Hello darlings! If you're reading this, thankyou so much for keeping on with my story! I hope you continue to enjoy it!

About Abigail, I've received a couple of confusions concerning her, and I think I've cleared most of them up in this chapter but just to clarify... Abigail is an African American, but a free one. In the 1700s, the majority of black people in America were slaves/servants :( but Abigail has been lucky enough to have been born into a rich family (however, her parents did pass away a couple of years ago from when this story picks up from). Unfortunately though, as one can see, this doesn't stop the white society from treating her very differently because of her skin. Abigail was traveling from America to go and stay with a family member in a more wealthier part of Africa to get away from everything that was happening (The racism, Clinton eg.)

Please comment or pm me anything that doesn't make sense about the story line! I will be grateful!

Anyways, enjoy! Xx

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The sound of birds screeching, and the feeling of sand in Abigail's dry mouth was what slowly brought her around. A gentle wave tickled her face, and rolled back to join the ocean.

The memory of the monstrous waves jerked her fully awake. The sun glared down at her, and she squinted at the sea out before her, calm and beautiful. There wasn't even a white tip on the waves that were slowly drifting to the shore, and the greeny colour of the water contrasted perfectly with the clear, blue sky.

She shuddered.

Abigail sat stiffly up, licking her swollen lips, and the desire for a drink of water untouched by salt arose. The next flow of water that rolled up the beach, she used to wash some of the sand off her aching face and out of her mouth. The smell of the salt water made her stomach twist with memories of the night.

Abigail's gaze wondered to the side, and her breath caught when she spotted Clinton laying on his face. For a moment she couldn't move, and fears filled her. She forced herself to get up, and winced at the stiff muscles in her legs and arms. Running over to the still man, she fell to the ground near him, and gritted her teeth as she pulled him over. Blood covered his face, staining his white, collared shirt. She gasped, and recoiled. Then, ever so carefully, cupped some water in her palm, and tipped it onto his face. Enough blood washed away for her to see a coin sized wound near his hairline. She gingerly touched around it, but pulled back when the action caused blood to trickle.
When Clinton didn't move, dread swelled in the pit of Abigail's stomach. She took his hand in hers, and attempted to feel for his pulse. Nothing could be felt, except for the deathly cold temperature of his skin.

"Oh God, no..."

Her breathing quickened, and tears flooded her eyes. She leaned down, and placed her ear over his chest, hoping, praying, she would hear his heartbeat. Sobs left her when she heard nothing. She lifted her head, flicked her hair angrily away and tried again, but the movement of her cries made it difficult.

As she cradled her beloved's head in her arms, and closing her eyes, Abigail only thought of the night she had broken off their engagement. His face, had fallen, along with her heart, at his pleas for her to explain.

"Oh Clinton... I'm so sorry." She let him to the ground, and crossed her arms on his chest, sobbing and crying.

This was all her fault. Why had she chosen to move away? Would he still be alive if she had just stayed in America? Abigail's chest heaved with her cries.

"... so sorry! Oh Clinton, I love you so much! Please, don't leave me alone..."

"Darling, letting a man breath might be helpful if you wish him to live."

Abigail's heart leaped, and she snapped her neck up in time to see Clinton's mouth kick up the side. She gave a cry, and threw her arms around his neck, almost smothering him completely. Clinton sat up the best he could, and then fiercely wrapped his arms around Abigail, whispering comforting words into her ear as she convulsed in sobs.

Abigail pulled away slowly, her hands gripping Clinton's broad shoulders as if he might disappear at any moment. "But- but... you weren't breathing and I thought," her voice broke suddenly. "How... how? Oh Clinton..."

Clinton cupped her face lovingly, and looked steadily into her tear-filled eyes. "My darling, do you think I would dare to rewrite the ending to our love story?" He leaned closer, and pressed his lips to hers, stunning them both with his passion.

Clinton drew away after a minute, breathless, and caressed Abigail's cheek with his coarse thumb, grinning. "I'd rather stick with our happy ending, if it's all the same to you."

"Clinton, oh..." Abigail had missed what saying his name did to her. Her heart fluttered, and she gave a small smile.

Abigail looked into his grey eyes, noting the stubble that grew around his face, and the black, damp lock of hair that fell across his forehead. She reached a hand and traced his sharp jawline with a slender finger.
Abigail bit her bottom lip, and suddenly tasted the metallic taste of blood.

Though she was already staring at his face, she now took note of the blood that was smeared over Clinton's facial features, and that she could taste as she ran her tongue over her lips. She bristled when she took in the contrast between his white skin, and her dark skin where her hand was frozen against his face. She almost physically felt the wall that shot up between them as she moved her hand with speed, as if she'd been scalded. Clinton felt it, too, and his face turned grim.

"Abigail-"

"You've got a wound on your forehead. We need to find a way to stop the blood." She ignored the look he gave her, and rose. Clinton followed. "The salt in the water must have been enough to clean it out, but I don't know what I'm going to bandage it with," she said looked out into the water.

