Passion's Joy (35 page)

"Two years! I can't bear it! What will I do? I've never been without Cory since I was but eight years old. And not now! Sammy and the Reverend too! If you make me go, then make them go, too—"

"Why you selfish brat!" he scolded, yet with warm humor. "The Reverend made it abundantly plain he would not honor English shores with the bottom of his boots, despite his love for you. And Sammy and Cory? Would you have them give up all that they have worked so hard for just to sit with you and keep you company?"

"Yes!" she said as a petulant child, soliciting his warm chuckle in response. Distressed, she put the case to him that she had put to a tearful Cory, Sammy and the Reverend hours ago, arguing like any silver-tongued lawyer, covering the issue from all sides. Their house could wait until they returned. The Reverend had nothing to fear in England—if only he could for once in his life keep his hands clean. There was plenty of work on the abolitionist cause to be done there, and while that country had no slaves to be freed, they could speak at churches and societies to rouse further British support. Support from that country could perhaps conceivably be an influential factor in swaying congress—

On and on she went, dramatically, the English lilt to the lovely music that was her voice always prominent when she was distressed, upset or emotional. Ram listened without interruption, though he had considerable difficulty in following the words. The effect of being so near to her after all this time was maddening, more so because with all the emotions sparkling in those eyes, there was no longer any fear.

She had already told him of the fear she had lived with these last months or so—"It was constant, like a cloud shadowing my every move and thought—'' Yet, it was already gone now, and after only hours. Though of course, it would take time for her to trust him completely again. Time as the child was raised; time for her to see that his fears would not touch their child's life. Then too, the major reason she was not afraid of her future with him was owing to her certainty that the child would be normal. Somehow, almost against his will, her certainty, along with Sean's, reassured

him, too. If the child was well, then all he had to do was raise him or her with the knowledge that there could be no more children.

So, their first meeting was characterized by relief, a strange welcomed relief for both parties, whether she knew it not. Yet what was he going to do with the restrictions this future fate wove? My God, how could he have her as his wife, yet not ever touch those lips or feel the softness of her body against his? How could he survive that? One child was risk enough; he would never have another. If only she could be made to drink that tea!

A thing he didn't think she would, ever do ...

Ram ran his hand through her hair, staring intently as she spoke, then taking a long strand of the thick tresses to his face, drinking that sweet scent he remembered so well. Yet still distressed, Joy continued the attempt to persuade him, as though he were some capricious God who held her family's fate in his hands. She never noticed the intensity of his stare, the unmasked desire so plain there, the way that same gaze travelled over her kneeling form.

"Don't you see"—fresh tears sparkled like bright gems in her eyes as her voice revealed her emotions with a whispered tremble—"after losing Joshua, I... I can't—"

Ram finally heard this. He reached out for her, and gathering her in his arms, he brought her gently against his long length, throwing the quilt over them. The warmth that closed so quickly around her, the feel of those muscled arms and the clean masculine scent were so very much like the dreams haunting her sleep and idle hours, she succumbed without protest. She was only vaguely aware she might want to protest. This vanished completely as her face brushed against the smooth hardness of his bare chest, his lips against her forehead, his hands through her hair, and she nuzzled closer still. Succumbing...

She knew not how long she lay entwined in his arms crying, but at some point her emotions quieted. So much had happened; so much was going to happen. Yet all she could think of was this ache in her heart—an ache that she had felt for so terribly long now, this queer empty place in her heart that could bring tears to her eyes for no reason at all—was gone. Banished by his touch. With sudden clarity, she realized the ache had not just been the burden of fear that he would find her, but a fear he would not. It was a longing that knew no other answer but him.

"Being Lady Barrington should not be all bad," he said suddenly with a tender smile. "There are, no doubt, certain benefits."

"Oh?" She looked up. "Like what?'

"Like what?" he seemed to ask himself. "Well, you'll have lots of pretty new dresses—" "I don't care about pretty dresses," she lied. "What else?"

"What else… What else? Well, you'll have all the maple syrup you can eat. How's that?" "Better." She bit her lip to stop her smile. "But what else?"

