Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Through a small, rear window of the brougham, Alaina soon sighted a man on horseback riding hard to catch them. When he drew near, she saw that he wore the clothes of a gentleman and, in a rough way, was rather handsome. He was a large man, broad shouldered and thick chested. Beneath the brim of a beaver hat, short wisps of reddish brown hair curled upward. He halted his mount beside the carriage, hooked a knee around the saddle horn, and leaned an elbow upon it to peer into the dark interior.

  “Damme, Cole,” he swore. “Have you forgotten you have neighbors?”

  Cole glanced up at the man and, without giving answer, casually struck a sulfur match and lit the cigar. Seemingly unburdened by the major’s indifference, the stranger stepped down from his stallion and walked to the back of the brougham where he tied the reins. He came back to open the door, and as if he were one with either much authority or much audacity, he sailed his hat onto the empty seat and climbed in.

  “The least you could have done was to stop and let us have a look at your new bride,” he chided his host. He rapped his knuckles against the roof and called up to Olie, “Be on your way, man. I’ll ride with you up to the house.” He settled his outsized frame in the seat opposite them and grinned as he looked Alaina over carefully. “How long do I have to wait, Cole, or do you expect me to be introducing meself?”

  Reluctantly Cole yielded to the formalities. “Alaina, may I present one of our neighbors. The first and the nearest, Doctor Braggar Darvey.”

  She extended a cautious hand, not certain if it were a game or not. The guest responded by taking her fingers and gallantly brushing a kiss upon them.

  “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Mrs. Latimer.” Sitting back, he braced his thick-thighed legs wide against the roll of the coach as it started into motion. His bulk nearly filled the width of the seat as he propped his arms akimbo with a sigh. “ ‘Tis only that I am ever bound to curse the day that my father, God rest his soul, gazed upon his firstborn and, remembering his great grandfather’s name, decided to lay it upon his son.” His voice seemed to thicken with an Irish brogue as he continued, and the twinkle in his eyes could not disguise a threatening smile. “To be sure, ‘tis a brave name, and that good sire of old would tremble in his grave until the moors quaked were I any less than proud of it. But it takes a skillful, sober tongue to get the twist of it just right.” He inclined his head to Cole, who held himself aloof from these inanities by staring out the window, and spoke low to Alaina as if imparting a deep secret. “I have learned that a drunkard’s slip is not the price of my ire and give such credit as might be due. Since yer mister will not be telling ye, I shall.” He drew himself erect and assumed a tutoring tone. “Me name is Braegar—spelt: B-r-a-e-g-a-r. Try it.”

  “Bri-gar,” Alaina breathed slowly. “Braegar Darvey!”

  “Oh, sure and begorra!” the big man roared. “Ye must be a sweet colleen o’ the green sod.”

  Alaina affected her own burr with a gentle laugh. “Me own fahter was a Hi’land Scot, sir, and I can lay ye the tartan and arms to prove it.”

  “Well! We’re nearly kin, we are. The Irish and the Scots have done well for the country, do ye not agree?”

  “Of course!” she smiled.

  Cole snorted in mild derision, drawing a quick glance from them both.

  “Since the good man, Doctor Latimer, is so reticent, I shall be conducting the amenities in me own way,” Braegar announced, crossing his legs and resting his riding crop on the upper knee. “In the old days”—he leaned back and sighed as if relishing the memory—“we were about the only people in these parts, the Latimers and the Darveys together. Cole and I were raised almost as close as brothers, what with his mother passed on, and me own mother a widow. But somehow the war separated us, and your husband has not been able to overcome his jealousy.” He grinned a bit wickedly. “Really, Mrs. Latimer, it is I who should be jealous—all that travel and adventure and whatnot.”

  Alaina sensed that Cole was not entirely pleased with the presence of Braegar Darvey, for her husband’s frown had deepened ominously from the moment the man bent over her hand. “I’m relieved to know you are a friend, Doctor Darvey, and that you’re not after my scalp.”

  Braegar laughed aloud, a great big booming sound that displayed his zest for living. “I suppose strangers are a little frightened by what they be hearing of us. ‘Tis sorry I am if I caused you any dismay.”

