Say You Love Me

by Patricia Hagan

  "He didn't desert me. He saw to it that I got to Bird's Fort. What happened there was unfortunate, but it doesn't matter now. I found her. That's what's important. But tell me, what would you have done if I had come to you, Michael. Would you have encouraged me or told me to forget it?"

  "Probably told you to forget it," he admitted. "There's been nothing but trouble. And I still don't believe that woman is your mother," he said crossly.

  "She is my mother. Didn't you get a good look at her?"

  "Frankly, I was too shocked by how you were crying over that savage Comanche." He was trying to hold his temper, because he was imagining all sorts of things. "Who was he, anyway?"

  "He was my friend," she said coldly. That was all he needed to know.

  "He must have been a close friend"—he sniffed with disdain—"the way you were carrying on."

  "She was my mother," Jacie repeated, wanting to turn the conversation away from Luke. Thinking of him was agony beyond description. "I only wish I could have convinced her to come back with me."

  "Come back to what?" Michael cried. "God forgive me for saying it, Jacie, but the truth is, she was wise not to want to. She's had over eighteen years of living with those savages, and she knows she could never fit into society again. She would be looked down on, resented. She'd live a miserable life, and so would you, because you'd be devastated by how others treated her."

  "And how would you have treated her?" she challenged him.

  Wearily, he said, "I would have tried my damnedest to accept her, because I love you. I would have done my best to make both of you happy, but it would have been extremely hard all the same, because people like my mother don't change. It would have been rough on all of us, so be glad she stayed where she is, and though I know it's difficult, you've got to make yourself try to forget she exists."

  "At least she now has the necklace."

  Michael shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I can always have another one made."

  "It was in the blanket Violet kept all those years. I didn't have time to retrieve it. I didn't even think about it."

  "And I told you it doesn't matter."

  Jacie had only to look at him to know he spoke the truth. Money meant nothing to him. "Maybe she can sell it to buy food and things for her people. They want to move to Mexico in the spring and make a new life, find peace, and..." Her voice cracked as she thought of the dreams Luke had, dreams she had wanted to share with him.

  Michael touched her shoulder hesitantly, and when she did not rebuke him, he put an arm around her. "I understand your pain, but you have to put it behind you. We can't mention any of this ever again. My mother doesn't know the real story. No one does. And we'll keep it that way. When we get to Red Oakes, we'll say you left with Mehlonga because you were upset with me for being jealous of Zach, and you were tired of all the lies and gossip about the two of you. But Mehlonga went off and left you, and you got lost. I went after you and found you, and you wanted to come back with me, because we love each other and refuse to let anyone or anything come between us."

  Jacie doubted people would believe such a tale but did not really care. Luke was dead, and all the joy in her life had died with him. Nothing mattered anymore.

  "Jacie, I want to marry you as soon as possible."

  "It wouldn't be right. Not now. Not when—" She had been about to tell him that she did not love him and never would, that her heart belonged to another, and though he was gone forever, his spirit remained inside her to lock out any feelings she could ever have had for Michael.

  But Michael would not let her speak, afraid of what she might say. "I won't take no for an answer. You are going to marry me, and even if you don't think you love me now, I swear before God Almighty that one day you will. You will realize how I adore you, and you'll see how happy I'm going to make you every day for the rest of your life, and sooner or later it will happen." He forced a smile he did not truly feel just then. "I'll hear you say you love me."

  He stood, drawing her up with him. "Now, I believe that dress shop also sent up a lovely gown that should fit you, and if it doesn't, you can send for the seamstress to come up and make alterations, because I'm taking you out to dinner tonight. We're going to celebrate a new beginning."

  "Michael," she began in protest.

  "You can, and you will. I've waited long enough." He cupped her chin in his hand, fervently avowing, "We're going to forget yesterday and think about today and tomorrow, because that's all that counts."

  But she was not ready to put it aside, suddenly feeling disloyal to Luke's memory to hide what she had felt for him. "Michael, there's something else you should know, about that man you killed."

