Wild Star (39 page)

She skidded to a stop at the far end of the garden. There was a man dragging a woman onto his horse. She saw the woman struggle, saw the man cuff her as he yanked her onto her stomach over the saddle in front of him.

It was Frank Paxton. She stared unblinking, not understanding, until he whipped up his horse. At the last moment, the woman managed to rear up, and she recognized Lizzie.

“Stop,” she said, running toward them. She tripped and went sprawling, breaking her fall with her hands. For a moment she lay stunned.

She forced herself up. Paxton hadn’t heard her. And now she could no longer see his horse. She hadn’t visited Paxton’s house, set by itself on a small rise near to the artisan’s compound. Would he take Lizzie there?

What to do? Where was Brent? There was no one else. Just her. Five minutes later, Byrony was running back downstairs toward the library and the gun case. She pulled a rifle from the case. There weren’t any bullets. She grabbed the rifle and slid open the casing. There were two bullets.

She ran outside toward the stables. She should stop by Drew’s apartment. She wasn’t stupid, though her rage at what Paxton had done, was doing, was formidable. She took time only to bridle her mare; then she was urging the horse to a canter toward Drew’s apartment. It was dark. She jumped off the mare’s back and ran to the door, pounding on it with all her strength. She called his name.

No answer. Nothing.

As she rode toward Paxton’s house, she wondered if the man were insane. Hadn’t Brent said anything to him? Hadn’t Brent had Lizzie move into the big house to protect her? And what was Lizzie doing down in the garden?

Frank Paxton’s house was a white man’s house. It was well maintained, its white paint fresh. It had an obvious air of prosperity. There was a light in the window.

She pulled up her mare at a short distance from the house and slid off her back. No, she realized as she rushed toward the house, Paxton wasn’t insane. He must have seen how Brent had drawn back from interfering with his power. He must not know that Brent had ordered new clothing for the slaves. He must feel that he was free again to do just as he pleased.

She wanted to beat the man’s brains. She slowed as she climbed up the front steps. Peering into the window, she saw Paxton ripping at Lizzie’s dress. Lizzie was fighting him, and he hit her, throwing her to the floor.

Byrony forgot everything but her rage at what he was doing to the girl. She rushed at the front door and flung it open. The sight that greeted her eyes would have been ludicrous in the extreme had she not been so furious.

Frank Paxton was on his knees between Lizzie’s open legs, his breeches open, one hand fumbled to hold Lizzie still, the other pulling out his thick sex. The girl was naked, her dress in rags beside her on the floor.

Paxton whipped about, staring toward Byrony, his mouth falling open.

“Missis,” Lizzie cried. “Help me.”

“Shut up, you silly little slut,” Paxton said, and slapped her face.

“Let her go, Mr. Paxton. Now.”

“Get out of here, Mrs. Hammond. You’ve no right—”

He broke off abruptly as Byrony lifted the rifle and aimed it at him.

“Get off her, you pig.”

Frank Paxton felt himself shrivel. He eased his hold on Lizzie and she scooted away from him.

Slowly he fastened his breeches and rose to his feet. The damned bitch. How dare she—He drew in his breath, knowing he had to get control of himself. Women, he knew, feared guns. He had to get it away from her before she hurt herself or did something stupid.

“I suggest, Mrs. Hammond, that you put down that weapon before you hurt yourself. Then, ma’am, I suggest that you leave.” There, he thought, satisfied, that should put her in her place.

“You’re doing quite a bit of suggesting, Mr. Paxton.”

Her cool, mocking voice made him quake with renewed rage at her damned interference. He raised his fisted hand. “See here, you’ve no right to interfere. She’s nothing, do you hear? Nothing, merely a dirty little slave.”

“And you, sir, are a dirty pig.”

“I can do just as I please with the slaves. The girl was waiting for me in the garden. She wanted it.”

“No, missis, no. It was Josh.”

Byrony ignored the girl’s pitiful cry, her eyes fastened on Paxton. “Now, sir, I have a suggestion for you. You will be gone from Wakehurst by morning.”

