Sequel to CAPSIZE
The adventure continues as Celia finally escapes Elizabeth's iron grasp, but the horrors that await the recently free, seemingly happy couple surpass their expectations.
Set in 1500s America
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The splitting of wood and grunt of Harry caused Celia to wake from her slumber in the straw-stuffed bed. She wrapped a wool blanket around her shoulders and pushed the door open, the morning sun greeting her with a hug of warmth.
Harry, standing in the grassy area in front of the house, lifted an axe over his shoulder and swung it downward, cracking a log of wood in half and sending it falling to the ground. He rested the axe against the trunk in which he split the wood and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His white shirt was stained with sweat and dirt, dulling it of its once vibrant pure white.
"Good morning," Celia said from the threshold of the house.
Harry snapped his head upward and smiled. "Good morning. Sorry if I woke you."
"No, no," she said, shaking her head, "I will have to get used to waking up early anyway."
He nodded. "Where's Nerissa?"
"Ana is caring for her."
Harry walked across the grassy area to retrieve another log of wood. Celia watched as he placed it carefully on the trunk and heaved the axe over his shoulder, whacking the wood with the metal blade.
"What should I be doing?" Celia asked. Harry furrowed his brows. "I'm no longer solely in charge of running a household. I need to help with chores. Shall I purchase eggs or get water from the well or—"
"My dear," he interrupted, "go for a stroll around the settlement. Get your bearings and then we can talk about chores. Hm?"
She nodded. Harry went back to chopping firewood, the beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip glistening in the sunlight.
She retreated back into the house and dressed herself in a beige dress. Roanoke was no place to dress extravagantly as she once would have in Greenwich Palace or Berkeley Manor. Once fully clothed, she tamed her wild curls by fashioning them into a braid down her back and tying it off with a ribbon.
Taking a step out of the front door and into the settlement, she was met with a gust of fresh air. People walked past her with wood in their arms and buckets of water in tow, their eyes grazing her own for a split second before tearing away and focusing on their destination.
Celia inhaled slowly and deeply as she scanned the settlement; a well in the center, houses surrounding the perimeter of the walls, a farm, a blacksmith, a tailor, a craftsman.
With her neck craned and eyes settled in the distance, Celia had not noticed the heavy boots that thumped against the dirt behind her. It was only when she felt an icy grip on her elbow that she whipped her head around in fear, realizing that someone had indeed been following closely behind her. She sucked in a startled breath at the sight of Andrew Tallis. His crisp eyes bore into Celia's with dark intentions, sending terror through her veins and tainting her once cheerful mood.
She clenched her teeth and tried to yank away her arm, but his grip was too strong. Instead, she swallowed her fear and lifted her chin upward to exude a less timid appearance. "May I help you, Doctor?" she asked roughly.
"I've been studying you. I believe you may need an," he paused as he lifted his free hand to lightly trace Celia's collarbone, trailing down her breast at a slightly slower pace, and then falling at her waist. He cupped his hand around the side of her waist and pulled her forward, into his body so their hips touched. "Examination," he finished.
Celia felt her lips begin to quiver and her confidence begin to shake. Harry was not near, Daniel was gone, she was alone.
She could feel people's eyes lingering. She would be labeled a whore if the scene continued any further. With all the strength she could muster, she lifted her foot and slammed her heel down on the toe of Andrew's boot. Although the leather was tough, the mere doctor could not afford proper shoes to prevent the pain of something with great force clattering against his feet. He winced in pain and released his grip on her waist and elbow.
Celia tore away, stumbling backward until she felt the body of another against her back. Too afraid that if she removed her eyes from him that he would run, or, perhaps worse, seize her again, she disregarded the person behind her.
"Harry will hear of this," she spat with fire.
"And what's he gonna do, love?" Andrew asked in a demeaning tone, his head cocked slightly and brows raised in a mocking manner.
"My husband is co-governor of this colony," she said through gritted teeth, "he will do as he sees fit."
Celia watched with pride as Andrew buckled. She swore that through a tiny crack in his protective armor, she could see fear and cowardice break through. He quickly recovered, though, and gathered saliva in his mouth, spitting it at Celia's feet. She kept her composure and watched as he stalked away, shoulders slumped in defeat.
"My lady," a meek voice said from behind Celia.
She turned around to find a woman only an inch away from her. That was the person whom she had bumped into. Celia smiled softly.
"I admire your bravery," the woman finished. Her brown eyes gleamed in the early morning sunlight as she looked up at Celia, a small smile gracing her plump lips.
"Forgive me for bumping into you," Celia said, "Doctor Tallis tends to gain my full attention when he is near."
"Of course, my lady," she said, "Every woman in the settlement steers clear of him. Rumors have seeped through cracks of his foul behavior toward Captain Styles' wife, and other women, ever since the Pearl of the Sea arrived here. If the rumors are true, then you are her, yes?"
Celia nodded. The woman immediately curtsied. "My name is Celia. I left my title back in England, so please don't treat me any different than the other women here."
"Yes, of course," she replied.
"And what is your name?"
"Marisol Payne."
"What a pretty name," Celia smiled. She studied Marisol's face, admiring her darker complexion and deep brown locks. "A Spanish name?"
"I'm from Spain, yes."
"Your English is very good. I could mistake you for a native Englishwoman."
"Lady Styles," a woman's voice laced with astonishment said.
Celia turned in the direction of the voice. A woman of Celia's age with dull eyes and straw-like hair stood with her hands clasped together beneath her breasts.
Celia furrowed her brows. "Yes?"
"What on Earth are you doing speaking to her?" the stranger asked.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Celia asked, amazed by the woman's rudeness.
"No, but surely I would be more suitable company than her," she scoffed, directing her sharp eyes to Marisol.
There was silence. Celia could see Marisol cast her gaze to her feet, her head hanging in shame. A smirk appeared on the woman's twisted face. Celia could feel the anger boiling within her.
"How dare you speak of her like that," Celia said, "Such disrespect and vile manners you have."
The woman's proud smile dropped, confusion taking its place. "But she—"
"Miss Marisol Payne is a wonderful and kind woman, something that you are not. Good day to you."
With parted lips of shock and furrowed brows, the woman spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Marisol and Celia alone once again.
Celia turned to face Marisol and smiled warmly. "I hope I can consider you a friend. I believe, in these times, a true one is very rare and much needed."
