Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  The excitement and delight Andrew derived from directing the mare around the yard became immediately apparent to Gage, as did the equestrian skills of his bondslave. Indeed, she sat a horse as if she had been born to it.

  “Come, Daddee, ride with us,” the youngster urged eagerly, and motioned for his father to get on behind Shemaine. “Take us on the road. Please, Daddee!”

  Chuckling at the charming summons, Gage approached them.

  Shemaine nearly panicked at the thought of being caught between the man and the boy. “I’ll get down and let you take Andrew.”

  “No need,” Gage assured her, stepping beside them. “The mare is able to bear our combined weight for a short ride.”

  “Oh, but I have things to do,” Shemaine argued, unwilling to experience another heady encounter similar to that which she had endured during shooting practice.

  Gage peered at her curiously. “But I thought you said you were going to tend your chores before coming out here.”

  Small, white teeth tugged nervously at a bottom lip as Shemaine met his pointed stare. She didn’t want him to think she had lied, and yet no other excuse had seemed as viable. Her delay in answering concluded the matter for Gage, and with a quick movement, he swung up behind her. Settling against her rigid back, he reached around in front of them and took the reins from Andrew.

  “Hold the boy,” he instructed, curbing a chuckle as he sensed his bondslave’s tension. “And try to relax, Shemaine. You’re as stiff as a cypress plank.”

  She heard the laughter imbued in his tone and wanted to hotly declare her inability to comply. It would have been impossible for any woman to blandly ignore the sturdy thighs buttressing her buttocks. Indeed, she was nearly undone by the pressure of his work-hardened form against her back. Yet the protestations that raced through her frantic thoughts and tempted her tongue would have readily revealed what she was really afraid of.

  Gage reined the mare around and touched his heel lightly to her flank to send the animal in a leisurely canter toward the lane. He rode easily and, Shemaine thought, well enough to hold his own in the company of equestrians with whom she was either acquainted or kin. But then, his performance and riding ability could have been better evaluated if she were not virtually sitting in his lap.

  The lane twined lazily through the trees, turning this way and that beneath a lofty canopy of overhanging branches. A doe with her fawn darted across the road ahead of them, drawing an excited cry from Andrew. Almost as quickly, the deer disappeared into the woods on the far side. For a time, Gage kept the mare to a walk as he indulged himself with studying minute parts of the young woman he casually embraced. His gaze admiringly caressed a small ear and a pale, creamy nape where curling wisps escaped a braided knot, while her delicate fragrance bestirred his senses. His greatest delight, however, was being able to surround her with his arms and body.

  A nervous glance cast quickly by Shemaine over her shoulder made Gage aware that she was sensitive to his close scrutiny, and he knew if he didn’t soon relent, she’d be leaving them and walking home. Though she had not yet voiced an objection, she was nevertheless prone to twitch uncomfortably when his male form pressed too close. The temptation to do so was almost more than he could withstand.

  Upon reaching a shallow stream (the same which fed the pond in front of the cabin), Gage forced his thoughts onto a different path and urged the steed into the brook at a fast trot, making Andrew and Shemaine squeal in surprise as the water sprayed upward from the flashing hooves. His chuckles clearly conveyed his mischievous delight.

  When they reached the far bank, Andrew wanted more. “Do it ‘gain, Daddee!”

  “If you insist,” Gage replied with a chuckle, turning the horse back into the creek and drawing more delighted shrieks from his companions.

  “I’m going to be soaked if you don’t stop!” Shemaine cried through her laughter.

  “ ‘Tis a warm day,” Gage reasoned with humor behind her.

  “Aye, but the water is cold!” she protested, and then sucked in her breath as a new volley of droplets splashed her. She wiped wet runnels from her face and, for the sake of modesty, ignored those that trickled down into the deep crevice between her breasts.

  Once they reached the horses’ paddock near the cabin, Gage slid to the ground and lifted Andrew down. After sweeping Shemaine from the back of the steed, he stood her to her feet and stepped back with a grin before his eyes were lured downward by the wetness of her gown.

