By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  And outside, the snow fell; snowdrift piled upon snowdrift. The wind howled and tore at the windows. Kate's hands turned red and cracked; her nose dripped. Water froze on the kitchen table at night. The dogs had to be driven outside. Winter wrapped the Albany farmhouse in a grip so tight, Kate feared spring would never come again.

  By her counting, the baby would be born some time in late May. As March passed without a letup in the cruel weather, she began to worry that she would ever get back to Ashton Hall in time. Leaving now would be suicide; she could never get ten miles in this snow. Each passing week made her less able to travel the distance between upper New York and the Maryland colony.

  In early April, the snow turned to rain. As soon as the roads were passable, Kate crept from her room after everyone was asleep. She took food from the kitchen, stole Amos's best riding horse, and headed south.

  Hampered by her bulky figure, Kate was only able to make twenty miles by first light. The horse was up to his knees in mud; a light rain was falling. Kate was cold and damp, but her spirits were high. Ashton Hall lay south, and Ashton's heir was safe under her heart. Nothing and no one would stop her now.

  She ate on horseback, pausing only when absolutely necessary. Her body ached, and she felt as if she was coming down with a cold. Kate knew that Tinley would mount a search party for his horse, if not his servant. She must put miles between her and the farm. She drove the weary animal into a teeth-jarring trot.

  By dark, the bay was missing a step now and then, his head sagging. She traded him for a roan workhorse grazing in a pasture, and galloped on. She'd have to leave the roads soon enough. Now she could not worry about being seen. She must cover territory. The roan's owner would be surprised, but he had the best of the bargain. Tinley would have to take the loss! She'd worked enough that winter to pay for two horses.

  At daylight, she found an abandoned cabin, led the horse inside, and slept the day away. She finished the last of the food and drank from a spring near the cabin. Only a few miles away, she saw the lights of a town. She turned away, across a wooded field, and rode into the forest. An obviously pregnant woman, alone on a workhorse, would be too easy to remember.

  She dared not ride at night in the thick trees; she slept rolled in a blanket on the damp ground. At dawn she mounted and rode on, grateful for the saddle. She followed the road until it seemed safe to go back to it. At noon, she met a family traveling to a wedding. She traded Mistress Tinley's split-oak basket for a meal and two loaves of sweet bread.

  "How come you be riding by yerself?" the husband asked.

  Kate sighed. "My man run off, his sister said she seen him down in Penn's colony, working fera baker. I couldn't run the farm by m'self, so I'm goin' to look fer 'im. He ain't much, my Harry ain't, but he's the father o' this young'n."

  "You ought'n be riding so far along," the wife cautioned. "You might slip it. I slipped one afore Thomas there." She pointed to a large-eared urchin.

  Kate nodded. "Yer right, I know. But what's a body t' do? Only right his lawful father do fer a babe."

  "What's yer man's name, and where do he hail from?"

  "Harry Wiggins," she lied smoothly. "Our farm was in Turpin's Road. Course, Master Elwood took it back now. We was tenant farmers. Good farm, too."

  The man nodded sympathetically. "Hope ya find yer man."

  "This yer first?" the woman asked. She was stout and puffed when she walked. Her hair was as black as an Indian's and rolled into a knot on top of her head. "What's yer Christian name, Miz Wiggins?"

  "Molly. It use t' be Potts. Maybe ye know some of my kin. There's lots o' Potts over t' the coast. I got fourteen brothers an' sisters, most older 'n me."

  "Don't say as I do. Listen though, Molly. We're goin' the same way. Why don't you come down off that horse and ride a spell in the wagon? We're goin' to spend the night with his"—she pointed to her husband—"cousin. They'll not notice another. It ain't safe fer a woman alone. We're goin' far as Kane's Crossing. You might come t' Jeannie's wedding with us, if you're a mind. Like to hear the news of your valley. It's been a lonesome winter."

  Kate agreed, sliding down from the horse. Search parties would be looking for a woman alone. She'd stay with these people a while, as long as they were traveling south. "I'm no beggar," Kate said. "I got hard coin t' pay m' way." She'd taken a handful of coppers from Mistress Tinley's cream pitcher. Maybe she'd followed the wrong career. It seemed she had outlawing in her blood. It was a lot easier than being honest!

