Mary Margaret took Shemaine’s hand and patted it affectionately as she warbled, “Oh, don’t ye take the prize for beauty.” The Irishwoman cast a sparkling glance toward Gage and grinned. “I’m also delighted ta see his handsome self lookin’ so fetchin’ in gentleman’s attire.”
Gillian was right behind her, asking Gage’s permission to dance with Shemaine. “If’n ye don’t mind, Cap’n.”
Gage chafed at the idea that he wouldn’t be the first to dance with Shemaine, but he gave her over to the younger man and watched with close attention as they faced each other in a contredanse.
“Well, Gage, I never expected to see you here,” Roxanne commented from the table. “I can only say you’ve shown your usual nerve.”
After hanging his tricorn near the entrance, Gage approached her and counted out the toll. “Two for the meal and the dancing.”
Roxanne took exception to his simple declaration and accepted his coins snippishly. “I can count, Gage! And I’m not blind! I can see you’ve brought your slave with you. But tell me this, if you would. If you bought her to take care of Andrew and to teach him, why is she here with you?”
“I asked her,” Gage replied laconically.
“Why? Were you afraid some other woman would turn down your invitation if you asked her?” By supposing upon his reticence on that account, Roxanne sought to assuage the hurt gnawing at her heart by convincing herself that he hadn’t asked her solely because he had assumed she’d reject him outright. After her threats, was it not reasonable to imagine that he’d be aloof with her?
Gage felt a need to be plainspoken with the woman. She had imagined far too much as it was. “I didn’t care to bring anyone but Shemaine.”
Roxanne’s gray eyes flared with fiery indignation at his frankness. No matter how many times she had told herself that Gage just had to feel some tiny bit of tenderness toward her, her searching heart was always rebuffed. Perhaps the time had come for her to stop lying to herself and to cease making excuses for his cool reserve. “I’m sure Mrs. Pettycomb will delight herself by spreading tales of your latest effrontery about the village. Gage Thornton bringing his bondslave to an event intended for freemen. That should perk up everybody’s ears.”
“I have no doubt it will.” With a tense smile, Gage turned and strolled back to Mrs. McGee.
The widow grinned as she folded her slender hands upon the head of her cane. “I see, fine sir, that ye’ve come ta enliven me drab life with yer winsome face an’ yer devilish ways.”
“I’m glad to be of service, madam,” Gage said debonairly, clicking his leather heels and tilting his head in a clipped, precise nod that sufficed as a bow.
The elder briefly marked Roxanne with a glance as the younger woman accepted the required fee from several newcomers. “I also saw the torment o’ wantin’ ye in the eyes o’ that poor soul ye just left.”
Gage sighed pensively. “I can’t live my life trying to avoid Roxanne, Mary Margaret.”
“Nay, nor do I expect ye ta do anythin’ less than what you’re doin’ now. Ye’ve as much right ta be here as Roxanne.”
Gage made no reply as his gaze found Shemaine. She was being escorted through the steps of the contredanse by the younger man and seemed in a vivacious mood, having lost her fear of attending. He saw several bachelors closely perusing her, but he intended to be at her side well before any of them could interfere.
“Yer mind is fixed on yer bondslave,” Mary Margaret ventured with a smile.
The brown eyes twinkled with amusement as Gage flicked a glance askance at the widow. “Aye, I’m impatiently awaiting my turn. Is that what you want to hear, old woman?”
She nodded pertly, noticing a welcomed change in the man. While Roxanne worked for him, he had seemed tense, but he now appeared at ease and happy. “Aye, that will do for starters.”
When the dance ended, Shemaine saw Gage moving through the crowd toward her. Their gazes melded in warm communication, and when he took her hand and led her into the reel, she could not subdue the nervous fluttering in her breast no matter how many times she silently reminded herself that he was just a man.
