Sweet Release (12 page)

The whiskey made the night air seem even warmer. Alec accepted another swig, then sat back and watched the dancing. The young woman he recognized as Nettie seemed to have her eye on Luke. She was tall for a woman, with long, coffee-brown limbs, a slender waist, and pert breasts that swayed provocatively beneath her dress, which she had lifted to give her feet more freedom. Her hair was wrapped in a flowered scarf. Whenever she faced in their direction, she looked directly at Luke with large brown eyes that glittered with excitement. Her invitation was unmistakable. Luke, however, seemed not to notice.

“She seems to favor you,” Alec pointed out.

Luke frowned. “She’s young. She don’t know what she’s doin’.” The humor that had danced in his eyes only moments before had vanished.

“She seems to know perfectly well what she’s doing.”

For a moment Luke said nothing. “I had me a wife,” he began, his voice so low that if Alec had not been sitting immediately next to him, he might not have heard. “We had us a child, a girl. But the master, he died. His son, the new master, had himself a rotten heart. He wanted my wife. He took her.”

Luke reached for the whiskey and drank deeply.

“I came back from the fields to find her cryin’, her face bruised,” he continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “I ran to the house and demanded to see the dog, but he kept himself hid. I warned him, tellin’ him I’d kill him if he touched her again.

“That night I broke the blade off a bucksaw, made her a knife. The next mornin’ the master had the overseer flog me for threatenin’ him. I didn’t care, as long as he stayed away.”

Alec’s gaze dropped to the lash scars peeking out from under Luke’s shirt.

“But he came again, and she cut him. Gave him an ugly scar ‘cross his face. He broke her neck.”

“I’m sorry.” Alec struggled to comprehend what he’d just heard.

Then the horrifying question arose. “Where is your daughter?”

“He done sold her. Then he sold me.”

“And you have no idea where she is?”

The slave shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.” He turned to look at Alec directly. “Now you see why they hate us,” he said, pointing to the bondsmen who huddled with their families around their cookfires near the cabins, casting disapproving glances in Alec’s direction. “Someday they’re gonna own land, and that means they’re gonna own slaves. If they’re good to us now, they can’t treat us like animals later.”

Luke stood, then walked out of the circle of firelight into the darkness of the forest.

Alec watched Nettie leave the fire and follow him. She returned moments later, disappointment on her face.

The dancing had ceased. The slaves were breaking into groups, as families and friends spoke to one another in low voices and returned to their cabins for the night.

He thanked the men who’d shared their devil’s brew with him, stood, and walked toward his cabin. In the distance he saw dim light spilling from the upstairs windows of the great house, and his mind returned to Miss Blakewell, whom he had desired so fiercely just a short time ago. Now she seemed repulsive to him. She lived if not in outright luxury then in comfort, while outside her door men and women lived in squalor as her chattel. How many men and women worked each day to support her family?

One hundred and fifty? Two hundred? The majority of them would do so until the day they died, as would their children and their grandchildren.

There was no way under heaven to justify it. No way at all.

“Ye’ve got a taste for darkies?” A grizzled old Scotsman stepped into Alec’s path. His small, piggish eyes glared at Alec with undisguised contempt, work-roughened fingers scratching at the stubble of his beard.

“Have you got something to say to me, man?”

“Ye’d be wise to stick with yer own kind. True, some of their lasses are pretty enough to make a man fair burst his codpiece—“ Alec grabbed the Scot by his collar, cutting his words short, and lifted him until only his toes touched the ground.

“Watch your mouth, old man, or I’ll knock the few teeth you still have down your miserable throat!” With that, he pitched the man into the dirt and walked off.

“Ye’d best watch yer back!” the Scot yelled.

Alec ignored him.

“Cole!”

Alec walked on.

“Blast it, Braden!”

“What do you want?” Alec spun around to find Zach following him.

Zach threw up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, a grin on his face. “I’m not fixin’ to fight.”

