When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  “Don’t you mean received? The terms were agreed upon. No one forced you to make the decision you did. You, apparently, valued quite highly your brother’s profligate life,” Neil interrupted, reminding her of the circumstances, despite the fact that he wasn’t proud of what he had done that night.

  “My mistake,” she said silkily. “I was trying to spare you the embarrassment of reminding you of your threat to murder my brother if I didn’t give you Capitaine,” Leigh said, trying to free her arm and step away from him, but she was drawn even closer against him.

  “I seem to recall it was my shot, and since your brother had already wounded me, I believe I was being extremely lenient with him. He needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “Yes, he learned his lesson well, and he may have forgiven you, but I haven’t.”

  “Forgiven me, your brother, the hotheaded Guy Travers?”

  “He’s changed. He says you had every right to do what you did. He blames himself for the loss of my colt, not you.”

  “Amazing,” Neil murmured, genuinely surprised. “But you, of course, have not forgiven me?”

  The half smile tantalized Neil as he watched it slowly appear, a challenging look in her eye. “Yes, I have forgiven you,” she surprised him even further by declaring. “If you hadn’t stolen Capitaine from me, he would probably have met an agonizing death on the battlefield. I would rather see him belong even to the likes of you than have him die so horribly,” she told him, the quietness of her voice adding to its angry intensity. “So, I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she taunted. “You thought to hurt me that night, to steal something precious from me, but, you see, you actually did me a favor. Now let me go, and take your men and leave us in peace,” she told him, struggling to get away from him and the blazing anger that had flared in his pale eyes.

  Suddenly, she was free, and she stepped away triumphantly, too late realizing he now held possession of the quilt, and he pulled it from her, letting it drop to the floor as he bared her nakedness to him.

  Standing so close to her, he had breathed the sweet scent of lavender and roses, mingling with the heady fragrance of jessamine, rising from her warm bare flesh, the velvety smoothness of her pale shoulders curving enticingly above the scalloped edge of the quilt. Her unbound, silken hair, bronzed with firelight dancing in it, moved sensuously around her, one golden-brown strand veiling part of her heart-shaped face, outlining the delicate line of cheek and jaw, and drawing his gaze to her eyes, darkened into indigo with her anger, and never more mysterious to him than now behind their thick fringe of long, golden-tipped dark brown lashes.

  For just an instant, Leigh stood as if rooted to the floor, stunned with embarrassment, especially when she glanced up to see his gaze moving over her lingeringly, caressingly. Indignation and anger warred with her initial embarrassment as she took a step to retrieve the quilt, but before she could reach it, Neil Braedon’s hands had closed over her shoulders, then his arm was like a vise around her waist, his other arm sliding behind her shoulders, his hand resting lightly against her ribs, just touching the curve of her breast.

  She stood so slender and pliant in his arms. He bent her back over his arm, staring down into her face for a long moment before he lowered his mouth to hers, finding it even as she turned her head away, easily claiming her slightly parted lips as she tried to catch her breath. They molded to his as his kiss deepened, his tongue finding hers and touching it, feeling and tasting its softness. Lifting his mouth from hers, her lips seemed to cling to his for an instant, then he pressed her even further over his arm, holding her so her hips and thighs were pressed against him and the aching hardness in his loins. He stared down at her soft breasts, the rose-tinted nipples hardened and erect with desire. He lowered his lips and touched one of her nipples, his lips brushing against the taut bud, teasing it, his tongue licking it and the paler pink areola surrounding it. He could feel her heart pounding beneath her ribs, the slender cage that stood guard over her heart outlined delicately beneath her flesh.

  She seemed so defenseless in his arms, he thought, his hand moving from her waist and over the soft roundness of her buttocks, pressing the smooth flesh against him, feeling the roughness of his buckskins rubbing against her bare skin, and heightening his awareness of her nakedness.

  He found her mouth again, tasting of its sweetness, his breath becoming hers as the kiss deepened while his hand fondled her hip. Moving intimately lower, sliding into the curling hair between her thighs, his fingers were gentle against the vulnerable curve of soft warm flesh hidden there.

