Kenleigh-Blakewell Family Saga Boxed Set (Books 1 & 2)

by Pamela Clare

  She rode with the confidence and skill of a man, and he couldn’t deny feeling some odd sort of pride in her abilities. Of course, her habit of sitting astride would have been ill-tolerated in England.

  Urging Aldebaran forward, he stayed close enough to be certain of her direction but not so close that her mare could sense the stallion’s presence and give him away. Her tracks were easy to spy in the soft, damp earth of the forest floor. Even had he not been able to see them, he’d followed her this far before and had a general sense of where she was heading.

  Alec relaxed in the saddle. It had rained again last night, leaving the air as fresh as when the world was new. Frogs sang cheerily from their hidden puddles in the forest bog, while birds called to one another from their perches among the trees. Their songs still sounded exotic to him as they echoed through this inconceivable expanse of wilderness. There was a vastness to this land that threatened to swallow a man, quite literally. Every Englishman knew the story of Roanoke. Fifteen hale men had vanished from Roanoke Island, leaving nothing behind, not even skeletons, to tell of their fate. Some believed they’d gone to live with the Indians or had become some tribe’s dinner. Others thought they’d tried to sail for home and had been lost at sea. Alec was sure that, should the colonists ever cease to beat back the forest with ax and flame, it would engulf them, quickly reclaiming its own and wiping away any trace that Englishmen had once lived here.

  That this new continent held unseen dangers was beyond dispute. Yet, despite the subservient nature of Alec’s position at Blakewell’s Neck, there was a freedom here he’d not experienced before.

  There were no appointments to keep, no wigs or stifling apparel to wear, no dull dinners to sit through while pretending to be entertained. There were no conniving would-be mothers-in-law to guard against, no slithering MP’s trying to sniff out his politics, no obsequious clerks trying to fawn their way into his good graces. Ironic as it might be, he was a freer man as Nicholas Braden than he’d been as Alec Kenleigh. But such responsibilities were the burden of a gentleman, and the sooner Alec returned to tend to his obligations the better.

  A small brown rabbit darted out from cover just ahead of Aldebaran’s hooves and fled deeper into the forest, its white tail disappearing in a bush. For a moment Alec feared the horse would whinny in alarm, alerting Cassie to his presence, but Aldebaran responded instantly to Alec’s firm hand and kept his head. The stallion was in top form, and Alec was certain it could easily best any animal in the colony.

  “Aldebaran—the follower,” he whispered, reflecting on the irony of the racehorse’s Arabic name. He doubted Master Blakewell knew what the word meant. “Don’t worry, old boy. The other horses shall follow you.”

  He was looking forward to the race at Crichton Hall. He’d heard of the long-standing rivalry between the Crichtons and the Blakewells when it came to horse racing, and he was looking forward to the choked look on Crichton’s face when his mount ate Aldebaran’s dust. Of course, Cassie had not yet asked him to accompany her or to race Aldebaran. But then, he didn’t plan on waiting for her invitation or her permission.

  The ground began to slope downhill, and he slowed his mount, his gaze fixed on Cassie’s form in the distance. This was where he’d lost her before. At the bottom of the hill, he knew, there was a heavily wooded marsh. Though he’d been able to follow her into it, he hadn’t been able to track her once she’d gotten inside. Water and muck had swallowed all tracks, and the dim light made it virtually impossible to keep her in his sights. He had been forced to turn back before he lost his sense of direction and found himself spending the night in a swamp.

  This time he’d be more careful.

  * * *

  Cassie reined Andromeda to a stop and listened, tingles racing down her spine. Ever since she’d entered the marsh, she’d had an odd feeling someone was watching her. She bent over her mare and pretended to examine its leg for injury, using her position to look covertly behind her. She saw no one. It was the third time in a fortnight she’d felt eyes upon her in this marsh. She waited a moment longer, listening. Mosquitoes buzzed around her, and a raven called overhead, its throaty squawk echoing through the trees. Andromeda nickered softly, as if to question the delay. The mare knew the way to her father’s cabin and was eager for the treat of apples she would receive there.

