Surrender the Wind (11 page)

Seth lowered his head. “Yes, to inquire after my nephew, young Nathaniel Kenley.”

“Ah, the little boy. Such a lamentable thing. I was cut to the quick when the child's nursemaid came here with a sturdy fellow carrying him in his arms. What could I do? Your sister was in no condition to decide anything.”

“Do you remember what the woman told you, anything she did or said that made you question what happened?”

“I cannot help you there. It was a dreadful day, and I was busy writing in my book. She came to me with him wrapped in a blanket, and I sent for the sexton to tend to what had to follow.”

“And that was all there was to it?”

“Aye. All was written in the church record.”

“There were no prayers? Did you see the child?”

“Look at him? I dare not, sir. I’ve seen much in my day, but as an old man, it pains me to see a person taken in their childhood. I said some prayers from the prayer book. Everything was done proper.”

“Can I speak to the sexton?”

“Ah, well, I’m afraid he's gone north to live with his old mum.”

“Was anyone else with this woman?”

“No, but she brought a note that explained what Miss Caroline's wishes were and they were carried out.”

“I see.” Seth's core twisted. He sensed all was not right. “How long have you been my sister's spiritual adviser?”

“I, her spiritual adviser?” The man stuttered. “Not I, young sir. Since she arrived here as a child, I’ve known her. I’ve been in this parish for twenty-odd years.”

“You are the vicar, are you not?”

The old man stared a moment at Seth, then let out a cackle. “I beg the young squire's pardon. I’m but the caretaker.”

Seth frowned at the man. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I thought I had.”

“You asked if I were caretaker of this place and I told you I was.”

“Yes, but by the things you said, I thought …”

“I was a man of the cloth.” The man let out a quick laugh.

“What's your name?”

“Loll Makepeace,” he replied, straightening up.

“Well, Loll Makepeace, where is the vicar?”

“Gone, sir.”

“An exodus at this parish, I see. When will he be back?”

“He's not coming back. Went to another parish. Things were too meager here to make any good living out of it. He found a wife and settled in Cornwall where a rich lord has given him a church.”

“Is there a new vicar?”

“As soon as the bishop decides.”

Pausing, Seth looked down at the mud on his boots. He drew out his knife and began to scrape it off. “So, when the child was brought to the church there was no vicar here?”

“That's right,” Makepeace said.

“You should’ve sent for a clergyman in Clovelly and Dr. Yates.”

Makepeace looked aghast. “No time, young sir. But that little grave is as hallowed as any other, I assure you.”

He went a few paces and showed Seth the stone. It was all but a foot high, set beside Benjamin's, above a mound of tilled earth. Seth gazed down at both places. His heart lurched. The bitter pang of grief hurt more than a musket ball through the flesh.

His eyes read the names and dates. He choked back the surge of cruel emotion. Grave and silent, he set his mouth hard, squashed on his hat and hurried toward his horse.

Makepeace called after him. “I’ll be of service to you if you need me, sir,”

Seth touched the brim of his hat to thank him. He turned the horse out onto the road and galloped off. Will followed.

Instead of entering the gates of Ten Width with Will, Seth rode on alone across the grassy fields of the country, his thoughts disturbed. Darkness deepened and a brilliant moon rose above the treetops. Wind rushed through the trees, caused them to sway, and forced a flock of rooks to burst forth. Seth raised his eyes. As if one, the birds took flight and landed in the hollows.

His horse sidestepped and reared. Seth looped the reins around his wrist, laid his hand against the hilt of his pistol, and steadied the restless horse with his other hand. He listened, staring into the darkness. A ragged howl broke the silence and stilled his pulse. His memory jarred. Wolves of the wilderness, hungry, stalking, waiting for a rebel to die. Waiting for the chance to draw close and steal away what they could. Wild flaming eyes. Gray fur matted with the sepia blood of a kill.

Wolf-like, a dog dashed into the road and stood with legs wide. It growled. Dusty black fur bristled, and yellowed teeth bared. Seth drew his pistol, aimed. The animal sensed danger and crouched. With a yelp, it shot off like a bullet. Before Seth could dig his heels into his mount, a figure stepped out onto the road. He cocked the hammer of his pistol.

