Was he threatening her? Did he hope she would be frightened of mere children? Looking at them again, seeing their hostility, she realized he might have a point.
“Even so,” he added, gesturing outside the door, “If I were you, I would not try to go anywhere. The cabin is surrounded by the swamp land you are so afraid of, and men more experience than I had become lost in it, never to be seen again.”
Gwen tried hard not to shiver.
“Patrick, “he barked, nodding at the oldest boy, “go out back and check the hole in the pantry roof. See how much of the stores are wet. Between the fire in the rain, Lord knows what we have lost.”
Michael’s tone, as well as the sheepish expression on all their faces, might indicate they had been responsible for both the hole and the fire. The little arsonists. Creaturely expect her to stay with these monsters?
“Jude,” Michael went on, “go with him and use whatever might have gotten damp to rustle up some breakfast. You all need all your energy, if you hope to finish the repairs today.”
With that, Michael turned and left.
“No!” Desperate, Gwen followed him outside. “You cannot do this,” she cried, reaching for his arm. “Don’t you realize my father will skin you alive once he learns you are keeping me prisoner?”
He looked at her hand, then up into her eyes. His gaze softened. “Your father will do nothing, just as he has done for the last five years. Have you forgotten how eager he was for our marriage?”
“No, but I haven’t forgotten Lance, either.” She didn’t need his nasty reminders, or his unwarranted pity either. “I hope you don’t think he will let this go unpunished. He will track you down to the ends of this earth.”
He merely shook his head sadly. “There you go again. Counting on all the wrong people.” Reaching up, he gently pushed the hair from her face. “Even if he did find you, your Lancelot likes his lady’s print and proper. Right about now, you look like more of a ground rat.”
“Don’t dare you say such a thing. Who do you think you are?”
“Me?” He smiled. “Maybe I am your conscience, lady. I’m here see that you keep your promise.” With that, he hurried down the steps through the rain to go push his boat from the bank.
Dazed by his odyssey, and the fact that he had actually left her, Gwen watched him pull off. Slowly, it began to seek in that he had pulled the perfect revenge on her. She was alone here, with nothing to stand between her and the threat of the swamp, save five unruly children. Children who would far rather see the last of her.
She had to get away. Hearing the boys move about in the room behind her, she tried to think of some way to enlist their help. They could not want her over around, and now that Michael wasn’t there to glare them into submission, maybe they would help her escape. If she were them, she would consider it well worth risking his anger to be rid of her.
Taking a deep breath, she went inside. She found the four youngest sitting in cells at the fireplace. Her first thought was, “wasn’t one fire enough?” Until she realized they were trying to cook breakfast. “Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been a while since she had eaten.
They seem to be having difficulty getting the damp wood to burn. From there swearing, she surmised that Christopher, the youngest, had forgotten to close the flue.
They looked up when she entered, staring at her blankly as if they had forgotten she was there. In the growing light, she could see they were dirtier than ever. The prospect of eating any food prepared by those hands killed all thoughts of hunger.
Their blank stares quickly became a collective force of hostility, but Gwen refused to be intimidated. “I have a proposition for you.” She announced. “I promise a stick of tapping for anyone who helps me get home.”
“Taffy?” Christopher asked with curiosity.
“If he doesn’t trust her promises,” the one named Jude hissed, “then neither should we. He wants her here, and unless you want him getting angry at us, that’s where she’s going to stay.”
The other three looked at Jude with wide, frightened eyes. Realizing that “he” could only be Michael, Gwen spoke with undisguised exaggeration. “For pity’s sake, you don’t want me around, so why waste the opportunity? How will he know you helped, if you don’t tell him?”
“I really do like candy,” Christopher said, looking to Jude.
“Be quiet, Christopher. You just get back to slicing the bread and pretend she is not here.”
“You’re not being fair to Christopher,” Gwen pressed. “How often does that poor little boy get a treat?”
Jude merely snorted. “The thing is, we are family, and we stick together. If one of us says we are not going to help you, then nobody will. Matter what or how you try to trick us.”
All four, even the obviously reluctant Christopher, stood with their arms folded aggressively across their skinny chess. In the face of such unified hostility, when could only retreat. “Maybe I will just fine my own way home then,” he said in the last feeble attempts at bravado.
The effect was lost on Jude. “You do that,” the child muttered, turning back to the fireplace.
Marching out the door, Gwen was determined to prove she was not as useless as they obviously thought. She would find her way home, and she would eat the taffy herself.
“There is alligators out there,” one of them called before she could shut the door behind her.
“And snakes.”
Hateful children. She slammed the door, taking pleasure in the sound it made. She’d show them if she had to walk until she dropped. She would spend the night in her own bed at the Willows.
Standing on the porch, she paused to get her bearings, wishing she is not been blindfolded. In truth, she had at the least idea where she was, or what direction to take. She looked up at the brightening sky, seeing that the sun would soon emerge from the scattered clouds. Little good it would do, though, when she did not know in which direction Willows was.
Heading down to the bank, she decided to follow the Bayou, hoping it must eventually lead to a road she knew. From there it should be a simple matter of finding a familiar plantation and securing a ride home.
