Sweet Release (7 page)

Either the harvest would be plentiful, or it would not. She’d done everything she could think of to make Blakewell’s Neck less dependent on tobacco, planting wheat, barley, even hemp. It made no sense to fret over something she could not control. And as for the rest? She could only do her best, and God willing… Below in the courtyard, chickens pecked at the cobblestones. Rebecca sat on the cookhouse steps squeezing the whey from newly formed curds. A gaggle of children sat on the porch steps enthralled by another of old Charlie’s tales, this one about Pocahontas and Capt. John Smith. Odd that Jamie was not among them. No doubt he was in the cookhouse pestering Nan for treats.

“Are the Indians going to chop off Cap’n Smith’s head, Charlie?” asked wide-eyed Daniel, Nettie’s son and Jamie’s closest playmate. The two had been born but days apart and had been inseparable since they’d learned to walk. Nettie had never told anyone who Daniel’s father was, refusing to speak of him even to Cassie. But the boy’s light skin and the light brown of his soft curls were evidence his father was a white man.

“Maybe,” the old man answered, drawing out the suspense.

“Nan, silly. They’re gonna eat ‘im,” replied ten-year-old Peter.

“Or bum ‘im,” added Beth, already at age five as incorrigible as any lad.

“They have to bum ‘im first to eat ‘im. Right, Charlie?” Heads turned expectantly to old Charlie, who whittled in silence. Cassie stifled a giggle. He would not finish the story until the children were still once more. So it had been when she was a child. Her eyes were drawn away from the children toward the sound of masculine laughter. Her breath caught in her throat. The convict, on his way to the well with Zach and Luke, had shed his shirt and was clad only in sweat and breeches. After a week of working in the hot sun, the gentlemanly white of his skin had begun to darken to bronze, and the red scars on his chest and back were fast fading. As she watched him stride with cougar-like grace across the courtyard, she realized she’d never seen a more beautiful man.

It was a disturbing revelation. She had, after all, met many handsome men. Men from honorable families. Decent men with the manners, pale skin, and soft hands of gentlemen. Yet she’d felt nothing remotely akin to this primitive leaping of the heart that seemed to afflict her every time she set eyes on Cole. The first time she had seen him clothed and on his feet, his face newly shaven, she’d found it difficult to breathe. The heavy growth of beard had concealed a shockingly handsome face with full lips, high cheekbones, and a firm chin. She flushed with renewed embarrassment as she remembered the humiliation she’d suffered that afternoon. How was she to have known he was talking about her horse? Then a thought struck her. Perhaps she was not really attracted to him at all. Maybe she was simply afraid of him. The man was in all likelihood a convicted felon whose crimes would have brought him a brutal death at the gallows had he not been transported. Any young woman in her right mind would fear such a man. Even Sheriff Hollingsworth, who’d said in his reply that he would come to question the convict as soon as he was able, had warned her to be ever vigilant. Aye, that must be it. She was afraid of him.

But try as she might to fool herself, Cassie knew the truth. What she felt was nothing less than attraction. She watched as Cole drew a bucket of cool water from the well, the muscles in his arms and chest shifting with each pull of the rope. Water spilled from the tin cup as he drank, trickling down his neck and over his chest. He handed the cup to Zach and wiped the water from his lips with the back of his hand.

Cassie shivered.

More than once she’d allowed herself to daydream about those lips. She’d imagined that Cole was telling the truth, that he really was a wealthy shipbuilder, a gentleman who’d been beaten and sent abroad against his will. In her daydreams she’d helped him regain his name, and he’d kissed her and…Overcome with love, he’d renounced his life in England and stayed to court her with flowers, sweet words, and picnics in the forest, where one day he’d asked for her hand. With her new husband as Jamie’s guardian, they’d been able to protect her family’s interests from the comfort of their own estate nearby.