With a shout, a man bounded forward. Calloused hands reached up to pull Seth off his horse. Jupiter reared and turned against the hands that grabbed his rider. Voracious, the wolfish
beast raced forward. Snarling, the dog nipped at the horse's hindquarters.

Seth kicked Jupiter's sides. He urged him to race forward. Hands gripped the bridle and yanked at the frightened beast. Fingernails dug into Seth's clothing. They hooked into him, pulled him low on the saddle, and dragged him off. He twisted against the arms and hands that assailed him. Suddenly, he hit the ground with a thud, which knocked the breath from his body. His pistol fell from his hands. He groped for it, but the darkness hindered him.

Struck in the face with a fist of iron, Seth's vision blurred. With a stronger will, he fought his way back and shook off the sinking feeling in his brain. Like quicksilver, a knife flashed before his eyes.

The assailant pinned him down with one knee and pushed hard against Seth's chest. The dog barked in furious frenzy and bounded around them. Seth reached up and grabbed the man's wrist. With all his might, he squeezed. The knife came within an inch of his throat. The cold blade nicked his skin and drew blood.

Seth slammed his free fist into the grim, inflamed face above him, and the ruffian fell backward. Seth rolled and scrambled away.

The man shook his head, while his comrades urged him to carry on the fight and finish Seth off.

Back on his feet, the moonlight glinted across the barrel of Seth's pistol. He dove for it. Retrieved it. Cocking the hammer, he raised it at arm's length. He locked onto angry eyes, white clenched teeth.

“Stay where you are or I’ll shoot,” Seth shouted.

The man growled back. Heedless of the damage that could be done to him, he thrashed forward. Seth pulled the trigger.
The crack of his pistol, the yellow flash, pierced the darkness. The man jerked, tumbled and pitched forward. Blood gushed from his shoulder.

The smell of sulfur powder, the whipping of wind, assaulted Seth's senses. He watched as his attackers lifted their comrade and dragged him off into the dark asylum of the woods.

Seth reached for his frightened horse and hauled himself into the saddle. Blood seeped from his left side onto his shirt. As swift as Jupiter could carry him, he hurried back to Ten Width.

Grimacing in pain, he slid from the saddle and staggered up the stairs through the door. From an entry that led from the kitchen, Claire walked into the foyer with Will and gasped. Will stepped forward. “Sir, what happened?”

Seth did not want a flurry of activity over him. “I’m fine, but if you’d take care of Jupiter, I’ll be grateful. Give him extra oats. He earned it.”

Will hurried out the front door to do as his master bid and drew the horse away.

A left rib dug into Seth's body. It was either bruised or cracked. Claire hurried up behind him and helped take off his coat. As blood oozed against his palm, Seth pressed his hand against his side. He glanced back at her from over his shoulder. Shock and worry played over her face.

“You are hurt, sir,” Claire hurried to the door. “I’ll tell Will to get Dr. Yates!”

He forbade her with a lift of his hand. “There is no need for that, Claire. Bring me a fresh pitcher of hot water upstairs, so I may wash this blood off my hands. Do not disturb my sister.” And he proceeded to go up.

“Yes, sir. But should I at least tell Miss Juleah?”

Juleah.
If he needed help, he knew she’d give it. “She may need to know, yes.”

He managed the pain until he got through the bedchamber door. A melancholy settled over him. He longed for home, for his fields, the mountains and forests, and the Potomac. So far away they were, and he now in England, among highwaymen and footpads, disappearing nursemaids, resigning vicars and sextons, and a doctor more given to spending time at the tavern than with his practice.

He lifted his hand away from the wound and stared at the blood on his fingers. Who were the ruffians that had attacked him?

He crossed to the window, unlatched the lock, and shoved the pane open. The frigid air smelled of rain, mud, and damp fields.

“It is not good that a man live alone,” he murmured, thinking of Juleah.

He knocked his fist twice upon the windowsill and realized that coming to England presented more than he had expected: he was falling in love.

Humbled by this revelation, he let out a shallow breath and turned. His traveling clothes were laid out, brushed and cleaned, and a new bedcover replaced the old dingy one. The clothes cupboard door stood open, cleared of Benjamin's old clothes, replaced with the few Seth owned.

