Heart of a Dove (8 page)

“William Howard Blake,” I whispered at last, and there was a certain vindication in speaking the truth.

“Will Blake?” he asked me next, rising to one elbow to regard me, pin me with his eyes gray and heart-wrenchingly concerned. “Of Lafayette, Tennessee?”

The trembling clawed upward and tears spurted from my eyes to have spoken my father’s name aloud outside of my memory.

Daddy.

Oh, sweet Jesus
.

Angus Warfield saw the truth in my eyes. He said, “I knew your father. He was a horse trader from Lafayette. Christ, I served with him in the War. He spoke of you and your brothers.” He demanded, “Where in God’s name is your family? Who has allowed you to live in this place?”

Instead of answering I buried my face into my palms, unable to prevent the sobs breaking into existence. I felt his arms tighten around me, holding me closely. He said decisively against my hair, “No matter. I am taking you with me, Lorissa. You’ll not spend another night in this place. I owe your father my life, and his only daughter is worth far more than my life.”

I shook my head, unable to believe him, scarcely able to catch enough breath to cease my weeping.

Again Angus spoke, stroking my hair, “Why are you in this place? Where is your mother?”

“She…passed,” I managed at last.

The weeping was a living creature raking fingernails through my throat to set itself free. I felt I may choke to my own death. Finally Angus took to murmuring and shushing me, as though I was a spooked horse. After a time the shaking subsided and I was able to breathe again, my face pressed against Angus’s chest.

“I didn’t know,” he told me, clearly pained. “Christ, your father would kill me ten times over for what I’ve done with you. I didn’t know, and I must beg your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I whispered in return. It was beyond absurd, his apology offered while our legs remained braided together, our bare bodies pressed flush atop my linens. I implored through a throat that felt lacerated, “When did you last see my father?”

“In ’sixty-three,” he told me. “He pulled me from a creek after I’d been shot in the leg. I heard he was killed by ’sixty-four, God rest him. He was a good man, a damn fine man. Lorissa, I’m from Suttonville. I knew Will even before the War.”

“Suttonville,” I repeated softly, in shock. It was in Cumberland County, same as Lafayette. Mama used to shop for dry goods there. I had walked the boardwalks with her many times in my youth. For a moment I was drenched in memory, peering from behind the edges of my lace-trimmed bonnet, following in Mama’s wake, my eyes dazzled by the window displays, hanging baskets trailing their sweet burden of purple petunias over my head.

He smoothed hair from my face again, his eyes almost tender in their regard. I didn’t understand what I had done to deserve his empathy, though doubt and simple fear overrode the promise of anything better, as they always did, and I said woodenly, “I am unable to leave this place. Ginny would never let me go. She would kill me.”

Angus studied me in what appeared to be amusement. He said, his voice kind with its soft Tennessee drawl, “You are indeed going to accompany us, Lorissa. I will not leave without you in my company. Have you any relatives? Anyone to care for you?”

I shook my head wordlessly, the familiarity of despair weighting my chest.

He continued, “Then I will look after you. Fate has caused our paths to cross on this night, I am sure of it.”

I regarded him in amazement. I said truthfully, “Surely you can’t mean that. I don’t know you, I haven’t anything of my own. I would be nothing more than a burden to you.”

“No, it would be an unspeakable indecency to leave you here,” he said, looking intently into my eyes. “I will not. You will accompany us, and no harm will come to you, that I am able to promise.”

“Why would you do this?” I whispered, letting myself believe that he meant his words. I trusted him, improbable and perhaps illogical as it was to do so, I trusted Angus Warfield.

“Because it is the right thing,” he whispered back, taking my hand and pressing his lips to the back of my folded fingers. He added, “Thank you for the gift of your body. Please understand I will not be expecting this again. Christ, I am ashamed of myself.”

That he would tell me this was a testament to him as a man. I said, “Please don’t be ashamed. This is all I’ve known for years. It would be the only way I could possibly compensate you for allowing me to journey with you.”

“No, Lorissa, it would absolutely not. You are not in my debt. I am in yours. What belongings have you?”

