TARNISHED HEARTS

                  by
           Raine Cantrell




     Volume I of Three Volumes
       Pages i-viii and 1-182




For special distribution as authorized by Act of
Congress under Public Law 89-522, andwiththe
permission of the copyright holder.




Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
National Library Service for the Blind and
Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
Inc., 1995.










This braille edition contains the entire text of the
print edition.

Copyright Theresa DiBenedetto, 1994
All rights reserved











       BOOK JACKET INFORMATION

     TOPAZ HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  "A simply beautiful book ... rich with
emotion."
    --Heather Graham

           BOUND BY PASSION

  To Trevor Shelby, Leah Reese was a
beauty forbidden to him by class barriers: he was a
Southern aristocrat and she was an overseer's
daughter. Denied his dream of being a doctor,
Trev's tormented past showed him nothing of
tenderness, and he wasn't prepared for Leah's
warmth and trust. His kisses taught her about
passion, but she taught him about love. Together they
dared to dream of a future as bright as their days of
tender discovery.





        TORN APART BY LIES

  But Leah and Trev were torn apart by deception
and a war between the states. In the ashes of the South and
in the betrayals of others, Leah and Trev could
see the death of their dreams. Yet if they dared
to reach for the flame and embrace the fires of their
true love, they would rediscover a passion
strong enough to lead them to a new dawn. ...

  "A sizzling tale ... unforgettable ... a
forever kind of love story."
    --Georgina Gentry

  "A wonderfully compelling, honest and
poignant love story with characters you won't forget.
I couldn't put it down. Terrific reading!"
    --Patricia Potter

  "Tarnished Hearts is intensely
emotional, immensely satisfying!"
    --Romantic Times

  "Tarnished Hearts is filled with all the
passion, pathos and emotional intensity that
is expected from a Raine Cantrell novel.
Another classic from a first-rate writer."
    --Affaire de Coeur

  "If you have never read the very versatile Raine
Cantrell, then shame on you!"
    --Romantic Times

  Writing grew out of a love for history and
reading. Once I completed my first book, I
knew I had found a new profession which allowed
me to indulge a vivid imagination. Ideas for
books develop from a few lines which can lead me
on a journey of discovery about times and places
and the most fascinating people.

  I am married to a wonderfully romantic
man, who still brings me flowers and surprise
gifts. Together we have raised a large family.
I have a strong belief in the power of love. It
is the strongest gift we give to each other, as
well as being the strongest of human emotions.
Writing romance novels is a reaffirmation of
my belief, and a celebration of love in all its
forms. Love, with its incredible power, can heal.

  If I can make you a part of my fictional
characters' world for a little while, and let you experience their
emotions so that you cry, love, laugh, and rejoice with
them, then I achieve success. If you come away
from reading my books with a belief in the power of
love, then you and those around you will be rewarded.



























       In loving memory of my father,
        who shared his love of history
       and books with me and was so proud
        that I had become a writer.












          SPECIAL SYMBOL
        USED IN THIS VOLUME

ar Line sign




















           TARNISHED HEARTS

              Prologue

    Sweet Bay Plantation
    1848 Georgia
  "I hate him, Tante. I'll hate him
until I die."
  "Hush that talk. Come help fix the dog.
Leave Massa Shelby be."
  Sensitive to the hate with which Tante spat out
his father's name, Trevor Shelby did as she
demanded and let it be. The old slave woman
would never explain to him why she hated his father.
  Crooning softly, Trevor gently stroked his
mastiff's dull sheened coat, his face taut for
every rippling shudder he felt. "Why didn't you
obey me?" he whispered to the dog. "He's
beaten me before. Why didn't you stay when I
told you to?"
  Trevor thought himself too old at fourteen
to cry, but his eyes burned as he stared at the four
evenly spaced punctures across the dog's
massive chest. The spider webs had helped
to stop the bleeding and the salve he had boiling in the
kettle would help the wounds to heal. He prayed
it would. Aside from love and loyalty shared, the
dog was totally his, beyond his father's control. There
was so much he didn't know, so much he longed
to learn about medicine, that praying was all he could
do.
  Guilt ripped at him and his hands curled
into knuckle-white fists. If he had not cried
out when his father had cornered him in the stable for running
off to Dr. Barlow again, Cinders never would have been
speared with the pitchfork his father had grabbed to protect
himself from the dog's attack.
  Tante's firm hand on his shoulder roused
Trevor. "Doan do no good sorrowin'. Time you
work, now."
  He took the bowl of turpentine from her and
swung the kettle on its crane out from the fire,
pouring the liquid into the boiled mix of hog's
lard, white and red leads, beeswax, and black
rosin. Stirring, Trevor wrinkled his nose at
the smell, then set it to boil a bit more. He
checked his journal, which lay open on the planked
floor beside him. The salve was one of many that
Tante had taught him to make, and he recorded
each one he learned in his journal.
  Breathing in air redolent with drying
herbs, barks, and roots, Trevor cast a wary
gaze over the meagerly furnished cabin, thankful
that Tante had placed extra sacking over the
window to hide the lamplight. He didn't want
to think about what would happen if his father caught him
here or learned that Tante, against his orders, had
the stable slaves bring the dog to her.
  "He will get better, won't he, Tante?"
  "Wound's deep, youn' massa. But he be
strong animal." Her dark, ancient eyes
reassured him. "You make good medicine like
Tante."
  Tiny and wizened, she knelt at his side.
Trevor raised the dog's head to his lap,
prying open the jaws to allow Tante to spoon a
sleeping potion into the animal's mouth. Time was
lost for Trevor. He measured the dog's slowing
heartbeat and watched Tante cool a scoop of
salve with the ice he had stolen from the icehouse.
  When she offered him the crock, Trevor
peeled back the webbing from the wound. Moment
by moment, the helplessness that had plagued him
disappeared, replaced by a calming peace that gave
him strength as he willed, with his mind and body, for
healing to begin.
  His long, tapered fingers spread open the first
wound. Tante's whisperings were a liquid jumble
in her native tongue, soothing and steadying him as
he worked the salve into the torn flesh.
  The door slammed open behind them. "Devil's
spawn!" roared Clinton Shelby. "You were
forbidden to come here."
  Trevor stilled. Devil's spawn? Yes.
An apt title. Clinton made his own
rules. He viewed defiance of his orders as a
challenge to his authority that had to be ruthlessly
stamped out. Clinton would never bend to another
man's will. Trevor knew his father's demands were
wrong for him. He refused to allow Clinton
to mold him into someone he could not be and challenged his
father at every turn.
  They were alike. Trevor hated the comparison,
but wouldn't deny it being the truth. He was the only
legitimate son that Clinton would ever have. And
Clinton despised being reminded of it.
  "But I'm your spawn, Father." Trevor could
ignore his father's condemning fury, but when his
litter sister, Bella, whispered his name, he had
to turn around. Trevor couldn't hide his shock
at seeing her there with Hanson Kemps, the
overseer, and Jason and Julius, two of the
largest slaves. They were all crowding close behind
his father.
  "Yes, you're my spawn," Clinton
returned with bitterness. "The only damn one
I'll have. But I'll teach you not to defy me,"
he declared, motioning the men behind him into the cabin.
"And this time, you Gulla witch, you'll pay,
too," he said, pointing at Tante.
  The threat of Tante brought Trevor to his
feet in a controlled rush. "Leave her be. I
told her to help me. And she's mother's, not
yours."
  "You damned whelp! I'll break you if it's
the last thing I do even if you're my son."
  Crouching, Trevor watched as Hanson
Kemps came toward him. His lanky frame was
no match for the overseer's burly strength. He
knew he couldn't win, couldn't stop whatever his father
had planned, but when he saw Julius, ebony
skin gleaming and muscles rippling from hours at the
forge, circle toward Tante, Trevor knew
he would fight with his last breath to stop his father.
  The sight of the pistol in his father's hand stayed
Trevor. When Clinton shoved Bella at
Jason and ordered him to hold her, fear snaked
up Trevor's back.
  "Tried not to tell, Trev," Bella sobbed.
"Don't let him hurt you again," she pleaded,
struggling in Jason's grip.
  Trevor had no thoughts for himself or Tante.
The tears Bella shed glistened on the reddened
imprint of a man's hand across her pale cheek.
Hate raged through him. Before he could lunge at his
father, Kemps and Julius moved, grabbing hold
of him and Tante.
  "Take them outside," Clinton ordered,
pointing to Bella and the old slave woman. "But
not my son," he added to Kemps.
  Trevor stopped his struggles. The overseer's
grip was too strong for Trevor to free himself.
He glared at the man who sired him, stomach
muscles clenching against what he sensed was coming.
Two hundred years of careful breeding resulted
in his father's imposing figure. His handsomeness, his
mother's joy and shame, was the subject of women's
whispers. No feature on the face Trevor
hated was flawed, but he knew the ugliness it
concealed. Rage set the clefted chin, twitched the
muscle of Clinton's right cheek, and
thinned his mouth, which smiled so readily to those beyond his
power. Blue eyes, ringed with black--devil's
eyes, the slaves called them--burned now with
righteous fire.
  With a sickening wrench, Trevor mirrored each
telltale sign of fury. Looking at his father's
face was seeing a reflection of his own.
  "If obedience cannot be beaten into you, boy,
I'll have my way by breaking everything and everyone you
care for."
  There was no other warning. Clinton fired.
  For moments, it seemed Trevor's heart had
stopped beating. He was unable to control his jerking
body or the numbing cold that banked his defiant
anger and hate. He wanted to close his eyes,
wanted to turn away from the animal he loved, but
mercy was not granted.
  "Remember this," Clinton ordered his son.
"Take him outside," he said to Kemps.
  "You bastard!"
  Clinton's slap rocked Trevor's head
before Kemps started to drag him from the cabin. When
he saw his father step over the dog and pick up his
journal, Trevor cried out.
  "No! Lord, no! Don't touch--" He
stopped, sagging in the overseer's arms. Flames
were already greedily licking at the parchment.
Trevor slowly raised his head and stared at his
father. He had had years to learn how to close out
all feeling. Or he thought he had. He
didn't know how to deal with the pain of his loss or his
father's hate. Kemps pushed him outside, forcing
him to face the two live oaks that sheltered
Tante's cabin, set away from the neatly
laid-out rows of the slave quarters.
  The old woman's body was bound against one of the
trees, her frail arms straining to pull free
of the rope that held her. Trevor couldn't
swallow. His stomach heaved. Behind her stood
Julius holding a coiled whip. The flutter of
Bella's white night rail drew his gaze, a
ghostly beacon that seemed to draw the splintered
moonlight to where she stood with Jason holding
her.
  Trevor raised his face toward the night
sky, knowing the slaves were all awake, cowering behind
their doors, none daring to stop his father. The main
house was too far away. Even if he yelled for
his mother, she couldn't help them.
  "You are flawed, Trevor," Clinton
whispered at his son's side. "You are going
to destroy that flaw tonight. Never again will you display a
weakness no Shelby ever had. I'll not have a son
who would despoil our name."
  Trevor knew the doctrine well. From the
marsh at the edge of the plantation boundary, a
prey's cry was suddenly stilled, but Bella's
sobs rose as her understanding came. The sound
filled Trevor's ears, helping him to drown out
his father's insidious, controlled voice, versing him
yet again in the reputation he was to maintain.
  Master horseman, excellent shot, expert
swordsman. Shrewd in business, but charming and
reckless in upholding the Shelby ideals that
governed their lives. Shelby men did not dirty
their hands. They did not dream of healing the sick
or the injured. They placed their honor, pride,
and wealth above all else.
  But wealth could not buy freedom from pain for his
mother. Not one of the doctors that his father hated so much
could help her. Only Tante Celine knew the
potions that brought her relief for a few days,
allowing smiles and laughter from the mother he adored.
Despite his father's beatings, threats, and continued
punishments, Tante was teaching him her secrets.
Secrets that were ashes now. Secrets that would
earn her a whipping.
  Trevor shook, and held on to the hope that his
father would not injure Tante. He needed her
skills to keep his slaves healthy, needed her
to keep his mother alive and continue the illusion of his
benevolence. He knew, too, that Julius was
skilled at wielding that black snake.
  But when Trevor focused again on those before him,
Julius was holding out the whip toward him.
  "Take it, Trevor," Clinton commanded.
  Throat-constricting fear held Trevor
silent--silent and absolutely still.
  "Take it, boy, or I'll do it myself and then
sell her."
  "You can't! Mother needs her. She needs
Tante's potions."
  Clinton grabbed his son's jaw, forcing
Trevor to look at him. "Yes. Now you begin
to understand that I am master of all I hold."
  Bella's crying reached a fevered pitch.
Trevor stared at his father, and saw hell's fire
burning bright in his eyes. "There's more," Trevor
whispered, jerking his head free of his father's
grasp. Kemps released him, but
Trevor trembled where he stood from forces
unleashed, uncontrolled.
  "You leave for the Citadel tomorrow."
  "Military school in Charleston?"
  "For now. You will excel. Every defiant act will
be punished, Trevor. And, since I'm
removing you--"
  Trevor's gaze shifted, as did his father's,
to where Bella stood. But not even to protect
Bella would he raise the whip to Tante.
  Clinton knew his son's decision without words
exchanged. "Such a futile act. Boy, you
leave me no choice." He shoved Trevor
forward and watched as Kemps and Julius subdued
his struggles and secured him to the other tree.
  "Send Bella back to the house," Trevor
pleaded.
  "Young as your sister is, she'll not forget this
lesson."
  Trevor wouldn't beg for himself, but he did again
for his sister.
  The whip snaked out from Julius's hand and
snapped in answer. He tried to burrow his body
into the tree. Above his head the whip whistled in the
air, cutting free the trailing gray festoons
of Spanish moss. He felt the feathery touch
against his cheek as it fell, and closed his eyes,
inhaling deep breaths of air that was heavily
perfumed from the flowers that his mother loved. He
wasn't sure who ripped his shirt apart. He
thought of the cream satin smoothness of the flower and bit
his lip, breaking the skin as the lash landed with a
sickening force across his back.
  A scream welled up in his throat. Teeth
gritted, Trevor fought to swallow the rising
cry, tried to catch his breath as the bite of leather
slashed his skin. Flesh cringing, stomach muscles
clenched, he fought with every stubborn fiber of his being not
to cry out. But he couldn't shut out the sound of
Bella's scream.
  "Give him what he wants," Tante
whispered. "Show him you hurt. Beg him, youn'
massa. He stop then."
  "I--" the whip snaked the air at his side,
"can't whip--you." Again the air snapped with the sound
of leather. Trevor was forced to brace himself,
shuddering involuntarily, nauseated by the dread of
another blow. Expertly wielded by Julius, the
whip tore his flesh. This time Trevor couldn't
stifle a moan.
  "Again," Clinton ordered when he saw the
slave hesitate; and to his son, "Break,
damn you!"
  Five more blows forced a scream from Trevor's
swollen lips. Kemps was cutting him free and
helping him to stand before Trevor understood that for him,
the whipping had ended.
  His father stood in front of him and took the whip
from Julius. A red haze swam before
Trevor's eyes, and pain almost conquered him, but
he listened. He listened and he hated.
  "You tried my patience, Trevor. Two
lashes to Tante for every one you took."
  "Have-have--" Trevor spit blood,
swallowed bile, then struggled to speak. "I beg
for more-mercy."
  "It's too late. Take the whip. And if
I must insist again, I'll put Bella in your
place. I want no doubt to linger. You will
become the son I want. You will make me proud
of you."
  Trevor's tears were of shame. He begged
Tante's forgiveness. But he would never forget.

              Chapter One

  The sun rose lazily this August morning of
1860. Trev watched the first rays steal what was
left of the night in the sky, the faint shadows
surrendering to the bright skeins of light the sun
unfurled. He had the fanciful thought of an
illicit lover stealing away from his lady's bower.
Much like he stole time for himself.
  It was yet another reminder that his freedom was
near its end. Stilling the restive moves of the
blooded bay he rode, he held his vantage
point on top of the hill. Robert DeMoise,
sole heir to Rosehall, one of Alabama's
richest plantations, had lost their race and Trev
waited for him.
  Robert's muttered curses came from behind him.
Trev smiled. As Robert damned his
barrel-chested black for casting a shoe and losing
their wager, he dismounted to lead the horse up the
hill. The curses were now salted by the colorful
language they had both learned serving two years
in the western territory with the federal army. But for
all his posturings, Trev knew that Robert would
do nothing to harm the black, for horses were
Robert's first passion.
  Unlike himself. Trev had no interests which
consumed him. For the past twelve years he had
turned from his passion for healing and at twenty-six
found he was capable of killing where he once
dreamed of saving lives.
  As Robert joined him on the hill, Trev
knew his friend had no inkling what his invitation for a
prolonged stay at his plantation meant to Trev.
Here at Rosehall, where violence was unknown,
Trev found a measure of serenity that allowed the
frequency of his nightmares to lessen. With his army
service at an end, he was free to go home.
Home to Sweet Bay, where Clinton waited
anxiously for the son he had molded to take the
reins of heir, now that the rumbling desire of the
South to secede from the Union swept their land. But
as much as Trev missed his home, he dreaded
returning there.
  "Damn it, Trev. You're not listening to me,"
Robert said, slapping the trailing ends of the reins
he held against one buff-clad thigh. "I demand
another race, double the wager, after I have someone's
hide for Mambrino's casting that shoe."
  "You've vented your spleen, Robert. You would
no more lay a whip on Cato's or any
slave's hide than you would touch one of your
prize horses. As to the wager--" Trev
stopped, his voice and gaze arrested by the fluid
grace of a horse and rider skirting the edges of the
cleanly picked cotton fields.
  "Yes? Trev, what about the wager?"
  "Later." Trev wanted no distraction. The
rich black-loamed earth was a foil to the dappled
gray, and the sun glinted off a long length of
braided hair the shade of frosted moonlight.
Like a young huntress, bare-backed and bare to the
knees, the young woman rode, completely
unaware that they watched her.
  She came closer and Trev frowned when he
recognized the dappled gray as one of
Robert's mares. The horse's strength and
sleek lines were the result of careful breeding, but
he had no clue to what breeding had produced the
same in her rider. He knew every belle in the
county, thanks to Robert's penchant for hunting
fair game, but he did not know this one. Moment
by moment he became certain he wanted to.
  Robert, silent and watchful once he saw
who had captured Trev's attention, waited
until the rider was out of their sight before he
spoke.
  "You know, Trev, I've been afraid that you
were still brooding over your father's summons home, but
I see our local vestal has caught your
eye."
  Dismissing the thickening of Robert's voice,
Trev shook his head and turned to look at him.
"Who is she to make free with your horses?" The
two men were bonded with a twelve-year-old friendship
that began with their simultaneous arrival at the
Citadel in Charleston, carried through training at
West Point, and aided in their survival in the
western territory. They often shared their money,
liquor, and women.
  That was the reason Trevor now carefully
schooled his interest. "Perhaps I was mistaken that the
mare was yours."
  "No, you weren't mistaken, Trev. It is
my mare. And riding her, my fine stud, is
Leah. The last of Boyd's daughters.
Pretty and ripe enough to have half the randy bucks in
the county chasing after her."
  "Boyd's daughter? I can't seem to
recall--"
  "The overseer, Trev. Boyd Reese kept
a close watch on all his daughters, but he's
married two of them off. He'd kill the man who
touched his daughter without a wedding ring. Arrogant
attitude for one of his station, if you ask me."
  "Stop being a prig, Robert. It sits ill
on you, and even you can't blame a man for
protecting his daughter."
  With a shrug, Robert seemed to agree and began
walking his horse down the hill. And since
Robert had to walk, Trev dismounted and kept
pace with him. Minutes later, as Leah came
back into sight riding parallel to them, he wished
he were mounted. She had spotted them and waved, now
close enough that he could see the strength and delicacy
of her features that comprised a stunning beauty.
Her body was the delectable sort to arouse any
buck's attention, but for a fleeting moment he had
the fanciful thought that he was watching a bird that had
been set free, now returning to its cage. He
couldn't help but wonder if he were transferring his
own morbid thoughts of freedom to her. Not caring
whose daughter she was, not questioning his desire to see
her again, he still managed to restrain himself from demanding
that Robert call to her and introduce them. But he
couldn't help himself from wanting to know more.
  "You know, Robert, I keep thinking about your
remark that Reese keeps a close watch on his
daughter. How is it that she rides alone?"
  "Leah's made free with the horses since she
was old enough to sit one. Cato trusts her, and that's
enough for me."
  High praise, Trev knew. Cato had
run the Rosehall stable for almost thirty years.
But his curiosity was not satisfied. "I don't
recall seeing her on any of the visits I've
made."
  "She was up at her sister's farm near
Talladega this month we've been home.
Seems I recall one of Mother's letters made
mention that they were hoping to marry her off this summer.
There are farmers aplenty in these parts who wouldn't
mind marrying her. She can't look higher for a
marriage prospect, no matter how lovely
she is, as long as her father remains our
overseer." Robert, glancing over at Trev,
noticed his frowning concentration. "Why all the
questions? Figure to try your hand? She's a damn
fetching baggage I wouldn't mind riding."
  "Virgins don't interest me, Robert. You
know that." But Trev admitted to himself he was
curious. He could not imagine the lovely Leah
as a farmer's wife. He spoke of their new
wager, wanting to distract Robert. The
DeMoise wealth, and the way Albert and Frances
doted on their only son and heir, had
contributed to Robert's absence of morals, for
all his being a master of charm if the occasion
warranted it. But then, Trev knew his own
morals couldn't stand too close an examination.

  The nightmare wrapped Trev in its grip.
Moaning, he thrashed on the bed, grabbing hold
of the sweat-soaked sheet, not feeling the silken
weave, but the red Georgia clay dug from the
grave.
  He stood at the open grave no longer a child
of seventeen, but not yet a man. An echo of the
laughter at his helplessness once again drove him
to his knees.
  Too late. The whisper taunted and haunted
him by turn. He had come home too late
to save them. His mother was shrouded, soon to be
buried, and Bella was gone, forbidden to contact
him. He had planned to take Bella this time and
flee Sweet Bay. Too late.
  Guilt ate at him. He should have been able to do
something, anything, to stop the insidious terror that
governed their lives. "Bella," he cried out,
"I promised." And laughter came, roaring in his
ears.
  His muscles tensed. Again he felt the heavy
hand resting on his shoulder, forcing him to remain
kneeling by his mother's grave. The voice he
hated whispered that it was all for the best, his mother was a
tormented woman who deserved the peace of death, and
he, her long-suffering husband, deserved to be
free of the sickness that pervaded his home.
  The agony of his grief nearly overwhelmed
Trev. And there was Bella, always he had
to remember Bella. His plan to escape was
foiled and his sister gone. He had known. It was
never revealed to Trev how his father had found out his
intent to take Bella away once he received word
that his mother was dying.
  Essie, Bella's young maid, hid in the
corner of her cabin, frightened of Clinton,
frightened of what he would do to her. But she told
Trev what he wanted to know. Told how
Bella was crying and afraid when Clinton took
her, ignoring his wife's cries to see her
baby, uncaring of the relief he revealed once
he had returned and found his wife dead.
  For Trev, grief and guilt mingled with a
sorrowing regret that he would never again see his mother,
had never said a last word to her. There would never be
freedom, never be choices of his own. Bella was
hostage to his obedience. Bella, at his father's
mercy, when the man never knew any.
  With a jerk, Trev came awake. The
trembling aftermath of the nightmare left him stunned
for a few minutes until he realized where he
was. Shoving aside the finely woven netting that
encompassed the four-poster bed, he came to his
feet in a controlled, soundless rush. A remaining
tremor chilled his naked flesh while the ragged
edge of his breathing filled his ears.
  The balcony doors of his bedroom at
Rosehall were open, for Trev could not stand to be
locked in a room, and the moonlight, clean with
innocence, spilled a path that beckoned to him. It
was an invitation he heeded.
  Thickly humid air scented with the heavy
perfume of night-blooming jasmine settled over
his sweat-sheened body. Trev gripped the
railing, leaning over it, drawing deep
breaths only to release them slowly as he forced the
nightmare to withdraw.
  Nine years. It had been nine long years
since his mother had died and he had been summoned
home. Nearly ten since he had seen Bella,
for she had already been sailing toward England. If
it weren't for the DeMoises making discreet
inquiries among their family and friends, Trev
wouldn't even know where his sister was. Not that the knowledge
helped in any way. Bella was so closely
watched in her private school that he was lucky
if she managed to smuggle out a note once a
year.
  The notes, by necessity brief, never hinted
of where she was in England, but the pleas, repeated in
a hand that had changed over the years from a childish
scrawl to a young woman's elegant script,
never varied.
  She wanted to come home. Trevor was the only
key that could unlock her prison.
  His long-fingered hands dug into the wooden rail.
By his honor he had tried, but no matter how
much he pleased, there was more demanded of him. More to do,
more to learn, more to make the man he hated from the
depth of his soul proud of him. He had borne
insult, so gently hinted at by a distant aunt in
response to his letter about Bella, that if he
learned to temper his wild ways which were a disrupting
influence on a gently bred young woman, Bella
could come home. And rumors had spread. But those
wild ways were what made Clinton glow with
pride. And made Trev hate himself for the dual
role he was forced to play.
  Honor demanded that he protect his sister,
love for her demanded more, but there were times when the
weight settled too heavy on his soul, and he
hated Bella. He longed to abandon her to her own
fate. He needed peace. But he could not buy
peace at the cost of Bella locked away in an
asylum for the insane, as Clinton had threatened
to do several times. There was the fear, too, that any
day would bring the announcement of her arranged
marriage. A marriage that would be to a man
Clinton thought fitting, in his mold.
  The costs mounted in this night's accounting. His
plan to seek out medical men of learning once he
began the traditional Grand Tour of Europe
had been thwarted by Clinton's plan to accompany
him. Trev never went to Europe, but tried
making his way north, only to discover within
three days that he was being followed. He gave up
then, never once writing to Bella of what she
cost him in pride and dreams.
  "Honor can be damned," he vowed. "I will have
my freedom soon."
  But as he turned back to his room, he found
himself envisioning the natural grace of Leah
riding, once again overcome by the sense that she
appeared as caged as he.

  The breakfast room was a charming addition
to Rosehall that reflected the pastel shades of the
late-blooming garden which terraced it. Trev,
dressed in rust-colored riding breeches and
loose linen shirt, stood with cup in hand, finishing
the last of his morning coffee, and with it, shook off the
fatigue of his sleepless night.
  Seated at the oval walnut table, Robert
ate heartily of smoked ham, poached eggs, and
sweet potato biscuits. Trev almost envied
his friend's appetite for all things, for Robert
never allowed anything to interfere. When he set his
cup and saucer on the sideboard, Robert
glanced up.
  "Ready to go?"
  "Military discipline seems to have made a
deeper impression on me."
  "I've noticed. But I wish you would
reconsider, Trev. It will be damn boring without
you here. The musicale at the Meagues' holds
other alluring draws. And I promise," he
drawled with a decided twinkle in his dark brown
eyes, "to keep the younger Miss Meague away from
you. Norbeck claims the young lady--"
  "Norbeck's a glutton for any
light-skirt."
  "True. But he was telling me she becomes
inspired by these evening musicales. Seems they
cause a yearning to view her garden by moonlight.
Preferably from the chaise in the gazebo. The
lustier, the better: She likes riding on
top."
  Trev swallowed his distaste. Men of
Robert's class would bed any that allowed, but would
be the first to demand cha/y in their wives. "Eat
hearty, my friend, rest well, for it appears
you'll need your stamina," Trev said. He started
to leave and found himself stopping to ask, "Do you ever
want something more from life, Robert?"
  "More? Between racing, gambling, drinking,
and whoring, where the devil would I find time for more?"
  Trev sighed to himself, shrugging off the depression
that often followed a nightmare, leading him
to contemplate the stretch of empty years still before
him.
  "Trev, you need a woman to dispel this
cynical melancholy." His cheeky grin earned
him one from Trev.
  "You're right, of course," Trev returned
with a mocking bow, falling into his expected role.
"I shall ride about the countryside seeking a
willing maid to ravish."
  "That's the idea."
  Trev offered Robert a thoughtful look as if
he were considering it. "But I'll need to find one that
does not yield so quickly. The piquancy of the
chase gets lost."
  "Damn, Trev, have some modesty."
  "I do." But his own words had conjured up the
image of Leah again, and he wondered if what
Robert said was true. If pursued, would she not
yield?
  "The trouble with you, Trev, is that you're
arrogant with your assumption that any woman is
yours for the asking. I'd wager against you, but I
don't care to lose my money."
  "But there, dear friend, lies the difference between us.
I only seek out those willing to partake in
brief amours."
  Interest flared in Robert's eyes as he
recalled Trev's decided curiosity about
Leah. "I should be thankful that you didn't insist
on a wager. But I do know someone who would give
you a run. It would certainly remove your jaded
notion that only willing women are to be pursued.
Unwilling's better."
  With a slight inclination of his head, Trev
coolly replied, "If you like. But trust me,
Robert, I would likely lose."
  "A first, I'm sure."
  "Your faith in my prowess is most touching."
Trev's muscles rippled with tension under the fine
linen shirt as he lifted both hands to run his
fingers through his collar-length black hair. Clean
shaven, unlike Robert, who sported a
mustache, Trev conceded to the fashion of the day with a
growth of sideburns which extended a few inches
down his jawline. Robert would never understand his
restless boredom with the endless round of calls,
dinners, assemblies, and balls
to welcome them home. They had quickly palled after
three weeks, as had the steady diet of rich
foods after the Spartan rations of the army.
Conversations, on the other hand, were Spartan. He
loved his homeland, but tired of its braggarts.
Firmly shutting the door he had inadvertently
opened, Trev knew he had to be by himself.
  "I do intend to be otherwise engaged this evening
and already sent my regrets to the Meagues."
  "Petrie's wife?"
  "Crass of you to ask, Robert."
  "There's been talk."
  "He's fifty if he's a day and she's
barely out of the schoolroom, and lonely. A light
flirtation and nothing more, I assure you."
  Robert set his fork down with a clang against the
rim of delicate china, scenting a new trail.
"But you do admit the quarry is close
to Rosehall?"
  Trev slid his hands into his pockets and
rocked back on his bootheels. "I said nothing
about pursuing quarry. And rather than continue this
verbal fencing, have done," Trev warned.
  Hooking one leg over the arm of the chair,
Robert smiled and ignored the warning. It was rare
of Trev to become defensive over his interest in
a woman. The thought was intriguing and Robert
eagerly pursued it. "You were like a stallion
scenting a fresh mare when you saw Leah
yesterday."
  "Ah, now we have it," Trev said with a nod of
understanding. "You want her for yourself. Territorial,
Robert? You've never been before."
  There was a mocking edge to Trev's voice that
angered Robert. "You don't deny it."
  "You know very well I've no liking for unplowed
ground."
  "Unlike me? You've seen her. The face
is lovely. The body, let me assure you,
is exquisite, and I've never known you
to refuse such attractive, easy prey."
  "Prey? Listen to yourself, Robert. You're
obsessed with the girl. There is no need to continue.
I shall make every effort to avoid her and leave you a
clear field."
  "I wish I could believe you."
  "If you can't, I won't waste breath
to convince you."
  Robert flinched. Gone was the banter and the
warning. The cool disdain of Trev's
voice was rarely turned on him. Trev's
eyes, brightened to an intense blue which had caused
more than one man to back away from him, were fixed
with a piercing directness on him. Slowly
unhooking his leg from the chair, Robert sat up
and gripped the table. If he said one more wrong
word, he risked having the cynical stranger that
Trev easily became erect a barrier between
them.
  "I owe you an apology, Trev."
  "Accepted and forgotten." He rimmed the gold
edge of his cup, his voice very, very soft. "Needed
or not, you've warned me off. Cease fire, my
friend. Truly your concern is unwarranted. I would
never bring disgrace to your home. Your overseer's
daughter belongs to Rosehall; I'll respect
that."
  "Good Lord, Trev. I didn't mean
to imply that you'd run out and rape her."
  They both looked away from each other, but
Trev had trouble banishing the words he heard
unspoken ... unlike me. Robert had
raped once and Trev knew the incident had never
been forgotten by either of them.
  Robert broke the growing silence. "Leah is
as much a part of Rosehall as the slaves.
I've never denied you anything you wanted at my
home. I won't begin now. I'm well aware
that unlike some we could both name, you would never
abuse our hospitality."
  "Your faith is once more most touching."
  The mocking tolerance underscoring Trev's words
sent Robert's gaze searching his friend's
features. "You're doing it again."
  "Pardon? Doing what?" But even as he
asked, Trev knew, and a small mocking smile
played over his lips.
  "Going off, that's what. Removing yourself. I
can't explain. You're here, but not." Taking care
in picking up his fork, Robert stared down at the
food he no longer wanted. "I'm not imparting a
bit of sense, am I?"
  "Yes, I am afraid you are," Trev
answered without hesitation. "I didn't think you
noticed."
  "Well, I have," Robert replied with
resentment that Trev closed himself off too
easily. Shrugging, he added, "About Leah.
Tumble her if you want. It's no matter
to me."
  "A peace offering? Thank you." But Trev had
to swallow bile at the thought of Robert's careless
words said so unthinkingly. If any of their
acquaintances had heard them, poor Leah would
find herself flat on her back before day's end.
  Believing he had indeed made peace,
Robert, as was his nature, was generous. "Don't
let Mother have an inkling. She's fond of the girl
and offered to pay for her schooling."
  "Schooling? Did my eyes deceive me?"
  "No. They never do. She's seventeen or
eighteen. Kept tied to mama's apron because she
is the last daughter. As for the schooling, I
admit it is unusual. But Reese was newly
married, just as my parents were, when my father hired
him. Not having daughters of her own, my mother's
given a generous dower gift when the older girls
married with my father's approval, for Reese has
proven himself a damn good overseer."
  "But Leah asked for more schooling?"
  "The girl's got a notion that she wants
to teach. I can't imagine more of a waste."
  "A bit of a bluestocking residing at
Rosehall all this time?"
  "Don't poke fun at me. I've never
made it a secret that I dislike books.
Another of Mother's disappointments." Robert
shoved his plate away. "Leah outgrew playing
down at the quarters and asked Mother to teach her
to read. Between Mother's effort, a little schooling, and the
liberty of borrowing books from our library,
Leah proved herself an apt pupil. Mother shared
Tennyson with her, of all things, and filled the
girl's head with trite tales of love. Leah
was fascinated with our library as I never was, and
Mother saw no harm in indulging her."
  "And we cannot forget, you allow her the liberty of
riding your prize horses."
  Defensive, Robert glanced up and saw
Trev's indulgent smile. His gaze met
Trev's and relief came that the intensity was
gone. "Aside from lecherous motives that you
attribute to me, she is good with my horses.
Never once abused a horse, or Cato would have
her hide, even if he is slave. And it hurt
no one."
  "Speaking of which, I'm sure Cato is
wondering where I am."
  "Oh, how lovely. You are both still here," said
a soft voice.
  "Mother." Robert rose immediately and went to her
side, careful not to crush the striped linen day gown
with its wide circular crinoline that Frances
DeMoise managed gracefully through the
doorway.
  Trev watched him kiss her offered cheek, then
move to pull out a chair for her while he poured
out a fragrant cup of coffee and set it at her
place. Smiling with genuine warmth, despite her
arrival thwarting his escape, Trev returned
her greeting and assured her that, as always, he had
slept well.
  "I despair of you, Trevor. Once again you
have dispensed with Henry being here to serve. However are
we to overcome your dislike of hovering servants?"
  "I do it only for the pleasure of serving you
myself," he returned, already lifting the silver
covers off the dishes keeping the array of food
warm on the sideboard.
  "Stop flirting with him, Mother. This morning
Trev's immune to any woman's charms."
  "Hush yourself, Robert. It's disrespectful
to talk about flirting with your mother." This was an
oft-repeated scene between them, but Frances was vain and
smoothed the plum ribbon- and lace-trimmed
collar of her gown. She admired the flare of her
pagoda sleeves, edged with the same trim, and
flicked out a wrinkle in her hem. Her mirror
assured her the delicate shade of cream linen
she wore lent her complexion a rosy glow, and
as Trev stood waiting with plate in hand for her
selections, she preened under his admiring gaze.
  "One biscuit, Trevor. Just a drop of
honey on top, mind you." With a glance at
Robert's discarded plate, she added, "And a
small--mind you, very small--slice of ham.
Robert, you may pour the cream." For a moment
Frances ignored her son, as she was wont to do
through the years when Trevor was present, and watched
every move of Trevor's lithe body.
Forty-three, she reminded herself, touching the small
amethyst ear-bobs that peeked from sleekly coiled
brown hair, was not too old to enjoy having a
breathtakingly handsome young man dance attendance on
her.
  "Dearest Trevor, say you will be free to join
me on my morning calls. You have caused a
considerable stir among our belles and I do
believe they become quite impatient with my continued
excuses for your absence."
  "But I can depend upon your generous spirit to forgive
me any distress I've caused, can't I?"
Trev set the plate in front of her and
smiled. Frances was tall for a woman, which made
shorter men uncomfortable. She was no great
beauty, but everyone tended to dismiss that when she
decided to charm with her vivacious and inborn
coquettish manner. Unbidden and disquieting
came the thought that Leah appeared tall for a
woman, too.
  Robert, leaning back in his chair, observed
Trev's skillful handling of his mother, charming her so
that her smile never once wavered, but holding
firm to his regrets for not joining her. Within two
years of their meeting, Robert understood that Trev
had a way with women. He was too handsome, with an
underlying air of recklessness always tempered by a
courtly manner which appealed to women, young and old.
If he didn't feel so secure in his own
masculinity, Robert would have been jealous.
  "You, sir," Frances intoned at Trev's
conclusion, "are of hardened heart, but so sweet
talkin' that I do forgive you." She blushed
prettily when Trev leaned over to raise her
hand to his lips. "Be off. You're dressed for
riding and I can see you desire to be about your
business. Do not break any more hearts, Trev,
or I shall have mamas coming to call. But you,
Robert," she said, turning to face her son, "you
will accompany me. This time you will offer excuses for
him."
  "There are none. He doesn't need them. After
all these years you should know that Trev never
explains himself. It adds to the mystery of the man and
becomes part of his most irresistible charm."
  Frances sipped her coffee, her gaze
following Trevor's retreat. She was pleased
with the friendship that had grown steadily between her only child
and Trevor. Intriguing as Trevor was--for
she never believed one word of those rumors giving his
behavior as the reason his sister had to remain in
England--he kept Robert from the wilder
excesses that could ruin a reputation. There was no
jealousy in either young man for the other.
  Most remarkable, she thought, setting her cup
down. She knew their society prided itself on
subtly goading competition among its elegant,
bored, and most restless young blades.
  But if the heated talk of secession did not
cease, those same young men would face
danger. She couldn't bear it again. Albert would
return from Montgomery and tell her it was all
talk, nothing more. There was no power in the world that could
force the South into giving up slavery. With a sigh,
she dismissed her musings. There would never be a war.

