Sweet Release (23 page)

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

“You may have saved their lives.”

He found the praise both pleasing and disturbing. “You’d have been fine without me.” He continued on his way.

She fell in beside him. “Have you ever seen a babe born before?”

“Nay, though I was home when my sister gave birth to her five children, and held them soon after.”

“You’re an uncle?”

“That I am. Four nieces and a nephew.”

“Their names?” she asked, smiling playfully.

She was teasing him, he realized—flirting. A small voice in his head told him to end this conversation. A rude retort would surely do it. But he batted the voice away as one might an annoying insect. “Are you testing me again, Miss Blakewell?” he asked. “Let’s see,” he said, stopping to lean against a rain barrel that sat beside his cabin and counting on his fingers. “Emily is thirteen and wants very much to be a lady. Victoria is ten and cares only for horses. Little Matthew is seven and detests being called ‘little Matthew.’”

Cassie laughed, and Alec couldn’t help laughing with her.

“Charlotte is five and adores me.”

“So you’ve charmed her, too?”

“Aye, I have that effect on women.”

The both laughed at his jest, Cassie tilting her head shyly away from him.

“The baby, Anne, is now seventeen months old.”

“You must miss them very much.” Her eyes had softened; her words were almost a whisper.

He nodded, afraid to speak lest his voice fail him. The truth was, he missed them horribly.

Crickets chirped in the background, filling the silence. “You’ll be home with them by Christmas.” She laid her hand gently on his arm.

He couldn’t tell if she was sincere or not. She spoke as if she now believed him. And yet. ..

Did she know how beautiful she was? Even here in the light of a quarter moon, her hair mussed, dark circles under her eyes, she affected him. “You smell like lemon.”

“It’s the balm Takotah makes to keep the mosquitoes at bay,” she said shifting under his gaze. “I’ve tried to get everyone to use it, but most are afraid of anything she makes. The scent is quite strong, I’m afraid.” She laughed nervously. “I’d be happy to give you some.”

“No, thank you. Mosquitoes rarely bother me.”

“You may find that colonial mosquitoes are not as polite or discriminating as their English cousins.”

She stood there for a moment, lips slightly parted, as if she were waiting for him to kiss her. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, fighting the urge to do more.

“Good night, Miss Blakewell.” He turned and entered his cabin and closed the door behind him.

***

“Ouch!” Cassie grabbed the silver-handled hairbrush from Elly and massaged her stinging scalp. This experiment was turning into a disaster. “I can manage from here, Elly.”

“But, Miss Cass—”

“You’ve done quite enough for now, thank you. You may go.”

Elly gave her one last beseeching look, then left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Cassie gazed into her mirror and began to comb her hair, or what was left of it. Elly hadn’t given her a moment’s peace in a week, alternately fawning over her and sulking, clearly desperate to accompany her to Crichton Hall. At first Cassie had refused to consider it, sure that Elly would make a ninny of herself over Geoffrey and embarrass them all.

But Cassie could remember the first time her mother had let her stay awake late enough to watch the ladies dress. She’d been dazzled by the bright colors of their silken gowns, the sparkle of their jewels, the heady scents of their perfumes. It had seemed a fairy tale, and she’d gone to bed with a head full of romantic dreams.

Perhaps she was being too hard on the girl. She could understand Elly’s eagerness. Virginia’s finest attended this event. It was the first large social gathering of the summer, the last before the wealthy planters would leave their estates for the opening of the House of Burgesses in Williamsburg. The only place one could see more colonial pageantry was at one of King Carter’s affairs or the annual Governor’s Ball.

Still, what function scatterbrained Elly could serve at Crichton Hall eluded Cassie. She couldn’t help in the kitchen—not without starting a rebellion among the cooks—and Cassie didn’t trust her to look after Jamie. The only other possibility was for Elly to serve as her dressing maid, a task Nettie usually performed. Cassie had been willing to let Elly try, but the experiment had thus far proved to be more painful than she’d imagined.

