by Pamela Clare
“Zachariah Bowers!” She quickened her stride.
Both Zach and Alec looked up. Cassie suppressed the thrill she felt at seeing Alec again. He stood covered in sweat, his brown skin glistening in the midmorning sun. She could read in his eyes that he was happy to see her, too.
But that was not why she was here.
“When a woman calls your name like that, ye know ye’ve got trouble,” Zach muttered to Alec, who nodded gravely in agreement.
“If it’s about the drinkin’, Miss Cassie—”
“In a way it is.” She fixed him with her harshest gaze. “You may want to give up the whiskey now you’re about to become a father.”
“A what?” Zach gaped at her. “A father?”
“It is your babe Elly carries in her belly, is it not?” She watched his eyes fill with comprehension.
“Oh, no, Elly. Good Lord!” He dropped to his knees as if struck by a fist.
Whatever reaction Cassie had expected, this was not it.
“Nay, Mistress,” he said after a moment, his voice ragged. “The babe is not mine.”
She stared at him, bewildered. “Are you sure?”
“Aye. If I’d managed to woo Elly into my bed, I’d remember.” He laughed bitterly, steadied himself, and rose to his feet, his eyes clouded with despair.
“I’m sorry. I-I thought … ” Cassie stammered, suddenly understanding his recent bad temper and constant drinking. Elly had been ignoring him, had been with someone else. How could Cassie have borne such bad news so tactlessly?
But Zach had already turned back to his work, slashing at the tobacco with the wooden movements of one in a trance.
Cassie shared one last concerned glance with Alec before turning back.
If Zach was not the father, who was?
* * *
Alec watched Cassie walk back toward the cookhouse, admiring the soft sway of her hips beneath her blue work dress. So Elly was pregnant. He wasn’t surprised. But Zach certainly had been. Zach slashed at the tobacco as if it were an enemy. Alec knew there was nothing he could say. In fact, opening his mouth just now might earn him a black eye and a few loose teeth.
A few months ago, he’d have thought Zach a fool for loving a woman who seemed to care nothing for him. But now? All things considered, Alec thought Zach had reacted to the news with a good deal of restraint. How would Alec have behaved had Cassie been with someone else? What if she had lifted her skirts for him, then turned away? Or ignored him completely and gone into the arms of another man? What if she were now carrying another man’s child? It was something he didn’t even want to imagine.
Allowing himself to get caught up in the rhythm of his work, Alec didn’t realize how much time had passed or how thirsty he’d become until Zach tapped him on the shoulder some time later and handed him a jug of cool cider. He stood, stretched his back, and took several deep swallows.
The crack of musketfire split the air.
The jug in Alec’s hands shattered.
Chapter Twenty-three
Instinctively, Alec dropped to the ground, pulling Zach with him. “Over there.”
He pointed to the edge of the forest, where the shot had come from.
Around them, men’s voices called out in alarm.
“Did I hear what I think I heard?” Micah, bent at the waist, made his way down the row.
Alec nodded, looking down the tobacco row at the men crouching for cover. “Is everyone all right?”
They nodded.
“I’m going to have a look.” Alec began to rise.
“Are ye daft?” Zach wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. “Someone just took a shot at ye.”
“That’s why I’m going to check it out.” He stood, his gaze fixed on the dark line of trees ahead.
“I’m coming with ye.”
Crouching, Alec and Zach moved swiftly across the field to the forest, followed by Micah and the rest of the men. The ground was covered with a dense blanket of pine needles. There were no footprints Alec could see, but the sharp odor of gunpowder lingered in the air.
“Over there!” It was Henry. He stood at the far end of the search party, pointing off through the trees. “Lads, a fair few, dressed for the hunt. They ran like rabbits when they saw us.”
Alec looked in the direction Henry was pointing but saw nothing.
“They’ll nae be back.” Henry seemed nervous. His face was red from exertion. His brow dripped with sweat. “Just a huntin’ accident. Good no one was hurt.”