  Following his descending gaze, Shemaine glanced down in some confusion and felt a hot blush suffuse her cheeks as she saw her soaked bodice molding her breasts, clearly defining the chilled tautness of her nipples. With a low mortified moan, she fled into the house, stumbling on the way and, in the process, losing her slippers. She dared not pause to retrieve them, but leapt barefooted up the porch steps, snatched open the back door and disappeared within.

  Gage followed with Andrew at a much more dignified pace and scooped up her wet shoes as he went. He was standing near the hearth in the kitchen, trying to appease his son’s unquenchable curiosity about a wide variety of subjects, when Shemaine finally came downstairs garbed in a fresh gown. Her dampened hair had been combed into a neat bun behind her nape, and the lace of her collar stood on end around her long, creamy throat. Her beauty bestirred his awe, and he was wont to appease his hungering eyes. Indeed, he couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at her lately.

  Hesitantly Shemaine reached out a hand. “My shoes.”

  Gage glanced down and realized he was still holding them in his hand. “They’re damp.”

  “So are yours,” she said, indicating his boots and the leggings of his buckskin breeches, which were thoroughly soaked to his knees and damp along the outer sides of his thighs and hips. Her skirts had obviously provided protection for other areas, which were dry. “You’d better get changed. I’ll have food on the table before too long.”

  “After I tend the mare,” he answered, and left through the back corridor.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Shemaine took Andrew into his bedroom to change his clothes. A few moments later the back door opened and closed, and then, after a short delay, the floor in the parlor creaked as silent footfalls advanced across it. To give warning of her presence in the boy’s room, she began to sing a child’s song, but she nearly stumbled over the words as Gage entered wearing only the breeches he had ridden in. The fluttering of her heart started anew as her eyes stealthily swept his wide shoulders and firmly muscled waist. Though she would have willingly admired the sights as long as he was there, she refused to allow herself to gawk at him like some mindless twit. She had to escape!

  “Come, Andrew,” Shemaine bade, taking his small hand in hers. “Let’s go into the kitchen by the fire and finish dressing you while your father changes his clothes.”

  Before she could flee, Gage sauntered leisurely to his armoire, crossing her path and halting her progress altogether as he opened the doors of the cabinet. To Shemaine, it seemed a deliberate impediment, especially after she had just announced her intentions, but she could do naught but wait until he completed his search.

  Gage tossed a shirt over his shoulder and sailed a pair of hide breeches onto the bed before he stepped back and closed the cabinet. Shaking out the folds of the shirt, he turned to face her. “Do you dance as well as you ride, Shemaine?”

  The question startled her, and she nodded warily. Then she hurriedly shook her head as she realized he might think her boastful. “I mean, I have danced before . . . often, in fact.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to attend a soiree they’re having in the village this coming Saturday. I haven’t gone to one since Victoria was alive, but there’s usually a lot of dancing and feasting. I would imagine nearly everyone in the hamlet will be there. The fees that are usually collected go to help the orphans in the area and the few women who care for them. So we’d be doing a good service by going. If you’re willing, I’d like to.”

  �
��Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!” Shemaine declared in an anxious rush. “Surely not when everyone knows I’m your bondslave and a . . . convict. ‘Twould be improper to force my presence on the townspeople like that. Why, they’d likely be outraged if I went.”

  “ ‘Twould be nice to have a beautiful woman to dance with,” he cajoled.

  Her cheeks warmed with his compliment. “I just don’t think it would be wise when circumstances are what they are, Mr. Thornton. Andrew and I will be fine here alone if you’d care to take another woman.”

  Gage’s gaze snared hers. “I don’t care to take anyone else, Shemaine, so if you insist upon staying home, so will I.”

  Confusion reigned in her thoughts as she struggled to find an appropriate answer. She didn’t want to be the cause of him having to stay away. Neither could she imagine herself attending such an affair.

  Her gaze lowered, and in a rather breathless tone, she asked to be excused. Gage stepped back against the armoire, giving her room to pass, but Shemaine could feel his eyes following her to the door. Escaping to the kitchen hearth, she dressed Andrew and then began to put the meal on the table, but try as she might, she could not banish the thought of dancing with her handsome master from her mind.

