A Season Beyond a Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

“Just don’t feed him too many or he’ll be friskier than ever.”

  “Feelin’ his oats, ye mean,” Sparky concluded with a chortle.

  A corner of Jeff’s lips twitched, the best smile he could manage. “Something like that.”

  Kingston was just coming out of the front door of the house when Jeff arrived at the porch. Immediately the butler echoed the young trainer’s concerns. “Praise be, Mistah Jeffrey. Sparky said yo’d gone off on Brutus, an’ we was all a-worryin’ somethin’ fierce, wonderin’ if’n yo’d be comin’ back alive.”

  “Any word from Elijah?” Jeff asked, striding across the porch without pausing. He entered the main hall and finally glanced back for an answer as the butler scrambled after him.

  “Naw, suh, nothin’. Mistah Brandon, he heard de news, an’ he come a-lookin’ fo’ yo’. We tol’ him yo’d gone out on Brutus, an’ he ask me ta send someone o’er aftah yo’ comed back so dey’d know yo’ was safe. He say Miz Heather’d be worryin’ herself sick till yo’ did, but ah’m a-thinkin’ Mistah Brandon was doin’ some mighty tall worryin’ ’bout yo’ hisself. He sho did a lot o’ pacin’ de floors an’ lookin’ out de windows whilst he was here.”

  Loosening the stock at his throat, Jeff strode to the cabinet in his study and poured himself a short measure of brandy. “I’ll send someone over to Harthaven with a note to let my brother know that I’m back and will probably be retiring early. In the meantime, double the guards around this place. I don’t want any more strangers intruding without having adequate warning of their approach.”

  “Yassuh, ah’ll do dat very thin’, but, suh, ah gots ta tell yo’ . . . ?”

  Jeff downed the brandy in a single toss of a hand and looked at the butler who, he realized, seemed greatly troubled. “What is it, Kingston?”

  “Cora . . . she say she knocked on Miz Raelynn’s door maybe four or five different times ta ask if’n she’d be a-wantin’ somethin’ ta eat, but Miz Raelynn still ain’t answered.”

  “My wife is likely asleep. Right now, that’s the best thing for her after what has happened.”

  “Yassuh, dat’s de truth.” The butler hesitated, reluctant to broach his other concern, but there was no help for it. “We’uns was also a-wonderin’ ’bout Miz Nell’s baby. Cora says he’s doin’ real fine at Miz Fergus’s, but we was a-thinkin’ yo’ might be wantin’ ta see de li’l fella befo’ yo’ retire dis evenin’.”

  Jeff paused in pouring himself another draught. He had a great affection for his young nephew, but apart from that, children in general held no interest for him. He had simply never thought much about them. No doubt, when he had his own, his views would change . . . if that day ever came. Considering the present schism between Raelynn and himself, he could make no guarantees that that event would ever come to fruition.

  Setting down his glass, he faced the butler squarely. “Kingston, I’d like to make myself very clear about this matter. Nell’s child is an orphan, to my knowledge without kith or kin, and because of that, I will allow him to remain in my home until such a time that he’s either claimed by Nell’s kin or another couple adopts him. Until then, I expect him to be cared for with both kindness and compassion, either in my house or at Mrs. Fergus’s. But know this, Kingston, Daniel is not my son, and no one should labor under any misconception that he is.”

  Kingston nodded vigorously. “Ah knows dat now, Mistah Jeffrey. I ne’er thought fo’ an instant dat yo’ was his pappy.”

  “I appreciate your trust in me, Kingston, but it wouldn’t be totally out of the question for you to have some doubts about that fact after Nell said the child bears a passing resemblance to me. If he does, it’s purely a fluke of nature. He also probably resembles Mister Brandon, our late father, and some of our kin in England, not to mention a whole host of strangers. We can only hope that his father may decide to do the honorable thing and claim his bastard child. It will be difficult enough for the boy as it is, what with the little tike growing up without a mother. To have the condemning stain of bastardy besmirching his life would see him defeated ere he has a chance to begin.”

  “Yassuh. Be a hard thing fo’ Mistah Daniel ta survive in dis world widout his mammy, but when he gots no name an’ no pappy either, den fo’ sho he’s a-gonna have a hard time growin’ up.”

  “For the time being, Daniel has a home here, and if I hear of anyone on the premises mistreating him because his mother had him out of wedlock, I will deal harshly with that person. Let it be understood now, I’ll tolerate no malicious condemnation of the child from those who either work for me or come into this house.”

