“Of course I did, I’m the botanist,” Magnus retorted, somewhat puffed with pride. For months he’d been pampering his pepper plant, driving Alex nuts by moving it so that it always stood in the window with the best light, and now the scraggly little plant had five undeveloped fruits, all of them still green, plus the three red ones that now lay in Magnus’ palm. “They’re not fully ripe, but at least I stopped little Miss Stickyfingers here from popping them in her mouth.”
“I’m not a Miss Stickyfingers,” Sarah protested.
“Yes, you are,” her grandfather said. “I’d told you not to touch it.”
Sarah turned cornflower blue eyes to her mother. “They fell off.”
“Sure they did,” Magnus snorted.
“Go and wash your hands,” Alex told her daughter before producing a cutting board and a knife, feeling quite reenergised. “Chicken, I think, and we’ll use chillies and garlic, and then we’ll have...” She frowned, trying to recall exactly what they had in their bare storing sheds.
“Rice,” Magnus said. “You still have some left.”
Alex nodded and concentrated on her chopping.
“Hot.” She raised wet eyes to her father. “Very, very hot!”
“I told you,” he said, uncorking the stone bottle that contained their precious olive oil. “You should be wearing gloves or something. These peppers are among the hottest in the world.”
“Too late, and besides, I think it would be difficult to do this with mittens.” But he was right; her skin was tingling, and her lips stung from where she’d inadvertently wiped at them with her hand. She transferred the chopped chillies to the mortar, added garlic, salt and a dollop of oil, and picked up her pestle, pounding it all into a fragrant, extremely spicy oil.
They were concentrated on their cooking when the dogs began to bark.
“What now?” Alex jerked so that the chilli oil ran over her hands.
“Alex! Hold still!” Magnus snapped.
“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, squinting out of the window. “Bloody hell!” Without bothering to wash her hands, she strode outside. “What do you want?” she asked, planting herself before the rangy roan.
“Mrs Graham, as always a pleasure,” Philip Burley replied, doffing his hat in a courteous gesture.
“Not mutual, and no, don’t bother getting off your horse.”
Philip ignored her, dropping to land beside his mount. “Is Graham not here?”
“As you can see,” Alex replied, made uncomfortable by the way he was staring at her, the children, the buildings – everything. She threw a look at Burley’s companion, a middle-aged man that remained on his horse, returned her eyes to Philip, who was now far too close. Alex backed away. “I don’t want you here, so please leave.”
“I have a letter to deliver,” Philip Burley said, “to Mr Graham.”
“Then deliver it and be gone.” Alex held out her hand. Her cuticles were burning with the chilli, and she had to stop herself from putting her fingers in her mouth to cool them. Philip snickered; took yet another step towards her. This time she stood her ground, staring firmly into eyes that liquefied her guts.
“No dinner?” He handed her a small paper square that she tucked away.
“Nope. I don’t feed rapists – or assaulters.”
Philip laughed, straightened up and let his eyes travel the household. “Quite a few pretty wenches.” He nodded in the direction of Jenny and Agnes. “Maybe we should take them with us,” he commented to his companion, who grunted, eyes never leaving Agnes.
“Get out,” Alex spat. “Leave or—”
“Or what, Mrs Graham? Your husband and sons aren’t here, are they, so what can you do to stop us?” His face was inches from hers, his hand closed on her left arm in a way that had her skin shrinking away. “We could take you along as well.”
“You wish!” She clapped her oily, burning hand to his face and smeared his eyes, his nose, his mouth.
At first Burley just stood there, a sneer on his face. And then his eyes began to tear up; he dropped his hold on Alex’s arm and staggered back, knuckling at his eyes.
“Aagh! What have you done to me?”
“Chilli pepper. Now go, before I kick you in the balls.”
“Burley? Are you alright?” The companion rode his horse closer, his hand closing on the butt of his pistol.
“He will be,” Alex said, “but his eyes will burn like hell for a couple of hours – serve him right!”
