Patricia Potter

by Rainbow

  “Why, bless ye,” the man said, cropped red hair flaming in the light and a broad smile on his face. He seemed not at all intimidated by his surroundings, or the fact that he too wore double leg irons that were chained to the wall.

  With a scowl, the guard ignored the good cheer and roughly pushed Quinn inside. He chained Quinn and O’Connell together, then left, taking the lantern with him.

  “Ye must be as out of favor as meself,” the man said in the darkness. “Terrence O’Connell at yer service.” The comment was wry but there was nothing apologetic or vanquished in it.

  “Devereux,” Quinn said. “Quinn Devereux.” He knew defeat was heavy in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. Sethwyck had said he would know hell, and God knew he was finding new meaning to the word. His hand went to his cropped head, then to the heavy iron around his ankle, and he wondered if hanging would not have been the better choice.

  He felt a huge hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let the bloody bastards get ye down, boyo,” the man’s booming voice gentled. “They can’t win if ye don’t let them.”

  Those words and O’Connell’s spirit carried Quinn through the next eight years.

  Quinn put on a linen nightshirt. In his cabin on the Lucky Lady, he slept naked, but he took no chances here. His past was his secret. He didn’t want a helpful servant to wander in and see the scars around his ankles. His hands told enough tales with their hard calluses.

  He went to the window and looked out. Briarwood was a beautiful place, well-tended and obviously prosperous. Magnolia trees lined the front drive, and huge oaks shaded the house itself. Yet there was an emptiness here, a lack of love that had filled his own boyhood home. This plantation seemed passionless to him.

  But, he suspected, there was nothing passionless about Miss Seaton, despite appearances to the contrary. He knew he had not imagined her response to him tonight, the banked fires that had flared so briefly at their kiss.

  It didn’t matter, though. He would keep away from her. He and Cam would find the Parson, make arrangements for Daphne, and then he would forget this place.

  They can’t win if ye don’t let them.

  Quinn went to his bed and lay down, hoping sleep would come quickly.

  O’Connell. Teacher. Protector. Savior. I miss you, my friend. I miss you.

  Meredith brushed her hair with long furious strokes, trying to work out her confusion and frustration.

  She had worked hard to become an effective agent for the Underground Railroad. She was finally confident of herself and even felt a certain contentment, though it was tempered by her failure to find Lissa. She was doing something important, and she was doing it well. That, and her painting, had given her a sense of self-worth that her father and brother had once systematically destroyed.

  But now her carefully built defenses were crashing like a house of cards, and all because of a kiss. A mocking, meaningless kiss from a blackguard and rogue.

  Perhaps, without quite knowing it, she longed for intimate contact. She had not known a day without loneliness since Lissa had been taken away. It must have been her isolation, emotional and physical, that had responded to his kiss. Nothing more. Certainly nothing more.

  It still amazed her that anyone could change so much. She bent over and lifted the lid of the trunk in her room. She picked up the lining at the bottom and took out the pictures she had drawn of Devereux. She recalled how he had once ruffled her hair and called her “pretty little Merry.”

  But “pretty little Merry” was gone now, and so was the kind young man. He had become the most arrogant man she had ever met. And one of the cruelest. That she felt even the slightest attraction for him made her doubt her own self.

  If only he were ugly. Or simply plain. No one had a right to be so handsome, so darkly attractive. Especially someone with a black soul. His room was only down the hall, and his proximity sent shivers through her and warmed her blood.

  To distract herself, she thought about her brief conversation with Daphne when she had helped Meredith undress. It had been most unrewarding and even less illuminating.

  When Meredith had mentioned she had seen Daphne leave the barn, the girl had frozen like a statue.

  Almost unconsciously, she had reached over to touch Daphne, but the girl flinched. “Is something wrong?” Meredith had asked. “Did someone hurt you?”

  Daphne shook her head. “I jest needed some fresh air. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

  Meredith’s brow wrinkled in concern. “No one tried…to take advantage of you?”

  Daphne hung her head. “No, Miss Meredith.”

