by Deeanne Gist
“They are.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The deep, warm, rich sound of it chafed her ears. She took a deep breath and met his gaze square on.
“O’Connor,“ the captain shouted as he approached. “Back again from this morning?”
Snapping the almanac shut, O’Connor shoved it under his arm with the clothing. He held out his hand. The captain grasped it.
“Good evening to you, Captain. This wench says she comes unwillingly.”
The captain glanced at her. “You’re here to claim her, then? I’d heard Emmett lost her in a game of chance this afternoon, but I couldn’t quite credit it. You have the receipt?”
O’Connor handed it to him.
Her mouth went slack. A game of chance? They bartered for her in a card game?
She snapped her mouth shut. Was this your answer, Lord? This is what you consider being released? But that’s not what I meant and you know it! I want to be
The captain scanned the piece of parchment, then cackling, handed it back to O’Connor. “By trow, Emmett must be sorely vexed. Particularly since he paid out so much sot weed to purchase her.“ He clapped O’Connor on the back. “What took you so long to fetch her? All the other men have long since collected their brides.”
“I had things to attend to.”
A suggestive grin spread across the captain’s face. “Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten. You purchased a bride of your own this morning, didn’t you? Were so desperate for one, in fact, that you sent your brother clear to England to handpick one for you.“ He gave a low coarse laugh. “And you’re just now coming up for air? Decided you’d like to try this one on for size? Ho, ho! Emmett’s going to throw bung by the cartload when he recovers from his drunken stupor!”
Constance’s mind whirled. Was the captain referring to Mary? Mary had left with the blond man, but it was O‘Connor here who had signed the purchase papers. Oh, poor Mary! Still, O’Connor couldn’t very well try and force Constance into a marriage contract if he was already wed to Mary.
“I’ve not married the woman my brother recommended but merely purchased her,” O’Connor said.
Constance’s breath caught.
The captain howled. “Oh, that’s even better! By my troth, but I can’t wait to see Emmett’s face when he hears.”
O’Connor’s nostrils flared. “Where are this female’s papers of transport?”
The captain’s expression sobered somewhat. “She came on board the vessel with fraudulent letters to the prisoners in an effort to procure their escape. We seized her before her plan could be carried out.”
She gasped. “That is untrue!”
She caught a glimpse of suspicion on O’Connor’s face. Surely it was the captain he doubted, not her?
By heaven, she must locate the Crown-appointed governor of this godforsaken place haste, posthaste. Only then could this unconscionable injustice done to her be righted.
A sinking sensation began in the pit of her stomach. What if she finally managed an audience with the governor and he didn’t believe her? She was no more than a warm female body in a colony desperate to be fruitful. What if the governor refused to believe her simply because it suited his purposes, and the Crown’s, to have her here?
This overgrown provincial American might be her only chance at freedom. After all, he evidently owned her. So if he believed her story, wouldn’t it be within his power to set her free?
The captain regarded her through half-closed lids. “We were given an order from Lieutenant-Colonel Windem to keep her. She is such a rebel as not to be permitted to stay in the mother country.”
“How dare you!” she cried. “My father--”
“May I see the order?”
The captain returned his attention to O’Connor. “The order came by word of mouth.”
O’Connor tightened his lips. He handed the keys to the captain. “Release her. I am ready to take her home.”
The captain moved to unlock the fetters. “By all means. I almost hate to see her go, though. It’s a mighty feisty wench she’s been, and she can certainly put on the airs. Too bad I didn’t join you in your gaming. Maybe Emmett would have lost her to me and I could move to the next port and sell her all over again!”
Stiffening, Constance squared her shoulders. She and O’Connor stared at each other over the captain’s bent frame. Sighing, she held her peace and watched the fetters come off.
“Miss Morrow?”
“Lady Morrow.”
O’Connor offered her his elbow.
“Do you believe I am who I say I am?”
He said nothing. Merely shifted the straw hat resting atop his long sable waves, then once again extended his elbow.
“I need to speak with the governor. Will you take me to him?”
He gave a brisk nod. “Of course.”
She looked at his elbow, then back up at his eyes. “When?”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he said, a touch of impatience flickering across his face. “Not a very good time to ask the governor for a sympathetic ear.”
She bit her lip. He was right, of course.
Lifting her chin, she said, “I’ll not marry you until I’ve spoken with the governor.”
O’Connor raised a brow. “Have I asked you to marry me?”
“Well, no, but I assumed--”
“Don’t assume.”
She studied him for a moment, then hesitantly placed her hand upon his arm and accompanied him off the ship.
“We are going to your home?” she asked.
He nodded.
Leaving the shore behind, she and O’Connor zigzagged on foot through a forest of trees growing, at every footfall, larger and nobler than the last.
The sheer number of trees held her speechless. She had heard the colonies held a wealth of timber, yet she hadn’t expected such profusion. Even the moon, resplendent in its full phase, seemed to blaze in an unprecedented fashion, providing them with an abundance of light.
