Kate stared at the olive-skinned beauty. Her face was oval-shaped and without blemish, the black hair swept into a knot at the back of her neck. She could have passed as Italian or Spanish. There was no hint in her carriage or speech that she was anything other than a great European lady, certainly nothing that even hinted of an Indian savage. As to her age, she hardly looked old enough have a son in his teens, let alone one of Pride's years.
"I'm happy to meet you, Kate. You are all Pride said you were and more. I'll make no excuses for my son; he has a strange sense of humor."
Kate looked down at her bare toes peeking from beneath the coarse gown. She must appear a common slut to this cultured woman... her son's whore. She fought back the salt tears of anger. "He does indeed, Lady Ashton."
"Rebecca, please. My husband's titles are of little purpose here. To my friends and family I am Rebecca, and I hope I may count you as one of those." She glanced about the cabin. "I suppose he told you this was Ashton Hall, too."
"Yes."
"Now, Mother..."
"Now Mother nothing. You must come home with me, Kate, at once. Pride has avoided his responsibilities long enough. I've had the managing of the plantation since he left for England. He has played, now he must return to his duties." She took Kate's hand. "You can ride behind me on Satin."
"Kate will stay here." Pride's voice tightened.
"She will not. You've had your joke. Enough is enough. Kate?" There was no mistaking the steel in the petite, erect figure.
"And did you bring a horse for me?" Pride said.
"You can walk." Rebecca turned toward the doorway. "Someday, my son, one of your games will go too far and you will lose what you reach for."
Kate bit her lip, waves of mortification sweeping through her. All this was a sham! She had been tricked again. Tricked into giving her body, her... No! Damn it! She would not let him see how much he had hurt her.
"I'll be honored to ride with you to your home, Lady Ashton... Rebecca, if my master will permit it." She glared at Pride.
"When he's silent, you can assume that he's given his permission, however unwillingly." Rebecca led the way outside and waited for her son to lift her onto the sidesaddle.
Hastily, Kate pulled on her slippers and Pride sat her up behind his mother.
"I'll be there by evening," he said.
"I've asked Cook to prepare all your favorites for supper." Rebecca smiled. "Try to be on time. I want to hear all the news from London. But most of all I want to see your book." She touched his shoulder gently. "I've missed you. And there's much you should know of affairs here. War drums roll to the north and west."
"Tschi?"
She shrugged. "You know your brother." Rebecca straightened in the saddle. "Tonight then." She took the offered reins. "It was time." He nodded and she turned the mare's head and tapped her lightly.
The two rode for nearly an hour in silence, following faint trails and crossing several streams. The terrain was slightly hilly and Kate lost all sense of direction. "Is it dangerous to go alone and unarmed here?"
"On Ashton? I think not. This is all land deeded to Pride by his father. Besides, I am not defenseless." From the folds of her jacket, she produced a German pistol. "Pride tells me you are a good shot. It's a skill that comes in handy here."
"He told me that you were an Indian," Kate faltered.
"I am. Shawnee."
"But you don't seem..."
"Don't seem to be a red savage?" Rebecca laughed. "Oh, but I am. Don't be fooled by the civilized veneer. Christianity didn't take and I'm afraid many of the moral laws the English live by seem rather silly to me." Her voice softened. "You needn't feel embarrassed by your relationship to my son. If you bring each other happiness, that's all that matters. The Shawnee try not to make judgments on other people's lives."
"Make me happy? He doesn't make me happy! He makes me furious! He's egotistical, arrogant and... and a liar! I hate him!" Kate protested.
"Your eyes say different."
""He deceived me! Made a fool of me! Not once, but over and over! He has no regard for me as a human being! He—" "
"Don't be so certain. Pride may be a rogue, but he is an endearing one. I think he cares for you a great deal."
"Please, I'd rather not talk about him. A mother would be expected to see only the best in her son, not his failings."
"Perhaps... but the Shawnee have a saying. 'Who knows a tree best? Ake, the earth, the mother from which it grows.' Often a mother may know the strengths and weaknesses of her children better than any."
