Saving Marina. Lauri Robinson

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      Needing to know if that was true, she asked, “Do you believe in witches, Captain Tarr?”

      “I’ve given you permission to call me Richard,” he said, bracing one hand against the door frame. “I’m only a captain while at sea.”

      She gave a single nod, just to prove she’d heard him. “Do you believe in witches, Richard?”

      He stood silent, making her wonder if he would answer or not. The breeze made the sleeves of his white shirt billow slightly, and for a moment she didn’t want to know his answer. The strength of the arms beneath that shirt had to be as solid as the rest of him. If he believed as the other villagers did, and chose to use his strength to capture her, she’d end up in Salem’s jail before assuring Grace and Uncle William’s escape.

      “Witches,” he said, “are akin to angels. In some religions, that is. Some claim you can’t believe in one and not the other.”

      Such a compromising answer was not what she’d expected. Discussing religious beliefs other than Puritan ones was illegal in the village and highly punishable. She considered telling him as much, but that in itself was punishable, as well. A man married to a Puritan woman would know such things and would not tempt punishment. As much as she’d relish the opportunity to debate her beliefs, to defend the holistic religion she’d participated in from birth, it would be a waste of breath. She doubted this man had ever read the Bible. She’d read it daily for as long as she could remember and sincerely missed having others to help her comprehend the parables. Uncle William was very little help with that. He did not see the connection between the Indians destroying her family and what was happening in the village.

      She did.

      She was a witch. There was no denying it. And no changing it. There was no comparing it to an angel, either. The two were as different as day and night. Alive and dead. Pure and evil.

      Swallowing the bitterness that coated her tongue, for there were still things she had to accept, she nodded. “I didn’t unsaddle your animal. My hope is that Gracie will be able to travel by the end of the week.”

      He stepped forward. “I’ll unsaddle him.”

      Sidestepping in order to keep a fair amount of distance between them because his nearness made her insides tremble, she said, “I didn’t unsaddle him, so you could return to Boston. There is no need for you to remain here. You must realize Gracie can’t travel right now.”

      He looked at her pointedly. “I do, but I’m not leaving. Not without Gracie. When she’s well enough, we’ll travel to Boston.”

      Marina’s heart leaped into her throat. “But you can’t stay here.”

      “Why?”

      “Because...” She closed her eyes as dread filled her soul. “It’s too dangerous.” Drawing strength from within, she lifted her lids. “Far too dangerous. Please, you must leave.”

      “Not without my daughter.”

      “It’s for her sake that you must leave.”

      He shook his head. “It’s for her sake that I must stay.”

      Desperation flared. She couldn’t save those locked in jail while taking care of William and Gracie. If that was the case, she’d already have done it. “You’d barely laid eyes on her before today.”

      “That is true. A fact you knew when you summoned me to collect her.” He lifted the brace bar to step into the stable. “And that is exactly what I’m here to do.”

      Marina couldn’t argue the fact she’d summoned him, but she couldn’t chance another child harmed. Another child murdered, the tiny corpse maimed. “It’s not safe for you to be here.”

      “Safe?” He was on the other side of the large horse, already loosening the saddle cinch. Tall enough to see over the animal, his dark eyes watched her intently. “Why isn’t it safe for me to be here? I’ve done nothing to anyone.”

      “It’s just not safe for you to be here,” Marina repeated. “The reverend—”

      “I’m not afraid of a Puritan minister, Marina.”

      “There are things you don’t understand,” she said, attempting to keep her composure, but her head had started to pound. Flashes, images of Hickman’s men storming the house caused sweat to form on her brows.

      “Like what?”

      “Witches?” Her breathing was uneven and burning. “Are you afraid of them?”

      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.”

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