What was I thinking?!

The closer she got to him, the harder it would be to distance herself once they were back home. She had her back turned to him, and she stared out over the sea, though just this sent chills down her spin.

She heard a ripping, and turned to see Clinton had torn his flannel shirt to make a sort of strip. He wrapped it around his hand, and took it off, forming a bandage-like roll. "What about this?"

Abigail nodded curtly. "That should do."

Clinton held out the piece of shirt expectantly. Abigail gaped at him before she walked over and took it from him. Clinton bent down a little so as so make it easier for Abigail to reach his head, and she sensed him strongly as she wrapped the material around his head.
The thought of Clinton ripping his shirt reminded Abigail of the way he had tore her buttons off her dress last night. Heat bullied its way up into her face, and by the time she had done, she was more thankful for the comfort of her African skin in that it hid her embarrassment.

Abigail stepped back hastily, almost tripping in the process, and clasped her hands awkwardly in front of her.

Clinton felt the bandage lightly. "Feels good," he winked. "But I reckon having you closer felt better still."

Abigail looked him in the eye, her face set in an emotionless expression. Her heart cried out for her to respond even as she walked up the beach and towards the trees that she could see grew on the island.

The greenery was refreshing to look on, and as Abigail stepped onto a thin layer of grass that grew there, she took in the countless trees and bushes. Curious, she continued through the trees, stepping carefully on the leaves and sticks on the ground. Something sharp pricked her foot, but she kept walking straight for a couple of minutes until she spotted a stream. It trickled off of a rock into a big, still puddle which looked about five inches or so deep. Her mouth seemed dryer then ever, but she sprinted back towards the beach, and met Clinton half way there.

Abigail and Clinton splashed into the stream, and drank until their thirst was no more. Abigail cupped her hands and washed her face, trying to rid herself of the stickiness the salt left on her skin.

"Nothing like fresh water," Clinton said, sitting down in the water. "Now how about some food? There must be some animals on this island that we can somehow catch."

Abigail both perked up, and shivered at the notion that there might be animals on the land. "Or we could find some eatable vegetation?"

"I guess it's a start." Clinton chuckled. "Well, we better get looking."

Abigail mumbled a reply. They both rose and started walking further into the island, treading carefully. The palm trees Abigail remembered that dotted the beach sounded promising, or rather the coconuts hanging heavily off them. She half heartedly attempted to think of a way to get them down if they didn't find more substantial food ahead, but her mind was on other things.

Abigail suddenly realised that Clinton wasn't walking with her, and looked back to find him standing about five paces back, alert. He was frozen to the spot, his back to her.

"Clinton?" Abigail tried calling him but he paid her no heed.

A sudden wave of terror clawed at the woman, but she dismissed it. Irritation replaced her fear, and she stalked over to where Clinton was standing. She stood beside him, and then looked up into his face.
He was looking where they had just come from. The distant sound of the the ocean, and the birds over head made it hard to focus on anything else.

Suddenly Clinton turned and walked on in the direction they were heading to, calling out for her to keep up.

Abigail walked after him, confused and exasperated. "What was that all about?"

Clinton forced a natural laugh. "A bird got spooked and I just was watching to see if whatever startled it was something we should worry about. But don't worry, we're being pretty loud ourselves."

"You were looking mighty hard..." Abigail trailed off uncertainly, but Clinton shook his head and grinned.

"I'm just jittery. It's alright, Abigail."

The two started off into the trees, and Clinton gave a sigh of relief when Abigail appeared content with his answer. He laid his hand against his knife, secure in it's leather pocket against his leg as they walked, giving himself some sort of assurance of their safety.

What I wouldn't give for a loaded shotgun, Clinton thought grimly.

The couple of figures he had seen just before they disappeared into the trees had startled him, and Clinton had found the sight of the pair froze him. The way they had stood there for a moment however, almost challenging, made the hairs on Clinton's neck stand up.
If they were attacked, they had nothing to retaliate with except his knife, and even that could only do so much against other weapons such as guns, and he had no way of finding out if those men had access to such luxuries on this island.

Clinton had no idea of telling how long the men had been on the island for. Their hair was short enough, but their clothes looked pretty worn out.
Then again, he and Abigail also looked very rough. Did those men plan to ambush the pair of them? They didn't hold any materialistic valuables, but if they men were indeed looking for something, he guessed it wouldn't be gold while on this island.

He studied Abigail as she walked just a few paces ahead of him. She was more valuable to him then anything he owned by far... what if the men had seen her? They were white also... If they weren't bothered by her race, would that mean they would look to take advantage of her?

Clinton swallowed. Hard.

He would fight till he died if it meant keeping Abigail safe. But if he died, and it achieved nothing of the kind, what would become of his love?

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So that's that! Tell me, what do you think will happen in the next chapter?!

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sweetNsmiling