Serpents in the Garden (The Graham Saga)

by Anna Belfrage

  “So, I must get my younger brother’s blessing?” Ian said acerbically.

  “Aye, lad, you must. As I should have done before I wed Margaret.” Matthew was very aware of Alex’s eyes upon him.

  “And would you not have married her had he said no?” Ian sounded breathless.

  “I don’t know, but I should have asked.” Matthew let them go; watched them leave the room with well over a yard between them. By the time they reached the privacy of the stables, he suspected they would be scant inches, if that, apart.

  Alex slid her arms round his waist. “Had you asked, he would have said no.”

  “Aye.”

  “And would you not have married her then?”

  “I don’t know.” He glanced at her. “I was very much in love with her.”

  Alex averted her eyes and stepped away from him. It amused him – and flattered him – this lingering jealousy that she obviously felt for Margaret.

  He took hold of her and gathered her close. “I love you.”

  “But once you loved her.”

  “Not as I love you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I never knew her well enough to truly love her.”

  “Huh,” she snorted, but he could hear she was pleased. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Bed? Before I fall asleep on my feet?”

  He nodded, and together they closed down the house, bade Mrs Parson a good night, and, with a pitcher of hot water in his hand, Matthew followed Alex upstairs. She busied herself with soap and water while he undressed and retired to bed, too tired to bother with washing.

  “I wonder how long Ian has felt that way about Betty,” Alex said, making a very pleased sound as she slid into bed.

  “Well, for longer than since yesterday,” Matthew mumbled and rolled over on his side, yawning.

  “And she about him?” She rolled over with him, rubbing her face against his back.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t much care. Sleep, aye?”

  “Probably for quite some time,” Alex went on. “I’d guess since somewhere in winter.”

  “Oh, aye?” He twisted back to peer at her. “Why so?”

  She sat up and grinned triumphantly at him. “First, Betty developed a fondness for the animals, always offering to curry and milk and whatnot, and, second, she stopped talking about Jacob.” She nestled down beside him and patted him on his rump. “Now, will you please stop talking. I definitely need some beauty sleep, okay?”

  “Me stop talking?” Matthew laughed softly. “It is you that can’t keep your mouth shut.”

  His only reply was a soft snore.

  Chapter 27

  Five days later, Graham’s Garden had unwelcome visitors. Out of nowhere, the Burley brothers rode into the yard, clearly unfazed by the barking dogs.

  “Shit!” Alex croaked from where she was standing in the kitchen. The men outside meant business, muskets cocked. Alex was ridiculously grateful that Matthew was out on his furthest fields until she realised that might not be a good thing at all because, to her consternation, the men dismounted, using their muskets to herd the children to stand in the centre of the yard. One of the dogs snarled, but howled when the stock of a musket was brought down over its snout.

  “I’ll kill the younger ones first,” Philip Burley called. “I’ll keep on killing them until Matthew Graham comes out, unarmed.” He aimed his musket at Hannah.

  “What do I do?” Alex hissed to Mrs Parson. “There are six men out there!”

  “Talk to them, delay them as much as you can.” Mrs Parson shoved Ruth towards the back of the house. “Run and find your da, but make sure they don’t see you.” Ruth was a ghastly white, but nodded and slunk off to escape through one of the back windows. A shot rang out, someone screamed, and Alex flew to the door, throwing it wide.

  “Don’t!” she pleaded. “Please don’t!”

  “Your husband, Mrs Graham.” Philip Burley eyed her with evident dislike and shifted his bandaged arm ostentatiously. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem all that incapacitated.

  “He isn’t here,” Alex hiccupped, counting the children. All of them still alive, even if Hannah was shrieking with fear, small hands clapped to her ears.

  “Where, Mrs Graham?”

  “He’s over at the Chisholms’,” Alex lied.

  Philip shook his head slowly from side to side. “Do you take us for fools? Would he be visiting elsewhere when his fields stand ready for harvest?” He produced shot and powder, took his time reloading his musket, all the while sneering at Alex. He loaded, wadded, and raised the barrel at Hannah.

  “No.” Naomi was on her knees hugging her daughter. “Not my little girl.”