Stepping back into a line of women facing men, Shemaine sank into a deep curtsy before him, and he, in turn, bowed before her. The other couples moved out as their time came and sashayed down the line while the rest of them clapped. Then it was their turn. Of a sudden, it was as if her fantasy had become reality, for her handsome escort seemed to have eyes for no one else but her as he swept her toward the far end.
“People are staring at us,” Shemaine whispered as they moved together. Indeed, there were many who had stepped to the sidelines to openly view them, including Roxanne, who had left her reception duties long enough to do so.
“They have good cause,” Gage breathed, leaning near his bondslave. “You’re the comeliest maid here.”
“They’re observing both of us,” Shemaine corrected in passing. “Do you suppose they’re expecting us to do something outrageous?”
“Perhaps we should,” Gage suggested, curbing a grin. Briefly considering several possibilities, he nodded after coming to a decision. “A kiss might suffice.”
“Oh, sir, you wouldn’t!” Shemaine hissed in a whisper.
A chuckle accompanied the sudden roguish gleam in his eye. “Wouldn’t I?”
Having no doubt that Gage Thornton would do whatever he pleased, Shemaine made to turn away, but he caught an arm around her waist, temporarily imprisoning her close against his side. A sudden murmur in the crowd affirmed the constant vigil maintained by their audience.
“Stay with me or I shall kiss you here and now,” he threatened, squeezing her waist.
Shemaine nodded readily, wishing to avoid the tumult which would certainly be created if he did such a thing. “Mary Margaret was right, sir!”
“In what way, my sweet?”
Her soft lips curved in a fetching smile. “You are a devil!”
Gage threw his head back and laughed, raising the eyebrows of many who had not heard the like from him in some time.
When the dance ended, Shemaine was inclined to let her fingers linger in his as they made their way across the hall. The gentle pressure of his grip assured her that it suited him to hold her hand. They were so intent upon each other as they exchanged smiles and murmured comments on the music, they failed to see Roxanne scowling at them as they passed in front.
The evening continued pleasurably for each of them. They shared most of the dances, yet the two apprentices and Gillian were always eager to ask their employer’s permission for a spin about the floor with her. Except for the gossipmongers and those resentful of Gage Thornton, the townspeople seemed to tolerate Shemaine’s presence. They could do nothing less with her stalwart protector near at hand.
It was much later when Gage leaned near his bondslave to ask, “Are you hungry, Shemaine? We can eat now if you wish.”
“Mmm, I’m starving!”
A grin accompanied his reply. “Then come, my sweet slave, and I shall find us a spot where we may indulge our appetites.”
Gage straightened and motioned for his friends to join them at a far table. They were quick to respond and, after fetching food which Sly graced, they entered a lively repartee about the wit of the Irish, which Gillian and Mary Margaret had started some moments earlier. Laughter made the rounds as they ate, but silence descended like a sledgehammer driving nails when a caustic male voice intruded.
“Humph! Bringing a convict to mingle with the good folk of this community. Some men don’t care how they abuse their neighbors.”
Gage turned sharply to find Samuel Myers sneering at him past the profiles of the hawk-nosed Alma Pettycomb and other women of her sort who had gathered nearby to observe the couple. The clothier obviously thought himself safe from reprisal with such formidable witnesses near at hand, but with an angry snarl Gage pushed himself back from the table, setting the women to flight. He would have stood up to confront the man, but both Shemai
ne and Sly were quick to intercede before he could rise from his chair, the girl by a gentle hand on his arm and the cabinetmaker by a rumbling entreaty.
“Forget the li’l pipsqueak, Gage,” Sly urged, loud enough for the clothier to hear. “He’s not worth yer bother.”
“Why, you cloddish oaf! Who do you think you’re calling a pipsqueak?” Myers demanded, stalking with stiff-legged outrage toward Sly’s chair.
Gillian snickered in sudden delight. “Show ‘im, Sly!”