  Cassie urged the horse forward again, chiding herself for letting her imagination get the best of her. She was not fond of these dark marshlands, to be sure. With their snakes, insects, and spiders, the marshes seemed unfit for human being or horse. Worst of all was the air. Thick, humid and smelling of rotting vegetation, the marsh air was known to carry the illnesses that made life in this colony so difficult. Her father had built the family’s home far above the marshes, ensuring that the bad air would dissipate before reaching the estate’s inhabitants. Even so, summer had always been a time of sickness. She considered it nothing short of a miracle that her father, who now lived in the middle of this, had been spared. The air didn’t seem to bother him. He’d gotten the fever only once or twice in his lifetime. Even the voracious mosquitoes seemed to leave him alone. Cassie thanked Takotah’s lemon balm for that. In the distance she saw the sandy rise that marked her destination.

  Takotah had discovered this island long ago. Only six people knew of its existence, including Micah, Zach, and Nan. But only Takotah, Cassie, and Micah knew how to get here and back. Surrounded by dense marsh, it made the perfect hiding place, an oasis of solid ground and sunshine in a dark and murky swamp. Once she was safely on land, Cassie dismounted and led Andromeda to the makeshift shelter that served as a stall. It was a relief to be in sunlight again.

  Leaving the mare contentedly munching on apples, she carried the basket of food toward the house. Nothing more than a clapboard shanty, the structure resembled a slave cabin, but it held back both rain and wind and kept her father safe. He had built it himself when he’d felt his wits begin to leave him. She had begged him to stay at the great house, but he had refused even to discuss it, leaving with only a change of clothes and a loaf of bread as soon as the tiny dwelling had been completed. “Father?”

  She stepped through the door to find him standing with his back to the window. His gaze moved over the walls as if he were searching for something. Takotah said he was listening to spirits, but Cassie thought he seemed terribly lost. His shirt and breeches were wrinkled and askew from having been slept in, and his white hair hung in tangled curls around his shoulders.

  “I’ve brought breakfast, Father. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Her father did not answer. She had not expected him to. He gazed at the walls, his eyes darting back and forth. She placed bread and cheese on the table, and took her father by the arm. Only then did he notice her, giving her a glassy look that said he did not know her. Still he said nothing.

  “Sit here, Father.” She urged him into his seat and placed a piece of buttered bread in his hand.

  For a moment he seemed oblivious to the food. Then slowly he began to eat. His condition had worsened to the point that she wondered if she’d soon have to feed him. She had no idea how she’d manage that. Takotah already spent half of her day here, and slept here most nights, as well, helping to bathe him and aiding him with his personal needs. If there was one thing Cassie was grateful for in all of this, it was that her father was not aware of the indignities he suffered. Had his body failed and his mind remained, he would have found such ministrations unbearable and degrading.

  As her father ate, she told him what news she’d heard. The planters were going to try to repeal the tobacco-inspection act and had even sent representatives to London. One tobacco warehouse had burned to the ground in Williamsburg. The fire had been set on purpose, that much was certain. But no one knew whom to blame. Some thought it was angry planters hoping to flout the inspection law by destroying all the inspection posts. Others blamed renegade slaves, but then they always blamed the slaves. She thought it must be planters. There were mo
re than a few who’d stoop to arson.

  When her father finished his first piece of bread, she placed cider in his hand and encouraged him to drink, guiding the cup to his lips. Then she broke off a chunk of cheese and gave that to him. “Rebecca’s baby is growing every day. She’s as cute as a button.”

  Cassie felt silly talking when she knew her father could not really understand her, but who knew what word might catch his attention and bring him back? She must keep trying. At first glance he seemed perfectly healthy for a man of fifty-four. He’d grown paler and thinner in the past year, and his hair was now completely white. There was no outward sign of illness—until she looked into his eyes.

