“I…could.”
His brows lowered as he thought upon her words. Gently, he gathered her closer and then pressed his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes lest he see her own want and need.
“Open your eyes,” Latimer softly commanded sending shivers through her. “Look at me.”
She did so, and found Latimer’s gaze fastened upon her with that stormy green intensity. His eyes reflected emotions she couldn’t define.
“You infuriatingly, sweet woman,” he whispered as he brushed back that wayward curl. “Whatever am I to do with you?”
“I don’t know.” Ceressa dared to touch his bristled jaw. “You said yourself you can’t send me back to England.”
He chuckled and, to her disappointment, released her. Standing, he looked down at her and caught her hand bringing it up to his lips. What delicious, exquisite torture, Ceressa thought and sighed, followed by the rush of embarrassment.
“I should leave you now so that you can get your sleep. There’s much to do on the morrow. Good night.” Latimer released her hand and left her.
Drawing her legs up, Ceressa folded her arms across them and wondered what had just happened.
****
Latimer awoke, the gray light filtering into the hall an indication that dawn was not far off. For a moment he was confused, unsure why he slept on a pallet on the hard stone floor before the dying embers of the kitchen hearth. Then he recalled Ceressa was upstairs in his bed, hopefully enjoying a peaceful sleep.
Full remembrance embraced him—his hasty rush to the upstairs chamber when he’d heard Ceressa cry out, finding her lost in another nightmare. Then her gentle care of his scraped knuckles, and his voiced hope that she could somehow come to care for him. And she had said that she could. Had he dreamed her response? Had he heard her correctly?
Throwing off his blanket, he quickly tugged on his clothing, pulled on his boots, and impatiently tied his hair with a leather thong. It didn’t take him long to make his way upstairs to the chamber where Ceressa still slept. Looking at her through the open door, he smiled. She was so docile and heart-wrenchingly beautiful caught in the throes of sleep. How he wished there could be more moments like this between them—moments when Ceressa wasn’t trying to prove a point, and he wasn’t trying to convince himself he didn’t care for her. If only they’d resumed their acquaintance under different circumstances and in a more pleasant manner.
Daring to move within the chamber, he walked to the side of the bed and leaned over her, breathing in the scent of roses that clung so delicately to her skin and hair.
“Latimer?” Her whisper brought him upright, her unusual eyes more violet than brown at the moment as they fastened upon him. “Have I overslept?”
“No. I awoke early. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. No more bad dreams?”
“None,” she replied and gave him a small smile while self-consciously pulling the coverlet up. “Thank you for comforting me last night.”
“’Twas a pleasure, milady,” he teased. “I’ll go down and stir the fire. Kate will be arriving any time to begin her morning ritual.”
“So you’ve decided to take your seat among the burgesses?”
“I see no honorable way around it. I’ve resigned myself to my fate.”
“Then if I’m to be the wife of a burgess, I need to know everything that’s happening here in the colony.”
“As you learned that I was a burgess the same time I did, there’s much I don’t know, as well.” He sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know that Sir William is unpopular, and that Nathaniel Bacon is some sort of renegade hero because he’s taken it upon himself to put an end to the Indian threat. But I’m sure there’s more to the matter.”
Latimer sighed, wondering how much to tell Ceressa. There was no denying that she was an intelligent woman, intuitive and discerning. Latimer decided to share all he knew.
“Berkeley handpicks the sheriffs, justices of the peace—the ones who impose taxes—and the vestries. Many of them, in turn, abuse their status to improve their fortunes. The governor selects his appointees from influential families and other self-serving individuals.”
Ceressa chewed worriedly on her lower lip, and Latimer wanted nothing more than to kiss the worry away. He firmly squelched his notion.
“Then there’s the Council, which is the upper house of our government, composed of the elite of the governor’s circle. The members are Sir William’s most loyal supporters and are chosen with that in mind. Bacon was once a councilor before he fell into disfavor.”
