Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  Belle had had to search for a worm to bait her hook, but once she found one, she quickly got a strike. She flipped the bass out on the riverbank, removed the hook while the fish was still twitching, and reused the mangled worm. It took a while longer to catch the second bass, but the third and fourth came easily. She cleaned the fish at the water's edge, then threaded her line through the gills to carry her catch back to camp. She found Dominique seated beside an ample fire, braiding long strands of grass into a crude rope.

  "Did you have any trouble with the fire?" Belle asked.

  "No, none at all," Dominique assured her with a relaxed smile.

  "Good. It won't take me a minute to fashion a rack."

  Dominique watched as Belle gathered four notched sticks. She drove them into the ground to form the corner posts of the rack, laid two sticks in the notches to link them together, then laid several more sticks across those to form a grid to hold the fish. "How did you learn to do that?" she inquired.

  "Falcon taught me," Belle boasted proudly. "On more

  than one occasion we roasted part of our catch to feed ourselves, and brought the rest home."

  Dominique couldn't help but notice how her sister's gaze had brightened when she spoke of their cousin. " What else did he teach you?" she teased in a sultry whisper.

  Belle laid the fish upon the rack, and stood back to watch them roast. "All manner of useful things," she replied absently, "like how to follow bees back to their hive, or hunt with a bow and arrow."

  "That wasn't what I meant," Dominique scolded. "I want to know what really happened in the study the other night."

  Belle's gaze didn't leave the fire. "I've already told you I won't share what happened."

  Dominique laid the grass rope aside and rose. "We have brothers so we both know how a man looks nude. I can't remember ever seeing Falcon without his clothes, though. Do you?"

  "He goes without a shirt all summer."

  Her fatigue forgotten, Dominique circled the fire. "You know that's not what I meant. Besides, it's been several summers since he was home. I do remember his skin was deeply tanned, and his hair was a glossy black mane. He and Christian never have seemed as civilized as Beau and Jean."

  "Civilized?" Belle turned the word over in her mind. Both of Hunter's sons possessed a wildness that set them apart from the Barclay brothers but that wasn't all she loved about Falcon. "Beau's a privateer. That's about as uncivilized as a man can get."

  "We're not talking about Beau," Dominique reminded her. "We're talking about Falcon. How does he kiss? Is he clumsy, or tentative and sweet?" When Belle didn't glance her way, Dominique moved closer. "Maybe he's had more practice than I thought. Does he use his tongue in a slow, deep curl?"

  Losing patience, Belle grew harsh. "There was a time

  Beau called you Demonique," she chided. "Hush about Falcon, or I'll start calling you that, too."

  Dominique knew precisely why she had prompted such a vociferous reaction and began to gloat. "Ah, so he does know how to kiss better than the boys in Williamsburg."

  Belle used the cooking spoon to turn the fish to roast the other side. "The boys are soldiers now, and you ought to refer to them as men!'

  Her curiosity apparently satisfied, Dominique sat down and continued working on the rope. "There's absolutely no difference between the two, Belle. Lord knows, I've watched enough grow up to testify to that. Men might be a little taller, or more muscular, but their minds are on exactly the same thing as boys: how fast they can move from a tender kiss to licking a woman's breast. And that's just for a start." She grabbed up another handful of grass and began working it into her braid.

  "Ask Falcon when you see him if you don't believe me," she added.

  It was the reference to licking breasts that chilled Belle clear to the marrow. That Belle might be describing her own experience with Falcon rather than guessing at her sister's seemed a likely possibility, but she did not want to believe it had ever happened. She did not know what she would do if it had.

  "I want you to tell me the truth, Dominique," Belle insisted.

  Surprised by that request, Dominique looked up. "I always do."

  "Good. Then you'll tell me if Falcon has ever kissed you, or wanted more, won't you?"

  Dominique tossed the rope aside and stood. "What kind of a question is that?"

