Devil's Mistress (25 page)

As they rode he told her about the family. There had been many births over the years and there were babies always about the house, to his mother’s delight. Then he started saying something about the Colonies, but she didn’t hear. With each tired plod of the old workhorse’s hooves, she realized that they were going farther and farther away. She could no longer smell the sea, nor hear any sound of waves or surf. Each of those hoofbeats kept time with the dull thud of her heart; she was leaving Sloan, she was leaving him, when he was all that she loved in the world.

“Ah, Brianna, despite the problems, it is a new world. A wonderful new world. Far away. A man may hold all the land he craves, and all his neighbors are of like persuasion! Think of it! It is a special place for God’s chosen …”

She didn’t know what he was saying, although she fully heard the drone of his voice. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Suddenly, in the haven of a green forest cove, she burst into tears.

Robert drew the horse quickly to a halt and slid from the saddle. Vaguely she felt his arms, the slimness of him, and the rattle in his chest, and fearing for him was perhaps the best thing for her at that moment. She stiffened, determined not to lean, and she tried to wipe the tears quickly from her cheeks.

“Brianna, what is it?”

“Oh, you’re not well.”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” He told her impatiently, and, his arm set about her shoulders, he walked her to a spot of rich and splendid green beneath a gnarled oak, and pressed her to sit. He disappeared, and was back, offering her water. She took a sip, then leaned back against the tree, staring upward to the sky. The leaves played over the fall of sunlight, one minute shadowing, the next breaking apart to allow a dazzle of golden light through.

At last she looked at her cousin and she felt ridiculous, for she was trying to smile while great liquid drops which she could not prevent fell from her eyes and dampened her cheeks.

His face, that gentle, caring face from her childhood, touched now with lines of age about his eyes and mouth, was taut with worry.

“You are so very good,” she whispered.

“You must tell me what hurts you so,” he returned quietly. “Please.” He hesitated just a moment. “You would not have my mother see you so distressed, would you?”

“No, no,” Brianna said, lowering her head. She plucked a blade of grass from the ground and shredded it between her fingers. Laughter bubbled in her throat, although nothing at all was amusing. Then she stared at him and blurted out, “I am a witch, Robert. Did you know that?”

“Brianna!” His dark brows knit in a stern frown. “You must not say such a thing, even jokingly.”

“But I am—”

“If you have been practicing witchcraft, white or malefic, you must cease immediately! You will be hanged, and far worse, you will cast your immortal soul into the pits of hell!”

Staring at him, she began to shake her head. “Oh, Robert! I never practiced any form of witchcraft! But that is why Pegeen is dead, Robert. They—they—burned her. Oh, Robert! There was a horrible, evil man, I swear it, who claimed against her, and she was innocent. He brought me to trial also, and I was almost hanged. I—”

“Stop! Stop!” Robert interrupted her. “Slowly, Brianna, tell it all to me slowly.”

She did. She drew in a great shivering breath and began to tell him part of the story, leaving out most things about Sloan, except that he had twice saved her from the clutches of “the law.” And at long last she ended with “But I am innocent, Robert. I swear it to you.”

“I believe you.” He sighed, leaning against the tree beside her. He was silent for several minutes, and when he spoke, it was thoughtfully. “This all seems to be for the best,” he said. “In a matter of weeks we will be gone from England. No one will know what went before, and in the Colonies we will start over.”

“The Colonies?” she murmured.

“Aye.” He set his arm around her again. “Brianna, if you escaped, as you say, you are still guilty before the law. Only the king could give you a pardon, and he certainly would not. Brianna, I would not spread this story farther than it has gone, for people who do not know you would think you guilty of the crime.”

He paused again, then asked quite suddenly, “Why did you start to cry so?”

“I—I just told you.”

“Nay, you told me a tragic story, but not why you were so very anxious to leave the tavern. And why did you burst into tears as we left the sea behind us without taking proper leave of the man who saved your life?”

She couldn’t find words, or her voice. At length she shook her head and whispered, “I could not.”

“You are in love with him,” Robert said gravely.

She lifted her hands, not willing to dispute him, and not able to lie. She remembered that the greatest sin among Puritans was to tell a lie. Truth was precious to them.

“He is married,” she said flatly, and when he replied with a very soft “Oh,” and held her to his shoulder, she knew that he understood.

A leaf, deep green and summer verdant, fell from the tree and drifted down beside her. She felt the stir of the breeze, a ray of the sun streaking through the blanket cast against the sun by the tall branches of the tree.

The sky, the earth, the wind, and all beautiful things were hers now—because of Sloan. And yet leaving him was the only thing that she could do.

“Will he come for you?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know.”

“He will.”

“Oh, I pray that he does not. For I do love him with all my heart and I ran from him today because I am afraid that I haven’t the power to stand against him.”

“God will give thee that power, Brianna.”

He was sure, so positive in the simplicity of his faith. Robert stood and reached down a hand to her. “Come, cousin. I will take you home. Our love will be always with thee, strong against temptation.”

She accepted his hand and rose—even though she felt she knew much more about temptation than Robert. But now she must trust him and the love of her family, and cling to them for strength to hold fast to her resolutions.

They rode in silence for some time. “It is unlikely,” Robert mused at last, “that Lord Treveryan could find you tonight. But he will come. I’m convinced of it. When he does, you must meet him, and convince him that he imperils your immortal soul.”

Brianna closed her eyes and wondered if she’d ever forget what it felt like to live with this horrible, aching pain? To breathe, and breathe in loneliness and despair.

Yes—she would be going to a new land. She would no longer be an outlaw, a condemned criminal, for none would have heard of her crime. She had to keep believing in the new land.

