Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  "I heard her holler, mistress. It ain't natural fer her to be down so soon."

  Ashley waved the man away and approached the massive animal. Dulcinea's neck was damp to the touch and a sheen of sweat covered her swollen belly. The mare raised her head and nickered plaintively as Ashley stroked the silken hide. "Easy girl, good girl," she soothed. She ran her hands down the thick legs and over the shaggy fetlocks, clean now of the black mud that had held her prisoner for so many hours that afternoon.

  The mare groaned, grinding her teeth and rolling her eyes as spasms of excruciating pain gripped her body in an iron vise. She lashed out with a hind leg and Kelt dragged Ashley out of the way.

  "Watch yourself!" he warned. "One of those hooves could crush your skull."

  "Do you think we can get her on her feet?" Ashley asked, moving toward Ducinea's head. "She needs to walk."

  "Aye, but I doubt she has the strength. She's old, lass, and tired. Listen to her breathing." The mare's harsh rasping in the quiet of the barn was impossible to miss.

  "She was all right before supper," Ashley said. "I checked her myself." She motioned to the groom to bring a bucket of water and knelt by the mare's head, lifting handfuls to the graying muzzle. Gratefully the horse took a little, then dropped her head to the hay and closed her eyes. Ashley patted her neck and head, whispering endearments.

  Daniel moved to the horse's hindquarters and lifted her tail. "No sign of the colt," he said, frowning.

  "We'll stay wi' her," Kelt said. "You can go to your bed."

  "You certain ye won't need me, mistress?" Daniel asked.

  Ashley shook her head. "No. You've put in a long day. We'll wait. It may be hours before anything happens."

  "Thank'ee, Mistress Ashley. I'll do that." With a tug of his forelock, he left the barn.

  Minutes slipped into hours as the two crouched beside the laboring mare. Kelt hung two lanterns at the comers of the box stall; the rest of the bam lay in shadow. The other horses were quiet for the most part; Ashley was certain they were aware of the black mare's critical condition.

  Kelt lay back against a pile of hay and stared up at the massive beams overhead. Outside a storm was rising, but the bam was snug and tight. Nothing swayed in the wind and the heat of the animals kept it warm. He was proud of the structure. The design was a good one and with luck it would stand for two hundred years.

  Ashley shivered as the first rumblings of thunder penetrated the thick walls. "Did you hear that?" Her voice echoed in the stillness.

  "Aye, thunder." Kelt leaned forward and stretched his arms, rubbing the cramps from shoulders that had swung a broadax for hours that morning.

  "It's early in the year for a thunderstorm," Ashley said.

  She'd always been terrified of thunderstorms. When she was a small child, she had been taken to visit her mother in Virginia and woke crying in the night, afraid of the thunder and lightning. Nicholas had called her a crybaby and refused to let her get into her mother's bed, and when she continued crying, he'd thrown her kicking and screaming out of the house into the rain. She'd beat against the door until her hands were bloody, but no one had come to let her in until the storm passed. Lightning had struck a tree in the yard, bringing a branch down only feet from where she'd crouched.

  Strange, she couldn't remember being let in. In the morning, her mother's face had been bruised and swollen. When she asked what had happened, Cicely had shushed her. She'd even tried to convince Ashley that she'd never been out in the storm, that it had been a bad dream—but Ashley knew better. It had been another secret she'd kept from her grandfather. She'd been—

  Kelt laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. "Oh, you frightened me," Ashley admitted. "I guess I was half asleep."

  "You're trembling, lass. Be ye cold?" He knelt beside the mare and laid his hand on the horse's neck. "She's growing weaker."

  Ashley shook her head. "No, I'm not cold." A lightning bolt struck so close that the horse quivered with fear. Ashley tried to cover her own terror by concentrating on the mare. Whispering to the animal in soft, soothing tones, she ran her hands along the animal's belly to try and locate the colt. "It must be stuck," she said to Kelt. "If we can't turn it, they'll both die."

  "Ha' ye done it before?"

  "No." Ashley shook her head. "I've watched my grandfather, but I've never turned one. He said you just reach for all the parts and straighten them out."

  Kelt looked unconvinced as he unfastened his cloak and pushed back his shirt sleeves. "I'll have to wash up. Do you think you can hold her or should I call some of the grooms?"

