Merline Lovelace

by Untamed

  They achieved far more than mere friction. Zach had to grit his teeth against the agony in his lower back, but managed to bring Barbara to writhing, gasping pleasure. When she did the same for him, his pain dissolved in a flash of heat.

  They fell asleep in the chair, with Zach propped against the back and Barbara curled against his front. Just before he drifted off, the whiskey in him brought the feelings he’d buried up until now swimming to the surface.

  She was his wife. She carried his child. He was damned if he was going to let her go.

  23

  Zach ended his military career on the last day of May 1833. As he chose not to request a formal ceremony, it was a quiet transition. One day he rose, buttoned up his uniform jacket and buckled on his sword. The next, he reported to Commissioner Stokes in civilian attire.

  Barbara’s crushing guilt over her role in the abrupt termination of his military career was assuaged by the fact that they seemed to have found some peace between them at last. They shared meals, conversation about the day’s events and a companionship that surprised them both.

  Zach grew ever more involved in boundary negotiations for the tribes President Jackson was determined to move to Indian Country. Given the federal charter of the commission, the former lieutenant and his wife continued to occupy their quarters on post. Barbara spent her days in the company of other wives and kept busy readying her nest for the baby’s arrival.

  One by one, the days slipped by. June rolled in with violent thunderstorms that uprooted trees and blew over a portion of the north palisade. The first week of July brought muggy heat and swarms of mosquitoes. They bred in the cane breaks along the river and made life miserable for both man and beast.

  With the low-lying fort steaming in the hot summer sun, Zach tried to convince Barbara to remove to Morgan’s Falls to escape the worst of the heat.

  “I’d rather remain here,” she told him.

  “My mother has birthed eight children. She would help you with this one.”

  “I know she would. But…”

  Biting her lip, she looked around their two small rooms. How could she explain to Zach that these whitewashed log walls and rug-covered dirt floors had become a home, her first real home since childhood?

  “I should like to stay here,” she said simply. “Sallie Nicks has promised to help with my lying in, and the midwife here on post has delivered any number of babies.”

  Zach, too, glanced around the crowded rooms. He saw them with different eyes, Barbara knew, and no doubt compared them to the spacious, well-appointed house at Morgan’s Falls.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  They’d yet to broach the subject of what would happen after the baby’s birth, but the marriage that had begun under such dire conditions was slowly taking on a shape and depth neither had foreseen.

  “If I can learn to sew curtains with my own hand,” she said with a smile, “I expect I can cultivate a tolerance for heat and mosquitoes. After all, I’m the wife of a rough-and-tumble frontiersman.”

  In his neat civilian attire he hardly fit that label, but the grin he gave her was all backwoods rogue.

  “Yes, you are. And just so you don’t forget it…”

  Sliding a hand under the heavy knot of her hair, he drew her forward. The kiss he dropped on her mouth left Barbara breathless and clinging to a fragile hope.

  Her hope shattered into a thousand pieces the day following the celebrations that marked America’s independence from British rule. Barbara was browsing at the sutler’s store when one of Sallie’s employees rushed in.

  “The patrol that went out from Company D last week just marched into view.”

  The dark-haired widow glanced up from the roll of unbleached muslin she had suggested for swaddling clothes. The return of a patrol always excited interest. In this instance, the interest took a sharp turn into dismay.

  “Word is they came under fire,” the servant announced. “Lost two men, they did. One of ’em was their lieutenant.”

  Barbara’s immediate reaction was one of relief. For the first time, she was grateful Zach no longer wore a uniform and thus hadn’t been detailed to take out this particular patrol.

  Hard on the heels of relief came guilt. How horrible to be glad someone else’s loved one had gone down.

  Guilt didn’t turn to grief, however, until she joined the crowd that quickly gathered at the parade ground. Like weary old men, the infantry squad shrugged out of their packs and stacked their weapons. Their sergeant saw to the unloading of the two bodies lashed to the saddle of the lieutenant’s mount.

