Too Far to Whisper (10 page)

“That would not be wise.” Shadow’s dark eyes regarded her seriously. “I know not what brought you out here in the night, nor why you saw fit to strike Jonathan.” His lips tightened as his gaze dropped to her dirty, torn nightdress. “But I suspect no matter how innocent the explanation, there still will be those who will choose to believe you deliberately enticed the man.”

Rosalind glanced down at her nightdress and was appalled to discover that the front of it was shredded, exposing her breasts. Blushing, she futilely tugged at the remnants of the gown and then crossed her arms over her chest. “I was unable to sleep this eve because of the heat,” she explained. “I heard singing. It was Jonathan, drunk. In the darkness, I mistook him for Nathaniel and came out here with the intent of convincing him to sleep off the effects of his drinking ere he greeted his family.” She lowered her head. “Jonathan overpowered me and tried to force me into the stables. I need not tell you of his intent.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “I also heard the singing,” he said, “but we have grown accustomed to Jonathan’s serenades.” He took another quick survey of Rosalind’s dirt-covered nightdress and tangled hair. “Did he harm you?”

She shook her head. She found herself desperately wishing she had something with which to cover herself. It took her a moment to realize that she did. “My cloak!” she gasped. Her eyes darted about. “Where is my cloak? I wore it out here!”

Shadow held up his hand. “Stay where you are. I shall find it for you.”

He moved to search the area and soon located the garment lying near the tree root where Rosalind had fallen. Returning to her, he slipped the cloak over her shoulders, allowing his hands to linger for a moment as he did.

“It is better for everyone to believe Jonathan died in a drunken fall,” he stated evenly. “What purpose will it serve if you make the truth known? ‘Twill not bring Jonathan back.  It will, however, raise many questions about the events of this eve.”

“I cannot deny that your words make sense,” Rosalind whispered. “But how will I be able to live with my conscience.
I
shall know the truth…that Jonathan died by my hand.”

He shook his head. “The truth is that Jonathan’s fondness for drink, not you, killed him. Had he been sober tonight and asleep in the shed where he belonged, none of this would have occurred.”

“And had I remained in my own chamber tonight, none of this would have occurred!” she added. She leaned to once again rest her head against Shadow’s chest. She enjoyed the feel of his cool, smooth skin against her burning cheek. Shadow’s arms encircled her protectively, making her feel safe and secure. Had she not been so distraught, she might have laughed. Never, in the farthest stretch of her imagination, would she ever have believed she could feel
safe
in the arms of a savage.

“Go now,” Shadow ordered, gently pushing Rosalind away from him. “I shall erase all evidence of a struggle. If Elias inspects the area for clues, he will find nothing to indicate Jonathan was not alone at the time of his death.”

“Thank you, Shadow,” she said softly, staring up at his handsome face. “I know not how to repay you.”

Almost hesitantly, he touched her cheek. “Just go, ere someone spies you out here.”

Nodding, she took one last lingering look at him, then turned and fled toward the house.

* * * * *

In the dark, tomb-like stillness of the Corwins’ house, Rosalind crept up the stairs to her chamber. Once inside, she sagged against the door and gasped for breath as a fit of severe trembling overtook her.
She was safe!
No one need ever know the circumstances surrounding Jonathan’s death. Shadow had prevented her from bringing certain scandal to the Corwin name…and most assuredly to her own. Still, Shadow’s willingness to help her was a source of puzzlement to her. He had been so cool and aloof of late, Rosalind had been convinced he disliked her. Yet tonight, he had shown her a kindhearted side of himself she had not known existed. And he had
spoken!
Shadow Runner, she concluded, was indeed a man of many mysteries.

When Rosalind’s legs ceased their trembling, she removed her torn nightdress, buried it in the bottom of the sack in which she had carried some of her belongings to the Corwins’, and made her way to her washbasin. She lifted the pitcher, poured water into the basin and then attempted to scrub away the unclean feeling Jonathan’s touch had left behind.

