Beneath an Italian Sky Page 11

  Clare let the smile fall from her lips, though, as she and Miriam headed to her room. She sensed her confidence at managing her new life slipping away faster than she could hold on to it. In its wake, she was left with little but doubts and a yawning sense of homesickness.

  Chapter 6

  Something had happened to Emmett, Clare was sure of it. The openness she’d seen in him—and welcomed—before he’d returned to the city had disappeared. His emotions were once again shuttered, especially when they had returned to the field after getting water and she’d quietly asked him about Angelo.

  “He didn’t make it,” Emmett replied in a flat tone. Only the tightening of his jaw hinted at hidden pain.

  Clare glanced at Antonina, then back at Emmett, fresh sorrow welling up in her for this orphaned girl who’d lost her entire family. And for her husband, who had tried to save Angelo. “I’m so sorry, Emmett. I can’t imagine—”

  “We have a little bread for you.” He extended the piece toward her, his expression unreadable.

  Remorse of a different kind washed through her as she accepted the bread. “Thank you for saving some for me.” She wanted so much to shoulder with him the pain and horror he’d experienced today—wanted to believe that if she miscarried again, he would truly shoulder that pain with her too.

  Clare hardly tasted the bread for the regret and unshed tears in her throat. She’d foolishly thought her husband’s emotional honesty and empathy would be more than fleeting this time. That after everything that had happened in the past twelve hours or so, Emmett was ready to fully open his heart to her. But it seemed that wasn’t going to happen. She tried taking comfort from the reminder that this was one of the main reasons she’d come to Sicily, alone, in the first place, and yet it was little consolation in this moment.

  Was her baby all right, even after Clare had been struck on the head? She resisted the urge to touch her stomach, not wanting to do anything that might clue Emmett in to her secret. Her fear had tumbled unconsciously from her lips when her husband had found her lying by the well. She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken the word baby aloud until Emmett had told her that Helena’s baby was fine. She’d been horrified at her blunder, but thankfully her husband had misunderstood her meaning.

  Having some food and water had assuaged some of her nausea, but as evening approached, Clare’s stomach once again reminded her that she’d had little to eat all day. Prior to that, she’d been doing her best to keep up a conversation with Helena. Emmett had fallen asleep shortly after giving Clare the bread. Rushford too had finally dozed. Antonina had stuck close to Emmett for a while. But eventually the little girl scooted over by Clare. She’d used her fingers to comb through Antonina’s long, black tresses, then braided them as she’d done with her own hair.

  “Should we find some more oranges?” she asked the child sometime later. It had to be near dinner time, and Little Leo, who had been playing with the rocks they’d found earlier, was fussing again. Probably from hunger.

  When Antonina looked confused, Clare pantomimed peeling an orange and eating it. the little girl brightened. “Sì. We get . . .”

  “Oranges,” Clare supplied.

  Antonina repeated the word, “Oranges.”

  “I can help, my lady.” Rushford sat up and winced. The poor man needed a doctor to tend to his arm. And though the viscount’s head no longer appeared to be bleeding, his gash should be properly examined too.

  Clare stood. “You don’t have to come, Rushford. Especially if your arm is hurting.”

  “I need to stretch my legs,” the valet said as he rose to his feet.

  Miriam also hopped up. “May I come too, my lady?”

  “Very well. We’ll make a hunting party of it.” She smiled at Antonina and held out her hand. “We’ll be back soon, Helena. If Emmett wakes before we return, tell him we went to find more oranges.” Clare picked up the now-empty water bucket to use to carry whatever foodstuff they found. “Once we come back, someone can go for more water.” She would certainly include thanking God for a water source when she prayed tonight.

  Helena agreed to share the message, and the four of them headed across the field. Clare’s head still hurt, so she kept her steps slow to avoid making the ache any worse. The rest of their party had listened with shocked expressions when she and Emmett had related what had happened to her at the well.

