Do the impossible, he was singing, and then you'll be my true love.
Cassandra looked at him for only an instant, and then tipped up her chin, and sang out clearly to their audience. He was to find her an acre of land between the salt water and the sea-strand, plough it with a lamb's horn, sow it all over with only one pepper-corn, reap the field with a sickle of leather, gather the crop with a rope made of heather.
She turned back to him as she sang the last verse:
When he has done and finished his work,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Ask him to come for his cambric shirt,
For then he'll be a true love of mine.
Do the impossible, as impossible as the feats you ask from me, she had sung back to him, and then you'll be my true love.
Courtland heard Spencer's chuckle, for he seemed to know that this was no longer a song between Courtland and Cassandra, but a dare, a duel, with neither of them giving ground.
And that's when some small voice inside Courtland's head said, "May as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb," and he took hold of Cassandra's icy-cold fingers, turning her so that they faced each other completely as they sang the final verses together:
If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Oh, let me know that at least you will try,
Or you'll never be a true love of mine.
Love imposes impossible tasks,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
But none more than any heart would ask,
I must know you're a true love of mine.
Cassandra never faltered, her voice as strong and pure as his own, her gaze never leaving his until Eleanor said in hushed tones,
"Oh, my stars."
Only then did Cassandra pull her hands free of Courtland's and run from the room.
He took two steps after her before Ainsley stood up in front of him, shook his head.
"Let her go, son. She's taking large steps, and sometimes strides of that length can put a person off balance. The same, I might say, goes for you."
"But it was wonderful to watch," Morgan trilled from behind him, and Courtland felt his shoulders stiffen as he turned toward the French doors and headed out onto the terrace, into the dark and the wind and the rain.
He strode across the stone terrace to lean his hands on the balustrade, cursing himself under his breath, cursing Morgan for her meddling, cursing the night for being so cold and wet, ruining his new jacket.
And then he raised his head, looked out into the Channel, toward a horizon devoid of stars on such a miserable night…and saw one twinkle, then disappear.
He leaned forward, straining his eyes, holding his breath. Waited.
There! He saw it again.
Not a star. A light. Shown, and then quickly shuttered. Shown again, shuttered, shown.
Then nothing, not for a full minute. Courtland knew that, because he counted off the seconds out loud along with the beat of his heart.
Again, but coming from a different spot, a good half-mile from where he'd first seen the light.
Light, darkness. Light, darkness. Light, darkness.
A signal. The signal returned. A warning: I'm here, in the dark, don't get too close; just close enough to maintain contact.
And a heartbeat later, from the harbor, where their three ships lay at anchor in front of Becket Village, came a voice, carrying clearly over the night air.
"Two sails to starboard!"
"Sonofabitch," Courtland bit out as he pushed away from the balustrade and raced into the music room, dripping rain all over the floor.
"I was wondering how long it would take to cool you down," Morgan said, laughing. "Seems not long at— Court?"
Courtland strode past her, Ethan, Spence, and Rian already on their feet, following him, while Jack reached over the back of the couch to take Eleanor's hand in his. "Sir, two ships about a mile out, running dark, but signaling each other."
Ainsley slowly got to his feet. "All right then everyone," he said, his voice as calm as if the drenched Courtland had told him it was raining. "This could be nothing more than some smuggling operation that has nothing to do with us, but we can't afford to ignore another possibility. Gentlemen, your attention, please. Rian, find Jacko. Spencer, get yourself to the village to put things into operation there. Jack, carry your wife upstairs, and then meet us, ready to hoist sail on the sloops, as they're more easily maneuverable in the dark. Ladies, your pardon. Please follow Jack, locate Cassandra. It will be your choice who remains with Eleanor and who stays in the nursery with the children."
"With Chance gone, who do you want in charge of the
Spectre,
sir?" Courtland asked as they made their way to the Ainsley's study. "I will gladly— "
"I'm sure you would, Courtland, thank you, but I need you here, as you're most familiar with our land defenses. Jacko will command the
Spectre
in Chance's place. I'll take the helm of the
Respite.
"
Courtland stopped so quickly that Rian barreled into his back. "
You,
sir? But you haven't— "
"All things end eventually, Courtland, even my self-imposed penance, I suppose. Don't fret. It may be nearly twenty years since I've stood a deck, but I think I remember a thing or two."
"Yes, sir!" Courtland said, grinning in spite of himself. "What are your plans, Cap'n, if I may ask?"
"We'll merely watch from some distance away, confront whoever is out there if necessary, board the ships peacefully," Ainsley said as Jacko, still tucking his voluminous shirt into his trousers, slammed into the room. "You hear me, Jacko? We are reconnoitering for the moment, and that's all."
"I hear you, Cap'n. Means I've got to take myself back upstairs to get my jacket, don't it?"
Ainsley smiled as he took a uniform jacket complete with ribbons and gold epaulets from a cabinet in his study. "That it does, Captain. Have the Union Jack raised on both sloops, with the
Respite
taking on the blue, please, as I think I'd enjoy playing a rear admiral for the duration."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Jacko said, executing a perfectly terrible salute before lumbering back out of the study.
"You'll board them as English Naval officers?" Ethan asked, grinning. "I hadn't heard this clever bit of strategy. Splendid, sir."
