by Karen White
I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen anyone else since I had come to Zeke’s cabin. “Where are Julia and Sukie?” I asked, stuffing another bite of corn bread in my mouth.
Zeke and Stuart exchanged glances. Stuart answered, “When you were sick, you kept screaming for them to keep away from you. I wanted to talk with you first before bringing you back to the house.”
“Oh.” I recalled Sukie’s face and the powder from her pouch as she had sprinkled it over me. “I thought Julia was trying to poison me. Because of Sarah.”
Stuart pulled up a chair to the table and sat down. “I am sure in your delirium you might have believed that. But now, with rational thought returning, I hope you know that Julia loves you like a sister, and would never harm you. You know that in your heart, don’t you?”
I looked down at the corn bread, my appetite deserting me. I knew he was right. I’d known Julia for only a short time, but I had seen her resilience and strength of spirit through dark periods, witnessed her kindness and compassion. She was not a killer, regardless of motive. I met Stuart’s eyes. “But who else would want to hurt me?”
Stuart held me with a steady gaze. “Zeke and Charles are convinced it was Pamela. The tea Sukie brought to you was given to her by Pamela, and not Julia. Do you know why Pamela would want to harm you?”
“I promise you I don’t know. I’m aware that she uses you and others to ferry information to the Confederate Army, but I have never done anything to thwart her.” I swallowed thickly. “I have no interest in this conflict. I’m an innocent bystander, I assure you.” Dots danced in my eyes again, and I leaned back in the chair. Zeke shook his head at Stuart, staving off any more questions for the time being.
I sat up suddenly. “Where is Pamela now?”
Stuart glanced at Zeke before saying, “She is gone. She left the night we brought you here. Hit poor Charles over the head with her washbasin and made her escape on one of our two remaining carriage horses.” He raked his hand through his hair. “What she has done she has done for a reason, Laura. And you are the key. So think hard—why would she want to kill you?”
“I promise you—I really don’t know.” Angry tears formed in my eyes, and I turned away.
Zeke spoke. “Enough, Stuart.”
With a screeching of wood on wood, Stuart slid his chair back and stood. “I will go heat up some water and bring it in for you to wash.”
Zeke stood and cleared the dishes, and then I helped him remove the sheets from the bed and replace them with clean ones. When we were done, he considered me with a gaze I couldn’t decipher.
“I will go check my traps now and see what we are having for supper today.” He pulled on his coat and added, “I am also going to pay Julia a visit. Would you like me to bring Sukie here to help you?”
“No, thank you. I don’t think I need her. Besides, I think I’m feeling well enough to go back. I’m sure I’ve been a big nuisance to you, invading your home.”
He didn’t refute my words and I grimaced inwardly.
“I want you to stay here at least one more day. I want to make sure you are fully recovered. I am not sure of the poison she used on you. Enjoy the rest. The women will put you to work packing up everything as soon as you cross the threshold.”
“They’ve already started?” I asked with some surprise. I knew it was coming; I just hadn’t expected it so soon. But with the kitchen and storehouse gone, along with most of our winter food, it was a foregone conclusion.
“Yes. Willie is fully recovered, and they will be ready to leave soon.”
I nodded, having mixed feelings. With Phoenix Hall empty, Stuart would return to the army. And I would have to go with Julia to Valdosta, leaving Moon Mountain and my chance to return behind me.
Stuart returned with buckets of water and began heating them over the fire in the fireplace. He pulled out two large wooden buckets and poured the steaming water into them. “Zeke uses the creek to bathe,” he offered in explanation.
“Even in the winter?” The thought made me shiver and long for the convenience of hot water coming through the tap at the twist of a hand.
“All year round. He claims that it is not so bad because he is used to it.”
“Yes, I’m sure after you lose circulation in all your extremities, you don’t feel a thing.”
Eager to wash, I shrugged off the blanket Zeke had thrown over my shoulders and began to rummage around for anything resembling soap and a towel.
“Over there,” Stuart said, pointing to a rocking chair. “Julia sent them back with me.”
“Thank you,” I said, holding aloft the two items. He stood between the two buckets, his gaze darting about the room, looking at everything but me.
Realizing I was wearing nothing but my white cotton nightgown and standing before a window to boot, I immediately understood his discomfort. I moved the towel in front of me.
“I should be going now. We need more wood.” He didn’t move.
“Yes. And thank you for the hot water.”
“You are most welcome.” He picked up his hat from a chair and began backing up toward the door. He grabbed his rifle and left with a short nod before shutting the door firmly behind him.
With my stomach no longer empty, I felt invigorated and almost whole again. Not enough to run a marathon, but at least I was regaining my energy. I stripped out of the nightgown as soon as the door closed, shivering as the chilled air touched my flesh. He had placed the buckets in front of the fire, so I kneeled and gratefully dipped my hair into one, enjoying the sensation of the still-hot water on my scalp. I reached for the soap and ran it through my hair. I was glad Zeke didn’t have any mirrors in the cabin, because it had been some time since I had bathed and I must have been a sight worthy of a Stephen King novel. After rinsing, I twisted my hair up in a towel turban and continued.
