Impending Love and Madness

by Laura Freeman

  “I’ll bring Peaches by for a ride tomorrow.”

  Cass took his hand when he helped her into the wagon. “How do you know I want to buy her?”

  “You kept returning to her side.”

  He’d been watching closely. “She is a beauty but bring Black Knight. I think my father would prefer the gelding.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As they approached Ravens Roost, the sunlight made the huge house less formidable. The stone had strength, and the lines echoed the castles of England. Gabriel Ravenswood had built this house to last for generations, passed from father to son. It belonged to Zach. But had Ravenswood become a prison instead of a home?

  Ethan helped her from the wagon. Her wide sleeves slid up. “You had too much sun. Your skin is red.”

  Cass rubbed her fingertips over the red rash along her forearm. Had she irritated her skin looking at the horses? “I have some lotion in my room.”

  Seymour was standing by the tall windows watching them from the parlor. He held the door as they entered. “Did you choose your horses?”

  “I’m afraid we’ll need more time,” Ethan said. “I hope you don’t mind if we stay longer.”

  “If you don’t make a decision before Saturday, I can’t guarantee a sale. Any horse will go to the highest bidder.”

  Was Seymour giving them a friendly warning or a threat? “We won’t take until Saturday to decide, but we don’t want to rush into an important decision. My father wouldn’t want me to waste his money on a nag.”

  “We don’t sell nags at Ravenswood.”

  Seymour had confirmed her speculation. Whatever horses were being sold second, were not cripples and misfits. Cass hurried upstairs and changed the bodice of her day dress for something more formal for supper. She opened her medical bag and found the chipped jar with the lotion Cole had given her for sunburns and rubbed it on her skin. Her fingertips discovered raised bumps. What had she touched? Poisonous plants like foxglove, laurel, buttercups, and others were removed from horse pastures.

  She returned the jar to her bag and crossed the hall. Lucia was in the room, brushing something on Zach’s bandages.

  The nun put the brush on a tray and faced her. “You should have knocked.”

  Zach struggled against the ropes, trying to break the bindings. He was in anguish. “What have you done to him?”

  Lucia grabbed the tray from the bedside table. “I was treating his bandages for the burns.”

  Cass lifted a pestle among the items she carried. Crushed leaves and a residue remained in the mortar. She sniffed a strong woody scent and coughed.

  Lucia grabbed the pestle from her. “Don’t touch the bandages and don’t untie him, or he’ll harm himself.”

  After she left, Cass examined the bandages, which were wet with whatever had been in the mortar. What plant had she crushed and applied? And why was the odor familiar?

  She sat with Zach, talking to him, but he was in a different world, babbling about battles, then horses, and a few words about her. She had no way to rescue him from his torment.

  Ethan entered. “Time for supper.”

  “I’m not coming,” Cass said.

  Ethan stepped closer. “Isn’t he any better?”

  A sob escaped. “No.”

  Ethan put his arm around her shoulders. “How long does it take for burns to heal?”

  “It depends on how deep the damage. It could be months.”

  “I promised your father we would return home Sunday,” Ethan said.

  “If Zach isn’t better by then, my father will need to come here.” She wanted someone she trusted to take care of Zach.

  “Join us,” Ethan pleaded. “You’re much better at gleaming information than Harry and me.”

  “But I’m sitting with Zach afterward.” She arranged his blanket. The bandages on his chest weren’t oily. She touched the bandages on his face. They were dry as well. Why had she only applied the plant mixture to his arms and shoulders? She ran her fingers along the bandages and held out her hand to Ethan. “What does this smell like?”

  “A plant.”

  “You’re no help.”

  Ethan opened the door. “How could he have survived the war to succumb to something like this?”

  “He’s going to recover,” Cass said.

  “Cousin, you’ve seen burn victims. What about the scars?”

  “Did you see Morgan’s scar?”

  “Hard to miss. But that was from a bullet.”

  “But we never saw him before the injury. We accept his scar as part of his appearance. And with time I will accept all the changes in Zach no matter what he looks like.”