  Belle stared at her older sister. After the day's long ride, Dominique's curls were tangled and her gown stained, but the fire lit her face with a taunting glow. They looked so

  much alike, and yet their personalities could not have been more different. Dominique amused herself with a multitude of men, while Belle had always loved only one.

  "Tell me the truth," Belle ordered again, her voice low and threatening.

  "The fish are burning."

  "Is that your answer?"

  Dominique rolled her eyes. "I think maybe I was eleven, so he would have been ten. It was on Christmas Eve, and everyone was kissing everyone else. Does that satisfy you? I told you I love him like a brother, Belle. Is that all you think of me? Did you think I'd been meeting Falcon out in the barn each time he came home and that we just pretended nothing was going on? Maybe I have kissed more than my share of men, but Falcon was a child the last time I kissed him and so was I. Now let's eat those poor fish before they're reduced to charcoal."

  Belle slid the roasted bass off onto their plates and sat down close enough to her sister to share the last of the cider, but it took her a long time to apologize. "I'm sorry," she finally offered. "It's just that Falcon bragged about being with other women, and I couldn't bear it if you'd been among them."

  "Well, neither could I!" Dominique exclaimed. "Now I'm too tired to fight with you again tonight, so let's just finish eating and go to sleep."

  Belle didn't argue, but she took the time to braid her own rope to tether Ladybug. She burned the rack she had built, and in the morning covered the cold ashes left from their fire with dirt and leaves so that no one passing through the forest would ever suspect anyone had spent the night there. Then, almost able to feel Hunter's breath on their necks, the sisters left in a great hurry.

  only lightly boned corsets, but on horseback on a hot day, even delicately embroidered brocade had grown increasingly uncomfortable. They had to remove their gowns first but did so with such haste that they were undressed and dressed again in less than five minutes.

  "Let's ride along in the shallow water for a while to hide our tracks, then we'll double back," Belle suggested, and again led the way. Ladybug splashed along, apparently content to travel through the water until Belle chose a patch of rocky shore that would hide their tracks. They angled west, reentered the forest, and were on North Carolina soil before sundown. They had crossed an occasional hunting trail, but relying on Belle's carefully drawn map, had avoided settlements and again seen no one in their travels.

  "Would Hunter ride through the night?" Dominique asked as they made camp.

  "He might, but I doubt it. There's too great a chance that he would ride right on by us if he did. Still, I don't think we ought to risk lighting a fire. Let's just eat cheese and ham."

  They had seen blackberry vines growing wild and thick early in the afternoon but Belle had refused to stop long enough to pick more than a mouthful. "I wish we had some more of those luscious berries," Dominique said. "I should have filled my skirt with them and we could have had a feast tonight. All I see growing here are wood violets, and they're too pretty to eat."

  "Let's pray we're not reduced to eating flowers before we reach South Carolina," Belle replied. Although four years younger, she felt responsible for Dominique's welfare in addition to her own. "We'll pick the first berries we sight tomorrow. Will that make you happy?"

  "It might," Dominique mused wistfully. She fiddled with the ribbon ties on her shoes. "I doubt Hunter expected us to get this far. We ought to be proud of ourselves, Belle. Not one of our friends would even contemplate such an

  adventure, let alone
actually pursue it. I should have brought a diary and pen and ink to record it"

  Belle cut several slices of ham and pushed the plate toward her sister. She was positive they had forgotten more important items, but knew they were both over-tired and made an effort to be civil. "I imagine they might ask us to write letters for the wounded, so you should have access to paper and ink as soon as we reach a hospital."

  Despite the fact that they had eaten very little that day, Dominique still craved berries and took only a tiny bite of ham. "I hope we won't have to write to anyone with the dreadful news that their beloved son or husband has died. They wouldn't expect that of us, would they, Belle?"

  Belle unwrapped the last of the rye-an'-injun bread and broke off half for Dominique. "I believe that sad duty falls to the officers, but I hope we can be of service."

