Chapter 2
Emilia checked the lab again and found that Jack was still missing. She went to the marketplace and inquired of him, but no one had seen him since the early afternoon. She even questioned the barmaids at the pub, and they all said the same thing. She returned to the marketplace to see if maybe she missed him, and she came upon the villagers crying, some collapsing in grief.
As she pressed her way into the center of the gathering, she asked, "What is it? What is wrong?"
"Madame Rothschild, it is a splendid day."
She turned and found Governor Croque standing off to the side with Brogard and a small detail, both smiling and in unusually good spirits.
"What do you mean?" She approached them, puzzled. "How could it be a splendid day when all these people are upset and crying?"
Unable to contain himself, Brogard answered, "The Daring Dragoon is dead." At her gasp, his grin widened. "I killed him myself."
"Where? Where is he?"
The Governor and Brogard looked surprised at her alarm. Croque exclaimed, "Does it matter? He is gone for good!"
"It's not good at all," she muttered, then ground out, "Where is he? These people love him, and if you have indeed killed him, don't you think that you should at least allow them to give him a proper… burial?" She could barely speak the word, much less think it. Jack is dead! How could he be? She hoped any second he would appear, chuckling, dressed as the Dragoon and offering up some lame pun to humiliate Croque and Brogard. But he didn't come. She couldn't, wouldn't, believe it until she'd seen his body with her own eyes. "Where is he, Brogard?"
"At the bottom of the cliff on the north side of the island," Brogard answered. "By now, the vultures have probably picked off that ridiculous mask and exposed the real man underneath."
"Oh, Brogard! We must go at once to see!" Croque exclaimed, nearly breathless with glee. "I have always wanted to know who the Dragoon really was."
"Please, Governor, have some decorum," Emilia begged. "Let the people go and get him, and I will assist with making the funeral arrangements. If you have a shred of decency in you, you will leave the Dragoon to rest in peace. Whoever he was, no doubt we will know in time when a villager is discovered missing."
"Ah yes, you are wise, Madame," Croque said with respect in his tone. "Alright, I will allow this. Go fetch him, and we will pay our respects."
Respects? Croque and Brogard had as much regard for the Dragoon, and Jack, as a cat had for a mouse. Emilia went to her stables and began to hitch up the horses to the wagon that would be large enough to carry Jack's body. She stifled a sob. A few villagers appeared at the barn doors, their faces etched with deep sorrow.
"Madame, please allow us to help you. The Dragoon is our hero, and we would like to give him the honor he deserves."
"Al-alright. Thank you."
After the horses were hitched to the cart, women came bearing beautiful hand-embroidered linens. Children followed, their arms encircled around large bouquets of flowers. Emilia lost control at the sight of them and broke down, her knees weakening, and a villager held her up, his eyes locked on her with surprise.
When she could speak again, Emilia whispered, "Thank you. The Dragoon… was a dear friend."
"He was a dear friend and champion for all of us, Madame Rothschild. We will miss him so, and the tyranny of the French will once again rule unbridled over the entire island."
"Yes, it will, unfortunately." She sniffled and accepted his hand helping her into the wagon seat. He followed to sit beside her, taking the reins and driving the wagon to the site where Brogard said the Dragoon lay. Practically the entire village followed, the marketplace being closed for the rest of the day in deference to the death of their hero.
The wagon wheels sunk into the sand but the villager kept the horses moving. From a couple hundred yards away, Emilia could see something red, black, and white stretched out on the white sand. She sensed a new wave of sadness rising up in her, but she bit it back by clamping down on her knuckle. As often as he infuriated her, Emilia would never have wished death on Jack. It can't be true! He lay too still. She wished he would move or show some sign that he was alive. Some of the villagers ran to the body, and they touched him before falling to their knees wailing in their native tongue.
The wagon stopped, and Emilia jumped down without assistance. She trudged through the sand, skirts held high, and picked her way between prostrate villagers to reach Jack's side. She gasped at how much blood there was. The Dragoon's tri-cornered black hat was missing, his dark brown hair glinting in the sun. His face was pale, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. His limbs were flung out wide, the arms wrapped in the edges of his red velvety cape.
Emilia fell to her knees and reached out to touch his face. To her surprise, he felt warm. Perhaps the sun kept him so. Her lacy glove raked along the hint of a five o'clock shadow, catching on the roughness. His cheek twitched. Everyone behind her gasped and jumped back.
"Oh my word," she muttered. "Please be alive. Please." She touched him again, her fingertips pressing into his cheek, sliding down to his neck. She felt a pulse there and cried out in joy. "He's not dead! The Dragoon is alive!"
A great shout went up through the people and they pressed forward. Emilia held up a hand.
"Wait! Don't crowd him, please. We must treat him carefully. Bring some of those linens, ladies. We must stop this bleeding, and bind up his wounds. Then I will take him to my home, consult a doctor, and nurse him back to health!"