  “You would tell me if…”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Has Mr. Devereux said anything to you?”

  “No, Miss Meredith, I jest needed some air, that’s all.”

  Meredith knew she wouldn’t get any more from the girl. She could only try to keep Daphne away from Captain Devereux during his stay at Briarwood, which she hoped fervently wouldn’t be long.

  “You won’t be punished,” she said softly. “Not for something someone else does.”

  Daphne stiffened. “Is there anything else you need, miss?”

  Meredith knew she was defeated. She shook her head.

  Morning dawned, golden and bright. And she had not slept. Feeling dull-headed and fatigued, Meredith accepted Daphne’s silent ministrations, including hot chocolate and fruit, and then a hot bath. She would stay up here in her room all day, if she must. A prisoner once more in her brother’s home, in her home. But she could not face Devereux again, or listen to his veiled, and not so veiled, mockery without answering in kind.

  She stretched and went to the window, her eyes drawn to two riders, one dressed in black and sitting a gold horse, the other on a bay riding a little behind. They were heading toward the main road.

  Forever, she prayed. Perhaps he was leaving forever.

  She nearly ran down the stairs in her eagerness to find Robert and hopefully learn that Devereux had indeed left for good. She prayed earnestly that such was so.

  Robert Seaton was talking with several guests who had remained overnight, and she bit her tongue to keep from blurting out the question, then went in search of Evelyn, who was directing the cooks.

  “Has Captain Devereux left?” she asked.

  Evelyn’s eyes opened wide. “Do you have an interest in him?”

  “Only that he leave,” Meredith said unwisely. “I don’t understand why someone of his…nature was invited in the first place.”

  “Well, he’s not leaving, not today. He went over to see Gil MacIntosh and a few other planters. He plans to leave day after tomorrow.”

  Dismay ran through Meredith. Two more days. But at least she had the next hours to herself. She would go down to the river, and be back well before he returned.

  Quinn and Cam kept a fast pace. They planned to go by the MacIntosh plantation and then on to the Parson’s. The directions were indelibly written in Quinn’s mind, although he had never visited the Parson in his home before. He had met the man in Cincinnati, soon after he’d carried his first illegal cargo.

  Quinn remembered him as a plain man whom he had immediately liked and trusted. Which was well, he thought wryly, since the man held both his and Cam’s lives in his hand.

  But first he must see MacIntosh. The man had been pleasant enough when they had been introduced the previous night, but later he had seen the planter’s eyes turn cold as they watched him. Meredith Seaton, he knew, was probably responsible for that.

  That was unfortunate but it was his own fault. Damn his eyes or, more accurately, his mouth for not keeping silent. He wanted the shipping contracts. An increase in shipping from this area would, of course, give him a reason for stopping often at Vicksburg, which would be beneficial to the Underground Railroad. But he also wanted to see the Lucky Lady prosper. He had come to love the steamboat, although he knew he would probably have to give her up one day. He had already made legal arrangements to tr
ansfer the title to Jamison if anything happened to him. He owed the Lady, as he often called her, much, for she had helped him rebuild his life and had given him purpose and confidence. In some ways, he considered the boat almost human, deserving the very best care.

  And his own quiet need to be successful at something other than cards and intrigue was a challenge. His words to Brett had not been completely false.

  From a distance, the MacIntosh mansion appeared larger than Briarwood although it was of the same Greek Revival and Italianate styles. But where Briarwood had columns only at the front, this home was surrounded with them, and a huge porch and galleries wrapped around the entire home. It was breathtaking, he thought, and would be extraordinarily tempting to a young lady. He recalled how Gil MacIntosh had hovered over Meredith Seaton and he felt an odd pang. But why, he wondered, would Gilbert MacIntosh be interested in such a frumpy woman? Her inheritance, perhaps? Could MacIntosh need money? And why in the devil did he, Quinn, care?

  Gilbert MacIntosh was in the fields, and Quinn was ushered into an elegant study while Cam stayed outside with the horses. Quinn studied the room, its Italian marble fireplace, crystal chandelier, and shelves of leather-bound books. Beveled stained-glass windows cast a warm glow on the rich handmade furniture. If MacIntosh needed money, there was certainly no evidence of it here.

