Holding her in his arms was agony and ecstasy. He didn't know how much longer he could wait as she snuggled close against him, talking about the day's happenings, laughing at his teasing, touching his chest, resting her head against his pounding heart.
He treated her with nothing but the most exquisite tenderness, but his staff was not nearly so blessed, for the strain of not having her was beginning to wear on his nerves and showed quite clearly in his ever-shortening temper. God, how much longer?
Meg was in the kitchen nibbling on buttered bread and sipping from a cup of coffee when she jumped at the sound of his bellow, "Where the hell are my boots? Mary, God damn it! If you took them again, I'm going to wring your neck."
A moment of silence and then, "How the hell much polishing do boots need?"
Meg hurried from the kitchen to the stairs to find her husband standing disheveled at the top. His dark hair was wet and had yet to be combed, his white shirt was unbuttoned and his feet were bare. A crying Mary stood between them, a pair of black boots extending from trembling hands. "I didn't mean . . ." the girl said, her voice faltering at Tristan's fierce glare.
"That will be all, Mary," Meg said as she moved up the stairs.
"Damn it! Don't leave with my boots!" he yelled so loudly that the girl screamed in terror, dropped the boots, and ran.
Meg picked them up and gave her husband a dark, reproving look. "I hope you're satisfied. The poor r girl is terrified and will probably be crying for hours to come while the rest of your staff shakes whenever they see you enter a room. What's gotten into you?"
"Come into our room," he said as he turned toward the open door.
Meg followed him inside and gently closed the door behind them. "What's the matter?"
Tristan knew the real reason behind his short temper. He wanted his wife. He was sick of waiting. And he couldn't tell her without sounding like some uncaring, unfeeling brute. So he told her instead the latest of his aggravations. "Lydia is sleeping with half the men on this plantation."
Meg gasped her shock. "How do you know?"
Tristan sat on the bed and pulled his boots on as he spoke. "I saw her take big Tom upstairs a few weeks ago. I thought she probably wanted him to move something or whatever." He shrugged. "When I heard his footsteps on the stairs and looked up from my paperwork, I realized more than an hour had gone by. Later I asked her what was going on."
"She didn't just say-!"
"Because you're a lady, I can't tell you exactly what she said. In effect she admitted to sleeping with Tom and most of the men and told me to mind my own god-damned business." Tristan sighed heavily. "At least now I know why she won't let me buy her out. She's got herself a damned harem here."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know, but I can't let this go."
"Tell the authorities."
Tristan shook his head. "Even if they had been forced, the men would hang for touching a white woman." He shrugged. "Besides, she'd only accuse them of raping her." Sighing, he said, "There's only one way."
"What do you mean?"
"If I can prove she forged the will."
"Can you?"
"I don't know. I'm having Bendy send it off to Washington." Tristan shook his head. "If I find out that bitch signed my father's name,. I'll kill her"
"No, you won't," she soothed gently. "You'll simply put her off this plantation."
Tristan smiled as he reached for her hand and pulled her to stand between his legs. "It's a good thing I have you. You keep me sane."
Meg laughed. "Do I?"
Tristan pulled her closer and rubbed his face against her flat stomach. He made a low sound of pain as he felt again the familiar tightening in his gut. "In some ways." He wrapped his arms around her hips and held her against him as his hands familiarized themselves with the firmness of her derriere. "Going riding again?"
Meg grinned, knowing Tristan wasn't happy to find her wearing trousers again. It wasn't that he didn't like the way they looked on her, she knew for i fact that he did. He just didn't want anyone else see her in them. "I go riding every morning."
Her fingers spread through his hair and held his face against her stomach. "Want to come with me? We could bring something from the kitchen and have a picnic."
Tristan shook his head, wanting nothing more than that. Well, perhaps he wanted a bit more than that, but a ride and a picnic alone with his bride came in a close second to what he really wanted. "Bendy will be here in a minute. I've got to go."