             Chapter Two

  "Mama, I've been home three days from
visiting Sarah, and Papa still won't tell me
his decision about going to school."
  "An' he won't till he's ready. I
told you we'd talk about it and we have."
  Leah paused in her hoeing and wiped the sweat from
her brow. Not wearing a bonnet while helping her
mother weed their vegetable garden wasn't so much
another of her small rebellious acts as a
need to feel the sun. She glanced at a new
blister forming where her cotton glove was torn,
resenting the fact that her hands would be as work-rough as
her mother's before long. If her parents refused
Mrs. DeMoise's offer to pay for her
schooling, Leah knew the sameness of her mother and
sisters' days was the fate that awaited her.
  "If it's the money, Mama--"
  "Your father has enough put by for you. But he wanted
to spend it on your marriage portion. 'Sides,
he won't want to be beholden to any man.
That's not his way."
  Leah heeded the dismissal in her mother's voice,
knowing she had stated the truth. Her father had even
refused to have slave help for them when Mr.
DeMoise had offered. Why would he need help?
he reasoned. He had three strong and dutiful
daughters. It was yet another of the silent questions that
plagued her and would likely never be answered.
She didn't understand how her parents kept up this
separation of her father's work of overseeing slaves and
their family life.
  Folding her hands over the top of the hoe's
handle, Leah rested her chin on them, dreamily
staring toward the big house. Books had opened a
new world to her, one she hungered to pursue. From the
quarters, she heard squeals of children's laughter as
a game of sheepmeat was begun. It had been so
long since she had the freedom to play the game
of tag, throwing a yarn ball from one to other. Her
days were ordered from waking to sleep, but even as she
wished for play, Leah knew she would never be
owned. If her parents had their way,
however, slavery of another sort waited.
  She came to with a start as her gaze focused
sharply on the back lane from the quarters.
Trevor Shelby was riding away and Leah felt
the stab of envy for his freedom. Over the years
he had visited Rosehall, she had watched him
grow from lanky boy to a breathtakingly handsome
man. He was Robert's best friend, but Leah
sensed a difference in Trevor. She knew it was
he, not Robert, that fired gossip from the slave
quarters to the big houses of the country's richest
plantations because so little was known about him.
  "Leah! Leah! What's wrong with you? I
don't know why you insist on being out here without your
bonnet. There's weeds growin' while you stand there
idle."
  With a guilty start, Leah lifted the hoe and
half-heartedly began whacking at the weeds. The
kind of freedom she longed for was hers to dream
about, for no one could take those from her, but she
knew, as much as her parents loved her, they
wanted the same for her as their other daughters.
Marriage to a hardworking, sober, God-fearing
man who could give her a secure home and a
baby every year. Sarah wasn't even through her
third full year of marriage to Nicholas and she
had already carried her third child. Ruth, the eldest,
had a brood of six that her husband, Martin,
swore would be doubled in another six years.
  It wasn't right that she had no choice. Someday
she wanted a family of her own, but not now. And
she wanted more from the man she would marry. The
practical voice that kept her from foolish
mistakes reminded her that knights brave and
bold lived only in the books she had learned
to read with Frances DeMoise's help.
  Leah began to work with a renewed vigor, knowing
if she got through the weeding, she might steal away
to the library for an hour or so. The bread was
rising, and her mother would let her go as long as she was
home before her father. Since this was Frances
DeMoise's day for calls, Leah would have the
room to herself, for Robert was sure to accompany his
mother.
  And Trevor Shelby, with his disturbing
presence, was out riding.
  Nearly an hour later saw her chores
finished to her mother's satisfaction and while Leah
primed the outside pump so she and her mother could
wash, she asked permission to go.
  Thoughtfully drying her hands, Hedda Reese
studied her youngest daughter, despairing of having
her foolish notions ended.
  "I thought you might bring the Widow Hunsicker
a loaf of bread after it's baked, Leah."
  "I won't be gone long. I'll take it
over, Mama, but Mrs. DeMoise sent word
by Mama Rassia that she has a new edition of
Tennyson and for me to come see it."
  "Mama Rassia has enough to do running the big
house without carrying messages. And this Tenny,
I suppose it's another of those books that fill
your head with--"
  "Mama, his name is Tennyson, and he's a
poet. I wish you would let me read you some of his
words. He creates pictures in my mind."
Leah saw her mother's dismay and solaced herself with the
oft silently repeated verse from the poet's "The
Two Voices": "A little hint to solace woe,
ar A hint, a whisper breathing low, ar "I may
not speak of what I know.""
  Hedda started to reach out to her daughter, but
withdrew her hand. "You get lost in your thoughts,
Leah. Papa worries about that. I know you've
never been like your sisters, but we love you and wish
you would settle on one young man and marry. You're
more than of age."
  Leah, biting her lip as the harsh soap stung
the weeping blister, merely nodded. She thought of the
hoarded bar of scented soap in her room, a
gift from Mrs. DeMoise, soap her father
called sinful. But it wasn't. The perfume of
Frances's roses, admired and desired by most
of the county, could never be that. Nothing so beautiful
could ever be sinful.
  "Papa's been good, knowing how I want
to keep you with me awhile longer with both your sisters
gone. I do so miss having my girls about."
  With a grateful smile, Leah thanked her.
She knew her mother was the only one to stand in the way
of her father arranging a marriage for her. Leah had
managed to make her mother understand that she simply
didn't care for one of the young men who had been
pressing their suits these past two years. But it
wasn't easy. Her parents were simple people in
all their ways--in food and dress and beliefs.
Her father was well paid for his work, but rarely spent
money for what he called fancies. She had
never seen her father without his soberly cut coat and
his thinning hair combed straight back from his
ruggedly carved features, which lent a stern look.
  Worrying the folds of her faded apron,
Hedda started for the door, only to stop and turn
back. "Young Jamison stopped by to see your father
yesterday, Leah." She waited for her daughter's
attention, and while not pleased to see a growing
wariness in her eyes, continued. "He hoped to see
you after service on Sunday. We thought about
inviting him to supper, if you would like."
  Panic flared. The gangly built
Jamison couldn't read, spat whenever he was
close enough to talk, and had already buried a wife.
"I wish ... I beg you don't."
  Sagely nodding, Hedda asked, "Then what
Sarah believes is true? Her neighbor
caught your eye? She and Nicholas speak
highly of Roddy Cooper. A man of the land,
sober, God-fearing, and in need of a good wife now
that he has a farm of his own."
  "All that is true and made most plain to me
on my visit, but you know I want to teach,
Mama. Going away to school--"
  "We agreed to consider it, Leah. Nothing has
been settled. Seeing your sisters' happiness in
their marriages should have convinced you that we do know
best."
  "Yes, Mama." It was senseless to argue.
Sarah and Ruth seemed content, as did her mother.
But as Leah looked at her, she wondered why
marriage meant that a woman stopped caring about
herself. Her mother never dressed her fading blond
hair in a more becoming style. There was a
miniature, painted and sent to her father after their
marriage had been arranged, that revealed a
lovely young woman whom Leah resembled more than
either of her sisters. Her mother's only concession
to feminine vanity, if Leah could call it that, was
wearing a cameo on her best crocheted collar
to service. Her only other jewelry was the thin
gold wedding ring she never removed.
  A guilty flush stole over her cheeks for
her critical thoughts. She was loved, and while
her parents wanted her to step freely into the cage
they believed she belonged in, they had not yet forced
her into it.
  "These books, Leah, give you notions above
your station. A woman should be content with her lot."
  "Yes, Mama. I will remember."
  "There's pride to be had in making a home for a
hardworking man who doesn't drink or
gamble away his wages."
  But does Papa ever make your blood thunder
with need, Mama? The question formed before Leah could
stop it, and she was ashamed to think of her parents in
that way. A devil's thought planted by those
books, her father would have said, but Leah couldn't
believe it. What she saw for herself was the belief
her mother held, giving her a serene look, just as
her father wore a look of sober contentment at
day's end. Was she forever to be denied wanting more?
  "Wear your muslin if you insist on going up
to the house, Leah. And mind you," Hedda called
to her already fleeing daughter, "go in the back way.
Mrs. DeMoise may let you use her
library, but she won't want the likes of you
traipsing through her home."
  Dismay filled her, along with worry for her
daughter. Hedda slowly folded the linen towel and
hung it on the doweled rack for her husband's
use. She had hoped this last visit to Sarah would
settle Leah down. Instead, her youngest had come
home restless and secretive, but still determined not
to marry.
  She understood the anxious flutters that might
panic her child at the thought of marrying a virtual
stranger. But Boyd had been patient and kind.
Nicholas and Martin were men of his ilk, not wild
like Robert or his friends. Leah longed for the
impossible, but Hedda hadn't the heart to tell
her so.
  "All I can give her is a few weeks
more," Hedda whispered, and felt a strange shiver
that she ignored. Leah was safe enough visiting a
room filled with books.
  But Leah didn't go to the library. She made
her way by a twisted path that kept her from sight
to the pasture where Dancer's Lady was kept. The
docile mare trotted over to the fence, neighing her
greeting, and Leah, needing to be rid of a stifling
feeling, climbed the split-rail and mounted her.
She had never learned to ride with bridle or
saddle, and Cato claimed her seat was as
graceful and natural as any lady's, even if
she rode astride. Cato would know; he chose the
mounts when the DeMoises had house parties with
guests often staying for days afterward.
  Riding was her secret forbidden joy and Leah
refused to give it up. With a whisper to the mare,
Leah urged her to take the fence. Her husky
laughter was swallowed by a rush of wind as
she bent low over the mare's neck, fingers
tangled in the dark mane, and the horse stretched out
to her full stride, giving Leah the freedom she
craved.
  Trev, returning across the unfenced pasture,
heard the laughter and found himself watching rider and
horse move as one to take the fence in a smooth
flowing jump. King High, the black he rode,
was a recent addition to Robert's stable and named for the
high card that had won him. The stallion reared in
challenge to the fleet-footed mare racing away from
him, and Trev was caught unaware.
  He kept his seat, but almost lost a rein, and the
black took off in a ground-eating chase. He
knew Leah saw him. Her laugh rang out,
husky and enticing, calling to him with reckless
abandon. Trev could have stopped, but he was angry
that she dared risk blooded horseflesh in the heat
of the day, not to mention her own neck.
  Sunlight kissed the flying length of her
braid and the sleek lines of her bare-to-the-knee
legs. He let the black have his head following the
flattened path she made ahead of them through the
browned summer grasses. She was grace and
beauty, but beautiful women adorned the South.
It was another of its prides. Yet in Leah he
fancied he saw a strength rarely displayed.
Knowing about her desire to teach, understanding how
futile it was, gave him a strange sense of
viewing a kindred spirit being railed into an
unsuitable mold.
  She glanced back, then, bold as any youth,
seemed to go out of her way to jump whatever lay in
the path, and Trev found admiration for her skill
turning to excitement with her unspoken challenge.
King High began to close the distance between them.
Trev could see the damp patches on her dark
blue gown. His own sweat had his shirt clinging
to him and the big black's body threw off
additional heat.
  The fluid line of her slender back had him
wondering if Leah was a true daughter of the
Reeses. Both her parents were wide of girth and
solidly built, neither as tall as Leah. Their
stature reflected the many European
immigrants peopling the South, most of them
farmers, or workers for the wealthy French,
Spanish, and British, whose families had
arrived as settlers and vied for dominance after
removing the Choctaw and Creek
Indians.
  Trev was abruptly brought out of his thoughts as the
black swerved to avoid the low-growing brush that
narrowed the track. He saw that she was riding
toward the bluff overlooking the Coosa River,
but didn't slacken her pace. She risked herself
and the mare. The surge of anger Trev felt was
drowned in the primitive beat of his blood as he
closed on his quarry. Cutting around a small
copse of hickory trees gave him the lead.
The stallion, determined to prove his dominance
over the mare, needed no urging for speed.
  King High fought him for control. The black
moved to crowd the mare against the rise of boulders
narrowing the path. Fearing injury to Leah, Trev
took advantage of their closeness to wrap his arm
around her waist, dragging her off the mare and up
against him.
  His boot was crushed between the horses. He
strained against the mare's heaving side to gain room.
The black tried to rear, screaming his challenge.
Trev was forced to give him a vicious kick, then
another, all the while keeping a tight hold on
Leah. He yanked on the reins, knowing the metal
bit was cutting the horse's mouth. Cursing, he
pressed his knees against the sweat-flecked sides
of the powerful animal, which still fought him.
  The mare squealed as King High cruelly bit
her neck, keeping her against the rocks, cutting
off her lurching moves. Trev instantly
responded with a soothing caress in his voice. He
knew the break-point rage of the quivering horse
whose instincts made him battle his rider for
control. The black's ears were flattened, but each
effort to rear was thwarted by Trev's strength.
  For minutes Trev used a soft, bewitching
voice that relentlessly refused to break until
both horses came to a shuddering standstill.
  "Don't move," he grated from between clenched
teeth.
  Leah instinctively obeyed the harsh order,
too shocked to do anything else.
  Trev had a disjointed awareness. Leah's
rigid shoulder pressed against his heaving chest. His
legs, taut with strain, cradled her firm
buttocks and thighs. She had not fought him. Never
screamed. Never uttered a sound. He didn't
know when she had moved to sit crossways, her
bare legs tucked tight and clear of his. The
hot scent of the chase permeated his pores.
The same wild heat that quivered through the stallion
beneath him sent Trev into stillness. He felt the
silky slide of their bodies, dragged air in as
if there were none to be found, saw the bare curve of
Leah's neck as she lowered her head. He
inhaled the lush feminine scent of her.
Fragments. Moments locked in time.
  His gaze finally focused on the rough weave of
her gown, then tracked the line of her shoulder where
the seam was torn. He fought for control, thankful
she had obeyed him and not moved. Thankful, too,
she had not spoken.
  Trembling, Leah held tight to the
stallion's mane, sensing a battle still being
waged, but too frightened to speak.
  Trev knew how to deal with the sudden heat danger
sent streaming into his body. Sharpened clarity
changed his awareness, while instincts, honed in an
unforgiving western land where carelessness meant a
man's death, told him what was happening to Leah.
Shock was sliding away. She knew she was
safe, or should, he thought, and had to be thinking about
what happened.
  Her trembling turned to shudders, and the heat of his
blood turned into an aroused fierceness that ripped
into his control. He wanted her. With the same
primitive urge that had sent the stallion after the
mare, he wanted her. Now, with a surge of
hunger that demanded he take her down to the summer
grass and make love to her until day
reclaimed the night.
  And when she whimpered, lifting her face and
looking up at him, Trev lost his breath to see
the meld of fear and innocent desire in her large
brown eyes. Seductively lashed, they quickly
closed, and he was left staring at the faintly arched
brows that were darker than her eyes. Her brows and
lashes were a startling contrast against her hair that
stole its color from moon and sun alike. He
wanted to take her innocent mouth and teach her a
woman's passion.
  Her skin was lightly burnished, sheened with
moisture, and without thinking he leaned close, not
to her flushed cheek but to press a kiss against the
torn shoulder of her gown.
  "You're safe, Leah. You know that, don't
you?" But even as he asked, he heard the thick
roil in his voice that he couldn't hide. Just as the
intimate press of their bodies revealed the heat
and heaviness of his desire.
  "Loose me," she whispered, licking her
too-dry lips. Leah was shaken by the piercing
scrutiny of his deep blue eyes. She stared
down at her white knuckled fingers still gripping the
rein. She felt dazed, the stallion's scream
echoing with the mare's frightened squeals while she had
to fight for breath. Waiting for him to set her down,
she made no move to struggle, having learned that
some men enjoyed wielding their strength against anything
more helpless than they. The shivering wouldn't cease,
yet she wasn't cold.
  Once more she bit back her pride and begged
to be let go.
  Fear. He knew hers as if it were his own. But
seeing the slight flare of her nostrils his kiss
had brought, along with the trembling lift of her
breasts, had generated a surge of lustful need
he couldn't temper. She was everything that Robert
claimed, ripe and tantalizing enough to arouse the most
jaded man's senses, and the knowledge once again changed his
body to become more ... predatory. He had
frightened her and now thought to awaken her passion, but a
last bit of sanity reminded him he wasn't
going to touch her. He had no right to.
  Trev used his boot to create enough space
to release her. The stallion jerked his head as
Trev forced him to move away from the mare. Leah
had no choice but to touch him as she slid to the
ground, quickly putting distance between them.
  The sheltering boughs of the lone chestnut tree at
the top of the bluff offered the only haven. Without
looking back, Leah hurried there. She had seen
lust in men's eyes before this. But Trevor
Shelby's gaze had been tempered with more.
Pleasure. Passion. Completion. Her body
responded to him while her mind rejected the knowledge.
Deep inside her, a tightening sensation became
an unfamiliar ache. The beat of her heart was
wild, her breasts swelled until they hurt, and
an unknown hollowness throbbed between her legs.
  Too new, her feelings and reaction frightened
her. She had never desired a man. Never thought
to burn at the mere touch of his lips against her
skin. But Trevor had brought that to her. She had
never thought to have him chase her when she saw him
riding. It was the reckless need to be free for a
while that had made her laugh when she took the
fence. Now she was alone with him, and he was
Robert's friend. Fear chilled her spine. She
had run from Robert's friends before, and a quick
glance over her shoulder showed her he had dismounted and
leaned against the boulder, cutting off her escape.
  But he had said she was safe. Dare she
believe him? Wrapping her arms around her waist,
Leah moved closer to the edge of the bluff, staring
down into the swirling ribbon of the river.
  "I won't stop you from leaving, Leah," Trev
said in an effort to reassure her and bring her
back from the edge. He wished he could order his
body as easily.
  "You hunted me down," she returned in a
breathless voice, without turning.
  "No. I accepted your challenge to race."
  "I never challenged you."
  Trev closed his eyes, seeing again the meld of
fear and innocent desire in hers. She didn't
know, he had to admit that, at least to himself. "Perhaps
not, and it was my mistake. But you must realize that
you risked yourself and the mare with a headlong race in the
heat of the day."
  "I'd never harm one of Robert's horses."
Curiosity had her turning around to face him.
He had tied off the stallion's reins and moved
closer to her, his hands in his pockets, and she
sensed his threat, although he merely leaned against the
rock and crossed his booted ankles.
  "I've met Robert's friends before."
  "And?" Trev asked in response to the
unspoken accusation he heard. "I'm not like the
others, Leah."
  "So other ladies have said."
  That damnable gossip again! But it was the
arrogant lift of her chin and the wary way she
watched him as his body was too slow to cool that had
Trev say, "But then, you're not quite the lady, are
you? Ladies, the ones I'm acquainted with,
don't ride bareback and astride." It was
mild compared to the scathing remarks he could easily
make. His gaze lingered on the damp spots of
her unadorned gown.
  It was the blazing intensity returning to his
eyes that made Leah forget who he was, who she
was. "You're very much like Robert and the others, a
strutting peacock who thinks his birth and wealth
give him the right to be indulged at every turn. Men
like you believe the world and all the lesser beings in it
belong in your pleasure garden."
  Trev came away from the rock slowly,
keeping his hands clenched and in his pockets to stop
him from grabbing hold and shaking her. Her
insults stung, and yet reflected too much of
what he believed to be true. The play was his and
Trev marshaled his need to deny her accusation about
him.
  He was so still--still and dangerous--that Leah found
she was holding her breath. But the danger was somehow
beguiling. For the first time she was achingly aware of her
body, of being female, incomplete and needing.
Yet she was afraid of him, of what he made
her feel. He didn't deny he sought only his
pleasure. What she didn't understand was why, or
the reason an insidious whisper was filling her
mind.
  Lovers.
  She and Trevor Shelby would be lovers.
  Shock chilled her heated skin. It was there in his
deep blue eyes watching her: the same knowledge.
  A sudden need replaced all others. The need
to reject him. Panic urged her to find fault
with him. But no matter how she searched the hard
length of his body, the breath-stealing cut of his
features, she found no visible flaw. The
whispers about him were all true. He was a man
made to tempt the most saintly of women. Even
married ones like the young Mrs. Petrie.
  Trev's senses were too acute not to realize
the animallike wariness in her eyes. He
wanted it gone. The need to prove to her that he
wasn't like Robert and the others was enough to dampen his
ardor.
  "Will you be all right to ride back now?"
  "You'll let me go?"
  "It was never my intent to rape you, Leah."
He ignored her cry, giving in to the urge
to explain. "I was bored and restless and never meant
to make you feel hunted or threatened."
  "You did all that and more."
  It was foolish to repeat that he already knew as
much, and Trev found that he wanted to keep her
awhile longer. "Perhaps we can begin anew," he
suggested with lazy indulgence. And to remove the
thought of being a threat, he settled himself on the
ground and leaned back against the boulder. "Miss
Reese, may I present myself, Mr.
Trevor Randolph Shelby. Of late, I've
resigned my commission in the federal army, where I
served for the last two years. My conduct as an
officer was without stain, and at present I am the
guest of Robert DeMoise."
  She fought the laughter his mocking
seriousness brought, but the sudden release of tension was
too much for her. Leah found herself inclining her
head, the move as unconsciously graceful as
any grand dame. "I am pleased to make your
acquaintance, Mr. Shelby."
  "And will you allow me the liberty to share the
view?"
  "On such short acquaintance? I believe
not."
  The proper answer, one a lady would give, just
the right horrified tone underscoring every word, but her
eyes gave the lie to it. They sparkled with a
mischievous light that brought Trev to his feet.
  "I'll steal it, then."
  Leah didn't move. There was a more explicit
promise, unspoken but there, and it ensnared her.
"Are you a thief?"
  "Of time."
  "As I am."
  Trev was stunned that the admission came from him,
but more at her answer. "Leah?"
  "No," she whispered, but even to herself unsure
if she was admitting the truth or denying it. "I
must go before I'm missed." She ran to Dancer's
Lady, grasping hold of her mane and swinging
herself up before he could move to help her, but when she
turned the mare to start down the path, Trev
blocked her way.
  "Will you meet me here tomorrow?" He brought his
gaze to hers. I want you. But the words were
silently his. The awareness of tension claiming
her didn't startle him, but he felt its like
take hold of him. Suddenly he knew, no
matter how he denied it, that while Leah was
frightened of him, she would come to him again.
  "I'll be waiting, Leah. Don't disappoint
me."
  She shook her head, confusion holding sway.
Leah saw his handsomeness, felt the tug of his
striking maleness, but had to refuse. He was a
threat to her. Dangerous. But an image formed,
faint and shadowed in her mind, and she closed her
eyes, letting the shadows define themselves. Fear
grew, for it seemed that he had invaded her mind.
It was Trevor she saw. It was his hands she
felt touching her naked body. Him inside her.
...
  With a wrenching cry, Leah opened her eyes,
fighting to chase the image away. Panic
spawned by the lightning-raw desire that
flashed between them sent her heels digging into the
mare's sides.
  At the last possible moment, Trev stepped
aside. "I'll wait for you."
  It was both command and promise.

             Chapter Three

  Leah had grown up listening each night to the
soft, loving murmurs coming from her parents'
bedroom across the hall. The comforting sounds had
lulled her to sleep, safe and secure in her
world. Their whispers had been silenced by sleep for
nearly an hour now, but for her, filled with a
restlessness, there was no sleep.
  Tonight, for the first time, she had lied to them, not only
about her lack of appetite, but about why she had
changed her gown. Her mother instantly ceased her
gentle probing about Roddy Cooper, expressing
concern over her flushed state, and shooed her off
to bed. But Leah's suspicions were confirmed that
her parents were seriously considering his offer of
marriage, since they had continued to talk about him
after she had left.
  There was little room in her mind for Roddy when
all she saw was Trevor Shelby.
  A strange, waiting tension held Leah
supine on her bed. She was clad in a clean
lawn chemise and ankle-length pantalets, her
hands slightly curled at her sides. The
small clock that adorned the top of the plain
wooden chest kept cadence with the steady beat of her
heart. But in her mind, Leah heard time running
out on her bid for freedom.
  From the unshuttered window a sluggishly warm
breeze carried the night sounds of field and
forest. For the last few minutes the low drone of
voices from the slave quarters had ceased. She
listened to the gray moss brush against the side of the
clapboards. The moss was draped within the
branches of the live oak that shaded her room and
made her think of the tattered remains of some
fragile cloth.
  The lush scent of yellow jasmine, wreathed in
clusters among the tangled vines growing against the
side of the house, made her aware of the same
scent rising from her heated body. She had bathed
using the finely milled soap imbued with the flower's
perfume. The soap was another gift from
Robert's mother that she hoarded.
  Just as she hoarded the minutes spent with
Trevor. He had claimed he was a thief of
time and had wrung her instant admission. For that
brief moment Leah was sure they had both spoken
the truth, but she didn't understand why he would say
it. And it was far easier to think of this and not
remember those frightening moments when he had swept
her off the mare or the reason she had trusted him.
But she had trusted him, instantly and
instinctively, not only then, but minutes later
when he had stated he was not like Robert and his other
friends.
  No, she told herself, it wasn't a matter of
distrusting him, but herself. He made her feel a
yearning that was tying her insides into French knots
like the stitches in needlework. He made her want
... too much. She shivered, feeling again the light
press of his lips against her shoulder through the tear in
her gown. The image rose in her mind, she and
Trevor entwined, bringing the inner battle she
fought out in the open.
  She recalled her belief, enforced by all she
had been taught, that men might desire, but a
woman must remain chaste until blessed by the
sanctity of marriage. No matter how it
angered her, cha/y and her learned wifely
skills were all of value she had. No man would
care about her dreams. Dreams she didn't want
to give up. Roddy Cooper certainly wouldn't
care that pressing his offer of marriage would steal them
from her. And Trevor ...
  And someone like Trevor, who had never been
denied what he wanted, could never understand what
turmoil he caused her.
  He had awakened need.
  Leah wrapped her arms around her waist,
Tennyson's epics of love lost and found
by knights and ladies of Arthur's court rushing from
her memory with sudden new meanings. Tales of the
yearning for the forbidden, of the warnings of danger in
wait for those who would not heed them.
  She was wrong to think about casting aside her
family's teachings. Things she had silently questioned
and doubted, but knew she would never disregard. What
had Trevor set free with the blazing intensity of
his blue eyes and that charming smile as he tried
to set her at ease? He had touched and held her
and let her go, yet she felt more threatened by him
than the neighboring bucks who believed the
overseer's daughter was fair game, no
better than white trash.
  Forbidden or not, the warnings held no weight in
a mind filled with the promise she had seen in
his. Pleasure. Passion and completion.
  With a soft, agonizing moan, Leah turned
to her side, her arms squeezing her body as if
to still the desire that was filling her. Thief of
time. Those words haunted her, for she admitted
now that beyond the physical yearning that deviled her,
she sensed darker, more dangerous currents in
Trevor that drew her even as they frightened her.
What truly bewildered her was the need she had
to know them, to take that momentary darkness from his eyes.
  Foolish thought for a foolish woman. She was
strong enough to deny him. She lay there, agonizing
over a decision that held open a door to ruin.
The feelings he stirred in her were terrifying in their
intense pleasure, and the flush ran through her,
building moment by moment, into a longing to be with him.
  There was no solace to be had turning and twisting
on her bed. Leah rushed to the window, holding
tight to the sill. She breathed deeply, listening
to the bullfrogs croaking and the whippoorwills
calling. Off in the distance she heard a fox barking
and the clamor raised by the hounds in their pens. These
were the sounds of her world, not the unspoken whispers
of a man who offered her nothing.
  The full moon rose up over the far hill and
made a white cape of the land below. The summer's
night called to her and Leah turned away.

