The Flame and the Flower

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Heather glanced at her husband and saw that he was irritated with the sailor’s song. His eyelids had lowered over his eyes as he attended his meal, but in his cheek a small muscle twitched. As before, she grew silent and fearful when she sensed his anger.

  After dinner, the innkeeper showed them to the room for which George had made arrangements. The servant carried the bundles in, then removed himself with the innkeeper. For a few moments Heather waited for Brandon to leave also, never to be seen again, but he lounged in a chair and seemed in no hurry to go, so she went to him and had him unfasten her gown, and she began to undress as if she expected him to stay. She took down her hair and ran her fingers through it to smooth the curls because she possessed no brush or comb. Aware of her husband’s eyes on her, she slipped out of her gown and shift and laid them over a chair and donned a nightdress Lady Hampton had given her.

  The gown was of a thin white batiste with inserts of lace over the bosom, and a neckline cut round and very low. Beneath the breasts a narrow ribbon was drawn through lace and tied. The sleeves were full and long and a ruffle edged with lace fell over her hands. Though less filmy than the gown of her wedding night, this one, like the other, was meant to give a man pleasure, but as she moved in front of a candle’s glow, it brought an angry oath from Brandon’s lips. Heather glanced up with a start to see him striding toward the door.

  “I’ll be back in an hour or two,” he growled, opening the door. Then he was gone and Heather sank to the floor as tearful, frightened sobs choked her.

  “He cannot even speak the truth,” she gasped. “He will never return.”

  Each moment then that passed was longer than the one before. She paced the floor, wondering what she was to do and where she was to go. She could not go again to her aunt’s and allow her child to grow up under the woman’s hateful hand, nor could she go to Lord Hampton and ask him to help her. She had too much pride to cast her troubles upon them again. Perhaps if life were merciful she would find work as a maid here at the inn. She would ask tomorrow, but for the night she would sleep if she could.

  The night aged and try though Heather may to calm her fears and push her doubts aside, sleep did not come. It seemed an eternity had passed when she heard a bell toll the hour of one. With a cry she jumped from the bed and ran to the window to slam it closed. She dropped her head against its frame and her slender shoulders shook with sobs. Just outside her door she heard a man’s voice and another in reply. Her fear doubled, and when the door opened, the color drained from her face. But the light in the hall touched on George’s face and silhouetted her husband’s tall, broad-shouldered frame.

  “You came back!” she breathed.

  His face turned her way before he closed the door and they were again lost in blackness.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked, moving in the darkness toward the bed. There was a scratch of flint and steel. The tinder caught and he lit a candle on the table then looked at her. “Are you ill?”

  She came toward him from the shadows and the candlelight made the tears sparkle in her eyes. “I thought you had left me,” she murmured. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  For a moment he gazed at her with some surprise, then he smiled gently and drew her near. “And you were frightened?”

  She nodded her head piteously and tried to choke back a sob but it ended sounding like a hoarse croak. He brushed her hair from her face tenderly and touched his lips to her brow to quiet her trembling.

  “You were never alone, ma petite. George was outside the door all the time, guarding it. He’s just now gone to get some sleep, but do you think me the cad to leave you, not assured of your safety?”

  “I didn’t know what to believe,” she whispered. “I feared you would never come back.”

  “My God! You are not very complimentary to me—nor to yourself. I would not leave a lady to her own defense in such a place and more certainly my own wife and she heavy with my child. But if it will calm your fears, I’ll not leave you again while we’re here.”

  She lifted her eyes to his and saw a kindly warmth in them. “No, there is no need,” she murmured. “I’ll not be frightened again.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand. “Then let us go to bed. The day has been long and I am tired.”

  Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she climbed into bed on the side nearest the door and watched him quietly as he opened the bundle George had carried in with her own. Her eyes widened as he took out the box of Flintlock pistols with which she had once threatened the servant. He brought it with him to the bed where she lay, and dropping down beside her, took out the pistols and began to load them.