Dipping the washcloth into the water, I squeezed out the excess, allowing the coolness of the water to spread over my skin. Droplets snaked their way down my spine and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. Prickly gooseflesh appeared on my arms and torso, causing me to shiver. I rubbed my arms harshly, making them red, reveling in the fact that I was still alive. Every sense seemed magnified as I continued bathing. The pounding outside of Stuart’s ax echoed in the rafters of the cabin. My skin stung where I scrubbed it, and I hastily soothed it with a handful of water. I delighted in the feel of the water flowing over my naked body, standing exposed and alone in the middle of the room. I had grown weary of the confining clothes of the nineteenth century.
Unwilling to put on my soiled nightgown, I took the towel off of my head and wrapped it around my body. I took another piece of corn bread that Zeke had left out and sat in the rocker in front of the fire to finish drying off. My proximity to the blazing logs made my skin burn, but I knew that if I backed up even a little, the icy chill of the room would claim me again.
I stared into the fire, trying to conjure Michael’s face. I saw the blond hair and the color of his eyes, but I could not see the face of the man who had slept next to me for almost eleven years.
Instead, deep blue eyes and a shock of dark hair formed in my mind. I saw the fine crinkles at the sides of Stuart’s eyes as he smiled, and smelled the pungent aroma of wet wool and horseflesh that hung about him. I hugged my arms around my chest. How could I ever say goodbye?
Drowsiness settled over me, and I closed my eyes to hover in a half-awake state.
Somewhere I heard a knocking on the door. Without thinking or opening my eyes, I uttered, “Come in.”
The door swung open, the frigid air making me bolt upright in the rocker. Stuart appeared in the threshold, his face obstructed by the stack of wood in his arms. He crossed the room and unburdened his load by the hearth. As he straightened, he caught sight of me and stopped, his face stricken.
“My apologies,” he stammered, and
abruptly strode to the open door. “I thought— I am sure— Well. You did say to come in. I will just leave now.”
I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted. But I knew I didn’t want him to leave. Still gripping the towel close to my body, I rushed over to the door and shut it. “Don’t go.”
Without turning his head, he said, “Laura, I do not know how strong I am, but it is not enough to stand this close to you dressed like that and not touch you. I do not believe I can be expected to act like a gentleman if I stay.”
Feeling suddenly giddy, I replied, “If you promise not to act like a gentleman, then I promise not to act like a lady.”
He turned toward me, eyebrows raised. “What are you saying?”
In answer, I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, then stepped back to wait for his reaction.
Without a word, he turned around and latched the door from the inside, focusing his eyes on the rough wood. “I want you, but I do not want to take advantage of you. If you ask me to leave, I will.”
I slipped in between him and the door and pulled his face down to mine. “I want you to stay.” Yellow light from the fireplace warmed the side of his face as he regarded me with darkening eyes. I felt the tension ease out of the thick muscles in his neck.
He closed his eyes for a moment as he touched his forehead to mine. “I never thought I would hear you say that to me.”
My teeth chattered in the icy air around the door.
“You are cold.”
“Then warm me.” My chattering teeth prevented the seductive smile I tried to give him.
Scooping me up in his arms, he walked me over to the bed and placed me gently on the clean sheets. He leaned over me, a hand on either side, and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” A quick image of Michael flashed in my mind, then faded as I said goodbye to old memories and opened my heart to an uncertain future.
Stuart sat down next to me, his eyes serious. He took one of my hands in his, entwining our fingers. “There have been no promises between us yet. You have been holding on to something that you were not quite ready to give up. If you are still not ready, I will understand. But do know this: I want you. Not just now. I want you forever.”
He kissed me, his lips tentative against mine. He leaned back and slipped off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. I leaned forward to kiss him back, his lips tasting of salt and fresh air.
I slid the suspenders off his shoulders. Keeping one hand clutching the towel closed around me, my other hand began undoing the three wooden buttons at the top of his shirt, our gazes locked. I tugged the shirttails out of his waistband and then slid my hand up his chest, gliding over his smooth skin, feeling his blood warm at the surface. Gooseflesh rippled under my fingers.
“Your hands are cold.”
“Sorry,” I said, as I kneeled on the bed, facing him. I leaned to kiss him again, but he placed firm hands on my shoulders.
“Just a moment.”
I stopped, paralyzed. “Stuart, please don’t tell me no again. I don’t think I could stand it.”
He shook his head. “I could not tell you no even if I wanted to.” His gaze scanned the room until it settled on the brown jug on the hearth. He retrieved it and brought it to the bed. “I just needed something to calm my nerves.”
“Your nerves?” I sat back on the bed, breathing heavily, wondering how to ask the question. “Do you mean . . . ?”
He took a long swig from the jug and then eyed me warily. “I am no novice.” His glance swept over me, and he reached to smooth the hair behind my ear. “I have never had anyone warm my blood the way you do.”
He removed his shirt and sat again on the edge of the bed. His hand stroked my cheek, his callused fingers rough on my skin. “We should speak of marriage. I do not want to dishonor you, Laura.”
I allowed the towel to slide from my body and put my finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything else. We’ll think about tomorrow later.”
