Rachel's Choice (32 page)

“You're feverish,” she answered. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Chance grimaced. “You've been thumping against my back all afternoon. A little more of you won't make me feel any worse, and you might make me feel a lot better.”

She clasped his right hand and bent to kiss his fingertips, one by one. “You're much too ill for
thumping
,” she murmured.

“I'm cold. I need warming.”

“You're a devil, Chance Chancellor.” But she undid the buttons on her bodice and slipped off her skirt, petticoat, stockings, and camisole. She eased into the narrow bed beside him, wearing only her corset and drawers.

“Ouch.” He groaned. “Your bones are jabbing me.”

“That's not my bones,” she whispered. “It's my stays.”

“I don't care what it is. Take it off.”

Despite the delicious thrill that skittered down her spine, Rachel felt herself blush. “What if Granny Pritchett comes out? Or the boy? What will they think of me?”

He chuckled. “You told them that you were my wife, remember? Where else would a wife be, but by her sick husband's side?”

“I shouldn't be doing this,” she grumbled. “You're much too ill for hanky-panky.”

“Who said anything about hanky-panky? I just want you beside me, Rachel, sweet. You kept me alive, you
know. They threw me into the pit. It's a grave for the living. When the sun heats the metal lid, a man knows what hell feels like.”

Her throat constricted, and she made no protest as he fumbled with the ties at the back of her corset. “How did you get away?” she whispered.

“Pharaoh and Tom pulled me out of the hole. At least, I think it was them. They carried me to the infirmary. You have to be able to stand up to hang. I'm not sure how they managed it, but I think they switched me with a dead man. Nothing's too clear in my head, but I heard the surgeon tell someone that Chancellor was dead.”

Rachel's stays loosened, and she freed her aching breasts. She hadn't nursed Davy in days; she'd thought that her milk would dry up, but so far it hadn't. “I'll leak milk all over you,” she whispered.

“I've bled all over you,” he answered. “It seems a fair trade.”

She snuggled close to him, taking comfort from his long, lean leg and hip and the weight of his arm across her back. His velvety Virginia accent seeped through her weary body and drained away her aches and pains.

“Is Travis safe?”

“Home on Rachel's Choice,” she whispered. “I told you, didn't I? He's bad sick, Chance. I don't know how long he'll live, but when I left him, he was safe.”

“I didn't want to endanger you,” Chance said hoarsely. “But I couldn't leave him there. I counted on the ruse working long enough for you to get him on board the
Windfeather.
”

“It did that,” she admitted. “But it's lucky that you weren't where I could get my hands on you. I think I would have killed you myself.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not, you lyin' bastard.” She punched his arm lightly. “You'd do it again. Admit it.”

“I would.”

“Damn right, you would.”

He chuckled. “For a devout Methodist, you use a lot of profanity.”

“If I do, it's your fault,” she retorted. “I never did until you washed up in my crab trap.”

He kissed her bare shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “You smell good,” he murmured.

“Not as good as I would if I'd had the bath instead of you,” she teased.

Her eyelids felt heavy, but she fought sleep. In the morning she'd have to figure a way to get home. With Chance in such bad shape, they'd never make the meeting with Pharaoh. They must cross the bay and reach the farm without being caught by the Union soldiers.

But that wasn't what bothered her most. Worse was the thought that she'd found Chance only to lose him again.

“Be careful what you pray for,” her grandmother had warned.

Rachel had made a bargain with God, and she'd not complain when Chance rode out of her life. But that wouldn't make it any easier to accept.

Three days later Granny Pritchett's grandson, Vernon, led Rachel and Chance to Hangman's Cove shortly after nightfall. All three wore patched and threadbare clothing, and Rachel had stained Chance's hair and skin with a dye made of walnut hulls to disguise him.

Vernon promised to turn the stolen horse loose in a farmer's field far from Finn's Point, but Rachel refused to surrender the animal until it had carried Chance out of the pines and back to the river. He was improving, but the ordeal had taken its toll on him, and the lacerations on his back were far from healed.

