Judith E French (17 page)

“Kitate,” she called again. In the mist, she was certain she could see the shape of a little boy running away from her.
“Yu undachqui,”
she murmured. This way. She sucked in a short deep breath.
“N’nitsch undach aal.”
Come hither, my child. But the little ghost did not wait. She heard his laughter on the wind, and then the spot where he had been was empty. “Kitate,” she pleaded. “Come back to me.”

Leah’s head snapped up, and she found herself again in the great house at Westover. Her son was as far away as ever, and she’d not even had the chance to hold him in her arms or to smell the sweet, clean child scent of him, the scent that was his alone.

She sighed as sadness formed a heavy weight in the pit of her belly, and she threw herself backward onto the heaped pillows. How could she be the daughter of a peace woman if she couldn’t transport her spirit to another place? Was it that she lacked her mother’s powers, or could it be that Shawnee magic wouldn’t work across the sea? She drew her knees up and closed her eyes again. If she could just concentrate . . .

Seconds later, she flopped onto her stomach. Too many thoughts filled her head—there was no possibility of weaving the spell again now. The day had begun with such promise and had dissolved into one disaster after another. Leah rubbed the triangular charm around her neck. The Eye of Mist was Scottish magic—it should work here on Brandon’s island. If the necklace possessed real power, she had only to call upon the spirit of the amulet and wish herself home.

Leah undid the clasp on the chain and cradled the talisman in her hand. “Eye of Mist,” she commanded. “I wish . . .” She let her speech trail off unfinished. Twice she opened her mouth to say the words, but she couldn’t. As long as she didn’t put the amulet to a test, she could believe in it—believe in something Cameron had given her. But if she asked and got nothing, her father’s charm would be as empty as his love for her.

As empty as Brandon’s love? The image of her husband and the woman in the garden formed in her mind, and with it came a strong emotion she knew was jealousy. If he wanted the pink and white English
equiwa,
then why didn’t he make her his wife and send Leah home to her people? Would it make any difference to him if he learned that she, Leah, was bearing his child?

It was all too confusing. She decided that she would wait to tell him. Often, women lost children in the early months. If he really wanted this Anne, it might be wiser for Leah to keep her secrets—both of them. She would not tell him about Charles’s attack, and she would not tell him about the baby. If Brandon decided to annul the marriage, he might never have to know.

I do want it, she thought. No matter what happens between me and Brandon, I want this child. The Shawnee would not care what color skin or eyes it had. Her child would be welcome in the village no matter who the father might be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the outer chamber door opening and a man’s footsteps. There was someone else, very soft—perhaps a child? She held her breath to listen and decided the man must be Brandon. He didn’t walk as lightly as a Shawnee, but at least he didn’t clump along as though his feet were made of wood.

“Leah?” She didn’t answer. “Leah? Are you here?”

The bedchamber door squeaked on its hinges. Only one set of footfalls entered. The door closed. Leah parted the bedcurtains enough to peek out. “I be here.”

He crossed the room and pushed aside the velvet draping. “What are you doing in—” His eyes widened as he took in her lack of attire. She heard his breath rush out. “Leah.” His voice was deep and husky. He reached for her, and she scooted away to the head of the bed.

“I saw ye below with the Anne woman,” she said. Her thick hair fell forward over her bare breasts, but she made no attempt to cover her nakedness.

“How did you know who it was?” He dropped onto his knees and crawled across the bed toward her. “You must get up and put something on, Leah. She’s an old friend.”

Leah twisted a lock of her hair and nibbled on the end. “Nay so old, I think. Bright feathers she wears. Be she a great lady?”

Brandon grabbed her ankle and pulled her toward him. “A very great lady,” he murmured, planting a kiss on her bare knee. “You’ll like her, I promise.” She kicked at him lazily with the other foot, and he caught it with his free hand. He lowered his head slowly and kissed her right thigh.

Leah tried to ignore the delicious sensation, forcing herself to remember that she was very angry with him. “Thee promised I should like England.”