She brushed the few remaining tangles from her hair and began to twist it into a simple chignon. It was not the style, but she was only going riding. And her hair, curly as it was, did not readily submit to being piled and pinned tightly to the top of her head. It always seemed to escape. She pinned the thick coil of hair into place, pulled free a small lock over each temple, and let the curb fall. She might not be blessed with obedient tresses, but at least she didn’t have to spend hours burning her hair with a hot iron to create curls.

The dark circles had begun to fade from under her eyes, she noticed, examining her reflection. There’d been a lull in the fever outbreak at Blakewell’s Neck, and she’d finally gotten a few nights’ sleep. They’d been lucky so far. In all, seventeen had been stricken with the ague, and all had pulled through, thanks to Takotah and the quinquina powder. Daniel was himself again, and Rebecca, though weak, was now able to nurse her tiny daughter herself. Nate was boasting of the baby—they’d named her Catherine after Cassie—to anyone who would listen, portraying Takotah as a miracle worker.

Cole’s part in the birth had not gone unnoticed either. Cassie could mark a change, especially in the women, who no longer, seemed to fear him but smiled and called to him as he passed.

Some of the young, unmarried bondswomen had even begun to; flirt with him, their witless giggling grating on Cassie’s nerves. Not: that she was jealous. Far from it. She was grateful for the polite distance that had sprung up between her and Cole since little Catherine’s birth.

She had been touched that night, more than she cared to admit.

Cole’s gentleness and his willingness to help had surprised her. The way he’d held Rebecca’s hands and whispered encouragement in her ear had made Cassie wonder what it would be like to be his wife, to bear his children. Would he hold her hand? Would he fret for her safety? Would he gaze with awe on their newborn children as he had little Catherine? The thought had left her with a longing she dared not name.

As to Cole’s true identity, she was more convinced than ever that he was telling the truth, however implausible his story. Or perhaps the gaol fever had destroyed his mind, and he truly believed he was someone else. Regardless of his true name, she was now certain Cole Braden was not the kind of man who could deliberately hurt a woman. Seduce, aye. She herself was all but proof of that. But ravish and harm? Nay. No man could feign the kind of compassion he’d shown for Rebecca.

There’d been a change in him after that. Now his eyes held neither hunger nor hostility when he looked at her. Those emotions had been replaced by a distant sort of courtesy. Cassie had no idea what might have caused the change or what it might mean. The question of her father’s whereabouts still hung between them, and Cole had hinted more than once that he intended to uncover the truth. Whatever the cause, he seemed no longer to desire her. For that she was honestly grateful. That was as it should be. These tears? Where did they come from? Perhaps she was just weary of illness and heat, she decided, refusing to consider any other possibility.

Cassie stood and smoothed her riding skirts, forcing her thoughts elsewhere. There were only two short days before she would leave for Crichton Hall, and much remained to be done.

She could not afford to waste time thinking about a man who neither wanted her nor had a place in her life.

Alec watched from beneath a stand of pines as Cassie rode past in the distance. He’d watched her ride in this direction every morning for most of a month now and was determined to discover her secret today. This had nothing to do with jealousy, he told himself for the third time. It mattered not one whit if she were being courted by a would-be lover. What mattered was restoring his name, and there were simply too many unanswered questions at Blakewell’s Neck. Following her, as distasteful as it was, might provide some answers.

She rode with the confidence and skill of a man, he realized, feeling some odd sort of pride in her abilities. Of course, her habit of sitting astride would have been ill-tolerated in England. Urging Aldebaran forward, he stayed close enough to be certain of her direction but not so close that her mare could sense the stallion’s presence and give him away. Her tracks were easy to spy in the soft, damp earth of the forest floor. Even had he not been able to see them, he’d followed her this far before and had a general sense of where she was heading.