The mare broke into a trot as they left the woods and entered a cultivated field. Rows of young com stretched before them, hoed by more than a dozen blacks. "This is the beginning of our cropland," Rebecca explained. "It's not far to the plantation house."
"Does Ashton Hall have many slaves?" Kate eyed the workers; they seemed young and strong.
"None at all." She waved a greeting and the men paused to give respectful notice to the mistress. "These men are indentured servants. We have freemen laborers and bondmen and women of black and white skin, but no slaves. Pride is against slavery."
"Indentured blacks?"
"Bought as slaves and freed. Most have signed indentures for a number of years. At the end of that time they may go free as any bond servant."
"You say most."
"The children are free without claim."
"Colonial society must think your son quite mad."
"Others may think what they like. Ashton Hall prospers. Freemen do more work than slaves and with lighter hearts."
"Yet he holds me prisoner against my will."
Rebecca turned the mare through a gap in the split-rail fence and onto a dirt road. The animal's ears pricked up and her pace quickened. "She's eager to reach the barn and her new colt."
They crossed a wooden bridge and went up a hill. The trees covered the road like a living roof, the branches interwoven and bright with birds. Beyond the short stretch of woodland, tobacco fields stretched on either side of the road. Here too, workers, both men and women, were busy keeping the soil free of weeds and insects.
A man rode toward them at a fast trot. He waved and Kate recognized him. "Bill!"
He reined in and touched his shapeless hat. "Miss Rebecca, Miss Kate. Wondered when you two would make each other's acquaintance."
"Pride would rather it had been later," Rebecca said tartly. "He's afoot. Take a horse for him if you've nothing more pressing to do."
"Yes'm." He grinned boyishly. "Think you'll like this house better'n t'other one?"
"You and Jonas knew what he was up to?" An acrid taste filled her mouth. Everyone had known. Everyone was laughing at her. The sweetness of the past day and night was washed away in a tide of bitterness. She was a Storm! She would be no man's fool, least of all Pride Ashton's.
"Said he wanted to see what stuff ya was made of," Bill admitted. He spat in the dust beside the road and looked at her in dumb admiration. "You'll do, I'd say." He turned his mount back to ride beside them.
A flock of sheep milled in the road and they picked their way carefully through them. A slack-eyed boy doffed his cap. "How do, Miss Becca." His patched hair was the color of straw and his nose a lump slightly off center.
Rebecca smiled. "Good morning, Robin. Are you taking good care of my sheep? "
"Robin is! Robin is takin' care of d'sheep!" he cried. His rumpled features lit and he danced a little jig. The black-and-white collie spun in circles and jumped up to lick the boy's face.
"Robin. This is Mistress Kate. Can you remember that? She belongs to Pride," Rebecca said, speaking slowly and emphasizing each word.
Kate tensed. "Hello, Robin," she said. "I'm glad to meet you."
"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Robin don't ferget. Pride's Miss Kate. Pride's Miss Kate. See my pretty sheep! Robin takes good care of d'sheep."
"I'm sure you do," Kate replied, her voice softening. "It's a hard job. Mistress Rebecca must be proud of you."
"That was kind of ya, ma'am," Bill said as they rode on. "Lots of folks don't take to the boy jest 'cause he's the way he is. No harm in him though."
"Robin earns his keep," Rebecca added. "It's hard for him to learn anything new, but once he gets it straight, he never forgets." She turned her head to look at Kate and the dark eyes filled with sorrow. "He's an orphan. His parents were building a cabin west of here on the Amaghqua. Iroquois killed and scalped his parents and three sisters. They left him for dead. He wandered in the woods for days before the Shawnee found him and brought him here."
"How terrible." Kate shuddered as she thought of the boy witnessing the slaughter of his family. "It would be enough to drive anyone crazy, let alone a child."
"Back of his skull was crushed in with a tomahawk." Bill spat again. "They lifted part of his hair. Jonas sewed 'im back together but didn't do too pretty of a job. He weren't more'n four or five year old."
"That's inhuman." Kate's eyes filled with tears.
