Anna looked into his gray eyes. Warm humor and a carefree spirit lurked in their misty depths. They were much the same color as Nicolas’s, but Jake’s didn’t have the tough, cold intensity.
“Well?” he asked, almost intimately.
Anna was forced to smile, for she felt an immediate kinship to this other half brother. “I think perhaps we should be getting back to the others.”
Suddenly there was a commotion from the house. José, the stable boy, ran toward them, Marcus and some of the other guests on his heels.
“Was ist lose?” Dolf cried out.
“He’s kidnapped one of my workers, dammit!” Marcus shouted as he passed them.
“The Marauder?” Dolf came off the bench extremely quickly for a man of his size. He rushed to follow the others.
Anna watched Jake stroll to the edge of the gazebo and peer out into the dusky evening light. “Mr. Gaspard?” When he turned and looked at her, he appeared quite sober. “What’s happened? Who’s the Marauder?”
His gaze drifted back to the barn. “You really don’t know?”
“No,” she answered, standing next to him.
He looked down at her. His sardonic look, one that likened him to Satan, was compelling—and familiar. “You’re a sweet-looking thing.” He laughed quietly. “No wonder poor Nick doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.”
“What do you mean?” The statement stirred feeling in Anna’s numbed heart.
He laughed quietly but said nothing.
Anna was tempted to pursue her questioning, but suddenly wanted to be alone before Dolf came back and monopolized the rest of her evening. “Excuse me, Mr. Gaspard. I … I think I’ll go to bed.” As she turned away she felt his hand on her arm. She looked up at him, startled.
“You really don’t know what’s happened here tonight?” His voice was almost a whisper.
She shook her head, but a niggling of apprehension nipped at her.
Jake looked around, as if making certain they were alone. “The Midnight Marauder, my sweet, innocent schoolmistress, is, according to Marcus, Dolf, and the rest of the bigots, the scourge of Pine Valley.”
Anna had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Who … what does he do?”
“The nervy bastard rides through the night, stealing slaves from ‘honorable’ white men.”
Anna’s eyes widened with understanding. “And … and they call him the Midnight Marauder?”
“Yes.” His mouth curled into a grim half smile. “And after tonight,” he added softly as he turned back to stare at the barn, “the price on his head will have tripled. And the sum will be paid whether he’s brought in dead or alive.”
Anna’s throat clogged with feeling. Why had Nicolas put himself in such danger by rescuing a child right out from under his own brother’s nose? But even as she mentally castigated him for the reckless disregard for his own life, she knew why he’d risked it. She remembered his pain the night he’d told her the reason June and the other children were hiding with him in the mountains. She knew he had a fierce need to save them all. Her love for him grew.
“I … ah, excuse me, Mr. Gaspard,” she said, clutching her throat with nervous fingers. “I’m … very tired. Good night.”
“Good night, Anna,” he answered softly.
She made her way back to the house. Before she reached the porch, she glanced back at Jake. He still stood there, staring out into the night.
Anna went to her room. The moonlight streamed in. After she unfastened her gown and removed her corset, she slipped into her borrowed nightgown and slid into bed. She lay there and stared at the ceiling. Nicolas had been here tonight. Her pulse quickened. She’d wondered many times how he’d felt when he discovered her pregnancy and, she thought, pain surging over her, her loss.
Concetta’s words about Sarabeth filtered back through her mind. All the puzzling feelings and questions she’d had about Nicolas and his reaction to her had been answered today. It was no wonder he hated white women. But even though she and Sarabeth were white, there were no other similarities between them. When Concetta had spoken of Sarabeth, she’d reminded Anna of her friend Beatrice, back home. Men flocked to Bea like Swedes to a smorgasbord. They were always so eager for her favors, they shared her coquettish flirtations, happy to have any little crumb she cared to throw them.
And Nicolas … she didn’t believe he was the kind of man who would share his woman with anyone. He was strong, and possessive of all the things he loved. Longing washed through her.
She rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to return to the compound, but it was foolish to even think of it. Nicolas probably didn’t want her back. And, with Marcus watching her like a hawk, she’d lead him directly to Nicolas no matter how careful she tried to be.
She threw back the covers and crossed to the window. Moonlight bathed the night in an eerie white glow. Oh, Nicolas, may the wind be at your back.
The shadowy figure stole through the darkened house. Soundlessly, he crept up the stairs. When he reached the top, he paused and listened. Hearing nothing but the heavy pendulum of the clock in the hallway below, he crossed to the third door to the right of the landing.
With the stealth of an intruder, he opened the door, stepped inside and closed it behind him. He stood for a moment, staring at the sleeping woman. She was on her side, one nightgown-clad arm resting outside the covers, the other near her face, clutched into a loose fist. He moved closer. Moonlight spun magical strands of gold in her soft, honey-colored hair.
Pain spread like fire through his chest. She looked frail and weak, even in sleep. He closed his eyes and looked away, bringing his hand to his face and pressing his fingers over his throbbing temples.
A movement from the bed made him turn. She sighed and emitted a small moan before turning on her back and pushing the covers away.
He pulled the ladder-back chair from against the wall and straddled it, resting his chin on his arm. For days after her miscarriage, graphic pictures of blood-soaked bedclothes had seared the insides of his eyelids each time he’d closed his eyes. They returned now, as strong as ever as he looked at the woman who had conceived his child.
He remembered taking what was left of their child from Shy Fawn, who’d wanted to callously toss it into the fire, and wrapping the sheet with the thick, dark clots in a soft elkskin blanket. At the last minute he had carefully folded his mother’s white scarf, the one she’d gotten from his father those many years ago, over the remnants of his and Anna’s creation, and put that to rest as well.
He’d buried the bundle deep in the earth, beneath the buoyant, lively branches of a Jeffrey pine, his mother’s favorite tree. It felt right to link the two souls together, for he always had an unsettled, unfinished feeling-about the brevity of his life with his mother.
And the child. He sighed and closed his eyes. The child who would never be loved and nurtured by the most patient, perfect woman on the face of the earth. The child who would never rest against her bosom and listen to her sing it to sleep, or cuddle it close, or kiss it. Images of Anna smiling radiantly down at a golden-haired baby swam before him.
Spitting out a quiet, burning epithet, he pushed himself off the chair and stood, watching her again. Never would he love a woman as he loved her. Never. But he had nothing to offer. She deserved so much, and he could give her so little. A strange feeling of helplessness clogged his throat.
He pressed his fingers to his lips, reached down and gently touched her soft, warm cheek. She stirred, sighed, and rolled over, facing the wall.
With the stealth of a night creature, he left the room without a sound.
Nicolas slammed his fist into the stable wall, his eyes glinting with fury.
Sky, who was currying his horse, looked at him over the horse’s back. “The deed is done. Don’t rip yourself apart.”
“But the boy was whipped, dammit!” He crossed to the wall and hoisted a bale of hay onto his shou
lder. “No one working at the Gaspard Vineyards has ever been struck, let alone beaten.” He dropped the bale in front of Diablo’s stall and pitched some hay inside.
“I know how you must feel—”
“Dammit, Sky. He’s just a boy.” He continued to feverishly pitch hay, trying to block out the horror he’d felt when he’d first seen the boy. Long lash wounds gouged through the child’s skin, deep into his flesh. Maggots had begun to feed on the dead meat.
Nicolas bared his teeth and swallowed. When he’d laid the boy in the dormitory bed, he’d had to make sure no part of his mangled back touched it. The boy had moaned and whimpered all the way to the compound, but hadn’t cried out. The sound of the child’s brave control had torn at him.
He rubbed his hand over his eyes and leaned on the handle of the pitchfork. “Everything’s coming to a head, Sky. I’ve got to decide what to do with the children. All hell’s going to break loose, and what work we’ve done will have been done for nothing. Nothing!”