  A smile played at the corners of Kingston’s mouth. “Yo’ sho gots a strong, tough side, Mistah Jeffrey, but yo’ also gots yo’self a stout heart, no doubt ’bout dat. No doubt ’bout dat at all.”

  Jeff cocked a brow at the man. “A stout heart, eh? Well, right now, I have a stout hunger for food, and I’d appreciate it most kindly if you’d fetch me a tray and bring it here to my study before I start bellowing my head off.”

  “Yassuh, yassuh!” Kingston’s chuckles flowed out behind him as he scampered down the entrance hall. His voice drifted back, assuring Jeff in overstated humbleness, “I’m a-shufflin’ along as fast as ah can, massuh. Yassuh, massuh, ah’s a-doin’ dat very thing.”

  A meager smile plucked at Jeff’s lips before he tossed down the second brandy. Though he was tempted to pour himself another, he went to the front windows and, for a long time, gazed out over the tree-studded grounds encompassing the plantation house. A few stars began twinkling through the leafy shroud as his thoughts wandered back over the day’s tumultuous events and Raelynn’s pain and fear of him. He yearned to comfort her; his own heart needed to be assuaged by her willingness to give him a fair hearing, but he had grave doubts that she would accept any kind of solace or explanation from him until his innocence had been established. For the time being, he was inclined to let things stand as they were between them. If by some miracle she would have a change of heart, then he had to trust that she’d let him know in short order.

  He ate the supper that Kingston brought him, and after setting aside the tray, he sought distraction in the volumes of bookkeeping generated by his many business activities. When he caught himself making the same mathematical error for the third time, he snorted in disgust and tossed aside the books, quickly deciding that his accounts would have to wait until he could give them his full attention.

  He found himself rubbing the back of his neck and realized a deeply seeded ache had established itself there, no doubt derived partly from the jumps he had taken with Brutus and partly from his own tension. As he rolled his head to ease the discomfort, his eyes fell on the brass-trimmed coffer that Rhys had left on his desk. Out of a growing curiosity, he picked up the box and held it near the lamp where he could examine it more closely. He perused the interior, but found naught of noteworthy interest. Though he turned it upside down, he again saw nothing to give him reason to suspect that there was any kind of hidden space located within the chest. He was about to return the piece to his desk when he noticed, on the right-hand bottom side, a seam that was wider by hardly a hairbreadth’s difference than on the opposite side. Taking up a thin letter opener, he pressed the tip of it into the space and carefully probed along the tiny division. Near the end, the point sank into a slight indentation. Nothing happened until he pushed the tip into it. He heard a “click,” and much to his surprise, a strip of wood, no thicker than his index finger, flipped open along the bottom edge. Slanting the coffer toward the lamp, he peered inside the slender opening, fervently hoping that he would find something that would provide a viable reason for a man to kill a young mother. The compartment was almost as wide and as long as the coffer itself, but alas, it was empty.

  Jeff muttered a curse in roweling frustration. No amount of wishing on his part could change the outcome of what he had discovered or provide enough proof to verify the fact that the hole had once held secret documents of great impor
tance or at least something that would have given Raelynn reason to believe that Rhys had been right. As much as Jeff hated to admit it, he was right back at the apex of his dilemma.

  Rising from his desk, he glanced at the clock on the mantel and realized that it was much later than he had imagined. Beyond the windows, the sky was a midnight blue sprinkled with a myriad of stars. The moon had risen and was so bright he could actually see shadows beneath the huge live oaks sprawling across the front lawn.

  A strange yearning swept over Jeff as he stared out into the night. Although he couldn’t determine exactly what he craved, the feeling was nevertheless intense. Part of it, he determined, was a desire to recapture the happiness that had been his before his discovery of Nell. Yet whatever plagued him was infinitely more complicated than that. He could only guess at what it was in truth. Perhaps, after believing that he had discovered within Raelynn some missing part of himself or that loving entity that they were meant to be, the pain of seeing his dreams cruelly snatched away a second time had left him struggling against an insidious melancholy, an emotion that had, for the most part, been a stranger to him throughout his life.

