Shattered Moments (3 page)

June 1626

Virginia

Kit wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, cursing the infernal heat that made sweat run down his back and into his breeches.  He’d been at the docks since dawn, supervising the unloading of the
Morning Star
as a favor to Charles who had a touch of fever.  Probably just wanted to sleep in for a change, not that the children would let him, thought Kit with a smile of satisfaction.  They could raise the devil himself once they wanted their breakfast. 

He’d woken early,
getting out of bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake Louisa.  She looked peaceful as the sun that filtered through the curtains drew a halo around her head, making her look like a saint in a church painting.  Actually, not many saints were painted with their golden hair down and their breasts swelling above the low-cut shift, but that was just splitting hairs.  She was a saint to him.  He wished he could wake her and make love to her, but the guilt made him leave the room and go outside to splash some cold water on his face and neck.  His cock was throbbing mercilessly, the remnants of the dream still swirling before his eyes and giving his stomach a turn.  He had the dreams less frequently now, but sometimes they still came, taking him by surprise and leaving him quaking with desire and cringing with shame. 

When awake, Kit never permitted himself to think of George.  He put Buckingham out of his mind
once they left England, refusing to succumb to the occasional desire to feel sorry for himself and wallow in self-pity.  What happened, happened, and as long as Louisa was none the wiser, he would do everything in his power to make her happy and be a good husband and father.  The episode with George was over, and if he had a say in the matter, they’d never see each other again since Kit had no intention of returning to England any time soon, and George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was not likely to turn up in Virginia without a damn good reason.  He had plenty to occupy him at home, especially since the death of his beloved King James and the possible war with Spain.  Kit had heard talk that Buckingham had been by James’s side when he died last year, and took the loss very badly. 

Kit never did understand their relationship, but Buckingham had been truly in love with the King of England, and felt an emotional attachment to him that went beyond lust.  They were kindred spirits, united by more than physical love; they were spouses of the heart.  Kit felt a momentary pang of compassion for the bereaved queen and Buckingham’s wife.  What was it like for these poor women to be married to men who preferred other men?  They were bound to know after all these years, but maybe they just convinced themselves that it was all vicious lies and chose to believe that their husband
s were the same as other men in their appetites, and not dreaming of strong thighs and hard cocks.

But dreams were a different realm altogether, and sometimes
Kit woke in the middle of the night dreaming that George was on his knees, his mouth hot and demanding as his black eyes gazed up at him, dancing with mirth.  His body throbbed with need, his cock hard as a rock and begging for release.  Kit would turn his back to Louisa and yank at himself until he felt as if he would rip the damn thing off and his seed exploded all over his hand, leaving him trembling, and as always, reeling with shame.  Would he ever be able to forget?  Just the other day Charles had leaned against him while reaching for a cup and Kit nearly hit him, fury coursing through his veins as his body tensed like a wooden plank, his teeth clenched until his jaw nearly cracked.  If Charles had been taken aback by this reaction, he didn’t say anything, but hastily pulled away, clapping Kit on the shoulder by form of apology. 

Kit found himself keeping his distance from all men, never allowing any physical contact for fear that he might feel something more than revulsion.  At least Alec understood, and although he never brought George up, he made sure to keep his
distance, allowing Kit to heal in his own way and preserve something of his dignity in the face of Alec’s knowledge.  Alec never asked, and Kit never told, but knowing that Alec knew didn’t make things any easier.

Thankfully, the unloading was complete
, and he could stop at a nearby tavern for a tankard of cool ale before starting for home.  He’d jump into the pond and have a quick bath before going back to the house and facing whatever needed to be done there.  With Alec away, he was responsible for the workers and the livestock, especially while Charles was indisposed. 

“Lord Sheridan!  Yoo-hoo, Lord Sheridan!”  Kit spun on his heel, looking to see who was calling him.  He didn’t recognize the voice or the man it belonged to.  He was
grossly fat, his head sitting on his massive shoulders as if he had no neck at all, the double chin straining against the stiff collar of his coat, which was made of a heavy velvet completely inappropriate to the climate, and his wig slightly askew as he hurried down the quay. 

“Lord Sheridan, it
is
you,” he announced, still panting as he finally came to a stop in front of Kit.  His cheeks glistened with sweat, and Kit was momentarily distracted by the movement inside the wig as something crawled among the powdered curls. 

“
I’m afraid you have me at a loss, sir,” Kit said, desperately trying to place the man.  He had seen him before, he was sure of that; he just couldn’t recall where.

“Why, it’s me, Aloysius Deverell.  We met at Court,
before we all fled the city to save ourselves from the plague, don’t you recall?  Terrible business.  So many taken.  Thankfully, it’s mostly the poor that sicken and not people of quality, although death doesn’t discriminate, does it?”  Deverell shook his head as if these philosophical questions were too heavy for his feeble brain.

