Ashes in the Wind (43 page)

Still, some last shred of reason deep within her screamed in terminal agony and beat with frenzied fists against the soft underbelly of her sagging resolve. No! Stop him! the voice roared in stentorian conscience. Set him back! ‘Twas his fancy to have the bargain! Hold him to it! Her mind resumed its function, casting him as a spoiled child who had never been taught the meaning of no! What woman he wanted, that woman he took. How long would it be before he saw another wench to his liking? Her ire thus awakened, she directed it well, letting her body go limp and lifeless beneath his caresses.

Cole’s hand had slipped down to the severed pantaloons, pulling them free as he slowly stroked the smooth velvet curve of her hip. His fingers wandered beneath the fabric, downward across her belly as his lips returned to take hers. With a small turning of her head, she managed to avoid his kiss.

“Is this the way it’s to be?” she whispered. “The same as it was before?”

He raised slightly, frowning down at her in puzzlement.

Her lovely mouth curved in a soft, haunting sweet smile as she continued, staring up into those fiery blue brands that rested upon her. “You’ve already given me the jewels. What’s to be my worth this time? Should I hold out for the clothes?” Her arm slid from around his neck, and her fingers toyed with the medallion, bringing it to his attention. Its bright golden chain gleamed tauntingly against her soft creamy nakedness. “Do you have another one of these? Oh, Major,” she laughed softly. “You do wax extravagant in your lusts.”

The softness of the tone did not disguise the bitter satire of her words. Cole felt his desires flagging beneath the sting, but in an attempt to ignore it, he bent closer, lowering his lips toward hers.

“Is this the way you plied Roberta—with sweet devotion?” she asked innocently.

Cole ground his teeth and jerked away in frustration. He rolled off the bed and, with nostrils flaring, glared down at her. She sat up, glancing at him apprehensively as she clutched her arms over her naked bosom.

“Am I not worthy of the price?” she asked in well-feigned hurt.

A savage curse came from his lips and, snatching up his clothes and boots, he limped from the room and out of sight. A moment later Alaina appeared in the doorway, the long cloak providing her with cover as she watched him fasten his trousers with quick, taut jerks. He sat down to tug on his boots, but winced slightly as he donned the
right one. He straightened his leg, rubbing his thigh as if some pain had struck him, then his gaze raised and caught her look of worried concern.

“Hold your pity, madam,” he growled. “I am not some crippled beggar to be satisfied with the crumbs of your compassion. It’s plain to see you share the blood of the Craighugh brood.”

She raised her chin, slightly miffed at his conclusion. “Is holding you to your promise a wound so deep you cannot bear it?”

“Madam, the sharpness of your two-edged tongue does flay a man more deeply than Roberta ever contrived to do. Like her, you have a way of tempting a man until he fairly simpers at your feet, but when the truth of the matter is hot in hand, you set it aside like some trophy torn from the loins of a living beast.”

“How can you claim that my simple refusal rends your manhood?”

He stared at her, his face rigid, then rising to his feet, snatched his cane and coat. “I yield to you, madam,” he barked. “I’ll have the carriage brought around, and I shall take you home.”

As he limped to the door, Alaina calmly reminded him. “You forgot your hat.”

Cole faced her with amazed disbelief. No one had baited him with such boldness since he was a child. Even Roberta had known when to cease. Not daring to vent his rage, he strode from the room, slammed the door behind him, and glowered at a startled bellhop who stepped quickly aside as he hurried past.

Alone once more, Alaina did not yield to a feeling of smugness, but, rather, a worried fear that she might have gone too far.

T
HE
northwestering road meandered across low, rolling hills and wandered through tall forests of elm and oak that mingled their rain-darkened autumn colors with the impassioned greens of interspersed pines. The gale that had driven sheets of rain slashing down upon the brougham as they left the city receded once again. The rain dwindled into swirling shreds of drifting, grayish mists, as if Cole’s decision to continue the journey home had left the elements with no other choice but to retreat from their violent display. The countryside lay in breathless repose. Indecisive raindrops trembled on the tips of long, green needles, while on the ground, the thick carpet of wet leaves cushioned the thud of horses’ hooves.

