by Janet Dailey
Lije spared a glance at the guests on the sidelines, noting the number of feminine eyes that watched him over the top of fluttering fans and the thinly disguised glares from many of the men. Their reactions were typical of others he had encountered during his four years in the East.
"They are staring because they are scandalized that you are dancing with a Cherokee when you could have your choice of a dozen other, more suitable partners," he told her.
Diane laughed easily. "I know them better than you do. Most of them are only pretending to be scandalized to cover their envy or their wounded egos. Especially the women. They look at you and secretly wish they could trade places with me, but they are too concerned with what other people would think."
"Aren't you?"
The curve of her lips deepened. "One of the advantages of being raised on the frontier is that polite society overlooks it when I indulge in what it would consider improper behavior in its own ranks. It's proven quite useful on occasion."
"This being one of them."
"Yes." Still smiling, Diane cast another glance over his arm at the onlooking guests as Lije guided her through a sweeping turn. "Truthfully, I suspect half the women here are waiting to see if you scoop me up and carry me off somewhere to ravish me." She looked back to him, her smile fading as their eyes met. "I have a feeling they'll be disappointed if you don't."
"We can't have that, can we?" His fingers tightened their grip on her gloved hand, a rush of heat flowed between them as the ripe man-woman tension leapt to another level.
"No, we can't." Her voice turned husky with desire.
The song ended in a flourish of notes, Lije stepped back and bowed to her, then took her hand, tucked it under his arm, and escorted her from the floor to the shadowy edges of the terrace. A moment later they slipped from the gathering, unobserved, and sought the quiet of the side garden.
Once there, Lije pulled a laughing Diane into the shadows of a trellised arch laden with honeysuckle. Her laughter died as she looked into his eyes. His gaze was intense, a hot, hot blue that made her throat grow dry with anticipation. He bent his head to hers, their lips met, brushed, his breath a warm caress against her skin.
With a half-smothered groan, he dragged her to him and claimed her lips in a driving kiss that was warm, hard, and demanding. Her mouth was like silk, smooth and clinging. The desire that had simmered between them all evening rushed to the surface. Lije gave full rein to it, taking his fill of her lips, but it wasn't enough. He knew it even as he felt the tremble of longing that shuddered through her. In an attempt at control, he shifted his attention to her cheek, her jaw, the delicate lobe of her ear.
"Lije," she whispered his name, going soft and pliant in his embrace. "You have no idea how much I wanted this."
"No more than I." He rubbed his lips over the blue vein in her neck that throbbed so heavy and fast.
"You don't understand," she said with a small shake of her head, then pulled back to look at him, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of wonder and need. "I have adored you since I was a child. When the government closed Fort Gibson, and we had to leave, I was heartbroken." She paused and smiled, raising a hand to run her fingers along the smooth line of his jaw. "It sounds silly, doesn't it? I was only a girl. What did I know about love? That's what I used to tell myself. But I never stopped hoping we would meet again someday. And I was always terrified that if we did, you would be married to someone else. I'm glad you're not." Her fingers slid into his hair, drawing him down. "Kiss me again, Lije."
He obliged her and lost himself in the softness of her lips, the heat of them, the bottomless pleasure of them. Just for the moment, he thought of nothing but her—not the past with its ghosts and not the future with its vague forebodings. He knew it was madness to forget his priorities and sink into her spell. But she was all softness and strength, all trembles and demands. The scent radiating from the skin of her neck made his head spin.
"I love you, Diane." He wanted her, in his arms and in his life.
"And I love you." Her voice trembled with deep feeling. She laughed a little shakily, then bent her head to rest the top of it against his shoulder. "Who would have guessed it would all turn out so glorious?"
Gripped by a feeling of urgency, he said, "Diane, I'll be leaving soon—"
"No." Her head came up, her eyes bright with confidence. "I won't let you go."
"I can't stay—" Regret riddled his voice.
