Healing Grace (15 page)

“I’m ready now,” she said.

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” he asked.

“No.”

“For the record, I think this is a bad idea,” he said. “But if you insist, the least I can do is give you a hand up.”

“I…I can…” She wanted to tell him she didn’t need help, but somehow failed. “Yes, th…thank you.”

He moved closer and his odor was overpowering enough to flare her nostrils. If he noticed he didn’t say so, but Constance didn’t have time to wonder about anything. He spanned her waist, and in the next second, like every time he did this, she floated. He settled her so gently on the hard leather seat, she barely felt it. But it was the wind. It had to be the wind lifting her.

A heartbeat later he was mounted as well. Side by side they headed out of the yard and onto the road. This would have been fine, except the wind gusts were so strong, it was all she could do to keep her skirt from flapping up. If Etienne noticed her struggling, he didn’t say anything. Instead he seemed concerned with directions, asking things like, “Do we turn here? Which way next? Do you know about how many miles? I’ll follow you since you’re
showing
me the way.”

He was goading her. She also deduced he was purposely ignoring her battles with the repeatedly ballooning skirt. Several times she caught him looking at her—or more specifically at her exposed leg. Every time she caught him, his eyes quickly diverted.

Constance didn’t lead him on the roundabout route she regularly took. Her purpose for this was twofold. Primarily she didn’t want him to know where she and Izzy rode every night. But she also wanted to get this quest completed as quickly as possible, and not solely because of the pending storm. As it was, daylight was waning and distant thunder rumbled. Regardless, even using the most direct route, at the pace they were going, it would take half the night just to get there. She could have run Izzy around their normal nightly course three times over and still reached the barn first. It was a relief when the large, paint-chipped structure finally came into view.

Constance pointed, then had to quickly drop her arm to press her dress down. “That barn is where the Klan holds meetings,” she said.

“Oh, yes, straight ahead,” he murmured as his eyes swiftly retreated from her leg.

The yard surrounding the barn was void of horses or buggies and that meant no meeting was taking place, at least not right then. Constance hoped once they’d dismounted, Etienne would make comments about the number of hoof prints in the dirt, but he didn’t. She also hoped he would take the lead in entering the barn, but he didn’t do that, either. He was just standing there, curly hair becoming more disheveled by the second, staring off at the landscape.

“Shall we go in?” she suggested.

He grinned and gestured with exaggerated gallantry. “After you.”

Although Constance had peered into the barn several times, she’d never actually stepped foot inside. It smelled musty, like dust and old hay, and though the planked walls weren’t in the best condition, at least they were shelter from the punishing winds. Overall the interior space was large and open. Other than some stacked rusty farm tools, a table, a handful of spindly chairs and several hay bales, it was empty. A ladder that appeared sturdy enough led to an upper hayloft.

“Oh, look. A lantern,” Etienne said from behind her. “How convenient.”

Constance didn’t bother turning. She could hear from the clicks and creak of rusted hinges that he’d taken it down from a nail on the wall. The next thing she heard was the scrape of flint and the hiss of flame.

The light was helpful as they meandered through, looking for what exactly she didn’t know. Etienne spent time poking at the shovels and pitchforks, though Constance couldn’t figure why. She was more intent on the table. Beneath it she noticed what appeared to be scattered particles of paper. It looked like someone had torn them up then tried to burn them. Many of the edges were singed.

Lowered to her haunches, Constance was able to gather a few. To reach the rest she had to get on her knees and crawl. It didn’t help that Etienne was behind her, holding the lamp. The least he could have done was offer assistance, but he didn’t.

With all the pieces she could find in hand, she scampered up. The second she turned, she knew by his hooded eyelids, he’d been staring, and he’d probably been doing so the whole time her backside had been stuck up in the air. Infuriating goon!

There was nothing she could do about him. What she did do was lay out the pieces on the table. In seconds she was rapt. “Look, Etienne. These fit together, and there’s writing on them. Hold the lamp. Please.”

“Hmm,” he murmured.

Rather than holding the lamp, he set it on the table. Soon they were side by side, heads bowed, fitting together the puzzle of pieces. It wasn’t easy as some were tiny and many were missing, but eventually they figured it out, or at least it seemed they had it right. The lantern light shimmered down on the holey page and what remained of its message:

…retribution…….time has now come. You, my p………

…………en chosen to……race Manor an…atch traitors,

……uther and Trent Emer…………………target is our

vilest enemy, th……. Julie….Gra…….tored in the…….

funds to be util……………………………. to access it.

……………………………………….ill have until

………….y of August, A.D. 1881 to comple…………

….. fail or refuse, or due to your negligen…………..fall

……………………………losing the name and…….

……buted to one you value dearly…………………….

……..t of which will be……………….nt. Under……

….he Klan does not forget t………………’s grievous

betrayal………………………………llowed…….

…………ers to suffer……………………..an expect

…venge in……………….rm to begin. Make no mistake,

…………your precio…………………. will be tortured

unto death.

Constance straightened. Etienne was still leaning on the table, both palms planted on the splintered wood. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out to him, to put her hand on his arm, to offer comfort. Instead she murmured, “You were right. They’re after Julien.”

“Yes, but I was wrong about Luther and Trent,” he said. “Luther wasn’t just a pawn, and they’re after Trent, too.”

As if to solidify his statement, a flash of lightning lit up the barn. It was followed by a clap of thunder so loud Constance shrieked.

“The horses!” Etienne exclaimed. He bolted for the door and Constance rushed after him.

Over the sporadic bursts and rumbles, the drumming downpour and the lambasting gusts, the horses’ panicked whinnies could be heard. That strike and its subsequent boom had spooked them as badly as it had her.

