Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  Dominique hesitated to admit that she did. She and Belle were supposedly Tories, and would quite naturally be acquainted with British officers. On the other hand, she dared not admit that she knew Sean for fear he would come looking for her the instant he was well enough to walk. "I'm not sure," she finally replied. "He resembles someone I once knew, but it's been years since I've seen him."

  Perry worked quickly to free the wound in Sean's shoulder of fibers from his coat and shirt, then bound it tightly to stem the flow of blood. "Well, this is Sean O'Keefe. Was that the man's name?"

  At that moment, Dominique felt that denying it would be tantamount to wishing him dead. "Yes, but I've never seen him so pale."

  "As far as I know, this is the first time he's been shot and it's no wonder he looks a tad peaked. I want to make certain we've got the bleeding stopped. Are you too tired to watch him for a while?"

  "No. Where do you want to put him?"

  "We'll clean up this mess and leave him right here. It's unlikely he's strong enough to roll off the table."

  Dominique moved to the end of the table and pulled off Sean's boots with a gentle tug. The mate then disposed of his breeches, but his linen drawers were also soaked with blood and he removed those, too. Working there, Dominique had become inured to the sight of naked men, but none had been Sean and her hands shook as she went to fetch warm water to wash the bloodstains from his body. She was re-

  lieved when the mate took the bowl from her hands and saw to the chore himself before covering Sean with a sheet.

  "Will you give me your honest opinion on his chances?" Dominique whispered to Perry.

  The surgeon shook his head regretfully. "They're not good. I'll send Belle over with your supper, but I doubt you'll have a long wait."

  Devastated by that news, Dominique was ashamed for thinking of the danger to herself when Sean was barely clinging to life. She leaned close and stroked his hair lightly. A rich brown, it was still as thick, but had grayed at the temples. She wondered if he had married and perhaps fathered children since she had last seen him.

  His face was thinner, but no less handsome; she was certain he must have been popular wherever he had been posted. The night was warm, but his skin felt too cool to the touch, and she quickly brought him a blanket and tucked it around him gently as though he were a sleeping child. She checked his bandage every few minutes, but it remained unstained by seeping blood. From what she had seen, Dr. Perry was an excellent surgeon, but he could not make up for lost blood, so it was possible Sean had already been past saving when he had arrived.

  If these were the last hours he would spend on the Earth, she would not leave him. She reached under the blanket for his hand, but he didn't return her fond squeeze. He had touched her heart as no other man ever had, but there would be no opportunity to confess that now. Even if there were a chance to reveal that cherished secret, she would not. Had he been well, he would only have laughed, and perhaps rudely reminded her that he had only called on her to be close to Liana. She had merely been a temporary diversion, as so many men had been for her, but she was very sorry it could not have been more.

  What if he had loved her? she agonized. With their countries at war, they would never have found a way to be to-

  gether. But he had not loved her, and the tender feelings seeing him now evoked made no sense. But still, she felt an intense desire for more than the brief, chaste acquaintance they had had years ago.

  There was ham that night, undoubtedly stolen from the farmer whose house they occupied, but before Belle could apologize for that fact, she recognized Dominique's patient and nearly dropped her plate. "My God," she whispered. "Did he see you?"

  Dominique shook her head and replied in the same hushed tone. "He's too weak to even open his eyes, let alone recognize anyone."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Wait here with him. Perhaps kiss him good-bye before he dies."

  Dominique had never shown such devotion to another man, but Belle readily believed that wistful comment. Just the sight of Sean O'Keefe terrified her, and she did not understand how Dominique could bear to tend him, let alone be so calm. "How was he injured?"

  Dominique replied without glancing up from her patient. "He was shot from ambush by a man on a sorrel horse. Do you have any idea who that might have been?"

  Doubting her sister would have any appetite, Belle set her supper aside. "It's a tactic Falcon might have used, but he's not the only one. It could have been another man entirely."

  "Yes, it might have been Hunter. Which is every bit as bad as Falcon." Dominique pressed Sean's fingers but his hand remained limp in hers. "Sean can't do us any harm now. If you don't mind, I'd rather be alone with him."

  Belle would have preferred to dance with the devil. "And if he wakes?"

  Dominique would not allow herself that hope. "He won't, but even if by some miracle he does, after all these years he might not even remember me."

  "You remembered him, didn't you?" Belle's voice had a gritty edge of fear. "Maybe we ought to leave tonight"

  Dominique understood Belle's concern, but she thought it misplaced when Sean was too weak even to utter a moan. "I won't leave him," she stressed, "not while he's so close to death. If he survives, we'll surely have to flee, but not tonight, Belle."

  Belle wanted to scream with frustration. "I hope we're not making a dreadful mistake," she argued.

  Dominique at last met her glance and gave a slight smile. "It doesn't matter that Sean's a British officer tonight, Belle. He's simply a badly wounded man who needs a friend and I'll not leave him."