  Two days later, she left the wedding party on a fresh horse. She'd traded the workhorse for a black mare, blind in one eye, but sound. The farmer had thrown in a few coins and a good knife. The mare was no more than five years old and had an even gait. She also left with clear directions to Philadelphia.

  * * *

  Philadelphia was the biggest town Kate had seen since she'd left London. She'd been afraid that people would stare at her, but no one seemed to notice. The streets were thick with farmers, vendors, and travelers. Women carried baskets of eggs and pitchers of milk door to door. A black woman passed with a basket full of gingerbread on her head. She called out as she walked, and children scrambled to trade their ha'pennies for the cookies. Kate's mouth watered for one. She hadn't eaten since early yesterday, but her coins were all gone.

  A black-robed Quaker provided directions to the banking house. A few whispered names led Kate to an inner office and the kind embrace of her father's old friend David.

  "Whatever I can do, I will," he promised. "We were saddened by word of his arrest and death."

  "My brother, Geoffrey, too is dead," Kate told him. "I need enough money from you to hire a guide to take me down to the Maryland colony. My... my husband is there," she lied.

  The gray eyes were shrewd. "You know you would be welcome in our home as long as you wish. We've had long practice in hiding friends from the authorities."

  Kate grinned. "I know. But it's vital that my husband's heir be born at the plantation. I've come so far. Please help me to get to Ashton Hall. It's west of Annapolis, days... I'm not sure. But it should be easy enough to find out. It is a great estate."

  "Of course we'll help. God go with you, Kate Storm."

  The last days of her journey were without incident. The Quaker woodsman and Delaware guides were honest and dependable. If her body protested at the hours in the saddle, Kate kept it to herself. She would tolerate no delay, least of all from her own frailty. On the morning of May 8th, the riders crossed onto cultivated Ashton land.

  Kate dismissed her party on the spot. She would brook no argument. They had fulfilled their obligation. She wanted no witnesses to her shame when she confronted Rebecca. Her son's secret must be between the two women if he were to be the legal heir. She rode the last few miles alone.

  There were excited cries from the field laborers as they recognized Kate. Robin left his sheep to run after her horse. "Miss Kate! Miss Kate!" he shouted. "Howdy, Miss Kate!"

  She waved to him and kicked her heels into the little mare. The house was in view now. She blinked back tears. She'd come so damn far. What if Rebecca turned her away? Would she be forced to deliver her child under a tree like a wild animal?

  The horse trotted into the barnyard and whinnied. Another answered the call. Kate let the reins go slack; suddenly she was afraid.

  "Kate?"

  The hair rose on the back of her neck, and she whirled in the saddle. Pride Ashton stood in the shadows of the barn. "Pride? Pride?" She rubbed her eyes. It couldn't be. "Pride?" He came toward her. Her head began to spin, and she would have fallen if he hadn't caught her up in his strong arms.

  "I thought you were dead," she whispered hoarsely, laying her head against his chest.

  The dark eyes burned with a cold flame. "You had damn good reason to think so." He stood her on her feet. "Why are you here?"

  Kate stared at him; her hand reached up to stroke his cheek. He jerked away, and she flinched. "I... I thought you were dead. All that blood...
I thought DeSalle killed you. How...?"

  "Why are you here? What do you want?" he demanded harshly. The scar on his face had faded to a thin white line against the bronzed, glowing skin.

  "I came back to have our child... here at Ashton Hall," she answered softly. Tears formed in the comers of her blue eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead, all this time."

  "You've come here to have some man's child, that's for sure." He eyed her large stomach.

  "Damn you to hell, Pride Ashton! It's your child!" She backed away from him.

  "Save your lies and your tears for someone else! You forget where I saw you last," he lashed. The hawk face was hard; his eyes showed no trace of tenderness... no love.

  "It wasn't what you think."

  "No? And it wasn't what I think with Simon? Or with my brother? Tschi told me about you, Kate. Don't waste your talent on me."