"Of course, you can. Just the other day I heard Judge Wickham mention that Senator Frederick was looking for a bright young man to fill a position he had open in his Boston office. Judge Wickham likes you. I know I could persuade him to recommend you. Don't you see how perfect it would be, with both of us in Boston?"
"Diane, no." He took her by the shoulders and held her gaze, needing to make it clear to her. "I'm going home."
She hesitated only fractionally. "Naturally you want to go home and visit your family, your parents. I understand that. Afterwards you can come back here and—"
"No."
"No?" She stiffened, then pulled away and turned from him in agitation. "Why? What on earth is there for you back there? There are so many more opportunities for you here, so much more you can do, so much more you can be."
"I have to go home. I need to go home." Lije didn't know how to put into words the unease he felt, the fears that never left him, the images of the past that haunted him and turned that need to return home into a compulsion. "Come with me, Diane."
"Come with you?" She swung back around.
"I want you to be my wife."
"Just like that? You can't be serious."
"But I am." His eyes frosted over at her reaction to his proposal. He hadn't intended to take her home with him, but somehow the words flowed effortlessly from his mouth—and they seemed so right.
"It's too soon to be talking about marriage. You know my mother would never give her consent if I were to go West so suddenly."
"Because I am Cherokee."
"Because you are a Stuart. She has never made a secret of her feelings toward your family."
"No, she hasn't."
"Then you see how impossible it is right now. In time—"
"I'm leaving in the morning."
"You're not being reasonable, Lije," she said angrily. "You won't listen to anything I say. It's all been so wonderful. Why do you have to ruin it like this?"
"Maybe you should have listened to your mother when she warned you a long time ago to stay away from me," he suggested in a cold, hard voice, his hurt concealed by his rising temper.
Diane retaliated in kind. "Perhaps I should have!"
Lije looked at her another long second, then turned and walked off into the night. Diane watched him for a moment, anger washing over her in waves even as tears stung her eyes. But her pride wouldn't let her run after him. He would return. She was sure of it.
2
Cherokee Nation, Indian Territory
July I860
Lije lifted the bay into a canter. There had been few opportunities to ride back East. It felt good to have a horse between his legs again, hooves pounding clay-red dirt, air rushing over his face, and the trail open before him.
The well-worn road curled into a wooded section thick with oak, persimmon, hickory, and cedar trees, their branches arching to create a leafy canopy. Beyond the reach of the sun's hot glare, the air was cooler, filled with the rustles and stirrings of creatures moving about in the heavy growth. He rode on, the enduring wildness of the land flowing around him, getting into his bones and his mind.
All of it was familiar to him, the old sights, the old sounds, the old smells. After four years he had half-expected to return a stranger in his own land. Instead, it was almost as if he had never left.
The discovery brought a smile to his lips. He glanced back at the trailing black servant Ike. "Not much farther to Oak Hill from here."
"Just up the road a piece," Ike confirmed, riding up to draw level with Lij
e. They had exchanged no more than a dozen words since leaving the riverboat landing. But, as Ike recalled, Master Lije had never been the kind who liked the sound of his own voice. He had always let his actions speak for him and did more thinking than talking. But Ike's curiosity was eating away at him. He took the opening to satisfy it. "What was it like up North?"
"Not much different from here. A lot of trees and mountains and farmlands. The winters were longer and colder, the towns were bigger. More buildings, more people." He glanced sideways at Ike, a dancing twinkle in his eyes. "Alot more people."
Ike nodded, the answer echoing much of what he had already heard. "My mother told me she had never seen so many people living in one place in her whole life than she did that time she went up North with your folks. Master Blade gave my folks a pass to see some of the sights while they were in Philadelphia. Did you go to Philadelphia while you were in the North?"
"I only passed through it."
