The Flame and the Flower

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Brandon Birmingham rose in bewilderment and for a moment stared at the flecks of blood that stained the sheet on his bunk. His eyes coursed slowly over Heather’s figure, now turned away from him. He could not but admire the well turned hips and graceful thighs that had, a moment past, been his. He almost reached out to caress the gently curving back, but his mind was confused by the turn of events—her calm, reserved acceptance of the situation when she first entered the cabin, her light and playful resistance, and then the sporadic, inexperienced assistance she had given him in bed and now this endless weeping and the blood on the sheet. Was she some girl compelled to take up this occupation by poverty? Her clothes and manner did not bear this out, yet her hands, though slender and white, were not soft as a lady of leisure’s might be.

  He shook his head and shrugged into his robe and went to pour himself a healthy glass of brandy. He took a long drink and stared pensively out the windows from which he had viewed much of the world. He was a foreigner to this land which his parents had once called home. It had ceased to be theirs shortly after their marriage when his father, an aristocrat but an adventurer at heart, had looked upon America with interest. Now they were both ten years dead, his mother of a swamp fever, his father only a few months later of a broken neck suffered when thrown from one of those wild horses he loved so much. They left behind them two sons and a goodly fortune—a plantation home and land to the eldest, being himself, and to their younger, Jeff, a share of the money and a prosperous warehouse in Charleston, a city which they had loved and called home as he did now. Born to these parents, a father who had been many times stubborn and more than willful, and a mother whose quiet, serene gentility had been the backbone of the family, he, Brandon Birmingham, had known a rigorous, adventurous life. His schooling had always come first but as a young lad, and at his father’s insistence, he had hired on as cabin boy to a salty old sea captain. He had learned the ways of the sea, ships, and the world, enabling him to take a commanding position in that occupation when he had found it useful. But not all his time had been spent sailing the seas. Before that, he had been taught the workings of the plantation, from soil to market, and had never ceased this pleasant toil through his years of growing up.

  That was his main interest now, at the age of five and thirty—to settle down upon that land for good and enjoy the everyday world of it. Before leaving Charleston he had made a decision that this would be his last voyage. With France as unsettled as she was, it might prove unprofitable to continue. So he would take upon himself the responsibilities of a plantation and begin raising a family. He would be content—he hoped.

  He smiled thoughtfully to himself. Strange how fondness for a land could make a man do things which didn’t sit well within his mind. He was marrying Louisa Wells, although he didn’t love her and knew her morals were not those of a genuine lady, for the simple reason he wanted back the land she possessed that had once belonged to the Birmingham family. His father had been granted the land that now made up the Wells and Birmingham estates from King George, and to begin building his plantation he had sold a small portion to that family. Brandon’s father had severed ties with Britain years before the war, and because of his service as an officer in that struggle against the crown had been able to keep his estates. Now, since Louisa had been left alone by the death of her parents a few years back, her land was being neglected and misused. Louisa was badly in debt. She had spent the fortune her father had left her and had sold all but a few of her slaves to keep up her high standard of living which had become only a front now. The merchants in Charleston had long ago refused her credit. So she was quite pleased with herself at having caught one of the city’s richest, most eligible bachelors. But she had caught him, knowing the land was bait. Several times he had attempted to relieve her of it for a goodly sum, which she had needed badly, but she had refused and played her woman’s part to the hilt. She acted the virgin when she enticed him to her bed, but he was not that kind of fool, and there was much gossip about this woman he and his younger brother had grown up with. Her experience in bed did prove entertaining, however, and he was not too displeased.

  A frown wrinkled his brow. It seemed odd to come from a family where jealousy and possessiveness for one’s mate were but a matter of fact and he, looking so much like the father who had possessed those traits, was not even jealous of the men who had shared his fiancée’s bed. Was he too cold and unfeeling to love or be possessive about the woman he was to wed? It wasn’t even comforting to know that he cared more for her than he had for any woman in his lifetime. But it wasn’t love. If he had ever suffered the slightest twinge of jealousy when she looked at another man, he would feel different now, at least a little more hopeful of learning to love her. But since he had known her all of her life, some thirty-two years of it, he was skeptical of any radical changes after their marriage.