  ****

  Cass stifled a scream. The itch had begun as a small annoyance. A few scratches and the irritation had subsided for a moment. Then it had returned with a vengeance. No matter how hard she dug into her flesh, fire and pain ignited along the path. It was unbearable. She tossed the covers off the bed and jumped to the floor. She struck a match and lit a candle.

  An angry red rash was the source of her torment. In her desperation for relief, she had scratched blood to the surface. The only thing she had touched were the horses. Had one of them rolled around in poison ivy? She would have recognized the three-leaf plant growing on a post or tree and avoided it, but the oil lingered on hair and clothing. Oil. The mortar Sister Lucia had used contained fragments of leaves. Oily leaves. Could Sister Lucia have coated Zach’s bandages with poison ivy? But why?

  On the first night of arriving her arm had rubbed against Zach’s medicated bandages. Sister Lucia had been alarmed and warned her to be careful.

  Symptoms for poison ivy could show in a day and could last for several weeks. She removed her medical bag from the bottom dresser drawer where she had stored it. Cass removed a bottle of jewelweed tincture and a bar of lye soap. She scrubbed her arm with the harsh soap to remove the poisonous fluids and applied the tincture to soothe the burning itch.

  The clock tolled two o’clock. It would be safe to visit Zach and test her theory. Cass put on her robe and slippers. After gathering her medical supplies, she eased open the door and peered out into the dark hallway. It was empty. She quietly closed her door and froze. Was that a moan? It was in the distance and muted. Was Ravenswood haunted? She hurried across the hall and turned the nob on Zach’s door.

  The room was dark. She moved the draperies in front of the window to allow moonlight to illuminate the room. Zach was restless. He tugged on the ropes binding his arms to the bed posts. He rubbed his body against the mattress, seeking relief from the torture. If a small patch on her arm had nearly driven her mad with scratching, what was Zach going through?

  Cass avoided the oily bandages and stroked Zach’s hair back from his face. The silky strands flowed through her fingertips. Why weren’t the ends singed if he’d been burned? She searched for the matches to light a candle.

  “Who’s there?” Zach demanded.

  She abandoned her task. “It’s me, Cassandra.”

  He struggled against the ropes. “You can’t be. You’re a ghost.”

  A ghost? “Zach, I’m not a ghost. I’m real.”

  “Cassandra.” His voice cracked. “If you’re real, go away.” He turned his face away from her. “You can’t help me.”

  She touched his bandaged cheek, but he jerked away. “You invited me for a visit. You’re not being a good host.”

  “I was burned in a fire,” he whispered between dry, cracked lips. “They said I’m horribly disfigured. I’m no longer human.”

  They had filled his tortured mind with lies. “You insult me with your words,” Cass said. “Even if you were disfigured, I wouldn’t abandon you.”

  “I’m hideous,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin your life. Go away. Forget me. Pretend we never met.”

  She had dealt with men in anguish before and needed to calm him before he woke someone. “Hush. I’ve seen men without legs or arms. I’ve seen their eyes blasted by powder. You w
on’t frighten me, Zach Ravenswood.”

  “I won’t be a burden to you. You’re too beautiful to waste your time on me.”

  “Am I too vain, too self-centered not to care for you? What about our vow, one for all and all for one?”

  “A childish game.” Zach thrashed on the bed. “I’m losing my mind. I need my medicine. I can’t stand the pain without it.”

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Someone was coming. “Be quiet,” Cass urged. She grabbed her bag and went to the window. She pulled the drapes closed, hiding behind the thick fabric.

  The door opened. A light penetrated the darkness. Cass pressed against the glass panes of the window, hoping she wouldn’t be discovered.

  “Is he lucid?” It was Seymour.

  “By now his skin should be on fire. He has to be in agony,” Sister Lucia said. “He’ll beg for the opium.”

  “Not until he tells me what I want to know,” Seymour said. “Wake up, boy.”

  “Cassandra?” Zach murmured.

  “It’s Seymour, not that lovely creature you dream of.”

  “She’s an innocent,” Lucia said. “She’d cry if you touched her.”