“You will pay for this!” Burley scrubbed his sleeve over his face. “I can’t see! And my nose, it’s on fire!”
“What have you done? Have you hexed him?” the unknown man said, watching Burley stagger towards his horse.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a good cook, that’s all. Now, get off my land.”
As if to reinforce the threat, Magnus appeared at the kitchen door, one of Matthew’s cavalry pistols pointing at Burley, who was still cursing as he fumbled with his stirrup leathers.
“What took you so long?” Alex demanded once the two horses had dropped out of sight. She had to sit down, her knees morphing into quivering jelly.
“I couldn’t load it. Ruth here had to help me.” Magnus gave Alex an admiring look. “You were quite impressive.”
“Huh, somehow I don’t think that puts me at the top of Philip Burley’s Most Favourite People list, do you?”
*
Matthew listened in silence as Alex retold the events of the day, brows successively forming one dark line of impressive anger.
“The gall of him!” she finished. “To ride in here cool as a cucumber, and more or less threaten to abduct Agnes and Jenny. Who does he think he is?” She gnawed at her lip. “He scares me, and what if he’d decided to take them with him? What could I have done?”
“You stopped him this time,” Matthew said.
“Pure luck,” she muttered.
“Lass,” Matthew said, drawing her close enough that she could rest her head against his chest. “He wouldn’t do something like that. He was just trying to intimidate you.”
“He did.” She rubbed her cheek against the soft weave of his shirt. He put his arms around her, and they stood like that for some time. “What did the letter say?”
“Summons. I have to ride down to Providence for a meeting regarding a militia company.”
“Militia?” In Alex’s head swam images of men in combat boots and semi-automatics that chose to create enclaves where their word was law. “Why?”
“The Indians; the situation is set to explode, and so—”
“But not here, right?”
“We live under treaty with the Susquehannock.” Matthew kissed her brow. “It will be no great matter. Now, where’s my supper?”
*
The following morning, Matthew woke to find himself regarded by two light hazel eyes, copies of his own. On the other side of David, Alex slept on her back, snoring loudly. Her shift was damp with milk, their son was damp all over and, from the way he attacked Matthew’s proffered knuckle, very hungry. Matthew hefted him up and padded over to change him.
“He’s very well endowed,” he commented with a grin once he had Alex sitting up in bed nursing the wean.
“Maybe that’s why he eats like a horse.” She yawned, blinking at him from sleep-encrusted eyes. “Look what he’s done to me,” she complained, indicating her swollen breasts.
“Very nice,” Matthew replied, eyeing her bosom. He brushed at her free nipple and it stiffened immediately, a wet spot appearing on her shift. With a little chuckle he settled himself beside her, placing his hand on her thigh. Inch by inch, he moved his hand upwards, fingers caressing her warm, soft skin, while he amused himself by telling her what he was planning to do with her once the wean was fed, starting with a thorough inspection of her bosom.
“Matthew!” Alex nodded
at their son.
“Dead to the world.” Matthew lifted David out of her arms. “And even if he weren’t, he doesn’t understand, does he?“ He placed the wean in his cradle and returned to the bed. “So beautiful,” he said, tugging at her hair, her lacings. The shift was discarded, her hair lay unbound, a mass of curls that decorated their pillows. “So pink, so round, so strong,” he went on, inspecting in turn her breasts, her arse, her thighs. She reclined against the pillows, fluttered her lashes at him and coyly crossed her legs. “That doesn’t work,” he laughed, clambering over her to kiss her on the mouth. “We both know you’re quite the wanton.”
“No, I’m not,” she protested, was kissed, and kissed, and kissed. “Well,” she murmured, licking her lips, “maybe I am – a little.”
“A lot,” he whispered in her ear. “And I can prove it to you.”
“Really? I don’t think so.”
“No?”
He began by kissing her ankles. Her knees, her thighs, her pubic mound, her navel, her breasts…
“You’re going the wrong way.” She laughed when he nuzzled her throat. He kissed her silent. Her tongue darted out to meet his; he bit down ever so gently on her lower lip. His fingers threaded their way through her bush, slid in to touch her moist centre.