He laid his pistol on the table beside the mantelpiece. His waistcoat and linen shirt were blotched with crimson, the right sleeve torn at the seam. He unbuttoned the waistcoat, wanting to take care of this privately. It was but a scratch after all. A tap fell upon his door and it drifted open.

Juleah froze in the frame of the doorway. Seth could not help but gaze at her. She glanced at the bloodstains on his
neckcloth and his shirt with quiet concern. Her eyes traveled to his right hand and to his fingers smeared with blood.

“I fell off my horse.” A quick quiver of his mouth, he smiled over at her. He did not want to alarm her with the truth. But by the expression in her eyes, she knew he was lying.

“Claire.” Juleah looked back over her shoulder at the wide-eyed girl. “Bring lint and bandages, sticking plaster, and ointment.” Claire set the pitcher of fresh water on the table and promptly left.

Juleah stepped forward. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

“There's no reason for you to be concerned.”

He wished she would not question him or stare at him in the way she did.

“There is reason.” Defiant, she set her hands on her hips. “Caroline will be angry with me if I do not help.”

“It would not be your fault. If she needs to be, she can be angry with me.”

“She doesn’t need you falling sick as well. She's had enough misery, don’t you think?”

“She has, and I’ll not add to it.”

“Good. Then let me attend to you.” “I thank you for your concern, but I’ll manage on my own.”

Juleah's face flushed with frustration “You cannot dress a wound on your own, Mr. Braxton.”

Seth lifted a brow. “I cannot debate you there, Miss Fallowes.”

“No, you cannot.” She gave him a satisfied look from under her lashes. Through the candlelit room, her eyes were dark as moon-drenched jasper. She ran her finger over the edge of the table. “I hope you left the men who attacked you with more
pains than what their plans for you were worth.” She walked over to the bowl and pitcher on a nightstand and poured the water into the bowl. “I doubt they were highwaymen. Highwaymen usually work alone and are not so violent. They demand money or jewels. These men wanted to hurt you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One has a bullet in his shoulder.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Juleah said. “He deserved it.”

Claire entered the room and set down the tray of supplies. She wrung out a cloth and handed it to Juleah.

“Thank you, Claire. You may sit with Caroline. She's asleep but if she wakes say nothing of this to her,” Juleah said.

“How is my sister?” he asked, once Claire had gone.

“Asleep.” Juleah's touch was gentle as she dabbed the cloth across the scratch. “She is trying to accept her grief, but the pain will be with her a very long time. How can it be otherwise for a woman in her situation? ”

He winced in pain, both from Juleah's words and from the wound at his side. With gentle hands, she loosened the neckcloth around his throat. He studied her face, as his eyes followed the soft line of her jaw. He considered the lids of her eyes, how they were formed, how her dark lashes enhanced the shape, how the brows were evenly arched. She was even more attractive tonight with the way she wore her hair long and over her shoulders in a braid. She was close and her skin smelled of lavender and rosewater.

Her touch caused Seth to feel uncomfortable. She stood in front of him, he with his knees apart, feeling the whisper of her frock caress the fabric of his breeches. The urge to pull her against him grew strong.

Juleah picked up a jar of salve, opened it, and gathered up some of the ointment. With deft fingers, she applied it to the
wound on his throat. Feeling the oval outline of her finger caress his skin, her hand near his face, Seth's pulse raced.

“It is not deep. But you may have a scar.” She glanced into his eyes. “Let me dress the wound on your side.”

“A flesh wound,” he said. “Lucky for me, it was no more than that.”

She stood back, glared at him with a plea. “Please, let me look.”

Convinced by the expression she gave him that she would not relent, he lifted his shirt and she bent her head to see the wound.

“You’re right. The blade grazed you.” She pressed her fingertips over his skin and he winced again. “It struck a rib. You’re fortunate. You could have been killed.” She placed a piece of lint against the gash and lowered his shirt over it. “The bleeding has stopped.”

She placed the lid back on the jar and set it down. She moved away. Seth cupped his hand at her waist and drew her close. He brought forward a loose strand of her hair, ran it between his fingers, and brought his mouth within a whisper of hers. He touched her lips tenderly with his. She trembled, and the thunder in his heart pulsated against the palm of her hand.