Chance didn't expect Pharaoh to be at the meeting place, but it was impossible to know who to trust, and the Delaware River was heavily patrolled. If Rachel tried to buy passage home from the wrong fisherman, she and Chance would end up dead or in irons.

Rachel tried to hide her disappointment when she found the cove dark. “No lights,” she whispered to Chance. “No sign of any boats at all.”

“I told you that it was a waste of time to come here,” he answered softly. “We're days late. If he and Tom did escape the soldiers and reach your sloop, they're a long way from here.”

“Pharaoh wouldn't desert me,” she insisted.

“I have to go back,” Vernon put in. “I can leave you the horse if you want, but Gran expects me—”

“No.” Chance dismounted. “You take the gelding and get out of here while the getting is good. You've done enough for us. Go home to your grandmother.”

Rachel had offered Granny Pritchett money for her help, but the old woman had shook her head. “You've Lenape blood in you,” she said. “I see it in your eyes. Our people look out for one another.”

Now Rachel slipped the boy a twenty-dollar gold piece. “Buy something for yourself,” she said.

“No. Can't. Gran said I weren't to take no money off ye.”

“Please,” Rachel coaxed. “If you don't want it for yourself, buy something your grandmother needs.”

“All right,” he agreed. “I reckon I might find her a cookstove for this much money. Her back gets to aching, standing over that open fireplace.”

“Now what?” Chance asked when the horse's hoofbeats faded away in the distance. “I wouldn't recommend swimming the bay. I've done it, and it leaves a lot to be desired.”

“We'll wait,” she said.

“Wait for the Union troops to capture us?”

“No.” She sat down on the beach. “You don't understand. I told Pharaoh to meet me here. If he went home without us, Cora would send him back. If we wait long enough, he'll come.”

“You're a trusting woman, Rachel,” he said as he settled down beside her.

“I am,” she replied. “Isn't that what got me into this
trouble in the first place? It's not enough that I'm a Confederate spy; now I'm a horse thief as well.”

He chuckled, and they snuggled together under the single blanket Granny Pritchett had given them and watched the stars twinkle on, one by one.

In time a pale, shimmering moon rose over the water. The radiant moonlight danced across the surface of the bay, painting the marsh grass and lapping waves with liquid silver. And as Rachel listened, she was certain she could hear a haunting melody played by the salt breeze as it threaded through the swaying reeds and wound around the spreading beach-plum bushes.

“This must be an enchanted spot,” she whispered to Chance. “It makes me feel …” She searched for the words to describe the swelling emotion inside and then sighed in defeat. “Happy,” she finished lamely.

“I've been in worse places,” Chance replied. He cupped her breast gently and leaned close to kiss her. “Much worse.”

The caress was her undoing. She met his desire with equal passion, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him down to cover her with his hard muscular body. Both knew the need for caution, but the sand was soft, and the yellow moonlight as intoxicating as any wine.

“I love you,” he said as he pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat. “You'll never know how much I love you.”

“And I love you.” She moaned softly, unable to stop her trembling any more than she could hold back the waves of heat that spilled through her body. “Forever and ever, Chance, just you.”

Neither could wait. He came into her with hard, deep thrusts, and she cried aloud as the world tilted and exploded
in one great burst of release … bringing an endless shower of falling stars and sweet, sweet joy.

Afterward he held her, and they laughed and whispered like carefree lovers, sleeping only fitfully before awakening at dawn to listen to a flock of wild geese calling plaintively overhead.

“Autumn's coming,” Chance said as the cries of the waterfowl drifted over the water. “Soon it will be time to harvest your corn.”

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not for a while.” It was too soon; she wasn't ready to part with him yet. But woman's instinct told her that when he did go, he'd leave something of himself behind. She was certain that they'd made a child together on this warm sand, a babe that she could hold close in her arms and cherish when Chance was only a memory.

“I've got to go back to the war,” he reminded her. “You know that.”

