Sioux Slave (7 page)

 

 

Lenore Carstairs was the most beautiful and richest girl in the county, Rand thought, sitting next to her on the wicker settee near the camelia bush in the big glass conservatory.

She touched his face with her fan and pouted. “For pity's sake, Rand, dear, it looks like you could see me more often.”

Through the French doors that opened into the mansion, soft sound of old Mrs. Carstairs' piano floated on the early spring air. Lenore hummed the tune absently and played with the lace of her emerald silk dress.

“Lenore, I know there hasn't been much action around here, but in case you've forgotten, there's a war going on.”

Lenore shook her ebony curls and fluttered her fan, flirting with heavily lashed golden eyes. “Now don't get testy with me over your little old war,” she cooed. “After all, you didn't have to go. Most of the other rich boys paid a substitute.”

Had she always been so frivolous and empty-headed as she seemed now?
Frivolous and empty-headed.
That was also a good description of himself when the war began. Rand winced when he remembered why, with Kentucky staying with the Union, he had decided to join the Confederate cavalry. He had thought the Rebels more dashing, their uniforms more attractive. Still he didn't really believe in slavery, although his parents owned several hundred slaves. Talk about frivolous! Rand had thought of war as only an exciting adventure for a bored rich man's son. He was three kinds of a fool. Since then he had seen blood and misery and death. The grand adventure had become a horror.

“For pity's sake, Rand,” her cooing voice became strident. “Are you listening to me?”

He nodded without speaking. Suddenly it was amazing how much the wealthy heiress sounded like his mother or his sister, Vanessa. Less than a year ago, he had been too madly in love with Lenore to even notice such little failings. For the first time, he noticed the beauty had large feet. Maybe he was the one who was changing.

“I declare, Rand, what ever are you thinking?”

He gave her his most charming smile. “Why, I was just thinking what a lucky man I am to be engaged to the prettiest girl in Kentucky, and wishing this war was over so we could have that big wedding.”

Lenore's golden eyes peeked at him from behind her fan coquettishly. “You are so gallant, Randolph Erikson, and so dashing in that gray uniform. Reckon you could wear it at the ceremony, maybe we could walk out under crossed swords and all?”

Rand slapped his riding quirt against his leg. “I've got other things to think of right now, but you plan the wedding any way you want. Will Judge Hamilton walk you down the aisle?”

“Reckon he will, since he's a long time friend of Grandmother's.”

“It may be a while before we can schedule this wedding, my dear.” Rand shook his head. “Things don't look good for the South.”

Lenore whacked him on the arm with her fan. “For pity's sake, Rand, don't sound so gloomy! After all, Kentucky stayed with the Union, so even if the South loses, you'll come out all right.”

He managed to stifle the urge to grab the fan out of her hand and tear it up. Instead Rand leaned out to pick a snowy blossom off the big camelia bush, tucked it in her low-cut bodice. “Not nearly so creamy white as your skin,” he gave her a charming smile.

She fluttered her fan and giggled. “You are such a rake, you little ol' charmer, you! This was my mother's favorite flower. I thought I might use camelias in my wedding bouquet or do you think magnolias would be more elegant?”

“Whatever you want.” Abruptly the white flowers made him think of all the dead faces he had seen, pale and bloodless, the eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

“Randolph, dear, you're frowning.” She touched his face with her fan. “Whatever are you thinking?”

He blurted his thoughts. “I was thinking how silly it sounds to be discussing the proper flowers for a wedding when not too many miles away, men are dying by the thousands. None of the people we know seem to care as long as their rich, idle life doesn't change.”

“And what's wrong with that?” Lenore pouted prettily. “You are beginning to sound like my grandmother. Did you know she has freed all our slaves and is actually paying them to work?”

He admired Elizabeth Carstairs. Besides having been a prominent widow in this county for all these years, she seemed to have a steel to her backbone and an independence that her granddaughter lacked. “When this is over, Lenore, I think all the slaves will be freed, so maybe it just makes good business sense to do so now.”

Her pretty mouth dropped open. “Why, you sound like an abolitionist! I'll bet your mother doesn't know you feel this way!”