“If the appointments have upset so many of the colonists, why can’t Sir William make changes?”
“The man knows he’s the king’s representative. His powers are limitless, affecting every individual who lives in the colony, and he dominates through his power and patronage. Even the Council is restricted by Sir William’s wishes, as is the House of Burgesses.”
“Then why don’t you join Bacon and his followers?”
Ceressa’s question dredged up all of his old doubts and uncertainties. Latimer still wondered why he found it so hard to choose a side.
“For all of Sir William’s faults, he has redeeming qualities.” Latimer hoped he could somehow explain the matter to Ceressa and to himself if he talked it through. “The man tried to bring tobacco prices in the colony in line by limiting production. But the North Carolina and Maryland colonies refused to cooperate. He protested the Navigation Acts and the special favors granted the proprietors of Virginia by King Charles. Berkeley was wrongly blamed for the Dutch Wars. When a comet was sighted and a cloud of insects devoured every leaf in sight, the colonists superstitiously blamed him of bringing doom upon Virginia.”
“I don’t see how waging war with the native people could resolve those issues.”
“It won’t. Ignorance and fear have taken root here as it has throughout the world since the beginning of time. There’s no denying Berkeley is old and inflexible in a time when open minds and negotiation are vital. My neighbors and friends in Surry County have protested taxes and duties for years. How can Berkeley justify his extravagant living when an average tobacco farmer barely earns fifty shillings a year? The small planter is the backbone of this colony. His rights and those like him must be protected.”
“How passionately you speak,” Ceressa said, gazing up at him with something akin to marvel. “You care deeply for these people, and you would fight for them and for what you believe.”
“That’s important to you?”
“Yes, it is.” A beautiful smile lit her face as she sat up and leaned toward him, shyly brushing his jaw with her lips. He reached out to draw her close until a small clamor below warned him that Kate had arrived. Reluctantly, he stood.
“Mariette should be along shortly.” Ceressa nodded, and he was almost certain he saw a look of regret pass over her features before he turned away.
****
Regret filled Ceressa as she heard Latimer descend the narrow stairs. She so wished she had the nerve to call him back, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate, and in frustration, she threw back the coverlet and got out of bed. Warm light streamed through, bringing with it the scents of rose and honeysuckle. Hurrying to the window, she looked out upon a cloudless blue sky, and birds perched on the limb of a lofty maple twittered melodically. It was impossible not to be happy gazing upon such a lovely scene.
“Mistress Ceressa?”
Ceressa quickly turned away from the window as Mariette poked her head inside the chamber.
“Good morning, Mariette. Please join me. I trust you slept well last night.”
“I slept like a babe,” she said then laughed. “I never admitted this while on the ship, but all that rolling and tossing didn’t make for restful nights.”
Ceressa laughed at the expression on Mariette’s face. “Well, it is wonderful that you finally got a good night’s rest. Now, what sort of gown does one wear to a session of the House of Burgesses
?”
“You have me at a loss there, milady. I would think something simple, yet elegant, befitting the status of your husband.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Ceressa murmured, painfully aware that Latimer was a husband in name only. Forcing a smile on her face, she beckoned to Mariette to join her by the trunks.
Fire Dragon's Angel
20
Two hours later, Latimer walked beside Ceressa, her hand upon his arm as they made their way to the State House located at the edge of town. His mood was much improved, and he was already silently rehearsing how best to ask Ceressa to be his wife in all ways. She seemed much happier this morning and had displayed a hearty appetite upon breaking the fast, amusing him as she’d smothered the warm, flaky biscuits on her plate with honey. His inner amusement had escalated when she’d mashed the hominy with her eggs and crumbled the crisp bacon into the mixture. He’d never tried eating his food in such a manner, but she must have found it quite tasty given the gusto with which she’d partaken of the meal. There’d been something akin to comfortable domesticity surrounding them at table.
