After completing the stallion’s training in the pen and pasture, Rafe and Thomas rode out one crisp afternoon for their first cross-country run over fences, hedges, rock walls, and bridges, as well as three jumps across the brook. Because Rafe would be using Josie’s strategy of holding Pems back until the final sprint, he let Thomas go over the jumps first, relying on Pembroke’s herd instinct to keep him moving after Barney. But when they went into a full gallop, he let Pems go. And he was as fast as any horse Rafe had ever ridden.
To avoid souring the stallion, Rafe kept all the routines as varied and short as possible, then spent a lot of time talking to and massaging the horse during the cooldown period. Now that he knew Pems would belong to him in a few weeks, he allowed himself to become more attached to the stallion, and was grateful the horse responded with increasing trust.
Rafe was learning, too. Hammersmith helped him with jumping techniques, and Thomas taught him how to fight and defend himself on horseback. Mostly, it was fun, although he suspected Thomas put a bit more into it than necessary. But Pems took to it with enthusiasm, sending more than one horse limping back to the stable until Rafe learned to curb the stallion’s inbred fighting tendencies. He would have made a grand warhorse.
Every evening, Rafe climbed to the loft, so exhausted and sore he could hardly think. Then for an hour, he sat on his cot and wrote down Thomas’s words as he detailed the struggle of a well-meaning, but stubborn, Indian who fought to keep his family and his tribe safe under an onslaught of white intruders, false promises, and bloody skirmishes.
Thomas was right. It was a story that needed to be told.
And little by little, as the days slipped by, Rafe began to believe . . . in both Pembroke’s Pride, and his dream of the future.
• • •
“Where are you two going?” Father asked a week-and-a-half before the race.
Turning from the front door, Josephine said over Jamie’s blond head, “For a ride.”
“Don’t be gone long. We have company coming.”
“Lord and Lady Kirkwell?” she asked hopefully. Rafe had told her that he had written to Scotland and she longed to see the countess again.
“They’ll arrive in a day or two. Adderly is coming this afternoon.” He smiled down at Jamie in a way that put Josephine on guard. “He’s bringing a gift for the boy.”
“A gift? Why would he do that?”
“Can’t a man give his own—”
“No!” she blurted out. “It—it wouldn’t be proper.”
“I don’t mind,” Jamie offered.
Josephine leveled her gaze at her father. “We will discuss it in your study. Jamie, wait for me at the stable.” Then without checking to see if her father followed, she marched down the hall. As soon as she heard the door close behind him, she whirled. “I thought you agreed not to push an alliance with Adderly until after the race.”
He walked calmly past her to his desk. “Agreed with whom?” he asked, sinking into his overlarge chair.
“Mr. Jessup.”
He frowned up at her, his blunt fingers tapping a drumbeat on the wooden armrest. “You openly discuss such things?”
Knowing he was trying to change the subject, she didn’t respond.
“I’m not pushing an alliance, Josephine. Adderly contacted me, saying he wanted to meet his son and he had a gift for him.”
“I haven’t yet told Jamie about the baron.”
“Then it’s time you did. It’s apparent the boy is forming an attachment to that wrangler. Have you thought about what will happen to him when Jessup leaves?”
“The boy is named Jamie. And whether Jessup stays or leaves has no bearing on my decisions about Adderly and any gifts he might bring.”
“The boy—Jamie—should know who his father is. A gift is simply the baron’s way of introducing himself and letting his son know he cares about him. That’s all.”
“All of seven years too late, you mean.”
“Think, daughter! If you refuse his gift, or refuse to let him see his son, he might take legal action. And how do you think that will end—a toff against a commoner? He won’t be the loser, I can guarantee you that.”
“I’m Jamie’s mother,” Josephine insisted. “No court would take him away from me.” And if anyone tried, she could always deny that William was his father. Such an admission would hardly damage her already ruined reputation.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But is that something you’re willing to risk?” When she didn’t respond, he slapped his hand down on his desk. “Damnation, girl! You know how dire our financial situation is. If the worst happens and we lose everything, wouldn’t you rather live as a baroness than a scullery maid? And what of Jamie then?”
She wanted to scream. Shake her fist at him for putting her in this horrid position. Instead, she whirled and tried to pace off the fury twisting in her stomach. She felt like she was being pulled apart. Jamie, Rafe, Father, Adderly—they all wanted something from her. But she had wants, too. Was she to live her entire life in shame because of one foolish mistake? Or be forced into a loveless marriage to protect her son?
She could almost feel her hopes for the future slide from her grasp.
“This is no time to think with your heart, girl,” Father warned. “Use your head for once.”
She would rather use the back of her hand across his smug face.
But he was right. This wasn’t only about her. It was Jamie’s future, too. And he deserved to know who his father was, and what he would be leaving behind if they went with Rafe to America.
And if he chose to stay here instead?
Then she would stay, as well, since she could never leave without him.