It was a ridiculous, romantic fantasy. She ought to be ashamed for permitting herself such silly, useless thoughts, especially when they revolved around a man like Cole Braden. Were other women afflicted by such musings? She hadn’t the courage to ask. For any woman to think in such a manner about a convict was disgraceful. But in her daydreams he’d been a true gentleman, irresistible, not the half-naked, lash-scarred rake who stood looking up at her with cold blue eyes just now.

Cassie leaped back from the window so quickly she struck the back of her head against the sash. She’d been staring at him shamelessly, and he’d seen! Worse than the pain of the blow was the mocking smile that played across Cole’s arrogant features. He was laughing at her!

“Ooh!”
She paced the study furiously, rubbing the lump that had begun to form on the back of her head.
That bloody, rotten cad!
How she’d like to wipe that grin off his face!

Nettie poked her head into the room. “What is it, missy?”

“Nothing, thank you, Nettie,” she answered, trying not to take her bad temper out on Nettie.

Micah had been right, Cassie thought as she sank into her father’s favorite armchair with a frustrated moan. Cole Braden was far more trouble than he was worth. And she’d actually allowed herself to daydream about... about
that
…with him! Geoffrey had already offered to buy the man’s indenture from her. Although she had immediately dismissed the notion, knowing the harsh treatment that would await Mr. Braden at Geoffrey’s estate, the idea suddenly seemed to have its merits.

But no. That would never do. The Crichton’s had earned the reputation of being the crudest masters in the county. She’d seen the senior Master Crichton strike a slave child once for simply bumping into him. Regardless of what Cassie thought of him, Cole had done nothing to deserve such abuse.

Well, almost nothing.

Alec rose from the bench near the cookhouse where he’d eaten his midday meal of com bread with butter and cool apple cider. He stretched. Although his ribs still ached on occasion, his body had healed beyond his expectations. His muscles, weakened from illness and unaccustomed to physical labor, had at first protested these long days in the sun. But now he was no longer sore. In fact, he’d grown stronger. He’d been assigned to work with Zach cutting lumber, probably to keep him nearby and under guard. Angry at first to find himself relegated to such menial labor, he had been surprised at how much he enjoyed working outdoors. In some ways it was preferable to sitting behind a desk all day approving schedules, checking designs, and negotiating contracts. Although he’d tried on occasion to work with the men in the shipyards when he was younger, genteel society looked down upon physical labor, and his father had not allowed it. No son of his would work with his hands. A gentleman’s work was accomplished with his mind, not a hammer and saw.

Alec swallowed the last of his cider and made his way toward the stables, eager to get a better look at the mare he’d seen last week. Luke and Zach were still finishing their meal, and he doubted they’d notice his absence. And if they did, he really didn’t give a damn. He’d keep his word, but he’d not play the compliant prisoner.

In the courtyard, the cook was chasing a worried young hen that seemed to stay one step ahead of her, much to the amusement of the children sitting on the porch steps.

“It’s goin’ to be a pleasure puttin’ ye in me stew pot, ye silly bird!” Nan lunged with a grunt, only to have the hen spring to the left in a squawking mass of flying feathers.

The children shrieked with laughter. Alec had a feeling that the cook could have caught the chicken had she really tried, but that would have brought the performance to an abrupt end, disappointing her young audience.

After working in the sticky heat, he found the coolness of the stables a welcome relief. The pungent odors of manure, horses, and hay pricked his nostrils. This, at least, was familiar, reassuringly so. Though he was starting to feel more adjusted to his surroundings, he still felt himself a stranger in a very strange world. The flowers, the trees, the birds, even the scent of the wind were completely foreign to him. He did not belong here, but here he was. That would soon change.

When his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he was surprised to find not only Miss Blakewell’s mare, but several other sleek horses, the kind one might expect to see on a wealthy estate in England. Although they had clearly not been properly groomed or exercised for some time, he would not have hesitated to breed any of these animals with his stock at home. How someone in the remoteness of this new continent had managed to obtain such animals was beyond him. One of the horses, an enormous chestnut stallion, rolled his eyes and snorted a warning.

