Violet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  Brandon interrupted harshly. “Enough. I will explain it to Cody later.” He took the steps of the verandah quickly while Cody, though clearly bewildered by Shannon’s statement, ran ahead to open the door to the house. Brandon took Shannon to the drawing room and placed her on the chaise, propping her foot on the cushions Addie had provided.

  “Wouldn’t she be more comfortable in her room?” Cody suggested, picking a bit of straw from Shannon’s jet hair.

  “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t be able to talk to her there, not without having Aurora’s accusations confirmed to the entire household.”

  Shannon’s eyes closed as she applied the compress meant for her foot to her head. “Isn’t it rather late for that?” she asked. “And, point of fact, you are not talking to me, but around me, as if I were not here at all.” Shannon knew, without looking, that they were exchanging sheepish grins. Her smile faded as Brandon began to remove her stocking, rolling it down her calf and over her foot. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to assess the damage.”

  “But Cody—”

  “Cody’s seen a leg before,” he told her.

  “Oh, of course. Annie Jones.”

  Cody cleared his throat, shaking his head from side to side. “I think I’ll find Clara,” he said, excusing himself.

  “Your talk of Annie frightened him off,” said Brandon, sweeping his thumbs lightly across her instep. He watched her eyes squeeze more tightly together. “Brave lady. You were very lucky it was Rainbow and not one of the horses who used your foot as a resting place.”

  “I don’t feel lucky—or brave.”

  Brandon put her foot down, lifted the compress on her forehead, and placed a kiss on her brow. “You’re both. Do you want the compress here or there?”

  She pointed to her foot. “There. Do I still have a foot?”

  “Yes. Bruised and swollen, but it’s there. It will be several days before you’ll be able to get around unaided. I think there may be a cane somewhere. I’ll have Martha—”

  “No. No cane.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” He brought a chair close to the chaise and sat down. “What happened in the stable, Shannon?“’

  “I think you know,” she sighed. “Aurora saw us in an embrace and drew her own conclusions.” In a voice devoid of most inflection, Shannon told Brandon the things Aurora had said. “She felt betrayed, Brandon. I didn’t know what to say to her. She had every right to feel that way. I can hardly blame her for what happened, only that she chose to speak her piece in front of Clara.”

  Brandon touched Shannon’s arm. “Thank God you sent Clara out. She is the one who gave the alarm. I came when I saw Martha and Cody running to the stable.” He sat back in his chair. “As for Aurora, there is no excuse for her lifting a hand against you, knowing you would not dare strike back.”

  “I wanted to,” Shannon admitted uneasily. “But when she reminded me about my stepfather, I—”

  “She disarmed you. It’s her way.”

  “No, it wasn’t deliberate. She was so hurt and angry.”

  “I wonder if she knows how you champion her. It isn’t necessary, Shannon. Aurora can champion herself. I intend to speak with her later, you know.”

  “Please don’t threaten her again. I know you and Cody say those things in jest, but it is beneath you. Neither of you mean it.”

  “Don’t we?” His short laugh lacked humor. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  Chapter 12

  Shannon stepped off the verandah, bearing down on her foot, testing its strength. She glanced around to make certain no one was watching. After arguing with Brandon and Martha that she was fit to be out of doors, it would not do for them to see her falter.

  Shannon chose the path to the river. Dry, fallen leaves scattered as her skirt brushed the ground. During her week of confinement, the trees along the bank had lost their emerald hue, taking on the colors of autumn’s reds and rusts. The air was cooler now, refreshing, she thought, not at all like the chill that permeated the house. Since the incident at the stable, Aurora rarely spoke and was rarely spoken to. Except for her daily rides, which took her away from the folly for hours each morning, Aurora seemed content to stay in her chamber or play the spinet in the music room. Clara was almost wholly ignored by her mother. Though Shannon saw it as Aurora’s way of punishing her daughter, it was clear to everyone save Aurora that Clara was satisfied with the arrangement.