  The clamor of the hounds drew Trev to step
outside the multipaned doors of the library. A
flagstone oval was enclosed by a neatly trimmed
hedge nearly his height with an arched opening that led
to the orchard. He sipped his brandy, regretting his
decision to remain at Rosehall. There were times
when he should heed his own warning not to be alone with his
thoughts.
  Why had he told Leah he was a thief of
time? And why had he asked her to meet him? It
unsettled him to know he hadn't been able to lie
to her. Whatever happened to his noble assurances
to Robert that he had no intention of chasing after
quarry that didn't know the rules of the game?
  To distract himself, Trev glanced skyward and
identified Ursa Major, then located the two
pointer stars of Merak and Dubhe. He tracked
an invisible line from them to Polaris, the bright
North Star, and noted the passing of the
eleventh hour. Was Robert enjoying the favors
of the younger Meague daughter? Mamas warned their
darlings not to be free with their favors until after
marriage and men like Robert did their utmost
to seduce them from their teachings.
  He couldn't stop the image of Leah's wary
eyes from coming to him. No brandy, no distraction he
offered himself would remove her from his mind. He
watched the white flotilla of clouds skim across
the moon and turned back to the darkened library.
Hours of being alone after Henry had delivered a
supper tray to him had Trev unconsciously
attuned to every untoward sound. He glanced behind him,
saw nothing, and decided the brandy he had consumed
had him hearing what was not there.
  Seated in one of the pair of leather wing chairs
before the blackened fireplace, Trev stretched out
his legs and closed his eyes, deliberately
blanking his mind. Seconds later a light
shuffling noise on the flagstones brought him
fully alert.
  Breathless from running, Leah poised outside the
open doors to the library. She knew the
DeMoises were away, and with them, Trevor, but
Henry would never be so careless as to leave the doors
open. Moonlight did not penetrate the darkened
room, but Leah knew the placement of every book
lining the shelves as well as the massive
furniture. Still, she hesitated on the
threshold.
  It was her scent that identified Leah to Trev.
He didn't move, curious to see what she
intended. The thought crossed his mind that should he
suddenly rise up from the chair, he would frighten her
off. Without examining why, he knew he did not
want that to happen. This wasn't the same as his
heeding his own counsel to stay away from her.
  Henry and Mama Rassia were in their cabin
down in the quarters. He had dismissed the
houseboys and maids to return to their families.
There was no one here and Leah blamed her caution
on the unsettling events of the day. Her eyes
adjusted to the darkness, and she entered the room,
avoiding the darker shadows of the furniture as she
moved quickly to the far wall where her favorite
book was shelved.
  "Have I caught a thief?" Trev murmured
in a deceptively gentle voice from behind her.
  She gasped, dropping the book she had taken,
and spun around to face him. He stood so
close, their breaths mingled and her swaying move
brought him tantalizingly near.
  "Frances ... Mrs. DeMoise allows me
to borrow books whenever I like." With a spark of spirit
for his accusation, she added, "I've never stolen
anything."
  Trev could have told her she had stolen a
measure of peace from him, but didn't. "You're
fortunate it's me and not Robert who's caught you
prowling."
  "Am I?" Leah smelled brandy on his
breath. "That remains to be seen," she added,
hating the tremor in her voice. It wouldn't do
to show him she was afraid.
  "I told you there is nothing to fear from me."
  "Well, Robert's attempted to corner me
in here--"
  "Has he? Charming fellow. Without success,
I'd wager."
  "Henry came in," she admitted.
  "Then you mustn't let me disturb you." Trev
closed his hands so as not to touch her. Had he
conjured her appearance with his constant thoughts?
  Leah bit her bottom lip to keep from telling
him it was too late for his advice. He did
disturb her. So much that she had risked coming here so
late, needing the solace of a book to chase him from
her mind. The dark created an intimacy that
didn't bear thinking about, and she was grateful when
he moved away. Her gaze followed the lighter
shade of his white shirt as he went to the side
table. From the clink of decanter to glass, she
wondered how much of Albert DeMoise's brandy
he had already sampled.
  "Why are you here, Mr. Shelby?" As if it
were her right to question him! But he did not seem a man
to be alone. And when he did not answer, she
remembered how surly Robert became the few
times she had seen him drunk. Trevor had not
slurred his words. His voice had been gently
amused.
  Taking courage from that, she repeated her question and
added, "It is rude of you not to reply, Mr.
Shelby."
  "After our meeting, don't you think we can
dispense with formality?"
  "I think not. If anything, it will serve
to remind me of the--"
  "Feel safer, do you?" he cut in smoothly,
not waiting for a reply. "Well, I can't
blame you. But since I have nothing to fear, I shall
use your name, Leah. It's as lovely as you."
  His voice was as soft and rich as that of a
counseling angel and should have reassured her, for it
was statement not flowery compliment. She felt he was
watching her closely with those piercing eyes, for the
warmth that flushed her had to be caused by him.
Leave now, caution begged. Leah ignored it.
  "What made me feel safe was thinking that you
had gone with Robert and his mother. You still haven't
told me why you're here."
  Trev's eyes narrowed. "Strange, I
would've sworn that you were a young woman and not a
cat. No tail, no fur, and no whiskers, but
you're certainly as curious as any feline."
  "Which makes you a man more accustomed to making
queries, not answering them."
  "Sheath your claws," Trev muttered,
surprised that she had the courage to bait him.
"Did it occur to you that I might not know why I
stayed behind? No matter, I'll set your
curious mind at ease. I've little taste these
days to enjoy social amenities. The thought of being
called upon to play the doting swain to a simpering
passel of husband-hungry belles and their
overeager mamas is a role I am
ill-suited for." He sipped his drink, noting that
she hadn't moved, and thought again about the
seductively lashed brown eyes that revealed far
too much.
  "In addition, Leah, I resent having
to withdraw to the card room and there reassure their
papas that I've most properly sown my wild
oats in the requisite number of brothels. I
dislike telling them what I've lost and won. That
I gamble just enough to keep my fortune intact while,
of course, maintaining my honor," he mocked,
tossing down the last of the brandy. "Then, I must
proceed to prove I can hold my liquor like a
gentleman. Prove that I offer the right breeding and
wealth. And last, that I have the inclination to pamper
their darlings."
  "I've never met a man like you."
  "Like me? No, we shall not pursue that."
  "It's just that I'm not sure if you explained
or warned me."
  "Take the explanation, Leah. It is the
safe choice. I would never bother to warn you about
me. But feel flattered, for I rarely explain
myself, as Robert kindly pointed out only
this morning."
  Leah understood the mockery was aimed at himself.
The swift rise of compassion made her start
forward, only to stop.
  "Do you find your life so intolerable?"
  "Intolerable? My life is hell. Forget
that. It's empty. And save your pity, Leah.
You sound as if you find that hard to believe. But I
rarely lie. Not about things that matter to me."
Trev had to stop himself, realizing he had said more
than he ever intended to, then blamed it on her
perceptiveness. Leah might believe she
understood, finding her own situation intolerable, but it
was an unsettling thought that he wanted her to.
  "It's not that I don't believe you," she
began, the dark no longer threatening, but inviting her
confidence in return. "It is difficult for me
to see the constraints on you."
  "Then you mustn't take things at face value.
A lesson in the library, Leah. One you should have
learned from books. Wealth is no guarantee of
freedom. There are other things that can take a
man's choices from him."
  "And a woman's," she noted softly, drawn
by his candor.
  "Quite so. Like the schooling you want so you can teach.
Tell me, is it marriage that awaits in its
place?"
  "Marriage is not what I want now," she
said, watching him prowl between door and desk.
"Perhaps, like you, I have no choice."
  Trev disciplined himself not to respond. This
conversation had already revealed more of himself than was
wise. "What book were you taking?"
  "One of Tennyson's."
  "Robert mentioned that his mother taught you
to appreciate his work. And what appeals to the
lovely Leah?"
  "The Idylls of the King are my
favorite." She steeled herself, feeling
vulnerable, for no one understood how the tales of
love made precious her own dream of finding the
same.
  "The table round and Camelot," he noted
softly, no hint of mockery in his voice.
"Knights and vows and ladies fair. I'm
sure they bring the sweetest of dreams to you."
  It served to remind her how late it was, and rather
than answer him, Leah started for the doorway.
  "Wait, I'll escort you home."
  "There's no need." But she stopped.
  "I told you that you have nothing to fear from me,
Leah. However, as a gentleman, I cannot let you
walk alone."
  "But I'm quite safe here."
  "Don't be an ignorant child," Trev said
bluntly. "Do you think danger walks up and
introduces itself? Or gives any warning at
all? You revealed far too much today, Leah, and
men's lust does not present a calling card."
  "Yes, I am aware of that." Leah lifted
her chin, her tone defiant. "You said I could--"
  "I said I wasn't Robert or any of his
friends. I also said I had no intention of raping
you." Trev ignored her gasp and crossed the
room to her. But he didn't touch her, having that
much control left. "Don't judge one man
by another's actions. It's a mistake too many
women make."
  Cynical and tired, his voice washed over
her. She sensed that whatever real or imagined
danger she had felt from him had passed. A
shiver chilled her spine when she thought of their
earlier meeting and now. She had been terribly
vulnerable. If Trevor was another man ...
A small sound escaped and she found his hands on
her shoulders pulling her against him. But his hands were
gentle, not at all frightening, stroking her back,
taking her fear.
  Minutes passed until Trev felt the
tremors shaking her cease and he tipped her chin
to lift her face to his. "I won't hurt you,
Leah. On my honor. If I was too blunt
for a young woman's sensitivity, I apologize.
But you are very desirable, little dreamer, and most men
won't care what they steal from you." Trev brushed
his thumb across her bottom lip, then pressed it
against his own. "For as long as I am here at
Rosehall, Leah, you'll be safe with me."
  Leah brought her hands up to his chest, seeking
his warmth and the strength beneath. His voice was dark and
soothing, cutting away fear and setting free her
own yearning to be held by him.
  "Lovely Leah," he breathed over her mouth,
framing her face and touching his lips to each
temple before he closed each of her fluttering
eyelids with light kisses. "Lovely eyes,
lovely name, just simply lovely."
  She thought she imagined the touch of his lips
to hers. He released her so quickly,
stepping away, that she found herself bringing her
fingertips to her mouth to hold the bare touch there.
  He picked up the forgotten book and handed it
to her. "I'll escort you home now or it will be
too late."
  Unsettled by the sensations he raised, Leah
nodded and couldn't object when he took her hand in
his. There was a strange gentleness within him, although
the desire was there, too. He simply compelled
her to know more about him with every passing moment they were
together. She allowed the intimacy of his fingers laced
with hers, needing to touch him.
  Trev stopped beneath the sheltering trees that
bordered the short path to her home. "Will you be able
to get inside without anyone hearing you?"
  "I've done it before."
  He thought to warn her about Robert's interest, but
his own was still in question and he was the man's friend. He
raised her hand to his lips. "I bid you good
night and the sweetest of dreams."
  Leah acted without thought and drew his hand to her
mouth. "And you, the same." This time she knew there
was a subtle tension in his body; she felt it
tightening hers and wanted him to kiss her.
  "If you want to ride, send word to me through
Cato. No one will know. Robert plans to stay
over in Montgomery with his parents." Trev
didn't press for an answer, but left her. It
was enough that his head had cleared from the brandy and he
sensed that Leah, young as she was, had a power all
her own to have wrung the admissions she had from him.
He would have better served her and himself had he
issued warnings about the danger she presented to him
now. He couldn't afford to care about anyone.
  Damn his honor! He should have taken her mouth
and showed her what she risked. But the thought of
bruising her lips, or using passion to frighten her
no matter his good intent, was tantamount to his
desertion of Bella.
  There was no one to hold him accountable to his
promise to protect Bella from their father. Nothing
but his conscience and sworn word given to his mother.
Nothing but his damnable honor.
  Leah would come to him again. The certainty did not
come from his arrogant assurance, as Robert termed
it, that no woman would dare say no to him. It was
simply the power of the need he felt that left no
room for doubts.
  And lovely Leah, though she had tried to hide
it, felt it, too. That alone would bring
her to him.
  And what lessons could he teach a bird about
to be caged?

             Chapter Four

  For the next three days, Leah recklessly
stole minutes from every chore to find time to spend with
Trev. Robert and his parents had extended their
stay in Montgomery to attend a slave auction,
so no matter what time she managed to slip
away, Trev was waiting for her.
  He brought laughter with a droll wit, recounting
stories of his days as a cadet in the Citadel
and later the army. Trev listened to her, never
once belittling her hopes and her dreams. If
she despaired of hearing about his dreams, she was
forced to dismiss it because of his rare gift of friendship.
If the blaze of desire for her had been
blanked from his eyes, Leah comforted herself that her
building longings were foolish imaginings, and basked
in the warmth of his smile when he saw her coming
to him.
  Hedda, believing the fever-bright desperation in
her daughter's eyes came from knowing her father's
eventual refusal to continue schooling, allowed
Leah her time alone. Marriage would settle
her, and not one slave's whisper came from the
quarters that Leah was never alone. Leah was the
dreamy one, different from her sisters, and she was the
last child, which made Hedda intercede when her husband
thought to question Leah.
  Trev, in truth, became a thief,
recklessly ignoring yet another summons home
from his father. He stole the innocent haven Leah
gave him, storing each laugh, each shy smile
against the day he would leave her. He battled the
intense desire he felt for Leah when he was with
her, and lost it each night in the dreams that had
replaced his nightmare. Her trust brought more of his
own, although he knew she wanted more than he could
give her or anyone. There was no artifice in
Leah; her joy in being with him chased the enemies of
his soul.
  So it was that on this fourth day, he waited for her
beneath the lone chestnut tree on the top of the
bluff. He stared down at the dark, churning
water of the river, letting the serenity of the land and
moment seep into him. From the deep shadows cast
by trees on the river's bank, Trev
watched a doe and half-grown fawn come to the
water. The doe protectively kept watch as
the fawn drank, and Trev's acute senses
heard Leah's breathless arrival.
  "I'm glad you came," Trev said without
turning, holding out his hand. "There's a doe and
fawn at the river." He clasped her hand and
drew her to his side, enjoying her silence as he
did everything about her, until the doe and fawn
retreated into the forest below them.
  "They were so pretty and graceful," Leah
murmured, glancing up at him.
  "Like you. But come away from the edge. I don't
want to lose you."
  Leah was about to object, but couldn't. Trev's
eyes were as luminous as the sky above them and even in
her dreams he never appeared so overwhelming
male. His linen shirt was open at the throat,
seeming to define the power of the muscled body that
fascinated her. His dark riding breeches
revealed rather than concealed the muscular length of his
legs, and suddenly Leah wanted to touch him. She
closed her eyes, but still saw him, sunlight
bathing him, its warmth burning in his eyes,
caressing her, warming her blood.
  "Leah?"
  "I ... You are right. I was too close to the
edge."
  Trev glanced down at the battered leather
case on the quilt he had spread beneath the tree,
and wondered how wise had his suggestion been that she
bring her wildflower sketches for him to see. It
would mean sitting close to her. When she looked
at him as she had a few moments ago, Trev
doubted his control to keep from touching her. With a rough
shake of his head, he reminded himself of his
promise. Had done so too many times to count. But
his fingers clenched tight wanting to free the
captured shades of sunlight and moonlight of
her hair, braided and coiled at back of her
head.
  Seeing him staring at the battered case, Leah
hesitantly asked, "Are you sure you want
to see my drawings? They aren't very good, but--"
  "But I shall enjoy them despite your claim,"
he cut in smoothly, smiling and forcing the tension
to ease. With a glance down the track, Trev
frowned, seeing his black alone. "Where's
Dancer's Lady?"
  "I didn't take her. I walked
here. I couldn't manage the case and what's beneath
it."
  Trev dropped to one knee, as her teasing
voice demanded he find what was hidden.
"Pralines? Mama Rassia chased me off when
I tried to take a pan."
  "Ah, but she knows they're my favorite,"
Leah said. "She always make extra for me." His
crestfallen expression brought her husky laugh,
which suddenly stopped when a wholly male smile
creased his lips. Leah caught her breath,
feeling the increased beat of her heart. "I've
really brought them as a reward for your patience."
  Trev instantly thought of sweeter rewards
he'd like to claim, but merely set the pan aside
and said, "I need none. Will you come sit and show these
to me?" He set aside the pan and case, making
room for her beside him. With a new sensitivity that was
solely for her, he saw that her large
expressive brown eyes held an awareness of the
desire he tried to hide. For a moment he thought
she would bolt and run. "Leah, remember my
promise to you?"
  Her lips parted, the trembling of the bottom one
so telling that she held his gaze a moment more before
turning away. Why was today different from the others?
He had done nothing to make her afraid, but then,
with innate honesty, Leah admitted that Trev
wasn't who she was afraid of at all. She was
afraid of herself.
  "Would you rather leave, Leah?"
  "No." The word tore from her quickly. She was
too inexperienced to deal with him. She couldn't
tell him how he made her feel, couldn't ask
that he kiss her and end the ceaseless need to know from his
lips what passion tasted like.
  "You can't know how that reassures me, Leah.
I don't ever want to frighten you."
  "It's not you, but myself that I'm frightened of," she
whispered with candor.
  Trev had to discipline himself not to answer. He
knew what frightened her, and knew, too, that he
dared not open a door best left closed.
Denial was his only choice while he had the
strength for it. "There's no need to be. I am not
a connoisseur of artwork, merely a friend who
wishes to share your interest. Will you set your mind
at ease?"
  Leah nodded, knowing she had no choice, but she
knew it was not her mind she wanted eased.
His expression was impassive, too controlled.
She longed to see in his eyes the indecision that
plagued her. Foolish thought. She had no
experience to bring that about.
  Trev leaned back on one elbow, his long
legs stretched out, and waited, dismissing a
hundred smooth, coaxing ways to draw her near.
Leah had to come to him on her own, had to believe
he would do nothing more than look at her sketches
and share a stolen pan of sweets.
  Drawn by her need to be near him, Leah sat
on the quilt with her legs curled up beneath her
gown and took up her case. She untied the
ribbon, lifting out the sheaf of parchments covered with
her penned drawings.
  "You'll promise not to laugh, Trev?"
  "Solemn oath." He covered the top sheet
with his hand, his gaze holding hers. "Before we
begin," he intoned with mock seriousness, "there's a
pan of sweets of which to decide the dispensation,
Leah."
  "We'll share equally."
  Shaking his head, Trev offered her a wolfish
grin. "Not so. You're greedy about sweets. The
other day you had three dried apple tarts to my
one."
  "I'm not greedy. You eat too slow."
  Her prim voice and decidedly pursed lips
brought his laughter, but when Leah joined him,
another chain containing the need to taste that
captivating, husky laugh from her lips tightened
with near unbearable intensity.
  Trev was the first to stop, demanding, "You forfeit
a square for every flower's color I name
correctly."
  "You cannot," she quickly returned, disappointed in
his choice of forfeit.
  "You doubt that I might know them?"
  "Not at all, Mr. Shelby. But Mama
Rassia never cut the pan." Leah couldn't
resist giving him a smug look.
  "Easily remedied, Mistress Smug."
With a casual move, Trev sat up and reached
into his boot, withdrawing a flat bone-handled
knife from its sheath.
  Leah's gasp arrested his move to take the
pan. Her gaze rose from the wickedly glinting
blade to his face. "You ... I've never known
a man to carry a knife in his boot."
  "A habit I picked up from an old
scout. For survival, Leah, nothing more." With
precision, he cut the pralines into neat
squares, too aware that she watched his every move.
He wiped the blade on the edge of the quilt and
replaced it into the sheath sewn to every pair of
handmade boots he possessed.
  "Ready to begin?"
  Nodding, Leah couldn't stop the warmth unfurling
inside her when the sleek elegance of his body
reclined once more. Desperate to distract herself,
she began showing him her inked drawings of the herbs in
her garden, declaring him a cheat when he named them
all green. There was delight to be had in
explaining the varying shades and seeing his exaggerated
wonderous expression grow until he couldn't
stop laughing and begged her to cease.
  Setting these aside, Leah turned the others
over so he could not see them. "I demand a forfeit
for each of them. Ten in all, Mr. Shelby."
  "If you hadn't brought such a small pan, I
would gladly give them to you, greedy miss. But you
can't claim a forfeit until we are done.
Proceed."
  Trev waited, and with an eloquent shrug of her
shoulders Leah set the drawings to rights. He
admired the delicate hand that had captured the
fragile stems and flowers, not the sketch itself.
She turned them over slowly, and he knew she
didn't believe his constant denial that he
didn't know their colors. Color existed in the
shimmering light of her hair, in the dark brows and
lashes that veiled the slanted looks she cast his
way. Shadings came from the flush stealing into her
cheeks lightly burnished by the sun, and the deeper
rose that painted lips he wanted to kiss.
  Desire prowled inside him, deep and
sharp-set, so he sat up, bracing his arm against his
raised knee, and leaned closer to her, determined
to end his own torment as well as their time together.
  "Now, this," she said, "is a moccasin flower and
blooms from May to--"
  "It's yellow, shaped more like a lady's
slipper, and is spotted with--"
  "All right. I concede your knowledge. But you won't
know this one." The drawing she revealed showed a
heart-shaped bloom with lancelike leaves.
  "No hint?"
  "One." Leah turned. "It blooms for a
single day."
  Her words whispered over Trev's
mouth, the sweet breath of mint taken inside him,
chasing good intent beyond his caring. "And if you were given
one day to bloom, little dreamer, what would you have?"
  "Love," she murmured, holding the intense
blue of his gaze with hers. "A love so blinding,
so powerful it would cast time in stone so the day would
last forever."
  "Do you know what you ask?" He never meant the
words to be harsh, but need grew and expanded until
he felt his blood heat.
  She withdrew, and stared down at her sketch.
"I merely answered you. And this time you do forfeit,
for you haven't given me its color."
  "I can't give it to you, Leah." He knew
she understood. Her bent head revealed the tension in
her bared neck, and her fingers crushed the edge of the
parchment.
  She wanted to leave, but could not force herself
to move. Quickly then, trying not to let him see how
his denial hurt, she pointed to the next one.
"Windflowers can be found at the edge of the woods."
  "Pink or white. Very delicate. A flower
to handle with the utmost care."
  "And this is trillium, which loves a rich,
moist soil and leaves red berries after it
blooms."
  "It's white, Leah. The color of purity."
  Her heart lurched and raced, the dark velvet
murmur of his voice both enticement and warning.
She felt the tremor that began inside, spreading
warmth as she chose to hear only the lure that
desire cast and not the warning. "I can't tell you
this one's name, for it is its color."
  "Some call them bluets and others name this one
innocence."
  "And this," she said quickly, knowing the trembling was
visible, "the beard-tongue with two lips--"
  "A light shade of red, like your lips. The
only two lips I'd rather explore with my
tongue than continue this charming discourse on
wildflowers." Despite the taunting quality of
his voice, Trev gently turned her to face
him. "Let me make the warning plain. You're
heedlessly baiting a danger you know nothing about,
Leah. I'm trying to stop it any way--"
  "And if I don't want--"
  "You should. And I'm the wrong man for you."
  Silenced by the ruthlessness of his claim, Leah
sensed the darkness was back, the darkness that drew her
to him and made her long to soften it. But
Leah found that she had pride to aid her.
  She withdrew slightly and gathered up her
drawings to set them inside the case, and carefully
retied the ribbon. Before Trev could stop her, she
came to her feet and walked away from him.
  "Leah?"
  "You would know best. I haven't an inkling what
came over me, Trev. I never meant to spoil
our time together." She had not wanted to admit that
to him, but it was true, and he could make of it what
he would.
  Trev let her have the balm of her pride.
He had wanted to hold her, kissing her senseless
and seducing her before she could utter a sound. He still
could. He found himself brutally dismissing the idea.
Leah was the one who risked more than she knew; he
only risked another night tossing from need.
  Yet he couldn't let her remarks go
unanswered. "You were meant to be a wife, Leah,
not some man's lover."
  Leah wrapped her arms around her waist,
closing her eyes. Lovers. The image she had
never banished from her mind came to the fore. But he
didn't want her. "Once again, I bow to your
wisdom. I forget all my wifely skills
recommend me for that position and no more."
  The mere thought of marriage had Trev stepping
carefully around the trap she unwittingly opened.
Never would he marry while Bella was under his
father's control. Or while the man lived.
Marriage meant taking a wife home to Sweet
Bay, where Clinton would have himself another
hostage. Leah had to be disabused of any notions
she harbored about him and marriage. But the easy
choice of cruel words he thought to speak never
came forth.
  "The only wisdom I have is to protect you,
Leah."
  "Can you teach me to protect myself, Trev?"
she pleaded without looking at him. "Have you wisdom
to share to remove the dreams that plague my
sleep? Can you tell me what way I can stop
wanting a man who doesn't want me?"
  She faced him with those last words, and he saw the
longing in her eyes. Still he fought a battle not
to go to her and show her the lie she believed. Yet
when he spoke, he knew he had lost. "By your
own declaration, I am wise. But wisdom
dictates that I walk away from you, Leah.
Now. Wisdom doesn't enter when a
man's blood heats at the sight of a woman.
Telling you I want you isn't wise at all,
but it's the truth."
  He came to his feet, hands clenched at his
sides, closing his eyes briefly, trying
to recapture shredded promises. There was no
gentleness in the gaze that raked the soft cling of her
plain nut-brown gown. When Leah came to meet
him, she didn't wear the layers of under garments
most women wore that he was skilled in dispensing with.
She stood in full sunlight, aiding his searching
look over the delicate set of her features,
from the graceful length of her neck down to the
agitated rise and fall of her breasts. He
spared her innocence nothing in his gaze, lingering on
the thin cloth draping taut nipples. Her arms,
wrapped around her slender waist, didn't hide
the soft suppleness which eliminated the possibility
of her wearing a corset. Her stance only gathered
the cloth to reveal the gentle swell of her hips.
At most, his cynical eyes observed, she
wore a single petticoat beneath her gown.
  "Stop it, Trev. You've never looked at
me like this. You make me ... make me feel
undressed."
  "Do I?" he queried. "A most deliberate
intent." His eyes came to rest on her mouth, then
targeted her eyes. "I simply wanted
to remove any doubt you hold that I didn't
want you." He barely controlled the need to have her
body beneath his, her luscious mouth silenced
by his own, and risks, along with his conscience, could
be damned.
  Leah moved to pass him, but he easily
blocked her way. "The truth, Leah. I want
you. It's a truth that hasn't changed. Won't
change," he added softly, exercising every
discipline he knew not to take her mouth. But he
couldn't resist reaching out with one finger to trace the
delicate arch of her brow, noting again how its
shading, like her seductive lashes, was startling
against her fair skin and hair.
  She stilled, the faint catch of her breath
holding him, before the warmth of her breath rushed out
to touch his wrist. The top of her head reached the
bridge of his nose and Trev had only to close
the small distance separating them to kiss her. He
didn't coax, as was his wont; he didn't touch
her to subtly cajole her into compliance with his
desire. He stood, waiting, taking the
slowly heating scent of her skin inside himself,
letting it simmer with the need coursing through his blood.
  He sensed her hesitation, felt her shiver, and
offered no solace. Her lashes feathered
downward, hiding her eyes, but her head tilted
back a bare fraction, and still he waited.
  Waited until the tension grew heavy and tight
to know the taste of her mouth with his. He wanted
Leah to feel it, wanted her to want him with the
same blinding hunger that had held sway over him
from the moment he had seen her. Denials meant
nothing now. She was too close, far too
desirable.
  The insidious pull he so effortlessly exerted
sent reason fleeing from Leah. Time and place
seemed to disappear until there was only Trev
filling her world, Trev and the passion he
promised. She found herself raising her lips
to his.
  "Be sure, Leah," he whispered, stealing the
scent of mint, her mouth so sweetly spiced with
its taste, her lips shy, far too shy to share when
he rubbed his against them, coaxing her mouth to open.
  Trev didn't press her. A woman's
mouth told the secrets of her passion. The
discovery of Leah's brought the devotion of total
concentration. The shyness was lack of skill. He
offered his own. And she was generous letting him learn
the shape and texture of her lips. The warmth of
them quickly heated under the teasing play of his
kisses. Her mouth was mobile, following his every
lead, reluctant to release his when he lifted his
head for a moment.
  Her lips glistened, irresistibly
delicious, and he tasted them as one would nibble a
sweetmeat, wanting to dissolve the spiced covering
to get to the potent liquid center. And there was
incredible softness, like the gossamer wings of thistle
down, in the tentative play of her returned
kiss.
  But Trev found his infinite store of patience
escaped him. He wanted hunger. The same
hunger that had prowled his hours, robbing him of
peace and sleep. He wanted, needed, with an
unmeasured depth, the shy flowering of her mouth
to burst with passion's bloom.
  "Trev?" She parted her lips, naively
seductive, waiting only his taking of her
unspoken offer, never wanting the gentle kisses
to end. She whispered his name again, lost in the
sensations that came from his lips brushing against hers,
the tender caressing pressure as his mouth moved from
side to side, drawing her instinctive need to be
closer to him.
  He was compelled to deepen the kiss, knowing how
rough his mouth was, knowing, too, he could no longer
help himself.
  Leah pulled back, eyes wide as he
cupped her cheeks to keep her from turning away.
She stared up at his face, the angle of
sunlight accenting the intriguing shadows under his
cheekbones. His eyes were dark blue and deep, and
she could smell the deeper, more secretive scent
of his skin. She swayed toward him, without will of her
own, ensnared and so tempted.
  His skin was warm beneath her hands. She caressed his
cheeks, his neatly trimmed sideburns drawing
her fingertips to explore the masculine lines of
his jaw.
  Temptation. He was so still, yet she felt
encouraged to fill her need to touch him.
Curiosity teased her, so that without thought she
raised her lips to the slight cleft in his square
chin and lightly kissed it. Leah heard his ragged
breathing above her own, heard, too, the low groan
that seemed to be drawn from deep inside him when
she tasted his mouth with the same tender play he had
offered her. And when minutes passed, she lifted
her head, licking at the faint spice of mint that
was hers, melding with something hot and needing from him.
  She wanted him. Had never wanted any man
this way. It shocked her, as heat raced through her like
wildfire. She went willingly into his arms and
held him against her. The unknown ache that had begun
days ago spread with painful intensity as she felt
the thud of his heart against the swelling of her breast.
  "Leah, lovely little dreamer," he murmured,
nuzzling the tender skin of her flushed cheek,
"I've never wanted anyone as much as I want
you. Don't turn away. I need you."
  The words, so softly uttered, penetrated
deeply and found a private unforseen hope in
her heart. Her hands slid from his face to his
shoulders. But Leah never spoke, for they both
turned at the shouts below them.
  Trev glimpsed the fear that paled her face as
he shoved her toward the concealment of boulders and
ran to block the way up the path.

                                  
             Chapter Five

  His curses made no allowance for Leah hearing
them when he spotted Robert and identified the
rider with him as Arthur Norbeck.
  Trev glanced behind him, making sure that Leah
was hidden, for he couldn't bear that she should be
discovered here with him. The hesitation cost him the time
needed to stop Robert from dismounting and running up the
path. And there was Norbeck, whose predatory
eyes went well with his reputation, though his ruddy
skin was marred with old pox scars.
  "What's this? No greeting for my return
to alleviate your boredom with country life?"
  "Surprise, Robert, I haven't been
bored." Trev noted his friend's fever-bright eyes
and slight slur. He coolly stepped onto the
path and blocked Robert from coming farther. "Isn't
it a bit early for you to begin drinking?"
  "Actually, we haven't stopped. Have we,
Norbeck?" Robert barely heard
Norbeck's reply, for he had spotted the
quilt beneath the tree. "Ah, I see that you
haven't lacked for a companion to while away the
hours, Trev." Leaning closer, his gaze most
indulgent, he whispered, "Petrie's young wife
still needs some consoling?"
  Throwing one arm over Robert's shoulders,
Trev turned him around and forced him to walk down
the path to where Norbeck waited with their horses.
"Now, Robert, you know I would never divulge a
lady's name, even to you."
  With an awkward shift, Robert managed
to straighten himself and disengage Trev's arm. "Know
you for a gentleman, Trev. Of course you can't.
And you can trust me not to say one word. Norbeck
will have to make do with my company until you
return."
  Trev helped him mount and stood there watching
until they were out of sight.
  When Norbeck could bear the silence no more, he
reined up and looked at Robert. "Well, was it
true? Is Petrie's wife available?"
  "Trev wasn't with Petrie's wife. He
wasn't with anyone's wife."
  "But that little yella-skinned gal said--"
  "She was wrong. Norbeck. Trev isn't with
anyone. C'mon, I'll race you back."
  "You're on, but Robert, that little gal--"
  "Fancy her, do you? Well, if
Sulla Mae's willing, she's yours if you win,
Norbeck. Trev'll tell you I'm most
generous with my friends about everything that belongs
to Rosehall."
  That Robert had grated the words and belied their
spirit was dismissed as he took the lead and Norbeck
struggled to overcome him.
  Trev had stood in the path for so long that Leah
thought he had forgotten her. She came out from behind the
boulder, rubbing her arms to rid herself of the chill that
beset her. When Trev finally turned and walked
back, she acted without thought and ran to his arms.
  He rocked her trembling body against him,
seething with the possessive force that held him in its
grip. He knew he would have violated every code
of honor governing friend and guest if Robert had
attempted one move toward discovering Leah.
  After moments, she lifted her head from his
shoulder, her hands cradling his face. But Trev
made no move to kiss her. She appeared too
fragile. The loose tendrils of her hair had
escaped her coiled braid and clung to the oval
shape of her face. Her eyes were still dark with
unspoken yearnings and the unexpected pleasure he
had silently promised her. He longed to whisper
reassurances, but the storm breaking inside him
left him without resource to the glib murmurings that
often came so readily to him.
  Believing the sudden appearance of Robert and
Norbeck had served to remind Trev of the
difference in their class, Leah felt an immediate
cooling of her ardor. Inadequacy made her
try to push him away, but he held her tight.
  "Trev, listen, please. Robert's coming--"
  "Means nothing. I won't let him near you."
  Leah silenced him by pressing her palm against his
mouth. "You don't understand. It's the way you
live. You and Robert. Your lives are idle,
filled with pretentiousness and selfish--"
  "Have I been selfish with you, Leah?" he
demanded, pulling his head back.
  The blaze in his eyes left her no quarter
to lie. "No," she finally whispered, unable
to hold his gaze.
  "Before Robert came, I said that I need you.
I--" he stopped trying to explain the fight he
waged within not to frighten her. But he showed her his
need, tempered now, rubbing his open mouth against
hers, the touches brief and tantalizing.
Robert's coming served to remind him that he
wanted to make her his. As the need to be one with
her thundered through his blood, Trev used his tongue
to mate with hers, the only way he allowed himself
to take possession of all that was virgin about her.
  The thrusting forays of his tongue built an
unbearable tension between them, until Leah felt the
tightening of her body, clamoring for release. His
mouth lured her from the path to salvation and the kneading
motion of his hands, gently shaping her body to the
strength of his, guided her toward a gateway
to the unknown.
  There were no hidden intentions. She knew there could
not be. The power of his lean body pressing her
against him made her soften, dying a little inside.
  "Please," she moaned, dragging her mouth
free of his. "Please, Trev, I cannot do
this."
  "There's nothing for you to do." Husky,
impatient, his voice was lush with passion. His
lips warmed the sensitive skin below her ear while
his hands skillfully stole the sudden tension from her
body with the gentle abrading dance he made of
brushing her against him. "Just kiss me, Leah. Just
as you have been. That's all. All," he added,
racked with a shudder.
  Her fingers wound through his hair, her mouth once
more pliant and yielding beneath his, and she clung
to him, feeling the intangible bonds of his need
surrounding her.
  This was her vision come to life. Passion and
pleasure. A seducing of her will, not the force
generated by lust.
  Lovers. She was lost in the consuming sensations
he called from her, all emotions drawn taut and
sharp as a razor's edge. She shook from the
fervency kindling inside her.
  And Trev savored the softness, the gradual
giving over of fear to surrender. He recaptured
a measure of control, willing to lavish patience
when the reward would be so sweet.
  He cradled her hips between his hands, leaving her
no shelter from the fiercely aroused state of his
body. Leah came to him as dawn came to the
night, bathing him in the soft, heated glow of her
colors, chasing the darkness that haunted him, ending
his isolation.
  Trev knew he should stop. Now, while he was
yet able, but she answered the press of his body with
an intense trembling of her own as fire swept
her. With small sounds of pleasure and a
deeper parting of her mouth, she invited him to share the
warmth. Leah slid her hands over the hard
muscles of his arms, clinging to him, her touch less
than gentle, for she needed him to keep her balance
or fall. He had spoken of need, but not of a
raw wildness that made her hunger.
  And he couldn't let her go. Her passion was
untutored, and he wanted the same exquisite
sensual pleasure that held him in its grip
to capture her.
  As he wrapped his arm around her slender waist,
the slow sliding thrust of his tongue had Leah arching
her head back, lost in a swirl of sensations that
went beyond her dreams of him. He stroked her
quivering side until the fullness of her breast
nestled in his cupped hand, stilling her momentary
lunge for freedom when his thumb with tender
delicacy discovered one taut nipple.
Helplessly she said his name, pleading indulgence to have
the fevered ache end.
  Her cries flamed his desire as he learned
the shape of her, gently caressing her sensitive
flesh. Leah's fingers were threaded into his hair,
her kiss becoming demanding, and she was unaware that
her hips moved against him with instinctive need.
  Trev knew her invitation came from the same
hunger that ripped through him. A hunger that left
no room for anything but having Leah. His hand
smoothed her throat, his lips trailed
open-mouthed kisses, stopping to savor the race of
her pulse and to take desire's mist from her
skin. Her moan of pleasure fed him as wood
fed fire. He felt the slow clenching of her
fingers in his hair when he bent lower and slowly
drew her into the heat of his mouth.
  Leah couldn't hold back the cry he wrung
from her. She was defenseless against the fever that rose
inside her, feeling his teeth and tongue move
over her, first gently, then suckling her with a tender
wildness. Shuddering as the fever built, she fought
to reclaim sanity. But her body had craved this,
wanted the sear of his mouth. Wanted, and never
knew the depth of the passion he could call from her.
  More than passion ruled Trev. He knew he
felt something more for her, emotions more tender and
tangled that made him long to ravish and protect
her. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms,
then carry her over to the quilt and make love
to her. He longed to teach her about small deaths and
rebirths, to ignite inside her the
fire that burned him to core. And he knew just how
close to the edge he was of doing exactly that.
  He had no right. Leah was vulnerable, trusting
him more than she knew. Reluctantly, he
reclaimed her mouth, making a slower, intimate
search of her spiced sweetness. His arms tightened
around her, drawing her up against him, and he had
to force himself to end the kiss. Her eyes, once
innocent, were dark, near black, glazed with
passion, her breaths uneven and shallow as his.
He touched her cheek, rouged with the desire that
told him she was as aroused as he.
  Drawing her head to his shoulder, he rocked
her gently, stilling his hunger, his murmurs
meant to soothe her the only way he allowed himself
to. When he tried to end the embrace, she
nestled closer, her hands gripping his arms.
  Leah shook like a leaf under the storm, trying
to understand his dark velvet murmurs of promises
and honor, knowing only that he had consumed her,
teaching her the potency of man's passion. And
awakening her own. She had dreamed of this. Dreamed
of the flashing raw lightning that teased her as it teased
the skies, promising surcease from the heat if it
rained. Every kiss, each touch of his offered ease from
the fever that had not abated. Bewildered, she finally
made sense of his words, speaking denial no
matter how softly, and cried out.
  "It's too late, Trev. I never heeded
my own warnings."
  "Heed mine," he demanded, cupping her face
and raising it to his, still warring to control the strong
emotions that roughened his voice.
  A flooding chill of shame washed over her.
She could barely order herself to speak. "Let me
go, Trev."
  Her eyes revealed the hurt he caused and the
lingering desire. Knowing he wasn't ready to let
her go, he slid his hands to encircle her neck,
caressing the line of her jaw with his thumbs. "You
don't want that, any more than I."
  His rawly sensuous smile left a sudden
path of heat snaking through her. Leah lost her
breath, the implicit sexuality of it making her
swallow hard, finding the same promise
reflected in his eyes. "I don't understand," she
pleaded in a strained voice. "These feelings--"
  "--are too new, and frightening, and all my
responsibility, lovely Leah. I never
meant ... It matters not what I
intended; I take blame for letting this go too
far."
  "Frightening. Yes." Leah only latched on
to that one word, denying all else that he said. But she
needed more. "I don't know how to make these
feelings stop, Trev." She couldn't go on, for the
blaze in his eyes had been quelled to a cool
blue wash, and she tried to pull away. He
wouldn't release her. Leah closed her eyes.
Didn't he ache with the same hunger? Like a
small forgotten thread, memory pulled out
gossip about him. Temptation for any woman.
Defeated, Leah bowed her head. Her innocence
could never please him.
  Trev had to leave her to wage her silent
battle. He did not utter a sound. He had
shamed her, he knew it as if the shame were his own.
There were words enough to murmur, easing and soothing it
away. There were touches and kisses that would give
them both what they wanted. His body lured him
with the knowledge of skillful caresses that would bring passion
to flame once more. But he used none. He was
stilled on the edge of a primitive precipice,
where his blood demanded he ignore every promise
he had made her, and with it, his honor. He had
no need to finesse her virginal trepidation, for
Leah had come to him driven by the same hunger that
drove him.
  Hunger and its ease was all that he could offer
her. He could not, would not explain the shame of his
own life. The tenuous hold he had on himself
tightened with the reminder.
  Feeling his tension and sensing it had little to do with the
desire that made her fight with herself, Leah
looked up at him, her hands resting on his
shoulders.
  "Trev, I have no one else to ask. How can
I make this ache inside me leave? Do you see
how wrong you are to claim the choice is yours
alone?"
  Her choice. He countered his instant thought.
"You don't know what you're saying, Leah."
  Once again, his experience and her innocence rose
in her thoughts. Could he lie with his kisses? With his
body, which left no doubt he wanted her? There
was too much about him she didn't know. But Leah
understood that for her the warnings he gave had come
too late.
  "Shall I beg you?" she whispered, in agony that
he would release her and she be unable
to stop him.
  Beg? Even as his gaze searched her taut
features, he knew she could not have used a more
potent word with him. He had learned how little begging
gained. "You cannot," he uttered in a defeated
voice, and abruptly let her go.
  She watched him walk to the edge of the bluff and
stand with his back to her, raking his hands through the rough
silk of his black hair. With shaking fingertips
she touched her lips, feeling the throb of heat,
measuring their hunger for his. She still tasted him.
Was there nothing she could say to him? Ruthlessly,
Leah stopped questioning herself. She had to get away from
him. No matter how her body craved the lean
strength of his.
  Gathering her courage, she lifted her hem and
started to run.
  Trev grabbed hold of her before she reached the
bottom of the path. "I'll take you back."
  "No. I made my own way here and don't
need--"
  "I know what you don't need, Leah. Me.
But I will take you back." His grip tightened
on her arm, and he was aware of causing her pain
by the wince she didn't try to hide. "There is
no choice in this." Each word was evenly spaced from
between his gritted teeth. "No discussion at all."
She opened her mouth, but he shook her. "I
won't have you go back alone."
  "Why? Why should you care? You're willing enough
to let me go. You know what awaits me,
Trev." Panting, clawing at his hand to free
herself, Leah yelled, "You don't worry about
sending me to another man's bed with the desire you
brought to me."
  "Then I shall expect his thanks!" He saw the
recoil in her eyes as she caught his meaning, but
he was beyond caring. Her words had slashed him. He
was not willing to let her go at all. He dragged
her closer, using his strength to overcome her
struggles. "Do you," he said harshly, holding her
gaze with his, "know anything about needs? Shall I
tell you of mine? Shall I not spare your innocence?
Need, Leah, is dictating that I carry you
back to that quilt and find out how well I can teach
you to ride me."
  Her palm slapped against his cheek. She felt
singed by the blazing anger in his eyes, at the harshness
of his voice, which was still vibrating with the passion that still
clawed at her.
  "You're crude and insulting. You're--"
  "All that and more."
  He still denied her freedom. Leah narrowed her
eyes. "You deserved that slap. You deserve to be
horsewhipped for what you've done."
  "And I'd risk it and more to have you." The words were
out before he could stop them.
  She stilled. How could anger last when there was
candor?
  Trev had to recover what he lost and spared
her nothing. "Truly, little innocent, we do differ
on what I deserve. My patience should have been
rewarded," he assured her acerbically, "by a
most pleasant tryst, free of virginal
recriminations."
  "Bastard!"
  "Yes. And remember that, Leah." She paled
and he felt through the cloth of her gown how chilled
she became. But it was her eyes, tears
glittering, deep down, like the drowning reflection
in a well, that made him add in a deadly soft
tone, "Do you think I want to lose what little
peace I've managed to steal for myself? Do you
believe any man wishes to have every waking and
sleeping hour beset with a craving for any woman?
Do you?"
  Leah, drawn close by his grip, couldn't
look away. The darkness that lured and frightened her
was back. Why was peace for himself something he needed
to steal? Compassion overcame all else.
  "Can you believe, Trev, that any woman
wishes the same torment?"
  "Go home, Leah. You're right. You came
alone and should be safe enough."
  She had only thought she felt shame before, but it
was as nothing to the burning flood his rejection
brought.
  Trev watched her run and made no move
to stop her. He couldn't. It was the only way
to protect her.
  He walked back to the quilt and stared at the
forgotten pan of pralines and Leah's case.
Both reminded him that the sweet innocence which had
marked their times together were at an end.
  Trev realized how foolish he had been
to think he could be friends with Leah. He wanted her
so badly, he ached with need.
  But Leah was a threat to him. She wanted more
than a man's passion; she wanted love.
  And Trev had none to give any
woman. He was the wrong man for Leah. It was that
simple. Simple and inescapable. He had
promised her she would be safe with him and believed
it to be true when he said it. Now he knew his
words for the lie they were. Leah wouldn't be safe with
him. And he knew she wouldn't stay away from him.
  There was only one way to protect her. Trev
took her case with him when he rode back
to Rosehall. And all the while he ignored the
nagging voice that asked why he cared about
protecting Leah at all.