“I’d give a chest of sterling to see your dam, old boy.” He patted the velvet of the restless animal’s nose. “Easy now.”

The horse stomped nervously in its stall, tossing its head and nickering. Miss Blakewell’s mare returned the nicker from several stalls down.

“So that’s the trouble.” He patted the stallion’s neck and scratched its withers sympathetically.

The animal quieted under his touch.

“You’re close enough to smell her, but too far away to do anything about it.”

He understood the stallion’s plight far better than he cared to admit. For all that he disliked her, Alec found himself unable to ignore Miss Blakewell. His body had nearly healed, and its response to her presence was becoming more and more pronounced. Even hard physical labor was not enough to make sleep come quickly at night. What he needed, he decided, was a woman. After all, nearly three months had passed since that last night with Isabelle. His body understandably yearned for sexual release. But while the other bondsmen on the estate sought their pleasure with servant women, he would not even consider it. He found none of them, not even Elly, the little minx who so captivated Zach, alluring, and he’d not risk getting a woman with child when he had no intention of remaining in the colony.

More than once he’d tried to conjure up an image of Isabelle’s face, only to be thwarted by a vision of red-gold hair, green eyes, and full, rosy lips. Still, he’d sooner become a monk than bed Miss Blakewell. Not only did he find her far too outspoken and proud for a woman, but right now her father
owned
him. How could a man suffer that and remain a man? Besides, a liaison with her would probably lead him straight to the whipping post, if not the gallows, and he was in enough trouble as things were.

“Women,” he muttered to the stallion, who whinnied and nodded his head in agreement.

He was walking toward the mare’s stall to get a closer look when he noticed a pair of eyes spying on him from between the wooden slats of an empty stall at the end of the walkway. “Good day,” he called to the child.

A small flaxen-haired boy barely old enough to wear breeches climbed slowly up the planks of the stall door.

“What’s your name, lad?”

The child eyed him suspiciously.

“Jamie.”

The boy’s hair and clothes were covered with straw and more than a little din. Cake crumbs clung to his lips.

“Good day, Jamie.” He stroked the mare’s silky neck. “And what’s your name?” he asked the mare. Aye, she was a beauty, though not half so lovely as her owner.

“Andwomeda,” the boy answered on the mare’s behalf.

“Andromeda?”

The lad nodded.

“And the big stallion?”

“Debawon.”

Alec pondered the name for a moment before he realized the child was trying to say “Aldebaran.”

“He’s dangerous.” The boy eyed the stallion fiercely.

“Who told you that?”

The boy shrugged. “Everybody.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Are you a pirate?”

Alec chuckled. Barefoot and shirtless in loose cotton breeches, with his hair tied back in a simple leather thong, he must surely look like one. “No, but I build ships. Big ones.”

The boy’s face lit up. He jumped down from the gate and ran toward Alec. “Old Chowlie whittled me this one. It’s a warship.” Jamie held up a small wooden ship for his inspection. Although tiny, it was expertly crafted, with hemp rigging and sails.

Alec crouched down in front of the boy. The child’s eyes were a dazzling green. “Charlie carved this?” Alec had no idea who Charlie was, but he didn’t say so. “He did a fine job.”

The boy’s face lit up.

“I bet you use it to chase down pirates.”

Jamie nodded.

Such green eyes. They haunted Alec’s dreams. The boy must be hers. His curls were light blond, hers reddish gold, but the resemblance was uncanny. No wonder she was still unmarried. Bastardy had ruined many a maid’s chance of a good match.

“If you want, mister, Chowlie can whittle one for you.”

“I’d like that.” Alec suddenly missed his nieces and nephew with a fierceness that nearly took his breath away. They would have grown so much by the time he was finally home again, he could only hope they wouldn’t have forgotten him.

“What’s your name, mister?”

Alec hesitated, fighting back the wave of homesickness. “People call me Cole.” There was no need to confuse the child with the truth.