  Every time she thought of losing her father’s brooch and her wedding ring, she felt anger and anguish all over again. They could find her another ring, but the brooch was irreplaceable, even if they found one similar, as Emmett had suggested. It wouldn’t be the one her father had lovingly selected and given to her.

  Setting aside her depressing thoughts, Clare turned her concentration on searching for food. They were only able to find a few overly-ripe oranges. But with four people and a better storage container, they collected more olives this time. Everything went into the bucket, which Miriam insisted on carrying. After all, the maid had said, she hadn’t been hit on the head or suffered a broken arm.

  Emmett met them at the edge of the field when they returned, his face drawn. “You should have woken me.” He fell into step beside her. “I would have come too.”

  “Rushford was with us.”

  His frown didn’t decrease. “It’s my responsibility to watch over everyone, Clare.”

  “Why? Because you aren’t injured?”

  He looked slightly sheepish before he glanced away. “Well, yes. I only want to help.”

  “Which we appreciate, Emmett, but the rest of us aren’t useless.”

  “I . . . I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She released her irritation with a sigh, and the reminder that his desire to watch over the rest of them was evidence that he cared. “Who do you think should go for more water?”

  “I will.”

  Clare was grateful he’d volunteered. Right now, she didn’t wish to return to the place where she’d been accosted and robbed. “That would be wonderful. We can pass out the food we found first.” She shivered and eyed the sky. “Then we might want to gather some wood and make a fire. Even with the blankets, it’s going to be cold again tonight.”

  “We don’t have any matches.”

  She hid a knowing smile as they joined the group. “I think we can figure something out.”

  The food was handed around, and Clare made more mash for the baby. The group ate the small meal in relative quiet. Afterward, Emmett and Antonina went to collect more water. By then, the evening air had grown chilly. The blankets were distributed, but there weren’t enough to go around. Rushford and the viscount insisted the women take them, but Clare knew that without blankets the injured men would need the warmth of a fire to make it through the night.

  After asking Miriam and the other three maids to help her, Clare led them on a search for firewood. Bending down to pick up fallen branches renewed her headache, but she did her best to keep going, albeit slowly. Once they each had an armful of kindling, they carried the wood back to the field.

  “How will you light the fire, my lady?” one of the maids asked.

  “I have a way.” If it worked.

  It had been more than a decade since her father had taught her how to light a fire using two sticks. Clare wished she had the work gloves her father had worn when he’d shown her the unconventional method, but she’d have to do the best she could with just her hands.

  You’ve blessed us with so much thus far, Lord, she prayed as she and several others cleared away the grass in the center of the group and lined the circular space with rocks. Please let this work so we can be warm tonight.

  Using the sharp edge of one of the extra rocks, Clare ground the stone into a branch until she had created a small groove in the wood. Next she made a small pile of the torn grass and selected another branch. This was it. If they hoped to have a fire, this was the only way she knew to make it happen. Taking in a long breath, she released it slowly and placed the branch she’d ch
osen into the groove. Then she began spinning the stick as quickly as she could between her palms.

  Again and again she spun the branch, hoping to create enough friction inside the groove to make heat and smoke. Clare’s palms began to sting from rubbing against the stick. No wonder her father had worn gloves. Soon her arms began to tire as well.

  She sensed the group watching her. Self-consciousness made her clumsy, and she dropped the branch. Had she given all of them false hope? Clare positioned the stick back into the groove, reminding herself she had to keep trying. She winced at the soreness in her hands as she began turning the stick again. But she pushed away the discomfort and redoubled her focus on her task.

  Clare lost track of time as she worked. It wasn’t until she heard a soft gasp that she looked down and saw a whiff of smoke. Elated, she spun the stick even faster. The tiny ember grew. She let go of the stick at last and leaned down to blow on the cinder. As it increased in size, Clare fed the tiny flame with bits of grass until it became strong enough to add small pieces of wood. After a few minutes, she had a moderate-sized fire burning.