  Falcon had called her stubborn, but Belle saw the resolute glint in Dominique's eye and knew no argument she could possibly give would sway her. Feeling not only defeated but betrayed, she left to go to their tent where she would pray for their safety, and not waste a single word on Sean O'Keefe when his survival could so easily mean the end of theirs.

  startle you." He peeled back the edge of the blanket covering Sean's shoulder to check his bandage and appeared more perplexed than gratified. "I'd be pleased that he's no longer bleeding if I didn't fear there's simply very little blood left in him. At least he's in no pain."

  "Isn't there something more we can do for him?" Dominique asked.

  "He's warm and safe. That will have to do. Go on to bed. I'll sit with him a while."

  "No," Dominique refused emphatically. "He'll do much better with me."

  Stephen laughed at her fervor. "I agree. Any man would prefer to awaken with you by his side, but, dear lady, Sean is unlikely to wake."

  Dominique's spirits fell even lower at that sorry prediction. "Then it won't matter who's here, will it?"

  In the brief time Stephen Perry had known Dominique, he had become completely enchanted by her. He admired her sister too, but Dominique's appeal went far beyond a mere talent for healing. So late at night he knew he would not be overheard, and revealed a hint of his feelings in a playful jest.

  "If I believed Sean were going to survive, I'd be very jealous of the attention you're showing him."

  Shocked by the tastelessness of the physician's remark, Dominique dared not look up at him. Thus far, they had exchanged only comments about the running of the hospital and the care of the patients. She was positive neither her words nor actions could possibly be regarded as flirtatious, and yet he was blatantly flirting with her. At another time and place she would have been flattered, but not now. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  "Please," she begged, "Sean was a dear friend once, and I can't bear to hear you dismiss him so lightly It's very cruel."

  Appalled that he had made such a tactless error, Stephen

  began to back away. "Please forgive me. This obviously isn't the time to talk. I'll check on Sean again later."

  Dominique nodded and let him go without further comment. She took Sean's hand and laced her fingers in his. "He doesn't understand how tough you are, does he? I imagine you'd have to be shot half a dozen times to
give up on life. We made an awful mess of things the first time we met, and I daresay they can be no better now, but I would be happy just knowing there is someone like you alive in the world. Please don't leave us yet."

  Lured from the depths of his dreams by the sadness in her voice, Sean's eyes fluttered slightly, then opened. He looked up at Dominique, his gaze dulled by pain, and yet after a long moment, he attempted to say her name. Too weak to speak, he could only mouth the word, but she understood.

  "Oh, you can hear me, can't you?" she asked. "I'll stay right here with you, Sean, and in the morning, perhaps you'll be strong enough to speak."

  Sean's eyes were the light brown flecked with gold described as hazel, but they appeared pure amber in the dim light. He felt Dominique's hand on his and although he tried, doubted he had managed even faint pressure in return. He saw the tears spilling over her lashes, and wanted to hold her in his arms but all he could do was stare. He believed her to be no more than a trick of his imagination, and assumed he must be dying.

  He had not realized her image was still so clear in his heart, but he was grateful for her comforting touch as he lost consciousness again. He did not stir until long after the sun was high in the sky the next morning and then his shoulder was such a burning torment he could not recall a thing that had happened since he had been shot. A surgeon's mate sat dozing by his side, and while he could not speak above a hoarse whisper, his curse was sufficiently foul to wake him.

  While Dr. Perry was amazed Sean O'Keefe had survived the night, he hid his dismay as he spoke with him. Feigning a confidence he did not truly feel, he expressed a hope for the officer's complete recovery. He moved him into the bedroom, placed him on a cot next to one of the windows, and prescribed heavy doses of laudanum for his pain. He sent word to Dominique that her friend was much improved, but the physician was still so embarrassed by his clumsy handling of their last conversation he was relieved when she slept past noon.

  Unlike Dominique, Belle had no convenient excuse to allow her to miss work but she avoided Sean by keeping her back to him whenever she had a reason to visit a patient in the bedroom. He dozed fitfully, and posed no threat for the moment, but just knowing he was there filled her with dread.

  As soon as Dominique was awake, she hid from Sean by again supervising the laundry, but she couldn't elude Belle. The work detail assigned to the laundry was chopping firewood, and knowing they would not be overheard, Belle pressed her sister for a solution to their latest dilemma.

  "Have you any plan at all?" Belle asked. "I certainly did not wish the man dead, although it would have been better for us, but what are we going to do now? I doubt he'd remember me, so if I'm the one charged with his care you may be able to escape his notice a few more days, but the minute he sees you, we're going to be in very grave trouble indeed."

  Dominique kicked a soiled sheet into the next pile to be laundered and raised her fingertips to her temples. "I'm too tired to think right now, Belle. Give me a couple of days—then I'll give the problem my full attention."

  "We may not have that long!" Belle scolded. "We've nearly depleted our store of herbs, and that's an excellent reason to replenish them. Let's tell Dr. Perry we must search for more this very afternoon. You know he'll believe us."

  "Yes. He would, but I'm simply too tired to go today. Now see to the injured, and leave me to handle this filthy linen."

  Belle's stomach was churning painfully. "I swear I can feel the noose tightening about my neck. Does the danger Sean poses merely excite you?"

  Dominique regarded her sister with a weary stare. "I sat up the whole night, expecting each breath he drew to be his last. I'm too exhausted to become excited about anything."