He drew himself up to his full height. “You giving me orders, Mrs. Hammond? A woman doesn’t give orders. And from what I’ve heard, you and your precious husband are about as friendly as birds and cats. I fancy Mr. Hammond just might give me this little trollop for my trouble. He likely wants to take her himself first. Why else would he move her into the big house?”

“Because, you stupid fool, she’s a child, and like most men who have the slightest claim to honor, I tend to protect children.”

Byrony whirled around to see Brent standing in the open doorway, his eyes as cold as his voice.

“She’s a slave, damn you, Hammond. I’ve always had my pick of them. You know how they are, hot and ready for a man—”

Byrony heard a roar of fury. She saw Josh hurl himself past Brent.

“Dammit, Josh, stop.”

She saw Brent grab the huge black man’s arm with such force that it jerked him around. For an agonized moment, she thought Josh would strike Brent to get to Paxton.

She blinked at the very brief struggle. Josh was held firmly, his arm twisted behind his back, panting with pain and rage.

“He’s not worth it, my friend,” she heard Brent say quietly to Josh. “I’ll handle it, I promise you.”

Brent turned his attention to Paxton. “I believe,” he drawled, “that I heard my wife give you a suggestion.” He paused a moment, then continued in a very soft voice, “Consider it an order. You will be gone from Wakehurst by the morning, Paxton, or I’ll kill you. Do you understand, you scum?”

“Just where do you think you’ll find another overseer? Don’t be a fool, man. The little slut is nothing.”

“No, Josh,” Brent said quietly to his friend, feeling his rage at the overseer. “Actually, Paxton, I’m a bit disappointed that you could be so stupid. You see, I’ve just begun to dig into your activities. I would have preferred to see you in jail for your cheating. But no matter. Not to see your ugly face again will have to be enough. Byrony, keep your rifle pointed at him until I give Lizzie my jacket.”

Byrony stood quietly as she watched Brent walk to the cowering girl and cover her with his jacket. She heard him say very gently, “You’ve no reason to be scared now, Lizzie. Everything will be all right.”

“You’re a stupid fool, Hammond. What man lets a woman tell him what to do?”

Brent smiled, actually smiled. “You know, Paxton, you’re becoming a complete bore. I have a suggestion for you now: shut your mouth and start packing. I intend to remain here until I see the last of your dirt.”

“Brent, I—” Byrony paused as her husband’s eyes met hers.

“You will return to the house with Lizzie and Josh. I will see you in a couple of hours. Go now, Byrony.”

He sounded abrupt, angry, and she didn’t understand him. But she felt too grateful to him to worry about it at the moment.

“Yes, Brent,” she said only. Lizzie scurried to stand beside her, but Byrony was looking at Josh. “You will accompany us back, Josh. I need your protection.”

The big man looked undecided, his black eyes darting back to Paxton.

“Please, Josh,” Byrony said again. “Brent will handle everything.”

 

The bedroom was bathed in early-morning light. Byrony doused the lamp, then returned to her chair to wait. She’d slept a bit during the long night, only to jerk awake after a few minutes, straining to hear Brent.

When she finally heard his steps in the corridor, she jumped to her feet.

Brent walked into the bedroom, drawing to an abrupt halt at the sight of his wife.

“What is this? You waited up to see that I kept to my end of the bargain? Yes, Paxton is off my property. He’s gone. It’s over, all of it.”

She saw he was tired—bone-weary, as her Aunt Ida used to say. Even though his words put her back up, she nonetheless walked to him and lightly laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Brent. I appreciate what you did, what you’ve done. You’re a fine man.”

He shook off her hand and walked away from her. Without a word, he stripped off his clothes, shrugged into a dressing gown, and sat down in the chair she’d recently vacated. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me what you were doing in Paxton’s house.”

“I woke up and you weren’t here. I couldn’t sleep so I went out onto the balcony. I thought I heard someone and went down to the garden to see. I saw Paxton drag Lizzie onto his horse.”

“Yes, I’m listening. Continue.”

“I got dressed and got one of your rifles. I went to see if Drew could help me, but no one was there. I had no choice but to go to Paxton’s house. He was trying to rape Lizzie when I stopped him.”

Brent cocked an eyebrow at her and slowly opened his eyes. “I see. Such a heroine you are, my dear. I suppose it never occurred to you that Paxton could get that rifle away from you? Perhaps even rape you also? No, I see that such a logical flow of mental thought never went through your little mind. Of course, you are a woman. How could I expect logic from you?”

