Violet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  Shannon never received any formal instructions outlining her duties with Clara, but the child’s routine was well established and Shannon simply fell in with it, finding a sense of security in the structure. On most days she rose an hour or so before Clara, using the time to complete her bathing and reflect on the day’s activities. She usually teased Clara awake, assisted washing and dressing her before they shared breakfast in the nursery. For the next few hours they played at whatever amused Clara. Shannon carefully disguised the learning in games. They counted anything that struck their fancy. Marbles, dolls, steps, and horses were carefully enumerated, though Clara was apt to blithely announce there were eleventeen of everything at the folly. Together they explored the folly looking for “A words.” Addie. Apple pie. Alcove. Anise. Ants. Shannon recorded each word they found in a small ledger along with a sketch of the object. She was more surprised than Clara to find she possessed a happy talent for line drawing and a rather wicked talent for caricature. Making the allybet book, as Clara called it, became an important part of their day, and no one was safe from Shannon’s ink sketches.

  A leisurely tour of the grounds usually preceded the midday meal, which Clara and Shannon ate in the dining room. Food was generally sent to Brandon and Cody in the fields, and if they arrived at the house for lunch, Shannon took her meal in the kitchen with the house servants, serenely unaware that her absence at the table bothered the hell out of Brandon.

  Clara napped after lunch while Shannon read at her bedside. Had she not been afraid of confronting Brandon, she would have sat on the verandah or walked along the riverbank. She smiled ruefully. Her days at the folly numbered more than twenty. Going into Brandon’s library to borrow a book was the most courageous thing she had done without Clara at her side.

  She put her book aside and watched Clara as she stirred in her sleep. “There is a lovely breeze blowing, poppet. I thought we might take out your kite.”

  Clara sat up, her features still flushed with sleep. She rubbed her eyes and blinked owlishly at Shannon. A smile lighted her face. “Oh, you’re still here. I dreamed you was gone.”

  Shannon did not bother with the ungrammatical. She leaned forward and touched Clara’s soft cheek with the tip of her finger. “I’m here,” she said gently. “See?” Though she put Clara’s fears to rest quickly, her own did not subside so easily. It was never far from her mind that she was merely the child’s governess, and therefore eminently expendable should someone more qualified be found for the position. It became the pattern of her evening that before she went to bed she would pray for one more day in which she might prove herself worthy.

  “Mishannon?” Clara questioned impatiently.

  Shannon came out of her reverie and laughed at the child’s run-on name for her. Clara had never been able to get her tongue around Miss Kilmartin. Shannon alone was too informal an address. She and Clara finally agreed on Miss Shannon, though when Clara said it, it sounded faintly proprietary, as if she were saying my Shannon. “Sorry, poppet. I was thinking. Do you want to fly your kite?”

  Clara nodded eagerly. Twenty minutes later they were outside in the fresh air and sunshine, and laughing uninhibitedly at their attempts to send the kite aloft. The tail tangled about Clara’s legs. Shannon picked her up and pretended to throw her into the wind.

  “I’makite! I’makite!” she squealed until Shannon set her on the ground again and removed the tail from around her ankles. “You make it fly, Mishannon!”

  “I can’t seem to run very well in these shoes,” Shannon said doubtfully, offering her best excuse for not being able to get the kite up.

  “Take them off.”

  Shannon was uncertain. It hardly seemed proper. “I don’t know,” she said uneasily. She looked around, glancing back at the house and then at the fields. For once she could find no one watching her. “All right.” She kicked off the shoes and removed her stockings. She wiggled her toes in the grass, sighing agreeably, then spied Clara’s look of longing. “You, too,” she said, laughing. “No need to take a pet over it. Give me your foot.” Deftly she removed Clara’s shoes and stockings and then stood up. “There, that’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Lovely,” Clara agreed. “Now we’ll fly the kite.”

  “I hope so,” Shannon said under her breath. She had never owned a kite and was not sure of the mechanics of flying one. She had watched others do it, and it seemed an easy enough thing until now. Clara offered suggestions, touting her Uncle Cody as the expert on kite flying, and finally, quite by accident, Shannon sent the thing soaring.

  “Give it string!” Clara cried, hopping up and down excitedly. “More string!”

