Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “The usual, I suppose,” Cole sighed heavily.

  With a nod Olie climbed to the driver’s seat, and a moment later the carriage rumbled off down the narrow lane. Cole approached the back door. It was not because he was lame that he dragged his feet. He was hard pressed to keep his hands off Alaina, and it had come upon him suddenly this morning as he watched his wife sitting so innocently at the opposite end of the table that he needed an immediate outlet for what was brewing within him. Outside of force, only one choice appeared open to him—Xanthia Morgan.

  He raised the handle of his cane to rap on the door, then froze as an illusion of Alaina flooded through his brain, cauterizing his very thoughts. He closed his eyes to savor the vision more fully, but it was as quickly gone, vanished from his grasping mind. He was suddenly unsure that this course would solve his problem, and he lowered the cane as he tried to sort out his thoughts. His options vanished as the door opened and he faced the long-legged, auburn-haired, and exceptionally well-formed Xanthia Morgan.

  “Cole!” she exclaimed in relief. “I saw your shadow and thought it might be some miscreant intending harm.” She lifted her hand to betray a small double-barreled derringer and, with some embarrassment, tucked it back within the folds of her skirts. “Come in! Good heavens, it’s been so long! I was afraid you wouldn’t ever come again.” Smiling with warmth, she caught his hand, and he was helplessly drawn into the house. Eagerly she took his hat and gloves, left them on the hall table, and led him into the parlor, there pouring a libation for him. As she pressed it into his hand, she coaxed, “Sit down, darling, and I’ll help you off with your boots.”

  “No—I mean—” He saw the worried curiosity come into her eyes and finished lamely. “In a moment, ‘Thia.”

  “Your leg is stiff again,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I shouldn’t wonder, the way you roam around. You should either settle down and take care of it, or see what can be done.” His noncommittal shrug warned her away from the subject. “Will you join me for dinner? Can you stay the night?”

  “I’ll have to be getting back soon.” He read the disappointment in her eyes and, then gazed down into the amber pool of brandy in his glass. “Olie is waiting for me.”

  “Olie is always waiting, darling,” she reminded him calmly. “Sometimes I think he enjoys that stint in the tavern.”

  “No doubt.” For lack of something better to say, he took a shallow sip of the brandy.

  In an attempt to break his preoccupation, Xanthia ran a hand caressingly over his lapel, asking quietly, “Did you get that business arrangement settled?”

  Cole glanced at her briefly, unable to defeat the scowl that creased his brow. “It was carried out by proxy before she came up here.”

  “I heard it rumored, of course,” Xanthia admitted, turning aside to hide her displeasure. “The gossips never forgave you for marrying Roberta, and they’ve been clucking like hens all over town about your new wife. You must be keeping her well hidden because the few who have seen her are lording it over the ones who haven’t, and I can tell you, Cole, their curiosity is eating them alive.”

  She waited, but he made no effort to appease her own burning inquisitiveness. She tried again, knowing that she erred, but was helpless to resist. “Miss Beatrice showed me some of the gowns you had her make for your wife.” He looked at her sharply, and she rushed on to explain. “Oh, darling, you needn’t worry. Miss Beatrice doesn’t know about us. I was just in her shop for a fitting when she started raving about some of the clothes you had ordered.” Xanthia paused until she could continue in a casual manner. “You sly rogue, it must have warmed her heart considerably to have received such a rich gift.”

  “Alaina—is different,” he muttered.

  “In what way?”

  His silence was an eloquent declaration. Xanthia sensed she would do well not to inquire further about this new wife of his, this Alaina. She rose on tiptoes to press her lips to his and was somewhat surprised by his coolness. “Cole?” His eyes turned to gaze down into hers, and she ran a well-manicured finger about his ear as she questioned softly, “Do I have too much competition?”

  He sighed and stared into the crackling fire. “I explained her terms and the reason I was marrying her before. Nothing has changed.”

  “I probably know you better than anyone, Cole,” she murmured low. “But sometimes I wonder if I know you at all. You say she saved your life, and I guess I wouldn’t fear so much if I really believed you were doing all this out of gratitude.”