  “All of them.” Walter grinned and cocked his head in the direction of his brother. “Waste to kill them.”

  Philip shrugged. “Matthew Graham, brother, that’s why we’re here. Once we have him, we’ll see.”

  “They’d be worth a pretty penny, the children and the women,” Walter said. Even from where she was standing, Alex heard Betty’s gulp.

  “We’ve never harmed you,” Alex said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  Philip raised a brow and looked at his arm.

  “Different, that was self-defence,” she said.

  “Your man killed our youngest brother. He sliced his throat wide open.” Philip’s eyes travelled over the children, stopped for a moment on Sarah, who was holding Adam.

  “Because you attacked him,” Alex said. “You were going to kill him.”

  Walter Burley laughed. “We are going to kill him, Mrs Graham. Today.”

  “No,” Alex whispered.

  “Today,” Philip repeated. “Find him.”

  “I can’t,” Alex said. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “How unfortunate. For them.” Stephen Burley jerked his head in the direction of the children. His eyes alighted for an instant on Samuel, dropping to the amulet pouch that hung round the boy’s neck. “Come here.” When Samuel hung back, Stephen grabbed him by the arm. A knife appeared in Stephen’s hand, and Alex hurtled across the yard.

  “No!” She was on Stephen and, moments later, she was flying, landing on her back. All air was knocked out of her, she registered that someone was hitting at her, opened her eyes to see Stephen’s face only inches from her own, and then her head exploded with pain. Alex crawled on the ground, was vaguely aware of how Stephen Burley raised his foot to kick her. There was a jarring pain up her side. Another kick, and Alex tried to drag herself out of range, vaguely hearing Stephen laugh. She blinked up at him. He lifted his foot yet again. Philip appeared in her field of vision and, to her surprise, he was scowling at his brother.

  “Leave her alone,” Philip said. “You!” he snapped his fingers at Betty. “Where is he?”

  Betty opened her eyes wide, let her mouth fall open, and managed to look quite imbecile.

  “Oh, no,” Philip snarled, striding towards her. “I know who you are, little Betty Hancock, so don’t try that with me.” Betty retreated, bumping into Mrs Parson, who appeared with a pitcher of beer.

  “Mrs Parson! How can you!” Naomi gasped.

  Yes, how could she? Through a rapidly swelling eye, Alex tried to glare at the old woman.

  “Feeble-minded old woman,” Betty scolded, eliciting a vague smile from Mrs Parson.

  “They’re guests, no? And right bonny to boot.” Mrs Parson simpered at the closest Burley brother, who laughed. Mrs Parson’s jet-black eyes flew to Alex, and there was nothing of hospitality or feeble-mindedness in them. She was trying to gain them some time, that’s all.

  Alex sat up, groaning with pain. Her face, her arm… She licked her mouth, tasting her own blood.

  “Mama!” Adam slunk between the legs of one of the men, and crawled on all fours towards her. His small fingers deposited a knife in her hand. She tried to smile at him, shared a quick look with Mrs Parson, who was still serving the damn Burleys and their men beer, for all the world as if this was a friendly little vi
sit. But with a mug of beer in your hand, it was difficult to keep your musket pointed quite as firmly at the children. A distraction, she needed a distraction.

  “Call for Hugin,” she whispered to Adam.

  Obligingly, he whistled and the raven sailed towards them, circled a couple of times, and landed on Adam’s head.

  “He’s tame?” one of the roughnecks asked.

  “Aye,” Adam said, “he says my name.”

  “He does?” The man sounded interested and took a step towards them. The muzzle of his musket wavered, pointing at the ground. Come closer, Alex urged silently, come just that little bit closer.

  “He has quite the vocabulary,” Alex croaked, gripping the handle of the knife in her hand. She even succeeded in smiling at the man. He obviously had no idea what vocabulary was, but he was curious about the bird.

  “Spencer! Get back here!” Philip’s voice was sharp, making Spencer jump. When he turned, Alex launched herself forward and buried the knife high in his leg. Jesus, he screamed! And bled, a fountain of blood standing from his groin. Philip rushed towards them, musket held high in a one-handed grip. Mrs Parson crashed the pitcher over the head of Stephen Burley. Naomi fled with the children, and Alex pushed Adam away from her, screaming at him to run.

