Tussocks of marram grass studded the sand, tripping her as she ran, so that she went sprawling on the dune, tasting grit in her mouth, her hands coated with it as she tried to wipe it from her face. Breathless, aching, she waited and listened, lying under silvery light with waving grasses as graceful as dancers, a whispering sway in the wind.
Around her, it was deserted, desolate, a barren silence save for the careless indifference of nature. When she finally dared look behind her, she saw nothing but empty expanse, heard nothing but the wind.
Above, on the rutted road that led to Dover, Colter saw the stopped gig, heard the angry voice shouting. He slowed his mount and drew the pistol from the waist of his pants.
Easton turned, saw Colter in the light of moon and lamp and blanched, disbelief registering on his face.
“You—how did you get here so quickly?”
Dismounting, Colter approached him with a light, swift tread like that of a stalking cat, the pistol held at the ready.
“Where is she?”
There was a brief silence before Philip shrugged, and said, “I don’t know who you mean. Where is who? You can see I’ve no companion with me.”
Colter stepped sideways to glance inside the gig, saw the wool lap robe on the seat but nothing else to indicate Celia had been with him.
“You’re coming from the direction of Harmony, so I can only assume that you were foolish enough to try to use her against me again. So help me, if you’ve harmed one hair on her head—”
“She was alive, well and quite energetic the last I saw of her,” Philip broke in, and some of his old arrogance returned as he smiled. “I do believe you’ve finally formed an affection for someone, Colter. Convenient, since you married her, I suppose.”
“Yes, quite convenient. Put your hands in the air where I can see them. I don’t trust you not to do something rash and stupid—and I’d much rather see you dangle at the end of a rope than explain how you came to be shot.”
“Hear hear now, no need for unnecessary violence. I’ve no weapon, as you can surely see. Not even a sword, though I would be of little use if I did have one. Never the shot or the blade that you’ve proven to be.”
Colter beckoned him forward. “You’ll ride my horse for now. I’ve no intention of letting you out of my sight.” He loosened his neckcloth and shook it out. “Neither do I intend to leave you unbound. You’re a wily old fox, and full of tricks. Sir John was meant to lure me far afield, I assume, so that you could escape. Why didn’t you?”
“I believe you must know why—do you mind? If I’m to ride a horse, I’d just as soon not freeze. My coat is in the gig.”
“I’ll get your coat. You stand there.” Colter moved to the side of the gig and reached inside, feeling for the coat without taking his eyes from his uncle.
Christ, he was an old man, silvery hair pale under the sheen of moonlight, his bearing still straight and tall for a man of his years, but the evidence of time stamped upon his features for all to see.
Colter snagged the coat and felt along it for possible weapons then tossed it to his uncle, who caught it deftly.
“Well, my boy, what would you have me do now,” he said as he shrugged into the coat, “march back to Harmony afoot?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll revise my earlier suggestion. We’ll go together in the gig. It seems to be the favored transport for hostages—Who wore this?”
He held up a length of green velvet ribbon and saw the sudden wariness in Easton’s posture. “Where is she, Philip?” There was menace in his voice, and danger in his eyes as he moved toward the older man. “Tell me where she is, or by God, I’ll shoot you where you stand!”
“Shoot an unarmed man? Hardly fair, do you think? Give me a pistol and we’ll settle this at twenty paces.” Philip watched him closely. “It’s better than dangling at the end of a rope for the amusement of the excise men.”
Cold anger made him consider it; he’d like nothing better than to shoot him, but that would hardly help Celia.
“Tell me where she is,” he said softly, “or I’ll show you a few tricks I picked up from a tribe known as Apache. They’re quite inventive, have ways of making a man say things that not even the Spanish Inquisitors could imagine. It’s barren out here, and you wouldn’t be found for days…”
“You really are a savage, aren’t you.” Philip’s voice held thick contempt. “Your father was right.”
“My father was an utter bastard. Now, tell me where you left her.”
“Very well. Since you’re so insistent…”
He lifted his arms as if to gesture, and there was a brief glitter of moonlight on metal that warned Colter. He threw himself to one side, brought up his pistol in a smooth motion, his thumb snapping down to release the latch that fired it. Two explosions sounded simultaneously, the acrid smell of gunpowder sharp and strong.
Philip Worth stood for an instant, a shocked look on his face, then he crumpled soundlessly to the ground near the wheel of the gig. The horses snorted and stomped, but the brake held them from bolting as Colter moved to his uncle.
The shot had been true; a stain spread on his white shirt, an obscene red flower. Kneeling, Colter knew that his uncle was dead. Damn him. It had been too easy.
His head lifted, and he stared into the world of black and silver, saw tall grasses bending in the wind, heard nothing but the sound of the endless sea.
Where was she?
32
Celia rolled over painfully, trying to get her bearings. It sounded like thunder, but the night sky was clear, with many stars. The vast bowl of sparkling points against deep blue reminded her of his eyes…pitiless blue at times, and at others, blazing with raw desire. Where was he?
It was cold, the wind wet and fierce, blowing the tall grasses, dampening her face and clothes. She had to move or she’d die here, left to the uncertain mercy of the elements.