  "Tschi? I never..." she protested. "Pride! You've got to believe me. It is your baby. No one else has ever touched me that way. No one." Her hands curled into tight fists. The child stirred within her and she protected it with her arms. "Deny him if you can, but he's an Ashton."

  He laughed. "A great performance, Kate Storm. You really should have made your living on the stage. Actresses and whores are all sisters under the skin."

  "You don't know what I've been through, what I've done to get here," she pleaded. She could not hold back the tears; she began to hiccup. "I'm telling the truth."

  "Like you told the truth to Tschi? To DeSalle? What is the truth, Kate? Do you even know? Or have you told so many lies you begin to believe them yourself?"

  "I'm your wife," she cried. "Your wife."

  "No," he corrected cruelly. "You were my wife. I divorced you. A Shawnee does not tolerate an unfaithful woman."

  A pain knifed through Kate, clearing her brain. It gave her something to ache for, and she took a deep breath. "What happened to all your great talk about the Shawnee way?" she demanded. "You said there were no bastard children among the Indians."

  "I guess I've too much of my father's blood in me," he admitted. "I've gotten you out of my system, Kate, for good."

  "Have you?" She caught his hand and held it, gripping it tightly as another pain surged through her. The joy of finding him alive had been overshadowed by his rejection. The double shock was almost too great to bear.

  His hand should have meant nothing to her, a broad, callused hand, marred by scars and briar cuts. She brought it to her cheek, thrilling to the old familiar sweetness that sent chills through her body. "I love you," she whispered. "I think I've loved you from the first day I met you. Don't do this to us, Pride. Please."

  "You still don't listen. There is no us." He stepped away from her; his eyes narrowed. "You're in labor?"

  "I... I don't know."

  He put an arm around her. "Come to the house. You should be in bed."

  "Not until we settle this." The old stubbornness surfaced in Kate's voice. "You can't believe I came here to have another man's child. I wouldn't do that." His hair had grown out; she longed to run her fingers through it. "Why didn't you die? I thought..." She pounded her fist against his chest. "Pride, I saw your scalp. DeSalle threw it... threw it in my face."

  "Not mine, obviously. A Huron tried to lift it, after they dragged me into the woods. Jonas saved me. He and some Shawnee tracked us."

  "But you left me with him!"

  "You seem to have survived well enough. I was more dead than alive when they carried me off. It was a week before I was conscious again." He slipped an arm under her legs and lifted her. "No matter whose it is, I won't let it be born in the barnyard." Pride walked with her toward the house.

  "Where's Rebecca?"

  "She's not here. She's seeing some of her Delaware kin settled on a piece of ground south of here. I sent men with her. We're at war, Kate. The Shawnee burned out a settlement to the east. Five men were killed, the women taken captive. I don't know how you rode through that country without trouble."

  "I had an escort south from Philadelphia. I.... " She flinched. "I thought you were dead, but I wanted your son to be born here. I came alone from Canada."

  "DeSalle paid your passage south, I suppose?"

  The servants stared as Pride carried her through the front doors and down the hall to her old room. "You may as well stay here. No one's used it since you ran away." He kicked open the door. A maid ran ahead to strip back the bed and he laid Kate on the clean sheet. "I'll send for the midwife."

  Kate recoiled from the frosty tones. He might have been ordering a fence repaired. "Get this through your thick head," she insisted. "This is your baby!"

  The little maid flushed crimson and fled the room. Pride stared at her and shook his head. "I loved you once, Kate. I would have done anything for you, given you anything. But you betrayed me once too often. It's over. There's nothing left. Accept it. I got over you a long time ago."

  "No! I won't accept it! You're angry, and you have a right to be." A pain caught her and she bit the inside of her lip. "We created this baby in love. If you don't care about me anymore, at least care about your child. Stay with me, please. I don't want to be alone."

  "I said I'd send the midwife." Pride paused with his hand on the door. "When you're well enough to travel, I'll send you and the child back to England. I don't want you in the Colonies. I never want to see you again."

