The Sword (24 page)

Clay traveled better the next day, staying on horseback for most of the time. Still, it was early evening when they had reached the outskirts of Petersburg. They decided to camp and go into the city early in the morning.

“What do you want for supper, Grandpere?” Chantel asked as she considered the supplies they had.

“Mm … how about ham and eggs?” he asked mischievously.

True to her word, Anna Sloane had prepared them an enormous breakfast of smoked ham slices, fluffy scrambled eggs, griddle cakes, bacon, little boiled potatoes, biscuits, redeye gravy, white gravy, and a delicious apple conserve, her own recipe. Jacob had eaten three slices of fried ham and a big pile of eggs. Anna had sent with them an enormous smoked ham and a dozen fresh eggs.

“Again? You really do love that ham, don’t you, Grandpere?” Chantel said, giggling. Clay watched her curiously, for he could honestly say that he had never seen such a light, girlish expression from Chantel.

They feasted—again—on ham and eggs and biscuits slathered with butter and Anna’s apple conserve.

After they ate, Jacob said he was tired and was going to bed early, and he retired to the little tent. In the field where they had camped, the grass was so thick and deep that Chantel and Clay had simply laid down a couple of horse blankets by the campfire to sit on.

The night was cool. A thousand fireflies lit up their campsite. Their ethereal lights delighted Chantel. “I’ve never seen so many,” she said softly. “It’s like being in the stars, they twinkle and shine so.”

“I haven’t camped out since I was a young boy,” Clay said. “I’d forgotten how very beautiful spring nights can be. So much better than smoky card rooms and stinking saloons. You always feel kind of … soiled, I guess you’d say, afterward. This is clean and fresh and makes you feel healthy and strong. No wonder I’ve recovered so quickly.”

He watched Chantel. She was sitting gracefully, her face upturned, her legs tucked trimly under her. Her face was dimly lit, and her profile was stunning, with her wide dark eyes and straight nose and generous mouth.

She turned to him, her expression curious but with a trace of pity there that pierced Clay’s heart. “Is that your life, Clay? Is that what it’s been, gambling and saloons?”

He dropped his eyes. “Guess so. Told you I was wicked.” He was uncomfortable, so he asked quickly, “So what about your life, Chantel, before you saved Jacob and he became your grandpere?”

She picked at her breeches. “When I was little, life was good, with ma mere and ma pere. But then he died, and ma mere”—she swallowed hard—“she married a man. A very bad man.”

“Your stepfather,” Clay murmured. “So he was not good to you.”

“Not good at all, him,” she said vehemently, and then she drooped a little and said so quietly that Clay could barely hear her, “And then ma mere died. And I had to run away.”

“Oh Chantel,” Clay sighed. “No one should have to go through what you’ve been through. Especially a wonderful, lovely, giving woman like you.”

“Do—do you really think I am lovely?” she asked shyly. “I think I look like an ugly boy, me.”

“No, no,” he said. On impulse he put his arm around her, and she moved closer to him. “You try to look like an ugly boy, Chantel, and now I think I understand why. But you aren’t, and you never could be. I think that you may be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. Inside and outside.”

She listened to him, so closely, her eyes burning on his face, so eager she was to hear this reassurance. A slight breeze stirred her heavy, glossy hair, and Clay smoothed it back then caressed her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm. He leaned closer, and then his lips were on hers. The kiss was soft, not at all demanding. He merely touched his mouth to hers gently, as if he were tasting her.

Chantel closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and she touched his face. Before he even realized what he was doing, he pulled her
to him and kissed her again, with more urgency. For long moments she surrendered to him, her body soft and pliant beneath his hands.

But suddenly she stiffened, her eyelids flew open, and she pushed him away. “What—what are you doing, Clay?” she said with abrupt shock. “Stop it!”

“Chantel, please,” he said gutturally, trying to pull her close again, so deeply was he filled with her sweet scent, the warmth and softness of her lips, the passion but yet the innocence of her kiss.

She slapped at his hands, her distressed expression turning to one of outrage. “Get your hands off me!”

He jerked back, suddenly appalled at what he had done. “No—Chantel, I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not,” she said, grimacing. She jumped to her feet and gave him a last glance, one of disgust. “You warned me, you. You told me you were a wicked man. And you are.”

She ran and jumped into the wagon and yanked the canvas flap closed behind her.

Clay pressed one hand to his now-aching head. She’s right. I am a wicked man. What’s happened to me? How did I turn into this—this—worthless weasel, to treat women like this? With Belle, at least she did know what she was getting into, even if she was drunk. But Chantel? A pure, innocent girl like that, and she saved my life, and this is how I repay her? By pawing her like some sweaty, greasy piece of trash?

Clay had never felt so badly in his life, even after the sordid situation with Belle. He thought that he should saddle Lightning and just disappear. But then he realized how cowardly that would be. He owed Chantel more than an apology. He had to face her and confess to her and beg her forgiveness. And he had to face Jacob Steiner, too, and ask his forgiveness as well, for betraying his trust.