             Chapter Six

  "Henry claimed you two were in here brooding, but
I didn't want to believe him," Trev said from
the doorway to the drawing room.
  Robert, sprawling in a wing chair, nursed a
drink and morbidly swung his leg, sparing a
single glance at Trev. Norbeck rubbed his
bloodshot eyes and forced himself to sit up.
  "Have you returned with the intent of joining us?"
  "More than join you, Norbeck. I propose
a round of debauchery to please even your jaded
tastes." Freshly bathed and attired in formal
day wear, Trev had armed himself since his
return. He had captured Robert's attention
as well.
  "Have you truly become bored with the country
scenes, Trev? Not an hour ago I wagered
Norbeck we'd never drag you away."
  Robert's direct gaze revealed to Trev that
he wasn't drunk. "See for yourself," Trev
stated, offering a showy bow, "you've lost your bet.
Is not my neckcloth tied in its most
elaborate knot and are not my trousers creased
to Henry's perfection? Come, Robert, admit that
under Mama Rassia's supervision, my collar
is starched and linen as snow white as you could wish.
The only thing your country scenes have provided,"
he mocked with a gleam of cynical amusement,
"is to hone muscles and provide a smooth fit
for my waistcoat."
  Still befuddled by drink, Norbeck tried
to focus his gaze and ended up shaking his head.
"Does he mean us to return to the city,
Robert?"
  "Aye. And the devil is on Trev," he
said, setting his drink down and standing. "You'd do
well to come, Norbeck. Excitement
is always lured by Trev's recklessness. The women
are willing, the liquor the best, and gambling
fevered." He looked at Trev. "That's what
you want, right?"
  "It's what I need."
  Coming forward, Robert lightly slapped
Trev's shoulder. "Then we're off." Softer
then, so that Norbeck couldn't hear, he asked,
"Was it another summons home that set you
off?"
  "What else could it be? I've no more wish
to take up the reins of heir than you. Let's
make merry this night, my gallants, for tomorrow
... ah, hell may demand its accounting tomorrow."

  Leah learned at supper that Trev had left
with Robert and Norbeck for Montgomery. She
fought not to react, but dismay filled her. Feeling
her father's watchful gaze, she hurried to bring the
platters to the table.
  "So, there we were, Mr. DeMoise and
myself, waitin' to go over the accounts, when Henry
comes to tell him that Robert and his friends are gone.
Fair furious he was with his son. Even I thought
Robert would be settlin' now that he's out of the
army. He shows no interest at all in takin'
up the reins and learnin' the workin's of
Rosehall."
  "He's still a young man, husband," Hedda
softly reminded him.
  "That's no reason for his carousin' 'round the
countryside with Shelby and the others. They won't
teach him what he needs to know to keep his land."
  "Then let us be thankful that Robert is not your
child. You are not responsible for his actions."
  Leah set the last platter on the table in their
dining room and began to serve in her mother's place,
since this had been Hedda's day to visit the parish
poor. She caught the silent look they
exchanged and fear spread through her. Had they somehow
discovered she had been sneaking off to meet Trev?
  With unsteady hands, she served her father first,
filling his plate with two thick slices of baked
ham, the largest roasted potato, and a heaping
spoonful of fresh-picked peas. She handed the
heavy crockery plate to her mother to add a slice
of corn bread and wished she had thought of some
excuse not to join them.
  "Leah?" her mother prompted. "Will you not
finish?"
  Coming to with a start, Leah quickly made up a
serving for her mother. She averted her gaze from her as
she handed over the plate, knowing both her parents were
watching her now. She had to stop this. They would
certainly question her if they knew her nervous
state.
  Taking the smallest slice of ham for herself,
Leah almost spilled the spoon of peas into her
dish. She took her place on the high-backed
wooden chair next to her father, keeping her eyes
on the well-mended linen tablecloth. There was little
she could do about her chilled hands as they joined with her
parents to say grace. Guilt sent a flush
over her when her father made special effort
to give thanks for her being a good, dutiful
daughter. Invoking the Lord's blessing on her made
Leah's stomach churn.
  "Mama tells me you don't want young
Jamison to call after service on Sunday,
daughter."
  "Yes, Papa."
  "Has another young man caught your eye?"
  Leah stared at the plate. "I hope you'll
let me go to school before I think about marriage."
  "Leah, I told you--"
  "No, Hedda, I'll be tellin' her. Your
talk did little good if she's harborin' these
foolish notions."
  "But, Papa, the money--"
  "'Tis of no matter. I've enough to provide
what you'll be needin'. We'll hear no more talk
of schoolin'. Ain't fittin' for our kind.
Supper's coolin'."
  Leah gripped the edge of the table, hearing the
final dismissal, seeing in her mind's eyes the
shattering of her dream. She couldn't speak,
couldn't argue; she would only be reminded that she
looked above her station. She needed to run, needed
the comfort of Trev's understanding-- Lowering her head,
she bit back a moan. There was nothing more to be
had from Trevor Shelby. And if she didn't
stop, she would have her father knowing that she had not only
met in secret with a man, but had allowed him
liberties that belonged to a husband.
  There would be no dismissal of that, but a whipping as
punishment for her sins. Her mother averted her gaze
when Leah sent a pleading glance in her direction.
She was alone and could only sit there, longing
to flee their stifling presence.
  Fleeing was a thought that Trev echoed
later that night, but it was considered bad form for a
gentleman to leave a card game when he was the
only one winning. Trev had led Robert
to believe this was what he wanted and needed in order
to exorcise the devil riding him. He was wrong.
All he wanted was Leah.
  Once in the city, there had been no choice as
to where they would spend their evening. The hotel had
procured a carriage, since they had ridden their
horses and deposited them after a short ride in
front of a mansion outside Montgomery.
Lavale's boasted classic Greek
Revival lines in its building, was exclusive
and expensive, and drew only the wealthiest and
most profligate with its lavish appointments that
satisfied every whim and fantasy. Its gaming
rooms witnessed the winning and losing of fortunes,
and the private parlors offered a man his choice of
exquisitely beautiful courtesans of either
sex, skilled in the erotic arts.
  As simply elegant and discreet as the small
hand-painted sign beside the front doors,
arrangements for a companion required merely a
nod, or a soft murmur to the properly begowned
young women whose sole purpose was to ensure their
patrons' pleasure. Lavale's did not
employ men to serve in the bar or gaming rooms.
Women, he claimed, provided pleasure for the
gentlemen that frequented his establishment. They
beguiled and refused any crass measures
to discuss cost. Should a man balk when he was
presented with his bill upon his leaving, he never
crossed the threshold again.
  Waiting for another fresh pack of cards to be
brought to the table, Trev again wondered what had
possessed him to suggest coming here. He had forced
himself to match Robert's amusement upon their entering
the wide, marbled hall, and Norbeck was quick
to desert them for a pair of petite redheads,
gowned identically in black silk. Trev had
declined to wager on Norbeck choosing to be
participant or voyeur, having no desire
to avail himself of the peepholes in every room.
  Refusing to allow his somber mood to show and
thereby bringing Robert's questions, he made his way
to the bar and found two of their friends more than willing
to gamble.
  His thoughts were distracted at the lightest brush
against his arm, and Trev glanced up to see that his
cognac had been replenished with a new
glass. He ignored the veiled invitation in a
pair of liquid brown eyes which far too quickly
reminded him of Leah's, and set several gold
pieces on the tray the young woman held.
  "Merci, monsieur. You are most generous
to Angeline."
  "He can afford to be," Clifford St. Thomas
stated before Trev could answer. "He's the only
one winning."
  "Then, monsieur, you must allow me to console
your losses when you are finished."
  Eyes hooded, Trev watched the byplay as
Clifford, son of the DeMoises' cotton
broker, and Jon Paul Childers, whose family
claimed one of Alabama's largest shipping
lines, vied for Angeline's attention.
  Robert, having the new deck, called a stop
and began to deal another hand. Trev bet on the
blind, to the annoyance of the others, and even Robert's
skill was no match for Trev's uncanny
luck.
  Trev sipped his drink, intent on banishing
Leah from his thoughts, but someone passed behind him leaving
the faint scent of roses. It was enough to trigger the
taste of Leah's skin, warming under the ply of his
lips, the same scent rising from Leah, clouding his
senses until he realized that Clifford was
actually shaking his arm.
  "Are you in, Trev?" he asked, seeing that
he had caught Trev's attention.
  "I'll play these, Clifford."
  "Again, Trev?" Robert asked, eyeing him from
where he slouched in his padded chair.
  "The devil's own luck seems to be mine
tonight." He was thankful there were only nods of
agreement, but Trev still felt apart from the others.
Robert's family raised cotton, the St.
Thomases sold it, and Childers lines shipped
it to fill the increasing demand in England and France.
He truly did not want to spend the rest of his
days with only the concerns of the planter class that
ruled the South to interest him. But that was the fate that
awaited him.
  "Norbeck's been gone nearly two hours,"
Robert mentioned. "Care to make a wager, Jon
Paul? He has two, and might last the night
if he doesn't drink."
  Deep in thought, Trev ignored them. Bringing
Bella back from England was a start toward
freedom. He still had to confront his father.
Confront him or kill him.
  "Cards, Trev?" Clifford asked.
  His tone indicated it was not for the first time. Trev
picked up the hand he had been dealt, forcing himself
to concentrate. Folding wouldn't serve. He had
won too much. "I'll play these," he
answered, hoping that one of them could beat a pair of
kings. He anted his share into the pot, not caring who
took cards or how many. The room was suddenly
stifling, or perhaps he needed to escape his thoughts.
  He tuned out the flow of conversation, hearing
Leah's voice, her plea, her candor, the
pleasure sounds he had called from her.
  "Damn it, Trev, you haven't drunk that
much. Stay with us. It's only sporting to allow us
a chance to win back what we've lost to you." Jon
Paul's eyes were fever-bright, staring at
Trev's winnings.
  Robert, quick to read the sudden challenge in
Trev's gaze, motioned for the box of cigars to be
presented, with Jon Paul offered the first choice.
"Clifford mentioned that building was still going on at
Fort Sumter when he was there in April. His father
attended the Democratic party's convention. I
told him, Trev," he said, selecting a thin
cigar for himself, "that you and I have extremely fond
memories of Charleston."
  "A city as lovely as her women."
  Robert, so attuned to Trev's moods and
voice, sensed his friend was not remembering any
woman from Charleston when he spoke. But he
let it go, having accomplished a distraction.
  "Her people know how to cherish our way of life,"
Clifford stated, rolling his cigar between his fingers.
Satisfied with his choice, he waved the young
woman away. "It is our hope that all of the
South will hold to our strong beliefs so that no
northerner's demand for change will be listened to."
  "There's not one of us," Jon Paul said,
glancing at each man in turn, "who will stand for
wearing Lincoln's yoke if he's elected."
  "Never happen." Robert laughed and raised his
glass. "A toast, gentlemen. Lincoln's a
fool thinking to ask us to give up slavery along
with our states' rights. It's like asking a lady
to surrender her virtue."
  "No man," Clifford declared, "who calls
himself one ever asks."
  "If he doesn't," Trev stated just as their
glasses touched, "then he takes. We
still call that rape, gentlemen, and perhaps that is what
Lincoln will do to those who oppose him."
  Oaths aimed at Lincoln erupted, until
Clifford once again spoke. "You voice concerns
we've all heard, but I swear to you it will never
happen. I have the assurances of our brokers in
England and France that should we require aid to put
down this upstart farmer that dares to dictate
to gentlemen, they will stand by us." He waited until
the toast was finished and set his glass down. "They
need our cotton, Trev. They won't allow the
North to interfere with their industry."
  "Trev doesn't agree. Do you?" Robert
asked, placing his cards facedown as their talk
replaced their game.
  "Why ever not?" demanded Jon Paul. "Your
family raises cotton and rice.
Georgians are known for bucking the federal
government time and again. My daddy claims they'll
be the first to raise arms if any dictates come from
Washington, unless they're the ones they want. It
was Georgia who made the dangerous proposal
of a southern convention when South Carolina
attempted nullification of the new tariff
bill."
  "You're reaching, Jon Paul," Trev warned
softly. "That happened almost thirty years ago.
But I will admit that what you say about
Georgians is true. They don't back down
to the wearing of anyone's yoke."
  Dead soft, Clifford asked, "Does this mean
if we go to war, sir, you will not fight beside us?"
  "That's liquor talking, Clifford," Robert
chided, never intending that Trev should come under
attack. "I never said that Trev wouldn't fight;
he would serve his state with the same honor he
gave as a federal soldier. You should
apologize--"
  "No. There's no need." Trev glanced at
Clifford. "I believe you meant no insult."
  Clifford took the out. Trev was a good shot,
perhaps better than himself, but Clifford's father
swore to cut off his allowance if there was one more
duel. "Damn right, I didn't, Trev,"
Clifford said. "But what the devil did Robert
mean?"
  "Simply that I don't believe either England
or France will embroil themselves in a war, should it
come to that."
  "Let the federals try." Jon
Paul swept up the cards he had been dealt.
"We have the better fighting men. We're not
farmers but gentlemen with the advantages of our
class. They'd never win."
  "Stop sounding like a pompous ass," Robert
said, then smiled at each man in turn. "I'll
place a wager now, that there isn't a southerner
worthy of his name that can't outshoot any
northerner."
  Trev let them make their bet, knowing how
wrong Robert was and how quickly he forgot the men
they had served with. Wealth and privilege were not
theirs exclusively. But he refused to dwell
on this. He would fight if it came to war, not
to keep slavery, not when he had worn a similar
yoke these past twelve years, but he would fight
for the states to have the right to decide the issue for
themselves.
  The talk served as yet another reminder of how
apart he was from the others at the table. He now
played recklessly, losing one hand after the other,
folding and betting heavily, to have them believe his
luck had finally changed. The thought of war and what
it would do not only to the land, but to their women, brought
Leah to mind. If she married the farmer her
parents wanted her to, she would be in northern
Alabama. Her husband's loyalties would
likely be with the Union, for they were a breed apart
from their southern brethren. A damn fool thought.
But he didn't want Leah marrying any farmer.
You can't marry her, he told himself. You
can't marry anyone until you break the shackles
Clinton holds.
  Disgusted with his thoughts, Trev began losing his
money. When Angeline came to serve another
round of drinks, he took advantage of her not
so subtle invitation to leave.
  Once out of the card room, Trev placed
five twenty-dollar gold pieces in her hand.
  "Monsieur, for you, I do not need extra."
  "Au contraire, Angeline, it is not
for me. Robert is very fond of you. If you would
entertain him for a few evenings while I tend to a
personal matter, I will make arrangements with
Lavale myself to have the same amount credited to your
account for each night."
  The matter was quickly concluded, Trev thankful
there were no questions. He declined the offer of a
carriage, deciding to walk back to the hotel.
The night was clear and sultry, and Leah
filled his thoughts. He needed time to be alone and
think carefully about the risk of seeing her again.
  But he wanted to be near her. Needed to, more
than he realized, and it was the strength of that need which
he fought.
  Distance between them meant nothing, and he the fool
to commit himself to spending several days in the city. The
lovely Angeline was only one of the pleasures
to be found as a cure for Leah. He could have stayed
the night.
  Surely a skilled woman, whose only
desire was to please, would have removed the feel of
Leah's untutored mouth and hands. And Leah's
laugh? Her taste? Her total
responsiveness? were they, too, to be found in
another woman?
  Nothing short of having Leah was going to stop this
war that he waged.
  He had been a coward about enough that mattered. He
would not hide behind lies now. What he felt for
Leah was not going to be easy to overcome. It was
something he could barely control.
  What's more, he no longer wanted to try.


             Chapter Seven

  For the third night Leah escaped from the confines
of her room after her parents were asleep and ran in
a headlong flight that whispered of momentary
freedom to the bluff.
  Sleep was impossible. Trev haunted her.
And with him, the shattering of her dream.
  It had been an impossible hope from the first, but
she had grasped it tight, praying that her parents'
love for her would urge them to seek her happiness
rather than follow their belief of what was best for her.
  The walls slowly being built day by day were
closing in on her, and she knew there was no real
escape. Just as there was no escaping Trev's
place in her heart and mind.
  Trev had understood. He had listened and
silently shared her dream. Then gave her
another. The passion between them was unexplained,
barely controlled. Branded in her memory was her
complete willingness to abandon herself to him. But from the
moment Trev had kissed her, Leah knew she
would make him her world.
  Unconsciously, she rubbed her arms, feeling
chilled. He had proven she would never be
content with the civilized marriages her sisters had
made. She could not imagine placid Sarah and
Nicholas, or staid Ruth and Martin being
senseless from the heat and fury of their passion.
  But she knew the beginnings of a less than
civilized desire. Trev had taught her that
much. And left her. He had ripped aside her
safe world. It was madness she felt along with a
deep hollow ache when his mouth had moved on
hers.
  She swayed where she stood, shaken by the
memories of being held and caressed by a man who
had ruthlessly turned her away. He never told
her how to stop this longing to feel him against her,
flesh to flesh.
  Appalled by her thoughts, Leah paced, fighting
to stop the need twisting through her. Trev was in her
thoughts constantly, bringing daydreams of dark, steamy
nights, simmering with the same wanton promises
that whispered seductively from his eyes.
  Moonlight peeked from beneath its bank of clouds
and showed her how close to the bluff's edge she
walked. She stared for long minutes at the darkness
below, then carefully stepped back, wishing she could
take time with her.
  The wild beating of her pulse raced beneath the
fingertips she placed at her throat. There was no
longer solace to be had here, no way to end the
torment, for Trev had stolen her heart. He was
the man she wanted to love without knowing she had
dreamed of him.
  Love? she asked herself, and knew it was true.
She longed to spend every waking and sleeping moment with
him near. She ached with the memory of his kisses.
She needed his understanding and laughter as deeply as
she needed his desire.
  She was in love with Trev and he didn't
want her. She had nothing. Wiping at the tears
suddenly blinding her, Leah turned, desperate
to escape her thoughts and this place.
  Trev stood waiting.
  Leah closed her eyes, afraid she had
summoned him with her imaginings. She knew she
had no defense against him.
  But his whisper of her name was real. She took a
blind step forward before she opened her eyes.
  "Trev?" It was a helpless plea. He
stood before her, bathed in the bright full
moonlight, dressed as she had last seen him, the
ties of his linen shirt undone, his
breeches molding the length of his legs tucked
into calf-high boots.
  She was shaken and had to swallow several times before
she could speak. "Why are you here?"
  "I came looking for you."
  Resentment curled through his words, and Leah
buried the rush of joy she felt. "I don't
understand. Why were you--"
  "The reasons don't matter. I found you."
He stepped closer to her, but her defensive stance
made him stop before he was close enough to touch her.
  "The reason matters to me, Trev," she
whispered. His nearness caused an insidious flow
of warmth inside her and she looked away from him,
fighting the sensual pull he effortlessly exerted.
"It's very late. Why were you looking for me?"
  Trev raked his hand through his hair, his patience
shredded. "I can't stop wanting you, Leah. It's
that simple."
  "No. It's not simple at all," she
murmured, surrounded by his husky declaration that
left her vulnerable. But she couldn't be hurt
by his rejection again. "I wasn't waiting for you.
That's not why I'm here."
  "Something drove you from your bed, love. Don't
lie to me. I abhor liars," he warned,
watching her with an intensity that narrowed his eyes.
He knew he had hurt her, but Leah didn't
understand at what cost to himself.
  "My bed? You went looking for me in my
room? You risked--"
  "I said," he noted with ill-concealed harshness,
"that I want you."
  "Now, not before. You left me, Trev. You
said--"
  "I was trying to protect you the only way I
could."
  "You lied to me." She could hardly breathe, so
great was her agitation. She had to look at him.
The moonlight was not kind to him; his features were
hard-set against the black thickness of his mussed
hair. His eyes seemed leached of their intense
color, but no less piercing. Leah saw the
uncompromising set of his tense jaw, and her chin
rose with agitation.
  "What is it you want from me, Leah? I'm not
lying when I say I want you!"
  Harshness and yearning. And Leah heard the
unspoken words clearly. I'll have you, too.
She knew the love she felt for him, the
intense need she had to ease the darkness that seemed
to haunt him and make him hold himself apart from her,
would not let her deny him. Yet she was afraid that
he would take all she gave and leave her with
nothing.
  He paced, a restless tension filling him as he
fought the urge to go to her and convince her with passion as
words could not.
  "Answer me," he finally demanded, unable to stand
the silence. "Do you believe me?"
  "Yes, I believe that you want me. But you
don't need me, Trev. You make me doubt
myself. I can't trust my feelings."
  His gaze rose slowly up her arms, over the
curve of her shoulders, to her face. His breath
caught to see pain reflected in her eyes. "Have
I taken that from you?"
  The anguish in his voice brought her own. She
rubbed her arms, feeling as if he had touched her,
unable to look away from the mesmerizing power of his
gaze. "You don't understand. I--"
  "It's you who don't understand, Leah. You must
know why I had to leave you?" he asked with a deadly
softness.
  "Your honor drove you to hurt me to protect
me. That is what I understand. In a twisted way
it even makes sense," she added very softly,
feeling the ache intensify inside her.
  "Yes, to protect you. And to stop stealing your
innocence."
  "You've taken nothing from me that I did not
give freely." Leah started toward him and
stopped herself.
  "I wish I could say the same," he countered.
"You've taken my peace, my sleep, and even the
solace of drink. You fill every waking hour and
haunt the night until I was driven to seek you
out and put an end to--"
  "Stop! You claim to want me, but it angers
you." She watched him move to block her way.
"No more, Trev," she implored, sliding her
arms around her waist, praying to stop the turmoil
churning with every passing moment. "I never asked you for
anything."
  "You ask," he stated, ruthlessly coming toward
her. "Your eyes plead silently for trust, and
peer into a man's soul until you strip his
secrets from him. And I can't stay away from you,
Leah."
  She released a shuddering breath. "You
don't want to give me your trust or tell me
your secrets. You don't want to share with me,
Trev." She backed away from him, afraid that
if he touched her, she would be truly lost.
  "I've never had pleasure that equals being with
you." He stopped stalking her. "I can't give you
more. I can't give anyone more."
  "I know you believe that," she returned in a
saddened voice. Would it be enough? If she loved
him, would he ever learn to love her?
  Her gaze found him turned slightly away from
her, staring off into the night. She responded to the
utter loneliness he portrayed. If she gave
him her trust, went to him and told him she loved
him, would he believe her? Before Leah did more
than ask the question of herself, Trev turned to her.
  "The desire I feel for you is as new to me
as it is to you, Leah. But I won't seduce you
with lies or make promises I can't keep."
  "Can you make your body lie to me, Trev?"
  His soft knowing laughter made her look away.
"Lovely little innocent. No, my body
didn't lie about the desire for yours. No man
could keep the changes passion brings to him hidden.
We haven't the advantages of a woman, who can
keep the changes desire brings to her body
concealed."
  Leah knew he had only to touch her to know that
her desire for him wasn't hidden at all. She
thought of her lost dream of freedom that teaching could
have brought her, and knew that marriage to a man of
her parents' choice awaited her. But she wanted
Trev. His last words brought more than faint,
unknowing images. Her body was already reacting to the
passion and pleasure she could have in his arms. And
completion. That he had denied her.
  Trev withdrew the unfurled bud of a rose from
the open neck of his shirt. He saw the way
Leah warily watched him and raised the bud to his
lips, his kiss as delicate as the pale ivory
color of the rose itself.
  "Take it, Leah. It's the scent you wear that
haunts me. I've taken care to remove the
thorns, so you can have the pleasure of holding it without
injury."
  Their fingertips almost touched, for she couldn't stop
herself from reaching out. She had only to take a step
more and lift the rose from his hand. Still, she
hesitated and knew she had brought his anger. The
days and hours without him, the needs that he
aroused and left unfulfilled, all battered against
the lone warning that told her to run now or she never
would.
  Leah took the bud and brought the rose to her
lips, its fragrance heady.
  "You've stolen this from Frances's garden." The
softness in her voice reflected the easing of
tension in her body and she glanced at Trev's
eyes, sighing to see their deep color returned
and a wicked grin creasing his lips.
  "Do you see what you've made me become? A
thief, Leah. But then, that makes us a pair, for
I've already told you what you've stolen from me."
  No lies. Not to herself and not to him. Time and
distance had not eased the hunger between them. He
claimed she had not been out of his thoughts and she
knew he had never really left hers. Confronted
by his candor, having him near, made fear and
warnings fade. Pleasure. Passion.
Completion. All that he had promised awaited
her. With the loss of her dream, this was the only
freedom of choice she was to have. A lifetime of
never knowing a world filled with Trev stretched before
her.
  Trev read the sorrow in her eyes and turned
away. He would not beg. He would not take. He
had come here hoping his memories of their time together
would allow him to be close to her. He never
expected to find Leah, had at first thought he had
lost his mind and breathed life into the vision that
haunted him. She would never know how she eased the
loneliness that plagued him. He could never tell
her that she alone allowed him to be gentle and tender
in a world which scorned a man for revealing such
weaknesses.
  The need that clamored in his blood would never know
its ease. Need that whispered in her voice,
calling his name. Need that surrounded him like the
sultry night air.
  Leah called to him again, knowing she wanted the
passion, not a safe stability. The velvet
softness of the rose she held offered her the hope of
tenderness and when he turned, slowly closing the
distance between them, she prayed that Trev would feel more
than desire for her. She tensed when his hands
circled her neck, forcing her face up to see
him.
  She was too close and he wanted too much.
Trev forgot all the rules of civilized
seduction and tightened his fingers to hold
her. There was luminous fire in her eyes holding
his gaze, almost challenging him, and he pulled her
against him, taking her mouth.
  She parted her lips and he demanded, then
coaxed, needing more than she had given him before.
Her gown was pooled between them. He urged her
closer, stroking his hand down her back, shaping the
taut muscles of her buttocks, sliding his
leg between hers. Her trembling body was a cry of
surrender, softening and curving to mold itself to the hard
planes of his.
  Leah thought she knew the hot taste of his
fierce desire. She was wrong. This went beyond
fever to a sweeping storm so shattering it consumed
her. She couldn't hold him close enough,
hungry to have the dark, spiced scent of him filling
her. This is what she had longed for, the madness that
kindled fire. Time stopped in this moment, a moment
that went on and on, just as she told him she wished.
  She wanted to understand how Trev took her from
herself and replaced her with a creature so greedy for
more of him. She found no answers. Only need.
She wanted him with an inescapable truth that made
her cry out.
  Her fingers locked in the thickness of his black
hair, welcoming the thrust of his tongue, teaching
her to retreat and duel, then conquer when she
claimed his dark taste for her own.
  Trev tightened his arms around her. His hands
sought her, skimming under her gown and petticoat
to find the soft, heated skin he had dreamed of
possessing. His name was a fevered litany from her
lips, pleas or demands, he knew not, for something
wild burst inside him.
  His mood was to claim, and every kiss, every touch fed
that possessive fury. He felt her begin
to shake, the first edges of unleashed passion taking
hold of her. As he would. Her total
responsiveness fed him as wood fed fire, but
he held a last measure of sanity that forced him
to jerk his head up.
  Staring down at her face, flushed and shimmering
in the moon's light, his breaths mingled with the
erratic rhythm of hers.
  "Be sure, Leah. Very sure. There's no
going back for either of us. You may not have wanted me
in your life, but I'll be the only man there."
  The words snapped a leash on passion and Leah
pulled free of his arms, the crushed rose falling
unheeded to the ground. She couldn't order
her senses, couldn't tell him what he had
demanded was impossible. She backed away toward
the shadows beneath the chestnut tree, hating him for
stopping, hating him for making her verbalize her
choice.
  The midnight moon glided his darkness and all
Leah could do was call his name. Eyes wide, she
watched him tug his shirt free of his breeches,
carelessly bunching up the linen as he yanked the
shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
  Her slipper caught on a small rock
hidden in the thick grass and Leah stumbled. Her
hem twisted beneath her foot and she fell back,
her left hand and hip taking the brunt of the fall.
Leah curled her fingers around sweet-scented
grass, knowing Trev would not seduce her, but
only come to her if she asked. She couldn't meet
his intense gaze. Her eyes skimmed across his
bare shoulders, down the demarcation of a thin dark
arrowing of hair on his chest. There was no line
to distinguish his waist from his slim hips that tapered
into powerful thighs.
  Her first sight of him came to mind. But she
hadn't kissed him then. Only dreamed about it.
She had not known how heady passion tasted from a
man's mouth. Trev's mouth.
  "Leah." Her name was the only word Trev
whispered, abandoning all the lavish, seductive
phrases he knew. But his body berated him with
racking demand that he go to her. And when he knelt
close within the curve her body made, he
waited until she looked up at him. "Say you
want me."
  His voice was low and beguiling. She knew he
sensed her desire and her fear, but wondered if
he understood how stripped he made her feel that
he should know them at all.
  With his thumb, Trev gently shaped the tender
swell of her mouth. "Shall I offer you words that would
seduce the answer I want from you? I can," he
noted with softness, but not arrogance, sure of his knowledge.
"I will," he added when she didn't respond,
"if that is what you want from me."
  She searched his features, knowing he was not lying.
Trev could and would salve her way if she asked
him to. Leah had to touch him, caressing his cheek,
feeling the heat of passion beneath her fingertips, a
flush the shadows hid from her sight. A tremor
passed between them and Leah lost whatever thought of sin
she had. To deny Trev was to deny herself.
  "I want you, Trev, and all that is honest from
you," she murmured, brushing one finger over his
lips.
  He caught her hand with his, pressing a kiss
to the center of her palm before raking his teeth over the
fleshy pad below her thumb. His smile was wholly
male as her thick lashes feathered the high curve
of her cheeks and the softest of moans escaped her
lips.
  "Look at me, Leah," he commanded, drawing
her hand down to his chest. He shuddered as her hand
touched him, splaying wide with tiny kneading
motions, then stilled. He was unable to hide what
she did to him, unable to still the wild beating of his
heart that she measured with a light touch until their
breathing kept cadence with it.
  He drew her to her knees, pulling her against
him. "Kiss me, Leah," he whispered, his
eyes hungrily targeting her mouth even as he
lowered his head. "Give me that kitten-soft
tongue that's far too shy."
  "Trev--"
  "Now, Leah."
  She gave him her mouth, and shyly stole the
heated darkness of his taste, kissing him as he had
kissed her, passion and hunger trembling inside
her with each deeper invitation his mouth made. Her
hands sought the hot coiled male strength of his arms
and shoulders, before sliding into his hair to hold his
head. Even as she deepened the kiss, she felt
him caress her sides until his hands cupped her
breasts. Her skin burned through the thin layers of
cloth when his fingers teased her nipples until
they were taut peaks awaiting his kiss.
  And she knew that he wanted her with an honesty
that went beyond words, beyond her dreams. She felt the
shudders that racked his body as they did hers.
Heard her soft moan of need find answer in
his. She ached and was inflamed by the strength of his
hands kneading her hips against the hungry desire
of his.
  Trev drank her broken sounds, lightly
raking his teeth down the arched curve of her neck
as her head fell back. He wanted to claim and
taste and possess every bit of her passion, of her
sweetly heated skin, and then claim the softer,
sweeter heat hidden inside her until she
burned as he burned and he gave her what she
once asked for, time stopping still.
  He wanted her hands on his aching
flesh, and drew one down, his dark murmurs
coaxing her, but her fingers gripped the edge of his
breeches and he leaned back.
  "Leah, don't be afraid," he whispered,
framing her face, his voice gently hushed and
thick with need. "Does it shock you to know how much
I want your touch?" With one finger he circled the
swell of her breast, closing the circle, knowing
she watched him. "You ache here, don't you,
Leah?" But he wouldn't touch the taut peak her
gown clung to.
  Leah shook from the sensation that spread through her.
She turned her face. "Trev, what I saw
in your eyes that first time shocked me, but no more than
my own thoughts." Nuzzling his hand, her voice a
bare thread of sound, she whispered, "The dreams of
you, the hunger to know completion in your arms leaves
little room for fear."
  He leaned close, the tip of his tongue
lightly shaping the delicate whorls of her ear.
"I know about the dreams, Leah, and the hunger.
..." He captured her earlobe with the edge of his
teeth. But mostly the fear. The words were his,
dark and silent as he uncurled her fingers from his
breeches and rubbed her hand over the heat of his
damp skin, showing her how much he needed her touch.
Trev watched her eyes until her gaze
locked with his. He tasted her lips with a kiss
of controlled passion and hid nothing of his need when
he drew her hand to rest on his aroused flesh.
  "No fear?" he asked, knowing how little control
he had left, but fighting to retain it if Leah
showed the slightest hesitation.
  "I should be afraid. It's what I've been
taught." But even as she spoke, her fingers
shaped him, heat and strength that made her feel
powerful when a groan escaped his lips. "No
matter how much my parents tried to shield me from
what goes on down at the quarters, Trev, there
is little hidden. The slave women talk and--"
  "And you enjoy knowing you can make me ache for you."
  "Yes," she murmured, holding his gaze,
giving him back the honesty he silently demanded.
  "I told you no man could lie about his desire
for a woman. One woman. One man. You,
Leah. For me." Trev held her face within his
hands, bringing his lips to hers. Her mouth was warm,
wine-rich, and hot, and he feasted on the luscious
taste of her as he bore her down to lie on the
quilt. "I hurt with wanting, Leah.
Do you ache, little dreamer? Does the hunger prowl
awake or asleep until you feel mad with
need?"
  The relentless softness of his voice bathed her in
yet another heat. Held against him, she knew
reason fled with the flame and power he offered her.
Sensation was the ruler. The only one. His mouth
allowed her no hesitations, no shyness.
  A last fear filtered to the surface. She would
lose her heart to him. But his skin was hot and
damp to her hands sculpting his muscular arms,
trying to draw him closer as he dragged up the
skirt of her gown and petticoat.
  He no longer gave her gentleness, nor
tender wooing. Leah could not demand it. She
didn't want gentleness. Her lips clung
to his in a wild, urgent kiss, her body arching
up to mold itself to his, unable to bear the knotted
tension that burned inside her.
  Trev covered her with his strong, hard body.
There was no finesse when he reached between them to tear
open the constricting buttons on his breeches.
Buttons tore cloth and fell from the strength of
his hand, but he didn't care, for Leah welcomed
him and cradled him between the warmth of her thighs. The
thin lawn drawers were her last protection, but he
let them be, rocking against her with the same thrusting
rhythm of his tongue stealing every virgin secret of
her mouth.
  From her hair, from her skin rose the subtle
scent that was hers alone, heated and sultry as the
night, clouding his senses with a desperation
to possess her that he had never known. She had
brought him an end to his isolation, for her total
giving demanded its return from him.
  He lavished kisses and still she gave him more.
Her pleasure cries, the hard raking feel of
her fingers against his naked back drove him to the
edge. She was slender, her body supple and
strong, all feminine heat whispering silent pleas
that crumbled his purchase on the edge moment
by moment, move by surrendering move.
  Hunger. Leah knew it now. He tore his
mouth from hers and she felt his teeth lightly
score her neck. She shivered to feel his hand
cup her breast, his lips closing over the taut
nipple. The ache was instantly soothed, until
he suckled and her blood kindled with a new
fire, sending a wild, primitive beat through her
body. He shifted and she strained
to follow, knowing the promise of his passion, knowing
what it meant to want with every caress of his hands, every
taste of his lips.
  "You feel it now, don't you, Leah? Like a
fever that can never be cooled?"
  "Yes." The word was dragged from her lips. There
was no shame in touching him, no sin in taking from him
and wanting still more. She heard the tearing whisper as the
last cloth barrier was ripped away and felt the
steamy night air touch her bared skin before his hand
closed over her.
  She was suddenly vulnerable, but her body had
stolen all control from her mind. Trev was
whispering, praising her, darker and darker words that
drew her into a world where only needs mattered. His
teeth raked over cloth to her other breast, and her
fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders, her body
rocking to the stroking of his hand. Biting back her
cries, she arched up, opening to him, feeling his arm
slide beneath her neck as his mouth found hers once
more.
  Leah reveled in his body, the lean hardness that
met her every touch. Her mouth was as greedy and
demanding as his. She could feel the heat of his
blood beneath his skin, her own becoming fired to an
unbearable degree.
  Passion. She understood it now. Every breath
needed to be drawn and filled with his scent. Every
cry he called from her had to be echoed by his.
She surrendered to the shimmering web he spun,
twisting and turning, following his lead. A strange
new tension gripped her. She could feel it
build, feel it tightening with a savageness that
allowed her no time, no breath. Tremors shook
her. She couldn't find air. Only Trev. His
mouth. His hands. Opening her, taking her even as the
first crashing shock of completion and joining captured
her.
  Heat. Her softness surrounded him. With every
nerve straining, calling upon every bit of his
willpower, Trev went still above her. He saw the
glisten of tears seep from beneath her closed eyes and
cursed the rampant desire that drove him
to forget her innocence.
  "I'm a bastard for hurting you." No matter
how hushed, the declaration was brutally harsh. He
fought against moving as he fought the draw of silky
heat that held him, but died a little with every tremor that
enclosed his flesh with the fire of hers. "Open your
eyes, little dreamer."
  And when he saw her eyes luminous with the sheen of
tears and a drop of blood welling from where she had
bitten her lip, Trev started to withdraw.
  "No." Her hands held his hips. His
features were harshly drawn, shadowed above her, like
his tormented voice. She would not lie to him.
  "You didn't hurt me, Trev," she
whispered. "I dreamed of this, of having you inside
me. I want all the silent promises.
Pleasure. Passion and, now, completion."
  "Yes," he breathed over her lips, knowing it
was what he wanted as badly. He was too aroused
to do more than bury her denial of pain. Leah
called him with a subtle tightening of her taut
thighs and he lost himself in his need for her.
  Pleasure intensified. Passion flamed anew
and completion was hers as he pulled her legs around
his hips and joined with her in an intimacy that she
had never known.
  She shuddered, again and again, reaching for his strength,
clinging to him. This was the madness. The image she had
first seen. Trev inside her, claiming her even
as she knew she held him. Dying a little. Finding
Trev was there.
  Leah clutched his arms, slippery with sweat,
understanding that she wasn't dying but being born. She
sank her teeth into his shoulder, crying out with a
pagan demand that drove her, as he did, past
all reason. Darkness filled her vision as he
answered her plea, and she gave herself over to him,
to the final shattering that came without warning, taking
her as it took him.