After donning a fresh nightdress, Rosalind slipped into bed and tugged the quilt up beneath her chin. Despite the sweltering heat in her chamber, she shivered until her teeth chattered. The sound of Jonathan’s skull cracking against the rock relentlessly echoed in her ears. She grabbed her pillow and put it over her head, but still she was unable to blot out the haunting sound.

“Father! Come quickly!” Matthew’s frenzied shouting from somewhere outside cut through the night’s silence.

Rosalind sat up in bed, her heart racing. Had the body so soon been discovered? Not nearly enough time had passed for Shadow to have erased all of the evidence and returned to his bed.

She heard men’s voices outside, followed by the pounding of running footsteps across the dooryard. After a brief silence, the blast of a musket shattered the stillness.

“God, no!” Rosalind cried, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “Please, dear Lord, do not let it be Shadow!” She felt as if her head were spinning, and a cold clamminess crawled over her skin. She was too terrified to move, to breathe.

It seemed like hours before Rosalind heard the slam of the front door and voices downstairs, although it had been only minutes. “At last,” she whispered, “I shall find out what occurred outside.”

She climbed out of bed and hastily threw on a dress, then ran down the stairs. She found Elias and Matthew seated at the table in the sitting room. Elias’s elbows were propped on the table, his forehead resting on the heels of his hands, while Matthew sat with his head hanging forward and his arms folded across his chest.

“I-I heard shouting,” Rosalind said softly. “And I think…the sound of a gunshot. Is something amiss?” To her dismay, her voice quivered.

Both men straightened to look up at her, but neither gave her the usual courtesy of standing as she entered the room.

“Matthew thought he heard the front door open,” Elias said. “He suspected a thief. When his inspection of the house revealed nothing suspicious, he ventured outside.” He paused to draw a deep breath. “I fear he was quite unprepared for what he stumbled upon out there.”

Rosalind’s eyes widened and her heart flew up to her throat. “What was it?”

Elias slowly shook his head and sighed. He ran a shaky hand through his thin hair, then absently studied his fingernails in the light of the candle on the table. Rosalind was tempted to shake the news from him, her nerves were so raw.

“I found Jonathan,” Matthew finally explained, “lying on the ground. Shadow Runner, the savage, was standing over him.” He turned to look directly at Rosalind. “Jonathan was…dead.”

He paused, apparently awaiting Rosalind’s reaction. When she did nothing but stare at him, he continued, “At first, I assumed he had fallen and injured himself. After all, the man’s fondness for drink was no secret, and the smell of him told me had tipped more than a few pints this eve. But then I noticed the marks on his face. ‘Twas obvious his fall had been caused by someone striking him.”

Rosalind gasped, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as she struggled to keep her legs from buckling beneath her. Abruptly, she plunked down on the nearest bench.

“Jonathan was murdered,” Elias added, his features contorting into a scowl. “The savage did it, which surprises me not. It takes very little to make one of them snap. A mere insult or wrong look can set one off.”

Rosalind folded her hands in her lap in a futile attempt to steady them. She wanted to blurt out the truth, to clear Shadow of all suspicion, but she was unable to form the words. For one thing, she reasoned, a confession so long after the incident only would make her look as if she were hiding something…or trying to cover for Shadow.

“I heard gunfire,” Rosalind gathered the courage to mention. “Did you…shoot the Indian?”

“Nay,” Elias said, his lips forming a taught line. “’Twas only a warning shot in case he decided to run. We bound him and tossed him into the stables for the night. At daybreak, we will escort him to the gaol, where he will await his trial.”

“Seems like a waste of time to go through the court process for a no-good savage,” Matthew muttered. “We already know his fate – he will be sent to the gallows. I could have saved everyone a good deal of time and trouble by taking care of his execution myself…with one well-aimed shot.”

“And I could have saved Jonathan’s life had I strung up the savage a year ago when I caught him stealing our ewe,” Elias said. “But nay, I had to give him a chance to redeem himself. I now regret that decision.”

