For a moment, Grey could only stare at her. What a quick mind she had. He admired that. This give-and-take between them, he suddenly realized, afforded him the same emotions that he experienced when he was engaged in a spirited high-stakes poker game. Challenging, rewarding … exciting. Finally, he answered her. “From only you. And I will do so until I know who you are in truth and what your purpose is in confronting him. Make no mistake, I assign no innocent motives to you. But even should you prove to be aboveboard, then he needs to be adequately prepared in advance to see you, face-to-face.”
A mocking expression lit her features. “What things will you do to put your heart at rest with knowing that I speak the truth?”
The way she worded things. He had to really think to get at her meaning. When he had it, he still had no answer for her. Because he didn’t know. So he stalled. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I am wondering how long you mean to keep me hidden in your home. You said until you know the truth. That could take a while … without my help.”
White man. The unspoken words were there in her attitude. Grey sat back and eyed her sitting there confidently across from him. What in hell was he going to do with her? He already knew he’d have the very devil of a time keeping her hidden away for even a short period of time. She knew it, too. But beyond that, he had no stomach for locking a woman away in his home. The very idea was barbaric.
What he needed, then, was a good many-pronged scheme. One, he needed the time and the freedom to seek the truth about her. Two, he needed her cooperation for that. Three, he needed to keep a close eye on her in the meantime. Four … in order for him to achieve one, two, and three … she would have to move about in polite society—or he had to stay home all the time with her. And five—it remained true—Charles needed to get to know her before she was sprung on him as his daughter … if she was his daughter … so the shock didn’t kill him.
Damn, what a convoluted mess. Still, thank God he had involved himself, now that he knew his entire family could be affected adversely, to put it mildly, by this young woman’s sudden appearance in their lives with her secretive mission. But what was the solution to his current and many-pronged dilemma? Grey exhaled his resignation. There was only one solution, and he knew what it was.
Yes, he’d sooner shoot himself in the foot than implement it, but this was for the good of the family. He bit back a threatening peal of laughter. He’d be the one to put his own mother in the grave with that one. The good of the family. Ha. His mother always accused him of putting himself first. Maybe so. But not this time. This time the very lives of those he loved the most in the world—even if he never told them or acted as if he gave a damn—could be at stake.
He’d been quiet a long time while he thought all this through. So had she. He now met the waiting gaze of the very arousing and mysterious dark-haired young woman seated across from him. And knew that the pretense he was about to suggest was fraught with blind alleys and unforeseen dangers. Still, the plan he meant to propose should make his socially prominent mother very happy. That is, if she, as well as everyone else who knew him, didn’t faint dead away at the shock of his announcement. Now, isn’t this interesting? Grey asked himself. In order not to kill off a friend with a huge shock, he had to perpetrate a scheme that could very well kill off his own family and friends first. Lovely.
Grey rubbed tiredly at his temples. Outside his carriage he heard the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, heard a dog barking, heard someone calling out in the night, looking for someone who apparently hadn’t come home. Grey pronounced himself sympathetic with that idea. Only thirty minutes ago his life hadn’t been this vastly complicated. But this turn of events—admittedly, brought down on his own head by the sudden rearing of this ugly sense of familial duty in his heart—was certainly enough to send any man running for the hills.
While that remained a wishful and perhaps viable option, Grey nevertheless cloaked himself in the mantle of personal accountability and spoke at long last to his companion. “Well, it pains me to say this … Miss James. But I believe I have a plan. And it’s actually very simple. The best ones always are. So, here it is.” He took a much-needed deep breath. “Despite my better instincts, I will present you to society as my fiancée.”
She sat forward, her expression itself a question mark. “Your what?”
The word was unfamiliar to her, obviously. “My fiancée. The woman I intend to marry.”
* * *
The only reason Mr. Greyson Talbott lived past that moment was because Taylor had time only to stare in shock at the crazy white man before the carriage in which they were riding came to a sudden stop. Taylor jerked her gaze out the open window. Where were they? Had he taken her to his home as he’d said? Or to the law? In either case, what would happen now? Her heart thumped fearfully. Suddenly the carriage chassis rocked and a man called out orders. Taylor’s eyes widened in panic. She gripped the leather seat’s edge.
