The Promise of Breeze Hill

by Pam Hillman

  Today’s skirmish was just one step toward his goal.

  The closer he rode toward where Le Bonne had attacked the Wainwright party, the more anxious he became. Surely Le Bonne had been successful and the Irishman was dead.

  He smiled, visualizing his arrival at the chaotic scene.

  He’d order his men and the slaves to help with the wounded, bury the dead, while he consoled Isabella.

  Nolan pondered his newfound infatuation with the woman. It wasn’t his nature to care overmuch about anyone. He supposed he could blame his mother for that. She hadn’t been much of a mother by anyone’s standards. She’d been an actress in London, pursuing a career onstage with her eye on making a match above her station.

  As alike as two peas in a pod, his father also had an eye on the same, but the two had ended up with each other and with him. The following years had been good, with the two of them fleecing many a lord and lady with their charm and good looks.

  But they’d gotten greedy and careless, and his mother’s looks had begun to fade. After an unfortunate incident where they’d been caught red-handed in some scheme, they’d been shipped off to the New World with Nolan in tow, each blaming the other for their misfortune. His father had died aboard ship along with many others, including Mrs. Nolan Braxton II, a woman of aristocratic bearing, en route to join her husband at their new plantation home in the Natchez District.

  A testament to her acting abilities, Nolan’s mother had moved into the woman’s stateroom, taken over her identity, and created a whole new life for herself and her son. One that included a plantation where Nolan Braxton II had also passed away and none of the servants had ever met the mistress of the house.

  He and his mother had just walked in and taken over Braxton Hall and no one had been the wiser. That had been over fifteen years ago.

  She might not have been much of a mother, but she’d proven her worth as a dramatic actress when she’d pulled off the coup of a lifetime.

  A coup that had set Nolan up for life. Except that the life of a gentleman farmer’s wife didn’t hold enough excitement or coin for his mother. When she’d seen the wealth that flowed along the Natchez Trace, she’d put her acting talents into place and started a whole new life of crime.

  Nolan’s lip curled. His mother’s greed would have ruined him if not for her untimely death. While the neighboring plantation owners had come to pay their respects upon her death seven years ago, Nolan had been relieved that she was gone.

  It was only a matter of time before her unorthodox methods would have exposed them for the frauds they were. If Nolan had learned anything from his parents’ mistakes, it was to keep his role as gentleman farmer completely separate from his role as highwayman.

  But now all that was about to change.

  With the ownership of both Braxton Hall and Breeze Hill, a wife of Spanish descent, and a political appointment from the Spanish governor, his dreams of a respectable life would be realized. He could completely cut ties with the rough underworld and embrace the aristocracy that was his due.

  Nolan and his men rounded a bend and came face-to-face with the aftermath of the attack on Wainwright’s party. A warning shot rang out, coming too close for comfort, and Nolan jerked his mount to the side, a fierce glare aimed at the man who’d fired the shot.

  “Halt! Who goes there?”

  “Nolan Braxton, owner of Braxton Hall.” Nolan schooled his features into one of shocked concern, choosing to overlook the near-fatal accident. “Is this the Wainwright party? Have you been attacked?”

  “Lower your weapons, men.” Wainwright strode forward, hand outstretched. “Braxton, am I glad to see you!”

  The man who’d fired the shot looked sheepish. “Sorry, sir. I thought the outlaws had circled around and were attacking from the rear.”

  “Is everyone all right?” Nolan dismounted, clasped Wainwright by the arm, and shook his outstretched hand. “Isabella? Tell me she’s unharmed.”

  Wainwright’s gaze met his. “I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Nolan froze, not sure he’d heard correctly. “What do you mean by gone?”

  “One of the blackguards shot William and took her.” Wainwright motioned to a black carriage nearby where Isabella’s overseer and his whelp hovered over the younger Wainwright. “We’re heading for Breeze—”

  “Took her?” Nolan’s grip tightened on Wainwright’s arm. “By God, man, what do you mean, he took her?”

