Chapter Twenty-Four
Zach examined his arms in the candlelight. The skin was raw and scarlet with blisters spotting his angry flesh. It looked like burns, but there was no radiating heat or peeling of damaged skin. The incessant itching wouldn’t abate. He scratched the hostile skin to stop the torment, but the relief was temporary, doubling in intensity. The flesh remained intact. “These aren’t burns.”
Cass shoved the sleeve of her robe upward to reveal her arm. “My arm burned and itched after I rubbed against your bandages, and I wasn’t near a fire. I think Lucia soaked your bandages with poison ivy.”
Poison ivy? “It can’t be something that simple.”
“Simple? If she had put it near your eyes, you could have gone blind. They’re torturing you to find out where you’ve hid the papers for the horses.”
“The question in my dreams is real? Seymour kept asking me over and over where the titles were. I explained they were in the safe.”
“Then why can’t he find them?”
Seymour didn’t know about the secret compartment. If he shared the secret with Cass, they might force her to tell them. He changed the subject. “How could a nun cover me with poison ivy?”
“She’s not a nun,” Cass said. “Harry and Ethan noticed she doesn’t pray or wear a cross or rosary. Do you know anything about the Sisters of Mercy?”
He shook his head.
“Lucia said something about a brothel in New York.”
When the Twenty-ninth Ohio had been ordered to New York City to stop possible riots in 1863, other soldiers told stories of a famous brothel filled with drugs, orgies, and perverted acts. The name had sounded like a church. He looked at his arms and scratched at the torturous itching. “The woman is a sadistic witch.”
“You’re making it worse,” Cass said. “You don’t want to break the blisters and spread the poison ivy.”
He stared at his hands. “How do I get rid of it?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Her tone was deadpan as if a horrible task was in the future. The same matter-of-fact tone a doctor used before he amputated an arm or leg of a soldier. “What do you have to do?”
Cass let out a deep sigh. Her hazel eyes were filled with pain. “The cure can be worse than the disease.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. He needed to know how bad. “What do you mean?”
“Your skin is coated with the oil. I need to scrub hard enough to remove the oil but not break the blisters.” She met his gaze. “I’m not giving you any opium. You’ll feel everything, and the itching will be worse. For a while.”
“Couldn’t I take a bath instead?”
“A bath will spread the oil and the rash, but you can apply cold compresses to relieve the itching once I remove the oil.” Cass wrapped the soapy cloth around the brush to remove the poison ivy but prevent tearing the skin. “This may feel good at first, like scratching, but the itching will return with a vengeance.”
Zach planted his feet on the floor. He grabbed the covers with his fist. “I’m ready.”
She handed him a pillow. “Scream into this.”
“I won’t scream.”
“You will. I’ll be lucky if you don’t want to kill me when I’m through.”
“Do your worst,” he said. “It can’t be as bad as a broken leg.” He had screamed in jarring agony when the doctor had put the bones back in place.
Cass washed his face a section at a time. She scrubbed with the soap and brush, rinsed, rinsed again, and applied the tincture.
Zach tensed, his teeth grinding in a tight clench to prevent any outcry or movement. He needed to concentrate on anything but the pain. Cass leaned close to scrub his neck. Her long hair was in a loose braid, which fell forward as she bent to reach the blisters. The silky strands brushed against his face, the scent of lilac filled his nostrils.
She scrubbed his shoulders, and he grimaced. When he opened his eyes, her robe had parted enough to reveal the thin fabric of her nightgown beneath. The low-cut garment gaped as she worked, offering a brief glimpse of soft skin beneath. He had caressed the softness of her flesh, inhaled her scent, but the samplings made him hungry for more.
No stiff corset camouflaged the gentle curves of her body that made his hands ache to remove the clinging garments and discover the hidden treasures. He reached his hand forward and saw the blisters and rash covering his hideous skin. He bunched the covers in his lap to hide his growing desire. When he was healed, when she wouldn’t be repulsed by his ugliness, he would show her how much he loved her.