  Another pain caught the mare and she moaned, thrashing with her forelegs. "There's no time," Ashley cried. "Do it now if you can."

  Cautiously Kelt moved to the mare's hindquarters and waited until the pains had ceased. Ashley took firm hold of the halter and began to murmur to the exhausted animal as Kelt inserted his hand into the birth channel and felt for the colt's legs.

  Sweat ran down Ashley's face as she tried to quiet the mare. "Good Dulcinea," she whispered. "Easy... easy, girl."

  Kelt's face was taut with concentration. "I've got one leg, but I can't tell if it's front or back. The colt may be breech. I'm going to pull with the next pain. Steady her if you can."

  The mare heaved herself up on her front legs as a great gush of blood and fluid ran down her hind legs. "Now, push!" Kelt cried. He gave a tug and a pair of tiny hooves appeared. "Once more now!" When the spasms came again, he pulled hard and a bay foal slid out onto the damp hay.

  Ashley knelt beside it and cleaned out the little mouth. The baby sneezed and gave a high squeak. "She's alive!" Ashley cried. "It's a filly and she's alive!"

  The mother gathered her hind legs under her and got to her feet, pushing at the foal with gentle eagerness. The bay filly kicked her spindly legs and squealed, staggering to her feet and nuzzling at the big mare's belly. Dulcinea began to lick at the foal's hindquarters, then she stopped, stiffened, and moaned again. Almost immediately, the forefeet and nose of a second foal appeared.

  "No wonder she had all the trouble," Kelt said, easing the second baby into the world. "This one's a black." He laid it gently on the straw. "You got yourself a second filly, lass. Two for the price of one."

  Ashley laughed out loud, wiping away tears of joy. Outside, thunder rolled across the heavens, drowning out the patter of rain on the roof, but her fear was lost in the delight of the newborn foals. Kelt plunged his hands into a bucket of water, washing away the worst of the blood and birth fluids, as she began to dry off the second filly with handfuls of hay.

  "I think I need that bath now, lass," he said, shaking his hands dry. "The mother should have warm mash and plenty of warm water with molasses and vinegar in it." He reached down to pat the rump of the firstborn. The minute bay filly was making soft little grunts as she nursed greedily at the mare's teats. "I'll wake the grooms. Someone should watch over them for the rest of the night."

  "It's all right, I can stay," Ashley offered.

  Kelt grinned wickedly at her. "Nay, woman. I ha' more important things for ye to do between now and daybreak. Didna ye promise we would ha' the house to ourselves this night?"

  Ashley blushed. "Yes, but—"

  "Nay buts. Yond mare is content and I mean to be the same." He chuckled deep in his throat as his eyes devoured her. "Is there no reward for a starving mon?"

  "You can't be hungry," Ashley protested teasingly. "Not after you ate most of that duck at supper."

  "Aye, but I am. I've a mind to taste a bit of sweet"—Kelt's eyes twinkled—"and perhaps a tasty bit o' breast and thigh."

  Chapter 18

  Kelt gazed down at the red-gold mass of Ashley's unbound hair spread across his naked chest and smiled. They'd had little sleep that night, but he'd gladly work the coming day tired for such a reward. The hairs at the base of her neck were soft and curling; he couldn't resist brushing the intimate spot with the tips of his fingers. Ashley sighed sleepily, nestling even closer
and bringing her bare leg provocatively close to the source of his growing agitation. Tenderly he caressed the curve of her spine, lingering at the hollow of her back, then spanning her hip with exploring fingers.

  "Ashley." He cupped a round buttock playfully. "The sun is well up, Mistress Morgan. Your kingdom awaits."

  She groaned and burrowed her face under his arm. "Go away," she murmured. "I've paid my taxes."

  "What? Do ye think me a tax collector?" Rolling her onto her back, he pinned her to the bed and kissed her full on the mouth. Saucy eyes laughed up at him as her arms wrapped around his neck and she gave as good as she got.

  "Do you make a habit of ravishing sleeping maids?" she whispered.

  Ashley's tongue flicked against his lower lip and then darted out to touch his. A shaft of fire shot through him and he joined his mouth to hers, savoring the sweet sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest and her undulating hips that fanned a white-hot desire in his loins.

