“No,” she admitted, “they don’t. But that’s not why I missed you.” She nibbled at her bottom lip. Suddenly feeling a little dizzy, she steadied her balance with both hands. “This standoff has gone on entirely long enough,” she said. “Reverend Thomas came by this morning to tell me that we were a scandal on the Eastern Shore.”
“Fancy that.”
“Kincaid,” she chided, “I’m serious. You know you love me. And you know you don’t want to go away. You’ve been making excuses for weeks to stay here. We need to be properly married.”
“For the sake of our child.”
“No. For our sake. I’d never be happy without you.”
“Not even here?” he asked wryly. “On the fabled Fortune’s Gift?”
“Don’t tease me,” she said. “I’m serious.” She took a deep breath. “I was wrong about Peregrine Kay, and I’m sorry. I didn’t listen to you, and I got into trouble I couldn’t get myself out of. If you hadn’t saved me, I—”
“Is this an apology, woman?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Is it an apology or not?”
She lowered her head, then looked up at him with teary eyes. “It is, sir. Please,” she whispered. “Please, can we not try? I want to be a real wife to you, Kincaid. I want—”
“Aye.”
Her lips parted in astonishment. “What did you say?”
“Aye.”
“Aye, what? Aye, I was wrong about Peregrine? Aye, this is an apology, or—”
“Do ye never listen, woman?” he demanded.
“I don’t know what—”
He stopped her with a kiss. He encircled her with his arms and pulled her against him, kissing her so hard and for so long that she felt all giddy inside.
“Oh, Kincaid,” she cried when he let her up for air. “I do love you so.”
He laughed and gathered her up in his arms again. “That’s why ye make my life such a misery, is it?” He glanced back the way they had come. “David! It’s all right! Ye can come out now!”
“What?” Bess said. She squirmed in his arms, trying to see, but Kincaid blocked her line of vision by kissing her again.
“Put me down,” she insisted. “What are you—”
He swung her around and set her on her feet, supporting her with a strong arm. “I went to fetch your—”
“Father!” Bess cried in astonishment. She tore away from Kincaid and threw herself into David Bennett’s arms, almost—but not quite—failing to see the chestnut mare he was leading. “Father, is it really you?” She was laughing and crying all at the same time. She stepped back to look at him. He was thinner and older than she’d remembered. His Indian-black hair was streaked with gray, and his face more deeply lined, but he looked hale and hearty.
“It’s me, girl. I’ve come home, and my ship with me. But it was a near thing, I can tell you. We were aground on a hellhole off Java for months, and Chinese pirates—Well, there’ll be plenty of time for all that later. What’s important is that I’m home with a cargo of the finest silk and tea, and I’ve a contract with Song Lo for all the beaver pelts and tobacco I can carry.”
“You’re going back to the East again?” she said.
“Not until fall. I want to see this grandchild born. But first—” David Bennett fixed her with a stern gaze. “What’s this about not wanting to make the heir to Fortune’s Gift legitimate? Robert here says that you’ve lived with him as his common-law wife, and that now you’re dragging your feet about the marriage lines.”
Bess threw Kincaid a stabbing glance. “It was an honest difference of opinion, Father.” She smiled at her parent. “How did you two meet, and where is your ship?”
“My ship is in Annapolis being unloaded, and we ran into each other there. Your betrothed was fetching home Ginger and her colt, although why your mare was there in the first place, I—”
Bess whirled around and embraced the chestnut mare. “You found her!” she cried. “You brought her back to me.” The horse nickered and rubbed against her. “Good girl,” Bess crooned. “Good Ginger.”
“Aye, ’twas that or listen to your canting for the next forty years,” Kincaid remarked. “Do you know what this foolish horse cost me? Twice what she’s worth, not to mention the price I had to pay for her colt.”
“Colt? She has a colt? And I suppose it was fathered by a dish-footed workhorse,” she said, straining to see around the chestnut mare’s rump. A tiny red face appeared behind Ginger’s tail, all great dark eyes and white blaze beneath twitching ears. “Oh . . . ! He’s beautiful!” she said. “Does he have a name?”