The apprentices made no effort to restrain their mirth as the hulking cabinetmaker pushed himself leisurely to his feet. Myers’s gaze was drawn slowly upward until he had to lean his head far back to even meet the chiding gaze of the other. Myers’s jaw slackened abruptly, and he gulped hard as he considered the breadth and height of his antagonist. Faced with such overwhelming strength, he could find no more caustic comments to make.
“Me name’s Sly Tucker, if’n ye’re curious,” the cabinetmaker informed him bluntly.
“Yes, well, I won’t bother you any longer,” Myers replied in anxious haste. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
Gage chuckled as his friend resettled himself in his chair. “You do seem to have a calming influence on some men, Sly. Remind me to take you with me if I ever go to war. The enemy would see you coming and likely turn tail and run, saving me a lot of trouble.”
The relaxed camaraderie resumed, as did the dancing. Mrs. Pettycomb never ceased her chattering, nor Roxanne her scowling and stewing, but for Shemaine and Gage, the affair ended on an enjoyable note as they finished the last dance together. After bidding adieu to their friends, Gage drew his bondslave’s arm through his and escorted her back toward the livery, ignoring those who gaped and sneered after them.
They passed the tavern in time to see Freddy serving as a human crutch for Potts, who appeared to have some difficulty walking upright as he staggered through the doors. The swabber held an arm clutched across his midsection and was groaning aloud as if in great pain. A makeshift bandage had been wrapped around his brow, and another swathed his knuckles. From the poor condition he was in, it was clear that he had come out much the worse for wear in his private set-to with the British soldiers.
Moments later at the livery, Gage was harnessing the gelding to the chaise when shuffling footfalls drew their attention to the deeper shadows running alongside the barn. As Gage stepped around to peer into the darkness, Cain emerged with his cumbersome gait. The hunchback looked cautiously at the man and held out his hand to reveal a wooden image of a graceful heron, as if to convey his reason for wanting to approach Shemaine. Gage gave his softly muted consent and watched as the cripple made his way to her.
“Shamawn tawk bawrd . . . gawft faw maw frawn,” Cain mumbled, holding out the bird.
Gage was able to interpret the garbled words more quickly now and offered an explanation to Shemaine, who seemed confounded by what the hunchback had said to her. “I think Cain would like you to take the bird as a gift because you’re his friend.”
“Cawn mawk bawrd faw Shamawn.”
“He made it for you,” Gage informed her.
“Oh, Cain, it’s beautiful,” Shemaine murmured with a feeling of awe. Though hideously deformed himself, the man had obviously been impressed by the beauty of the bird and had painstakingly translated it into a wooden likeness. “You have a rare talent, Cain, and I’m honored by your gift. ‘Tis a lovely memento of our friendship. Thank you.”
Shemaine moved forward, and Cain, with a look of wonder on his distorted face, received another gentle kiss upon his brow. Briefly she wrapped her arms around him, giving him an affectionate hug, and then stood back with a tender smile. Once again Cain seemed astonished by her deeds and, as if again unable to believe what he had just received, touched the place where her lips had brushed and hugged himself as he offered a crooked smile that showed his sparse and crooked teeth. Then he mumbled a farewell, turned and left, shuffling back into the shadows from whence he had come.
Gage stepped beside Shemaine to look at the gift. He, too, was amazed at her compassion. “I think you’ve earned a friend for life, my sweet.”
“Oh, sir, Cain is so lonely and pitiful,” she replied with heartfelt empathy. “It makes me sad to think of what that poor soul has been through, being an outcast. Whatever I’ve suffered because of my arrest seems so insignificant in comparison to what he has had to endure all his life. Indeed, I must be grateful for all that I’ve been blessed with.”
“You’ve made his life better because of your kindness, Shemaine,” Gage pointed out quietly. “Cain would not want you to be sad. That’s not why he worked so diligently to carve your gift. It was to give you back some bit of the pleasure you’ve given him by your simple display of affection.”