He let go of her ankle and slid his hand up her leg possessively. His fingers caressed her thigh and the side of her buttock. “If we didn’t have a guest waiting in the outer chamber,” he began, “the Marchioness of Scarbrough. I’d—”

“She be here? In my rooms?” Leah sat bolt upright and glared at him fiercely. “You have bring this great old friend to my bed?”

He chuckled and clamped a hand over her mouth playfully. “Shh, she’ll hear you.”

Leah let a choice English profanity roll off her tongue as she twisted loose from Brandon’s embrace and slid off the bed on the far side. Swearing was one of the few white customs she approved of. In Shawnee, there were no curse words and less opportunity to express her true feelings in a moment of white-hot anger. “Aiyee!” she declared, too low for any but her husband to hear.
“Shuaak.”

Puzzled, he stared at her.

“Skunk!” she repeated with venom. She tossed her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “Only a man would be so foul.” She snatched up a scarlet samite dressing gown and threw it around her shoulders. Tying the neck and waist ribbons, she stalked toward the door.

“Leah,” he implored. “She will be your friend if you give her a chance.”

She whirled on him. “How friendly, Brandon mine? Will she take my husband? Will she raise my child?”

The door squeaked, and Leah turned back. The woman stood in the doorway, her face pink with embarrassment.

“Lady Brandon,” she said. “It was wrong of me to come to your chambers unannounced. Forgive me.”

Brandon put his arm around Leah. “The fault is mine. You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice was tight, and Leah trembled under his hand. “Lady Scarbrough, may I introduce to you my wife, Lady Brandon. Leah, this is my dear friend, Lady Scarbrough.”

Leah gazed intently into the young woman’s face. Her gray eyes were kind, her heart-shaped face strained with genuine concern. Leah could read no censure in those gentle features. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged off her husband’s arm and stepped forward, extending her hand in friendship. “I be Nibeeshu Meekwon—Moonfeather in your tongue—Leah Moonfeather Stewart.” She glanced back at Brandon’s frown. “Wescott,” she finished with a flourish. “But ye may call me Leah.”

Anne broke into a radiant smile that lit her gray eyes as though with inner candles. “And I am Anne,” she replied, taking Leah’s hand and squeezing it. “Brandon has told me all about you, and I wanted to meet you. I’m so sorry if I’ve intruded.”

“Nay,” Leah answered with dignity. “Ye ha’ not. A friend of my husband is always welcome.” She motioned toward the sitting chamber. “Ye must stay and tell me of when he was a bairn.” She turned her head and caught Brandon’s eye defiantly. “Will ye call for tea and cakes, Brandon viscount? This Anne and I ha’ much to talk aboot.” Barefooted, walking proudly, she led the way into the other room.

Anne glanced over her shoulder at Brandon, and he shrugged helplessly. “You are very kind,” she murmured to Leah.

“I saw Charles coming from the stables as we came up,” Brandon said. “Shall I ask him to join us?”

“Nay!” Leah snapped. Her eyes narrowed to gleaming chips of obsidian. “Nay, he shall not coom here to my chambers.” Her tone softened as she looked toward Anne, and the Scottish burr came strongly in her speech. “It be better if the two of us talk alone, do ye nay agree? Withoot a mon about to keep us from saying what we wish.”

Anne laughed. “Yes, and yes again.” She settled into a low-backed chair and spread her skirts around her. “It sounds very pleasant indeed, Lady Brandon.” She glanced up at Brandon mischievously. “I do believe, sir, that you have been politely dismissed.”

“So it seems.” He gave a stiff bow and retreated gracefully from the battlefield. “But I fear my reputation will never recover from the attack you two will launch on it,” he said.

Leah nodded. “Aye, so it may be—but I can nay think of any mon what deserves it more.”

Brandon tugged on the bell pull and left the room.

For a long moment, Anne and Leah watched each other in silence, then Anne spoke. “You know, don’t you?”

Leah’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “I ken ye be the woman Brandon’s parents wish him wed to.”

Anne clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “Yes, but I am no doxy. I wish only Brandon’s happiness.”

“And your own . . .”

“Do you love him?”

It was Leah’s turn to be stricken silent. “I dinna know,” she replied honestly. “I dinna know.”

