“Tyler…”
Out of earshot, his steward ambled back into the house.
Philip wiped his dry mouth with his hand and took a step in Elizabeth’s direction.
She met his gaze and as he neared. The coolness in her eyes confused him.
Had her blood not run hot with passion only earlier this morn? Had she not wrapped her arms around him? Had he not felt her melt into his embrace? She was indeed a paradox.
“Do you think perhaps you could forego William’s lesson today?”
“Your lordship, we were making good progress. I believe--”
“Yes ‘tis all well and good. But I’ve need of your company this afternoon. I thought perhaps a jaunt about the grounds.”
Annoyed, by her lack of enthusiasm, he forced a smiled.
William began to fidget beside her. She closed the book and placed it on the bench.
“I thought perhaps a ride,” he insisted. “I understand you have quite a way with horses. One in particular.”
She boldly met his gaze. “I see Mr. Duncan has told you of our encounter.” She sounded curt. He detected a hint of annoyance in her tone.
“We spoke of Thunder, The black stallion. He is not broken and has a mean streak to him.”
William jumped up. His head back, staring up into the sky, he began to run in circles.
Mozart leapt to his feet and ran away.
Elizabeth stood and shrugged. “He seemed pretty gentle to me.” She glanced away. “William. Stop you are going to fall.”
“Never-the-less. I would prefer you stay clear of him.”
He glanced toward his son. The renewed awakening that he’d almost lost him made him shake.
“Your Lordship are you ill?” Her hand felt warm on his arm.
“Nay.” He dismissed her concern with a flick of his wrist. His palms clammy, he wiped his hand on his pants, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small carved horse.
“William.” Busy spinning on his heels, he paid him no heed. Philip strode over. Hesitant, he caught his son’s shoulder, stopping him. “I…” He removed his hand. His throat dry, Philip swallowed and held out his gift. “Here.”
William stared, but didn’t move to take his offering.
He gestured again. William started to spin in circles.
Philip glanced to the ground and sighed.
“Your Lordship, ‘twill take time for him to trust you,” Elizabeth said softly beside him.
“Aye, perhaps.”
After the fire, when his son lay in his arms, he’d felt hope. Hope, he could be the father he’d never been, hopeful William would come to him and they could get to know one another.
Spinning close to the bench, his arms flailing out around him, William knocked the book to the ground. Philip picked the leather bound volume up. He stared at the book, then at William. Perhaps it might help to distract him. He held the book out toward his son. Once again, William ignored him. Straightening, Philip handed the book to Elizabeth, then turned away, lest she see his disappointment.
‘Twas the shock of the fire that had made his son placid in his arms, nothing more.
“He will trust you. You must not give up hope.”
Her rock solid determination chiseled the cloud of doubt hovering in his mind.
She placed her hand on his son’s shoulder, stopping him and handed him the book. He stared down at the page, then turned it around.
“Do not feel discouraged.” She turned the book around.
“My hope waned many years ago.” Out of the corner of his eye, Philip noticed Elizabeth had handed William the book upside down and he appeared to be studying it.
Distracted, Philip continued. “When I see how he responds to you.” In just a few short months she had managed to command his son’s attention.
William turned the book right side up.
Philip stared, not sure what to make of his son’s action.
“Elizabeth,” he commanded softly, his gaze riveted on his son. “Take the book from William’s hand and turn it upside down.”
Her brows shot up with question, but quietly, she did what he asked.
William stared, then turned the book right side up.
“Did you see that?” Philip couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “Elizabeth, did you see that?”
Her pupil’s dilated, brimming with joy. “Yes.” Overcome with emotion, the word seemed strangled in her throat.
“Do you think--”
She shook her head. “‘Tis possible. He does recognize a few letters when I point them out.”
William, either annoyed they spoke of him, or just bored, dropped the book on the ground and began to run around.
Progress. His son had made some progress. A surge of elation invigorated his being. His heart beat rapidly.
“Your Lordship Oi was told…” Nona hurried down the front steps toward them, “to fetch Master William.”
Thin, loosely put together, Nona had a sickly face and stolid demeanor that reminded him of a wet fish.
Elizabeth stepped in front of him with an air of bitter distaste. “If you wish, I will take your son inside.”
‘Twas obvious she disliked his servant.
“Nay.” He shook his head. “‘Tis not necessary.”
Nona twirled her fingers in her apron.
“Elizabeth and I will go for a ride.” He smiled at William. “We will all go for a ride.”
“Yes, yer Lordship.” Nona curtsied.
“Ask Mary to wait in the stables, till we are done.”
“Yes, yer Lordship.” Again, she curtsied and scurried toward the house.
Elizabeth stared at him with a big smile.
Yes, he’d listened that morning, at breakfast, when she’d suggested he should teach his son to ride.
“What?” He asked, knowing full well she was pleased and felt a sense of triumph by his suggestion.
She shrugged. “Nothing.” She turned, grabbed William’s hand and headed for the stables.
The light tone of her voice brought a smile to his lips.
He followed after them.