Alaina sat tense and silent in her corner, all too aware of Cole’s scowling brow silhouetted in bold profile against the far window. He had taken the place beside her and stretched out his right leg, propping his boot upon the opposite seat in an effort to ease his discomfort on the long ride. Though the steady, rapid pace of the well-matched team pushed the miles behind them and dusk was rapidly darkening the leaden sky, few words had been exchanged between them. It was a brooding silence, and in no manner peaceful.

The road traced a path along a river, and the brougham slowed as they approached a sharp bend. Suddenly, from a distance, a shout rent the serenity of the forest, and Olie hauled on the reins to bring the animals to a halt. Cole dropped his foot from the seat and leaned out the window to search the road, while Alaina watched him anxiously. She was not fearful by nature, but she had heard enough gruesome stories about the Sioux uprising to make her somewhat leery of this wilderness and its inhabitants. Her qualms eased greatly when Cole relaxed back into the seat and leisurely withdrew a cigar from his silver case.

Through a small, rear window of the brougham, Alaina soon sighted a man on horseback riding hard to catch them. When he drew near, she saw that he wore the clothes of a gentleman and, in a rough way, was rather handsome. He was a large man, broad shouldered and thick chested. Beneath the brim of a beaver hat, short wisps of reddish brown hair curled upward. He halted his mount beside the carriage, hooked a knee around the saddle horn, and leaned an elbow upon it to peer into the dark interior.

“Damme, Cole,” he swore. “Have you forgotten you have neighbors?”

Cole glanced up at the man and, without giving answer, casually struck a sulfur match and lit the cigar. Seemingly unburdened by the major’s indifference, the stranger stepped down from his stallion and walked to the back of the brougham where he tied the reins. He came back to open the door, and as if he were one with either much authority or
much audacity, he sailed his hat onto the empty seat and climbed in.

“The least you could have done was to stop and let us have a look at your new bride,” he chided his host. He rapped his knuckles against the roof and called up to Olie, “Be on your way, man. I’ll ride with you up to the house.” He settled his outsized frame in the seat opposite them and grinned as he looked Alaina over carefully. “How long do I have to wait, Cole, or do you expect me to be introducing meself?”

Reluctantly Cole yielded to the formalities. “Alaina, may I present one of our neighbors. The first and the nearest, Doctor Braggar Darvey.”

She extended a cautious hand, not certain if it were a game or not. The guest responded by taking her fingers and gallantly brushing a kiss upon them.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Mrs. Latimer.” Sitting back, he braced his thick-thighed legs wide against the roll of the coach as it started into motion. His bulk nearly filled the width of the seat as he propped his arms akimbo with a sigh. “ ‘Tis only that I am ever bound to curse the day that my father, God rest his soul, gazed upon his firstborn and, remembering his great grandfather’s name, decided to lay it upon his son.” His voice seemed to thicken with an Irish brogue as he continued, and the twinkle in his eyes could not disguise a threatening smile. “To be sure, ‘tis a brave name, and that good sire of old would tremble in his grave until the moors quaked were I any less than proud of it. But it takes a skillful, sober tongue to get the twist of it just right.” He inclined his head to Cole, who held himself aloof from these inanities by staring out the window,
and spoke low to Alaina as if imparting a deep secret. “I have learned that
a drunkard’s slip is not the price of my ire and give such credit as might be due. Since yer mister will not be telling ye, I shall.” He drew himself erect and assumed a tutoring tone. “Me name is Braegar—spelt: B-r-a-e-g-a-r. Try it.”

“Bri-gar,” Alaina breathed slowly. “Braegar Darvey!”

“Oh, sure and begorra!” the big man roared. “Ye must be a sweet colleen o’ the green sod.”

Alaina affected her own burr with a gentle laugh. “Me own fahter was a Hi’land Scot, sir, and I can lay ye the tartan and arms to prove it.”

“Well! We’re nearly kin, we are. The Irish and the Scots have done well for the country, do ye not agree?”

“Of course!” she smiled.

Cole snorted in mild derision, drawing a quick glance from them both.