  "He was going to kill me. I'm not apologizing for anything," he snapped defensively.

  "Luke wouldn't have killed you. He was a wonderful man. My mother raised him. That's why the Indians took her in the first place. She had milk intended for me. His mother had just died."

  "I don't care about that," he said irritably.

  "He found me when I had escaped from the other Indians," she went on, ignoring his growing anger. "We were together, and Luke saved my life. Then later, I saved his, and—"

  "Stop it, I say!" he exploded, covering his ears, for he could not bear to hear the tender way she spoke of the Comanche. Suspicion and jealousy slammed him in the gut, and he waved his hands wildly as he cried, "Why do you want to keep talking about it? We can't forget if you keep talking about it. Can't you just stop?"

  He began to pace around the room, aware he was behaving like a child in the throes of a tantrum but unable to stop himself. He was no fool. He had already figured out during his miserable musings on the trip back that she had been romantically involved with the Indian. But as long as she did not put it into words, as long as she did not confirm it, then it would not be fact. They could pretend it was not so.

  He whirled on her then to cry, "For God's sake, don't you know I don't want to hear you admit to anything? He's dead. And if you tell me you cared for him, if you dare admit it, I'm not sure I can forgive you. So let it go, Jacie. It's over."

  Jacie knew he was right. It was over. With hands folded in her lap, she lowered her eyes and nodded her assent.

  "Good." He let his breath out in a rush, unaware he'd even been holding it, in fear she would keep talking and ruin everything. "I'll leave you now, but I'll be back soon, and we will toast to the future, because as soon as we get home, we'll start making wedding plans."

  When he was gone, Jacie remained before the fire to let the memories torture her one last time. Staring into the dancing red and golden flames, she lived again the glory of burning in Luke's strong arms.

  All too soon, only embers remained. And as the last wisps of smoke disappeared up the soot-blackened chimney, Jacie closed her eyes and said good-bye to what was...and to what could never be.

  * * *

  Iris watched in torment as Luke tightened the cinches of the saddle. She had cried and begged, but he would not listen. His mind was made up. He was going to Georgia to find Jacie, and nothing Iris could say would change his mind. "You're too weak," she said, trying again to focus on his condition. "It's too soon for you to travel."

  "I'm fine, and you know it. It was a clean flesh wound. It went straight through without hitting any bone. I've rested almost a week, and it's time for me to go. They've got a big head start on me, and I've got to do some hard riding; they'll probably still reach their destination before I can catch up with them." He patted the horse's rump and stood back to make sure he'd forgotten nothing. Saddlebags were in place with supplies of pemmican and jerky. He had his canteen. There was a blanket roll for what little sleep he would allow himself. He intended to ride as long as there was daylight and on into the night if there was a sufficient moon.

  Iris blinked back tears. The only time an Indian woman was permitted to cry was when there was a death, but she had not quite learned to control her emotions so stoically especially where the man she loved as
a son was concerned—and now her daughter as well. "Leave well enough alone, Luke. Let her go. She told me about this Michael Blake, how rich he is, how much he loves her."

  "And she also told you how much she loves me, didn't she?" he challenged with a dark glare.

  Iris could only nod.

  "That's right," Luke said, as though that settled everything.

  "But she would never be able to adjust to this way of life."

  "You did," he reminded her.

  "Only because I thought I had no choice. Don't you realize that if I had known my baby survived, I would never have stopped trying to escape and get to her? Your father might have wound up having me killed, but I would never have given up."

  "That's right," he agreed fiercely, "and right now Jacie is feeling like you did—defeated. She has no spirit. She's willing to take anything life hands out to her, because she thinks I'm dead, but I intend to give her a choice, by damn. I'm going to let her know I am alive, and then if she still wants to marry Blake, so be it. I'll accept it and leave. But she will have that choice." He jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis.

  "And you think she can adapt to this way of life?"

  "Probably better than you did, because she will have come to it willingly."

