by Karen Kay
He moved against her, and to his amazement, she was ready for him all over again. And so they danced and they swayed to the rhythm of love, until at last well exhausted, they fell against each other.
It felt so right, yet how could it be so? She was wrong for him. He was wrong for her.
Nonetheless, his body rejoiced in hers, and he ignored a wiser part of him which questioned his behavior.
Gradually he lowered her to the floor of their nook, and taking his blanket from around his shoulders, he made a bed for her, bending to place her gently upon it.
“I will never forget you,” she whispered.
“Nor I, you,” he uttered, as he took her in his arms. Perhaps now would have been the right time to tell her he was to be her guide through the wilderness, and that they would be spending much more time together.
Alas, the words never found their way to his lips. Instead, as he lay down beside her, it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.
He awoke much later, alone. He knew his mistake at once. He should not have fallen victim to his lethargy; he should have told her.
It was strange that her preparation to leave had not awakened him. His exertions this night must have had more effect on him than he would have ever suspected.
As he sat up and glanced around the woodsy nook, he wondered if it had been no more than a dream. Yet as he rubbed his hands over his face, he realized it could not have been so. His spirit felt too exhilarated for it to have been less than real. Plus, her tantalizing scent was still upon him. Perhaps, he thought, he would never wash again.
He inhaled sharply, as the details of the previous few hours lingered in his memory. He knew with certainty he should have told her their futures lay entwined. He cringed, for she had told him she meant the experience to be one night and one night alone.
To himself, he justified that he had tried to explain it to her. But, he admitted, his attempts had been meager. Perhaps he had feared that with the truth said, she might change her mind.
There was no mistaking one detail, however. Her urgency had been such that there must have been some outside influence driving her to seek him out, since he was under no delusion that she loved him.
Something had caused this, then. But what?
As he sat up, he thought that he would find out soon enough. Best to arise, bathe and prepare to meet the day. After all, he was quite certain that as soon as she discovered her mistake, he would need his wits about him.
Chapter Seven
As Marisa stepped nearer to the Rathburn mansion, she feared looking too closely behind the trees, afraid she might find some agent of her step-uncle’s there. Interestingly, she was not overly concerned over the enormous step into womanhood she had taken—there would be time to explore that later. Rather her mind was awash with reasons and excuses she could forward to her guardian as a justification for her actions.
Snap!
What was that? Was it a twig cracking beneath someone’s foot? Although her eyes were well adjusted to the night, she felt momentarily blinded by fright, and she stopped, glancing to the right and left. When nothing materialized to attack her, she stepped forward again, and within moments broke into a run, the sound of her slippers echoing like a phantom over the ground of the forest.
The hour was late. Perhaps John Rathburn would have retired. Was she being silly to hope she might escape his wrath?
If only…
She expected no mercy. Chances were that her guardian or one of his henchmen would be in attendance in the mansion’s corridors, watching for her return like a hawk might anticipate a mouse.
As she ran farther, she at last burst out of the woods, and as soon as her footfalls fell upon the well-beaten path, her steps slowed. Her mind, however, raced. A consideration she hadn’t ventured until this moment came to the fore of her mind, and it was haunting her. Might her actions tonight endanger Sarah’s chances of leaving?
Though Marisa had certainly obtained John Rathburn’s agreement to release Sarah, might he not change his mind? It would certainly be in character for him to heap his wrath, not on the person responsible for his anger, but rather onto some other poor soul.
Marisa frowned and was mentally preparing herself a defense for this newly assumed injustice, when all at once the Rathburn mansion loomed largely in front of her. Swallowing hard, she opened the doors of the ballroom’s veranda, and as quietly as possible, slipped into the house.
Expecting to be halted and upbraided at any moment, she was more than a little concerned when the opposite happened. No one accosted her.
Indeed, she even attained the third-floor landing of her wing of the house and let herself into her own quarters without being stopped or questioned. How strange it was, even eerie. Perhaps it was a symbol of good luck?
But she feared she was being overly optimistic, since it would be out of character for John Rathburn to ignore an opportunity to bring his step-niece to task. Maybe he would await her at breakfast.
Marisa sighed, realizing it did absolutely no good to ponder details that hadn’t presented themselves. She would learn soon enough what her guardian intended.
Lighting a candle, she immediately set to work. There was much to be done if they were to leave at first light, which from all indications was only hours away.
Should she seek out Sarah’s quarters and awaken her?
No. Sarah was the dependable one. She was probably ready to leave and had been so for many days.
Dragging her trunk out to the middle of the floor, Marisa opened it only to find it was already packed. Sarah’s doing, of course.
Rummaging through the clothing, Marisa pulled out a clean chemise, as well as fresh petticoats. Her dress would need a change, and she opted for an ivory silk brocade with a patterned, floral design. It was cool to the touch, its silky texture sliding against her fingers.
Her body would require a wash as well, but first, closing the lid, she sat on the trunk, whereupon she allowed her thoughts to drift to other matters. For the first time since leaving Black Eagle’s embrace, she took a moment to consider what she had done.
