by Pamela Clare
* * *
The next morning dawned cool and rainy. Cassie found herself staring impatiently out the drawing room window, while the other women, joined by their daughters, engaged in needlework and listened to Lucy accompany Mary’s singing on the harpsichord. Cassie had wanted so badly to go riding this morning. The rain hadn’t kept the men from hunting, but the women were expected to stay indoors in such weather. It hardly seemed fair.
“I say, Cassie, haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I’m sorry, Priscilla. My mind seems to be wandering.”
“I said I have more embroidery upstairs if you’d like something to keep your fingers busy.”
“No, thank you. I’m afraid my stitches would only spoil your work.”
It was the truth. Besides, she hated needlework.
“Did your mother never teach you how to ply the needle?”
“She tried. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very attentive pupil.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to work with little Anne on her sampler.”
Cassie ignored the muffled giggles and smiled at Anne, Priscilla’s three-year-old daughter, who looked up from her practice stitches at the sound of her name.
“My sisters-in-law tell me you’ve refused two offers of marriage.” Priscilla’s voice took on a superior tone. “May I ask if you’re planning on remaining a spinster?”
At Lucy’s shocked gasp, the room fell silent.
Cassie felt her face flush.
Priscilla shrugged. “It is unnatural for a woman to remain unwed and childless.”
“Unlike some, I find love, not money, the only incentive to marry. I did not love those men, and so I could not marry them. But then I wouldn’t expect you to understand, since it was the size of Robert’s purse, not his person, you found so attractive.” Her pulse racing, Cassie turned and walked quickly from the room, ignoring the stunned look on Priscilla’s face.
“Priscilla Churchill Carter, you should be ashamed of yourself!” she heard Lucy exclaim before the drawing room door closed behind her.
Outside, rain fell in a fine mist. Cassie inhaled the fresh air, letting the cool breeze carry away the frustration that boiled inside her. She had no idea what she’d done to provoke Priscilla’s nastiness. Lucy had once told her the other women were resentful of her freedom, but Cassie rather doubted that. They seemed to take great pride in their limitations, condemning women who lived any other way, raising their own daughters to suffer the same. Cassie wrapped her shawl over her head to ward off the rain and walked toward the stables. She needed to check on Aldebaran, she told herself, aware at the same time that it was only an excuse. She wanted to see Cole.
She found him brushing the stallion’s coat, his sleeves rolled up above the elbow, the ties of his linen shirt left undone. If he was surprised to see her, he did not show it.
“Miss Blakewell.” He gave her a perfunctory nod and continued with his work.
“How fares Aldebaran, Mr. Braden?” She scratched the animal’s withers.
It seemed strange to speak so formally to the man whom she’d kissed more than once and who’d so recently seen her naked, but with other grooms standing only a few yards away, she could ill afford to do otherwise.
“He’s restless.”
The stallion snorted and tossed his head as if to concur.
“Have you recovered from yesterday’s fainting spell?” He met her gaze, a faint smile on his lips
What did he find funny? “Yes, thank you.”
“I had no idea you were such an accomplished actress,” he said in a whisper, his smile broadening to a wide grin.
“You knew?”
“Aye.”
“But you—”
“Played along? Of course. I couldn’t let you hit the ground. Besides, it is seldom a man gets to hold a woman as lovely as you in his arms.”
Cassie could tell by the warmth in his eyes that he meant what he said.
“What I want to know is whom you thought you were protecting with your timely swoon.” He brushed the horse with rhythmic strokes. “If it was me, you have sadly underestimated my abilities. I assure you I am quite capable of handling that popinjay.”
The comment was meant to reassure her, she knew, but she felt herself growing irate. “You don’t realize the nature of your position, Cole Braden. Geoffrey could easily have you beaten or flogged. I’ve seen how cruel he and his father can be. You’re on their land now. There would be little I could do to stop them.”