Everything was happening too quickly. My head spun as I pushed myself to a sitting position, my hair loose and flowing over my arms. I reeled for a moment, and his hands upon my bare shoulders steadied me. I opened my eyes to his iron-gray gaze; he swallowed once before his face resumed its dignity, forcibly removing any last hints of undiluted desire. I said, “I have my clothes, my shoes. And my valise, just there,” and I indicated with an extended finger.

“Dress in clothes for travel and pack your things,” he instructed, moving efficiently into his own discarded garments. I watched, somewhat stupefied, as he collected my valise from the corner of the room. For a moment I felt the edge of panic beginning to rise within my belly; this room had been my home for nearly three years. It was all the security I possessed in the world. What would happen to me if he abruptly chose to rescind his generosity?

Oh, Lorie. Trust him, daughter. Let him take you from here
.

Perhaps it was the nothing more than the essence of a memory, but my mother’s voice suddenly pleaded with me somewhere in the recesses of my desperation. I resolutely pushed aside the doubt and climbed from the narrow bed, God help me, for the last time in my life.

As we
descended the stairs, I saw his companions were again at the bar, seated now and chatting easily with one another. Eva yet hovered near the man she’d been with, his hair now loose and hanging down his back. It was the glinting shade of corn silk, hair women would have fought over. Both men, though relaxed and enjoying themselves at the bar, exuded a sense of strength, a force similar to Angus; these were indeed men a person would do well not to take lightly.

I thought as we walked, Angus in the lead carrying my valise, made plump now with my belongings, that I might die before this hour passed. It was well into darkness outside, though the gaming tables were still crowded and the girls circulating, Johnny plunking out mellower tunes to suit the diminishing gaiety. I was wearing my only dress not crafted solely for the art of seduction, my plain, dark-blue muslin, buttoned all the way to my chin, the sleeves likewise long and severely fastened. I had twisted my hair into a heavy knot at the back of my head, my fingers trembling almost too hard to secure any pins.

I watched Angus Warfield’s strong shoulders as he led our way this time, seeking a measure of security in his presence before my eyes inadvertently found Ginny in the crowd below; some sixth sense had alerted her, and she was shoving through bodies in her path now, her eyes murderous as she clearly deduced that I was doing the impossible and leaving.

More eyes were lifting to us now, some in confusion, some in outright interest, the hopes of seeing a little drama unfold here in Hossiter’s. My heart was clubbing so hard that I nearly faltered. Angus stepped to the main floor and looked to his men at the bar. Both were studying us with varying degrees of surprised speculation. Johnny kept playing, though he too was peering over his shoulder in curiosity. I remained on the bottom step, feeling gorge rise up my throat as Ginny reached us, her eyes narrowed to slits and her hands forming claws near her waist. If Angus changed his mind, I would be whipped within an inch of my life. She would probably kill me for this humiliation. Make me regret living, at the very least.

“What is happening here, Lila?” she demanded, and though she kept her voice pleasantly modulated, I could hear the deadly threat in her tone.

I couldn’t breathe, my fingers curled over the railing for support.

Angus squared his shoulders and said mildly, “Lorissa is coming with me, ma’am. She will no longer be in your employ.”

Rage flared onto Ginny’s face and my stomach heaved. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her dark, terrible gaze. I watched her struggle for control and find it, before she said, “That is utterly ridiculous. Lila is
mine
. She owes me more than you could ever know, you smug bastard. Thinking you can come into my establishment and walk out with one of my girls. A top earner, at that.”

“That is exactly what I’m doing,” Angus said, his voice still pleasant. From the corner of my eye I saw his companions rise and join us, flanking Ginny. I could feel their stunned appraisal, but my eyes were locked on Ginny. I knew she kept a derringer in her silk pocket. I’d watched her use it. Horace was hovering, moving slowly from behind the bar.

Oh dear Jesus, please let us get out of here. Please, dear Lord
.

Ginny straightened her shoulders and ordered in the voice I knew all too well, “Get back upstairs, Lila, or I will cut off your nipples.
I swear to Christ I will.
See how he likes you then.”

Angus stepped in front of me, tipping forward into Ginny’s space with a menace that made me shiver. He said, low, “You will never speak to her that way again. She is coming with me, and I will thank you to step aside. And your man, too.”

