by SpursFanatic
Rafe never imagined he’d die this way. He had always thought he would die in battle with an arrow through the heart, or a bullet from a Mexican rifle. Never this.
A boy of eight or nine approached him next. He spit in Rafe’s face, the hatred turning his young face into a mask of bitter disgust. He scraped his knife down Rafe’s middle, smiling as he did so, enjoying the pain Rafe could not contain. Rafe gritted his teeth against it, trying to pull his legs up into his body to ward it off, but he had no strength, no freedom to move. The air brushed along his raw skin, burning like fire.
That pissed him off. He lashed out, trying to kick and break free of his ropes, but he was as helpless as a newborn. Even if he’d had the freedom of movement, he didn’t have the strength.
His head dropped to his chest. Rafe reminded himself he now resided in hell – he was supposed to suffer.
So he gave into the pain. He took it as payment for all of the killing he’d done in the name of the Mexican, Texas, and United States governments. In the name of right and wrong, of civilized versus savage.
What a damned joke.
Patrick would be pissed when he found out Rafe was dead. Patrick and his mother were counting on him and he would let them down.
A squaw about his mother’s age appeared before Rafe next, her eyes sad as she gazed up at him. The sadness in her eyes did nothing to detract from her intent as she took the end of a burning branch and jabbed it into Rafe’s raw side.
Jesus, help me. Rafe wondered how much pain a man could physically take. Was there a limit when you were in hell?
He wished they’d stop their chanting and screaming. Why wouldn’t they just let him suffer in peace?
Sutherland, there is no peace in hell.
This was his existence for all of eternity. He had to accept his fate.
Rafe forced his mind to other things. Looking back, he should have stayed home after graduating Harvard. But he’d headed West to see the world beyond New England. He ran into Jack Hays on a Mississippi riverboat and the next thing he knew, Rafe served under Hays in the Texas Rangers.
Though it was pitch black, the firelight surrounding him had faded. Now he wouldn’t see them coming, only feel the blade as it tore the flesh from his bone. And they did come, one after the other, relishing the torment he went through.
If he had one regret, he wished he’d married. An hour ago, he wouldn’t have admitted that. Yet now, when it was too late, he wished he’d married and had children. His mother would have loved grandchildren.
With blood pooling at his feet, sleep descended on Rafe once again. The sweet smell of roses swirled around him, lulling him into a blissful slumber.
Thank God. He was so tired.
Gunshots rang out, bringing him from his lethargic state. The screaming began anew.
Hell, no. He wasn’t going to listen to that screaming anymore.
Concentrating on the sweet scent, he fell into a deep sleep.
#####
“You’re going, Tarin, and that’s final.”
Tarin stopped in her tracks, turned and stared at her father. As usual, his dark brows were drawn into a deep frown and he was issuing orders like a military officer.
He glared at her over the top of his glasses, his look meant to intimidate. His entire study was meant to intimidate, from the massive oak desk sitting atop a two-foot pedestal, to the medieval suits of armor looming large on either side of the picture window behind him.
He was the youngest son of an English duke, living in America where nobility did not receive the respect it did in the mother land. So her father created it for himself, demanding it from all who encountered him. And in most cases, he received it from the Brahmin, the elite of Boston society.
But for Tarin, Henry Worthington was simply a man that loved her. After her mother died, he had moved her to America to give them both a new start. He had given Tarin everything she ever wanted, and she was certainly grateful for the good fortune. She had done her best to show him the respect and love he deserved.
But under no circumstances would she allow him – or any man – to intimidate her.
“Father,” she said from the gleaming marble floor in front of his desk, “I cannot make it. I am collecting petition signatures at the lectures this afternoon.”
Henry ripped the glasses off his face and pointed a finger at her. “You assured me when you started this nonsense about helping Gregory with that women’s medical college that it would not interfere with my business. Yet, here we are, arguing about it once again.”
