A Season Beyond a Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Jeff swept his gaze beyond the area, carefully probing the shadows, all the while hoping against hope that in some tiny protected niche he would find Raelynn huddled in a small knot, trying to keep warm. Having no success, he carefully scanned the darkness farther ahead. As difficult as it was for him to accept, his wife was probably more afraid of him than anybody or anything. Nevertheless, she was out there in the wilds alone, no doubt shaking to the core of her being. At least he prayed she was alone rather than in the company of Nell’s killer. The one who had taken Ariadne had lit out in the same direction, no doubt to discourage anyone from following him. Hopefully the man had progressed far beyond the area where Raelynn was presently roaming, but if for some reason he had decided to double-back and was even partially skilled at tracking, then he would likely come across Raelynn’s trail. If he found similar scraps of muslin, the man would hardly be inclined to flee, for it was apparent the cloth had been torn from a woman’s garment. Raelynn would be at the man’s mercy, and if it ever came to her being taken, Jeff could only pray that the horse thief wasn’t also a murderer.

  That disconcerting thought proved dreadfully poor company when Jeff tried to snatch a few moments of sleep. It was not to be. Morbid images of Raelynn in serious peril assailed him relentlessly, leaving him staring into the blazing fire. He wavered somewhere between wanting to shake some sense in that beautiful auburn head of hers and an even stronger desire to hold her safely within his arms. As a result, he passed the hours of darkness awake and totally disquieted.

  12

  MOONLIGHT GLISTENED OFF THE WATER THAT RAELYNN had cupped within her palms, and though she stared into the shimmering liquid, she saw nothing but a recurring vision of Jeffrey standing over Nell’s body with a bloody knife in his hand. She had a vague recollection of having left her bedroom without any particular destination in mind two days earlier, just as the afternoon was aging to a ripe old age. Spurred on by a rising panic and a pressing need to flee before her husband returned to the house, she had fled in anxious haste, taking no provisions for a lengthy flight. She hadn’t even brought along a cloak with which to protect herself from the deepening chill of the autumn evenings, one which she had miserably endured underneath the sprawling limbs of a live oak some distance from the manse, the second in a greensward surrounded by tall grass. Of food, she had given little consideration, though she hadn’t eaten at all the day she had left. She had found a few berries and two sweet potatoes which had obviously fallen from a wagon during the harvesting of a field. The potatoes she had eaten raw, forced by a lack of a knife to bite through their skins after rubbing them clean. The poor fare had hardly equaled the scrumptious meals at Oakley, but now, even the pair of yams were gone.

  Slowly Raelynn glanced about, only vaguely aware of the water dribbling through her fingers as she peered into the deep gloom of her surroundings. Cast in the night shades of black and dark gray, nothing looked familiar. For all she knew, she could have been a hundred miles from the plantation by now or in another realm entirely. It certainly seemed as if she had been stumbling around for untold ages. Considering the dazed trauma into which she had sunk after espying her husband in the midst of the gore in the stables, it was a wonder she wasn’t still sitting in a confused stupor in her bedchamber.

  Wearily Raelynn scrubbed a hand across her cheek and brushed away ratty tendrils that had become hopelessly ensnarled with twigs and dried leaves. The weighty mass hung down her back and over her shoulders and, at times, had brought her to a complete halt when some portion of it had become entangled on a branch or thorny bush. The inconvenience of having to contend with its length had given her cause to regret the fact that she had refrained from severing the tresses when the urge had first struck, for her fingers were now raw from her numerous efforts to free herself.

  Had she been in any frame of mind to prepare for her departure, she’d have certainly bound her hair up in braids, but after dismissing Tizzy in an anxious quest to be alone, Raelynn had brushed out the curling mass herself, fully intending to return to her bed before the sun set, but her thoughts had stumbled like a wounded hind over the sequence of events that had occurred after she had gone in search of Jeff. Her mind had grown weary of the constant churning, and out of her muddled reasoning, a dread that Jeff, upon his return from his ride, would try to question her about what she had actually seen, began to plague her. Fearing the outcome of such a meeting, she had fled in a panic, giving little heed to how she would survive without food or less regard to the flimsiness of her clothing, wearing the same muslin gown and leather slippers she had donned shortly after receiving Sheriff Townsend’s summons.

  Raelynn peered up into the night sky, trying to get her bearings. Having lived to a large extent in a London manor surrounded by tall trees and thick foliage, she had had little opportunity to observe the passage of the moon and the stars. The lunar orb appeared lower in the starlit blackness above her head than when she had last viewed it, and she could only guess that the hour was very late. The possibility that she was also far removed from Oakley now filled her with a strange melancholy that left her struggling against an overwhelming urge to pour out her sorrow in another bout of wrenching sobs, but the soft hooting of an owl from a nearby tree reminded her of the need to act prudently in regards to her situation.

  Since departing the house, she had gotten herself thoroughly lost, but worse than that, she had no notion what kind of wild animals might view her as their next meal or, for that matter, what murderer might be roaming about in search of another victim. If Jeff was truly innocent of stabbing Nell as he had claimed, then without a doubt the real culprit was still free, perhaps even wandering about in these very woods. What better place to hide from the sheriff than in the midst of a forest? Olney had certainly touted his ability to stay out of the lawman’s reach by retreating into the wilds. Others might well be of the same mind and wily adeptness.