  Jeff had declared him insane at the news of their engagement. Well, perhaps he was, but he had a mind of his own and if he hadn’t inherited his father’s jealous moods, he had inherited his stubbornness. His father’s determination and willful disposition had always been his. Even when his parents had died, leaving him with a prosperous plantation and the wealth to back it, he had not sat back and reaped the harvest. Instead, he had asked Jeff to take charge of the plantation and had bought this merchant ship and begun to sail the seas, bringing even more wealth to himself and his brother.

  He looked across to his bunk, then moved closer to stand beside it. The sobbing had finally ceased and sleep had come in its stead, but it was not an untroubled slumber. It reminded him more of an exhausted one. He reached down and gently covered Heather’s lovely body and pushed back the blanket from her head.

  The last thing he had expected to walk through his cabin door this night was a virgin. Knowing they were a troublesome lot, he had made it a habit throughout his life to avoid them, playing his leisure time upon those well versed creatures of gay, carefree living, in and out of bawdy houses, expensive and otherwise. This night, his first night in port after a long voyage across the ocean, he had freed his men to seek their pleasures, keeping only his manservant, George, and Dickie on board. But the urge had already been strong within him and he had bade George find him some lively vixen for the night, with emphasis upon cleanliness and comeliness. No, he had not expected a virgin, and one so lovely, never. It was strange to find her here. Young innocents like her usually had marriage in mind, trying coyly to entice a man into that trap with their charms. How else had he managed so successfully to remain single through his years of manhood had he not known their ways and avoided them? But now when his bachelorhood was about to end and a marriage to begin to a woman well known by other men, he had had this fresh young thing for his pleasure and her reasons were still a mystery.

  He slowly shook his head, then leaving his robe on a chair, doused the candles and stretched out beside her. The last thing he thought of before he dozed off was the gentle fragrance of her perfume and the warmth of her close beside him.

  * * *

  The first faint streaks of dawn had breeched the eastern sky when Heather roused and then came fully awake, aware of her surroundings. She stirred and sought to move her head but found her hair caught beneath Brandon’s arm where it was bent under his dark head. His other arm was flung across her chest and his knee rode casually between hers. Cautiously she tried to ease herself from beneath his weight but succeeded only in awakening him. Before he was fully roused, she lay back and fearfully closed her eyes and breathed deeply as if in slumber.

  Brandon opened his eyes and quietly studied the face beside his own, taking great pleasure in its fine beauty. Long, sooty black lashes lay on skin, fair and flawless, and fragile eyelids hid from his view eyes that were clear and deep and the color of sapphires. He remembered them well. They had a most captivating slant, as did the soft brows that were like straight, upward slashes across her face. Her mouth was gently curved, pink and temptingly soft, her nose straight and
delicately boned. Louisa would turn green with envy if the two ever chanced to meet, which was highly improbable. He smiled at the thought. His fiancée was quite proud of her own good looks and would not like to take second place to this slight nymph. Some people had even claimed Louisa as the most beautiful woman in Charleston, though there were many beauties there. He hadn’t thought of it much, but he supposed it could be true. Louisa’s golden hair and warm brown eyes were quite easy to look upon and her tall, buxom figure pleasant to ride. Still, this Heather here, in her soft and delicate beauty, would leave no doubt in the city as to who was the fairest.

  He leaned closer to kiss her ear and lightly nibble at its lobe. At his touch and before Heather could think, her eyes flew open.

  “Good morning, love,” he whispered softly and rose above her to kiss her lips.

