Shattered Moments (14 page)

“I’m sorry, lass.  It’s no’ for lack of wanting, I can tell ye that.  I’m sorry.”

Genevieve just nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and walked away.

Cameron walked back to the barracks, his pace unhurried, and his mind whirling with unbidden thoughts.  The lass clearly wanted him, and in his current situation, any affection or human contact was the only thing that stood between him and total withdrawal from life.  Most of the men shared a camaraderie born of loneliness and a need for comfort, but he kept himself to himself, not only because of his faith, but also because friendship led to sharing, and that was about the last thing he wanted.  How could he tell the other men that he’d been accused of murder and sentenced to hang, when most of them were there out of financial need, selling themselves into slavery to feed their families back home? 

He
would have been a dead man long ago had his father not sold everything he could get his hands on, nearly bankrupting the family, to get the sentence commuted to transport to the Colonies rather than hanging.  Cameron’s guts burned with fury every time he thought of that time, nearly two years ago, when his life was torn to shreds in a single moment; a moment that was burned into his heart forever, never to be forgotten or forgiven.  How was it possible for a man to have so little say in his own destiny just because he was born a peasant, rather than a gentleman?  And Mary… his poor Mary.

Cameron suddenly stopped, sliding to the ground until he was leaning against a stout tree
, and glancing up at the heavens sprinkled with stars above his head.  Even the sky was different here; it was smaller somehow, a little patch of blue compared to the vast and all-encompassing sky of Scotland; the air bracing and fresh, unlike the humid embrace of the Virginia summer.  Cameron closed his eyes trying to picture the green valleys and majestic mountains rising in the distance, all under that endless sky that was reflected in every lake and loch; mirroring its grandeur and making a man feel small against the awesome power of nature and God; a God who was supposed to be loving and kind, and treat men the same whether they were farmers or lords.

Every night before he fell asleep
, he tried to picture home, letting his mind roam over the fields and forests, getting a bird’s-eye view of the house and outbuildings as his parents and siblings went about the daily tasks of running the farm. He could almost hear the cows lowing in the barn, and the horses neighing softly as they settled in for the night.  He pictured the field of wheat, the stalks heavy with grain, ready to be harvested and ground into flour to be stored for the winter, or taken to town and sold at a handsome profit.  He loved the harvest and the feeling of accomplishment and completion after the last of the grain was finally harvested, and golden haystacks dotted the fields looking like giant beehives, fragrant with the smell of drying grass and sun.  How often had he fallen asleep in one of those stacks as a lad after a day of helping his father?

Most nights
, Cameron managed to fall asleep with the smell of home in his nostrils, and not the noxious odors of men who rarely bathed and shared a small space with only a tiny window for ventilation, but some nights, Mary’s face would swim before him, her cornflower-blue eyes gazing into his own; her dimples deepening as she smiled at the sight of him, happy to have him all to herself at last.  He remembered pulling off her cap and wrapping a silky curl around his finger, yanking gently so that her face came closer to his, her eyes closing in expectation of a kiss. 

How sweet those moments had been, and how much sweeter still had he known what was about to happen.  She had so nearly been his bride, but instead
, she’d been buried in her wedding finery since her shroud hadn’t been ready.  Most women started working on their shroud once they got married, but Mary never got the chance.  She was still a maid, eager for life to begin with her beloved Cameron and her body to swell with new life, which would combine the best of them and make them into a family.

The priest had called Mary “gregarious” at the funeral, which Cameron thought a bit of an insult, but now that he thought of it, he
supposed she had been.  Mary had always been quick to talk and to laugh, to give a needed hug or a word of comfort.  She’d been his exact opposite, laughing at his taciturn nature and teasing mercilessly.  He hadn’t minded; he liked her teasing.  It meant she loved him.  He supposed he was taciturn when he had no reason to be. 

Life had been grand,
but now it was nothing but a game of survival; the putting of one foot in front of the other until the night finally came and he sank into fevered dreams, fragmented images of home and Mary often shattered by the memory of her face as it stilled in death; her blue eyes reflecting the clouds floating overhead, but no longer seeing them; her neck broken and bloodied, her small hand on her breast as if she were protecting her heart.  Cameron would wake up with a start, tears of anger and loss sliding down his cheeks, until he got hold of himself and lay quietly, until the dawn finally came and it was time to leave his bed and go get his breakfast before going out into the fields for another day’s work.  He didn’t mind the work.  At least it kept him busy, and left him tired enough to fall asleep quickly and get some rest before the dreams came again. 