Was she sorry? No.
Would she commit the deed again, if the opportunity presented itself? Most likely.
Her actions had been, in effect, a declaration of her independence, though perhaps this had been accomplished with some naivete, since only now did she consider that there might be a price to pay—in the form of a child.
A child… The thought was extraordinarily pleasant. However, if a pregnancy did occur, she supposed her guardian would try to whisk her into a speedy marriage of convenience, one that would be, of course, financially prudent for him. Such would provide all the more reason to reach New Hampshire…permanently.
However, upon further thought, she doubted that a child had been formed from this union tonight. Due to Sarah’s confidences, Marisa had taken to keeping track of the rhythm of her monthly cycle, and she was certain she had a fragment of protection.
No, all things considered, Marisa was not sorry for her actions. Indeed, it was the opposite. This night would be imprinted on her consciousness for the rest of her life.
She would never forget what had happened; she would never forget him.
A gentle knock came at her door, and she breathed out gently. Time to come back to the world as she knew it.
“Come in,” she called softly as Sarah opened the door.
Sarah entered tentatively. “Are you all right?”
“I am well. I am very well, though tired.” Looking up, Marisa started to smile, but the look quickly froze on her face. “Sarah.” She rose. “What has happened to you?”
Sarah bit her lip, looked away from Marisa, then winced. Her lip was swollen, and a jagged line of red ran from her eye to her nose, as though she had been slapped, or perhaps hit. There were also tears in her eyes and, upo
n close inspection, a rip in her dress.
“Sarah?”
“I have been waiting for you, Miss Marisa. I’ve been hiding.”
“Hiding?” Marisa gulped. “From what? Or from whom?”
Sarah didn’t answer.
“Sarah, who did this to you?”
“I…I escaped.” She took a step forward only to collapse onto Marisa’s trunk.
Marisa knelt in front of her. “Was it my step-uncle who did this to you? Did he try to…?”
Sarah shook her head. “’Twas not your guardian. ’Twas…someone else.”
“Someone else? Someone close to my step-uncle? Who could it…?” Marisa gasped. “Was it James?”
Sarah nodded. “It seems that James took it into his mind to punish me for what he thinks was a wrong that I committed against your…”
“Yes?” asked Marisa. “Against my step-uncle?”
Sarah looked away as she bowed her head.
Marisa ran her fingers over the rip in Sarah’s dress. “Did he…? Did he…? I have always known that James was a bully, as well as a very bad butler, but… He didn’t manage to… Sarah, did he defile you?”
“No. He tried to. He did have a whip, but no, I got away.” For a brief moment, Sarah gave the semblance of a grin. “I’m afraid the whip scared me, and I bit him.”
“Oh, my dear, dear, Sarah!” Sitting up onto her knees, Marisa took Sarah into her arms, and despite the ten-year difference in their ages, for an instant, Marisa felt the older of the two. “Has anyone tended to your bruises?”
“No. I’ve been hiding, waiting for you to come home.”
“I see. Can you rise? If so, let us get closer to the candlelight, so I can assess the damage to you. And do not fear. After I have settled you a little and ensured your safety, I will go to my step-uncle and—”
“No! Please. I fear your guardian worse than I fear James.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Marisa frowned. “But James should be punished, or he might be likely to do something like this again.”
“True. However, are we not leaving soon?”
“Yes, we are. Perhaps we should go from here at once without any fanfare or well wishes. Let’s mend your wounds, change your clothes, and as soon as you’ve rested a little, we will leave here. I swear, Sarah, once we are away, you needn’t ever return. I have obtained my guardian’s signature on a document that effectively makes this so.”
“You have? But when?”
“Days and days ago.”
“But why did you not tell me?”
“I was hoping to make it a present to you, as well as a surprise.”
Sarah attempted another smile, but the effort communicated itself more as a gasp. She murmured, “You are too good to me.”
“No, ’tis you who have been good to me. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother, or perhaps an older sister. All the good of the world as I know it is because of you. Now, come, I’ll take you to your room where you can rest, if only for an hour or so.”
“No,” said Sarah at once. “I don’t need to rest. In truth, I also fear going to my quarters for anything, whether it would be to dress or to rest.”
“Yes, of course. Then you shall stay here until we are set and ready to go. Now, can you remain seated while I bring the pitcher of water and bowl over here so I can dress your wounds?”
Sarah nodded, and Marisa, arising, stepped across the room to her dresser to seize hold of the pitcher and bowl.
What a strange night this was, she thought as she picked up the items needed, which included a bit of muslin to use in washing. First she had acted out of character, then James. Even Sarah had reversed roles, going from being the strong, outspoken nursemaid, to the one needing nursing.
Somehow Marisa couldn’t help wondering, was anything else yet to happen tonight?
She hoped not. She sincerely hoped not.