  When they stretched the corpses out on the parade ground, groans and soft cries rose from the crowd. Barbara’s horrified gaze passed over the body of a small, stocky private and fixed on the one wearing the shoulder pips of an infantry lieutenant. The troopers had wrapped a blanket around his neck and head. The gray army blanket was stained with blood and almost black from the flies swarming about it. Only the tips of blond mustaches matted with gore showed beneath the blanket.

  “Oh, no!”

  Her hand groped for Sallie’s. The widow caught it in a tight grip.

  “He was so young,” Sallie murmured in genuine distress. “So very handsome.”

  The hot sun beat down on Barbara’s head right through the protective shield of her straw bonnet. Sweat dewed her upper lip. A dozen images tumbled through her head.

  Of Nate Prescott, the first time she’d met him, all stiff and starched in his uniform. His silly grin when he’d presented her with a posy of wood violets the night of the Cotton Balers’ Ball. His drunken despair the night Zach learned the regimental surgeon’s verdict. He’d been a friend to Barbara, and as close as a brother to Zach.

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears when Zach strode out of the building given over to use by the commissioners. His knuckles showed white on the handle of his cane as he got his first look at the bodies.

  “It was squatters, sir.”

  The weathered sergeant who’d accompanied the patrol spit out a brown wad. Zach might not wear a uniform any longer, but he still commanded the respect and instant attention of the men on post.

  “Damn farmer and his two growed sons. We came across ’em splittin’ logs to build a cabin deep inside Creek Country. They kept shoutin’ and wavin’ their deed at the lieutenant, then things got outta hand and one of the boys snatched up his shotgun. All three o’ those land-grubbers is eatin’ dirt now,” he finished with grim satisfaction.

  “Did they have any womenfolk or livestock with them?”

  “No sir, it was just them three hotheads. My guess is they was goin’ to send for their womenfolk when they got their cabin up.”

  “How about papers? We’ll need to—” He caught himself. “Colonel Arbuckle will need to notify their kinfolk.”

  “Just a Bible. And this.”

  Disgusted, the sergeant dug a crumpled, bloodstained scrap of paper out of his pocket.

  “If I ever come across any of the bastards what print up these false deeds, I swear I’ll put a bullet right through ’em. Just look at this one, sir. It’s got gold seals and fancy print enough to fool a judge.”

  His jaw tight, Zach scanned the document. “It would have fooled me, too. The Whitestone Title and Deed Company certainly appears authentic.”

  The ground swayed under Barbara’s feet. Her fingers clutched tight around Sallie’s. For a moment, she feared the heat would take her.

  “Whoever printed up this deed will pay. I’ll see to that.”

  She barely heard Zach’s fierce promise over the buzzing in her ears. When he returned the deed to the sergeant, the splotchy red spots staining it danced before her eyes. She heard Sallie calling to her as if from a deep tunnel.

  “Lady Barbara? Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t answer, couldn’t force so much as a single syllable through a throat that had closed tight.

  Sallie slipped an arm around her waist and called ou
t sharply. “Lieutenant Morgan! Your wife is feeling faint. You’d best get her out of the sun.”

  Hours later, Barbara perched on the edge of her bed. Suffocating heat surrounded her. She could hear Zach in the front room, scratching out a letter to Nate’s parents. She’d left him to the grim task and sought a private refuge where she could give vent to her own grief and clamoring fears.

  It had to be a coincidence!

  Surely it was a coincidence.

  Whitestone was a common enough name. She knew of at least one other Whitestone Manor in England besides the property her father had lost to a turn of the cards so many, many years ago. Harry wouldn’t create a fictitious title company and give it the same name as his former home.

  As swiftly as her heart issued the frantic denials, her mind scorned them. Of course Harry would. He’d done it before. His fraudulent Swiss railway company had been named for the estate that should by rights have come to him. In his mind, it was only fair turnabout to bilk investors with heavy pockets since he himself had been cheated of his inheritance.