  “Kidnapped her and took off with her.” Wainwright’s jaw hardened. “Connor O’Shea, her indentured servant, has gone after her.”

  Nolan’s blood chilled.

  Not only had Pierre and Turnbull failed to kill the Irishman, they’d allowed some foul imbecile to make off with Isabella.

  The fools!

  Chapter 25

  ISABELLA RAN, briars and brambles tearing at her skirts.

  Finally she could run no more. She stopped beneath a large pine, gasping for air. As she caught her breath, the forest sounds loomed loud. The creak of a twig, the thump of a pinecone falling set her heart to racing all over again.

  A crashing noise to her right had her scrambling away, looking for a place to hide. A scream lodged in her throat when she spotted movement, and she backed away. The bushes shook; a deer leapt from the wild tangle of brush and bounded off, tail alert. A massive tree loomed in front of her, and she crouched at its base, heart pounding.

  After the deer’s flight, all was quiet. No birds chirped, no leaves rustled. Not even a breeze stirred the oppressive air beneath the thick canopy. Sweat dampened her dress, and the fabric clung to her, sticky and hot. Her stomach roiled. She was lost in this wilderness with a killer after her.

  Think. She had to think. She had to be still if she was to survive.

  As her heart rate slowed, she considered her options. She could head west and would run into the main road. But did she dare? Wouldn’t her pursuer expect that of her? Or was he out there right now, watching her, waiting to pounce like a barn cat toying with a mouse?

  She shuddered.

  What had happened to Connor, Mews, Toby, and the others? Were they all dead?

  Please, God, no. Please, Lord, keep them safe. She suppressed a sob. And William. Lord, please have mercy on William. Let him live. Let him—

  Guilt filled her as desperate prayers shot through her frantic thoughts. She’d shied away from truly seeking God’s help, blaming Him for Jonathan’s death and the misfortune that had befallen her family. How foolish. God never promised her that she wouldn’t have trials and tribulations. He’d never promised a life of ease, not to her or anybody else who trusted in Him.

  But He had promised life eternal, and she could cling to that. She must cling to that because the odds of her making it out of this alive were unlikely.

  The chirping of birds penetrated her consciousness, and a tiny rustling in the leaves revealed that the animals were stirring again. Her headlong flight and that of the deer had silenced them for a brief span of time, but no longer.

  She’d never had to know how to move in the wilderness, but she’d heard the men talk. If she was to stay alive, she’d have to move as slowly and quietly as possible.

  Please, Lord, give me strength. Give me courage.

  With the Lord’s help, she would survive.

  Clouds rolled in, dimming the sun but doing little to ease the humidity on the ground. With the trees and the clouds obscuring the sun, she had no way of knowing which way was north. But she had to move. Taking a chance, she crouched and eased deeper into the wilderness, hoping to find a creek soon. She’d go upstream, away from the trace. A niggling in the back of her mind warned that upstream could lead deeper into the untamed wilderness, away from civilization and help. But to go back the way she’d come would lead her into the highwayman’s snare.

  Cold dread snaked down her spine. She’d take her chances in the wilderness.

  As she stumbled through the forest, the sky grew darker, the tr
ees swaying as the storm clouds moved closer.

  What seemed like an eternity later, she stopped, slumped against a tree, and attempted to get her bearings. Her skirts clung to her legs, cloying and suffocating. She hiked her skirts and ripped off one of her petticoats. Eyeing the ripped and torn garment, she tossed it to the ground, flipped up her skirts again, and stripped off another one.

  The relief would be short-lived, but maybe she’d be able to move easier without the weight of so many garments swishing around her limbs. At home, she didn’t wear so many layers, but custom demanded that she look presentable in Natchez and while traveling.

  She bit back a hysterical laugh, glancing at the heap of muslin on the ground. Who cared if she had on three petticoats out here?

