by Pamela Clare
It was within her rights—nay, it was her legal obligation—to place him under guard again, even to shackle him, but she could not. To see him chained like an animal was more than she could bear. Besides, if he did not escape and return to England to prove to his family he was still alive, he’d be forced to endure fourteen long years of servitude. God save her, she loved him and would not see him reduced to that.
To the rest of Virginia society he was now Nicholas Braden for good. The day after the reply had arrived from London, the sheriff had sent a missive to her father, demanding to know what the letter had revealed, eager to put the matter behind him before he and Master Crichton left for Williamsburg for the season. Cassie had taken her time in answering. At first she’d considered lying, but any ruse would eventually be discovered, and she would likely find herself in gaol. Instead she’d written a vague reply, telling the sheriff only that the Kenleigh family believed Alec to be dead. The sheriff had written back the same day to say he considered the matter closed.
Let Alec take the stallion. Let him ride. Fast. If he were caught, he would be hanged.
Cassie put a hand to her belly to still the butterflies. Surely he would make it to port safely. Aldebaran was the fastest horse in the county, if not the colony. And if she was slow to report his escape, giving him most of a day’s head start, she could seem to do what the law required of her, while protecting him from capture. Unless...
There were so many things that could go wrong. The stallion could go lame or lose a shoe. Or throw Alec and injure him. Someone might recognize them and give Alec away. What if he failed to find work on a ship before news of his escape reached town?
Though he did not bear a brand, he could never be mistaken for a common seaman. His bearing and gentle features bespoke his social standing as clearly as if it were emblazoned upon his forehead. Would a captain hire him? Would others sense at once that something was amiss? What if he got lost and never made it to port? Though he knew his way around Blakewell’s Neck and its forests, he was new in the colony. Did he even know which direction to travel?
Cassie sat upright with a start. She grabbed her robe, sprang from her bed, flung open her bedroom door, and hurried down the darkened hallway toward her father’s study. It had to be here somewhere. With only the half moon to light her way, she felt her way along the ledgers on her father’s desk, removing one volume after another, searching.
Where was it?
The thud of a book as it hit the floor made her jump. She wanted desperately to avoid waking Nettie—or worse, Pirate, who would surely rouse everyone. It would be for the best if no one knew what she was about to do.
She was about to despair when at last she felt it—thin, unbound, made of rough parchment. Hastily pulling the document out from between two ledgers, she ran quietly to the window just to make sure, unfolding it as she went. Moonlight revealed faint lines drawn long ago in black, red, and blue ink—the curving banks of the Rappahannock, the Piankatank, the York, and the James, and between them jutting arms of land marked with borders designating each planter’s estate.
Heading toward the hallway, she hesitated, then turned back and walked over to the bookshelf, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Standing on her toes, she pulled an old box down from the top shelf, wiped the thick layer of dust from its lid, and turned back toward the door.
Heart racing, she tiptoed down the stairs and noiselessly opened the back door. Looking cautiously about and seeing no one, she stepped into the moonlight and hurried toward the stables. She’d hide the map and the box there for Alec to find first thing in the morning. He’d know what to do with them.
The cobblestones were cold and rough against her feet, and the cool breeze raised goose bumps on her skin. She’d just reached down to open the stable doors when they seemed to open of their own accord and a hand closed over her mouth, silencing her scream. Strong arms pulled her inside and closed the door behind her. She was engulfed in utter darkness.
“What in the name of God are you doing out here?” Alec released her.
“You nearly frightened me out of my wits!” Her pulse still raced.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“This is my home, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m the one who should be asking questions.”
“Very well, Mistress.” There was a chill in his voice.
She heard him take a step, then watched his face emerge from the darkness, illuminated by the orange glow of a candle he’d retrieved from its hiding place beneath an overturned bucket.
His eyes were hard, impenetrable.