There were already bruise marks forming over Sarah’s arms, and they were almost too numerous to count. Marisa frowned. The tears in Sarah’s chemise and petticoats told their own story, and even a red welt slashed on her hip. Worse, that particular marking had all the stampings of a whip.
How had that happened? As Marisa pressed the area gently with a cloth, Sarah flinched.
“Did James use the whip on you?” she asked Sarah, as she touched the area more gently.
“A little. He tried to put me over his lap, as though to spank me, but I resisted.”
“Oh, Sarah, ’tis like a nightmare, except it is wretchedly real. Thank heaven we leave here at daybreak.”
“Yes. Thank heaven.” Sarah paused as she sighed. “And you, Marisa? With all of my adventures tonight, we have not discussed what has happened to you. Do you wish to tell me about your exploits?”
Marisa exhaled while she held a cloth to one of Sarah’s wounds. Luckily, except for the red injury on Sarah’s face, there had only been one place on her upper arm where the skin had been broken.
Slowly at first, Marisa said, “Yes, I do wish to tell you about it. But not now, I think. We have little time to finish the preparations for our journey, and I fear that the telling of it might take hours and hours.” Setting down the cloth, Marisa placed her hand over Sarah’s and smiled at her friend. “There will be time enough on the trail. For now it is enough to hold the events close to my heart.”
“To your heart? Do you love him then?”
“Of course not. Still, it was very pleasant.”
Sarah nodded. “I am glad that you have had your adventure. He was probably the perfect man for such a task.”
The perfect man. The words brought a smile to Marisa’s lips. “Yes, I do believe he was all that and more. He made it clear that he can never marry me, and as for me, I shall never see him again. Yes, I would have to agree with you. It was perfect.” Glancing up at Sarah, she said gently, “And now, dear Sarah, I should like you to lie down while I set to work on the details of our leaving. Tell me, what is left to do to allow us to depart?”
“There is little more that needs to be done, I think, except for you to ensure that all the belongings you wish to bring are packed in the trunk. Then, after you change your dress, we have nothing more to do other than to pack our things onto the horses, have a bite of breakfast and be on our way.”
“Good. By the way, did my step-uncle have much to say after I left?”
“Strangely, he did not. He was furious. That much was obvious. But he said nothing to me, nor to anyone else. Instead he retired to his own quarters for the rest of the evening.”
“How strange.” Marisa frowned. “This has, indeed, been an evening of odd occurrences, wouldn’t you agree? Do you suppose that my guardian will come down from his apartments early enough to wish me farewell?”
“It would be strange if he did not, since it will be several months before he will see you again. But do not fret if he misses the opportunity. He might be sulking. As you are well aware, he has been known to do so in the past.”
“Yes. So he has. Come, Sarah, and let me help you to bed so you can lie down,” encouraged Marisa. “I will need to wash and dress quickly. Are your own things packed and in your room?”
“They are.”
“Good. Then I will send for the servants to bring your things to the stables. They can return here later to attend to my things.”
“Yes,” said Sarah, and taking Marisa’s directions, she lay down on the bed. “Forgive me for saying this, but it will be a pleasure to leave the Rathburn estate.”
“I believe you are right.” Marisa nodded. “I do believe you are right.”
The morning was waning, and still the Englishman’s servants, three of them in total, were descending on the stables en masse, loaded down with foodstuffs and feminine articles. They each had dumped—and kept on dumping with each trip—their burdens next
to the horses. Each domestic also seemed under the impression that it was his own special duty to instruct Black Eagle on the best manner in which to carry and pack these items.
Although Black Eagle listened to each attendant patiently, he did little more than nod and let the pile accumulate. Thompson could deal with the servants and the supplies. He had been hired to lead the English, not do their bidding.
However, when the darkness before dawn descended upon the countryside and still Thompson had made no appearance, Black Eagle decided it was prudent to take matters into his own hands. It was time for the constant procession of supplies to end.
How the Englishman thought to travel through the forest so burdened down was best considered by fools and simpletons. Didn’t the English realize that these things were useless on a trip such as this? Didn’t they know that if their animals were overloaded, such valuables were useless, being no more than a burden? That they were a means by which any enemy could detect and track them?
Perhaps the English didn’t understand that only those men who were heavily armed, who could muster sheer numbers of manpower, dared travel so weighted down. That this party had neither would cause them to be as easy to attack as a wounded deer.
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Black Eagle gazed out toward the manor house, where he beheld two more servants approaching the stables carrying a trunk. Black Eagle shook his head, inhaled deeply and prepared for the verbal battle.
“He will not allow the clothes to be loaded onto the animals, Miss Marisa.”
Marisa, who was seated in her room sharing breakfast with Sarah, stared at the servant boy with dismay. Taking up a napkin, she patted her lips before commenting, “He would not allow… What was that again?”
“He told me that no more of your things can be loaded onto the horses.”
“None of my things, you say? Who is this man?” asked Marisa.
“The scout, miss.”
“The scout? Do you mean Thompson?”
“No, Miss Marisa.”
Marisa frowned. “Is he a hired man, this scout?”