“So it was me you were protecting. You do so hurt my pride.” His voice was full of exaggerated self-pity.
One look at the pout on his handsome face, and there was naught she could do but smile. “Men! Their arms may be strong, but their pride is easily wounded.”
He turned toward her, his face suddenly grave. “There may come a day, Cassie, when the enmity between Crichton and me turns to violence. When that day comes, don’t interfere.”
His blue eyes gazed at her unblinking, no hint of humor in their depths.
She felt a shadow pass over her and shivered involuntarily. “Cole, you cannot mean that!”
“There are some things a man must do to remain a man, Cassie. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“That’s good, because, indeed, I don’t understand, Mr. Braden! Damn your pride!” She whirled and strode from the stables, feeling worse than when she had entered.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time the hunting party returned later that afternoon, with triumphant whoops and baying hounds, the rain had stopped and the sky had cleared. The women put down their embroidery and moved to the veranda to enjoy refreshments and the company of their husbands, brothers, and sons. Eager to avoid another confrontation, Cassie kept to herself, watching Jamie play with his new friends on the lawn. In the distance, slaves were busy smoothing the fresh quarter-mile track with rakes in preparation for the afternoon’s race.
Some of the older boys had cornered an old gander by the barn and were taking turns trying to grab hold of the poor creature. Its pitiful hissing and honking began to attract the attention of all nearby, including Geoffrey and Landon, who had been sharing hunting stories over strong cider.
“Shall we help them?” Landon watched one boy after another back away from the bird, rubbing fresh bruises.
Geoffrey answered by removing his waistcoat and wig and leaping over the railing into the soft grass onto his good leg. It had been so long since Cassie had seen him without his peruke, he looked odd, his blond hair cropped short.
“Oh, Landon, no!” Lucy shook her head as her brother followed suit.
“Leave him be, Lucy,” her father chided, playing another round of whist, this time with William Byrd. “Young men need their amusements.”
“Yes, but a gander pull, Father?”
Cassie felt her stomach turn. She hadn’t seen a gander pull since she was a little girl, but she remembered it well.
By the barn, Geoffrey and Landon had begun to draw an audience.
Even the smaller children had quit playing and gone to watch. Cassie secretly hoped the bird would escape, but it wasn’t long before Landon stepped out of the crowd with the gander pinned beneath his arm. In short order the creature was covered from beak to breast with grease and hung by its feet from the branch of a nearby tree. As the bird frantically tried to free itself, beating its wings and shrieking, Geoffrey, Landon, and the older boys mounted horses brought from the stables by slaves and began taking turns riding toward it at a full gallop, trying to grab it by the neck, each attempt greeted with shouts and cheers from the other competitors. The gander beat its wings, twisting this way and that, trying to evade the hands that grabbed for it.
But it would soon tire, and someone would manage to yank off the poor creature’s head. The winner’s reward for such daring and courage would be roast goose for supper.
“I can’t watch this.” Lucy turned with a swish of silk skirts and retreated inside the manor.
Then she noticed Jamie holding his hands over his ears in the yard below. The gander’s cries were frightening him. She hurried down the stairs toward him, calling his name. A strangled honk and raucous cheers told her that someone had managed to get a firm grip on the bird this time.
“Jamie!”
He did not hear her. His gaze was fixed on the scene before him, his expression one of terror. She followed his gaze to see Geoffrey holding the gander’s head aloft, blood streaming down his arm. “Jamie!”
The boy turned and ran toward her, burying his face in her skirts.
She knelt and wrapped her arms around him, holding his head to her breast and stroking his pale curls. “It’s all right.”
At the sound of horse’s hooves, she looked up. Geoffrey dismounted and walked over to her, still holding the gander’s head, gore spattered over the lace of his white linen shirt. “Would you like the head, Jamie?”
Jamie did not look up.
The stench of warm blood assailed Cassie, and she fought the urge to gag. “You’ve upset him enough with your puerile games, Geoffrey. Please take that away.”