  “You could tutor her to become one of the Sisters of Mercy.” His voice had a sinister tone.

  “I don’t think she wants to be a nun.” Lucia cackled. “Only a few of us are chosen.”

  Seymour made a snorting noise. “When did you hear the calling?”

  “I was fourteen,” Lucia said. “I gave my body on the altar over and over again.”

  Was Lucia talking about dedicating her body and soul to God? Seymour groaned. The same sound as the ghost earlier.

  “I need to feel the lash of repentance.” His voice was breathless and another moan escaped with a grunt. What were they doing? She fought the urge to peek.

  “Then let’s get this over with so I can punish you.” Lucia’s voice turned harsh. “I can’t give you the medicine until you tell us the truth.” She was speaking to Zach.

  “Where are the papers for the horses, boy?”

  “In the safe.” Zach’s voice was desperate.

  “I’ve searched the safe.” Seymour’s heavy footsteps echoed across the floor as he paced.

  “Seymour, could they be somewhere else?” Lucia asked in a quiet voice.

  “I tore apart Elijah’s room. Nothing. He always gives the same answer. Where are the papers?” Seymour shouted.

  “Don’t touch him!” Lucia shrieked. “Why do you need the papers? Can’t you sell the horses without them?”

  “Fred Kettler knows Zachary is the rightful owner,” Seymour said. “He’ll insist upon signed titles and so will the reputable buyers.”

  “What if the boy won’t sign?”

  “You said by Saturday he would crave the drug so much, he’d sign anything.”

  “If he had something to sign,” Lucia shrieked. “You said the papers were in the safe. Zachary says they’re in the safe. But no papers. I wouldn’t have to play nurse if he had run into the barn.”

  “He was about to when Vance Edwards hit him over the head.”

  “He could still die.” Her voice was cheerful, hopeful.

  “An accidental death from a fire would have been plausible, but another attempt would be suspicious. I can’t claim Ravenswood if I’m accused of murder.”

  “All that stands between you and Ravenswood is the boy.”

  “And his friends. At one time I wanted all of this. I had Elijah convinced Ravenswood was my destiny,” Seymour said. “I tied myself to that old man all my life, hoping for his crumbs of affection. I did whatever he wanted, and he repays me with a boot kick. He gave everything to the boy! Now I want my share.”

  “Who wants an old house? Once you have the money, I’m going to show you a grand time in New York City.”

  “At the Sisters of Mercy convent?”

  “Convent?” Lucia laughed. “The Sisters of Mercy Brothel was infamous for pleasure. I haven’t begun to show you all the ways penitence can be rewarding.”

  “Let’s forget the boy tonight.”

  “Should I give him the opium?”

  “No. Let him suffer. It will loosen his tongue. I want those papers, and I want them signed by Saturday.”

  Cass remained motionless behind the draperies. What had she overheard? Harry had been right. Lucia wasn’t a nun. She had partnered with Seymour to ruin Zach.

  “The medicine. Give it to me.”

  Zach’s cries moved her to action. Cass opened the curtains and hushed him. She listened at the door, slowly opened it, and peered outside. A ghost-like figure floated in the distance in the hallway. It took time for her eyes to adjust. It was Lucia in her nun habit, or was it a nightgown? She disappeared into Seymour’s room with him. What did they do in his bedroom? She shuddered.

  Cass took a blanket from the end of the bed, rolled it, and placed it at the bottom of the door to block any light before striking a match and lighting the candle on the nightstand. Lucia had left the bottle of opium and the jar of honey.

  Zach stared at the glass bottle, drool dribbling from his lip. “I need it, please.”

  They wanted Zach to become addicted. “Don’t think about it.” Cass put the drug in her medicine bag.

  Zach struggled against the ropes, his eyes haunted with pain. “How can you deny me?”

  “I’m here to help you.” She removed the supplies she would need to treat his inflamed skin. “I need to remove your bandages.”

  He shook his head. “I’m hideous. I don’t want you to see me.”