“Alec, I … ” I love you. Please forgive me. “I brought these. You have greater need of them than I.” She held out the map and the box she’d planned to hide in Aldebaran’s stall.
Taking them from her with a pensive frown, he opened the box first. The expression of astonishment that came to his face when candlelight revealed the two flintlock pistols within drew a smile to Cassie’s face. Oh, how she had missed him this week.
“They are … were my father’s.”
Placing the box on a nearby bench, he hurriedly opened the map, his eyes examining it quickly before coming to rest gravely on her. “Cassie,” he said after a moment, “I cannot take these. If I’m captured—”
“If you’re captured, I shall say that you stole them.” She spoke with a calm she did not feel.
“I hate to think what my escape might cost you as it is. If you were to be implicated in any way—”
“Please, Alec. Take them.” Her words came out a whispered plea.
For a moment he said nothing. Then he gave her a lopsided grin, his gaze soft. “Since they shall see me hanged either way, I don’t suppose it would hurt to add theft to my list of crimes.”
A wave of pure dread washed through her. “It is nothing to jest about.”
Then she knew. His being here tonight meant he was leaving in the morning.
“Tomorrow?” She didn’t bother to hide the tears that welled up in her eyes.
“Aye.”
“Is there aught else you need? Bread and cheese? A hunting knife, perhaps—”
“And what would the good folk of Blakewell’s Neck think to see me riding out laden with provisions? That I was going for a picnic? Nay, love.” He shook his head. “You should go now. If anyone were to find you here … ”
Cassie nodded, wanting desperately to reach out and hold him, the ache in her heart overwhelming. “Alec, be safe. I’ll not have a moment’s peace until I know you are at home and well.”
“I’ll send word as soon as I reach London.”
The tears came in earnest now, pouring down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking as she fought to suppress the sobs that welled up within her. She felt his arms enfold her, pull her close, felt his breath hot on her temple as he whispered reassurances. Burying her face in the linen of his shirt, she clung to him as if to save herself from drowning.
“Shhh, Cassie, love.” He wiped the tears from her face. Whether he meant the kiss to comfort her or to bid her farewell, she did not know. Nor did she care. With a whimper she melted against him, eager to banish her grief, if only for a moment.
Their lips touched lightly as Alec held her against him, nibbling her mouth with his own and tenderly kissing her face. Cassie twisted her fingers through his hair, drinking in the taste and feel of him.
“Alec!” She was aware only of his touch as he reached beneath her gown, lifting her breasts and molding them with his work-roughened palms, gently caressing her taut nipples, making her moan, sending a cascade of heat deep into her belly.
Then he lifted her off the ground, carried her to an empty stall, and laid her in the straw beneath him. With trembling hands Cassie opened his breeches and, taking the heaviness of his erection into her hands, guided him into her.
“Love me, Alec.” She lifted her hips to meet him, unable to stifle a sigh as he buried himself inside her with one slow thrust, filling her completely. Oh, how sh
e had missed him. How she had needed him.
But he was here now, inside her, stroking her, making her ache for completion. She arched against him, ran her hands over the bunching muscles of his back and buttocks as he moved slowly inside her. He knew just how to move, just how to touch her to drive her mad. Then all at once it was upon her, sweet pleasure spiraling through her body.
He captured her cries with his mouth, but he did not seek his own peak. Not yet. Twice more he brought her pleasure, slowly, tenderly, showing her with each kiss and each caress that she was his. Then, when she knew she could bear no more, he poured himself into her, his body shuddering with release.
* * *
Alec gave the cinch one final yank, keeping a tight hold on the restless stallion’s bridle.
He was worse than a bastard. God forgive him. He’d sworn to himself after Philip’s letter arrived that he’d not come inside Cassie again. The chance was too great that he would get her with child. Yet his promise to himself had quickly dissolved into nothing. Before the letter had arrived, he’d reassured himself that their love was safe because his name would be restored long before any pregnancy would show. As matters now stood, at least three months would pass before he could return and take her to wife—if he survived to return at all. He’d known this, yet he’d made love to her anyway—not once, but twice, carrying her from the straw to the warmth of her own bed, where he’d all but lost himself in her, finding it almost impossible to walk away.
