The Lost - J. D. Robb [94]
It was a shame that the man’s talents had been limited to this little world for so long. If there were any chance she could free him, she would. With that thought Isabelle realized she did believe that Sebastian Dushayne and Father Joubay had been cursed. For two hundred years.
There was no scientific proof. It was the man and the place, the aura that surrounded both. Despite his youth and good health, the way everyone referred to him as “the master” epitomized the feeling that Sebastian Dushayne was not a part of this world.
But wanting to help him and acting on it without debasing herself were two different things. Isabelle had no idea how she could do it and prayed with all her heart that there was a way.
There is. The two words came to her in a whisper as quiet as a raindrop.
She prayed again that Sebastian would believe. No quiet word reassured her that he would.
Seven
As days turned into weeks, Isabelle wondered if she might have been wrong about her reason for being on Isla Perdida. Had her fascination with Sebastian Dushayne misled her? His tortured world, his wounded heart, his compelling sexuality haunted her but she had seen no sign of him for almost three weeks.
Her work with Esmé and the villagers was rewarding. The healer was open to the idea that Isabelle begin a process of inoculation of both children and adults against the most common diseases.
Isabelle initiated the prototype program used by most world health organizations. Part of the process was a record-k eeping initiative that would identify and track the routine treatment as well as the emergency needs of the village.
Recording a medical history was its own massive chore, as big as convincing the villagers that inoculations would discourage, not encourage, illness. Isabelle found the villagers unwilling to help her with the written work for a dozen reasons down to the fact that they had never kept records before.
Esmé was a superb midwife and the neonatal health of the village women was impressive. Most girls were matched with mates by the time they were sixteen and mothers within the year.
The village was run much like a classic commune with little interference from the outside. Meals were shared in a common dining room and those few who did not work for Sebastian Dushayne fished and raised fruits and vegetables for the whole village.
No one crossed the tidal-submerged strip of land to work at the hotel on a daily basis. Those who did never returned. There was nothing mystical about that. The twenty-fi rst century was too strong a draw.
While Isabelle’s work with the villagers was rewarding, her contact with the castle was nonexistent. Each evening she went to sing and each evening was turned away by one of the servants who told her that Sebastian was entertaining privately and did not wish to hear her.
The fourth week into her work, Sebastian came to the village right after breakfast as Isabelle was walking back to her cottage.
The villagers’ excitement was palpable as the master stopped at the dining area, now empty except for the children dawdling over their fruit and porridge.
The boys and girls mobbed him as he took a seat on one of the benches just outside the dining room. Isabelle watched Sebastian listen to stories, admire toys and suggest that they meet at the beach later.
“Yes! Yes!” the children chorused. “Let’s go now!”
“After school,” he insisted.
“Oooooh,” they moaned.
“It could be that if you work hard today, Mistress Teacher will let you out early. I will be waiting, no matter where the sun is, when you are free.”
As one, the group of children—Isabelle guessed there were fifteen in all—jumped up and raced to the school-room, where the Mistress Teacher waited. She waved at Sebastian, shaking her head as she did, then followed the children inside.
The street was quiet.
“I suspect this will be a difficult day for her to hold their attention.” Isabelle