Before the boy could scurry toward the stables, pulling the three horses, James halted him. “See what you can do about finding a juicy bone for the dog, if you please.” He glanced toward Rachel with a twinkle in his blue-green eyes. “His name is Henry, I believe.”
The central hallway was wide and airy, smelling of beeswax and woodsmoke. They were met at the door by a tall imposing black man with tattoos liberally canvassing his wide face. Without really intending to Rachel cowered behind Logan.
But though his countenance was fierce, his voice, when he greeted them, was well modulated, with an accent Rachel didn’t recognize. At first she thought him the butler, but at Jamie’s greeting wasn’t sure.
“Keena, ye will never believe who this is?”
The black man lifted his brows. “On first glance I would say the gentleman is your long-lost brother.”
Jamie’s grimace gave way to a chuckle. “Will ye never allow me a surprise? Where’s Anne?” he said, moving further into the hallway.
“Upstairs in the nursery, I believe.”
Before the words were out of his mouth Jamie was taking the wide central stairs two at a time, alternating calls to his wife with demands that Logan and Rachel follow.
“Anne. Anne!”
As Rachel neared the first landing she spotted a small woman with brown hair and large dark eyes rush from a room near the end of the long hall. She closed the door, then started toward Jamie. “What is it, husband?”
The last word deteriorated into a giggle as she was lifted into strong arms and whirled around. A smacking kiss followed, which may have developed into something a bit more intimate had not the woman, Anne, noticed they were not alone.
“Jamie.” Her voice was breathless as she pushed at his chest. “We have guests.”
“And who do you think they be, wife?” He turned her round, keeping an arm draped over her narrow shoulders.
“Well, I don’t know, but I’m sure—” She hesitated, her pretty eyes moving from Logan to Rachel, then back to Logan, where they rested... studied.
Without another word she left her husband’s embrace and moved toward the other man. Taking both his hands in hers she smiled, her brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Logan. Jamie speaks of you so often. He’s missed you terribly.” Then she took another step, wrapping her arms around Logan’s waist.
Rachel saw Logan hesitate a moment before folding his around her shoulders. He glanced toward her, and Rachel smiled.
“This, as you may have guessed by now Logan, is my wife, Anne. And yes, either everyone in my household is suddenly imbued with mystical abilities or we must favor each other a great deal.”
“I’d say the latter is true, Jamie,” Anne said as she clasped first one brother’s hand, then the other. “And ’tis all the more amazing for the difference in coloring.”
After a few more pleasantries three pairs of eyes turned on Rachel. There was another awkward moment as she was introduced, this time as Lady Rachel Elliott. Rachel didn’t have time to decide if Logan meant to do it or if it was merely a slip of his tongue before Anne took her hand, leading her toward a room where she could freshen up.
Painted in sunny yellow with a woven grass mat on the floor and canopy bed hung with crewel, the room was pleasant. Shortly after as Rachel sank into a tub filled by a servant with warm, perfumed water, she had to admit to being surrounded by more opulence than she’d known since her death.
Why couldn’t she simply relax and enjoy it?
Let the water drift around her and push Logan MacQuaid from her mind. He was safe in the bosom of his family. Obviously she wasn’t needed to save his life at the moment. And it had been so very long since she’d enjoyed anything close to luxury. Granted, Wolf and Caroline’s home was pleasant enough, with comforts imported from England, and she did enjoy a bath there. But certainly not with a maid popping in and out of the room, building up the fire and offering scented soaps.
She was accustomed to such pampering, considered it part of her due, in her other life, but now she grew restless with the process. She wanted to talk with Logan. Be with him.
But though she hurried through her bath and toilette, allowing the maid, Jenny, to dress her hair in a style reminiscent of the English court, she did not see Logan. Not until she went to the second floor parlor to find the two brothers deep in conversation and Anne sitting by the hearth, her hands busy with needle and thread.
It was a homey scene, full of love and warmth. And Rachel hesitated in the doorway, feeling every bit the stranger she was.
