by Jo Goodman
“None,” he agreed pleasantly. “Even if I wished to, it’s not something I’d do in this weather.”
Clara, her excitement dwindling, now began to focus on the conversation going on around her. “But I want to go home!”
Shannon glared at Parker, the pain in her ankle all but forgotten as she tried to soothe Clara. “You heard your uncle. We can’t travel in the storm.” She could not promise they would travel later that day or even on the morrow. It appeared that Parker Grant was quite content with the situation the way it was.
Parker nodded. “You should be happy I stumbled upon you. I have some supplies with me, and I can do something about that poor fire.”
Shannon would have liked to say that neither she nor Clara required anything of Parker Grant, but common sense demanded otherwise. The accusations she wanted to level at his head had to be restrained for Clara’s sake. He spoke of plans that were unnecessary now and of having to act quickly. It was not the cold that caused her to shiver.
“You’re remarkably like her, you know,” he said, raising his eyes from Clara to Shannon. “Rory, I mean.” When Shannon made no reply, but continued to stare at him, her mouth set mutinously, Parker shrugged. “I’ll get the supplies.” He glanced at Shannon’s elevated foot. “I doubt you can go anywhere,” he said softly, and then he was gone.
“Shall we stay here all day?” asked Clara.
“I think so; perhaps the night. Will you mind?”
Clara thought about that for a moment. “No. I like Parker.”
Even though that had been obvious since Parker entered the cabin, Shannon was still surprised. Apparently Clara made no connection between her mother’s initial absence from the folly and her uncle. Shannon couldn’t remember either Cody or Brandon discussing Parker in front of Clara. Their bitterness never reached the child. “That’s fine,” Shannon said for lack of any better comment.
Parker’s bare head was covered with snow when he returned a few minutes later. He brushed it off after he dropped an armload of firewood in front of the hearth.
“First things first,” he said. It wasn’t long before he had a respectable blaze in the fireplace. “Come over here, Clara, and warm your hands. No, leave that blanket behind. I don’t want it catching a spark.”
How could he be so thoughtful? Shannon wondered. Was he trying to lull her into feeling some semblance of security? She could have told him his efforts were wasted on her, but again, for Clara’s peace of mind, she remained silent on the matter. Shannon lay helplessly on the narrow bed while Clara warmed herself and Parker made several more trips outside to get what he needed. On his final trip he carried in nothing but a bucket of snow.
“Take off your boot,” he said, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. When Shannon hesitated too long for his satisfaction, he added, “I’ll take it off myself, and I doubt if I’ll be gentle.”
Shannon struggled to more of a sitting position and tried to work off her boot. “I can’t. My foot is too swollen.”
Parker dropped the bucket and took out the hunting knife strapped to his thigh. “I’m going to cut it off. The boot, not your foot,” he explained when Shannon flinched away, “Frightened, are you? Good.” His knife quickly tore through the leather. “Think how easily this would go through your skin. It may have to, you know, if Bran doesn’t cooperate. It may have to anyway.”
“Stop it!” she hissed. “Clara may hear you.”
“So protective,” he mocked, removing her boot. He placed her foot on the blankets again and deftly examined her injury. “That will serve Clara in good stead.” He released her foot but saw her stiffen at his quiet threat against his niece. “Nothing’s broken.”
Shannon thought she would come out of her skin when he began packing her ankle in snow. None of the tenderness he used with Clara was evident when he dealt with her.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked.
“For warmth and comfort,” she said tersely.
His eyes dropped to the fur hat resting on the floor by the bed. “I see you decided against the plumed riding hat.”
“You should know why.”
Parker’s brows rose and his voice dropped. “You seem armed with an inordinate amount of suspicions regarding me. Why is that?”
Shannon glanced at Clara and saw she was occupied stacking the firewood. “You murdered my sister.”