  “Hardly dismay, sir.” Alaina rewarded him with a gracious smile. “More like absolute terror at the thought of being assaulted by red savages. Your outcry was what I would have expected of them.” She grew serious as she carefully queried, “But as my husband’s—ah—almost brother, were you also in the army?”

  A trace of humor played across his lips. “I have a defect that prevented my serving in the military.”

  Alaina was taken aback, for he seemed so hale and hearty. She could detect no flaw, yet she could hardly press the matter lest it prove some private thing.

  Braegar saw her consternation. “A mental defect of sorts—”

  “He’s insane!” Cole commented bluntly.

  The Irishman hurried on to explain. “ ‘Tis only that I knew from the start that the rigors of the military would not agree with my gentle nature.”

  “What he really means,” Cole grunted, “is that he’s a completely undisciplined bastard!”

  Alaina stared at her husband, aghast at his insult. Braegar grew serious also as he frowned at Cole, but it was almost as if he tried to fathom that one’s mood. “Your husband is jealous of my unspoiled condition,” he admonished in light banter. “That scrap of metal in his leg has made him a bloody ornery cuss.” He flashed a wide grin toward Alaina. “Should you ever grow weary of his ogrelike disposition, be aware there’s a haven close at hand, and one as beauteous as you, Mrs. Latimer, would always be welcome. Indeed, I would be greatly tempted to steal you away from this blackhearted rogue.”

  Her responding smile hinted of a certain good-natured distrust. “Sir, I presume when one makes such a scandalous suggestion in front of a lady’s husband, one doesn’t really mean a word of it.” She raised a lovely brow and chuckled as she warned. “Should you ever seek me out in private, I’ll be more wary of your motives.”

  “Well, now,” Braegar drawled with humor. “Cole is a right good shot with a gun. Sneaking behind his back could be damned deflating.”

  “And he’s a lecher of the first water,” Cole muttered dryly, keeping his gaze on the passing forest, which had become little more than dark shadows in the thickening fog. “His intentions are to dishonor every woman who is foolish enough to fall for his golden tongue.”

  Braegar accepted the riposte with a long, heartfelt sigh. “My family also complains and my mother threatens to disown me. You can’t imagine how my gentle nature is taken advantage of by women.”

  Convinced he was making a spoof of it all, Alaina giggled, but quickly straightened her manner when Cole peered at her askance, raising his brow. As she lowered her head and busily smoothed the fur throw over her lap, his gaze lifted disdainfully to the black bonnet. She had donned it again, knowing full well how it aggravated him.

  Braegar missed the exchange between the couple. “Mother was hoping you would soon be back, Cole,” he continued. “She has the wayward notion that she must give her approval to this match, and she’s anxious to meet your bride. If it’s convenient, she’d like you to bring Alaina over for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Cole frowned. “Unfortunately, I’ve an attorney coming out from the East to talk over some affairs.” He shrugged as he glanced into Alaina’s troubled countenance. “However, I see no reason why the dinner should be curtailed for business. If you would like to bring Carolyn and your mother over to join us, I’m sure Alaina would enjoy their company.”

  In jovial curiosity Braegar queried, “Am I also invited?”

  “I suppose Annie will be delighted with your presence,” Cole replied curtly. “You Irish have a mindles
s way of sticking together.”

  “Annie is a rare jewel, Cole,” Braegar laughed. “You ought to realize that.”

  His host carefully knocked the ash off his cigar. “I don’t think you can tell me what or whom I should appreciate.”

  Braegar passed his brown, dancing eyes over Alaina lighty, unheedful of Cole’s face hardening as he witnessed the perusal. “I guess you’ve done all right without my help. But your young bride seems to be your best effort yet.” He winked into the gray eyes as they rose to meet his and offered, “Should your business take you away tomorrow night, Cole, I will do my uttermost to entertain your wife.”

  The bright blue eyes considered the other without a hint of expression, then with slow deliberation, Cole removed the cigar from his mouth and half turned it, staring at the glowing coal at its tip. He raised his eyes, and had it not been for the coldness in them, his reply might have passed as a flippant remark. “Then I shall simply have to take your presence into consideration and adjust my affairs accordingly.”