"Then you never got to see the bell they got there." Ike's disappointment was brief, replaced by memories of all the stories his mother had told him about it. Stories that he'd had her repeat to him again and again. "People are calling it the Liberty Bell. The writing on it says 'Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all inhabitants thereof.' That's from Leviticus, in the Bible." Ike hesitated, then asked what he most wanted to know. "Did you see any free men of color when you were in the North?"
"Very few." With eyes narrowed, Lije studied the Negro he had played with as a child. Liberty. Free men of color. Those words and the trace of longing in Ike's voice warned Lije that Ike was dreaming of freedom. "You better watch what you say, Ike," he warned. "These are uneasy times. A suspicious man might hear you talking about liberty and decide you might be getting foolish ideas in your head. He might even decide to do something about that."
Ike fixed his gaze on a distant point, all expression wiped from his face except for the glitter of resentment in his eyes. At that moment Lije knew that this son of Deuteronomy Jones did not share the same feeling of deep loyalty that had cleaved his father to the Stuart family.
"I didn't mean anything by it," Ike finally mumbled.
"Maybe you didn't, but it's dangerous thinking right now."
They rode out of the shade into the full glare of the sun. Lije spotted the turnoff to his grandfather's plantation and kicked the bay into a lope, eliminating further opportunity for conversation. Once more Ike fell back to trail behind.
The approach to Oak Hill Plantation was marked by a quarter-mile-long drive lined with bush honeysuckle. At the end of it stood the main house, built on the crown of a small hill and surrounded by towering oak trees. Constructed of red brick and fronted by massive Doric columns, the building possessed a quiet grace and dignity, like its owner. According to Lije's mother, the house resembled the plantation home once owned by the Gordons in what was now Georgia. Lije had been born in his grandparents' home in that faraway house, but he had no memories of it, for he had been a toddler when soldiers had driven the family away at bayonet point.
Lije had barely dismounted when the front door opened. Out stepped a slenderly built Negro dressed in a black cutaway coat and trousers with a white shirt and stiffly starched collar. A smile of welcome wreathed his face, lighting up his gentle eyes.
"Master Lije, I knew it was you the minute I saw you riding up the lane. Nobody sits a horse like you do—except maybe your father."
"Hello, Shadrach." Lije smiled at the Negro who had belonged to Will Gordon since birth. As a boy, Shadrach had made the arduous trek over the long trail from their Cherokee homeland in the East: Shadrach's sister, Phoebe, had been given to Lije's mother as her dower Negro when she married. Ike was her son—and Shadrach's nephew. "You haven't changed a bit."
Shadrach had one of those timeless faces that failed to show the passing of years. But Lije knew he had to be in his forties.
"You certainly have. That college has turned you into a full-grown man," Shadrach declared, then gestured to his nephew. "Ike, take Master Lije's horse around to the stables."
When Ike stepped up, Lije handed him the reins and moved away. Shadrach reached the front door first and opened it for him.
"You'll find Miss Eliza in the parlor," Shadrach told him.
Lije walked inside and immediately saw his grandfather's second wife walking toward him down the great hall. "Shadrach, did I hear—" She stopped abruptly, a hand coming up to touch her throat. "Lije," she murmured in surprise.
"Hello, Eliza."
Moving swiftly, she crossed the short distance between them and reached out with both hands to grasp his. "Well, just look at you," Eliza beamed. "You have grown into a handsome man. How was your trip?"
"Long, but uneventful."
"Good," she said in that crisp, no-nonsense voice that was very familiar to him. "I didn't hear the carriage. How did you get here?" Now frowning, she glanced at the door. "Where is your grandfather? Your parents?"
"I rode ahead. They'll be along directly."
"Wonderful. Come. We'll go into the parlor and chat." Deftly, she tucked her arm under his and turned him toward the arched doorway. "Susannah is still upstairs changing," she said, referring to her daughter, "but Kipp and Alex are here."
Caught off guard by the announcement of his uncle Kipp's presence, Lije stiffened, his glance shooting to the parlor doorway.
