When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  “Thought? Admit it, you only now have decided to marry him because of your family debts.”

  “You don’t know anything about me. About my family. You’re nothing in my life. Nothing!”

  “Nothing?” he repeated, a challenging glint in his eye. “Your family is in debt. You’ve agreed to marry Wycliffe in order to keep them from losing Travers Hill.”

  “My family is everything to me,” Leigh whispered.

  “And I am nothing.”

  “You have nothing to do with this. Just go back to the territories. Back to the memory of your beloved wife. And leave me alone. I don’t understand why you’re saying these things to me. What does it matter to you?” she challenged.

  “Maybe I’m not just interested in a dalliance as you claim.”

  Leigh pressed her hand against his chest, trying to push free from his embrace, to gather her strength against him, against the seduction of his words.

  “Am I to feel honored by such a declaration? Whether you are interested in a dalliance, or more than a dalliance, is of no concern to me.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “For once be truthful. Admit that there is an attraction between us. Or am I to assume that you kiss every stranger like you kissed me?” he asked insultingly.

  “If you think that, then—”

  “No, Leigh. I don’t believe that. And that is why I’m here. And I think you know that too.”

  Leigh swallowed the fear rising inside of her. “If I felt a momentary attraction to you, then that was all it was,” she said, trying to laugh. “Infatuation, Mr. Braedon. That was all it was,” Leigh said bravely, almost convincing herself that it was true.

  “Prove it to me.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  “Scared? No? Then prove that you’re in love with Wycliffe. If you can, then I’ll leave you alone, and agree with you that we were briefly infatuated with one another, and I’ll trouble you no longer,” he said, but he didn’t give her a chance to answer him, and his mouth closed over her slightly parted lips as he kissed her deeply, moving so she had to lean against him or fall.

  Leigh shuddered uncontrollably at his touch. His mouth was hard against hers. His lips were rough and demanding, then soft and persuasive, barely touching hers. They lifted for a tantalizing second before they returned to claim possession again, the pressure even deeper until her mouth parted wider, allowing a more intimate contact between them as his tongue touched her lips, sliding along them and feeling their shape, then moving between to touch and taste the moist softness of her tongue.

  His arms held her against him, until each breath she struggled to draw into her lungs became his. His hands followed the smooth, tapering contours of her back, then settled possessively around her waist for a moment, holding the slender roundness clasped between, and held so easily by his greater strength, before moving to caress her arms, one of his hands sliding the thin gauze of her sleeve from her shoulder to leave it bare beneath his hand. He slid his hand down, to touch the soft rise of breast, the heat from her flesh sweetly scented as his fingers slipped underneath the edge of her loosened bodice and found the delicate nipple that had budded beneath. To feel it taut and hardened was proof enough for him.

  He released her lips, his mouth moving along her flushed cheek to her ear, where he nibbled gently, the heady perfume of jessamine and roses from the garden entwined in the thick braid of chestnut hair crowning her head forever to bring memories of Leigh Travers to his mind.

  “Deny me. Deny what is between us, Leigh, and you damn us both,” he told her harshly, then becoming still, hope filling him, when he felt her touching him, her breasts pressed against him as she caressed his neck as her hands moved to cradle his head, her fingers sliding into the curls of golden hair that just barely touched his collar, her lips opening beneath his, no longer denying him as she sought his kiss.

  “There you are, Braedon!” Guy’s slurred voice sounded out of the darkness. “I thought I saw you come out here. Want to finish that business once and for all.”

  Leigh heard her brother’s voice and stiffened in Neil’s arms, then she tried to move free of his embrace, but he would not release her. “Please, let me go,” she begged, trying to pull up her sleeve with an unsteady hand, suddenly feeling the coolness of the evening air against her bared breast.

  For what seemed an eternity, he stared down into her face, memorizing each feature, her lips soft and full from his kiss, her eyes heavy with the passion they had shared. His hands tightened unconsciously on the delicate bones of her shoulders for a second, then he released her and turned to face Guy, a dangerous glint in his pale eyes.