At length, they entered a natural alley lined with trees whose circumference hinted at ages of two hundred years or more. Blending together with the shrubs, they arched overhead, forming a bower. Beams of moonlight filtered through its leafy roof, illuminating the pathway hemmed in by the lush foliage and trees.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled. Sweet smelling scents she could not identify filled her. She savored the pure and delicious aroma just before stumbling across a root.
Her eyes flew open as O’Connor grasped her elbow in support.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You are all right?”
She flexed her ankle. “Yes.”
Carefully placing her foot on the ground, she looked up. Their gazes caught and held.
An owl searching for dinner used his dense downy plumage to fly close to them without making a sound. When he hooted his irritation at their intrusion of his domain, Constance squealed, jumping toward the American and away from the piercing screech. O’Connor emitted a grunt of amusement.
She tightened her lips. “When can I see the governor?”
“As soon as I can find the time to take you to his plantation.”
“When will that be?”
“Probably in November.”
Jerking her elbow out of his clasp, she took a step back. “November! That’s five months from now. I can’t wait that long. I have to see him tomorrow.”
“Impossible.”
She gasped. “I demand it!”
“Demand all you want. I’ve a tobacco farm to run. That takes precedence over running around the countryside on some wild goose chase. Meanwhile, I suggest you acclimate yourself to the fact that by the law of this land, I own you and I will do as I please.”
“But, the ship,” she sputtered. “The captain. You said, I thought, my lack of papers and... Well, you must let me speak with him tomorrow.”
“Talking with the governor will do you no good. He won’t free you without my consent.”
He shook his head. “I am not a fool, little Lady of the Realm. I will send a message to your so-called father. If and when I hear from him will be time enough to release you.”
She stilled. She’d hoped for something a bit more expedient than the time it would take for a missive to reach her father. If a message was sent back with the ship, however, her father, even displeased, would send someone as soon as he received word. “You want not to marry me?”
He snorted. “I assuredly do not.”
“Will you send a message on the Randolph before it sails?”
He gave her a long pointed look before acquiescing. “I will.”
He will? He will. She smiled. Really smiled. It was the first time she’d done so since this whole ordeal began. Lifting her hands above her head, she leaned her face toward the heavens and twirled in a circle. The kerchief around her head slipped off.
Closing her eyes, she stopped spinning and offered up a word of prayer and thanksgiving. She opened her eyes to find O’Connor frozen in the pathway.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I am truly grateful.”
He gave no indication of having heard her.
She searched the ground for her kerchief. She would have a devil of a time cramming all her intractable hair back into it. Scooping up the limp piece of fabric, she hugged it to her chest. Her throat filled. Lord willing, she’d be home for Christmas.
With her arms hiked up to replace the kerchief upon her head, she moved toward O’Connor. When his eyes fell to the uncovered expanse of her neck, her steps slowed.
He remained still, his focus riveted on her person. She surreptitiously tried to adjust her bodice, peeked through her lashes at the man, then winced. The boor’s stare held a most unsettling mixture of mortification and fascination.
She stopped.
Studying her intently, he took two hesitant steps toward her, closing the distance between them.
Heavy, moist air pressed against her, smothering her with its warmth. She took a deep breath. “Are you all right, sir?”
“How many years are you?”
“Why, ten and nine.”
“I have never seen hair the likes of yours.”
Blinking in confusion, she lifted a hand to the wisps of hair escaping the kerchief’s confines. “It’s auburn.”
“It’s red. And you have freckles as well.”
She gasped and covered her cheeks with her hands. A pox on those wretched freckles. Even in the shade, she had simply to be touched by a warm breeze and out they’d pop like fireworks exploding in a starless sky. Still, even the sailors hadn’t been so uncouth as to mention it.
His brows drew together in a frown. “They’re even on your hands.”
Jerking her hands down, she straightened. That he could see them by the light of the moon alone made her humiliation all the worse.
He looked from her face to her shoulders to the bare expanse above her bodice. After an almost imperceptible pause, he shook his head and turned back to the path.
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Of all the ill-bred, audacious, uncivilized individuals, she thought.
She watched him disappear around a bend in the path. He wasn’t as filthy and openly crude as Emmett had been, nor did he fill her with disgust and trepidation the way Emmett had. But the truth was, she knew absolutely nothing about this O’Connor person. Was he trustworthy? Would he really send Father a missive or was he simply humoring her?
Maybe she should go back. Go back to the captain and Arman. Back to pease and loblolly. Back to the damp, dank hold that was now deserted. But for what? For the off chance the governor would come on board and hear her pleas? The pleas of a runaway bride and possible felon?
She shuddered. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. What if the captain did indeed simply take her to the next port and sell her once again for a hogshead of tobacco leafage?
She scrutinized the path from whence she had come. Maybe she should try to slip away. The bower-covered alley would be easy enough to follow, but beyond that, she wasn’t sure. Where would she go? What kind of wild creatures lurked in these forests? What of the savages she’d heard so much about?
She stood for several more moments in indecision. What do I do, Lord? What do I do? No answer was forthcoming.
The croaking, hooting, and howling of the night increased tenfold. A twig snapped a few yards away. There was nothing for it. Raising her chin, she lifted her gown and followed the path Mr. Drew O’Connor had tread.
