“I’m so pleased to hear that. I have to tell you, Annie, you’ll be getting a handful with this stubborn fellow. Grady is the lucky one. Your, um, situation hasn’t been exactly a well kept secret, and I’ve been thinking. This place is big, too big for those of us who live here. I’d be pleased to let you have the large bedchamber in the north wing, and run of the house as far as the kitchen is concerned, if you two in turn would continue to work for me, at an increase in salaries, of course.”
Grady’s grin split his plain face, and Annie laughed and bobbed her head, their hands clasped.
“If you need to think about it, that’s fine,” Blair teased.
“No, Captain. I think we’re both pleased to work for you. That’s most generous of you.”
“Well, we can’t have you sharing those small servants’ quarters, now can we? And while we’re about it, what is with Lizza? She appears to be very happy working here, though she’s here as a guest.”
“You would need to ask her, sir.” Annie patted Grady’s shoulder. “But I don’t think she would be insulted if you were to offer her a job. She’s beginning to feel as if she’s imposing, though she helps out with the cooking and a bit of cleaning as well. Says as long as you allow her to remain here, it’s the least she can do.”
“Well, then, it’s time she is paid more than room and board. I shall approach her. I’m sure you appreciate the help in this big place. Do you think we need to hire more hands? I believe that’s the term these westerners use.”
“Grady could use some help with the outdoor chores. There’s the wood and the fires to keep up, the animals to feed and care for, and the milking, plus he runs all the errands…”
Grady tapped her hand gently and shook his head. Annie flushed and broke off. “Sorry, sir.”
“Not at all. I’m thinking of buying some riding horses. Morgans, like Sarge, not those little ponies we rode in England. In that case, we would need a stable hand to help care for the stock. And Grady, I’d like you to care for the horses. Be the groom. That can wait until spring.”
Grady nodded. “Suits me very well. That be all, sir, we’ll get on in to town so we can get back for tea time. Fine weather we’re having. Sure hope it holds for the party. And I’ll not forget to talk to Mom about coming to see you.”
****
Blair met with Hildegarde Smythe the week before the Christmas party. Simmons escorted her to the study, where he waited in his favorite chair by the window, a book in his lap.
Because this meeting was private, Rowena had kissed him and hurried off to supervise plans for the party.
Smythe wore an ankle-length plaid skirt topped with a heavy brown shirt belted at the waist, her long gray hair tied back by a flowing orange scarf. No sign of hoops or a corset to support her somewhat heavy breasts. He made to rise to greet the oddly dressed woman.
“Oh, please. Do remain seated, Lord Prescott,” she said in a low-pitched voice, then turned to Simmons.
“I will only be able to make two calls here this week. Lord Prescott will have to arrange to see me at my office after the first of the year. I do not like to venture out after the weather turns bad.” She shivered. “I do not suppose I will ever get accustomed to these harsh winters.”
Simmons exchanged a look with Blair.
“That will be quite acceptable,” Blair said as if she had addressed him. Odd that she hadn’t. Perhaps she thought him quite mad and unreasonable.
“Ah,” she said and flushed, both hands cupping her cheeks. “I do beg your pardon, sir.”
Blair nodded. “Please, sit here where it’s comfortable. I apologize for the bed, it’s only temporary until I can climb stairs again.”
“This is quite cozy. May I call you something besides Lord Prescott?”
He smiled. “Whatever you would like. May I call you something besides Mrs. Smythe?”
Her laughter told him what he wanted to know. She had a sense of humor.
“Of course, dear boy. Shall we settle on Blair and Hilda? If you don’t think that too personal.”
“Done. Now, are you going to be rubbing my head, or what?”
“Eventually. What has the good Doctor Proctor told you about these sessions?”
“Not a lot. I would be more interested in what he’s told you about me.”
“Only that he suggested you consult me for your problems, but not what they were. That is personal information, and not something he could share. You shall reveal what you wish.” She paused and studied him closely. “I will admit I expected someone of rather, um, well less—”
“Good sense? Perhaps I should drool for you.”
Again that throaty laugh. “Not at all. Certainly not. I simply expected you to be more confused over what has happened to you. You aren’t the first patient I’ve treated suffering from nostalgia. Some call it soldier’s heart.”
“Sounds almost poetic. An odd name to put on something so dark and upsetting.” Blair gazed out the window at the vast prairie of dried grasses, blown free of snow by a brutal wind. It was hard to talk about any of this, even to someone there for that purpose. But he would try.
“So perhaps I can expect you to help me. He said I could tell you anything. Things I don’t dare tell anyone else for fear they will hate me. Some are so very private, though. I wonder if it will help at all to relate them.”
“My dear Blair, you must rid yourself of that fear, and perhaps we can help you do that. People who love you are bound to understand much more than you think they will.” She glanced at him with a knowing wink. “Or at the least, tolerate it.”
He liked this woman, liked her a lot, but how much he could tell her remained to be seen. No one who had not been through war, seen what he’d seen, and, worse, done some of the things he’d done, could possibly understand how he felt or why he sometimes experienced those times again. Not as memories, but as if he’d been dropped back onto the killing fields. He didn’t understand that himself. But she was correct. It was possible that those who loved him could tolerate his odd behavior if they were allowed to know what caused it.