Left to the certain brutality of Lord Easton.
Groaning, she struggled to sit up, hands sinking into sand and grass, the rough edges of the blades slicing soft skin. It was wet here, residue of tidal flow, no doubt. As she got clumsily to her feet, she sank softly into the ground.
It was hard work trudging through clinging sand, and she hiked up her skirts above the clumps of grass, careful not to step in a hole hollowed out by wind and sea. Ahead in the distance, faint lights flickered on a point of land. If she could reach them before Easton found her, there may be someone to help her. She may be able to escape.
Shivering almost uncontrollably, she forged on, though her legs cramped with strain, the muscles shrieking protests at the abuse. Her own breath was loud, a rasping sound, and the sea washing up to the sand was a rolling echo of her own pounding blood in her ears.
Then, behind her, she heard another pounding, a hard thud of feet that sparked panic. A glance over her shoulder was enough to show her a tall figure in pursuit.
Oh God…At any moment she expected to hear the loud report of a pistol and be slammed to the earth by the impact of a ball in her back. She began to weave this way and that over the sand, running, feet digging into the sand with a spurt of fear pressing her onward, even when she lost a shoe.
He was getting closer, for she could almost feel the earth shudder beneath her, but the sea was so loud, the blood pounding in her ears and her breath a harsh, raking sob in her throat so that she could scarcely breathe now, could only keep running.
It was inevitable, an inexorable tide that finally caught her. As the hand snatched her by the back of her dress to stop her, she swung around in the grasp, swinging fiercely, fists pummeling him with all the force she could manage, over and over, no breath left to scream or cry out, only enough strength to resist.
A hard arm slammed across her, not painfully but firmly, to pin her against him and she was crushed against an unyielding chest. Unable to move, the only weapon left was her teeth; she sank them into his hand, and heard a harsh curse.
“Christ,
Celia! Vicious little hellcat—listen to me! It’s Colter—have you forgotten me already?”
Slowly his words penetrated, and she sagged against him with relief.
“Oh God, Colter…oh God, he’ll kill you, too! You’ve got to get away, you’ve got to…he knows…Philip—”
“Hush, love. It’s all right. Philip isn’t able to kill anyone.” He held her tightly against him, his hand tangled in her hair, loose now somehow, a sticky mess that hung in her eyes and waved down her back. His fingers tightened to slowly tilt her head so that she was looking up at him, at the face she’d thought she would never see again.
“It’s all right, my love. You’re safe. No one will harm you. I’m here, and I don’t intend to ever let you out of my sight again.”
Her knees gave way and she collapsed so that he had to quickly tighten his grip; he lowered her to the ground.
“You’re bleeding—Did he do this? God, I’d like to kill him all over again!”
“No!” Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she searched his face, mostly shadowed with his head bent, the moonlight creating a hazy aureole around him. “Tell me you didn’t kill him, Colter…you’ll hang for it!”
“I don’t think so, love. Here…dammit, your legs look as if knives were used on them.” He felt down her calf, then saw her bare foot. Lifting it, he carefully brushed away the sand, taking care not to irritate the cuts. “God…Celia. No, don’t argue with me. I’m carrying you back to the carriage. You’re in no condition to walk another step. Not like this.”
Despite her protests, he lifted her into his arms and held her against him as he carried her effortlessly, his boots sinking into the sand but his stride steady.
She lay her head against his shoulder and put her arms around his neck, shivering from cold and reaction. Her body ached and now she felt the sting from the cuts on her legs and feet, yet somehow, she’d never felt better in her life.
The rest was a blur. Later, when she was safely in the huge canopied bed freshened with clean sheets, Barbara fussing about her and Jacqueline anxiously hovering close by, she could not bear to think of all that had happened. All that mattered now was that she was safe, and that Colter was safe—and with her again.
She wakened early in the morning, starting up with a soft cry from a troubled dream, and saw him sitting in a chair at the side of her bed, a brandy snifter in one hand.
“Go back to sleep, love,” he said. “You’re safe.”
She needed to hear it, needed to know that he was near, and she lay back against the fat feather pillows with a soft sigh of relief.
“You should sleep,” she murmured, and he shook his head.
“I’ll sleep. Later.”
She wanted to ask him questions, but oddly enough, she fell asleep again.
There must have been something in the hot milk she’d been given, for she lay with her eyes closed, too sleepy to open them but awake enough now to hear whispered conversations.
“Christ,” he said harshly, “I nearly got her killed. How do you think I feel?”
Jacqueline’s voice was soft and patient. “I must know how you feel about her, my lord. It is important to me.”
“Why? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
There was a pause, then in a pained voice, Jacqueline said, “You don’t mean that.”
“No. No, I don’t. Oh God—” He sounded tortured, grim. “I don’t know what I’m saying half the time anymore. If you had seen her…running like a wild thing, panicked as a fox before the hounds. I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my mind. Bleeding, exhausted, yet still she had the courage to fight me. I’ve seen infantrymen panic under less threatening circumstances. Yet she was so valiant.”
