Free Beloved Castaway by Kathleen Y'Barbo Page A

take a stance against Mama Dell; the threat of the monsieur’s wrath always carried warning enough. Dare she now believe the monsieur still stood behind the woman, even as the woman seemed bound to flee?
    Mama Dell’s features smoothed into a near smile. For what seemed like an eternity, only the heavy thud of rain against the wood boards above them broke the silence.  
    Isabelle gathered her cloak about her, knowing each second that ticked by brought her closer to either liberty or bondage. Either fate seemed preferable to the endless torture of waiting.
    This she believed until Mama Dell looked at her. The collision rocked her to her toes. Hiding behind false bravado, she stared back at her former tutor, willing the veneer not to crack and the tears not to flow.
    “From her birth I was charged with the care of this child. That care continues now, whether she realizes it or not.”
    “And the money she makes claim of?”
    Mama Dell clamped her lips shut and refused to meet his gaze.  
    “I tire of this,” the captain snapped. “Harrigan, fetch Banks to remove her; then see to our safety in the coming storm.”
    “Aye, sir.” Harrigan strode out, and a moment later, another man wandered in.
    “Banks, take her away,” the captain said.
    The old sailor wrapped bony fingers around Mama Dell’s ample arm and gave her a tug. Isabelle stood in awe as the most contrary woman she knew followed the ill-garbed man out of the room like a lamb on a string. Had she not witnessed it herself, the image would have refused to form.
    “Ye’d best tell ’im what ye know, if’n ye wanna save your hide,” he said.  
    Mama Dell mumbled something and shook her head.
    “Cap’n Carter’s a fair man for the most part, but he ain’t patient by any stretch o’ thought.” Banks cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the subject of his discussion. “Beggin’ the captain’s pardon, sir,” he added hastily.
    Captain Carter gave Banks a curt nod as he watched the sailor and Mama Dell disappear into the stairwell. Down below, a door opened, and the sound of a scuffle ensued.  
    “The girl will never be free,” Mama Dell shouted over the sound of Banks’s protests. “ He will see to it.”  
    A second later the struggle ended. “All’s well, Cap’n,” Banks called. “Quite the tart, this one.”
    The door slammed, leaving Isabelle to consider the words she feared were true. The girl will never be free. She took a deep breath of the thick, musty air and held it inside until her lungs threatened to burst. He will see to it.
    Something inside cracked open, spilling bitterness into her soul as she released the breath and quickly took another. Isabelle knelt to rest her forehead on her knees, a curtain of hair covering her face.  
    Softly the tears began to fall, wetting the skirt of lace that had been intended as a bridal gown for the most unholiest of alliances—the union of a stupid girl born of the wrong parentage and an arrogant man born of the right one. What sins had her forefathers committed to have such afflictions visited upon her?
    Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
    The words of Deuteronomy 31, especially verse 6, had given her the courage to endure, then exit, her life of servitude. How like God that He would remind her of them now.  
    She let the words soak in, like the tears from her eyes, seeping beneath the skin to dry and leave no mark. Yet the mark of the Lord still felt new and fresh.
    Her tears vanished and her heart less heavy, Isabelle lifted her head and peered from behind a curtain of curls to brave a look in the captain’s direction. Without regard to her attention, he stared past her, obviously lost in his own thoughts.  
    His gaze swung to meet hers. Somehow words of assurance seemed necessary, and she made the attempt while brushing away the strands of hair blocking