“That’s only my driver, Miss James. He’s directing the men who work for me. It’s OK. They won’t hurt you.”
Taylor raised her chin and glared at him. “I am not afraid.”
However, she didn’t seem capable of not watching the scene outside. The night was lit up with lanterns and was alive with running men. They all charged toward the carriage. Instantly the vehicle was surrounded and the men set to work amid a chorus of “yessirs” to the orders tossed their way by the driver.
Taylor eyed the handle on the door. So far no one had opened it and tried to pluck her out. She tried to think what she should do, if they attempted such a thing. How could she defend herself? She remembered her knife. That comforted her a bit. Still, she shrank back against her seat and warily watched every move the men made as they passed in and out of her view, which was limited to the small square of the window opening.
Suddenly a man jerked open the door between her and Mr. Talbott. Taylor’s hand edged toward her boot. The man, skinny and smiling, set down a three-step ladder on the ground and poked his head into the carriage’s interior. “Good evening, sir. Welcome ho—” He stared wide-eyed at Taylor. Leaning forward, her hand poised just above her boot top, she stared back at him through dangerously slitted eyes.
Another man, outside and unseen, called out, “What do you want me to do with this horse back here?”
Taylor eyed Mr. Talbott. “If your man so much as touches my horse, Red Sky will kill him. I trained him that way.”
“Good God.” Mr. Talbott’s eyes rounded. He snapped an order to the gaping man whose head was poked inside the carriage. “Tell Calvin to stay away from that Indian pony. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” The man jerked back and spoke sharply to this unseen Calvin. “Leave the horse be. The, uh, lady will have to see to it.”
A chorus of, “What lady?” was heard, whereupon Mr. Talbott muttered something under his breath, grabbed up his tall hat and her gun, and edged forward, finally exiting the carriage. Once outside, he pocketed her gun, donned his hat, and stuck his hand back in. He meant to assist her in getting out, Taylor surmised. Disdaining his help, she ignored his outstretched hand, him, and the three-step ladder, instead jumping nimbly to the ground on her own power. The men—there were four of them besides Mr. Talbott—quieted and stilled. They stared at her.
Pointedly ignoring them, Taylor looked about her. She stood in the middle of an orderly coach yard behind a narrow three-story red-brick building. Mr. Talbott’s home. On either side of this place were attached other homes of the same sort. A curious way to build one’s home, she concluded. She turned her attention to the yard itself. A very large square in shape, covered with a sandy earth, surrounded by brick walls. At the yard’s back gate sat two big wooden buildings. Most likely a coach barn and a horse barn. Lamps hung at various intervals, their cheery light making her study possible. She looked to her left. A back door into the house was open, showing a long wood-floored hall also awash with light … and inviting somehow.
She blinked and turned her attention to the struck-dumb men. “Which one of you is Calvin?”
The dead silence continued. Taylor wondered if she’d accidentally lapsed into Cherokee. Then, “I am, miss,” came from her right. Taylor turned to see a tall, well-muscled boy dragging his cap off to reveal red hair. She had seen this coloring before on a bad white man who had done terrible things in the Nation.
Taylor looked the boy, a-ni-tsu to her, up and down with great disdain. “Come here.” He began walking toward her … with all the enthusiasm, it amused her to note, of someone volunteering to have his throat slit.
“Follow me,” she said, turning on her heel. She half-expected Mr. Talbott to challenge her, but to her surprise he waited with the rest of the men to see what she was doing. At the back of the carriage, she took hold of Red Sky’s bridle and pulled his head down until his soft, velvety ear was close to her mouth. She whispered some Cherokee words into the animal’s ear. Red Sky pulled back and looked at her, then at Calvin behind her.
