The Fragrance of Her Name (35 page)

Lauryn thought she was prepared for the sight of Brant’s wound. But, stitched shut, caked with drying blood, and the bruising of his body…it looked much worse than it had fresh.

“
Oh, Brant,” Nana sighed, her eyes filling with tears.

“
You’re a hero, Brant,” Patrick whispered, awed by the sight of the massive wound. “A hero, like you read about in books and such. I ain’t never seen the like of that.”

“
Mr. Jackson’s a hero, Patrick,” Brant told the boy. “That man has more wounds, experience and knowledge than you and I will ever have put together.”

For a moment, Lauryn again remembered Mr. Jackson’s words.
‘All famblies got their secrets…but nothin’ could ever make your fambly bad in my eyes, Miss Lauryn.’
Shaking her head she returned her attention to her little brother, so mesmerized by the hero before him. So many years of mystery had caused her to be far too paranoid. She looked from Brant’s wound to his face, the face that dominated her dreams, the smile that turned into kisses at times that would now govern her memory. A delightful tremor ran through her as he flirtatiously winked at her.



After such a day, a day of passion, excitement, danger, emotion…Lauryn certainly could not find sleep that night. She wondered if she would ever be able to obtain a good night’s sleep again! It seemed so long since she’d slept peacefully.

She listened to the clock striking midnight. It had been more than three hours since she’d carefully folded the dress she’d worn that day and put it away in the small chest in which she kept her treasures. She’d never wear it again. It was too valuable a keepsake, something to always remind her that their moments of dreamy passion had really happened.

It had been two hours since she had relayed the incident with Mr. Jackson at the millpond to the Captain. Two hours since he’d told her that he, indeed, remembered Mr. Jackson. Two hours since he’d assured her that it was well and good for her to have abandoned Connemara for an entire day of freedom. But still, her mind was alive, though her body was tired. Something was….she couldn’t put her finger on it. But something had changed. Not between her and Brant, though of course that was true. But something else. What was it?

The soft knock on the door startled her. “Who is it?” she whispered.

“
Who else is up at this hour?” came Brant’s curt reply.

Without a thought to her attire, or lack there of, Lauryn whispered, “Come in.”

Brant entered the room shutting the door behind him. He looked tired and a frown puckered his brow. His hand rested at his stomach in the vicinity of his wound, and Lauryn realized he must be uncomfortable.

“
Are you all right?” she inquired.

“
I’m fine.” He wasn’t, it was obvious by his terse answer. But Lauryn didn’t press him. “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get a decent night’s rest again,” he mumbled. Lauryn smiled, completely sympathetic to his plight. Slightly irritated he tossed a bundle of Laura’s letters onto Lauryn’s bed. “Entertain me, wench,” he demanded, attempting to be light-hearted and humorous.

Lauryn smiled. She rather liked his teasing her in such a manner. She thought she might like to be his ‘wench.’

“
Very well,” she agreed, sitting down on her bed and loosing the ribbon from the stack of letters. “Where shall I begin?”

“
With the top one,” Brant said with a sigh. He propped himself up against her headboard, wincing from the pain of his injury as he stretched his long legs out across the bed. Again, he wore no shirt. For as shockingly impressive as the sight of him half-dressed was, Lauryn was beginning to be more comfortable seeing him that way.

“
Very well,” Lauryn agreed. His grouchy mood was somewhat understandable.

“
My darling Laura,”
it began.
“As is true of every moment that I live…I miss you! I am fine and healthy. Let me put your mind at ease in that regard first. Though your letters are slow in coming…I devour them when they do arrive. I am thirsting always to hear of your well being, to know that you are safe at Connemara. Your news of Moses Jackson was soothing to my very soul. He is a good man and deserves good things.”

Lauryn looked up to Brant, whose eyes had widened at the mention of the now familiar name.

“
Come on now,” Brant mumbled. “Surely we haven’t picked up a letter that just happens to be about….”