  “Guy?” Leigh questioned worriedly as she moved from behind Neil and watched her brother stagger forward drunkenly. But despite his condition, she had never been so happy to see someone in her life. His timely arrival had saved her from betraying her family—and of betraying her own honor. She had promised to marry another man and she would not dishonor him. A moment of stolen passion, with a stranger, in a darkened garden, could not answer for a lifetime of shame.

  “Leigh? What are you doing out here with this swine? Trying to take liberties with you, has he? Not surprising. He’s no gentleman, Leigh. Could’ve told you that.”

  “No, Guy. He was…was just offering me his congratulations on my betrothal,” Leigh said, not looking at Neil, even though she felt his piercing stare when she made her explanation. “And…and he wanted to know if I was interested in selling Capitaine,” Leigh added, remembering her conversation earlier in the evening with a man who, despite her refusals, was determined to buy the colt.

  “The fool. You’ll never sell him. Capitaine is not for sale, Braedon, and never to you even if he was. Go inside, Leigh. Braedon and I have some unfinished business to take care of. I won’t be but just a minute,” he said arrogantly, thinking to deal quickly with Braedon.

  “What is this about, Guy?”

  “Won’t race me. Knows I’ll beat him. Says I don’t have anything he wants. Doesn’t think I’ll pay my debt to him. Well, I’m a gentleman, and I always pay my debts, even to riffraff like him. But I’ve a far better way of paying this one,” he said, stepping closer, and into the light.

  “No, Guy. Please. Put it down!” Leigh cried when she caught sight of the pistol in his hand.

  “Went and got my dueling pistols. My gentleman’s toys, as you called them, Mister Braedon. We’ll see who’s the best shot since you’re too much the coward to race me, to give me the chance to win back what I lost to you, like a real gentleman would have. Well, I challenge you, sir, to a duel,” he said, stepping forward unsteadily and slapping Neil across the face with one of his gloves. “Turned me down in front of my friends, made me look the fool, well, try to turn me down this time, sir, and you’ll be branded the coward I already know you to be.”

  “Guy, stop it!”

  “Stay out of this, Leigh. This is between Braedon and me. We’ll finish it here and now. We’ll see how accurate my pistols are at twenty paces, eh, Braedon?” he said, holding out the other pistol he carried for Neil to accept, which he did.

  “Oh, Guy, no, don’t!” Leigh cried, too late, for Guy had already walked across the garden to take a stand before an old cedar, his pistol held out before him, and remarkably steady considering all that he had consumed. He took aim on his opponent.

  But neither Leigh nor especially Guy could believe what happened next. A knife had embedded itself in the tree beside his head. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it landed where it had been carefully aimed. Limply, Guy dropped his arm, stunned by how close to death he had come.

  “I will not duel with you, Mr. Travers,” Neil told him.

  But Guy, drunk as he was, or perhaps because of it, felt a surge of pride and courage quickening in his Travers blood. “I insist, sir,” he responded, raising his arm and the pistol again.

  “Very well, sir, but this is hard
ly a fair match. You have been warned.”

  “I insist, sir! ’Tis a matter of honor.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Please, you can’t do this!” Leigh pleaded, rushing between them. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he is doing.”

  “Ah, but I do, sister dear. Will ten paces serve, sir, rather than twenty?”

  “Quite acceptable.”

  “On the count, sir?”

  “At your discretion, Mr. Travers,” Neil responded cordially.

  “Please, Leigh, get out of the line of fire.”

  “No, no, I won’t move! Stop this! This is madness. You don’t hate each other. You are not enemies. No real harm has been done. Your damned pride. That is what it is all about, Guy.”

  “I would advise you to move, Miss Travers,” Neil advised, playing with the gun as if testing its weight and probable accuracy. “Very nice.”

  “I did tell you so, sir.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, no, please,” Leigh cried again, glancing between the two men as if they were crazed. But Guy, with a casualness that bespoke his drunken state, had stepped slightly to her right, and had taken aim again on Neil’s tall form.

