“No, we cannot.” Taylor frowned at Bentley as she searched for secret meaning in his words. The old ones had said the spirit guides sometimes spoke in such ways. But it seemed to her that only Grey—Greyson—spoke with words not said. But he was not her spirit guide. He was a man too much of this world. Bentley was the man-bird and her protector. She knew this. And he would go where she did, from this time forward.
“What are you contemplating over there, Taylor? And why do I feel I should be concerned?”
Taylor gave Greyson her attention. Ignoring his question and his comment, she again spoke her mind. “I would know where you are taking me.”
“So we’re back to that. Well, I suppose it’s that or a discussion of your bloomers. Oh, sorry, Bentley. Your being here was not my idea, I assure you.” To Taylor he said, “We have been summoned to your father’s home.”
Surprise had Taylor fisting her hands. Her pulse leaped as her mouth dried. “My father?” she rasped out.
“Yes. We’ve been summoned. You and I. By name, Taylor.”
Her eyes widened. “How? He doesn’t know—”
“Apparently he does know.” Grey’s expression was accusing as he archly cut his gaze to the oblivious Bentley beside him and then to her.
To Taylor, Greyson’s actions were as plain as words. He suspected Bentley. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe it. She shook her head. “No. You’re wrong. Who else could have—”
“I intend to find out; trust me.” He leaned toward her as if he needed to assure himself that he had her complete attention. “Taylor, I should warn you that we won’t be the only ones present. Your father wrote that your aunt and your cousin will also be in attendance.”
Chapter Twelve
Taylor dragged in a shallow breath. She couldn’t have said if her chest was tightening with anticipation or dread. What if the intent of this meeting was not a happy one? What if they wished to tell her to leave them be? “Aunt Camilla and Amanda?”
“Yes. Apparently they are anxious to renew their acquaintance with you.”
That didn’t sound bad—or wonderful. Taylor put her fingers to her mouth and absently rubbed her lips as she stared at Greyson. “Did the note say that—about them being anxious to…?” She couldn’t get the words out.
Greyson’s expression softened. “Yes. It did. Why? Do you doubt that they would really wish to see you?”
“No.” Taylor lowered her hand and stared at it there in her lap as she added, “I just … well, I just hope that the words are their true wishes.”
“I see.” Greyson’s soft voice was like a balm to her soul. “So do I, Taylor. They’d be fools not to want to know you.”
She looked up, meeting his warm gaze, his sincere smile. And felt afraid, as if she were losing a part of herself to him. She suddenly felt very young and in need of protection, unsure of herself … as if she required a hand to hold. A hand to hold? Her? The very idea was a slap to her dignity. Taylor reined in her emotions. Just because she’d made love to this man, just because she’d shared her body with him, it did not mean he held sway over her heart. No man owned her, and she owed no man anything. Taylor sat up straighter, steeling her spine and her resolve to be her own woman, to need no one.
Suddenly Bentley looked up and addressed his employer. “I say, Mr. Talbott, I trust I will be allowed to remain in the carriage for the duration of your visit with Miss James’s kin?”
“No. I need you!” Taylor yelped, leaning forward to clutch at his hand. A man was one thing, but a spirit guide was a completely other being. And she had no qualms about needing him. “You must be with me.”
“Oh, dear.” Bentley shrank back like a frightened child, practically wedging himself between Greyson’s shoulder and the seat back. He very cautiously pulled his hand from under Taylor’s. “I daresay, Miss James, you need only Mr. Talbott with you.”
Taylor sat back, staring in dismay at her reluctant spirit guide.
To her surprise, Greyson took up her case. “No, she’s quite right, Bentley. She’ll need you with her.” Irritably he reached around himself, an arm across his chest, to tug Bentley out from behind him. As Greyson settled again, he continued to speak to Bentley … although his gaze rested on Taylor. “Besides, I’m not certain that I’m in much of a mood today to play spirit guide to an Indian maiden who doesn’t wish me to be such to her.”
