Fire Dragon's Angel

by Barbara Blythe

  Ceressa supposed the other room was the kitchen or common room where casual dining occurred. The clang and clink of utensils against iron confirmed as much.

  Latimer joined her and nodded toward the narrow stairway. “I’ll take you up to your room so that you can freshen up. Your things should be along shortly.”

  “Where are Mr. Harrell and Mariette?”

  “Bengie has taken Mariette to the cottage in which the Munroes live. She’ll stay there until we leave for Tidelands. Bengie sleeps in a room in the stable.” Ceressa nodded while Latimer started up the stairs.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she followed him, wondering what surprises this journey would provide. She now belatedly realized that she should have appreciated the well-ordered existence she had secretly bemoaned, and that the turn of recent events was God’s way of reminding her that her life in England had been very good.

  Latimer threw open the door of one of two chambers on this upper level and moved aside so she could enter. The furnishings were spare, but all the basics were present—a bed, armoire, washstand with fresh linens, ewer and bowl, two chairs, and a small table beneath the row of clerestory windows. Latimer walked over to one and opened it, letting in a welcome breeze, then proceeded to loosen his stock. Nervous heat flooded her, and she found it difficult to speak. “What—what are you doing?”

  “I’m undressing. I plan to bathe.” He gestured at a screen that spread across a corner of the room. She tilted her head so that she could see behind it, finding the rounded edge of a tin tub. “You’re welcome to do the same before dinner. Bengie will bring hot water up shortly.”

  “Perhaps I should go downstairs and see if all is well with Mariette,” she suggested, desperate to flee the room before Latimer removed his clothing. They might be married, but she was far from ready to view her husband in his natural state.

  “Mariette should be fine. Bengie will take care of anything she may need.”

  “I feel badly that we were separated upon our arrival. I should apologize.”

  “That’s how Bengie came upon her—she was crying for you and turning about in circles.”

  He was now removing his waistcoat, and Ceressa swallowed.

  “But she’s no worse for her adventure. I doubt if she’s expecting an apology.”

  “Still I owe her some sort of explanation,” Ceressa persisted, fixing her eyes on the door and refusing to look at him as she twisted her hands together.

  “Are you trying to get away from me?” He chuckled, igniting her anger. She made the mistake of looking at him just as he removed his shirt. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stepped back unsteadily. Such a fine specimen he was; so fine that she felt faint.

  “I tho—thought you might not want me to be around.” Her words sounded inane even to her ears.

  “Why? Because within an hour of your arrival, you managed to acquaint yourself with another foul being who poses as a respectable member of society?”

  “Are you referring to that man, Willshire?” she angrily questioned, momentarily forgetting the perfection of his broad, muscled torso. “If so, once more you have misconstrued the situation. And why were you so rude to your friends at Lawrence’s?”

  “They want me to fight their fight. It’s not my fight.”

  “Perhaps not. But when it does become your fight, what will you say then? What will your friends say when you need their help?” After stomping her foot in anger, she headed out the door. Latimer’s laugh followed her down the stairs.

  ****

  Irritation filled Latimer as he sat across from Ceressa watching her pick at the food on her plate. It hardly mattered that Kate had outdone herself on this homecoming dinner; the turkey was roasted to perfection, the fresh vegetables well seasoned and savory, the bread warm and soft. All he could think about at the moment was the woman who had an uncanny ability of bringing out the worst in him with just a word or look.

  Ceressa glanced up, and he scowled. The soft candlelight glinted off her hair, turning it into molten honey. She was wearing a gown of pale green which enhanced her loveliness and accentuated her gentle curves. He was annoyed by her beauty and her innocence. He was furious that she’d disobeyed him and ventured on deck during his confrontation with Bacon. And the anger of finding her with Willshire had yet to abate.

  “Is something amiss with your meal?” he asked testily. “Kate is unsurpassed in the kitchen.”