“There ye be.” Jamie stood and with his wife came toward her, their faces wreathed in smiles of welcome. Rachel returned their greeting, accepting their invitation to join them. But it was Logan she watched as she moved across the room. He stood, one elbow resting on the marble mantel, his ankles crossed. And he stared at her, his gaze steady. But there was something in his eyes... a recognition... an acceptance... that unnerved her.
She wanted to talk with him, but they exchanged only the barest of greetings. To know his thoughts, but the wall was in place once more. To hold him, but he merely lifted the hand she offered in greeting brushing it with his lips before turning away.
Her flesh felt hot and the pressure of his mouth stayed with her as she settled onto the chinoiserie-style settee. Her eyes sought his again and in that moment she knew he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he pretended. Those light green eyes that had beguiled her from the start flashed with passion and desire.
“Logan tells us you’re recently from England.”
“I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, I am.” Rachel shifted her attention to Anne, returning the other woman’s smile.
“How does the weather blow there about the Stamp Act?”
“Now Jamie, I don’t think we should be troubling our guest with our views on that,” Anne scolded with a telling look toward her husband.
Rachel could tell he wanted to pursue the subject, but to his credit he settled back with a sheepish grin.
Anne leaned toward Rachel after the two brothers resumed their conversation. “Please don’t be offended. Jamie is rather passionate about the colonies’ rights. We had a bit of defiance, I suppose you could call it, last year when a consignment of stamps arrived from England. There were riots and for days mobs ran free through the streets.”
“How horrifying.”
“Yes, it was rather. Mob rule is never a pretty thing to behold. And believe me, James was as opposed to that as anyone. But in the end the governor decided not to enforce the Stamp Act.”
“Goodness, I don’t suppose George was too happy about that.”
“George? Oh, you mean the king. No, I don’t suppose he was.” Anne tucked her needle into the fabric. “At any rate, James can talk on for hours about it.”
As it turned out there were other guests for dinner. Anne apologized, saying she wished it could be just the family tonight. Which Rachel was certain wasn’t meant to imply that she wasn’t part of the family... which of course she wasn’t. But they treated her as such. She couldn’t help wondering what Logan had told them about her.
Dr. Quincy and his wife arrived shortly after. Mistress Quincy was a stout woman with powdered hair who did a great deal of preening when Rachel was introduced to her. Rachel supposed she did appear rather grand tonight in her borrowed gown and diamonds, and the woman’s reaction was more what she’d expect at court. But Rachel found she preferred the doctor’s attitude when she was introduced as Lady Rachel Elliott. He bowed quickly over her hand and told her she appeared to be a very healthy young woman.
Dinner was a delightful affair, most elegant. Three complete courses were served by servants dressed in livery. Certainly a far cry from the fare served at Logan’s cabin. Rachel lifted a fork of savory rice and peeked at Logan. He sat opposite her, beside the talkative Mistress Quincy who seemed to be doing her best to impart all of Charles Town’s gossip.
Rachel couldn�
�t help smiling when he glanced up. He met her expression with a scowl that slowly softened until he, too, was smiling.
It was hard to believe this was the same man she found standing on the precipice of the cliff. Now he was clean shaven, his dark hair brushed, his clothing that of a gentleman. A very handsome gentleman. Though no one could deny there was still something compellingly wild about him, it was the subtle hint of savagery that would send female hearts fluttering in any drawing room in England, including the king’s court. Her own pulse quickened as it always did of late when she looked at him.
But the changes in him were not only in his appearance. His eyes, light green and hauntingly sensual framed by long, dark lashes and sun-bronzed skin, danced with spirit. His head was held high, his broad shoulders squared. And he hadn’t even sipped the wine sparkling amber in the crystal goblet.
“I see you’re not eating your food.” Dr. Quincy’s comment drew Rachel’s attention. She held a silver fork partway to her mouth, and wondered how long she sat thus entranced by Logan’s gaze. “Are you perhaps suffering from a sour stomach?”