“That bastard’s lucky I didn’t smash his skull in.”

“This is how it is here,” Zach said. “There’s nothin’ ye can do except get yer fool head knocked off.”

“Is that a threat?” Alec took a step toward Zach, knowing full well the ham-fisted young man could easily break his neck.

“No. I’m against slavery, too. But in most places these days it’s harder bein’ a bondsman than a slave.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Alec turned and resumed walking toward his cabin.

Zach fell in beside him. “Slaves are worth a sight more than servants, considerin’ they belong to their masters forever.” Alec snorted in disgust. “I fail to see your point.” He stopped in front of his shanty.

“Bondsmen serve their masters for seven years, slaves for a lifetime. When a slave takes sick, his master pays to doctor ‘im. He feeds his slaves well and hopes they’ll breed. But a bondsman isn’t worth as much. If he takes sick, the master is just as apt to let ‘im die as nurse ‘im to health. If he can save coin by feedin’ ‘im less, even if it means starvin’ ‘im, he will. A bondsmaid found with child is likely to be flogged and forced to serve longer, even if it’s the master’s babe she’s carryin’.”

Alec shook his head in disgust.

“Like I said, Braden, we’re lucky. Miss Cassie and her father are fair to slave and servant alike. They’ve been mighty good to you. I’ve heard most convicts are kept in shackles and chained to their beds at night.”

“This is barbaric.”

“You’ll pardon me for savin’ so, but it isn’t that different from jolly old England.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I knew what I’d be facin’ when I came here, but I came anyway. I was tired of bowin’ and scrapin’ to gentlemen who weren’t worth their own weight in dung.”

Alec felt his temper begin to rise again. “Owing deference to one’s superiors can hardly be equated with slavery.”

“I say it is slavery.”

“Luke’s wife was raped and killed by his master, Zach. In England the bastard would have been hanged for it. Here no one looks twice.”

“Aye, he’d have swung—if the court convicted him. But how often are gentlemen made to account for crimes against the common folk? You claim to be a landed gent. How many women spread their legs for you because they felt they had no choice?” Alec’s fist connected squarely with Zach’s face, knocking Zach flat on his back in the dirt.

“God damn you, man, I’ve
never
used my station to force myself on
any
woman!” The pain in his knuckles was nothing compared to the rage that surged through his veins.

Then he thought of Philip and the alewife’s daughter. Rage was replaced by a vague sense of nausea.

Zach sat up with a moan, massaging his jaw. “God’s balls! Ye pack one hell of a wallop, Braden—or whatever yer name is.” He shook his head to clear it. “I’ll give ye that one, because I earned it. But don’t do that again. I don’t want to have to hurt yer pretty face.” Zach laughed heartily, his eye already beginning to swell.

Alec helped him to his feet. “That was poorly done,” he said feeling enraged with himself, with Miss Blakewell, with the whole insane situation.

“Don’t go givin’ me none of that gentleman shite. Like I said, I earned it.” Zach slapped him on the back. “What kind of concern did ye say ye owned back in England?”

“A shipbuilding firm.”

“Who do ye sell yer ships to?”

Alec did not understand the change of subject, but he was too tired to care. “Most of our contracts are with the royal navy. But we also sell ships to merchants.”

“To merchants?”

“The East India Company, traders to the Baltic and the Levant, long-distance merchants in Liverpool and—”

“Slave traders?”

Alec felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

Chapter Eight

Cassie barely heard the thunder that disturbed her dreams, snuggling deeper into the softness of her bed.

“Do I? Or do I, perhaps, not go far enough?”

Cole’s arms encircled her and pulled her against him. The smell of his skin and the feel of his hard body were intoxicating, hut not nearly as exciting as the feel of his lips as they took hers. He kissed her with a tenderness that turned her body to liquid and flooded her with desire.
“Cole!” she whispered against his throat, entwining her fingers in his thick, dark hair.