“I am not arguing with you, Father,” she replied with an easy smile. “I am simply notifying you that I have other plans. That is all.”
“The evening party is at seven o’clock,” her father said. “Your lecture starts at three and a half. Surely that gives you ample time to collect your signatures and do whatever women do to ready themselves for such an affair.”
What she wouldn’t tell her father was the fact that the signature drive was not going well. Tarin would sit outside the lecture hall until morning if it gained her signatures.
Tarin and her friend, Kitty, were working six days a week to help Dr. Gregory gain legislative approval for the first female medical college in the country. They hoped to have legislative approval by summer.
The approval would be a major step in educating American women in the field of medicine, and put Tarin one step closer to becoming a physician. It was an uphill battle against a society that did not approve of female physicians, but Dr. Samuel Gregory had given her a hope she never thought she’d see. She would not allow the effort to fail.
Tarin squinted at her father. Why did he want her at this particular function? He had attended this type of gathering alone before. A suspicion niggled at her brain.
“Father, is this another of your matchmaking schemes?”
Henry’s face reddened as he glanced down at his desk and shuffled papers.
“No, Tarin, it is not. The Sutherlands have invited us to a small gathering at their home. I am considering their business to ship some of my goods. I am at my wits end with Hunter and his shipping crew. My crates are forever arriving opened, damaged or missing altogether.”
The Sutherlands were another of the elite families of Boston society. Colin Sutherland passed on a year or so ago, leaving one of the biggest shipping businesses on the Eastern seaboard to his youngest son, Patrick.
The responsibility wore on him. Each time she saw Patrick at church or a society ball, he looked a little older, as though the worries of the business were slowly killing him.
Out of all of her past suitors, Patrick Sutherland had been the only one to pique her interest. But that interest was short-lived when she learned he was narrow-minded like all of the others. He wanted a wife that would stay home, manage the household, have children, and be waiting for him in bed when he decided to come home. A career was out of the question.
Therefore, so was Patrick.
“What is the latest on Rafe Sutherland, Father? Is he well?”
“Yes,” he replied, the color steady in his face. “In her post, Isabel said her son is fit. She thanks heaven above and General Zachary Taylor for getting him to Boston where he could get good medical care.”
Hmmm, it grew clear to her now.
“Rafe Sutherland will be there tonight?”
Henry cleared his throat. “Yes, yes he will. It will be his first social event since his return.”
So her father was trying his matchmaking with the former Texas Ranger. Tarin had to admit it would be interesting to spend an evening in the company of a national hero, a man that had spent the last ten years of his life amongst war, Indians, and General Zachary Taylor. Perhaps, he would even discuss the injuries that had brought him home under special federal escort and remained a mystery to everyone outside of the Sutherland household.
Yes, she would attend. Even if it meant enduring her father’s embarrassing matchmaking attempts. She wouldn’t miss this
for all of the tea buried in the bottom of the harbor.
“I will be there, Father,” she said, smothering a laugh at his triumphant smile. “However, since you are not trying to match me with Rafe Sutherland, I may just wear my day dress in an effort to save time.”
Henry moved to the edge of his seat. “Oh no, you are not doing that to me again, daughter. Winthrop still taunts me about whether I have the money to outfit you properly. I cannot believe you attended that Lowell event in your day dress.” He gave her a hard stare. “You will wear your gold dress and that is final.”
Blast it. Did the man never give up? Had his numerous attempts in the past not taught him that she would choose who she would marry? If she married at all, it would happen only once she had her medical degree. Not before. Tarin crossed her arms and gave him a knowing smile.
“Fine, fine,” he said with a sigh. He leaned back in his chair. “I just thought that since you are not interested in any of the men in Boston, maybe someone different might appeal to you. He certainly comes from good stock.”
Tarin sighed as she planted her hands on her hips. “I am not a cow to be bred, Father.”
“Tarin!”