  Neither man spoke. Suddenly there was a flash of fire, then smoke, the roaring of the pistol deafening.

  Leigh stared at Guy in disbelief, but he continued to stand upright, his eyes never leaving Neil.

  Leigh followed his gaze, dread filling her, but Neil had not fallen. He still stood.

  “My shot, I believe.”

  Even through his drunken haze, Guy, upon meeting Neil’s eyes, knew that death awaited him. But he stayed where he was, facing it with the pride he had been born with. “I hope your aim is as good as you have claimed, sir. I do not wish to linger. And ’twould be even worse to be maimed.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Neil said, his lips twitching slightly.

  “Thank you.”

  “You can’t shoot him!”

  “Leigh,” was all Guy said, shaking his head.

  “I wonder. What is your brother’s life worth?” Neil asked, his pistol aimed at Guy’s heart.

  Leigh stared at Neil, wondering what kind of man he was to bargain with another man’s life. But Neil had no intention of killing Guy Travers, despite the fact that Guy had not missed his shot. His aim had been almost on target, and a wound now bled in Neal’s shoulder.

  “What do you want?”

  “Your brother has nothing I want, but you, Miss Travers, do.”

  Leigh glanced around, wondering why no one had heard the shot, but as she looked toward the house, she heard the sound of music and voices. No one would have heard anything unusual, and certainly not a gunshot they were not expecting to hear.

  “Go on, Braedon! Get it over with!” Guy said, his nerves finally beginning to tighten under the strain. “Pull the trigger!”

  “What do you want for my brother’s life?” Leigh asked him.

  Neil wanted to hurt her, wanted to take something dear from her. “I’ll take your colt, Miss Travers. Give me the colt, and your brother lives,” he said, hating himself in that instant for what he did, but he had lost her, and he wanted her to suffer some of the pain he was feeling. When he left Virginia, she would not soon forget him. He would take something dear to her heart with him. And she would remember him.

  Leigh stared at him in disbelief.

  “You claim to love this family of yours so much that you’d even marry to save them, so won’t you give up this prized colt of yours for your brother’s life, Miss Travers? Too great a sacrifice?”

  “You can’t be serious?” Guy scoffed, feeling as if he’d already been shot. “Leigh loves that colt,” he said, glancing over at his sister in dismay, and finally feeling some of the guilt for his actions.

  “I’m very serious, Mr. Travers. I can use that colt. Far more than I can your death on my conscience. And remember this, when you die, your debts would become your family’s. I would, however, consider your debt paid, if I received your sister’s colt as payment. Surely your life is worth that much? I came to Virginia to buy horses. This colt would suit my needs admirably. And since I will, no doubt, not be welcomed tomorrow at the auction, I’ll make my bid now. I want the colt.”

  “You bastard!” Guy said, slumping against the tree.

  “It’s a deal, Mr. Braedon,” Leigh told him, feeling as if she were truly seeing him for the first time, and he was once again a stranger to her.

  Neil lowered the pistol, uncocking it. “Your debt is paid in full, Mr. Travers,” he told Guy.

  “Don’t ever show your face on Travers property again,” Guy warned, “or next time, you won’t walk away.”

  “You needn’t fear, for I will not be returning.”

  “We’ll send Capitaine over to Royal Bay. Don’t bother coming by to collect your winnings,” Guy told him. “I’ll shoot you for trespassing if you show your devil’s face around here again.”

  “Believe me, you’ll be in hell when you see my face again,” he told him.

  “What’s going on here?” a voice demanded, and recognizing it, Leigh turned to see Matthew coming toward them.

  Neil glanced back only once. He saw Leigh running across the garden and into the outstretched arms of Matthew Wycliffe.

  Part Two

  Virginia—Winter 1864

  In the winter wild.

  John Milton

  Twelve

  ’Tis the last rose of summer,

  Left blooming alone;

  All her lovely companions

  Are faded and gone.

  Thomas Moore

  The dense woodland was quiet. The trees, barren of leaf, stood like sentinels against the gathering dusk, the ashen sky above darkening with clouds that were sullen and heavy with the approaching storm.

