The Captain of Her Heart

  * * * * *

   

  Ritcherd stood outside the cottage door for several minutes before he found the courage to knock. He couldn’t help thinking that just yesterday he had been here with Kyrah. Now she was gone. And how could he possibly tell Sarah?

  He wasn’t surprised at the shadow that fell over her face when she opened the door to see his countenance. “What’s happened?” she said, pressing a hand over her heart. Ritcherd stepped inside and she closed the door. But he couldn’t put the words together. “What? Tell me!”

  “She’s gone,” Ritcherd said, his voice hoarse.

  Sarah gasped. It took a moment for her stunned expression to turn to alarm. “Gone?” she echoed. “You mean . . . You can’t mean . . .” Her voice quivered and her hands began to shake. “Please, Ritcherd, don’t tell me she’s dead. What could—”

  “No,” he interrupted, taking hold of her shoulders, “of course not.” She sighed with visible relief while her eyes bored into his, demanding an explanation. Ritcherd hung his head, unable to look at her. “But it might be better if she were . . . for her sake.”

  “What are you saying?” Sarah’s voice rasped and she clutched onto his arms. “What’s happened?”

  Ritcherd swallowed hard and just said it. “She’s been deported, Sarah.” He felt her hands tighten around his arms, while the rest of her drooped like a rag doll. Now that he’d said it, the explanation bubbled out. “I . . . woke up late . . . and realized that something had been put into my drink last night and . . . when I got there . . . she was gone. The constable told me she’d been found guilty . . . and deported . . . but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. I went to the pier . . . but nobody knows anything.” His tears began to flow with the hopelessness of his report. “I . . . I don’t know where to even begin . . . to look for her. I don’t know . . . where to go . . . or what to do.” Drained of strength, he slid down the wall until he sat on the floor. Sarah crumbled in his arms and wept with him.

  Ritcherd felt Sarah’s thoughts change when she straightened abruptly and moved away from him. “I should have let you leave last night,” she murmured and pressed both hands to her face. “I should have listened to what she was telling me . . . what you were telling me . . . I should have let you take her . . . Oh, Ritcherd! What have I done? What have I done?”

  “Sarah, listen to me.” He took hold of her shoulders and forced her to face him. “You couldn’t have known. You were doing what you thought was best. This is not your fault, Sarah. Are you hearing me? My mother did this to us, Sarah. She manipulated this to keep me and Kyrah apart. But I’m not going to stand for it. I will find her, Sarah. I don’t know where to start, but I’ll find a way—and somehow I’ll find her and bring her safely back to you. I swear it by all I hold dear. I will not rest until she’s found. Do you hear me?”

  Sarah nodded feebly and fell apart in tears all over again. Ritcherd held her and let her cry while determination whirled helplessly inside of him. He had to find her. If only he knew where to begin. Please God, he prayed silently, show me the way.

  Long after Sarah’s tears dried up, they sat together on the floor, holding hands, lost in silence. Ritcherd finally spoke, fearing he’d go mad otherwise. “I don’t want you to worry, Sarah. I’ll see that all of your needs are met. I won’t leave any room for you to go without.”

  She looked alarmed, as if she’d just recalled something that troubled her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Mr. Westman was here last night . . . after you left. He said that he wanted to talk to Kyrah, but then he didn’t really seem surprised when I said she wasn’t here.”

  “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “No, of course not. But he . . . threatened me about the rent . . . the way he always does. You took care of that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, my solicitor saw that it was paid for several months.”

  “Will you talk to him?” she asked. “Do whatever you have to to make him leave us in peace.”

  “I will,” he promised, wondering if Peter Westman knew something that could give Ritcherd some direction. Instinctively he knew, at the very least, the man had to be aware of what his mother was up to. He recalled Peter’s comment just last night at the party. I’ll believe this marriage when I see it.

  “In fact,” Ritcherd added, “I’ll go and talk to him right now.” He stood up and helped her to her feet. “Is there anything you need?” he asked.

  “No. Just . . . find Kyrah.”

  “I will,” he said, feeling hypocritical as he realized she’d not lost her faith in him. “Do you have enough food in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still have some money?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll check back with you as soon as I have any news,” he said and embraced her, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Thank you for being here for me, Sarah; for loving me in spite of everything.”

  She nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak.

  When Ritcherd arrived at the big house, his nightmare intensified. No one answered after he knocked loudly several times, so he cautiously went inside. A quick peek into the main rooms along the hall showed all of the furnishings covered. He found an older woman working in the kitchen, and once she recovered from his startling her, she stated simply that Mr. Westman had left for an indeterminable length of time.

  Every nerve in Ritcherd’s body bristled as he asked skeptically, “He’s left?”

  “All I know, sir,” the old woman said blandly, “is that he left very early this morning, which leaves me without a job. But I suppose that’s just as well. He wasn’t payin’ me anyhow. He woke me before dawn and ran out o’ here with his bags, sayin’ he had a ship to catch and he wanted me to—”

  Ritcherd didn’t wait for her to finish. He lumbered back outside, feeling a whole new level of shock settle in. Wherever Kyrah was going, Peter Westman had gone with her. She might as well have been sentenced to serve time in hell, with the devil himself as her warden. He felt so tangibly ill that he was hard-pressed to keep from throwing up. If he’d had the strength, he would have returned to Buckley Manor and started in on his mother’s crystal collection.

  Ritcherd found himself back at the pier, looking westward out to sea as the sun sank against the far horizon. Consumed with despair and void of strength, he sat down at the water’s edge where he spent half the night, praying with everything inside of him that he would be able to find Kyrah before the results of this nightmare set in too deeply. He finally returned home, convinced that he was likely not worthy to have such prayers answered. His only hope was that God would intervene on Kyrah’s behalf and use him as the means to bring her home. Otherwise, the future was bleak.