He'd not been idle in the two days since the accident. With Joshua's help, he'd set armed guards patrolling the shoreline of Morgan's Fancy. Ashley had given him the key to her armory and he'd passed out weapons to all the grown men and boys over twelve. Not all had received guns; there was a crossbow, and even two old wheel locks as well as Indian trade hatchets and a few flintlock pistols. Those went to the women who'd proved they could shoot straight. If raiders landed on Ashley's land, he meant to give them a warm welcome.
Upstairs in the hallway Mari paused by the open doorway to leave final instructions with her patient. "You are not to leave the house for this many days," she ordered, holding up two fingers. "I will come every morning to change the bandage on your head. No horseback riding until I say so, and if you have pain, you are to send a boy for me. Do you understand?"
Ashley drew her knees up under the blanket and wrapped her arms around them. "You're a tyrant, Mari. There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine except for this." She touched the linen bandage. "I'll die of boredom cooped up here. The least you can do is stay with me and tell me all the gossip from your family. Did Kitate Ki-be-tar-leh have her baby yet? Does it look white or Indian?"
"The news will taste better if I give you a little at a time on long winter evenings." Mari's dark eyes twinkled. "Yes, my cousin was safely delivered of a healthy girl child. Her hair is the proper color for humans, but..." Mari sighed. "I fear her eyes will remain Dutchman blue."
"But has Hans's mother accepted them?"
"For that part of the story you must wait." Mari wrapped her red blanket around her shoulders. "My cabin will be full of mice and squirrels. I am going home."
"Don't go. Just stay another two days. We'll starve!" Ashley said. "Think how grateful Kelt was for your crab soup and the baked pumpkin. Would you leave an invalid to Joan's cornbread and mutton stew?"
"I have told you what to do with Joan. Send her and her cornbread to your stepfather in Virginia. Then he will die of her cooking and your mother will be free of him."
"Mari..." Realizing she was gone, Ashley lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
The ache in her head had subsided to a dull throbbing. The worst thing about the accident was having Kelt see her fall off her horse. She'd felt the saddle slipping; ten to one the cinch had broken. It had felt snug enough when she was riding. She'd taken falls before; every rider did. If she hadn't hit her head, she would have walked away from this fall, too.
"Miss Ashley." Thomas's soft voice penetrated her self-pity. "Can I come in?" In his hands he carried a leather strap. "There's somethin' I think you oughta know."
Ashley sat up straight and motioned him into the room. "What is it?"
The old man closed the door behind him and put a finger to his lips. "I was checkin' Master Saxon's closestool to see if Joan was keepin' his rooms decent an' I found this inside the chamber pot." He held up the broken cinch. "This is off yer saddle. And it was cut in two before it broke!" He handed over the evidence.
Ashley paled. "You're right, Thomas. It was cut." For a long minute she stared in silence at the altered saddle leather. There was no doubt that it had been cut, but why would anyone want her to fall off Baron? And the thought that Kelt had done it, or had ordered it done, was beyond belief.
"What you want me to do about this?" The lined face was stern. "I'll kill him for you, if you say."
"No!" Ashley shook her head. "No. I don't know what's going on here, but I'd bet next year's tobacco crop that he wouldn't do it. He couldn't..." She exhaled sharply. "If I'm that bad a judge of men, I deserve to be done in. Send him up to me. And, Thomas, leave us alone."
"That bump on the head rattled yer brain for certain. You think I'm goin' to leave you alone with a man that maybe tried to kill you?" Thomas glared at her. "If you don't have sense enough to watch out for yourself, we'll have to look out for you."
She shook her head again, wincing from the pain when she moved too quickly. "If he wanted to kill me, he's had lots of chances. I'd be more likely to break an arm or leg falling off a horse than my neck. A lot of people could have put that strap in his chamber. I want to talk to him about it. Don't say anything to anybody."
Thomas wiped his gnarled hands on his breeches. "I'll do as you say, Miss Ashley. But I don't like it. And if anything bad happens to you—he's a dead man. I may be old, but I'm still a crack shot."
"I'll be fine, really. Send him up. And no lurking about the hall listening. Wait downstairs. If he tries to smother me with my own feather tick, I promise I'll scream. Then you can come up and shoot him."