  A twig snapped from somewhere off to her left.

  She froze in place, her heart thudding so hard her chest ached.

  Had he found her?

  The forest fell silent, or maybe she just no longer heard the melodious sounds of the birds singing over the blood pumping through her veins.

  She caught a whiff of something foreign on the breeze—woodsmoke, leather, male—and did the only thing she knew to do.

  She ran.

  In a blur, a form blocked her path. In the fraction of a second before she plowed into the man’s broad chest, his battered cotton shirt with laces dangling flashed across her vision. She collided with her captor, a scream of terror clawing its way from the back of her throat to her lips.

  Bands of steel wrapped around her and she was swept against the hard length of a man’s body, his arms circling her waist and lifting her off the ground.

  “Shh, it’s all right. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

  The scream on her lips died to a whimper.

  Connor had come for her. He’d found her.

  Thank You, Jesus.

  Connor relaxed his hold, and she tilted her face to his. One long welt graced his cheek, and streaks of grime and sweat covered his face, but his eyes glittered, the color of the forest surrounding them.

  He was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

  She threw her arms around his neck and held on, gut-wrenching sobs pouring out of her like water from a busted barrel. He hugged her close. As long as Connor held her, she’d be safe. She didn’t think she’d ever let him go.

  “That man . . . he’s . . . he’s out there,” she whispered.

  “I know, lass.”

  He loosened his hold, and she slid down his length, her feet touching the ground. One hand cupped her chin, turned her face up to his. His jaw—nay, his entire body—clenched tighter than a coiled rattler.

  “Are ya hurt?” His gaze took in the scattered petticoats, and his face blanched white. “My God, did he . . . ?”

  The heat of shame rushed to her cheeks when she realized what he was asking.

  “No,” she whispered, barely able to expel the word. “No, I am not hurt.”

  Time stood still as his gaze searched hers. Finally, as if accepting the truth of her statement, he nodded.

  “You’re shaking.” His hands roved up and down her arms. “It’s the shock.”

  “He . . . he shot William.” She remembered the sound of the bullet slamming into William, her scream. The blood. Nausea rolled through her. “His head . . . blood. So much blood. He died trying to save me.”

  Hands on her shoulders, Connor forced her to look at him. “William’s alive.”

  “Alive?” Her heart leapt with hope, and she clutched Connor’s shirt.

  “Yes. Wainwright is taking him to Breeze Hill. We’ll meet them there.”

  “And Mrs. Wheeler and LouAnn? Mews? Toby?”

  “All safe and sound. At least they were when I left.” He pulled out a flask and tipped it against her lips. Isabella gulped the water before he withheld the flask.

  “Enough for now. Come on, let’s go.” Connor grabbed the discarded petticoats, twisted them together, and tied them with a piece of string. His gaze swept the sky, darker than before. “Pray for rain to cover our tracks. Hopefully our man isn’t much of a tracker.”

  He took her by the hand and led her deeper into the forest.

  Isabella stumbled to keep up with him, her skirt snagging on branches and thorns, shredding it to bits. But she no longer cared.

  Connor had found her, and he would get them out of this mess.

  Connor followed the sound of running water.

  A major tributary would run into a larger body of water and would cross the main road at some point. They’d be heading away from Breeze Hill, but if they could make it to Mount Locust or even back to Natchez, they’d have a better chance than roaming around in the woods. Once they made it back to the trace, they might even find the horses.

  Still, did he dare risk running into Isabella’s assailant?

  What other choice did they have? There was nothing but wilderness, swamps, and no-man’s-land to the east and a storm brewing in the west.

  They drew closer to the waterway, the sound growing louder. They walked out from the trees onto a high bank, looking down on the stream. The water flowed fast through a narrow channel cut into the soft, loamy dirt.

  “We’ll go downstream a ways, try to find a place to cross.”

  “Home should be that way.” Isabella pointed in a northeasterly direction.

