Dismay and despair claimed him as he searched the men. At last he found Damien on a stretcher with a surgeon examining a bloody head wound. He grinned at Eric. “Knocked me for a loop, it did! I thought I was dead. But it’s hard to keep a good man down, eh, sir?”
“Aye, Damien, it’s hard to keep a good man down,” he agreed.
He went past the tents of the men, conferred with Lewis who wanted to start building a fort the next morning, then hurried onward to his own canvas shelter. He had a bottle of good Caribbean rum with him and as he cast himself down upon his pallet, he was glad of the liquor. Home seemed a distant place now. All that danced before his eyes were the bodies of the Shawnee. He saw red, the color of blood, and it colored everything.
A chill shook him. He had come very close to death himself. Once he had fought so haphazardly and with undauntable courage. He had been a lad then. He had not seen himself as being mortal. Age had taught him that all men die, and age had even allowed him to accept the prospect of his own death. Now he was fiercely determined not to die.
He smiled, because even here, even in this wilderness with the stench of oil and blood so strongly with him, he could close his eyes and see her face. “I will not die, madame, to thwart you, love, if for no other reason!” His hands shook, and so he drank more deeply from the rum bottle. His marriage had brought more to him than he had dared hope, but the idyll of their days had been rudely marred by the quarrel before he left. There was more going on than he could see, though he could not pinpoint what. She despised him for being a “traitor,” yet she laughed in his arms and she came alive when he reached for her. The line between love and hate was thin indeed. He wondered on what side of the line her true emotions lay. He had taken her from her father—and from Lord Hastings—and for that she seemed pleased enough. But still there was something there, something that he did not trust. He almost imagined that Sterling held something over his daughter, but he did not know what it could be.
He shrugged, tossing over, praying that he could sleep. He did not. He tossed again and wondered what went on back in the Tidewater. He did not want to stay in the west any longer. Men were meeting in Philadelphia, things were happening, his wife was home—alone—and he was caught up in this wretched battle against the redskins. Robert Tarryton would have married his duchess by now. He wondered if Amanda had attended the wedding, and he wondered how she fared at Cameron Hall.
His heart quickened suddenly. Maybe she had conceived an heir for him. A son … a daughter. A child to teach to love the land, to ride, to plant, to stand by the river and learn to read the wind.
She did not love him, he thought, and he wondered if she still carried any feelings for Robert Tarryton. The thought angered him, and he breathed deeply, tossing again. She did not need to love him to conceive an heir. And if she ever went near Tarryton …
She would not. She had a fierce pride and would surely keep her distance—if only to make Tarryton pay.
Then he wondered if Tarryton was haunted at night like this, lying awake, wondering about Amanda. No, he could not wonder so fiercely, for he had never known the explosion of heaven that it was to possess her. To touch her and fall … in love.
He smiled bitterly in the darkness. Love would be a very dangerous weapon in her hands. He had to take care that he not give her the chance to use it.
He tossed again, and remembered her eyes, then the rise of her breasts, the rose color of her nipples, the fragile ivory beauty of her skin. He wanted to go home.
It simply wasn’t to be. In the morning they started a crude fort. When the fort was done they rode north again against the Shawnee across the Ohio. They met with Dunmore’s forces.
There, finally, the governor announced that they should disperse and return to their homes
The militia were angry, for they were so close to ending more of the fray. General Lewis was in sympathy with his men, Eric thought, but he was a commander, and a Virginian, and his opinions were certainly not clear to those around him.
He asked Eric to accompany him as they backtracked home. Eric bit down hard upon his desire to return as rapidly as possible to Cameron Hall and agreed that he would do so.
She should have been delirious with joy, Amanda chastised herself as she sat in the arbor by the river, her shoes and stockings cast aside, her bare toes wiggling in the cool grass. Above her the trees danced and swayed and the sun fell down upon her with the same curious dappled light that had touched them both when she had come here with Eric. It seemed so long ago. The weeks had become months, and summer had given way to fall, and now it was November.