“Son of a bitch!” she hissed, and reached for her little pistol. The man with the corn silk hair struck before I could even blink, wrenching Ginny’s wrist and disarming her, then drawing her squalling body back against his own, where he pinned her arms. The stocky man whirled in a half-turn and threw a thick forearm into Horace’s throat, sending Horace reeling forward and into a gasping crouch.

“You owe me money, you little filthy bitch!” Ginny growled, her teeth clenched. “I will hunt you down and kill you, you little
whore!
”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Angus assured her, nodding to me. He instructed gently, “Get your things, Lorissa, and go outside.”

I willed my feet into action, doing exactly as he asked. As I made my way to the swinging doors, Ramie came running through the crowd.

“Lila, you’re leaving?” she whispered, her eyes perfectly round in shock.

“I am,” I said, with more conviction than I felt. For a moment my heart fluttered as I considered the only friend I had in the place. I told her, my eyes stinging with tears, “I will miss you, Ramie. Keep safe, you hear?”

“You’ll return,” she said with certainty. “We don’t make it out there, sugar. You know it’s true.”

The men were coming behind me then, all walking backward, keeping Horace and Ginny in their sights. Once outside and in the darkness of night, they sprang into flight, Angus hauling me along by the upper arm, a tremendous commotion in Hossiter’s flowing in our wake. He said, “Step to the stirrup, quick,” and I did, scrambling upon the back of one of the three horses waiting patiently for their masters. Angus leaped behind me and commanded, “Hah!”

And then the town was disappearing behind at the speed of his fleet-footed beauty of a horse. Behind us I heard Ginny’s voice bellowing shrilly into the night, “I’ll make you pay, Lila,
I swear this!
”

We cleared the town in seconds, out into the night under a sky crisp with stars. My body was tensile with fear and a strange, unexpected exhilaration as we galloped; I hadn’t been on horseback for so long, and likewise had not understood how much I’d missed the sensation. The sky arched above us, an unending expanse of ebony, gorgeous with its burden of stars. Angus’s arms were strong and secure about my waist; for a time the only sounds were the exerted breathing of his mount and the rhythm of galloping hoof beats. My valise was on my lap, squeezed between my elbows, and I held tightly to a section of the horse’s mane, its texture so familiar in my hands, rough and thick and immediate. My thoughts swirled frantically, unable to fully comprehend what had happened this night.

You’ve left Hossiter’s.

You’re free of her.

Oh dear God, what have I done?

No more than a minute of hard riding, due south, before Angus reined in with practiced motions, letting his horse walk for a spell before completely halting. He dismounted and then lifted me carefully down, holding me against his chest for a moment, whispering into my ear, “All will be well.”

As he released me, his two companions were dismounting, one with a fluid determination, the other much more sedately. The man who had been with Eva, who had dismounted with a rapid, effortless grace, was less than two feet from us before I could blink; I realized, belatedly, that his features were highlighted so readily because a fire burned nearby.

“What in the hell are you thinking, Gus?” he demanded, in a deep voice also of Tennessee. I cringed away from both the anger in his tone and his thunderous expression. The fire flickered over a disarmingly attractive face constructed of planes and angles, with eyes that likewise appeared red in its glow. He demanded, “I’ll not question your decision in front of others, but you have put us in jeopardy. Who is she, Gus?”

Angus set me gently to the side and put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, as though to steady him. He said, “It’s complicated. Let me explain.”

“Complicated?” he scoffed. “We’ve got to hightail it out of these parts now, Gus. No time for stories, old friend.”

At the fire, a fourth man was standing and calling into the night, “Took you-all long enough!”

Angus turned back to me, introducing the man who was obviously enraged at my presence by saying formally, “Lorissa, this is Sawyer Davis. Sawyer, I’d like you to meet Miss Lorissa Blake, of Lafayette, Tennessee. Her pa was Will Blake.”

The man named Sawyer blinked once, his eyes burning into mine as I met his gaze directly for the first time. I quelled the instant urge to step back from the intensity he exuded. He repeated, “Blake?”