  Connor paused. Her internal compass was a bit off, enough that she’d be traipsing into an uninhabited wilderness if she’d been alone. His chest tightened at the thought of her heading northeast never to be heard from again. “You don’t know what direction the tributary goes if you head that way. If we cross, then follow it downstream, we’ll find familiar territory.”

  “But what about the men who ambushed us?” Her eyes were wide, luminous and terrified.

  “We’ll just have to take our chances.” Connor moved to her side, cupped her face in his hands. “Do you trust me?”

  “I do.”

  Connor dipped his head, giving in to the desire for a taste of her one more time. Her lips were soft, warm, and pliable. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, reveling in the feel of her slender frame pressed against his.

  Slowly he lifted his head, like a man awakening from a deep sleep on a hot, muggy afternoon. Her lashes swept up, and her eyes, softened with the wonder of his kiss, met his. Her lips, moist from the pressure of his, parted.

  He sucked in a breath as the truth hit him with the force of a felled tree slamming against the forest floor.

  He loved her.

  And it was the love of a man grown, not the infatuation he’d felt for Charlotte Young so many years ago.

  His thumb moved over her cheekbone, and a tempting smile turned up the corners of her mouth. He’d fought this attraction to Isabella since the day he’d met her, but she’d woven a spell around his heart that he could no longer deny. What he would do about it was another matter altogether, and one best left to ponder after he got her back to her father.

  One last sweep of his thumb across her cheek, and he dropped his hand, stepping away.

  “We’d better go.” His gaze swept the sky. “We need to find shelter before it starts raining.”

  Isabella felt cherished and protected.

  Regardless of the fact that she and Connor were trekking through the hot, muggy wilderness, lost.

  No, not lost.

  Connor had found her out here in the middle of nowhere. He could get them home. Back to safety. She really did trust him. With her entire being.

  Her heart swelled with gratitude. She paused, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders as he slashed through the vines barring their way, creating a path through the woods where none existed. Really, there was no need to pretend. The feelings she had for Connor weren’t just gratitude. She loved him.

  Now she understood why her father and mother had bucked custom to marry, why Jonathan had chosen Leah, whose aunt had been a washerwoman in Natchez, why Mr. Horne and his wife endured the ridicule of others.


  All because of the love they had for each other.

  Surely she and Connor could overcome any obstacles to their love, couldn’t they?

  Even the first few drops of rain that plopped down through the trees didn’t dampen her mood. Lost in her daydreams, Isabella bumped into Connor when he stopped on a high bluff overlooking the water. He glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and gave him a tentative smile. No need in letting him know that while he’d been fighting his way through the thick undergrowth, she’d been happily following in his wake planning their future. “I’m fine.”

  A quizzical look crossed his face; then he turned back to survey the swift current.

  “We can’t cross here. We’ll keep going—” Connor broke off as a covey of birds took flight. He grabbed Isabella’s wrist and crouched down, pulling her with him.

  She dropped to her knees, heart pounding. “What—?”

  He put a finger to his lips.

  They waited in the shadows, listening. Other than the drizzle of rain against the leaves and the roll of thunder in the distance, everything was quiet.

  “Stay.” Connor inched forward.

  Isabella reached out, touched his arm. His eyes met hers, and she poured her feelings into that one glance. He squeezed her hand and gave her a lopsided smile meant to reassure her.

  He moved away, keeping low to the ground. Isabella eased into the undergrowth, watching his progress, her gaze darting from bush to bush, from tree to tree, worry causing her to see bandits where there were none. Every shadowy shape turned into a frightening specter intent on murdering Connor and then coming after her. All too soon, he disappeared into the foliage, and she barely resisted the urge to call him back.

  Lord, keep him safe.

  The rain fell harder, and still she waited, crouched in the shadows. She had to be strong. Panicking now would get them nowhere. Her heart slammed against her rib cage when she spotted something moving to her left. Another deer? Or a man? Remaining motionless, she squinted.