Sweet Savage Eden

by Heather Graham

  She stared at him for a minute blankly before she realized what he meant. Then she tried to twist away from him, only to be dragged firmly back. “Jassy?”

  “Had I thought to do something, milord, I would have done so long ere now!”

  He stared down at her, apparently satisfied. “Joan Tannen might have died in her own bed,” Jamie said, “in England.”

  “But she didn’t. She died on the ship, trying to reach this pagan land.” Her eyes came to his once again. “I must see the laborer John Tannen. I—”

  “He has been told about his wife and child.”

  She shook her head, and she was afraid that she was going to cry. She had to see the man herself. No one else knew as she did how Joan had loved him, and he deserved to be told. “I must see him!”

  “Jassy—”

  “Please!”

  Startled, he hesitated, watching her curiously. Then he shrugged. “After breakfast I intend to give you your first lesson with the musket. Supper is at four; you may find John Tannen between the two, if you are so determined.”

  “I am. Please.”

  He nodded, and still he watched her, holding her still. She felt a flush rising to her face again, and she lowered her lashes over her eyes. “What is it? We will be very late if you do not let me rise and dress. You are ready rather easily,” she said with a certain resentment edging her tone.

  He laughed again, and she liked the sound of it; she even liked the look of him when she dared meet his eyes again. His hat had fallen, and rich tendrils of dark hair fell in disarray over his forehead, and his eyes blazed their deep, rich blue from the bronze hues of his well-structured face. He was startlingly appealing then, ever more so with his laughter.

  “You used my Christian name,” he said.

  “What?”

  He leaned down very close to her and whispered above her lips. “When we made love, my dear. You called out to me and used my name. You have never done so before.” He kissed her lips lightly, her forehead, her left breast, and her belly, then rose quickly. “Come on! We are frightfully late.”

  “Late!”

  “Aye!”

  He pulled her to her feet. She ran, freezing and naked once more, behind the screen to the washstand. There was a discreet knock upon the door, Jassy heard footsteps behind the screen, and then Jamie cast the door open. She heard his deep, well-modulated words to the caller who had come for them. “Good morning, Molly, did you sleep well enough in your new bed?”

  “Aye, my Lord Cameron, that I did!”

  “Are we so late, then?”

  “Well, milord, Amy is fretting—”

  “There is no need. I shall talk to her right now. And, Molly, your timing is wonderful, for your mistress is just this moment in need of your services.”

  The door shut, and Jassy heard a rustle of skirts as she doused her face and hands with water from the pitcher on the washstand. “Jassy!” Molly called.

  “Aye!”

  “What’ll you be needing?”

  “Everything!” Jassy said, and in a moment a shift appeared over the screen and she slipped it on and came around. Molly, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, awaited her in high good humor. “Late night, love?”

  “Molly!” Jassy said, stepping into her petticoats.

  Molly laughed delightedly, then hugged her. “I’m just so very happy for you, love. I always did think that he was the one for you. There’s a grain of strength in him, not like the blond—”

  “Robert Maxwell?”

  “Aye, that one.” Molly came around with her corset and tied up the ribbons as Jassy adjusted the stays.

  “Robert is a wonderful man.”

  “And you, no doubt, were in love with him when you snared this one, eh? Well, mark my words, love, and I know men, that I do. You acquired the better of the two.”

  Jassy’s head popped out of the plain blue wool she had chosen from her trunk. “You’re mad, Molly. Robert is very gentle and caring, a fine man.”

  Molly narrowed her eyes. “So that’s the way it is!”

  “It is no special way,” Jassy retorted. And it was true, she thought. She liked Robert more and more, like a brother. She was not in love with him. She could not be in love with him, for she could never forget her husband’s hands upon her, nor the power of his being, the possession in his eyes. Whether she hated him or nay, he had encompassed something of her, and she no longer envied her sister Lenore her husband. She was too busy grappling with her own, in her dreams and in her flesh.

  “Take care, love—”

  “I am late, Molly. Thank you for your concern.”