             Chapter Eight

  Trev held Leah close as they rode out the
trembling aftermath of their lovemaking. He had
to drag air into his lungs; there didn't seem
to be enough to allow him to breathe freely. Reality
came with the sounds of the night around them, trickling
into his consciousness. He had never lost control of
himself with a woman before Leah. Trev knew himself,
or thought he did. He understood the hunger that had
built in him to have her. He didn't know he would
pay with a part of his soul.
  He lifted his weight from her, feeling a
piece of himself was being torn as he moved to lay
beside her. With his arm beneath her neck, he cradled
her against his shoulder, facing the dim understanding that more
than desire had flared between them. The
scrape of one boot against the leather of the other
served to remind him that he had never taken them off.
Another first for him. And Leah ... He forced
himself to look at her.
  Free of her heavy braid, tangled waves
of her pale hair curled damply against her
cheek and shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her
body warm and pliant against his. But the moon,
as if to aid his need, seemed to brighten, and he saw
the ravages he had left. Her slender legs were
bare, her gown and petticoat bunched between them;
her lips, parted with the shuddering breaths she still
released, were swollen from the greed of his kisses.
He lifted his hand to smooth her hair back,
wished she would open her eyes and look up at
him, afraid that she would do just that. But he had
to know.
  "Leah," he whispered, using one finger to stroke
her still flushed cheek, "are you sorry?"
  She didn't want to be called away from where
she lay, filled with peaceful lassitude. She
was shy, too, of what she would see in his eyes.
The warnings, every one she had been given and knew so
well for herself, came flashing back. She fought
her mind not to recall them, but the opening was given with
Trev's withdrawal. She had wanted to hold
him, to keep him a part of her, but she knew men
didn't want that. At least, she reminded herself,
Ruth and Sarah said as much.
  But could she trust her sisters' knowledge when neither one
could have known the passion she shared with Trev? Her
hand uncurled from where she had pressed it against her
breast, and, very tentatively, touched Trev's still
warm skin, measuring out his heartbeat. Within
seconds, the quickening beneath her palm satisfied her
need to know that she was not alone in feeling the shattering
aftermath that had rocked her world.
  Her sigh brought Trev to lift his hand from her
waist, cupping her chin to tip her head back so
he could view her face. Leah's mouth wore the
hint of a smile. He distrusted what he saw.
Leah had been innocent, he would swear to that, even
if he had not felt the tearing of her maidenhead.
And he, Trev cursed himself, he had been less
than the finessing lover of his unwanted reputation.
  "Open your eyes, little dreamer," he urged
softly as he slid his arm from beneath her neck,
setting her head down gently. Elbow bent, his
hand braced his head so he looked down at her.
He had asked her if she was sorry.
The smile hinted she was not, but Trev couldn't
trust his own instinct now, even if Leah was resting
contentedly at his side.
  "Am I dreaming, Trev?" she asked with a
note of wonder. Leah struggled to open her
eyes, her lids feeling as heavy as her body.
But she, too, wanted to see him. Her courage
had been used to take what she yearned for and was not as
yet replenished. His thumb played at the
corners of her mouth, shaping her smile until it
fully bloomed.
  "That's better," he noted with masculine
satisfaction. She burrowed her face against his
chest before he could stop her. Trev tangled his hand
in the silvered sheen of her hair, gently tugging so
he could see her, but Leah resisted him.
  "What's wrong? Are you ashamed?" Her
muffled sound made no sense to him. "Did I
hurt you?" he whispered, feeling her fingers
tighten against his chest. "If I did, I'm
sorry, Leah. I was very ... aroused."
  Leah lifted her head and slowly turned onto
her back. "I know," she answered, cupping his
whisker-rough cheek.
  He saw the smile curving her lips and
watched a sensual shiver take her. He waited
until she opened her eyes and then a wholly
male smile of satisfaction creased his lips.
"I wasn't gentle with you."
  "I didn't want you to be." The blaze of
desire meeting her gaze kindled hunger anew.
Leah closed her eyes, her hand sliding down
to test the heat and strength of him. He was smooth and
hard, flushed with heat, and Leah shivered as she
caressed him. "Trev? I ... please. ..."
  "Please you, yes, I want that, too." His
mouth closed over hers, the heavy beat of desire
flooding him, her gentle caresses arousing him
to an unbearable degree.
  He shouldn't want her again. But the inviting
shift of her body, the quick little catches of her
breath, her whispered plea for him to show her how
to pleasure him, all combined to send him over the
edge again. He loved her slowly, tenderly,
hearing her cry out, before he began all over again,
giving her with his body what he couldn't give to her
with words.
  Her whispered cry of loving him echoed in the
night as he drove into her one last time. A cry
that melded with those of wild demand and
pleasure found.
  Leah knew, even as he held her tight
to ride out the tiny convulsions, that he heard her.
She could feel his withdrawal, emotional and
physical, as he sheltered her in his arms. But this
time she wasn't going to be silent.
  "You heard me?"
  "Yes."
  She flinched at the flat hardness in his voice.
"You misunderstood me, Trev. I won't take
back the words of loving you but I'm not asking you
to say them."
  He was silent for so long that she raised herself
up to look at him. Leah found the effort of
holding his intense gaze almost unbearable. "Have you
ever desired something so badly, Trev, that you
spent every moment dreaming of it?"
  "Yes. I wanted you like that."
  Wanted. Her breath shuddered from her. "Tell
me, was it more than you dreamed?" She knew as
soon as the words were spoken that he wasn't going
to answer her. But something drove Leah to say more.
"I wanted you like that, too, and for me it was more, much
more. You made me feel alive, Trev.
Free." She sighed and slowly lay down beside
him, fighting the anger for thinking she could reach beyond his
shadowed walls.
  Trev closed his eyes, unable to look at
her. You made me feel alive. Free.
Her words replayed themselves, no matter how much
he wanted to shut them out. She had driven him
to shred what little claim to civility he had. His
honor had him swear to protect her from himself.
She shredded that, too. Just being near her drove
him to passion's edge again.
  "Was my honesty too brutal, Trev?
Does my saying I love you make you feel
guilty? Or is it enough that your lust is
satisfied?"
  "No, Leah. My lust is not satisfied."
He loomed over her, holding her hands to either
side of her head. "And your honesty is not
brutal. Just words I've never heard from a
woman before. I asked what you wanted from me. I
told you what I could give you. That's all there
is. Pleasure shared, Leah. No love. No
marriage. No commitment," he grated from between
clenched teeth as the thought of Leah his, truly
his, rose in his mind.
  She made him want to spill the
secrets of his soul to her. And he never could tell
Leah about the twisted shackles that bound him.
  He understood the grave danger she was to him.
But his body wasn't listening to his mind. He
wanted her, and anger rose that he should still feel this
sensual prowling hunger for her.
  Leah tried to pull her hands free, but he
wouldn't let her go. She had spoken her truth and
lost him. "I need to go home," she whispered,
swamped beneath a flood of shame.
  "Leah," he murmured, his voice thick with
guilt. "I--" Trev stopped, wishing he could
change what was done, knowing he couldn't.
Self-contempt lashed at him. He could be
brutally honest with himself. He knew he would do it
all over again. He had wanted Leah and would
kill to be inside her now, but she would demand the
payment of his soul if he allowed her to get any
closer.
  He had not felt this vulnerable since that
long-ago night when Clinton had torn his life
and dream apart. He had sworn then, a vow he
had repeated at his mother's grave, that he would never
let anyone else find a weakness to use against
him.
  Trev released her and sat up with his back
toward her. She had come to him. Leah, with dreams
in her eyes and truth on her lips, bringing him a
tiny corner of the world where passion burned clean and
bright, untainted by the darkness that haunted him. He
couldn't stop the shudder that slithered down his spine
when he felt her stroke his back. She whispered
his name, coaxing him to share with her what was wrong.
  Despite his harsh words, Leah was on her
knees, touching him, begging him to talk to her. She
longed to ease the corded tension in his neck.
"Trev, you made yourself a part of me. I won't
ever let you take that back. Can't you trust me a
little?"
  She wanted what he didn't know how to give:
trust and love. Leah, sweetly heated fire,
showing him how dark and empty his life had become.
  "Candle in my night," he murmured, gently
drawing her forward as he turned, kissing her with the
same gentle restraint that he held her with,
hearing again her soft cries, remembering how she
tasted, sweetly spiced, soft, heated, and
hunger beyond physical need growled both demand and
warning.
  Love her and end loneliness.
Love her and be shackled with another hostage.
  Cherished. His kiss had given her that and no more.
Leah let him go, understanding at last that Trev
gave all he could, all he would for now. She had
come here tonight with shattered dreams, buried one and had
the other mended with the giving of her heart. No
matter how gentle, he was still rejecting her.
Pride was the only aid she had to force her
to move. She sat up, fumbling to pull her
clothing into order.
  Leah stared down at the remains of her
pantalets, then crushed them into a tight ball,
seeing them as a reminder of all she had risked.
She wanted to confront Trev, wanted him
to talk to her, to help her understand the confusion that was
surrounding her. She clamped her lips tight,
gritting her teeth, no longer able to trust herself not
to plead with him.
  Very deliberately, Trev forced her hand open
and took the torn cloth from her. He came to his
feet in a controlled rush, walking to the edge of the
bluff, where he tossed them. Raking his hair
back, he stood watching the fluttering drift of
white cloth until the darkness below swallowed it.
  His breeches clung to his damp skin. One
button hung by a thread and he used it to secure
them closed, feeling again the sense of his life
hanging by a matching tenuous hold.
  "Leah, I'll buy you new ones."
  "No, I don't want that from you. I
want--" her voice caught on a sob,
instantly stifled by her clenched hand pressing against
her mouth. She would not cry.
  Trev tensed, unable to turn around. No, she
didn't want cloth easily replaced, and he
couldn't replace the veil of innocence he had
torn. And he didn't want to let her close,
didn't want her to make a place in his life.
Her words of coming here to bury a dream rose from his
memory. Was that why she had given herself to him?
  "You never told me why you came here tonight,
Leah."
  "There's to be no school for me." She stared
at his naked back, unable to marshal any
defense.
  "I could make that happen for you. I could give
you money to go away."
  "Money?" she repeated. Anger began
to churn. "Payment?" she whispered, realization
dawning that she had been so wrong about him.
He was like Robert. Spoiled, rich, and the bastard
he named himself. "You'd cheapen-- No, I won't
let you do that to me! I don't want what you can
buy." She scrambled to her feet, every ache and
twinge a reminder that she couldn't walk home.
  Biting back denials, Trev let her
believe her claims. Anger would serve him as
nothing else could. And he needed distance between them
almost as much as he needed her.
  "Take me home," she said suddenly.
  He turned slowly at the demand. She stood,
hands rigid at her sides, hair wild, her
stance defiant, watching him. He had sullied
what they had shared, just as she said, and its taint was
bitter in his mouth. He merely nodded.
  Leah's fear rose as he came toward her,
her protest dying when he swung her up into his
arms. His eyes were cold, his lips tightly
compressed, and she could see a muscle twitch in
his cheek. She hated having to touch him now.
"You've forgotten your shirt."
  He ignored her reminder to retrieve his
shirt and carried her down the path to where he'd
left his horse.
  The silence began and lasted through the ride home
as Leah struggled not to touch him. The efforts left
her exhausted. He rode around the quarters.
To avoid waking the dogs he kept away from their
pens, riding up a back path that ended at her
mother's fenced garden.
  Leah roused herself then. "Stop here or we'll
be seen from the house."
  Trev was in no mood to argue. His mind
supplied all the right and good reasons he had
withdrawn from her, but his body had hosted the pressing
heat of hers despite her rigid insistence
to ride astride. He wasn't so insensitive that
he didn't know she was hurting, but it was with
unaccustomed force that he drew rein and slid from
King High's back.
  "Leah, much as you may hate this, I have to put
my hands on you to lift you down." She closed her
eyes, and Trev had to accept that as the only
answer she'd give him. But he did so gently,
caging her between him and the horse.
  "Let me go."
  "I only wanted to give--"
  "What, Trev? More offerings?" she hissed.
"You had no right to toss my pantalets away.
I could have repaired the damage. They were
mine, Trevor Shelby. Not yours to do--"
  "You can never repair the damage done this
night." He gripped her shoulders, forgetting that
he had sworn not to touch her again. She lifted
tear-filled eyes to his and anger washed away.
"Leah, I've made a mess of this. It's
nothing to do with you." The lie burned his conscience, but
he ruthlessly thrust it aside, wanting to spare
her recriminations. "There are things about me you
don't know, things I can't tell you."
  "You won't trust me." Vibrating with anger,
Leah managed to wrench free of his grip and turn
to run, only to stop and face him. "Damn you,
Trev. I made the choice of coming to you, believing
I would find more than passion in your arms. It was the
only choice I'm being allowed. But I was
wrong. So wrong." Desperate to get away from
him, Leah bit back a cry of pain and ran.
  "You weren't wrong," he found himself whispering,
long after she had gone. It didn't matter whether
or not she had heard him. It was enough that he knew
he spoke the truth.

  It was a scraping noise that brought Leah from a
fitful, exhausted sleep. She lifted
heavy-lidded eyes and turned to see the curtain
fluttering at the window. The sun was already splashing
muted shades that promised a cooler day, andwitha
sigh, Leah closed her eyes, turning her head
to nestle deeper against her pillow.
  Her softly inhaled breath brought the scent of
roses and she smiled, one hand reaching up from beneath the
sheet to draw her pillow closer.
  But it wasn't the rough linen weave her hand
encountered. She tensed on her soft feather tick,
almost afraid to open her eyes even as her fingers
touched velvet. Still caught between the throes of
sleep and waking, she slid her head back a
bit and looked at what she touched.
  On her pillow rested a dew-drenched rose.
Her gaze barely focused on the blood-red
flower before she was cupping it in her hand, drawing it
close to her lips. A rose--
  The noise she heard ... the rose ... She
struggled to twist free of the tangled sheet,
dropping the flower and coming off her bed so quickly she
almost fell. Her gaze darted from the window to her
bed and back again to the curtain, now stilled. The
soft thud below her window made her turn, understanding
dawning that while she slept unaware,
Trev had come here.
  This was the Trev she loved, not the withdrawn
stranger he had become last night. Loved?
He doesn't want your love.
  But why, then, had he come to her room and left
a rose?
  Leah didn't have an answer. She stared at the
flower a moment longer. Every passing second had
her backing away as exhaustion fled, and with it the
pain of rejection. She thought only of the time when his
passion had brought her completion, believing as she so
needed to that he did feel more for her.
  The trill of bird song drifted through the window
along with the low-chanted spiritual led by Old
Silas. Leah shook her head, recalling where
she was, wanting to believe that today was as any other
that she had awakened to the work song Old Silas
began and the other slaves joined when they headed out
to the fields. Rosehall and her own place within
its boundaries was not marked by the violence she knew
existed on other county plantations. Her father used
no whip, families were not sold off and
separated, there was no talk of rebellion, there
were no runaways.
  But Trev had come and she no longer had order
in her life.
  From below, her mother called out to her. Leah would be
expected downstairs, dressed and ready to begin the
day, as if nothing had happened. Her parents would
have put the denial of what she had longed for from their
minds. And Trev? Why had he risked coming
into her room to leave a rose?
  The flower drew her back to the bed to pick it
up. She stared at the bloom, one finger edging the
petal's silky velvet. Apology?
Message? Good-bye? Why had he come?
  It was a similar question that Trev asked himself as
he leaned his arms on the split-rail fence
surrounding the horse track that Robert had
ordered built four years ago.
  Beside him, Cato held the stopwatch in one
bony coffee-shaded hand, the other held high over
his head, ready to signal the boy on
Mambrino's back. The three-year-old bay
loved to race, as evidenced by his restive
moves, but Cato, with a patience Trev
admired, merely waited for the horse to still.
  Trev glanced at the small tear in the loose
sleeve of his shirt and knew Cato had drawn
his own conclusions about his sudden arrival
at the track, disheveled, his breeches
grass-stained from where he had slipped and fallen,
along with his boots muddy enough to be a gentleman's
disgrace. For all their familiarity when discussing
horses, the slave would not give away the fact
that Trev had come from the lower pasture which led to the
overseer's house.
  It was worry for Leah's emotional state that
led to his foolishness of stealing another of
Frances's roses. The same excuse that made
him impulsively leave Robert and Norbeck
in the city. No sleep and a body that still hungered
for Leah had sent him searching the garden for a
perfect bloom to give her. She needed to know that
he was not callously disregarding the precious gift
she had given him.
  Excuses. Nothing more. He had to see her.
That was what sent him to her house, climbing up that
massive oak and into her room. There had been
barely enough light to see, and he had never given a
moment's thought to being caught.
  Deeply drawn into his thoughts, Trev
missed the signal which set Mambrino around the
track in his ground-eating stride.
  "Give 'em 'is head, boy!" Cato shouted
as the thundering horse and rider swept passed them.
  Trev tried to focus his gaze on the watch
Cato held over the rail, but all he could see
was Leah, asleep. The bed's netting had never
been untied, and the weak gray light only offered
him sight of her shadowed form. He didn't need
light. She was branded in his mind, from the husky
laughter, gentle as a spring breeze that enticed
like a soft caress, to the mischief sparkling in her
eyes when she teased him. He could see himself lean
close to brush the tangled hair from her face,
one tenacious curl clinging to his fingers as he
withdrew his touch. He had blown a kiss and left
the rose, satisfied that she slept, but wishing for
her forgiveness.
  The anger that she had managed to breach the walls
he had so carefully erected these last twelve
years had seeped away in those moments. But
Trev knew he had to make ample amends.
He would take full responsibility, no
matter her declaration that the choice was hers. A
rational decision he could live with, when all he
wanted was Leah again. As they had from the moment she
uttered them, her words of belief that she would find more
than passion with him returned with a
vengeance.
  What the devil did she want from him?
Trust? He could not, would not give that. It
wasn't money. She was sure to throw any offer of
monetary compensation in his face after the way he had
bungled the offer last night.
  Guilt made him dredge up marriage.
  The most honorable restitution. The most
forbidden to him. Trev gripped the rail, his gaze
unfocused. Marriage equaled insanity.
  He had no doubts that Leah had been a
virgin, although when he had finally thought about it, he
realized she was unaware that riding astride had
likely torn her maidenhead. And it had been
too late to care. The moment he was sheathed inside
her, he would have bargained with the devil before denying
himself surcease. And that is just what having her
once was: a temporary respite.
  Marriage was, like his once-held dream of
being a doctor, impossible for him now. Not only
with Leah, but with any woman. But he didn't
want another woman.
  Closing his eyes, blocking out the world, he
envisioned her face. Her skin, lightly
burnished from the sun's kisses, making a striking
contrast to the pale blondness of her hair. Those
wide, far too expressive brown eyes
framed with thick, seductive lashes as dark as
her brows. And her mouth, parted, generous, taking as
much as giving. She was storm and moonlight and he
was surely killing himself to stand here and think about her.
  An obsession. That was all she was. All
he could allow her to be. He surely wasn't in
love with her. But then, his mind countered, what did
he know of love? Bella was the only person he
had loved enough to sacrifice his life for once his
mother had died. And even that love had been
corroded by the hate he felt after paying with a
loss of dreams.
  And a loss of freedom. An involuntary
shudder ripped through him. No bride of his for
Sweet Bay while Clinton lived. He could
never expose a woman to that man's cruelty.
The mere thought of Leah hostage to his father's
demands upon him sent a roil of sickness churning
inside.
  It was the height of folly to believe he would
ever have a life of his own while Clinton lived.
He had wished the man dead these long years past,
but something stayed his own hand from committing the
deed, no matter how his father had goaded.
  And what if the same savage insanity that had
made his father the man he was dwelled within him?
Trev refused to follow the oft-opened path the
past beckoned him toward. He had tried
to understand, once the wrenching despair of being torn
from his home had eased, even tried to forgive the
man his taunting punishments which brought pain
to everyone around him. But Clinton was the devil on
his back.
  Time would give him his freedom. In four more
years, when he reached his thirtieth birthday, the
money and land entailed by his mother's estate would be
his. Clinton couldn't stop it from happening.
Four more years of staying away, of using his skill
at cards and taking the generosity Robert offered
him.
  But he couldn't forget about Bella. His
conscience never really allowed him to do more than set
her aside. And now it placed Leah beside his
sister.
  "Marse Shelby, you be feelin' poorly?
You're groanin'."
  Trev jerked away from the hand that held him,
staring, then realizing what his action meant to Cato.
"Too many unpleasant thoughts caught up with me,
Cato. It was nothing you did." Groaning? Just
how close to the edge was he?
  Pursing his lips in a thoughtful way, Cato
nodded. It was as close to an apology a white
man could make. And Marse Shelby was more decent
than most, asking after folks when he came
to visit.
  "Gets me to wonderin' if it's somethin'
catchin. Take Miss Leah, now. She's always
down 'ere, seein' as how she purely loves
'em horses of Marse Robert's. Ain't
seein' her 'round 'ere must be near a week.
Wish I thought to ask after her. 'Course her
papa doan much like that." He busied himself folding
the square of muslin he used for a starting signal,
since slaves couldn't handle guns, but knew he
had Trev's full attention.
  "Never did get to tell her 'bout Marse
Robert sayin' as how we's goin' to Kentucky.
He figures Mambrino's 'bout ready to race
with de best of 'em blu'grass horses."
  "Robert dreams of beating one of Elisha
Warfield's thoroughbreds," Trev answered,
wishing his own dreams were as simple
to plan and carry out. "Robert also would like to be
invited to the Lexington Jockey Club,
Cato. It's the oldest one in the country."
  "That's what he says. Older than me."
Cato glanced up and smiled, but with uncanny
sense turned the conversation back to where he wanted
it. "Miss Leah's right fond of Mambrino.
She helped me pick out who his mama was gonna
be an' Marse Robert says yes when his daddy
wrote him. Miss Leah's folks doan know
'bout that. There's lots they doan know 'bout her
doin's. But she's a fine lady. Takin' her
books down by the quarters, teachin' folks to make
'em letters an' such."
  "That's against the law, Cato. Someone should warn
Miss Leah about that. Not that it makes any
sense."
  "It's white man's law, Marse Shelby.
Doan need to make no sense. Miss Leah
ain't a one to be carin' 'bout breakin' rules."
  Cato waited expectantly, hoping the sugar
bit he offered about Leah would be taken up.
Marse Shelby was about as restless a stallion as
he'd ever seen and Miss Leah a sassy
filly. He sighed at the silent man beside him.
  "Like I was sayin', Miss Leah's a fine
lady. Shame she's cooped up with her mama
today. That little gal sure do like bein' out in de sun
not locked up in de house."
  "Why, Cato?" Trev no longer tried
to hide his interest. He knew he had been
carefully baited, even as he understood the underlying
warnings Cato issued. Nothing escaped the
notice of plantation slaves and any man who
believed it did was a fool. He turned
to Cato, repeating his question.
  "Why is Leah locked in the house today?"

         END OF VOLUME I












 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
           TARNISHED HEARTS

                  by
           Raine Cantrell




    Volume II of Three Volumes
       Pages i-ii and 183-348




For special distribution as authorized by Act of
Congress under Public Law 89-522, andwiththe
permission of the copyright holder.




Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
National Library Service for the Blind and
Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
Inc., 1995.











Copyright Theresa DiBenedetto, 1994
All rights reserved












           TARNISHED HEARTS

             Chapter Nine

  "Doan be takin' on with me, Marse
Shelby. I'll tell you. It's Thursday,
suh. An' bein' that, de minister man comes
to call. He's got powerful thoughts for salvation.
Miss Leah, now, she says he come for her
mama's brandy cake. She give me a piece
once, an' I'm partial to agree."
  "Cato," Trev warned, then strove for
patience. Trying to shake the rest out of the man would
do no good.
  "Seein' as how Missus Hedda raised up
her gals like ladies, Miss Leah's got
to sit by an' listen good to his preachin' even if
she was feelin' poorly. Figure it has to be
that what's keepin' her away. Gots to say, that
man can fire de brimstone iffen he sniffs sin
near a body."
  "Miss Leah," Trev intoned very carefully,
feeling heat climb into his cheeks so that he
looked away from Cato's too-knowing gaze, "is
not a sinner."
  "Ain't for de likes of me to argue with white
folks. You say she ain't a sinner, she ain't.
Me, now, I'm asinnin' aplenty. I got this
fine day, good fast horses, an' Marse
Robert's gonna bet all my saved-up
Christmas dollars when Mambrino races.
It's a sure bet, sure as that preacher man
takin' on helpless Miss Leah iffen he has
a min' to."
  "You've spun your tale and kept me here,
Cato. But it's nothing to me what Miss Leah
does with her soul." Trev abruptly started
to walk away, then turned back. He had made
a promise to Leah that while he was here he would
protect her. Too bad he didn't remember
it when it counted.
  "Cato, I'll add a five-dollar gold
piece to your stash. And remember, betting is
only a sin if you lose."
  "Iffen you say so." Cato slipped his arm
around his youngest son as the boy climbed under the
rail fence, but he watched Trev's long-legged
stride take him toward the big house.
  "He see me ride?" the boy asked.
  "Marse Shelby's got his own devil ridin'
him, boy, an' paid you no min'."
  "Where's he runnin' to?"
  "Ain't our place to be questionin' what white
folks do, boy. I tole you that. But I'm
bettin' that Marse Shelby's gonna take his
devil an' go wrastle with de servant of de
Lord to save him a soul."
  "Who's he gonna save, daddyman?"
  "Ain't knowin', boy, ain't knowin'."