  CHAPTER 12

  When Shemaine retired to the loft the next evening, she was surprised to find a pale pink-and-white-striped muslin gown lying upon her cot. Its square-neck collar was adorned with pink ruching, but the garment was badly crushed and wrinkled from having been packed away in Victoria’s trunk. Shemaine remembered having seen it near the bottom and had concluded at the time that it was one of the better gowns the woman had owned. A chemise, no less than Victoria’s best, had also been left. It lay alongside a pair of white stockings and soft leather slippers. There were even ribbons to tie them on with.

  A brief note written in handsome script and signed by Gage lay atop the garments. He urged her to address her attention to whatever alterations or washings the clothes would require before Saturday, for it would greatly please him to take her to the social. As for her concerns, he would not allow a few sour souls to affect any decisions made in his household. Her only reprieve would be if she came down with some serious malady for which a doctor would be required. In other words, he left her no option unless she was near death.

  Shemaine mentally groaned at the idea of having to face the established matrons of the area, some of whom she had seen fleeing before her master’s attention could come to bear upon them. She hoped fervently that they would prove equally as cautious about voicing their objections when his bondslave entered upon his arm.

  Saturday came, and shortly after his afternoon nap, Andrew was taken over to the Fields’s where he would stay the night. Just before Shemaine finished dressing, Gage called upstairs from the back door to announce that he was going out to harness the gelding. It seemed an admonition to hurry, and Shemaine’s fingers fairly flew as she wound the ribbons around her ankles. In a few short moments she was all but racing down the path toward the corral.

  At the sound of pattering footfalls on the stone steps, Gage tightened the last strap on the shaft of the chaise and straightened. What had been intended as a casual glance over the tall back of the gelding turned into a long, slow scrutiny that swept upward from small, white slippers to the pert lace cap adorning her upswept coiffure. It was a full moment before Gage realized his breath had nigh halted.

  “Do I look acceptable?” Shemaine questioned worriedly, uneasy with his lengthy silence.

  “Aye,” he sighed, “like a ray of light to a blind man.”

  A fleeting smile answered him before he came around the back of the conveyance. Once he stepped into full view, Shemaine felt inclined to say something as lavish as his praise of her. She greatly admired the dashing figure he presented, for he was even more handsome in courtly garb than she had dared to imagine. The clothes were not nearly as costly as those Maurice usually wore, but this man, by his exceptional physique and good looks, made the garments seem far richer than their cost. The frock coat of deep burgundy complemented the taupe-colored waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, while the white shirt and stock she had ironed accentuated his bronzed skin.

  Gage swept her a flamboyant bow, which gained a deep curtsy from his companion. “You smell as sweet as you look,” he remarked, stepping near to savor her delectable scent. He was intrigued by every womanly detail of her and, upon closer inspection, noticed where the seams over her bosom had been let out and neatly resewn. His gaze passed in ample appreciation over the fullness before Shemaine turned with burning cheeks to face the conveyance. Catching hold of the dash, she lifted a foot on the metal rung and felt Gage’s hands on her waist as he boosted her into the chaise. Sitting back against the seat, she swept up the tricorn that lay on the cushion beside her and brushed her fingers caressingly over the plain trim that finished the turned-up brim. It was so like the man to shun elaborate decorations. But then, with his face and form, he needed none.

  “Your hat, m’lord,” she murmured, offering it to him with a smile as he climbed in beside her. Her green eyes glowed with admiration as she watched him slide it snugly into place, and she continued to marvel at his handsome profile as he unwound the reins from the dash and clicked to the gelding. In the narrow confines of the seat, there was not enough space to allow them to sit apart. Gage’s shoulder overlapped hers, and just as unavoidably, the back of his arm brushed her bosom. Shemaine accepted the light strokes in silence, strangely pleasured by his casual touch, and wondered if her master even noticed. With an imperceptible sigh, she relaxed against the cushioned seat, having every intention of enjoying the ride.