Sky gave his friend a look of understanding and sympathy. “I don’t know what to tell you—”
“Christ,” Nicolas interrupted. “The vineyard’s going to hell under Marc’s ruthless hand. And Anna! Dammit, Sky, she’s trapped there with only Concetta …”
“What will you do about her?”
Nicolas heaved a noisy sigh and swore again. “I don’t know. After all that’s happened, she’d probably be better off going home.” He pinched his eyes shut as the pain of losing her gashed his soul.
“But you love her.”
Nicolas rested the pitchfork back against the wall. “It’s not enough. It’s not enough, not for Anna. Anyway,” he added, dejection lacing his voice, “after all I’ve put her through, she’s probably anxious to get the hell out of California.”
He said the words, and he knew they should be true, but he hoped they weren’t.
Sky came to him and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You’re just going to leave it like this?”
Nicolas shook his head. “No, I can’t. I should, but I can’t.” He had to see her, talk to her, one last time.
Sky left Nicolas at the stable and went to the dormitory for one last check on the boy. When he reached the door, Shy Fawn had just stepped outside.
“The boy is sleeping?”
Shy Fawn lowered her head and walked past him toward her own sleeping quarters. “He is as comfortable as I can make him,” she answered.
Sky slowed his walk to match her small, halting steps. “One day soon,” he began, “things will have to change for all of us.”
She threw him a hasty look, then glanced away. “So I’ve been told.”
“What will you do?”
She seemed to hesitate. “I will survive.”
‘‘And your son?”
She stopped and glared at him, the moonlight glancing off her shiny black hair. “My son will also survive.” She turned away and looked toward the dark woods.
“Shy Fawn.” His voice was soft. “I know what you wanted in your life, and I know you have pain in your heart because you can’t have it.” He reached out and touched her shoulder.
She lowered her head but didn’t shrug off his touch.
“Remember,” he said, closing the gap between them and whispering into her hair. “I would find it an honor to share my life with you.”
She gave him the slightest of nods, then limped away.
Sky watched her until she entered her cabin. Drawing in a deep sigh, he walked slowly toward the woods. His mood was lighter. He hadn’t felt the anger and hostility Shy Fawn usually showed toward him. Perhaps there was a chance for them, after all.
“But dear,” Gretchen urged as she poured Anna a cup of tea in the sunny morning room, “I’m only thinking of your reputation.”
Anna spread a linen napkin over the skirt of her borrowed sky-blue lawn gown and tried to hide her feelings of distaste for Gretchen’s suggestion. “Thank you, but I couldn’t, really.”
“But Papa is so looking forward to spending the afternoon with you.” She made a moue as she gave Anna her tea, then plunked three lumps of sugar into her own cup. “He’s lonely, Anna, and he’s forgiven you for being pregnant with an Indian brat. After all,” she added, delicately stirring her sugary tea, “you did get rid of it.”
A servant entered the room, distracting Gretchen by putting a plate of freshly baked ginger tea cakes on the table in front of her.
“What if it was an accident?”
Gretchen heaved a delighted sigh and daintily picked a crisp cookie off the plate. “What do you mean?”
“What if I lost the baby by accident?” Anna watched her carefully.
Gretchen paled, almost choking on her cookie. “You couldn’t have.”
Anna smiled sadly, remembering her role. “I’ll never know since I have no memory. But I couldn’t possibly foist myself on your father. It would be taking advantage.” She swallowed a shudder, unable to forget the man’s huge, sausagelike fingers on her skin.
Gretchen smiled at her. “I told you, Papa is very attracted to you. And,” she added brightly, “it would give you a place to go when you leave here.”
The thought of living the rest of her life with Gretchen’s father made her stomach heave. She still wasn’t happy about her decision to go home, but even that would be preferable to marrying Dolf Mueller.
“Anyway,” Gretchen said, lifting another crisp cookie off the plate, “it’s your reputation that’s at stake. I would think you’d be grateful to have someone willing to marry you. There aren’t many men who’d have you, you know.”