Taylor patted the horse’s neck and turned to Calvin. “You alone, other than me, may handle him. His name is Red Sky. I have told him your name and that it is good with me for you to touch him. Hear me well, a-ni-tsu—should anyone else try to manage him or ride him, he will kill that person. Make this known to the other men.”
Calvin bobbed his head so severely Taylor feared it would topple off his neck. But he was merely nodding in acknowledgment of her orders. “Yes, ma’am. I most certainly will. You can count on me, ma’am.”
“Good.” She grabbed her saddlebags and tugged them off Red Sky. Throwing them over a shoulder, she walked back to Mr. Talbott. She looked up at the big man and said, “I am ready.”
He pointed to her saddlebags. “You won’t need anything in those.”
Taylor quirked an eyebrow. “You cannot know that, for you do not know what I have in them.”
Without warning, he very rudely tugged them off her shoulder and tossed them easily to one of his men. “Go on about your business,” he told them. They did, dispersing instantly. Then he turned back to her. “You’re right. I don’t know what you have in them. Which is exactly why I said you won’t need them.”
Taylor controlled her temper, because she had no choice at the moment, but again felt the comfort of her hidden knife inside her boot. One day soon, she would use it, and then she would be free of this man. “Are you afraid I will scalp you in your sleep, Mr. Talbott?”
She allowed herself a smirk. White people thought every tribe scalped their enemies. She knew that sometimes they did much worse things.
But Mr. Talbott showed no fear. Instead, he took her arm and propelled her toward the back door. In its opening now stood the shadowed figure of a short and rounded man. “Actually, Miss James—if that’s who you really are—I don’t intend to do anything to cause you to want to scalp me.”
“You have already given me plenty of reasons, Mr. Talbott. But I do not ever need a reason. I need only a sharp knife and the wish to do so.”
His fingers tightened around her arm. Taylor smirked. She’d scared him. “Have you really ever scalped a man before, Miss James?”
She thought about lying but for some reason didn’t. Maybe she was just tired. “No.”
“Well, I have.”
Taylor gasped and looked up at him. His face, shadowed by his hat’s brim, had sinister planes and hollows she hadn’t noticed before. He wasn’t staring down at her. He was looking straight ahead. A chill swept over Taylor. She had a vision of her long braid hanging from his belt. She would keep her knife close by at all times, but for her own protection. With no small amount of trepidation on her part, for she had no idea what she would find inside a white man’s home, Taylor stepped with him into the long and elegant hall.
They were greeted by the bowing figure of the short and rounded man she’d seen from a distance. “Good evening, sir,” he said. “I hope you had a pleasant time of it. And may I assume, sir, judging by the lady’s attire and the feather in her braid, that you’ve also managed to bring home an Indian with you?”
Chapter Five
Taylor gritted her teeth. Indian. The word was hated by the tribes and not used by them. Instead, she was Tsalagi and one of Yv-wi. The People.
Offended, Taylor drew herself up, prepared to do more than take offense. The bowing man straightened, giving Taylor her first good look at him. Her breath left her. Her knees weakened. She would have staggered had Mr. Talbott not already had a tight hold on her arm. Taylor put a hand to her chest and stared wide-eyed as a sudden vision robbed her momentarily of complete awareness of her surroundings.
In her sight now was a great and evil bird that descended on her, its hooked talons fierce and extended. It scooped her off the ground and bore her away to the sky. In the next instant, this bird of prey was suddenly attacked by another creature, a small yet determined bird, one Taylor somehow knew meant to save her even at the cost of its own life. The birds fought, their screams piercing the air and assaulting her ears. The war bird lost its grip on her. Screaming, Taylor twisted and turned and plummeted toward the hard earth below, toward the death that awaited her—
But instead she was returned to the moment, and to her body, with a jolt. Shaken but quiet, blinking yet aware, Taylor realized that the men apparently hadn’t noticed that anything was amiss with her. That had to mean that not much time, if any, had passed. How could this be? They were still standing where they’d been, and the door was still open. Had time somehow stood still? Taylor fought the urge to put a hand to her brow or do anything that would alert them to her discomfiture—or her sense of wonder. She’d had a vision. That was the only explanation possible. Never before had she seen one.