I smelled the whiskey on his breath as his fingers gently traced the line of my collarbone, like a blind man committing me to memory. More firmly, his hands, warm and knowing, spanned over my waist.
“Thank you,” I said.
His hands stopped. “For what?”
“For this—for wanting me.”
He ducked his head, his shoulders shaking.
“Are you laughing at me, Stuart Elliott?”
He looked back up, serious again, a strange light in his eyes. “No, Laura. It is just that you certainly know how to surprise a man. Thanking me, indeed.” He leaned over to kiss me and whispered quietly, “Now, let me show you how thankful I am.”
He stood and untied his waistband from behind then slid his pants over his slim hips. I stared in open admiration at his lean, muscular body, toned from hours in the saddle and the day-to-day work of the plantation. Dark hair covered the small hollow in his chest, and I longed to nestle my head there and hear his heart beating beneath me.
I reached my hand out to him and he lay beside me, only our breaths separating us. I saw the hesitation in his eyes but stilled the question on his lips with a kiss. He moved on top of me, and the solidness of him anchored me here, to this place. He rose on his arms, then slowly rolled me over.
Dazed, I complied, feeling the soft pillow against my cheek. His breath burned my neck as he lifted my hair with trembling fingers. “I have always wanted to kiss you here.” His lips pressed against the base of my skull. Small bursts of heat traveled down my spine, searing away the last of my resolve to keep my heart protected from this man. “When you wear your hair up, it is all I can do not to touch you. Here.” He kissed me under my ear, ignoring the tiny explosions going on under my skin. “And here.” His lips traveled lower, to the top of my spine, my resolve now lying in charred ruins along the way.
I turned into his arms, my mouth eagerly seeking his, my palms desperately searching for his solid flesh. I had been brought from near death, and the journey had been fought for this man, for this moment. I bit him on his neck, tasting the realness of him, and let my head fall back upon the pillow as his lips found mine again. Goose bumps lifted my skin, stretching it tight across my bones.
His warm breath kissed the hollow between my breasts, his words vibrating against my sensitive skin. “I thought I would die from wanting you.” He closed his eyes, the dark brows knitted in concentration. He opened them again, his gaze piercing me. “And now I might die from losing you.”
I shook my head, afraid to speak lest I cry. I lifted the quilt over us, creating a pocket of warmth, and pulled him to me. His voice came deep and tremulous in our dark cocoon. “I feel as if I have touched you before, as if my hands and body have loved you forever.” His fingers moved against my skin, then stopped, and I gasped, wanting to beg for more or for mercy, but not finding the place inside me from where words come.
Sharp teeth bit my earlobe, and I twitched under him. His fingers feathered over my thigh, and I sighed, melting into the pillow as his face pressed against my hair and his breath wrapped around my neck. “I have known your scent all my life, it seems. Why do you think that is, Laura? Have we always been lovers? Not here, but in some other place?”
I had no words to offer, so I pulled him toward me, showing him my answer while the lonely moon rose in the sky, and battles raged and lives were lost on the other side of our horizon. And outside our warm cocoon, with the flames crackling in the fireplace, the answers to questions that could not be easily answered waited in the dark corners of the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
’Tis all a Chequer-board of nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays;
Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays,
And one by one back in the closet lays.
—OMAR KHAYYAM
I drowsily opened an eye. From the dim ligh
t in the cabin I realized it was late afternoon, the slanting sunlight from the windows reaching out silent fingers toward the bed. My head nestled on Stuart’s arm; our legs entangled, his rhythmic breathing the only sound.
I shifted my head slightly to admire his profile: the straight nose; the high, broad cheekbones. In sleep he was beautiful, reminiscent of a marble effigy I had seen on an old tomb on a visit to England. I shivered. Embers glowed in the fireplace, but I resisted the impulse to leave the comfort and slow, steady heat of Stuart’s arms to restart the fire.
A deep rumbling began in Stuart’s chest and I raised my head to see if he had awakened. His eyes remained closed, but his head twitched on the pillow, his eyebrows furrowed together. His muscles stiffened under me as he wrestled with the demons in his dream.
He bolted upright in bed, a warrior’s cry on his lips, the sound echoing off the rafters. His broad shoulders shone with perspiration as he bent forward, his head in his hands. “Oh, God,” he whispered, grinding the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.
I couldn’t see the assaults of men in blue and gray, rifles lifted, bodies falling. Nor hear the blasts of angry artillery as it blew bits of horses and men across a battlefield. But I could see the tension in his back and the desolation in his eyes, and I knew Stuart did see.
He startled when I touched him but quickly drew me to him and buried his face in my hair. “Laura.” His voice was muffled but the tone of affirmation in his voice clear.
I lifted my head to look in his eyes. “I’m here, Stuart.” I smoothed the hair back from his forehead and then rested my hands on his neck. His pulse skipped and raced under my fingers, and I knew his battles were still raging. “I’m here,” I said again as I leaned forward to kiss his neck. He tasted of warm sleep and salt, and I kissed him again.
He took my head in both hands. “Yes, Laura, now. But will you always be?”