“No, and I'd just as soon you didn't tell my sister. She'll report it right back.” He turned the quirt over and over in his hands. Vanessa was Lenore's best friend, and since the two big plantations were only a few miles apart, the girls saw a lot of each other.

She sighed as if she thought him tiresome and a bit stupid. “Rand, dear, one of the reasons Kentucky stayed with the Union, as did the other three border states, was that Lincoln isn't trying to do away with slavery. His purpose is to force the states that seceded back into the Union. His Emancipation Proclamation only applies to those states.”

He reached out, brushed a wisp of ebony curl away from her flawless face “You are so naive. Believe me when I tell you that when this war is over, there will be sweeping changes. There won't be any more slaves.”

She went deathly pale. “But that will change all our lives!”

“Maybe our lives need to be changed.”

“But all our friends like it just the way it has always been, fox hunts and gala balls, trips to Louisville and Memphis. Why, I've hardly been able to buy anything nice since this stupid old war started.”

“A shame that the elegant ladies have been inconvenienced.” He tried to keep the irony out of his voice, but he knew some of the women in the hardest hit areas of the South were living on cornmeal, sweet potatoes, and maybe even an occasional rat. “A rich man's war and a poor man's fight,” Rand muttered.

“For pity's sake, don't be so gloomy.” Lenore reached out, picked a blossom from the big camelia bush.

It was steamy hot in here among all the flowers and ferns. Rand ran his finger around the gray collar of his uniform. This giant white camelia, growing directly in the ground by the wicker settee was Lenore's grandmother's special interest. It had been here since the conservatory was added to the east wing of the mansion when Rand was a small boy at neighboring Randolph Hall.

He reached to kiss her. “You're right, my dear. I wouldn't want to burden such a ravishing belle with such terrible problems. After the war so we can have the biggest wedding the county has ever seen.”

“Rand, really!” she pulled away from him. “After all, we aren't married. It isn't quite nice–”

“I do apologize,” he pulled back. “Sometimes I forget myself. You are so very pretty.” A doll, he thought,
an empty-headed china doll
.

She simpered behind her fan. “Have you met your sister's new beau? Perhaps we can have a double wedding.”

“I've met him.” He stood up, slapping his leg with the quirt. “If it pleases y'all to do so. Where'd she meet him anyhow?”

“She was in Louisville and he came up to her in a shop and introduced himself, said he had known you in the war.”

Had he known Shelby Merson? “I met so many people over the past several years. I reckon I just don't remember him.”

“Well, for pity's sake, you should! He got that limp from a wound at Shiloh and he's got a bunch of medals.” She looked at Rand's gray uniform, devoid of decorations.

“He wasn't in uniform when I met him the other night.”

“Well, of course not, silly boy.” She fanned herself vigorously. “Because of that leg wound, he's been discharged and gone back into the business world. You know he's from a rich family of cotton brokers in Baltimore.”

Rand frowned. “Has anyone met any of his family?”

“No, but you can tell by the elegant cut of his clothes and that big diamond stick pin in his tie, that he's very substantial. He's bought the plantation between yours and Carstairs Oaks.”

“Isn't that convenient? Now all three pieces of property will be connected by marriage,” Rand said.

“Do you think we all haven't talked about that?” Her golden eyes gleamed with greed. “There's bound to be a big boom after the war ends, no matter which side wins. We'll have the biggest land holdings in the county. Just one great big happy family.”

Rand grunted noncommittally. In truth, he didn't like Shelby Merson from the one meeting. The dandy was several years older than he was, shorter, but a little heavier. Maybe it was only that when the man smiled, his hazel eyes didn't. Or maybe it was that he used a strongly perfumed macassar hair tonic that made his dark hair gleam. Shelby was just a little too well-dressed for a country gentleman, and he didn't care much about horses. Fine thoroughbreds were the lifeblood of this area, and Rand loved good horses.

“... and what do you think, Rand?”

“Beg your pardon?” Startled, he stared at the pretty golden-eyed girl on the bench.