  “I don’t wish to talk about it, ‘Thia.”

  She stroked his lean knuckles, urging, “Finish your drink, darling. I won’t be long.”

  Before he could stop her, she was gone. Cole realized now that he had made a mistake in coming here. This had been a haven from Roberta, but somehow its quality had flown. It was no longer a place for escape but, in some strange way, had become a place for cheating. Suddenly it was the wrong place, the wrong time, and the wrong woman. He was uncomfortable, and he wanted to be away, anywhere but here.

  Setting the snifter down, he left the parlor and made his way down the hall to the familiar bedroom. The door was open, the bedcovers folded down invitingly. Xanthia sat on a stool before a wide mirror, brushing out her long hair. When she caught his reflection in the glass, she smiled and began to loosen her bodice.

  “ ‘Thia—” She paused and looked up, her eyes finding his in the silvered glass. “I’m going now.”

  She turned on the stool to face him. “But you just got here.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “And it was a mistake.”

  Her hopes were crushed, and she asked in a husky voice, “Is it something you want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  “Will you be back?”

  He met her gaze directly. “I don’t know.”

  Xanthia stared at him a long moment, fighting to control the mistiness that suddenly affected her vision. “It was nice of you to come and tell me, Cole,” she said slowly. “I appreciate that. Should you change your mind, you know you’ll always be welcome.”

  He nodded. “You were a friend when I needed one, ‘Thia. If there’s anything you ever need, don’t hesitate to call on me.”

  She straightened her spine and did her best to smile. “I’m afraid what I need most, someone else already has.”

  “I’m sorry, ‘Thia,” he apologized. “I just haven’t worked this out for myself yet.”

  He withdrew a flat purse from his coat and dropped a wad of bills into a vase beside the door. “Good-bye, ‘Thia.”

  She listened to his footsteps and the tap of his cane as he went down the hall, and after a time she heard the gentle closing of the back door. For all his prattle about his second marriage being nothing more than a business arrangement, he must have found something in it which intrigued him. She would have to meet this Alaina Latimer and see for herself just what it was that spurred this sudden attack of fidelity in him.

  The evening mists had risen, and the cold dampness began to work its painful presence into Cole’s leg. He walked for a space, then paused to ease the throbbing in his thigh, and after a rest, he marked a careful path down the road again, leaning heavily on his cane. The tinkle of a piano wheedled its way through the still night air, and he knew that for an able man, the saloon was only a short jaunt up the street from Xanthia’s millinery and gift shop. Usually the tavern closed its doors before he was ready to leave his mistress’s arms, and Olie would bring the carriage to wait at the spot behind the trees. Now Cole cursed his own folly for coming. It had been a damned fool idea!

  Olie had settled his large bulk at a table in the corner. It was his wont to stand at the bar and engage in gay camaraderie with the transients of the tavern, but this evening he had felt more in need of some deep pondering in hopes that he might make some sense of events of late. The barkeep’s wife had brought him a tankard well afoam with a dark amber brew and left it on the table without a comment. Though he had
left payment for his share, she was probably still piqued over the minor damage to several bar chairs and a table that had occurred on his last visit.