And once Rafe left, if—when—Father lost everything, she would have no choice but to accept Adderly’s offer. She almost doubled over with the pain of it. But beneath all the despair was the conviction that she must keep that option open. For Jamie’s sake, she couldn’t afford to burn the bridge back to Adderly.
The idea made her stomach turn. “As you wish,” she finally said. “I’ll talk to Jamie.” Spinning on her heel, she left the room.
It would be best to tell him during their ride, she decided. But they rode for several miles before she gathered enough courage to broach the subject. No mother wanted to tell her child she had been indiscreet, and because of it, he had been born a bastard. What could a child understand of love and lust and foolish dreams? All she could give him was honesty, and hope he would forgive her someday.
“Jamie,” she began, “a man came to visit us a few weeks ago. Do you remember him?”
He plucked a leaf from Blaze’s mane and tossed it aside. “Was it while I was sick and you wouldn’t let me go to the stable?”
She nodded.
“I saw him from the window. He seemed rather round. And not as tall as Mr. Jessup. Is he the one coming today with a gift for me?”
“Yes. He is Baron Adderly. And he—he’s your father.”
Jamie looked over at her, his hazel eyes wide with surprise. “I thought my father was dead.”
“I allowed you to believe that he was. But I know now I was wrong.”
He pulled his horse to a stop. “He’s alive?”
“Very much so,” she said, reining in beside him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Inside her gloves, her hands felt damp. “I only wanted to protect you. I thought it would be easier for you to understand if I waited until you were older to tell you.”
“That’s the same thing as a lie, and you said we were never to lie to each other.” The quaver in his voice told her he was as near to tears as she was.
“I know, dearest. I’m sorry. I was wrong in so many ways.”
Seeing the hurt and confusion in his face made her desperate to put her arms around him and reassure him that
he was still her Jamie and she was still his mother, and nothing had changed.
But of course, it had.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, Jamie. But I’m not sorry I have you.”
He looked away, his small chin quivering. “If he’s my father, why doesn’t he live with us?”
“Because he has another family somewhere else.”
He wound his small fingers in Blaze’s mane. “Another son?”
“Yes. His name is Edward. He would be your half brother. I’ve never met him, but I hear he’s quite nice, although rather sickly.”
He digested that, then nodded. “So I’m not a bastard, after all.”
A stab of anger pierced her. “Where did you hear that word?”
“In town.” A flush turned the tips of his ears red. “Mr. Jessup said it means someone who doesn’t have a father. But you say I do have a father, so that means I’m not a bastard. Isn’t that so?” He gave her a hopeful look.
Emotion clogged her throat. “It—it’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid. A bastard is a child born to two people who aren’t married to each other.”
“Oh.”
Another long silence.
“Why didn’t he marry you?”
“He said he wanted to, but his parents had already arranged for him to marry someone else.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Well, I would have married you, no matter what you said.” Gathering the reins, he nudged Blaze into a walk.
Tears filled her eyes. The unassailable logic of a child. Catching up to him on her mare, she tried to smile, even though his loyal defense of her almost broke her heart.
“Has he known about me for long?” he asked after they had ridden a ways.
“All of your life.”
“Then why didn’t he ever come to see me? Didn’t he want me?”
Under the hurt, she heard anger in his tone, and oddly, that reassured her. He had a right to be angry at the way William had ignored him. They both did.
“He had other responsibilities,” she hedged. “Then recently, his wife died. Now that he’s free, he wants to marry me and acknowledge you as his son.”
“So I wouldn’t be a bastard anymore?”
“That’s part of it.”
He thought for a moment. “If you married him, would we go live with him and his other son?”
“Probably.”
“What about America?”
Josephine pressed her gloved fingertips to her forehead where a throbbing had begun. The questions were endless. And so hard to answer. “That’s another issue, dearest,” she said, letting her hand fall back to the reins. “And something we’ll decide later. For now, I simply want you to know who the baron is and that he’s coming to meet you.”
They had reached the turn to Penrith. Jamie reined in. She stopped her mare beside Blaze, and looked at her son expectantly. She could almost see him sorting it out in his head. What could a seven-year-old understand of this mess? And how would she fare in the final arrangement? Would he ever forgive her?
“Do we have to go into town today?” he asked, breaking the long silence.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Of course.” Seeing that he was wrestling with questions and doubts and fears about where he fit now, she wanted to reassure him that the most important things in their lives hadn’t changed and never would. “Jamie, I need for you to understand something.” She waited until he looked at her before continuing.
“You’re my son. I love you more than the breath in my body.” Sudden emotion constricted her throat and she had to wait for it to ease before continuing. “Even when you’re a grown man with a family of your own, you will still be my son, and I will still love you with all my heart. Whether I marry the baron, or go to America, or move to the Highlands of Scotland to raise sheep, that will never change. Ever.”
She was gratified to see some of those worry lines relax into a wobbly smile. “If we go to America, will I still be a bastard?”
How often had that word been used to hurt him? It had certainly left a scar. “Perhaps not.” If Rafe was truly hinting at marriage, and if he decided to adopt Jamie. So many uncertainties. But she couldn’t burden Jamie with those now. “Such things aren’t as important there as they are here.” Or so she hoped.