He’d left her only after he’d thought her asleep, placing one last kiss on her hair.
“Ride north. To Maryland,” she’d whispered. Her voice had been thick with tears.
Aldebaran snorted and stamped his hooves in the straw. The stallion sensed something was afoot.
“You’re about to be stolen, old boy.”
The stallion jerked his head as if to nod his hearty consent.
“I’m glad you approve.”
Tucking the map Cassie had given him into the sleeve of his shirt and secreting the pistols in the folds of the saddle blanket, he led Aldebaran out into the morning air and mounted. The day had dawned clear and cool, sunrise turning the eastern sky a bright pink. Already a few cookfires had been lit, the scent of smoke drifting on the breeze as the women began their morning chores.
He looked past the stables to the row of slave and servant cabins, and beyond that to the harvested fields. In the distance the forest made a ragged, black outline against the sky. Somewhere a babe began to cry, eager for its mother’s breast.
Something twisted in his gut. Why should he hesitate to leave this place? It had been his prison for the past five months. England—not Virginia—was his home. Back home his family was mourning him as dead. He could only imagine the grief his sister was suffering.
Philip had planned this and planned it well. But why have him transported to the colony when killing him would have been much easier? Perhaps Philip had felt some guilt, had not wanted to stoop to outright murder. As soon as he was in London, Alec would give Philip the most unpleasant surprise of his life. But before he could do that, he had to make it home.
Urging the horse to a trot, he set his eyes firmly on the forest to the east of the estate. Ride north, she’d said. The horse’s hooves clicked over the cobblestones of the courtyard. Smoke curled from the cookhouse chimney. Nan was already hard at work.
“Thank God ye’re awake!” The voice came, not from the kitchen, but the porch of the great house.
“Miss Cassie told me not to trouble ye.” The cook wrung her hands in her apron, her face pinched. “But I know she’d want ye to be by her side at a time like this.”
He reined the stallion to a halt. “What has happened?”
“Oh, Mr. Braden, it’s Jamie. He’s got the ague!”
Chapter Twenty-five
Alec leapt to the ground and secured Aldebaran to the porch railing. Bounding onto the porch and through the door, he took the stairs two at a time, stopping just outside the boy’s room. Inside, Jamie lay in his little bed, pale and shivering violently, seemingly oblivious to his sister’s ministrations as she caressed his tiny forehead. She was humming a lullaby, her voice almost a whisper. She was crying.
“Cassie, is there aught I—”
Startled, she spun about to face him, still clad in her night shift and dressing gown. Her eyes were red and swollen, and he knew that she had been crying long before she’d learned of Jamie’s illness. “What are you doing here? I should have thought you well on your way by now.”
Turning her back on him, she settled back on the edge of the bed and held a hand to the boy’s cheek.
“How is he?” Alec refused to let her bait him. It was fear and grief that made her speak thus to him.
“He’s so, so sick.” Her shoulders sagged and her head fell. Her voice was choked with tears. “I haven’t enough powder for him. Zach came down with the fever last night, too.”
Plus the three bondsmen and the slave child Alec had heard about yesterday and Rebecca, whose fever had returned, that made seven who now lay ill.
“No one will begrudge you giving the child what he needs, love. He is your brother and heir to this estate. It is his right.”
Cassie shook her head. “I can’t save the last for my brother and let the rest suffer and die.”
“Then send for more.”
Her shoulders shook with a stifled sob, tears pouring silently down her cheeks. “This time of summer there is none left in the colony save that hoarded by wealthy planters, and they’d not share their stores with us, not even for good English coin.”