Too bad she looked like a joy around rat.
Stuck out her chin. Michael’s insulting appraisal did not bother her; she was merely concern with what others would think of her of periods. She just tell them Michael kidnapped her, see if her neighbors didn’t band together to lynch him. Sit earning what he’d done to her, it was no better than he deserved.
I am your conscience, he’d the nerve to tell her. Here see that she Promise.
Her righteous indignation slowed somewhat–as did her pace into the marshland–as she realized she had several boats from which to choose. There had been the childhood one to make him her King, then the adult version of crowning him champion of the competition, and she must not forget her route to love, honor, cherish, until death do them part.
She shuddered, thinking of a lifetime spends in that cabin. It would not be a long life; after six months in that cabin, she would wither and die. With a saw, she thought of the Willows, Lance and father and Uncle, and even Edith. She had to get out of this wretched swamp back to all that was safe and familiar. More than anything, she wanted to be home.
You might even like it here, Michael had said.
Looking around her, Gwen found it highly unlikely. Everything was so foreign, so threatening. How still in watchful the swap seemed. Anything could be hiding in the dense plants or waiting out of sight in the branches of the twisted trees.
Lifting her already damp skirt, she stepped gingerly through the deeper monk, referring to take her chances with the mud bank of the Bayou, then risk what might find her in the undergrowth. She thought of Lance. The instant she saw him, she tell him he was right about everything. She would never again doubt a word he might say.
Soon, she was a pastor ankle in mud, and with each step it became harder to pull out her boots. Cursing under her breath, she
was forced deeper and deeper in land, as the Bayou became a marsh and quicksand of variable threats. Eyes ever alert for anything crawling on the ground, she would have walked right into a snake-hanging from a branch not more than ten feet away–had she not looked up suddenly when she heard a noise in the bushes. Seeing the snake, she screamed, the sound scaring the reptile as much as she. It slithered off into the brush.
She stood where she was, not moving. She had no idea if the snake had been poisonous; hating them so, she avoided all reptiles and now couldn’t tell a moccasin from a garden snake. But it was her lack of knowledge, and the fact that she’d nearly run into a hideous creature, that so unnerved her now. It forced her to admit that she was out of her element here, that she’d been a fool to come this deep into the swamp.
Deep down, she knew the wisest course was to go back, but she cannot bear to the face the grins from those of noxious kids. She had no doubt they would mock her, and worse, the instant Michael returned home, they were go running to him with the story.
No, only hope was to press forward, and hope against hope that did not get herself killed.
So she moved on, moving closer to the streambank again, deciding she would rather take her chances with quicksand that anything she might encounter in the brush. Twice the Bayou forked, branching off into the dark and mysterious distance, but she was never tempted to follow it. It was dark enough where she was.
She cannot like how the trees intertwine to form a ceiling, keeping the lights out and the humidity in, a non-two welcome condition for someone recently drenched by the rain. The air was so heavy, not a breeze stirred to cool her down. Nothing moved; the overall effect was as quiet as a tomb. She moved on, more and more convinced that she must indeed have died, it was now wandering closer and closer to hell.
When she smelled wood smoke, she did not recognize the order at first, her senses overloaded by worry and the dusky cents of the swamp. The site of the weathered boards, peeking through the dense vegetation, brought hopes back to life. She’d stumbled upon a dwelling of sorts, standing alone in a small clearing. Though it wasn’t precisely civilized nation, she ran to it eagerly, seeing it as her first step home.
Too bad she did not see where she was going.
The root tripped her; surprise help her lose her footing. Before she could fully recover her balance, she went sprawling into the Bayou. Sputtering, she pulled herself up walled to the bank, grateful to be in her riding clothes and not in tangled in one of her heavy gowns. Lauren knew her boots were heavy enough. Tired, she grabbed another route to help pull herself out of the water. As she reached for it, she heard a loud splash behind her.
An alligator?
Blood freezing in her veins, she scrambled for dry ground, praying to reach the cabin before the alligator got her. In a panic, she grabbed too hard and half the root came away in her hand. She fell back into the water with an even louder splash.
Yet even with all the noise she made, she could not miss the sound of boyish laughter.
Fear turned cold with anger as she reached for the remaining half of the root. The movement she had heard earlier when she encountered the snake, must have been the boys following her.
Perhaps basalt her fear he, for she could find no sign of them when she scrambled up to the sand on dry land. They had been wise flee.
Forgetting them, she turned her attention to the shack, they haven from which she’d seek help. She took a few moments strain her riding dress the best she could, hoping she did not look much of a fright. But then, perhaps the occupant would take pity and be all the more eager to help.
With every step she walked forward growing anger filled her body. Or when she looked up at the head to the hidden home, she realized she was back at Michael’s cabin.
Chapter 11
Edith quickly closed her uncle’s door behind her, served by his state of health. John had been spitting up blood again, and his skin had turned an awful yellow, but when she’d wanted to call the doctor in, her daddy insisted it wasn’t necessary.