Meg brushed his fingers aside as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. "Let me," she said as she went about the chore. She then combed his hair, helped him with his jacket, and despaired when his black hair refused to stay in place but fell to his forehead. She straightened his collar and said, "There. All finished."
Tristan laughed at her fussing. "You'd make a perfect manservant."
Meg's eyes widened with laughter. "Would I?" She bit her bottom lip in thought. "It's an interesting notion. How much does a manservant make?"
"Not nearly enough," he said roughly as he hugged her tightly against him. "Besides, I'm the only man you'll ever serve."
Meg grinned. "I know. I just figured that this could get to be a habit. And if it did, I might as well get paid for my services."
Tristan groaned. There were services and then there were services. "The pay is better when you take my clothes off."
Meg laughed. "How much better?"
"There's money in my desk drawer. Take whatever you need."
"Lord, but you're easy to please."
"I'm easy, period."
Meg laughed and changed the subject. "What would you like for dinner tonight?"
"You," he said without thinking.
Meg's eyes widened and she blinked with surprise. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth as she imagined herself sitting under some huge domed lid as the main course of his evening meal. Her cheeks colored prettily as her thoughts went on to what would happen next. "Just me?" She laughed. "Nothing to drink?"
Tristan's arms tightened and his heart swelled at her obvious shyness. His fingers touched her warm cheeks, and he groaned, for he could clearly read her thoughts. "A jug of wine and thou."
Meg's cheeks darkened with color. She was laughing even as she leaned against him and dared, "If it's me you want, why haven't you done anything about it before now?"
"You know why. I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to heal."
"Tristan," she sighed as she brushed invisible lint from his shoulder, "even if there was a baby, and no one can say for sure that there was, I've been fine for weeks."
Tristan held her by the shoulders at arm's length and looked into her eyes with a frown. "Have you?"
She nodded her head.
"Damn. You mean I've gone through all this suffering for nothing?"
Her eyes widened again. "Have you been suffering, darling?"
Tristan groaned as he pulled her to him and nearly crushed her in a hug. "Don't call me darling, or I'll send word to Bently that I won't be able to make our appointment."
"Tonight," she promised to his delight. "It will come soon enough."
Meg rode the horse through the woods toward the glen she'd discovered two days after she'd arrived. She smiled as she made her way, for her heart was particularly light. Tonight, she thought. Tonight they would consummate their marriage.
If Mr. Bently hadn't been due at any moment for his appointment, she might right now be sharing with her husband an afternoon of sweet loving. Meg laughed softly as she imagined the long night ahead.
Meg was lost in her delightful musings and put the rustling of underbrush behind her to a rabbit or chipmunk darting about in play. It wasn't until she heard the distinct grunt of a human being that she jumped quickly to her feet. "Who's there?" she called out, only to receive silence for an answer.
Meg took a hesitating step toward the sound, straining to see into the shadows and
called out again, "Who's there?"
Silence.
Her heart began to pound, and a shiver of fear raced up her spine. Her voice shook as she took yet another step, this one in reverse, and called out, "I know someone's there. I'm going for help if you don't show yourself."
Three men stood hidden within the shadow of heavily branched trees and thick underbrush. Each trembled in terror. Having faced their master's whip on more than one occasion, they knew they'd likely die this time. Master Johnston was known to show his runaways no mercy. All was lost.
A fleeting thought came to each man's mind: to murder this lone woman and leave her body deep in these woods. It might be weeks before anyone found her and by then they would have long since found their freedom. But these three had learned from childhood the teaching of the white man's religion. They knew Jesus and knew as well true freedom couldn't be had through murder, for a guilty conscience would imprison their gentle hearts all the days of their lives.
It took less courage to step forward then imagined, for they'd been beaten innumerable times into submission. They hesitated, yes, but when orders were given, they found themselves moving forward, despite their need to run.
