The captain joined in on his mirth and took the seat beside him. “I was the same with Fiona when she carried our first child.”
“I was as well,” he whispered, remembering when Fire Star carried his child. He looked down at his mug, desperately wishing to bury the memory. “It is hard not to worry that something will go wrong.” Then glancing up, he added, “And then when it does...”
“Sunny will be fine.” Simon placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.
He gave a taunt nod. “I pray you are right, for both of my sisters’ sakes.”
“Aye, that’s right, you’re to be an uncle twice over.”
“Three times, to be exact, as Raven already has a son,” he corrected.
“What a fortunate man you are,” was the captain’s reply as he raised a hand to signal a server. Upon his mug’s arrival, he raised it in salutation. “Shall we have a toast then, to the good health of both mothers and their babes?”
Gabriel agreed, raising his mug to click against the other man’s and declaring, “To life.”
“And to love,” the captain said with a chuckle. “For there would be no life without it, aye?”
“Aye,” Gabriel mimicked. “We must not forget about love.”
****
After the evening meal, Riley took a message for Top Hat Tom to Addie, Collins Stead’s resident cook. Addie’s nephew, Oliver Mills, knew Tom as well as anyone, for the old tosher was a prominent fixture.
Oliver was a helpful young man in his seventeenth year of life, with large dark eyes and hair to match. He’d come to live with Addie at Collins Stead when he was ten, after his mother had died. In a way he was like a younger brother to Riley. Agreeable and congenial, he did many odd jobs around Collins Stead, had a good sense of humor, and never minded running a message to Tom’s part of town whenever she needed. Though her note this evening was really for Naomi, she would address it to Tom to pass along, since Anita had taught him to read. Hopefully she’d have an answer by mid-day on the morrow so Riley could get on with the business of meeting the man who claimed to be her father.
With the events of the day racing through her mind, she lay wide awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling as she imagined what the man Naomi met looked like. How did he sound when he spoke? What would his first words to her be? Would he shake her hand or embrace her?
With such musings eluding sleep, she took an audible breath and slipped from beneath the warmth of the quilt to light a nearby lantern. Then, reaching for her robe, she donned the wrap and tied the sash about her waist. Taking the lantern in hand, she tip-toed down the stairs to the library. Outside of her own bedchamber, it was her favorite place in the mansion.
Being almost midnight, a fire barely burned in the fireplace. Its dying embers were the only speck of light in the cozy room. Setting the lantern upon the mantel, she placed another log on the grill, stoked it a bit, and watched it burn.
The library warmed, and the tranquility of the room enveloped her like a cocoon. She reveled in the heat, remembering the cold nights she had endured as a child. The small kiln that had heated the one room shanty she once called home barely did its job. It became unbearable to rise from the bed she had shared with Anita in the middle of the night to do her business. She’d hurry to the chamber pot, her bared feet swiftly growing cold as they ran along the unheated floorboards, her body shivering when bared bum met the pot’s chilled seat.
Afterward, hours passed before her body stopped shaking, even when Anita would reach out to entwine her in a warm embrace. Her memories of being encompassed within the arms of the woman she had thought was her mother filled her with love. She wasn’t allowed to dwell on such fond memories very long before a sharp knock at the front door interrupted them. She frowned.
Who would dare call at such a late hour?
Again with lantern in hand, she proceeded to the foyer to wait on Regis, the butler. Surely he would come to see about the disturbance. Another rap sounded; this time much harder and louder, and still she stood alone in the foyer.
Her frown deepened. Perhaps this was the night Regis spent with his sister.
Leaning against the door she inquired, “Who goes there?”
“Captain Simon Cavendish,” the deep voice responded from the opposite side of the door.
Captain Cavendish was Sunny’s brother-in-law. But why would the man, whom she had no more than a casual acquaintance with, be knocking at Collins Stead’s door in the middle of the night...unless something happened to Sunny? Sunny was due to give birth at any time, and perhaps...
