Judith E French (11 page)

“The entire matter has caused me great pain and expense,” Lord Kentington’s scorching missive read. “I am much ashamed of you and your behavior, and I wish you to remain in the Colonies out of my sight until you’ve learned conduct befitting your station in life. The fact that your affair with the lady prevented you from being sent to the Tower offers me small consolation.”

A third letter was in a stranger’s handwriting. It was from his father’s physician, informing Brandon that his father had suffered a heart seizure and wanted his son to return on the first available ship.

A fourth letter, from his mother, assured Brandon that his father was recovering but was bedridden. “The physicians feel he will remain so,” she had written, adding that Lady Anne’s husband had passed away. “Therefore, my darling, you need not fear problems from that quarter. It is quite safe for you to come home. We have both missed you and look forward to seeing your dear face as soon as God’s mercy permits.”

Brandon sighed and looked hard at Leah. “I must go at once. You can see that, can’t you? We can send for your son, Kitate. Master Briggs, my father’s steward, can arrange for the boy to follow us to England. I don’t want to come between you and your son. I want to try and be a good father to him.”

“Kitate is Shawnee. Would you try to raise a fawn among kine?”

“Cows, not kine. The word
kine
is Scottish and very old-fashioned.” He folded his arms across his chest. “We’re talking of a boy, not a deer. You don’t know anything about the world, Leah. You can’t possibly understand what I can offer the two of you.”

“Your mother,” Leah replied. “She would welcome a Shawnee daughter as wife to her son, yes?” Her dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Not at first,” he admitted. “But—”

“Ha!” She wrinkled her nose. “As Amookas welcomed you. Not by first, not by ever. She will look down her thin English nose at the color of my skin. She would scorn my beautiful son and call him blackamoor.”

Brandon looked away. His mother would be a problem, but, if he was still alive, his father might well have a fatal heart attack when he saw Leah. Brandon toyed with the velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck. He’d married Leah on impulse, believing she was dying, never for an instant supposing that he would have to take her home to England and present her as Lady Brandon to his family and society. But now that he had made her his wife, damn it, she’d remain so. His jawline firmed. Parents and friends be damned. She was Lady Brandon; there was no other, and as long as she lived, he’d stand by her.

“I love you, you know,” he said quietly. He rose and went to a window, staring out at the wide cornfield running down to the river. The corn had been cut and stacked in shocks. A boy was driving a herd of pigs along the rows. To the south, Brandon could see the fruit orchard and the road running down to the plantation dock. Through the glass, he could hear the mournful cry of a flock of wild geese flying overhead. “It took nearly losing you to make me see it. We are wed, and I believe that neither of us would be happy if we parted.”

“Love does not always mean happy.” She wiggled down the mattress and snatched the jam pot off the tray. Retreating to the head of the bed, she made a backrest of the heaped pillows and proceeded to eat the strawberry jam with her spoon. “Ye would feel shame to have a wife in buckskins and moccasins.”

“I’ll dress you in satin and put silken slippers on your feet. I’ll drape ropes of pearls around your neck and put rubies on your fingers.”

Leah licked the jam off her fingers and studied them. “My hands be not soft as an English lady’s. They are hands meant for building campfires and scraping deerhide.” Suddenly she threw the spoon, striking him in the center of the back. “Where is my bow? And my quiver that took a winter to make? My arrows with points of steel? What have ye done with them?”

“Ouch! What the—” He spun on his heel and retrieved the fallen spoon. “Why did you—” He laughed. “You’ve jam on your nose, Lady Brandon.”

“My bow!” she insisted. “What have you done with—”

“Your bow and arrows are safe, thanks to the idiot who nearly killed you. I left them lying on the ground when I took you to the settlement, but he picked them up. He thought to sell them as trinkets. I persuaded him otherwise,” Brandon said dryly. “Your bow and arrows are downstairs in the library.”

“I want them here.” She licked the rim of the jam pot. “I may need them.”

“No, my ferocious little warrior. I’ll keep them for you. I’ll not have you taking a disliking to cook’s pork pie and using Mistress Briggs or the maids for target practice.”