Jebediah, the biggest and perhaps gentlest of the three, doffed his cap, holding it tightly in trembling hands, as he smiled at the dark-haired tiny lady.
"We is sorry, missus. We didn't mean to scare you none." He grinned, praying she wouldn't notice how very afraid he was. White teeth flashed in a black face as he lowered his eyes meekly. "We is lookin' for a runaway for Massa Johnston."
Meg didn't believe them for a minute. If they'd been looking for a slave, they wouldn't have taken so long in showing themselves. They would have been on horseback, and they wouldn't right now be inching toward the edge of the woods again.
"What's your name?" Meg hadn't until this moment realized just how frightened she'd been. Her body trembled as she forced her hands to her sides lest these three realize her fears and take advantage.
"Jebediah, missus, and this," he nodded over each massive shoulder, "this is Jethro and Tobby."
Meg nodded, knowing instinctively these men posed no threat. Each of them were easily three times her size and could have killed her without the least bit of effort. But the gentleness in those dark eyes brought the last of her fears to rest. "What are you doing on Hall property?"
Jebediah swallowed and smiled. Meg knew he was about to lie.
"You're running," she said before he had the chance.
The men took a step back, their eyes suddenly ride with terror. "Missus, please," Jebediah begged.
"Where are you going?"
"North," Jethro said, wondering why she bothered to ask. Didn't all escaped slaves go north?
"To Maryland?"
"Pennsylvania," Jebediah said. "Freedom," he whispered the word on an aching sigh.
Meg knew well the need for freedom. Hadn't she suffered for weeks the confines - of Tristan's ship? Hadn't she longed, just as these men, to get away? It mattered not that she no longer wanted her freedom. It mattered only that no man or woman should be held against their will. "You'll never make it"
Tobby nodded, his dark eyes filled with determination. "We'll make it."
"Not without food and water and definitely not by traveling during the day." It was then that she made a conscious decision to help. "Come with me."
Meg mounted her horse to begin a slow ride back to Oak Tree. She turned to see the three of them standing still at the edge of the woods, their eyes wide with terror. She moved toward them. "You're right. You can't travel the roads or paths in broad daylight. We'll go through the woods."
Meg meandered her horse around trees and through thickets of foliage as the three men trailed behind. "There's about fifty yards of open land be: Between our barn and the edge of these woods.
"When we reach it, I want you to walk straight to the barn, one at a time. Don't run and don't stop to look around. Don't act like you have anything to be afraid of. Understand?"
"Yassum," one of the three returned.
The slave quarters were far to her left. She could see a few women going about the chore of washing clothes while others cooked in huge pots over open fires. Children ran from shack to shack as they played. A dog barked.
To her right stood the stately mansion of Oak Tree and behind that field after field of crops with black men working over the cultivated land. Directly before her was the barn. "I'll go first, she said, her heart beating double time as she realized the danger, for any found harboring runaways chanced their very lives. "Now remember what I told you."
Meg trotted her horse to the barn and dismounted. Aaron, the old man who was in charge of the stables, came to greet her. "You had a good ride, missus?"
"Wonderful. Thank you" Meg replied with what she hoped sounded like a carefree laugh, but when the old man reached for the reins, she said, "It's all right, Aaron, I'll take care of Star today."
"But . . ." he began, looking almost affronted. "Ain't I doin' it right?"
"Of course. I'd just like to do it myself today." She looked into his eyes and smiled. "That's alright with you, isn't it?"
The old man shrugged. It didn't matter none to me, he was just surprised. Every lady who'd ever been in this place expected to be waited on. This was different. She often took care of her own horse. Sometimes she even worked side by side with taking care of the others as well. He didn't what to make of her.
"I'd be especially thankful if you could send one the boys to the house and tell Jesse I'd like a glass of lemonade."
"The boys are in the fields."
Meg turned to Star and began the chore of unsaddling the horse. She hid her grin, knowing boys would be working, and asked, "Are they? Oh dear, and I'm so thirsty."
