Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (8 page)

“Miss
Johnson! What a pleasant surprise!”

Damn
him.
Cam seethed as he made his way leisurely toward
them, an insufferable smirk settling over his features as he caught sight of
the fury that sparked in her eyes.
Pleasant surprise my foot!
She
wondered how he had known to find her here. He must have spoken to one of her
friends – except that she didn’t really have any these days. One of Helen’s
acquaintances then. Aunt Beth certainly wouldn’t have told him, she would have
been too fearful of an improper encounter— such as this one.

“Hello
Mr. Anderson,” Cam finally replied, trying and failing to keep the acid out of
her tone. His grin widened, as though he was pleased to have a reaction from
her. “This is a surprise,” she said.
At least to me.

“Jamie,
who is this?” Mrs. Charmon had tensed slightly, probably picking up on Cam’s
discomfort. Her gaze slid from Cam to the rifle-toting stranger with some
alarm.

“Mr.
Brent Anderson,” James piped up proudly. “He’s been teaching me to hunt.”

“Really?”
Mrs. Charmon glanced at Cam as though to gauge her reaction.

“Isn’t
that kind of him?” Cam said. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and
she had resorted to using Marianne’s sickly sweet enthusiasm. “How wonderful.”

“Hm.”
Mrs. Charmon said. She didn’t look quite convinced.

“It’s
nothing, really,” Brent said, his gaze touching Cam like a private dare.

“Very
well,” Cam agreed easily. She wasn’t going to protest and stroke his ego any
further, not when she knew that he was here to set a trap for her and not to
help the unfortunate Charmons. Damn, she and Mary should have stayed together
today, even if the errands would have taken them twice as long.

“Do
you and Mr. Anderson know each other, Miss Cam?” Lydia asked curiously. She
looked slightly in awe of Brent.

“That’s
none of our business,” Mrs. Charmon quickly interrupted her daughter. “Thank
you so much for the basket, Miss Johnson.” She clasped Cam’s hand once,
gratefully. “I’ll just put the food away and you can have the basket back.”

“No
need.” Cam said quickly. “I can’t stay long.” If it weren’t for Brent she would
have at least remained long enough to see how the babies fared, but his hot
gaze made her uncomfortable. She wanted to leave before he could start asking
any questions that she’d rather not answer.  “I’ll return for it… another day,”
she said vaguely when she saw that Brent was listening attentively.

“We’re
very grateful to you,” Mrs. Charmon said, glaring at her offspring until they
obediently offered their thanks. “And to you, Mr. Anderson.”

“Don’t
mention it,” Brent said with a charming smile. Cam wanted to hit him in the
face with her basket. She turned away instead, hoping to slip off into the
forest before he had a chance to talk to her. “Miss Johnson?” He called after
her, and she could hear hidden laughter in his voice.

She
bit her tongue and turned to face him. “Yes Bren- I mean, Mr. Anderson.”

His
gaze softened a little at her slip. “You may call me Brent,”

“Thank
you,” Cam said, “but I think that Mr. Anderson will suffice.” She needed that
extra formality to serve as another wall between them. Another reminder that he
was someone to be kept at a distance. 

“Suit
yourself,” he said, the mocking gleam returning to his eyes.

“Farewell,”
Cam said, painfully aware of Mrs. Charmon closely watching their interaction.

“You’re
not going off alone?” Brent asked, and he was a good actor indeed, because he
actually sounded concerned at the thought.

Cam
sighed, certain where this was headed and hoping to cut him off at the pass.
“No,” she lied. “I have a woman waiting for me not far from here.” The last
thing she wanted was for him to offer to escort her anywhere.

His
gaze sharpened. “You mean a slave.” The words were almost accusatory, and Cam
bristled.

“My
father’s,” she said, disliking the defensive tone in her own voice. He didn’t
know her. He had no idea what she and Diana did some nights when Mattie
Deveraux asked it of them. How dare he judge her? “Excuse me.”

