Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  That Belle had been devoted to him did not surprise Falcon, but he was ashamed not to have known it long ago. "Do not stop now," he teased. A tap of his heels quickened Nails's pace, and they soon arrived at his camp. He had been away since he had last been with Belle, but he found the small clearing again easily. The ground was softened with a thick carpet of leaves, and a stream that flowed into the Wateree River provided clear, sweet water. It was a fine home for him, but as he slid down from his stallion's back and reached up for Belle, he realized it was no place for her.

  "I'll build you as fine a house as Christian built for Liana," he promised as he set her on her feet. "Just as soon as the war is over."

  "I'd not even thought of a house." Belle turned and twisted her hair atop her head to keep the long curls out of his way.

  Responding to her unspoken invitation, Falcon quickly loosened the laces running up the back of her bodice. "We can't sleep in the forest forever."

  When he stepped back, Belle shrugged off her gown, then turned to help him peel off his shirt. She laid her palms on his chest and felt his heart beating far more steadily than her own. "Why not? Then we can see the stars and hear the song of the river, or merely the playful melody of a stream like the one here."

  "You are very easy to please," Falcon murmured against her throat.

  "No, sir. I am not. You're the only man I've ever allowed to try."

  Falcon chuckled with the joy of that thought. She had not bothered to wear petticoats or drawers and once she had stepped out of her chemise, she was nude. He yanked off his moccasins and pants, then ran his fingertips over the smooth swell of her breasts and teased the pale crests into taut buds. "I have pleased you, haven't I, Belle?"

  "Always," Belle promised against his lips, and she was so lost in him she didn't see a single star overhead, or hear the musical trill of the stream. She pulled away the thong to free his hair and when he lowered her to the leaves, his sable mane brushed her face and breasts with a gentle tickle. She grabbed great handfuls to hold him, then arched up under him to press the whole length of her body against his.

  Falcon slid over her and parted her legs with his knee. Rather than enter with a quick thrust, he dipped into her slowly, gently teasing her with soft, shallow strokes. Then, barely penetrating, he lay still to speak. "I am as much Seneca as white, and to the Seneca you became my wife the first time we were together like this. I would marry you in a hundred Christian ceremonies, but I want you to say yes to becoming my wife this way now."

  Belle doubted he would have the strength to withdraw if she refused, but filled with an aching need to have all of him buried deep within her, she had no wish to deny his request. She wound her arms around his neck and ground her hips against his. "Yes," she murmured before luring him into a fevered kiss that put an end to all need for spoken promises. She had always been his, but now he was also hers and her spirits soared as she called him husband in her heart.

  That he may have already given her a child was a glorious possibility, but if it had not happened, she prayed that it would now. They would make very handsome children to-

  gether, but in her mind's eye, she saw them as dark and wild as Falcon. Conceived in a forest, born of love, she could wish no greater legacy for any child.

  In that instant, Belle gave herself to Falcon so completely that as rapture fused their bodies into one, their spirits merged as well. It was perhaps the most perfect moment either would ever live, and parting afterward was agony.

  While Belle crept back into camp, Dominique lay beside Sean, too distraught over what tomorrow might bring to join him in sleep. She had not sent any message to Falcon with her sister, and she knew it was cowardly to leave Sean's fate in the brave's hands. She could not recall ever feeling so confused. An impulsive person by nature, she had always relied upon intuition to guide her and it was failing her sadly.

  She wanted to believe Sean was as torn as she, but feared that was merely wishful thinking. Even confined to a cot, he could be vicious, and yet, more frequently he allowed her a glimpse of a man who was both honest and kind. She knew being so weak had made him badly frightened, and that made his vile demands much easier not only to understand, but excuse.

  He was a soldier, after all. What if her prediction proved wrong and he did not recover the use of his arm? He was bright and could support himself in other professions, but would he want to? She thought not. There were men who could flow with life's shifting currents, but she doubted Sean was one of them. He was simply too proud to bend.