  “Do you expect trouble?” she questioned softly, sitting up.

  He glanced at her and smiled. “It’s just a precaution I sometimes take when I’m not at ease with things around me. You needn’t worry, my love.”

  She watched curiously as he loaded one, remembering her own distress when she had tried to determine how and had not been able to. Seeing her interest, Brandon laughed softly.

  “Do you wish now to learn how to load these?” he asked, smiling. “You do very well as it is with them empty. George was quite embarrassed when he found that you had tricked him. The fact that a mere wisp of femininity had made him quake with fright before an empty gun injured his pride. He was impossible for some time after. So was I for that matter,” he added gruffly, remembering the way he had viciously hurled a string of oaths at the servant when he had returned to the Fleetwood and found the girl gone. His disposition had not improved any when he also found that she had disappeared without a trace.

  He took her arm and pulled her to the edge of the bed beside him. “But it is of no importance now. If you desire to learn how a pistol is loaded, I will teach you.” Then he looked into her eyes and warned, “But don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you can turn these on me and not use them. I am not George and you would have to kill me before you could escape.” He laughed again softly. “And as for that, I doubt that you have it in you to kill a man, so I think I would be safe in taking these from you.”

  Heather swallowed hard. She stared up at him silently, with eyes round as moons. She believed every word he said. He was not one to make idle threats.

  They sat very close together on the edge of the bed, so close their bodies touched—her thigh against his, her arm pressed to his side. His arm was braced behind her, his hand resting on the bed very near her buttocks. Her composure was sorely strained. Nervously she dropped her gaze and pushed the hem of her gown demurely over her thighs and knees, realizing it had slid up almost to her hips when he pulled her to him.

  “May I try to load this one,” she asked, hesitantly touching the pistol he held in his other hand.

  “If you wish,” he replied, handing it to her.

  The Flintlock was heavy and meant for a man’s hand. She found it uncomfortable in hers. Laying it across her knees, she took up the powder horn and lifted the muzzle of the pistol to pour the gun powder down it.

  “Turn it away from your face,” Brandon directed.

  She obeyed and poured a small amount of the gray powder into the muzzle. As she had seen him do, she stuffed a piece of paper in and with the rod rammed it down the barrel, then wrapped a lead ball in a patch of oiled cloth and pushed it down the muzzle also. It was done.

  “You learn very quickly,” Brandon murmured as he took the pistol from her and laid it with the other on the table. “Perhaps you will be another Molly Pitcher.”

  Glancing up at him, she frowned slightly. “Who is she, Brandon?” she asked softly, not realizing that she had spoken his name for the first time.

  He smiled and reached up to touch one of her glossy curls. “It was a name given to women who helped carry water to American soldiers in battle and to one woman in particular who helped to hold the line against the British at Monmouth.”

  “But you are English too, Brandon, are you not?” she asked, gazing up at him with cu
rious eyes.

  He laughed, “Indeed no, madam. I’m an American. My family came from here, it is true, but long before they died they considered themselves loyal Americans. My father helped fight the British and as a boy so did I. You will have to get used to the idea that your beloved England is not so beloved where we’re going.”

  “But you trade with us,” she said in much astonishment. “You sail here and do business with the people you once fought.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I am a man of business. I sell my cotton and goods to the English for a profit. They sell me what my people will buy for more profit. I never hold grudges if I think it will interfere with the business of making money. Besides, I do a service for my country in bringing back the things that are needed and are not yet obtainable.”

  “Do you come here every year then?”

  “I have been for the last ten years, but this will be my last year. I have a plantation to run. I can’t neglect it any longer. And now I have other responsibilities on the way. I’ll be selling the Fleetwood when I get home.”

  Something caught at Heather’s heart. Was it possible he meant never to sail again, to settle down and be a father to their child? Perhaps she would even be allowed a nominal position in his household. The very thought flooded her being with warmth and she almost relaxed against him. But cold reality and doubt chilled the dream.