“Completely incorrect. Aurora offered herself as a target.” He watched Shannon’s mouth part slightly in surprise. “Ah, you expected me to deny it. Why should I? I knew Brandon thought I was involved, else why send Sir James to visit me at Belletraine?”
“You spoke of plans. What is it you want?”
Parker ran his palm along the length of Shannon’s leg. “Later. We’ll speak of my plans when Clara is sleeping.”
* * *
Brandon cursed the snow. The weather had severely hampered his search for Shannon and Clara. Every man at the folly who could ride was given a mount and an area to cover. Now the advent of night posed another threat to the search.
Brandon had not thought anything could take his mind from the things he had learned from Annie. Though he still lacked hard evidence linking Parker to Aurora’s murder, the mere fact that Parker had spent time at Redheart’s while Aurora had been at the folly, as well as his interest in everything that happened at the folly, satisfied Brandon that Parker was involved. It was not enough for Sir James, however, and Brandon’s meeting with the man was disappointingly brief. “Something more substantial is required,” Sir James had said, rubbing his forehead thoughtfully. “Until then, well, I’m sorry.” Brandon was sorry also but not completely discouraged. If it meant going to Belletraine and threatening Parker’s slaves until he had the truth from them, he would do it.
His trip to Belletraine had occupied his thoughts all the way from Williamsburg to the folly. And when he arrived, the crisis at the folly had completely wiped Parker from his mind. Martha had already organized a search party when Shannon and Clara did not return at the first sign of snow. By the time Brandon entered the house, Martha’s control was a fragile thing. Brandon immediately added more men, widened the search area, and sent someone to Davey French’s in the hope that Shannon might have sought shelter there.
Brandon pulled on the reins of his mount and turned him back toward the house. All afternoon he had kept his ears alert for the sound of musket fire, the signal that the search was over. Now it was nearly dusk, and there had been nothing. He swore harshly and urged his horse to a faster pace. His return to the folly was brief. He set out again once he had taken up a torch and assured Martha that he was not abandoning the search.
* * *
After Clara had fallen asleep in the crook of Shannon’s arm, Parker ordered Shannon to get up from the bed and join him at the table. The swelling in her ankle had lessened, and though walking was painful, Shannon exaggerated the effect of the injury. Pretending weakness at this point seemed her best defense. If she could convince Parker she was helpless and lower his guard, there may be an opportunity to escape when he went to sleep himself. Shannon had given a lot of thought to the matter while she ate the dinner Parker had prepared. His horse was tethered in the back. She would take Clara and leave the cabin as soon as Parker was asleep. Shannon considered her chances of surviving the elements infinitely better than her chances of surviving what Parker had planned.
“Sit down,” he said brusquely, pointing to the chair across the table from him. “There.” He leaned back in his own chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes skimmed her body and rested on her bare ankle. “Still smarts a bit, does it?”
“More than a bit,” Shannon murmured. “There was no need to make me come here. If you had lowered your voice, Clara would not have been disturbed.”
“And you would have been comfortable. Is that so important to you?”
“On occasion.” She stretched out her leg, grimacing as she did so. “Brandon will find us. Clara and I left th
e folly this morning. There will be men looking everywhere for us.”
“No one has found you yet,” he pointed out calmly, watching her face closely. There was no color in her cheeks, but as a result of her recent efforts to leave the bed, her skin beaded with perspiration and glowed in the firelight. She did not seem at all perturbed by his statement. “The weather is in my favor. And now darkness. Clara mentioned at dinner that Bran had gone to town this morning. Most likely he’s trapped there by the snow. Not that it matters much. I think Bran’s forgotten all about this place anyway.”
“No. No, he hasn’t. How do you think we found it? Oh, I didn’t know this cabin existed, but Clara did. Brandon pointed it out to her not long ago. When he remembers that, and he will, he’ll at least explore the possibility that we might be here. You mistake the situation if you believe this weather will keep Bran away from the folly. You underestimate your brother’s tenacity.” She saw that rankled her captor, and pressed on. “When he discovers Clara and I are gone, he will look for us. I think it would be better if you left, Parker. Clara and I will manage on our own until my husband arrives.”