  Under the circumstances, he couldn’t blame Raelynn for being confused and afraid. Hadn’t he, several years ago, seen his own brother leaving Oakley during which time Louisa Wells had owned the property and hadn’t he arrived at the same conclusion as Raelynn when he had found Louisa murdered? Brandon had been innocent of the deed, but the evidence had pointed to his guilt. Yet, for all of his past susceptibility to doubt his brother, Jeff knew he couldn’t allow Raelynn to nurture her fears and suspicions indefinitely. She was his wife; he needed her loyalty and trust. In plain reality he needed to be with her; he couldn’t bear the anguish of being apart from her. He had gotten too comfortable in his role of a nurturing, caring husband. Now he needed some of that same nurturing care from his wife.

  Wearily Jeff rubbed his hands over his face as he sought some practical solution to his mounting problems. The only way he could bring a swift end to the estrangement between Raelynn and himself was to make every effort to discover the murderer and to see the culprit brought in with enough evidence to convict him. As for the present moment, fatigued as he was, it was far better for him to postpone any attempt to see Raelynn until the morrow. By then, they would have both had time to rest and think things through.

  Jeff had settled on that bit of wisdom and was about to leave the study when Cora came skittering down the front hall. Kingston was right behind her, making every effort to halt her before she could intrude upon the master of the manse, but the woman was much younger and more adept at outmaneuvering the aging servant. Before the butler had time to reach the portal, she had already flung herself through it.

  “Yo’ jes hold your horses,” Kingston exclaimed a bit irately as he followed her. “Dere ain’t no cause fo’ yo’ ta be pushin’ yo’ way in an’ botherin’ Mistah Jeffrey right now. He’s had enuff ta frazzle him for awhile widout yo’ vexin’ him more’n he is.”

  “It’s all right, Kingston,” Jeff interjected, lifting a hand to halt the butler’s scolding. Despite their deep and abiding respect for one another, it wasn’t the first time he had had to settle differences between the two servants. He sincerely hoped that this latest row didn’t have anything to do with Nell’s baby. He had been a bachelor too long to have any desire to become an adoptive parent overnight. Facing his housekeeper, he lent her his undivided attention. “What has gotten you into such a stew this time, Cora?”

  “It’s Miz Raelynn, suh,” Cora informed him, wringing her hands fretfully. “Ah been a-knockin’ an’ a-knockin’ on her door for hours now an’ she still doan answer my pleas, Mistah Jeffrey. Dat ain’t right, suh. Doan matter how upset she is, she gots ta eat fo’ de baby.”

  Jeff was thoroughly bemused. “What in the blazes does Nell’s baby have to do with my wife eating?”

  “ ‘Tain’t Nell’s baby ah’m a-talkin’ ’bout, Mistah Jeffrey. It’s yours an’ Miz Raelynn’s. She done got herself wit’ child, an’ ah’m a-fearin’ she’s done gone an’ packed herself off de premises.”

  Jeff shot past the servants in a flash, leaving them both gaping in surprise until they recovered enough of their wits to hasten after him. Jeff leapt up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Once he gained the upper landing, his long legs quickly devoured the distance to the room in which his wife had withdrawn herself. The door was locked, as he had expected, and there was no sound of movement from within. Rattling the knob, he barked through the wood, spurred on by a sharp, goading fear that she had indeed left the house. “Raelynn, open the door this instant! If you hear me, please do so, or I’m going to break it down!”

  No answer came. He pressed an ear to the portal, hoping fervently to hear a sound, at least some evidence that she was still there, but he had already settled on the foreboding assumption that he wouldn’t.

  “Yo’ wants me ta go ’round ta the balcony door, suh?” Kingston asked, hurrying forward.

  Jeff was in no mood for such a practical entrance. If Raelynn had left and she was, indeed, with child, he didn’t care if he had to knock the whole house down to find her. His search would begin here. Grimly he bade, “Stand back.”

  As Kingston and Cora gawked at him in stunned awe, he raised a leg hardened by years of riding and smashed his booted foot against the planks. The heavy door bucked at his assault, but remained intact.

  “S-suh,” Kingston stammered, shocked by this indication of violence from a man he had always assumed was the very epitome of self-restraint. “It won’t take me no more’n a minute ta check . . .”

  Jeff’s foot struck the door again, and under the pressure of his blow, the wood splintered near the lock. Beneath the strength of another assault, the portal, minus the lock, swung inward. Inside the room a lamp burned on the bedside table. The French doors were standing open and, as he had feared, there was no sign of Raelynn.