 

B
randon sighed and lay back against the pillows. Leah curled against his chest, her skin moist with perspiration, her breathing deep and steady. They’d been making love for hours—he could already see the first glow of dawn through the east windows—and they were both exhausted.

Once again, in the privacy of their bedroom, they’d been able to push aside the conflicts that threatened to tear their marriage apart and find joy in each other’s arms. Brandon sighed again and stroked her gloriously disheveled dark hair. If I had the power, he thought, I’d hold back the dawn and stay here beside Leah forever. He closed his eyes, knowing that morning would come all too soon and his problems would be there again in full force.

Leah’s unhappiness was only a part of his difficulties. He had to contend with his mother and her complaints, his father’s illness, and the sorry state of the Kentington estates. Regardless of what his mother might believe, he hadn’t come to London with her to take part in the social season. He’d come to try to straighten out a financial nightmare.

His father had placed responsibility and trust in several stewards, banking houses, and solicitors. The old earl had left more and more decisions in Charles’s hands, and incomes which the estates had depended on for centuries had either dried up or been funneled off. The Kentington earls had always been conservative; they’d lived plainly, considering their position, and had never had to borrow from anyone. Now gold stores were dangerously low, and Brandon was faced with a mountain of debts.

Part of the knot had been untangled without too much fuss. Due to a mistake on the part of a clerk, the Earl of Kentington’s funds had been confused with Charles’s personal account, and entered there. The new accountant he’d hired, Silas Johnson, had found that error in a matter of hours. Brandon had discharged the old solicitors, hired a younger man of good reputation, and threatened to change banking houses.

Now, Brandon intended to go over every segment of his father’s business affairs and learn if there were similar inaccuracies. He meant to find out if the problems were·the result of his father’s inattention and carelessness or if criminal intent was involved.

Because he’d been so busy since they’d arrived in London, he’d had little time to show Leah the sights he’d promised. Anne had come to his rescue and taken Leah under her wing. She’d sent the finest dressmakers to Wescott House, and she’d invited Leah to her home and introduced her to her friends. This afternoon, Anne was taking her into the city to a bookshop.

Realizing that the room had become light enough to see the outlines of furniture, Brandon rose and went to a mahogany highboy. From the top drawer, he took a red kidskin bag and returned to the bed. Leah stirred, one slim arm flung over her head. Her lovely full breasts and her shapely thighs drew him closer, and he sat on the high bed beside her.

Smiling, he poured the contents of the bag into his hand. A gleam of sunlight caught the heaped gems and set them aflame with color. Choosing carefully, he dropped a bloodred ruby onto her slightly rounded belly. Leah’s eyes snapped open and he laughed, following the ruby with a sapphire, an emerald, and a dozen large pearls. “I promised you pearls, love,” he reminded her. He leaned over and kissed her lips, then dropped a second ruby between her breasts. “Didn’t I say I’d shower you with jewels?” he teased.

She sat up, and the precious gems tumbled into the folds of the tangled sheets. “I’m cold,” she said. Her dark liquid eyes were huge in the semidarkness of the curtained bed, and her husky voice made his heartbeat quicken. Her hand brushed his naked staff, and he shuddered with pleasure.

“Leah,” he whispered. She clasped him in her hand and ran her thumb along the length. “God, woman, if you . . .” He lay over her, propping himself on one arm, bringing his face close to hers as her fingers continued their teasing caress. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the sweet waves of sensation that flowed through his loins. The bed smelled of woman and sex. “By the blood of the holy martyrs, Leah,” he said, “what are you—?”

Laughing softly, she wiggled down in the sheets. The tip of her damp tongue touched his hot skin, and he moaned deep in his throat, giving up all thoughts of an early breakfast and meeting with the accountant.

 

When he awoke again, the room was bright with midmorning light. A tray of food stood on the low table beside the bed, and Leah, clad in her scarlet dressing gown, was pouring him a cup of wine.

“Will you sleep all the day?” she teased.

He yawned and ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I didn’t get much sleep last night—and that’s your fault, woman. Have you no pity?”