  Aurora had tendered an apology to Shannon, which was accepted with more grace than either Brandon or Cody thought it deserved. Shannon felt as if she could do nothing right where her sister was concerned. Any overture she made to Aurora was rebuffed, and it only served to alienate Brandon and cause Cody to look at her as if she were cork-brained.

  “They just don’t understand,” she said aloud as she came to the water’s edge. “I cannot trust her with a confidence, I’m not certain I even like her, but neither can I treat her like a pariah.” Shannon considered Brandon was right about Aurora in at least one respect. It was impossible for Shannon not to feel pity for her sister’s profound unhappiness.

  “Talking to anyone in particular?” asked Cody.

  Shannon spun on her heels, startled by the intrusion. Cody was sitting cross-legged in a nest of leaves about twenty feet from where Shannon stood, polishing the stock of his rifle with a cloth. “Oh! I didn’t see you there.”

  Cody grinned, standing. “You’re not supposed to,” he said as he approached. His free hand swept over him, calling attention to his clothes. “These fine garments are to fool rabbits and deer and occasionally a lady such as yourself.”

  Shannon laughed, examining the strange costume he wore. She could not recall ever seeing the like before. His tan leather hunting shirt had double collars fringed in forest green. Each seam in the belted shirt was covered with the same fringe, and it swayed gently as he walked. He wore dark green knee breeches, but his shins were covered by leather leggings and held up by beaded and fringed garters. A leather ammunition pack hung from his shoulder. Shannon touched the fringe on his sleeves. “What is this in aid of?” she asked.

  “Nothing mysterious, I assure you. It keeps dampness out of the seams and permits me to hunt for hours, even days, without feeling the cold overmuch.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Hunting?”

  “No. That’s what I was thinking about.” He grinned again, adjusting the brim of his hat a little higher on his forehead. “Actually, what I’m going to do is a bit of target practice. Would you like to watch?”

  He so obviously wanted to show off his skill that Shannon had to laugh. “I’d like that,” she admitted. She took a step closer to him and whispered conspiratorially, “But what I’d truly like is to learn to shoot myself.”

  Cody considered that a moment. “I could teach you to shoot yourself, but I don’t think Bran would approve.”

  Shannon gave him a playful push. “Oooh! You know what I meant! Will you teach me, Cody? To shoot, that is.”

  “Of course. But not here. There’s not much to shoot at. If we go up to the field, I can set up some targets.”

  “All right.”

  “Want to take the path or cut through the wood?”

  “We’ll go through the wood. My foot,” she said pointedly, “is just fine.” To prove it, she brushed past him and led the way. Her skirt occasionally caught on the underbrush, but she gamely tugged at it and kept on going, aware that she made far more noise during the trek than Cody did. When they arrived in the clearing, she looked at his costume with something akin to envy. “I should like to wear something like that,” she told him, raising the hem of her skirt and brushing off the leaves that clung to it damply.

  “Always suspected you weren’t a girl in the usual way.”

  Shannon looked at him archly. “What, pray, is that supposed to mean?” When Cody’s swarthy complexion reddened, Shannon took pity on him. “It’s all right. I think I know what you meant.” She stood on tiptoe
and kissed him on the cheek, laughing when the tips of his ears pinkened. “Just to show you that no offense was taken. Now, what is it that we’re going to shoot?”

  Relieved, Cody took Shannon’s hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

  Half running to match Cody’s long stride, Shannon allowed herself to be led past the paddock and stable and empty curing sheds. “Oh, no,” said Shannon when Cody finally stopped. “Not Martha’s pumpkins.” She glanced back at the house guiltily. “She’d never forgive us.”

  “That’s supposing we hit any. I only intend to separate the stem from the vine.”

  “Braggart.”

  He shrugged, grinning boyishly. “Well?” He held out his rifle to her.

  Shannon spared another glance at the house and then looked at the ripening pumpkins. The patch was not large, serving only the Folly’s needs, but it was all that remained of Martha’s carefully tended garden. In a flight of fancy she thought the pumpkins seemed to be cowering beneath their green, leafy vines. “All right,” she said. “I doubt there is much chance I’ll manage to shoot one.”