  Shannon quickly loosed more twine from the spindle, and the kite went higher. “Would you like to hold it, Clara? Be careful; the breeze is strong.”

  Clara took the spindle and felt the kite tug on the line, lifting her arms. “Oooh! I’m going to fly!”

  Shannon laughed, her entire face beautifully animated as she felt Clara’s joy become a real thing inside her.

  Cody stood at the study window. The noisy antics of Clara and Shannon had drawn him to the window, but Brandon’s arrested expression at his side kept him there. Brandon seemed oblivious to his presence. Cody considered it a good sign. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?” he asked after a moment. “I doubt she’s ever been more content.”

  “It would appear Clara is good for her,” Brandon said quietly.

  Cody tempered the grin that would have split his face if he had given it leave to do so. “I was speaking of Clara, Bran.”

  “Oh.” With an effort he pulled his gaze away from Shannon’s lithe figure as she hovered about his daughter, making sure the kite did not escape the tiny hands. Clara laughed gleefully in that moment, and Brandon saw Shannon bend down and hug the child, both their faces radiating a deep happiness that somehow struck at the core of him. He turned away from the window and said a little brusquely, “Of course Clara’s content. Why shouldn’t she be? She has Miss Kilmartin’s undivided attention.” Oh Lord, he thought. Even to his own ears he sounded jealous. There was no telling what Cody would make of it.

  Cody wisely chose to make nothing of it, though he was more than a little curious about Brandon’s response. Did Brandon want more of Clara’s time or Shannon’s? The possibility that it was the latter intrigued Cody. “I don’t think Shannon’s spoiling Clara.”

  Shannon was it? Since she had become Clara’s companion, Brandon had been careful to address her to others as Miss Kilmartin, believing the more formal address would help distance him from her. Cody persisted in calling her Shannon, probably with her permission. “I don’t believe I said Clara was being spoiled, only that she had Miss Kilmartin’s full attention. Although of late I’ve noticed you spending a good deal of time in their company.” Dear God, he was jealous.

  Cody shrugged off Brandon’s bad humor. “I helped them count kittens in the stable the other day.”

  “Let me guess. There were eleventeen of them.”

  “So Clara told you.” He laughed and pointed to a scratch on the back of his hand. “One of the little darlings, number seven, I think, clawed me. Then Shannon made me play the patient while she showed Clara how to clean and bandage my not very mortal wound.”

  Brandon scowled at the thought of Shannon’s tenderly ministering to his brother. “You’ve healed well enough, I see,” he said sarcastically.

  “Right as rain,” Cody agreed easily. “She’s very easy to talk to, you know, if one takes the time to draw her out. She’s—I don’t know quite how to describe it—restful, I think. That’s it. Restful.” He did not mention he had never conversed with her without Clara nearby. “I can’t imagine why you avoid her. Except for the unfortunate accident of her appearance, she’s nothing like Aurora.”

  “I never said she was. And I don’t avoid her.” As if he needed to prove something to himself, he faced the window again. Shannon and Clara were lying in the grass, Shannon’s arms extended
above her and stayed there, held in place by the tension in the kite string. He did not have to see her face to know that she was smiling. “And,” he added tightly, “the unfortunate accident is that Rory looks like her, not the other way around.”

  Cody’s comment died in his throat as the erratic wind yanked the kite, line, and spindle from Shannon’s hands. Shannon and Clara leaped to their feet in unison and gave chase, but the kite veered sharply into a grove of trees before Shannon caught the line. “Now what are they going to do?” he asked. But he was speaking to an empty room.

  Shannon stood at the base of the tree, hands on her hips, and stared mutinously at the greedy tree that had eaten their kite. Beside her, Clara mimicked her posture exactly. “I suppose this never happened to your Uncle Cody,” she said, sighing.

  Clara aped the sigh. “Never.”

  Shannon tentatively yanked on the string, but the kite didn’t budge. “There’s nothing for it. I shall have to bring it down.”

  “Have to bring it down,” Clara repeated, matching Shannon’s forlorn tone.

  “Minx,” Shannon murmured. “Stay right here.” She surveyed the tree a moment longer, then walked beneath the lowest branch and jumped. It took two attempts before she was able to grasp the limb. She was trembling but oddly exhilarated by the time she hoisted herself up and straddled the branch. She waved confidently at Clara and almost lost her balance. “Not to worry, poppet,” she said when Clara’s face began to crumple. “I’ll have it in a minute.”