He had heeded the advice of Logan and Blake to take his time courting Cass, but too many obstacles had interrupted their romance. He had planned to impress her with Ravenswood and woo her but had abandoned any future together after the fire, believing he would be disfigured. The loss had made him value Cass and her love more. But the current circumstances urged him to act. He couldn’t wait and hope that providence would smile upon them for a normal courtship.
The pendulum beat of the grandfather clock in the hallway echoed the sound of his heart. His breath increased to rapid gasps as she applied the tingling lotion to offer soothing relief.
She tossed the water, scrubbed the bowl, and added fresh water. She lathered the cloth with the bar of lye soap and covered the scrub brush. She took his arm. “This is the worst part.”
His muscles tensed as the brush scraped against his inflamed flesh. Cass was careful not to break the blisters, working carefully to remove the oils. Zach winced as she applied the last of the tincture to his raw flesh.
She examined the empty bottle and searched her bag. She removed the chipped jar of creamy lotion made with aloe she had used on her skin. “How do you feel?”
“Relieved I’m not going mad or disfigured.” Zach examined his bare skin. “What should I tell Lucia when she sees the bandages gone?”
“I’ll wrap you with clean bandages later. Mrs. Graves said Seymour and Lucia don’t rise until noon. You should sit in the sun when it comes up. It’ll help dry the oil from your skin.” She opened the curtains. The sky was lighter on the horizon. “Dawn will be here soon.” She packed her bag, yawned, and stretched her shoulders.
“You need to sleep.”
“I need to change the bedding. It’s coated with poison ivy.”
“I can do that,” Zach said. “Besides I need to stretch my legs.”
“Can you stand?”
Zach’s legs were wobbly and weak. “I feel like a newborn foal.” The blanket fell to the floor. He snatched empty air. All he wore were his short pants. Cass stared. The tight-fitting undergarment emphasized his ardor. “A lady wouldn’t look.”
“I’ve seen babies. The anatomy is the same.” Her brows knit in puzzlement. “Isn’t it supposed to hang down?”
He struggled not to laugh. Zach was as ignorant of her secret places as Cass was of his. He was eager to expand their knowledge when he was stronger. He took a tentative step.
Cass offered her arm. “Take hold. I don’t want you falling and breaking your leg. Again.”
He raised his arms. “I don’t want you to get poison ivy.”
“Too late, but we’re healing from it.”
His arm embraced her shoulders as he tested his legs. “Why am I so weak?”
“You’ve been in bed for four days.”
He paced across the room and stopped. “This wasn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I need to use the chamber pot.”
She helped him reach the screen, and he disappeared behind it. He glanced over the top. Cass was turned away. He stared at the porcelain bowl. “It’s too quiet. I don’t need you hearing me piss.”
“Like I haven’t heard that noise before.”
“Sing or something.”
Cass laughed and hummed a lively Irish melody. She stripped the bed and replaced the sheet and blanket with a clean one.
He peered over the top of the screen. Her graceful m
ovements restored his arousal. How did a man avoid bedding a woman when the tiniest behavior drove his desires? Her scent, her voice, her figure tormented him with unfulfilled release.
He turned away to gain control and saw his reflection in the mirror. He barely recognized the face staring at him with a shocked expression. Watery blisters covered his blotched skin and his eyes were puffy from lack of sleep. All thoughts of seduction vanished. Any suggestion of intimacy would be met with horror and repulsion. He groaned at his image.
She smoothed the bedding and turned. “Is something wrong?”
“There’s a mirror on the wall.” He needed to shave. He ran his hand over the bumpy surface of his jaw where blisters rose above the stubble. “I look like something left for weeks on the battlefield.”
“I can’t believe someone would do this over money,” Cass said.
“It’s not only greed,” Zach said. “Seymour hates me. My grandfather chose me over him. This is his revenge.”