“My nephew died of the plague.  He was twenty,” Kit replied, his voice flat, and his eyes narrowed as he took
the measure of the man in front of him.  Yes, they had met, but Kit never wanted to pursue the acquaintance, unlike Deverell who was only too eager to ingratiate himself with powerful men.  He was a younger son of a prominent family, wealthy, but not titled, and very ambitious.  His girth made him appear older than he was, but in truth, he was no more than thirty-five.  Kit briefly wondered what Deverell was doing in Virginia before dismissing him from his mind.  It was time to bid his new “friend” a good day and take himself off to the tavern, Kit thought, but his escape was not to be.

“
Is there anywhere we might have a drink and get out of his insufferable heat?” Deverell asked as he followed Kit down the quay.  “It’s like the last circle of Hell, isn’t it?”  Kit didn’t care to find out how hot the last circle of Hell got, nor did he want to have a drink with this man, but it seemed churlish to refuse, especially since he was going to have one anyway, so he led the way to the tavern, hoping the man would just have one drink and leave him in peace. 

“Ah, much better,” Deverell uttered as he took a long pull of his ale, his face regaining something akin to normal color.  “I’ve just arrived
last night as it happens.  I’m looking to buy a tobacco plantation.  Most profitable, I hear, most profitable.  And with indentured labor to rely on, it practically runs itself.  You live on a plantation, do you not?”  he asked, gulping down the last of his ale and signaling the serving wench for another one. 

“Yes, but it hardly runs itself,” Kit replied, not giving anything away.  He didn’t want to get into a lengthy discussion
about life on a plantation, just have his drink and leave.  In either case, even if Deverell bought a plantation, he would hardly be running it himself.  All he had to do was hire an efficient overseer and never have to involve himself in anything other than the counting of the profits.  Most plantation owners weren’t like Alec and didn’t take part in the day-to-day running of things.  Alec knew every man by name, and made sure that no one was mistreated or ill. 

The overseer, Mr. Worthing, brought all problems and complaints directly to Alec, who personally resolved the situation.  Kit had to admit that he’d never realized quite how much Alec actually did until he had to step into his shoes these past few weeks.  Kit worried about him constantly, but kept up a chee
rful disposition for Louisa’s sake.  He could see the constant worry in her eyes and the way her eyes kept straying to the road a hundred times a day, praying that she would finally see Alec and Valerie returning home.  Louisa wasn’t quite whole without Valerie, and Kit admired the bond between the sisters.  He still missed his own sister Caro every day, but they had never been as emotionally entwined as his wife and her sister.

“I say, how is your lovely wife?  Louisa, is it not?”
Deverell asked, watching Kit closely.

“Lady Sheridan is well, thank you,” Kit replied, itching to escape.
  Something about the way the man looked at him made him feel defensive, and he just wanted to part company, and hopefully, have as few dealings with the man as possible.  Kit believed himself to be a good judge of character, and Deverell’s character was something he wanted no part of.  He vaguely recalled some talk about him at Court, but it had been a long time ago, and he couldn’t recollect the details.  He did, however, remember that Deverell had some association with Thomas Gaines, Annabel’s brother, who died under mysterious circumstances nearly two years ago.

“A most handsome woman
, Lady Sheridan,” Deverell opined, clearly annoyed by Kit’s lack of attention.  “You are a lucky man, a lucky man indeed.  I wager she’s happy to be away from Court.”  Deverell gave Kit an innocent look, his piggy eyes glued to Kit’s face, watching for a reaction.

“Why would you think she’s happy away from Court?”
  Kit put his musings aside and finally gave Deverell his full attention.  Something in the way Deverell was watching him put him on guard and he resolved not to get caught in whatever trap the man was setting, if that’s what he was about.  Could be that Kit was just oversensitive about the past and was reading something that wasn’t there into an innocent comment.

“Why, with the close relationship you shared with Buckingham, I would think she’d be glad to have you all to herself.  Poor George was heartbroken when His
Majesty died.  He was so devoted to him.  I fear he might never recover.”  Deverell scrunched his face in mock pity, still watching Kit and licking his lips like a hungry cat.

“My wife misses Court as it happens, and would like to go back in the near future.”  Louisa wanted no such thing, but he wasn’t about to give this weasel the satisfaction of admitting to anything.
  The less he said, the better.

“Does she, indeed?  Well, I’m certain that she would be welcomed back with open arms, as would you, my dear Lord Sheridan.  I think dear George would be overwhelmed with joy to see such a beloved friend, knowing what you meant to each other.”