“I say, boy, you’re not crying, are you? It was just an old bird.” Geoffrey gave a disgusted snort. “We were going to slaughter it anyway.”
“Leave him be.” Cassie picked up the shaken child and carried him toward the manor.
“You’re raising him to be a milksop!” Geoffrey yelled after her.
It took nearly an hour to calm Jamie and rock him to sleep for his afternoon nap. To his credit, Geoffrey had sent up a puppy, his promised gift for Jamie, with a brief note of apology for Cassie. The tiny, spotted, wriggling ball, which Jamie immediately named Pirate, won his heart instantly and now lay curled up asleep beside him.
By the time Cassie left the nursery, the other guests were drifting toward the racetrack, some of the women in carriages. This was the event the men had been waiting for. One by one they appeared riding or leading their favorite horses.
Cassie forced the butterflies from her stomach. It was unheard of for a gentleman to let a servant race in his stead, much less a convict. Though her father was certainly unconventional, there were some unspoken rules even he would never have broken. This was one of them. Surely Cole would back down without making a scene. If he forced the issue, she feared for both of them. She joined the other women, who were discussing the night ahead.
“You’d best take a quick nap before dinner, Mary, dear,” she heard Priscilla say. “If you want to capture young George Braxton’s attention, you don’t want to look like a wilted daisy.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Mary replied.
“Isn’t that your convict?” Lucy asked in a whisper.
Cassie looked up to see Cole leading Aldebaran across the field toward the racetrack, her heart fluttering at Lucy’s choice of words. Your convict. “Aye.”
“He is devilishly handsome, isn’t he?” Lucy whispered with an excited grin.
“Aye, and damnably stubborn.”
“Are the rumors about him true?”
“What have you heard?”
It was impossible to keep even the slightest bit of intrigue private in this colony.
“That he claims to be a gentleman spirited away and falsely sold as a convict.”
“Aye, it’s true.”
“Do you believe him?”
Cassie paused. Did she believe him? “Aye.”
“Do you think they’ll let him enter the race?”
Cassie had no idea. “Do you?”
The two watched as Cole strode with Aldebaran over to the track.
“You’re not welcome here, convict.” Geoffrey appeared, leading his roan stallion. “This race is for gentlemen.”
“Really?” Cole gave Geoffrey a disparaging look. The crowd fell silent as bonneted and bewigged heads turned toward Cole.
Cassie wanted to cover her eyes.
“Very well.” Cole turned Aldebaran back toward the stables. “Blakewell wrote in his letter you might do this.”
“Do what?” asked Geoffrey.
“Back down.”
“Oh, no.” Cassie moaned.
A murmur swept through the crowd.
“Look here, convict, no one is backing down—”
“Shut up, boy.” Geoffrey’s father forced his way through the throng to stand before Cole. “We accept Blakewell’s challenge, convict. The winner against Aldebaran. I’ve called Blakewell a coward more times than I can count. I won’t give him the chance to do the same to me.”
Cassie heard King Carter guffaw, and realized she’d been holding her breath.
“But, Father—”
“I said, shut up, boy!”
Geoffrey’s face grew rigid, but he obeyed.
“Who is that?” Cassie heard a woman whisper.
“Blakewell’s convict,” someone else answered. “They say he was deported for ravishing women.”
“With his looks, it must have been easy work.”
“They’d have done better to have hanged him, I say,” muttered another.
The first several races passed in a blur. It was clear from the outset that the contest would come down to Geoffrey’s stallion and a new horse just purchased by King Carter and ridden by his namesake, as, one by one, all other contenders were eliminated.
“One hundred pounds of Orinoco says my beast leaves yours in the dust,” boasted Carter with a good-natured grin.
“One hundred? Bah! Five hundred says you’ll lose again,” Master Crichton bellowed.
“Very well. Five hundred then.”
A frenzy of betting followed as each man in the crowd picked his favorite. The horses were allowed to rest, then taken by their riders to the starting line.