  Hitching up her skirt, Shannon was able to scoot along the branch toward the trunk. She stood cautiously, clutching a higher branch for support, and caught her breath. High above her the tip of the kite and its bright tail seemed to tease her, and gamely, she began to climb. She was more than halfway to her destination when she realized Clara was not her only interested observer.

  Shannon looked down from her perch, suddenly aware of the dizzying height, and said the only thing that came to her mind. “I don’t do this sort of thing often, Mr. Fleming.”

  For once the cynical side of Brandon’s nature took a damper. He believed her. If she had suspected she would be caught out, Shannon’s natural sense of propriety would have prevented this exhibition. Brandon’s face was tilted in her direction, and he tried very hard not to stare at the bare feet curved over the tree branch or the tantalizing length of slender leg exposed to his view. “By all means, Miss Kilmartin, carry on.”

  It was not what she had expected to hear. “Oh. Of course.” Was he grinning at her? It was difficult to tell. It was maddening the way he was looking at her. She could not determine if he was gravely amused or clearly out of patience with her behavior. With a small sigh, she turned away and continued climbing.

  The kite was easily enough dislodged, but as it fluttered to the ground, Shannon confronted another problem.

  Brandon helped Clara gather her kite and wind the string. “I vow, Miss Kilmartin, you have given new meaning to ‘flying off into the boughs,’” Brandon called up with imperturbable calm. “Do you prefer your new lodgings to your own room?”

  “No. Not at all. It’s just that…well, I have had a revelation, you see.”

  “A revelation? That is very interesting, to be sure. But why not come down and share it?”

  “But that is precisely the nature of the revelation,” she admitted forlornly. “I have discovered I am quite afraid to come down.”

  “That does pose a problem of sorts,” Brandon said solemnly.

  Odious man. “Yes, it does.”

  Brandon glanced down at his daughter as Clara tugged on his hand and pointed toward the house. “Here comes Cody, Papa. He will bring Mishannon down.” There was no mistaking the complete confidence Clara had in her uncle. It did not sit well with him. Before Cody could reach the tree, Brandon powerfully hauled himself onto the lowest limb. “Stay with your uncle, poppet, while I fetch Miss Kilmartin.”

  “Don’t hurt her!” Clara called.

  That gave Brandon pause. Cody had joined his niece now, and Brandon looked from one to the other, clearly puzzled. “Why ever should I hurt her?” he asked.

  “You don’t like her,” Clara answered. “Isn’t that so, Cody? Papa doesn’t like Mishannon.”

  Cody intercepted Brandon’s sharp gaze and lifted his hands helplessly. “Don’t look at me, Bran. I didn’t put the words in her mouth. She sees things for herself and draws her own conclusions.”

  Shannon heard Cody’s voice and was relieved. Not realizing that Brandon was already poised to help her, she called down. “Can you assist me, Cody? I haven’t the least desire to nest here.”

  Brandon looked pointedly at Cody. “Stay where you are.” He stood on the limb. “I am coming for you, Miss Kilmartin.”

  Shannon recognized the no-nonsense tone of the voice and clung to her limb, heart sinking to her feet. The branches around her swayed slightly as Brandon climbed quickly and with none of the faltering that marked her own ascent. She closed her eyes to the censure she was certain she would see in his expression as he drew level with her.

  “Open your eyes,” Brandon said, somewhat startled by the gentle urging in his voice. “I doubt I can help you otherwise.”

  Shannon’s heavy lashes fluttered, but she kept her eyes downcast. “I regret this inconvenience,” she apologized. “I didn’t suspect that I wouldn’t be able to get down.”

  The corners of Brandon’s mouth twitched. “How many trees have you climbed?”

  “Including this one?”

  “Yes.”

  “One.”

  “I see,”, he said gravely. “Then you were understating things a bit when you said you didn’t do this sort of thing often.”

  “I suppose I was.”

  Brandon edged himself closer to Shannon. He stood on a branch below her, but his eyes were on a plane with hers. He waited patiently until she stopped examining her bare toes and looked directly at him. “Are you afraid?”

  “Embarrassed mostly. Afraid? A little.”