With a great deal of reluctance he admitted to her how he sometimes saw and heard things that were not real, but seemed so real, so threatening that he reacted accordingly. She moved to stand behind his chair and spread her strong fingers over his scalp in a way that felt so good he closed his eyes and sighed.
She said “hmm” and “aha” a few times, then massaged some more, but said nothing about what she thought, just urged him to talk about how he felt regarding his own experiences and reactions. She listened thoughtfully. He finally admitted that he thought himself quite mad when these attacks came upon him, and often distanced himself from Rowena because he feared hurting her.
“Is she frightened of you?”
“No, she says not, and I would never hurt her intentionally. I love her. She’s my lifeline to reality. I regret having to tell her to be fearful of me when I’m having one of my nightmares.” He would eventually tell this woman of the agreement he’d made with the three Duncan women, but didn’t feel it pertinent now.
“How often do you have those?”
“Hard to keep track. When she holds my hand against her heart, I am sometimes able to get through a night without one. She says her heartbeat connects us and she is protecting me. Of course, that is rubbish, but still, why it works I cannot explain.”
Her strange violet eyes flickered, and she held his gaze for a long moment. “Have you considered that you have bonded with her? Tell me, have you entertained thoughts of killing yourself?”
The switch confused him, and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to reply. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. But I may have.” Blair instantly wondered why he had admitted that to her. He didn’t know her. How could he trust her? Could she have him committed, like Proctor and Weatherby had both suggested? He would have to be very careful.
She rose from the chair where she’d been seated after massage his head, moved to him, a
nd reached out. He took her hand and was amazed at the compassion of her touch.
“My dear boy. I am not here to judge you, only to help you. Please believe me when I say that my desire is only to give you peace. No matter what you tell me, there will be no consequences.” Her thin lips lifted into a wry smile. “Consider me your priest, if you will.”
She held his gaze for a long while, almost as if she could read his mind, then patted the back of his hand. “Well, look there how time flies. I must leave, but I shall return Friday at the same time. You will be ready for me?”
He nodded at the gentle demand, and she turned loose of him, her long fingers dragging along his palm.
He wasn’t sure the session had gained them anything, yet he felt strangely calm. She appeared satisfied and said when she returned they would get “closer to the bone.” Her exact words. Closer to the bone.
It seemed a very odd thing to say.
Chapter Sixteen
Rowena’s Journal December 14, 1875
I’ve thrown myself wholly into helping Annie, Nellie, and Lizza prepare for the Christmas party. They taught me that the idea of Christmas celebration is new to westerners. Americans do not observe the holiday like we Victorians do. As I’m to act as hostess, much of the organization will fall on me.
Annie has allowed my help cooking for Fairhaven’s celebration, and so for recipes, I suggested we consult Marguerite to learn how to make the pies, sweets, and—most important of all—the cooking of the meats.
In the end, she and Mr. Chesshire have volunteered to help us prepare for the party. Of course, they were already invited to take part in the celebration.
I continue to worry about Blair and how he will handle this great gathering at Fairhaven. He spends much of the time while I’m occupied stumping up and down the halls, hoping to strengthen his good leg. Says it also helps him pass the time. What he doesn’t tell me is if his ghosts accompany him.
Blair had a great deal of difficulty accommodating himself to Rowena’s sleep schedule. Accustomed to riding all night and sleeping most of the day, it was a struggle for him. Yet it was for the best. Being with her calmed him, and he desired to sleep with her all night every night.
Walking the halls each day to strengthen his body, he expected a bloody apparition to appear from every dark corner. And often it did.
One morning Rowena sat across from Blair in one of the reading chairs. Both were still in night clothes, and she wore one of his satin robes that swallowed her slight frame. Her legs were drawn up into the chair, her head leaned back, with a look on her face like the cat who’d been at the cream.
“I’m not sure whether it is that Smythe woman or some magic you wove,” he said, “but I feel better this morning than I have in months, perhaps even years. Free. Tranquil.”
“I might easily say the same of myself. We are so much better together than apart.”
“Yes, we are.” After a length of comfortable silence, he said, “Undo your hair.”
She lifted the heavy braid she wore at night to keep her long hair from tangling all around her as she slept.
“Yes, please. Come here. Sit on the floor and let me do it.”
Still that satisfied smile on her face, she did as he asked, carefully arranging herself so as not to bump the damaged leg. He tugged at the braid, removed the tie and, beginning at the end, ran his fingers through the twisted strands until her hair lay around her shoulders and covered her breasts.
“God, you’re beautiful. Do you have a hair brush?”
“Yes, but it’s in my room.”
“Would you mind if we used mine? I want to brush your hair.”
Winding a strand around her finger, she ran her tongue over her lips, so they shone in the morning light. “Where is it?”
“In the top drawer of the desk are my personal things. It’s in there.”
She uncoiled, rose, lifted the robe so as not to trip over it, and fetched his brush. Strands of her golden hair caught beams of sunlight when she passed by the window. Cupping the brush between her breasts, she sank to the floor beside him.