Once his head wound was bound up, the stronger men came forward and lifted the Dragoon, carrying him with gentle hands and careful steps toward the wagon. The other linens had been laid out for a shroud, but now they were wrapped around and over him to trap his body warmth. The driver made haste to take him to Emilia's house, and while the men laid the Dragoon in a spare bedroom, a boy ran through the streets searching for the white doctor who lived on the island.
He was an American who, like Emilia and Jack, had no use for the French. Upon hearing the news about the Dragoon, he mourned his loss. The boy's request that he hurry to Madame Rothschild's home to attend to the hero sent his spirits soaring. He did not know what he would find, so he loaded himself down with all of his supplies and hurried to the mansion.
A crowd had gathered around the entrance, and it took some work for him to get through. But people parted like the Red Sea when the boy announced, "It is the doctor. Make way for the doctor!" A villager let him into the house, and he slipped past the others who marched out in single file.
"Where is he? Where is the Dragoon?"
"Come with me," Emilia said as she whirled and hurried to the guest room. "I do hope there is something you can do for him, Doctor Thomas."
"I will certainly do my best, Mrs. Rothschild." He entered the room and gazed on the unconscious form.
"He still hasn't awakened," Emilia reported. "As far as we know he hasn't regained consciousness since he fell off the cliff."
Dr. Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and gave the man a good once-over. "I'm afraid he will have to be disrobed and… de-masked."
Emilia gasped. She hadn't considered that. "Doctor, if we remove his mask, you must swear that you will never, I repeat never, reveal his true identity."
Dr. Thomas stared at her. "You know who he really is?"
"Yes. And as far as I am aware, I'm the only one. You will also know, but Doctor, you must never tell anyone."
He nodded. "I assure you, I wouldn't want to put this man in further jeopardy if he survives." He paused and cleared his throat. "You do realize that this means that you and I are the only ones who can remove his clothing."
Emilia swallowed. "I'm prepared for that, sir."
"Alright then."
As each piece of Jack's clothing was stripped from his body starting with his boots working up to his torso, Emilia recalled the time that Napoleon drugged the wine that she and Jack had drunk, leaving them vulnerable to respond to his suggestions. She awoke beside Jack in bed the next morning, naked, and until the two learned that nothing had happened, she was horrified that perhaps he'd taken her, or she him, and neither one remembered it.
She recalled it like it was yesterday, Jack standing on one side of the bed without a stitch of clothing, only a decorative pillow covering his private parts. She wrapped a sheet around herself. It was sort of comical later, but she would never admit it. All the things she was feeling as she undressed his body came back and made a heat rise in her. How disgusting, to be thinking that way over a man who was incapacitated, and under her employ to boot!
She focused on business, assisting the doctor in removing Jack's trousers and socks, revealing his long muscular legs. She couldn't help but stare, but not because of their attractiveness. "Look at all the bruising."
The doctor picked up the hem of Jack's undergarment and pushed one leg of it up to his hip, keeping his patient's nether regions covered. He shook his head. "He looks as if he's been beaten."
"He fell off a cliff, Doctor. The fact that he's alive is miraculous."
"Indeed." Glancing at Emilia, he said, "Let's continue. No doubt he has bruises all over."
It was more of a challenge to remove his shirt and undershirt, which required that he be rolled to his side. The movement caused him to moan, but he did not regain consciousness. His bare chest bore the marks of the collisions during his fall, with rash-like scrapes and bruises over his chest and stomach. Emilia almost cried at the sight.
"And now, the mask," the doctor said. "We must remove it in order for me to adequately treat him."
"I know. Go ahead." She was prepared because she knew who he was, but the doctor…
The doctor untied the mask behind the Dragoon's head and pulled it away. His breath came out in a short gasp. "Mr. Stiles? Mr. Stiles is the Dragoon?"
"Shhh! No one must know," Emilia whispered.
"His secret is safe with me." Dr. Thomas smiled as he turned to his supplies. "It stirs my pride in America to see one of my own people fighting for freedom on Pulau Pulau." He rooted around in his bag and came back to the bed with his hands full. "Now, I must work. I would suggest that you find someone who can be trusted to not come in here, and can guard the door. Only you and I should be allowed in this room, unless there is a life and death emergency."
"Agreed." Emilia rose from the side of the bed and left the room. She found the villager who drove the wagon to the beach. He agreed to stand guard without entering the room, and the look of loyalty in his eyes led her to believe that he could be trusted to keep his word. "Not even the Governor himself should be allowed in here."
"Of course, Madame. I will guard the Dragoon with my life."
The open area was filled to capacity with villagers and expatriated Americans and British. The French presence was visibly absent. On the beach where the Dragoon landed, some of the women set up a plank and loaded it with flowers. In the center, the Dragoon's hat and sword lay, the metal glinting in the sun. The peoples' priest intoned a sad dirge that only the natives understood the words to, but it's melody communicated the grief of the people to everyone attending. On the precipice, Governor Croque stood with Captain Brogard watching the spectacle.