She
had only gone a few paces when the faint rustle of grass signaled that he was
walking behind her. Cam didn’t say anything, determined to ignore him, but when
he appeared to be prepared to wait her out, she cleared her throat. “Yes?” She
asked.

“I
will walk with you until you reach her,” Brent said, more solemnly than before.
“And I did not mean to offend you.”

“You
didn’t. And that’s not necessary,” Cam told him, “really it isn’t.”

Brent
looked at her as if she were crazy. “Forgive my caution, but I’ll escort you
anyway.”

“Nothing’s
going to happen to me,” Cam said. “I practically grew up in these woods. If
anyone is in any danger here, it’s you. You’re the stranger.”

“Humor
me,” he told her, and Cam fell silent. It wasn’t as though it was really her
safety he was worried about, she reminded herself. He was only waiting for the
opportunity to quiz her again.

“Careful!”
He said suddenly, and he reached out and caught a sharp branch before it
scratched her face. He offered her his hand to help her over a fallen log, but she
pretended not to see it and scrambled over the log herself. She was having a
hard enough time ignoring the breadth of his shoulders and the movement of his
muscles under his shirt. The last thing she needed was to hold hands with him,
especially since they were still just barely within sight of the Charmon
cottage.

As
the minutes passed, though, Cam had to admit that there was something pleasant
about having him with her, even if his body was distracting and the silence was
a little awkward. He was so masculine and so different from the other men she’d
met. It wasn’t just his face. It was his entire demeanor, the way that he
carried himself and the way that he walked protectively beside her as though
she had nothing to fear as long as he was there. The masculinity was alien to
her, as a child who had been raised in a household of feminine whispers and
rustling skirts. The only man she had ever spent much time with was her father,
and he wasn’t at all like Brent.

Her
father was hunched under the weight of age and tragedy, and so
gentlemanly
,
with his stiff ruffled collars and squeaky-clean shoes. There was something
more primal, almost elemental about Brent. He was like a force of nature, a
clever creature part predator and part protector. Or perhaps the protector part
was just an act, Cam thought, stealing a surreptitious glance at his face. If
she was honest with herself, she was fairly certain that he did not have her
best interests at heart. And if it weren’t for that knowledge, Cam was fairly
certain that she would be experiencing the faint stirrings of first love, the
sort of thing that filled the poems Helen was always reading. As it was, Cam
knew to take everything he did with a grain of salt. Still, she couldn’t deny
that there was a strange, sweet comfort to have him walking beside her.

The
forest wasn’t quite as safe as she had lead Brent to believe. Cam did know the
woods well, better than anyone in her family (except perhaps Helen, who acted
as if she were part forest sprite sometimes). There were animals in the forest,
but apart from the snakes they were mostly harmless. The real danger was the
people. Most of the regular inhabitants knew not to interfere with Cam, but
travelling vagrants occasionally passed through, and they could be dangerous.
And there was always the chance that some rootworker might take it upon him or
herself to cast bad conjure. That was what the enchanted silver coin in her bodice
was for, to ward off evil. Or, at the very least, to warn Cam of its presence.  

She
sensed no danger today, though, not unless she counted the man who padded
beside her as gracefully as a wolf or some other powerful animal. It was a
beautiful day, one of those still bright days that cast a spell over
everything, making the world seem eternal. Just the pattern of filtered
sunlight that dappled the path ahead of them was lovely enough to be captured
in a painting. The cool green of the forest around them was a sharp contrast to
the gold that showered down on Cam’s head and neck. She shouldn’t have taken
off her bonnet, but her skin was tanned beyond recovery anyway and she loved to
feel the light on her face.

Beyond
the chirps and trills of the smallest forest creatures, no sound pierced the
stillness of the day. Cam realized that this meant there were no other people
nearby, and that she was journeying deeper into the forest alone with Brent.
Oddly enough, the idea caused a shiver that originated not so much from fear as
from anticipation.