“Back to work,” Micah called. The worry on his face told Alec he was far from convinced this was simply an accident, but the tobacco crop called. “We got a mountain of tobacco to cut before sunset.”
Alec watched Henry walk back toward the fields. Together with the falling tree and the copperhead in his cabin—he’d found it lurking beneath his blankets and had dragged it outdoors by its tail, the blanket still over its head—this was someone’s third attempt to kill him. Whoever was behind this wanted it to look like an accident, but the assassin was getting desperate. Shooting him in broad daylight was bound to raise suspicions.
Alec called, retrieving his tobacco knife from the dirt. “Micah, Zach, I don’t want Miss Cassie to hear about this. She has enough to worry about.”
Micah nodded and moved off down the row.
Zach eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me this isn’t the first time somethin’ like this—”
“Fine.” Alec adjusted his grip on the knife. “I won’t tell you.”
“You know what this means?” Zach grinned.
“What?”
“I need to watch out for yer scarred hide.”
The two men went back to work, one keeping an eye on the forest, the other on a certain Scot.
Women and older children had now come out into the field and were gathering cut tobacco from the ground and hanging the leaves from tobacco sticks along the fence so that they would wilt. There the leaves would remain for three days before being hung in the drying sheds. When Alec had asked why the tobacco was not hung immediately in the sheds, saving time and effort, Cassie had smiled at him as she might a child and told him that allowing the plants to wilt first made it possible for them to pack more into each shed. And then she’d reminded him ever so sweetly that, after the tobacco was harvested, there would still be corn, wheat, and barley to bring in, not to mention apples.
Alec turned his mind back to his work, once again stunned by the depth of his feeling for her. He, the man who had once dismissed notions of love and marriage as one might reject children’s fantasies of Father Christmas, was now willing—nay, eager—to go to the altar. No doubt Matthew, who had always predicted this day would come, would find his transformation most amusing.
But something was wrong. Whenever he spoke of marriage or returning to London, Cassie became distant and refused to speak of the future. Perhaps she doubted his sincerity. She had all but admitted believing he would leave her bed without looking back when the time came.
“Believe in me, Cassie,” he’d told her this morning. “That’s all I ask. I said I would never forsake you, and I meant it.”
She had looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
That she could still suspect him hurt more than he was willing to admit. Perhaps she still doubted his identity. Or perhaps she didn’t want to marry him at all. She’d expressed her disdain for marriage and the role of a wife more than once. Alec had never considered the possibility that she might refuse to marry him, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel.
* * *
Cassie hung the heavy tobacco stick from the fence with a sigh. Sunset danced orange and red around her. Her shoulders and arms ached, and her hands and gown were stained with tobacco juice. She needed a warm bath and a hot meal.
They’d gotten farther today than she’d expected, harvesting a little more than half of the field. God willing, they’d be finished by this time tomorrow. It looked as if it would be their largest harvest ever, but Cassie kne
w better than to get ahead of herself. There was still so much that could go wrong. Too much rain could make the leaves rot in the sheds. Too little, and they would become brittle and crumble when they were packed. Hogsheads could burst. Warehouses could burn to the ground. Ships could sink. At best, tobacco farming was a risky wager. Perhaps that was why so many gamblers seemed to be drawn to these wild shores.
She wandered back toward the house, the sound of fiddle music drifting her way from the cabins. The smell of roasting meat made her mouth water. She had ordered several hogs slaughtered for tonight’s feast. It had been her father’s custom to celebrate each night of the tobacco harvest with food, dance, and strong cider, and she had continued that tradition. Everyone had worked hard today. Her people deserved something special.
She reached the cookhouse to find Nan pouring one last kettle of steaming water into the washtub. A fresh gown and chemise had been laid out on the table. The candles had been lit, and the curtains drawn. Cassie thought she had never seen a more welcoming sight.
“Oh, bless you, Nan.”