  "Luke, I hope you're right, for your sake and for Jacie's. And mine, too," she added. Having both Luke and Jacie with her would be happiness nonpareil, but not if it was at the expense of Jacie's well-being. She also prayed that Luke knew what he was doing and would not be hurt, either in body or spirit. There was always the chance that once Jacie got back to the comfort of civilization and the luxury of the privileged, she might decide that was what she wanted. And Michael Blake would never give her up without a fight, not after traveling so far to find her, even if she did choose Luke.

  "At least take Gold Elk and some of the braves with you," she urged.

  "No. They're needed here. And it's my fight, not theirs. Now, are you sure you know where they were going?"

  "Yes. I asked her specifically where Red Oakes was, because I wanted to find out how close it was to where I was raised. I was curious about how things have changed after all these years. Just find Atlanta, Georgia and then the Oconee River, and follow the river as it winds northeast. She said Red Oakes is the largest plantation in that part of the state. You'll find it."

  "I know I will." He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. "And don't you worry. I'm going to bring her back. For both of us. And come spring we've a new life waiting in Mexico."

  He kissed her cheek, then mounted and took up the reins. "I'll be back as soon as I can. One moon will pass, maybe two. Surely no more."

  "Luke, take this. Whether she returns or not, it's only right that Michael Blake gets the necklace back."

  He took the worn blanket; then, seeing she had also included the daguerreotype, asked, "Are you sure you want her to have this too?"

  "Yes. Because if I never see her again, at least she'll have it to remember me by."

  "But she's coming back with me. You'll see. The spirits have spoken to both our hearts. We can never love anyone except each other."

  She watched him till he was out of sight, then went and hid from the others of the camp to surrender to her tears.

  Chapter 27

  Verena was enjoying her ritual of afternoon tea when Elyse came into the parlor and threw herself on the sofa to wail, "I don't know how much more I can stand of this waiting. Michael should have been home by now. He's been gone for weeks and weeks with no word."

  Verena added a generous dollop of cream and two lumps of sugar to her tea before responding. She was accustomed to Elyse's moaning. "We've talked about this before, dear. There's no need to fret. He'll be back, and he's not going to find her."

  "But why would she go to Texas? That's all Cousin Olivia could get out of him before he left—that Jacie had gone to Texas. He wouldn't even tell her how he found that out. It might not even be so, and then he will have gone all the way out there for nothing."

  "Oh, will you stop it? So what if he has? It will only make him all the madder to spend so much time on a wild goose chase, which is what you want; he'll despise her all the more." She lifted the Meissen china cup and drank, then reached for one of the frosted sugar cakes she ordered baked fresh daily and popped it into her mouth greedily. "What you must remember, dear," she advised around the delicious morsel, "is that he won't find her, which means there will be nothing in the way of all this becoming ours."

  With a grin, she spread her arms to indicate the opulent surroundings. Trompe l'oeil artwork decorated the walls and ceiling with elaborate plaster moldings, and there was an iron fireplace with a grape design. A Burmese rug accented the parquet flooring, and drapes of deep purple velvet hung at the Venetian glass windows. Objets d'art had been carefully chosen to compliment the furniture, which was all done in pastel brocade, befitting the ladies' parlor.

  "You will be queen of this house, and I"—she touched her fingertips primly to her lips and made a smacking sound—"will be the queen mother."

  Elyse did not share her mother's optimism that the dream would come true and never had. "Michael doesn't want me. It was always Jacie. He might be so brokenhearted he won't want to marry anybody."

  "Oh, fiddle-faddle. That's ridiculous. Do I have to remind you he didn't go running after her to bring her back, anyway? Olivia said it was only when he realized she'd taken the necklace he gave her. He wasn't about to let her keep it. That's why he went—to get that. Not her.

  "And by the way," she added, and reached for another cake, "do you think Zach Newton told any of the other overseers he was going to South Carolina? I'd hate to think of anyone saying something about it to Michael. He might decide to go chasing off down there too."