“I thought to call him Scot’s Folly,” Kincaid replied.
“Folly,” she repeated, ignoring his sarcasm. “Little Folly.” She hugged the mare. “You’ve done well for yourself if that’s a woods colt,” she murmured.
“Woods colt, nothing,” Kincaid said. “I turned your mare in with a blooded stallion in a Chestertown paddock last spring.”
“Why did you do that?” Bess asked.
He shrugged. “I’d had a nip or two, and it seemed the thing to do, at the time.” He grinned at her. “Well, woman. Will ye nill ye? I’d say we’d best get to the house and have the reverend read over us from his Good Book.”
“Here? Now?”
“The sooner the better, I say,” her father put in. “From the looks of you, daughter, time for this wedding is fast running out.”
“But. . . but. . .” She looked from Kincaid to her father. “Reverend Thomas may not be there still,” she finished lamely.
“And since when has a minister come to Fortune’s Gift and not stayed for at least two meals?” David scoffed. “He’ll be there, girl. In fact, I sent Big Moses to make certain of it.”
“You two! You had this all planned out! You—” She stopped in mid-sentence as Kutii appeared at the edge of the clearing. “You,” she said.
“Would I stay away from my daughter’s wedding vows?” the Incan asked. He wore a feathered breastplate, gold armbands on each arm, and a kilt of gold disks that hung to his knees. He smiled at her. “I was right about Kincaid. Admit it, little one. I was right, as I am always right where matters of the heart are concerned.”
“You’re not always right,” Bess said.
“No,” Kincaid agreed. “I am not, but between us, lass, we are hard to beat.” He took her hand. “Come, Bess. I’d make ye mine, before ye go into labor and make our child as much a woods colt as your Folly.”
Bess glanced back at Kutii. “I’ll settle with you later,” she promised him.
But he merely laughed, fading until only his dark eyes glowed against the velvet shadows of the forest.
“Come, Bess,” Kincaid repeated, taking her hand in his. Together, they walked out of the forest and into the bright meadow, and into all the days of wonder that lay ahead of them.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Judith E. French’s
FORTUNE’S BRIDE
Coming in December 2013!
Chapter 1
Fortune’s Gift Plantation
Maryland’s Eastern Shore
December 1777
“Marry you?” Caroline Steele’s cinnamon-brown eyes narrowed with contempt. “I’d sooner wed with a red Indian.” She stiffened and her naturally husky voice rang with gentle authority. “And take your boots off my father’s desk. This isn’t a stable.”
Captain Bruce Talbot’s pocked face flushed an angry red as he pushed back in the chair, put his feet on the floor, and poured himself another glass of port from the Irish crystal decanter. “Unfortunately, cousin,” he said sarcastically, “your marrying a savage would do the family very little good.”
Caroline’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Bruce’s red coat was tossed carelessly over a chair; his rumpled white linen shirt showed sweat stains under the arms, and the lace stock at his throat bore traces of the pork gravy Cook had served at dinner. His waistcoat was missing a silver
button, and even his scarlet sash seemed the worse for wear. His Majesty must be desperate, she thought, if he was forced to accept an officer such as this in his Light Dragoons.
She didn’t miss the slight tremble in Bruce’s hand or the bloodred drops that splashed on the polished walnut desk. “You’re a drunken pig,” she said. “How dare you order me about in my own home? And what lunacy causes you to believe that I’d dine at the same table with you—let alone become your wife?”
One blow from his fist dashed the goblet against the brick hearth. “Damn you, Caroline!” he roared. “You forget your place. I’m here as a representative of the crown. And you are in danger of being declared a rebel and imprisoned for high treason.”
She bit back the retort that rose to her lips and forced a wry smile. “I am a loyal Englishwoman. No one can say differently.” Strange, she thought, how much Bruce looked like her brother Reed and Papa. All Papa’s strengths distorted. . . the fair Talbot complexion marred by disease, the bright blue eyes muddied by drink and loose living. As Papa had looked, she corrected as the familiar pain knifed through her. Over three years had passed since her father’s death. And nearly a year since her husband . . .