‘Don’t you think you should find out if he’s telling the truth before you fall for him, missy?” Nan asked as she washed dishes somewhere behind them.

The truth? Yes, the truth. The truth was she wanted him to keep kissing her.

His lips possessed hers as his hands worked gently to free her hair from its pins.

Rolls of thunder pierced her sleep completely.

It was raining.

Rain.

Cassie sat upright, suddenly wide awake. It was finally raining! She leaped from bed, ran to her balcony doors, and threw back the curtains. Though it was past dawn, the overcast sky gave the impression of daybreak. Quickly she donned an old chemise and an underskirt, delighted to be free for at least one day of the infernal tightness of a corset and the silliness of stockings. Why women should have to wear such uncomfortable clothing in the first place, she didn’t know. Her old yellow dress, although tight around the bosom and a bit too short, would be perfect for what lay ahead.

She had just pulled the threadbare gown over her head when a knock came at her door. It was Rebecca.

“Micah said to wake you, missy, but I see you’re already up,” she said with a curtsy.

“I’m on my way. If you could help Nan today, I’d be grateful. I’m taking Elly to the seedbeds.”

“Aye, missy.”

The two women shared a conspiratorial smile. Elly was going to hate this.

Cassie decided to forgo wearing shoes and, grabbing a frayed ribbon, followed Rebecca down the stairs, tying back her hair as she went. From the hallway she saw that Jamie’s bed was empty. He was no doubt already playing in the puddles. He’d always been an early riser, though usually he crawled into her bed and waited for her to wake up before going outdoors.

The rain was heavy and cool and brought with it a sense of giddiness even as it soaked her dress and hair and trickled down her skin, leaving goose bumps. Since she was a small child she had loved planting days. Not only was the normal routine abandoned, but propriety was tossed to the wind. Mud became the fashion. Master, servant, and slave worked together in an air of celebration—at least on Blakewell’s Neck—putting in the crop upon which all depended for survival. Although few planters these days actually worked with their servants, her father had maintained the practice even when the need no longer existed, saying it reminded him of the old days when slaves were scarce, and planter, slave, and servant slept in the same house, ate the same food at the same table. Cassie, who’d been allowed to work in the fields, intended to uphold his tradition.

She crossed the courtyard to the cookhouse.

Elly greeted her with a look of defiance. “I’m not goin’ out there.”

“Yes, you are.” Cassie realized she’d been looking forward to this moment for a very long time. To see mulish Elly Lanham covered head to toe in mud would bring her great joy. It wasn’t very Christian of her to delight in another’s misery, but she’d never claimed to be a saint.

“This isn’t proper work for a lady!”

“Here in Virginia it is.”

“But other women are staying behind!” Elly motioned toward the cabins, where women bustled about preparing the food that would be brought to the fields at midday.

“Only the older women and those with small children are spared from the fields on planting days, Elly, and they work just as hard as the rest of us.”

“Eleanor!” Nan was bent over the hearth stirring porridge. “Do as your mistress bids.”

Within five minutes Cassie had gulped down her breakfast and was on her way to supervise planting at the east seedbeds, Elly trailing unwillingly behind. Micah, with Jamie’s “help,” was already directing workers at the beds behind the drying shed. On a clear day the walk would have taken her a mere ten minutes. But in the mud, with Elly straggling behind her, it seemed to take forever. Cassie had half a mind to send the girl back to the kitchen, but to do so would give the bondsmaid the satisfaction of knowing she had driven Cassie to distraction.

She looked for Cole as she walked along but did not see him. She had not forgotten for one moment what had passed between them last night, though how it could have happened, she still did not understand. Nan was right. To think of him as she had allowed herself to think of him—to allow him to kiss her!—before she knew the truth about his identity was sheer folly. And dangerous. The man was most probably a liar—a liar and a convicted seducer of women, who was trying to wile his way into winning his freedom or at least a night in her bed. He’d admitted to the sheriff he’d bedded married women. How honest could such a man be, convict or gentleman?