“You're getting just like your father, Rand Erikson. You weren't even listening to me!” Lenore snapped her fan shut and stood up, her hoops rustling under the pale emerald dress.

“Yes, I was listening,” he lied. Was he getting just like his father? The thought scared him because he seldom remembered seeing his father smile. Jon Erikson drank too much and seemed to pay little attention to what went on around him, living the same aimless life as the other wealthy plantation owners.

“For pity's sake, Rand, let's not argue, not with you due back tonight at your post.” She gave him a pouting smile and leaned forward for a prim, ladylike kiss. “We'll work all this out later.”

She planned to do just as she pleased, Rand thought, as his mother and sister had always done. No wonder Father drank. Well, maybe that was the way of women, at least, most of the women he knew. Maybe he was crazy to hope for something more than an empty-headed, pretty wife. He pulled her close and kissed her with passion, knowing he'd regret it.

She jerked away from him, petticoats rustling. “Now, Rand, I'm not some slave girl you can paw over.”

Her breasts swelled over the bodice of emerald silk and he needed a woman. He wanted to put his hands on her breasts and kiss her with wild abandon. He wanted to throw her down in the dirt under the camelia bush and rip her lace drawers off. He wanted to–

Was he losing his mind? Lenore was prim and very proper, and only twenty-one years old. If he even tried to kiss her passionately, she would promptly hit him across the face with her damned fan. His fiancee was every inch a lady.

He pulled back. “I don't know what came over me, my dear, I apologize.” He took her free hand, kissed it.

“You naughty boy!” Lenore stepped away from him with her mincing walk, smiled teasingly. “Men are such animals, aren't they? I'll allow you to do that to me a few times after we're married.”

“A few times?”

“Well, for pity's sake, every time we want a child,” she blushed and drew herself up. “It's not even proper to talk about things like this, Rand.”

Proper. Yes, Lenore was oh, so proper. She would be just like his mother and his sister, Vanessa. But weren't all women of quality like that?

Lenore whirled about the conservatory, laughing and humming the tune that drifted from the music room–an ancient Christmas carol: “What Child Is This?”

No, it had another name. He had heard Elizabeth Carstairs sing it. “Greensleeves,” yes, that was it.

“Greensleeves.” He shook his head, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. Emerald silk, golden eyes like a cat's. Then why did green eyes haunt him so? Lenore was humming again and slipping away from him, teasing him a little as she faded into the shadows of the conservatory. Why was he so hot and why did his leg hurt so much? Where was Lenore disappearing to? He could still hear her humming her grandmother's music, but he couldn't find her; maybe she was hiding among the flowers, among the camelias and the oleanders in the conservatory. Camelias? No,
Kimimila.
That didn't make any sense to him.

“Lenore? Come back! Where are you?” He reached out to catch her and suddenly he felt her hand gently stroking his brow. Her small fingers felt gentle and cool on his fevered face. He was so hot, so very hot. She hummed the ancient tune and stroked his naked body with a wet, cool cloth.

No, that couldn't be right; Lenore wouldn't perform such a distasteful task, she'd call for a slave. Slave? No, Rand was the slave. Whose?

His mind was a jumble and his leg hurt. He tried to move his hands, but he seemed tied in place. Rand opened his eyes very slowly, wondering where he was. A tent of some kind and a green-eyed, dark-skinned girl who looked vaguely familiar. “Lenore?”

“No, Camelia,” she said. At least that's what the word sounded like. “Kimi. Remember?”

He blinked, stared up at her. Her ebony hair hung in braids, but her eyes were green, not golden.

It all came back to him with a rush. He had left Carstairs Oaks only to be captured a few weeks later. He'd spent months in that Yankee prison, then grabbed the chance to save himself by joining the Union army to fight the Indians.

Indians
. He moaned aloud, then cursed softly. Everything came back to his memory. The girl who bent over him, stroking his perspiring body with a cool cloth, was beautiful. Rand remembered now who she was and why he was here. He was a Sioux slave, a captive in this camp. Instead of the elegant white lady with skin as pale as the camelia blossom, he was at the mercy of this primitive, half-breed girl who couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen years old. He was going to have to charm this pretty savage to save his life.