“None.” She handed him a pewter goblet, and he drank. “There be fish here, and bread and cheese. Below, a man waits. He says that ye asked him here this morning.”

“Johnson. The accountant. ’Tis your fault, wench, if the family fortunes are lost.” He reached under his left cheek and withdrew a ruby. “Ouch. I wondered what was digging into me.”

She giggled. “Ye ha’ only yourself to blame for being so foolish. What man takes his colored stones into his sleeping mat?”

“Colored stones,” he grumbled, getting out of bed and pouring himself a second goblet of wine. He took a wedge of cheese and walked to the window. “A fair day for your outing with Anne.” He glanced back at her. “I did promise you the jewels, kitten. The seamstress will sew the pearls onto your gown for Mother’s ball. The rubies can be strung on silver or gold wires for your ears. Do you like them?”

“Aye, Brandon mine, they be pretty.” Her features grew pensive. “I had a gift for you last night, but I was afraid—I couldna tell you.”

“Tell me what?” He turned back toward her and smiled. “What secret are you keeping? Has Anne put you up to buying something expensive?”

“Nay,” she answered quietly. “I ha’ waited to tell ye until I be certain. I be with child, your child.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “A baby? You’re sure?” His sudden rush of elation cooled as fear curled in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed. His Leah? Little Leah swelling with a baby? Leah, whose mother had died in childbed? “When?”

She stiffened. “I thought ye would want a child. Have ye not prattled on about an heir for your English title? This could well be that son.”

He turned away from her, unable to speak. Hell, yes, he’d wanted an heir from her body. It was every man’s right. But thinking about a son was different from knowing she was pregnant. He’d come so close to losing her when she’d been shot that he wasn’t sure he could face it again. He reached out and touched the window glass, trying to picture what a child of theirs might look like. “Of course, I want your child,” he said. “Son or daughter, I’d welcome it the same.” The fear became a leaden weight—Leah could die from the love they’d shared.

“Did ye not suppose that a bairn would come from what we were doing?” she demanded angrily. “Or be it the color of his skin that ye fear?”

He whirled on her. “You know better than that.” He moved to take her in his arms. “I’m glad, Leah. It’s just that it’s a shock.”

It was plain to him that she didn’t believe a word he said. “Aye,” she flung back, pulling free. “Ye be happy. Your lips say so, but your eyes . . . your eyes say different.”

“Damn it, Leah, don’t talk like that!” he managed. “I love you. It’s just that having a child . . . brings a risk. I don’t want to face the chance of losing you.”

Cecily’s dying face rose to haunt him. The black-garbed midwife’s words echoed in his head like gunshots.
The child was too big—it tore her apart.
He shook his head to rid his mind of the stench of Cecily’s blood—blood shed so many years ago. He’d stayed with her to the end, in spite of his family’s protests, in spite of the midwife’s disapproval, but it hadn’t helped. Cecily had bled to death, and the child—a child that might have been his—had been stillborn.

“You’re such a little thing,” he said hoarsely to Leah. “I knew it could happen, but—”

She glared at him. “I dinna believe ye, Brandon. If ye feared for me before, ye have kept it well to yourself. But the problem is easy to remedy. Put me on a ship for the Colonies as I have asked. I’ll give ye your annulment and ye can wed Anne if she’ll still have ye.”

“I said I’d take you home. I can’t force you to stay with me if you don’t love me, Leah. But our child—if we have a child . . .” Swearing, he shook his head. “I can’t discuss this now. You’ve got to give me time to settle the Kentington financial affairs. Do you expect me to leave my dying father and take you home now? If you’re pregnant, the worse possible place for you is at sea.”

She stepped back away from him, her eyes hard. “Nay, Brandon viscount, I expect ye to do nothing. What I must do, I’ll do on my own. I’ve waited for ye long enough. I’ll find my own way home.”

Fear that she might do just that made his voice harsh. “Don’t try it. You’re my wife. You come and go when I say. And you go nowhere—least of all to America—while you’re carrying our babe.” He took her by the shoulders and twisted her to face him. “I love you, and I’ll care for you—both of you.”