“I do not care what kind of stock he comes from, his beliefs will be the same as all men – the purpose of a woman is to stay at home, have babies, and tend to her husband’s needs.”
“What is wrong with that?” Henry cried. “If God had intended women to live differently, it would have been done from the beginning of time.”
Here we go again. “Nothing is wrong with it,” she replied smoothly, “if the woman chooses that life. But I want more for myself. I only have one chance on this earth and I will not be told how to live it by anyone else.”
Henry shook his head. “I do not know where you get that stubborn spirit of yours. Your mother certainly wasn’t like that.”
Tarin came up to his desk and gave him a hug. “If you are looking for the source of my stubbornness, perhaps you should take a look in the mirror.”
Henry smiled reluctantly as he patted her back. “Get out of here. I do not want to be blamed for your tardiness.”
Tarin smiled as she headed for the door. She turned around and walked backwards. “If you promise not to do any matchmaking, I’ll wear the gold brocade.”
“Mark my words, young lady,” he said. “One day you will want my help.”
“And when that day comes, I will simply ask.” She turned the knob behind her. “Father, please, your word…”
“Fine,” he said, waving her away. “I have the most beautiful daughter in Boston and she is going to end up a spinster.”
Impishness welled up inside Tarin. She couldn't resist teasing him. “Look on the positive side. If I were to marry, what would you do with your time?”
“Out!”
Chapter 2
“You have eyes the color of the Caribbean.”
Rafe smiled down at the blushing seamstress as she pinned the lapel of his jacket. She was a pretty thing, with dark, chocolate-colored hair and a figure a man could enjoy. Her dress was clean and dust-free, her perfume flowery and light. The vision was so different from the women he’d known down in the dirty, desolate areas of Texas.
Damn, it was good to be home.
“You, sir, had better behave,” she replied, pursing her lips. She glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “I have a big, jealous husband.”
Standing on the other side of the study, Patrick laughed aloud as he poured himself a whiskey. “That she does, Rafe.”
“You’re married?” he asked, wincing as she pricked him in the chest. His wounds were still tender, despite the weeks since the attack. “And, to a man bigger than I?”
“I am,” she replied, circling to lower the jacket down Rafe’s arms, “although, his bulk is more likely from drink than muscle.” She came around to smile at Rafe appreciatively.
“Camille, don’t let him fool you,” Patrick declared as he swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Rafe’s done his share of drinking.”
Rafe puffed out his chest. “This is all muscle, baby brother. Take my word for it.”
Camille laughed as she grabbed her measuring tape off the table. “Well, we shall see, won’t we, Mr. Sutherland? We must measure for your shirts next.”
Rafe’s mind went blank, as though a hood had been tossed over his head. His jaw clamped. “No.”
Patrick stilled, glass halfway to his mouth. Rafe turned his back on Camille and strode to the window, dismissing her without another word. He’d be damned if he’d let anyone see his scars, especially a beautiful woman. She wouldn’t come near him once she saw what was under his clothes.
“Can you just take his measurements from the coat, Camille?” Patrick walked over to the sofa, picked up Rafe’s coat and held it out to her.
“Yes, of course,” she replied in a small voice. Flustered, Camille tossed the suit over her arm and gathered her things.
“I appreciate you coming here on such short notice,” Patrick added. “You will be well compensated.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sutherland.” She glanced at Rafe before nodding at Patrick. She eased the door closed.
“Can we afford to ‘well compensate‘ her?” Rafe asked, removing a cigar from the box on the mantle. He held it to his nose, savoring the heavy scent of Cuban tobacco. Patrick shrugged. “Logically, no. But to ask her such a favor without compensation would assure us the loss of her services in the future.”
Rafe didn’t see the tragedy in that, but he knew fashion was important to his family and the Brahmin. Sitting behind the desk, he scratched a match under the desk and pulled on the cigar as he watched Patrick rub his forehead.
“I’ve studied the accounting books for the last year, Patrick. You’ve done a helluva job keeping the company afloat.”
