Chapter 20

20

Enya stretched on the bed, her body tingling with wakefulness. The ever-present rumbling of the steamboat engines greeted her, as did the chill of the air in the cabin.

With her eyes still closed, she groped for the blanket and pulled it up around her closer. The farther north they'd traveled away from New Orleans, the colder the temperatures had grown, especially in the early morning hours before the sun had the chance to make an appearance and warm the river.

She burrowed deeper into the mattress and her pillows, wanting to return to the land of her dreams, the dream where Sullivan was lying beside her on the bed and holding her or the dream where he was pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

It had been close to ten days since his kiss that morning in the carriage as they were readying to leave his parents' home. Ten days since he'd reached for her and tenderly wrapped his hand around her neck. Ten days since he'd acted as if he couldn't get enough of her. Ten days since his lips had meshed with hers.

She could almost feel the strength, the heat, the passion all over again. And the memory swirled a strange warmth low in her belly, a warmth that was slowly building pressure inside her every time she thought of Sullivan.

She hadn't exactly lied to him when he'd asked if she'd minded the kiss. She hadn't told him yes or no. But the truth was, the kiss had been incredible—or at least it had become incredible once she'd swallowed her fear and allowed herself to respond. Every move of his mouth against hers had been filled with an achingly sweet passion and reverence that had torn through her heart.

For several beautiful moments, she'd lost conscious thought, and all that had mattered was being with him and letting him lavish her with adoration—just as the Commodore had instructed him. Sullivan had given her a kiss that left her no doubt that he adored the ground she walked on.

The Commodore had pressured Sullivan into all but admitting that he loved her. Or at least she thought that's what he'd alluded to.

But Sullivan had hardly looked at her since their kiss.

Oh aye, he'd been as polite, respectful, and selfless as always, seeing to her every need. When they'd stopped in Memphis a couple of days ago, he'd taken her shopping to get a new parasol since the wind had destroyed her other one. While there, he'd purchased a beautiful bracelet she'd stopped to admire, one that was much too expensive but that he'd insisted he wanted to give her.

Not only that, but he'd discovered her craving for chocolate and had been surprising her, first with a warm chocolate drink and then with a chocolate cake. Just yesterday, he'd plucked wildflowers during one of their brief stops along the shore and brought them to her in a vase. And last night for their reading time, he'd pulled out another new book.

Even with all his kindnesses, something had changed between them, although she couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. All she knew was that there was a strange tension, and it was her fault.

She suspected the change had to do with her refusal to acknowledge that their kiss had meant something to her.

Whatever the case, she sensed a barrier between them. And she also sensed, if she wanted to span the distance, she would have to be the one to take the barrier down. That was becoming clearer with each passing day.

But did she want it down? Could she finally accept that he wasn't Bryan?

Week after week and day after day, Sullivan had demonstrated that he was different. Not only that, but she could feel herself beginning to heal and the ache in her chest subsiding. She could even admit there were times when her body craved more of him.

She expelled a sigh.

At a nearby cough, her eyes flew open, and she sat up. Her hair fell in waves around her face, and she swiped them back as she gazed around the cabin. The spot on the floor beside the settee was empty, the blankets folded and put away. Sullivan was gone. Just as she'd expected him to be, just as he was every morning.

This voyage he was serving as the captain, and his duties took him away from her most of the day. He checked on her from time to time, he ate his meals with her in their private dining room, and he made a point of spending a couple of hours with her every evening before she went to bed. But otherwise, the voyage back to St. Louis was different, lonelier.

Sullivan couldn't spend all his time with her. Even if he hadn't been working, why would he want to be around her? She hadn't exactly welcomed him into her life with open arms.

She flopped back down against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Now that they'd entered Missouri, the voyage would last only a few more days until they reached St. Louis. Then what?

They hadn't talked about what they would do next. Would he go to their new home and live with her there? Or would he return to the river and be away from her for long weeks at a time? If he did, would she miss him?

Another cough hacked louder. And the sound came from almost directly beneath her.

She bolted up again and this time quieted all her thoughts. Was someone under the bed?

Her gaze flew around the room. She needed a weapon or something she could use to defend herself. Her sights landed upon her new parasol hanging on a hook on the back of the door next to one of her bonnets. It was too far away.

What about the new book on the bedside table? The cover was thick and sturdy. She might be able to hit an intruder with it. Or at least protect herself while she fled from the cabin.

Quietly, carefully, she picked up the book. Then she slid off the bed, pretending to act normally and yawning loudly. Without warning, she tossed aside the bedcovers and bent to peek under the bed.

Other than Sullivan's blankets and pillow folded neatly and stowed away, the space was empty.