Staring at Greyson’s insulted posture, Taylor drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly … for patience. It was never easy to explain Cherokee religion to white people. As a child, she’d certainly tried with the missionaries, but they’d met her halting statements of her beliefs with either mocking derision or angry rejection, calling her blasphemous. For many years, she hadn’t known what the word meant. But still, here and now, and with Greyson, Taylor felt she needed to try again. “Greyson, it is not as I wish. It is as it is.”
Greyson crossed his arms again. “Well, I won’t even pretend that I understand that, Taylor.”
She cut her gaze to the open window, recognized the area—her father’s house was around the next corner. She had to hurry. Both men in the carriage with her needed to understand. Again she sought Greyson’s eyes and saw he’d been watching her and waiting. “I cannot choose a spirit guide. Or even call on one. At worrisome times in a person’s life, a guide will simply appear. We must recognize it as such and heed its words and actions, for in them is our answer.”
“I see. And what sort of message are you getting from Bentley’s words and actions?”
Taylor stared at the timid little man-bird and firmed her lips together into a straight line. She had no idea what his message was, but she wasn’t about to tell Greyson that. She raised her chin, focused on Greyson, and improvised. “The need for caution.”
Greyson made a disrespectful sound that scoffed at her words. “I could have told you that. We certainly didn’t need a man-bird to tell us.”
That was when she heard it, there in Greyson’s voice, in his mannerisms. Taylor’s lips twitched around a barely suppressed smile. Greyson was jealous of her attentions to Bentley. A sudden, startling thawing of her emotions swept over Taylor, blindsiding her, leaving her feeling warmed toward Grey. He was jealous. Not in a sexually possessive way like other men had been. But in a sweet way, a way of the heart. He wanted to be her man-bird. The only one she looked up to. The only one she turned to. How surprising. The big and muscled man who hadn’t once let her down, the man who’d stuck by her side even at risk to himself and his family … wanted her to rely on him.
A rare grin escaped Taylor. She even chuckled, her heart full with a flash of joy that she didn’t analyze or even deny.
Grey’s stern expression dissolved. He sat forward, bracing his hands against his knees. He stared wide-eyed at her. “You’re smiling. You even laughed. That is the first time I’ve seen you do so. I swear, I was beginning to think you humorless.”
Taylor shook her head, not willing after all to admit anything out loud to him. As long as only she knew how he affected her, she was safe in her heart. “I am not without laughter, Grey. You have just not amused me until now. But I would speak to you of spirit guides.” She sobered some. “The old ones say that a guide comes in a time of need to show the way.”
Now Greyson was grinning at her. “Oh, they show the way, do they? Then I suppose we should have Bentley topside driving the brougham.”
“I hardly think so, sir.” Now Bentley was outraged. His weak little chin came up a proud notch; his arms flapped out at his rounded sides. Taylor watched him in fascination. Was he going to fly? “I would remind you, sir, that I am a butler. And as such I do not drive … carriages.” He spit the word out.
“Calm down, Bentley,” Greyson drawled, patting Bentley’s shoulder. “No one is expecting you to handle the horses. But I would also remind you that these are special and trying circumstances just now, and neither do butlers go tooling about the city with their employers—” He jerked his gaze to Taylor. �
��Did you call me Grey a moment ago?”
Lost in the harangue between butler and employer, Taylor popped her attention forward to Greyson’s question. “Call you Grey? No, I did not.”
“You did,” he insisted.
They both appealed to Bentley, who shrank visibly and all but disappeared into the upholstery. He faced Taylor. “You did,” he squeaked.
Taylor cut her chilling gaze over to Grey. He grinned. “Can’t argue with the spirit guide, remember.”
She didn’t get a chance to prove that yes she could because, just then, the carriage drew to a stop. Taylor’s pulse jumped. “We’re here,” she breathed, apprehension more than wonder accentuating her voice and words.
Grey reached over and covered her hand. Only then did she realize how cold her hands were, and on such a warm day. She couldn’t seem to look away from his dark eyes and his reassuring expression. “It will be all right, Taylor. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Remember, these are people who love you.”