Bruce’s tirade brought her back to the present.
“Not so loyal. We both know how and where your dear husband met his end.”
“Do we?” She returned his bloodshot gaze squarely. “Wesley drowned. An accident.”
“He was a traitor. Killed aboard a rebel privateer.”
“Untrue. The Reverend Miles Clark of Lewes bore witness to Wesley’s accidental death during a storm on the Delaware Bay.”
“And what was he doing at Lewes?” Bruce demanded. “His body was washed ashore with other dead rebels.”
“A false accusation, unfairly cast upon an upstanding man who is unable to defend himself against your lies.”
“I’ll prove it, Caroline,” he threatened. “I’ll prove it, and I’ll strip you of everything you possess.”
“Unless, of course . . .” She hesitated, judging the extent of his inebriation. She wouldn’t put it beyond Bruce to attempt to strike her if he were drunk enough. After what he’d done to Amanda . . . “If I accept your offer, you’ll drop these ridiculous charges against my dead husband.”
“Naturally.” He rose to his feet and swayed slightly. “I’m thinking of the family name. If Fortune’s Gift is confiscated by the crown, you stand to lose a—”
“A king’s ransom—as well you know,” she lashed back. “Since you took it upon yourself to have yourself appointed my guardian after Wesley’s death.”
“It was the least I could do,” he said. “You were distraught. A woman alone . . . in no condition to administer the finances of your father’s estate. Our fathers were brothers, after all. Something should have come to me when Uncle John passed on.”
Caroline swallowed the oath that rose in her throat. Wesley’s death had come as a shock, but not so great a one that she couldn’t manage her own affairs. Bruce had lied and bribed the authorities to get control of her money. “Fortune’s Gift came from my mother’s family, Bruce, as well you know,” she said between clenched teeth. “Whatever my father added to my inheritance, he gained through his own wit and hard work. Fortune’s Gift is mine. Even Wesley knew that.”
“Yours until you take a husband, cousin.” His slack mouth turned up in a smile. “Until we are wed.”
She drew her silk wrapper more tightly around her and tried to reach the boy she had once played with as a child. “How could you expect me to come to your bed as a loving wife? Do you think I could ever forget that you raped my sister here in this very house?”
“Amanda is a nigra,” he said harshly. “None of your pretty words make her skin any whiter.”
“Born black, perhaps, but raised by my parents as a daughter in this house. As a sister to Reed and me. She’s a free woman, Bruce, not a slave for you to use as your whore.”
“Hardly a little nun, your pet nigra. She didn’t get that high-yellow pickaninny of hers in church, now, did she?”
Caroline’s hands curled into tight balls as she fought to keep her infamous Talbot temper under control. “She has a name, Bruce,” she said quietly. “Her name is Amanda. And don’t ever call baby Jeremy by that word again.”
“I’ve always wondered if she was Uncle John’s by-blow, but she’s dark-skinned to be half and half. Is she my cousin too, Caroline? Sometimes, they say, they turn out dark, if one parent is as black as coal.”
“You have a filthy mind. But then, you always did. No, she isn’t Papa’s natural daughter. He was in England that year; he didn’t come home to Maryland until two months before Amanda was born. You know where Amanda came from as well as I do. We heard the story often enough when we were children. Papa picked her up out of a rowboat in the river. Just like baby Moses, he always said.”
Bruce scoffed. “Moses or not, she was a good lay.”
Caroline’s fingers itched to slap his arrogant face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Leave her alone, I warn you. You touch her again, and that British uniform won’t save you. I’ll shoot you myself, just as I shot that mad dog last summer.”
“Save your hysterics for someone who will listen,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of a lock of her unbound hair. “Red as a fox,” he murmured. “I’ve always fancied to wake up and find a fox-haired woman in my bed.”
She jerked free of his loathsome touch, and he laughed. “Bastard,” she cried.
