“Do you really know what you want in a wife?”
“I believe I do,” he replied, bringing her hand up to his lips. He gently brushed the back of it, which brought a soft pink to her cheeks. “How can I make this up to you?”
There was a long moment of silence then Ceressa raised her eyes that were filled with purpose and decisiveness. “You can allow me to send a letter to Sir Geoffrey.”
Fire Dragon's Angel
22
Ceressa knew, without a doubt, that she had suffered through the worst night of her life, worse even than the night Charles Herrington had lured her to the Red Rose Inn. After Latimer’s fierce reaction to her request to write Sir Geoffrey, one angry comment had led to another until he’d called her a shrew and she’d labeled him a brute. Soon after, he’d stomped from the chamber and had left the property. He didn’t put in an appearance at dinner, and a deep fear had wiggled into her consciousness that he’d sought Phyllis Carruthers for comfort.
Ceressa had no idea if he’d returned, for though she’d tossed and turned for what seemed hours while a storm battering the cottage made enough noise to rouse the dead, weariness had finally overtaken her. But for all that, she was alert enough to notice Mariette’s distraction as the girl brushed her hair the following morning.
“Is something amiss, Mariette?” Ceressa asked, determined to rouse herself from her distress and think of someone other than herself. Ceressa looked at Mariette in the looking glass and noticed that a becoming blush tinted the girl’s cheeks.
“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong. I was wondering, though, what your thoughts of Mr. Harrell might be.”
“I find him most agreeable and considerate. Why do you ask?”
“Mistress Ceressa, when he looks at me—oh, I’m being silly.” Mariette was clearly embarrassed, but Ceressa was honored that the young woman would speak to her of so personal a matter.
“No sillier than all the other women in this world,” Ceressa said and turned about in her seat so that she could look at Mariette. “In a span of a few hours I married a man practically a stranger. Now, that is pure folly.”
“The circumstances were most extenuating.”
“I fear I made the wrong choice.” Ceressa came to her feet, unnerved and agitated as she twisted her hands together. Pacing the chamber, she knew she should let Mariette finish her hair and help her dress for she didn’t want to delay Latimer’s departure to the State House. But what if he wasn’t downstairs awaiting her? What if he was with Phyllis? How could so nice a man as Bartholomew have such a snake for a daughter?
“You did what you thought best at the time.”
“I failed my parents,” Ceressa said and barely restrained a sob. “I have to find out what happened to them. I need to write to Sir Geoffrey.”
“Ah, good morning, Lord Kirkleigh,” came Mariette’s unsteady greeting.
Ceressa turned about quickly with a gasp. How had Latimer managed to slip in without either of them hearing?
“You may leave us,” he firmly informed Mariette, who curtsied and hurried away, closing the door behind her. Ceressa immediately turned her back to him, fighting the urge to ask where he’d passed the night. Taking her seat before the dressing table, she picked up the brush and ran it viciously through her hair, willing away the angry words and threatening tears that warred for control of her emotions. Latimer appeared behind her in the looking glass, already fully clothed and apparently ready to be on his way. She’d tarried overlong with her toilette and was still wrapped in her dressing gown
“I hope you slept well last night.” Latimer spoke with amazing calm.
“I didn’t.”
“Nor did I. The straw in the stable hardly makes for a good mattress.”
Joy flooded her soul, but she couldn’t let Latimer know. Concentrating on her brushing, she ran the bristles through with such force, she feared she might be taking out bits of her scalp.
“If you continue to brush your hair in such a manner, you may be bald.”
In frustration, Ceressa dropped the brush on the vanity with a jarring clatter and turned around to face him. “I’ll never be dressed in time if you keep interrupting me.”
“Then I shall await your arrival downstairs.” He wasted no time in taking his leave, punctuated by heavy stomps as he went down the stairs. Oh, Father in Heaven. What am I to do? How can I make things right? How will I ever learn what happened to my parents? Dropping her head in her hands, Ceressa lost her battle against the tears, and they trickled down her face.
****
It was a relief to be out of the State House, and Ceressa was grateful for the recess after three hours of listening to the endless talk of pompous men who simply liked to hear themselves orate and opine. It had been torture sitting there watching, her gaze constantly drawn to Latimer. Even though she still smarted from their angry exchange, she couldn’t quell the emotions he aroused.
After the session closed, Latimer was cornered by several of his Surry County acquaintances so she slipped away unnoticed. The thunderstorm from the night before had left the sky a cloudless blue and the air slightly cooler. Walking over to a clump of trees, Ceressa noticed a woman holding a babe while two little girls romped about her. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the tireless play of the two as they chased one another. As luck would have it, they chose that precise moment to bolt headlong into Torrence Willshire. The irritated man uttered an oath and caught each child roughly by the backs of their smocks. Horrified by his actions, Ceressa ran to them, the mother doing the same but moving much slower, burdened by the babe she carried and a few pounds Ceressa didn’t have.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ceressa demanded. “Release those children.”
Willshire turned upon her, his eyes dark and angry. “What concern is it of yours what I do with these whelps? They nearly knocked me down.”