After so many years, Nan seemed able to anticipate her every need.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Nettie. She’s the one who carried this dratted tub inside.”
Cassie looked about, but Nettie had evidently gone to join the celebration.
“She’s lookin’ for Elly,” said the cook, as if reading her mind. “What she can possibly want with that one, I couldn’t say, but then, ’tis none of my affair.”
Cassie fought back a smile. Nan hated being left out of any secret, especially one with a potential for good gossip. But she was right to wonder. What would Nettie want with Elly? She barely tolerated the girl.
“Enjoy yer bath, lamb, then come have a bite to eat. Ye must be famished.” Nan took down her knitted shawl from its peg and closed the door behind her.
Cassie stepped out of her dirty clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and sank into the hot water. It felt so good to be off her feet. She closed her eyes, stretched out, and wiggled her toes, letting the warm water soak the aches from her muscles.
“Are you enjoying your bath, my love?”
She gasped and sat bolt upright, covering her breasts with her arms. Water sloshed onto the floor. “Alec!”
He closed the door behind himself and slid a chair beneath its handle, blocking it.
“What are you doing here? You nearly frightened me to death!” She couldn’t help smiling.
“Pardon me.” He didn’t sound the least bit sorry, his lips spreading in a sensuous grin. He pulled the sweat-stained linen of his shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor. Then he untied his breeches and pulled them down his muscled thighs until he stood naked before her.
“What are you—”
“I’m here to help you with your bath.” His voice sounded sincere—and full of mischief. He crossed the room then slid into the tub behind her, stretched his legs out on either side of hers, and pulled her back to rest against the broad expanse of his chest.
“Help?” She was shocked at his boldness, her pulse racing. “What if Nan—”
“Then you shall tell her to go to hell.”
She felt him pull the pins from her hair. Its weight fell softly over her right shoulder, across her breasts, and into the water. He gently worked the snarls free, then dipped the bucket in the tub and slowly poured warm water over her hair.
She shivered with delight and relaxed into his touch. He massaged lavender-oil soap through the length of her tresses and into her scalp, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin at her temples, behind her ears, and at her nape. Her skin tingled.
“Do you like this?”
“Mmmm.”
His strong hands dropped to her shoulders and neck and rubbed away the day’s tension. When at long last he poured water over her hair again, rinsing the lather away, her eyes were closed and she felt as tranquil as a babe in its mother’s arms.
“Are you falling asleep?” His voice was deep and tinged with desire.
Cassie giggled, well aware that putting her to sleep was not his intention. Then she gasped as he began to rub the slippery soap over her breasts. His hands kneaded their fullness, drawing her nipples to taut, aching points. She pressed her breasts deeper into his palms, awed by the delicious sensation of skin sliding silkily over soapy skin.
Then his hands were gone, replaced by the rougher texture of the sponge. She moaned and clutched the sides of the tub as warm water flowed from the sponge over her breasts, rinsing the soap away.
Heaven though it might be, this was out of her control. She wondered what he would do next, uncertainty and anticipation heightening her excitement. But she didn’t have to wait long. He began to stroke her belly, his hands moving gradually lower and lower until she was fairly lifting her hips out of the water in expectation of what was to come.
“Shall I wash your woman’s petals?”
She giggled at the silliness of the words he’d chosen, but wanted it all the same. “Aye! Touch me.”
He lifted her thighs and parted them so that her feet came to rest on either side of his knees. Then his fingers crept down through the curls on her mound and parted her lips, allowing hot water to touch her most delicate flesh. Cassie gasped at the heat and felt delicious warmth spread through her belly. He did not use soap, but slid his fingers between her lips, gently stretching and caressing them until she whimpered in delight.
“You’re so swollen, love.” His fingers settled on her engorged bud. He stroked her, teased her, until her body trembled with urgency. But just as she neared her peak, he stopped and caressed her inner thighs instead.
