Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(75)

Now that the last of the British storehouses in the area had been destroyed, the Americans had set up a blockade to the east, cutting off the lines for any further British ships to reach the island. Apparently the Americans had decided that if they couldn’t bombard the British off Michilimackinac, they’d starve them into surrendering.

Even before the battle, the provisions on the island had been low, but now the garrison was on half rations. The gardens down by the government house had been picked over, everything edible gone. Once their stores were empty, would the British demand that the islanders sell the food they were storing up for the winter?

If the British didn’t find a way to break the blockade and restock before the winter, Angelique dreaded what might happen. Last winter had been bad enough. It would be even worse if they were already starving before winter set in.

She slid her hands up and down her arms again. If only she could find a way to sneak food to Pierre. If the soldiers were hungry, Pierre would be the last person in the fort they would be willing to feed out of their precious remaining supplies. Why would they bother feeding a man condemned to die?

The door to Lavinia’s room opened a crack. Angelique stopped, her heart pattering at twice the speed.

The servant girl squeezed through and closed the door behind her. “Miss McDouall doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

Angelique eyed the door. Maybe she should force herself past the servant and barge into the room regardless of what the servant said. She would throw herself upon Lavinia and weep and plead and beg. As hopeless as the situation was, she was still determined to do whatever she could to save Pierre’s life.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the servant whispered.

“Did you tell her I was wearing the gown?”

“Yes, and she said you may keep it. That she wishes to give it to you as a gift.”

Angelique shook her head. “But I don’t want the gown. I just want to see her.”

“She’s too ill to do any further lessons with you.”

“Would you let her know I don’t need a lesson? I’m here because I need her help freeing my . . . my friend from the Black Hole.”

She couldn’t very well call Pierre the man she loved, although that was exactly what he was. As much as she wanted to deny the fact, she couldn’t. No matter how much she blamed herself for becoming too much like her mother, and no matter that she’d determined to do better in the future, she still loved Pierre. And she always would. Even after he was executed.

The servant hesitated. “She mentioned you might be here for that purpose, and she told me to tell you it’s time for you to forget about him, that after what he did you need to focus your attention on someone more worthy.”

Forget about Pierre? That was like asking the moon to forget about the sun. He brightened her life. He brought her laughter. And he turned the shadows into sunshine.

Besides, Pierre was worthy. Maybe he’d made some poor choices in his involvement in the war. Maybe he’d been careless with his spying. But he was steadily growing into a godly man.

She couldn’t abandon him.

The servant began to back away.

Angelique reached out a hand to stop her. “Please tell Lavinia that I’ll do whatever she wants me to do. Anything.”

The servant hesitated.

“Please,” Angelique pleaded, “if she’s unwilling to ask for his pardon, then maybe she can ask that he be moved out of the Black Hole into the guardhouse. And maybe she can help me gain permission to bring him food.”

The young girl started to shake her head.

“The Black Hole is no place for anyone to die.” Everyone knew the Black Hole was a death trap. It had such little air, a prisoner had once died of suffocation there.

“I’m helpless to change Miss McDouall’s mind,” the servant said, glancing at the door. “But she did talk of getting out of bed tomorrow. Perhaps you can try again then?”

Angelique thanked the servant and then took her leave, clinging to the slim hope that she might still have the chance of gaining Lavinia’s help, somehow on the morrow.

When she slipped through the back door of the inn, Betty was standing in front of the hearth, stirring a large kettle. With the storm clouds forming over the island, the room was only faintly lit by the flames flickering under the pot.

The fishy scent of soup mingled with that of onion, making Angelique’s stomach ache with hunger. But her own pain only served to remind her that Pierre was wasting away in the Black Hole. If his wounds or the lack of air didn’t kill him, he would die of starvation. She must find a way to help him, at least to ease his suffering in his last days.

Betty didn’t glance up. “My husband has been looking for you.”

Angelique picked up her pace as she crossed the room, dodging the baskets of cucumbers, green beans, and beets she had picked that morning and intended to preserve and pickle, if the British didn’t confiscate them first.

“I was at the fort with Miss McDouall,” Angelique said. She prayed she could get out of the gown before Ebenezer discovered her in it.

Betty had been in her bedchamber and nursing the baby when Angelique had left. Angelique had purposefully timed her leaving during a nursing so that Betty wouldn’t see her in the gown.

“If I were you, I’d just confess the truth right away,” Betty said, her voice tinged with warning.