  She lay perfectly still, fearing any movement might stir his passions. He needed no stirring. The fires in his loins were already burning high and growing hotter with each passing moment. His kisses passed from her lips, over her eyes, down her throat and paused at her shoulder where his teeth made tiny nibbles, sending shivers down her spine. She stared horrified as he pressed his bearded mouth to the pink crest of her breast and lightly teased it with his tongue.

  “Don’t!” she gasped. “Don’t do that!”

  He raised his heated gaze, smiling. “You’ll have to get used to my caresses, ma petite.”

  She withdrew from those amused eyes and fought to turn away, pleading with him. “No. Please, no. Not again. Don’t hurt me again. Just let me go.”

  “I won’t hurt you this time, sweet,” he breathed against her ear, pressing soft kisses to it.

  The weight of his body held her on her back in the bunk and now Heather began to fight in earnest. She held her knees tightly together while she sought to scratch or claw him anywhere she could, but always a hand or elbow was there to stem her effort. He laughed as if enjoying her struggles.

  “You show considerably more spirit this morning, m’lady.”

  Then her arms were slowly drawn upward on either side of her head and held there easily in one of his hands. His other hand cupped a breast and he played with it to his pleasure while she twisted and fought against his overpowering strength. His knee slowly forced open her thighs and spread them and again she felt his manhood deep within her.

  There were no tears this time, but a hatred and a fear began to build apace in her mind. When he rolled from her she scurried from him and cowered in the corner of the bunk, her eyes wide and filled with the hurt and fear of a wounded fawn. He watched her with a puzzled frown furrowing his brow and sat up close beside her. He reached out to caress her cheek, feeling the need to comfort her, but she cringed from his hand as if it were a red hot iron and he realized with some surprise that it was he who frightened her. His frown deepened and his fingers slid through her hair, gently combing the silken strands that seemed now only a wild, mass of soft tangles.

  “You’ve aroused my curiosity, Heather,” he murmured gently. “You could have gotten a king’s ransom for what you lost to me a few hours ago and yet you were wandering the streets like any ordinary strumpet and, so I hear, you came willingly, without even trying to bargain for your worth, nor did you last night even hint that you were still intact, a virgin, or try to set a price with me. The gown you wore is costly, valued at more than some creatures of the streets might make in a year, though you, I guarantee, are of a different status entirely—so different I can’t even imagine why you peddled your virginity as you did, taking the chance that you might have been raped and lost it for nothing.”

  Heather stared at him speechless, unable to fully comprehend the impact of his words.

  “You seem gently born and not the type to be wandering the streets or engaging in this profession. Your beauty is uncommon, few women have such, and you wear expensive clothes, and yet,” he murmured, taking one of her hands into his and turning it over, “your hands show the effects of toil.” He lightly ran a finger over her palm then pressed a kiss into it. Still gazing at it, he spoke again softly. “When you arrived last night you were calm and reserved, but just a moment ago you fought me tooth and nail and would not permit me to be gentle.”

  As he spoke her mind flew. He was not the law? Good God, what price had she paid for her fear and panic? It would have been better if she had stayed and faced the regency’s men than to be here, deflowered and shamed to her very bone, or better yet to have remained where she was than to have sought the city at all.

  “But you need have no fear, Heather. I’ll provide well for you and you’ll live in comfort. I just arrived yesterday from the Carolinas and I’ll be a long time in port. You’ll stay with me while I’m here. I’ll see that you’re established in a house of your own before I . . .”

  He was interrupted by a shriek of high, shrill, hysterical laughter, as Heather yielded to the shock of the situation. It dwindled gradually into sobs as tears streamed down her face. Her head dropped forward and her hair tumbled over her shoulders to mask her body. Tears fell on her hands folded in her lap as sobs jerked her tiny frame. Finally she threw her head back and looked at him with reddened eyes.

  “I wasn’t peddling my wares in the streets,” she choked. “I was simply lost and couldn’t find my way.”

  He stared at her a long moment in stunned silence before he frowned in confusion. “But you came with my men.”

