I pulled open the desk drawers until I found a length of cloth and a pair of scissors.
“Sit down,” I said. “Take off your shirt.”
He pulled out the stool and obliged. His skin was pale except for his tanned arms and a sunburned ring around his neck. In addition to the cuts on his arm and his neck a dark-blue bruise covered his ribs.
“Thorns did this?” I said.
“Everything here’s dangerous. Even the damn plants.”
I poured iodine onto a clean rag. I should disinfect Montgomery’s knuckles, too, I thought briefly. But he’d never sit still long enough. I dabbed the iodine on Edward’s cuts. The sting didn’t seem to affect him, but when my fingertips grazed his skin, his stomach muscles contracted sharply.
“You’re too good for him,” he said.
I dabbed the rag carefully around his cuts. I didn’t need to ask who he meant. “He’s a good man,” I said. “He’s smarter than he looks.” I tried to keep my fingers from shaking. So smart he made Alice, I thought, but I kept that to myself.
“A good man wouldn’t have brought you here.”
I turned away to measure lengths of cloth. It wasn’t a discussion I was willing to have. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could win.
“Your father wants us matched,” he stated. As if I needed reminding.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t talk about that.”
“We have to talk about it! We’ve all been dancing around it. . . .”
“Fine, then.” I balled the cloth in my fist. “Why don’t we talk about why you killed Antigonus then? I must have missed when you and my father became so close that you decided it was all right to kill to defend him.”
The tic in his jaw pulsed slightly. For a moment his face seemed undecided as he tilted it slightly toward the door. He brushed at his chin as if he could sweep away the tic. “I wasn’t thinking. I saw the blade in Antigonus’s hand, and it was just instinct. It wasn’t your father I was trying to defend, Juliet. I swore to protect you. To be honest, your father could be sliced through the chest tomorrow, and I wouldn’t blink.” He paused. “I’m sorry. That was heartless.”
I shook my head. I didn’t like what the island was doing to us, making Edward a killer and me so unhinged. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter that Edward had killed one of them so easily. It wasn’t in cold blood. It was defense.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We need to focus on leaving.” I wrapped the cloth around the gash on his shoulder, glad that at least I could fix one thing. But what was one bandage going to do against the madness out there? I had an overwhelming feeling that the island wanted to sink its thorns into us, to bind us to this place.
“Even if we left,” I said, fighting to keep an even tone, “even with water and food, how could a ship possibly find us? One tiny dinghy might as well be a piece of driftwood!”
I jerked my head toward the sea, angry at myself for being weak. I should have been stronger. Edward wrapped an arm around my back. I buried my face in the soft bandage on his shoulder.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” I asked bitterly.
He held me so tight I could hardly breathe. But I wanted tighter still. “Not here. I swear it.”
THAT EVENING, THE CHIME of bells mixed with jungle birdsongs. I found the wagon in the courtyard with all the men gathered. The gate had been hastily repaired with scrap wood from the barn. Boards from the same source formed a simple wooden box the length of a small person.
“Let’s be done with it then,” Father said. He took a lantern. Balthasar and Puck slid the coffin into the wagon bed.
I pulled a shawl around my blouse. “Where are you taking her?” I asked.
Montgomery paused with his hand on Duke’s harness. The rifle was slung over his chest. A pistol glinted at his side. “We’ve got to burn the body,” he said. He swung into the driver’s seat.
My stomach turned. “But you dug graves for the others.”
“That was before. They’ll dig her up now. The regression gives them a better sense of smell.”
Balthasar held his hand out to help me into the wagon. I shook my head, remembering the buzzing flies and bloody canvas wrap. I’d rather walk than ride with another dead body.
At a click from Montgomery, Duke heaved at the wagon. We followed its deep tracks into the jungle. Father’s small lantern was our one light in the darkness. I matched my steps to Edward’s. A rifle hung over his shoulder, too. One of the new ones from London. I raised my eyebrows.
He jerked his head toward my father. “Apparently killing a man makes me trustworthy enough to get one of the good rifles.”
We walked for some time. The only sounds came from the jungle and the squeak of Duke’s harness. I heard the sea before I saw it. The dirt path turned to sand under our feet, and then suddenly we were there, bathed in moonlight, beside the churning tide. Montgomery stopped the wagon. Balthasar and Puck took out armfuls of wood and started down the dock.
Father nodded toward the dark horizon. “We’ll burn her at sea.”
The breeze carried the distant sound of the firewood tumbling against wood. I swallowed. He was going to burn her in the launch. I threw a look to Edward—the launch was the only way off the island.
“Montgomery, get the casket,” Father said.
Montgomery slid the casket halfway out, and Edward took the other end. Father and I followed the wooden box down the beach. Sand gave way to boards that echoed our footsteps. Montgomery climbed onto the launch and settled the box on top of the wood piled in the bottom. His palm rested for a moment on the flat face of the casket before he climbed back onto the dock.