When he didn’t finish his sentence, Lauryn nodded her assurance. “Mr. Jackson…the very one whose life you saved just this afternoon…is named Moses. Moses Jackson.”

“
Well? Go on then,” Brant urged. He let his head fall back against the headboard and closed his eyes. He seemed beaten down, somehow overwhelmed by such a prophetic occurrence. Still he obviously knew, as did Lauryn, that the letter could not be ignored. Lauryn continued to read.

“
He has endured much, your Mr. Jackson. I guess someone as enduring and strong as he is has earned the right to be referred to as ‘Mr.’ and I am glad of it. I understand his daughter, Esther, has stayed on at Connemara. I’m sure she is a great comfort to your mother. My letter must be short today, my love. The fires are dying and I am worn to the bone. I love you, Lauralynn. Brand.”

“
Spooky,” Brant mumbled when Lauryn finished reading the letter.

“
What do you mean…exactly?” she asked, though she, too, felt a thread of odd uneasiness running through her.

“
The whole thing,” he explained as he yawned and stretched his arms for a moment. “The fact that we had such an experience with your Mr. Jackson today…then come home and end up finding him in Laura’s letters.”

“
What do you think he meant today when he mentioned family secrets?” Lauryn asked. Mr. Jackson’s remark had eaten at her all evening. She wondered if Brant felt the same way.

But he shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably nothing specific.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I have an aunt that threw herself into a mad love affair and ended up going crazy and being locked away in an institution.” Lauryn’s eyes widened and Brant smiled at her interest. “So, you see…everyone has something…the proverbial ‘skeleton in the closet.’ I’m sure your family does, too. For that matter…there’s a
real
skeleton somewhere…but not in the closet, or the basement, or the cellar...” Lauryn shook her head, smiling at his teasing. He chuckled a moment before continuing, “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other skeletons around here…” Brant stopped mid-sentence—shaking his head, he continued, “No, no, no. Your family secret is this whole mess with Laura and the Captain and the fact that a select two of their ancestry still see them.” He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned again. “I’m too tired to think just now. Just keep reading to me.”

“
But if you’re too tired…” Lauryn began.

“
It will help me to get sleepy,” he explained. “And maybe we’ll discover something in the process, as well.”

Lauryn continued, reading letter after letter until her eyes stung with dry fatigue. Letter after letter about battles and people and the Captain’s frustrations and losses. As she read, she began to feel selfish, selfish for all the years she’d spent complaining to the Captain about her petty little problems. What he’d endured, was still enduring, was far and away more horrid than anything she had ever experienced. It was humbling to read his letters.

Finally, after near an hour, Lauryn was too tired to read any longer. Refolding the last letter in the pile, she glanced over to see Brant slept soundly, propped awkwardly against her headboard. She smiled, glad he had found a bit of respite. Still, she hated to wake him once he’d finally fallen asleep. But what else was there to do! He certainly couldn’t stay the night in her room. Could he?

She studied him for a long time. Studied the peaceful look on his face, the calluses on his hands, the way his chest would rise and fall with each breath.

She could imagine Laura, lying next to the Captain in their bed before he’d left for battle, studying her gallant husband in the same manner. Only Laura had been free to hold the Captain, smooth the frown from his brow, kiss him as often and whenever she wanted to. She wondered if her ancestress would ever again be able to hold her husband, feel safe in his arms.

“
Brant?” Lauryn whispered. “You must get to bed. It’s so late.” But he didn’t stir. Not a breath. “Brant?” she tried again. She stood and walked to the head of her bed, leaning over him and softly calling his name. “Brant?” Her bed, unlike the one in the guest room that Brant occupied, was big enough for both of them, and her fatigue and need to be close to him tempted her. But propriety was not to be sacrifice, she reminded herself. She thought, for a moment, of their time on the millpond island and the way Brant had teased her about needing to make an honest woman of her if they stayed any longer. For a brief instant, some impish impulse in her mind told her,
Lay down next to him. If someone found you, he’d be forced to marry you for proprieties sake.
But Lauryn didn’t want Brant to feel obligated, forced toward her for any reason. So, she tried again.