With her heart beating at double the speed, she stood and let herself calm down. She must have heard someone from one of the cabins on the deck below, although she hadn't heard anyone before, not on the voyage down to New Orleans or the previous days of the journey back.

She stood beside the bed and listened again, waiting. But at the silence that met her, she tried to shake off the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

She rang her bell, and a moment later, a maidservant arrived to help her groom and dress. All the while the maid tended to her, Enya waited for another cough, wanted the maid to hear it too.

But whoever had coughed had moved on and was no longer there.

As she went about her day, she forgot about it until later, when she lay down on her bed for her afternoon nap. She'd just closed her eyes and almost dozed when she heard the sound again.

It was louder than it had been earlier, almost as if the person was getting sicker. Though the cough was muffled, it was distinct. And it was very close.

She got down from the bed and surveyed underneath it to no avail. She checked the armoire where a number of her dresses had been hung, but no one was inside. And although nobody could fit under the settee, she looked there anyway. She even searched inside Sullivan's trunk sitting at the end of the bed, which was mostly empty, save for a few clothing items.

As she lowered the trunk lid and sat back on her heels in the middle of the carpet, the cough came again. Directly below her.

She didn't understand how, but someone was there.

Skimming the carpet, she peeled it back just a little. At a large crack in the floor that formed a trapdoor, her heart tapped an uneasy rhythm. What was this? And why was it hidden?

She rose to her feet and unhooked her parasol from the back of the door before she returned to the hatch. Then, gripping the weapon with one hand, she inched the door up. The afternoon sunshine coming in through the cabin window illuminated the interior of closet, likely intended for extra storage for the occupants of the room. But as the sunlight slanted on a petite brown face peering up at her, Enya couldn't hold back a gasp.

A young woman squinted in the brightness, lifting an arm to shield her eyes and revealing red welts where her sleeve fell away. She was attired in a simple cotton skirt and blouse and clutched several blankets around her, likely for warmth and comfort.

One of the china plates from the saloon sat on the floor beside her with the remnants of a meal—chicken bones picked clean.

Someone had delivered a plate of food to this woman. But who? And why?

The woman cowered into the corner of the tiny closet away from the opening, obviously having expected someone else. One of the servants, perhaps?

She had to be a runaway slave. There was no other explanation for it.

"Have no fear," Enya whispered. "You're safe with me."

The woman's gaze darted beyond Enya, almost as if she was considering how she could escape and jump into the Mississippi River. No doubt she would rather take her chances battling the river than be turned over to the slave catchers or her master.

"I promise." Enya glanced over her shoulder now too. She didn't want Sullivan to barge into the room and catch her in the act of speaking to this runaway. He wouldn't stand for a slave being aboard his vessel, not when he'd made it clear how dangerous transporting runaways was to him and his business.

Yet, with the way the woman had begun to cough, Sullivan would hear her sooner or later.

Enya lowered the hatch and replaced the rug. Then she crossed to her toiletries and dug through the cosmetics along with the few tonics and herbal remedies she'd brought along. Would anything help alleviate the runaway's cough?

She shook the stout, clear bottle of laudanum.

From the swishing, she guessed a small amount remained, perhaps enough to calm the woman's nerves and help her rest easier so she coughed less. It would be worth a try, wouldn't it?

With another glance toward the cabin door, Enya returned to the rug, rolled it aside, and lifted the hatch. She thrust the bottle toward the woman, who once again shrank against the wall, as if she expected Enya to point a gun at her head.

"Take a tiny sip of this morning and night."

The woman only eyed it.

"It's for your cough. So no one else hears you."

The woman tentatively took the bottle and then moved back to her corner.

"I'm Enya, by the way." She wanted the woman to know she was safe with her. "What's your name?"

Before the woman could answer, footsteps and voices came from the promenade outside the cabin. Enya lowered the hatch and replaced the rug. As fast as her bell-shaped skirt would allow, she climbed onto the bed, lay down, and closed her eyes.

In the next moment, the door of the cabin squeaked open. She could almost feel Sullivan surveying the room and her. And she prayed she hadn't left anything out of order that would alert him to the runaway's presence.

When the door closed and Sullivan's heavy tread headed away from the cabin, she prayed he'd gone on his way none the wiser to the stowaway.

Instead of napping, Enya's mind was fully awake and alert. If the laudanum didn't work to stop the coughing, she needed to find a way to help the woman remain undiscovered until she reached freedom—wherever that might be.

And she had to protect Sullivan. If anyone found out about the runaway slave, he would get into terrible trouble, even if he wasn't involved. What had he said, that the sentence was seven years in the penitentiary?

She tossed and turned until she landed upon the only solution she could think of.