Alec sat next to her and pulled her into his arms, struggling for words. Two of his nieces had contracted the measles once. He’d been quite worried then, but Emily and Victoria had had a skilled physician to care for them, and all the medicines money could buy. This was different. The ague was a killer. The stories of those who’d survived crossing the ocean only to die during their first summer in the colony were legion. While Jamie at least had it to his advantage that he’d been born in this wild land, he was still but a young child.
For a moment, Cassie sagged against him, the warm wetness of her tears seeping through the linen of his shirt. Then, abruptly pulling away, she reached over to tuck the covers tightly under the boy’s chin.
“You should go. Soon everyone will awaken.”
“Cassie, I—”
“No! Go now, while you still have time! My heart has been torn into enough pieces this night. Seeing you again … it is torment. I cannot bear saying good-bye afresh.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his.
“Aye.” With that, he turned and strode from the room.
* * *
“Get her out of here!”
Elly closed her eyes, pushing back tears. She could not blame him for hating her. It was no less than she deserved.
“Zachariah!” Nan seemed to be fast losing her temper. “If ye don’t quiet down and drink this potion as yer good mistress asks, I’ll give ye a thrashin’ that you’ll ne’er forget.”
“I’ll drink when ye make her go.”
Elly watched, gripped by a nameless fear, as Zach sank slowly back onto his pillow, glaring at her and shivering. She’d watched two brothers die from scarlet fever, another from a blow to the skull. She’d watched as her mother died of consumption, her father from drink. She knew well the smell of death, and it had settled in this cabin.
Zach was frightfully sick, and it was her fault. Dark circles marred the hollows beneath his eyes, making his skin seem even more pallid. His blond hair, dark and wet with perspiration, clung to his scalp. Not for the first time this morning, Elly prayed silently.
“Why yer mistress wishes to waste precious medicine on a man like ye when there are better souls to tend is beyond me,” Nan was saying. “Now drink. And don’t complain about the taste either. Ye have only yerself to blame for this fever, stayin’ out in the night air, drinkin’ like a fool.”
“Shut up, hag.
” Zach fixed the cook with a frown. He lifted his head to drink, then stopped. “What do ye mean, ‘better souls’?”
“She meant nothing,” Elly blurted.
Didn’t he realize how sick he was? He must drink.
“Ye’re lying. But that’s nothin’ new, is it?” He glowered at Elly, then dismissed her altogether.
She opened her mouth to protest, but found herself staring at her feet, ashamed.
“Who else is sick? Is there not enough powder?” Zach asked Nan again through chattering teeth.
“Elly speaks truly. I meant nothin’ other than to say ye are to blame for yer own sufferin’,” Nan said. “And if ye don’t open yer mouth to drink, I’ll get Luke in here to pry it open. I’ll not have ye heapin’ worry on your mistress’s shoulders.”
“Do what ye will, but I’ll not swallow till I have the truth.”
“Ye are a stubborn devil.” Nan muttered a few curses. “The truth is, there is precious little powder left, this bein’ the last portion. Now, either ye’ll drink or I’ll wash me hands of ye and dispatch the men to start diggin’ yer grave.”
A faint smile spread across Zach’s pale face. “Ye always did know how to charm a man, Nan. Who else is sick?”
“The same as before ye started troublin’ us this mornin’, that’s who. Now drink!”
“The truth, Nan, for I can see in yer eyes that ye’re keepin’ somethin’ from me.”
Nan sighed and shook her head. “All right, but tellin’ makes no difference. Ye must still drink.”
“Out with it, woman!”
“The mistress awoke early this mornin’ to find Jamie shiverin’ with fever. Sure and ’tis the ague.”
“Lord!” Zach closed his eyes. “And ye’d have given me the last of the powder, savin’ none for the child?”
“Jamie has already had one draught. It is your mistress’s wish that the last be split between all who are ill and the rest be left to God.”
Zach shook his head, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “I’ll not take medicine from a child. Take that to Jamie.”