  Ceressa dropped her fork in her plate and reached for her goblet of water, drinking it nearly empty. She set it on the table, and Latimer picked up the pitcher and refilled it.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “You’re trying to provoke me. I’ve had enough of this.” Throwing down her napkin, Ceressa came to her feet and glared down at him. “And if you think, for one minute, that I encouraged that oaf, Torrence Willshire, I can assure you—”

  “I think no such thing,” he said as he, too, came to his feet. “I admit I reacted inappropriately and was most wrong to take out my frustration on you. Torrence Willshire and I have been at odds for some time and have, as yet, failed to resolve those differences. The man has a knack for heaping humiliation upon me.”

  “Then you, of all people, must understand why I’ve reach my toleration limit. I have endured all the humiliation I plan to suffer for a lifetime thanks to you. Sir Geoffrey must have suffered the agonies of Job while trying to rear you in a civilized manner.”

  Latimer was immediately at her side, breathing hard as he fought the impulse to throttle her. “There are a few rules you will learn to obey. You are never to mention Geoffrey Kirkleigh again. You are to avoid discussions of the current political situation and will withhold your opinions of matters of which you know nothing.”

  Her eyes flared a dark violet while her breathing quickened.

  “When I give you instructions, you will follow them without question. And unless you plan to secure passage very soon on a ship leaving the colony, you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting a proper wife.”

  A strange, unnerving silence surrounded them, broken only by a slight gasp—probably Kate’s as she listened to their argument from the hall. Ceressa’s face was red with rage, but she remained mute. Latimer took that as her grudging agreement. Almost.

  “I am sure the Lord is most relieved you veered from ordination. There’s no telling how many souls you would have led astray.”

  Ceressa’s words wounded deeply. Even though he’d thought the same thing, hearing her say it stripped something from his soul; something soft and gentle that she’d placed there. He turned away so that she couldn’t see his pain.

  “Master Latimer, I thought I might pick up some of the—oh, my, have I interrupted?” Kind Kate put in a most welcome appearance, acting as though nothing was amiss. Latimer steeled his emotions.

  Ceressa rushed from the room and fled into the hall. Seconds later, he heard the rear door of the cottage open and close.

  “Perhaps I should’ve waited a mite longer to clear away the dishes and bring the tea and your pipe.”

  “It’s of no importance, Kate. I’m going to check on the horses. The meal was delicious.” Latimer feared his clipped words robbed the comment of its complimentary intent, but he was in a sorry mood, thanks to that spoiled, willful woman who was now his wife.

  “One would never know it judging by what little was eaten. Is her ladyship feeling poorly?” Kate asked, clearly concerned.

  “She hasn’t adjusted,” he said brusquely then turned away. Storming from the cottage, his angry strides took him to the stable.

  “Blast that woman,” Latimer exploded, ramming a fist against the rough wooden door of the stable and picking up several splinters in the process. Latimer’s prized red stallion, Firewind, uttered a nervous snort; the roan adjacent to his stall whinnied. A lantern hanging on the wall illuminated Bengie, who, at the moment was running the currycomb across the burnished chestnut coat of the mare Latimer had purchased before leavin
g for England. The mare seemed not in the least affected by Latimer’s display of temper, tossing her mane imperiously while eyeing him dispassionately.

  Bengie chuckled.

  “I believe you said the same thing about Lady Phyllis,” he said, worsening Latimer’s mood. “Which reminds me, it’s common knowledge that she’s none too pleased with your marriage.”

  “She knew I was going to England to find a wife.” Latimer’s retort was sharp.

  “That doesn’t mean she has to like it. Mrs. Arston says there’s been quite a to-do at Carrumont with things being broken and smashed while a certain neighbor is being referred to as one without proper parentage.” If Phyllis only knew…

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “I thought you were set to wed a distant cousin—Heloise, wasn’t it?”

  “There was a change in plans. She fell in love with a man three times her age and in possession of a baronetcy. I couldn’t compete with that.” Latimer looked down at his knuckles that were now bleeding and burning. Served him right for losing his temper.

  There was a moment of silence while Bengie digested his comment. Finally, he spoke. “Sir, if I may say so, I think you need to give the Lady Ceressa time. This has to be so new to her and different from anything she’s ever known.”