The sun was beating down mercilessly, the earth parched and desperate for rain after several weeks of hot, dry weather.  Louisa walked slowly from the springhouse where she’d gone to fetch a can of buttermilk for the children’s midday meal, sparing Minnie the trip.  Minnie had her hands full with helping Cook prepare lunch for the adults while shepherding the children into the kitchen for their own meal and keeping the peace.

Louisa didn’t mind having the
kids eat at their table, but the men thought it was the height of impropriety to have children under a certain age eating with adults, and chattering incessantly the way they did, all through the meal.  They were used to different ways, and she had to concede, since this was their time and not hers.  In truth, it was nice to have some peace while they ate since the children ran amok for most of the day, being too young for schooling or chores.  The house was always filled with the sound of running feet and laughter, which was a blessing on some days, and a headache on others; like today when she was suffering from a terrible migraine brought on by her worry for Alec and Valerie.  What she wouldn’t give for an Aspirin right about now, or even a pair of sunglasses to keep the blazing sun out of her eyes.

Louisa put a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun as a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon
signaling a visitor.  The tubby figure of Aloysius Deverell swayed dangerously astride a horse as it galloped at breakneck speed toward Rosewood Manor. 
What did he want?
she thought irritably, subconsciously pulling up her bodice to cover more of her bosom.  Perhaps he wanted to see Kit, so she would just make herself scarce.  She’d bring the buttermilk to the kitchen and then go lie down for a few minutes before lunch.  It would be bliss to close the shutters and lie undisturbed in the dim coolness of the room.  But, as lady of the house, it was rude to walk away from a visitor she’d clearly seen.  Deverell had seen her as well; his pudgy hand raised in greeting as he slowed down to a trot and cantered into the yard, sliding off the horse with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.  He bowed to Louisa before wiping the perspiration off his face with his gloved hand and asking after her health, his eyes gliding over her breasts and hips. 
Insolent bastard
, Louisa spat out mentally, before forcing her lips into a smile of welcome and inviting him into the house.

“Do make yourself comfortable, Mr. Deverell.  Would you care for some refreshment?” she asked through clenched teeth. 

“You are very gracious, Lady Sheridan.  I wouldn’t say no to a cool drink,” he replied as he settled into a chair, fanning himself with his hat.  “Hot as hell out there,” he puffed, smiling at his own wit.  “Is Lord Sheridan about, my dear lady?  I’d like a quick word.”

“Was he expecting you?” Louisa asked, hoping the man realized he wasn’t welcome to drop in
whenever he felt the urge.  There was something about him that made her flesh crawl, and it wasn’t the lascivious look in his eyes.  It was something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. 

Louisa
was rescued from any further dealings with Deverell when Kit strode in, surprised to see their uninvited guest.  He plastered a smile on his face and bowed to Deverell, but remained standing to indicate that the visit would be brief and businesslike.  Deverell threw back a cup of ale provided by Minnie and rose laboriously to his feet.

“My dear Lord Sheridan, what a pleasure
it is to see you again.  I was hoping for a private word.  A stroll outside perhaps?” 

A stroll outside was the last thing Deverell needed, considering that his face was already beet-red
, and his coat was stained with sweat stains, but he obviously wanted to speak to Kit in private, which was just as well since it gave Louisa a chance to escape.  She bid Deverell a good day and fled to her bedroom, her head beating like an Indian drum calling the braves to war.  Louisa didn’t even bother to speak to Annabel as she came down the stairs with her sewing basket, heading for her favorite spot by the parlor window.

**

Kit just nodded and led the way.  He tried hard to conceal his irritation at finding Deverell in the parlor, but he could hardly just ask the man to leave.  After all, he couldn’t help being an ass any more than Kit could stop being civil.  His courtly manners prevailed, and he smiled at Deverell, inviting him to speak.  “What can I do for you, Aloysius?”

Deverell didn’t answer right away, but kept walking
away from the house toward the pond, glancing back from time to time to make sure they were far enough away, before finally broaching the subject that brought him all the way to Rosewood Manor.