  "If not... you should." Her voice was strained and husky as her nails dug furrows of pleasure down his back.

  "Witch." His breath came hard and ragged as he brought his lips down to taste the tantalizing bud of a satin-skinned breast. Ashley moaned with delight, parting her legs to receive the full power of his thrusting manhood.

  With a cry he plunged inside her, unable to hold back the primitive instinct to possess her fully, to spill his seed in her womb and make her irrevocably his—forever. To his joy, she met him thrust for thrust, mingling her passion with his own, blending flesh and spirit until he reached an earth-shattering release, a rapture greater than he had ever known.

  They drifted off to sleep wrapped tightly in each other's embrace, and when he woke, it was to find her staring at him intently. "Whist, lass," he murmured. "Did I leave ye behind? I wouldna—"

  She laughed and shook her head. "No, no, I wanted you," she admitted. "I still do."

  "Atchh, ye'll be the death of a mon," he protested. "Even a Scot has his limits." Kelt ran his hands through his rumpled hair and sat up. "What time is it? There's an auction of bondmen in Chestertown today and I mean to be there."

  Ashley slid from the bed and caught up her wrapper from the floor. From the window she could look out across the greening fields. A shiver of happiness passed through her and she hugged herself. Spring was the time of rebirth, of renewal. Somehow she would find a way to make thing work out. She couldn't lose Kelt or Morgan's Fancy. They both meant more to her than life itself.

  She turned and looked at him, forcing her thoughts away from their lovemaking and to what Kelt had just said about going to Chestertown. "You'd best take the sloop then," she replied softly. "I'll come, too. I have financial matters to see to." She leaned forward at the waist, brushing out her hair with long, even strokes. "Do you think we can afford more workers? Even with the tobacco—"

  "We canna afford not to ha' them. And if I can find a likely woman, I'll buy us a cook. There's no excuse for putting up wi' Joan's nonsense. I canna be coming in from the fields ever' morning to make the day's dinner for the rest of my life!"

  "And what makes you think you'll be here the rest of your life?" She paused in the act of drawing on a stocking and glanced back at him, not quite hiding the thread of steel in the teasing question.

  Kelt dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. "I ha' decided, lass. We canna continue to go on like this. I know your wealth and my lack o' it will be a problem between us, but I want ye for my wife. I want us to be married—now. As soon as the banns can be cried."

  Ashley's face darkened and he seized her roughly by the shoulders. "Nay!" he insisted. "Ye must hear me oot for once! If ye wed, then your stepfather would ha' nothing to gain by your death."

  "Let me go!" She jerked free. "I won't marry you, Kelt. I told you that before."

  "Then this"—he motioned toward the bed—"means nothing more to you than a roll in the hay wi' your hired man."

  Ashley's hand lashed out and slapped him across the cheek. "You bastard!"

  Kelt threw up an arm to block a second blow, then seized her wrists and pinned them behind her. She kicked him sharply in the shin and he shoved her backward onto the bed. A trickle of blood ran down his chin where a tooth had cut his lip. Kelt's hands knotted into fists as he stood over her, daring her to move, then he turned away, nearly speechless with rage.

  "I'm... sorry," she stammered, covering her mouth with her hand. "I didn't mean—"

  "Damn ye for a wave-tossed kelpie!" he swore. "Can you nae see that this way lies only heartbreak and sorrow for us both?" He grabbed for his clothes, thrusting his legs into the doeskin breeches. "It's over between us. I'll see ye through the planting," he said, "but then ye must find another overseer. I willna live like this."

  "Kelt, please..."

  He picked up his boots and vest and put his hand on the brass doorknob. "Ye ha' my notice, Ashley. I'll not tell ye again... and I'll never ask ye to be my wife again, either." A curious moisture clouded his vision. "The pity is, I believe ye love me as much as I love ye."

  "I do love you," she said. "I just don't want to marry. Not you—not anyone."

  Kelt closed the door firmly behind him.

  * * *

  Chestertown bustled with the air of a growing metropolis. The town square was crowded with farmers and merchants come to view the afternoon's auction. Uniformed soldiers made their way down the dusty street in groups of twos and threes, occasionally calling out to passing maids or unaccompanied townswomen. The taverns were packed, and smells of roasting pork and beef wafted through the air to mingle with the strong scents of passing livestock and the ever-present tobacco leaf.

