Dulcie's Gift. Ruth Langan
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in a clean linen sheet, then covered her with a warm blanket, which quickly became stained with her blood. Again Cal was called upon to carry her away.
“That’s the lot of you?” the woman asked with a sigh.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Quickly now,” the woman commanded. “Off with those wet clothes.”
Dulcie shed her soaked clothing and gratefully accepted a blanket. The woman led the way to the parlor. Inside, two men turned from inspecting the children to study Dulcie, who was shivering violently.
“We are the Jermains,” the woman said in her brisk tone. “It would seem that nature has given you an inhospitable time to visit. My name is Elizabeth Jermain, but everyone calls me Aunt Bessie.”
“I’m Dulcie Trenton. The injured woman is Fiona O’Neil. And this,” Dulcie said, touching a hand to the younger woman’s shoulder as she lay on a sofa by the fireplace, “is Starlight.”
“What sort of name is that?” Aunt Bessie snapped
At her harsh tone, Starlight’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and she focused her gaze on a single candle set in a sconce on the wall. It was as though she’d gone off to another place in her mind.
“It is the name she chose.” Though Dulcie spoke softly, there was a thread of steel in her voice, as though she dared anyone to challenge her.
Starlight rewarded her a look of adoration before giving in to the need to close her eyes.
“The boy?” Aunt Bessie demanded.
“The boy is Nathaniel.”
“I’m eight and a half,” he said proudly.
Dulcie tousled his hair and said, “The girls are Belle, who’s six, and Emily, who’s five.” As their names were spoken, the children’s gazes fastened adoringly on Dulcie.
“And the injured child,” Dulcie continued, “is seven-year-old Clara. Where have you taken her?”
“To a bed.” Aunt Bessie turned to indicate the two men. “These are my nephews, Barclay and Darwin.”
“Everyone calls me Barc,” said the shorter of the two.
Dulcie’s hand was engulfed in a firm handshake, and she looked up into blue eyes set in a handsome, boyish face. Thick, brown hair curled wildly over the collar of his shirt. Despite his stern demeanor, there was a glint of wicked humor in his eyes. Was he amused by her appearance, she wondered, or by their unorthodox arrival? It didn’t matter. She was too weary to care how she looked or what her rescuers thought.
“Darwin,” Dulcie repeated as she accepted the handshake of the taller man, who appeared somewhat younger than Barclay.
“Dar, if you please,” he muttered. His hair was jet black, his eyes as dark as a raven’s. He had the rich, resonant voice of a preacher, and his bearing was rigid.
“We are most grateful for your hospitality.” Dulcie glanced around. “I would like to thank the one who rescued us.”
“Cal?” Barc gave a snort of laughter. “He would be offended by any display of gratitude, Miss Trenton. My older brother was merely doing his duty.”
Brother. Though she was caught unawares, she could see the resemblance in the stern set of the jaw, the thick, unruly hair and the rough timbre of their voices. But where these two men were at least attempting to be cordial, their older brother had seemed angry, even hostile. And he had left without a word. He had not even had the good manners to linger long enough to be introduced.
She determined to put him out of her mind. “I would like to check on Fiona and Clara now.”
“There is no need. They are in capable hands.” Aunt Bessie turned to the dignified-looking black man who stood, ramrod straight, in the doorway.
“Robert, bring warm milk for the children and something stronger for the women. Wine perhaps, since they have need of a fire in their blood. And I would like a sip of spirits, as well.”
“Yes, Miss Bessie.” With a deferential nod, the man turned away.
“You’d best warm yourself,” Aunt Bessie commanded imperiously.
“In a moment.” With soft words and tender touches, Dulcie moved among the children, touching a hand to a forehead to check for fever, tucking a blanket more firmly around a small body, assuring herself that all was well.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure in the doorway.
Before she could turn, she heard Cal’s voice, tense, challenging. “How did you come to be out in that storm?”
At once the children looked nervously from one to the other and then to Dulcie. Their sudden mood switch was not lost on the Jermains, who were clearly puzzled. Just moments earlier these same children had been on the verge of sleep.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Nathaniel protested.
The two little girls began to cry.
“Hush now.” Dulcie pressed a hand to Nathaniel’s shoulder reassuringly, then knelt to soothe the weeping girls. “No one has accused us of any wrongdoing—” she lifted her head and met Cal’s piercing stare “—have they?”
“I merely wondered why in hell anyone would be out in a small boat during such a storm.”
“I—did not know the storm was coming,” she said evasively.
“Even a fool could see—”
“The hour is late, Calhoun,” Aunt Bessie chided gently. She had been watching and listening with great interest. “We will speak of this tomorrow. Right now what they need is rest.” She turned to the young woman who was obviously the leader of this ragged band. “Miss Dulcie Trenton, may I present my oldest nephew, Calhoun Jermain.”
Each regarded the other with wariness before giving a slight nod of acknowledgment.
“Thank you, Mr. Jermain, for rescuing us.” Dulcie’s words were stiff, formal. “I thank God that our boat drifted to your shore.”
“You’d best thank Him for blowing the storm out to sea. I don’t think that old battered craft would have stayed afloat much longer,” Cal muttered. “And while you have His ear, you’d better ask for some common sense in the future or-”
“Sit, Miss Trenton.” Aunt Bessie indicated a chair in front of the fireplace. Robert had just reentered, and taking a glass of ruby liquid from his tray, she handed it to the young woman with a terse “Drink.”
Dulcie sank into the deep cushions and sipped, feeling the warmth of the wine trickle through her veins. She tried to hold on to her anger, but the warmth and the wine conspired against her. Heaven. She had just died and gone to heaven.
She heard the rumble of deep, masculine voices, as questions were asked. And the higher-pitched sounds of the children, as they answered.
“When did you last eat?” This from Aunt Bessie.
Nathaniel answered. “I don’t remember.”
“How long ago since you slept?” It was Barc’s voice, low, almost conversational.
“Many hours, I think.” Belle’s voice trembled slightly.
“Where is your home?” Aunt Bessie challenged.
“We have no home,” was Emily’s response.
There was an awkward silence.
“And none of you saw the storm coming?”
Another silence.
“Do you all belong to Miss Trenton?” A man’s voice, strong, demanding.
“Yes.” This emphatic response from Nathaniel. It caused Dulcie’s lips to curl