Taylor nodded. It was all she could do. But inside … where she kept everything important, the things that she never spoke of … she worried. Perhaps they love me. But perhaps instead they are the ones who told the lies, the ones who said I was dead. Perhaps they will wish me to be so now.
* * *
The door to Grey’s brougham was barely open before the front door of her father’s home was flung open.
As Grey stepped out of the carriage, Taylor used his body as a shield and leaned forward shyly to see who had come outside. It was Amanda, and she was blond and beautiful, just as she’d been as a child. A thrill of excitement shot through Taylor. She trembled with giddiness and feared that tears would spill out of her eyes. She would have known Amanda anywhere. It was such a comforting feeling, but strange somehow. Taylor felt as if she’d just recognized a person who was a stranger to her.
But wasn’t she? Wasn’t Amanda—along with her mother and Taylor’s father—a stranger to her? Blood kin though they may all be, the truth was she didn’t know them and they didn’t know her … not anymore.
Disconcerted, suddenly unsure of herself, Taylor abruptly sat back, out of view of her—she swallowed—white family. But underneath her uneasiness, and growing stronger with each passing second, was the realization that she needn’t have worried only moments ago as they’d driven up the circular driveway toward this imposing mansion. She was loved.
The proof of it was even now running Taylor’s way, her skirts flying, her arms opened wide, and a look of pure expectant joy on her face. “Where is she, Greyson? Where? Did she come? Oh, dear me, let me see her! Let me see her!”
Taylor could see Greyson’s profile and heard his chuckle. “Only a moment more, Amanda. Allow me to hand her out.” He turned to Taylor, his hand outstretched to her, his eyes merry, his expression warm. “You’d best get out before your cousin throttles me for delaying this happy reunion.”
He coupled his words with a wink at Taylor. She knew in that moment that she trusted him with her life. If he’d brought her here, then she was safe. He would never allow anyone to harm her. Perhaps it was a testament to her feeling a bit off-balance, or maybe it was simply a need to feel his touch, his reassurance, but whatever it was … Taylor did actually allow him to hand her out of the brougham. She put her hand in his. His fingers closed over hers and gently squeezed. Her gaze met his and held. Something sparked in the depth of his dark eyes, something that said how much he cared.
Taylor’s breath caught. She wondered if he knew he’d revealed as much as he had. She sought Bentley’s attention. He silently, sagely nodded and fluttered his little short-fingered hand at her, as if to say, “Go on from here. This is a good thing.” Taylor nodded at him, smiling, thanking him.
And then the moment was over, she was out of the carriage—and Amanda had flung herself, laughing and crying, into Taylor’s arms. Taylor held onto her childhood friend, her beloved Amanda, the sister of her heart, with as much fierce emotion as Amanda held her. Amanda alternately sobbed heartily and peppered Taylor’s face with kisses. She held Taylor out from her at arm’s length and stared at her, then shrieked happily and hugged her again. Taylor was just as happy but more reserved in showing it. Outwardly she smiled and submitted to Amanda’s happy dramatics, but inside, Taylor felt certain her knees would give way and she would fall to the ground, so overwrought with emotion was she.
Amanda again pulled back and held Taylor out at arm’s length. “Let me look at you again.” Grinning, worshipful, she looked Taylor up and down. “I just knew it. You are the most beautiful woman on earth. I always knew you would be.” She looked into Taylor’s eyes, brown eyes meeting blue. “I love you so much, Taylor. You must never go away and leave us again. Never. I cannot lose you again. I cannot.”
“Amanda?”
The quiet masculine voice at their side had Taylor turning with Amanda to face the speaker. Her father. Weakness invaded Taylor’s bones. She started to slip. Amanda cried out, her grip on Taylor’s arm tightening. Charles James … so blond and tall and of such elegant and ethereal bearing that he appeared to be held to the earth only by the weight of the clothes he wore … grabbed Taylor’s other arm and held onto her as well. At her back, and steadying her with his hands to her waist, was a familiar touch and strength, that of Greyson.