  He felt her body briefly stiffen at his intrusion, her hand on his, trying to protect herself as if she were still a virgin unused to a man’s sexual intimacies with her body. Then she surrendered, her fragrant warmth melting against him. The throbbing hardness of his manhood pressed against his breeches, seeking the exquisite release that only spilling his seed deep inside of her would bring. He wanted to feel himself embedded within her soft body, to hear her cry out as he took her to the heights of passion, knowing that he had made her forget the touch of any man but himself. And he would make her forget. He had not imagined the softness of her lips quivering beneath his, returning his caress. He knew not what game of seduction she played, but she had responded and she would again, he promised, pulling her closer…

  “Captain! Captain! You in there, sir?”

  As if through a haze, Neil heard the voice he recognized as one of his men’s calling his name from the far end of the narrow hallway. He shook his head, clearing it.

  Releasing Leigh, he bent down and picked up the quilt, wrapping it around her quivering body. For a brief second he stared down into her lovely face, her lips reddened from his kisses, her dark blue eyes drowsy with passion, and he knew that there would be another time for them.

  He would find a way to come back for her, to make her his. He wasn’t going to lose her again, he vowed as he walked away from her for the second time in his life.

  Sixteen

  Oft in the stilly night,

  Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,

  Fond memory brings the light

  Of other days around me;

  The smiles, the tears,

  Of boyhood’s years,

  The words of love then spoken;

  The eyes that shone

  Now dimmed and gone,

  The cheerful hearts now broken.

  Thomas Moore

  “Still can’t believe you goin’ after the cap’n like that. Got the nerve, you do, when he told everyone to stay put.”

  “He was gone too long,” the man in question defended himself. “Figured that lil’ reb could’ve stuck them scissors in him and buried him out back with them rebs if she was of a mind to. Never know ’bout a woman, ’specially one as pretty as her. Be as sweet as an’ angel one minute, then spittin’ an’ scratchin’ like a wildcat the next. Get you when you least expect it. Reckon the cap’n fell fer them blue eyes of hers, ’cause the way the cap’n was watchin’ her he wouldn’t have been thinkin’ straight. Never seen the cap’n so hot fer a woman before. Could almost see the sparks flyin’ between them. Thought he was goin’ to catch fire and take her right there in the stables. Reckon they had some unfinished business between them, the cap’n sayin’ they was old friends. Wouldn’t mind bein’ that kind of friend myself. Wonder how they met in the first place. Figure the cap’n’s got family ’round these parts? Sure knows the land, so he must, though he don’t talk like no Virginian I ever heard. Besides, thought I’d better find him, ’cause swear I heard hounds barkin’.”

  “’Twas from inside the house, I tell ya.”

  “Nope, comin’ from back towards the woods. Figure they got hounds trackin’ us. Know it’s the only way they’re goin’ to catch us. Thought the cap’n oughta know, an’ might not even have heard, him still bein’ in the house, his mind on other things. ’Cause I saw him go in, an’ he hadn’t come back out.”

  “Damn ’em, bringin’ in blood
hounds to sniff out the Bloodriders,” someone spat and cursed in the same breath.

  “Good thing the cap’n didn’t try to ford the river upstream a-ways. They got gunboats patrolling it, and they would’ve caught us, and I’ve already seen two patrols walkin’ the banks both sides the river. Never seen so many folks millin’ ’bout like they knew what they was doin’. We sure stumbled into a hornets’ nest this time,” the Bucktail said worriedly, wondering if it wouldn’t have been wiser to have stayed in the streambed they’d ridden through to throw off the scent of their trail.

  But his captain didn’t slow his pace any as he led his men straight for the bend in the river. The gentle rise of hill it wended around, crowned by a steep cliff overlooking the black waters below, and the thick stand of woods surrounding the base, seemed the ideal place to set a trap for unsuspecting riders.

  “Where the hell is the captain takin’ us?”

  “My horse ain’t goin’ to hold McGuire and me for much longer. Don’t want him comin’ up lame. Never will get out of this damned reb territory. Never seen so many graybacks in my life. Figure that whole column we saw yesterday come back across the river and camped just upstream.”