  Alaina saw the uncertainty that flickered across Braegar’s brow, cutting through his friendly demeanor.

  “Now, Cole, you cannot be worrying about my reputation, are you? You must know ‘tis naught but gossip and wishful exaggeration.”

  Whether it was chagrin or irritation Alaina saw in Cole’s face, she could not rightfully determine. But the muscles in his cheek flexed tensely as if he bit back a reply. Impatiently he tamped out his cigar and, for some time afterward, stared solemnly out the window.

  The brougham plunged ever onward through tall trees, now and then meeting the river before retreating to the thicket again. The dim, hazy glow was fading from the sky, but off to the northwest, lightning flashed, illuminating the heavy clouds. The wind touched the top of the trees, ruffling the uppermost heights and shredding the mists, while closer to the ground barely a whisper of a breeze stirred. When they broke from the protection of the woods, it was like opening a door upon a raging tempest. Violent gusts lashed the countryside and whipped the horses with flying leaves.

  Briefly Alaina glimpsed a large, gray stone mansion perched on a bluff overlooking the river, then the brougham rounded a bend, and trees blocked the structure from sight. The carriage was soon halted before the towering edifice, and Olie jumped down to seize the bridles of the skittish team, while Cole pushed open the door and stepped to the ground. Leaning on his cane, he contemplated the turbulent dark grayish-green clouds churning overhead, then faced the occupants of the brougham, addressing Braegar rather curtly. “You won’t make it home before we get the worst of this storm. You’d best join us for dinner.”

  The large man alighted and, hooking his thumbs in his vest pockets, leaned his head back to scan the low, roiling sky. A fierce gust of wind swept through the trees, stirring them into a new frantic rhythm, while lightning danced across the heavens with carefree abandon.

  “I’ll help Olie get the team stabled,” he announced and casually waved a greeting to Peter as the driver’s son ran across the porch to help his father unload the baggage. Mischievously, Braegar tugged at his earlobe and grinned, peering at Cole and speaking in such a tone that Alaina could not hear. “I’m not one to impose upon a man and his wife their first night together. Still, were I you, Cole, I would have stayed at the hotel in town for a goodly while before coming out to this house full of servants.”

  Braegar hit more squarely than he knew. Chuckling at his own humor, he swung onto his mount and charged off down the hill, leaving Cole’s brow heavily creased.

  Alaina came to the door of the carriage, and Cole stepped close to lift her down. A strange smile touched his lips, as if he were amused by some wry jest, and when he stood aside, he swept his hand mockingly toward the dark hulk.

  “Latimer House bids you welcome, madam.”

  Twisted pines, cedars, and a few stunted deciduous trees, gnarled and broken by the winds and shriveled by the cold winters, huddled close about the house, masking many of the windows of the lower story. Thrusting up from this greenery, the gray hewn stone leaned inward to form a flat, plain wall with a subtle tumble home. Where the second story began, brick took over the structure and the detail became more ornate. The upper windows were tall and narrow, with small panes of leaded crystal that winked sporadically in the sundered lightning flashes. It seemed an afterthought that a porch had been added across the face of the house. The steep, gabled roof plunged upward with a vengeance, and a widow’s walk spread its overly ornate iron railing between towers that raised the eaves at either end. The whole made a jagged, haphazard silhouette against the maddened sky, all purples and grays and blacks dimly lit by the last, murky presence of light.

  For a moment, Alaina was struck with the thought that on the brow of the cliff crouched some awesome, ancient, many-eyed beast hugging its belly in agony and watching her as if to ferret out what further torment she might be bringing. Silently rebuking herself for such foolish imaginings, she thrust down the dour thoughts. She knew nothing of this place, but given half a chance, ere long, laughter might ring within its walls. Too much of her world of late had been cheaply spent in pain and strife. This was a time to forget the old and seek out the better moments of whatever life had to give.

  Alaina blinked her eyes against the splattering of windhurled droplets and looked up at Cole as he jerked his head toward the house. He spoke above the rising, keening wind. “We’d better get inside before this storm breaks.”