  Cora peered around Jeff’s arm and clasped a trembling hand over her mouth as she realized her qualms had not been for naught. “Oh, sweet merciful heaven, dat chile’s done up an’ left. Whad could’ve possessed her, Mistah Jeffrey?”

  His visage was grim. The thought of his pregnant wife wandering unprotected beyond the sheltering walls of Oakley while a murderer remained on the loose turned his blood to ice. Facing Kingston abruptly, he bade the man, “Go down to the stables and tell Sparky to put a working saddle and a rifle holster on Majestic and to outfit him for a lengthy jaunt. And hurry!”

  Cora didn’t need instructions. “Yo’ll be needin’ food, water, blankets an’ all kinds o’ other things. Enuff fo’ two. No tellin’ how long yo’ll be away tryin’ ta find Miz Raelynn. Ah’ll have everythin’ packed by de time yo’ve collected your gear, Mistah Jeffrey.”

  Jeff didn’t bother answering. He was already striding to his own chambers. Once there, he shrugged into a sturdy jacket, clamped on a hat, and dropped a sheathed hunting knife into the pocket of his coat. Returning to his study, he unlocked the gun cabinet and removed a long rifle and a brace of pistols. He thrust the latter through his belt, slung the leather cords of a pair of black powder horns over his shoulder, and stalked outside with rifle in hand.

  Sparky was already leading Majestic out of the stables when he arrived. Jeff shoved the rifle into its sheath behind the saddle and hung the powder horns from the pommel.

  “Is Stargazer or any of the horses missing from their stalls?” he asked, casting a glance toward the lantern-lit aisle.

  “No, suh. I’ve checked every stall. There ain’t even a blanket missing.”

  “Damn!” The expletive exploded from Jeff’s lips as he realized the danger his wife would be in if she did meet up with the murderer. At least on horseback, she’d have had a chance to escape.

  He was in the process of equipping Majestic with the basic essentials that would allow him to stay out in the woods for several days when Cora came scurrying out of the house. Panting from her h
aste, she delivered the items she had assembled to him.

  “Yo’ brings dat sweet chile home, yo’ hear?”

  “I hear, Cora,” Jeff muttered solemnly, checking the blankets, bedroll and oilskin slicker that Sparky had rolled up tightly in a tarp and secured behind the saddlebags. The saddle itself was larger than his fine English saddle and sported a modified horn, which he had discovered long ago could be extremely useful in many difficult situations. There was even a place to hang a coiled rope, which Sparky had been insightful enough to include in the supplies.

  “Anythin’ else ye’ll be needin’, suh?” the trainer asked with a measure of concern detectable in his voice.

  “Looks like you’ve taken care of everything, Sparky,” Jeff replied, bringing a hint of a smile to the younger man’s lips as he swung up into the smooth leather seat.

  The stallion seemed to sense his master’s urgency, for when Jeff touched his heels to his flanks, Majestic leapt into motion. Soon they were racing down the lane and disappearing into the night.

  JEFF DREW REIN ON A RISE NEAR THE STREAM WHERE he and Raelynn had once made love and observed the moon as it slid behind the heavy forest masking the horizon. With its descent went the meager light that had thus far guided him in his search for clues to his wife’s whereabouts. Bereft of even its meager glow, he couldn’t hope to follow her trail with any measure of success. He could go no further; it was as simple as that.

  Dismounting, he set about building a fire just in case Raelynn was near and wanted to return. Then he unsaddled the stallion and led him to the stream. As the horse bent its head to drink, Jeff’s gaze fell upon a scrap of gauzy, lace-adorned fabric clinging to a nearby bush. He plucked it loose and examined it carefully by the firelight. His throat constricted when he recognized it as a fragment of the muslin gown Raelynn had been wearing when she had come downstairs to answer Rhys’s questions.

  Although Jeff realized his tracking skills by no means matched Elijah’s, he had nevertheless learned some simple basics from the scout. Upon leaving Oakley, he had made a wide circle around the house, looking for some indication of Raelynn’s destination. He had finally espied signs of a hurried passage wandering off into the underbrush. Hoping that he had been wrong and that his wife hadn’t really become so disoriented as to go off in a direction that would eventually lead her into the swamp, he had nevertheless followed the scant trail until he had reached the stream and, beside it, made the discovery that confirmed his fears.