Elizabeth Meyette (30 page)

“Are you afraid, Emily? Good. You should be. Your death will not be pretty, and it will not be quick. I promise you this — neither will your daughter’s be.” Emily looked at her hardened face and despair clutched her. They entered the stables and Deidre cast about for rope, not letting go of Emily. Emily twisted and fought, but was no match for Deidre’s strength. It was as if some demon possessed her and gave her power. Emily turned and tried to throw Deidre off balance, but the woman regained her equilibrium and spinning back slapped Emily causing her to fall to the hay-strewn floor. Deidre then kicked her in the stomach. Emily gasped as the force jolted through her, and then could not catch her breath at all. Her vision went black except for thousands of white specks that floated before her eyes. Finally, her sight cleared and Deidre was swinging reins in front of her.

“I hate you. I have hated you since the first time I saw you in the church. You have stolen everything I have lived for, and now you will die for it.” She reached for Emily who kicked out at her knees, pushing one kneecap back.

“Damn you,” Deidre screeched. She clawed at Emily snaring her nightdress and dragged her across the floor. Emily cried out as splinters pierced her skin and hay and dust battered her face. Deidre forced her against the upright post of a stall and tied Emily’s arms to it with the reins. She stood, limping on her injured leg.

“I have waited a long time for this moment. You are going to die now, you English Tory whore.”

Deidre cupped her hands and gathered hay in a pile just beyond Emily’s feet. Lifting the glass cover from the oil lamp, she tipped it spilling oil onto the hay. Picking up several pieces of straw, she lit them from the flame of the oil lamp and dropped them onto the mound she had created. The dry hay immediately ignited, and Deidre stood and laughed above it like a witch.

“Now to your daughter, Emily,” she shouted, turning to run out the door.

Smoke was filling the stable, and the acrid smell filled Emily’s lungs. The horses were bucking and rearing in fear, pounding their hooves against the stall doors in an attempt to escape. Emily had contorted her wrists to make them wider as Deidre tied them to the post, and so intent was she on murdering Emily, she had not noticed. Emily struggled against the reins, twisting her hands back and forth trying to undo the knot. The smoke intensified, and the flame followed a trail of hay across the floor to one of the stalls. The horse’s eyes were wide with fear as it thumped the walls and neighed in terror. Emily could barely take a breath the smoke was so thick, and she could see nothing but blackish gray smoke billowing about her, and a single line of flame moving across the floor.

At last, she released her hands from the reins and stood. Groping her way, she found the bench that held the tools. Feeling along the counter, she found a knife and turned it upside down in her hands, sawing with the sharp edge against her bonds. As she worked, she ran out into the night. She heard the cries of the terrified horses, but her mind was set on one thing: saving her baby. She heard horses again, but outside the stables, and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw two riders approaching. At that moment flames burst out of the window of the stable, and horses were neighing wildly.

“Emily! Emily!”

“Andrew! Help me!” Emily shrieked. Jumping down from his horse, Andrew took in his sister’s appearance from her soot covered face to her soiled nightdress and the red mark of Deidre’s hand on her face. He cut through the belt that had bound her hands. “Free the horses. Deidre — she is going to kill Grace,” the words ended in a gasping sob as she ran toward the manor.

Andrew and Jenny ran to the stables.

Emily ran to the back of the manor, through the door and into the main foyer. Soft candlelight from two sconces threw shadows across the marble floor as she sprinted to the stairs. She took them two at a time and rushed to her bedroom door. The door was slightly ajar, and the sight inside brought her to a dead halt.

Deidre stood holding Grace, cooing into the baby’s face.

“How can I kill you when you look just like your father? You are not her child at all. You are Jonathon’s, and now you are mine.
She
is gone, and you will never miss her.” She placed the baby against her shoulder and nuzzled her head. Emily’s stomach turned over at the sight. What should she do? Perhaps Deidre would not kill Grace after all. If Emily showed herself, Deidre might revert to her crazed behavior. At present, she seemed calm, almost tender with Grace. Emily waited to see what Deidre would do.

She held the child in her arms again, looking into her face.