She knew in an instant that she’d been wrong, all these years, to scorn the stories of The People. Rube, her guard in the penitentiary, had been right, too. Because here before her was the proof of the legends told by the old ones to explain the world. Just then, the strange and wonderful creature that had captured Taylor’s attention closed the door to the outside. She watched his every move, analyzing every gesture for something of significance meant only for her.
Mr. Talbott turned to face the being, taking Taylor with him as he went. “Good evening, Bentley,” he said. Taylor’s breath caught—no time could have passed because Mr. Talbott was only now returning the greeting. “And yes, I did manage to bring a … uh, young lady home with me. May I present…” He looked down at her and frowned, then focused again on the spirit guide dressed in black. “Well, I don’t know exactly who she is, to tell you the truth.”
“I see, sir. That is most awkward then, is it not?”
Awestruck, remembering now Rube’s words to be open to a spirit guide and that she would know the sign, Taylor watched as the one called Bentley now ran his gaze over her. A shiver slipped over Taylor’s skin. He had seen her. Could he see inside her soul? This was a man-bird. A beaklike nose, thinning hair combed back, no chin, round little body clad in a white shirt, black cutaway coat, and dark pants over his skinny legs. He was magic. A bird changed into a man. For her. She was certain of it, just as she was certain that he could fly if he so chose. The old ones still spoke, at tribal gatherings, of the beings who could turn into birds and animals. She had heard the tales as a child and had believed them then. But as she’d grown and had been rejected by The People because of her white blood, she had rejected their ways as false and had waged war on them and their beliefs.
No longer. Because here such a creature was. But in a white man’s house. How had this happened? Was Mr. Talbott magic also? She looked up at him, noting his strong jaw and high cheekbones, his deep-set dark eyes. He smiled down at her, his eyebrows raised. A thrill chased through Taylor. Had he captured this creature somehow? Or had the man-bird come to him of his own free will? Taylor’s next thought narrowed her eyes with suspicion.… Mr. Talbott’s smile faded. Was this big man next to her the evil bird? Did he hold the wondrous being prisoner here, as he
did her? Would he try to kill them both if they tried to leave? She had many questions but only one answer. The man-bird was her talisman, her most special spirit animal, appearing to her in her time of need. And he had come to her in this house.
Overcome with her sudden spiritual fervor, Taylor wrenched away from Mr. Talbott’s grasp. He made a sound, as if of protest, but did nothing to stop her as, in the ensuing quiet, she slowly advanced on this so-named Bentley. She didn’t wish to startle him and have him fly away. As she’d suspected he might, though, he moved back, away from her outstretched hand. But the wall behind him stopped him. His eyes rounded. She had him now. With her face maybe an inch away from his, she began her close scrutiny of him, noting every pore and blotch in his skin.
The man-bird shifted his gaze from her to Mr. Talbott. “Do you suppose the, uh, young lady could favor us with her name, sir?”
The man-bird’s voice was high and shaky, Taylor noted. Perhaps he was not yet used to his human form. He tried to scoot his way down the wall, his winglike arms flat against its surface. Taylor carefully matched him step for step along the way.
“She gave me her name, Bentley,” Mr. Talbott said, sounding cheery. “I just don’t know if it’s really her name. Or if she is actually who she says she is. It’s a devil of a mystery.”
The man-bird Bentley appeared to be afraid as he nodded his head. If he was afraid, then it must be true—he was a captive here. “I see, Mr. Talbott.” Then he gave Mr. Talbott a pleading look. “Actually, sir, I don’t see at all.”
Taylor gasped and pulled back. He was blind. He could not see. His vision had been stolen. Perhaps by a jealous and thieving crow? Taylor waved a hand in front of his face to see if he could see it. He stared round-eyed, his mouth open … but he didn’t move. Taylor turned to Mr. Talbott. “What has happened to his sight? Who has stolen it?”
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