“This is to be a fair race,” said William Byrd, who was presiding over the races. “Are we agreed?”
Geoffrey and young Robert nodded.
At the crack of the pistol the horses bolted forward, hooves tossing clods of damp earth into the air. The shouts of the spectators were almost deafening as first one horse, then the other pulled ahead. It was Geoffrey who passed the finish line first by a nose.
“It was luck,” Carter handed Master Crichton a bill of lading, a dark frown on his face. “We’ve not had time to train our animal.”
“Luck? It was better horseflesh!” Master Crichton boasted.
Cole had already led Aldebaran to the starting line and stood waiting for Geoffrey’s stallion to catch its wind. Cassie felt her heart quicken. She hoped he would win, for her father’s sake as well as her own. It would be a just return for all the insults they’d endured.
“Care to place a wager?” Master Crichton asked gruffly.
At first Cassie hadn’t realized he was speaking to her.
“Women don’t game, Father.” Geoffrey gave a nervous laugh.
“He treats his daughter as he would a son,” said Crichton. “What say you, girl? A wager?”
“Don’t blame Catherine. She is merely her father’s chattel,” Geoffrey said.
Cassie felt all eyes upon her, and she lifted her chin higher. “One hogshead of Orinoco.”
She was no one’s chattel.
Gasps and shouts of outrage filled the air.
“She’s as crazy as her father!”
“A woman wagering? For shame!”
It was a wager she could ill afford to meet, and she at once regretted her impulsiveness. One hogshead held more than one thousand pounds of tobacco. At most she had half that. If Aldebaran were to lose, she’d be in debt to the Crichtons until the harvest.
Master Crichton glared at her, clearly unhappy at being forced into such a high wager, but he nodded his acceptance. Men began to shout at one another, placing their bets, most of them favoring Geoffrey.
“He is such an odious man!” Lucy whispered. “You should not have let him bully you into this.”
“It’s too late now.” Cassie gave L
ucy’s hand a squeeze.
Geoffrey rode to the starting line and waited for Cole to mount.
“A fair race.” William Byrd raised the pistol. “Agreed?”
Cole nodded.
Geoffrey nodded, scowling.
The pistol fired with a sickening crack. Cassie could not bear to watch, but she felt frozen in place and could not turn away. Her pulse slammed in her ears, drowning out the clamor around her. Though Geoffrey’s horse was fastest coming away from the starting line, Cole quickly overtook him and had pulled ahead by half a body length before the halfway mark.
What happened next was a blur. Cassie saw Geoffrey lift the horsewhip, saw his arm slash downward, saw Cole stiffen as the whip tore through his shirt.
“No!” she cried, her voice lost in the din.
Geoffrey raised the whip again and struck, hitting Aldebaran’s flank.
The stallion faltered, and for a moment she feared it would stumble. Geoffrey streaked past to retake the lead, looking back over his shoulder as he rode.
Before Cassie could catch her breath, Cole had managed to calm the stallion and was rapidly gaining.
Watching Cole’s approach over his left shoulder, Geoffrey attempted to block him by riding to the left, directly into Aldebaran’s path.
But Cole was ready. He guided Aldebaran to the right, passing Geoffrey with such an astonishing burst of speed that Geoffrey had no time to react. Cole beat him to the finish line by more than a body length.
Cassie shouted with joy, relief washing through her. But her relief was short-lived.
No sooner had the riders crossed the finish line than Cole, his face a hard mask, leapt from Aldebaran’s back and dragged Geoffrey roughly from his saddle, flinging him into the dirt.
“You son of a bitch! If my name were mine again, you’d pay for this!”
“Cole, no!” Cassie fought her way through the throng, afraid Cole was about to do something that would land him in chains—or worse. But by the time she’d reached the finish line, out of breath and in a panic, he had already turned his back on Geoffrey and was walking back toward Aldebaran.