“What are you implying, sir?” Kit demanded, his patience coming to an end, and the look on Deverell’s face belatedly telling him that this is exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. 

“Why, nothing my dear man,
nothing at all.  What would I be implying other than the fact that you and Lord Buckingham were dear friends?  You spent much time in his rooms discussing state business, a very bonding experience, I imagine.  I’m sure your wife was quite proud, knowing you helped shape the foreign policy of our great nation, working so
intimately
with one of our country’s leaders.”  Deverell smiled, stressing the word “intimately” as he held Kit’s gaze. 

“I must go,” Kit said tersely, rising from his seat
, “I have business to attend to.”

“It was a pleasure to see you, Lord
Sheridan, a pleasure indeed.  We’ll see each other soon, I think.  Very soon.  As a matter of fact, I would relish the pleasure of having you and dear Lady Sheridan to supper once we’ve settled, my wife and I.  I’ll send a note, shall I?” 

“I’
ll look forward to it,” replied Kit, bowing stiffly and fleeing the tavern.  Was he being overly suspicious, or was the man hinting at his knowledge of Kit’s relationship with Buckingham?  Was this spawn of the devil merely having a bit of fun with him, or did he have something more practical in mind?  Kit dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, harder than he should have perhaps, and the horse took off at a gallop toward Rosewood Manor.  Damn it all to hell, Kit thought, why can’t the past ever stay in the past?

June 177
9

Virginia

“Come on, little man,” Sam whispered as he lifted the solid little body of his son out of the cot and tiptoed toward the door.  “Let’s let mama sleep for a while longer.”  He smiled at Susanna’s face, relaxed in sleep and slightly more rounded now that she was in the last months of pregnancy.  Her stomach looked like a mound under the covers, moving of its own accord as the baby kicked and frolicked in its cushy world. 

“Want mama,” Ben screamed, pushing at Sam with his hands and straining to catch a last look of Susanna.  “Want mama,” he repeated again.

“Why don’t we go up to the big house and visit with everyone?  I think they might just be sitting down to breakfast, and Grandma always has bacon on Sunday mornings.  Hmm, what do you think?” Sam asked, knowing of his son’s legendary love of bacon.  Ben only started eating table food two months ago, and bacon had been the one thing that seemed to appeal to his finicky palate; he was indifferent to everything else.  Ben nodded happily and stopped fighting as Sam deftly changed his clout, washed his face and hands with water from the barrel outside the door, and ran a hand through Ben’s hair in an effort to get it to actually lie down for a change.  It always stood on end when he woke up, making him look slightly wild, but oh-so-adorable. 

Sam covered the distance to the house in
record time, eager for some bacon, porridge and a cup of real tea, not the swill he made over a campfire.  He’d just come back from his latest mission last night, climbing into bed just as Susanna was falling asleep, Ben curled up at her side with his thumb in his mouth.  Susanna mumbled words of love and welcome and was out before he even had a chance to give her a proper kiss.  She was tired, which was natural in her condition, and he would give her a chance to rest while spending an agreeable hour with his family.  He hadn’t seen them since Ben’s first birthday two weeks ago, and besides, he had information for his father.

Ben nearly fell out of
Sam’s arms as he let out a squeal of joy at seeing Diana.  She was already being fed; porridge smeared over her little face, and her hands sticky with honey dripping from the piece of bread she was holding on to for dear life.  She got equally excited to see Ben, so Sam sat them next to each other and let them feed each other bacon while he took a seat on the bench next to Finn and exchanged greetings with everyone.  His mother placed a plate piled with porridge, bacon, bread, and butter in front of him and kissed the top of his head, as she had when he was little.  It was nice to be home.

“How’s Susanna?” John Mallory asked, pushing away his plate with a little burp of satisfaction.
  Sam knew his father was eager to hear the news, but he wasn’t budging until after breakfast.  Susanna hadn’t left anything for him to eat last night, not expecting him home, and he was starving, having had nothing in his belly since the previous afternoon.

“She’s well.  Still sleeping,” Sam replied
as he popped a piece of grease-soaked bread into his mouth and sighed with satisfaction.  “It can’t be long now; she’s huge.”

“She’s not due for two more months, son,” Mrs. Mallory cut in, giving Sam an amused look.  “I hope it’s not twins.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Sam asked, winking at Finn, who rolled his eyes at the idea.

“Having three children under the age of
two is not what most women aspire to,” Hanna Mallory replied, shaking her head.  “It’s hard enough with two, especially since Ben seems intent on escaping every chance he gets.  Your father caught him by the stream yesterday, trying to fish with a stick.  He could have fallen in.”  Sam threw a look at Ben, who was in seventh heaven as he shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth, his eyes closed in concentration.  With only four teeth, it took him a while to chew, which was actually beneficial to them all since it kept him quiet for a few minutes at a time.