  If, on the other hand, Jeff was guilty of killing Nell in a fit of rage, then there was yet another falsehood with which she must deal: the very essence of the man himself. The gallant knight whom she had once supposed her husband to be now seemed in these passing hours far less real and more of a figment of some girlish fantasy. The image she had erected of him had been too perfect, too handsome, too noble and far too admirable to have been realistic. Yet, in spite of her doubts, Raelynn’s heart cried out in protest, assuring her that she was wrong, that Jeff was all of those things and more, and that she was an utter fool for doubting him.

  The bloody scene in the stables flashed once again before her mind’s eye, making Raelynn recoil in shuddering aversion. The horror promptly churned up a wave of nausea, which erupted in a series of dry heaves until at last the spasms expended themselves, allowing her to slump back upon her heels. She felt perilously weak and pressed a trembling hand to her sweat-dappled brow, wishing once again that she would have had enough foresight to provide for herself better. The ground upon which she knelt bore a damp chill that penetrated her thin garments and evoked shivers that shook her whole frame. Very likely if she stayed put much longer, she’d catch her death.

  By dint of will, Raelynn stumbled to her feet and leaned against a nearby tree as she sought to determine just where she was, but she was totally devoid of any knowledge of the area into which she had wandered. Still, if she wanted to live, then by some method or other she had to make her way out of this dense tangle of growth and return to civilization.

  Precisely in which direction presented a dilemma too difficult for her frazzled brain to puzzle through in an orderly fashion. In the gloom she barely discerned a small knoll rising up beside the stream at which she had knelt to drink. Climbing upon it, she slowly turned about in full circle, but every direction appeared identical. She definitely saw no hint of a lane.

  Capriciously she set her sights toward the right, but before she had gone a stone’s throw, she became inundated with misgivings. It made no sense to wander aimlessly about in the woods. As far as
she could determine, two rational choices were open to her. She could either make an attempt to reach Charleston or to strike out for Harthaven. The two lay in opposite directions, with Oakley situated between but within much closer proximity to the neighboring plantation. If she went to Harthaven, then she’d have to depend on the kindness and understanding of her in-laws. She had no doubt that Brandon and Heather possessed both in abundance, but she’d be putting them into a difficult position, basically asking them to shelter her from Brandon’s brother.

  If Charleston became her destination, then she’d be entirely alone in a city wherein she had no claim on anyone. She’d have to depend on herself, find work and lodging, and somehow survive, as she had fully expected to do upon her arrival from England. She would no longer be able to claim the privilege of being Mrs. Jeffrey Birmingham, wife of one of the richest men in the territory. She might even be censured, condemned as bold, and looked down upon for removing herself from her husband’s household even by people who might have a tendency to wonder if Jeff was guilty of Nell’s murder. A disloyal or disobedient wife was bound to be held in contempt by all, yet she thought she could bear that particular criticism far better than chancing a rift in the Birmingham family to which she had once been so glad and proud to belong.

  Resolved to turn her sights toward Charleston, Raelynn again contemplated the best direction for reaching her chosen destination. For the first time in her life she lamented her lack of attention when her tutors had tried to instruct her in the finer points of where the moon rose and set according to the calendar. Her regret did little to ease her predicament.

  She searched her brain, trying to recall anything of importance that she might have unconsciously noticed during the many trips she had taken to either Charleston or Harthaven. A particularly stirring moonlit interlude in a carriage ride from Harthaven came readily to mind. Jeff had been feeling quite amorous at the time and hadn’t wanted to wait until they reached home to engage in a little marital petting. The details seemed forever etched upon her memory, especially the band of light from the lowering moon that had streamed into the windows on the right side of the carriage where she had sat. Very distinctly she recalled that when Jeff had pressed her back upon the velvet pillows padding a cushioned corner and opened her bodice and chemise, her breasts had gleamed with a silvery luster before the shadow of his head had encroached upon the rays.

  A small, elated cry escaped Raelynn as she spun about to face what she supposed was an easterly direction. If her calculations were correct, then she was now facing Charleston. But then again, perhaps she wasn’t. Either way, if she wanted to find her way out of the woods, she had little choice but to strike out in that particular direction and test how firm or shaky her theory really was.

  This she did for an interminable length of time. To some extent the activity helped to dispel the night-born chill, but she was ever reminded of the fact that the shoes in which she had already trudged for many hours were ill suited for rigorous use. They had been fairly new when she had first donned them a pair of days ago, and soon after launching out on her sojourn, she had grown increasingly cognizant of the fact that she had leftover blisters from the ball. At first, her feet had merely started aching, then to throbbing, and lastly to burning after the sacs of pus had opened and become raw. Nevertheless, Raelynn made every effort to ignore the sharp pangs and to plod ever onward.

