by Jo Goodman
Shannon took a few tentative steps away from them before she realized that her sodden skirts were definitely going to impede her progress across the brook. Her spine stiffened as she heard Brandon laugh quietly behind her, then she gasped as the colonial swept her off her feet and brought her close to his chest. “Put me down, sir! What are you doing? Oh, please, put me down!”
Brandon ignored her and spoke to Eric instead. “If you would be so kind as to retrieve her basket and shoes. I believe I saw them floating away. I doubt there is a hope we can recover her stockings.” He grinned at Shannon. “Your berries are gone, I’m afraid.”
Shannon crossed her arms in front of her and gritted her teeth. “It doesn’t matter. Would you please release me?”
“As soon as we cross the brook,” he replied easily. He took a few steps forward. “If you do not want another spill, then I suggest you place your arms about my neck.” He waited patiently for Shannon to consider the merits of defying or obeying him. When her arms reluctantly circled his shoulders, he was careful not to show his pleasure and pretended indifference. He cautiously made his way across the brook while Eric followed the bank in search of Shannon’s basket and shoes. When Brandon reached the other side he set Shannon down gently. “Was that so terrible?” he asked.
Shannon shook her head, not looking at him as she wrung water from her skirt. She started to return his jacket, but Brandon dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand.
“Wait here while I help Eric find your things.”
Before Shannon could protest, Brandon was crossing the brook again. She saw his own stride carried a confidence and grace that she doubted she could ever emulate. Sighing heavily, she sat on the bank and pulled Brandon’s jacket more closely about her shoulders. It was warm and dry and held the faint fragrance of Brandon himself. She wondered that she found it so pleasant when she was certain she had never met a more odious example of manhood, her stepfather excepted. Thoughts of Thomas Stewart brought a frown to her features, and she was still frowning when Brandon and the earl returned to the opposite bank with her things.
“Such a long face,” Brandon noted. “Can it be you missed us?”
Distance giving her courage, Shannon stuck out her tongue. She was mortified when the earl’s eyes grew wide with surprise at the insulting, saucy behavior. She stood quickly, stammering a hasty apology that brought a smile to the face of both men. “Please, don’t take my things!” she called as they turned simultaneously and followed the path away from the brook. “Oh, come back! I must have my shoes!”
Brandon glanced over his shoulder and gave Shannon an exaggerated wounded look. “We are not thieves, m’dear. We’ll return in a moment.”
Shannon was tempted to follow them, but common sense saved her from making the hazardous crossing yet again. While she did not completely trust the colonial, she had every faith in the Earl of Glen Eden. Her faith was rewarded a few minutes later when Brandon and the earl came riding down the path on their mounts. Shannon stepped back as the huge stallions crossed the brook at a shallower point and came to a restless halt on either side of her. The earl was holding her basket, and he tipped it to show her shoes were inside. Shannon reached eagerly for the basket, murmuring her thanks.
Eric held the basket out of her reach while Brandon dismounted. “We are of a mind to provide an escort and deliver you, the basket, and one pair of soggy shoes to the vicarage.”
“Oh, but—” Her objections died in her throat as Brandon’s large hands circled her waist, lifted her, and deposited her on the saddle of his horse. She looked at the earl, appealing to his sense of fairness and propriety, only to find he was a willing conspirator in her abduction. He probably hadn’t forgiven her for giving him a peek of her saucy tongue.
Brandon felt Shannon stiffen as he climbed up behind her. He gathered the ribbons in one hand, motioned Eric to lead the way, and put his other hand at Shannon’s waist to steady her. “You would do well to relax and simply enjoy the ride,” he told her.
But Shannon could not enjoy it. She did not enjoy the teasing in his voice or the proximity of his body. She shivered, unaccountably afraid of this man who held her and even more fearful of her stepfather’s reaction should he chance to see her in the company of the earl and the colonial.
Brandon tucked his jacket more closely about Shannon’s shoulders. “Better?” he asked politely.