  Jassy was angry, and so she quickly departed the room, leaving Molly and the mess within it behind.

  Everyone else was already downstairs at the table: Lenore and Elizabeth and Robert and Jamie. The men rose when she approached the table, and Lenore offered her a wistful smile. Jassy apologized for being late. Robert Maxwell looked at her with knowing eyes, and she flushed. Jamie noted her reaction to his friend. She saw his jaw harden and his eyes grow dark. She tossed back her head. She was innocent of any wrongdoing, and she would be damned before she spent her life tiptoeing about his suspicions.

  She sat and complimented Amy Lawton on the good breakfast of fish and bread and fresh milk and cheese. When the meal was finished, Jamie was the first to rise, pulling back his wife’s chair. “I shall start with Jassy on musketry. Tomorrow, if you are so inclined, Elizabeth, I will bring you too.”

  “I—I don’t think that I could fire a gun,” Elizabeth said.

  “It is your choice.”

  Jassy added to her sister’s sentiment. “Jamie, I don’t know if I will be at all capable myself—”

  “Jassy, come on. Now.” He had picked up his musket, resting on the wall by the hearth. He procured a length of match from a roll beside it and lit it from the fire at the hearth. Then he came back for her. He led her out by the hand, and they left the others sitting at the table. At the front door Amy met them, handing Jamie a leather bag of powder, a small satchel of balls, and a long stick with a forked end, a “rest,” as Jamie murmured to Jassy. He thanked Amy. Jassy forced out a smile and told the housekeeper good morning, that she would be back soon.

  As they walked through the buildings in the palisade, the housewives about their business and the occasional workman they encountered all greeted Jamie with respect and pleasure, and bobbed prettily to Jamie’s wife.

  “The lord and master, eh?” Jassy breathed sweetly.

  “Aye, my love. Remember that.”

  “Did you think I might forget?”

  “I think that I like not the sparkle in your eyes—that I see for other men.”

  “You are imagining things.”

  “I am not.”

  “But you know that I would not tarry with Robert Maxwell, for you would slay him, and then me, too, surely. I have not forgotten.”

  “Oh, I would not slay you, love. I would allow my son to be born, then I should lay your tender flesh black and blue and lock you away in a high tower where you could repent at leisure.”

  He mocked her, she thought, casting him a covert cast. Or did he? She knew him so intimately, and she didn’t know the deep corners of his heart or mind at all.

  They walked through the gates of the palisade, and he kept her hand held tightly in his own. They kept walking. The morning, Jassy decided, was beautiful. The sun was rising full and bright against the coolness of autumn, and already more of the leaves on the trees in the forests were changing colors. A few crimsons splashed against the golds and yellows and greens, and even the river seemed exceptionally blue and calm. In the distance Jassy could see the fields where the men were working, harvesting their spring crops. “Tobacco, our cash crop,” Jamie told her, seeing the direction of her gaze.

  She smiled, ignoring his words. “You would not dare beat me,” she told him.

  He laughed pleasantly. “Don’t try me, love,” he warned her.


  “I cannot help that you see what is not there.”

  He stopped suddenly, and the humor was not about him, but something serious and tense. “What do I see? And what is really there, milady?”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, moving back, and wishing she had not spoken so cockily.

  He advanced on her, not touching her, but towering dark and powerful over her. “Yes, you do, madame. You do not love me. That is established. Am I to believe that you have fallen out of love with our dashing and illustrious friend?”

  Her heart leapt and careened, and she stared with a dangerous fascination at the pulse that leapt with a furious beat at the base of his throat. “You do not love me,” she reminded him. “So what may I take that to mean?”

  “Ah, madame, but I desire no other woman as I desire you. Answer me.”

  She lowered her head, suddenly very afraid of him, afraid also of the powerful range of his temper. “I—I love no man,” she said, and lifted her eyes to his again. “It is money I cherish, remember, milord?”

  His jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He caught her hand and jerked her along again until they came to a cleared place with a single line of wooden fencing.

