Kary, Elizabeth (64 page)

"I
tried to keep him out, Miss," the maid began, "but he forced his way
in."

Aaron's
heavier voice cut across the servant's explanation. "I was afraid you
wouldn't see me if I simply gave her my card, and since I leave for the Eastern
theater of the war tomorrow, I was determined to see you."

"Shall
I call one of the men, miss, to see this gentleman out?" The maid stood
her ground in spite of Crawford's intimidating presence.

Leigh
paused to consider the major's words, feeling both curious yet profoundly
uneasy. Why did Aaron want to see her? What business could be so pressing that
it had brought him here? "It's all right, Matty," she conceded.
"I'll see Major Crawford and find out what he wants."

With
a frown of disapproval on her face, the girl turned to do her mistress's
bidding.

"Thank
you for seeing me, Leigh," Aaron began, as the maid closed the doors
behind her. "I would hate to leave the city without the latest word on
Althea and a chance to say good-bye."

Graciously
Leigh indicated a chair for her guest and settled herself on the edge of the
long, horsehair settee. She knew that her mother's friendship with this man had
cooled in the months before she had gone away, but he still seemed as concerned
for her welfare as one of Althea's dearest friends. The inconsistency made
Leigh wary, but she gave Crawford his answer anyway.

"Mother's
well and happy in Louisiana, Aaron. As a matter of fact, my father has gone to
visit her, and they have reconciled." The news that had arrived by letter
Christmas Eve had made Leigh's holiday an especially joyous one.

Crawford's
eyebrows levered upward at the news. "Reconciled, you say? What a
surprise!"

That
her mother had spoken to this man of her relationship with Horace startled
Leigh. It seemed too intimate and personal a thing to discuss with a mere
acquaintance.

"Well,
whatever makes Althea happy," Crawford conceded with a shrug. Pausing a
moment, he regarded her candidly. "And how are you, Leigh? Although there
was no love lost between us, I was sorry to hear about your husband's untimely
death."

Unexpected
tears sprang to Leigh's eyes. It was odd how she could go for weeks without
crying for Hayes and then suddenly want to weep over his death like a
brokenhearted child.

"I'm
fine, really," she assured him, though the catch in her voice betrayed the
state of her emotions.

As
she spoke, Crawford shifted from his chair to the opposite end of the settee as
if he were intending to soothe and comfort her. Even so, his movement flustered
Leigh, and she knew a tremor of unease.

Yet,
unwilling to be intimidated, she continued. "I'm working several days a
week in the Sanitary Commission offices and awaiting word from Mother
Bickerdyke about our next nursing assignment."

"Always
useful, always dedicated, always altruistic." Crawford characterized her
with his usual air of mockery.

"Surely
there are worse things you could accuse me of," she countered coldly.

"Yes,"
he agreed after a moment, a predatory glow in the depths of his eyes, "I
think there are, at that."

She
noticed suddenly that his hand had crept along the back of the settee and lay
behind her shoulder, that he was looming near enough for her to smell the
whiskey on his breath.

"I
could accuse you of being a tempting minx and a horrible tease," he
murmured, "of being the most desirable woman in St. Louis and the most
inaccessible."

She
was startled by his whispered words and tried to move away, but his hands had
come to curl around her shoulders, holding her immobile.

"Unhand
me, Aaron," Leigh threatened. "Unhand me and get out of here before
I'm forced to call the servants!"

But
the words had hardly left her lips when Crawford wrapped his arms around her
and lowered his mouth to hers. As she struggled to break free of his unwelcome
caress, recollections of another night almost three years before skittered
across her mind. She had been alone in the library during a party when Aaron
had come in, and, taking advantage of her solitude, had forced himself upon
her. That night Hayes had been her protector and champion: challenging Aaron;
staking his own claim to her, though Leigh had not realized it at the time. But
Hayes was gone now, and she must see to her own defense.

Though
she struggled valiantly, the kiss Crawford forced upon her was hot and wet, as
steamy and rank as summer heat. With a wicked, probing tongue he explored the
contours of her mouth, and as he ravaged her with kisses, he bore her down on
the divan.

"I
want you, Leigh," Aaron growled, subduing her roughly. "I've wanted
both you and your lovely mother since the first moment I saw you together. You
are both so beautiful, so passionate and ripe. And though your mother managed
to elude me, I intend to make a conquest of the other Pennington woman before
this night is over."

Leigh
twisted furiously within his grasp as the meaning of his words came clear to
her. Had Aaron really wanted carnal knowledge of both her and her mother? Leigh
wondered dizzily. What wild, perverted fantasies had he been entertaining on
the many occasions when they had been together? And how could both she and
Althea have considered themselves safe in this man's company?

Images
filled her mind that left her shaken and sick, and her opposition became more
violent and determined. But instead of breaking free, her movements launched
them off the slippery sofa and onto the carpeted floor. They landed heavily,
with Aaron's crushing weight subduing her, and for a full minute Leigh lay
beneath him, stunned and gasping for breath. Immediately Crawford took
advantage of her weakness and gathered both her hands into a single, viselike
grip.

Covering
her mouth with his again, his free hand came to stroke her breast through the
deep gray bombazine of her simple daytime dress. His fingers tightened cruelly
over the pliant mound of flesh, and she murmured helpless protests in pain and
humiliation. Then he was tugging impatiently at the neckline of her gown until,
with a rasp of tearing cloth, the bodice came away. Her breasts were bared
where they billowed above the top of her chemise, and taking advantage of the
lavish display, he kneaded her silken skin.