“I don’t understand. Seymour talked about inheritance, but isn’t he an employee?”
“No, he claims to be my grandfather’s bastard son.” Zach walked toward the bed where Cass stood. His footsteps were less hesitant. “He convinced Elijah to leave him half of Ravenswood in the old will, but he didn’t receive anything but a job in the one Tyler wrote. Seymour only found out that I inherited all of Ravenswood after the will was read.”
Cass pulled the blanket back. “But you had nothing to do with the change,” Cass said. “Elijah chose you to inherit all of Ravenswood.”
“Seymour can’t fight a dead man.” Zach relaxed against the clean sheet and examined his battered arms. “I can’t wait to confront the old bat about his torture.”
“Zach, they wanted to kill you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear them talking about the fire?”
“Bits and pieces.” He shook his head. “Everything is muddled. What did you hear?”
“They set the barn on fire hoping you would go in to rescue the horses and be killed.”
Was Seymour capable of murder? He had seen him in the shadows by the burning barn, a rare smile on his face. If he hadn’t been hit over the head, he would have rushed into the blaze and likely perished. “Who hit me over the head?”
“Major Edwards.”
“I owe him my life.”
“From what Seymour said, he won’t try a second attempt on your life,” Cass said. “He wanted to claim Ravenswood, but he has to realize by now that we would never allow him to succeed.”
He smiled. “Thank you for thwarting his plans.”
Cass gathered her supplies. “He could still ruin you by selling all your horses while you’re drugged.”
“If he thinks I’m going to sign over any titles to my horses, he is in for a rude awakening.”
“Let’s not wake him until Saturday,” Cass said. “Let him think he’s going to succeed.”
Zach lowered his voice. “Are you holding an ace?”
“You standing well and sane before Seymour and the buyers is how we’ll beat him.”
Zach examined his arms. “Do you think I’ll be well enough to attend the sale?”
“You may not look pretty, but you’ll be able to conduct the sale.”
Zach turned on his side to face her. “How was Seymour going to sell the horses? Fred Kettler knows I’m here.”
“All he’d have to do is show him how ill you are,” Cass said. “The way Lucia was shoveling opium down your throat, you wouldn’t be in any condition to conduct the sale.”
“Mr. Kettler would sanction the sale for Seymour to supervise and collect the money,” Zach said. “But then what? He would have to pay the bills or face collectors.”
“Not if he left Ravenswood.”
“But Ravenswood is the prize.” Had been the prize. As long as Seymour had a chance to inherit, he wanted to be master of Ravenswood. The new will had created an obstacle, and Zach’s survival had changed the objective. “Instead of claiming Ravenswood, he wants to ruin me.”
Cass packed her supplies. “That’s why I think once he has the money from the sale in his greedy hands, he’ll flee. Lucia mentioned going to New York.”
“Did Harry and Ethan bring any weapons?”
She was startled by his question. “No, do you have a gun?”
“I turned in my Enfield when I mustered out. I swore off killing. I had enough of it.”
Her brow knitted in worry. “What about Seymour?”
“All he’s ever armed himself with is a pen, and all my grandfather had was a muzzle-loading pistol.”
“But the major and his men are armed,” Cass said. “Do you know if they’re part of Seymour’s plan?”
“He hired them,” Zach said. “The major may have stopped short of murder, but they’re working for Seymour.” He had survived the fire and so had the mares. But where were they? “I’m worried about the mares,” Zach said. “Someone interested in starting a farm might not worry about paperwork, especially with the demand for horses so high. Do you know if they’re still at Ravenswood?”
“We haven’t seen any, but we’ve only been to the corral where they keep the older horses.” Cass said. “Where are the best hiding places?”
“Do you have the map I drew of Ravenswood?”
“Yes, in my room.”
“Bring it when you return. I’ll show you the places to look.”