  He took the long stick. “This is the rest,” he said matter-of-factly. “The musket is heavy and difficult to aim. The rest will hold the weight and help to keep your hand steady. Do you understand?”

  Icily she repeated his words. He slammed the rest into the ground. “That,” she said, indicating the firearm, “is the musket. Black powder and balls. And you’ve an incredible amount of match.” The match hung from the musket, one end burning.

  “Milady, if the match is not long enough, a hunter finds his prey and discovers he has no firepower, or worse. A scout meets up with a feisty Indian and discovers that he is weaponless. Never leave without a good length of match. You do not know when you will need your weapon.”

  “Never leave without a good length of match,” she repeated between clenched teeth. “Even though you have repeatedly assured me that the Indians are peaceful these days.”

  “I have never assured you so.”

  “You like the Indians.”

  “I respect their right to their own way of life,” he said, drawing up the gun. “I have never suggested that a man need not take grave care around them. There are many tribes and many rulers, and a man may never know whose temper has been sparked when. Now take heed. This compartment is for the powder.” He sprinkled from the bag into the powder dish, showing her how much. “Take care that the burning end of your match is away, lest you blow your fingers to ribbons,” he warned her. “Close the compartment. Drop your ball and your packing, and then ram both down the barrel. Now you are ready to aim.”

  “And by now your feisty Indian has surely slit my throat.”

  “You will gain speed when you become adept. Aim low. The musket will kick back.”

  He fired off a shot, hitting a target upon a distant tree dead center. He reloaded, showing her how quickly all of the separate acts could be performed. Then he set the musket upon the rest for her. She aimed, low as he had suggested. The match ignited the powder, which shot off the ball. There was a tremendous roar and a mighty recoil. It sent her flying backward, and she would have fallen had he not caught her.

  “You will get used to it,” he said, setting her firmly upon her feet. “Now, let’s do it again. You do all the steps this time.”

  She was exhausted when he at last determined that she should have a rest. The musket was monstrously heavy and difficult to manage. He yelled at her when she forgot to close the powder dish, and he yelled at her again when the long match dangled too close to her skirts. She yelled back and tried again, sweat beading upon her brow and trickling between her breasts. She determined that she would come to fire the damned thing better than he could. On her last effort she did very well. She loaded, aimed, and fired in a matter of a minute or two, and she did not fall back with the kick of the firepower. Triumphantly she handed him the heavy musket.

  “Have I passed for the day, milord?”

  “You have,” he said calmly. “But then, I expected you to do very well indeed.”

  “Oh, yes. That is why you married me.”

  He stared at her hard. “You know why I married you. Let’s go. You wish to see John Tannen. Now is the time to do so.”

  Silently they walked back to the palisade. Jamie knew his way about. He wound through the rows of houses and buildings until he came to one of the small wattle-and-daub thatched-roof homes with a smoke hole in the center. He started to knock upon the door, but the door opened and a young bearded blond man stood there, his thin face ravaged and weary but a surprised smile coming quickly to his features. “Lord Cameron, ’tis a pleasure.”

  “John Tannen, this is my wife, Lady Cameron. She has something she wishes to tell you.”

  The man looked very awkward. He pulled his flat cap from his head and squeezed it between his hands, then indicated that they should come in. “I’m so sorry, milady, milord. I’m in a bit of upheaval. I was awaiting me Joan, ye know, and, well, I’m not much of a housekeeper. And I’ve the older boy with me, and Joan’s little sister, and we don’t seem to be able to keep up much.”

  The small house was something of a sty, Jassy thought, for there was clothing everywhere, and the pots and pans and trenchers and jugs from many a meal were strewn about a rough wood table. A dirty little girl with huge, brown, red-rimmed eyes stared at her dolefully from the center of the room, and a boy of about ten watched her from the table where he tried to mend a pair of hose with a needle and thread and brass thimble.