  Quinn didn’t have to wait long. MacIntosh, dressed in riding clothes and mud-splattered high boots, appeared in the doorway and Quinn knew he had not been mistaken last night. The man’s eyes were icy, his mouth grim.

  “Devereux?” There were no pleasantries.

  Quinn regarded the planter inquisitively. He was undeniably homely, his face too broad, his hair too red, his skin too pale despite the hours he must spend in the sun. Yet there was a certain integrity about the man that surprised Quinn.

  Quinn tried his most disarming grin. “I think I can offer you very advantageous prices to ship your cotton.”

  “You’ve wasted your time, Devereux. I’m satisfied with my current arrangements.”

  “You said last night you would hear me out.”

  “That was last night,” MacIntosh said curtly. “I’ve had information since that leads me to believe I wouldn’t care to associate with you.”

  Quinn had not expected so frontal an attack. Meredith Seaton had done her work well. But not quite well enough. Robert Seaton had already signed a contract with him. Quinn’s smile didn’t fade, although the corners of his mouth twisted slightly.

  “I’m offering two cents less per pound than what you’re paying now,” he said, ignoring the other man’s insult. “Robert Seaton has just signed a contract with us.”

  Gil shook his head. “I said I was satisfied with my present arrangements. My butler will show you out.”

  Quinn felt a brief respect for MacIntosh, and surrendered. “It’s your loss, MacIntosh. If you change your mind, you can contact my agent in Vicksburg.”

  “I won’t.”

  Quinn nodded, and followed the butler, who had suddenly appeared at the door. He didn’t know whether to rage at Meredith Seaton. He had lost business, but she had apparently just added to a reputation he had scrupulously tried to build over the past years.

  Yet he didn’t like her interference. It was another score to settle. One that perhaps the theft of her slave would even. He gave Cam a brief smile as he remounted his horse. One way or another, he was going to get Daphne away. For Cam. And now there was an added reason—revenge.

  They rode for several hours before they arrived at the Parson’s cabin on the lake. The dogs were barking, and Quinn hoped that meant the Parson was home. But he wasn’t. Four dogs came out to meet them, but no figure in a black suit. The cabin was unlocked but empty.

  Cam’s face fell, and Quinn knew the reason why. They could spend only another day and a half in the area. If they missed this opportunity, he didn’t know when they would be back. And Cam would have to tell Daphne that their plans were off.

  “We’ll wait,” he said, taking the chair Meredith had occupied just several days earlier, and straddled it, resting his arms on the back.

  Cam paced awhile, then said he would keep watch outside. Quinn nodded, instinctively knowing that Cam wanted to be alone. There were certain things they could share, and some they could not. Quinn knew Cam’s worry over Daphne was intensely private.

  After a few moments, he rose and looked around the cabin curiously. There was a large worn Bible sitting on the table in the corner. He went over to it and ruffled the pages, glancing only briefly at the words.

  Whatever belief he had had in God had deserted him in the prison ship. Nothing that had happened in the next years had changed his mind. Even now, he questioned the existence of a God, any God. If there was one, he wasn’t altogether sure he cared for an omnipotent being who allowed cruelty and brutality and slavery. He started to close the Bible when three sheets of heavy paper fell from it.

  He leaned down and picked them up, not intending to look, but his eyes caught the strong sure strokes of a face he recognized. He looked at the second. The Carroll brothers. The third sheet captured an entirely different subject—a fox whose wary dark eyes stared at him. There was so much life in the animal that Quinn thought it could jump from the paper into the room. But even more intriguing was the familiarity of those bold, impatient strokes.

  “Captain Devereux.”

  He spun around and stared at the Parson, who stood in the doorway with Cam. Unaccountably, he felt guilty standing there with the sketches in his hand.

  “Jonathon.”

  The Parson acknowledged the greeting with a nod, his eyes on the sketches. “This is a surprise.”