  "We've absolutely no choice about this," Belle warned.

  "I know," Dominique agreed through a wide yawn. She turned and began to sort another bundle of stained sheets. Unable to face either Sean or Belle, she concentrated on forming manageable heaps so the wash would at least get done even if she failed to accomplish anything else.

  Belle knew precisely what they had to do, but seeing she was making no progress with Dominique, she shook her head sadly and walked away. She prayed Dominique really was just too tired to think clearly, but she would not allow her to use that excuse after today.

  As she crossed the yard, the eerie sensation of being watched gave her a sudden chill. She stopped in mid-stride and turned in an attempt to catch the culprit. There were wounded lounging near their tents and other men following the routine necessary to keep the camp running, but none was looking her way. Fearing it was merely guilt that was troubling her, she went back to the farmhouse intent upon doing what she could for everyone but Sean.

  Falcon had left Nails tethered in the woods, and crept up over the rutted landscape to get close enough to observe the British soldiers moving about Camden. The imposing white house being used for their headquarters seemed completely out of place on the edge of the wilderness, but he

  supposed it suited their grandiose schemes. At least he had culled Sean O'Keefe from their insufferable ranks. He had never been so happy to have a British officer in his sights, and hoped the bastard had broken his neck in the fall from his horse.

  Despite his hatred of the enemy, he dared not fire when he was so vastly outnumbered, and his attention wandered to the tents housing the wounded. From the looks of it, a good many soldiers had survived the recent battle there, which was a great shame when Baron De Kalb had lost his life fighting with the militia. Falcon felt guilty for not having been there, but he would do his part now to keep the British from growing comfortable with their victory. He watched, waiting for a patrol to be dispatched with the intention of following and creating still more havoc.

  Bored with the inactivity in the camp, the young women circling the tubs of boiling laundry caught his eye. He would have quickly dismissed them had he not realized from the expansiveness of their gestures that they were arguing. He hoped they were debating how best to scald the most British regulars and laughed to himself until something about them struck him as hauntingly familiar. He did not recognize their clothes, and kerchieves hid their hair, but the grace of their motions tugged at his memory until he could not help but compare them to his cousins.

  He had not imagined there was another pair like Belle and Dominique in all the world. Perhaps if there had not been two of them he would not have noticed the similarities, but these women moved with the casual elegance of a country dance and created a poignant longing for home. He took care not to become so absorbed in their antics that he grew careless, and surveyed the surrounding terrain with an anxious glance to prevent anyone from ambushing him as he so often did others. Satisfied he was safe, he remained longer than he had intended, but each comparison he drew made him increasingly uneasy.

  He supposed there were other women with lithe figures and volatile natures that would encourage the argument he was observing with such keen interest. He wondered if they had been residents of Camden before the British occupation, or merely camp followers. If they were the latter, perhaps they were arguing over an officer they both admired. He doubted it had been Sean O'Keefe. Physically the man was not unattractive, but he had the soul of a viper and would doubtless be as faithless with this pair as he had once been to Dominique.

  One of the women turned away, the argument apparently over, and as she walked toward the adjacent farmhouse her long, sure stride was identical to the one his temper had prompted from Belle on the banks of the James River. He knew he could not possibly be observing her and Dominique. That made no sense at all. They were at home in Virginia, or at least he assumed they must be.

  He stayed low to the ground as he returned to Nails, but that was out of habit rather than caution when his mind was so full of Belle. He had a camp deep in the woods where British patrols never ventured, but as he rode there he could not quite convince himself it was merely guilt that had made him see Belle and Dominique rather than two strangers. What if they actually had
been there? he asked himself, and before nightfall he returned to Camden and again kept watch to discover where they slept.

  He also scanned the camp for sentries, but there were none posted near the hospital. The wounded men could not leave their tents for a midnight stroll, but still not dismissing some unexpected danger, he moved with a panther's stealth as he circled around behind the farmhouse and approached the girls' tent. Although it was late, a lantern lit inside silhouetted the winsome pair against the tautly stretched white canvas. While the light would enable him to identify the occupants quickly, if they were not Belle and Dominique,

  he did not want them to glance up, see an Indian, and begin shrieking as though they feared being murdered.

  He waited, hoping they would soon fall asleep, but instead, one left the tent and hurried into the farmhouse. He saw only her shadow as she passed by, and heard the gentle rustle of her skirts, but even that faint hint of her was familiar. He inched closer to the tent, taking care to move with a soundless step. One flap was raised to serve as a door, but when he at last came close enough to peer inside, it was all he could do not to yell so loudly he would have awakened the whole camp.

  He quickly ducked inside and yanked down the flap. Belle was seated on her cot, brushing her hair, and as she turned toward him Falcon clamped his hand over her mouth before she could utter a sound. "What in God's name are you doing here?" he whispered in her ear.

  Belle's heart was thundering so violently in her ears she scarcely heard his question. At once thrilled and terrified, she placed her hand on his wrist and tugged gently to coax him to release her. She could have replied then, but the expression on his face was so menacing she did not even know where to begin. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him until he swore he would never leave her again, but clearly he was in no mood to accept such an affectionate welcome.