“I wanted to speak to you regarding a property I found
yesterday.”  Deverell was watching Kit as if expecting him to say something, but Kit remained silent, waiting to see exactly what it was Deverell wanted with him.

“Christopher
… may I call you Christopher?” he asked, not waiting for a reply.  “I found a suitable property not an hour from here, with a manor house and barracks for the workers already in place.  It’s a thriving concern, but the owner wishes to return to England and wants to sell up quickly.  I think I’d rather like to buy it.”  Aloysius wet his lips and glanced at Kit, his eyes twinkling.

“
If you think the man is naming a fair price, then you should seize the opportunity and make an offer,” Kit replied, wondering what Deverell expected him to say.  Maybe he simply wanted some advice from someone who knew something of growing tobacco and supervising a large number of workers.  Kit suddenly felt ashamed of himself for being uncharitable.  The man simply wanted counsel, being new to Virginia and the ways of tobacco growing, and here he was acting like a total cad and wanting to get rid of him. 

“Well, I’d like to, but that rather depends on you
,” Deverell stated, his piggy eyes never leaving Kit’s face.

“In what way?” Kit felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach
, all thoughts of contrition forgotten.  This didn’t bode well, and he was just waiting for this nasty little man to spring his trap.

“I seem to be somewhat short of funds, dear boy, and I thought you might make up the difference, about seventy
-five percent of the purchase price, I’d say.”  Deverell stepped back slightly, probably afraid that Kit would strike him, but Kit remained calm, watching him intently.

“And how did you arrive at this conclusion?” he asked, smiling pleasantly.

“It seems to me that there are a few people in this colony who would be very interested to learn about the nature of your relationship with Buckingham, including your dear wife, and I would be happy to enlighten them should you fail to meet my demands.”

“Blackmail is a dangerous game, Deverell,” Kit stated, his voice flat and expressionless. 

“Are you threatening me?” Deverell squeaked. He was even redder in the face than before, his mouth slack with shock.

“You are threatening me, are you not?  Why shouldn’t I do the same?  Two can play this game.”

“I have prepared a document which is in the keeping of my wife, stating that if anything happens to me, you are responsible.  You will hang.  So, either you help me buy the plantation, and we will keep this business between us, or everyone finds out what I know.” He was sweating profusely, his cheeks glistening in the hot sun, sweat stains clearly visible under his arms and down his back.

“What is it that you claim to know?” Kit asked, keeping his voice calm and
mentally forbidding himself from beating this heap of dung to a pulp.

“I know that Buckingham is a sodomite, and so are you.  You welcomed his advances
, and willingly went to his bed, where he buggered you, and you most likely buggered him.  Should I continue?”  When Kit didn’t say anything, he went on, strolling back toward the house and his horse should he need to make a hasty exit. 

“Buckingham’s manservant is related to one of my own, and he saw
you two together, you disgusting degenerate.  Does your wife know about that?  I wager she’d be interested to find out about her husband, the father of her children, as would Sir Yardley and the rest of Jamestown society.  Do they hang people for sodomy?” he asked pleasantly as if asking if they’d have fine weather tomorrow. 

They were now closer to the house, the sound of shrieking children spilling from the windows
, and Cook’s shrill voice ordering them to be quiet.  Kit had to raise his voice to be heard over the ruckus, “You have two minutes to walk back to your horse and get off my property.  If I still find you here at that time, I will horsewhip you until you are one big, bloody, pulpy mess that no one will recognize, and then I will throw you into the harbor and let the fish have a feast the likes of which they’d never known.  Is that clear?” 

Deverell was already running for his horse, his curses flying through the air to land on deaf ears.  Kit couldn’t hear him over the blood roaring in his ears, and the fear coursing through his veins.  The man had the power to destroy everything he held dear, but he would not, WOULD NOT, give in to blackmail.  He would just have to hope that people wouldn’t believe Deverell
, and weigh Kit’s character against that of the odious little man who chose to spread such vicious gossip; true though it may be.  Although, if people loved anything as much as a good hanging, it was juicy gossip, be it true or not.

Kit
trotted back to the pond where he tore off his clothes and jumped in, needing to cool off, mentally and physically.