“Yes,” she answered, unwilling to have him know it was not the cold that caused her trembling. When they reached the edge of the wood, Shannon asked Brandon to allow her to dismount. “My home is not far,” she pointed out. “I can make my own way.”
“I’m certain you can, but humor me. It is not often I have a chance to play the gallant.”
“I don’t believe that,” she sniffed. “You must have the attentions of many young ladies.”
“You are confusing me with the earl,” Brandon said in a voice that was meant to carry to Eric’s ears. “His reputation as a libertine could not have escaped the notice of Glen Eden’s villagers.”
While the earl merely laughed at his friend’s banter, Shannon was shocked that Brandon could speak so of the master of Glen Eden.
“I, on the other hand,” Brandon continued good-naturedly, “have no such reputation with the ladies.” Here Eric actually snorted with humor, and Brandon amended his statement. “At least no such reputation with ladies as beautiful as you.”
“False words ill become a man who fancies the role of a gallant. I am hardly beautiful, and it is not kind of you to hold me up to ridicule.”
Brandon’s dark eyes widened at Shannon’s briskly delivered retort. Had she no idea of her own beauty, or was she merely casting her line for further compliments? He glanced at Eric, who was now riding beside them on the open road, and the brief warning that flashed in his friend’s eyes seemed to indicate Shannon was unaware of her own attractions. Brandon let the matter drop reluctantly.
“Will you sing in church tomorrow, Shannon?” the earl asked to bridge the uneasy silence that had grown between them.
“Yes, m’lord.” She could not elaborate. Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Eric took pity on her. “Then I shall look forward to the service,” he said sincerely.
Shannon smiled slightly. “I believe Father has an exceptional sermon planned.”
Eric coughed. “Yes, well, there’s that.”
Brandon gave the reins a tug and his mount stopped. “Is that your father?” he asked.
Shannon followed Brandon’s gesturing hand. Thomas Stewart was leaning heavily on his walking stick at the end of the cottage’s path. His glowering expression did not bode well for Shannon, and she whispered frantically to her companions. “Please, allow me to dismount. I will explain everything to my father.”
Neither Brandon nor Eric was deaf to Shannon’s urgency, but both thought she exaggerated the vicar’s displeasure. After all, nothing untoward had occurred this afternoon. Confidently they allowed their horses to approach the cottage.
“Stewart,” the earl said in the way of a greeting. “A lovely day, is it not?”
Thomas Stewart dared not be rude to the man responsible for his living, but he could not summon graciousness either. He grunted something in reply, lifted his cane in a halfhearted salute before his sunken eyes settled frostily upon Shannon. “Have you been making a nuisance of yourself, girl?” he asked sharply. “What are you doing on that mount, and why are you wet?”
Brandon spoke before Shannon could reply. “Your daughter had a slight mishap at the brook, sir. But she is recovered now, and the earl and I offered our escort.” He guided Shannon from the saddle, though he did not dismount himself. He could not fail to notice that Shannon did not meet her stepfather’s gaze as she skirted his mount.
Shannon took her basket from the earl, terribly conscious of her bare feet and naked legs. Fingering the basket and looking at the ground, she broke into a nervous introduction to cover her unease. �
�Mr. Fleming, my father, the vicar of Glen Eden. Father, this is Mr. Fleming, a friend of the earl’s from America.”
“A pleasure,” Brandon said, wondering if the vicar could detect the lie. Brandon could not recall when he had met a more reserved and disapproving man.
Thomas acknowledged Brandon with a brief nod. He would not give outright offense, but he had an instinctive distrust of colonials. It was common knowledge they were a godless people. His lip curled in disgust as his eyes swept Shannon’s bedraggled figure and took note of her shoeless condition. “Give Mr. Fleming his jacket, Shannon, then bid the gentlemen good day.” His knuckles were white on the knob of his cane. “We will speak of your conduct privately.”
Shannon’s fingers trembled on the collar of the jacket as she looked uncertainly at her stepfather. If she were to give it over, they would all see how the dress clung damply to her breasts. And she had no idea what had become of her shawl.