  He stirred slightly and she sat up, but when he didn't wake she eased back down beside him. She had told him Ian Scott had gone to England, but he had not seemed concerned about it. He would still have friends in Williamsburg, if he lived to get there. The possibility that he would not

  had been such a simple choice at first, but that night she had not been able to speak the words to Belle.

  Tears filled her eyes for she did not know what to do. Sean O'Keefe could be an arrogant tyrant, or the most charming man she had ever met. She did not trust him, and often hated him, but did she really want him dead? Perhaps his only crime was being a British officer, but she knew as Falcon saw it, that was enough. The trouble was, it was not nearly enough for her.

  There was no easy answer as to where loyalty to her family and the cause they all held dear should end and purely personal feeling begin but she continued to struggle to find that narrow line. All the while, her hand lay in Sean's, but her heart could not choose sides.

  get the wagon ready. Lieutenant Beck found a suit for me, and I'll have one of the surgeons' mates help me dress."

  "I don't know what happened to the uniform you were wearing when you were shot, but it was ruined. Perhaps it was burned."

  "Well, good riddance. I certainly don't want bloodstained clothing as a souvenir," Sean scoffed. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, but kept his left arm cradled against his chest. He felt strong enough to leave, but just barely. He could not sit up long enough to eat an entire meal, not that he had been served anything worth eating, and he could not walk more than a few shaky steps on his own. He was making progress, however, even if it was dismal. He swallowed hard and refused to give in to the constant fear that he might never be as strong as he had been.

  "We've not discussed payment," he mentioned without looking up.

  From what Dominique had observed, Sean issued threats with a direct gaze to savor her reaction, but at other times, he displayed an uncharacteristic shyness. "Payment for what?" she asked. "You don't owe me anything."

  "I owe you my life, which, as I recall, you were prompt to point out."

  The other patients sharing the bedroom were waking with noisy yawns. Dominique had grown fond of them all, and meant to speak to each one before she left rather than merely waving good-bye to them from the doorway. "I came here hoping to save lives. There's no charge for yours."

  Sean's head came up. "Are you calling me worthless?"

  On another morning, Dominique would have had a clever riposte, but she was too sick at heart for amusing banter and simply shook her head. The color had returned to Sean's cheeks, but the protective way he held his left arm made it plain he was still experiencing considerable pain. "Do you really feel up to leaving today?" she asked fretfully, for she surely didn't.

  Sean had just given her a fine opportunity to provide one of her stinging insults, and he was puzzled by her failure to do so. It was unlike her to skip a chance to defy him and he was amazed to discover he missed it. "Well, regardless of how little value you may assign my life, I fully expect to reward you for taking me to Williamsburg, but I know better than to pay you before we get there."

  He was making yet another joke at her expense, and Dominique still failed to appreciate his humor until she gleaned a sudden insight into just how diabolically clever he truly was. He would have no one to back up his threats once they left Camden, so he had changed tactics and turned on the charm. Brutal one day,
amiable the next, she damned him as a two-faced weasel.

  "I must see about the wagon," she reminded him, and hurried away before her ravaged emotions betrayed her any further.

  Belle was already up and dressed. Filled with the blissful memory of Falcon's embrace, she was eager to be on their way. She greeted Dominique warmly as she entered their tent. "I'm leaving what few herbs we have left with Dr. Perry. He seems rather sad to see us go, and perhaps they will be of some consolation."

  Dominique slumped down on her cot. "I didn't sleep more than five minutes last night. Will you mind if I stretch out in the back of the wagon with Sean?"

  Belle had already packed her satchel, and now secured the buckles. "There's gossip about the two of you already. Not that we care what anyone says about us here, but I'd rather you sat beside me. Hurry and get ready. It will be hot again today, and I want to travel as far as we possibly can in the cool of the morning."