  With a thwack, the musket hit the ground beside her. Alex scrambled backwards, raised the little knife in a defiant gesture that had no effect whatsoever on Philip Burley. Oh God, here he came again, this time with the musket the right way round, and Betty was shrieking from somewhere to her right.

  The last few microseconds of her life played out in slow motion: she could see her children, her home, every single strand of hair on Philip’s head. His finger tightened on the trigger and Alex didn’t even try to move – what was the point? Something yellow and huge landed on Philip’s back, and the shot went wild. Philip staggered a few paces, regained his balance, and pulled his knife. Alex tried to grasp the fact that she wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway. The dog snarled, Philip howled, using his good arm to dislodge the dog from his back. A few moments later, poor Narcissus was dead, Philip’s knife buried in his flank.

  Just like that, time resumed its normal speed. Philip shoved the dog to the side and bent to retrieve his gun. Alex went for the musket; she had to stop him. Walter yelled in warning, and Alex grunted when her forehead banged into Philip’s. She held on for grim life to the gun’s barrel, and the air filled with war cries, with the hoarse roar of advancing enraged men.

  From the river came Matthew, leaping towards the Burleys with death in his eyes. That in itself wouldn’t have been enough, but beside him ran Qaachow, and behind them came Ian and Mark and a whole band of Indians.

  Shots burst from all around. Philip cursed. With a decisive yank, he reclaimed his gun from Alex before hurrying over to where his brothers and their men were already scrambling up in their saddles.

  Arrows whirred overhead, Matthew yelled – a loud carrying “Alex”. One of the attackers fell off his horse to land in the dirt, screaming for help. The Burleys didn’t look back. They spurred their horses away.

  It was abruptly very quiet – or at least that was how it seemed to Alex. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it, because she had no idea what to say. The children… Adam fell into her arms, and Alex had to bite back on the surge of pain this caused her. But her son was whole and safe, and here came Samuel and David, rushing over the yard to her. Mark came with Daniel at his heels, Sarah came head to head with Ruth – all of them converging on Alex, who sat mute and stared at the man who was bleeding to death only yards from her feet.

  Ian’s hand on her shoulder, Mark’s arm round her waist, and she was standing, facing Matthew. In his eyes, she saw the same fear that lay like a frosty layer round her heart. They would never give up. As long as the Burleys lived, they would try to avenge themselves on Matthew for the death of their youngest brother.

  “He’s dead.” Mrs Parson nudged at Spencer with her toe. “May you rot in hell.”

  “And the other one?” Alex asked. It was difficult to talk through her swollen mouth.

  “Oh, he’s alive,” Mark said, “for now.”

  It scared Alex to see the look in her son’s eyes: all ice, no human warmth whatsoever. When she looked at Ian, it was the same, and Matthew’s eyes were like emeralds.

  “We turn him over to the law, right?” Alex said.

  Matthew looked down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “He goes with the Indians.”

  “But—” Alex fell silent at the implacable look in his eyes. “Too bad it wasn’t one of the Burleys,” she said, indicating the dead man.

  “Aye,” Matthew replied. “It’s but a matter of time,” he added ominously, and both his sons nodded.

  Qaachow had by now joined them, and was eyeing Alex with respect. “Quite the warrior.” He gave Alex a slight bow.

  She shrugged. “They threatened my children,” she said, experimentally opening and closing her mouth to ensure her jaw wasn’t dislocated. Her face was blossoming with pain, she was bleeding from a gash down her cheek, and her side hurt like hell. To top it off, her right hand was covered in blood – not hers. Qaachow’s eyes drifted over to Samuel, who was bleeding from a shallow cut down his neck.

  “What happened to him?” he asked.

  “Stephen grabbed him and I jumped Stephen.” She was tired and scared, wanted nothing more than to hide herself away and cry. She hadn’t intended to kill the unknown man, but there it was. He was dead as a doornail. She shied from looking in the direction of the body, but did so all the same, finding that it was already gone. But the blood still stained the ground, and Alex closed her eyes. Silently, she counted to fifty in her head, straightened up, and limped inside to see to the feeding of their Indian allies.