She had everything that she had wanted. She had her freedom, she had the run of this magnificent estate, and in Eric’s absence, her every wish was considered to be law. It had not been difficult to slip into the role of mistress here for there was not much that differed from Sterling Hall. Though the estate would have run quite competently in Eric’s absence with or without her, she loved involving herself and she had tried to enter into the management of the hall unobtrusively. She had earned Thom’s mistrust when he had discovered her assiduously going over the books, but then she had been careful to praise him lavishly with her very best smile, and then point out where they could perhaps reduce an expenditure here or there and use the savings to improve upon the house.
She had been shocked to learn from Danielle that she had an enemy within the house. Young Margaret whispered in the servants’ quarters that the lady of Cameron Hall was looking to its future because she was looking forward to its master’s demise. Amanda was horrified and longed to either slap Margaret’s round little cheeks or send her packing. She did neither, determined that she would not betray her fury. A servant’s sly whisperings should not distress her, and she determined that no one would ever see her upset.
When one of the mares went into labor for a late foal, she heard the news and instantly headed down to the stables. The dark-haired Frenchman who had whispered with Danielle was there. His name was Jacques Bisset. An Acadian, he was the estate manager, responsible for the running of the acreage and the groves and the stables just as Thom was responsible for the running of the house and Cassidy was responsible for everything regarding Eric’s personal needs.
She did not have much occasion to come across him, and at the stables he did not seem pleased to see her, though he treated her with courtesy. She ignored his manner and spoke to him in French, asking after the mare, demanding to know if he thought that they would lose the horse or not.
He informed her curtly that the birth was breech, and that so far he had not managed to turn the foal.
“Well, sir, my hands are much smaller than yours. Perhaps I shall have better luck,” she informed him.
Aghast, he stood blocking her way to the stall. “Mais, non, Lady Cameron, you must not come in here at this time—”
“I must do as I choose, Monsieur Bisset,” she told him, but at his look she could not resist a wicked smile, then she laughed and tried to ease his tormented soul. “Really. We had fine Arabs and bred many racehorses at Sterling Hall. And my father was never about and seldom cared about what I did—” She paused, dismayed at her own words. She ignored him and moved past him, heedless of her gown, of her safety, of anything. She spoke softly to the troubled mare, then plunged in. To her delight she was able to shift the foal about, and though the birth still took several long hours and she was exhausted and a mess when it was over, Amanda was delighted. The beautiful little filly with a blaze upon her forehead had a fine broad chest and stupendous long legs. She and Jacques laughed with delight as the filly tried to stand, then managed to teeter up. When she smiled at Jacques she saw that the laughter faded from his eyes and that he gazed at her with sorrow and remorse. Her own laughter faded, and a ripple of unease washed over her. She was not afraid of him, rather he fascinated her. And she was determined to discover why he had argued with Danielle. Perhaps the two were falling in love, she thought. The idea dazzled her. She would be
delighted if this curious marriage of hers brought happiness to Danielle.
She teased Danielle about it from her bath, but to her surprise, the woman quickly lost her temper, emphatically denying a love interest.
“Come now! He has the most gorgeous eyes, Danielle,” Amanda said. “Huge and green and rimmed by those dark, dark lashes. And his features are so fine and fair. It looks as if he were sculpted by a master artist, planes and coloring all put together so beautifully. You should marry, Dani! You should.”
“Cease to taunt me, ma petite! There can be no marriage, ever!”
“But, Danielle—”
“He is my brother!”
“Brother!” Amanda gasped, astounded. “But—but you told me that your brother was dead!”
“I thought that he was dead,” Danielle said, folding and refolding Amanda’s towel in her agitation. “I did not know that he lived until I came here.”
“Then we must—”
“We must do nothing! Amanda, I beg of you, never mention it. Never, never mention that my brother lives.”