  “Will I live on your plantation too?” she asked, almost fearing the answer.

  “Of course,” he replied, rather amazed at her question. “Where did you think you would live?”

  She shrugged her shoulders nervously. “I—I didn’t know. You didn’t say.”

  He chuckled. “So now you know. Now do be a good girl and get into bed and go to sleep. Your chattering has worn me out.”

  She crawled into bed again as he stood up and began to undress. When he had stripped, he motioned her across the bed.

  “It’s best I sleep nearest the door,” he said.

  She quickly moved to the other side of the bed and did not ask why she must. It was clear he expected something to happen.

  He blew out the candle and lay down beside her. A dingy lantern hung aglow in the courtyard below and in the gusty evening breeze, cast its bouncing shadows dimly into the room. To her dismay, Heather found that her hair was streaming across Brandon’s pillow and was caught beneath him. She waited for him to free her, but a long time passed and he did not and then she knew he would not for he had fallen asleep with his cheek against her soft curls. With a sigh of resignation, she settled herself to pass the night in bondage, but with his presence close beside her, she found security and she sank into the nether realms of slumber.

  From the depths of sleep she struggled with terror’s spurs goading her to full awareness. A hand pressed tightly over her mouth, smothering screams bred of panic. Her eyes flew open and in frenzied reaction she clawed at the hand. Then her husband’s face loomed up close above hers in the darkness, and with senses returning, her fear passed and she sank back to the pillow. She stared up at him in confusion, her eyes wide and searching.

  “Lie still,” he whispered softly. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Pretend to be asleep.”

  She nodded her head to let him know she would obey. His hand slid away and he sank down again beside her. His breath came slow and even, as if he were asleep, and from beyond the door she could hear a muffled voice and an odd picking and scratching at the door itself. The bar slowly began to lift, and she struggled to control her own breathing. With the fluttering in her chest it was no easy task.

  A dim thread of light appeared and grew wider as the door swung open. Through slitted eyes she watched and saw a head appear. She heard a whisper.

  “They’re asleep. Come on.”

  Two dark figures stole into the room, and the door was pushed shut. Heather gritted her teeth as the men moved forward and almost jumped when the floor creaked beneath their feet. An angry whisper came.

  “Do not wake the bloke, you fool, or we may not get the girl. He’s not a wee one.”

  “She’s across the bed,” the other whispered a little louder.

  “Sh-sh,” the first hissed. “Don’t you ken, I kin see that with me own two eyes.”

  They approached almost to the foot of the bed when Brandon snaked the pistols from beneath the sheets and sat up.

  “Hold your pace, lads,” he demanded. “You’ve been found out. And do stand very still for these worthy pieces have two leaden balls to hole your hides.”

  The two froze in mid stride, one half turned as if to flee with the other holding his companion’s arm.

  “Heather, light the candle that we might set faces to our midnight visitors,” Brandon urged.

  She crawled behind him quickly and lit the candle on the commode. The glow of its flame spread over the room softly and touched on the men’s faces, proving them to be the same two who had huddled across the room from them at mealtime.

  “We meant no real ‘arm,” one spluttered. “We wouldn’t ‘urt the girl.”

  The other intended kidnaper was bolder. “We can guarantee you a tidy sum for ‘er, cap’n. She’ll bring more’n ‘er weight in gold from a certain duke we know. It won’t matter that she’s no virgin even.” His eyes went to Heather and he grinned, showing badly rotted teeth. “She’s well worth the price, cap’n. We’ll split three ways, we will.”

  Trembling, Heather pressed closer to her husband and drew the bedcovers up under her chin. She disliked the way the men leered at her. She knew if they had been successful in taking her she would have been used many times by both of them before she’d have ever been presented to the duke. They were akin to William Court, intent upon satisfying their own lusts first.

  Brandon laughed dangerously as he stood up and faced the men. He was casually unconcerned with his state of undress and bore the pistols with a careless swagger which did not ease the two thieves’ nervousness.