  Their light was gone. The same blue eyes that had once sparkled down at her with mischief were now dull and blank. It was as if something had leached the life from him, leaving only his body behind.

  Takotah believed his spirit had gone to be with his beloved Amanda. If so, then the blame for his condition fell at least in part on Cassie. Had she not fled from her mother’s bedside when Takotah needed her most, her mother might still be alive and her father still himself. There’d be no need for lies and elaborate ruses. Life would be so much simpler and happier. Cassie had prayed for his recovery every morning and every night since he’d become ill, but it seemed God had better things to attend to.

  She took a half-eaten piece of cheese from her father’s hand and began to brush his hair. It was time for his daily walk. For a while, he’d kept his own garden, but that ground lay untilled this summer, overgrown by weeds. Now even walking was hard for him. He didn’t seem to see the ground, and walked with the shuffling gait of a man of eighty. But his hand was still warm, and he held hers tightly as if some part of him were trying to reach out to her in the only way he could. That was what she told herself, anyway.

  She tied her father’s hair back with a leather thong and helped him to his feet. “It’s a beautiful day, Father. You’ve been cooped up in this cabin all night. A bit of sunshine might be just the thing.”

  An hour later she had settled her father inside again and was heading for Andromeda’s stall.

  “It seems I’m not your only prisoner.”

  Cassie gasped and spun around to find Cole leaning against a tree. “You!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cassie’s heart beat so hard she could scarcely find breath to speak. Quick as a cougar Cole reached her, took her wrists in his iron grip, and hauled her up against his chest. “Don’t lose your composure, Miss Blakewell. You need to think up a lie and think it up quickly. It is you, not I, who must explain this encounter. How many people know you keep your father imprisoned in this swamp?”

  “Let go!”

  “I want an explanation, and I want it now!”

  “Release me, and you shall have your explanation!” She felt his grip loosen and jerked her wrists free, then took several hurried steps backward, placing enough distance between them that he wouldn’t be able to touch her again.

  But what could she say? The truth would surely seem a lie, and yet there was no lie she could pass off as the truth. If she told him the truth, he’d have the power to destroy everything her father had worked so hard to build. She could, of course, put him under guard again and make sure he told no one. But if he really was Alec Kenleigh, he’d soon be a free man. She’d have no control over his actions.

  “I’m waiting, Mistress.” His arms crossed over his chest, he looked like a man with all the time in the world. But the grim smile playing across his lips told her his patience was at an end.

  “Very well. But you must vow not to repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone.”

  “I make no promises.”

  She exhaled, gathering her courage. Hadn’t she always known this day would come?

  “My father is no prisoner.” Her voice quavered. She could not meet Cole’s gaze, knowing that his eyes held only contempt. “He … he became ill shortly after my mother passed on. At first it was little things, like forgetting what he wanted to say. We thought it was merely grief, but before long he was getting lost in our house.”

  She felt the sting of tears, but did not try to stop them. “I begged him to call for a physician, but he refused, sure he’d be locked in an asylum. When he realized he was getting worse, he built this cabin for himself. He didn’t want the other planters to see him. He feared they’d use his illness to take his land. Before leaving the plantation he wrote them a letter telling them he was going abroad for a time and leaving me in charge. He made me promise to keep his secret, to watch over Blakewell’s Neck until Jamie was old enough to manage it on his own. It is not as I would have it, but I must keep my promise.”

  For one agonizing moment Cole said nothing. Then he began to applaud. “Brava, Miss Blakewell. A performance well worth waiting for.”

  “It is the truth, and you’d best keep it to yourself.” Cassie wiped the tears from her face and strode over to Andromeda. “Holding a man in chains goes against everything my father and I believe in, but I’ll not hesitate to lock you up if it will save my family.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

  She mounted and rode into the marsh with nary a backward glance. Damn the man! Cole Braden had treated her with nothing but scorn and suspicion since she’d first deigned to save his accursed life. Had she really hoped he’d believe her? Foolish girl, she thought, ashamed of the fresh tears that filled her eyes and blurred her vision. Well, Cole had followed her here. Let him try to follow her home.