“No.” Rachel felt a blush spread into her cheeks. “I feel quite well.”
“Good, good. So many find this clime a trial for the system. Especially during the summer months. Though even now the days are warmer than I’d like. Charles Town, I fear, ofttimes needs every doctor it can find.”
Perhaps it was because he was so much on her mind that the next words slipped out. “Logan’s a doctor... of sorts.”
Though to this moment everyone at the table seemed engrossed in conversation, all talk seemed to stop after she spoke. Everyone looked at her, then Logan.
As if on cue everyone spoke at once.
“Ye didn’t tell me that Logan.”
“I’m certain you’re a wonderful physician.”
“Perhaps you could advise me on a problem I’m having with my foot. Wait till I tell the ladies at St. Philip’s we have a charming new doctor in town.”
“Where did you study medicine?”
It was Dr. Quincy’s question that Logan answered.
“I’m afraid Lady Rachel exaggerates.” His eyes found hers and held. “I have attended no university and am not a doctor.”
She wasn’t sure what spurred her on, but she did know he wasn’t going to intimidate her. Slanting a flirtatious smile at the doctor she cooed, “Logan is much too modest. He has more books than I can count and he reads them all the time.”
“Which hardly makes me a physician,” Logan pointed out, grinding each word between his teeth.
Rachel shrugged her delicate shoulders, aware of the effect it had on men. “True, though the way he treated my fever was impressive. Why I’ve had no better diagnosis and care from the king’s own surgeon.” Perhaps a subject better not mentioned. “And he delivered Caroline’s baby.” She turned toward Anne who sat wide-eyed at the end of the table. “I did mention the newborn, did I not?”
“Yes, and you said the birth was a difficult one.”
Rachel wished she had told Anne more about Caroline’s confinement when she visited the nursery earlier in the day to see Anne and Jamie’s two children. But Rachel had such a delightful time admiring the twin boys that she dwelled only on the pleasant details of Caroline’s family. She decided to catch her up on the news now.
“They would have died if not for Logan. Caroline and her daughter.” Rachel’s gaze swept the table, finally resting on Dr. Quincy. “You should have seen him. It was magnificent.”
“Rachel.”
She didn’t think she’d ever heard her name imbued with such hypnotic power. She couldn’t help but look Logan’s way despite knowing what his expression would be. If not for Dr. Quincy’s next words she might have retracted all she said, even though she genuinely believed every word.
“I’ve always considered ability and knowledge equal to university, though I think some courses there are necessary to test one’s skill.”
“I agree completely.” Logan’s response was for the good doctor, though he never tore his eyes from Rachel. He almost feared what she might say if he did.
“That’s why I think if you’re serious about healing people.” The doctor stopped and rubbed his chin. “Yes, I could write a letter, and if you’re as knowledgeable as this young lady seems to think you could study where I did, at the University of Pennsylvania.”
“I don’t think—” Logan began, but he was no match for Dr. Quincy’s enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes. That’s what we shall do. The doctors there are marvelous. Come round to see me as soon as you can, and we shall talk of this more. Perhaps I have discovered a medical genius.”
It took the doctor’s wife to cut off his ramblings. Apparently she was thrilled by the prospect of spreading the word about a handsome new physician, but she could only curb her gossipy tongue for so long. Listening to her husband couldn’t compare to telling tales. When Dr. Quincy stopped for a breath she jumped into the silence.
“I heard you mention the king’s physician. Have you been to court Lady Rachel?”
Ignoring the subtle shake of Logan’s head, Rachel smiled. “Yes, I have.”
“Then it’s too bad you weren’t here a sennight ago. Charles Town had the honor of entertaining one of the king’s own emissaries.”
“Spies ye mean. The man was sent to see how the wind blows.”