  Quinn wished he didn’t quite feel like a small boy with his hand caught in a forbidden pie, but the circuit preacher’s eyes didn’t do much to relieve that discomfort. The pale blue, while not accusatory, nonetheless demanded answers.

  “You know Cam?” Quinn asked, discomfited.

  The Parson nodded. “We met once in New Orleans.” He waited for Quinn to continue.

  “There’s a girl we would like you to help.”

  The Parson raised an eyebrow. “You’ve come all this way for that?”

  “No. We’re staying not far from here. Shipping business.”

  The Parson seemed to stiffen. “Where?”

  “The Seaton plantation. Briarwood.”

  A curtain fell over the Parson’s face. He turned away from Quinn and Cam and went to a small cupboard. “Cider?” he asked, his back to them.

  “No,” Quinn said, a bit puzzled. “We can’t stay long. We just wanted to ask for your help. A girl named Daphne at Briarwood. We were hoping you could help her North.”

  The gaunt man turned to him, his eyes unfathomable. “Does she want to go?”

  “Yes.” It was Cam who spoke. “I talked to her last night. Gave her the password.”

  The Parson nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  That was, Quinn knew, a great deal. Still he hesitated, his fingers tightening on the sketches he held.

  “Where did you get these?”

  The Parson reached out his hand for them. “One of our agents…in New Orleans. These two are apparently a pair of slave hunters.”

  Quinn held onto them. “Who sketched them?”

  The Parson’s light blue eyes caught and held Quinn’s midnight blue ones. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “I’ve seen that style before…. I have a painting and I think it’s the same artist. I’ve been trying to find more of his work.”

  The Parson smiled slightly. “I didn’t know you were an art lover.”

  Quinn grinned at the description. “I didn’t know either. It’s just that there’s something about that particular painting.”

  The Parson knew before he even asked. Something was growing in him…a terrible sense of inevitability. “What kind of painting?”

  “A rainbow over the Mississippi. There’s something haunting about it.” Hi
s hands fingered the sketches. “Could these be by the same artist?”

  The Parson was a man who believed the end justified the means. And the end, now, was freedom. Freedom for many. It had become his obsession, his life. Nothing to him was more important. Not even the truth. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. They came to me from New Orleans to circulate among the stations. The man who sent them knows I enjoy animals and sent the sketch of the fox along. I didn’t ask the source.” The hint was strong that Quinn should follow suit.

  But Quinn wasn’t ready to let go. “These two men were on the Lucky Lady a month ago.”

  “They’ve been many places, according to our information. May I have the sketches?”

  Quinn reluctantly handed them over, his eyes lingering over the drawing of the fox. “It’s extraordinary.”

  “Yes,” the Parson said simply. He took them over to the Bible and slipped them back between the pages. He turned to Quinn. “How long will you be at Briarwood?”

  “Another day. Robert Seaton’s agreed to ship some of his cotton with us. It will give me a good excuse to stop at Vicksburg frequently if you have cargo for me.”

  “How do you find Briarwood?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Like any other plantation.”

  The Parson felt briefly relieved. “Tell me about this Daphne.”

  “She was recently purchased in New Orleans by Meredith Seaton, who apparently owns her.” He looked over at Cam. “Cam talked to her on the Lucky Lady… he’ll make arrangements for her after Cairo.”

  So it was Cam who was interested, the Parson thought as he looked at the large black man who stood silently near the door. He knew Cam’s story, at least part of it, and he knew that Quinn and Cam together had been uncommonly effective conduits for the Railroad. They deserved this…the gift of Daphne…and perhaps it would dull Devereux’s obvious interest in Briarwood.

  “You’ve tried to buy the girl?”

  “Several times. I believe Miss Seaton has taken a dislike to me.” The observation was made dryly.

  “From what I hear of you, Captain, that must be an unusual dilemma.”

  “You can’t believe everything you hear,” Quinn replied. “But I take it money means nothing to Miss Seaton. My brother says she spends it like water. Too bad it doesn’t make her more presentable…or agreeable.”