At the barn, two horses stood waiting. Philip gestured toward the white mare. “May I?”
She nodded and he placed his fingers around the small expanse of her waist. His senses reeled from the intoxicating smell of rosewater.
Their gazes met. “‘Tis not polite to gloat so openly.”
“Me?” Her brows arched mischievously.
“Never you,” he said with a reassuring nod. “The green of your gown compliments your eyes and 'twas a fine choice.” He fingered the thin strip of satin she wore in her hair.
She took a deep breath. “William is waiting.” She glanced at his son who stood patting a horse’s front leg.
All feelings of desire dissipated upon the glance of his son. How was he to place the child on the horse? ‘Twasnt like he would jump into his arms.
“Yes. He is at that.” His fingers slipped from her waist, he stepped back and tapped his hand nervously on his thigh. “He is at that.”
Philip took a step toward his son, stopped and glanced back to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you should…” He shot her a despairing glance.
Sensing his discomfort, she hurried past him, placed William onto the back of a gentle horse, then with her free hand gestured he join his son.
Philip held his breath, settled into the saddle behind his son, reached around William and took the reins in hand. Lightly he nudged his mount forward.
His son seemed perfectly at ease and he breathed a solace sigh.
After a few turns around the corral, wanting to keep him longer, but afraid to push his luck with his son’s behavior, he handed William over to Mary who stood watching them.
“Here.” Philip held the toy horse out to Mary, and she smiled with approval.
William grabbed the plaything and smiled.
Unexpected warmth surged through Philip as he looked down into his son’s dark eyes. Eyes
so much like Rebecca’s, it felt as though she were there beside him.
And the joy he felt seeing the smile on his son’s face, pushed aside his pain; pushed aside the hurt and betrayal he’d harbored. His eyes misted. His throat closed.
His son. His son. His flesh and blood stood before him and stared up to him, holding his gift; not his mother. Why had it taken so long for him to see that?
Tears held in the corners of Elizabeth’s eyes.
Philip swallowed, straightened his shoulders and watched Mary disappear around the barn.
Elizabeth wiped her eyes. A frown pulled down the corners of her mouth.
What cause does she have to be annoyed? He jerked the reins to the right and rode up beside her. “Had you preferred to stay in Williams’ keep?”
“Nay.”
“Then what say you? Shall we enjoy this glorious day? I promise to be a complete gentleman.”
She stared at him a moment as though she weighed his words carefully.
“I give you my word,” he insisted.
“And you wouldn’t lie?”
Philip grinned. “I abhor liars.”
Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth gently kneed her mount passed the smokehouse where a fire rose from the chimney. Through the open doors, she could see meats of various animals being salted, soused with spices and hung to dry.
Philip rode quietly beside her.
What a fool she'd been thinking he held the memory of his wife dear to his heart. Katherine; he was going to marry Katherine; the thought had slipped her mind through her jubilation over William.
Elizabeth gripped her reins tightly and nudged her mount forward in an attempt to move as far away from Philip as she could.
With no money, and no letter, without the dowry Tisdale held until she was married, she’d been a prisoner under his roof and a prisoner here as well.
What a fool I’ve been.
Philip’s actions had led her to believe his interest lie with her.
“What do you ask of me?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She glanced at him. “I know naught what you mean. I ask nothing of you.”
The smell of cinnamon and freshly baked bread wafted over from the kitchen and she detected a hint of what smelled like a stirring pot of chowder.
“Perhaps, not in spoken word, but your eyes tell me differently.” He studied her carefully. “They ask many burning questions.”
Unable to meet his gaze, she caught herself glancing uneasily toward the slave’s dwelling, a wooden shanty tucked beneath a row of pines.
Did she really want to know the truth about Katherine?
She remained quiet and listened to the steady clop of their horse’s hooves against the hard earth.
“Nothing?” he asked. “So then enlighten me, for a question burns in my soul.” He reined in his horse.
Elizabeth shifted in her saddle and circled her mount around him.
“Tell me about the fire,” he asked. “Though there seems no logical explanation for your knowledge, I know there must be one.”
She swallowed with difficulty. “I… I am of the opinion you would not believe me.”
Wanting desperately to confide in him, but unable, she kicked her mounts’ flank and the horse took off at a slow easy canter.
Behind, she could hear swearing, then the increasing thunder of hooves coming up behind her.
They were out of sight of the slave quarters when he reached over and pulled back on her mount’s reins.
Both horses came to a sudden stop.
Elizabeth jerked forward, then regained her seat.
Philip stared at her. “You say I would not believe you? Do not judge my thoughts.” His brows quirked. “Do you read minds as well as tell the future?”
Fear, quick and disturbing, shot through her. “Yes. No. I mean…”
“This warrants an explanation. Surprise arched his brows. “One I am afraid may knock me off my stead least we dismount and discuss what you claim to be true.” He slid down from his mount and come for her, reached up and placed his hands around her waist.
Her breath held as he lifted her from her horse.
His hands still resting upon her waist, he stood, before her, waiting for an answer.