  * * *

  The scheming bitch!

  Whatever Alec had expected to find, he’d not been prepared for this. He wouldn’t have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes. What kind of woman would keep her own father imprisoned, ill and alone, in a fetid swamp? The man needed the attention of a skilled physician, not the company of snakes and water rats. Yet here he was, left behind to rot while his daughter ran his estate as if it were her birthright.

  He strode quickly over to the tree where he had secured Aldebaran, mounted, and rode after her. He’d not give Miss Blakewell the satisfaction of leaving him behind as she obviously intended to. She was riding at a near gallop, but he was able to spy her form ahead in the darkness and urged the stallion to quicken his pace. She had just disappeared in front of a stand of trees when Alec heard her mare whinny in distress. For a moment he thought the animal had tripped on an immersed tree root or become mired in a sinkhole. But then the horse reappeared without its rider, reins dangling at its side.

  He dug his heels into Aldebaran’s flank. “Cassie!”

  There was no response.

  He bent low over Aldebaran’s neck, pushing the horse to his limits, hidden tree roots and sinkholes forgotten. Mud and water spattered his clothing. Low-hanging branches lashed at his face. He neared the stand of trees and at first could see nothing. For a moment he thought she must be playing some kind of trick on him, and he was contemplating what he’d do with her when he got hold of her again. Then he spied locks of red-gold hair floating on the surface of the muddy water.

  “Cassie!” He leaped from the stallion’s back and pulled her, unconscious, from the knee-deep water. She was bleeding profusely from a gash on the side of her head, and she was not breathing. Without thinking Alec quickly turned her facedown, wrapped his arms just beneath her ribs, and squeezed firmly once, then again. An old sailor he’d met on one of his forbidden forays to London’s shipyards had told him he’d once revived a drowned sailor this way, and Alec prayed it would work now. Seconds moved by like hours, and still she did not breathe.

  “Come on, damn it! Breathe!”

  He squeezed again, harder this time, forcing water from her lungs. At first he thought he had imagined the cough. But then she coughed again, her entire body shaking with the effort. He felt her take a deep, shuddering breath.

  He turned her over and pulled her tightly against his chest, his pulse drumming in his ears. She was alive. For a moment he could do nothing but hold
her. He stroked the line of her cheek with a finger and offered a prayer of thanksgiving to any god who might be listening. She was alive.

  Alive, yes, but badly hurt. He lifted her gently onto Aldebaran’s back and climbed into the saddle. He could return to her father’s cabin on the island or try to continue in the direction she’d been riding and hope that he didn’t lose his way. Without the sun to guide him, he could not be sure where he was heading. If he should get lost out here and end up spending the night, Cassie might die. His decision made, he brought Aldebaran about and urged the horse to a walk, hoping the mare would follow. She did.

  At the cabin he quickly dismounted, leaving the horses to fend for themselves, and carried Cassie inside. He laid her on the small bed that stood in one corner. Ignoring her father, who sat silently in a rocking chair before a rough-hewn table, he rapidly removed first her boots and stockings, then her sodden riding habit, corset, and chemise, tossing the clothing carelessly onto the floor. He’d undressed lots of women before, some just as hastily, but never had he been trying to save a life.

  His gaze traveled over Cassie’s naked body, looking for injuries. Her chest rose and fell evenly with each breath, though Alec was sure her lungs still held water. Her skin was cold and deathly pale, and dark bruises had begun to form across her lower ribs where he’d squeezed her.

  He quickly covered her with the quilt that lay at the foot of the bed and tucked it closely around her. Next he tore a strip of linen from the bedsheet and delicately bound it around the cut on her head. It was no longer bleeding, but it would need to be kept clean. She must have run into a low-hanging branch. Why she, an expert rider familiar with this terrain, had made such a deadly mistake he did not know.