"Workable, Ethan, although we don't plan to board them unless they turn to fight. We only wish to watch them once we're clear of the harbor and circle about before showing them our lights, as if approaching from the East, a contingent of the Waterguard out on patrol. We let them see the flag, the uniform as I stand at the rail. They sail on, we sail on, as if we've somewhere important to go. They turn toward the harbor, and everything we've planned for will be put into effect. Running without lights? These could be smugglers, or they could be Beales's ships, scouring the Marsh shoreline for us under cover of darkness," Ainsley said, turning back to Courtland once more, a bicorne hat now in his hand. "You know what to do if we're forced to engage."
"Yes, sir. You have nothing to worry about here."
"I have everything to worry about here. I brought this on all of us." Ainsley shrugged into the well-tailored jacket of a Royal Naval officer, strapped on the sword Spencer handed him. "Shall we be off?"
Courtland watched them all leave the study, part of him wishing he could go with them, be in on any action that might take place on the water, but his saner self knew he was needed here, at Becket Hall.
He went in search of Jacob Whiting, who found him in the hallway.
"We're closing all the drapes, Court, just as we're supposed to, and dousing all but the candles in the hallways. Ollie and the others with land duty are on their way from the village to man the gunports."
"Very good, Jacob. And the women?"
"All of them with Mrs. Eleanor or the little ones, save Callie. Can't find her nowheres, Court, and we been lookin'."
"Damn! All right, thank you, Jacob. This could all be for nothing, but will serve as fine practice for all of us in any case. Who's up on the roof?"
"Sheila."
Courtland stopped short. "Sheila? Your
wife
is our sentry on the roof?"
"Best eyes of all of us, Court. Think she's part cat, I truly do. She'll let us know right off if she sees somethin'. Showed her where the pull rope is for the alarm bell, an' all."
"I suppose that's good then," Courtland said, sighing. "I don't have time for this, but I'll go find Cassandra, and then join you on the second cannon level. Keep the ports facing the marsh closed for now, but open those facing the Channel."
"Already done, Court. We been practicin' this for a while now, you know. Turnin' a pretty house into a fortress, lickity-split, with its own defenses tucked up inside, ready to pop out. No need for great stone walls around
this
man's castle, eh? The Cap'n, his mind works a real treat, so we all say."
Courtland smiled at last. "That it does. I've always likened this house to a ship Ainsley just happened to build on land. And I know you'll do just fine, Jacob. We all know what we're to do, don't we?" Then he shook his head. "Your
wife
is our sentry on the roof? God, we live in a world gone mad, don't we?"
Jacob only grinned before taking himself toward the kitchens and the staircase tucked behind a seemingly solid wall of pantry shelves, and Courtland headed for another set of secret stairs, these leading down to Odette's private quarters, her altar room.
With Odette upstairs, sleeping in the dressing room of Eleanor and Jack's bedchamber these last months, her chambers were the first place Courtland thought of looking for Cassandra, as no one else would think to search those rooms.
He took a candle from a table in the hallway and stepped carefully onto the dark stairs, to see a soft glow ahead of him, at the base of those stairs.
He had guessed correctly.
"Cassandra?" he called out as he entered the room that seemed part sorcerer's cave, part church, complete with altar. But the thick candles burning on that altar illuminated enough of the room to tell him that Cassandra wasn't there.
He was about to turn around, think of somewhere else to search, when he heard Cassandra call his name.
"How did you find me?" she asked, opening the door cleverly cut into a corner of the room, the one that led to the large, secret storeroom, and entering the main chamber. Obviously she'd heard someone coming down the stairs, and gone into the storeroom to hide herself. "Better yet, Courtland— why? Anyone would think the last thing you'd ever want is to look for me if I'm not in sight."
She was still dressed in the pale yellow gown, and the light from the candles set the rubies around her throat and wrist to glowing with red fire. "Why did you come down here, Cassandra? To ask Odette to put a curse on me? Should I expect to have my teeth begin falling out anytime soon?"
Cassandra shrugged her slim shoulders. "Odette keeps some of my mama's things down here. A lock of her hair, one of her silver-backed brushes, a small portrait— over there, on the altar, see it? Sometimes, when I want to feel close to Mama, I come down here, talk to her a little. Someone's always walking in or out of the drawing room, so I can't talk to her portrait over the fireplace without someone overhearing me. Odette doesn't mind."
"So you were down here, talking to your mother?" Courtland knew he should be grabbing her, hauling her up to Eleanor's bedchamber, and then getting himself back to the business at hand, but he was so transfixed by the sight of Cassandra in the candlelight, the words she was saying to him, that he held his tongue.
"You think I'm silly. You knew her, Courtland, I never did. Lisette…Lisette told me she never knew her mama, either, but that she dreams of her, and then she seems real. I've never dreamt of my mama, not even one time. I…I wanted her to seem real. That's all."
"Oh, Jesus," Courtland swore under his breath. He'd wanted to hear what she had to say, but this was the worst possible time to sit with her, comfort her. "Your mama used to sing to you," he said, taking her hands in his. "She had a beautiful voice, just like yours. She loved you very much, would have done anything for you. She just couldn't live for you, Callie," he said, slipping into his childhood name for her.
"No. She died for me, instead. I know. And you protected me. It was all so long ago, but now it all seems so close. The island, all of it."
"This will be over soon, I promise," he told her, longing to pull her into his arms, protect her. Love her. "We're not going to have to live this way anymore, always wondering if and when the past is going to come back in an attempt to destroy us."
Cassandra took a step forward, leaned her forehead against his chest, and he fought the urge to lift his hand, push his fingers into her warm, living curls. "Everyone else has something to do, everyone but me. I'm still the child, to everyone, most especially Papa. I'm…I'm as useless here as a wart on the end of Prinney's nose."