“
Brant?” she whispered.

“
Brant darling,” he mumbled without opening his eyes. “Call me, ‘Brant darling’ and I’ll move out of your way.”

Lauryn smiled. His teasing manner had become one of her very favorite characteristics.

“
Brant darlin’,” she whispered. “It’s time you went to bed.”

Again, without opening his eyes, Brant smiled and chuckled softly. Then he did open his eyes, though only narrowly, and looked at her, smiling. He was very tired, Lauryn could see the deep fatigue about him.

“
Now, kiss me goodnight, and I’ll go,” he said. She smiled, shyly, hesitant. “Come on. For old times sake,” he urged.

“
Old times?” Lauryn giggled. “What do you mean, ‘old times’?”

“
Come on now, sugar. Do you want to go to bed, or not? I’m not moving until you kiss me good night.”

Lauryn bit her lip and mustered all her courage. Bending forward, she placed a sweet kiss on his lips. Instantly, his arms banded around her like a steel vice as he pulled her down on the bed next to him.

“
No matter what else happens, Lauryn,” he whispered, as he brushed the nutmeg locks of hair from her face, “Whether we succeed in our search or not…no matter what…we had our day. Right?”

Lauryn could only nod. On the verge of tears, for his inference that their day of passion and peace had been an isolated moment in time never to happen again, she tried valiantly to hide her heartbreak from him.

Taking her mouth brutally, as if he had a thirst that could not be quenched, he let his hands caress the soft flesh of her arms, and neck, shoulders and hands. He buried his face in her hair for a moment, kissing her throat, pulling her body against his one last time before he rather violently raised himself from her bed and stormed from the room, leaving Lauryn breathless and longing for the warmth of his arms around her.

Once in the privacy of his own room, Brant tore his trousers from his body and threw himself into bed. He knew his sleep would be restless now. He should never have gone to her room. Still, he reminded himself, there was that letter about Moses Jackson and it intrigued him. But at what price? She’d been so vulnerable and willing to be in his arms. And in her nightgown with her hair down, for pity’s sake!

No more kissing that little vixen, he told himself. It was dangerous. No more private moments like the one they’d just shared. He was weak when it came to Lauryn Kensington. Weaker than he’d ever been in any situation in his life! She was dangerous to his self-control. He needed to solve the miserable mystery surrounding them. Needed to be free from Laura, the Captain and Connemara. Free to own that little pixie in the room next door.

“
Yep,” he said out loud to himself. “Keep your head on straight.” And with that, he would spend the next hour reminding himself of the danger he was in. A long hour before he would finally find sleep again.

Chapter
Fourteen

Brant’s Uncle Johnny wasn’t himself the next morning. Lauryn noticed at once. He was quiet and somewhat withdrawn, lacking his usual life’s luster. Perhaps Patrick was simply wearing him out, Lauryn wondered. Brant noticed the change as well, but when he asked his Aunt Felicity about it, she assured him his Uncle was simply tired.

It still worried Lauryn as she prepared for Penny’s party that afternoon. She felt nervous, worried that something would happen and Brant would have to leave her. Then she scolded herself for being so selfish and caring more for her own feelings than for the well being of Uncle Johnny.

It was a beautiful night for a party. As the Kensington family and their guests drove to the McGovern home, Lauryn inhaled deeply of the warm evening air. She sat next to Brant in the auto. His arm rested on the seat behind her shoulders.

Brant had been as attentive as ever that day. It was obvious he was in pain from his injury, but he refused to acknowledge it in any way. He was as helpful, friendly and teasing as usual, but Lauryn had known from the moment she’d seen him that morning that he’d put the day before out of his mind. He acted, in fact, as if it had never happened. And though it hurt her deeply, she’d known it would be that way. He’d implied it to her the day before, the night before. She had expected it, though she’d hoped for the opposite…she had expected it and was as emotionally prepared as was possible.