She moaned in frustration, her body taut, her sex throbbing with need. He controlled her now like a puppet on strings.
“Up with you, my sweet.” He guided her up onto her knees. “We mustn’t forget your delightful derrière.”
For a moment she was puzzled. She didn’t speak French. But when he turned her so that she rested on her hands and knees before him, his face directly behind her, her breath caught in her throat. In this position she was so open to him, to his perusal, his touch. Nothing lay hidden.
She felt him pour warm water over her taut skin, felt his hands begin to smooth soap over her bottom and rinse it away, coming nearer and nearer to her woman’s cleft. When his fingers finally found her, slipping deep within her, she cried out and rocked back against his touch, spreading her thighs to welcome him.
He kissed and nipped the flesh of her buttocks, his tongue hot as his fingers opened her, stroked her.
Again she neared her peak.
Again he stopped.
“Is there ought else I can do to please you?” He caressed her swollen sex softly, teasingly.
Cassie moaned in desperation. There was something she wanted, but it was something she couldn’t name, let alone ask for. He’d started to do it on that first night, but she had stopped him, too shocked to let him continue. It was positively indecent, this act she was imagining. But now…
Oh, God, if only ...
She willed herself to say it. “Make love to me with your mouth!”
She heard him groan with satisfaction. “Mmm, yes. But not like this.” He stood and helped her to her feet, then scooped her up into his arms and stepped out of the tub.
She trembled with anticipation as she realized what he meant to do. In two strides he’d reached the table and, pushing the butter and honey crocks to the far end, laid her upon the linen tablecloth so that her bottom was even with the table’s edge.
“You are so beautiful, love.” The intensity of his gaze made Cassie’s heart skip a beat. He stood between her thighs, dripping wet and so virile, his shaft hard and erect. Then he draped her legs over his shoulders and sank to his knees.
Cassie closed her eyes, barely able to breathe. She felt him part her outer lips, felt his breath upon her.
“I’ve waited so long to taste you.” Then his lips were on her, kissing her sex deepl
y.
Cassie began to quiver, shaken by sensations almost too good to bear as he laved her, licked her, pleasured her with his mouth. Just as he had suckled her nipples, he suckled her sensitive bud, drawing on it gently with his lips, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Her fingers clutched his hair, and she heard herself cry out again and again, heard herself call his name. “Oh, Alec! Alec!”
His tongue grew bolder, its caresses firmer, faster. And then he thrust it inside her.
She came. Tremors of ecstasy shot from somewhere deep inside her through every inch of her flesh, making her cry out, until, weak with pleasure, she lay panting.
“How is your bath so far?” He leaned over her and captured her lips with his, probing her mouth with the same tongue that had just given her such ecstasy.
“Mmmm.” She could smell and taste herself on his lips—a musky, wild flavor—and her hunger began to build anew. She grew bolder. “I want to taste you now.”
“Oh, Cassie.” The look in his eyes was one of erotic longing. With his arms to steady her, she sat up on the table, then stepped down to stand before him. Candlelight danced over the taut ridges and valleys of his muscles, and she took in the beauty of his body. Impatient to pleasure him, her fingers played with the mat of curls on his chest, then followed the dark line down his belly to the curls below until she gripped his shaft. His muscles tensed and she grew bolder, kneeling before him.
Alec felt her lips brush against him as her tongue began its tentative exploration and feared he would come apart. Brushing wet curls from her face, he entwined his fingers in her hair as she took his cock into her mouth and slowly began to devour him.
He’d thought himself about to go insane when she’d asked him to kiss her, finally allowing him to bury his face in her sweetness. But this … Trying to be gentle, he began to rock his hips to match her rhythm, meeting her hungry kiss, giving her all of him she could take. Her tongue danced circles around the head of his cock. Her lips gripped him, stroked him. He thought of shooting his seed into her sweet mouth, felt his testicles tighten.
“Stop!” He battled desperately for control. This was not what he had planned.