  Someone started clapping, and most of the group joined in. Even Little Leo gave a squeal of delight. “You did it, my lady,” Miriam cried with excitement.

  “Did what?”

  Clare jerked her chin up at the sound of her husband’s voice. He stood watching her, a full bucket of water in his hand. Antonina left her place at his side to kneel before the fire. Clare had been so focused on her task she hadn’t seen or heard the pair of them return. Guilt had her lowering her gaze to the fire, though she didn’t know what she felt guilty for. She’d done nothing wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t guilt. Maybe it was concern that Emmett would now realize she hadn’t always been an heiress.

  “We have a fire,” she announced in a falsely cheerful voice, sidestepping his question.

  “Which Lady Linwood lit,” one of the maids explained.

  Clare’s cheeks turned warm from more than the growing heat. She felt Emmett’s gaze on her as he set down the bucket. But he didn’t press her for answers.

  The bustle of everyone getting a drink of water shifted the focus away from her. Another of the maids volunteered to be the first to keep the fire going, and Clare willingly relinquished her duties. As she settled on the ground between Antonina and Helena, she could sense the blisters that had formed on her hands.

  As darkness fell, the conversations around the fire dwindled to whispered murmurs as the members of the group began to drift off to sleep. Those with blankets curled into them, while the men scooted closer to the fire. Clare drew Antonina’s blanket up over her small back. The little girl had fallen asleep with her head on Clare’s knee. Clare pulled her own blanket more securely around her shoulders, but she didn’t plan to sleep yet. Not after being struck on the head.

  Her father had once hit his head when he’d been thrown from a new horse. Clare’s mother had insisted that since he probably had a concussion he needed to stay awake as long as possible. If Clare had a concussion too, then she didn’t wish to do anything to harm the baby she hopefully still carried. That meant she would try to stay awake as long as possible. She’d offered to take the next shift in tending the fire anyway.

  “Can’t sleep either?”

  Clare had been avoiding looking at Emmett. She’d assumed the quiet from his side of the circle meant he was sleeping. Lifting her gaze from the flames, she peered over at him. He was sitting up too, his elbows resting on his knees.

  As she considered how to reply, the first words to come to mind were teasing ones. Even after all the strain and misunderstanding between them, bantering with him still came easily. “Maybe I am asleep,” she said in a light tone as she turned back to the fire, “and you are dreaming we’re both awake.”

  His low chuckle sent tickles of feeling up her arms. “If that is the case, then which of us should dream about putting more wood on the fire?”

  “I will.” Clare reached for a piece of wood, but her blistered hand protested and the stick fell from her grasp. She curled her hand into a fist and winced.

  Emmett moved toward her. “That flinch of pain didn’t seem dreamlike at all.” He unfolded her fingers and studied her hand. “Where did these blisters come from?”

  She didn’t want to answer, but the feel of his warm hand on hers snarled her thoughts. “It—it’s from starting the fire. Which I don’t recommend doing without the use of gloves.”

  He moved to the water bucket and peered inside. Picking up the pail, Emmett returned to her side. He pointed to the robe she still wore beneath her blanket. “May I? I just need the corner.”

  She nodded, not entirely sure what he meant to do, but too curious to refuse. Emmett took one corner of the robe and dipped it into the bucket, which he tilted forward. Then he placed the damp fabric against her blistered palm. The cold made her jump, causing Antonina to stir in her sleep. But the coolness also felt soothing against Clare’s agitated skin.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  With a nod, he finished dabbing her hand with the wet cloth before dipping it back into the bucket. “Let me see the other.”

  Clare didn’t have the wherewithal to protest. She was too fascinated by what she was observing. Emmett’s expression remained neutral, but his treatment of her hands was methodical and gentle. This glimpse of a side of her husband she’d once seen often and adored filled her with as much gratitude as it did pain. Not sure what to think or how to respond, she held her breath as he worked. Was this small act of kindness an indicator that things in their relationship could improve? Or was this another moment that brought only temporary hope?