“But you are hers, not just Jonathon’s and she will continue to live through you.” Her face darkened and her soft smile altered to a scowl. “No, you must die, too.” She looked at the child, her eyes narrowed, her brow creased.

Emily did not breathe. As long as Deidre was holding Grace, she was in peril.
Put her down
. Emily willed the thought.
Put her down.
She watched, not daring to move yet.

Feeling a presence behind her, Emily turned and saw Jenny. She put a finger to her lips and indicated she stay where she was. Turning back she peered into the room.

Deidre held the baby out as if to drop her, and Grace began to wail. Deidre was startled back to sanity, and she looked at Grace as if seeing her for the first time, and then she looked around the room. Her eyes were confused and she appeared dazed. Still she held the child away as if not knowing quite what to do with her. Walking over to the cradle, she lay the crying baby down and turned toward the door. Now, Emily stepped out to face her. Deidre stepped back, confusion deepening on her face, then it transformed into terror.

“You are dead!” she cried out.

Emily took a step toward her.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

Emily took another step toward her, and Deidre crumpled to the floor. Jenny ran into the room and helped Emily lift the woman off the floor. They led her to her room, Grace’s cries echoing behind them. As they walked toward the east wing and Deidre’s room, Joanna’s door opened and she stepped out.

“What is going on — Emily! What has happened to you?” she cried.

“Joanna, please help Jenny. I must see to Grace.”

Joanna took Deidre’s arm and the three continued to Deidre’s room.

Emily rushed back to Grace who was filling the bedroom with her complaints. Bending over the cradle, she lifted her daughter into her arms, sat in the rocking chair, and loosened her nightgown. Grace struggled against Emily’s efforts to feed her, until finally the baby rooted and began to nurse. Emily felt the powerful tugging and the milk surging through her breast. Emily sobbed as she watched her daughter’s beautiful face settle into an expression of contentment.

Emily’s emotions were raw, and her grief over losing Jonathon was at the surface of her mind. If she had lost Grace, too, there would have been no joy in living. Her intense love for Grace brought feelings of tenderness to the surface to mingle with her sorrow. Hearing approaching footsteps, she grabbed one of Grace’s blankets to cover herself while she nursed her.

Andrew entered, and she saw the exhaustion on her brother’s face, but it was mixed with something else — happiness? Her brow creased as she waited for him to speak. As he crossed the floor, the odor of smoke and burnt hay accosted her as he knelt before her.

“Jonathon is safe.”

Her mind reeled as she heard the same words that Deidre had said to her just a while earlier.

“What do you mean, Andrew? Did you see him in prison?”

“He is not in prison, Emily. We rescued him from the British. He is recovering from a gunshot wound at a farm near Williamsburg. Randy will bring him home as soon as he is able.”

“But surely the British will come back for him … ”

“No, they were stranded with no horses or weapons. A contingent from Williamsburg has probably rounded them up by now and returned them to Yorktown.” Andrew smiled at her.

“But Captain Walters vowed … ” Her voice trailed off.

“Captain Walters is dead, Em. Jonathon killed him.”

Emily felt numb. Too many emotions had run through her this night.

“Em, I have some sad news, too. Michael is dead. Captain Walters killed him.”

Emily looked at Andrew as if he had spoken a foreign language. Then his words registered and she began to weep. The image of Michael’s earnest face as he proposed to her flooded her mind. Her body shook, racked with sobs, and Andrew gently took a sleeping and content Grace and laid her in her cradle. Then he knelt beside his sister, took her in his arms, and held her while her grief and joy poured out.

“Jonathon is … alive? He is … coming home … for good?” she asked gasping between sobs.

“Yes,” Andrew said.

She broke down sobbing again, drenching his soiled and sooty shirt.

It was well past two o’clock in the morning, but the group in the parlor was wide awake. A mix of joy and grief held them and infused their conversation.

Andrew looked into his brandy glass and swished the amber liquid around. “Jedadiah and some others were awakened by the horses; they were instrumental in extinguishing the fire and saving most of the animals. We had to put one down because his injuries were too severe; it was the horse in the stable nearest the start of the blaze.” He glanced at Emily.