  She shook her head in agony. He didn’t know. He didn’t know about her at all. He was just a seaman from a foreign country. She choked on her tears, vowing he must never know of her greater sin.

  “I thought they were sent after me. I became separated from my cousin and lost my way. I thought your men were from my cousin’s.”

  Her head fell back against the wall and tears made wet paths down her face and plunged to her naked bosom which quivered with her silent crying. He watched those pale round breasts and his frown deepened as he wondered what repercussions there would be for this deed. Perhaps she was kin to some high official. He could almost feel the cold steel of the ax biting into his neck. He rose from the bed and stood by its edge, his back turned to her.

  “Who are your parents?” he asked hoarsely. “Someone as beautiful and well bred as you must have many friends at court or come from a very influential family.”

  Her head rolled wearily back and forth against the wall. “My parents are dead and I’ve never been to court.”

  He walked to her gown where it lay on the floor. He picked it up and turned to her holding it. “You must have wealth. This gown cost no few pence.”

  She looked at him and laughed, a bit amused. “I’m without a farthing, sir. My cousin gave me the gown. I work for my mere existence.”

  He looked down at the sparkling beads on the gown. “Won’t this cousin be worried about you and be out trying to find you?”

  Heather grew silent as her eyes dropped to her nakedness. “No,” she murmured. “I doubt that now. My cousin isn’t one to worry long over the matter.”

  Brandon smiled in relief and draped the gown over the back of a chair. He walked to the washstand where he began to wash. He turned a few moments later to watch the girl rise from his bunk, and his eyes moved over her body slowly, taking in every detail of her alluring curves. She felt his gaze and clutched her arms before her to shield her womanhood from him, and he laughed softly and turned back to the mirror and prepared to shave while she hurriedly sought her old chemise from her bundle.

  “There’s no reason then, Heather, why you can’t stay with me and be my mistress. I’ll find you a house in town where you may live in comfort and where I may take my leisure. I’ll furnish you with a goodly sum so you will not have to seek out other men nor would I allow you to do that. There’ll be times in the future when I’ll want to return and will need feminine companionship while I’m here. I’d like to think that matter is taken care of.”

  For a moment Heather was almost overcome by her hatred of the man.
The emotion was beyond anything she had ever felt for anyone before. His casual attitude toward her and the whole affair infuriated her so much she wanted to shriek in rage and fling herself upon him and claw his handsome face to ribbons. But she thought better of it as she saw, now that he had his back to her and the door, her chance to escape. Wearing nothing more than her shift, she bit into her lip to keep it from quivering and eased her gown from the chair. She clutched her bundle to her. She stepped toward the door cautiously, her heart in her throat, and took another step.

  “Heather!” he said sharply, startling her and sending all hopes of escape fleeing. She turned fearfully and found his fierce green eyes upon her as he casually stropped his razor, and she knew terror—horrible, soul-shaking terror.

  “Do you think I’m going to let you sneak away from me? You’re too unique to find a replacement for and I have no intentions of letting you slip through my fingers.”

  The deadly calm in his deep voice was more frightening than Aunt Fanny’s violent shrieks had ever been. She trembled before him as the color drained from her face. He picked up the strop and the pounding of her heart almost drowned out the noise the leather made as he sharpened his razor. Her eyes grew round and she cringed fearfully away. A small, satanic smile curved his lips and he snapped his fingers and pointed to the bunk.

  “Now get back in that.”

  She was well conditioned to taking orders and she did so now, terrified of what he might do if she didn’t. Still clutching her bundle and gown, she sat down on the bunk and stared up at him as if she expected to be flogged. He dropped the strop on the table and wiping his face on a towel, came to the bunk and stood for a moment looking down at her. Then he threw the towel in a chair and took the things from her. He pointed to her shift.

  “Get that off.”

  Heather swallowed hard. Her eyes flew down his body and widened even more. She was fast losing her innocence.