  The buffeting wind whipped and snatched at their garments. Hampered by her petticoats that seemed determined to drag her back, Alaina fought against its force, almost straining for each step. A sudden gust tore the black bonnet from her head, and before she could catch it, the ribbons, loosely bowed beneath her chin, snatched free. The hat sailed off in a riotous dance of freedom, eluding her attempts to retrieve it.

  “Let it go!” Cole bellowed with unwarranted gusto.

  Helplessly Alaina watched the bonnet tumbling away into the deepening darkness. It was well beyond her reach now. Pushing back the flying wisps of her hair, she turned to Cole. He had also paused to witness the bonnet’s departure but with something of a pleasured smile on his face.

  “You don’t have to look so pleased,” Alaina snapped and stalked past him, ignoring the wind that whipped her skirts out behind her.

  Cole gave a last wry grin over his shoulder and followed. Even as they were climbing the front steps, large drops of rain began to fall. It was only a signal for the more punishing downpour that quickly followed. As Cole hurried her across the porch, a tall, wiry man swung open the massive oaken door to let them in. The butler stood aside as they entered and accepted his employer’s outerwear.

  “We were doubtful that you would return tonight, sir. Murphy mentioned that you might be staying at the hotel.”

  “A change in plans, Miles,” Cole answered, taking Alaina’s wrap. The introductions were briefly made, before Cole announced, “Doctor Darvey will be along shortly. Will you advise Annie that he may be staying for supper?”

  The butler nodded, surreptitiously observing the new mistress as he received the cloaks. Her gown was drab and colorless, even worn, but she complimented it with a grace and poise that was a pleasure to behold. She seemed quiet and reserved, yet quick and observant. He wondered if anything escaped those alert gray eyes. When she faced him, there was a gentle honesty within them that was disarming at the very least. Still, she would bear watching, he avowed, determined to be far more cautious this time. The first Mrs. Latimer had been beautiful also, but had soon proven the shallowness of that quality.

  The young man, Peter, had paused at the bottom of the main stairs to get a glimpse of the new mistress for himself, and when Miles passed, the older man nudged the youth to remind him of his duties. The sheepish smile Peter bestowed upon Alaina was suddenly swept away by embarrassment, and in clumsy haste, he hurried up the stairs with her trunk.

  “You bedazzle the youth,” Cole observed brusquely when the me
n had gone. “I’ve never seen him so smitten.”

  Alaina descended the steps from the small entry vestibule and strolled across the hall, rubbing her hands along her arms to ward off the chill that permeated the mansion. “Perhaps, Major, he’s just afraid of you.”

  “I’ve never noticed that kind of behavior before.”

  “As I cannot judge that for myself, I will not argue the point, but I scarcely suspect that my mere presence can disrupt your household, however much you may wish to claim that it will”—she half turned with the question—“how did you put it—‘raise a lot more than the boys’ spirits’?” She eyed him coolly. “I assure you, sir, it is not my intention.”

  Directing her attention to something less provoking than his mildly amused stare, Alaina glanced about her. The oil lamps did little to erase the shadows and lighten the mood of the hall. The massive, ornately carred rosewood staircase clung to the wall that faced the entrance, and the vine-clad theme of the elaborate woodworking was carried out in the pillars and posts positioned throughout the hall. In all, the decor was rather garish and cluttered, though everything gleamed with a tidiness that was more characteristic of its owner.

  Bracing his hands on his cane, Cole spoke ruefully. “You’ll get used to it in time.”

  Wondering if her distaste was so apparent, Alaina ran a hand along a richly carved column. “I was just admiring the woodwork—”

  Her husband descended the two steps separating the entrance from the hallway and stared at her dubiously. “I have often respected your frankness, Al, even when it was less than complimentary. Will you compromise your standards to please a Yankee?”

  Alaina’s spine stiffened at his mockery, and her tone was brittle as she lashed out with a stinging reply. “Whatever standards I might have had, have been so completely tarnished that they bear no resemblance to those bright and shining values of my youth.” More gently, she conceded, “I fear it is a part of growing up. To give up one’s dreams for reality is the cost we all must pay.”