  Dominique nodded, and Belle went up to the farmhouse, but she did not understand how her sister could talk of travel when this would be the last journey Sean would ever take. Wearily, she pushed herself to her feet and fetched

  water to wash. Setting her mind on each task as it came, she packed her things; after a brief glance at their spare quarters to make certain nothing had been left behind, she slipped out of their tent for the last time. She helped Belle hitch their mares to the wagon and stow their saddles and bridles in the rear, then went with her to bid their patients farewell. She had never succeeded in thinking of them as the enemy, and even now saw only brave lads she could not condemn. She kissed each on the cheek as she said good-bye.

  Sean's cot was empty, and she assumed he had been helped outside to wash and dress. She was grateful he had not had to rely on her for the chore, and in the next instant was saddened that he had not. Distracted, she confused two of her patients' names, but caught herself before she made the error aloud.

  Dr. Perry waited until the sisters were ready to depart before he drew them into the kitchen. "Rebel bands are roaming the countryside preying on every Loyalist they can find. If the three of you are caught—"

  Belle saw Dominique pale, but rebels themselves, they had already survived the only real threat to their safety and if they could ride out of a British camp unharmed, she was confident they would return home safely. "Does the colonel plan to wear his uniform?" she asked.

  "He has resigned his commission," the physician replied, "and will be in civilian clothes. Not that that will save you if—"

  "Dr. Perry, please," Dominique interrupted. "Our fate will be in God's hands, as it always has been. I know you mean well, but deliberately frightening us is cruel. I have enjoyed working with you, and wish you every success in the future." Disgusted with him, she turned away before he could offer any more unwanted advice, and returned to the bedroom. Sean was seated on the side of his cot.

  He was clad in a white shirt, tan vest and breeches, white

  stockings, and shoes rather than military boots. His hair was neatly combed and tied back with a black ribbon, but he had not shaved his beard. He looked as though the simple task of getting dressed had exhausted him, and she knew he had had ample help.

  She picked up the brown coat that lay beside him. It was well-tailored but plain. She draped it over his shoulders. A cocked hat and battered satchel were his only other possessions. "Why didn't you tell me you'd resigned your commission? I thought you'd merely asked for leave."

  "I'm a liability to the army like this," he said, "and I saved Lord Cornwallis the disagreeable task of having to tell me so to my face." He grabbed his hat and plunked it down on his head. "I'll have a pension and I'm far from poor so you needn't worry that I'll embarrass you by begging on the streets of Williamsburg."

  "Believe me, that was the farthest thought from my mind." She leaned down to take his right arm and helped him rise. He straightened up, and she was surprised that she had forgotten how tall he was. Easily six feet, his hat added several additional inches. He pulled away, and she knew he was ashamed to need her help. Unwilling to risk letting him fall, she tightened her grip on his arm.

  "There's not another man who could walk out of this hospital this soon after being so badly wounded," she whispered. "None will think any less of you for having to lean on me."

  "I will," Sean muttered under his breath. "Now get me out to the wagon before I faint!"

  Dominique managed that feat, and found Belle and Lieutenant Beck waiting for them. She hoped Beck had come to say good-bye rather than to provide an escort, and was greatly relieved when that proved to be the case. Belle had already lowered the tailboard, and Dominique eased Sean into a sitting position at the rear of the wagon where he could lean back against the side. Believing he would wish

  to speak with the lieutenant privately, she started back toward the hospital for his satchel, but she overheard Beck apologizing for still not having apprehended the villain who had shot him. As could be expected, Sean responded with a blistering condemnation of his efforts.

  "O'Keefe doesn't look nearly as impressive without his fancy uniform," Belle whispered when Dominique joined her at the front of the wagon.

  Dominique placed Sean's satchel behind the seat where they had stowed their gear, then ran her hand over Lady-bug's rump. "He's only a man, after all, and not a strong one."