  Leah, hands folded primly in her lap as she
sat in the parlor, couldn't decide if the
minister's call was blessing or punishment. It was a
blessing that his arrival, which she had forgotten,
prevented her from seeking out Trev; she had been
once more willing to cast aside pride and forgive
him his rejection. She had come to the understanding that
Trev had given her what he could of himself. Each
time she had tried to breach walls, he had
attacked her, and it was only later, upon
reflection, that she realized what the problem was.
  The punishment was hers, for every day of freedom
lost could never be regained, now that her parents
declared school was out of the question. Freedom had somehow
become entangled with Trev, so in denying him, she
denied herself. And it was agony to school her
features into a mask that revealed none of her
thoughts. Her mother had already remarked several times
about the shadows beneath her eyes, deliberately
ignoring her plea to be excused from this visit.
  She glanced at her mother. Hedda perched on the
edge of the mahogany side chair, her back as
straight as the chair's own, a freshly starched
white linen collar and cuffs relieving the severity
of her deep blue gown. Both Leah and the minister
watched Hedda carefully slice slivers of her
special brandy-soaked walnut cake. Cecil
Kavan's greed was apparent in the way he
eagerly reached for the good china plate that held two
slices. Leah had never told her mother that she
believed the minister had a fondness for her cake
and the spirits that flavored it more than he had any
desire to save their souls.
  Declining her mother's offer of cake, Leah
felt her stomach flutter when Mr. Kavan
began a discourse on the wages of sin.
  "My dear, you are truly blessed by the Lord,
having raised yourself three virtuous daughters.
I'm despairing of saving those two Brewster
girls considering their family's slovenly ways.
Sin is what those folks teach their
young'uns. It pains me deeply to be hearing
folks call them thieves, believing them no
better than white trash in addition to all their
sinning."
  While her mother murmured praise for his charity,
Leah saw that he gobbled up his cake, having
provided his customary bit of gossip. As for the
Brewster girls, they had spread their favors
through the countryside for more years than Leah knew
what favors was referring to. And their brothers
were no better. But guilt for what she had done
made it difficult to meet her mother's gaze or
the close-set eyes the minister directed toward
her. Had they said something she was supposed
to answer?
  "Mama?"
  "We were concerned, dear, you've gotten quite
pale."
  "I was reflecting on the minister's words."
  "But you have nothing to do with those Brewster girls,
Leah. Surely you didn't think our minister--"
  "Hark to your mama's words, girl. You keep
company with sinners, they'll be leading you down their
path to ruin. Near time you were wedding. Young
Jamison seems to have marked you out for special
attention. Fine boy, Missus. You be sure
to tell her papa I've said as much."
  Leah deliberately chose the straight chair
nearest the window, and hoped they would both forget she
was there. Cecil had claimed the settee
to accommodate his portly frame, with her mother's
chair close beside it. The drone of their voices
praising young Jamison's worth was easily
dismissed. Leah thought of Trev's offer to pay for
her schooling.
  Did she want to teach so badly that she would
accept money from him? It would mean leaving her
family. Her parents would never forgive her.
Did she want to be another Miss Gilbet,
depending on the generosity of her students'
families to ease her lonely lot? Miss
Gilbet had been the first to praise her, but had
warned her, too, of the difficulty women faced.
Unless she could secure a position in a girl's
school, she would be forced to take whatever was
available, for most people wanted their children taught
by male tutors.
  That point was driven home when, after three
months, Miss Gilbet had been replaced.
Leah never knew where she went, leaving the
desire to share the world she had opened to a hungry
child. While her sisters and parents had never fully
understood that world, they had never denied it to her
until now. And what would happen to her if she
took money from Trev?
  She would be cast off, a wanton sinner, having
her dream and losing her family. The need for
love and approval made her send a guilty
glance at her mother, who was engrossed in cutting the
minister yet another slice of cake.
  Leah turned back to the window, her guilt
hitting a new level when she saw the man
walking up the path to the house. Trev was mad!
Darting a look between her mother and the window, she
gripped the edges of her chair.
  The knock at the front door was so soft that
at first Leah hoped her mother didn't hear it. But
that hope was dashed when it was repeated and her mother
looked up.
  "Leah? See who's come to call."
  "Yes, Mama." Dread marked every halting
step that brought Leah out of the parlor and into the hall.
She could see Trev through the curtained glass of the
tall side window which framed the door.
  She had never seen him wear a gentleman's
formal day clothes and was not immune to the impact of
his handsomeness. Her gaze rested on the snowy white
neckcloth that nestled a gold stickpin before
skimming the double-breasted frock coat that fell
to the knees of his gray doeskin trousers. The
coat was open, revealing a small patterned dark
gray waistcoat the same shade as his gloved
hand, which was raising a walking stick to knock again.
  Leah jerked the door open.
  "Miss Leah, I've come to call," he
announced, sweeping his hat from his head.
  "What are you doing here? How dare you come?"
  Her low-voiced tirade was given with an
anxious look cast over her shoulder. Trev,
grinning, leaned against the open door so she couldn't
close it in his face, and wished again he could
dress Leah in something other than the drab
russet gown she wore. The plainly cut
collar and cuffs reminded him of the Quakers he
had seen, and he despised the tight coil of her
beautiful hair.
  "Who is there, Leah?"
  They both sent glances toward the doorway of the
parlor, Leah's guilty, Trev's amused.
  "Aren't you going to invite me in,
Leah?"
  "Tell me why you've come."
  "Did you find your rose this morning?"
  Leah couldn't stop her instinctive move to touch
her breastbone, where the rose was pinned to her
chemise. "You risked getting shot if my father
had seen you."
  "Would you care?" Her eyes revealed shadows,
and his grin faltered upon seeing them. He had to touch
her, but when he raised his free hand to her cheek,
he was forced to shield what her flinching away did
to him. "Don't fear, Leah. I've come
to rescue you."
  "Leah?"
  "A moment, Mama," she called out. "As for
you," she said to Trev, "I don't need
rescuing. I need you to be gone."
  "We need to talk--"
  "Leah," Hedda asked, coming to stand in the parlor
doorway, "who are you talking to?"
  Before Leah could move to stop him, Trev
stepped over the threshold. "Mrs. Reese,
allow me to beg your pardon for calling without a
proper introduction. I am Trevor Shelby,
Robert's friend, and houseguest of the
DeMoises."
  "I'm well aware of who you are, Mr.
Shelby." Hedda came forward, barely noticing
that her daughter stepped aside while Trevor
made a formal bow.
  Leah, watching them both with disbelief, realized
she'd never viewed Trevor's effect on other
women, only listened to gossip about it. He was every
inch the perfect gentleman. Her mother, to her
surprise, offered him her hand, a sign of her
acceptance, and, to Leah's mortification, invited
him to join them as she took his card.
  "I would be most happy to, but beg your
indulgence while I explain the reason for my
calling. Mrs. DeMoise has received a
crate of books, and I, thinking to make myself
useful while she paid her monthly call at the
orphanage, offered to unpack them and place them
in the library. It pains me to admit that I am
not at all familiar with her methods of shelving
her books."
  Trev couldn't resist his smile, for he had
caught the mischievous sparkle in Leah's eyes
as she watched her mother become his captive
audience.
  Clearing his throat and swallowing a laugh, he
continued. "When Henry and Mama Rassia
discovered my dilemma, they quickly suggested I
beg the assistance of Miss Reese."
  Leah's brow rose and she bit her bottom
lip to keep from smiling. He was being a charming
rogue and she had no doubt that her mother believed his
every word, especially when he mentioned Mama
Rassia, who ruled the big house with an iron
hand. And Henry, her husband, was at times more
formal than his masters.
  "But surely, sir, upon her return, Mrs.
DeMoise can direct you?"
  Leah held her breath for a moment, suddenly
wanting to escape from the minister's visit and his
talk of sin and marriage.
  "Madam, I beg your understanding. I've given
my word as a gentleman to see this small chore
completed upon her return." He met Hedda's
clear and candid gaze. After thinking a second,
Trev added, "You are concerned of course, with
having your daughter properly chaperoned. If one
of the housemaids won't serve, I'll ask
Henry to stay in the library with us."
  Sensing Trev had dispelled her mother's silent
worry and had her wavering toward giving her
permission, Leah knew that she wanted to go with
Trev no matter what scheme his fertile mind
had conjured.
  "But the minister ..." Hedda protested in a
weak voice to Leah, "he wanted to talk to you about
young Jamison." She caught Leah's imploring
gaze and remembered how she felt about the young
man. "I suppose it will do no harm for you
to accompany him, Leah. But mind you, watch the
time." To Trev she explained, "My daughter
tends to forget herself whenever new books arrive.
And Mrs. DeMoise is so generous to allow her
the use of their library."
  It was both an evil imp and need for revenge
that whispered to Leah she should not allow Trev
to escape without making the acquaintance of Cecil
Kavan. She suffered guilt, and prayed the
minister wouldn't find out what she had done.
Cecil would condemn her for the sin of giving herself
to Trev without the benefit of marriage. Yet,
even as she turned to her mother, Leah wondered why
she had never thought of what she felt and shared with
Trev as sin.
  "Mama, it would be rude to leave without
Mr. Shelby being given the opportunity to meet
our minister. You've always said his stirring words of
wisdom are of a guiding benefit to all who hear
them. We cannot, in good conscience, deny Mr.
Shelby a brief word or two which might set him
on the path to salvation."
  Trev could have throttled her. Leah's mother
smiled at him, her eyes brightening at the thought.
With a curt nod to Leah, he handed over his hat and
walking stick, removed his gloves, and said, "I
shall endeavor to find a special way to show you my
appreciation for this opportunity, Miss
Reese."
  Leah, letting him precede her into the parlor,
took his warning to heart. His look had been
furious and she wished to call back her
impulsive words.
  Once the introductions were over, Trev
adroitly handled the minister's probing and, while
declining a cup of tea, did enjoy the cake.
There was no pretense to his lavish praise, for
Cato's claim that Hedda's cake was the best
he'd ever tasted was true. He took note that
Leah did not have a piece of cake as she
rigidly perched on the edge of her seat, ready,
he was sure, to pounce on him if he said one word
that dared to indicate how well acquainted they
were.
  The talk had been social to this point, but when
Kavan asked about the reason for Trev's call,
Hedda was the one who answered.
  "Well," Cecil said, "we must excuse them
immediately. Anything to assist Mrs. DeMoise.
A fine lady. A God-fearing woman and one
most generous in her support of our building
fund for our new church. While I don't
hold with book learning for our young women, Mr.
Shelby, I shall make exception to Leah
accompanying you, as I'm sure her mama has
done." He took Leah's gasp as surprise
that he approved, not as the outrage she had
intended. "Be sure to extend my best regards
to Mrs. DeMoise, Leah."
  The moment the door closed behind them, Trev
took Leah's arm. To all intents he appeared
the gentlemen, but he was making sure she didn't
run off. "Thwarted your scheme of putting me on
the coals, didn't I?"
  "You needn't sound so smug. You know you did.
We've already agreed that I don't have
your skill to lie. But raked over coals is
only a small measure of what you deserve."
  "I know."
  Leah stumbled and looked up at him. "You mean
that, don't you?"
  "I take full responsibility for what
happened. And my rescue mission today was for
selfish reasons. I wanted to talk to you, too.
Leah, you must agree--" Ignoring the nearness of
her mouth was no longer possible; nor could he
resist the sudden longing in her eyes that had
to mirror his own. He leaned close, touching his
lips to hers for a breath and no more.
  "Good morning," he whispered, "I wanted
to wake you like that," he added, wishing they were far from
watching eyes.
  "Trev, last night--"
  "Ended badly," he cut in, leading her down
the path.
  Leah was unsure of why he had come for her and
didn't answer. The brief touch of his lips
to hers served to remind her that it wasn't enough, would
never be enough. It was as if the harsh words, the hurt
they caused, never happened, for the love she felt
for Trev had the power to wipe them from her mind.
  "Are there really books to be put away,
Trev?"
  "On my honor. But then, you have no reason
to believe I have any."
  Her fingers tightened on the cloth of his
sleeve. "Don't say that, Trev. I told
you the choice was mine. Without hope of school, I
have marriage to look forward to, and it's a cage
I never wanted." She glanced up at him. "You
know about cages, don't you, Trev?" she asked
softly, feeling his tension. She hid her
disappointment when he didn't reply.
  "About the books, Leah," he said after a few
minutes. "There are a few that Robert and I
picked up for her. I did make a mess--"
  "A deliberate one, I'm sure."
  "Yes. And Henry thought I should ask you for
help. I suspect Mama Rassia put him
up to that after I asked her to prepare a luncheon
for us."
  Leah kept pace with his long-legged stride, every
step adding to her determination not to allow him to evade
her questions. "Then I assume you went to a great
deal of trouble to have your way. But there was no need,
Trev. I would have come to you."
  "The lady requires candor?"
  "The woman does, indeed," she returned.
  "Admitted. But it was because I knew you would
find a way for us to see each other, and that's what
we need to talk about."
  "And you came like a thief into my room with the
intent of talking to me?"
  "Should I have stayed and ravished you?" he teased,
striving to turn the seriousness of her mood into a
lighter one.
  "I'm sure you have the skill to have accomplished
that without a soul being the wiser that you were there."
  "The hell with this!" He yanked her off the path
against a massive oak and leaned close. "I
didn't sleep for thinking how I'd left you. The
rose was atonement. A foolish--"
  "Not foolish, Trev," she cut in, cupping
his cheek. "It was another of the tender expressions
you've given me. But please, stop before you are
caught. The reds are Frances's favorites.
We'll both pay if she finds out what you've
done with them."
  Pressing a kiss to her temple, Trev
closed his eyes. "What have I done to be graced
with your forgiveness?"
  The anguish in his voice tore at her. She
wanted to tell him again of her love, but knew he
wasn't ready to hear it or believe it.
Trev's cynical turn of mind might even have
him believing that her declaration was either a trap or
her way to soothe her conscience if she accepted the
money for school.
  "Leah? Was I wrong?"
  "No, Trev. But I, too, made harsh
accusations--"
  "Deserved. Every one of them." He took her
arm once more, pointing with his walking stick.
"We'll take the path up through the gardens and
you'll see for yourself that Frances will not miss one
rose. She's nearly stripped the bushes,
replenishing every vase and bowl with pinks and reds, and
even took a basket to the orphanage with her.
There, at least I'm on safe ground. It's your
feelings I'm unsure about, Leah."
  The bantering tone was gone and Leah stopped
short, uncaring of who could see them. "My
feelings are plain enough. It is yours that remain
hidden."
  "I'll explain what I can," he finally
answered, after they had followed the winding
stone path through the scented garden. At the door to the
side hall, Trev stopped and opened it. "You
know where the library is; I'll join you in a
moment. I want to tell Henry we're here."
  "I'm sure he knows, Trev. Henry, like
Mama Rassia and every other slave at
Rosehall, knows everything that goes on."
  He tipped her chin up. "Does it bother you
that they know we are lovers?"
  "Are we, Trev?" she countered, her gaze
direct. "Lovers implies an intimacy of
more than one night." But her courage to take this
further fled, and Leah slipped through the open
door.
  "I'll promise you that and more."
  She didn't answer. She couldn't. He
didn't understand they stole time for a little while from where
they both must go. Trev said he would never marry
her or anyone, but his place as heir to Sweet
Bay demanded like marry like. She could bring him
nothing but herself, and his needs for a wife demanded more
than what Frances or her mother had taught her.
  Once again, she knew that, even if such a
marriage were possible, she would lose her
family. Her father would never allow a marriage
between them. With a sad smile, Leah knew that people who
did not live with the rigid codes that governed the
conduct of classes in the South could ever understand.
In their own way, her parents were as bound by social
dictates as Trev had to be.
  Leah went to the library to wait for him.
  Regret for what could have been colored her
gaze as she entered the room and glanced around the
floor-to-ceiling shelves that covered two of the
walls. Trev hadn't lied about needing to bring
order to the room. The desk before the multipaned
windows held a stack of volumes; others were in
crates piled one upon the other. An open crate
sat on the floor. The oval table in front of the
fireplace, flanked by high-backed leather
chairs that invited one to enjoy the warmth of the fire
and a good book on rainy days, held the wrappings
she assumed the new books had come in.
  Leah stepped into the room, noticing yet
another stack of books, which had to come from the empty
shelf above them. What had Trev been doing?
She went to the desk, curious, and began picking
up one book, only to set it down and take
another. She had never seen these medical
journals. Opening one, Leah found
Trev's name written on the flyleaf. One after
the other, she discovered they all belonged to him.
  Careless as she replaced Culpeper's
Complete Herbal and English Physician on
the desk, Leah knocked a small book to the
floor. Bending down to pick it up, she saw the
folded paper sticking out from its pages. It was more
than curiosity that made her open and read what
turned out to be a letter. Anything that would refute
Trev's claim that she didn't know him,
didn't want to know him, was fair territory.
  The letter was dated ten years earlier, addressing
the board of the University of New York and
requesting information about the university's fees and
study requirements for the school of medicine with the
goal of obtaining a degree.
  Her hand shook as she stared at the signature.
  Trevor Randolph, Rosehall
Plantation, Augusta County, Alabama.
  What was the lie? Trev lived in Georgia.
Sweet Bay was his home. He had told her
that. And Shelby? Why wasn't the letter signed
Shelby?
  Quickly, then, she reread it. There were no
inkblots to mar the strong, masculine writing. The
letter was perfectly legible. She stared at the
date, rapidly figuring that Trev, if the
signature was his, had been about sixteen when this
letter was written.
  Leah wasn't sure what alerted her that she was
no longer alone.

              Chapter Ten

  She turned to find Trev standing in front of the
closed door, and while she watched, he reached
behind him to lock it. With his thumbs now hooked into the
pockets of his waistcoat, he appeared at
ease, but the rigid set of his cleft chin told
her otherwise.
  "Truly, Leah, you've been a distraction.
I quite forgot I left those books here. Have you
found me out?" he asked very, very softly.
  She ignored the softness and heard not only the
underlying accusation for her intrusion, but his obvious
resentment. "The book fell and this letter ... this
letter--"
  "Ah, a forgotten letter. Was it some impassioned
youthful plea for the notice of some young woman?"
  Leah saw the way his unruly black
hair tumbled forward over his forehead. She was
warned by the cool blue wash of his eyes where a
colder fire burned. "Stop it, Trev.
You're furious. The letter is not a love note,
but to the board of the University of--"
  "Oh, that. Toss it out, Leah. The letter means
nothing."
  She did not believe him. "Was this merely a
draft?" She held it close to her, afraid that
he would come and snatch it away before she had her
answers.
  "No, Leah, it's not a draft. It's
nothing."
  "You wrote it for a reason. Why didn't you
send it?"
  "Have you," he asked with exaggerated sarcastic
emphasis, "aspirations of breaking all
social, moral, and gender barriers to become a
lawyer, Leah? If you do, I am acquainted with
several young men who would eagerly take you on and
teach you all the skills of inquisition."
  "I've already broken moral and social
barriers," she snapped back. Leah was sure
he expected her to wilt beneath the blaze of his
eyes, but she had made herself a promise and
refused to back down. "I asked you a civil
question. I would expect the same in reply."
  "Another lesson in the library, Leah.
Let me explain the rules that govern lovers.
Questions are considered in bad taste. Especially
when one indicates a desire not to discuss
matters pertaining to the past."
  "I can't accept that. I want you to answer
me. I need to know."
  "It was a boy's prank."
  It was the bleak look in his eyes that made her
glance at the books and shake her head. "I
don't believe that."
  "Believe what the hell you like. I did not
bring you here to hold a discourse over some damn
forgotten letter!"
  His powerful figure loomed arrogantly,
seeming to fill the room with his presence.
Carefully folding the letter, Leah replaced it in
the book. "As you wish, Trev." She turned and
gazed out the window. "If the letter means so little, why
lie about it?"
  She waited for his reply, counting off seconds
that stretched into minutes. Tense, silent minutes
that finally forced her to turn around.
  The floral-patterned carpet had quieted his
steps; he now stood before the fireplace. She
watched him repeatedly rake his fingers through his
hair, sensing with an attunement which no longer had
the power to surprise her that the darkness in him was
back.
  Leah could no more stop herself from going to him than
she could stop her need to bring him ease. She
resisted the urge to touch him, understanding that Trev
waged his own battles.
  "Is it so much that I ask you? Tell me why
you never sent the letter."
  "Why the devil does it matter?"
  "I shared every dream, every hope, all my thoughts
with you. And you listened to me, Trev. You left me
without a defense against you. You claim I didn't
know you, but you were wrong. Are wrong," she
repeated, seeing his lips compress. "I know a
man who is gentle, not the cynical stranger you
become whenever I get too close. And then you
dared to claim I didn't want to know you. We
both understand that for the lie it is. You said we're
lovers, but love means to share the good and bad without
judging."
  "It's that important to you?"
  "Yes, it is."
  "My mother died and I had to return home for
her funeral. That's why the letter was never mailed."
It was close enough to the truth.
  "And the books? They are yours. Surely afterward
you could--"
  "The DeMoises were kind enough to store them for me
while Robert and I served in the army. There were
other matters that claimed my attention after I
buried my mother."
  The note of finality was one she heeded, even
if Trev left her with more questions. The amount of
books and their cost indicated a strong desire
to pursue his thought of becoming a doctor. Leah
gnawed her bottom lip. Was the denial of it
what turned him bitter?
  "Will your mother come looking for you?" he asked
abruptly. She shook her head and before he gave
himself time to think, he drew her close and kissed
her.
  Leah knew the power of his kiss. She was
helpless against the desperate raw need his mouth fed
to hers.
  She came to him, as Trev knew she would,
without coquetry, without pretensions, all
feminine softness that gave and gave with a generous spirit
he could not, would not deny himself.
  In her arms, with her kisses, he could forget the
lost dream, the aimless wandering, even the revenge
he longed to have. She narrowed his world to sharing her
joy. Sharing all she gave, all she allowed him
to be.
  Even as his need rose to bury himself deep
inside her, her soft moan came, revealing her
own highly aroused state. But Trev wanted
to give her more than an uncontrollable passion.
He eased his kiss to mere brushings of lips
to lips, slowly withdrawing, unable to let her go.
With his hand gently clasped around her neck, he
tilted her face up, watching her reconcile
herself to opening her eyes.
  He toyed with stealing every pin that held the silky
luster of her hair tightly in place. Her
seductive lashes framed her dark eyes.
Trev leaned close to kiss each brow.
Trailing a string of light kisses on her
cheek, he knew she was as shaken as he.
  "Forgive me?" he murmured, planting a
kiss on the tip of her nose, glancing around at
the discreet knock at the door. "Just as well
I stopped kissing you or Henry would find no one
answering."
  Leah sought one of the wing chairs, hoping it would
shield her as Trev went to the door. What if
it weren't Henry? What if she were caught here with
Trev? It didn't matter. She would dare
anything to be with him. She sat up when she heard
the door close. Trev came to her side.
  "I know a lovely spot for a picnic," he
said, taking her hand in his. "Down by the duck
pond beneath the willows."
  She hated to steal his wicked grin, but one of them
had to show sense. "Trev, I can't traipse about
the plantation with you. Not in the open where anyone can
see us."
  "You never worried about it before."
  "Don't withdraw, Trev. I wasn't your
lover before. If my father found out--was
  "You're right. Not that it matters to me, Leah.
I'd take on the devil himself to be with you." Her
stricken look brought his smile and a lighter tone.
"Well, since I can't take you outside,
we'll have our picnic here."
  "Here? In the library? But--"
  "No buts allowed. New
lessons, Leah. For both of us. And there is no
better place than right here."
  Within minutes, Trev had snapped open and
spread a snow-white damask tablecloth and
unpacked the basket Henry had just delivered.
Leah listened to him whistle, watched him remove
his waistcoat and neckcloth, then come to her.
  "My lady," he said, making a bow and taking
her hands, "my very lovely lady, your cold
collation awaits. As I do," he added softly.
  Only too happy to have him tease and see the
dark shadows lifted from his eyes, Leah's
mischievous spirit entered into his play.
  "And pray tell, my fine gallant, what
lessons would you teach?"
  "To myself, how to make amends." Leah rose
at his urging, but made no move to come closer.
"You need to be courted--"
  "Trev, that can't be. My father would never allow
you."
  "Yes, I know. You've mentioned his opinion
about Robert and me." His smile coaxed hers, for
he refused to dwell on anything serious.
"Let's see ... I could teach you how to seduce
me." He brought both of her hands to his lips and
kissed them, holding her gaze with his.
  "Do women seduce men, Trev?"
  "All the time. Just the way you look at me,
pleading for a kiss, is a seduction I can't
resist. But then, I have the excuse of my
desire for you, which has not been sated," he
whispered, turning both hands over, exposing the
palms to his lips. He watched her eyes
darken as her pulse increased. "Not for me," he
added, "and not for you."
  "Trev, tell me what you want from me."
  "For as long as I can have you, I want you in my
life."
  "Yes. I want that, too." She nestled
against him then, resting her head on his shoulder.
  "Lovely Leah, you may be as much of a fool
as I to think we can make such a promise."
  She smiled against his shirt. "Oh, Trev,
don't you see? First you call us both thieves.
Now we're fools. It appears to me," she
murmured, feeling his arms enclose her, "that we
share much more than desire."
  "You won't regret this, Leah. I promise
you won't."
  Leah chased the shiver of apprehension
that crept up her spine. No price was too
high to pay for loving Trev.

  Passion and love twisted together, forming an
unbreakable chain entwined around Leah's heart.
She waited for the coming of night, when dreams lived
in a softer, silent world, benediction to all that she
and Trev shared.
  The bluff became their private haven. The
tall chestnut tree with moonlight gilding its
sheltering branches was their only witness as she
learned to seduce him, overcoming shyness, drawing
from Trev the power and understanding of indulging her own
sensuality.
  Trev was all seduction and laughter, teasing and
claiming her mouth was as fickle as spring
sunlight for deserting him. The wind was the only
sound as she came to him, loving him, renewing her
own needs.
  To get through the days, she hugged an inner serenity
knowing that he waited; she cherished his telling her that
the tranquil murmur of her voice steeped him
in peace.
  His eyes lost their dark shadows. Leah
gloried in love.
  And like a quenchless flame, desire spread, as
rich and heady as the apricots steeped in brandy
they had one night, greedily stolen, greedily
eaten.
  Greed that made them stretch the hours of the night
a bit longer, only to end with tormented whispers.
...
  "I don't know how to leave you, Trev."
  "I never needed anyone the way I need you."
  Kisses stopped the words neither one could speak.
The words of love, of forevers.
  And this night, as a gray light filtered into the
sky, Trev held her tighter, his kisses
conveying an urgency he couldn't put into words.
  He didn't tell Leah about the note from
Bella he had received before supper. Bella had
suddenly returned from England, was home and waiting
for him at Sweet Bay. She had begged him
to come, writing that her need for him was desperate.
  The DeMoises understood his decision to leave
immediately. Robert knew he would travel light,
and gave him King High, a horse bred for speed
and stamina.
  But in making a decision to leave immediately after he
saw Leah, Trev hadn't figured that
he would be unable to let her go. He held her
longer than he should have, blocking out the argument he
had had with Robert when he asked his friend to give
Leah the money he set aside for her to have after he
had gone. Robert thought him mad when Trev
told him what he had planned.
  He kissed Leah now, stilling hunger, and
storing her sweet, generous giving. Nothing was going
to stop him this time from getting Bella free of
Clinton and away from Sweet Bay. Then he
would come back and claim Leah as his. But he
couldn't tell Leah that he loved her. Those were the
words of a free man, words of a man who could ask
his love to marry him. He could only murmur she
was what he often called her: his candle in the
darkness.
  The moment he tore his mouth from hers and cradled
her close, he wanted to kiss her again. The
ever-lightening sky was his warning that he had to leave.
  "Leah, I want you to wait for me. You've
taken me on blind trust and I'm asking you to do so
again. I've got to be away for a while," he
said, his fingertips on her lips silencing her.
"I still can't make promises to you. I just don't
know what's going to happen. But wait for me."
  "I love you," she whispered against his hand,
suddenly frightened. He pressed her close to him
and let her go.
  "Trev?" she murmured, seeing him already
leading his horse away before she turned to cross the
back garden. A chill of foreboding slithered down
her spine. Leah turned, hearing the faint sounds
of King High's ground-eating stride that took her
love away. Then she, too, saw how light it
was becoming and hurried to let herself in the back
door.
  Something was wrong. Why didn't she question him?
Why couldn't Trev trust her enough to tell her where
he was going?
  Her silent questions ceased abruptly.
  The door was jerked open from inside. Before Leah
could move, her arm was grabbed in a punishing grip
and she was yanked over the hall's threshold. She
threw up her free arm to shield her eyes from the
sudden flare of light.
  "Harlot! Who were you with?" Boyd Reese
bellowed, dragging his daughter closer and slamming
the door closed.
  "Papa, please, I--"
  "One word," he demanded, crushing her
arm when she tried to pull free. "Give me the
bastard's name."
  Leah blinked back tears of pain, shocked
into silence by the sight of a wild-eyed man who now
bore little resemblance to her father. Veins stood out
in his forehead. Corded tendons bulged in his
neck. He had both hands on her arms now,
shaking her. Leah saw her mother, standing near the
back stairs, holding the lamp, but she was blur
in Leah's tear-filled vision. The roar of her
father's voice drowned out whatever pleas her mother
made.
  "Tell me! Who dragged you down to sin? Who
made you a scarlet woman?"
  Feeling her neck would snap with the next forceful
jerk, Leah couldn't have answered even if she
wanted to. She had no thought but to protect
herself. Her arms were numb from his crushing hold.
No matter how she struggled, her strength
diminished against her father's. The demands went on,
but she made no sense of the words now. He was forcing
her to her knees, his grip in her loosened hair
shaking her head.
  "Tell Papa, Leah. Tell him what he
wants to know."
  "Harborin' a viper ... in my house ...
listenin' to you, woman. Give her time an'
she'll come 'round. Got 'round to bringin' shame
on me, is all."
  "Boyd! You're hurting her."
  "Always wantin' to go off by yourself ..."
  Their voices dipped and swayed in and out of her
hearing, and the hall faded in and out of her vision.
Leah tried to raise her arms, but was stopped
by needlelike pain as her initial shock receded.
She saw her mother's robed figure near the
stairs. She had to get away, escape to her
room, but the stairs were as black and out of her reach
as the doorways leading back to the separate
kitchen and the closer one of the parlor. She dug for
purchase on the smooth-planked floor,
ignoring the burning tear of her hair, desperate
to crawl free. But her father jerked her back.
  "Answer him, Leah," her mother begged.
"Please. I've never seen him in such a rage.
Answer him."
  "Answer me, harlot!"
  Leah couldn't see him anymore. But she could
feel. Her head rocked back with the sudden
open-handed blow her father landed. She tasted
blood. Fire spread from her jaw and cheek.
Someone was screaming. The second blow sent her
sprawling on the floor.
  Into the shocked silence, before blackness roared up
to claim her, Leah saw her father's boots.
Why was Papa dressed?

  It was late afternoon of the next day before Leah
made sense of where she was. She had been
drifting in and out of a blackened void, sensing her
mother's presence, feeling her touch, but unwilling
to give up the safety offered by the darkness that
enfolded her.
  She felt the cool cloth against her swollen
jaw, and swallowed the coppery taste in her mouth
to hold back a cry. Her body ached. Tears
slipped from beneath closed lids when she felt her
mother's gentle hand brush the hair back from her
face.
  "Mama?"
  The croaked whisper brought her water to drink,
but Leah barely managed a sip. She opened her
eyes, the night rushing back with clarity when her
mother averted her gaze and stepped away from the bed.
  "I'll tell Papa you're awake."
  "No. Wait. Talk to me."
  "Why, Leah? What did we do, that you thought
to bring such shame to us? Not once in all the time
I've been married to your father have I seen him
raise his hand. He's ashamed." Hedda came
closer to the bed and leaned over her daughter.
"You've got to tell him who it was, Leah.
It's only right this man be made to do the honorable
thing and marry you."
  Leah wanted to curl away from her. She
wanted the darkness to take the sound of her mother's
voice, steal the painful look of her eyes. But
the pain Leah felt in her body, her heart and
her mind, refused to let her escape. Her father
had never hit her before; she had never seen such
rage in him. Her mother had never before had such
sorrow in her eyes and voice.
  Hedda couldn't look at her daughter's
bruised face, but though she turned back to rinse
another cloth in the washbowl, she didn't
ignore Leah's silent plea.
  "It was after midnight, or close to it,"
Hedda said, "when Papa caught the Brewsters
trying to make off with the sows he was fattening. Old
Silas saw them hanging around at the
edge of the wood by the pens the last few days. He
was keeping watch, and when he heard them coming up through
the wood, he ran to get Papa. I came
to tell you not to worry, but you weren't here, Leah.
And when papa came home, he knew it, too.
I couldn't stop him from what-- I just couldn't stop
him. He was waiting down there in the dark, just
waiting for you."
  Hedda hunched over, shoulders shaking as she
sobbed, and Leah turned her head, tears spilling
down her cheeks. By now the whole plantation would
know what had happened to her. There was no way
to protect herself, but she could protect Trev.
  A deeper, aching pain spread inside her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to think
clearly, and hurting, hurting so bad. ...
  "You listen to me, Leah, and listen good.
Papa's gonna ask, and ask again, keeping you
locked in your room till you tell him who you were
sneaking out to meet."
  "Mama, please--"
  "There's nothing I can do. He's blaming me for
not letting him marry you off last year. We
raised you right. Didn't we? We taught you to not
to sin."
  "No sin, Mama. Stop--"
  "Why? You've got to hear what you've done
to us," Hedda declared, sniffing into her hankie and
coming back to the bedside. "I can hardly stand
looking at you. You can't be denying to me that you were with a
man, Leah. I saw what you looked like. Gown
half buttoned, not a petticoat in sight.
Mouth all bee stung and your neck and cheeks
reddened by some man's whiskers. Hair wild as a
slattern's."
  "You make it sound dirty--"
  "It was dirty. Is. And sinful, too. Do you
know how you've hurt me? Here I was believing
you'd settled to the thought of marrying, an' you're off
meeting some man."
  Leah covered her ears. She didn't want
to hear more. It wasn't dirty and sinful, she
longed to cry out. I didn't mean to hurt
anyone. I just wanted Trev and his love for a little
while.
  "Don't be hiding, Leah. I know you can hear.
You were always the different one. Dreamy-eyed and going
off by yourself with those books and drawings. Never should have
let all those fancy notions take hold."
Hedda straightened, then tucked her
damp hankie into her cuff. "I've taken my
blame for this and asked your father's forgiveness for my
neglect to keep you chaste. But you'll do the
same, Leah."
  Ignoring her own pain, Leah twisted on the
bed, reaching up to capture her mother's hand.
"Mama, please believe me, I didn't think
I was sinning. No one can blame you."
  "Child, oh, my dearest child," Hedda cried,
sinking to her knees and hugging her daughter close.
"What have you done? I loved you best, child. I've
never told that to a soul, but it's true. I knew
there'd be no more after you. But you've got to tell,
Leah. Let Papa set this all to rights. That
man has to marry you," she pleaded, stroking
Leah's tangled hair.
  "He can marry you, can't he, Leah? I mean,
he's free?" Feeling Leah burrow her head
against her, Hedda rocked harder. "Tell me he
ain't got a wife. I can't even think who it
is. I know you wouldn't be sneaking off with young
Jamison. There ain't a man-- Leah!" She
pulled back, uncaring of the cry she wrung from her
daughter, eyes widening, knowing even as she tried
to deny it. "It wasn't him. You wouldn't sin with
one of Robert's no-account friends. You didn't
..." The truth was in Leah's eyes, shimmering with
tears, and Hedda closed her own, rocking back
and forth and moaning.
  "I love him, Mama. I love him."
  Hedda held her daughter tight, overwhelmed
by the need to protect her. But Leah wasn't a
little girl anymore. She was a woman. There was
nothing Hedda could do. Boyd could rant and threaten
all he wanted, but he couldn't force a man like
Trevor Shelby to marry their girl. And everyone
in the county would know she had sinned.
  "Pray, Leah," she whispered. "I'll
tell Papa you're sick. But tomorrow, by this time,
you'll have to tell him his name. You hear me?"
  "I hear," she answered, her voice muffled
against her mother's chest. "I just can't do that to him,
Mama."
  In desperation, Hedda dug her fingers
into Leah's back. "You've got to. You slept
with him, didn't you? What if you're carrying his
child? You pray like I told you. Pray your papa
don't go gunning for him."
  Pain was nothing, measured against the fear. Leah
prayed. But not for guidance. To protect
him, she prayed that Trev was really gone.