"Hmmmp." Frowning, he left the room.
Ashley ran a hasty brush through her unbound hair, pulled the cover up to her neck, and waited.
Kelt barged in without knocking. "Damn it, woman. Didn't I tell you I didn't want anyone in my room!" He stormed across the chamber and stood threateningly over her bed. "What the hell were Joan and Thomas doing in there?"
Ashley's eyes widened. "What did Thomas say to you?"
"My privacy has been violated! Joan's wailing something about a chamber pot and Thomas stopped me on the stairs threatening to shoot me. Is this a tobacco plantation or an asylum?"
Ashley tried to keep a straight face. "Pull up a chair," she said. "No, first shut the damned door. Joan and Thomas will be falling all over each other trying to hear what we're saying."
Kelt slammed the door with a resounding bang, shot the bolt, and came back to the bed. "I'll stand. Ha' I or ha' I not made it plain that no one shall enter my quarters?"
"If you could but see yourself, Scot. You've been called up here to answer serious charges. Instead of showing proper respect or concern, you prattle on about maids and chamber pots. Perhaps this is an asylum and we're all inmates." She sat up, tucking the quilt around her waist. The ample linen nightshirt covered her from ankle to chin. Even Thomas would think her decent before her overseer. "This is what all the fuss is about." She whipped the leather straps from under the cover. "My cinch was cut."
"Aye." Kelt set his lips in a hard line and glowered at her. "I knew as much."
"Obviously you knew. It was found in your room."
"In my closestool, for God's sake!" Bright spots of color flamed on his cheekbones. "What was Joan doing in my room? I haven't used a chamber pot since I was three years old!"
Ashley bit back the laughter that was adding to his anger. "I'm surprised you admit to using one at all," she ventured. She wiped at her eyes. "Well, it's my own fault. I was complaining about it being too dull in here. Can we sort this out, Kelt?" Her voice became serious. "If you knew my fall wasn't an accident, why didn't you tell me? And why did you hide the cinch?"
Kelt let out an oath that rattled the windowpanes. "Am I being accused of trying to murder you, now? By Mary's sweet blood, I would have told you! I didna want to make it public knowledge, lest we frighten the weasel away." He brought his face dangerously close to hers, so close she could see where he'd nicked himself trimming his beard. "Do you believe it of me?"
"No." She caught his hand. "Stop yelling at me. My head feels like I've been drinking nonstop for a week. Sit down. On the bed, for God's sake. I'll wager my virtue's safe enough."
"Aye, as safe as though ye were a nun!" He lowered himself stiffly to the edge of the bed. "And you haven't answered my question. What was Joan doing in my room?"
Ashley sighed. "We're going in circles. Joan went in to see to your chamber pot. Thomas only went in to be certain she'd done it."
"I've told you I dinna use one, and if I did, I'd not ask another to carry it for me." He folded his arms across his chest and his gray eyes narrowed. "I'll not move from this point. My chamber is my own. I want no one messing with my paints."
"Joan told me she thinks you paint naked women," Ashley teased. "I think she's hoping you'll offer to sketch her."
"I'll paint naked clerics if it please me, but keep your servants out of my chamber!"
"I'll tell them again, I
will," she soothed. "Don't scowl at me so. I'd be a fool if I believed you a murderer and then called you to my bed to ask if you were. A murderer wouldn't stoop to lying, now would he?"
"Aye, so how can ye be sure I'm tellin' the truth? With your own lips you've said the murderer wouldn't admit to the truth." The stern jawline softened. "You could be in great danger, even now."
Ashley moistened her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. "You don't kiss like a murderer," she murmured. Kelt's nearness was vaguely disquieting. Invisible bands seemed to tighten around her chest as her gaze fastened on the curling dark hair that showed above his spotless linen shirt. She smelled the sweet, rich scent of tobacco and knew he'd been smoking his pipe. "Joan's claiming you brought me back from the dead with a kiss," Ashley said boldly.
"She also says I paint naked women in my room at night."
Ashley's fingers lay lightly on Kelt's wrist. "I remember nothing from when I started to fall until I woke up in Cara's cabin in your arms."
Kelt stood up suddenly. "You were hurt. I was concerned."
"But you did kiss me?" Ashley leaned forward, suddenly very vulnerable. "I wasn't sure if it was a dream or..."