  "Well, of course we can," Dominique vowed. "Were we not in such a great rush, we could have gathered more herbs. I hope we'll have enough to at least get started. Not that we'll have to tend every wounded man ourselves, but it worries me that we won't be able to do enough."

  Because Dominique was not given to introspection, Belle was surprised she was so deeply concerned, but let the remark pass unchallenged. "I imagine you'll make most of the men feel better simply by whispering their names in that husky drawl of yours."

  Dominique responded with a delighted smile. "I suppose flirting could be considered care, if it served to lift a man's spirits."

  At that point, Belle was more worried about keeping her own spirits high. She unpacked their map and pointed to a wavy line. "This is the Roanoke River. We should cross it tomorrow, and I want to ride downstream again before swinging back west. There will just be creeks to ford for a while after that and we'll have to make certain to water the mares and refill the cider jugs at every one."

  Dominique smoothed out the creases and studied the map a long moment before tracing their route with her fingertip. Embarrassed by the dirt beneath her nail, she hurriedly removed it. "Do you really believe we've come that far?" she asked. "Not that I haven't felt every single mile."

  "The rivers provide such good reference points, I know exactly how far we've come." Belle refolded the map and slipped it back into her bag. "I feel as though I've crawled the whole way. Let's get to sleep." She doubted she would ever enjoy sleeping on the ground, but had discovered her shawl made a passable pillow and rolled it up into a soft ball.

  Dominique hadn't finished eating. Because they had so little in the way of provisions, she broke her bread into tiny chunks to make the meal last. "Aren't there some Indian tribes in North Carolina?"

  "Oh, Lord," Belle moaned. "All we need is more Indians on our trail."

  "No, I'm serious. There must be some living in these lovely woods."

  The woods truly were lovely, thick with hardwoods and pine, fragrant with the last blooms of the blue-violet wisteria, and splashed with bright yellow wildflowers; but Belle missed the orderly fields of home. "I believe the Cherokee prefer to live in the mountains and we're staying well east of those."

  Dominique still wished they had picked some berries, but refrained from making another complaint. She thought about brushing her hair, but lacked the energy to begin such an arduous task so late in the day. Had they been at home, the family would just be sitting down to supper, and that melancholy thought brought a mist of tears to her eyes. She missed everyone terribly, but did not want Hunter to find them any more than Belle did. When she finally lay down to sleep, she said a brief prayer for the continued strength and cunning to elude him.

  * * *

  In the following days, Hunter came tantalizingly close to catching Belle and Dominique, but they continued to elude him. They were traveling faster than he had anticipated, using streams to hide their trail and erasing all evidence of their campsite each morning. His first attempt to get ahead of them and block their way failed, and just when he was about to make another, he came dangerously close to riding into a British encampment. He left his stallion tethered to a low branch of a red cedar and crept close to make certain they hadn't caught the girls, but there was no sign of them.

  The mere sight of the red-coated soldiers brought a bitter taste to his mouth, but he watched as the group was met by another of equal size traveling from the east. He dared not move close enough to overhear their words, but from the gestures he observed, drew the conclusion they were also on their way south. Knowing that the troops might be between him and Byron's daughters brought a cold fury to his heart, but he could circle past them that night and continue the chase. The problem would be bringing the girls back through their lines; he did not want to take any risk with their lives.

  He lingered to run a quick tally, but lost count when a third detachment of troops arrived. It was led by an officer clad in the splendid attire of the Coldstream Guards, but it was not only the distinctive uniform Hunter recognized. It had been several years since he had last seen the man, but he remembered him clearly. His name was O'Keefe, and he had tried and failed to prove that Hunter's son, Christian, was behind a series of pamphlets ridiculing the actions of King George III and Parliament. Ordinarily, Hunter could not think of the hilarious flyers without laughing, but he had to stifle the impulse now.

  O'Keefe had been unable to charge Christian with sedition, nor lure Liana away, but the whole family had counted

  him an enemy even before the armed rebellion had begun. Hunter chose to simply watch and wait, but as soon as night fell, he hurried on toward the girls. He now had to watch his back, and gave up all hope of posing as a volunteer should he be caught because O'Keefe would order his execution even faster than he would Byron's.