She made a face at him. “Tomorrow ye will go to the forest and bring me the roots and moss I asked for. I dinna ken what medicine ye and your shaman—”

“Physician,” he corrected.

“Physician
have used, but I do not think it was right. I will heal quicker with Shawnee medicine. And I would like deer soup and fresh fish to eat, not
that.”
She pointed at the milk and porridge. “I am not a wee bairn to live on such pap.”

“You are demanding, love, for a wench newly snatched from the grave.” He came back and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her in his arms. “I will do all that you ask, Leah. But you must do as I ask. I am your husband, and it is seemly that a wife obey.”

“Aye, Brandon mine. I will play your game for a few days more.” She lifted her chin and stared into his eyes. “I will miss you all my days,
Englishmanake,
and I will feel your body hot against mine in my dreams.”

“Leah . . .” Seeing the stubborn gleam in her eyes, he ceased to pursue the subject. Instead, he held her and stroked her hair. “You are not reasonable,” he murmured.

“Nay,” she agreed. She brought his hand to her mouth and nibbled on the tip of his thumb. “In that which ye ask, I canna be, but have I not worn these garments to please you when my skin would rather be free to breathe? So foolish are the English to sleep in cloth bags when any civilized person knows that—”

“You may sleep naked in my arms when you are recovered,” he assured her lightly. Leah’s protests still troubled him. He’d walked the floor one long night trying to come to a decision about what to do about her. When he’d decided he loved her enough to take her home as a wife, regardless of the scandal it would cause, it never occurred to him that she might have other ideas.

He’d known that she would miss her son, and he regretted that they couldn’t remain here long enough for someone to fetch Kitate to the plantation. But the merchant vessel,
Dependable,
sailed from Annapolis on December first. He’d purchased passage for Leah and himself, a manservant, and a maid. Winter crossings were never pleasant, and the longer they waited to depart the worse the weather on the North Atlantic would become. If they were to be aboard when the
Dependable
hoisted anchor, he had only a few weeks to change Leah’s mind.

“This sleeping mat—”

“Bed,” he corrected.

“This
bed
be too—”

“This bed
is.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “How can I tell you what I think if ye will nay let me speak?”

He smiled at her. “Speak away, love.”

She sniffed. “This bed
is
too big for a person to sleep alone. Can ye not share it with me, Brandon mine? At night I have great homesick, and I be lonely.”

He cupped her face between his hands. “Nothing would please me more, darling. But I think it best if you sleep alone awhile longer. I don’t know if I could resist your charms, if you—”

“So,” she insisted, “this
is
another crazy custom of the English— that a man must sleep apart from his wife. I would like you beside me, even if I cannot share certain pleasures. My lips are not wounded.” She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes. “My breasts have not hurt . . . nor my—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “Enough of that,” he said when they parted. “You will drive me mad with your words.” He kissed the palm of her hand, then licked a bit of jam she’d missed. “When you’re well,” he promised, “I’m going to take a pot of jam and . . .” He whispered in her ear, and she giggled.

“Aye, but that would ruin this fine linen,” she teased. She traced her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. “Still,” she said huskily, “I might like the taste of this jam if it was spread on—”

He kissed her again, then freed himself from her arms and slid off the bed. “Sleep, witch. I’ll be back to share dinner with you.”

“And my bed?”

“Soon, Leah, soon.”

Her mood turned serious, and she shivered as she pulled the coverlet up around her neck. “It must be, Brandon mine,” she said softly, “for we have only a short time left together. Ye maun love me enough to last all the rest of my days, and I maun give you something to carry away and cherish in your heart.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that!”

“Aye,
uikiimuk,
it does.”

“Don’t count on it.” His face clouded with anger as he turned and strode from the room.

“Ye canna bend me to your will,” she called after him. “I am a free woman.”

“And my wife,” he muttered under his breath. “God help us.”

L
eah’s recovery seemed to Brandon nothing short of miraculous. Within a week, she was walking around the manor house, and by the end of November, she was able to ride in front of him on horseback as they explored the vast Tidewater plantation.