"Oh, such a sad display," Croque cried, his crocodile tears turning into a grin. He even dared to laugh. "Ah, I feel as if a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders, Brogard."
"Congratulations, Governor. Now, perhaps you can concentrate on a complete rule of this island. Your brother will be so proud of you!"
"Indeed. Let us go and prepare. With the people so distraught over the loss of the Dragoon, they will be impotent to fight against me and my troops."
Croque waved his hand, and the carriage pulled away from the cliff edge. Brogard took one last look, hurled a wad of spit at the display, and his mind moved on to conquering the people of Pulau Pulau.
Over the course of several days, Emilia barely left Jack's side. She tried everything she could think of to try to awaken him. She spent hours talking, sometimes shouting at him, to wake up. Now and then she spoke soft words and he seemed to respond best to those, if the gentle squeeze of his fingers was any indication. She sang to him late in the night, and his respirations turned soft and even. But he wouldn't open his eyes.
Emilia could barely keep hers open anymore. She'd been awake for almost forty eight hours straight, and she fought the droopiness of her lids. Dr. Thomas thought that maybe Jack would awaken soon. She needed to believe that, because in the lonely hours while she waited, she decided that she couldn't very well do without him, despite his knack for annoying her. She would give anything for him to do so now.
She drifted into a world where Jack was animated and smiling, smoking those infernal cigars in her parlor and cracking up, that staccato laugh of his echoing off the walls. She touched him, running her hand up his chest to caress his cheek as she asked him to stop, but no words came out of her mouth. Instead, Jack looked into her deep blue eyes with his rich dark brown ones and his lips moved closer to hers. It was crazy. They were intoxicated by the love potion she'd engineered for Croque and his wife. She couldn't admit it, but she hoped that Jack would lose control because she was too scared to do it herself. She wanted him. Sometimes she fantasized about him coming to her in the Dragoon costume, but decorum always won.
She forced such thoughts from her mind. Jack was ill. She shouldn't be thinking of such things. He moaned, and her senses were on high alert. Her skin prickled with the touch of fingertips on her arm. Emilia used all her mental strength to open her eyes and look at him. She gaped. Somehow, in her sleep-addled brain, she lay beside him on the bed, her body close to his, and her arm resting across his bare chest. How often she'd wanted to do it, and now she had. For shame!
Emilia pulled away and sat up, mortified to see that Jack's eyes were open and watching her. He wore no leer or sign that she'd somehow aroused him. She waited a few beats for the sexual innuendo that was sure to roll off his lips, but it didn't come.
"Madame, do I know you?"
She gasped. "Jack! You don't remember me?"
His brows knit together. "Jack? My name isn't Jack. I'm… Well, I'm known as the Daring Dragoon. I've been that for so long, I couldn't even tell you my real name."
Looking at him with great pity in her eyes, she said, "Your name is really Jack. Jack Stiles."
"Really? That's not a very heroic sounding name. I'm disappointed." He scoffed. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. You're sure you don't remember me?"
He gave her face a good look, but no sense of recognition appeared on his. "I'm sorry. I don't know who you are."
"I was afraid of that. Hold on one moment." Emilia stood and rushed to the door. She opened it a crack and spoke to the man outside. "Please fetch Dr. Thomas immediately. The Dragoon is waking up."
"He's… he lives?"
"Yes." She smiled.
"Wonderful news! I will bring the doctor at once!" He ran down the hall, his footfalls thudding on the floor.
"What happened to me," Jack asked. He sat up in bed, holding his head. "Feels like I got hit with an axe."
"No axe. You fell off a cliff about fifty feet and dashed your head on a rock."
He scowled. "And I lived?"
"Yes." She sat beside him and pushed on him, urging him to settle into the pillows. "Miraculously, I dare say."
"I was beginning to think maybe I was in heaven," Jack said as he gave Emilia an appreciative smile. He reached out his hand and captured one of her blonde curls, rubbing the strands in his fingers. "When I woke up, I thought that maybe you were an angel. But an angel on earth is just as good. Maybe even better."
"Oh, Jack. You're being silly."
"What's your name?"
"Emilia Rothschild."
"Miss or Mrs.?" He held such hope in his eyes that she was single.
"I'm widowed."
"I'm sorry," he said with such thoughtfulness, it took her breath away. "I guess some poor man's loss is my gain." His smile lit up his face. "How did I ever get so lucky?"
A knock interrupted any response she might have given him. "That must be the doctor. One moment."
Dr. Thomas examined Jack and determined that his head injury was healing. It would be several more days before he was able to be up and around, and each day he made progress walking the hall. The guard had been dismissed, because the threat to the Dragoon's life was gone since Governor Croque and his men believed that the Dragoon had died from his injuries. Until he went into action again, the French would be none the wiser.
With the Dragoon hidden away in her home, this meant that Jack had not made an appearance in the village. Fortunately, Croque seemed too preoccupied to notice that Emilia and Jack had left him alone. Or maybe he just didn't care. Either way, at some point he would notice. Emilia hoped it was later, rather than sooner.
