Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (46 page)

As the hours passed, the danger of
a watchman or dogs discovering their hiding place was becoming more likely. And still there was no sign of Ned Cranch.

“Blasted cowardly braggart!” Jasper
Hyde cursed under his breath.

“I thought he left the tavern
before us,” Harry complained in his ear.  

The last Hyde had seen of the
stonemason, he was going up to his room. Burning sensations and a squeezing
pain filled the cavity of his chest, and Jasper Hyde thought of a dozen
different ways he would make the stonemason suffer if he did not appear soon.

Hyde had considered staying behind
at St. Albans and letting those whom he had paid so handsomely finish the job. But the nagging feeling that something might go wrong—that like so many other recent instances
his damnable luck might turn on him—had persuaded him to come along. Now at
least he was satisfied with that decision. He would carry this through no
matter what the danger. No matter what happened to Cranch. 

One of the men he had sent to spy
on the house came running back. “No sign of ‘im. And no sign of any cart comin’
from the village. But I couldn’t get inside the stables, in case the rockhead
might be hidin’ there.”

“Any place closer to the house to
hide?” Hyde asked.

“There’s the stable, but there are
a couple of grooms still seeing to the horses. And the carriages are out front.
They’ll be bringin’ them around soon. There’s gardens in the back of the house
and by the servants door.”

The pain was getting sharper, and
Hyde knew time was running short. He called the men together. “You two go to
the front and keep watch there. You four come with me to the back of the manor
house. Harry, you set fire to these cottages.”

The clerk looked around at the
circle of decrepit buildings.

“Once you are through here, go to
the back of the stables and set fire to them, too.”

“Now ye’re talkin’,” one of the men
said with a grin. “We come fer action.”

Holding the pistol in one hand,
Hyde had to put all his weight on the cane to keep up with the others moving
through the woods. He was having trouble breathing. Fatigue was wrapping a tight
fist around his chest. A pain in his head was clouding his vision as they got
closer to the house. Suddenly he saw a shadow run ahead of them in the woods. But as he looked again, he saw nothing. His mind was playing tricks.

"The little bugger did it,"
one of his men said over his shoulder. The crackle and spark of flames could be
heard rising from the Grove through the winter wood. Hyde tried to hurry to
keep up with everyone else. Somewhere ahead the shouts of warning about the
fire could be heard.

The pain stabbed him again in the
chest. He saw the shadow pass closer to his left. He realized who it was. But it couldn’t be.

"Tano," he whispered.

"D’ye say something?” The man
closest to him turned around.

“No, go on. Look for an old black
woman as they come out of the house.” Hyde’s mind was giving way to strange
thoughts. Uncontrollably, he was crossing the great divide of many years. He
remembered a night like this. He was a child, running barefoot with his friend
through the meadow above the canefields. With Tano.

The edge of the woods lay ahead of
them. More shouts came from the vicinity of the stables. Harry had reached
there as well.

The pain in his chest and his head
was unbearable, but he pushed on. There was a rustling sound in the trees to
his right. He lifted his pistol and turned sharply. He was there, as clear as
day. Tano was hanging in irons, left to die. His dark eyes were open and
accusing.

Hyde backed away and tried to run,
but his feet were too heavy, and he stumbled to his knees. One of the London men stood over him.

“Damn you, Ohenewaa!” he cursed
into the night, shaking off the man’s hand. He pushed himself to his feet,
clutching his chest with one hand.

Through the remaining fringe of
trees, he could see people pouring out of the house. Servants were running in
every direction and shouting. Horses, freed from their stalls, were running
about wildly.

Hyde stopped by the edge of trees
and stared at the chaos. Tano, named after a sacred river in the western lands
of the Ashanti, was two years younger than Jasper in age. They gave him the Christian name Thomas, but his name was Tano. From the time they were young boys, he had
surpassed Jasper in size and strength and courage. None of this mattered,
though, for he was black and Jasper was white. Tano was a slave and Jasper
would someday be his master. But for as many things that set them apart, there
were others that made them the same. As children they thought the same, dreamed
alike, tolerated each other…and though no one spoke of it, they shared the same
father.