  "I'm certain he didn't. If I'd been a minute later getting to him that morning, I'd have missed him. He was on his way then, and he kept on going after I talked to him and gave him the letter for Mr. Kernsby. I even turned around before I got to the house and saw that he was already at the main road, so he didn't talk to anybody."

  "Good. We can't let anything interfere once Michael gets back. You must make him ask you to marry him as soon as possible. Remember, that little tart got him in the first place by throwing herself at him, and you're just going to have to do the same thing, if that's what it takes. Coax him right into your bed, if you have to. Get him in a compromising situation so he'll be honor-bound to marry you. I'll get involved and demand he do so, if need be."

  Elyse's mouth dropped open, aghast to hear her mother speak so brazenly. "Surely you don't mean that."

  "Surely I do," Olivia mimicked, screwing up her mouth haughtily. "We can't keep on living here indefinitely, and we've nowhere else to go, and by Christmas I intend for you to be Mrs. Michael Blake, understand?"

  Elyse understood, all right, and she wanted that to happen even more than her mother did, but for different reasons. "All you care about is his money. I love Michael, and I'd rather know he was marrying me because he loves me too."

  "Oh, don't be silly. Love has nothing to do with it. You give him babies and live a genteel life of luxury, and he'll take a mistress, maybe even go to the Negro wenches for his pleasure, and if he does, be glad. You'll tire soon enough of his animal lust."

  Elyse did not think so. Thoughts of having Michael hold her, kiss her, made her warm all over. She would never tire of him coming to her bed for loving. She was sure of it. Her mother was wrong.

  "Is that a delivery wagon coming up the road?" Holding her cup, Verena stood and rushed to the window, eyes narrowing with her annoyance. "It certainly is, and it's coming right up the main road instead of taking the path around back. I tell you, when we're running this house, there will be many changes made. I'm going out there myself and give whoever it is a piece of my mind, and—"

  The expensive Meissen cup fell to the floor and shattered.

  Elyse bolted to her feet and ran to the window to see what had caused h
er mother's distress and felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh, God," she cried in sweeping horror, "it's Michael! And Jacie is with him!"

  Just then Olivia breezed in to greet them happily. "Ah, I see we have those lovely little cakes again. My, my, Verena, you are so good at handling the servants. They jump to please you. I was never able to..." She paused. "Good heavens, you two look as though you've seen a ghost. What is it?"

  Olivia came to where they stood frozen at the window. Glancing out, she gave a barely audible cry—and promptly fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  Michael murmured a hasty exchange of greetings to a waiting groom, then steered Jacie up the stairs and into the house. Relinquishing her to a wide-eyed housekeeper standing inside the door, he gave orders that she was to be taken to her room, where she would rest the remainder of the day. He also directed that a dinner tray be delivered to her.

  She accepted Michael's light kiss on her lips and went docilely with the servant. They had agreed previously it was best she be sequestered until Olivia got over the shock of her return.

  Michael did not have to wonder where everyone was as he stepped into the foyer, for there was a great commotion coming from the parlor. He walked in to see Verena and Elyse kneeling beside his mother, who was on the floor. He hurried to lift her in his arms and place her on the divan, demanding, though he suspected he already knew, "What's wrong with her?"

  "She saw you with that woman." Verena could hardly speak, she was so mad. "It was more than she could bear, to think you'd dare bring that hussy back to this house."

  Michael held back a scathing reply because a maid had come into the room and he wanted to avoid any more gossip. "Bring ammonia," he said curtly. "And water."

  Verena sniffed. "She needs a doctor. It's probably her heart, poor thing. Michael, how could you?" She stamped her foot.

  Michael summoned all his patience and managed to say evenly, "Cousin Verena, my mother always has an attack of the vapors when she's faced with situations she wants to avoid. She's been like that her whole life, so I'm not going to worry about it, and neither should you. In fact, I would appreciate it if you would stop worrying about anything that goes on in this house, because it's no concern of yours. Have I made myself clear?" He glared at her.