  “Don’t worry. Bran and I have been doing this for years. Martha always has more squash planted than she needs.” He gave the rifle a little shake to draw Shannon’s attention. “Here. It’s tradition.”

  Shannon took the rifle.“Oh, it’s not as heavy as I thought.”

  Cody sat on the ground and patted the space next to him. “Less than ten pounds,” he told her as she sat beside him. “It’s a variation on a Bavarian rifle; longer and lighter barrel, and it takes less powder and lead. Only problem is that it takes some time to load. That’s not so bad when the pumpkins aren’t moving, but when they take to flight, you have to make your shot count. By the time you reload, they could have flown the nest.”

  “Idiot,” she said, smiling.

  “But you take my point.”

  “I take your point. How do I load it?”

  Cody slipped off his ammunition pouch and opened it up. “First you have to measure a charge of powder and pour it in the barrel. Here, use this horn.”

  Shannon peered down the barrel. “Why, it has little grooves in it.” She took the horn and began pouring the powder.

  “They’re for—whoa! Not so much! You’ll blow us both back to the river.” He quickly took back the powder horn and put it away. “The grooves put a spin on the ball and give it a truer path over a long range. Much better than a smoothbore rifle. Now open the patch box.” He pointed to the hinged brass plate on the rifle’s maple stock. “That’s it. Take out one of the cloth patches and lick it. Very good. Lay it over the muzzle. That’s the front end of the barrel,” he explained when she looked at him in bewilderment. “Take this.” He handed her a bullet. “Put it on top of the cloth. All right. Now you’re ready to ram it down the barrel.” He disconnected a metal rod from the rifle. “Use this. Go on, give it a shove, right down on the powder.”

  “The pumpkins are getting restless,” she said, her eyes dancing.

  “Don’t let them unnerve you. You’re almost ready.” He put the ramrod aside when she finished. “Good girl. Lower the rifle, and please keep it aimed away from me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No harm done. You still have to prime the pan and set the steel.”

  Shannon groaned, but she accepted the powder horn again and poured a small amount in the priming pan, then, with Cody directing her, set the steel so the flint in the hammer would strike it when the trigger was pulled, creating a spark to set off the powder.

  “Now it’s merely a matter of raising your gun into position,” he explained.

  “That sounds too simple.”

  “After practice it will come easily. Raise your knees and rest your elbows on them. That will help support the weight of the rifle as you take aim. No, you have to place your knees apart.”

  “Breeches are much more practical,” she noted, setting the rifle to one side as she rearranged her skirt to accommodate her new positon. She took up the rifle again and pointed it in the direction of the patch.

  “Sight your target.”

  “I’ve found one.”

  “Take your time. When you’re ready, squeeze the trigger; don’t—” there was an explosion, and the smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air “—jerk it,” Cody finished lamely.

  Shannon coughed and waved a hand in front of her to clear the cloud of smoke that wreathed her head. The recoil from the gun had caused her knees to drop, and her legs lay splayed in front of her. “Did I hit it?”

  “Perhaps if you told me what you were aiming at,” he said dryly, enchanted by Shannon’s earnestness and her hopeful grin. “Was it a flying pumpkin?”

  “No.”

  “Then trust me, you didn’t hit it.” She looked so disappointed that Cody had to laugh. He gave her a soothing pat on her arm. “It’s all right. We’ll try again.”

  Shannon poured, licked, loaded, rammed, primed, aimed, and fired. A pumpkin shattered, sending pieces of orange rind spinning into the air.

  Cody jumped to his feet. “I’ll be damned! You did it! I’m going to find the ball. You can have it as a remembrance.”

  Before Shannon could raise an objection, he was running into the patch. Her laughter was cut off as she realized someone was clapping behind her. She glanced around and saw Brandon. He was standing with his weight resting more on one leg than the other, somehow relaxed and confident in the same moment. His wide smile and the tilt of his chin conveyed his approval of her achievement.