“I cannot.” She stepped out of his encircling arms. What could she tell him?
“Ah, but you have piqued my interest. ‘Tis not a pleasant thing you do keeping me in such darkness.”
“You will think me odd.” Her fingers curled tightly around the leather reins.
“Nay. We have already discussed your oddity, or lack of. We have concluded that not to be true.”
“You will not --”
He raised his hand, silencing her.
She took a deep breath. “My grand-mamma, Clarisa Marie, told me many a time about her youth and a young woman, a friend who had a gift, the gift of healing. They thought her to be a witch. Her--”
“I do not believe in witchery.”
“Some still believe.”
“Superstitious ignorant fools from a time past,” he said, in his usual indifferent voice.
“The old ones still believe. Whispers of ignorance still fall from their lips to younger ears. Look at Nona and Tess--”
“Those with half a mind.” His hand cut through the air with a disgusted gesture.
Elizabeth placed her fingers on his forearm. “I beg you listen with an open mind, then you will understand my reluctance.”
He nodded.
“Her name was Abigail and erring on the side of naïveté, she believed in helping those in need of her gift. But the good citizens of Salem did not value her uniqueness and a rope found its way around her neck.” Elizabeth stared at the ground as the image of an innocent woman's fear mingled with her own.
Philip took hold of her hands. “Dear Elizabeth, we are both of intelligent minds and are in agreement. No witches, no gypsy magic, no--”
Her gaze snapped up. “And what of gypsy magic? They have been said to see the future?”
“So you profess to be a gypsy?” His blue eyes widened with amusement and she regretted her words.
“Nay. But I do share their gift. One that can be misconstrued as magic.”
Silent, he took her horse’s reins, escorted both animals to a nearby tree and looped the reins over a branch.
What were his thoughts?
What will he say if I talk about Rebecca?
Anxiety churned in her stomach.
He turned. His face ambiguous, he came toward her.
“And this gift, foretold of the fire?”
“Yes.” Don’t tell him about Rebecca. Her gaze dropped to the ground, then back at him.
“You are claiming to see what others cannot?”
“Yes, though I do not profess to understand why or how.” Frustrated by the implacable expression on his face, she chewed her lower lip. “My grandmother had the gift, and though my mother did not, ’twas bestowed upon me.”
Did he believe her? He stared at her in silence.
Apprehension built, with every pacing step she took, pumping up the rhythm of her heart.
“At times ‘tis a cursed thing that sets me apart from all others. The secret of it eats at my soul for those around me do not understand.” Rushed, sharp, her words tumbled from her lips. “So I am left to hide this… this cursed gift in fear. Hate and ignorance are all the ammunition one needs to be hung.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder, ceasing her movement. “Perhaps the fire was a coincidence. Perhaps you--”
She turned toward him. “Nay. I see things, many things. And hear --”
“You hear what?” His brows arched.
“Voices,” she uttered, through the roaring discord of her befuddled mind. “The voices of the undead.”
He gave her a sidelong glance of total disbelief.
His astonishment obvious, she regretted her truthfulness. “I am not possessed by the devil, if that ‘tis what you think,”
she snapped.
“Nay; that I believe, though you perplex me.”
She studied the ground, unable to look him in the eye.
A horse snorted. A fly buzzed past her ear.
“Let me think on this.” He rubbed his jaw. “You were on the stairs when you had a vision of the fire.”
More a statement than a question she glanced up and nodded. “And I saw William. He was chasing my cat into the room. The wind knocked over a candle by the window and the drape --”
“Whose voices do you hear?”
“My Grand-mama.”
“Well, she would have no knowledge of my household’s layout, so then who else,” he demanded.
Elizabeth knew she had to tell him the truth, for in his hard tone, he already suspected.
“I… I heard Rebecca’s.”
“What?” His voice rose an octave. Reeling with astonishment, he stepped away from her.
“She came to me. I--” Miserable, Elizabeth wrung her hands together.
“You saw her?”
“Yes.”A familiar protective warning sounded in her brain; a warning of silence. Aroused uncertainties and fears of ostracism turned to annoyance at herself. She never should have told him about her gift. Her nails dug into her palm.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “‘Tis absurd.”
The curt, unwelcome sarcasm fueled her rising anger and she stomped over to him.
“Pray tell. My words are not folly. Though I am of the opinion, you think otherwise.” She squared her shoulders, bringing her closer to his height.
They stared at one another across a sudden ringing silence.
Philip’s face took on a haunted look. “That’s how you knew what room to go to? She was there?”
Elizabeth’s eyes clouded with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “Please do not look at me as though I am a disease you must stay away from.” She turned her back on him and swiped her cheek.
Gentle hands on her shoulders eased her around.
“I certainly do not want to stay away from you.” He sighed, then raked his fingers through his hair. “The truth is… for a long time now, I’ve sensed a presence always hovering around the house. At times, a chill enters my chambers, though the windows are tightly closed. So perhaps, I understand your words.”
Rebecca's Ghost Page 19