. And I want to know who those poor souls were hanging off that tree back in Salem.” That last bit slipped out before he realized it. Mostly likely because of the terror in Marina’s eyes. Did she truly believe in witches, fear for her own life? He’d suspected that was a ploy, but her fear appeared real. Very real.
A single tear slipped out of the corner of one eye, which she quickly swiped aside before she bowed her head. “I’d prayed that wouldn’t happen.”
He had a great desire to reach out and lay a hand on her arm, offer a touch of comfort. That was as unusual for him as most everything else he’d encountered this day. Therefore, he remained still, his hands at his sides.
After a moment of silence, she snapped her head up and started for the door. “I must see to Gracie.”
The change of her demeanor, from tears to stoic determination, confused him as much as it surprised him. Women, though—all women—were not something he needed to ponder or understand. “Where are her grandparents?”
Barely pausing as she crossed the threshold, she answered, “They died along with your wife. During the smallpox epidemic last winter. A great number of lives were taken.”
There was urgency in her steps as she left the barn, and Richard had to hurry to follow her. “Has Grace been here since then? Since last winter?”
“No, she’s only been here a few days. I just sent the note to you yesterday.”
“A few days?” That too was confusing. “Where had she been all this time? Since her mother died?”
Marina entered the house. “In the village.”
“With who?” He followed her through the door. The way she headed directly toward the hearth caused a final nerve to flare. He was a man of action—found the problem and took care of it. When he asked a question, people answered. Tired of attempting to be polite, he slapped a hand on the table. “Damn it! Why are you making me fight for every morsel of information? Why can’t you just tell me what I want to know?”
She spun around and the fire that shot from her eyes startled him slightly. When her burning gaze landed on his hand, he practically felt the heat and lifted his hand off the table.
“A smart man does not meddle in things that don’t concern him,” she said icily.
“A smart—” Letting out a growl, he planted his hand back on the table. “This does concern me. Anything that concerns my daughter concerns me.”
“Very well.” She picked a bowl and spoon off the table. “Once I’ve seen to Gracie, I’ll join you and my uncle and answer any questions you have on that matter.”
Steam hissed inside his head. “On that matter?” Richard blocked her way around the table. “I’m tired of this cat-and-mouse game. I have questions on several matters I want answered now.” Once again slapping the table, he added, “Right now!”
He’d expected to startle some sense into her, but the only things that jumped about Marina were her eyes, moments before they turned as bitter as a nor’easter.
“And I want you to leave,” she said as frosty as her blue eyes. “Which you will do.”
Richard kept his gaze locked on hers, letting her know he wasn’t moving until he was ready.
Her eyes never left his as she lifted her chin. “However, right now, I must see to Gracie.”
She could easily have turned and made her way around the other side of the table, but she didn’t. Instead, she walked directly toward him. A spark of respect flared for this uncommon golden-haired woman. He’d made note of how she carried herself, earlier. Head up and purposeful, unlike most women, who rarely met a man eye to eye.
“If you were any kind of a father,” she said without a footstep faltering. “A real father. That is where your concern would lie—in her health and that of her recovery.”
Richard had been chastised by men far more powerful than she’d ever be. On a bad day, Earl could send sharks swimming in the opposite direction with little more than a shout and a fist waving in the air. This woman, however, possessed a different kind of power, one he couldn’t explain. “I am her father,” he answered out of defiance. “And I am concerned about her health and well-being. That is why I’m here.”
Her glare remained ice-cold. “Then you’d be interested in knowing I’ve been giving her broth every two hours, not enough to upset her stomach but enough to get it working again.”
It flustered him that a rebuttal wouldn’t form in his mind, but what could he say to that? He’d stood his ground with opponents around the world, yet, right now, he stepped aside so she could leave the room.
Which she did.
His gaze followed her. Marina Lindqvist was not what she appeared to be. A matter of fact, if he’d ever believed in witches, he might wonder about her. Not in the evil, brewing-up-potions kind, but in the kind who could cast spells upon men without them knowing it. There was no other explanation. With little more than those blue eyes, she’d knocked the wind right out of his sails.
Flustered with himself, he entered the hall. William was still in the front room, and the snore that shook the old man’s body confirmed what Richard already knew. William wasn’t just old; he was tired, worn-out from his life at sea. For a brief moment, Richard was reminded of Earl and the fight the man had fought against aging, against giving up the life he’d known. Earl had died at sea, doing what he loved. William wouldn’t, and for that, Richard experienced a pang of sympathy.
Switching his thoughts, he started up the steps. When the time came, he wanted to be like Earl, sailing into the sunset as his days ended. Until then, he had things to do. A legacy to maintain so his daughter would never again know the pains or consequences of hunger.
The door to the bedroom was open. He’d been only a few steps behind Marina, yet she was already sitting on the edge of the bed, spooning soup into Gracie’s mouth. His daughter was sitting in the middle of the bed and her eyes widened when she saw him in the doorway. A slight and wobbly smile turned up the corners of her lips.
Richard’s heart fluttered inside his chest. The sensation was as remarkable as it was foreign. He hadn’t expected this immediate connection to his daughter, for it hadn’t been there the first time he’d seen her, when she’d been a tiny infant. Then again, at that time, he’d already been told he’d never see her