  Latimer wasn’t ready to tell Benjamin all that happened that last fateful night in London. It would be far too complicated to sort it all out for the lad, and he wasn’t in the frame of mind to do so. He wasn’t even sure he understood everything.

  “Perhaps she thinks you don’t care for her. After all, you only married her because April needs a mother.”

  “There’s more to this than you realize. I don’t know that I can make her happy. Ever.”

  “Be patient, Master Latimer. I’m sure things will work out. Isn’t that what the Bible tells us—to be patient and trust in the Lord?”

  “Of course it does, but Ceressa is so—she has to say something about everything.”

  “There’s a sad look in her eyes, as though she’s been badly hurt.”

  “You can see that in her eyes?” Latimer smarted from the unspoken insinuation he’d been too busy ranting and raging to notice Ceressa’s sadness. “How is it you’ve had time to study my wife’s eyes when you’ve hardly taken yours off her maid?”

  Bengie flushed.

  “Young Mariette is comely; I can’t deny that.”

  “Just a word of caution. I have bought Mariette’s indenture and she’s under my care. Treat her respectfully.”

  “You’ve nothing to fear on that count. But shouldn’t you do the same for Lady Ceressa?”

  Another smart. Another sting, and the sensations had nothing to do with his injured hand. “You’re right. I am not myself; I’m angry, resentful, and…” He hesitated.

  “Somewhat smitten?” Bengie asked. “You haven’t taken your eyes off of Lady Ceressa. You nearly beat Willshire senseless for addressing her, and I could see the fear in your eyes when she swooned. Pardon my saying so, sir, but I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself.”

  A lengthy silence fell between them as Latimer silently admitted that the lad’s words held more truth than he cared to acknowledge. Meeting Bengie’s eyes, Latimer’s jaw tensed while Bengie noticeably swallowed.

  “I can see my bride already has a staunch ally in you. For her to have won your loyalty says a great deal about her, for I know few men whose opinions I value as highly as yours.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Bengie murmured in embarrassment, lowering his gaze. “Will you be needing me for anything else this night?”

  “No,” Latimer said, turning toward the open door. He paused to look back at Bengie who’d been his voice of reason so many times. He owed Bengie a great deal—even his life, for it had been Bengie who’d kept an Indian tomahawk out of his back. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Harrell.”

  “And you are a fair man, Master Latimer. Be such with your wife.”

  A reluctant smile played over Latimer’s lips as he headed back to the cottage.

  Fire Dragon's Angel

  19

  After walking around and around the herb garden until her temper cooled, Ceressa returned to the cottage whereupon Kate informed her that Latimer had taken himself out to the stable. Deciding it would be best to avoid him, she ventured upstairs and found that her trunks had been delivered.

  Not long afterward, Mariette joined her and they began to sort through Heloise’s clothing, put a few things in the armoire, and left out those items that would require alterations. Several hours passed as they worked, and by the time they’d finished, night had fallen. Mariette painstakingly brushed out her hair while Ceressa once more considered the possibility of returning to England. So much had happened upon their arrival, she’d forgotten her intention to give Captain Stokeley a letter for Sir Geoffrey.

  “This has been quite a day,” Mariette said as she took up a ribbon and wound it loosely through Ceressa’s waist-length locks. Clad in a clean, but oversized smock, Ceressa had no energy left to do anything other than sleep. But Mariette seemed energized and talkative. “It’s amazing how people can speak the same language yet do things so differently. James Cittie is nothing like London.”

  “It’s completely uncivilized,” Ceressa replied without thinking. As soon as the smile faded from Mariette’s face, she silently chastised herself for her negativity. “But at least you’ve made a new friend.”

  Mariette colored prettily. “Mr. Harrell is very nice.”

  “I’m most thankful he found you after we were separated.”

  “He heard me calling your name, and assuming that I was traveling with you and Lord Kirkleigh, he immediately presented himself and offered his assistance. I was terrified. Everyone was in such a dither over that Mr. Bacon that I couldn’t get anyone’s attention. What a character is that Nathaniel Bacon.”