“Since the good man, Doctor Latimer, is so reticent, I shall be conducting the amenities in me own way,” Braegar announced, crossing his legs and resting his riding crop on the upper knee. “In the old days”—he leaned back and sighed as if relishing the memory—“we were about the only people in these parts, the Latimers and the Darveys together. Cole and I were raised almost as close as brothers, what with his mother passed on, and me own mother a widow. But somehow the war separated us, and your husband has not been able to overcome his jealousy.” He grinned a bit wickedly. “Really, Mrs. Latimer, it is I who should be jealous—all that travel and adventure and whatnot.”

Alaina sensed that Cole was not entirely pleased with the presence of Braegar Darvey, for
her husband’s frown had deepened ominously from the moment the man bent over her hand. “I’m relieved to know you are a friend, Doctor Darvey, and that you’re not after my scalp.”

Braegar laughed aloud, a great big booming sound that displayed his zest for living. “I suppose strangers are a little frightened by what they be hearing of us. ‘Tis sorry I am if I caused you any dismay.”

“Hardly dismay, sir.” Alaina rewarded him with a gracious smile. “More like absolute terror at the thought of being assaulted by red savages. Your outcry was what I would have expected of them.” She grew serious as she carefully queried, “But as my husband’s—ah—almost brother, were you also in the army?”

A trace of humor played across his lips. “I have a defect that prevented my serving in the military.”

Alaina was taken aback, for he seemed so hale and hearty. She could detect no flaw, yet she could hardly press the matter lest it prove some private thing.

Braegar saw her consternation. “A mental defect of sorts—”

“He’s insane!” Cole commented bluntly.

The Irishman hurried on to explain. “ ‘Tis only that I knew from the start that the rigors of the military would not agree with my gentle nature.”

“What he really means,” Cole grunted, “is that he’s a completely undisciplined bastard!”

Alaina stared at her husband, aghast at his insult. Braegar grew serious also as he frowned at Cole, but it was almost as if he tried to fathom that one’s mood. “Your husband is jealous of my unspoiled condition,” he admonished in light banter. “That scrap of metal
in his leg has made him a bloody ornery cuss.” He flashed a wide grin toward Alaina. “Should you ever grow weary of his ogrelike disposition, be aware there’s a haven close at hand, and one as beauteous as you, Mrs. Latimer, would always be welcome. Indeed, I would be greatly tempted to steal you away from this blackhearted rogue.”

Her responding smile hinted of a certain good-natured distrust. “Sir, I presume when one makes such a scandalous suggestion in front of a lady’s husband, one doesn’t really mean a word of it.” She raised a lovely brow and chuckled as she warned. “Should you ever seek me out in private, I’ll be more wary of your motives.”

“Well, now,” Braegar drawled with humor. “Cole is a right good shot with a gun. Sneaking behind his back could be damned deflating.”

“And he’s a lecher of the first water,” Cole muttered dryly, keeping his gaze on the passing forest, which had become little more than dark shadows in the thickening fog. “His intentions are to dishonor every woman who is foolish enough to fall for his golden tongue.”

Braegar accepted the riposte with a long, heartfelt sigh. “My family also complains and my mother threatens to disown me. You can’t imagine how my gentle nature is taken advantage of by women.”

Convinced he was making a spoof of it all, Alaina giggled, but quickly straightened her manner when Cole peered at her askance, raising his brow. As she lowered her head and busily smoothed the fur throw over her lap, his gaze lifted disdainfully to the black bonnet. She had donned it again, knowing full well how it aggravated him.

Braegar missed the exchange between the couple. “Mother was hoping you would soon be back, Cole,” he continued. “She has the wayward notion that she must give her approval to this match, and she’s anxious to meet your bride. If it’s convenient, she’d like you to bring Alaina over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Cole frowned. “Unfortunately, I’ve an attorney coming out from the East to talk over some affairs.” He shrugged as he glanced into Alaina’s troubled countenance. “However, I see no reason why the dinner should be curtailed for business. If you would like to bring Carolyn and your mother over to join us, I’m sure Alaina would enjoy their company.”

In jovial curiosity Braegar queried, “Am I also invited?”

“I suppose Annie will be delighted with your presence,” Cole replied curtly. “You Irish have a mindless way of sticking together.”

“Annie is a rare jewel, Cole,” Braegar laughed. “You ought to realize that.”