They were mounted on a finely bred black stallion, a horse Brandon had purchased in Virginia when he’d first arrived in the Colonies. The animal was sixteen and a half hands high, with a broad chest and arching neck, spirited enough to test Brandon’s riding skill, yet not so ill-mannered that he would fear for Leah’s safety. Even with the double weight of two riders, the black Brandon had named Caesar pranced along proudly, tossing his thick waving mane and tail.

“The waterways along the Chesapeake are far more efficient than roads,” Brandon explained to her. “I can ship grain and salted beef by ship to London cheaper than it can be transported from the rural counties in England.” He reined in his horse and gestured toward the virgin stand of forest in front of them. “There’s a fortune to be made in lumbering here. Oak and cedar can be cut and sold for use in shipyards, and cherry and walnut for furniture. The soil is rich beyond anything I’ve seen.”

“Aye,” Leah agreed. “I know nothing of what ye speak, but I ken pretty land when I see it. I love the marsh with the flocks of ducks and geese, and sparkling waves on yonder bay.”

Brandon tightened his arm around her waist. Leah’s alteration of the riding habit he’d had sewn for her might have scandalized the household staff, but he had to admit her clothing was practical for riding. She’d cut off her scarlet woolen riding skirt above the knee and bullied Jane into making her a pair of loose trousers from the leftover material. Leah had cut away and discarded the bodice, but she’d found no fault with the man’s style jacket stitched in brilliant scarlet with wide cuffs and silver buttons, or in the matching cocked hat with its jaunty feathered plume.

“And I love you, my beautiful little barbarian,” Brandon teased. “You’ve managed to make even a proper riding habit into a provocative costume.” He leaned forward in the stirrups and peered lewdly down the front of her jacket.

She giggled and pulled his head down so that he could nuzzle the tops of her breasts. Snorting, the horse danced sideways and laid back his ears. Leah grabbed hold of the animal’s mane. “Stop,” she pleaded, laughing. “You’ll get us both throwed.”

He gained control of the animal with a flick of his wrist.
“Thrown,”
he corrected, “and I’ve not been thrown since I was seven.”

“Then it be time,” she countered. “Ohhh, look.” She pointed at the eagle circling overhead.
“Pel-al-thee,
king of the skies. It gladdens my heart to know he flies over this place, too. Whenever I see him, I’ll think of our ride this morning.”

A queer tightness spread through Brandon’s chest. They’d not spoken of Leah’s leaving for days, but she knew that he was sailing for home soon. The thought of going without her was tearing him apart. For a few minutes this morning—in the excitement of sharing his dreams with her—he’d forgotten that they’d soon be parted. God! Losing her would be like cutting away part of his body.

Desperately wanting to regain the exhilaration he’d felt earlier, he tried to pick up where he’d left off. “Briggs, who is father’s steward here in Annapolis, has all three plantations planted in tobacco for the most part. He’s allotted only a little acreage for grain. That’s a mistake. Virginia tobacco is finer than Maryland tobacco, and the whole tobacco trade is subject to wild fluctuations. Tobacco is a luxury crop, and the plant robs the soil of strength. I’ve read that . . .” He frowned. “Are you able to understand any of what I’m saying, Leah?”

She stiffened. “I’m not ignorant, Brandon. I told you, I’ve read Alex’s books: Shakespeare, Francis Bacon, the Greek philosophers.”

“Forgive me, sweeting. I look at you, and I forget that lovely head can hold anything so serious.”

“Damn thee, Brandon viscount!” Angrily, she slapped the horse’s neck, and the animal leaped forward and broke into a run. Clods of frozen earth tore free and showered behind them as horse and riders galloped wildly across the open fields.

Leah leaned forward onto the stallion’s neck, feeling the life force of the great beast beneath her. Her cocked hat flew off, and her hair tumbled free, tangling with the animal’s mane as she pressed her face into his shiny black hide.

Brandon locked his arm around her waist and gave the stallion his head. A hedge loomed before them, and Caesar soared over with inches to spare. He thundered across a section of cornfield and up onto the dirt road, turning left toward the river and the prize house.