“Ah,” she groaned, her hips shifting from side to side. “Oh,” she added, and her thighs widened, her hands reached for him, but he took hold of her wrists, shaking his head.
“Lie still,” he murmured.
“Matthew,” she groaned, raising her hips off the bed.
“Lie still, wife.” He stilled his fingers.
“Tease,” she whispered.
“And I haven’t even begun yet,” he said, smiling wickedly.
“You sleep,” he told her a while later. David was fast asleep in his cradle. Matthew was still in only his shirt, and Alex was a jumble of rosy limbs and wild hair. She made a happy sound and burrowed into their pillows. He covered her with a sheet before leaving the room.
*
“Except for the few times when I’ve been ill, maybe four or five times all in all,” Alex replied to Magnus’ question later. She was still in her shift, despite it being almost noon, and David was back in her arms to eat. “There’s too much to do, and with the children and Matthew to feed, the hens and the pigs to tend, the garden to take care of, well, time just flies...”
“So, in fifteen years five lie-ins.“ Magnus shook his head. “What a life of drudgery.”
“At times.” Alex inspected the heel of her stocking; yet another hole to darn. “But now I have a daughter-in-law to help, and Jenny’s a competent young woman.” As if on cue Jenny appeared at the kitchen door.
“You’d best get dressed, Mother Alex. My parents and my uncle have just ridden in.”
“Shit,” Alex muttered and handed David to Magnus. “If she sees me like this, Elizabeth will think me even more of a slothful wife than she already does.”
They were still outside when Alex joined them, the men speaking in low, hushed voices, with Elizabeth making the odd comment.
“What?” Alex went to stand by her husband.
“Indians, my dear.” Peter shook his head so that his fair locks stood in a parody of a lion’s mane around him.
“Oh, that,” Alex sighed, “all that militia nonsense.”
“Nonsense? How nonsense? They’re attacking defenceless settlers in the northern part of Virginia as we speak.” Peter looked quite upset, with Elizabeth nodding vigorously beside him.
“Not our business, is it?” Alex shrugged. “And the question is why the Indians are attacking.”
“Aye,” Matthew put in, “one could argue they are but retaliating.”
“The Powhatan and the Nanticoke have transgressed against us, and then there was that group of Susquehannock who attempted to abduct those two wives last year.” Peter frowned.
“It depends how you see it,” Alex said. “Those women might have been married when they were carried off from their Indian village, so maybe last year was an attempt to free them.”
Elizabeth snorted. “You can’t think that a woman happily married to a Christian man would ever consider returning to a life in longhouses and skins.”
“Maybe they were happily married before,” Alex said, “and being forcibly converted to Christianity is probably not much of a spiritual experience. More like being raped.”
Elizabeth’s mouth shrank into a prune, but she didn’t reply.
“Whatever the case, we have to defend ourselves,” Thomas put in, “and it’s better for all if the militia is capably manned. Men like me and Matthew, with experience of warfare, will be able to temper the more hot-headed amongst us.”
“Matthew?” Alex shook her head. “He can’t go! We…I need him here!” She gripped her husband’s hand and swallowed. Him gone? How was she to manage without him?
“One man from each household,” Thomas said. “You could send Ian instead,” he added, directing himself to Matthew.
“I think not. I will go, but I don’t like it, nor do I intend to be gone over the harvest. My fields are ripening as we speak, and I’ll start taking in my crops within the fortnight.” Matthew gave Alex’s hand a little squeeze.
“Of course not,” Thomas said. “That’s why the meeting is called for next week. We’ll be home in time, and then the militia will ride out late autumn – if necessary.”
“If necessary,” Matthew repeated.
“I don’t want you to go,” Alex said once the Leslies had left.
“I have no choice, lass.”