  “An’ wouldn’t you know the moon would show its round, sickly face ’bout now. What happened to them clouds when we need some cover? Feel as naked as if I was sittin’ in a room full of people without my breeches on.”

  “No one’s goin’ to get too excited, reckon they ain’t goin’ to see much,” someone snickered.

  “Don’t worry. The cap’n knows what he’s doin’.”

  “Looks to me like we’re headed right toward the river. We goin’ to be seen, an’ if we find ourselves on the bank, or in the woods between, or atop that hill, then we’ll git caught fer sure, Jimmy,” someone fretted, beginning to believe he heard the lapping of water against the sides of a gunboat lying in wait midstream, or the cocking of a rifle hammer as a reb sharpshooter took aim on them from the summit of the hill.

  “Like I said, the cap’n’s been playin’ the devil with them rebs. Ain’ nothin’ to worry about.”

  “Yeah, well I jus’ hope we don’t find ourselves caught between the devil and the deep this time, ’cause I can’t swim.”

  “Well, if we do, then I still ain’t worried, ’cause if the devil’s own captain don’t save us, figure someone up there is watchin’ over the little lieutenant. Ever since he joined up with us, we been havin’ mighty good luck. Reckon we got folks high an’ low watchin’ over us.”

  “We’re the Bloodriders! Luck’s ridin’ with us!” came the cry that was answered by several low, savage howls that had stiffened their spines with courage on many a raid.

  “Wouldn’t exactly call this good luck,” someone less willing to believe reminded them, his teeth chattering, his bones aching, and his spine like quivering jelly.

  “S’pose ’tis all in the way you look at it. Figure we could already be dead,” someone said, finding it a heartening thought as he rode through a tangle of undergrowth and overhanging vines that threatened to unseat him.

  Those words of fortitude had hardly been uttered before the speaker found himself wondering if his time had indeed come as his captain, the lieutenant holding on for dear life, disappeared underground. His horse, sensing his nervousness, and fearing the black void that loomed ahead, shied, whinnying as he threatened to balk. Another rider before him rode into the chasm, disappearing, perhaps into Hades, the frightened raider thought, remembering his many sins of the past. But nevertheless, he spurred his horse onward, knowing that certain death waited with bated breath behind.

  And to the rebels searching the countryside, Captain Dagger and the Bloodriders might very well have had the hounds of hell on their heels, because they seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

  But no hell awaited the Bloodriders that night. The cave they entered was more like the treasure cave from the Forty Thieves in the Arabian Nights stories, and their captain was Ali Baba, leading them into safety with the magically spoken words, “Open, Sesame!”

  The first surprise, however, had been when entering the darkness, for it had only lasted an instant. Suddenly moonlight had spilled down on them, bathing a large clearing on the other side of the natural stone bridge they’d passed beneath. The stone arch was overgrown with Virginia creeper, and the thick curtain of vines had fallen back into place behind them, looking undisturbed, as if the lush foliage clung tenaciously to the hillside. The Bloodriders dismounted, leading their horses into the broad, curving mouth of a shallow cave behind. The overhang was deep enough to shelter the horses from the storm that was approaching as a low rumbling of thunder sounded across the distance; the moon having shown its face only long enough to guide them to safety.

  One of the riders glanced up, his face eerie in the silvery light as he stared at the moon’s face, thinking it had looked down kindly upon them this time.

  Lieutenant Chatham found himself leaning against the cool rock, his chest tight as he struggled to fill his lungs, his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears, his knees wobbly as he tried to stand on one foot. Riding through the blackness of night with the captain was an experience he would not soon forget, he thought, surprised he was still alive to be scared to death. But never before had he felt such raw power emanating from man and beast, and holding onto the captain’s waist, he’d sat frozen, half expecting to tumble from the big bay’s rump as they’d flown along the streambed, the cooling spray of water that hit him in the face the only thing that had kept him from fainting from the sheer exhilaration of their wild flight.