“And I’m sure you would have been seriously injured if they had,” Ceressa said sarcastically, planting her hands on her hips. Unexpectedly, Willshire gave her a smile and released the children. They quickly scampered off and hid behind their mother, burrowing into the folds of the woman’s skirt.
“That’s not the issue. Those urchins need discipline.”
“I’ll beg ye pardon, me fine sir,” the young mother spoke up indignantly. “Me girls receive their fair share o’ discipline.”
“Perhaps I have erred, madam, as the good Lady Kirkleigh has pointed out. How could I have mistaken such boisterous behavior as anything but innocent fun?” The smile was still on his face as he shifted his attention to Ceressa. She knew she should be insulted by his mischievous manner, but he suddenly seemed almost charming. “No harm done.”
The woman nodded stiffly, then looked over at Ceressa and gave her a warm smile. “Thank ye, milady.” She turned about and marched away, scolding the little girls as they hurried along.
“You shouldn’t take offense so easily, Mr. Willshire,” Ceressa said. “If this is your reaction to so minor an incident, I would hate to see your handling of a more serious affront with someone more of an equal.” Instinctively, Willshire reached up to the bruise beneath his eye, the one given him by Latimer. Ceressa couldn’t resist a sly smile.
“How can I argue with so beautiful a lady? Perhaps you have a point. Were my presence not required by Sir William I might enter into a discussion with you. But, alas, duty calls. Rest assured I shall take your comment under advisement. Good day, Lady Kirkleigh.” He smiled again, swept off his overdone hat as he bowed, then straightened and strode away.
Drawing a deep breath, Ceressa walked over to a bench shaded by a tree when she noticed the woman with the three children talking to Latimer and pointing to her. She certainly hoped the woman didn’t think her actions forward or rude. She’d only been trying to help. After squeezing the woman’s hand and tousling the heads of the two girls, Latimer left the woman and turned his steps toward her. I’ve done something else wrong, Lord.
I’m sure of it.
“You’ve made a new friend,” Latimer said and smiled. Genuinely smiled. No smirk, no sneer, no bitter twist—a real smile.
“I…have?”
“You just rescued Madelaine Henrys’s two little girls. I sold some land to her husband, Davis, a few years back when the oldest child was about two and Madelaine was heavy with the second. Davis is a good man, but recently he involved himself with a Surry group protesting the increase in the county’s taxes. The governor justified the increase by claiming the funds were needed for building forts and rearming the militia to ward off the Indians and the Dutch. But the Indians continued to attack, and the Dutch were so bold as to sail up the James and burn ships destined for English ports. When Davis and the others met at Smith’s Fort, they were arrested and fined.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Each man was tried and sentenced as rioters.”
“But Mr. Henrys didn’t hang, did he?”
“If he did, he’s looking well indeed for a dead man. He’s in attendance at the session today.”
Relief swept Ceressa. The thought of that young woman alone in this hostile land with three small children was unthinkable.
“I’m so thankful. How did he obtain his freedom?”
“Someone paid his fine and that of the other men. Money speaks as powerfully here as in England.”
“What a blessing. What a kind, compassionate soul is that individual. Do you know who it was?”
“I’ve a brief acquaintance with him,” Latimer replied evasively.
She strongly suspected he was the generous benefactor.
“I was wondering if you wished to return with me to the session. If not, I could have Bengie walk you back to the cottage.”
The choice to leave might have been welcome a few minutes earlier, but now she wanted to be with Latimer. “I’ll go with you. I wouldn’t want to miss anything.”
He laughed then offered his arm. Laying her hand upon it, she realized he hadn’t mentioned her confrontation with Torrence Willshire. Perhaps Mrs. Henrys had neglected to share that bit.
“By the way, your conversation with Willshire was remarked upon by several.”
Ceressa groaned inwardly. She had feared this moment. “I see.”
“One observer went so far as to say he’d never seen anyone, man or woman, stand up to Willshire with such spirit. I fear one blackened eye is not going to keep Willshire away from you.”
“He won’t intimidate me. And I don’t want you fighting him any more.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll keep an eye on you. It’s my prerogative as your husband.”
Odd, Ceressa thought, but she liked knowing Latimer was watching over her, aiding her heavenly Father who watched over her from above.
Fire Dragon's Angel
23
After dinner, Latimer surprised Ceressa by asking her to walk with him to the stable. Once within, Latimer led her to an occupied stall and opened the door. A lovely chestnut mare tossed her regal head imperiously, her ebony mane swishing like coarse silk. Ceressa had come to appreciate and love horses that long ago summer. And this mare was undoubtedly a superb creature. “She’s beautiful, Latimer,” Ceressa said as she gently rubbed the horse’s back.
“Her previous owner called her Nosegay. She’s yours.”
“How wonderful. And what a perfectly sweet name.”
Latimer laughed. “Don’t be fooled by her name,” he warned. “She’s been known to indulge in mischief and doesn’t always listen when she should. But I like her.”
“You seem to have a fondness for difficult women. First Phyllis, Heloise—now Nosegay.”
“I notice you didn’t include yourself in that auspicious group.”