Looking at her, he noticed how the sun’s rays shimmered off her hair and the plum satin of her gown. “I believe you greatly enjoyed the meal this morning.”
“Kate is a wonderful cook.” Ceressa gave him a smile. “I was starved. By the way, I haven’t forgotten that we’re to test our fencing skills.”
“Nor have I. But I warn you, I will beat you.” She gave him a doubtful look and arched her brows.
“We’ll see about that,” she replied saucily. Why did he feel so unbelievably happy? Was it her smile, her radiant beauty, her inner goodness?
Latimer’s optimism quickly faded when he and Ceressa arrived at the State House. Situated on a thin ridge of land, the State House was part of a group of five brick structures all joined by common walls. Tension pervaded the atmosphere: men clustered and talked loudly, waving fists in emphasis, shaking heads in disagreement and despair. One man was nursing a bloody nose and another, a black eye.
As Latimer guided Ceressa around them, he overheard a bystander explaining to his companion that the two had been fighting with fists only minutes earlier—the one man a farmer who’d mere days before lost his family in an Indian attack. The other man was the son of a Tidewater planter; an avowed loyalist and friend of the governor. It was a relief when Latimer spied Bartholomew Carruthers, and taking hold of Ceressa’s hand, he led her toward the man who was deep in conversation with Arthur Allen.
“Aye, you did come, Latimer. We knew you wouldn’t fail us. And good morning to you, Lady Ceressa,” Carruthers greeted, as did Allen, both men sweeping off their hats and bowing as Ceressa and Latimer joined them. “I hope you both passed a pleasant night.”
Heat built beneath Latimer’s neck cloth, and Ceressa blushed. Bartholomew had picked the worst thing to say. Latimer inwardly bemoaned his election as a burgess, wondering what lesson God intended to teach him through this torture.
“Indeed, we did,” Latimer said, hoping the Lord would forgive him for his partial untruth. “I can see that emotions are running high.”
“You can rest assured this will not be a pleasant day,” Allen said, raising his eyes heavenward as though beseeching the Almighty. “And my old bones are aching. There’s certain to be a storm by sundown.”
“Latimer Kirkleigh! So, you’ve decided to rejoin us. Welcome home.”
Turning quickly, Latimer was surprised, then pleased, upon recognizing the governor’s wife, Frances Culpepper Stephens Berkeley, a kinswoman of the baron of Thoresway. Though unexceptional in appearance, she exuded charm and possessed an abundance of easy laughter. She was laughing even now as she came toward them, throwing her arms about his neck and kissing him. Latimer noticed that Ceressa wasn’t smiling. Disengaging himself, he put her out at arm’s length.
“Frances, it’s good to see you, too. May I introduce you to my wife, the Lady Ceressa Quarles Kirkleigh. Ceressa, this is Lady Berkeley, wife of our governor.”
Ceressa’s look altered immediately, and she quickly dropped into a low curtsy. When she rose, he could see she was embarrassed by her assumptions. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your ladyship.”
“So, the rumor is true. You found yourself a bride in London. Why, you are perfectly charming, Lady Kirkleigh, and quite the beauty. Latimer, you have uncovered a rare treat,” Frances sincerely praised, and he could see Ceressa softening. “You’re from London?” she asked Ceressa.
“My parents have a home there, but our family estate is several miles outside the city, not far from Kirkleigh Hall.”
“I see. Don’t tell me you were the little girl next door who grew up and snatched our Latimer’s heart?” Frances was teasing, but somehow she’d hit upon the truth.
“You could say that,” Latimer said, Ceressa giving him a look of relief.
“It’s good to have you here, Lady Kirkleigh. I do so appreciate having another female from home here in the colony. Do sit with me during the session so that you can catch me up on all the happenings, the gossip, and the fashions. That gown you’re wearing is simply sumptuous. I insist you come with me. There are several women I want you to meet…” Frances’s voice faded as she led Ceressa away, chattering in her usual nonstop manner, Arthur Allen following them.