  A low rumbling of thunder sounded beyond the hills in the distance. Echoing closer was another, far more ominous sound that became discordant as it grew louder. It was the sound of marching feet as foot soldiers trudged along the muddy road, packs weighing them down, their muskets and rifles held at the ready in case of ambush. The sound of horses’ hooves and the creaking of harness and ringing of spurs followed as the cavalry came next, outriders racing ahead to reconnoiter. Then came the artillery, with a rumbling of wheels as cannons and guns were pulled along behind, followed by the cracking of the teamsters’ whips as mules strained against the heavy weight of wagons loaded with supplies and baggage, and ambulances crowded with the wounded and dying. It was an army on the move. But with darkness falling, the commander would soon call a halt to his troops’ march, setting up picket lines as they made camp. The warm glow of fires would appear in the darkness as they settled in for the long night, the lonely outposts keeping guard against surprise attack.

  “Who do you think they are?” came a disembodied voice from a tangle of bushes in a thicket nearby.

  “Where the hell did they come from?”

  “Reckon it could be a ghost column? Marchin’ through the night with ol’ Stonewall Jackson himself leadin’ them into battle, chargin’ the front line on that ol’ sorrel of his?” someone asked, his imagination heightened by the surrounding gloom. Another soldier, tired and cold, and scared, glanced around, almost expecting to see a ghost rider in gray, saber drawn, come charging up behind him, his mount snorting fire and damnation.

  “That Stonewall Brigade of his sure fought hard when retaking Romney,” another man remembered.

  “I was there at the first, at Bull Run, when he stood there like a stone wall orderin’ the charge. Still got a scar on my shoulder from the bayonet wound given me by one of them damned Virginians. Thought a devil was comin’ at me the way that fella was screamin’ fer my blood.”

  “Heard tell some of his men called him Old Blue Light, so God-fearin’ and pious was he.”

  “Holy as that, eh? Reckon he could still be out there ridin’ right now. Man like that don’t die easy nor rest when he does.”
<
br />   “And to think he was shot down at Chancellorsville by one of his own men mistakin’ him fer the enemy.”

  “Hush!” a throaty whisper cautioned. “You want him to hear, and he ain’t dead. Leastways, not yet.”

  “Shucks, hear anything over that ruckus? Besides, he disappeared across the meadow. ’Course even o’er there he could hear you break wind. Seems as if he can see in the dark better ’n most can in the daylight, so reckon he can hear better too. Betcha it’s a column of butternuts. Ain’t goin’ to be any bluecoats, ’ceptin’ fer us, this deep behind enemy lines.”

  “Unless you want him after you, Bucktail,” someone advised the Pennsylvanian, “I’d be as quiet as a mouse within spittin’ distance of a cat’s whisker.”

  “Faith, but ye’d better be listenin’ to him now, don’t want to end up way down in Georgia, stuck in Andersonville like a flea-bitten rat, d’ye? Nothin’ comes out of there alive, even the plague. And I’m thinkin’ I wouldn’t want to be buried in red clay without receivin’ the last rites, some Baptist preacher standin’ over me instead. Aye, me poor soul would be damned then, and me mother, bless her, would turn in her grave to think a Protestant was prayin’ over her only son.”

  “If anyone gets us caught, then it’ll be you, you bigmouthed mick, and your mother is still alive. You had a letter from her just last month, read it to you myself.”

  “All the way from Ireland? Thought yer mam couldn’t read nor write?”

  “Well now, she’d heard about the fightin’ over here, and she got the fine and fancy lady she does washin’ fer to write it down fer her. That worried she was, that she sent me her own cross, and blessed by the same priest who was there fer me christenin’.”

  “He’s got a lot to answer for.”

  “Well, I’m wearin’ it now, around me neck, and it’s kept me safe, and against me heart I’ve me dear mother’s lovin’ words, and written by a beautiful, kindhearted lady, so ’tis double-blessed, I am. Besides, I fear him more than I do a whole regiment of graybacks.”