"Why, you greedy wench!"—he tried to resist the tease of those lips, "Barrington Hall always has the tallest Michaelmas tree in all of England."

"Ohhh!" The smile lifted to her eyes and he drew a sharp uneven breath. "That's nice," she said, unaware of the effect she was giving him. "But then again, it is a very longtime till Michaelmas..."

Ram stared intently, wrapping a loose strand of her long hair around a calloused finger. This was just a game, yet it touched upon the unkind reality of their future, which he knew she didn't understand. Here they were playing and teasing; she no doubt was imagining a happy ending to the book that was their lives. She knew he loved her and she was right; he supposed she had captured his heart the very first day. Yet what a poor miserly trophy it was. He could give her his wealth and his title, he would care for her always but there would probably be no more.

Soon after the child was born, he would have to put distance between them. It would hurt her, as it would him. She would understand of course. Joy reached a hand to his face, not understanding the changed emotions there, but then she gasped and took his hand to lay it over the movement. Ram felt a tiny foot, a jump, and he laughed with the pleasure of it. He needed no encouragement for this, and thinking he had at least a few months when he could make her happy, he shifted her so that she was cradled backside against him with both his hands resting upon their child.

"What will you name him?" she asked in a whisper. "How do you know—"

"I just do," she said simply, thinking of the old woman's prophecy. He did not want a son, she knew, but a son was what she carried.

Accepting this, Ram returned to her question. "Not a fourth, that's for certain. How about Joshua?"

He said it for her; the sentiment touched her heart, but she shook her head. "No, it's too soon

still."

"A child should be named after someone loved, respected and admired. If not Joshua, then

—"

"Absolutely not!" came Seanessy's voice from a dark corner. Ram laughed, and Joy gasped

surprise, but smiled when she heard: "There has never been, nor should there ever be, an English lord with an Irish name! Let alone Seanessy! It's at once absurd—"

"Oh Ram, it's perfect. Lord Seanessy Edward Barrington!"

"Aye, my lady." Ram chuckled. "Sean is, after all, responsible. And since Sean will be his namesake, it is Sean who will be responsible for teaching him to defend the Irish name, which he will no doubt have to do."

"I shan't have a chance to teach the lad!" Sean said. "He'll get too much experience on his own, I'll wager. Well, I can foresee now there will be no dandies raised in the Barrington household. Lord Seanessy—oh, my poor little fellow . . ." It was with laughter still in her eyes that sometime later she fell into the deepest and longest sleep of her life, wrapped in the warmth of his arms. She woke in the morning in the privacy of her own room, wrapped still in his arms. He did not make love to her, but still, what he taught her was a lesson she would never forget.

Ram was quite drunk. It was after all his wedding day, a day he had never dreamt of seeing.

Seanessy followed close behind, drunk as well and for the same reason. The marriage had been simple, short and sweet; it was over. What took half the day was the parting. There was simply no end to the tears, the promises, the sorrow, and when Ram last checked in on Joy, now safely tucked away in the carriage driven by Bart, he couldn't figure what she had been doing. Sitting on the carriage floor and using the seat as a table, an enormous picture book beneath a sheet of paper, she was writing a letter to Cory in the dim light, braced awkwardly for the bumps and jostling. Not three hours had even passed since she waved the final goodbye and she was writing a letter.

The road to Boston was good, one of the best he had seen in this country, and the travelling was smooth. It was dark now. A blanket of snow covered the surrounding woods, gleaming white beneath a moon and starlit night. It was quiet, the trampled layer of snow covering the road cushioned the noise of the carriage wheels and horses hooves.

Ram and Sean rode fast ahead of the carriage, passing a cask back and forth. Their laughter and merriment broke through the quiet that was the night and announced their approach for miles ahead.

"You know, my lord," Sean said with an anticipatory grin. "It will be my great pleasure to see what the voracious appetite of English society makes of the new Lady Barrington. This will be second only to witnessing what she makes of them."

Ram chuckled. "English society is composed entirely of pretenses. Joy has the patience of a gnat when it comes to pretenses. I can just hear her now addressing our 'good' prince regent: 'Sire, it is an absolute imperative that you act immediately for the American Negro! Sending British troops would be just the message those Southern bigots need! I suggest you address your parliament at first chance!"'