Patrick tossed back his drink as he sauntered over to stare out the window.
“It hasn’t been easy, Rafe. And keeping it from Mother has been even harder.”
Rafe could see the worry etched in Patrick’s forehead, the lines around his mouth.
“She knows something’s up,” he said, “but with your return, nursing you back to health has kept her distracted.”
Rafe knew that not allowing Isabel to see his wounds had upset her. But Rafe had his pride and knew that showing his mother the scars could only come to no good. Each time he ran the possible scene through his mind, he saw tears and pain. And he wanted none of that for her.
No, Rafe believed that God had given him a second chance and he was going to make the most of the life he had ahead of him.
“God has a strange way of finding distractions for Mother,” Rafe said with a crooked grin.
Patrick ran his gaze over Rafe before nodding his head. “Indeed.”
“So we have what – another nine months worth of capital before we go under?”
“If that,” Patrick said on a sigh. “Sutherland Shipping has to pick up more revenue fast and Worthington is our best shot at increasing revenue quickly and substantially. He ships often and in great quantities.”
Rafe shifted in his chair. “So is there a reason you haven’t approached him yet?”
“I have," Patrick declared, waving a hand in the air. "The man is waiting to see if we make it. He doesn’t want to alienate Hunter, his current shipper, if we end up going under. Only because of your reputation has he agreed to dine with us tonight.”
Rafe nodded thoughtfully before rising to get a jigger of whiskey. He didn’t know what his reputation had to do with anything. He had just served where he was needed and luckily Taylor had been grateful enough to declare him a national hero. “So tell me about Worthington.”
“Big mercantile man from London,” Patrick said, as he turned to watch Rafe at the side table. “He’s the youngest son of an English duke - the middle son runs the import/export in London. Handles everything from fashions to chocolate, but mainly deals in rum, leather, and gold. He has a store and warehouse down on Fulton,
and a daughter every man in Boston would give his right nut to possess.”
Rafe grinned as he removed the cigar from his mouth and took a swig of his drink. “Why?”
Patrick whistled low under his breath. “She’s unbelievably beautiful, Rafe. Smart as a whip, witty, not to mention rich…”
“But...?”
Patrick shook his head as he stared into the bottom of his glass. “She has an independent streak a mile long. She’s working with a Dr. Samuel Gregory, a Yale man, on a campaign to educate women in the field of midwifery and to remove male physicians from the birthing process. He hopes to open the first female medical college here. Dr. Kent and several of the local physicians have already agreed to teach the midwifery classes. Tarin believes that if Gregory can make this happen, the college will open up to full medical degrees for women.”
“And…?”
“And?!" Patrick cried, his eyes huge. "Would you want your wife diagnosing why a man can’t take a piss or spending hours alone in his bedroom while she tries to fight off his fever?”
Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He pulled his head back. “Hell Patrick, out on the plains we were grateful for any kind of medical help - from a man or woman.”
“This isn’t the wilds of Texas, Rafe. This is Boston, civilized society.”
“People are people, Patrick. I think it’s damn impressive she wants to do it at all. With her noble blood, she doesn’t have to do anything but sit back and enjoy life.”
“Well, you’re the only man around who feels that way.” Patrick squared his shoulders.
“Hell, if it wasn’t for Rosa and her mother, I wouldn’t be alive today. They’ve obviously seen me in all my naked glory – and were damned impressed, by the way,” Rafe added with a grin around his cigar.
Patrick snorted as he moved to get another drink.
Following his bragging statement, Rafe felt a pang of regret. Rosa and her mother would be the only women to ever see his scars. Of course, the crescent scar along his hairline and the wide, jagged scar on his cheek were mere teasers of what lay beneath. Even he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror - mangled, textured flesh covered him from collarbone to waist. The raised, grotesque skin was red and blotchy in places, purple and tight in others. Rafe would scare away any woman who dared take a peek.