“But why? We’re not the ones having issues with the Indians! Let them who’ve provoked them sort it. I…” She broke off. Words failed her, and she concentrated on finding her voice again, swallowing a couple of times to rid her throat of its sudden congestion. She hated the idea of being left behind here, all alone with their children. Even worse, how was she to stand it with him gone, not knowing if he’d come back safe and sound? And what if that Burley… No; she shoved the unfinished thought out of her head.
“It will be fine.” He cupped her chin and lifted her face to meet his eyes. “I am no rash, untried youth, Alex. I will take no risks. A few weeks, no more. Surely you can survive without me that long?”
“Barely,” she muttered, making him smile. “But I don’t want to. I want you here, with me.”
“And this is where I want to be: with you.” He kissed her on the brow. “Besides, it’s not yet, is it? And, who knows, by autumn it may all have died down.”
Chapter 26
“I’m taking a walk,” Alex said to Magnus. “Now that the baby tyrant is fast asleep for the first time in days, I’m going to take my overworked tits and escape into some solitude, okay?”
“Okay, and should he wake from hunger pangs, I dare say he’ll survive until you’re back.” Magnus smiled down at his grandson, who lay like a frog on his blanket in the shade.
“Will you stay with him?”
“No,” Magnus said. “Given my advanced senility, I will amble off and leave him to be eaten by a raccoon or something.”
“Raccoons don’t eat humans,” Alex snorted.
“Something as fat and juicy as this? I wouldn’t gamble on it.” He laughed at her. “Go on. Look, I’m here and so is our faithful hound, dear Narcissus.” The dog raised one silken ear at the sound of his name before subsiding back to sleep, his big head on the bottom corner of the baby blanket.
She felt free; no hollering baby, no constant weight in her arms. She braced her aching back against her hands and, after a quick peek to ensure Jenny wasn’t anywhere in sight, lowered herself to the ground to do a set of push-ups. Then she got to her feet and ran into the cover of the trees before any of her other children should discover she had slipped her fetters and was available to them.
It was a normal, humid July day. After half an hour of brisk walk, her chemise clung to her back, and the down on her upper lip was beaded with sweat. God, how she longed for Scotland on days like these! For the crisp dawns of the northern summer, the dry heat of the days, and the long, soft summer evenings. Things she would never again experience, she thought, kicking her way through the high grass of the meadow. Never again would she stand on a Scottish moor and see the flaming pinks of the autumn heather; never would she break off a branch of blooming gorse to set in a stone jar on her kitchen table.
Homesickness draped itself like a wet blanket over her, and she longed violently for Matthew, for his hand round hers. She missed him – had missed him since the moment he rode off two days ago.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she chided herself. “Get a grip, Alex Lind, before you turn into a needy old cow.” It made her laugh, and in a somewhat better mood, she cut in towards the abandoned Indian village. She went there quite often, sitting for some moments in solitude while she thought about Rachel. Just thinking her name made her lost daughter spring alive in her head, untidy braids bouncing round her sturdy little body. And then the horse’s hoof came down and crushed the skull to pulp. Oh God; Alex wiped her hand over her eyes.
Alex didn’t see him until she had sat down on her normal perch, a fallen log just to the east of the clearing. He was sitting in absolute stillness a bit further on, his eyes locked on what Alex supposed had been the main house of the settlement but that now reminded her of an elongated tomb. She shivered at the thought; after all, to some extent it was.
“I’m sorry.” She stood up. “I didn’t mean to intrude…”
Qaachow tilted his head to show he’d heard her but otherwise remained where he was.
“You come to think of your daughter,” he said, gesturing at the ‘RACHEL’ she had carved on a nearby tree. “Those thoughts do not intrude on mine.”
Alex sat back down again. Not that there was any possibility of her thinking about Rachel now, with this slim, half-naked Indian some yards away, but it would be rude to walk away and disturb his meditation again. He was gaunter than last time she’d seen him, more careworn. He shifted on his perch and the breechcloth rustled, releasing a fragrance of crushed pine needles.
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 23