Etienne flung the door wide and a gust of wind burst through. Over the racket, he bellowed, “I’ll get them and bring them inside!”

Without hesitation he streaked out into the deluge. As much as she loved Izzy, it took Constance a moment to follow. Unhitching the reins from the post only took a second, yet by the time the horses were safely in the barn, she was sopping, and Etienne hadn’t fared any better. His buckskins were so wet it looked like he’d been immersed in a pool.

He ran a hand down his face, then shook his head, sending droplets spraying every which way. With the exception of a few tendrils that had loosened from her braid and were now plastered to her face, Constance’s hair was still contained. For that, she was grateful. And she was grateful the horses were okay.

Another flash and blasting crack made her jump. Seemingly unaffected by his soaked condition or the chill that came with it, Etienne started unsaddling Igore, so Constance did the same with Izzy. He also didn’t seem affected by the rain trickling down upon them from holes in the roof. Leaks were coming in everywhere. Worried about the papers they’d so painstakingly put together, Constance looked over only to discover that, with the exception of the lantern, the table was bare.

The lantern light—along with sporadic flares of lightning—revealed the particles once again strewn across the hay-speckled floor. They must have been swept off by the wind when the door had been open.

Ignoring the shivers coursing through her, Constance went to collect the pieces. This time, however, the scatter was farther reaching, and from the leaks, the ground was wet. It took some crawling, and visibility was difficult, but she carefully gathered as much of the precious evidence as she could find. When she stood up, Etienne was there, except this time he hadn’t been watching her. He was staring off at nothing, and scowling.

“I think I got most of them,” she said, holding up her cupped hands. “Do you want me to put them together again?”

“What!” he barked, flinching as he spun around. But then, sounding contrite, he murmured, “Sorry. The thunder… it… it gets to me. What did you say?”

“Should I put these together again?”

“No, there’s no point. We know what it says, and there’s not enough light now.”

“What will you do with it?” she asked.

He shrugged wearily. “Show Julien. Use it to convince him to leave this godforsaken place.”

Constance nodded and shivered again.

Etienne said, “Do you know you’re muddy and hay is stuck to you?” He reached out and plucked a piece from her hair. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon, so it might be a good idea to get out of that wet dress. You’ll be warmer.”

Constance had no intention whatsoever of getting out of her sopping clothes. But she didn’t say so. She turned away and murmured, “I’ll put these pieces away so we can take them home and put them together again.”

She got busy doing just that, or trying to. The problem was that there was no place dry to store the paper. Because her back was to Etienne and the noise of the rain and thunder was loud, she couldn’t tell what he was doing. Eventually she opted for setting the delicate pile on the table and sheltering it with sprigs of hay, until hopefully, her saddlebag dried out. When she turned, the sight that greeted her was enough to make her head spin.

Etienne had taken the buckskins off, not just the top, but the bottoms, too. Clad in only his underwear—thin white britches that went from hip to knee—he was practically…
naked!
He was in the process of laying the buckskins out over a bale of hay. That done, he turned toward her.

Flash by flash, his powerfully built body was revealed. With arms bulging of muscle and vein, it was no wonder he could make her float. But this wasn’t what gripped her. It was the sinewy chest with its smattering of black hair, the stomach flat and sculpted, and that… that scar. The nasty thing bisected him diagonally from breast to belly button. It looked like he’d been clawed by a wild animal.

Perhaps this thought was what caused her to imagine him as a dangerous panther. He drew closer, padding silently, like a predator stealthily stalking. She, the prey, was too frozen in fear—or awe—to run.

Giant paws landed on her shoulders and moved her—
er
… floated her—a foot to the left.

“Didn’t you feel that? You were being dripped on. Right on top of your head.” He grinned and plucked the lantern off the table. “No sense being idle. I’m going to explore the loft. Do you want to come? It might be a good idea since this is our only lamp. It will be dark down here without it.”

Constance had to swallow before she could speak. “I…I’ll stay.”

“Suit yourself.”

The ladder creaked as he made his way up holding the lantern in one hand, and again Constance couldn’t look away. Not from the breadth of shoulders or the way they tapered to a trim waist. Not from the black hair that dusted the bottom half of his legs, but didn’t hide the cut of muscle on his calves. Not from those brief britches conforming to thick thighs or the curve of a shapely backside. To avoid looking at
that
part of him, she focused on his large, but slender feet and the long toes curling over each rung.

He was right about the light, however. As soon as he disappeared into the loft, it got so dark—except when lightning flared—she could barely make out the table and her bird nest full of paper pieces. To keep occupied while he delved around up there, she decided to appease the horses, but both seemed content scarfing down hay from nearby bales, and neither appeared troubled by the endless flickers and booms, or by the steady streams coming down upon them from the roof.

Just as her teeth began to chatter, Etienne called out, “Constance! We’re in luck!” A second later, lantern light flowed out from over the loft and his face appeared. “Blankets. They’re a little musty, but they’ll keep us warm. I’ll throw a couple down to you.”

Constance caught them, one after the other, and indeed they didn’t smell great, but musty wasn’t nearly as bad as the odor that hovered around Etienne. With him wet, the stench was even stronger. Up in the loft he wasn’t anywhere near her and she could still smell him. But now wasn’t the time to think about how much he stank. Now, she needed to get warm.

With both blankets around her shoulders, she settled on the only remaining dry bale of hay, but after a few minutes, she was still shivering. Though she was loath to rid herself of the dress, if she ever wanted to be warm again, she didn’t have much choice. It took another long moment of staring up at the loft to make sure Etienne wasn’t sneaking peeks, before she got to stripping. He’d been rummaging up there, but she must have been too miserable to notice when he stopped. Oddly, no sounds were coming from above and the faint glow from the lantern hadn’t moved for some time.