Startled, Amanda stared at her maid. Danielle dropped the towel and came to kneel by the tub. “Please—”
“Danielle, calm down. I would never do anything to hurt you, you know that. I don’t understand your distress, but—oh, no, Danielle, he wasn’t a criminal, was he?”
“I swear, no. Yet you must keep the secret. He did not know these many years himself who he was—”
“What?”
“He nearly died. He very nearly died. But Lord Cameron’s father found him and kept him alive, and he never did know from whence he came, nor could he remember his circumstances.”
“Until—he saw you?” Amanda said.
“Oui, oui. You must keep his secret safe. He has been Jacques Bisset these many years, and he must stay so, please!”
“Tell me—”
“I can tell you no more! If you bear me any love at all—”
“You know that I love you dearly and that if you wish it, your secret is safe.”
Danielle hugged her, soaking herself. Amanda fell silent but her curiosity was definitely piqued. She was determined to discover the truth.
Lying in the grass and feeling the breeze upon her, she reflected that she should be very happy. She had never, never been so free. She had done very well for the estate; her time and her life were her own. She had come to Cameron Hall just for this freedom, then she had married Eric to achieve it. But curiously, it did not taste so sweet as she had imagined. She could not believe that there had ever been a time when she had hoped that Eric Cameron might fall before the Shawnee. She did not want to miss him, but she did. She remembered all that he had done to her there in the grass, and she colored feverishly with the explicit memories. She was anxious about his return and prayed each night that God would keep him safe.
She was falling in love with him, she realized, and then she rose, fiercely annoyed with herself. Last month she had dressed in her finest to attend Robert Tarryton’s wedding to his duchess, and she had smiled and offered him best wishes without a flutter of emotion. It helped that the Duchess of Owenfield was lank and skinny with horrible jutting teeth and limp brown hair. Amanda had felt fiercely sorry for the young woman, but she was still not certain that she could befriend her. She was just glad to realize that her heart had grown cold, that watching Robert marry meant nothing, and that feeling him kiss her cheek meant even less. And still, she did not want to love again. Love was a wretched emotion that left one vulnerable and weak and entirely miserable. She wanted no part of it. But there was more to love. It came whether asked or nay, and she had fallen beneath her husband’s spell.
Sudden agitation came to her as she watched the river. She reached for her hose, pulling them on too quickly, snagging one. News had reached her that the parties had split, that Eric was traveling with General Lewis. She had even received a letter after they had fought a battle on the Ohio. Pierre, who had ridden into Williamsburg for a copy of the Virginia Gazette, had told her that the governor was back. That had quickened her heart, but then her hopes sank for she learned that Eric was not with the governor.
She turned and raced back to the house, suddenly hungry for more information. Running inside, she shouted for Thom. When the butler came to her, she smiled winningly. “Thom, please call Pierre and tell him that I’ll have the carriage and that we’ll go to Williamsburg tonight. I’ll have my trunks ready within the hour. Have you seen Danielle?”
“Aye, she’s gone to the laundry. I’ll send her to you immediately, Lady Cameron.”
He didn’t seem to approve of her trip, she knew from his deep frown, but he had no power to stop her. She smiled radiantly. “I won’t be gone long. I—I’d like to know more about my husband’s whereabouts, if I can discover some news.”
He nodded, but she still didn’t think that he was pleased. She tossed her hair back. She had married for this freedom, and it was hers and not to be denied her. “Thank you, Thom,” she told him brightly, and turned to hurry upstairs to pack.
Danielle did not seem any happier about her proposed trip, but Amanda ignored her as well. It would be fun to stay at the town house, to walk the streets, to visit the shops.
“And see your father!” Danielle warned her.
Folding a shift, Amanda paused, her heart fluttering. No. She had still not obtained freedom. She was still afraid of the power he held over Damien’s life, and therefore over her.
“I hate him!” she whispered.
Danielle did not chastise her. She merely closed a trunk, opened the door, and called down to Thom, asking for help.