“I will try to stay at home until Susanna
’s delivered and look after Ben.”  Sam got quiet as he glanced at his father, who pursed his lips.  Clearly, he had the next mission already lined up, needing Sam more than ever since Uncle Alfred was up north gathering valuable information to be passed on to the Continental Army.

“Pa, I need to be there for Sue.  I know you all help her,
especially the girls, but it’s me she needs.”

“All right son, maybe we can send Finn instead.” 

Abbie’s head snapped up at this, her own breakfast forgotten.  “Not if I can help it,” she cried, the memory of their last mission still fresh in her mind.  Finn had made some local runs, but Abbie resolutely refused to let him go any further, especially behind enemy lines.  Their experience in New York left her fearful and over-protective, and with good reason.

“Abs, it’s all right,” Finn said, laying a hand on her arm.  “It won’t be the same as New York, will it
, Mr. Mallory?  I won’t be in any danger.”

“There’s always danger,” Abbie protested, her face pale.  “People die every single day and not only in battle.  I won’t let you go.  I won’t.”  With that, she scooped Diana off the bench and stepped outside, Ben’s howl clearly audible through the open window. 

“
I won’t let him go,” Abbie mumbled to herself and set off for the stream.  Diana squirmed in her arms, but Abbie paid little attention as she stomped away from the house.  She was angry with her father; angry that he wanted to expose Finn to danger after what happened in New York.  She didn’t think of it as often anymore, but it was still there, never far away, especially at night.  She had come within an hour of her execution, and that was something she’d never forget.  Abbie still had nightmares in which she was trapped in the airless little cell, afraid to close her eyes and miss even a minute of her last hours on earth. 

She had never been as terrified, alone, or heartbroken.  Her baby was going to die with her, and they would spend an eternity in some unmarked grave
; carelessly tossed on top of a pile of other corpses who met the same fate, and left to rot without so much as a funeral service or a marker of some sort.

And then they nearly lost Sam.  Those weeks of watching and waiting, praying for some word of Sam, and coming to accept the reality were almost as bad as wait
ing for death.  Susanna didn’t stop Sam from going on missions for the Committee, but then Susanna had never gone through what Abbie had.  Susanna had been safe at the British fort, nursing an American rebel back to health under the assumption that he was a British corporal.  She’d never experienced the agony that Abbie felt during those weeks. 

It had taken
Abbie months to finally stop waking in the night, convinced that Sam was dead, and that she hadn’t really escaped at all; death just waiting for her as soon as the sun came up.  And although she’d learned to live with the fear, she’d never feel entirely safe again, not as long as the war continued. 

Her father had never again suggested that she undertake any kind of assignment, especially not since she was now a mother, but he still wanted to utilize Finn, and Abbie was terrified every time he left home, believing he would never come back.  Her father told her that her fears were irrational, but Abbie knew several women who’d lost their husband
s, and she was sure many more would before this conflict with England was finally resolved. 

Savannah was controlled by the British, and Finn would be walking into terrible danger.  He wasn’t in uniform, and no one knew him, not even the contact he was to meet with, but that didn’t mean that something couldn’t go wrong
— terribly wrong.  The thought of losing Finn was even worse than the thought of her own death.  At least if she were dead, she wouldn’t be conscious of her situation; wouldn’t have to live with the terrible aching loss every single day, her mind constantly replaying images of them together while he was alive.

How was i
t possible to love another person so much that you would rather die than live without them? Abbie pondered as she washed Diana’s face and hands with cool water from the spring.  Diana managed to grab a stone and toss it into the water, splashing Abbie’s face and bringing her to her senses.  She pulled the little girl close and kissed the top of her dark, curly head, needing to feel that bond that tethered her with an invisible chain.

She had to let Finn go, had to have faith.  If she kept him at home, he would grow to resent her, and feel that she was taking away his manhood.  He was a grown man, and he knew how to a
ssess risk.  If he felt this was something he could do, then she had to trust his judgment.  They were fighting a war for freedom, and she couldn’t prevent Finn from taking part.  At least he’d been true to his word and hadn’t joined the army where he would be right there in the thick of it, like Jonah.  Thankfully, Jonah was still alive, but the boy who left wasn’t the man who came back.  He’d seen horrors beyond his worst imaginings, and nothing would ever bring his idealism back, or erase the images that now permanently lived in his mind. 

Abbie sighed and picked up
Diana.  She hated to do it, but she would go back and give Finn her blessing, and her love.  However, she still wasn’t ready to forgive her father, no matter how patriotic he was. He put the cause before the welfare of his children, and she supposed she respected him for that, but she still felt the pain of that choice.