CHAPTER THREE
Drew emerged from the natural bower into the sudden burst of moonlight. Flooded with a sense of gratification for what his father had accomplished before him, Drew looked upon the one-room cottage where he’d grown up. He took a deep breath, relishing the rush of love and well-being the home induced. Constructed of intertwined twigs and branches and sealed with clay, it nestled in a clearing amidst a handful of tall girdled trees.
A hint of smoke swirled out of the clay chimney on one end, while a large pile of firewood lay neatly stacked against the other. A hairless rabbit skin stretching across the square window provided a screen, of sorts, for those sleeping inside.
His brother sat on the oak chopping block in the yard, resting his elbows on his knees. Drew smiled to himself. An incurable optimist, that was Josh. If a thunderstorm came, Drew would anticipate a flood, Josh a rainbow.
Drew thought back to how inseparable they’d been as boys, one the perfect complement of the other. As men, their bond made a natural progression to partnership in the tobacco trade. Drew farmed with passion and voracity, while Josh exploded on the factoring market with a natural ability others merely dreamed of. It was good to have Josh back home after this last bout in England.
Josh removed the toothpick from his mouth. Beneath his hat, dark blond hair curled down beyond his shoulders. “Where is she?”
Drew shrugged. “A few lengths back.”
Josh frowned. “Did you tell her to stay on the path? Even though it’s dark, snakes still frequent the area.”
“What’s the point? Her chances for survival are next to nothing.”
“Not that bad, surely.”
Drew dropped Constance’s clothing and diary on the bench by the cottage door. “You’ve forgotten. Not many women make it once they’re sold. Only one out of every three. Only the heartiest. Only the strong. More often than not, only the orneriest of the lot.”
Returning the toothpick to his mouth, Josh clamped down on the slender piece of wood. “Just because Leah didn’t survive here doesn’t mean every woman will meet the same fate.”
Drew stiffened. “Leah has nothing to do with it.”
“That’s an out-and-out lie, and well you know it. It’s been nigh on three years since her death, well past time you got over it.”
Drew picked up Constance’s diary and thumbed through it. It was too dark to read, of course, but no matter, for visions of Leah infiltrated his thoughts. Her quiet beauty transformed into a stark lifeless form, pale against the corn-silk color of her hair as they sealed her in a pine box and lowered her six feet into the ground.
A great knot formed in his stomach. He hated to see the spark and vitality snuffed from the redhead as well. With staunch resolve, he closed Constance’s diary. All he need do was keep his distance, and perhaps the cessation of yet another life wouldn’t affect him. He’d made that mistake once. He wouldn’t make it again. “The wench will be dead before one season’s passed.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“Care to place a wager on it?”
“All right,” Josh agreed. “If she’s still alive after her seasoning, I win and you have to marry her. If she’s dead, you win and I’ll have to marry her.”
Drew tossed the diary back on the bench. “Very amusing and very safe, considering your betrothed i
s breathlessly awaiting your return to England.”
“So she is.” Josh rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. “Well, are you going to marry her or not?”
Drew scowled. “Not. She’ll just have to be our servant.”
“But she’s not a servant, not according to the terms for this shipload of women. The women on the Randolph were sold as tobacco brides, not as indentured servants, and well you know it. But you didn’t want a bride, did you, Drew?” Josh’s eyes snapped with annoyance. “No, you’ve sworn off women forever, so you say, and because of it you sent me on some hair-brained mission to scour the prisons until I found a woman who wasn’t a hardened felon, was being deported, but would be unable to wed.“ He spit the toothpick out, watching its arched flight to the ground. “Well, I did that, big brother. I found one Mary Robins, just for you. Wasted weeks upon weeks doing so, in fact.”
Drew refused to look away from the anger in Josh’s face. He deserved it and more. His brother had followed his directives with no questions asked, but now all would be voiced and, in fairness, Josh had every right to do so. Therefore, he’d stand here and take whatever his brother dished out--at least for a while.
Josh tightened his jaw. “Then what do you do the first blasted day I get back?” A silence frothed with tension encompassed the glade. “You play recklessly at cards and end up winning a bride. A marriageable bride. Now you have two women while others have none.“ He shook his head, all the bluster and anger seeming to leave him with a whoosh of his breath. “The council won’t stand for it, Drew. You’re going to have to marry this new one.”
Drew stared at his brother with passionless eyes. “No.”
Resting one elbow on his knee, Josh searched the wood shavings for a fresh toothpick. “Why not?” Fingering one sliver, then another, he decided on a third. “Aren’t you tired of being a virgin? Don’t you think a man of twenty-eight years ought to have long since--”
“Enough!” Drew whipped off his hat. “My convictions run a different course from yours. Playing the town bull when you reach England may seem like the ultimate freedom to you, but not to me.”
Josh averted his eyes. “I’m not judging you. I’m merely vexed with your pining for Leah. She wasn’t your wife--she was your betrothed.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s dead, Drew. Dead. Why can’t you get over it?”