Sean laughed for it was only too possible.

"Or," Ram continued after a long draught, "to a group of ladies: 'A pickaninny farm is a hateful place where—'" He stopped with his laughter, imagining the scene clearly. "God's curse, but I only hope I survive her initial introductions. She is not prepared—"

A pistol shot fired in the dark! Sean and Ram instantly drew readied pistols as their mounts reared and danced. Bart, nearly caught off guard, reined the horses to a quick stop, jolting Joy awake, as she was thrown to the floor. Libertine, tied in back, neighed angrily.

The men emerged from the dark forest like rats, and the carriage and horses were suddenly surrounded. "My God, that was a fright," Ram said, assessing the six, seven, eight men, three pistols and so many drawn knives between them. He took a long swallow of the cask and handed it over to Sean. "I thought at first it was another round of assassins."

"No, not assassins these. What is this man? A robbery?"

"Aye! Drop your pistol and get off ye mounts here and no one will get hurt." Sean merely laughed, causing his nervous mount to prance.

"Oh, my dear fellow." Ram leaned forward in his mount with a frightening gleam in his gaze. "I beg to differ. Someone here is going to get very hurt."

Bart sighed, rolling his eyes toward the heavens for help. He could practically repeat the next part word for word.

Sean took out a gold coin and tossed it to Ram, who flipped it in the air. "Heads," Sean called, as his horse danced conveniently around so he was very near the two other raised pistols.

"Tails!" Ram won with a chuckle. "Curse the luck," Sean said.

"Oh hell, Sean! You won last time, remember?"

"What the bloody—" The leader of the pack was a young fellow, big and stocky, with a beard and dark hair covering round, prominent features. His head had been bouncing back and forth as the two spoke, but his men grumbled nervously around him, and he suddenly snapped, "Hey! I said—"

Sean held up his hand for silence. "Just a moment, my dear fellow." Then to Ram he said, "But last time there were only four."

"Oh, very well. I'll split the prize in half." He took another long draught "You're too generous, my lord."

"We're in a hurry anyway."

The pistol was raised higher and through gritted teeth, the leader said, "I said plain: Now drop those pistols and get off!"

"The man means business, Sean." "Aye. It's your move, my lord."

"So it is." Ram raised his pistol as though to drop it but fired into the ground, as simultaneously he kicked the leader's pistol high in the air, while swinging off the horse. Seanessy was known for a certain eagerness in these situations; he had not the restraint to wait. His booted foot kicked hard into another man's face, and this man fell back with such force, he brought two men down with him. The fight was on.

Then came loud grunts and groans. Three shots fired, but in the sudden blur of fists and feet, of brawling bodies, none of the shots hit anything except—"Jesus!" Bart swore as a man caught it in the dead center of his hand, a split second before Ram's fist mercifully put him out of his pain.

Bart bore the interlude with feigned patience. This was not the first time, for God knows, England had more highway robbers than other countries had honest citizens, and though he had no doubt of the speed in which it would be over, he was nonetheless careful to keep a shiny pistol aimed and ready just in case.

Sean laughed as he watched the last two men turn and flee for their lives before calling to Bart to help move the bodies off the road. Bart descended with a curse. Ram was examining his hand as Sean opened the door to the carriage.

“The bastard must have had his mouth open when I hit him, and I've got one of his bloody teeth lodged in my hand." Ram pulled it out with a curse. "Geez, but I could get rabies from a lot like this. Where's that rum cask—"

"Ram." Sean stared into the carriage.

Sean's voice warned him, and he just stared, not able to move at first. She was crouched in the far corner on the floor with her arms crossed tightly over herself and her knees pulled up in a ball. Her eyes were wide and enormous and filled with certain terror.

"Oh God," he cursed under his breath. The carriage lowered with Ram's weight as he bent and stepped inside. Sean shut the door. Ram sat on the cushion seat and brought her quickly onto his lap. She was trembling, and he took the comforter from the opposite seat and wrapped it around her.