A shudder of distaste bumped against Anna’s stomach. ‘T just don’t want to—”
“Papa will be here shortly to take you for a ride in his new buggy.” Gretchen picked up the newspaper and blocked Anna from her vision. Clearly, the subject was closed.
Anna needed an excuse to get out of it. She could pretend she was too ill to go out. Then again, she thought, her stomach lurching into spasms, maybe she wouldn’t even have to pretend.
She was about to get up and go to her room when she heard footsteps on the porch behind her. She looked over at Gretchen, who had put down her newspaper. The woman’s expression changed from curiosity to blatant distaste.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was clipped and she returned to reading the paper.
“Now, Gretchen, can’t I visit my favorite sister-in-law?”
Nicolas! His voice sang in Anna’s ears. She forced her head down and clasped her shaky hands in her lap. He was here, standing right behind her. Oh, sweet heaven, how she wanted to fly into his arms!
“Gretchen, Gretchen,” he scolded, crossing the room until he stood behind his sister-in-law’s chair.
Anna could feel him looking at her. She kept her gaze focused on her hands, which were clasped so tightly in front of her they were beginning to turn white.
“Where are your manners, sister, dear? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your guest?”
Slowly, Anna raised her head and looked at him. A thrill, one she’d grown accustomed to whenever she saw him, bathed her insides with warmth. She quickly looked away.
“You know who she is, Nicolas.”
Fear pulled Anna’s head up. When she saw the bored expression on Gretchen’s face, she let out a quiet, shaky sigh.
“Yes. I’ve heard.”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Anna cleared her throat and reached for her teacup, then pulled her hand back. She couldn’t trust herself not to spill the tea over her borrowed gown.
“Well, since Gretchen won’t introduce me,” he said, crossing to stand in front of Anna, “I’ll introduce myself. Nicolas Gaspard, the bastard half brother.” He took Anna’s icy hand in his warm one.
His touch was firm, and painfully familiar. Anna swallowed hard and looked at her white hand gripped in his callused brown one. Instinctively she squeezed his fingers. She glanced up and found him watching her. There wa
s a warmth in his eyes that she’d always longed to see there.
“For God’s sake, Nicolas,” Gretchen scolded. “Must you be so vulgar? It’s perfectly obvious to everyone you aren’t Marc’s full brother. It’s not necessary to tell the world of your father’s penchant for squaws.”
Anna saw the hurt leap into his eyes. His hand tightened so hard over hers, she bit back a cry.
“I only do what’s expected of me, sister-sweet,” he answered benignly, although Anna could see the knotted muscle at his jaw as he bent low to kiss the back of her hand.
His lips moved intimately over her skin. She wanted to reach out, run her fingers through his hair and tell him that what Gretchen thought didn’t matter. No one in this town mattered. They were shallow, ignorant, heartless people who didn’t deserve to be in the same room with him.
Oh, how she loved him. She pulled her hand away and put it back in her lap. She blinked, hoping to stop the tears that burned her eyes. Her heart thundered in her ears.
“Now that you’ve met her, you can leave.” Gretchen folded the newspaper and laid it on the table.
“I hear she’s been ill. Perhaps she’d like some fresh air. I could walk her to the river.”
Anna suddenly felt a stab of annoyance. She hated being discussed in the third person. “Actually, I—”
“No,” Gretchen interrupted. “Papa is coming by to take her for a ride in his new buggy.”
Nicolas snorted a laugh. “Dolf is coming courting?”
“Don’t laugh, Nicolas. Poor Anna’s been through such a terrible ordeal, she’s blocked the entire thing from her memory. Everyone’s talking about her anyway. Why,” she added, reveling in her own conversation, “if she were to walk down the street at this moment, the women would shun her, and the men would … would … well, they would think awful, lascivious things about her.”
Anna glared at the babbling Gretchen, then at Nicolas. His mouth curled into a snarl.
“I see. Well,” he said, his voice hard as iron, “far be it from me, a half-blood savage myself, to keep her from acquiring a fine, upstanding escort.”
Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One Page 26