"Aye. I did."
"Joan, says—"
"To hell with what Joan says, or anyone else!" Kelt knotted his hands into fists at his side. "Do you think I'm made of stone, woman? I'll nae be a plaything. Not yours... not any woman's." He moved toward the door, then stopped and looked back at her. "We'll talk more of the accident when you're well. Until then, say nothing to anyone."
Ashley stared after him as the tightness in her chest increased. Furiously she blinked back the moisture that threatened to cloud her vision and turned her face to the wall. "I'm not made of stone, either," she whispered into her pillow. A single crystal tear slipped from under her lashes and rolled down her cheek.
Chapter 8
December 17, 1743
Ashley and Kelt walked across the orchard toward the dock. A light blanket of snow covered the ground, laced the winter-barren apple trees with garlands of glittering fairy dust, and muffled the shrill cries of swans winging overhead. The midmorning sun was bright, despite the dropping temperature, and a light wind off the Chesapeake brought the strong, sharp smell of salt.
Kelt glanced sideways at the woman striding briskly beside him. Ashley's mood was light and her cheeks glowed like roses. She had removed the bandages and, except for the bruise across her forehead and the smudge of purple beneath her eye, she looked the picture of health. The auburn-haired lass had recovered even more quickly from the fall than he could have imagined. Still... something was different about her since the accident.
She smiled up at him questioningly. "Soot on my nose, Scot?"
"I was wondering what you would say when I told you what I did this morning," he lied. He quickened his step, averting his eyes to keep her from reading his thoughts. I'd like to paint you as you are now... with the green wool hood of your cape framing your face and the snow behind you.
Ashley stopped short, folded her arms across her chest, and waited, "Well?" she demanded when he didn't explain. "What exactly did you do?"
"I accepted Martin Hopkins's invitation to the Christmas fete... for us both."
"You did what?"
Kelt shrugged and grinned. "Hopkins rode over and asked me himself. What else could I do?"
"You could have accepted for yourself." Ashley pursed her lips in a frown. "They tolerate me, for all my idiosyncrasies, but I don't really fit in." Doubt flickered behind the cinnamon-colored eyes. "Now there's no way I can get out of going without offering insult."
"It's Christmas. Surely you can allow yourself a little pleasure. Life's not all work, Ashley."
She stepped past him and hurried toward the dock, her knee-high Indian moccasins almost soundless on the crust of the sparkling snow.
"Wait, lass," he called, catching up to her with a few easy strides. "I thought ye'd be pleased. I never knew a woman who didn't like a party." He lay a gloved hand on her sleeve. "Is it that ye have nothing appropriate to wear?"
"No." She brushed away his hand and kept walking.
"Then what is it?" he demanded. "Are ye too proud to go to such an affair with your hired man? Do ye think 'twould cause talk among the gentlefolk of Chestertown?" The sarcasm in his burr was barely concealed.
"'Tis neither, you great Scottish ox!" Ashley retorted. Her voice dropped and she walked faster. "I can't dance."
A chuckle erupted from deep in Kelt's throat as he caught her around the waist and swung her in a half circle. "What did you say?" he demanded. "The mistress o' Morgan's Fancy canna dance? I dinna believe it."
Ashley's eyes narrowed dangerously and she stiffened in his hands. "Put me down," she ordered. When he complied, she stepped back, the tint of her cheeks revealing the depth of her anger. "Do you think a single kiss gives you leave to take liberties?"
"Two kisses," he reminded her. And I've half a mind to make it three.
"I don't deny that you're an attractive man, Saxon, or that I haven't thought about..." Ashley paused, searching for the right words. She shrugged. "Perhaps my grandfather taught me too well. My directness of thought and speech would be better suited to a man." Her lower lip trembled as she fixed him with a steady gaze. "I am no lightskirt, and I tell you straight out that I do not mean to wed—not ever! So, you'd be best advised to turn your charm on one of Martin's offspring."
"Marriage, is it? Marriage? Don't flatter yourself, cailleach!" Kelt threw his head back and glared at her arrogantly, his fists resting lightly on his slim hips. "When and if I take a wife, it won't be for her land and fortune! God knows there'd be no other reason a man would want such an ill-tempered harpy as ye." His gray eyes clouded with anger. "Do ye think the English have stripped me of my pride, woman?"