"Iroquois ain't human."
Rebecca laughed coldly. "The British buy Indian scalps, children as well as adults. Robin's mother had black hair. It may well be decorating some mantel in London."
"It were Iroquois," Bill insisted.
"An Iroquois swung the ax, but who ordered it? It's hard to tell white from Indian when the bounty's high enough." Rebecca urged the little mare into a canter. "The house is just ahead."
They rounded a bend in the road and Bill swung open a wide gate. On a slight rise, sheltered by wooded hills, stood a two-story stone house flanked by stone and wood wings. Wide steps led to a long low porch running the full length of the dwelling. Pillars in front of the main section supported a balcony on the second floor.
"It's beautiful," Kate gasped. And it was. The magnificent house seemed a part of the landscape, the solid blocks of stone and graceful windows so natural above the sweeping green lawns, so right. Four double granite chimneys reached skyward, wisps of smoke coming from one on the far right. Kate supposed it to be the kitchens. "Did Pride build this?"
"Lord Ashton, his father, started it—the center part. It's fashioned after his childhood home. Pride designed the wings. There are twenty-two rooms in all. Small compared to the great mansions of England, but enough for a woman born in a wigwam to manage."
"But here, days from anything... how did he do it?"
"If one has sufficient funds, anything is possible. Most of the building materials—the stone, the wood—are local, taken from Ashton. The craftsmen came from the Virginia colony; the furnishings and art from England, all over Europe really. My son is quite an educated savage. Wait until you see his library."
Kate regarded her closely. Were the dark eyes mocking? "I'm at a loss for words," she murmured. "Nothing here in Maryland is as it seems."
"Nothing ever is."
The interior of Ashton Hall was as lovely as the outside. The heavy double door opened to a spacious center hall, paneled in rich walnut and decorated with carvings of native flowers and leaves. An Indian motif embellished the comice, inlaid with various grains and colors of wood. A wide staircase curved upward to the second floor. Kate stroked the pineapple-shaped newel cap. The wood was oiled to a smooth satin finish. A rare Chinese carpet graced the walnut steps. "I've never seen anything quite like it," she admitted. "It's a mixture of—"
"Several worlds?" Rebecca finished. "As is my son. Come, let me show you the rest of the house." She led the way through the bright airy rooms. "Shall we start with the kitchens?"
Kate was bewildered at Rebecca's attitude. She was no honored guest, but a bondwoman and her son's whore. Why was the Indian woman acting as though she were a member of the family? Silently, she followed, her mind in turmoil.
Serving girls in crisp white mobcaps bobbed curtsies as the two passed. Rebecca's manner to her servants was warm and authoritarian, no different than that of most high-born ladies Kate had known in England. The house was well-staffed with mostly white bondwomen. The cook, a man, was a Welshman and an ex-military man who ran his kitchen with spotless precision.
"Mistress Kate will be shown the same courtesy I am," Rebecca warned the little man. "You will obey her instructions in all things as long as they do not counter my own."
"Yes'm." The cook glared at Kate.
Rebecca led the way outside to show off the dairy and smokehouse and laundry. "He is an excellent cook," she confided, "but inclined to be a bit overbearing. He's a freeman now and could leave if he liked." Behind the house was a kitchen garden with herbs and vegetables. A more formal garden, enclosed by a hedge, stretched behind the two-story section.
"Your flowers are lovely," Kate said. How to ask what she really wanted to know? The small talk sounded trite.
"These are mostly wild. I will have roses but they're not in bloom yet."
Kate took a deep breath. "Please! You must tell me my position here. I'm confused. Am I to be a servant or not?"
Rebecca folded her arms and sighed. "That's the problem. I'm not sure. Pride can be exasperating at times. Technically, you are his property."
"I will not be his doxy."
"Let me show you something." They reentered the great hall from the west entrance and walked to the north wing. Rebecca opened a door, revealing a charming bedchamber. There was a curtained four-poster bed, a fireplace filled now with an arrangement of wild flowers and pine, a delicate French armoire, and a small sitting arrangement. French doors on the far wall opened to a private brick courtyard. "This is to be your room," Rebecca said. "Yours alone. No one may enter without your permission, not even my son."