She hated to see her uncle suffer. He and Amanda had always been good to their motherless niece, providing the only stability she ever known. Losing Uncle John now, especially after the way her aunt died, was unthinkable.
“Damn her!”
She tensed. That was Lance’s voice, in a room down the hallway. She might love him with all her heart, but if Lance woke Uncle John after terrible day he had trying to fall asleep, she’d smack him with a broom handle. Lifting up her skirt, she ran down the hall, looking in each room until she found him.
It did not help her temper to find Lance in Gwen’s bedroom, “Lance,” she hissed. “You hush your mouth, or I will have your head.”
He ignored her, as the men in her life generally did. “She is gone!” He exploded, pounding a fist on the bed post. “I told her not to leave the house, but no, she had to have her own way, had to do as she damn well pleased.”
Before he could do any serious damage, Edith stepped up to take his hand in hers. “You have got to calm down, Lance. Then tell me quietly what is wrong.”
He looked at her, focusing for the first time. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, though no less. Furious. “I’ve found her horse wandering about the stable, all lathered and trembling, and I knew, dammit. I knew she had defied me. I appeared and found Gwen’s bed hasn’t been slept in. Why, I bet she went out right after I talked to her.”
Thinking of her cousin lying in some field with a broken leg–or worse, broken neck–Edith paled. She might resent Gwen, but she and never wanted to hurt her. “We have got to go out searching.”
“It’s too late.” shaking his head, Lance pulled free from her grasp. He grabbed the bed post. “Michael must have gotten her.”
Dismay over her cousin’s plight swiftly turned to resentment. If Gwen was with handsome Michael, why waste time worrying about her? Edith remembered how the man had kissed her cousin, right there in front of everyone; however much Lance might wish to, there was note that denying Gwen had kissed him right back. Could bet a dollar to a doorknob that Gwen and her new husband right now honeymooning their hearts out. And not worrying about the confusion she had left behind.
It cannot escape her notice–though it obviously had Gwen’s, but with Lance losing the competition, Gwen had won their wager. It was a major triumph, at long last besting Gwen, all the sweeter because she had always admired that locket, for her cousin to dash off without that tiny bit of her beloved aunt, merely fueled her resentment.
Nor was it fair that poor Lance should stand here feeling angry and hurting and wondering what to do. Why should her cousin always get what she wanted, while he–and Edith, of course–were stuck with the leavings? Why sit by and watch him cry over a woman who showed such little regret of his feelings? Lance deserved his own it share of happiness, and she knew the woman to give it to him. “She is running off to be with her new husband,” she announced, reasoning that the sooner Lance faced facts, the sooner they can begin their own future together.
Lance was visibly shocked. “What are you saying? You can’t think poor Gwen did anything other than go out for a ride. Michael, that fdemon, must have crept up from behind and abducted her.”
Edith was tired of men assuming her cousin was a fragile doll; Gwen merely pretended to be helpless to get them to do what you want. Maybe it was time for Edith to try a few pretenses of her own. “I don’t know,” she said softly, slowly moving closer. “She sure didn’t put you much of the fight against marrying him. Why, the way she behaved, I am wondering if she actually wanted Michael to win.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I saw her near the stables,” Edith went on a, knowing she was being awful to her cousin, but knowing she had to convince Lance to forget her. “Why, she had every opportunity to cut that cinch herself.”
Looking as if he’d been shot, Lance took a step backward. “No,” he said, but his boys lacked conviction. “She could have killed me.”
; Edith looked away, not wishing him to guess that she herself had cut that cinch. Not much of a horsewoman, she hadn’t quite realize how dangerous it could be. She had seen only that she must stop Lance from marrying her cousin.
“No,” Lance was shaking his head. “It was Michael, I tell you.”
“But Michael was in full view of everyone for the entire competition,” she pressed on, desperate now. Going up to hand, taking his lapels in her hands, swallowed her sense of decency and made one last stab at winning him away from her cousin. “Lance, thought pains me as much as it does you, but there is a very good chance Gwen did it. For him. He saw how she kissed him that night. I bet they played us along, manipulating us just so they could marry.”
That stopped him. His eyes widen, as if he were visualizing Gwen and Michael together.
“Don’t let her upset you so,” she said, tightening her grip on his jacket. “After what Gwen did to you, she just isn’t worth it.”
“I thought she was a lady.”
“I know,” he said softly, taking him and her arms and patting his head. Poor Lance so bewildered and lost. “But there are other ladies in this world, girls who would be honored to love a finding gentleman like you. If you face the truth about her, you can get on with your life. And you must know, I will always be here to help you.”
She could tell the exact moment he became aware of her, could feel the jolt of desire as if a lightning bolt sparked between them.
“Will you?” He asked Horsley. He reached for her, his hands tightening instantly around her waist. “Will you help me indeed?”
She felt a quivering between her thighs; her pulse throbbed, leaving her begging with need. “Lance, I have always been here, whenever you want me.”
“I want you now.” His words were clicked; his face darkened with passion as he backed her up and dropped her onto the bed. Towering over her, he began to unbutton his trousers.
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