The always astute Eliza picked up on the muscles tensing beneath her hand and tightened her grip on his arm in silent admonition. "This is a family occasion, Lije." The emphasis was firm. "Whatever bad blood there was between your father and Kipp belongs in the past. We must not allow it to color the present. Kindly remember that Kipp is your mother's only remaining brother. It is time to forgive what cannot be forgotten."
Lije dragged his gaze back to the tall, slender woman. "Still the peacemaker, I see." His mouth twitched with a dry smile.
"Someone in this family has to be. Heaven knows, there have been few occasions sufficiently important to warrant the gathering of all members of this family."
By all, Lije knew Eliza was referring specifically to his father and Kipp. Usually one or the other railed to attend a family function. On the rare times that Lije remembered both men being present, the atmosphere had been painfully strained.
"And you decided my homecoming was sufficiently important," Lije guessed.
"I believe that is obvious." She gathered up the front of her skirt hem. "Shall we go in?" Taking his agreement for granted, Eliza made a move toward the parlor. But Lije hung back, earning a puzzled look from her. "What is it?"
"Aren't you going to lecture me on Alex's innocence in all this?" he asked, eyes twinkling. Virtually from the day his cousin was born seventeen years ago, Eliza had set out to make certain that the animosity between Kipp and The Blade, as his father was called, did not extend to their sons. As the oldest, Lije had received the bulk of her lobbying efforts.
She saw the laughter in his eyes, and her lips thinned in prim disapproval. "Now you mock me."
"And you look quite beautiful," he told her. "Indignation becomes you. It brings fire to your eyes and color to your cheeks."
"What nonsense!" But for all the sharpness in her voice, Lije could tell she was secretly pleased by the compliment. There was the tiniest hint of a smile about her mouth when she steered him into the parlor. "Kipp, look who has arrived," she announced, injecting a note of breezy unconcern.
The man at the parlor window turned, and Lije stared into the face of his uncle, his father's enemy. Wings of silver white fanned his temples, contrasting starkly with his otherwise black hair. On most people, the result would be a distinguished appearance. But Lije had never been able to look at those twin streaks of white in Kipp's hair without being reminded of a devil's horns.
This time, the sight triggered a whirl of images from the past for Lije—images of a carriage coming down the lane, his grandfather Shawano Stuart at the reins, gray hair flowing onto his collar. Suddenly, a doz
en men, their faces covered with black kerchiefs, spill from the trees, hands reaching, grabbing to pull the old man down. His grandfather disappears, struggling beneath a sea of knife blades flashing in the sunlight, only to resurface, lifeless, face down in the road.
Lije had witnessed the killing of Shawano Stuart when he was less than three years old. The scene remained branded on his mind. He had never forgotten that feeling of abject terror, of being utterly powerless to help the grandfather he adored. And he had never forgotten that Kipp Gordon had been one of the masked men.
Whether justice was carried out in the killing of Shawano Stuart was considered arguable by many. Lije's father regarded it as murder, whereas his mother, Temple, saw it as a legitimate execution, however ignobly carried out.
In 1835, before Lije was born, Shawano Stuart had signed a treaty that surrendered all the Cherokee land in the East to the Federal government. Shawano, and all who signed the document, including The Blade, knew it was an unauthorized treaty, made without consent of the Cherokee people and a direct violation of the Cherokee Blood Law, a crime punishable by death. In truth, the drastic action was a desperate effort to force the leaders of the Cherokee government into negotiating a treaty with the Federal authorities and end the persecution and abuse by the Georgians that had gone on, unabated, for years.
The action cost Shawano and several other cosigners their lives. Lije's father had eluded an attempt on his life and joined others in hiding until amnesty was declared.
Time had passed, but not the memories, not for anyone who had lived during that time. Even now it silenced the words of greeting Lije might have offered his uncle. It was left to Eliza to open the conversation.
"Lije came on ahead," she told Kipp. "Your father and the others will be along shortly."