Biting her lip, Riley laid aside the lantern and threw open the door. “What news do you have of Sunny?”
The captain smiled. “Only that she’s most likely sleeping soundly beside her husband in a warm bed.” He chuckled, his broad chest vibrating with his mirth. “And that is exactly what I should be doing, beside my beloved, Fiona.”
She frowned. “Then what keeps you, Captain?”
“He does.” Simon pointed to Gabriel Eagle, who leaned against the outside banister.
Her eyes widened. “Is he ill?”
“Nay, not at the moment, but come morning...” his words trailed off.
“Then he is drunk,” she snapped.
“Aye, somewhat,” the captain agreed.
She frowned again. “Why have you brought him here?”
“It is where he asked to come.” Simon arched a brow. “Is he not the rightful heir to Collins Stead?”
“Aye, he is, but...”
“My good woman might we come in from this brisk autumn night so I can set him down someplace to rest before you question me further?”
She nodded and opened the door wide.
The captain threw Gabriel’s knapsack into the foyer before he helped him over the threshold.
“With Regis not around to lend a hand, I fear climbing the stairs to the bedchamber Mr. Eagle occupies while here might prove unwise for the both of you to tackle,” she commented, reaching for the bag.
“Your assessment is duly noted, Miss Flanders.” What other solution do you have?”
“I suggest taking him into the library. A fire has just been stoked, and there sits a longer divan, much more suited to Mr. Eagle’s physical conformation.”
The captain chuckled again. “Aye, he is a tall chap at that.”
As well as broad shouldered and extremely handsome.
Running ahead of the two men, she placed the knapsack beside the divan and the lantern on a table before she gathered an accent pillow from a nearby chair.
Mr. Eagle stumbled a bit, as the captain directed him to the settee. After helping the inebriated man to place his head upon the pillow, Captain Cavendish brought Mr. Eagle’s feet up to rest at the other end.
She glanced down at the large American, then over at the captain. “And how was it you came by Mr. Eagle in this condition?”
“I was attending business on my father-in-law, Lord Wade’s, behalf. And of course after the deal was struck, we ended up at the pub.”
“Doesn’t most men’s business just happen to end up at the pub?” She raised her brow.
The captain’s broad smile again brightened his face. “Aye, any successful venture, at least.”
“And was yours successful?”
“Aye, that it was. And had I not encountered Mr. Eagle, I’d be long ago home with my wife, enjoying a successful night with her. But as it was, staying to keep an eye out for this chap, I fear I will be in dire straits with Fiona when I finally do walk through the door,” the captain explained.
She placed hands on hips. “I’m somewhat perplexed as to why Mr. Eagle was out enjoying a drink alone. Usually when he’s in London, it is to stay with Collette Halston. I am rather shocked to hear he asked to be brought to Collins Stead.”
Simon Cavendish leaned against the mantel. “Aye, well, as I hear it, Miss Halston handed him a rejection tonight, the reason the poor chap was driven to indulge in so many mugs of ale.”
Riley arched a brow. “You mean she’s through with him?”
The captain nodded. “Sounds that way from what he says. It seems Miss Halston has decided to go off to Egypt with another chap.”
She frowned. “That woman was not for him anyway.”
The captain chuckled. “And do you propose to know what sort of woman Mr. Eagle needs?”
Her face heated. “I just know it isn’t Collette Halston.”
“Aye, well, maybe that’s so, but if I don’t get myself home, I’m going to be the next bloke to need a room at Collins Stead.” The captain gestured in Mr. Eagle’s direction. “I’m sure he’ll just sleep now and shouldn’t be too much of a bother.”
“Mr. Eagle could never be a bother,” she muttered.
Simon Cavendish cleared his throat. “And do I detect a bit of...”
“You detect nothing but concern for a member of Lady Collins’ family.” She reached for the lantern and walked the captain to the foyer. “Thank you for your help and consideration.”
The captain inclined his head. “It was my pleasure. I bid you a good night.”