            Chapter Eleven

  In a mood of bittersweet melancholy,
Leah divided her hours between the agony of waiting
and solitary reflection. The new moon marked the
last days of the month as she sat on the floor
near her window, recapturing moments from memory,
letting the time flow by, too cowardly to think of
what the day would bring. She was a fugitive from the
consequences her decision had brought and thought only
of her time with Trev.
  The treasure of his murmuring voice, the
exquisitely tender touch of his hands, the kisses
that silently, but so eloquently expressed his
feelings.
  "Dear Lord, he's gone," she whispered, no
longer able to summon tears.
  Leah knew she would never have revealed his name
until her mother mentioned the possibility of a child.
Was she so blinded by love--was he, for that
matter?--that the thought never came to mind? Not once
in their stolen hours had they talked about it.
  She had told him she wished for a love so
powerful it would make time stand still. Time ... She
could remember every moment of the first day, but couldn't
recall when she'd had her last menses.
  Blind panic took hold of her. What was she
thinking of? She gripped the sill so hard,
splinters pierced her fingertips. Panic grew.
Leah was frantic to pull the splinters out. She
didn't want to think; she needed this small pain.
  She wasn't respectable.
  She could be with child.
  And Trev ... would he want her? Would he be
willing to marry her to give their child a name?
  "Is that what I want? Trev forced to marry
me?" The night held no answers, and morning
brought her father's summons to the parlor.
  Leah dressed with care, choosing the same
russet gown she had worn the day Trev had come
to rescue her from the minister's visit. She
didn't want to think of its significance. Her
mood was strange, as if all thoughts were
suspended, and she had no time to decipher it as she
brushed and coiled her hair.
  The small mirror hanging over the washstand
revealed the purpling bruise on her jaw and the
crescent marring her cheek. If she were
the harlot her father had called her, she would have
rice powder to cover it. No matter who named her
harlot, Leah would never accept it. She loved
Trev and no one was going to sully it.
  There was no reason for her sudden turn at the
door. Her gaze skimmed over her few
possessions, memorizing their place, a dim
understanding coming that she would not be the same when she
returned here. If she did ... Leah
abruptly turned her back on the echoes of
laughter and tears, the faint images of a girl
dreaming, a woman holding a rose. The past
did not matter. Yet she closed the door very
softly behind her so as not to disturb the elusive
moments of pleasure and pain that had brought her to this
moment.
  She kept her gaze directed at the closed
parlor doors, unable to look at the spot where
shock, fear, and rage had exploded. She had
to wipe her damp palms before she knocked at the
door, and spent the few minutes waiting in dread
before her father opened one door and stood aside
to allow her to enter.
  Leah stumbled, barely catching her balance when
she saw Robert waiting in the room. He stood
with his elbow resting on the mantle, one gleaming
boot braced on the edge of the woodbox. From his
expertly tied white neckcloth which accentuated his
somber countenance, to the perfectly tailored
bottle-green frock coat, Robert appeared
what she had always called him: wealthy, spoiled,
and arrogant. He barely greeted her with a curt
inclination of his head, and chilled her with the frosted
anger in his eyes. Fear began to course through her.
Why was he here?
  "Sit down, Leah."
  She started at her father's command, the first words he
had spoken to her since he had hit her. It
gave her no pleasure to find that he couldn't
look at her, but Robert stared at the bruises.
Leah took the straight-backed chair near the
window. She needed Trev. But he was gone.
  "Well, say whatever it is you've come for,"
Boyd demanded.
  "I told you I wanted to speak to Leah
alone, Reese."
  Robert had not moved, but his tone conveyed his
displeasure and Leah was thankful he ignored her
father's belligerence.
  "An' I told you that you'll say
what it is in front of me. This is my
house."
  Leah flinched. His house. Not his daughter.
  "Your house, Reese? Need I remind you that
this house was built with timber milled from
Rosehall's forest? It sits on Rosehall
land. The clothes you wear, the food you eat, all
are paid for from Rosehall's profits."
  Staring out the window, unable to bear her father's
humiliation, Leah noticed the opaque grayness
of the overcast sky, which was as dark and threatening as
Robert's silky voice. A thin layer of
smoke hung in the air over the quarters'
outdoor baking ovens and she wished she were down
there.
  "Your father is a gentleman, but you're not cut
of the same cloth, for all your fancy ways."
  "Men of your ilk should never pass judgment on
their betters, Reese. My father has nothing to do
with this matter."
  "We'll see. I'll be goin' up--"
  "He's not there. He's gone back
to Tuscaloosa, where matters of grave concern
occupy his attention to ensure there will be no
military crusade upon the South if Lincoln
is elected. I want you to leave the room.
Don't force me to exert my authority in my
father's absence."
  "Stop it, Robert! You've no right to speak
to my father--"
  "I'll not have the likes of you defendin' me,
girl," her father snapped.
  "Shut up, Reese. Neither your daughter nor
anyone else, for that matter, could defend you if
I choose to take insult from your manner.
Don't ape your betters. You haven't the
proper stature for it. And I shan't ask you again
to leave us. I'm ordering it."
  Leah couldn't stand watching them and closed her
eyes. She wondered if being Trev's lover had
allowed her to absorb his skill of being in place,
listening, but sealing off all feelings. Surely the
lashing dismissal of her father's voice should have
hurt. Was the gray void that now surrounded her the
place where Trev disappeared to whenever someone came
too close? If so, she welcomed it as the
door closed and she was left alone with Robert.
  "You know why I've come, don't you, Leah?"
  Her fingers demanded her attention as she clasped
the fingers of one hand with the other. "No. But
you'll tell me."
  "Boyd shouldn't have hit you. It's a sin to mar
such a lovely face."
  His voice was still silky, just as dark as before, but
the threat came from another direction. Leah
didn't move, didn't answer him. She
couldn't breathe properly. The air was suddenly
thick. Reminding herself that this was Robert,
Trev's friend, offered no consolation. All she could
remember were Trev's warnings about him.
  "He's gone, you know."
  "Gone? Who is?" she asked very softly.
  "Don't play coy, Leah. I know about you and
Trev, have from that day I saw your leather case up
on the bluff. I must say I was disappointed that
you would choose Trev over me. I can do so much more
for you."
  Silk and dirt. Leah felt her body
tighten, needing to curl up and hide somewhere. She
hadn't felt this sullied under her father's rage or
her mother's agonizing accusations. But Robert
made her feel dirty. Robert gloated that
Trev was gone. She was alone.
  Robert had wanted her complete attention, just
as he had wanted her. But when she lifted her
face and he saw her eyes, he had to harden his
resolve to save Trev from his own foolish
plan. He couldn't look at her a moment more.
Her eyes were those of the dead. One of Mama
Rassia's walking dead, he found himself thinking and
remembering. "Just like that," she'd say, snapping
her thick black fingers in front of his nose,
bending over him. "Suck de breath right outta de
body. Take all de color. All de
life. Den leave de body."
  And that is how Leah appeared now, all color
leached from her face, even the bruises appearing
to fade. He had intended to draw this out and have his
satisfaction, but now he wanted it over quickly.
  "Trev left money for you. He said you'd know
what to do with it. But it's a paltry sum for what
you've given him, Leah. I can afford to double it."
She rocked in the chair as if he had hit her.
Robert tamped out the flare of pity he felt.
He understood, far better than Trev, how being
a woman's first lover clouded a man's thinking.
And that's all it was between Trev and this overseer's
daughter. All it could be.
  "Would you--" Leah swallowed, then tried
to moisten her lips, "please go."
  "I haven't finished. Damn! But between you and
your father I've received little respect for my
place. The money is up at the house. So are
your drawings. He left them and he won't be
back. Should you find yourself needing consolation, Leah,
you'll find that I'm far more generous with my lovers
than Trev."
  "Get out, Robert."
  "You're upset. Of course. Whatever
schemes you hatched are foiled. And as a warning
to you, don't offer your favors to any more of my
friends. Sulla Mae, who has no illusions about
her place, is better suited to service their
needs."
  "Dear God! Get out ... get out," she
grated from between clenched teeth, rocking faster, her
arms wrapped around her waist. She tasted copper
from the blood welling where she had bitten her
swollen lip. Robert preys on fear, she
warned herself. Don't show him any and he'll
leave. Oh, Lord, he's touching me. Trev?
Trev, I need you.
  Robert curved his hand over her shoulder, his
warm flesh chilled by the cold seeping through the cloth
of her gown from her skin. "A last thing to tell you,
Leah. Trev's good, but I'm better. When
you're thinking clearly, you'll realize he did you
a favor. You are far too lovely to grow old
warming some farmer's bed."
  Leah raised her head slowly, for it required
an effort. She felt dry and brittle, ready
to shatter, but forced herself to gather whatever moisture
was left in her mouth. She held Robert's
cruel gaze for a second more, then spat on his
gleaming boot.
  He knew she was braced for him to hit her. And
he would have. But his voice was very soft when he
spoke. "You'll pay for that, Leah."
  "No. I've already paid."
  He left her rocking, and barreled into Boyd
as he opened the door. "Get out of my way,
Reese."
  Boyd caught Robert's arm. "Not so fast.
You'll give me this man's direction. He'll
do the right thing by her."
  "Take your hand off me, Reese. And you will do
nothing about this. I will not have my friend badgered over this
trifling. If you feel some compensation must be made
for the loss of her virginity, I'll pay it, and
that's the end of the matter. If you dare
bring this up to my father, I'll have you thrown off
Rosehall."
  "Thrown off?" Boyd repeated, shaking his
head, only to stop and stare up at Robert's
arrogant features.
  "You've thought yourself above your station, man.
Rosehall is mine. Do you think my father will
gainsay my decision to dispose of you if I tell
him you're thwarting my efforts to take more
responsibility? And make no mistake.
I'll do it."
  Robert shoved Boyd back, gathering his hat,
gloves, and walking stick from the hall stand.
"There's to be no talk of Trev doing the right
thing. He's already done that by leaving here. Heed my
advice. Marry her off quickly so the talk will
die down. I don't want her on Rosehall
land." With a last glance inside the parlor,
Robert added, "Cast-off goods don't sell
well, but there's money to sweeten the gall for some
fool to swallow taking her now."
  He closed the door on silence, absolute
in its devastation.
  There was no pride left in the man who walked
back through the connecting hall to the kitchen and faced
his anxious wife.
  "Boyd?"
  "You heard the last? I'm to be thrown off if
I try to get Shelby to do the honorable thing and
marry her. Thrown off, he says, like my sweat
these years means nothin'. He'll do it, too."
  "And Leah? Where is she?"
  "Where he left her. Where you'll be leavin'
her. She's needin' to reflect on her sin.
Shamed an' disgraced us in one blow."
  "Listen to me," Hedda said, coming around her
worktable to put her arms around him. "She's still our
daughter, and she needs us, husband. I hate
seeing you so beaten, but Boyd, please, set
aside your pride. She's hurting. Leah told
me she loved him. No," she said, putting her
fingertips to his mouth, "let me finish. She's
done wrong, but we'll stand by her. I've not asked
much of you through these years of our marriage, but I'm
asking for this, Boyd. Help our child."
  "Should I be takin' that devil's advice,"
he asked, patting her back and moving aside,
"an' find a fool to marry her now?"
  "If you want to keep your position here, you have
no other choice."
  "I've worked this land like it was my own."
  "And did a fine job of it. Nicholas and
Martin respect your advice when it comes to their
land. And that neighbor--"
  "Cooper. Roddy Cooper. He was wantin'
permission to court her."
  Hedda stopped him from leaving. "Let me talk
to Leah. She won't give you any trouble.
She'll do what's right." His curt nod sent her
running to her daughter.
  Hedda didn't bother to knock at the parlor
doors. She opened them, then stopped on the
threshold, blinking at the darkness.
  "Leah, it's quite dark in here. Why didn't you
light the lamp?"
  "No, light, Mama. Please."
  Compassion for her daughter made Hedda stand behind
Leah and gently touch her shoulders. "You're
chilled to the bone. Come away from the window. It's
going to storm and you've never liked lightning."
  You're wrong, Mama. The storm's over.
And I learned to like lightning. Trev was like that.
Bright and fierce. Filling my world, filling me.
  "Come along, Leah. We'll have some tea.
That'll warm you. And then we'll talk about what
needs to be done."
  "Where's Papa?"
  "Don't be afraid. He's gonna give us
time to talk."
  "He's not going after Trev, is he?"
  Hedda drew Leah up off the chair and cupped
her cheeks. The shadowed light didn't allow her
to see her daughter clearly, but she felt her
trembling, heard the panic.
  "You heard what Robert told him. He'll
lose his position here if he does."
  Leah leaned forward, resting her weight against her
mother. "I'm glad he's not going. Trev--"
Tell her! "Robert said he used me. He
doesn't want me. I don't believe him,
Mama. I don't want to believe him. I
can't believe him!" she cried out, tearing free of
her mother's arms and running blindly up the stairs
to her room.
  Boyd came rushing in just as the door slammed
above them. "Was that her answer? Runnin' off
to hide?"
  "I told you, Boyd, she's hurting. Leah
will come around."
  "She'd better, or I'll take a
belt to her." Stepping closer to the stairs, he
yelled, "You hear? I'll take my belt to you
an' show you what hurtin' is!"
  Leah heard him. She lay dry-eyed on her
bed, staring up at the ceiling, knowing no one, not
even her father, could make her hurt as much as the
pain ripping inside her.
  "He's gone, you know."
  But only for a little while.
  "I know about you and Trev. Have from that day on
the bluff."
  What else did he know about us? Did you
tell him more? Where are you, Trev?
  "Wait for me, Leah." She whispered his last
words to her. Wait ... wait ...
  "What am I waiting for, Trev? Did you
send Robert here to me?"
  "He left money for you."
  "I don't want his money."
  "I'm far more generous ... don't offer
favors ... service their needs ... Trev's
good ... did you a favor ... you'll pay for that
... pay ... you'll pay ..."
  Her fingers tore into her hair, the heels of
her hands pressing her temples, twisting and
turning, while she tried to stop hearing Robert's
voice. Tried to stop the words.
  She came off the bed in wild flight, fed by the
urgency of despair. She had to know for herself.
She couldn't trust Robert. She ran down the
stairs, the first fat drops of rain hitting her as
she flung open the door and met the gusting wind.
Henry would tell her. Mama Rassia would know.
And Cato. Cato knew she loved Trev.
Cato would tell her the truth.
  Driven by the need that filled her, Leah fought the
slash of rain that tried to blind her, the wind that bent
and twisted branches to stop her, even the silent
scream building inside, telling her he was gone.
  She dragged air just as she dragged the sodden
skirt of her gown, refusing to stop, circling the
quarters, heading for the stables. She couldn't breathe and
had to. The lane was muddy, her legs trembling
as she forced them to run, falling and unable to stop
herself. She sprawled there, the rain beating down on
her, rousing herself to spit the mud from her mouth while
thunder pealed in the sky like a devil's laughter.
  Her fingers clawed at the mud, finding
purchase despite the violent shivering of her
body. She pushed herself to her knees.
Where had her strength gone? Had Trev taken that
as he had taken her trust and her love? Had he
betrayed her?
  "No!" she screamed, defiance overcoming
weakness and helping her to stand. But she couldn't run
anymore. She was barely able to walk to the stable
doors. As the storm raged, so did Leah,
crying and calling, banging on the doors for
Cato.
  She fell into his arms when he opened the
door, and let him drag her inside. The sudden
warmth and familiar smells offered no comfort.
  "Tell me," she begged, clawing his shirt.
  "He's gone, Miss Leah. Marse Shelby
left almost two days ago."
  "Trev's coming back."
  "You're cold, Miss Leah. Let me get
you on up to de house."
  "Can-Cato. He's coming back."
  "Never said that. Marse Robert say he gone
home. Had Henry pack all his--"
  "Have-hush." She looked up at him with
fever-bright eyes. "Have-heaven's cryin',
Cato. Mama Rassia so-said when I die,
heaven's gonna can-cry."

            Chapter Twelve

  Three days of an unabating storm front
forced Trev to detour north across the state line of
Georgia and seek passage on the Muscogee
railroad. King High took exception to being
confined in the car. The big black settled down
quickly once he had grain and the company of other
horses.
  Trev was exhausted from his hard riding, battling
wind and rain, but the private compartments were all
taken. Rather than share close quarters in compartments
with strangers, who inevitably would get around
to asking questions, he chose a seat in the passenger
car. The smell of damp, close-packed
bodies rose to meld with older, staler stenches
embedded not only in the tightly woven straw
seats, but in the very walls and floor of the car itself.
  Slouched in his seat, hat pulled low, Trev
closed his eyes as the train pulled out of
Columbus. He ignored the rising and receding
babble of voices, children's cries, and the curses from
two slovenly drunks that came and went along
with the ebb and flow of passengers in the
next hours. The small towns along the rail
passed in a blur of names.
  The hiss of steam, the warning blasts of the
whistle, and the slowly building momentum of metal
wheels clacking against the rails formed a
background for his silent litany. Home.
Bella. Freedom. He hadn't sent a
message ahead that he was arriving. He refused
to give Clinton any warning at all.
  His ears became accustomed to the grinding screech
and the conductor's shout announcing another station, his
body accommodating the lurch and slam as the train
stopped and started, following the slightly northern
curve of the rails. At dawn they stopped in
Fort Valley, where he watched as a few cars
went onto sidings awaiting the Southwestern
Railroad's train. He was hungry, but no
one stirred on the platform.
  He dozed on the way to Macon, where the car
took on a rowdy family, excited by their first
trip south on the Macon and Western. Trev
had the fleeting thought that if there was war,
Georgia's rails could move troops and
supplies as well as the vast rail network of
South Carolina. He found a black woman
selling ham-filled biscuits and bought two.
He managed to get a cup of coffee only with
difficulty, for the morning was chilled and the line
long.
  At Gordon, where the train nearly emptied
for the spur line into the state capital of
Milledgeville, a woman caught his eye as
she strolled along the platform. Her hair, what
little of it he could see beneath a beribboned and feathered
bonnet, was nearly the same shade as Leah's.
The thought of her waiting for him, loving him, made
his lonely vigil bearable as he changed to the
Central railroad and began the last part of his
journey.
  Once past Bostwick, the rail followed the
winding of the Ogeechee River, which emptied into the
inlets near Fort McAllister. Leah would love
the islands. She had never seen the ocean, with its
glistening sand beaches, but she would, he vowed. She
would see all that and more once he was free.
  He disembarked in the small town of Eden,
dubbed Eden number two, for a little ways south was a
larger township with the same name. King High was
well rested, full of spirit for running, and Trev,
thankful for the cool, dry day, was more than
anxious to ride him across the Ogeechee southeast
to Sweet Bay. He rode without stopping out of
Bryan County into Liberty, passed ponds and
creeks and sluggish streams. He rode through
forests of long leaf pines cut in half by the dark
cypress swamps, gray moss hanging still, and from
the sea came the faintest breeze carrying to him the
beloved scent of magnolia, pine, and jasmine.
  At the fork he slowed, ignoring the black's
prancing, as he rode closer to the Midway
Congregational Church. The white frame building
stood in a grove of pines and moss-draped
oaks, its clapboard sides lined with shuttered,
small-paned windows. He remembered climbing
the square tower that rose from the roof, surrounded
by an open belfry, and, to the dares of his friends,
trying to make it up the tall hexagonal
spire. Service had not yet begun and that had
been one of his mother's good days. Clinton had been
away, and she never chided Trev, but praised his
daring as she led him inside.
  He was tempted to go in to see if the pews were as
stiff as he recalled, their hinged doors standing on
the wide-planked floor, all separated
by aisles. Up above them was the circular gallery
used by the slaves, but he had been directed
to keep his eyes on the clergyman in the high
pulpit.
  There was history here, beyond his own memories,
for the church was the cradle of Revolutionary spirit in
Georgia. Two of its supporters, Lyman
Hall and Button Gwinnett had signed the
Declaration of Independence, and two others,
Daniel Stewart and James Screven, became
brigadier generals in the Revolutionary army.
In his mind he heard his mother's lovely drawl,
telling him how the parish was honored with the name
Liberty for its marked patriotism.
  He turned away so as not to see the small
pavilions built to allow the families rest and
refreshments during the intermission between morning and
afternoon services. Old feelings of hate rose
with the memories of Clinton holding court, the
women flirting in their discreet ways, the men
seeking out his advice. Eight miles to go before he
saw the boundary marking Sweet Bay's land.
  Yet he found himself holding King High to a
walk, wondering how his father had fooled a planting
community that boasted deep religious convictions,
gentle social refinement, and wealth.
Their piety was the very cornerstone of their lives.
He knew these people; they were industrious, observant
of their place and obligations, known to be humane
in the treatment of their servants. The men gave their
sons the traditions of patriotism, high
standards of honor and integrity. Was his home the
only one that hid beneath its prosperous facade a
rot so deep, so insidious, that death seemed the
only escape?
  Two horsemen cut across a field at a
gallop, attracting Trev's attention. He
wasn't close enough to recognize them, so he
couldn't call out. Too many years had passed,
separating him from the boys he knew who went to the
state university in Athens or to the northern
universities of Yale, Harvard, and
Princeton. But the horsemen served to remind him
that he was lingering when he should be hurrying. The quicker
he got Bella away, the faster he could
return to Leah and ask her to be his wife.
  It was late afternoon when he dismounted and walked up
the long avenue that led to the main house. Sweet
Bay comprised nearly one thousand acres.
Twenty acres were pockets of lawn shaded by the
live oaks and sweet bay trees, cedars and
pines, gardens of sweet and sour oranges,
figs, pomegranates, olives, and grape
arbors that surrounded the house. These were the scents
of home, the ones that he carried with him in his forced
exile.
  He didn't know the pickaninnies, whose sole
jobs were to keep the lawns and gardens weed-free.
But then, slaves were sold and bought like the coming and
going of seasons here. So unlike Rosehall.
But he needed a clear mind for what waited and
couldn't allow thoughts of Rosehall's
tranquillity or Leah's love to distract him.
  Trev found it near impossible to keep
comparisons from coming to mind. There was no singing from the
quarters, the rice house, and ginhouse.
Figures scurried from mill house to barn, the
chickens in the poultry sheds making more noise.
He stood halfway up the long drive, closing
his eyes and marking the placement of brick kitchen
and dairy, smokehouse and washing sheds. He
wouldn't be able to see the carriage house or
wagon shed from here, or the huge stable. But he
didn't want to remember the stable at all.
  With every step he took, the past came alive,
and he, weaker than he thought, couldn't
stop it.
  He opened his eyes, walked the distance until
the house rose before him. Rationally, Trev knew
it was the play of the late afternoon's shadows that made
the house appear alive, whispering, warning, but
waiting for him. He used Leah's love, a
love that deemed him worthy, to combat the
regretful haunting of lost hopes and dreams.
  The wide, encircling veranda was empty of
life--but then, Clinton had never been one to sit
rocking in the chairs unless there was company. The
whitewashed house rose to two stories, eighteen
rooms in all. He wondered where Clinton was
at this hour.
  From around the corner came a sullen-faced boy
of no more than eight, better dressed than the
pickaninnies he had seen--but then, his job was
to take care of visitors' horses and Clinton
was always careful to make the proper impression.
  "I takes yore horse, suh."
  "What's your name, boy?"
  "Pickins, massa," he answered digging the
toes of one bare foot into the dirt. "It's on
accounta Tantalou sayin' as how I's pickin'
up dis an' dat."
  Trev didn't hand over the reins. He felt
like a stranger, for he had no idea who the boy was
talking about. But any source that would help him
deal with what waited inside the house had to be
used.
  "Who's Tantalou?"
  "She took Mammy's place in de big
house."
  Another one he didn't know. "Do Julius
and Jason still work in the stables?"
  "Doan know nobody called dem names. We
gots JimmyJack an' Bishop an'
Elijah, he's de smithy."
  "And Tante Celine? Is she still here?"
  The boy shook his head, toes digging harder,
churning up the dirt. He wriggled his skinny
body from side to side, and as suddenly as he
started, he stopped. "Massa, why you askin' me
'bout folks ain't 'ere?"
  "I lived here once," Trev replied,
reaching into his waistcoat pocket and palming a
half-dollar, before he realized it would cause
trouble for the boy. He fingered a half-dime and
handed over the silver five-cent piece. Trev
smiled when the boy turned it over and
over before bobbing his head and thanking him.
  "You be de massa's boy what got hisself
whupped jus' like you was a nigger boy?"
  "Just' like you're gettin' whupped iffen you
doan stop botherin' de gentlemun an' take his
horse," came a voice from behind.
  Trev turned, not recognizing the massive
black man coming down the steps, moving quickly for
all his bulk. When he saw that it was the man's
intent to cuff the boy, Trev stepped between them.
"There's no need to hit him. He said nothing
wrong."
  "Massa Shelby doan want--"
  "Massa Shelby isn't here. What he
doesn't know won't hurt anyone. But I
won't stand for any cuffing while I'm here."
  "But yore Massa Shelby, too, suh."
  Trev hated the term, but it would do no good
to say so. The man's broad unsmiling face
showed the ravages of a fighter and Trev wondered
what his father had been thinking of to make this man--it
was obvious from his neat sackcloth suit--the
majordomo.
  "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage.
I haven't been home for a long time. Pickins
withstood my asking about former slaves."
  "Beg yore pardon, suh. Massa
Shelby, now, he call me Monk, on account
of my stayin' away from de black wenches. Had
me a wife when Massa Newberry owned me.
Had me the name of Shagato when I was fightin' for
'im. Them Newberrys, they fell on hard times
an' sol' us off. Massa Shelby say he
doan need no more wenches, no more pickaninnies.
Ain't seen 'em near two years. Ain't knowin'
where they got off to." He turned to the boy.
"You take real care with that fine horse of
Massa Shelby or I'll tan yore hide
good."
  Trev took his saddlebags, admiring the
quiet dignity of Monk, even as he pitied
him. But Trev pitied anyone who was subjected
to Clinton's whims.
  Before he followed Monk up the wide steps,
Trev took a last look around. "Monk, do you
know what happened to Tante Celine?"
  "The ol' witch woman?"
  "Is that what they got around to calling her? She
wasn't a witch, but a skilled healer on the
island she came from."
  "It ain't my place to be sayin'." He
held one of the double doors open. "Mistress
Bella, she'll be right glad to see you. Been
askin' every day."
  "My sister will never be mistress of Sweet
Bay, just as I will never be its master. Remember
that, Monk." Trev stepped inside to the entry and
gave Monk his bags and hat.
  "Yore room's been kept ready since
Mistr--Miss Bella's come home. I'll
get Silvy--she's one of de chambermaids,
so's you know--an' tell her to get water hot for
yore bath. You'll be wantin' one after all that
ridin'."
  Trev had no problem smiling, or thanking
Monk for letting him know yet another name. It
made him feel less a stranger. He glanced
up the two sets of stairs that rose from the entry
hall and formed a balcony. The double doors on
either side led to the drawing rooms, the left opening
into the large dining room and the right into the library.
Behind them, yet again separated, was his father's
office, small parlor, and smoking room, while
the other side held the sewing room and what had
been his mother's office. But he made no move
toward any of them.
  He knew he should bathe and change before seeing
either his sister or father. He sent a rueful gaze
over his dust-laden boots and clothes, felt his
beard itch from not having shaved in five days.
  "Monk, is my father's man Gilbert around?
There's not even a clean shirt in those bags, and
I'm not sure what was left here would fit me."
  "Massa Shelby got hisself a new man
named Caesar. Gilbert, he was gettin' on in
years. Couldn't move fast. This Caesar's right
uppity, even if he was raised a house nigger.
But he do a fine job brushin' out yore
clothes."
  Trev nodded, and Monk left him. He
couldn't bring himself to ask if his father was home, and,
if he was here, where. He was dirty and tired,
yet his steps dragged as he started up one side
of the staircase, fighting memories battering him
from every side.
  "Oh, my Lord! Trev? Trev, is that you?"
  He was halfway up the stairs, caught in the
curve, when a feminine bundle of silks and
lace came flying toward him in a blur.
"Bella?" Black hair. Blue
eyes, A head shorter than him. Skin as white
as magnolias. Small-boned as she was, her
slender arms hugged him so tight he couldn't break
free and look at her. She was crying and laughing,
then murmuring his name over and over.
  "Oh, Trev, hold me, hold me. It's
been so long. I can't believe you're really here.
I kept waiting and hoping. Trev, you're
home. We're finally together again."
  The soft childish drawl was gone, and now he
held her tight, closing his eyes, trying
to adjust to the fact that the slender young woman in his
arms was Bella. The image he had carried with
him had little resemblance to who she was now: pale,
skinny, eyes too big for her face. But he
rocked her as he braced himself against the wall,
overcome by the tears she shed that soaked his shirt.
  When she lifted her head, Trev let her
pull back and cup his bearded cheeks with her
hands, while he stared down into the face of a
stranger.
  It took him minutes before that sense of
strangeness began to leave him. The cascade of
pinned-back curls were as black as his own hair,
and the widow's peak he used to tease her about came
from their mother. Her tear-filled eyes were a lighter
blue than his, but as thickly lashed. He
held her with one arm and touched her deeply arched
brows, his fingertips making her real to him. Her
nose still had a little bump from when she had fallen out
of a tree trying to keep up with him. She wasn't
lovely, not like his Leah, but when her wide,
mobile mouth curved into a smile, dimples
formed and the small imperfections were forgotten.
  "Too many years, Trev. You're not the boy
I remember." Bella wiped at the tears that
wouldn't stop, once more hugging him close. He was
different, Trev, and not the brother she once
knew. His eyes were hard, without the warmth she had
dreamed of. But she had missed him and told him
so. "Be patient with me, I've missed you. I
just need to hold you and know you're really here."
  He murmured soothing sounds, all he could
manage. She had grown up away from him, and he
found himself fighting the rage that was surfacing. He
wasn't there to see her pin up her hair for the first
time, or see her hems let down. He wasn't
the one who teased her, if anyone had, about the shy
looks exchanged after church service with some boy.
His guardianship had not extended to the
joyful events of her life. That had been stolen
from him. From her. He had never offered brotherly
advice on dancing and gowns and friends, but he
knew of others who had shared such things with their
sisters.
  The bond they had was more than blood. And
Trev knew he had to have time alone, away from
her, without hurting Bella or himself. Time to arm
himself.
  He slowly disengaged her arms, forcing a smile
that never reached his eyes. "Thank goodness the stairs
are wide or we'd both have tumbled down,
Bella."
  She took his hand, hiding how hurt she was.
Beyond her name, he'd said nothing. Not a word of
missing her, not a word that he found her grown up.
He even seemed reluctant to follow her up the
stairs to his room. "Monk will have hot water
for a bath, and when you are ready, come to my room,
Trev. We need to talk before you see Father."
  He let her turn away and take a step before
the pouty bottom lip revealed in profile sent
him spinning back to the past and a little girl who
made that same gesture not to cry.
  "Bella," he called softly. "Who held
you when the nightmares came?"
  "No one," she answered, turning around. "There
was never anyone who cared but you, Trev." She
stared at the carpet runner, unable to believe the
warmth in his blue eyes meant she had her adored
brother back and not the cold-eyed stranger who had
thinly masked his hate.
  "I still care, Bella. I always have, always will,
but seeing you is like meeting someone I thought I
knew, but really don't know at all."
  "And for me it's the same. He stole twelve
years from us, Trev. Twelve long and, for me,
lonely years. I prayed you would come and rescue
me when you grew up. I--"
  "Yes, Bella. Long and lonely." He
took a step toward her, just as she did toward
him, both freezing at the bellow from below.
  "Why wasn't I told he's here? Damn
you, Monk, I'll have your black hide for this!
Get him down here. Move, damn you!"
  "Go to your room, Bella."
  "No. You're not going to face him alone. I
remember what he did to you. I won't let that
happen--"
  "I'm not a boy anymore. And
you're not locked up in a school across the ocean
where I can't get to you. Now go to your room and
wait for me."
  Old emotions, like old scars, ravaged her
brother's features and Bella saw the hard-eyed
stranger was back. This was not the reunion she had
dreamed about, or hoped for. Where were the quiet
walks? The chance to talk and share the missing years
of their lives? He came abreast of her, his
look ordering her obedience, but Bella grabbed his
arm.
  "Trev, listen to me. I'm not a child. I said
I had to talk to you. Now there's no time. I'm in
love, Trev, and I want Father's permission
to marry, but he's refused to even meet Howard."
  "In love?" he repeated, motioning to Monk
at the top of the stairs to stay where he was. "A
schoolgirl's infatuation."
  "Massa Shelby, he's--"
  "Tell him to wait, Monk. I'll be down
directly."
  Bella marshaled her arguments, knowing this was not the
way she had intended to tell him. His tone was
dismissive, just as her father's had been. Her grip
tightened on his arm, stopping him from leaving her.
  "I'll be eighteen in two months, Trev.
I'm not a child but a woman. Howard is good man.
Nothing like father. But if you fight with him, he'll
keep refusing, to spite you and punish me." Her
eyes implored him for understanding. "Trev,
haven't you ever fallen in love? Hasn't there
been someone special in your life where just being with
them enriches every moment? Are you listening to me?" she
pleaded, both hands squeezing his arm, desperate
to reach him.
  Hate reared its ugly head, and Trev felt
it tear at him. Once more she pleaded for herself.
One more sacrifice for him to lay at his father's
altar. He wanted to lash out and barely stopped
himself. Bella's pleas, soft, urgent, rang in
his ears. She was almost eighteen. Old as
Leah. You can't discount Leah's love. Age
never mattered. Leah asked for nothing. Bella
asked for everything.
  He peeled her fingers off his arm one by one and
walked away.
  "Trev!" she cried, running after him. "What
are you going to do?" He was already halfway down the
stairs when she repeated her demand. Gripping the
thick wooden railing, Bella leaned
over, not caring if her father heard her. "Tell me
if you'll speak on my behalf. Please,
Trev, nothing has ever mattered so much to me."
  At the bottom step he turned and looked up
at her. His countenance was like raw lightning and
Bella staggered back with a cry. His face was as
inanimate as a mask. Only his eyes showed
life, darkening until blue warmth all but
disappeared. She didn't know this man. He was
dangerous. Frightening her so she forgot it was Trev
staring up at her, his lithe body ready to spring the
distance between them and kill her.
  "Trev, wait," she whispered, lifting one
hand to implore him. "You don't know about him.
Trev, please."
  He held her gaze a moment more, then spun
on his heel and walked through the drawing room
doors Monk held open for him.