As if in answer to her thoughts, Brandon produced the shawl from where he had tucked it in his boot. “But keep the jacket for now,” he told her, smiling encouragingly. “You may return it on the morrow in church.” He could not like the change that had come over Shannon in the presence of Stewart. Admittedly, she had been shy, but Brandon had not thought she was without spirit. He watched her actually shrink as she swept past her stepfather and fairly ran into the house. Brandon eyed Stewart’s walking stick and immediately thought of the welts on Shannon’s white shoulder. His smile was tight as he addressed Stewart. “I look forward to hearing your sermon tomorrow, sir. His lordship has spoken highly of you.”
Stewart was not immune to flattery, even from a man he considered beneath his regard. He did not care for the direct, almost savage intensity of Fleming’s stare. He cleared his throat roughly. “That is kind of you. Will you be long in Glen Eden?”
“Unfortunately, no. I return in a sennight to Virginia. I have recently finished university at Cambridge, and it is time that I take on the obligations of my family’s holdings.”
Stewart contained his derisive snort. No doubt the arrogant stripling was a slave owner. The thought confirmed the vicar’s impression of colonials as being beyond redemption. Perhaps he would rethink his sermon, though he would have to choose his words carefully. It would not do to insult the earl’s guest.
Brandon would have liked to engage the vicar in a longer conversation, hoping his temper would cool by the time he dealt with Shannon, but he could think of nothing to say. Cursing himself for being witless, he looked to Eric for help.
“I understand Shannon will sing tomorrow,” the earl said, catching Brandon’s eye. “My mother very much enjoys her talent.”
“It is God’s talent,” the vicar said gruffly. “Shannon is but His tool.”
“Yes,” Eric agreed smoothly. “And it would be a shame if she could not sing to His glory. Good day, Stewart.” Eric turned his horse sharply, and Brandon followed suit.
When they were out of earshot, Brandon cursed softly. “You knew she lied about that injury to her shoulder.”
“Yes. But it would have done no good to drag the truth from her. She would be humiliated to have it known that she was punished.”
“Punished? Punished is being sent to one’s room. He beats her!”
“And what would you have me do to prevent it? Anything I could say to the man would only make things worse for Shannon. I admit my mother and I only suspected what he was doing before. Until I saw those welts there was never any proof. But the fact remains, there is no action I can take to stop him.”
“But you are master here,” Brandon protested. “Can you not protect her’?”
“If I were to interfere with every father who raised his hand against an offspring, I would have time for nothing else.” He sighed. “I know it sounds heartless, Bran, but there is little I can do. If I threatened to take away his living, he would simply find another and take Shannon with him. She would not fare well in those circumstances. And neither of us know what Shannon did to provoke Stewart’s anger.”
Brandon was not mollified. He could not imagine Shannon doing anything that would merit a beating. “And what of today? You saw how afraid she was of him. She expects to be beaten. And for what? She did nothing but accept our escort.”
“As I recall,” Eric said, looking pointedly at his friend, “we rather forced her to accept. She knew better than either of us how her father would react.”
“Don’t remind me. I am already feeling the burden of guilt. Do you think he took note of your warning?”
“That I expected to hear Shannon sing tomorrow?” He looked away from Brandon. “More likely he will bruise her where it cannot show.”
* * *
Brandon reflected on Eric’s last words as he watched Shannon take her seat in the pew reserved for her. She wore a stark black gown with a high white collar, and her glorious hair had disappeared beneath a bonnet, hiding her profile from his view. Brandon’s lips tightened as Shannon seated herself gingerly. He glanced sideways at Eric and the countess and saw they were also taking note of what appeared to be Shannon’s painful posture.
Brandon heard little of the vicar’s carefully constructed sermon, never realizing he was the subject of Stewart’s diatribe on the sins of arrogance and pride. He had thoughts for nothing and no one but Shannon Kilmartin, and when she finally stood to sing in her soft, clear voice, he was profoundly moved. Shannon’s song fell on his ears with a certain tranquil beauty. It was not what she sang but how she sang it that caught Brandon’s complete attention. Her lilting voice seemed to pass through him, setting him at peace. She had turned slightly to face the congregation as she sang, and though Brandon willed her to look in his direction, she studiously avoided catching his eye. Until she sat down again. Then Brandon wished she had not seen him. Though her violet eyes were quickly veiled by thick jet lashes, Brandon nearly recoiled from the hatred he glimpsed there. Hatred directed solely toward him.