  Children and dogs darted in and out of the throng, shouting and laughing. Babies wailed. Respectable mothers called for their offspring, mistresses for their wayward servants. At the edge of the square, a group of half-grown boys tossed eggs at the drunken occupant of the newly erected stocks and two Dutch sailors tossed pennies beneath a lightning-scarred cedar tree. Women had erected booths to sell hot meat pies and gingerbread. Sweet cider could be had at a price within the reach of the barefoot boys.

  A woman was sitting on a wooden crate of chickens, holding up a fat hen by the legs for all to see. A circle of feathers surrounded her modest establishment. "Plump birds!" she cried. "Plump birds! Tender as a baby's bottom!"

  Kelt stood near the chicken woman, talking quietly with Ashley's neighbor, Martin Hopkins. "It's tempting," he said, "but ye must know how she feels aboot the issue o' slavery."

  Hopkins nodded. "I know. That's why I bring the matter up with you, instead of Ashley. I'd not part with them if I'd not lost the whole of last year's crop. Damn me, but your mistress has the devil's own luck." Martin reached up to scratch beneath his dusty wig. "I don't need to tell you, Saxon, that I'm hurting. You can't imagine the expenses a family man has. And my wife—a good woman, mind you—will hear nothing of cutting household expenses." He sighed sorrowfully. "They go on the block right after the bondmen. It's nothing to me if you buy them or another. But Abe is a skilled carpenter, and George and Tom can cut timber with the best. Abe has a wife, and I'm hoping that whoever buys him will buy Elvy and her daughter. The girl's fourteen and a hard worker, but I won't lie to you. She's got a clubfoot. She's been trained in the house, but she's slow."

  Kelt let out a low whistle. "Five slaves?" He laughed. "Ye mean to see me in yond' stocks." He looked pensive. "I'd want to look at them myself, but I take your word that Elvy's a good cook. I came looking for woodsmen and a woman. I just didn't think to buy slaves."

  "One or all," Martin said. "I could give you a good deal on the lot. I'm saving the commission if I don't put them up for auction and I'd know they'd be getting a good home." He scratched the back of his neck. "It's bad business, selling slaves. I don't like it. They're the last of what I have. I'll tell you the truth, I'll buy no more. But I don't have the money to salve my conscience by setting them free." Martin wiped his damp hands on his breeches. "In t
he fall, you let me know what ship is carrying Ashley's tobacco. I'll put mine nowhere else." He paused. "There's some say she's got the seventh sight, but that's all right by me. I only wish I'd shipped with her this year. If I lose this year's crop, my land's in danger."

  "You're nae alone in that. If this cursed war doesn't end soon, England may expect little profit from her colonies."

  "Would you like to go and see them, or do you want to talk to Ashley first?"

  "Let's talk wi' your people, sir." Kelt grinned. "We both know what Mistress Morgan would say. But I have the authority to make the purchase. If we make a bargain, ye need ha' no fear that I'll go back on it."

  * * *

  "You did what?" Ashley stared at Kelt in disbelief, unaware that the fork had slipped from her fingers to clatter across the inn's table. She half rose in her seat, her eyes narrowing in anger. "You bought slaves for Morgan's Fancy?"

  Kelt slid into the chair across from her. "Sit down, woman, and close your mouth. People are staring at ye."

  "Are they now?" Her tones dropped to a cold, precise pattern. She glanced about the small private room reserved for the gentlefolk. Most of the tables were occupied by men and women, not a few of which were staring at her. "I would think they would attend to their own affairs and let me tend to mine." Ashley glared fiercely at a bewigged gentleman sipping tea across from them. The man flushed a deep shade of purple and turned his face away.

  "Hear me oot before ye—"

  "There's nothing you could say that would make it right," she flung back. "Martin will have to take them back." Ashley's hands knotted under the table and she forced herself to quell the trembling. "I won't have it, Kelt. You knew it all along!"

  The innkeeper appeared beside them. "What would you like, sir? We've some ver'y nice roast goose, or perhaps a clam pie."

  "The goose," Kelt said, "and bread and cheese."

  "Very good, sir. And to drink with your meal?"

  "Ale."

  Ashley waited until the man had gone back to the kitchen, then pushed her own plate away. "You had no right!"