  Belle and Dominique were well aware they would have to avoid British troops to enter Charleston, but did not consider them an imminent danger so far inland. They had been traveling more than a week, and by now the hot August sun and the rigors of the trail had burned away all trace of the soft prettiness which had graced their features when they had left home. Their once-attractive gowns hung loose from their shoulders, and with no time to brush and style their curls, they wore them coiled in a tight knot beneath their tattered caps.

  They seldom spoke during the day, and at night exchanged little more than a few hushed whispers before going to sleep on the softest ground they could find. They awoke before dawn, and after eating whatever remained of the berries they had gathered the previous afternoon, quickly got underway. They caught and roasted fish for supper when they could, and cooked beans and cornmeal when they weren't near a stream. They slept, too exhausted to dream, and began each new day with the hope the end of their journey was near.

  On their tenth day on the trail, they stopped to pick huckleberries, and soon their fingers were stained blue with the juice. They ate almost as many as they saved, but soon filled the bottom of their picnic basket with the tasty fruit. Their spirits were buoyed by the sweet song of a meadow-lark when in the space of a heartbeat, they were surrounded by a British patrol. Belle's heart lodged firmly in her throat,

  but as always, Dominique's face brightened at the sight of men.

  "Good afternoon" Dominique directed her comment to the young lieutenant. He was not unattractive, but his eyes were a forbidding gray that lacked any hint of warmth. He sat astride a dapple-gray gelding with a rigid posture more suitable to a military parade than traversing the countryside. They had deliberately avoided settlements to minimize the risk of being seen, but she hoped in their disheveled state they could pass for a farmer's daughters and not arouse his curiosity.

  "I do believe the huckleberries are as sweet as they have ever been. Would you and your men like to have some?" She raised their basket invitingly.

  Lieutenant Leland Beck shook his head. He hated everything about America, with the possible exception of the young women. This pair did have bright blue eyes peering out of their dirt-smudged complexions, but from what he could see of their figures in their faded gowns, little else to recommend them. Then he noticed
their mounts tethered nearby and the packs on their backs made him suspicious.

  "Where are you from, and where are you bound?" he asked crossly.

  As frightened as she had ever been, Dominique exchanged a quick glance with Belle, who appeared to have been struck dumb. A bee buzzed close to the basket and she shooed it away. "We are from Virginia, sir, and because we've a talent for healing, we've come south to be of service to the wounded."

  "And what possible service could such a filthy pair be?" the lieutenant asked, sending his men into peals of coarse, snorting laughter.

  Unused to such an obnoxious lack of manners, Belle was sufficiently insulted to find her voice and argue. "The journey has been hard," she stressed. "It's very rude of you to laugh at women on an errand of mercy."

  Taken aback by that charge, Leland nodded slightly. "I meant you no disrespect, miss, but in your present state, I believe you'd frighten more men than you'd cure."

  Ignoring that discouraging comment, Dominique smiled prettily at the sergeant and was tickled when he began to blush. She might lack proper grooming and a fine gown for the moment, but she was pleased to find she still possessed a talent for turning men's brains to butter. "We'd not tend a soul without bathing and washing our clothes first," she promised, "but you and your men all look healthy, Lieutenant—?" She paused, waiting for him to provide his name.

  "Leland Beck," he announced clearly. He could not argue with her assessment of his troops, but he still thought there was something peculiar about the two young women. "You're sisters?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir, we are," Dominique replied sweetly.

  "And what did your parents say about your wish to serve the wounded? Weren't they terrified that you two might become casualties yourselves?"

  Belle smiled weakly and waited for Dominique, who was far more imaginative, to provide a believable answer. As could be expected, Dominique did not disappoint her. "We're orphans," she replied with a pitiful catch in her voice, "and needed no one's permission."