"I'll get it," he said almost grumpily. He wasn't no maid. Fetching for the mistress of this place was not one of his duties, and Aaron had been here long enough to have found a bit of arrogance and pride the fact that he was in charge of the stable.
"Thank you, Aaron," she said to the old man's back.
He walked so slowly, Meg was positive the runaways could be hidden long before he returned. She moved to the back door of the barn and watched them leave the woods. They did just as she'd said. Each of them walked toward the barn at good pace, looking straight ahead.
Meg sighed with relief as the last one entered the huge, cool, and musty-smelling building. Within seconds of their arrival she had them hidden in the loft behind great bales of hay, with dire warnings not to make a sound. Old Aaron slept at the back of the barn. Granted, he was hard of hearing, but all agreed it was safer to take no chances.
"What are you up to, Gypsy?" came a deep voice from directly behind her.
Meg let out a tiny squeak of alarm, spun around, and almost fell as the heel of her boot found a depression in the earthen floor. Her hand came to her throat as if the motion would control the pounding of her heart. "What?" she asked, her terror obvious.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. What are you doing out here?"
Meg swallowed and tried to gain some control over the trembling that had taken over her body. Her voice shook. "I'm brushing down Star."
"She's a beauty, isn't she?"
Meg nodded as she followed her husband's gaze. "I love her."
"Is that why you wouldn't let Aaron rub her down?"
Meg smiled as she saw the glass of lemonade in Tristan's hand. "No. I just wanted to do it."
"Every time I look at her, I remember the way you thanked me for giving her to you."
Meg had wondered at the time if her cheeks would ever become their normal color again. She couldn't remember ever being so embarrassed. Almost a month later, and she still blushed at the memory. "Do you?"
He nodded. "Would you like to finish what you started that day?"
"Let's say I'd prefer never to be interrupted like that again."
"But if I promised we wouldn't be?"
Meg smiled. "I
imagine I wouldn't hate it."
"But you wouldn't love it?" he said as he moved behind her, his arms wrapped around her middle, his body cradling hers.
Meg giggled. He was trying to get her to admit she loved every second spent in his arms. "I never said that."
"There is at least one clean, empty stall in this barn."
Meg leaned her head back, enjoying the feel of his hard, warm body against hers. "That sounds interesting."
Tristan's mouth lowered to her cheek and nuzzled the smooth soft skin there. "Shall we use one of them?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to agree, when she suddenly remembered the three men hiding in the loft. Granted, they wouldn't be able to see what was happening directly below them, but they'd surely hear. Good Lord, she couldn't allow that. Just the thought caused Meg to turn beet red.
"Shy?" Tristan chuckled softly. "Sweetheart, after some things we've done together, I can't believe — "
"It's not that," she said quickly as she stepped out of his arms, took the drink he held, and downed almost all of it at one taking. "It's just I don't think I could live through embarrassment like that again. I don't want to chance anyone walking in on us." Her
lowered for his ears alone, her eyes pleaded as she reminded prettily,"Besides, Tristan, this will be our wedding night. I wanted something . . ." She shrugged. "I don't know, something .... "
"Special?"
She nodded. "I was thinking we could take our meal in our room."
Tristan's brows raised and lowered suggestively. " Now that sounds interesting." He laughed at her blazing cheeks. "Would you wear one of those gowns Miss Worthington made?"
"If you like."
"What I'd really like, Gypsy, is you wearing nothing at all."
Chapter Eighteen
Meg stared in shock at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Lord, but this was the sheerest material she'd ever seen. Idly she wondered how thread could hold the gossamer seams together, for it was gauze thin and left her completely exposed but for the wisps of lace at strategic places. Made of transient silk and lace, it offered almost no protection from hungry eyes. And seeing her in this gown, Tristan's eyes were bound to be hungrier than ever.
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