“Miss
Camilla,” Brent said, and Cam winced at the use of her full name. “Where is
she?”

Cam
blinked. “Where’s who?” She asked, just a split second before she remembered
her lie.

His
delicious lips curved upwards at her slip. “Your… woman, Miss Camilla. Where is
she?”

“Hm…
er, well, I think we’ve missed her.”

“Missed
her?”

“Yes.
I told her to go on without me if she got there first,” lord, she was piling
one lie on top of the other, “so she must have gone on ahead. I’ll probably
catch up to her before I reach home.”

Brent
frowned. “She went ahead without you?” He said uncomprehendingly. “Neither of
you should be walking alone. Miss-“

“Cam,”
she interrupted him, already cringing at the thought of being called ‘Miss
Camilla’ one more time. “Please, just call me Cam.”

“As
you wish,” he told her, and unless it was her imagination, his voice was just a
little bit huskier. “Cam.” She was going to shiver again if he said her name in
that tone one more time. She glanced up at him from under her lashes, but he
was frowning about something. “You said before you reach home.”

“Yes,”
Cam said, lifting her skirt with one hand as she climbed over a few fallen
branches. This time, Brent didn’t offer her his hand, he just took hers,
raising it high as he helped her navigate the pile of brush.

“But
we’re not heading toward Cypress Hall,” he pointed out once she had safely crossed
over the branches.

“That’s
true,” Cam said, gently slipping her hand from his. His large, strong fingers
reflexively closed over hers, but eventually he released her. Cam quickly moved
to the side to put a little space between them. Being in such close proximity
to him was beginning to make her feel a little strange. “We— well,
I
am
actually going somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I
have a few more errands to run,” Cam told him. “You are free to leave at any
time.”

“I
know.” Brent said, but he didn’t budge from her side. They walked in silence a
little longer, and curiously enough Cam felt herself relaxing more with each
moment that passed. She knew rationally that he and his questions were a threat
to her, but she didn’t feel threatened by him— except when he stood too close
and she could feel her face flush and her blood pound. As long as he wasn’t
asking questions Cam felt at ease with him.

***

She
allowed herself to linger a little while when she visited the Haskell family.
She hadn’t brought them food, but instead a tonic for their eldest child. Caro
and Grandma had brewed it themselves when Cam brought word that there was a
little boy with a bad cough, and Cam sincerely hoped that it helped. Throughout
her visit with the Haskell family Brent said very little, though Cam could feel
him watching her closely. He didn’t stray far from her, not even when she was
invited into their small home to see the new baby. It was strange to be watched
like that. Normally Cam felt that most people who studied her were hoping to
categorize her as quickly and painlessly as possible. Was she loose like her
sister Diana? An ingénue like young Helen? Was she the sort of girl who would
catch a husband or the sort who would be condemned to eternal spinsterhood?

Brent’s
observation was somehow different. She didn’t get the impression that he was
trying to fit her into any box. His study of her seemed to be more thorough and
all-encompassing. It made sense, though. He was a man who was searching for the
truth. Cam could laugh at the close-minded, unimaginative county-folk all she
wanted, but it was that close-mindedness that had kept her family safe from
discovery.

It
was on the way to Mattie Deveraux’s that Brent finally spoke. They chattered
about insignificant things at first. Brent told Cam about his upbringing in
Philadelphia and some of the traveling that he’d done, and Cam tried very hard
not to let her envy show. Then the conversation turned to Cam’s family, and she
could feel the tension pick up. He asked about some of the family history, and
Cam told him whatever she judged to be harmless. He was more subtle than
yesterday at the ball. He didn’t ask one question after the other, but instead
worked each question into the conversation, so that when Cam’s mother came up
it seemed like a perfectly natural topic of conversation.

“I
don’t remember her very well,” Cam said honestly.