Parker was genuinely amused by her proposal. “Leave? In this storm? After I admitted what I did about Rory? Somehow I can’t imagine you keeping your silence. It wouldn’t be long before Sir James returned to Belletraine.”
“It would only be my word against yours,” she reminded him. “You could still deny everything. That’s supposing I said anything at all.”
“This conversation is absurd. I have no intention of leaving. I couldn’t be more pleased with this turn of events.”
“Brandon will kill you, Parker.”
“Not while I have Clara.” He reached across the table and cupped Shannon’s chin in his hand. “Not while I have you.” He released her face and let her think about that.
“What is it you want from him?”
“An exchange of sorts. Clara for the deed to the folly.” He paused fractionally, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a parody of a smile. “And one additional trade. An eye for an eye, as it were. Your life for Aurora’s.”
“But my sister is dead.”
Parker’s emerald eyes glinted. “Precisely.”
Shannon realized in that moment Parker was quite mad. What he was asking for was impossible, and he did not seem to know it. He had lost sight of everything in his bid for the folly. How did Parker expect to hold on to the folly if he murdered her? “Brandon will not agree to what you ask.”
“I may not give him a chance. Your life may already be forfeit when I speak to him about Clara.”
Shannon forced herself not to flinch from his steady regard. He found some perverse pleasure in trying to frighten her, and on this count she refused to grant him the satisfaction. Her bravado was feigned, however, for beneath the table her legs trembled. The assurance with which she had spoken earlier was also pretense. She thought it was very likely that Brandon had decided to stay in town because of the snow, and while she knew there would be others from the folly searching for her, she doubted they would think to extend their search so far from the house. She had to believe it was otherwise, that Brandon had returned home. As long as she believed that, she trusted him to find her and Clara. He would not rest until he had done so. “Brandon doesn’t even think Clara is his daughter,” she lied. “What makes you so certain that he will give you the folly for her?”
Parker dismissed her statement with a short bark of derisive laughter. “Clara is his daughter, and if he chooses to think otherwise, then he will lose her. I think Rory would be pleased if she knew how well she had planted those doubts in Bran’s mind.”
“Then you did not know my sister,” Shannon said firmly.
A white line of tension formed around Parker’s mouth. “I did. Or I did until you exerted your influence on her. I’m not of a mind to forgive that. The folly would have been mine if she hadn’t betrayed me. You caused her to do that.”
“Aurora’s decision was her own. I did nothing. But I can tell you that she didn’t regret what she had done, Parker. I think she must have known the folly meant more to you than she did. She was only a means to an end for you, and it wasn’t enough for her.” Shannon bit off her next thought, sensing she had pushed Parker too far. His jaw was rigid with anger, his face unnaturally flushed.
“You know nothing about it.” His voice was soft and menacing because of it. “Nothing. She fell in easily enough with my plan when I first proposed it. Aurora was intrigued, even excited, when I told her that Bran had taken a mistress in her image. She saw the possibilities almost before I laid them out to her.” Parker’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back from the table. He rounded it slowly, commanding Shannon’s glance all the while. When he was beside her, he rested his hip on the edge and looked down on her from the superior position he held. One hand reached out and removed the pins that kept Shannon’s hair coiled to her head. His thumb brushed the curve of her cheek. “Her vanity was touched, I think, that Brandon would choose a mistress so much like herself.”
“How did you know what I looked like?” Shannon asked, keeping her voice low and gentle in an effort to calm Parker. She held herself very still as he brushed aside the dark curtain of her hair and let it fall over her back.
“Cody told me.”
Shannon’s head twisted sharply away from Parker’s touch. “That is a lie.”
