Natchez Flame (43 page)

Priscilla pulled back to look at him. “Is something the matter?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a beautiful naked woman in my bed. I love her and she loves me. I’m about to make mad passionate love to her for the third time since we got here—what could possibly be the matter?”

Priscilla smiled. “You’re right. The only thing that could possibly be wrong is that you might not be up to the challenge.”

Brendan just grinned. His hard length slid inside her. “Why don’t we try it and see?”

They left the hotel two days later, returning to Evergreen just long enough to say a misty farewell to the Bannermans and their three children.

“I hope you won’t be stayin’ away too long,” Sue Alice said. “The children will miss you somethin’ awful.”

“We’re going to miss them, too,” Priscilla agreed. She had said her tearful good-byes to Matthew, Charity, and Patience a little earlier. Leaving them behind had been harder for her than she had imagined.

“At least you’ll have Rose and Jaimie for company as far as New Orleans,” Chris said.

“Walker’s a good man.” Brendan was damned glad to have him along. He couldn’t seem to shake this nagging suspicion that all their well-laid plans were about to go wrong. “But I doubt we’ll see much of each other.” He flashed a heated look at Priscilla. “I think we’ll all be spending a good deal of time in our cabins.”

Everyone laughed at that. Hugs were exchanged,
and their baggage loaded into the carriage. Jaimie and Rose would be waiting at the docks.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Priscilla said, with a last tearful glance at Sue Alice. “Write often.”

“I will, I promise.” She dabbed a handkerchief against her eyes.

“Tell your brother we’re hoping he’ll bring Silver and the children and come for a visit,” Chris said. “We’d dearly love to see them.”

“I’ll tell him.” Brendan extended a hand and Chris shook it, then he threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders in a brief masculine hug. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us, Chris.”

“My pleasure,” Chris said.

The trip to New Orleans went just as Brendan had said. They had dinner aboard ship with Jaimie and Rose, but for the most part, the couples spent their time alone. Nothing untoward happened, so Brendan’s worry began to ease.

In New Orleans, the Walkers stayed only one day, determined to catch the first steamboat to Galveston. Jaimie promised to contact Badger Wallace and Tom Camden, though both Sheriff Harley and Chris Bannerman had written to the head of the Texas Rangers with a detailed explanation of Egan’s involvement in thè smuggling on the river and Brendan’s role in putting an end to the crimes.

Brendan and Priscilla accompanied the newlyweds down to the docks.

“Jaimie says as soon as Noble gets things worked out at the Triple R we can come for a visit,” Rose said.

“We’re going to build a house right away,”
Brendan told them. “I want a place big enough for guests.” He grinned roguishly. “And of course we’ll be needing a nursery.”

Rose’s big dark eyes went wide. “You’re going to have a baby?”

Priscilla’s face flushed crimson. “Not that I know of. But we hope to in the future.”

“Just think,” Rose said, “someday I’ll be an aunt.”

“You’ve been wonderful, Rose,” Priscilla put in. “If it hadn’t been for you and Jaimie—”

“If it hadn’t been for you,” Jaimie said, “Rose and I never would have met.”

The steam whistle blew, the girls embraced, and the men shook hands. Priscilla watched with teary eyes as Jaimie and her sister walked hand in hand up the gangway.

“Come on, baby.” Brendan slid an arm around her waist. “We’d better get going.” He tipped a glance back over his shoulder, surveying the dock and the myriad people who swarmed along the quay.

The feeling was back with a vengeance. Someone was following them—Brendan was almost sure.

“How many times have you been to New Orleans?” Priscilla asked. They were standing at the window of their hotel room, an intimate little inn in the French Quarter with delicate rosewood furniture and a view of the Cabildo, the old Spanish statehouse.

“I was here for several weeks with the military in eighteen forty, a couple of times before that, and maybe a couple of times since.”

“This is my third trip here, and I’ve yet to see more
than a few city blocks. How about showing me around?”

He seemed a little bit hesitant. “I was kinda hoping you’d stay here while I ran a couple of errands.”

She laced her arms around his neck. “This is our honeymoon. You’re supposed to ply me with attention.”

Brendan arched a brow. “And I haven’t been? I believe, Mrs. Trask, you’ve received about all the attention you can handle.”

She flushed at that. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“All right. I’ll run my errands while you get dressed. When I get back we’ll see some of the city, then have lunch at Cafe St. Marie. It’s a quaint little French bistro down on Chartres Street.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

He kissed her until she clutched his shoulders, then he grinned and backed away. “Just so you won’t forget me while I’m gone.”

How could she ever forget him?
In the days since their wedding, her love for him had mushroomed tenfold. She knew it was because she finally felt able to trust him, to know without doubt he was there for her, and that she belonged to him.

“I couldn’t forget you in the next hundred years.”

Brendan’s look turned serious. “I hope not.” His lips brushed hers gently, then firmly. “Lock the door when I go out. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“Where are you going?” she started to ask, but he was out the door before she got the chance.

Still, true to his word, he wasn’t gone long.

“I had some ranch business to take care of,” he
told her on his return. “I want everything in order when we get there.”

That afternoon he took her shopping, walking at her side down the streets of the Vieux Carre, then he hired a carriage and had the driver take them along the river. Afterward they lunched at Cafe St. Marie as he promised.

“You’re going to love our place, Priscilla. It sits right down on the river. And there’s a perfect little spot up on a knoll for us to build a house.” He talked about the future, and Priscilla found herself looking forward to the challenge of forging a life from their own piece of land.

“We’ll build the place strong and solid,” he said, “with an eye to adding on as our family expands.” He smiled at her softly. “I’d like to name one of the boys after Chris, if that would be all right with you.”

Priscilla’s heart expanded. “I never dreamed I could be so happy.”