His host carefully knocked the ash off his cigar. “I don’t think you can tell me what or whom I should appreciate.”

Braegar passed his brown, dancing eyes over Alaina lighty, unheedful of Cole’s face hardening as he witnessed the perusal. “I guess you’ve done all right without my help. But your young bride seems to be your best effort yet.” He winked into the gray eyes as they rose to meet his and offered, “Should your business take you away tomorrow night, Cole, I will do my uttermost to entertain your wife.”

The bright blue eyes considered the other without
a hint of expression, then with slow deliberation, Cole removed the cigar from his mouth and half turned it, staring at the glowing coal at its tip. He raised his eyes, and had it not been for the coldness in them, his reply might have passed as a flippant remark. “Then I shall simply have to take your presence into consideration and adjust my affairs accordingly.”

Alaina saw the uncertainty that flickered across Braegar’s brow, cutting through his friendly demeanor.

“Now, Cole, you cannot be worrying about my reputation, are you? You must know ‘tis naught but gossip and wishful exaggeration.”

Whether it was chagrin or irritation Alaina saw in Cole’s face, she could not rightfully determine. But the muscles in his cheek flexed tensely as if he bit back a reply. Impatiently he tamped out his cigar and, for some time afterward, stared solemnly out the window.

The brougham plunged ever onward through tall trees, now and then meeting the river before retreating to the thicket again. The dim, hazy glow was fading from the sky, but off to the northwest, lightning flashed, illuminating the heavy clouds. The wind touched the top of the trees, ruffling the uppermost heights and shredding the mists, while closer to the ground barely a whisper of a breeze stirred. When they broke from the protection of the woods, it was like opening a door upon a raging tempest. Violent gusts lashed the countryside and whipped the horses with flying leaves.

Briefly Alaina glimpsed a large, gray stone mansion perched on a bluff overlooking the river,
then the brougham rounded a bend, and trees blocked the structure from sight. The carriage was soon halted before the towering edifice, and Olie jumped down to seize the bridles of the skittish team, while Cole pushed open the door and stepped to the ground. Leaning on his cane, he contemplated the turbulent dark grayish-green clouds churning overhead, then faced the occupants of the brougham, addressing Braegar rather curtly. “You won’t make it home before we get the worst of this storm. You’d best join us for dinner.”

The large man alighted and, hooking his thumbs in his vest pockets, leaned his head back to scan the low, roiling sky. A fierce gust of wind swept through the trees, stirring them into a new frantic rhythm, while lightning danced across the heavens with carefree abandon.

“I’ll help Olie get the team stabled,” he announced and casually waved a greeting to Peter as the driver’s son ran across the porch to help his father unload the baggage. Mischievously, Braegar tugged at his earlobe and grinned, peering at Cole and speaking in such a tone that Alaina could not hear. “I’m not one to impose upon a man and his wife their first night together. Still, were I you, Cole, I would have stayed at the hotel in town for a goodly while before coming out to this house full of servants.”

Braegar hit more squarely than he knew. Chuckling at his own humor, he swung onto his mount and charged off down the hill, leaving Cole’s brow heavily creased.

Alaina came to the door of the carriage, and Cole stepped close to lift her down. A strange smile
touched his lips, as if he were amused by some wry jest, and when he stood aside, he swept his hand mockingly toward the dark hulk.

“Latimer House bids you welcome, madam.”

Twisted pines, cedars, and a few stunted deciduous trees, gnarled and broken by the winds and shriveled by the cold winters, huddled close about the house, masking many of the windows of the lower story. Thrusting up from this greenery, the gray hewn stone leaned inward to form a flat, plain wall with a subtle tumble home. Where the second story began, brick took over the structure and the detail became more ornate. The upper windows were tall and narrow, with small panes of leaded crystal that winked sporadically in the sundered lightning flashes. It seemed an afterthought that a porch had been added across the face of the house. The steep, gabled roof plunged upward with a vengeance, and a widow’s walk spread its overly ornate iron railing between towers that raised the eaves at either end. The whole made a jagged, haphazard silhouette against the maddened sky, all purples and grays and blacks dimly lit by the last, murky presence of light.