He tilted his head to one side consideringly. “Not precisely,” he said, tipping her face toward him again. “Cody has a regrettable habit of speaking his mind in the bedroom. Are you familiar with Annie Jones?” When Shannon nodded, he continued. “Then you understand how I was able to learn about you. It is unfortunate that Cody did not know for some time that you were Aurora’s sister. Rory learned it herself before I did. It made no difference to me, but I think she felt otherwise. At first it amused her. She would visit me here on her morning rides and tell me how simply she had taken you in with her tears and protests. Brandon and Cody were less convinced as to her sincerity, but she had no doubts about you.” Parker’s fingers pressed tightly on Shannon’s jaw. “She laughed about that, called you a fool. Aurora had no qualms about proceeding with our plan to kill you and fix Brandon with the blame…not until the end. What did you do to her? How did you force her to betray me?”
Shannon winced as the pressure of his fingers increased. “I pitied her,” she said. “As I pity you.” Parker’s hand dropped away instantly. Out of the corner of her eye Shannon saw it lift to strike her. There was no way to avoid it, and the blow nearly unseated her when it came.
“I want none of it,” he said. His eyes were like shards of green glass. “None of it.”
Shannon righted herself slowly, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.
“There is something I want from you.” His fingers stroked her neck and then smoothed over the reddening mark on her cheek. His hand fell to her throat, paused, then fisted in the fringed collar of her leather hunting shirt. Effortlessly he pulled Shannon to her feet. Attempting to keep her weight off her injured ankle, she fell against him. Even through her heavy garment he could feel the press of her breasts on his chest. “I know about your stepfather,” he said quietly. “I only mention it to let you know I have been forewarned. A struggle, while exciting, would also be futile.” He withdrew his knife from the sheath on his thigh and held it up for her to see. “Are you going to struggle, Shannon?”
She shook her head and caught the faint light of disappointment in his eyes.
“I’ll tell Bran I had you, of course.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Why? He did not mind sharing his first wife.”
“Bastard.”
“On your lips even that epithet sounds sweet.” Then he lowered his head, grinding his mouth against hers. He said her name once. Rory, he called her.
* * *
The flame from Brandon’s torch flickered wildly in the wind. The steadily falling snow reflected the lig
ht so that Brandon’s passage across the countryside was like parting an endless series of white curtains. Consciously he would not admit the cabin was his last hope of finding Shannon and Clara safe, yet on a deeper level he knew it was true. That they might have gone to the cabin had not occurred to him earlier because he had only thought of Shannon’s knowledge of the area. It wasn’t until he considered where his daughter might have taken Shannon there that he realized the cabin was a very real possibility.
His horse stumbled on a broken slat of the rotting worm fence that led directly to the cabin’s door. Brandon’s torch slipped from his hand and fell in the snow. He made a grab for it, missed, and quickly dismounted. The flames burned themselves out before he was able to pick it up. Slipping off his musket so it would not discharge if he lost his footing, he fixed it to the saddle, then took up his horse’s reins and began walking toward the cabin, one hand held out to his side to follow the path of the fence.
At first he thought he was imagining the glimmer of light coming from beneath the cabin’s door, imagining it because he so very much wanted to believe it was there. He approached the structure cautiously, still not believing what he saw, then more confidently as he told himself that it had to be real. At last he dropped the reins and began running for the door.
Shannon’s name died on his lips as he stepped into the cabin. A blast of icy wind swirled through the room, but it was Brandon’s presence, not the wind, that froze Shannon and Parker into stillness. More precisely, it was Parker who ceased to move. Shannon’s body had been rigid in his brother’s embrace, stiff with contempt and distaste, her knuckles white against the table’s edge as Parker held her captive between his thighs.
The shoulder seam of her shirt was cleanly split, and Parker’s mouth was against her skin. The hunting knife he had used to slice the shirt rested in one hand. He raised himself slowly but would not let Shannon go. Their faces turned in unison toward the door.