Fighting to hold back her tears, Rosalind managed to inquire, “Think you that…the savage…will be all right out in the stables tonight?”

“He will not be going anywhere,” Matthew assured her, misinterpreting the reason for her question. “You will be safe.”

“Come, let us try to get some rest,” Elias said. Sighing, he stood and stretched. “Hopefully, we still can get some sleep ere sunrise. I fear a busy day lies ahead of us. We must arrange for Jonathan’s burial and tend to transporting the Indian. ‘Tis also quite likely Nathaniel may arrive home amidst all of this turmoil.”

Rosalind’s temples began to throb at the mere mention of Nathaniel’s name. The last thing she needed was to have to deal with the pompous captain when she already had far too much else on her mind.

Once back in her chamber, Rosalind sat on her bed and rested her chin on her drawn-up knees. Try as she might, she could not dismiss the disturbing image of Shadow lying alone and bound in the stables…nor could she dismiss the feel of his arms around her or his fingertips as they gently had touched her cheek. Because of her, in a few short hours he would be taken away to a gaol to await his execution. She knew she could not, no matter what the consequences, allow that to occur. She already was responsible for one man’s death – she was not about to double that number.

There was only one way to prevent it, she decided. She had to free Shadow.

The house had been silent for well over an hour when Rosalind eased out of bed and quietly dressed. From the chest of drawers she removed a blanket and a pillow coate, then, one step at a time, she crept downstairs to the kitchen. Using the pillow coate for a sack, she filled it with food, a carving knife, and one of Matthew’s shirts, which had been washed and hung by the hearth to dry.

Swiftly and silently, Rosalind made her way outside and down to the stables, taking care to keep to the shadows. Her search for Shadow was delayed for several minutes until her eyes adjusted to the darkness within. She finally located him in a vacant stall at the rear of the structure.  The stall was located near the large stable doors, so she rushed to open them, allowing the moonlight to bathe the area so she could more clearly see Shadow.  He was lying face down in the straw, his hands and feet drawn up behind him and bound together.

She winced at the sight of him. “Shadow,” she whispered, “I am here to help you.” Her spirits sank when he did not stir.

With unsteady hands, she rummaged through the pillow coate until she located the carving knife, then used it to cut through Shadow’s bonds. After she freed him, she struggled to roll him over onto his back. A shocked gasp escaped her as she spied the blood on his forehead and the thin, ragged gash along his hairline. Feelings of both remorse and anger coursed through her as she wondered what other injuries Shadow had been forced to suffer at the hands of Elias and Matthew.

A bucket containing little more than a cup of water stood just outside the stall. Tearing a strip from the hem of her underskirt, Rosalind wet it with the water and then gently washed the blood from Shadow’s face. He looked so peaceful, lying there, she thought, his thick lashes resting against his high cheekbones. She instantly was overcome by a wave of guilt.

“Shadow,” she again whispered, stroking his hair. “Can you hear me? You must awaken!”

The Indian moaned and slowly rolled his head from side to side.

“Please, Shadow,” Rosalind urged, her voice rising, “Your time grows short. You must leave here posthaste.”

Shadow’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to open them. Two unseeing black pools suddenly gazed up at her.

“Thank God,” Rosalind breathed. “Are you badly injured? Are you able to move? Have you any pain?” The questions spilled from her. “If you do not leave here straight away, Elias will see to it that your neck is fitted with a noose come morn!”

“Rosalind?” his voice was but a hoarse whisper. “Why have you come here? It is not safe.”

“I have come to help you make your escape.” She indicated the pillow coate lying next to her. “I have brought food and garments and a knife.”

Shadow struggled to sit up, then rubbed his wrists and ankles to help restore circulation to them. “They arrived too soon,” he explained. “It took me longer than I had expected because I could not locate the piece of your nightdress.”

Rosalind stared at him, confused.