Byrony could only stare at him. She hadn’t known what to expect when he returned, but not this attack, and done so calmly, with such a display of disinterest. “How did you know where I’d be?”

“Ah, an excellent question, one, I’m certain, that just occurred to you. You see, my dear, Josh is a man, and thus reacts with logic. It’s true that he was waiting for Lizzie, but evidently she was early and Paxton got her. I was returning from Natchez with Drew and came upon him. It didn’t require an excessive amount of thought to determine what had happened, particularly when we discovered that you and a mare were missing.”

“I did try to find help, Brent, but of course, you weren’t here. You were doing whatever men do. I really didn’t need your interference. I simply would have taken Lizzie and left his house.”

“Ah, I can just picture what comes next. Had you managed to leave his house with your lovely hide intact, Paxton, filled with righteous indignation, would have confronted me the next day. And I’m really not certain that I would have ordered him to leave. But of course, since I witnessed the man’s foolishness, I really had no choice.”

“Foolishness? That’s what you term his attempted rape of Lizzie?”

Brent suddenly rose and stretched his arms above his head. He looked at her thoughtfully a moment, then said, “Byrony, listen to me. You aren’t used to the ways here. It’s probably very true that Paxton has taken any and every black female slave he wanted. Or hasn’t it occurred to you to wonder why there are so many light-skinned slaves around?”

“It’s evil and disgusting. Why, you would never—”

“Don’t kid yourself, Byrony. I had my share of slaves when I was young. Didn’t I mention that to you once? But, of course, they were all willing.”

“Unlike me.”

She saw his body clench. “Enough. No more from you. I’m bloody tired. And don’t back away from me. What you did, Byrony, was stupid as hell. Now, leave me be. I’m going to bed.”

Brent stood quietly in front of the portrait, unable to stop staring at it. It was nearly life-size, the colors so warm and vibrant that he wanted to reach out and touch them. Byrony was seated on a marble bench beneath a rose arbor. He recognized the evening gown immediately. It was a pale violet silk, trimmed with narrow ribbons of lavender. She wasn’t wearing the lace-and-ribbon headdress and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose curls. But it was her face that drew him, her air of sweetness. He’d seen that small, impish smile about her mouth, but it seemed so long ago. Drew hadn’t gotten the color of her eyes precisely right, but they invited him to share a naughty secret. She looked utterly delicious, he thought, a beautiful confection that was his alone. How could that feminine confection be the same woman who had flung herself on a horse at midnight to ride off and rescue Lizzie? And face down Paxton with a rifle? Slowly he forced himself to turn away and say, “It’s fine, Drew, very fine indeed. Has Byrony seen it yet?”

“No, I wanted you to be the first, though she’s been after me since I set down my brush. It’s for your birthday, Brent. Won’t you be an ancient twenty-eight soon?”

Brent grinned. “In four months, to be exact, but don’t let Laurel hear you use the word
ancient
. She’ll go after you.”

“Drew? Are you there?”

Both men turned to see Byrony come into Drew’s studio. She came to an abrupt halt, staring at the portrait.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I don’t look like that, do I, Drew?”

“Actually, Byrony,” Brent said, “you look better. Drew here is something of a beginner.”

Drew cuffed his brother’s shoulder, then turned in time to catch Byrony in his arms.

“It’s so lovely. Thank you, Drew. I did wonder about that dress—all that lavender. I thought I’d look like a sallow chicken. But it’s beautiful.”

He gave her a quick hug, and at her kiss on his cheek, he felt a gentle flow of warmth go through his body.

“You’ve made me look so acceptable.”

“I’m glad you like it, Byrony. It’s for your husband.”

Byrony turned slowly, her eyes meeting Brent’s. “Do you like it, Brent? Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “As I told Drew, it’s fine. Now, what are you doing here?”

“Laurel said there were some business matters you had to attend to,” she said.

“You two go along,” Drew said. “I’ll be up to the house shortly. Doubtless, Brent, you’ll need my assistance.”

They left Drew’s apartment, and Byrony turned to walk toward the house.