Upon returning to Mr. Eagle, she slipped off his boots and removed his cravat. As she unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt, her fingers brushed against his hairless chest. Bronzed and hard, the smooth skin against her own sent currents of heat through her body...warmth that had nothing to do with a blazing fire.
English men wore beards and mustaches, but the handsome American’s face was whiskerless. Once she asked Sunny why this was, and her friend explained the custom of an Apache ceremony performed to eliminate body hair on the tribe’s men.
Riley liked the way a man looked void of chest and facial hair. Smiling, she wondered if Mr. Eagle was also void of hair below the belt. Clearing her throat, she shook the scandalous thought from her mind, muttering, “You are a wicked girl, Riley Flanders.”
Mr. Eagle’s blue eyes opened, and he smiled at her. “And why do you scold yourself?” He reached out to wrap a long strand of her hair around a finger. “You should wear your hair free more often.” He searched her face, his smile broadening. “It becomes you.”
She stepped back. “You are drunker than a skunk at Christmas, Mr. Eagle.”
He arched a brow. “Those critters drink a lot around here during the holidays?”
She burst out laughing. “Just how many mugs of ale did you have?”
“Enough, it would seem.” He squeezed his temples with his fingers.
“If you think your head aches now, wait ’til the morn,” she warned.
He shut his eyes. “I dare not think about it.”
Riley reached for his hands and brought them down to his side. “Then don’t; just rest now, Mr. Eagle.”
He nodded, and then his body relaxed into a deep sleep.
She covered him with a throw that had been tossed across the back of the divan and pushed aside the gold streak of hair that curled upon his forehead. “The Collins mark,” she whispered, glancing up at the portrait above the mantel.
There hung a framed memory of Lord Sherman Collins and his brother Silas, forever immortalized in oils for generations to come. Lucinda Collins had thought she was the last of the Collins linage, until Gabriel Eagle and Sunny arrived in London. Then, while discussing Silas Collins’ travels to America, it was discovered he had married a woman of the Apache tribe and lived out his life with her people, having a daughter of his own. As it turned out, Silas Collins is Gabriel Eagle’s great-grandfather, the two sharing the same streak of gold in their hair.
Riley sat down for a moment and compared the two. Besides the hair being the same, Lord Silas and Mr. Eagle’s eye color and jaw line were similar. But the American was much taller and muscular.
Gabriel Eagle had captured her heart the moment she had set eyes on him. Now, sitting this close to him, watching him sleep, and enjoying every feature of his handsome face was like dwelling in a small compartment of heaven. And although her heart went out to him for his sorrows tonight, a part of her was pleased his time with Collette Halston had lastly, and quite abruptly, come to an end.
She sympathized with the hurt of such a shock. The few gentlemen callers who had courted Riley in the past had also ended tersely. Since her debut she had not exactly been deluged with romantic prospects, but the few young men who did attempt to call upon her were excellent prospects...gallant charmers with honorable backgrounds of both academic and family linage. They faded from her life as quickly as they came, after learning the circumstances she had lived before she became Lucinda’s ward. She was hurt at first over their rejection, but lately she ceased to care, as her suitors were all snobbish and self-centered.
Now, at twenty-one she was quite accepting of the fact she’d probably be a spinster for the duration of her life, until she became acquainted with Gabriel Eagle. Those other males were but a poor figure in comparison to him, and for a tad bit of time, her heart was restored in the hope for love and marriage. But then they were again dashed when the handsome Mr. Eagle set his sights on Collette Halston.
But now the ungrateful wench is through with you. Her gaze wandered over his full lips. Dare I begin to hope you might notice me?
She smiled as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, much as Mr. Eagle had done only moments ago.
Perhaps you’ve begun to notice already.
Chapter Five
It had been a while since Gabriel woke with a mouth as dry as the desert floor. The pounding in his head reminded him of tribal drums during an Apache ceremony, and his stomach was not so stable either. All he experienced was the horrible aftermath of drinking the white man’s fire water. Revisiting such distress came back to him in volumes, taking him to a time just after his wife’s death. Getting drunk was the only way he could fall asleep, but it came at a price. Was he ready to pay that price again?