  Chapter 18

  By the time the midwife came bustling into Kate's room, the pains had stopped, and she felt foolish. "I guess it was a false alarm," she said. Kate's eyes were red from weeping; she wanted to be alone.

  The woman examined her carefully. "It happens this way sometimes. You say you have been riding for weeks. Your body is tired. Stay in bed. Eat lightly. Sleep. Some first babies are hard to deliver."

  A maid brought milk and bread, and hot soup. Kate ate and then slept for twenty-four hours straight. The pains did not return. Neither did Pride.

  On the second day, Kate dressed in a silk dressing gown and walked in the garden. She still felt tired; her head hurt, and every muscle in her body ached. To her surprise, she was hungry. She finished every bite of the noon meal the maid brought.

  The midwife had returned, felt the child kicking, and pronounced Kate "fit as a fiddle."

  "Yer lucky, mistress, it's a fine fat boy, for certain."

  Kate was no longer certain of anything. If Pride turned them away, what would she do? Should she claim to be a widow? How would she support the baby until she was strong enough to work? It was so unfair. After all the struggle to get here, and the joy of learning Pride was alive, there might be no haven for the child at Ashton Hall.

  A maid came running and dipped a curtsy. "Mistress Kate, Lord Ashton will see you in the great hall. Shall I tell him you'll come along?"

  "Yes, I'll come," Kate agreed. She followed the girl, wondering what Pride wanted. Had he changed his mind? Was he about to throw her off the plantation?

  He stood by the window, his back to her, as she entered the room. He was dressed simply in a fringed leather shirt and buckskin trousers. She assumed that he had just returned from riding. Pride turned toward her slowly, his face as smooth and emotionless as an Indian's. "You're feeling better today?"

  "Yes, I am." Kate's back straightened. If he threw her out, he threw her out. She'd manage somehow. She'd proved she could even do a servant's work if she had to.

  "I've behaved badly, and I owe you an apology." He waved her to a loveseat and poured a glass of wine. "This is quite good. It was made here at Ashton Hall. Our grape vines are doing very well."

  Kate's hand trembled as she took the goblet. A drop of brilliant ruby red stained the front of her blue gown. It looks like blood, she thought. The coldness of his tone pierced her to the deepest corner of her soul. This wasn't Pride. This was the haughty Lord Ashton she had known in Newgate Prison.

  He took a sip of the wine. "The midwife tells me you could deliver the child any day. It could be mine."
>
  "It is yours." Kate's eyes locked with his stubbornly.

  "You must have known you had missed your woman's time. Why didn't you tell me then?" He couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice. "It would have meant the world to me, Kate... then."

  "Should I have told you when we were DeSalle's captives? Would it have made you feel better to know you had a pregnant wife—no! Not wife! A pregnant mistress to worry about? Or should I have shouted it out when the Hurons tied you to the stake? Damn it! I don't care if you believe me or not, but you're going to hear the truth." The anger rising within her pushed back the fear. "DeSalle promised to save your life if I pretended to be his lover. He said he wanted to hurt you, to shame you by taking me away from you. I don't know if I believed him or not. But I couldn't lose the one chance I had to stop him. I had to try! Don't you understand, you bloody fool? I did it for you! I didn't give myself to him. Not then. Not ever." In desperation, she stared up into Pride's eyes. They were as cold and hard as chips of volcanic glass. "Damn you! Believe what you want," she cried. "You aren't fit to be the father of my child!" She hurled the wineglass across the room and it shattered against a mahogany highboy.

  "That goblet was part of a matched set from Venice. It was more than two hundred years old."

  "I should have thrown it at you."

  "Ah, the old Kate. I think I like you better sharp-tongued. You play the injured maid badly."

  "And you play the bastard superbly."

  Pride walked to a window and stared out at the fields. He wanted to believe her; God, how he wanted to believe her! It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from taking her in his arms. Thoughts of Kate and his brother were bad enough—they haunted his dreams, even though he knew she wasn't at fault. But DeSalle? "Where is he?"

  "Who?"

  "DeSalle?"

  "In hell, I hope. I think I killed him."

  Pride gripped the windowsill. "If only I could separate your lies from the truth."