“I won’t lie to you, Silla. It isn’t going to be easy. There’ll be dangers to face, sickness, hardships … but every family faces those kinds of things. It’ll be tough going at first, but we’ll have each other. The land is rich, and with time and effort, we can build ourselves a future we’ll be proud of.”

“I’m not afraid any more. I know we can do it. As long as you’re with me, I can do anything.”

Brendan took her hand. “I love you, Sill.”

And because he did, he was worried. He hadn’t uncovered any clues as to who might be out there, but he felt certain someone was. Damn, he just knew things were going too well.

Brendan brushed sleep-tangled hair from Priscilla’s cheek, leaned over, and kissed her. She stirred on the deep feather mattress and opened her eyes.

“Go back to sleep,” he urged softly. “You didn’t get much rest last night.”

“Neither did you,” she whispered, blushing faintly, her voice still thick with sleep. “Where are you going so early?”

“I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up before we leave, and I need to go down to the dock and pick up our steamship tickets.”

They’d be leaving for Savannah first thing tomorrow morning aboard the
H. J. Lawrence.
“Why don’t I go with you?” She stretched and yawned and started to sit up, but Brendan pressed her back down.

“Why don’t you stay here and wait for me?” His hungry look warmed her, heated her blood as it always did. “I won’t be gone long. I’ll lock the door when I leave.”

It did feel good to snuggle underneath the fluffy down comforter. It was October-brisk outside, the mornings cool and clear. “I’ll wait, if you promise to hurry.”

Brendan traced a long brown finger along her shoulder, used it to ease the blanket away, then the
strap of her sheer silk nightgown, a present he had bought her in the French Quarter just yesterday. He ringed her nipple, making it grow hard and distended.

“You can count on that,” he said with a lazy grin.

Walking to the tiny fireplace against the wall, he stirred the coals to life and added another small log. The fire blazed cheerily, and Priscilla sank lower beneath the covers.

He walked to her bedside. “Pleasant dreams,” he said with a last brief kiss, and then he was gone.

As the room slowly warmed, Priscilla drifted into a pleasant state of drowsiness. This was her honeymoon, after all. She deserved to pamper herself. In minutes she slept soundly, immersed in images of her wedding, of Brendan, and the warm, loving nights they had shared.

In her dream-state she imagined the feel of his hands on her body, of him lowering the strap of her sheer silk nightgown. She could almost feel the brush of his fingers, his hand splaying over her stomach, the roughness of his thumb against her nipple.

Priscilla stirred, the dream growing stronger, the sensations becoming more real. His hand cupped her breast, lifted it, molded it, his fingers moving over her skin. The pressure became less gentle, more urgent, less a caress than a squeeze. There was a roughness in his movements that hadn’t been there before, and in her mind the dream altered.

It was no longer Brendan but Stuart who bent over her, his hands skimming her flesh. It was Stuart not Brendan who lifted her breasts and stroked her skin, Stuart’s impatient urgings that pulled the covers to
her waist, slipped the gown from her shoulders and bent to cover her nipple with his mouth.

Priscilla tried to rouse herself, wishing she could awaken from the dream that had somehow turned ugly. Her fingers slipped into his hair. She tried to tug his head away, tried to end his hurtful kneading. She began to thrash on the bed, willing herself to awaken. It’s only a dream—a nightmare—she told herself firmly. Oh, but it seemed so real!

Priscilla whimpered as Stuart’s hand gripped her chin and his mouth came down hard over hers. She tasted whiskey and tobacco, and the metallic taste of her own blood.

Priscilla’s eyes snapped open.

Her heart thundered wildly as she tried to pull away, but her hands were pinned against his chest.

Dear God, this can’t be real!

But it was.

With an effort born of terror, she wrenched away from his mouth and tried to jerk free.

For the first time, she saw him, and her eyes went wide. “Harding!” she breathed.

His mouth twisted up in what might have been a smile, but his eyes, black as midnight, looked as cold as she remembered.

“Expecting your husband, were you? Well, you can forget it. The bastard’s as dead as you both thought I was.”

“You’re lying!” She tried to break loose, but he held her wrists and squeezed until she flinched. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t give a damn what you believe, you little
whore. Nobody shoots Mace Harding and lives to tell about it.”

“Get away from me!” She tossed her head, bucked and struggled, trying to work her legs free of the confining blanket.

Harding yanked it back for her. Her nightgown rode at her hips, nearly exposing her and baring her long slender legs.

“Nice,” he said. “No wonder the boss fell so hard.”

“That just shows what a fool you are. Stuart never loved anyone but himself.” She had to stall for time, find something she could use as a weapon.

“Egan was the fool. He let himself get tangled up with you and look what it got him. Nothing but a watery grave. I intend to take my pleasure and be done with it.”

Harding’s words unnerved her. Maybe he really had shot Brendan. Why else would he so boldly come into their room?

“How did you get in here?”

His mouth curved into a vicious smile. “Desk clerks are notoriously underpaid.”

Priscilla strained against him, and he grunted at the pressure it put on his injured knee. She had shot him there. She wished she had aimed a little higher.

“You’d better behave yourself. You got a lotta paybacks comin’. You can make it hard or easy.”

“And you had better start worrying about my husband.” She willed her voice not to falter. “He’s due back any minute—he’ll kill you when he finds out what you’ve done.”

He jerked her wrists above her head and shifted her position on the bed. He pried her legs apart with
his good leg, then settled himself between them, his heavy weight pressing her down in the mattress.

“I told you, he’s dead. You just resign yourself to giving me a little
a’
what you been givin’ him, and the two of us will get along fine.”

Dear Lord, don’t let it be true!
Deep inside, something told her it wasn’t. She took heart from that, willed it to be so, and forced herself under control.