He groaned, disgusted with himself. The pain of just opening his eyes and having them grow accustomed to the brightness of the room was too much to bear. Once his lids did pry open, he found himself lying on the floor, enveloped with morning light streaming in from three large windows. His head was propped upon his knapsack, and his great-grandfather, Lord Silas Collins, peered down on him with disconcerting eyes. He could be no other place, then, but the Collins Stead library.
He covered his face with his hands to block the portrait’s stare. Even that slight movement caused pain to cut through his head like a shard of glass. He moaned again, putting to use his Apache training. To override pain a warrior was taught to use mind over matter. He swallowed hard and set his focus on conjuring up the dark, sultry eyes of the woman who brought him to these dire straits in the first place. But it was not Collette Halston’s provocative gaze that came to mind.
Instead he pulled from his memory another’s glance, the genuine and concerned look of Riley Flander’s emerald orbs. He remembered how they set upon him while he entwined a lock of her hair around his finger. And with great pleasure, everything about her penetrated his thoughts with an overpowering sentiment of awe.
“By Jove, sir,” a voice from above boomed, the sound vibrating through his skull. “What have we here, you lying about like this upon the floor?”
Gabriel pried his eyes open once again to find the butler standing over him. Regis Tyrone was a man of middle-age, small build, and average height, with a strong-cut jaw and graying hairs at his temples. Outside of a moustache, also sprinkled with gray, he was otherwise clean-shaven. Well spoken, his speech was quite articulate. The man could be opinionated and doubled as a gentleman’s gentlemen when Gabriel was at Collins Stead.
“Good morning, Regis,” he croaked with a raspy voice.
The butler frowned and pinched his lips, giving his average, yet pleasant features, a constipated visage. Most of the English toted this expression. Gabriel blamed it on all the tea they consumed. The exact reason he had curbed his own intake of the bitter brew. It seemed to have just such an effect on his system as well.
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“How is it you can utter such a travesty, sir, after spending the night sleeping upon the floor?” Regis probed further.
“I believe I started out sleeping on the sofa. But with it being so narrow, no doubt one turn landed me where I now lay.” With great difficulty he pulled himself to a sitting position. “Not a problem, though. I have slept in worse places.” His response opened a floodgate of memories. How many times, while working as a scout for the white man, had he slept upon the cold, hard ground, far from the warmth of the camp’s fire and getting eaten alive by insects? Sleeping upon the library’s floor was a significant upgrade in perspective to other places he had endured. “Have you any idea how I got to Collins Stead?”
“Miss Riley said she received you late last night. You were brought here by Captain Simon Cavendish,” Regis explained.
He yawned and stretched. “Ah, it all comes back to me.”
Regis inclined his head politely. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at your disposal. But you see I was visiting my sister until early this morning, or I would have tended to you myself.”
“No apology is necessary.”
“I’ve drawn you a bath. And Addie will have breakfast waiting for you when you’re ready.” Regis arched a brow. “That is, if you have an appetite.”
“Perhaps just coffee will do, and served very black.”
“Very good, sir,” Regis mumbled. Half the time Gabriel had a hard time understanding what the man said. Actually, that seemed to be the case with most of the folks in England, although deciphering the words was growing easier. “I’m at your service.”
Usually he hated the fuss Regis went to on his behalf. Gabriel was quite capable of taking care of himself. But today, especially, he welcomed the other man’s aid. Forcing a smile, he voiced his appreciation. “Ashoge, thank you, Regis.”
The butler nodded and extended his hand. “Up you go then.”
Gabriel accepted his help and stumbled to his feet, swaying a bit before catching his balance. Feeling his face heat with shame over his present condition, he cleared his throat and straightened his wrinkled waistcoat. “Is Miss Riley up and about yet?”
Born of Proud Blood Page 3