  Jassy looked from the boy to John Tannen. “I—I wanted to say that I was with your wife at the … at the end, Mr. Tannen. She spoke of you with a great deal of love, and I wished to convey that to you. I thought it important.”

  He suddenly took her hand in both of his great, rough worker’s hands and knelt down upon the rough floor of his dwelling. He bowed humbly over her hand.

  “Milady, I have heard of your tender care of my wife, and as God is my witness, you’ve my eternal gratitude.”

  Jassy stepped back, reddening. She hadn’t thought much of a man who had allowed his wife to travel to meet him, especially in Joan’s condition, but John Tannen seemed a sincere individual, bereft, and doing his best to stumble through the trying time. She tugged upon his hand. “Mr. Tannen, please get up. I did nothing, really.”

  He nodded, not really hearing her words, and he did not rise. “Mr. Tannen.” She looked helplessly to Jamie. He was watching her with curious eyes, and he shrugged, leaving the situation to her.

  “Mr. Tannen, get up! Now, I know that you are in pain, but indeed, this place is a hovel, and Joan would have been sorely disappointed in it.” She pulled her hand away from him and looked to Jamie again, but Jamie intended to give her no help. She felt a slight quivering in her chin, wondering if the action she was contemplating would assure him that he had married beneath his class, but then she didn’t care. He had cast her out to sink or swim, and so she would do as she chose.

  She walked over to the table. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Edmund, milady.” He jumped up quickly. He was growing fast, Jassy saw. Too fast for his clothing, so it seemed.

  “Edmund, fetch a good bucketful of water and heat it for me over the fire. Have you had your meal yet? Jamie will send some venison from the house, and he will send Molly over, too, and we will shortly have this place to rights.”

  “But you must not, milady!” John Tannen had stumbled to his feet at last. Aghast, he looked from Jassy to Jamie, back to Jassy, and then to Jamie once more. “Lord Cameron, you must explain to her that I am a common laborer and that she is your wife, and that it—that I am grateful, but …” He paused, talking to Jassy. “I am ever so grateful, but … Lord Cameron, please help me.”

  Jassy looked to Jamie too. If he denied her, she knew that she would defy him. This man needed hel
p. Jamie was his master, and John Tannen had lost his wife in Jamie’s service.

  And she wanted to help. She needed to help. She held her breath and lifted her chin high.

  Jamie watched her with his dark, fathomless gaze, then replied slowly to John Tannen. “I am afraid that she is determined, John, and there is little that I can say to her. You cannot deny that you need the help, and I promise you, my wife will see to it that you are quickly in some state of repair. I will send her maid, as she has suggested, along with a side of venison. Edmund, see that you escort her home after dinner.”

  His eyes fell upon Jassy one last time. She watched him in return, and she could not tell for sure, but he did not seem to be judging her or condemning her. If she sensed anything at all in his gaze, it was pride, and it was a good feeling. It warmed her deeply.

  “Edmund! Come along now, these things must be done. What is your sister’s name?”

  “She is Ma’s sister, not mine,” Edmund said. “Her name is Margaret.”

  “Margaret.” Jassy lifted the girl off the floor and set her upon the table. She found a mop cloth on the table and a bowl of water, and began dabbing at the little girl’s face. “Ah! There is a child beneath the dirt! And truly a girl. A very pretty little girl. Come now, let’s move along. There’s much to do.”

  Molly soon arrived with the venison. She reviled poor John Tannen for the state of his house, and when he tried to explain that it was the harvest season, she found fault with something else. Jassy ignored them both and set about making a good and palatable meal. With Margret’s help she found vegetables for a stew and a bit of salt for seasoning, and cooked it all in a pot above the hearth. With Molly in charge, the place quickly became more habitable. She had everyone moving about, including John Tannen. She had the poor man so befuddled that when he at last sat down to eat, he did so with a sigh of great impatience. “Woman!” he muttered to Molly, “you do make a body long for solitude!”

  Molly rapped him on the hand with her serving spoon. “John Tannen, get your filthy fingers off that bread. You will wash for this meal, or you will not consume it!”