The question hung in the crisp air between them. For an instant, veins stood out on Kelt's forehead and Ashley was keenly aware of the straining sinews that threatened to rip the seams of the heavy leather vest. Frightened by the intensity of his barely controlled fury, it was all she could do to hold her ground and not back away.
"It is a man's place to support his wife and bairns, not the other way around." Kelt slowly relaxed his tense muscles. "King George's soldiers took much... but they didna take my pride." He pulled off his cocked hat and ran a hand through the dark hair. "I meant you no insult by my kisses—nor by my touch. But I didna speak a word of marriage. And when I choose, 'tis I will do the askin'."
"Good," Ashley replied. "Then we both know where we stand. I meant no insult to your damned Scot's pride, either. You wouldn't be the first man to look at broad fields and deep water docking. Even in the Highlands, property must be a consideration in deciding who to wed."
"Aye, I'll grant ye that. But 'tis different. In Scotland I have..." He shook his massive head and laughed wryly. "Nothing." The word was barely a whisper. "Nay, lass. I've unleashed my foul temper on you without cause." He replaced the hat and pulled it low over his forehead. "I am doubly sorry. A shrew ye be, but no cailleach. 'Tis my own bile that poisons me." The gray eyes softened. "I've seen too many make their fortune in this new world through a marriage bed and then betray the lass that brought it. I be no such mon, and I fear I have strong opinions on the matter."
"Agreed." Ashley gave him a faint smile. "My mother received much the same treatment from my stepfather, Nicholas Randall—and he was supposed to be a Virginia gentleman of breeding." She tilted her head slightly to gaze into his eyes. "What happened in Scotland, Kelt? Why were you transported to the Colonies?"
For several seconds he did not answer, then he sighed and shook his head. "'Tis over and done with. Better not to speak o' it."
Ashley caught his work-roughened hand and gripped it. "I know you, Kelt. You are no criminal."
"So my mother always said."
They reached the edge of the dock and sat down on an overturned rowboat. The gentle swish of the water lapping against the shore was o
ddly comforting to Kelt. "I think my mother would ha' liked you," he murmured finally.
Ashley laughed. "If she did, it would be the first time anyone's mother liked me."
"She admired spirit in others, and she was firm in her conviction that none of my sisters be married off to men they didna like."
Mischief twinkled in Ashley's eyes as she released his hand and crossed her legs under her. "And here I thought you were going to tell me she was a gentle, sweet creature with no thought but your father's wishes."
Kelt smiled wryly. "She was, and she would be shocked at your standards of housekeeping, but my mother had a wonderful sense of humor." He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, and stared at the water. "Even though my father had no title, we were wealthy, owning estates in England and Ireland as well as Scotland. My father's two younger brothers were declared Jacobites. They were both killed in 1719 at the Battle of Glenshiel."
"You must have been a child then," Ashley said.
"Aye, but the rebellion was our downfall just the same. My father was the oldest son, the heir; even though he took no direct part in the rebellion, his enemies tried to have him arrested as a Jacobite traitor. My father had no love for King George, but he was no rebel. He cared more for his land and his family than politics."
"And you?"
Kelt grinned wolfishly. "Young men are ever ready to do battle for some great cause. It was easy to hate the British soldiers; they burned farms, murdered whole families, carried off young girls to serve as whores in their camps. We saw little English justice in Scotland."
Ashley nodded. "I've heard the same thing from others."
"An English officer, the younger son of an earl, saw my sister Ceit at a ball in Edinburgh and he wanted her for his bride. Ceit was promised to my cousin Parian. The earl's son, Richard Humphry, came to Ceit's wedding uninvited. He drank too much and insulted Ceit. He and Parian fought, and Parian killed him in self-defense. When Parian was arrested for Humphry's murder, I testified on his behalf, but he was found guilty just the same. I stayed in Edinburgh to try and arrange a new trial while my brothers took Ceit home." Kelt's eyes glazed. "English soldiers went to my father's castle a week later. He'd been an invalid for months, but they accused him of attacking them and of perpetrating high treason against the King. My parents, my sisters and brothers, and their children, were all slaughtered, along with our family retainers. I escaped arrest and was declared an outlaw."
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