“That must be the horse that was so afraid, the one that was in the stall where Deidre tied me to the post.” The acrid air wafted in through the windows reminding Emily of the danger she had been in, and she shivered despite the warm, still night. She felt the silken fabric as Joanna put a shawl around her shoulders.

“We locked Deidre in her room, so there should be no danger now,” Joanna said. Emily felt her gently pat her shoulder, and she looked down at Grace’s sleeping face.

“She was going to kill my baby,” Emily said, her voice soft, barely able to form the words.

“Grace is safe now, Em. Deidre will remain locked in her room until we know what her fate will be. Jonathon will have to determine that when he returns,” Joanna said.

Tears blurred Emily’s vision as she looked at Andrew and Jenny. “Tell me again how you saved Jonathon.”

Andrew laughed and beamed at Jenny. “Jenny devised a brilliant plan, and Walters played right into it.”

Jenny blushed and looked down at the wine goblet in her hands. “We had little choice. It was a bit like David and Goliath, I am afraid. The three of us against a group of British soldiers. We certainly did not have numbers or might on our side, so that left only our wits.”

They commenced to repeat the story of Jonathon’s rescue adding details that they had forgotten in the initial hurried telling. Emily and Joanna laughed at the image of Andrew cavorting in the woods in the guise of Captain Walters. Emily began to feel her aching muscles relax, and she basked in the knowledge that Jonathon was alive and safe.

After a while, conversation faded and serenity filled the room. Exhaustion overcame Emily and she rose to excuse herself. Everyone agreed with her that it was well past time to seek their beds.

Slowly climbing the stair, Emily paused to look down the east wing hall. Lying in front of Deidre’s door was a sleeping Jedadiah. She smiled and entered her bedroom. Gently laying Grace in her cradle, Emily picked up a pillow and blanket from her bed and returned to the hall. She slipped the pillow beneath Jedadiah’s head and covered him with the blanket. He stirred, smiled up at her, and fell back to sleep. Returning to her room, she climbed between the sheets and surrendered to sleep.

• • •

As the others left the parlor, Andrew hung back and reached for Jenny’s hand. She turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

“Stay for a moment, Jenny,” he whispered.

She stepped back into the room and he led her to the settee. The glow from the candles cast shadows across her face, and her hair was a mass of untethered black curls framing her face. Raising his hand, he brushed the errant locks from her face and pressed them behind her ear. She smiled at him, stabbing him through when her dimple revealed itself. He chuckled.

“You could defeat the whole British army with the power of that dimple, Jenny.”

Her laugh floated to him in the soft light, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“As you could with your flattery, Mr. Wentworth,” she teased.

His eyes held hers and his arm encircled her shoulders. The flicker of the candle’s flame danced in her clear, gray eyes, inviting and full of desire. He bent his head to her and softly ran his lips across hers; his tongue parted them searching for her response, and Jenny yielded to his kiss, answering in kind. His head reeling from her reaction, he pressed her down against the seat and moved above her. Fueled by the tumult of emotions he had felt throughout the night, his craving for her overcame him and he wrapped her in his arms, crushing her to himself. Jenny clung to him, a small moan escaping through their kiss.

His hands ran along her sides, glorying in the curves that mapped her form. Embracing her with his left arm, his right hand slid along her waist, her hips, her thighs, and traveled up to claim her breast, so soft, so warm. She pushed against him, demanding and insistent and he accommodated her request. Their bodies moved together in rhythm, and she shifted her legs to move closer to his hips.

“Jenny, oh, Jenny,” he whispered against her throat. His head dipped down to taste the swell of her breasts.

Jenny hands ruffled through his hair, along his neck and down his back as she arched against him. Her touch was like fire to him, igniting passions he had never known, and his body was raging with desire. Somewhere, deep in his mind, sense called out to him, and he propped up on his elbows. The movement only served to press his hips closer to hers and Jenny moaned with longing. He moved away, and Jenny opened her eyes and gazed at him.

“What is it, Andrew?” Her breasts moved with her breathing and he wanted nothing more than to take her right then and there.

“Jenny, I made a promise to you, and I must honor it.”