“Yes, I will.” She strained against his grip and, unwilling to struggle with her, he released her. “I’ll not break my promise. I will take you . . . I just don’t know when.”

“And meanwhile I’m to be content with my jewels? Pretty beads to keep your Indian squaw content?” She snatched up a handful of pearls and flung them at him. “They be but cold stones, Brandon viscount—as cold as your heart.”

In anguish, he turned toward his dressing room. “We’ll talk later, Leah, when you’re calmer.”

“Aye,” she taunted. “Later.”

He slammed the door as he left the room.

 

That afternoon Brandon walked Leah down the steps to the waiting town coach emblazoned on the side with his father’s crest. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he said as he bent to kiss her. She turned her head so that his lips met her cheek instead of her mouth. “I am glad about the news,” he added, ignoring her slight.

The footman lay down folding steps and assisted Leah into the ornate carriage. “M’lady,” he said.

Brandon glanced up at the liveried coachman and spoke sternly. “You are to take Lady Brandon directly to the home of the marchioness. I place my wife’s safety in your hands—do you understand?” His gaze swept over the two running footmen and the burly servant beside the coachman, including them in his command.

The coachman doffed his cap. “Aye, sir. We’ll keep her ladyship safe, sir.”

Brandon gave Leah a parting order. “You’re not to wander off. London can be dangerous, and you could become lost.” She nodded; he waved to the coachman, and the man cracked his whip over the horses’ heads.

Leah caught the side of the carriage for support as the vehicle began to move over the rough cobblestones. Brandon stood on the steps of the sumptuous brick house watching until the carriage turned the corner.

Leah could still see the upper stories of Wescott House and its encompassing wall. The town house was nearly as large as Westover in Dorsetshire, but much more formal. Of the two, Leah preferred the country manor with its rolling acres of grass and parks. Brandon had explained that when his grandfather built Wescott House after the Great Fire, this part of London was open fields. Now, other fashionable brick houses lined the streets, and there was no meadow to be seen.

She settled back into the cushioned seat and tried to dispel the anger she felt toward Brandon. Anne would be hurt if she arrived in such a state. Leah’s mouth softened as she thought of her new friend. The woman Leah’s husband had loved—might still love—was a strange choice for a friend, but Leah had liked the shy Anne from the first hour she’d met her.

They had nothing in common except Leah’s husband and a love of books. Anne did not ride—she was afraid of horses. Anne knew nothing of the forest or the open grassland. She did not hunt or fish. She was modest and deferential in the presence of men. She knew nothing about the Colonies and less about Leah’s people. Anne was everything Leah was not, and yet Leah found a comfort of the soul in being with the English girl. They laughed together and traded bits of quotes from dusty tomes that became private jokes.

Leah’s mood lightened as she thought of Anne. They had spent only a few days in each other’s company, yet Leah felt as though she had known Anne all her life. At times, it seemed as if she knew what Anne was thinking or going to say before she said it. Idly, she wondered if Amookas felt the same way toward Tahmee. They shared a husband. She decided that if Brandon had to have two wives, as Alex did, Anne would be the best choice as second wife. The idea tickled her heart and made her laugh. “I be too jealous to share my man with any woman,” she said aloud.

She giggled again. If Shawnee women—some women—were willing to be part of a plural marriage, why couldn’t she? Was it her father’s Scottish blood that made her too small to accept another woman in her husband’s life? She was still chuckling when the coachman reined in the team before Anne’s imposing brick town house.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you,” Anne apologized as a footman assisted her into the carriage. “My coachman’s gone to have a tooth pulled.” She sat across from Leah and caught her hand. “Last night I went with Barbara and Father to New Spring Gardens, and we had a wonderful time. You must have Brandon take you there! You can only reach it by boat, but after dark when the lanterns are lit, it’s a fairyland. Everyone goes.” She waved her maid to a seat on the far side of the coach.

“I thank you for taking me to the shop of books,” Leah replied. “I’d like to find a copy of
Paradise Lost
. I had one, but a raccoon ate it.” She rolled her eyes. “Brandon sends his thanks for being my keeper.”