  He stopped clapping and came abreast of Shannon, dropping down beside her in a fluid, graceful motion. “That was quite something.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “How modest you are.”

  “It’s not modesty,” she said, lowering her voice as Cody started back, waving the bullet in the air. “It’s honesty. I wasn’t aiming at that pumpkin.”

  Brandon tossed back his head and gave a shout of laughter. The corn silk strands of his hair caught the sunlight, and his eyes glinted in appreciation. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Cody came upon them and tossed a somewhat sticky lead ball in Brandon’s direction. “I’m not going to ask what you’re laughing about because I know you won’t tell me.”

  Brandon nudged Shannon with his elbow, examining the bullet gravely. “He’s perceptive, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” she answered solemnly.

  Cody ignored their byplay, taking the rifle from Shannon. “Did you see her, Bran? Wait until I tell Martha it was Shannon who split her best pumpkin. There’ll be feathers flying then!”

  Shannon blinked hugely. “Cody! You told me Martha wouldn’t mind!”

  Cody shrugged. “I lied.”

  “Incorrigible beast.”

  “You have to be cautious with Cody,” Brandon told Shannon. “He’s been getting me into trouble for as long as I can remember.”

  “It’s all right,” Shannon said smugly. “Martha will never believe I actually hit anything.”

  Brandon and Cody exchanged knowing looks. “Yes, she will,” they said in unison. Cody sat beside Brandon and finished loading and priming the rifle. “Now watch this,” he said, taking aim. “The pumpkin beside the one you assassinated.” He fired.

  “You missed!” Shannon crowed gleefully.

  “You better take a look at it,” said Brandon calmly, taking the rifle from Cody.

  Shannon scrambled to her feet and ran into the patch. She bent down and examined the undamaged pumpkin.

  “Pick it up,” Cody called.

  Shannon lifted the pumpkin, expecting the vine and leaves to come with it. When she saw they didn’t, she realized Cody had made good on his promise. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “You broke the stem when you were looking for my bullet.”

  Cody placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Shannon Kilmartin.”

  Laughing, Shannon carried back the pumpkin and placed it at Cody’s feet with a flourish. “Your game, sir. It will
make an excellent pie.”

  Brandon fired next, duplicating Cody’s marksmanship. Shannon went to collect another unharmed pumpkin. For the next hour they took turns shooting. The pile of pumpkins at Brandon and Cody’s feet grew while Shannon managed to shatter another—one she was actually aiming for this time. When Brandon finally called a halt to target practice, he and Shannon loaded Cody’s arms with the booty and sent him in the direction of the house to incur Martha’s wrath alone.

  “That was mean,” Shannon said as Cody walked off awkwardly, carrying his harvest and protesting good-naturedly.

  “It’s tradition,” Brandon shrugged.

  “Cody already mentioned that.”

  Brandon was no longer looking at Cody. Shannon’s profile held his attention. His eyes held the soft curve of her lips, the fragile stem of her neck. It seemed forever since he had been able to look at her this way, with no other eyes intruding. “Let’s walk.”

  Shannon stiffened, and some of the afternoon’s pleasure faded. “I don’t think—”

  “Just a walk. Clara’s with Addie, and Aurora’s out riding.”

  “She rides a lot, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes. It’s the one pleasure she’s always had,” he answered easily. “But I don’t want to talk about Aurora now.”

  Shannon realized that she didn’t want to either. On the subject of her sister it seemed better that they agree to disagree. “Instead of walking, let’s ride,” she said. “Two mounts,” she added when he looked at her with playful lechery. “I’m feeling quite the adventuress today.”

  “I’ve noticed. All right, we’ll ride.” Brandon called to one of the grooms lounging on a barrel outside the stable to ready two horses. Twenty minutes later he and Shannon were crossing the fields at a leisurely pace. “You’ve improved,” he noted with an appreciative glance at Shannon’s seat.

  Shannon fairly glowed under his compliment. “I made a decision to be fearless. I am not about to be bested by an animal.” She laughed self-consciously. “It also helps that you’re here. Anthem wouldn’t dare misbehave.”