  “Any better?” he asked, sitting back on his heels.

  Clare nodded. “Yes. They sting less now.”

  “That’s good.”

  To her surprise, he didn’t return to his earlier spot after putting more wood on the fire. He took a seat on the other side of Antonina and tucked the blanket around her small feet, his face full of parental concern.

  What a wonderful father he would make. The thought, one she’d had many times before, still made Clare want to weep. She hadn’t yet been able to give Emmett the children they both wanted, not even the son she was duty-bound to provide. And yet now that she was pregnant again, things were still complicated between them.

  “Are you all right,” he asked, “with my bringing her along with us?”

  Surprised by the question, she looked at him, but his gaze was on Antonina. He’d done a brave and compassionate thing rescuing the little girl, and Clare didn’t fault him at all for not wanting to leave her behind.

  “Emmett?” She waited until she could see his eyes before she continued. “I’m very glad you brought her along. I wouldn’t have been able to walk away and leave her either.”

  The line of his shoulders relaxed a little. “She has no one left.” The hitch in his voice hinted at his deeper, concealed emotions. If only he would share them with her. “I told Antonina she was welcome to stay with us, both here and in England, and she told me she would like that. But after searching for you earlier, I failed to mention it.”

  Would he take Antonina with him to England even if Clare didn’t accompany them? Or would he allow the girl to remain here? Clare had seen the sweet way the child had interacted with Helena’s baby. She imagined Antonina would enjoy helping Clare with her baby if she didn’t miscarry this time. But would Emmett insist the little girl remain with him? Either way, the decision to return to England had become even more complicated.

  “Are you angry with me?” Emmett inquired.

  Clare shook her head. “No, not at all. I’m just thinking.” She ran her hand down Antonina’s braid. “I’m glad she agreed to stay with us. She’s a dear little thing, and I’ll admit I’ve already grown fond of her.”

  “As she has of you.” A brief smile touched his mouth as he motioned to the sleeping child, whose head still rested on Clare’s leg. “I don’t presume to know what her life
was like before today or what it might have been if the earthquake hadn’t happened. However, I’d like to believe we can offer her more, especially if we raise her as our own. If, of course, that’s amenable to you.”

  “Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.

  She studied the lovely olive skin of Antonina’s face. English society would surely deem it unconventional for her and Emmett to raise as their own a Sicilian child who was not of their same social class. But from the moment Clare had seen the little girl standing with her hand in Emmett’s outside the viscount’s villa, she’d instinctively known Antonina was now connected to them—in a way that went far beyond providing her with temporary care or room and board. The girl needed love as well as protection and the necessities of life. And Clare wanted to give Antonina all of that.

  “What about your family?” She guessed the marquess would not be pleased if Emmett returned to England with a child of Antonina’s coloring and stated his intention to provide for her care. As a girl, and one not related by blood, Antonina wouldn’t be able to inherit anything either, other than what Emmett and Clare could provide for her.

  Emmett shrugged, but the firelight revealed the tightening lines on his brow and around his mouth. “I’m not sure what he’ll . . . I mean, they . . . will think.” His slip of the tongue indicated he was also thinking most about his father’s reaction. “Once we explain, I hope they will see the rightness of such a decision.”

  “And your political plans? Will raising a Sicilian child affect those?”

  His agitation was evident when he ran a hand through his hair. The dark-blond tufts stuck up, though not unattractively. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m simply trying to do what’s right by the child and get all of us out of Messina as soon as we’re able.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Clare’s head was beginning to feel fuzzy from the lack of sleep. There would be time enough later on to tackle such complex problems. Right now, as Emmett had said, they simply needed to survive and return to Taormina. Or what was left of it. If the villa was no more, Clare would have a whole new set of troubles to deal with. But she wouldn’t leave Sicily, not yet.