“You mean because of that dreadful Stamp Tax affair.” The woman seemed to dismiss the riots and ultimate victory of the rebels with a sweep of her pudgy fingers. “I doubt His Majesty would send a duke on such an errand.”
“Whatever his reason for coming, he’ll find no better reaction to his visit in Williamsburg than he did here,” Jamie insisted, though Rachel noticed he lowered his voice a bit after a look from his wife.
Anne signaled to a servant who pulled out her chair as she rose. “Perhaps this would be a good time for us to leave the gentlemen to their brandy and talk of politics.”
Even as she stood, Mistress Quincy spoke of the duke who spent a fortnight in the city. “You surely should have been here, Lady Rachel. Even though ’twas not the season at all, there were balls and fetes nearly every night. And was he not splendid in his attire? Rumor had it that the duke was a widower and the single ladies of Charles Town nearly tripped over themselves to impress him. I suppose becoming the next Duchess of Bingham was—”
Rachel stopped so suddenly Mistress Quincy who was following her from the dining room bumped into her back. She was straightening her wig when Rachel turned on her, grabbing her plump shoulders. “What did you say?”
“I said—” Mistress Quincy’s face contorted. “Would you cease shaking me?”
Rachel grew aware that Logan stood and started toward her. She could also feel hands, Anne’s, resting on her arm. But she didn’t loosen her hold on the older woman. “Was it Lord Bingham? Was he the duke who visited Charles Town?”
“Yes, yes, Lord Bingham.”
Rachel was vaguely aware of Logan calling her name as she raced from the room.
Chapter Eighteen
“Every angel is terrifying.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
Duino Elegies
When she opened her eyes only a few slanting streams of silvery light laced the darkness. At first Rachel could remember nothing. Not where she was or why... barely even who. Then a short snuffling noise sounded and she turned her head to see Logan. His large frame sprawled in a chair pulled up beside the bed where she lay. He obviously was watching her when he fell asleep.
And all the events of the evening came hurtling back at her.
The discovery that Elizabeth and Geoffrey’s murderer was near. Her insistence that she leave immediately to find him. Logan’s eyes as she acted in what Dr. Quincy called “a highly agitated and irresponsible manner.”
“And who wouldn’t be agitated,” she’d yelled at the pompous old man. “Lord Bingham killed my dearest friend and her lover. Me,” she added. “He ki
lled me as well.”
That was when Logan bundled her off to her room, away from the startled faces of Anne and Jamie. The uncharacteristically still tongue of Mistress Quincy. And the shaking head and medical jargon uttered by the doctor.
The last thing Rachel heard the doctor ask as Logan hustled her toward the landing was, “Is there any history of madness?”
“I’m not insane,” she insisted, whirling out of Logan’s grip and turning to stare back at the group. “I’m not.”
When Logan closed the bedroom door behind them she expected a lecture on watching her tongue. There was none. Somehow his reaction, closemouthed but gentle as he played the lady’s maid, frightened her more than any tirade he could give.
“He did kill them,” she said, as he loosened the stays of her corset. “And I must avenge them.”
By the time Anne knocked at the door, offering a tray with teapot and cup, Rachel was trying to redress in a borrowed riding habit.
“I’ve no need of tea,” she said when Logan offered her the delicate china cup.
“It will calm you.”
“I don’t need to be calmed. I need to find Bingham.”
“We shall discuss it further in the morning.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” She flipped golden hair from her face and stared at him as defiantly as she could while fumbling with the petticoat tabs.
“Just a sip,” he coaxed, and to please him, to try and show him that she wasn’t mad, she complied.
After that she remembered nothing till her eyelids lifted moments ago.
She swallowed, her mouth dry, and called out his name. Logan lurched forward immediately, taking her hand as it lay on the coverlet.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been drugged,” she said and watched as his lashes drifted down to cover his light eyes. “I suppose ’twas Dr. Quincy’s idea.”
“Aye. But that’s not to say I didn’t agree. You were wanting to run off in the night chasing some English duke you say killed your friend.”
Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] Page 26