  The gelding was a high-headed, high-stepping animal who apparently enjoyed a fast trot. They were soon being whisked along the road toward Newportes Newes, and by their speed, it was easy to predict they would reach the hamlet well before the sun even thought of setting. If Shemaine could surmise anything from the grin that flitted rather frequently across her master’s lips, she could believe that Gage Thornton relished a brisk gait as well and was wont to encourage it. She found herself smiling with the exhilaration of the ride, and once they passed Sly Tucker and his wife in their horse-drawn chaise, laughed at the race that quickly ensued. It soon became apparent that the gelding had a competitive heart and wouldn’t be outdone by another steed. Reaching out with his long legs, he left the Tuckers behind in short order.

  Once they reached the hamlet, Gage left the gelding at the livery stable, where the animal would receive a cooling walk after his long jaunt into town and, afterward, water to quench his thirst, for it promised to be several hours before they embarked upon their journey home. From the livery, Gage escorted Shemaine along the boardwalk at a leisurely pace, drawing shocked and curious stares from nearly everyone who recognized them. A small group of British soldiers who approached from the opposite direction eyed Shemaine with close attention, but they remembered her companion only too well as the one who had booted the huge tar into the road. They had deemed the oafish sailor much in need of a harsh comeuppance for hurting the girl, and out of respect for the man, they politely curtailed their admiration for his companion to nothing more than a casual glance or two.

  Potts had been leaning against a post in front of the tavern, but when he saw Gage and Shemaine, he muttered something over his shoulder, bringing Morrisa promptly through the doors of the establishment. After a jeering perusal of Shemaine and a more admiring one for the tall man who strolled beside her, the harlot spoke to the swabber and jerked her head in their direction. As if bidden, Potts came sauntering purposefully across the street toward them.

  The last thing Gage wanted right then and there was a fight, but it seemed unlikely that Potts would allow him to escape without some kind of fray, no matter how much Gage was loath to see his first evening out with Shemaine destroyed. He just hoped he’d still be on his feet when the conflict ended.

  “I think he intends to box your ears,” Shemaine murmured f
earfully, casting a furtive glance toward her hulking adversary.

  The four soldiers, who had been walking toward Gage, espied Morrisa. After a brief discussion, they veered from their course, making their way across the street toward her. As they neared Potts, one of them recognized him.

  “Why, it’s the mudsucker! Blimey, if it isn’t!”

  His companions had also witnessed the swabber’s difficulty in leaving the muck after being booted into it and were just as eager to have a little fun with the callous ox.

  One of the soldiers wrinkled his nose in feigned repugnance. “Eh, what’s that awful stench?”

  “Manure!” a fellow soldier roared in rampant hilarity. “Mudsucker ain’t partial ta baths, don’t ye know!”

  “He must relish the stuff,” another commented, “ ’cause he sure ate enough o’ it!”

  Their bantering had brought the red-faced sailor to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street, and there Potts stood with massive hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as he seethed with violent rage. His pig eyes blazed at the four, two of whom nearly dwarfed him. “Cares ta see which o’ ye buffoons can say that right up close ta me face?”

  The soldiers grinned and glanced at each other. After briefly considering the tar’s invitation, they allowed the smallest one to answer for them. “Aye, we’ll meet ye ’round back o’ the tavern where our cap’n won’t see us.”

  The threatening altercation allowed Gage and Shemaine to pass virtually unnoticed—except for Morrisa, who glared after them. Unconcerned with how the harlot snarled and stewed, they continued on down the thoroughfare.

  The meeting hall was the place where all public functions were held, for it was the largest building in the hamlet. Gage had said nearly everyone would be there, and Shemaine could almost guess that that was exactly the case as she recognized several amiable faces and many others who were not as pleasant. The Tates hadn’t been able to come since Calley was still confined to her bed, but Gage’s two apprentices and the shipwright, Gillian, were there. Sly Tucker and his wife arrived shortly after his employer, about the same time that Mary Margaret hastened across the hall with the aid of her cane. Other friends smiled and waved or called out a greeting. But Alma Pettycomb and her following gawked and hurriedly whispered to each other behind their fans as they rudely eyed the gown Shemaine was wearing. Roxanne sat at a table near the entrance, having been enlisted to take an accounting of those who entered and to charge the appropriate fee. Upon seeing Gage and his companion, she began to sulk in darkly brooding vexation.