  A goodly portion of the tankard had provided ease for a huge thirst before Olie lowered the mug to the table and stared bemusedly at it. He had known the good Doctor Latimer for quite a number of years, and he was disturbed because the man seemed bound along a path to some sort of debauchery. Of course rumors were roaming wildly about Latimer House, and his own son, Peter, had hinted that there were, in fact, separate beds for master and mistress, just like it had been with the first wife. Not one to lend too much credence to whispering servants, Olie had watched the couple for himself. At church, for instance, with the child between them, and every head coming together behind the Latimer pew like eggs rolling from opposite hills and meeting in wild confusion in the middle of a vale. Afterward, the very air outside the church had buzzed with the gossip, because Doctor Latimer hadn’t attended services since he had been home from the war, and now all of a sudden he showed up with a new wife and a child besides, and hardly no time married! The fact that Mrs. Latimer was from the South didn’t seem to concern them as much as their speculations as to how young she might be, why Doctor Latimer had married her, and just what kin the child was to her? Well, Olie thought, anyone could see that she was too young to have a child that old, and that Doctor Latimer might have married her simply because she was a right comely young lady. Despite all the rumors of separate beds, the doctor appeared quite taken with his young bride and, one might say, most anxious to protect her from the stares of every swain they met. Then, there had been the outing along the river on a rare warm day. Mindy had smiled with a radiance she had never shown before when they unpacked the basket Annie had prepared for the picnic. Olie had shared the food and the pleasure of the day with them. He had seen for himself the politeness that was congenial yet not quite as intimate as would be normal between a man and his wife. And he had witnessed the almost hungering eye of the doctor fastened on the lady as she skipped and played with Mindy. Laughing, she had thrown her arms wide in carefree abandon until her bodice had stretched taut against her soft bosom, and Doctor Latimer had flushed a deeper shade when he realized Olie had caught him ogling his own wife.

  A second tankard’s contents were being carefully sampled for quality when, in some astonishment, Olie paused with the mug almost to his mouth. He stared over its rim until, without a word of explanation, his employer lowered himself in the chair opposite him. Even with the noisy din of the piano player’s melody, the rowdy laughter of some loggers, and incessant giggling of the saloon girls, Cole had no trouble hearing Olie’s statement.

  “I been tinkin’ yu’re a fool, and now I know. Yu can’t get along with either of them.”

  “When I want some of your Norwegian logic,” Cole retorted tersely, “I’ll ask for it.”

  “Yah!” The blond head nodded as if he sorely lamented the plight of the other. “Yu’ve tied yourself a few good knots this time.” Olie slammed a brawny fist down on the table before Cole could reply and bellowed to the bartender. “Sweyn! Bring the bottle and two short glasses.”

  In a moment a quart of whiskey of questionable age was placed before them and two glasses were slid across the table. Olie waited until the barkeep had left before he shared a bit more of his wisdom. “When I feel good, I drink beer. When I got voman trouble, I need a little somet’ing stronger to take the edge away.”

  Cole lifted his brows in amazement. “It’s not you who has the trouble!”

  The driver shrugged his thick shoulders and spread his hands. “Yu got trouble—I got trouble.” He tossed down a shot of whiskey and followed it closely with the beer. Cole copied his example and was astounded that his throat should feel completely seared all the way down to his stomach. A trifle wide-eyed, he reached for the stein of beer in hopes it would put out the fire.

  “That’s enough!” he wheezed and pushed his glass away.

  “Nah! Nah! Two women are too much trouble for one drink.” Olie poured the glasses full to the rim, and the bottle was half empty when Cole spread a hand over his own glass and put a halt to the infusion of the dark whiskey.

  “Women can be damned sobering,” he muttered crossly. “Especially that bit of fluff I’ve married, and it’s a dreadful shame to waste good whiskey.” He eased himself to his feet and paused a moment to let the world settle down around him, while Olie tucked the bottle affectionately beneath a heavy arm and plowed his way toward the door. There, he had a moment of lucid recollection and bellowed to the barkeep that the whole was to go on Doctor Latimer’s account. Cole cringed at the overloud shout. He was beginning to consider that he had underestimated the strength of Olie’s whiskey. Yet he managed to follow his driver with a quieter dignity.

  It was a long ride home, perhaps even longer tonight because Olie chose to weave his way through the city at a snail’s pace. It gave the cold, snapping air some time to affect a sobering on Cole, but the slight, discomforting ache that came and went somewhere behind his eyes made the memory of the strong brew a trifle less than enjoyable. To make matters worse, Miles met him at the door with a displeasing announcement.

  “Doctor Darvey is here, sir. We didn’t know when you were to return, and finally the madam started dinner without you, sir.”

  Cole was further irritated by the fact that Braegar had seated himself neatly at Alaina’s right, while he had to cross to the far end of the table and take his own place.

  “Tell Annie to get those damn potatoes off the table!” Cole snarled, venting his wrath on the first inanimate thing that pricked his ire.