He stayed up most of the night, feeding the fire, berating himself and rehearsing the speeches he would give Chantel and Jacob in the morning. Several times he tried to lie down, but he was so miserable he knew he couldn’t sleep. The self-recriminations going around and around in his head seemed so loud that his head ached almost as badly as when he had first been injured. So he
jumped up and paced more. Finally he fell into an uneasy doze just before dawn and slept for about an hour, stretched out on the horse blanket with no pillow and no blanket. When the first cheerful rays of the rising sun caught his face, he woke up with a groan.

He would have made coffee and breakfast for Chantel and Jacob, but all of the supplies were in the wagon. They had camped just beside a small stream, so he went and hurriedly bathed in the cold water. After he dressed, he began saddling Lightning.

Chantel came out of the wagon and warily looked around for him. A question came into her eyes as she saw that he was already saddling up, but she merely said, “I’ll fix breakfast, me. Jacob will be up soon.”

“I’ll help you,” Clay said. “Since you’ve taught me how to cook so well.”

“No,” she said curtly. “I’ll do it myself.”

She had just gotten the pans and utensils and food out of the wagon when Jacob came out of the tent, blinking and yawning. He observed Clay saddling up Lightning and arranging his packed saddlebags and bedroll. He saw Chantel’s grim face and the shadows under her eyes. “It’s a beautiful morning for such mournful faces,” he observed, taking a seat on one of the cracker boxes Chantel had brought out of the wagon.

With the air of a man going to a flogging, Clay came to stand by him and Chantel, who was sitting by the fire, heating up the frying pan. “Chantel, I cannot express to you how very sorry I am for my behavior last night. You have been nothing but polite and kind to me, and I was very wrong in what I thought and what I did last night. All I can do is ask you to forgive me. Can you do that, Chantel?”

She had slowly risen as he spoke, watching him warily. For long moments, her face was hard and suspicious. Then the darkness in her eyes faded, though she still looked distant. “Ma grandpere has taught me this, that we can’t carry around bad things in our hearts, like being angry and upset at people for the things they do,” she said evenly. “I forgive you.”

“Th–thank you, Chantel,” he said awkwardly. He had been ready for her to berate him, to accuse him, to shout how terrible he had been to her. With a grieved sigh, he turned to Jacob. “I have betrayed your trust, Mr. Steiner,” he said simply. “And this is so much worse, so much more treacherous of me, because you and Chantel literally saved my life. Please forgive me.”

“I forgive you, my son,” he said gently. “It takes a very good man, a very strong man, to face the wrongs he has done and to honestly express his sorrow for them. It would be a sin indeed not to forgive you.”

A humorless grin twitched Clay’s mouth. “I’m the only sinner here,” he muttered.

“No,” Jacob said firmly. “We are all sinners. Our sins differ, that is all.” His eyes went to Chantel, who at first looked defiant but then dropped her eyes. His eyes went to Lightning, who stood saddled and already tossing his head, ready to go.

Clay saw his gaze and said, “I’ll be leaving you now.”

“Where are you going?” Chantel asked abruptly.

“I—I don’t know,” Clay said wearily. “I just think it’s for the best.”

“Why would you think that is best?” Jacob asked. “You have made a mistake, you have admitted it and asked forgiveness and received it. Whatever it is, it is over and forgotten. Stay with us, Mr. Tremayne, for I believe the Lord will tell you where you need to go and what you need to do. Don’t you think that’s right, Chantel?” he asked her gently.

“Yes, Mr. Tremayne, if Grandpere feels it is right, it is right,” she said quietly. “It would be fine with me if you will stay.”

He studied her, and she met his inquiring gaze directly. He saw cool courtesy, a distant gaze, with no hint of either welcome or censure. He noted, of course, the formal use of Mr. Tremayne. Resignedly he said, “Thank you, Miss Chantel, Mr. Steiner. That is more than I expected and certainly much better than I deserve. I would be glad to stay with you, at least until I find out what my situation is in Richmond.”

Chantel fixed breakfast while Clay and Jacob sat talking, mostly about the town of Petersburg. It was a central terminus for the railroads, and though it was not a large city, it was always busy. They ate, and Clay felt the awkward silence between him and Chantel so acutely that it was a relief to him when they finally were packed up and pulling back out onto the busy road. Clay rode ahead a bit, attempting to put some space between him and these people he had treated so badly. These people whose treatment of him left him wondering about many, many things.

Jacob and Chantel rode in silence for a while. Chantel was driving, and she stared straight ahead, her eyes searching the far distance. Finally Jacob said, “He’s just human, you know. He’s just like all of us. He needs the Lord in his heart and spirit so that he can learn to be a better man.”

“I didn’t say he was a bad man,” Chantel said tightly. “I’ve known much worse, me. I don’t hate him, but I’m still angry at him. I know, I know, Grandpere. I will try to stop the anger in me. But one thing won’t change. I’ll never trust him.”

“I understand, daughter,” Jacob said sadly. “That is the thing about sin. It is a betrayal of God and a betrayal of others. Sometimes even of those we love most.”

Chantel shot him a strange look but said nothing more. She stayed silent until they reached the city.