  Now, it appeared, he was bilking land-hungry farmers of their savings and their dreams. And Barbara had provided him the means to do it!

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, she rocked back and forth. She should have known Harry would use the funds she’d given him for some new scheme. He’d made vague reference to it in his last letter, but she’d shrugged the matter aside. She’d been too absorbed in the task of arranging her little nest. Too content to simply let the days slide by until the birth of her child.

  The thought Harry might have inadvertently contributed to Nate’s death appalled her. The very real possibility that Zach might hold her responsible as well made her feel physically ill.

  He would never believe she’d had no part in the false deed scheme. Why should he? She’d fed him lie after lie. She’d dragged him into a dangerous plan to bribe Harry’s way out of prison. Because of her, he’d taken the bullet that ended his military career. Now Nate had taken one, too, and Barbara might as well have pulled the trigger herself.

  Piled on top of her fear about what Zach would think was the vengeance he’d sworn for Nate’s death. The Morgans held to their promises. Zach had held to his despite all the lies she’d uttered. He’d track Harry down and bring him to justice, just as he’d sworn he would. The idea that her husband might well be the one to send her brother back to prison—or to the gallows—tore a low groan from the back of her throat.

  Oh, Harry! How could you do this?

  Burying her face in her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to blank out the image of Nate’s gore-stained mustaches and blood-spattered uniform.

  “Barbara?”

  Slowly, she dropped her hands. She wanted to run away and crawl into some dark hole, but she forced herself to meet her husband’s worried frown.

  “I heard you moan. Is it the baby? Have your pains started?”

  “No. I…I was thinking about Nate.”

  Zach blew out a ragged breath. “He died in the line of duty. That’s rough consolation, I know, but one those of us who wore the uniform take to heart.”

  That he would offer her comfort in the midst of his own sorrow was almost more than she could bear. Her guilt was ripping her apart. Guilt, and her love for two very different men.

  She owed it to Zach to tell him her suspicions. Yet her loyalty to Harry went bone deep. How could she betray her brother? How could she not?

  “Nate wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick,” Zach said gruffly. “You must try to sleep.”

  “I can’t.”

  Coward that she was, Barbara blamed her distress on grief and heat. “It’s too hot, and I’m too over-wrought to sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see Nate’s mustaches and remember how proud he was of them.”

  “Vain as a damn peacock, you mean.” A smile lightened the sadness in his eyes. “I told him so often enough. He thumped me soundly the last time.”

  His thoughts turned inward, to a time and place she had no part of. Moving to the washstand, he poured water into the bowl and dipped a facecloth in it.

  “Here, this will cool you.”

  Settling beside her, he drew her hair to one side. The cloth felt blessedly cool against the heated skin of her neck, but the very relief it provided only added to Barbara’s misery.

  “You’re all in knots. Roll your neck and try to relax.”

  He stroked the cloth over her neck and one shoulder, then moved her hair aside to give him access to the other. His hand lingered on the thick mass. It was lank and lusterless, Barbara knew, and as sweaty as the rest of her.

  “Do you want me to wash your hair for you tomorrow?”

  “You would do that?”

  “I’ve done it often enough before. I’ve four younger sisters, remember?”

  It was so much easier—so much safer—to speak of these mundane matters.

  “I may just hold you to that offer,” she said wearily. “I’ve grown so clumsy of late, the simplest tasks are beyond me.”

  He sponged her neck and back. “I wish you would let me hire someone to attend you. I could speak to Hattie. If I asked her, she would leave John Stallworth’s tavern and come back to work for you.”

  “Oh, Zach, we’ve discussed this before. You know that won’t answer. Hattie loves you, and hates me for the pain that slices into you with every step.”

  “The pain is bearable.” He dropped a feather-light kiss on her nape. “And I consider it a small price to pay for you, sweeting. I’ll have to make Hattie understand a certain blond beauty has won my heart.”