With perhaps a show of deference for this meeting between father and child, Amanda released Taylor and stepped back, her hands folded together in front of her, her smile radiant.
“Are you all right, Taylor?” Grey whispered in her ear.
His warm breath and the timbre of his voice sent a shiver over her skin. She managed an unsteady nod, and Grey released her. Taylor stood her ground now, on her own power, but with her cold hands fisted at her sides. She felt naked and helpless. An assortment of noises surrounded her: a horse made a snuffling noise; Bentley thanked Greyson for assisting him out of the carriage; the driver alit, his footsteps crunching through the gravel. A close-by bird in some tree chirped. But eventually the mix of sounds faded into the background. All was quiet now around Taylor and her father. An air of expectancy settled over them. Even the wind settled. The world seemed to hold its breath … and to wait.
Taylor stood stiffly still. Her father gripped her arm. She didn’t know how to feel about that. She did not know this man, the things that were in his heart, the things that he believed, or even what he thought. The little girl inside her wanted only to melt into his embrace and cry out all her fears and longings. But the hardened young woman she now was stood her ground and stared silently at this man who, with her mother, had caused her to have life.
“Hello, Taylor.” His voice was low and soothing. Tears stood in his eyes, eyes every bit as blue as Taylor’s.
She remembered these eyes from all those years ago, from the few times in her life before this moment that she had seen him. She’d been nine years old when she’d last seen him. After the war, he’d come to the Nation with Stanley James, his brother, to collect Amanda and her mother … and to leave Taylor and her mother behind. The men had been there as long as a week, and yet Charles James, though he had visited them, hadn’t stayed in the cabin with her and her mother. He’d stayed with his brother … with the white people … as if ashamed of her and her mother. That was the first time Taylor had wondered what was so wrong with her that her own father would not want to be with her.
As she stood here now, with her father’s hand on her arm, a seed of remembered hate and hardness took root in Taylor’s heart and threatened to grow.
But then, Charles James spoke again, this time softly and for her ears only. “My sweet precious child. I feared I would never see you again. But thank God in heaven, you’ve been returned to me. Hello and welcome home. At last … you are home.”
He gazed lovingly at Taylor, his eyes alight, his color heightened. He was obviously overcome with a strong emotion. Yet he made no further move toward her … just held her arm.
“Father?” The one wor
d slipped out of her.
Charles James broke down. A sob escaped him. Around them … Taylor and her father … she heard other sobs and a masculine sniffle of emotion. And then she found herself in her father’s embrace. She didn’t know what to do except hug him in return and try to hold back her own tears. In her embrace, he felt thin yet strong, warm yet firm. He smelled of cleanliness and goodness. There was nothing about him of the hard, cruel man Taylor had forced him to be in her mind. Instead, there was an air about him of one who was sick but not dying, of one who was hurting … but in his heart and not his body.
In that instant, Taylor feared for him and forgot to hate him because he was white. She forgot to hate him because he had abandoned her and her mother. Because he had never come back to them. Because he had made her grow up without him. She forgot all the hateful accusations she’d meant to throw in his face. She knew in her heart that if she’d met him on her ground, meaning at her mother’s home in the Nation, she maybe would have said those words. She maybe would have spit at the ground at his feet and turned her back on him. But not here and not seeing him like this.
When Charles pulled back from Taylor, he stroked her cheek and roved his gaze over her face. Then he smiled. “You have my eyes. I remembered that. I never forgot.” Taylor’s chin came up proudly. With his hand still clasping her arm, Charles pivoted to look over his shoulder and signaled to a dark-haired woman who’d stayed quietly behind him. “Camilla, come here. Say hello to Taylor. She is finally here.” He turned to Taylor. “Do you remember Amanda’s mother? Your Aunt Camilla?”
Trying to regain some of her hard-edged equilibrium, Taylor nodded. “I remember her more than I do you. She lived with me and my mother for many years.”
Her father’s sad expression said he was thinking of many things, that there were many things he wished to say to her. But all he finally said, with a smile that asked for forgiveness, was, “Yes. Yes, she did.”
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