“You will marry me, little cousin. One way or another. And you’ll learn to curb that foul temper of yours. Once I’m master of Fortune’s Gift, you’ll—”
The dull boom of an explosion shattered the night. Stunned, Bruce stared at Caroline. “It sounded as though it came from the river,” she said, going to a window and peering out into the darkness. A red ball of light flared in the distance. “Is that your powder magazine?”
For a few seconds, there was utter silence, then hounds began to bay furiously. Shouts rang out. A man’s gruff voice barked an order. Suddenly, Caroline heard what could only be a musket shot, followed by the pounding of horse’s hooves on the frozen lawn. Another Brown Bess roared, just outside the window.
“Son of a bitch!” Bruce swore. He grabbed his coat and jammed an arm into the sleeve as he rushed out of the plantation office and collided with a young orderly.
“Captain Talbot, sir!” the soldier cried. “Come quick! Someone’s fired the powder store!”
Bruce shouted back at Caroline, “Go to your room and stay there. I’ll deal with you later.”
“We’ll see who will deal with whom,” she murmured after her cousin’s retreating back. She grimaced and glanced around the disorderly room. Only the library wall lined with the precious volumes collected by her parents and grandparents seemed neat. The rest of the office was a shambles. Official dispatches were heaped on the desk and tables; maps of the Chesapeake and Philadelphia were tacked to the paneled walls. Pewter mugs and a dirty plate holding a half-eaten pork chop stood on a mahogany sideboard. The room smelled of rum, tobacco, and sweat.
As she started for the doorway, she noticed a pair of Bruce’s tall, black boots standing on the hearth waiting to be cleaned and polished. Expensive boots they were, too, of Spanish leather, she supposed. Or perhaps they were Hessian. Everything German was the fashion now. She glanced down the hall to make certain she was alone, and edged the boots closer to the fire. With any luck at all, they’d be scorched beyond repair before the orderly smelled the burning leather. “We’ll see who gets the best of whom, cousin,” she said with satisfaction. “I’d burn Fortune’s Gift to the ground before I’d let you be master in this house.”
Feeling somewhat better, she left the room and walked quickly to the servants’ staircase and up the stairs. Dressed as she was in her nightgown and robe she didn’t want to meet any of the occupying English soldiers. She had been making ready for bed when Bruce had sent his orderly to summon her to Papa’
s office. Even though she’d answered his command without waiting to dress, she’d taken the trouble to strap a razor-sharp dagger to her waist. After what Bruce had done to Amanda, she would take no chances with him.
Her Grandfather Kincaid had given her the knife and its accompanying leather sheath on her eighth birthday. A Scottish skean, he’d called it. “Even a great lady must be able to defend herself against enemies,” he’d said with a wink. Her father had insisted she would cut off a finger with the antique weapon, but she never had. Grandfather had taught her the finer points of knife fighting and throwing a blade, and he’d made her practice in the hot Maryland sun for more hours than she wanted to remember—with not only a knife, but also a light rapier.
“This is foolishness,” her father had said. “Caroline is a Talbot. Talbot men take care of their women.”
“Aye,” Grandfather had agreed. “That may be so, John, but ye ken the bairn comes from a long line of warrior lassies. And I’d nay wish to have her grandmother say I’d neglected her education.”
Dear Grandfather . . . How she missed his weatherworn face. If he were only here, she thought, he’d make short work of Bruce and his dragoons. But he and her beloved Grandmother Bess were lying side by side in the brick-walled family cemetery. They’d died within hours of each other when she was seventeen.
Caroline sighed and entered Amanda’s unoccupied room on the second floor and looked out a window. Mounted troops were searching the gardens with torches. She smiled. Evidently, whoever had blown up the powder magazine hadn’t been caught yet. She hoped he had a fast horse. Fortune’s Gift was crawling with British soldiers.
Major Whitehead had made the plantation the headquarters for his detachment of Light Dragoons. He had been away for several weeks; she didn’t know where. If he had been here, Bruce wouldn’t have dared to behave so boorishly in her father’s office. Major Whitehead might be an English officer and the enemy, but he, at least, was a gentleman.
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