Leah’s temper cooled in the rushing wind, and by the time Brandon reined in the heaving animal near the prize house, her curses had turned to laughter. Caesar slowed to a trot, then to a walk. As they rounded the corner of the building which Brandon had explained earlier was used to pack tobacco into casks for shipping, Leah saw two richly dressed gentlemen sitting on horseback by the door.

“St. George,” Brandon called.

The older of the two, a man in a gray coat and cloak, scowled and nodded stiffly. “Lord Brandon.”

The second gentleman eyed Leah rudely. He let his explicit gaze fall from her wildly tangled hair, over her partially exposed breasts revealed by her scarlet riding coat, and down to her trousers and beaded moccasins. “Brandon,” he said curtly. “Lord Upton, at your service, sir.”

It was Brandon’s turn to stiffen. Leah heard his sharp hiss of breath next to her ear. “Gentlemen.” Brandon’s voice was as cold as the bits of earth clinging to Caesar’s hooves. “May I present to you my wife, Lady Brandon.”

The man Upton smiled nastily. “I’d heard you’d wed with a native, but I didn’t believe it.”

Brandon thrust the reins into Leah’s hand and sprang from the saddle. “I’ll thank you to keep a decent tone when you refer to my wife,” he threatened, advancing on the horsemen.

St. George laughed. “Upton means no offense, I’m sure. You can’t expect to pull something like this and not cause a scandal. It was my understanding that you were returning to England on the
Dependable
. Surely you’re not planning on taking Lady Brandon with you.”

Brandon’s face darkened to puce. “Did you come for a reason or merely to insult me?”

Upton, splendid in a pink coat and fawn breeches, reined his horse backward away from Brandon. “St. George is interested in purchasing this plantation.”

“I thought you could pass the word to your father, Lord Kentington,” St. George explained. “I’ve sent several letters to him, but I’ve had no answer.”

“It’s not for sale,” Brandon said. “None of our American land is for sale. I’m advising my father that we purchase more. Perhaps you’d care to sell your Edenton, Upton. It’s a bit run down, but nothing a little money wouldn’t fix.”

Caesar sniffed at the other horses and shook himself; his tense muscles rippled under the sleek ebony hide. Taken by surprise, Leah pulled back on the reins until she could feel the pressure on his mouth. The animal blew air through his lips and pawed the ground with his left front hoof, but she felt an easing of the tension in his body and knew that he’d decided to submit to her control. Satisfied that he wouldn’t run away with her or try to throw her off, she turned her attention back to Brandon and the two Englishmen.

What was happening was confusing. The words being exchanged by the three were not angry ones, but Leah knew that Brandon’s fury was barely in check. Another moment and he’d be at the throats of these men. She wasn’t certain what they’d said that angered Brandon; the Upton man had called her a native, but that was no more than truth. The other man had said their wedding was a scandal. That too was so; her whole village had been shocked by her choice of an Englishman.

She wasn’t stupid; she knew many white men hated and feared the Indians. The people in Brandon’s house, the ones he called servants, were only polite to her with their words. They resented her being there, and they were afraid. But these Englishmen were not afraid of her—they had nothing to do with her. Why were they near to blows with Brandon? She wasn’t sure if it was because of her or another quarrel—something to do with this land that Brandon’s father claimed.

Foolish that men should fight over land, she thought, but they always did. Why couldn’t they realize that land was the earth’s skin, and the earth belonged to the Creator, not to the men and women who lived on its bounty. Could a man own air or water? Owning land was just as crazy. A dispute over hunting rights she could understand. The Shawnee often said, “My land.” But what they meant was theirs to use, not theirs to possess as a man possesses his knife or moccasins.

The words between Brandon and the others were growing more heated. “. . . off this plantation before I seek satisfaction!” Brandon roared. The men pulled their horses around and rode off angrily. Brandon remounted without speaking to her.

“Was it over me?” she asked.

He took the reins from her hands and dug his heels into Caesar’s taut sides. The black responded eagerly as Brandon guided him back toward the manor house.

They rode without talking, but there was no silence. Overhead were birds and wild ducks; beneath them the creak of saddle leather and the comforting sounds of the stallion. Even the wind against Brandon’s stiff back made a sound of its own.