“What if he’s sold them?”
“Without the mares, I’d be ruined.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll rebuild, Zach. Even if we have to do it from nothing.”
Cass was no fortune seeker. He had wanted to impress her with Ravenswood and its wealth. “Be careful, Cassandra. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“It works both ways, Zach.” Cass gathered her bag and the towel with the soiled bandages. “You didn’t make it through the war to die now. You’re more important than the horses, Ravenswood, or any amount of money. Promise me you won’t risk your life.”
Only for you. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’m going to sleep, but I’ll return to wrap your arms and chest before we look for the horses,” Cass said. “Sit in the sun when it comes up and try not to scratch. I’ll have Mrs. Graves make some cucumber paste to help with the itching. She placed the chipped jar of lotion on the table. “Put this on if you can’t wait.”
“Cassandra,” he called as she approached the door. “I couldn’t have survived their torture without you. Thank you.”
“I’d kiss you, but you’re not pretty enough…yet.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cass awoke to someone lightly rapping on her door. She didn’t want to wake up. She had dreamed of walking with Zach on the grounds of Ravenswood. His eyes had a look of desire in them. One she had recognized last night. She had welcomed his touch and returned his kisses. She was breathless, panting, wanting more.
The knock resumed. “Hey, Cassie. Aren’t you awake by now?”
Ethan. She fought to steady her breathing as she grabbed her robe and answered the door. Ethan stood in the hallway. “What time is it?”
“The sun has been up for an hour. Aren’t you feeling well? You’re all flushed.”
Cass touched her warm cheek. She glanced down the hall and pulled him inside. “I’m tired. I visited Zach during the night.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that.”
“He’s sick,” Cass reminded him. “But he wasn’t burned.”
“He’s covered in bandages.”
Cass showed Ethan her arm. “This isn’t sunburn. It’s poison ivy. Zach was covered with it.”
“Poison ivy?” Ethan backed away. “That would drive anyone crazy with scratching.”
“Remember how Lucia panicked when I touched the bandages?”
“What is she plotting?”
“Why do men think women do all the plotting? She h
as nothing to gain.”
Ethan shrugged. “So who is the mastermind?”
“Zach said Seymour was planning the sale before he returned home. He’s angry Zach inherited Ravenswood, and he didn’t receive anything.”
“Why would an accountant inherit Ravenswood?”
“He claims to be Elijah’s illegitimate son,” Cass said. “Seymour believed he was going to be master of Ravenswood, but Zach survived the war.”
“The greedy bastard,” Ethan said. “Sorry, Cousin.”
Cass snickered. “It describes him aptly.”
“Do you know Seymour’s plan?”
“He wants to drug Zach enough to force him to sign the titles to the horses. Once the sale is complete, they’ll run off with the money.”
Ethan looked around. “How do we stop him?”
“By helping Zach recover for Saturday’s sale.” She gathered her clothes. “But we have another job today.”
“What’s that?”
“We need to locate the mares.”
“Why? We know they aren’t dead.”
“Zach thinks Seymour may sell them privately.”
“Off the books,” Ethan said. “That’s why Seymour said they were dead.”
“Without the mares, Zach would have a hard time keeping Ravenswood.” Cass retrieved the map Zach had drawn. “I think we should ride the horses today and search different parts of the farm.”
They studied the drawing. “We have plenty of area to cover.”
“There’s three of us, and Zach can tell us the best places to search.”
“I’ll tell Harry.”
“Wait.” Cass searched her medical bag for the bottle of opium. “Take this to Mrs. Graves.”
Ethan examined the bottle. “What is this?”
“Lucia left this bottle of opium on the table by Zach’s bed.”
“What is Mrs. Graves going to do with it?”
“Ask her if she has seasoning to match the powder,” Cass said. “I’m going to replace the contents with something harmless.”
Ethan clutched the bottle and grinned. “Then she won’t be able to drug Zach.”
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