  Ceressa had to smile at that kind assessment of a man who seemed both dangerous and cunning.

  “Well, your hair is finished. Are you in need of anything else?”

  “Not tonight,” Ceressa replied as she stood and clasped the girl’s hand. “You get a good night’s sleep. Who knows what adventures we’ll face on the morrow, so we must be rested and alert.”

  “I can hardly wait!” Mariette curtsied and then left the chamber.

  Ceressa looked around the suddenly too empty room, her eyes resting on the canopied, poster bed draped with the netting Kate explained was necessary because of the insects. Several hummed outside the open window, but none had yet invaded the room. Perhaps the breeze would keep them at bay tonight.

  Sighing deeply, she walked to the bed and laid upon the feather mattress, listening to the night sounds—the warble of birds, the chirp of crickets, and the hoot of a lone owl. Why had Latimer stayed so long in the stable? Why did she have to think of him at all?

  Turning over, Ceressa buried her face in the pillow fighting back the sobs that threatened to come as she reached the traumatic realization she wanted what she could never have.

  Wrestling with her thoughts, exhaustion at last claimed her, and she slept. But the dream came again, and Charles Herrington was standing before her, taunting her with the key that would unlock the door. Grabbing the handle of the door, she shook it furiously but to no avail. Ceressa knew that Herrington would soon be close enough to touch her, and she couldn’t bear that. Her sobs became screams of terror.

  “Ceressa, Ceressa! You’re dreaming. Wake up. Wake up! Do you hear me?”

  Ceressa refused to open her eyes, preferring this new state of existence in which she was held in arms that provided comforting strength. Her face pressed to a solid chest, the flesh of her cheek tingled pleasantly as it brushed crisp hairs. A hand stroked her curls just as her parents had so often done when she’d been hurt or frightened as a child.

  At last, she opened her eyes to confirm that her rescuer from the nightmare was Latimer; not that she’d ever thought it could be anyone else
. The light from the nearly gutted candle spread a golden glow over his handsome face.

  “Having a bad dream?” he asked with such tenderness, Ceressa felt the tears welling. She mutely nodded her head, unable to break her gaze.

  “I—I dreamed of Charles Herrington.”

  “I thought as much,” he replied softly as he tugged on a curl that had escaped the binding ribbon. She noticed that his knuckles were scraped, dried blood adhering to the bronzed flesh.

  “You’re hurt.” She took his hand in hers in order to examine it. “Let me clean it for you.”

  “It’s nothing,” he protested, but she had already hopped off the bed.

  Hurrying to the wash basin, she filled it with water from the pitcher and dipped a cloth. Returning to the side of the bed, she wiped away the blood then rested the cloth on the raw flesh. Latimer winced, but he was actually smiling, and she smiled back. He took hold of her chin with his other hand.

  “To what do I owe this demonstration of wifely concern?” he asked huskily, his voice doing funny things to her heart.

  “This isn’t wifely concern. I can’t bear to see a creature hurt, be it two or four legged.”

  “Ah, I see. So this is merely a demonstration of your love for all living things. Ceressa, do you think things could be different between us?”

  How different? she wondered frantically. Here Latimer sat, on the bed, clad only in breeches, his undeniable masculinity drawing her with but one possible outcome should she tell him yes. Could she truly be his wife in all ways—this man who had once been the object of her girlish romanticisms? Would the reality of marriage destroy all that she’d once cherished in their relationship?

  “You hesitate,” he said.

  “You’ve spent months assuming things that never happened and imagining events that never occurred. I can’t forget your cruel words concerning Sir Geoffrey. He is my dearest friend.”

  “Could you want a man who was not your dearest friend?” There was something in his voice that broke her heart—a yearning and a need and a hope. Was it within her power to lessen the chasm that separated Latimer and Sir Geoffrey? Had God placed her in this position in this place with this man to help heal a deep, festering wound between two men who were so important to her?