Once they were out of hearing, Bartholomew chuckled.
“You know, for the span of a few seconds, your bride thought you and Frances were more than old friends.”
“I caught that look, and I’m glad that was resolved.”
“There’s one whose greeting isn’t going to be so pleasant when she arrives. Latimer, Phyllis will be here sometime later today. She knows that you’ve returned with a bride.”
“Phyllis knew when I left that I was in search of a wife.”
“I don’t believe she thought you’d really do it.”
“I’m sorry, Bartholomew. I never meant to hurt her. I never did anything to make her believe we would one day wed.”
“If it were any other man telling me this, I’d challenge him. But I know Phyllis, and I know you. I’ve spoiled the girl shamelessly trying to make up for the loss of her mother. I did what I thought was best for her, but I see I was wrong. I just hope she’ll refrain from making a scene. Lady Ceressa doesn’t deserve that, nor do you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over that. I just wish it were you going to the session today rather than me. I fear I’m not the one to adequately represent the interests of every man in Surry. I don’t even know what my position is.”
“You’ll do wonderful, lad,” Bartholomew assured him with a firm slap on his back. “We’d best go in. Good luck to you.”
“I’m going to need a lot of that.” But as Latimer spoke the words, he was actually thinking of the impending storm with the woman who thought she would be his wife.
****
Ceressa politely chatted with the women Lady Berkeley introduced, feigning interest in the trivial gossip that meant little. She was far too worried about the session that would soon be called to order, fearing for Latimer. There was no ignoring the open hostility that brewed among those men in attendance as they exhibited signs usually attributed to rabid animals. When Frances suggested that they make their way to the second story of the State House and take their seats, Ceressa hurried up the stairs, praying that all would be well with Latimer. After seating herself between Frances and Angelica Bray, the auditor general’s wife, she scanned the long room in search of Latimer.
Ceressa silently fumed over the peacock preening males with their wide-brimmed, high-crowned hats dripping with feathers and plumes that restricted her view. Then her eyes rested upon a man, bare of head, his auburn hair possessed of rich copper lights, and she expelled her breath. Latimer.
A hush came over the assembly as Sir William appeared, taking his place in a green velvet chair that faced the burgesses. There was no mistaking the lines of age that ravaged his face, and even with his elaborate white per
uke and his satin and lace-covered form, it was obvious he was well past his prime. As he gazed about those gathered, Ceressa could see the hostile arrogance in his eyes.
Frances leaned close to her and explained the proceedings. While Frances whispered, Ceressa’s gaze roamed over those in attendance, coming to rest on Torrence Willshire, who, at the moment, was staring at Latimer. His look was so frightening Ceressa wanted to cry out a warning. As it was, the governor stood and chose that moment to speak.
“If there be joy in the presence of the angels over one sinner that repenteth, there is joy now for we have a penitent sinner come before us. Call Mr. Bacon.”
All rose to their feet amidst a raucous babble of voices. Ceressa strained to catch sight of Latimer but had little luck. As though making a dramatic stage entrance, Nathaniel Bacon strode into the room, dropping theatrically to one knee before Sir William. An eerie hush descended.
Even from where she sat, Ceressa could detect falseness in Bacon’s manner. Worrying her lip, she wondered what the man was really about.
“I don’t believe this,” Frances whispered angrily. “William won’t be taken in by this act.”
As though to refute his wife’s words, the governor said, “God forgive you. I forgive you.”
“And all that were with him?” a voice from among the councilors asked, the words echoing through the tense chamber.
“Yea,” Sir William confirmed, “all that were with him.”
“Then, Nathaniel Bacon,” the speaker intoned, “take your place among the councilors.”
A roar filled the room as everyone sat. When all had settled, one man remained standing. “Latimer,” Ceressa breathed aloud. Her heart lodged in her throat, fear for him so strong she could taste its bitterness. God, please protect him, she silently prayed.
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