She
fought in vain until Aaron's attention strayed to more interesting parts of her
anatomy, and then she finally managed to wriggle one wrist free. Frantically,
her hand flailed over her head, seeking some weapon to use in her defense.
There was the woolly roughness of the rug beneath her fingers, the coolness of
the tiles at the edge of the hearth. As she stretched even farther, the round
wooden handle of the fireplace poker found its way into her palm, and she clung
to it desperately as if it were indeed her last hope of salvation. Gasping with
the effort, she raised the metal wand as high as she could and brought the
shaft down across the breadth of Crawford's back.

Even
delivered without much leverage, the blow must have hurt, and Aaron reared back
to capture her wrist with his free hand. He claimed it easily, and his fingers
tightened over her forearm, sending pain coursing to her shoulder. But Leigh
held on, thrashing her weapon wildly in the hope of forcing him to let her go.

When
Aaron had burst into the room, Leigh had dropped the poker into the fire so
that now the C-shaped tip was glowing brilliant red. As they grappled, the
wrought-iron end of the poker flashed past their faces, radiating heat that
gave a new dimension to their battle.

Leigh
fought stubbornly, ignoring the growing weakness in her arm and her waning
strength, knowing that if she lost this struggle, Aaron Crawford would extract
a price from her that went far beyond simple rape. Leigh rolled suddenly to the
right, and as he moved to follow her, the combination of their movements
brought the poker's red-hot tip against Aaron Crawford's cheek.

There
was a faint sizzle and the smell of seared flesh rising in the air; then
Crawford suddenly retreated to cover the left side of his face with his hand.

"Bitch!"
Crawford snarled at her. "Vicious, cold-hearted bitch!" Through his
half-open fingers she could see the stark white shape of the poker branded into
his flesh, and she knew it was a disfigurement he would carry all his days.

"You'll
pay for this," he threatened, "as you've never paid before! I'll get
even for this, too, as I did for all the rest."

Crawford
came to his feet, then staggered toward the door, leaving Leigh weak-kneed and
trembling on the floor by the divan.

It
was there that Bran found her a few minutes later, shaken by what had
transpired and the scope of Crawford's threats.

"Where
is he?" he demanded as he gathered Leigh in his arms. "Where's
Crawford?" Bran's eyes were blazing with self-righteous fury, and, in
spite of the missing leg and his crutches, he looked more than capable of
defending her.

"Oh,
Bran!" she cried, her tears and laughter suddenly mingling. "How is
it you always know to come when I need you?"

"This
time Matty sent for me when Crawford arrived. She was far more frightened and
suspicious of his errand than you."

"I
was a fool to let him in."

"Probably,"
he agreed grimly. "Now tell me what went on."

In
the next minutes, Leigh tried to sketch the events of Crawford's visit, and
Bran listened, intent on her wavering explanation.

"By
God, I'll kill him!" he muttered when she had finished. "I'll fight
that bloody bastard any time or place he chooses."

"Please,
Bran, let it be. There's nothing to be gained by challenging him."

"It's
what Hayes would do," he argued.

"And
I'd like it no better then. Crawford's leaving St. Louis tomorrow. Please,
Bran, let it be."

Though
Bran looked plainly unconvinced, he nodded in assent, accepting the situation
more for Leigh's sake than his own.

The
next months passed in a blur of normality, and Leigh did what she could to put
Crawford's threats from her mind. She worked several days a week at the Sanitary
Commission offices and visited the Confederate prisons with Bran. She wrote
letters and made arrangements for the future she was planning and, in
preparation, began to sort through her clothes and belongings.

There
were very few keepsakes from her days with Hayes, but among them were some
chestnuts and two pretty stones they had found one afternoon at Castlewood, a
program from a play they'd seen, and a dance card from a ball. Leigh packed
away the magnificent sapphire pendant Hayes had given her for Christmas and the
tiny belligerent bulldog he'd whittled while he was ill. But somehow she could
not put away the letter she had written Hayes and never mailed, the letter
where she had been forced to tell him she had fallen and miscarried their baby.
It was odd that a single sheet of paper had come to mean so much to her, but
somehow she considered the words and sentiments she had expressed as proof that
she had grown worthy of Hayes's love. She read it often until the page was
smudged and tattered, drawing comfort from what might have been.

In
February, Nathan and Delia came to stay. With the war all but over in the West,
Travis had resigned his position, and they were headed for Delia's family's
farm in central Illinois. It was good land, though isolated, but Leigh
suspected they would not be lonely for Delia was already expecting the first of
the "passel of children" she wanted to raise.

On
the second evening of their visit, Nathan sat up with Leigh long after Delia
retired. He had seemed particularly silent and preoccupied through dinner, and
he clearly wanted to discuss something serious with her.

"Leigh,"
he began in a grave tone, swirling the brandy in his glass, "have you ever
found out why you never received letters from Hayes while you were in Vicksburg?"

His
question, straightforward and unvarnished as Nathan's questions always were,
sent a strange feeling of foreboding swirling through her. "I suppose I
never heard from him because Hayes never wrote."

Nathan
sat forward in his chair, his elbows braced against his knees and his
coal-black gaze focused on her face. "I think he did write you,
Leigh," he said at last. "I have reason to believe he wrote
often."

"But
how can that be. Nathan?" she demanded in confusion. "No letters ever
came."

"A
few months back I came across the company clerk from Hayes's outfit at
Chattanooga. It seems he posted letters to you at the rate of two or three a
week. And while the clerk could not be sure, he said he didn't think Hayes ever
heard from you."

"But
that's impossible!" Leigh protested. "Delia knows how often I
wrote."

With
a nod, Nathan acknowledged her words. "It's not impossible if someone was
tampering with your mail."

It
was obvious that Nathan had given this matter much thought, and though Leigh
surmised that he had drawn some conclusions about what had happened, she could
not stop the question that sprang to her lips. "But who would do
that?"