She caught the doubting look in Kate's blue eyes. "No, you are wrong. This is the Shawnee way. Pride's chambers are down the corridor. You may invite him here, or you may go there if you wish. But no one will force you to give your body against your will." She smiled. "My own rooms are in the south wing; you will have privacy here to fight or love as you wish. But..." She shrugged. "As to your exact duties, I don't know. That is Pride's decision. I understand you owe him your life."
Kate blushed. "Yes... more than once, I think."
"Then you must pay back the debt you owe before continuing with your life. I cannot give you advice. But I will say it is best not to reject happiness, whatever form it takes."
"You are very kind, kinder than I deserve. But it doesn't change the way I feel about Pride. He has wronged me greatly. I could never trust him again. I don't belong here; my home is England. If I can, I will escape and return there."
"You are honest at least." Rebecca waved a well-manicured hand. "Make yourself comfortable. I must give some instructions for the afternoon's duties. I'll have Mary bring you a tray. Supper will be at six in the dining room. Until then." She smiled and was gone.
Kate dropped onto the bed. The cage had gotten better, but the bird was still a prisoner. What new devilment did Pride Ashton have planned for her? She would play his game on the surface while she planned her getaway. She would spend Christmas at home with Geoffrey or know why.
Until then, she would make the best of the situation. There would be no more lovemaking with Pride. Rebecca would believe the worst of her, but that didn't matter. She would know different. She had learned her lesson painfully.
Kate wondered about the mysterious Rebecca Ashton. How had a full-blooded Indian woman become such a cultured lady? Pride said his mother had spent time in England, but still... It was almost beyond belief. Kate was curious to learn her story. She liked Rebecca and would like to have her as a friend if possible. It was something she had thought about few women before. Most of all, why did Rebecca remain here, cut off from all civilized contact? She would obviously be welcomed in the best homes. With the Ashton titles and wealth, she could be a leader of London society, even marry again if she wished. Without meaning to, Kate stretched out on the soft coverlet and fell into a deep sle
ep.
* * *
At supper that evening, Pride stood at the head of the table and offered a toast. "To Kate Storm. May she find true welcome and happiness in Ashton Hall." His mother lifted her glass and Kate stared stonily at her plate.
He was doing it again! Whenever she had him fixed in her mind, he did the unexpected. The man smiling gallantly at her was again a gentleman of the highest order. His dress and manner were without flaw. He wore the red coat and ruffled stock with ease and style. From under veiled eyes, Kate looked in vain for the rough frontiersman, the brute who had abused her on the trail from Annapolis. Was he insane? She had heard of those who exhibited different personalities in their illness.
There seemed to be nothing of a madman in his behavior toward his mother. They laughed and joked together as friends. She was eager to hear all the news of London and to have him describe the latest fashions.
Kate squelched all attempts to include her in the conversation. She would watch and study him. How else would she know how to deal with him?
The meal was excellent, as Rebecca had predicted. There were fried ham and roast wild duck, all manner of vegetables and breads served with a hearty Spanish wine. The dessert was a triumph of whipped cream and chocolate cake. Kate thought of the plain fare she and Pride had made do with at the cabin and her spine stiffened. He would find out soon enough that his jest had backfired.
After supper, the three retreated into the library for thin cups of steaming chocolate. Kate chose an imported Chinese chair as far from Pride on the settee as she could get. "You'll have to take lessons from David in the kitchen," Pride said. "She's a terrible cook, Mother."
"I am no cook at all," Kate replied, stung. "It was never expected of me before. And I have no interest whatsoever in learning."
Rebecca stood up and kissed Pride's cheek. "If you'll excuse me, I've been waiting to read through your book now that it's been printed." She nodded to Kate and swept from the room in a rustle of silk.
Pride rose and followed-her to the doorway. "Let's ride at dawn. You can tell me the war news then."
Rebecca answered, but Kate was unable to understand the language. Pride returned to the settee.
By Love Alone Page 12