  He glanced up curiously as the captain walked past him, holding a lighted match cupped protectively in his hand as he went deeper into the cave, entering through a slightly narrowing passageway, and the lieutenant was curious how the captain had known this cave existed. Rather fortuitous, he thought, wondering how long their luck would hold, but he didn’t worry for long as he followed the captain into the cave, feeling foolish as he rode between Johnson and Jimmy, balanced on their crossed arms as they hurried to stay within sight of the flickering light ahead. Lieutenant Chatham glanced down trying to see where they stepped, but he couldn’t even see his own feet in the Stygian darkness. Suddenly he blinked, blinded by the brilliance that flooded into the passageway, revealing the stone-walled interior. An even greater illumination came from the end of the tunnel, where the captain had disappeared.

  Lieutenant Chatham’s mouth dropped wide open, and he was thankful now he was being carried, because he could have been knocked over with a feather as they entered the chamber and beheld a magnificence that took the breath away.

  “Lordee! Would ya lookee here!” Jimmy crowed, his eyes reflecting the glowing light from a crystal chandelier that hung suspended from the stone roof of the cave.

  “Must have a dozen or more lights in it!” he said, awed.

  “Sixteen, Jimmy,” Captain Dagger said quietly, surprising his men that he could have counted that fast.

  “Now I know I’ve died an’ gone to heaven,” McGuire sighed groggily, staring up at the sixteen-light crystal chandelier with tears in his bleary eyes. “Never thought I’d make it.”

  Neil Braedon had been just as surprised as his men when entering the chamber, the shrouded forms taking shape as he’d lit the candles in the chandelier that had once hung in the dining room of Royal Bay and brought his grandmother such joy.

  Neil glanced around the cave where he, Nathan, and Adam used to hide when boys, expecting the worst consequences to befall them at the hands of their elders because of their rowdiness. Then, it had been empty, except for a cache of boyhood treasures, collected on their many forays across the countryside.

  Now, now it held the cherished possessions of generations of a family; the legacy to those who might survive. Rolled up and propped against the stone walls were the fine carpets that for so many years Braedon feet had walked across. A wall of crates, carefully marked on the outside of each, held fine chi
na and crystal, the porcelain figurines and objets d’art, the rare books and maps so lovingly collected through the years. A pair of globes, spun by boyish hands dreaming of faraway places as of yet unvisited, were cradled in two wingback chairs. Filling the cavern were most of the furnishings, the family heirlooms, from Royal Bay, only the essentials for everyday living having remained in the big house.

  “Reckon we could place the lieutenant down on this fancy settee here, Cap’n?” the Bucktail asked, eyeing the blue-and-gold-striped silk cushions revealed beneath a linen sheet Johnson had pulled from the sofa.

  “Put the sheet back on, please, if I’m to be placed there,” the lieutenant pleaded, knowing his mother would have been outraged had he put his muddy boots on so lovely a piece of furniture. “Louis XV,” the lieutenant murmured with admiration, his eyes caressing the delicately curved lines of the rococo styling.

  “Well, I don’t know who the devil this Louie Cans fella is, an’ why you should know him, but he ain’t here now to complain none,” Johnson said, but as his captain gestured at the sheet, he pulled the protective covering back across the cushions before they set the lieutenant down.

  McGuire found himself stretched out on another covered settee, feeling as if he were dreaming as the springtime fragrance of lavender and roses drifted to him and he closed his eyes, content to die right where he was.

  “What the hell d’ya suppose all of this stuff is doin’ in here?”

  “Looks like someone’s settin’ up housekeepin’,” one of the raiders said as they all crowded inside, staring around in amazement at their luxurious surroundings. One of the men, who’d just entered the cave, and was standing behind the others, bumped into a small mahogany chest of drawers. Curious, he tried to open the lidded top, but a small brass lock kept it closed against him. Pulling out his jackknife, he easily sprung the lock, opening the lid to reveal a velvet-lined interior glinting with silverware. Glancing around, and seeing no one watching him, he quickly picked up several elaborately scrolled spoons, the solid silver feeling cold and heavy as he slipped the pieces inside his haversack.