  “Of what?”

  He knew, she thought dispiritedly. He knew she was more frightened of him than the precariousness of her perch or the distance to the ground. “Of falling…” She looked away, unable to complete the thought. Of falling to the earth? Of falling in love? She did not know what had even made her think of the latter. Certainly she had been given no encouragement. This was the closest she had been to Brandon Fleming since he had kissed her. Heat rushed to her cheeks and her grip slackened.

  Brandon’s gaze narrowed as his hands reached to steady her. What was she thinking? His fingers tightened on her waist. “Don’t faint on me now, Miss Kilmartin,” he said a shade roughly. “I can’t guarantee your safety should we come to that pass.”

  “No…no, I’m fine.” The pads of his fingers seemed to brand her skin. It was as if the barrier of her dress were not there. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hold on to that branch. When I step down, put your feet where mine are now. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Brandon’s smile was encouraging as he released her waist and sought another foothold below her. “Don’t look down,” he told her when he saw her pause uncertainly. “Look at me.” He laughed wryly. “A little like choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, I admit, but come, there is nothing for it. Choose the devil.”

  Shannon made to protest then saw the teasing glint in his eyes. Of a sudden she was carried back to a spring day when Brandon Fleming had turned the full force of his charm upon her. She had not been completely immune to it then, nor was she armored against it now. “Very well,” she said. “I choose the devil.”

  “Good girl. I won’t give you cause to regret it.”

  It seemed to Shannon as if there was another message in his words, but she would not let herself think what it might be. Except for his directions and praise, they were the last words spoken as Brandon carefully guided her from limb to limb. When they reached the bottom branch, Brandon jumped
down, landing lightly on his feet with feline aplomb.

  “Bravo, Bran!” applauded Cody as Clara hugged her father’s knees.

  Shannon cleared her throat delicately. She was standing in the crook of the lowest branch. “Excuse me, please. I should be infinitely in your debt if you would tell me what to do next.”

  “Jump!” Clara shouted, clapping her hands.

  “No!” Brandon and Cody both yelled at once. Too late. Startled by Clara’s exuberant command, Shannon pushed herself away from the trunk and leaped. Cody yanked Clara out of the way as Shannon, realizing her mistake, flailed in the air toward Brandon. Brandon caught Shannon by the waist, but the impetus of her weight threw him off balance. He fell backward, using his body to break Shannon’s fall.

  Breathless, Shannon raised her head and stared at her rescuer’s flushed face. She could not help but be aware of the intimacy of their position. Her skirt had ridden up and her bare legs lay against Brandon’s. Her breasts were pressed flush to his unyielding chest, and still she could feel an aching fullness in them that was foreign to her. Her braid had fallen across Brandon’s eyes and he lifted it slowly, giving her the full force of his dark gaze. She simply stared back, and the apology that trembled on her lips was silenced. A shuddering awareness passed through him and into her and they froze, unable to move, much less look away.

  “Take note, Clara,” Cody said, assessing the situation carefully and realizing it required a light touch. “The rescue of the fair damsel has gone amiss…I think. Bran. Shannon. For future reference, it would be more the thing if you refrained from taking a tumble. Bad form, don’t you think?”

  “Idiot,” Brandon groaned, not unkindly. He sat up as Shannon scrambled off him and modestly covered her bare legs, tucking her feet beneath her skirt. He noticed the problem of what to do with her hands was solved when Clara flung herself into Shannon’s lap.

  “Oh, Mishannon! Are you all right?”

  Clara’s energetic hugging threw Shannon to one side, and she felt Brandon’s hand touch her back to steady her. It rested there a moment too long to be considered casual, thoughtless assistance. “I’m fine,” she said breathlessly as Brandon removed his hand. “And I think it’s time we got you ready for dinner.” The meal was hours away yet, but Shannon offered the first excuse she could think of to escape. From the looks she received, no one was fooled, but neither did anyone make an objection. Cody lifted Clara away from her, and Shannon got to her feet, making a business of brushing off her skirt. “Thank you,” she said to Brandon, though she did not look at him. Taking up Clara’s hand, she picked up the discarded kite in the other. She was halfway to the house when she heard Brandon call to her. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder, mortified to find he was dangling one of her stockings from the tips of his fingers.