“I don’t see no old woman,” one of
the men said into Hyde’s ear.

“Find your way up to the house
without being seen. Set it on fire, and she will have to…” His words trailed
off.

Among the smoke and mayhem, Jasper
saw Ohenewaa walking toward them. There was no doubting it, she had seen them,
but she was still coming.

After their father Rufus had passed
away, Tano had become more openly rebellious. With every problem in the slave
quarters, Jasper had seen evidence of Tano’s involvement. He could only look
away so long. But even after Jasper began to have him punished for his
transgressions, the slave had only become stronger.

The pain in his chest was
spreading. His hands were shaking, but Hyde dropped the cane and wrapped his
fingers tightly around the pistol. 

Last year, during one of the slave
uprisings, Hyde had reached the end of his patience. One of his bailiffs had
been killed. Three other white men had been injured. Over two dozen slaves had
escaped to the western forests of the island. It was all he could take. He had
ordered Tano to be hung in irons.

Ohenewaa continued to walk toward
him. This close, he could see the woman’s eyes flashing angrily in the dark. He
stepped out of the woods and raised the pistol until it was pointed directly at
her heart. Tano had died, and she had cursed him.

“You must die, witch.”

A woman screamed from somewhere to
his right, and he turned his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone
standing beside him. Tano. And at that moment he felt the pain explode in his
chest even as he heard the crack of a pistol firing.

*****

Millicent saw Jasper Hyde go down
on his knees, and she turned to see Lyon lowering the gun. A half-dozen grooms
raced past her toward a retreating group of men. To her left, Moses had Hyde’s
clerk by the scruff of his neck, and Gibbs was running down from the stables.
She turned her attention back to Ohenewaa and saw her crouching over the bloody
body of Jasper Hyde.

Millicent rushed toward her and
knelt beside the old woman. Lyon approached and kicked Hyde’s pistol to the
side.

Hyde’s breathing was labored. His
eyes were open, but there was a hole in his chest near his heart. “He’s here.
He wants to take me with him.”

Ohenewaa sat in silence.

“I cannot bear the pain. The heat
of the branding iron…is scorching my breast. Do you hear them…the sound of
chains?” A tear escaped the man’s eyes. “You cursed me, woman.”

“This is Tano’s curse.”

“Release me,” he whispered, the
words barely escaping his lips. “Please…let me live…help me.”

She placed a hand above the open
wound on his heart. “’Tis too late.”

“Then…forgive me.” Hyde’s eyes
looked up into space. “Please, Tano…forgive me.”

Millicent saw a tear drop from
Ohenewaa’s face onto his chest. The old woman’s hand stretched out over the
dying man’s head. “He forgives. Go now.”

Hyde’s breathing stopped and his
eyes glazed over. The old woman closed the lids and touched the man’s forehead.
Millicent sat beside her until Ohenewaa turned to her.

“Who was Tano?” Millicent asked.

“My son,” she said, looking back at
the dead man. “Tano was my son.” 

“You should write a letter to your
sons.”

The dowager peered over the tops of
her spectacles. “I thought you said you were not getting involved with my problems.”

“I am not.” Ohenewaa put the basket
of new greenery on the stone bench beside her and glared at her friend. “But you should know that I consider you a stubborn woman.”

“And why is that?”

“You have the power to put an end
to all the trouble between these three boys.”

“They are not boys, but men. They
started their disagreement, and they should finish it.”

“You are helpless…and blind,
too…and pigheaded. And if you don’t do something to help your son with his
brothers—” 

“You shall cast a spell on me?”

“I do not know any spells.”

“Then show me how to do some other
magic.”

Ohenewaa’s dark eyes narrowed. “Not
that I know anything about the dark arts, but even if I had that kind of
knowledge, I would never entrust it to
you
.”

“What if I promised to do some good
with it?”

“Such as?”