“You can brush my hair on one condition.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“That you let me brush yours.”
“Better do mine first, then.” Most of the wounds sustained in the battle with Calumet had healed into scars that he was assured would disappear. His grin lit up his face and sent happiness flowing through her warm as a summer sun. “I have a feeling one thing may lead to another when I get my hands in that mass of loveliness.”
“My, aren’t you waxing poetic today.” She rose, stood behind him, and brushed his dark hair, fingers threading through its thick mass, until static snapped between the bristles.
“This is very sensual.” She leaned down and kissed the scar at his temple. “I love you.” Whispered near his ear, which she nibbled at.
He held out a hand. “No more stalling. Brush, please.”
She gave it to him, then sank to the floor between his spread legs. “Not hurting you, am I?”
“No, my love. You’re fine.”
He pulled the brush slowly through her hair, beginning at her forehead and finishing at the end with each stroke. After he finished, he used his fingers to spread the long strands, kinked from the braid, then lifted a handful of glistening locks and kissed the nape of her neck. For a long while he contented himself with brushing and kissing. Her satisfied sounds, much like the purring of a cat, stirred him to the very core.
“Rowena?”
“Mmmm?”
“Could you get on your knees facing me? Take off the robe?”
She complied, kneeling naked before him, and glanced up with shining eyes. He brushed in long strokes until her hair lay like ripples of silken threads over her bare breasts. With the palm of his hand he stroked the hair over one breast, then the other, as if petting her. Beneath his gentle touch, her nipples grew taut. She arched her neck and hummed a low, sweet note.
“Would you stand?” Taking hold of both her shoulders, he eased her body upright. As if mesmerized, she swayed within his grasp.
“Lean forward, my love.”
She did, and he nuzzled through the golden curtain to the mound of one breast. Kissed her there ever so gently, then with fervor. He massaged the other breast, then spread the strands of hair and felt his way through its masses to place his mouth over the nipple. How could anything feel this good? The humming trembled through her lips. Shudders ran deeply through her. He continued until she trembled. The humming grew into moans, then cries.
“Oh, God, Blair. Do that again.”
Desperate to be inside her, Blair held back. Hesitated. Something was wrong. A litany of voices grew, overcame him, and he fell back in the chair, writhed under an assault that blinded him with noise, explosions, pleas for mercy. Roger stepped through the darkness, blood flowing from a hole in his chest.
Blair ground his teeth and slumped down in the chair.
****
Rowena shrugged into the robe, ran to the table, and wet a cloth in the wash pan of cool water. Hurrying back to him, she found his body sprawled half out of the chair, weight pressing on the bad leg. She couldn’t move him by herself without hurting him, so she ran to the bell pull and summoned Simmons with such frantic yanks that he arrived on the run.
“Can we put him in the bed?” she asked without explanation.
“Yes, mum. Of course. You hold his bad leg, and I’ll lift him by the shoulders.”
Together they dragged Blair to the bed and situated him comfortably, her stumbling over the hem of the robe she wore. Simmons quickly looked away while she retied it around herself. Though he didn’t ask, she felt as if she should partially explain.
“We were…talking, and he just started shouting. It wasn’t as bad as some times, but he had a spell, short and quick, and he passed out.”
Simmons nodded. “He’s not unconscious. More like he’s sleeping. I think he’ll be all right. Don’t you w
orry any, mum. He’s fine. We should be grateful it wasn’t of very long duration.”
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she took Blair’s hand, sat beside him on the bed. “He will be very upset when he awakens.”
“He did not get violent, did he?”
“No, of course not. I’m going to stay with him.”
“Then I will leave. If you need me, just let me know.”
“Thank you.”
He awoke to find her sitting beside him, staring into his features with moist eyes.
“Good morning,” he said.
“It’s afternoon, sweetheart. Are you feeling all right?” she asked. He appeared not to remember the episode. Whether she should tell him or not, she didn’t yet know.
“I’m fine. I guess I fell asleep. I’m sorry, it must have been boring, staying here and watching me sleep. Thanks for being here. Did I come awake swinging with both fists?”
“Not at all. Anyway, I know how to dodge.” She smiled and traced his lips with the tip of her forefinger. He made to bite it and she let him, then yanked it away. He laughed, and she joined him, then went into his arms. No need to talk about it. Somehow he had managed to avoid one of the episodes by going to sleep. She would speak to the doctor about that. It was a good sign, wasn’t it?
****
For Rowena the days flew by, and she happily threw herself into final preparations for the party, with Blair joining in where he could. The grand hall, the parlor, and the formal dining room each had a large Christmas tree on which candles would be lit the night of the party. Ribbons and bows and pine boughs hung on the walls, their fragrance filling every room. Sweets, special treats manufactured in England and ordered from New York by Chesshire’s Emporium, came wrapped individually and were placed in large baskets near the door. Each guest would be given one when they departed.
RSVPs arrived almost daily, delivered by westerners on horseback who worked for the Victorian families. Many were invited in to see the decorations, something new to Americans who generally celebrated Christmas by attending church and eating a sumptuous meal. No trees or gift exchanges such as the Victorians were accustomed to.
Rowena's Hellion Page 26