The Powell home was a small two-storied cottage that was cared for with great love. Begonias grew in profusion about the entrance; bright clean curtains hung at the windows. When Robert pushed open the door, wonderful cooking aromas filled their senses. Hook rugs adorned the simple floors, and precious candles burned brightly from a well-polished dining table.

“Robert?”

There was surprise in the dulcet tones of the plump woman’s voice as she came toward them. Brianna blinked, for Margaret Powell, her mother’s cousin, did not appear as if she had changed a whit in all the years gone past.

But evidently Brianna had changed somewhat herself. Margaret stopped walking, absently pushing back a still-black wing of hair, and stared at her with a curiosity that was not rude, but rather a bit stupefied—as if she should be able to place the girl on her son’s arm, but could not. Then, quite suddenly, she let out a little gasp and rushed forward with a smile as radiant as the sun.

“Brianna! Oh, Brianna! All grown up! Oh, child, child, come in, come in!”

At last she was being crushed by safe and loving arms. Explanations could come later; for now, there was only the bliss of being cherished. Tears had filled her eyes by the time Robert’s father came to hold her too. Tall, slim, and weathered, he said her name gently, and she knew that they would give her all the support she could find in this world.

By nightfall the Powells had been given a sketchy version of all that had happened. They did not judge her, nor did she even know what they really thought. Ethan said solemnly that they would stand by her—and that surely God would too.

To her amazement she slept soundly that night. Sleep was a respite from anguish. A blessed respite, for the morning brought all that she had feared. Margaret woke her with calm warning. “Brianna, he is here.”

“Sloan?” she gasped out shakily.

Already? It was too soon, she was barely awake. She wasn’t strong at all.

“Aye, Lord Treveryan.”

She closed her eyes again. Had he thundered into the house? Demanded that she be returned? If he displayed the arrogance of his class, she might well find it easier to despise him; to find some shame that she desired him enough to forget that he was wedded to another in the eyes of man and—and God.

“Did he … did he …”

“He came as courteous as a man might, my dear. I thought to loathe for the dishonor he has brought you to, but I cannot, for even if he stands like an oak and is as sound in mind and body as any ship, his eyes harbor such a tumult that he must not be despised. Deal gently with him—but firmly. You must not go with him.”

Brianna nodded miserably. She rose quickly and dressed, and with shaking fingers knotted her hair firmly at her nape. Her palms were damp, her throat was dry.

At last she opened the door and came to the parlor.

Sloan was there, by the fire, one hand upon the hearth, his head inclined toward it. Seeing him, she felt that she wanted to die, quite truly, rather than watch him walk out the door. When he turned to her, his features were strained, but his eyes were vividly, brilliantly green against the redness that marred them. She thought that he had not slept at all, and she desperately wanted to run to him, to hold him tight, and ease the deep-set furrows from his brow.

But Ethan and Robert stepped beside her to walk with her to the parlor.

“I would have you come back with me,” Sloan said, and his voice was harsh and hoarse, and ripped at her soul.

She opened her mouth, but no sound would come. She hated herself for being such a coward, and finally found the words to speak.

“These people are the family I have so craved to reach, Sloan. My place is here, with them. I beg you, leave me where I am loved—and respected.” Her emphasis on the last word was soft, and yet it was clear, so that he would truly understand.

Then he appeared angry, and in her heart she was a little glad; she did not want to forget his anger and his touch of arrogance, for they were a part of him that she loved; his determination that he could always best the world.

“Brianna—”

Robert set an arm about her and stepped forward slightly. “My Lord Treveryan, I will speak frankly here. You cannot give Brianna that which I can. Think my lord! What would her life be? Access to port upon port? And what of your loyalty, sir, to the prince you serve? There is hardship ahead, war and battle. Would you see her brought to danger or left behind to suffer scorn? My lord, we are her kindred, and we must protect her life and soul. We are grateful to you for saving her life, but, my lord, we are her male protectors; we must guide her life. Sir, I must tell you that Brianna and I are betrothed. I will marry her, my lord, and give her that station which you cannot.”

Sloan’s incredulous exclamation covered Brianna’s own gasp of shock.

“But you cannot!” he exclaimed in a fury. “You are cousins.”

“Nay, sir, our mothers were cousins. And I might remind you that the Prince and Princess of Orange are first cousins.”

For one terrible minute Brianna feared that Sloan meant to draw his sword and slay Robert on the spot; she had never seen such a fire in his eyes. He seemed indomitable as he stood there towering over them all, fierce and bronzed—and beautiful still to her eyes.

“Sloan!” she cried out, stepping forward. “Please, I beg of you! If you care for me—if ever you have loved me—leave me here, in peace.”

He turned away from her, striding back to the mantel—he could not look at her. Her words rang in his ears, an echo of reproach. “If you ever loved me …”

If? He didn’t think that he could walk away, that he was capable of doing such a thing. He wanted to rip to shreds this man who was claiming Brianna. But Robert Powell was aware that Sloan could kill him with little more than a blow—and held quietly to his stance anyway.

And Brianna …

There had been such pleading in her voice. Dear God, he did love her. So much that he couldn’t wrench her away, no matter what his own feelings were. He’d go through hell for her; he would face a thousand Matthews. But he couldn’t fight her. Not now.

He could give her almost anything in the world, but not the most important thing. He could love her with all his heart—but he could not make her his wife.

Neither could he bear being here longer thinking that she would wed another man. And he could not despise Powell, for even though he appeared as gaunt as birch branch, he was not without courage.

Sloan longed to fight for the woman who was his. But he couldn’t. Brianna had begged him to leave her, and because he did love her, he had no choice.