“You love her.” Jacqueline’s voice was soft, wondering. “You really do love her.…”
“Of course I love her! Do you think I would make a bargain I didn’t want to make? I’ve dealt with much more dangerous threats than your implied intimidation, my lady.”
“Ah.” In a tone reeking with satisfaction, Jacqueline said, “It would be very nice if you told her how you feel when she wakes, my lord. Very nice. Women, you see, need to hear it in order to remind themselves that a man loves them. The little things you do, yes, that is very good as well, but it’s the words…the assurance, and three little words are not so very hard to say, are they? No, I do not think they are. Say them to her.”
Silence fell, expanded, soft and pressing so that Celia could almost feel it. She lay so still, unwilling to move until she heard his reply.
“Yes,” he said at last, “I’ll say them to her.”
A faint smile curved her mouth as she drifted back to sleep, this time untroubled by dreams. It was as if she were sinking in a deep pool like a heavy stone, down into oblivion.
When she woke again, it was late; lamps had been lit, rosy glows shedding small pools of light across the room, shrouded by the heavy drapes around the bed. She looked immediately toward the chair by the bed. It was empty.
Disappointment knifed through her. Then she felt a movement beside her and turned. Colter lay next to her. He smiled a little when she let out a relieved sigh.
“Looking for someone, my love?”
“Yes,” she murmured, “and it seems I found him.”
He reached for the hand she held out to him, held it in his fist, his thumb raking over the backs of her fingers in a caressing stroke. “God,” he muttered, his eyes suddenly intent. “I hope so.”
“Oh…oh, Colter.” It was all she could say for a moment, the sudden enormity of it all descending like a blanket. She held her breath as he touched her face with a gentle brush of his fingers.
“We’ve been married over a month now,” he said when the silence stretched too long, “and have yet to go on our extended bridal tour. It’s customary, you know, to travel to foreign places so that the beautiful bride can enjoy exotic foods, customs and people.”
He lifted her hand, fingers tucked into his palm, and licked lightly at her fingertips. She drew in a shaky breath. “I never knew that.”
“No? Perhaps things are done differently in America. A foreign country with strange customs, in my experience.” He smiled wickedly. “I have acquired a new ship—a steam ship—and the Moreland Shipping Concern has a thriving market in the United States.”
“Is there a reason for telling me this?” she asked, her heart thumping as he continued to smile at her.
“I thought perhaps you’d like to start our bridal tour with an ocean voyage. You said you’ve never been to Spanish California, I believe. We could visit there as well. I’ve made arrangements to take a year to travel with my lovely wife…would you like that?”
“Yes,” she agreed softly, and drew her hand over his face, the stark angles and planes that were so familiar to her, so loved. Should she tell him that?
Should she tell him that, despite everything, she could not envision a world without him now? It was true, so true, and she ached at the thought of being apart from him.
“Celia…” He caught her hand, pressed his mouth into her palm, then held her by the wrist, his tone suddenly low and fierce. “I’m not used to caring about someone else, not like this. It will make the way I’ve lived different, this responsibility for another person’s emotions. Christ, I’m doing this badly, but I’m not much of a hand at it. Out of practice, I suppose you could say, with elegant words.”
“But, would you mean what you say to me?” She ran her fingers over his mouth, saw that he hadn’t shaved; a rough stubble darkened his jaw. “Elegant or not, if you feel them, say them.”
“Yes, easy enough, I suppose.” He tilted her chin up with his fingers, looked into her face, his eyes a deep, shadowed blue, serious and fathomless. She held her breath as he scraped his thumb over her lips. “I love you, Celia, my green-eyed little wife, my heart.”
He’d said it softly, but there was a wealth of emotion in his voice, a husky intensity that reached down into her very
soul. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him silently, then she leaned forward to press her forehead against his, heart in her throat and eyes as she whispered, “And I love you, my lord, my husband—my life.”
As he held her against him, she moved into his embrace with a lingering sigh, the past slipping away from her at last. Now there was the future, stretching endlessly ahead.
Colter kissed her, gently at first, then with rising passion. She gave herself up to the luscious stroke of his hands over her body, beneath the nightdress, familiar and sensuous, his hands on her breasts and thighs, and she clasped him close to her as their bodies joined and became one. And now, at last, as he moved against her with a piercing sweetness, he whispered his love in her ear.
“Sweet Celia, my heart…my love, I will always love you.…”
“Yes,” she said, rising to meet him, her body quivering with delicious anticipation, “as I will love you—forever.”
“Love conquers all; let us too yield to Love”
—Virgil
Epilogue
Sunshine filtered through heavy-leaved trees, dappling the graves that lay beneath a blanket of green. Beyond, in the distance, the roof of the White House could barely be seen. But here, in this cemetery just outside Georgetown, it was quiet and serene.
Celia knelt beside her mother’s grave, sunlight gleaming on her lovely blond hair. Standing behind her, Colter didn’t speak, but waited patiently. She looked so vulnerable, so sad, her slender shoulders shaking slightly with remembered grief. He wanted to ease her pain but knew there was nothing he could say.
Finally she stood up, turned toward him with a faint smile; her cheeks were still wet. “I wanted her to know how happy I am now, and that she will never be forgotten.”
A Reckless Encounter Page 30