“Yes. I know that, but I don't want to think about it. I only want to think about us—you, and me, and Davy—at home, milking, tending the garden, having dinner together.”

“Milking's not my favorite subject,” he said.

“You,” she admonished. “You know what I mean. I like the quiet times together. That's what I want to remember.”

“Oh,” he teased. “So nothing that happened on this beach is worth remembering?”

She laughed. “Chance Chancellor, must you be so … so—”

He silenced her with a tender kiss.

She pulled away. “Wait. Did you hear something? A
splash?” She peered into the gray mist that hung over the bay. “Out there.”

“No, I didn't. It was probably a fish jumping.”

“A big fish, more like an anchor.” She rose and hurried down to the waterline. The tide was out, and she ran barefoot over broken clamshells and bits of driftwood.

Her heartbeat quickened. It was an anchor being dropped that she'd heard; it had to be. Lifting her skirts, she waded out.

“Rachel, come back here,” Chance called from the beach.

But she didn't stop until the waves broke over her knees. And minutes later, when the sun's first rays pierced the mist, she caught sight of her sloop anchored a hundred yards off shore.

Pharaoh had come back for them, just as she'd known all along that he would.

Halfway across the bay, while a stiff breeze drove the
Windfeather
toward the Delaware shore, Pharaoh crossed the deck to where Chance was sitting. He seized him by the front of his shirt, lifted him off the deck, and slammed a massive fist into his jaw. “That's for being a damned rebel,” Pharaoh declared.

Stunned, Chance stumbled back against the mast.

“What are you doing?” Rachel cried. Frightened, she let go of the tiller and ran toward the blacksmith. Surely Pharaoh didn't mean to betray them now. “You can't—”

“Stay out of this, Miss Rachel,” he warned. “This is between Richmond and me. And now that I got that bad feeling toward him out of my system, we can talk, man to man.”

Pharaoh yanked Chance up onto his feet, and Chance
threw up his left arm to defend himself from another blow. The black man chuckled, let go of him, and stepped away.

Heart in her throat, Rachel tried to wedge herself between the two. This couldn't be happening. They were only hours from home and safety, and there wasn't a Union patrol boat in sight.

“Stay clear, Rachel,” Chance said. “I can take care of myself.” He knotted his fists and took a boxer's stance.

Pharaoh grinned, flexing muscles along his huge arms and burly shoulders. He wore only cut-off trousers, and his bare skin gleamed ebony-blue in the bright sunlight.

“You look like you can take care of yourself, reb,” Pharaoh scoffed.

Chance rubbed his chin gingerly; his jaw was rapidly swelling, but his dazed expression was quickly hardening to anger.

“I needed to get that hit out of my system,” Pharaoh explained. “You know how I feel about Southerners, Virginians in particular. He's lucky I just hit him. Usually I do a lot worse.”

“You're not going to hit him anymore, then?” she said.

“Nope. I mean to throw him into the bay,” Pharaoh answered matter-of-factly. “Unless he agrees to do the right thing by you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Chance asked.

“You'll marry Miss Rachel today. Either that, or you'll have a long swim to land.”

Rachel's face flamed as she laid a hand on Pharaoh's shoulder. “This is none of your affair. I know you mean well, but I'll have no part of a shotgun wedding.”

Pharaoh jabbed his broad finger at her. “It's not for
you to say, Miss Rachel,” he said. “The reb's got no choice. Either he saves your reputation or—”

“Shut up, both of you,” Chance snapped. “I'm capable of speaking for myself.”

“We don't need your fancy words, lawyer,” Pharaoh said. “You will marry her or—”

Chance's pale eyes glinted steel. “I like to do my own proposing, if you don't mind.”

“Chance,” Rachel interjected. “You don't—”

“I said
quiet
!”

Rachel opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it.

“I meant to speak of this later, but I do have honorable intentions toward the lady. Rachel, will you consent to become my wife?”

It was her turn to be stunned. “Since when?” she murmured. “When did you decide that you wanted to marry me?”