He looked over at her, that childish innocence tarnished a bit, and a hint of sadness in his hazel eyes. “I don’t like it when you lie to me.”
“I know. I sh-shouldn’t have. I promise I will never do so again.”
“Then stop crying. I don’t like that, either.”
She gave a broken laugh and wiped her eyes. “All right. No more tears.”
He stared past Blaze’s ears, his lips pursed in thought. “Do you want to marry the baron?”
“I haven’t decided. Nor will I, until you and I have discussed it fully. But today, you needn’t worry about anything but meeting him.”
“Very well. I shall meet him. But I still think I would rather go to America with Mr. Jessup.” And with a belligerent thrust of his chin, he sent his horse into a trot.
• • •
Rafe was finishing with Pems when Jamie and Josie led their horses into the stable. When he had seen them leave earlier, he had noticed Josie had the same fretful, panicky look she had worn that first night on the ship. But now she just looked weary, and Jamie was the one who looked worried.
“That was a short ride,” he said, stepping out of Pembroke’s stall into the aisle, where they were rubbing down their horses. He admired Josie for tending her own mount and for teaching her son to do it, too. He considered it the mark of a true horseman. He also admired the way her long skirt draped her pear-shaped butt when she bent to run the brush down her mare’s leg.
She straightened. “We have a guest coming this afternoon and couldn’t be gone long,” she said listlessly. “How is Pems doing?”
“Better every day. He jumped the brook twice this morning without having to go at it a second time.”
She dropped the brush into the bucket and faced him with a strained smile. “I never thought he’d be comfortable around water again.”
“He’s still not comfortable, but he’s doing better. How did Blaze go for you today, Jamie?”
“Very well, sir.” Jamie untied the gelding’s lead from a ring in the support post. “When we turned for home, I watched him like you told me, but he didn’t speed up even a step. I don’t think he’s barn sour in the least.”
Rafe nodded, curious why the boy wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“After you put Blaze away,” Josie called after him as he led the gelding to his stall, “run up to the house and wash. Adderly should be arriving soon.”
The weasel? Rafe frowned at that unwelcome news, but when he started to ask why the baron was visiting again, she shot a look toward Jamie and motioned him to silence.
As soon as the boy left the stable, he rounded on her.
She spoke first. “Before you ask, neither Father nor I invited him. He’s bringing a gift for Jamie. And he wants to meet him.”
Hell. Rafe rested his hands low on his hips and glared out the double doors, half expecting to see the weasel’s carriage rattling through the front gate.
“I talked to Jamie.”
Seeing her face crumple, Rafe felt a moment of panic. Crying women always rattled him. “About what?”
“Adderly. I told Jamie he’s his father.”
He glanced toward the room where the grooms slept, heard low voices, and knew Hammersmith was still talking to Gordon. Taking Josie’s arm, he led her into the feed room, where they would have more privacy.
“How’d he take it?”
“Better
than I expected.” More tears, falling in glistening streaks down her cheeks. “Oh, Rafe. He’s such a good, kind boy. He never once blamed me, or became cross with me, or looked at me the way others do. H-He still loves me.”
Rafe pulled her into his arms, his own eyes stinging. “Of course he does, Josie. Why wouldn’t he?” She fit so perfectly against him. Soft and warm, tall enough that he didn’t have to bow his back to hold her. Yet as he felt the beat of her heart against his chest and the dampness of her tears on his neck, a deep sense of hopelessness crept into his mind. How was he to do all that she needed him to do? Protect her from the manipulations of Adderly and her father. Shield her and her son from the viciousness directed toward them because of Jamie’s birth. Convince them to come with him to America, and find a way to support them if they did.
The obstacles seemed insurmountable, his hopes as substantial as puffs of smoke. Especially since everything—his dreams, her happiness, any chance of a future for Jamie—all hinged on a damaged horse winning a brutal race.
It would be easier to light a candle from a star.
With a sigh, Josie pulled out of his arms. “I must go.” She swiped a gloved hand over her damp cheeks and patted a few strands of dark hair back under her tiny hat. She looked resigned, defeated, her shoulders slumped and a sea of despair swirling in her mismatched eyes.
“Josie, we can leave here today,” he blurted out in blind desperation. “Ash will give me an advance on my pay. We could go up to Scotland and take a ship from there to—”
Her hand on his chest made him forget what he was saying. A sad, shaky smile creased her tear-streaked face. “Is this another almost-proposal, Mr. Jessup?”
Heat rushed into his face. “It’s an idea.” And not a great one, if he read her look of disappointment right.
Hell. He was a bumbling fool. Rushing his fences. Making promises he didn’t know if he could keep. But when he thought of the weasel getting his hands on her and Jamie, and when she looked at him like that . . .
“I’m trying to protect you and Jamie. I only want to keep you safe. But . . .” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, then let them fall back to his sides. “But I don’t know what to do, Josie.” He had never felt so inadequate in his life. And he didn’t like it.
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