  Heather felt the heat rising to her face. It was one thing to be alone with Brandon when he was naked, but to have others present—it was something else entirely. His male nudity seemed all the more startlingly bare to her with these men here.

  “I must disappoint you good gentlemen,” he said lightly. “This girl carries my child, and I am a selfish man.”

  “It won’t matter about ‘er, cap’n,” the timid one interrupted. “The dukie will bed ‘er in the ninth month, and seeing she’s so comely, it won’t be difficult for him. ‘E’ll give her a few hours to whelp, then ‘e’ll be on her again. ‘E’ll pay the same for ‘er now, an’ we’ll give you half seeing you’ll be needing to find another wench to warm your bed.”

  Brandon’s eyes burned coldly and his knuckles grew white about the pistols. A small tic began to show itself in his cheek.

  “There’s a foul odor in this room that almost smothers me,” he drawled, a forced grin twisting his lips. “Step over to the window, laddies, and open it for me. And do be gentle as you go, for my hands grow weary.”

  The two men scrambled to obey, then turned again to the Yankee smiling.

  “And now, my hearties, I must once more explain before you take your departures,” Brandon began in a slow, precise way, almost gently. Then his voice became very menacing and dreadful with his rage apparent in each separate word. “This girl is my wife and carries my child. She belongs to me, and what is mine, I keep!”

  The last words seemed to blast all thoughts of gain from the brigands. Their jaws dropped, their eyes widened in fear, and small beads of sweat dappled their brows. They now became deeply concerned with their continued longevity.

  “But, cap’n, she—we—”

  They both stuttered in their attempts to placate him. The bolder one finally managed to speak clearly.

  “But, cap’n, we didn’t know. No common wife would seem so fine to bed. I mean, sir—”

  “Be gone with you,” Brandon roared. “Take your leave before I throttle you both!”

  They sta
rted toward the door, but were halted as Brandon chuckled wickedly.

  “Oh no, laddies. The window will do sufficiently well.”

  They gawked and spluttered at him. “But, Cap’n, would ye ‘ave us break our necks on the cobblestones?”

  “Out!”

  The pistols threatened and the two men scrambled to comply. They scuffled briefly and the bolder one plunged through the window, whether aided or not was uncertain. A meaty thud, then strangled curses and groans were heard from below.

  “I think I’ve broken both my poor legs, you sea scurvy bastard!” was the man’s cry.

  The meeker one gazed backwards, but Brandon gestured and the man made his reluctant departure. Upon his arrival below, a cacophony of angry shrieks, oaths and moans became an original account of the many possibilities of what might have occurred on Brandon’s family tree. But their shrieks only drew an amused chuckle from the second-story window as Brandon closed it. He barred the door again and secured the bar so it could not be lifted again from without. The sounds outside dwindled off as the two thieves hobbled away.

  Still chuckling, Brandon slid into bed beside Heather who now sat in the middle of it, watching him quietly, her eyes a little wide. He grinned at her.

  “I wonder what damage befell the last one. He screamed the loudest, don’t you agree, my pet?”

  She met his gaze, then as she nodded, a soft ripple of musical laughter escaped her.

  “Oh, I do indeed agree,” she laughed. “And I suppose I must feel honored that they lied about what I should bring. No man would pay such a price for a woman.”

  He looked at her for a moment in a queer manner, listening to the sound of her voice, watching the bright, happy smile. His gaze fell to the smooth, silky breasts rising full and tantalizing above her gown and to the soft transparency of her dress which concealed very little of her slender body. Moisture broke from his brow as he experienced once again a familiar tightening. A muscle in his cheek flexed as he turned away, and a sudden impulse to hurt her surged upward within him.

  “Considering what you must weigh it wouldn’t have been very much,” he said harshly before he blew out the candle, and in the dark he added coldly, “If they had offered more I might have been tempted.”