  Her sore feet were hardly her only discomfort. Shortly after entering the dense forest, thorns had not only pierced her scalp at certain junctures but had also caught at her sleeves and shirts, easily shredding the fabric and, in the process, gouging her arms until they were nigh as scratched and bloody as her fingers. Frequently the thick tangle of vines covering the forest floor had caused her to trip, at times even to fall. It became an effort to pick herself up and to keep going, but no matter how weak and exhausted she might have been, she felt driven by a growing need to find civilization. Indeed, the way things were going now, she could die from starvation in the midst of the forest, and it would take weeks, perhaps months, before anyone would find her moldering body.

  An exclamation of dismay escaped Raelynn as she realized of a sudden that she had failed to notice that she had been slowly veering from course. Much too often she had taken the path of least resistance through the thick undergrowth without paying proper heed to her lunar bearing. In short, the direction in which she had thought she had been going for at least half an hour was not the same one toward which she was presently heading, for the moon was now on her left side.

  Once more, tears welled up to blur her vision, and with a sinking heart, Raelynn wondered how much ground she would have to retrace. In the midst of contemplating her choices in this unhappy quandary, she became mindful that what had once been a low cacophony of sounds in the forest had risen to an incessant drone. Not only had she lost sight of her direction, but she had inadvertently stumbled from high ground into a lower, marshier area. The air was warmer here, which was hardly reassuring in spite of her complaints about the discomforts of the cooler weather. If anything, she knew herself to be in greater danger than ever before. It wasn’t necessarily the mosquitoes and gnats that made her anxious as much as her awareness of reptilian creatures known to move much more quickly in tepid climes and weather.

  Mindful of just how susceptible she was presently to being thrown into a panic, Raelynn was reluctant to credit the strange, slithering sensation that seemed to be moving across her slippered toes for what she feared it was. Warily she forced herself to glance down, and immediately a scream bubbled forth from her throat as she saw a fairly large snake sliding over her feet. Kicking the reptile into a nearby pool, she shuddered convulsively and began weeping in hysteria, too tired and disoriented to make any attempt to subdue her racking sobs.

  When at last she calmed, Raelynn knew without a doubt that she had come to the end of her resources for yet another day. She was exhausted, confused and thoroughly terrified of the denizens of this dank marsh. Going on under similar circumstances seemed the height of folly, if not downright calamitous. Besides, she had had enough, at least for the time being.

  Spurred on by yet another sinuous movement in the nearby bushes, Raelynn scrambled up the nearest trunk without further hesitation. She hadn’t dared climb a tree since she was a young girl. Once she had taken great delight in ascending as far as she could go. She was still cognizant of the basic fundamentals and, in spite of her attire, managed to gain an acceptably high branch, which helped her feel a bit more secure. From her perch, she was able to consider the terrain she had just left. The moon was descending rapidly out of sight, taking with it most of the light, yet she could almost swear that where she had recently stood, there were still strange, twining movements upon the damp moss.

  Resolved not to budge from the tree before the fullness of dawn, Raelynn leaned back against the rough bark and closed her eyes. She wasn’t so foolish as to actually consider sleeping, for that was the surest way to tumble from her perch. She just needed to find a small measure of rest.

  No sooner had she settled herself than the faint flicker of something black and ominous flying across her limited range of vision shattered her aspirations. In growing trepidation Raelynn shrank back against the sturdy trunk and watched warily for the approach of more bats. Struggling desperately not to cry, she breathed a silent prayer and waited for another morning to come.

  JEFF HADN’T GONE VERY FAR AFTER BREAKING CAMP before the faint signs of his wife’s passage led him down toward the marsh. Having dreaded that Raelynn would go that way, he continued on until he came to a spot where it looked as if she had turned around. Her change in direction hadn’t improved her destination by any stretch of the imagination, for she had only plunged further into the swamp.

  The rising of the sun banished the relative coolness of night, and the temperatures began to climb steadily. Mosquitoes swarmed in abundance around them, as did the pesky gnats. Majestic shied uneasily beneath their relentless
attacks, but the stallion obeyed Jeff’s nudging knees and continued on valiantly.

  During his boyhood years, Jeff had frequented the swamps with Brandon and had grown up with a keen knowledge of them, as well as a well-warranted respect. Together he and his brother had learned the best spots for hunting and fishing and, over a period of time, had become acquainted with the human inhabitants of the marsh who, for one reason or another, preferred to remain aloof from ordinary society. An old recluse known as Red Pete had seemed ancient when Jeff had been nothing more than a lad. When Jeff drew rein in front of the wooden shack the man called home, the place looked deserted, but that was to be expected. Like his few neighbors, Red Pete was cautious about company and would hide out until reasonably assured that it was safe to make an appearance. Jeff chewed on a strand of sweet grass as he waited. A slight movement in the trees behind the shack finally affirmed the presence of his host.

  An old man with a face like a shriveled apple emerged and looked his visitor over carefully with narrowly squinting eyes. Dressed in what had all the appearances of being rags topped off by an elaborately embroidered waistcoat, the ancient limped forward on a pearl-handled cane. “Thought I’d be seein’ ye sooner or later, Jeffrey. How ye been keepin’?”

  In spite of his years, Red Pete still looked fit, Jeff thought. As yet, the carrot-hued hair, for which the man had come by his name, showed no signs of dulling.