She knew he was teasing so she played along. “I’m not difficult. I’m merely determined.” Ceressa stroked the mare’s velvety muzzle, holding back a grin.
“I fail to see little difference between difficult and determined.” Latimer walked around to the other side of the stall. His horse—Firewind, a most appropriate name—whinnied and thrust his nose toward Latimer as though in search of a treat. “Both terms can be applied to a woman with a maddening ability to torment and enchant.”
“I am fully aware of your torment, but I’ve yet to notice you suffering from enchantment. Pray tell me what that does to one.”
“Gladly,” he agreed as he moved toward her. “It makes one irrational. It makes one yearn for a kiss.”
Ceressa’s heart plummeted. She’d been hoping he might say that it made one yearn for love.
“You sigh?”
“I can’t help but think of the loving relationship that existed between my mother and father. Every evening, before retiring for the night, they’d spend an hour together talking about all sorts of things—politics, art, music, the Bible. They’d often recite poetry to one another, and it was terribly romantic.”
Now Latimer sighed. “That explains so much.”
“Explains what, might I ask?”
“Your eccentricity.”
“I am not eccentric because I believe in romance.”
“Not the romance—your intellectual pursuits.”
“There’s nothing wrong with using my mind and having opinions.”
“Does not the Bible admonish a woman to obey her husband?”
“If that husband earns her obeisance.”
“I don’t recall that caveat.”
“Then you’re suffering a convenient lapse of memory. A man should speak gently and kindly to his wife.”
“I can’t understand why a woman goes about wishing for a man to speak pretty words and silly nothings when she should seek words of substance and forthrightness. Words mean little—actions define a man’s true worth.”
“The Bible tells us as much. But that same Bible also tells a husband to treasure his wife.”
“As though precious as rubies,” he added. “I’m not given to flowery words or reciting poetry. I could never be one such as the Viscount Montvale.”
She was mildly startled when he reached out and lifted a curl from her shoulder, twining it about his finger all the while staring at it.
“But when I look at you, I see you as an angel with hair spun of God’s finest gold, with eyes that shimmer like stars, and lips that are sweeter than the rarest nectar known to man. When I look at you, I see how I could be different. I see a life without bitterness or regret. I see a life with you.”
Firewind’s sudden, shrill neigh ended the moment, and Latimer quickly turned away. Ceressa was so shocked she couldn’t breathe. For a span of mere seconds, he’d no longer been that fire-breathing dragon she’d labeled him on that terrifying night by the London docks.
For months, she’d really thought of no one but herself—poor Ceressa, far, far away from everything she held dear and from everyone she’d ever loved, wanted for murdering the man who murdered her parents, and married to a man harsh and unyielding.
She’d never stopped to think what Latimer had endured—the jilting by his fiancée, discovering his uncle was his father, his desperate search to find a mother for the niece whose own mother had been murdered. And he’d ended up marrying a dazed, terrified girl he’d plucked from a tawdry inn, compromised by a renowned adulterer in the seamiest part of London.
Hesitantly, she walked up behind him and drawing in a deep breath for courage, she rested her hand on his shoulder. He came about so suddenly, her hand flew up and her knuckles hit him hard in the nose. Blood spurted from both nostrils, dusting his pristine white stock with flecks of red. Ceressa cried out in horror.
“Latimer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t!” He halted her in mid-sentence. “Leave me.” His words were cold and clipped and frightening as he withdrew a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose.
“Please let me help.”
“You’ve helped quite enough,” he said, anger in his voice.
“You don’t think I did this inte
ntionally?”
“Just go.” The abruptness of his words immediately erased any softer feelings she’d entertained a short time ago. Turning away, she marched from the stable, wishing she’d hit him on his thick skull, instead of his nose.
Just as she left the stable, something whished past her and embedded in the wood siding. Her gaze focused on the long shaft protruding from the wood, the feathers attached to the end quivering. As she realized she’d almost been struck by an arrow, a movement in the trees caught her gaze.
A deeply bronzed face appeared, his dark, intense eyes resting upon her. The man wore only a loin cloth, which ended at mid thigh. Paint encircled his eyes and crisscrossed his face. His hair was cropped close, save for one lone braid that hung over his shoulder, and two pheasant feathers were attached to the side of his finely shaped head. About his neck hung a circlet of shells and what appeared to be animal teeth; a large red stone fastened to the center of the adornment glittered in the fading sun.
Ceressa’s scream shattered the surrounding stillness.
****
The scream roused Latimer from his unabashed self-pity and absorption with his smarting nose. Dashing from the stable, he found Ceressa pressed to the wall of the structure, an arrow embedded in the wood beside her head. Looking toward the forest that encompassed the perimeter of his property, he saw a flash of bronze legs.
Assured Ceressa was unharmed, he gave pursuit but within seconds realized the native had disappeared and would not be found. The Indian was as one with his land, able to meld with it physically and spiritually. Turning around, Latimer retraced his steps and nearly knocked Ceressa down. He opened his mouth to scold her for following him then shut it quickly when he saw the stark terror in her eyes.
“Where did he go?” she gasped in a hoarse whisper.
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