  Oh, God! How she’d longed to hear that tender endearment. She ached to turn and tell him she felt the same. Guilt and remorse held her mute.

  “You’re too close to your time for me to feel comfortable leaving you alone. I’ll speak to her after Nate’s funeral.”

  The reminder that he’d bury his closest friend tomorrow wiped all thought but one from Barbara’s mind. Swinging around, she caught his arm.

  “Zach.”

  “Yes?”

  “The false deed, the one issued by that company. You said this morning you intended to find out who’s behind it.”

  “And so I will. When I finish my letter to Nate’s parents, I’ll pen one to my mother’s man of business in New Orleans. He’ll ferret out who’s behind Whitestone soon enough. When he does, I’ll track the bastard down. He’ll be lucky if he lives long enough to face a judge.”

  The sick feeling in Barbara’s stomach intensified. Harry wouldn’t be taken without a fight. He’d already spent seven months in a prison hellhole. He’d kill anyone who tried to send him back.

  She would lose one of them, she knew with awful certainty. Unless she sent Harry away forever.

  She lay awake while he labored over his letters, watching the shadows cast by the lantern in the front room, listening to the scratch of his pen.

  She would pen a letter tomorrow, too. To Harry. She would tell him about Lieutenant Prescott and the others. He should know the tragedy his scheme had caused.

  She would also tell him he must leave the country immediately or she would notify the authorities. She couldn’t allow him to stay and profit from his blood money.

  Tortured by what she knew her husband would consider another betrayal, Barbara fell into a fitful sleep.

  24

  Lieutenant Nathaniel Prescott and Private Adrian Kaparov were buried with full military honors. The entire garrison turned out in dress uniform for the ceremony. Zach tried to convince Barbara not to attend. The heat was too intense, the mosquitoes too insistent.

  She wouldn’t be dissuaded. Nate deserved her respect, and attending his funeral was the least of the penances she feared she would pay for contributing unknowingly to his death. Her long-sleeved gown and veiled bonnet provided both suitably somber attire and some protection from the gnats and mosquitoes. The garments also had her swimming in sweat before the funeral cortege was halfway to the post
cemetery.

  Black cloth muffled the drums. The soldiers marching to the solemn, measured beat sweltered in their tall, plumed caps, high-collared blue roundabouts and woolen trousers. The officers trailed their swords in the dust. The infantrymen, Barbara saw through the screen of her veil, carried their muskets reversed.

  “It’s an old practice,” Zach explained quietly at the start of the formation, “dating back to the Greeks. It symbolizes that the normal order of things is reversed and matters are not as they should be.”

  Indeed they weren’t. She had only to look at the chiseled granite of her husband’s face to know matters might never again be as they should.

  The post chaplain read several long verses at graveside. Colonel Arbuckle followed with a wrenching tribute to the fallen warriors. As the wooden caskets were lowered into the hastily dug graves, a squad of seven soldiers fired off three rounds. Barbara flinched at the sharp reports and shrank against Zach’s side.

  “Another ancient custom,” he murmured, a muscle ticking in the side of his jaw. “A signal that the warring armies have cleared their dead from the battlefield and are prepared to resume hostilities.”

  While the rifle shots echoed through the surrounding hills, Barbara said goodbye to handsome, dashing Nate Prescott and knew with awful certainty that Zach did, indeed, intend to resume hostilities. He might not wear a uniform any longer, but he wouldn’t rest until he’d fulfilled his promise to Nate.

  The thick veil hid her tears as the drums and fifes sounded tattoo—a final “lights out” for Lieutenant Prescott and Private Kaparov.

  Exhausted by the heat and drained by her wrenching emotions, Barbara declined to join the somber gathering at the officers’ mess. Zach took her back to their quarters instead. He saw her dressed in a loose gown and installed in their one comfortable armchair before he departed.