  Cass lifted a pitcher from the washstand and poured water into a tin basin. She placed it on the table by the bed and arranged the lye soap, scrubbing brush, and soothing lotions she had in her bag. “Tell me about the fire. Was it Saturday night?”

  “Early Sunday. I was awakened by the crackling of wood on fire. When I opened the curtains, I could see a bright light in the sky. The barn for the broodmares was engulfed with flames. I ran outside,” Zach said. “I tried to save the horses. Then darkness.”

  “Darkness?”

  “A beam must have fallen on my head.” He jerked from her. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I want to feel the back of your head.” She ran her fingers along his skull until she found what she was looking for. “You have a bump on the crown. The swelling has gone down, but it’s probably tender.” She pressed against it. “Feel that?”

  “Ouch. Something hit me.”

  “It wasn’t a burning beam.” The major had knocked Zach unconscious, but why? She tugged on his silky hair. “Why isn’t your hair singed? You weren’t burned, Zach.”

  “Of course I was burned.” Zach struggled against the ropes. “My skin is on fire.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  “No.” He pulled away, but the ropes prevented any escape.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m a soldier.” Zach relaxed. His pride wouldn’t allow him to show fear. “You have to promise if I’m hideous, you’ll leave Ravenswood.”

  Her answer was immediate. “I promise.”

  Zach tugged on the restraints. “Do you have a knife to cut the ropes?”

  Cass examined the taught ropes tied to the thick post framing the bed. Her older sisters and cousins had taught her how to tie knots aboard her grandfather’s boat, the Irish Rose. She undid the bindings and released Zach’s arms.

  Zach scratched at his bandaged arm.

  “Don’t scratch.”

  He groaned as relief came. “You don’t know how it feels.”

  Yes, she did. “A little scratching.”

  Zach sat with the covers draped over his lower half. He rubbed his bandaged right hand against the wrappings on his left arm. The motion increased to a frantic pace until he suddenly stopped. He gasped. “That feels better.”

  Cass retrieved cloth gloves from her bag and slipped them on. She began with Zach’s face, cutting the knot on the top bandage and unrolling it. As she removed the w
rappings, she rolled them into a bundle for easy disposal. These bandages hadn’t been soaked like the ones on his arms and chest, and his face was spared from blisters, but the red rash could be mistaken for a slight burn. Clear-filled blisters rose in different sizes on his neck and jaw.

  “I look hideous,” Zach said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  He looked repulsive but not from any burns. His skin was cool to the touch. It was poison ivy. Lucia had soaked the bandages on his arms and hands with the oil from the plant. They would be worse when she unwrapped them. She needed to distract him.

  “Tell me what happened. You must have known Seymour was plotting something. You sent me the flier asking for help.”

  “When I arrived in the old village, Fred Kettler showed me the advertisement for the sale I hadn’t authorized. It made me suspicious, and I confronted Seymour with the flier. But I agreed to the sale, so why do this to me? Why burn the barn and kill all the mares and foals?”

  “Harry and Ethan don’t think the mares and foals are dead.”

  “The boys are here?”

  “You don’t think I visited alone?”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re here. My head is so foggy, I could wake in the morning and claim you were a dream.” He blinked his eyes. “Why don’t they think the horses are dead?”

  “Harry and Ethan searched the ashes. They didn’t find any horseshoes.”

  “Horseshoes?”

  “No horseshoes, no mares.”

  “Then where are they?”

  “We haven’t found them, yet,” Cass said. “We’ll look around tomorrow.” She shook her head. “I mean today.”

  “What day is it?”

  “Thursday.”

  “Thursday? Are you sure? How could I lose so much time?”

  “Lucia had you full of opium. I’m surprised you can remember your name.”

  “Am I an addict?”

  “I don’t think you’ve been taking it long enough, but no more. Understand?”

  “How do I keep her from forcing it down my throat?”

  “I’ll think of something.” Her gloves were damp from the oil. Cass wrapped the bandages and her gloves in a towel. She would have to carefully dispose of the poisonous wrappings. Cass dropped a wash cloth into the water and scrubbed it against the bar of soap. Now the hard part would begin.