Shemaine smiled at his gentle reassurances and allowed him to assist her into the chaise. Soon they were on the road again, making good time as they sped home. Shemaine reflected upon Cain’s sculpture, studying it as much as she could by moonlight, but she was tired after such a long day, and the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves and the gentle sway of the lightly sprung chaise lulled her to sleep. Her head bobbed forward several times, jerking her momentarily awake, until a hand came up and gently pressed it down upon a sturdy shoulder. What remained of the ride passed into oblivion for Shemaine, and even when Gage halted the gelding near the corral some time later, she slept on, undisturbed.
Gage tied the reins around the dash before he leaned back in the seat and considered his slumbering companion. Her head still rested on his shoulder, and she was cuddled close against his side as if she sought his warmth. A soft breast seemed to brand him through his sleeve, and it was all he could do to keep his hand from encompassing that tempting fullness. Her nearness had filled his senses with a delicate essence of violets from the first moment he had sat beside her earlier that afternoon. In all, it had been a delightful experience to court her throughout the evening. It was just as pleasurable to watch her sleeping and, albeit by moonlight, to closely scrutinize every minute detail about her.
Gage swept an arm behind her, shifting her forward slightly until he could lay it close about her shoulders. A sigh escaped her parted lips, caressing his face as he leaned near. It seemed only natural to touch the softness of her mouth with his own and awaken her with a kiss.
Shemaine was dreaming of a chivalrous knight, and answering his kiss seemed in full accord with her own desires, for the mouth moving over her own was warm and stirring, evoking an excitement that was uncommonly real even for one of her dreams. The face above her own seemed dark and featureless, yet she added details that had become familiar to her dreams, a thin nose and a crisply chiseled countenance that was marvelous to behold.
The visage receded, and with a disappointed sigh Shemaine struggled upward through hazy shadows. Her mind seemed strangely detached, and inexplicably there remained in her mouth a heady taste, somewhat similar to that which she had smelled on her master’s breath shortly after he had quaffed a glass of ale with his employees. She licked her lips, savoring the flavor, and yearned for the knight’s kisses to return. The last had been the best of all!
Reality would no longer be denied. As it came winging slowly back, Shemaine stared through the shadows into the face of the one who regarded her, feeling a lingering confusion. Was he the man in her fantasy? Or was she still dreaming? Then she saw a smile trace across the handsome lips, and a soft murmur assured her that she was awake.
“I thought I’d have to carry you upstairs.”
“Are we home?” she queried, glancing slowly around.
“Aye, safe and sound.”
Shemaine realized his arm lay around her, but she made no effort to pull away. It offered her warmth and comfort, but most of all, she enjoyed having it there. “How long have I been asleep?”
The upward movement of Gage’s shoulder caught a shaft of moonlight that was otherwise limited to the area beyond the chaise’s leather top. “Shortly aft
er we left Newportes Newes. You seemed destined to sleep the night through.”
“I was dreaming,” she sighed.
Gage dropped an arm across his knee as he leaned forward to search out her features in the shadows. “What were you dreaming about, my sweet?”
Shemaine turned her face aside, unwilling to answer him. If she had dreamed it all, then she certainly didn’t want him to know about her flights of fancy. If she hadn’t, then it was perhaps best that she remain ignorant of all that had transpired between them. “We’d better go into the house now.” She rubbed her arms, feeling a sudden chill as a breeze penetrated her sleeve. “I’m cold.”
Gage stepped lightly to the ground and doffed his coat as he came around to her side. As she turned on the seat to face him, he plucked the heron from her lap and, with a smile, handed it to her. After lifting her down, he draped the oversized garment over her shoulders and took her free hand to escort her into the cabin. Pausing in the back corridor to light a pair of tapers, he placed a candlestand on the stairs as she stood drowsily admiring the wooden sculpture.
“I’ll have to tend the gelding,” he murmured, stepping near to indulge himself in her sweet scent.
“Does he have a name?” Shemaine asked, smothering a yawn as she glanced up.
Gage grinned down at her as he slipped his coat from her shoulders and laid it across the tall stool near his desk. “Sooner.”
Petals on the River Page 29