Alec relaxed in the saddle. It had rained again last night, leaving the air as fresh as when the world was new. Frogs sang cheerily from their hidden puddles in the forest bog, while birds called to one another from their perches among the trees. Their songs still sounded exotic to him as they echoed through this inconceivable expanse of wilderness. There was a vastness to this land that threatened to swallow a man, quite literally. Every Englishman knew the story of Roanoke. Fifteen hale men had vanished from Roanoke Island, leaving nothing behind, not even skeletons, to tell of their fate. Some believed they’d gone to live with the Indians or had become some tribe’s dinner. Others thought they’d tried to sail for home and had been lost at sea. Alec was sure that, should the colonists ever cease to beat back the forest with ax and flame, it would engulf them, quickly reclaiming its own and wiping away any trace that Englishmen had once lived here.

That this new continent held unseen dangers was beyond dispute. Yet, despite the subservient nature of Alec’s position at Blakewell’s Neck, there was a freedom here he’d not experienced before.

There were no appointments to keep, no wigs or stifling apparel to wear, no dull dinners to sit through while pretending to be entertained. There were no conniving would-be mothers-in-law to guard against; no slithering MP’s trying to sniff out his politics, no obsequious clerks trying to fawn their way into his good graces. Ironic as it might be, he was a freer man as Nicholas Braden than he’d been as Alec Kenleigh. But such responsibilities were the burden of a gentleman, and the sooner Alec returned to tend to his obligations the better.

A small brown rabbit darted out from cover just ahead of Aldebaran’s hooves and fled deeper into the forest, its white tail disappearing in a bush. For a moment Alec feared the horse would whinny in alarm, alerting Cassie to his presence, but Aldebaran responded instantly to Alec’s firm hand and kept his head. The stallion was in top form, and Alec was certain it could easily best any animal in the colony.

“Aldebaran—the follower,” he whispered, reflecting on the irony of the racehorse’s Arabic name. He doubted Master Blakewell knew what the word meant. “Don’t worry, old boy. The other horses shall follow you.”

He was looking forward to the race at Crichton Hall. He’d heard of the long-standing rivalry between the Crichtons and the Blakewells when it came to horse racing, and he was looking forward to the choked look on Crichton’s face when his mount ate Aldebaran’s dust. Of course, Cassie had not yet asked him to accompany her or to race Aldebaran. But then, he didn’t plan on waiting for her invitation or her permission.

The ground began to slope downhill, and he slowed his mount, his gaze fixed on Cassie’s form in the distance. This was where he’d lost her before. At the bottom of the hill, he knew, there was a heavily wooded marsh. Though he’d been able to follow her into it, he hadn’t been able to track her once she’d gotten inside. Water and muck had swallowed all tracks, and the dim light made it virtually impossible to keep her in his sights. He had been forced to turn back before he lost his sense of direction and found himself spending the night in a swamp. This time he’d be more careful.

Cassie reined Andromeda to a stop and listened, tingles racing down her spine. Ever since she’d entered the marsh, she’d had an odd feeling someone was watching her. She bent over her mare and pretended to examine its leg for injury, using her position to look covertly behind her. She saw no one. It was the third time in i fortnight she’d felt eyes upon her in this marsh. She waited a moment longer, listening. Mosquitoes buzzed around her, and a raven called overhead, its throaty squawk echoing through the trees. Andromeda nickered softly, as if to question the delay. The mare knew the way to her father’s cabin and was eager for the treat >f apples she would receive there.

Cassie urged the horse forward again, chiding herself for letting her imagination get the best of her. She was no fan of these dark marshlands, to be sure. With their snakes, insects, and spiders, the marshes seemed unfit for human being or horse. Worst of all was the air. Thick, humid and smelling of rotting vegetation, the marsh air was known to carry the illnesses that made life in this colony so difficult. Her father had built the family’s home far above the marshes, ensuring that the bad air would dissipate before reaching the estate’s inhabitants. Even so, summer had always been a time of sickness. She considered it nothing short of a miracle that her father, who now lived in the middle of this, had been spared. The air didn’t seem to bother him. He’d gotten the fever only once or twice in his lifetime. Even the voracious mosquitoes seemed to leave him alone. Cassie thanked Takotah’s lemon balm for that. In the distance she saw the sandy rise that marked her destination.