I was wrong to stay so long, Leah thought. I was selfish. I wanted to be with him and I put off returning to Kitate and my family. Now, Brandon has been shamed by his own people. She sighed softly. Alex was right. Whites and Indians could find peace only in the lodges of the red men, never with the English. The English see only skin color, not the hearts that beat beneath the skin.

“It be best for us both if I go at sunrise,” she said to Brandon. He pulled her hard against him so that pain shot through her healing shoulder. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. “This is nay my world,” she continued, when she could talk without letting him know that he’d hurt her. “I be an unwelcome stranger here.” He said nothing, and the cold air on her face did not stop the tears that welled up in her eyes.

When they reached the stable, a boy came to take the horse, but Brandon waved him away. “I’ll see to him myself,” he said, dismounting and lifting Leah down. She followed him into the barn.

A gray horse lifted his head and nickered a greeting. Two red and white oxen peered through a slat in their stall as Brandon led the black down the center passageway. It was shadowy in the barn, and warm after the cool air outside. Leah paused long enough to pet a friendly cat that rubbed against her leg. “Brandon,” she said.

He threw Caesar’s reins over a rail and began to unsaddle him. Leah opened the stallion’s box stall door. The wide stall had been cleaned while they were out riding. Bright straw was heaped knee deep across the floor.

She turned toward Brandon. He was wiping down Caesar’s hindquarters with a dry cloth. “Brandon mine . . .” she began. Her voice broke, and she began to cry. He dropped the rag and took her in his arms, kissing her face and neck.

“Shhh, shhh, darling,” he soothed. “It will be all right, I promise.”

She put her arms around his neck and leaned against him sobbing.
“N’schiwelendam,”
she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I wanted . . . I wanted . . .” Pain choked her words, not the physical pain of her injury, but the deeper pain of her spirit. “Oh, my Sky Eyes,” she whispered.

His hands moved over her body, touching, caressing, and she felt the heat of him through their clothes. Fierce yearning curled in the pit of her belly like a growing flame.

“Leah?” It was a question, a question to which she could give only one answer.

“Dah-quel-e-mah,”
she answered throatily.

“Darling.” His hand stroked the small of her back and cupped one cheek of her buttocks possessively. “I want you,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you so badly . . .”

She trembled in his arms as a familiar weakness seeped through her limbs. Light-headed, she clung to him, meeting his scalding kiss with equal fervor, urging him on with faint cries of passion. Her mouth opened as their kisses deepened, and he thrust his hard, hot tongue into her.

She moaned and squirmed against him, wanting to feel his naked flesh against hers, wanting to quell the heat of her body with his virile love.

His burning kisses moved to her ear and down her throat, driving her mad with wanting him. His hot, wet tongue caressed her again and again, moving lower and lower until the fire within her flared out of control. “Leah,” he groaned, gathering her up in his arms.

She caught his face between her hands and lifted it so that she could taste his mouth once more. “Love me,” she begged him. “Love me.”

Brandon took two strides and lowered her into the deep, sweet-smelling straw of the box stall. She held out her arms to him as he stripped away his coat and shirt and let them fall to the floor. “Come back to me,” she whispered as he lowered himself on top of her, pinning her with his weight and burying his face in her breasts. She arched against him, digging her nails into his back and entwining her legs with his. Her breathing came in shuddering gasps as desire flamed white-hot in her veins.

“I’ll never let you go,” he whispered. “Not now—not ever.”

She cried out with wild abandon as he ripped away her riding coat and kissed one breast and then the other. He took her sensitive, erect nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder, sending ripples of intense pleasure to the tips of her toes. “Yes, oh yes,” she murmured. The dull ache in her injured shoulder was nothing compared to the wanting, the surging need for fulfillment inside her. She wanted him . . . wanted all of him filling her until they were no longer two but one. “Brandon,” she pleaded. “Please . . .”

His tongue teased her nipples as his hands found the waistband of her shirt and trousers. He tugged, and the fabric gave beneath his fingers. Leah felt the scratch of straw against her bare skin, and then the heat of his swollen male sex as he tore aside his own breeches.