  “The likes o’ you insulting good Irish food!” Annie squealed indignantly. She had heard the command in the kitchen and came bristling through the swinging door with her face redder than a scarlet banner and her dander up and flying high. “Seein’s as ye be naught but a poor German immigrant yerself, sir, I guess I must be making allowances.”

  “Austrian!” Cole corrected darkly.

  Annie stood her ground before his glare and slid the potatoes closer in a challenging manner. “If ye knew what was good for ye, sir, ye’d put some meat beneath yer hide with a plateful of ’em.”

  Cole stared incredulously, certain the woman had taken leave of her senses. Alaina knew him well enough to realize this quarrel boded ill. Slipping hurriedly from her chair, she reached the bowl of potatoes and moved it out of harm’s way herself. Placing the dish in the cook’s hands, she gently guided the woman back into the kitchen.

  “It’s best to humor him tonight, Annie. No doubt his leg is bothering him again.” She didn’t know if it was or not, but at least the cook’s anger dwindled to nothing more than an occasional sniffle of indignation.

  The task of calming the woman performed, Alaina returned to the dining room, only to find Mrs. Garth setting out large snifters and a decanter of brandy. Alaina had already noted the woman’s penchant for liberal draughts and quickly moved to halt her. Master Cole Latimer appeared to have imbibed far too much as it was, without adding more kindling to the fire. “I’ll do that, Mrs. Garth. See if you can help Annie in the kitchen.”

  The housekeeper nodded stoically and complied, leaving her mistress to measure out the portions. In comparison to the woman’s generosity, Alaina was definitely stingy. Solicitously she placed a snifter beside her husband’s service, feeling his harsh stare.

  “Annie is warming your soup,” she murmured. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  He replied in the affirmative only to keep her there at his end of the table a bit longer. She smelled sweet and fresh, with a hint of an essence that never failed to stir his blood. Her hair was gathered off her neck in an informal cascade of loose curls, and even the high-necked gown of wine muslin seemed fetching by candlelight.

  “Where is Mindy?” he asked softly.

  “You were so late, I let her eat and go to bed.”

  Much to his chagrin, she resumed her seat, and the soft feelings
dwindled as he watched her beside Braegar. As the meal continued, Alaina noticed the deepening darkness of his mood and watched him apprehensively, praying the storm would pass without being unleashed. Braegar also considered his host in a museful bend of mind, wondering if he should broach the subject that had caused the heated quarrel the other night and find out at last what was eating at Cole, but in the mood he was in, Braegar did not press the matter.

  “Weren’t you two ever told it’s not polite to stare at a cripple?” Cole quipped sharply, and reached for his snifter of brandy to sip it with glum disinterest.

  He finished the dinner in piqued silence, sampling the coffee perhaps more than the liquor. As soon as they left the table, Braegar made his excuses, and Alaina paused just long enough in the hall to bestow a withering glare on her husband before she stiffly mounted the stairs to her bedroom. Cole followed to his own and slammed the door behind him, growling something about having a houseful of cantankerous women to contend with. Almost immediately the portal between his room and the bathing chamber was opened. He turned, peevishly sailing his frock coat into a chair, and faced his young wife who stood in the doorway glowering at him while she angrily jerked open the buttons on her long sleeves.

  “You, sir, have proven yourself an absolute boor. There were times when I had my doubts about you, but tonight you have proven it. You are undoubtedly the orneriest man I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet!” She spun on her heel and flounced back into her bedroom, but Cole was not in the mood to let this affront go unchallenged. He limped after her, the look on his face thunderously black.

  “You call me a boor when, as soon as I leave, you beckon that sniveling lout here to my house and entertain him!” He wrenched off his cravat and began working at the buttons of his vest while he raged on. “You set him down at my table and served him my food! Madam, I must say you are a poor judge of character! That coxcomb seizes upon any excuse to sniff around this place while I’m gone! And you invite him, knowing how I feel about him!” He snorted in derision and left her staring agape at the empty portal as he stormed back into his room.