  The sorrow in Dominique's expression worried Belle, but she spoke through a delighted smile. "Try and look as though you're happy about going home. We don't want anyone to suspect our thoughts aren't on rejoining our families."

  Dominique could not have feigned pleasure had her life depended upon it, but she did produce at least a neutral expression that did not alarm any of the men who came up to wish Sean a safe journey. She held her breath, fearful that at this last moment, a friend of Sean's who would recognize them would appear. They would never get away then, but while she and Belle drew many admiring glances, the men were all strangers who merely nodded politely and walked away.

  "They're tiring him," Dominique worried aloud. "We ought to go."

  Belle had never understood Dominique's concern for a man she claimed to despise, but shared her wish to get underway. "Colonel," she called to him. "It's getting warm and I don't want you to suffer from the heat. Are you ready to go?"

  Sean waved to them, and Dominique went back to the rear of the wagon. In civilian clothes, he would easily pass for a merchant, but unlike Belle, she considered him no

  less appealing than he had been in uniform. "I'll sit with Belle for a while, then I'll come back here with you." Sean swung his feet up out of the way, and she and Lieutenant Beck raised the tailboard and secured it. Wedged into the corner, Sean took hold of the tailboard with his right hand and adjusted his position slightly.

  "Are you comfortable?" Dominique asked.

  Sean shot her a glance that assured her he was not, but they had already laid a thick layer of straw in the bed of the wagon to cushion his ride and there was nothing more she could do. "We'll stop often, and do our best to find the smoothest roads."

  "Colonel O'Keefe is indeed fortunate to have such an attentive nurse," Beck offered, but as usual his hostile glance belied his words.

  "Sean is fortunate in all respects," Dominique countered, and quickly brushed by the lieutenant to take her seat next to Belle. Belle clucked to their mares, and with a clattering shudder, the wagon began rolling across the yard. Dominique turned to look back at Sean. He had already lowered his head, and even from several feet away she could tell he was in horrible pain.

  "I don't care how this looks," Dominique told Belle. "He's hurting too badly and I'll have to sit with him." Rather than ask Belle to stop the wagon, she just timed her motions to the vehicle's rumbling sway and climbed over the back of the seat. She crawled over to Sean and tapped his thigh. Startled, he glanced up, and she saw the moisture on his cheeks before he could wipe away his tears.

  "Let's move to the front of the wagon—you can use my lap as a pillow."


  "Wait," Sean begged, but as soon as they had left the camp, he collapsed in her arms.

  Dominique laid his coat aside and struggled to pull him forward. It took a bit of doing, but after a moment she had their gear in the front of the wagon as a backrest, and he

  lay sprawled out on the straw with his head in her lap. She tipped his hat to shade his face and ran her hand down his right arm.

  "Is that better?" she asked.

  Sean reached up to squeeze her hand, and she knew it was. She also had the answer she had sought all night. She could not stand to see Sean suffer even a moment of pain, and she had not saved his life only to take it later. That insight had solved one problem, but then presented another, for now she would have to convince Falcon that Sean O'Keefe had a right to live.

  On horseback, they had wound their way through the forests, but now in the lumbering wagon, they would have to remain on the well-worn roads. Dominique pulled her kerchief down to shade her eyes, but she was too tired to serve as an effective lookout. They would be unlikely to encounter rebel bands this close to Camden, but she doubted they could make it all the way home without being stopped by at least one. The Barclay name would command respect, so that prospect did not trouble her, but there were other men, brigands who used the war as an excuse to prey on either side and on an open road, they would be defenseless.

  "We should have brought a pistol at the very least," she told Sean.

  He released her hand to raise his hat slightly. "There's one in my bag."

  "Wonderful. If we're stopped by men who care little whom they kill, do you think they'll allow us time to unpack it?" She did not wait for him to grant permission, but leaned forward to pull his satchel out beside her and began to rummage through it. He had several shirts, pants neatly folded, socks, toilet articles, and at the very bottom of the bag, a pistol.