  *

  “They’ll come back,” Alex said to Matthew, once they were alone.

  “Probably.” He concentrated on what he was doing, large hands washing her face, her bruised side. He dipped linen cloths in the tea prepared by Mrs Parson and applied them to Alex’s face, indicating she had to lie still. It was almost like having a facial, Alex reflected, lying back with a soft exhalation against the pillows. She groped for his hand and opened her fingers to braid them with his.

  “I was so scared.”

  “So was I. And had Qaachow not been here…” He shook his head.

  “How did he know?”

  “He has sentries posted.”

  “Oh.” Alex gnawed at her lip. “Sentries? All the time?”

  “Aye.” Matthew flopped down beside her. “To protect his foster son, and today Qaachow has placed me forever in his debt.”

  “I don’t want him to take Samuel,” Alex whispered.

  Matthew raised their braided hands to his lips. “Nor do I, lass.”

  “Maybe—” Alex broke off.

  “Maybe what?”

  Alex shook her head. She had been about to say that maybe Qaachow would die before Samuel was twelve, but how could she even think that? They owed Qaachow their lives.

  “We can send Samuel to school,” she said instead. “Somewhere very far away.”

  “Aye, mayhap. But we don’t need to worry yet, do we? He’s only six.”

  Chapter 28

  Matthew hurried over to help his sister off her horse, and it was like lifting a wee lass, all skin and bones. Joan disengaged herself with a little frown, making very clear that she’d have no patience with questions regarding her health.

  “And you, Simon, have you become permanently attached to yon horse?” he teased, shading his face to peer up at his brother-in-law.

  “I don’t think I can get off,” Simon said. “My legs are permanently splayed, and my privates will never recuperate.”

  “Aye well, if you choose to ride a carthorse…” Ian eyed the ugly horse Simon was perched on with some amusement. “Maybe it was the only one that could carry your weight?”

  “You shouldn’t make fun of your elders,” S
imon said haughtily and dismounted. “Nor should you judge on appearances alone. This is a true Rocinante, it is.” He slapped the horse on its huge rump.

  “Rocinante was a very thin nag,” David piped up, looking this unknown uncle up and down. “That horse is fat – very fat.”

  “Aye, if it were a lady horse, one would think it big with foal.” Sarah giggled.

  “Is Uncle big with child then?” Adam asked.

  “Laddie,” Simon replied severely, patting his belly. “This is the accumulation of very many years of wisdom.”

  “And good food,” Alex said, making Joan and Matthew laugh.

  “And that.” Simon’s eyes leapt from one bairn to the other, looking somewhat taken aback. Well, Matthew reflected with some pride, it was a sizeable brood, and it was one thing to count names on paper, quite another to find oneself surrounded by nephews and nieces.

  “Nine bairns and four grandchildren. You’ve been quite productive.” Simon grinned at Alex. “I recall you saying that over your dead body would there be more than five.”

  “Things happened,” Alex said.

  “Oh, aye. Big things.” Simon eyed Matthew’s crotch insinuatingly.

  “Simon,” Joan admonished, but she was smiling all the same.

  *

  “Two menservants?” Alex asked Mark sotto voce.

  “Aye, a reasonable precaution in these times. One man killed and two seriously wounded some days back. Indians against Indians, and they were caught between.” Unspoken between them lay the ever-present threat of the Burleys. Mark reverted to studying Lucy. “I don’t recall her as quite so eye-catching.”

  “No, she was an ugly baby. But, lo and behold, the duckling has become a swan.”

  That reminded her: she had as yet not told Matthew about Lucy’s effect on Henry Jones. Alex looked at Ruth. Marriage to someone like Henry Jones would ensure material comfort well beyond what Ruth was accustomed to, so maybe she was stupid to refuse to countenance it on account of things that had happened so long ago. She studied her redheaded daughter and was washed by a wave of nausea at the thought of Dominic Jones’ DNA mixing with theirs. No, definitely something that wasn’t going to happen. With a quick smile at Mark, she hurried over to Joan, who was looking rather abandoned now that Matthew had dragged off Simon for a private tour.