The dowager shrugged. “Maybe I
shall use it to find perfect wives for Pierce and David, as I did for Lyon. Never mind any letters. Marriage is the way to bring them back again to the family.”

“You underestimate your shrewdness,
old woman. And Sir Richard’s hard work. You managed all of this before with no
magic.”

“But I am getting old, and my days
are numbered. And I am weak.”

“You might save that idle talk for
your family. It does not work with me. I know there is nothing wrong with you.”

“I still believe you know about
those dark arts. You are just an ornery old witch and holding out on me just to
be spiteful.”

“And I believe you should take less
snuff in the morning. Now, start with small steps. Write Pierce a letter and
have it delivered at the same time as Lyon’s. Then you need to start working on
your youngest son. What is his name?”

“David. Perhaps. I shall think
about it.”

The dowager took a deep breath of
fragrant spring air. She admired the flowers that were springing out of the
ground in every corner of the garden. Mrs. Page and Gibbs were pretending that
they were looking intently at a rose arbor at the lower end of the garden, but
she knew better. Gibbs was still as gruff as ever, but there was a certain
boyish spring that had recently begun to appear in his step. It was love; no
doubt about it.

The dowager’s gaze was drawn to two
young servants shaking out linens by the house.

“Has there been any more news of
Violet?” Ohenewaa asked.

“No, they didn’t find her in St. Albans. Millicent is still upset over it.”

“At least she
did not run
off with the stonemason.”

“Indeed, but what an ignoble fate
he met with, to be murdered by some drunk in a tavern.”

“He deserved it,” Ohenewaa stated.

Again both women fell silent, content
to watch the activities of the people coming and going around the manor. Lyon and Millicent were walking along the garden path. He was still using the cane, but his
legs were getting stronger every day. She was carrying the baby.

“Perhaps they’ll bring her here, so
we could hold her,” Ohenewaa said, a note of hopefulness in her voice. 

“That baby is a perfect lady. And I even like the name
Josephine.”

“Joseph was the prophet sold into
slavery, was he not?”

“He was.”

Ohenewaa nodded with satisfaction.
“It shall be a challenge when their own baby arrives this fall. Two infants in
the house.”

“That’s what they have us for. To
help them.”

“Do you plan to stay that long?”

“I am, if you are.” The dowager
laughed, watching Ohenewaa’s face crease into a frown.

*****

Millicent heard the laughter, and
she glanced over her shoulder at the dowager and Ohenewaa. The two women were
involved in one of their daily disputes.

“It might kill them to admit it,
but they really like each other,” Lyon said, following the direction of her
gaze. He laid his cane aside and sat down on a nearby stone bench. “Can I hold
her now?”

She smiled and handed the baby to
him before sitting down beside them. The swallows had returned, and a number of
them were flitting and swooping about the chimneys. She glanced toward the path that led from the Grove, where once the slaves had lived. They had pulled down what
remained of the huts after the fire. Construction on new cottages had already
begun on higher ground. The damage to the stables had been small, and the
repair work had already been accomplished.

Life was changing, Millicent
thought. Buds of flowers and leaves were appearing on the trees. The fields
were growing greener, and daffodils were poking their heads up along the walls
and paths. Laughter, happiness, and contentment surrounded them. Melbury Hall
was alive again.

She glanced back at her husband.

Josephine’s small head was nestled
against his chest. His large hand was gently caressing the baby’s back. His
blue eyes were loving when they met hers.

“Next year at this time, I’ll have
two of them nestled here.”

"Who ever would have imagined
such a thing?" she whispered, smiling at the embodiment of her own dream.

AUTHOR’S
NOTE

As you might have guessed by now,
B
orrowed Dreams
is the first in a trilogy of books about the men of Baronsford. While Pierce and David search out their own lives, they are subsequently drawn back
to their home, where the mystery of Emma’s murder waits to be solved.

Millicent Gregory Wentworth was
first introduced to our readers in
The Promise
, where Rebecca Neville
and the Earl of Stanmore forged a future together. We hope the change wrought
in Millicent since meeting her in
The Promise
has provided a satisfying
journey for you all.