Chapter 2
March 1746
“Why have you come?” Shannon asked quietly. Unconsciously she turned her head away from her visitor, shame and guilt making it impossible to face him directly. She pretended interest in the mildewed stone walls of her prison cell, studying the pattern of water trickling through a jagged crack in one of the blocks. “I told the turnkey I did not want to see anyone.”
The Earl of Glen Eden glanced about the cell, grimacing with distaste at the conditions that circumstances had forced upon Shannon Kilmartin. It could be argued that Newgate Prison was a cruel environment for hardened felons; it was certainly no place for a young woman of Shannon’s sensibilities. The cells were tiny, poorly lighted, and unsanitary. The population of the prison was a peculiar mixture of citizens from every station in life. There were youthful pickpockets sharing the same cell with disgraced lords who were unable to honor their debts. Wastrels and indigents cohabited with highwaymen and rapists. Waterfront pimps found their new lodgings rife with murderers.
Upon inquiring, Eric Redmond discovered Shannon shared her cell with three prostitutes and a madwoman whose needs would have better been served in Bedlam. Shannon Kilmartin was the only murderess in the women’s quarters.
Before the earl spoke to Shannon, he arranged to meet her in a private cell. It was not his title that persuaded the turnkey to accommodate him, but the glint of his coins. He knew that Shannon, having no money of her own, could not have faired well in Newgate. All amenities were available for a price, but Shannon would have had to barter her body to secure blankets, fresh straw bedding, or better food. Eric did not think she had asked for any of these things.
The earl’s glance swept Shannon’s partially turned figure, confirming his opinion. She was a solemn figure, guarded and watchful. Her dark homespun gown was wrinkled and muddied and ill fitting. The hem was torn in two places that he could see, and the edging of the chemise above her bodice was no longer pristine white, but yellow and gray. Shannon’s jet hair hung limply in a matted bra
id that fell over one shoulder. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and a purpling bruise on her chin. She had easily dropped a stone’s weight, and her pale skin was stretched taut over the fine bones of her face.
The earl blanched, feeling bile rise in his throat as he considered the pathetic pass to which Shannon had finally arrived. Brandon Fleming’s words from four years earlier echoed relentlessly in his mind: “You are the master here. Can you not protect her?” Eric prayed that his intervention now was not too late.
Aware of the earl’s scrutiny, Shannon shifted uncomfortably and attempted to smooth the wrinkles from her gown. “Why have you come?” she repeated. There was a shade of defiance in her tone, a natural defense to keep the tears clogging her throat and eyes at bay.
Eric took two steps toward Shannon, halting abruptly when he saw her flinch. “You should not ask why I’ve come, but rather why I’ve come so late,” he told her gently. “I would not have had you go through this alone for all the world.”
Shannon cursed his kindness, for she knew it would be her undoing. She managed a careless shrug to show that his wishes were unimportant. “You were with your bride,” she said stiffly, remembering the earl’s marriage was the last rite her stepfather had performed. She had sung at the wedding, rejoicing in the earl’s happiness. It seemed a lifetime ago. “I did not expect you to return from your tour of the Continent to interfere in my affairs.”
The earl watched Shannon gather the threads of her pride. Knowing it would be unwelcome, Eric kept a tight rein on the pity he felt for her. “I know you did not expect it. It is not your way to expect anything of others. However, it remains that if I had received word of your plight sooner, I would have returned to Glen Eden immediately.” He paused, recalling the anger he had felt when the correspondence from his man of affairs finally caught up with him in Venice. If only he had received the letter earlier, he might have been able to prevent Shannon from going to trial. “Mother sends her deepest regrets, Shannon. She was ill when you were arrested and—”