By nightfall Amanda had reached the town house. Though she was certainly surprised, Mathilda quickly made her welcome, asking her into the parlor while a room was freshened for her.
“The city is wild these days, milady! Every corner has an orator, every coffeehouse is full of conversation.”
“What has happened?” Amanda asked.
“Why, ‘tis the men back from the Continental Congress. Now they have formed an association. Measures are not so voluntary now. We are to strictly boycott British goods, to band together to do so. And there will be committees to see that the rules of the association are carried out. We are even to call off the Dumfries races, if you can imagine the good men of Virginia doing so!”
Amanda could not, but she was careful of what she said before her husband’s housekeeper. “Whatever shall come of it?”
“Well, ’tis rumored that the governor is quite irate, and that he is. Him with his grand Scots temper! He’s holding quiet, but you know that the assembly is prorogued until spring, I think that he is quite distressed that the burgesses would come in spouting all this rebellion and that there could be war on the very streets!”
A small black woman came to the doorway, bobbing toward Amanda and informing her that her room was ready. Exhausted, Amanda rose, determined to get a good night’s sleep, then explore the mood of the city herself in the morning. “Have you heard anything of Lord Cameron?” she asked his housekeeper.
“Why, yes, I have. You needn’t fret any longer, child, for they say that the fighting is all over. And he handled himself splendidly, riding at the front of his troops and meeting those red devils without so much as a blink. He’s heading back, taking a route through Richmond. He’ll be here soon enough, even if he is waylaid. By Christmas.”
Christmas still seemed a long, long way off. Amanda thanked the woman, then hurried upstairs. She realized that it was Eric’s room that had been prepared for her. She ran her fingers over his desk, tempted to delve within the drawers. That’s what she was supposed to be doing, searching his belongings. But she had no heart for it. She was haunted by the presence of him that seemed to live in the room. When she disrobed and stretched out on the bed, she moved her hands over the coolness of the sheets, and her body burned and she tossed about with a certain shame. She wanted him there. She even knew exactly what she wanted him to be doing.
/> She lay awake at least an hour before she sat up suddenly, furious. He hadn’t written to tell her that he was well; his one missive had been while he was traveling. The servants knew more than she did.
Fuming, she tossed and turned, the slow burn of anger simmering within her. But it wasn’t the anger that kept her awake, she realized. It was the longing.
She had barely come downstairs in the morning when she heard the cheerful tones of Lady Geneva Norman’s voice. She stiffened, remembering that she was certain that Geneva and Eric had been lovers at some time, then she gave the matter no more thought. When she reached the landing, Geneva, splendid in silk and brocade, hugged her tightly. “Marriage does become you, Mandy, darling, even if you stole away the inestimable Lord Cameron!” She lowered her voice. “Father told me that you had come in last night. Do let’s get out on the streets and see what is happening today!”
Intrigued to see what was happening, Amanda hugged Geneva in return, wondering if she wasn’t a terrible hypocrite. “Fine, let’s head out.”
“There’s a wonderful new little coffee house off of Duke of Gloucester Street. Come, we’ll see the rabble!”
“I’d love to see the … rabble,” Amanda agreed, and so they were off.
It was fun just to be back in Williamsburg, to feel as light and free as she did, to look in the shop windows and study the fashions and hats and jewelry.
“Homespun is the rage,” Geneva said, wrinkling her nose.
And it was.
They stopped to buy a copy of the Virginia Gazette. As they did so, there was a sudden commotion ahead of them. Amanda rushed forward as she heard a woman scream, then she saw that a crowd had formed around the steps to a shop door. A man had apparently walked into the store, removed bolt after bolt of fabric, and tossed them into the center of the road. He stamped on them and the material sank into the road, soaked by mud and excrement.
“Stop him!” Amanda cried, rushing forward. She was accustomed to people giving way for her; but now no one moved. The restless mob of people ringing the shop held tight.
Love Not a Rebel Page 23