            Chapter Thirteen

  "I've answered your summons." Trev
closed and locked the doors behind him. He leaned
against the solid wood, giving his eyes time
to adjust to the near-dark room. The only source
of light came from thin slivers of the fading day between
the drawn blue velvet drapery gracing the
floor-to-ceiling windows of the two outside
walls.
  "Kept me waiting, boy."
  "Your pardon," Trev intoned with ill-concealed
fury. "I attended a long-awaited and desired
reunion with my sister. But I'm here now. Shall
we begin the celebration?"
  "Silence your foul tongue! Think I'd order
a fatted hog slain for the return of the prodigal
son?"
  "Touching thought. Your welcome overwhelms
me." He could hear that Clinton was at the far end
of the room. The rank musty odor of decay
permeated the air and the darkness enclosed him like a
tomb. He had had enough of darkness. Hate filled
his mouth like spit, but he swallowed it. If he
let it free, it would ignite like fire, consuming
all in its path and be just as deadly.
  "Why haven't you ordered the lamps lit? Or
does the dark help you ruminate upon your sins?"
  "So the bantam cock tries to crow?"
Clinton's laughter filled the room.
  Trev waited out the sound, clenching the
protruding door handles behind his back until the
well-remembered carved relief was imprinted on
his palms. And when there was silence, he said, "I
beg your pardon. An error in judgment on my
part that I did not polish my manners in the
barnyard before presenting myself to you."
  "Insolent bastard. I can still take a whip
to you."
  "I'm not a boy, Clinton."
  "But Bella's home. Did you forget that in
your puny effort to prove you're a man?"
  "It's your puny effort to use Bella that
needs to be forgotten." Trev knew the taunt
had pierced his father's shield. He heard the
rattle of decanter to glass and smiled, hoping
Clinton needed liquor's false courage. His
breathing slowed, then held, and in those few moments
he heard the slurp of Clinton drinking.
Suddenly he wanted to see him, needed to. He
stepped into the room, avoiding the large square
pedestal table in the center, and began yanking apart
the velvet drapes on window after window.
  Trev clung to the last drape, his breathing
harsh as if he had been running, hate welling
up, slipping from his leash. He was so close
to Clinton that he couldn't avoid inhaling his
smell. He gagged, angry that Clinton heard,
but the man smelled like the foulest tavern swill,
bringing bile rising, just as the past rose, forcing
Trev to fight for the courage to turn around.
  And Clinton knew. "I've poured you a
drink for Dutch courage, boy. But you'll have
to turn around to get it," he taunted. "Can't do
it, can you, boy? Guess I finally beat all that
cockiness out and still couldn't make you a man."
  Don't listen. Don't turn around now
while you could choke that goading voice
into absolute silence. Don't let him foul you,
as he fouls everything he touches. Think of Leah,
dreams in her eyes and love in her heart. You
can't go to her with his blood on your hands.
  "Get the hell out if you can't face me."
  Trev released his grip on the drape and
slowly lowered his hands to his sides. With every
slurred word that came from Clinton, Trev felt
fear dissipate and control return.
  "You saw Bella. Fancy piece of
goods--"
  "She's your daughter for Christ's sake!"
  "At least marrying her off will bring me
something! Unlike you. Worthless bastard that you
are."
  "If I am deemed worthless in your eyes,
Father--" Trev began, turning. He stared, for
there was nothing else he could do.
  He had wished Clinton dead too many times
to count. Now he stared at a dying man. Or what
was left of the man he had been. A broken old
man, to whom time had brought the ravages of his
excesses. Ignoring the venom pouring from
Clinton, Trev noted the open sores on his
forehead, the sparse head of hair, more gray than
black, the lesions that distorted the shape of his
vile mouth. Trev didn't know how long he
stood there before he realized that the glazed eyes he
thought were staring at him were marred by small cankers
near the corners. The way Clinton blinked,
turning his head slowly from side to side, brought the
understanding to Trev that Clinton was losing his sight.
Justice had come.
  "Shocked you silent, bastard?" Clinton's
frail body heaved forward in the corner chair, his
arm knocking against the side table, drawing
Trev's gaze to the coiled whip, the decanter,
glasses, and bottle clearly marked
LAUDANUM.
  The fetid odor of decay in the room
increased with the foulness of Clinton's breath.
Trev saw his mouth working, his protruding tongue
covered with grayish cankers. Trev didn't
need his small store of medical knowledge; he had seen
enough in dockside taverns and saloons to know the
last stages of syphilis. Like its evil host,
the disease ate its way to the core.
  "Go on, say it. I can feel you gloating.
You know what I've got. You think it's killing
me, and you're already digging the grave. But you'll
wait and rot before that happens. It's been eating
at me for years. But I'm winning. Beating it!
Hear me? I'm the master and no one rules but
me!"
  Clinton rose from his chair, his gait the
staggering of a drunk. He had to hold on to his
elbow, pushing his arm up, clenching the fingers into a
fist. "Damn weakling! Get out! Where's all
your fine talk of doctors now? Quacks, the
lot of them. That's what you wanted to be. Another
of those damn bloodsucking leeches. Taking a
man's gold and lying to him. Telling him he can't
bed his wife or she'd bear him a poxed
idiot.
  "Curses on their heads! What the hell did
they know about a man's need to forget the puling
excuse of a woman he wed? I damn the lot of
them. Ravening crows know nothing about a man needing
the fire of his loins cooled. Trying to make me
believe one of those pious bitches flipped her
skirts and spread her legs for one too many men.
Fools and thieves. Saved you from that, boy. A
man knows how to cure the pox. Whiskey'll do
it. Whiskey an' virgin's blood draws the
poison. There's a cure you won't find on their
lying lips."
  Trev saw him fall back in his chair and
wished, for one insane moment, that he could summon
pity. Perhaps for a stranger there would be compassion. But
not for Clinton Shelby. Trev felt rage that
simmered, then cooled. Revenge cried out and was
silenced. For years he had lived with the loaded and
unseen gun this man had held to his head,
feeling the jerk of the leash he had kept around his
throat, desiring to rend the flesh and spill his
blood. Once he had been schooled in the
torments of the Greek tragedies, he had
understood the enormity of the crime he had longed
to commit. Patricide. Death of the father for
freedom of the son.
  "Say something, you mealy-mouthed weakling. Or
are you swaying on your feet, ready to faint like that
weak-kneed sister of yours?"
  Exhaustion had stolen the thunder of Clinton's
voice, the insidious voice of Trev's
nightmares. Trev couldn't summon any
feeling. "It appears that justice has been
served," he stated in a dispassionate voice.
"It's obvious that your extravagant pursuit
of pleasures of the flesh led to your gluttonous
indulgences in all the deemed vices. The
laudanum and whiskey won't be enough. Perhaps there
is a God and He's extracted a price for
your sins that I never could attain."
  "Pompous ass! Stop that drivel. Where's
your caring for your father? Why the devil do you think I
summoned you home? You're here to carry out my
orders. Your sister is to be wed. You'll run
Sweet Bay as I command until I'm well.
You'll give me honor, you bastard. The honor
that's mine by right. You can't forget it's the seed from
these loins that made you."
  Trev had stood there too long and
borne too much. "If there is a God, may
he forbid my ever remembering that." He
deliberately spaced each word, watching the
flinching moves of Clinton's pitiful body
react as if Trev had truly delivered
whiplashes.
  "Where the hell are you going? I can hear you,
boy." He fumbled for the whip on the table,
knocking over the drink he had poured for Trev.
"I whipped you once, boy. I'll do it again.
Don't you dare walk out on me. I'm your father.
I'm still the master here!" he cried, lurching
forward.
  Trev heard the snap and coil of the whip
hitting the floor behind him. He kept walking to the
door, feeling the eyes of his mother's portrait
following his every step. But at the door he turned
and saw Clinton holding his glass.
  "You are done, Clinton Shelby. Finished and
no longer master of anything but this room. You've
come to a more fitting end than I could have begged as
payment from the devil. Hell is waiting, old
man. I hope its fires are cool so that you'll
burn for a long, long time."
  He unlocked the door, but before he opened it,
glass smashed above his head. Shards fell in a
shower over his head and shoulders, the thick, weighted
bottom of the whiskey glass hitting and slicing his
cheek. Trev ignored it, just as he ignored the
weakened shouts that followed him out into the entry hall
until he closed the doors. He stared at the
solid wood, sealing off his feelings, burying the
past, and turned the key in the lock. The silence
that followed along with the air he dragged into his
lungs made him feel as if he had truly
left a tomb.
  "Massa--"
  "Don't," Trev began, turning around
to Monk, "use that servile tone or that term
addressing me." He pocketed the key and saw
Monk's gaze following his move. "These doors
are to remain locked until I am out of this house
in the morning. Is that understood?"
  "Yessuh."
  "The other doors that lead to the library through this
room are to be locked, too."
  "Ain't a need, suh. Massa Shelby, he
keep 'em locked all de time. You best let
me tend that cut."
  Trev absently wiped the back of his
hand across his cheek and looked down at the smear of
blood. Once before he had spilled his blood
upon leaving Sweet Bay; it seemed somehow
fitting that he do so again. He shook his head,
keeping the past locked away, and roused himself
to move, for there was much to do before he could leave.
  "Suh, yore bath's waitin' an'
Tantalou fixed some vittles."
  "The bath can wait, Monk. Forget the food
and go down to the cellar and get me a fresh
bottle of bourbon. Bring it to my mother's
office. And, Monk," he added as the big man
moved off, "tell my sister to start packing."
  "You's leavin'?"
  "Tonight, if I can get done what I need
to do." Trev lit the lamp on the side table and
opened the drawing room doors. This had been his
mother's domain--her ladies' parlor, she liked
to call it, since the dining room opened to it. The
cream-and-rose-striped wallpaper revealed
missing paintings with the clean, sharp outlines of their
frames. He held the lamp aloft, finding the
tables stripped of the delicate porcelain
figurines that had been his mother's passion. Only
the portrait of himself and Bella remained above the
mantel. Not that it mattered; he knew he would
take nothing from this house but Bella with him.
  Memories crowded close and he beat them
off, hurrying through the open doors of the dining room,
sensing its disuse. A short hall led off this
room, doors opening to the sewing room, his mother's
office, and, farther back, to the enclosed dogtrot
that ended in the huge brick kitchen.
  Trev went into the office and set the lamp down
on top of the inlaid writing table. He imagined
he still smelled the lingering trace of his mother's scent
as he rolled back the dust-laden top of her
desk. His fingers trailed along the thin brass
railing that edged its top, idly tracing the faded
flowers lacquered on the wood, before he caught
himself and withdrew her inkwell set. It was dried
out, and he wondered what he had been thinking of,
to believe he could use it. He heard Monk in
the hall and without turning said, "I'll need ink and
paper from my father's office. A fresh pot of
coffee, too, Monk."
  "I brung the vittles, case you wants
'em. There's clean water an' a cloth to tend that
cut, an' the spirits. An' Miss Bella's
waitin' to see you."
  Not now! Trev raked his hands through his hair.
He wasn't ready to give her explanations.
"Tell her she'll have to wait." But he had no
sooner broken the seal on the bottle and poured
himself a much-needed drink when Bella burst into the
room.
  "Why am I to pack? What--Oh, Trev,
your face! What did he do to you?"
  "Nothing to concern you."
  His callous dismissal stopped her forward
move. "Trev? Please, tell me. Don't
make me feel like a useless ornament."
  "Useless? You? Never that, Bella. You've
had a major role to play." He tossed back
his drink and refilled the glass, leaning against the
writing table and facing her. "I want you to pack.
Now, Bella."
  "My God!" she cried. "You sound just like
him."
  Like him? Like Clinton? Trev stared
into his glass. Never would that happen. But it
brought him up short to realize that Bella was their
father's victim, too. The meld of hate and
love he had for his sister wasn't easy
to dismiss. But he made an effort to speak
calmly.
  "I want you to pack because we're leaving here."
  "Leaving Sweet Bay? But you've just come."
Bella saw the second drink disappear as quickly
as his first. She wished she could reach him, but
didn't know how. Trev was a stranger to her. A
stranger who was in the room, but somehow distanced. His
coldness hurt, but she had survived these lonely
years by not allowing anyone to see how vulnerable she
was.
  "If you refuse to tell me what happened with
him, will you at least tell me what he said about
Howard?"
  "Howard? Who the devil is he?"
  "The man I love, Trev. I told you father
withheld his permission for him to call. Refused
to even meet him. He sent his man of business
to the ship when we arrived. But Howard is waiting
for me in Savannah."
  "It never stops with you, Bella. More
complications."
  "Have another drink. Soon you'll have father's
arrogant tone down to perfection. And there is no
complication. Howard wants to marry me. With or
without father's permission. He can provide
a good home, since his family owns mills and a
bank."
  Once again Trev heard her accuse him of
sounding like their father. He didn't like it one bit.
But the bitter waste of the last years churned
inside him and wouldn't release him.
  "Are you deliberately being obtuse or just
selfish, Bella? Pardon my asking, but
I've had my fill of sacrifice. Beyond
missing me, as you claimed, do you give a damn
what the past twelve years have been like for me?"
  She withdrew from his acid tone as if he had
slapped her, but refused to cower. "I cared
deeply. But you're a man, not a helpless
woman. Society is cruel to women who
attempt to escape their fate. I cannot marry a
man I do not love. I will not end like mother: old,
broken, and so sick that my husband hates the
sight of me and the children I bore him. I, too, have
scars, Trev. Not that you care. You're so
wrapped up in pity for yourself, you've forgotten the
threats I had to live with."
  Her impassioned plea, and her accusations of
self-pity and Trev's similarity to Clinton,
broke through the bitterness and hate. His fingers
tightened around the glass. Had he lost himself in
pity?
  Trev looked at Bella and found her
direct gaze disconcerting. He had accused her
of being selfish. While he had remembered that
she, too was Clinton's victim, he had
forgotten how young she was. She had lived with the
threat of being locked away in an asylum for the
rest of her life or being forced to marry a man
exactly like their father. He had given up so much for
Bella and now had her thinking he didn't love
her, didn't care. He was not and never would be the
man his father wanted him to be.
  "Bella, I didn't forget, but I lost
sight of the hell he put you through. But we can end it
tonight and be free of him. This time I will allow nothing
to stop me." He held out his hand to her, beckoning
her to his side. "Freedom, Bella. An
end to my emasculation and the beginning of your
emancipation."
  She came to him hesitantly, asking his
intent.
  "I'll write out passes and letters of
manumission for every slave. And you said this Howard
is waiting for you in Savannah?"
  "Yes. I said I'd send him word. But
Trev, you'll have every planter in the county enraged
if you free the slaves."
  "Since I won't be here, they can find some
other way to vent their outrage."
  Monk knocked on the door. Bella took
the tray from him and poured coffee for her brother
while Trev set the paper and inkwell on the
writing table. Trev's accusation that she didn't
care about him hurt. Perhaps the years had stolen more
than time. The love they shared appeared to be gone
from Trev. But she refused to allow his accusation
to remain unanswered.
  Bella looked up at him. "Trev, you
accused me of not caring about you, but it's not true.
If freeing the slaves will give you
satisfaction, I'll help you write the letters.
I'll even get the key to father's strongbox,
since I know where he's hidden it." She had
to fight to remain calm under his impassive look.
"I only ask one thing of you, and if you grant
it, I will never ask for another."
  Once more Trev had to confront image and
reality. "Bella, in my mind you've always been
the little girl needing protection, no matter the
cost. I swore to mother, swore on my honor,
that I always would protect you. It is difficult
to reconcile your acceptance of my plan with that little
girl." He offered her the glass, and this time she
took it. "A chance to begin anew. But just a sip
for you; I can't have you tipsy while you're writing.
Drink to us, sister mine, to our freedom and
dreams."
  Bella touched her lips to the glass, hating the
smell of spirits. She remembered the rages
drinking brought in this house. "And to you, Trev. I
wish you find love as I have."
  "Perhaps I will," he replied, unwilling to share
Leah with her, with anyone. "Is Howard worthy?
I assume the one last request you would make of
me is that I give my permission for you to marry?"
  "It's more than you're being of age and able to do it,
Trev. I want Howard to know that every word I
spoke about you is true. You see," she said, coming
up on tiptoe to kiss his cut cheek, "I
love you despite your holding yourself away from me.
Howard grew quite jealous of you, for I made you my
knight and when I knew I loved him, only then
did he claim a place in my heart
alongside you."
  In the soft lamp light, he saw the love in
her eyes and within him there snapped the last bond of
reserve. He cradled her against him, rocking and
soothing the rush of words, agreeing they would talk of
their years apart, but not now.
  "I know how much he's stolen from us, Trev.
I don't know all it's cost you. But you were all
I had, my only hope. He frightened me with his
threats of forcing me to marry, then of locking me
away if I refused. There were days when I
prayed to get a note smuggled out to you. I was
desperate, Trev, so desperate to see you.
If it weren't for Frances's cousin being on the
school's governing board, I don't know what
I would have done."
  "Hush, little love, hush. It's all over,
Bella. No one will hurt or threaten you again.
And if Howard is worthy to be your husband,
I'll do all in my power to see you wed."
  "Father will pay for his crime against us, won't
he, Trev? I want him to suffer as he had
made us suffer. I never knew," she whispered,
unable to stop the tears, "if you were all right. I
lived with being watched all the time, having my
belongings searched. Howard's youngest sister became
my best friend, but when he asked to let me
accompany them on outings when he was in England on
family business, they told him I had to be
watched. They told him," she sniffed, rubbing
frantically at her wet cheeks, "you would
corrupt me and mustn't be allowed near. He would
never tell me more."
  Trev gently cupped her cheeks, pulling
back so he could look at her. "Bella,
they're right. I am corrupting you. I have asked
you to write--"
  "No! I offered to help--"
  "Does it matter? But I will take full
responsibility for this. No more of this rot that
lives on Sweet Bay will touch you."
  "As it has you? And I won't allow you
to claim full responsibility. We are together
in all things once more."
  "Together, Bella." He held her while she
cried, for herself and for him, while he withdrew every
memory of Leah. He wanted to tell Bella
about her, about her love, her goodness, which gave him
back a belief in tms. But he kept his love
secret, needing to hold it safe so that nothing and
no one could snatch it away.
  Leah was his strength and he wanted to go to her
cleansed of hate. And to remove the stain of the times
he had thought Bella a hated burden, he
confessed to her. It was in the moments following that
Trev fully understood that age did not make a
woman, or bring her wisdom, but love could and
did.
  "My dearest brother, do you believe I did
not cry out and rail against my lot? I had the
same shameful feelings of hate and despair being
held hostage to your obedience. You are a man of
honor, Trev, and I ask your forgiveness, for
I am twice blessed to love two such men and you
are alone still."
  "There is nothing to forgive. I do love you,
Bella, even if you've soaked my shirt."
  For a moment she was startled; then a smile lit
her eyes, slowly curving her lips. She hugged
him, then accepted his offered handkerchief. "You'll
like Howard, Trev. He's a man of honor,
too. He refused my suggestion that we elope
before we ever left England, refused to change
passage on the ship so we could go to his home.
He even," she teased, needing to see his smile
again, "refused to make me his mistress."
  "Mistress? And what do you, with your sheltering,
know about mistresses? Never mind. I'll have a
talk with Howard."
  "Yes. Yes, about all good things. That is
all there is for us, Trev, only the good things that
love can give."
  He promised himself that if Howard did love
her, he would arrange their marriage. But not in
Savannah, where they were known. He would have to take
them to Charleston, where he still had friends. It would not
be the wedding Bella had envisioned, if it was to come
about, but this was the only way he could provide one.
  And as she sat beside him through the long hours of the
night, writing even as he did, after taking
Monk into their confidence to supply the slaves'
names, Trev felt the pain of his years of
slavery ease. He did not need to watch the hands
of clock moving the hours toward his own freedom.
Every breath he took counted the time for him.
  When dawn came, they were done, and his hand ached.
He thought about writing a note to Leah to tell her
of his delay, but Monk interrupted with the news that
his father was tearing up the room, demanding that the doors
be unlocked.
  "Bella, have your things been packed?"
  "I left Silvy to do it."
  "Monk, have a wagon brought 'round and saddle
my horse." And to Bella, "He'll think about
smashing the windows, for he's not yet crazed. But
we'll be gone, Bella. Go see to the loading of
your belongings. I'll meet you outside."
  The moment she was gone, he gathered up the letters
and passes they had written, placing them on the
tray for Monk to hand out. He then opened the
strongbox, surprised to find his mother's jewelry
case, nearly two thousand in bank notes and a
hefty sack of gold coins. It was unusual for
there to be this much cash, but then, Clinton may have
given in to a need to have his wealth at hand. Trev
took the bank notes and the jewel case, leaving
the coins for Monk to disperse among the slaves.
It was small compensation for whatever they had to suffer,
and more would cause unwanted attention.
  He gave the room a last look, realizing
he felt no regret in leaving. Sweet Bay
was no longer his home, hadn't been for a long time.
And Leah was waiting. The exhaustion fled at the
thought of her and he walked outside to the dawning of a
new day.
  Bella was up on the wagon seat, competently
holding the reins. At Trev's look, she
smiled. "Howard taught me to handle his team
when--"
  The explosion of glass and curses from the side
of the house made them both freeze. Trev
recovered first, tossing the jewel case to his
sister, shouting for her to go. He started back toward
the house, but Monk came running out the front
doors.
  "You go on an' leave. I'll see to Massa
Shelby. An' take the Lord's blessin' with you.
He likes winnin' his fights same as me."
  For a brief second, their gazes met with
perfect understanding. It appeared to Trev that not
only had Monk lost his servile tone, but his
slurred, liquid speech. Big as he was,
Monk stood taller, now proud as he inclined his
head to Trev's nod. Trev set his heels to the
big black and rode to catch up with Bella.
  They were nearly to the church when something urged
Trev to look back. He was glad he never
asked Bella to slow down, for above the trees,
against the clear blue sky, there rose the black
curl of smoke.
  And Trev rode on, finally free,
believing for the first time there was a God, and that Monk
knew Him well. He had won this fight with the
devil.

  Listless from the fever that had ravaged her body
for days, Leah cried out silently in despair.
There was no God. He had stolen her love, then
battled her will to die, leaving her hopeless. But
alive. ...
  With trembling hands, she searched beneath her pillow
for the carefully pressed rose that she had begged her
mother to leave there. She wanted to believe Trev's
last words. She did want to wait for him.
  As the days passed without word from Trev,
Leah's strength returned to her body, but her
mind was battered by turns, first by her mother, then her
father, and even Frances, all denying her hope that
Trev was coming back. There was no place on
Rosehall she could go without his memory haunting
her, but she tried, unaware of the conspiracy going
on about her.
  It was Frances who began it after hearing from
Robert that Leah developed a tendre for
Trev which he did not return. Frances had no
doubt that she had been told the truth. She knew
Trev's attraction for women, and knew Leah
for a dreamer.
  Leah had taken to wandering the rose garden most
mornings and it was here that Frances found her.
  "You're looking better, Leah," she said,
cupping a full bloom within her hands. "You've
had us all worried about you. People, I've learned,
are very much like my roses. You can give them sun,
water, and a good soil to thrive in. But you know
what it is that makes my roses so admired?
They respond to love, Leah. Just as we do.
And for women, dear girl, it is not enough to love, we
must be loved in return.
  "We need passion in our lives. Do not ever
believe a woman has but one passion. We do
not. We learn to fill our days with many. That is
what makes us strong," she stated, looking
directly at Leah. "Marriage, a home, and
children fill up the empty hours. You may not
believe it now, Leah, but there is joy to be had
when you have nurtured something and helped it to grow. Like
my lovely roses."
  Like my love for Trev. ... But Frances
had reached her as no else. Love could not
survive without nurturing and hope.
  "He's not coming back, Leah. Accept it."
  She couldn't. Not until the continued emotional
battering brought her to a state of fear that she
carried Trev's child. The knowledge forced her to go see
Roddy Cooper. If she had to marry, she would
use her pride and do so on her terms.

            Chapter Fourteen

  After almost four weeks of delay in
Charleston, Trev was about to see Bella
married. All he needed was the return of his friend
Charles Berrien's brother, the Reverend
Joseph.
  Once Trev had realized that he wasn't
going to arrange the marriage as quickly as he
wanted, he had sent a note to Leah in care of
Robert. He had rewritten the note many times
before he simply told her that he loved her and would
be coming back to ask her to marry him. All she had
to do was wait for him. Since Robert knew this is
what he had planned, Trev was sure he would
see that Leah received his message.
  Trev hated lying to Charles, who was a
lawyer, for they had been good friends at the
Citadel, but the lie he told served his needs.
Trev told Charles of the small wedding they had
planned to hold at Sweet Bay, and how the
plans were threatened due to their father's illness, the
suddenness of his death, and the fire that left them
homeless. Charles offered his home and his help.
  As for Howard Paxton, Bella's
fianc`e, Trev quickly decided he was all that
Bella said he was, and more. Howard had drawn
Trev aside at their first meeting, declaring that he
would marry Bella with or without Trev's consent,
with or without a dowry. It was with unaccustomed candor
for men of their time that he proceeded to tell Trev
how much he loved Bella. There followed a
talk about his family history, the family's
holdings, and his own prospects.
  Trev grew to understand Howard's unabashed
emotions toward Bella and his youngest sister, Mary
Eliza, Bella's friend and schoolmate, who had
accompanied them home from England. The two
Paxtons extended to all the loving warmth and caring
they had grown up with.
  Howard proved himself an ally as news of
Clinton's death spread. Without details,
Trev filled in a few gaps of what
Howard had already surmised. Howard also used the
death and the loss of Sweet Bay as a reason
to his parents for not delaying the wedding until their
arrival, lying, as Trev had, about plans to go
back and rebuild Sweet Bay.
  Charles Berrien and his wife, Laura
Elizabeth, not only offered their home, but did
all they could to make an intimate celebration for
Bella's wedding. Charles spoke to his
brother, Joseph, a minister who had been away
escorting his wife and infant daughter to visit
her parents upcountry. Charles explained about
Clinton's sudden demise and assured Joseph
that Trev was her guardian and gave his permission
for the marriage.
  Marriage was very much on Trev's mind as he
escorted Bella to church in the carriage, with
Mary Eliza standing as her bridesmaid. Howard
followed with Charles in a separate carriage, as
custom dictated. But Leah was who Trev thought
about as he gazed at Bella.
  The white satin gown brought out the blue of
Bella's eyes and the blush on her cheeks. Her
ebony curls were drawn back from her face.
He longed to see Leah dressed as his bride.
The long white-blond veil of Valenciennes
lace enfolded Bella in a gentle beauty as
she raised the sprays of early-bloomed orange
flowers to her nose. Trev would see Leah carry
roses, for he could never look at one without thinking
of her.
  Bella turned her head at something Mary
Eliza whispered and Trev saw the sun catch and
reflect from the pearl and diamond ear-bobs she
wore. He had given Bella all of their mother's
jewelry, but for one ring that had belonged to his
grandmother.
  Meeting Bella's sparkling gaze, Trev
smiled, sharing her happiness. Being able to grant
her desire to marry Howard had given him another
sense of freedom from the past, easing the darkness
he had lived withfor so long. He fingered the ring in his
waistcoat pocket, feeling the shape of the small
gold hearts that fit into each other. The story
attached to the ring, which his grandmother had told him before
she died, was that if a woman accepted a man,
she returned the ring closed, and if she refused
his suit, she would return it open. He was sure
the simplicity of design would please Leah, just
as he was sure that she would return it
to him closed so that he could slip it on her finger and
pledge his love.
  At the church Mary Eliza fussed with the train
of Bella's gown. "Thank goodness the day is
perfectly clear. If it rains when the bride and
groom leave the church, they'll have an unhappy
marriage. Or a great brood of children," she added
with a mischievous smile. "Don't forget to cry
a little when Howard first kisses you as wife. If
you don't, all your life will be filled with
tears."
  So it was with laughter they entered the church where
Trev, wearing a pearl-gray frock coat and
trousers, as did Howard--for even the bereaved were
forbidden to wear black mourning to a wedding--led his
sister to the altar. He held Bella close before
he relinquished her.
  "My dearest Bella, I wish you happiness
and love for today and all the tms." He kissed her
cheek and heard her whispered wish for him as Howard
took his place at her side and Joseph
began.
  "Truly, those of us here are the dearly beloved
..."
  Trev felt an ache spread inside him.
He longed for Leah. When Joseph solemnly
intoned the wedding vows, he repeated them
silently, speaking them to Leah in his mind, counting
the days until he would hold her in his arms again.
  "Will you, Isabella Lenore Shelby, take
..."

  "And will you, Leah Ann Reese, take
Roderick Cooper to be your lawful wedded
husband ..."
  Leah barely heard the vows the minister spoke.
What was she doing, marrying a man she didn't
love? You must marry. Was the reminder her
own, or the words she had heard over and over from her
parents and from her sisters when they came to help
pack the family home and move them
to Talladega? She didn't know. The last
week was a blur once she had given in and done
what they all wanted.
  She couldn't claim her dream of her wedding day
was tarnished. For she had never had a dream of what
it would be like. Her family as well as Roddy's
was here in the small country church. If there were
few smiles, she blamed it on the solemn
occasion, or the rain that began as they
entered the church. The one thing she was sure of was that
Roddy came to the marriage knowing the truth of her
feelings for another man. He only knew there was
the possibility of her carrying her lover's child and
not that she did. He accepted it. Just as he had
accepted the generous dowry her father offered. There were
no dreams left. While her heart cried out in
despair for what she had shared with Trev, she
knew she could not have managed alone. Frances would
only have given her the money set aside for
school if her father had approved. It was a wedding
gift instead. But even if she had gotten some
money, it would have run out, and she would have been left
alone in a strange place. How would she have
managed with a child alone? There had been no choice
but marriage.
  Yet she couldn't help wishing it was Trev at
her side, taking her hand in his. Not Roddy.
Her hand was lost in his large, square-shaped one.
Leah stared down at the blunt fingers with the light
sprinkling of hairs on the backs. He would have the
right to put those hands on her tonight. And every other
night. Roddy squeezed her hand in warning, and she
came to with a start to find the minister staring at her.
  "Say I do," he prompted.
  Leah looked up at Roddy. His ruddy skin
seemed to darken. His jaw thrust forward, adding to the
rugged, somber cut of his features. He was
barely taller than her, his thick hair the
color of burned straw and flax. The line of his
mouth firmed and he turned to glare at her. A
wide band of paler skin cut across his forehead,
attesting to his working with a hat in the sun. Beneath
thin, straight brows, his blue-gray eyes were
cool and proud.
  He wasn't a handsome man, not like Trev, who
stole her breath, but Roddy was sturdy in build
and nature. His shoulders were broad, his neck
thick where it emerged from between them. The neckcloth
he wore was carelessly tied, its yellowed color
revealing its disuse. Remember he is your
only choice.
  "Leah?" Roddy asked, squeezing her hand
again.
  The child. You must think of the child. "I do take
thee, Roderick Cooper, for my lawful wedded
husband and promise ..."

  Bella and Howard were married. Trev kept
remembering the moment when they had turned
to each other and kissed for the first time as man and
wife. A painful envy came to darken his
happiness for Bella, a regret that he wasn't
sharing that moment with Leah.
  The wedding breakfast was over. It was time for
Bella to withdraw. The wedding cake, which occupied
the center of the table surrounded by flowers, had been
cut. He had made his toast to the bridal
couple and each guest had offered compliments and kind
wishes.
  He had promised Bella he would stay
until the ship sailed on the morning tide. Then
he would be free to return to Leah. When Charles
asked him to join him in his library for a drink and
talk after the guests had left, Trev accepted.
He needed a diversion to pass the time.
  Once Charles served their drinks, he began
questioning Trev about the political climate in
Alabama. Ever since Trev had met him,
Charles displayed a passion for politics.
  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Charles, but my
recent sojourn at Rosehall left little time
to find out."
  "But you must be concerned. Both here and in
Savannah, Trev, the local elections have
tried to ignore national politics. For Charles
Jones, the new mayor of Savannah, the ploy
worked. He didn't even solicit the nomination
made while he was absent from the city. But he is
moderate in his thinking, as are a few others just
elected. Moderation won the elections for them."
  Charles leaned forward in his chair, cupping his
glass between his spread knees. "Trev, there are
those of us in Charleston who are deeply concerned that
the election of Lincoln appears a fixed fact.
In view of recent correspondence I've had
from friends and fellow lawyers in Pennsylvania,
Ohio, and even Indiana, there's little doubt of
it. The Republicans claim New York by a
clear majority of over forty thousand. We fear that
if Lincoln is elected, the action of a single
state such as South Carolina or Alabama may
precipitate us all into war."
  "The only thing to do, Charles, is to trust
to Providence to influence the minds of those
fanatics toward compromise and hope it will avert
war."
  Setting his glass aside, Charles rose and
began to pace. "I wish your solution could
happen. There are incidents of
scoundrels attempting to induce Negroes
to leave the southern states. I am anxious to have the
result of a case coming up. Free black men
are being charged with inducing slaves to run North.
We can't have these men forgetting their place.
Gambling, smoking, and drinking in the streets will not
be tolerated."
  "Have you ever considered how we call a man
free, then attempt to curb that freedom?"
Trev asked with gentle mockery.
  Astonished, Charles stopped his pacing and stared
at him. "Are you mad? These are Negroes, not
whites."
  "That is the thinking which will bring the South to her
knees. This attitude is precisely what the
North hates."
  "Listen to yourself, Trev. You're one of us. Do
you mean to tell me that you wouldn't stand with us if one
or more of the states decides to withdraw from the
Union after Lincoln's elected?"
  "No. That is not what I said. I will fight
for the states to have the right to choose. I can't imagine
anyone advocating the right of free states to wage
a military crusade on the South." Trev
tossed back his drink now that Charles had stopped
bristling.
  "There is one other thing to consider," Trev said.
"What benefit will there be if the North makes
an attempt to subjugate the South? Surely
men of business would do everything to prevent this from
happening."
  "You're right. And we must think of them as being in
violation of the Constitution. The right of
self-government on the part of the people is the very
cornerstone of our nation. Those states that wish,"
Charles intoned, resuming his pacing, "have a right
to withdraw from any suggestion put forth that denies it.
We have a right to life, liberty, and equality."
  Yes, as long as your skin is white. But
Trev never said it aloud, for it was an old
argument among him and too many of his friends. Later,
in his room, once a letter of instruction to his
father's man of business was in Charles's hands,
Trev stood and watched the brilliant stars.
Bella would receive all monies from the disposal of the
estate that were not entailed to him. And tomorrow he could
begin his journey back to Leah.

  Dry-eyed, Leah watched those same stars.
She had left Roddy upstairs snoring
and had come down to the small parlor to be alone.
In Roddy's home. She must remember that.
  He was not pleased with her. He'd had little
patience with her. Leaning her head against the cool
glass of the window, Leah let the tears come. She
must remember to never open her mouth when he kissed
her. Never touch him below his shoulders. He had
told her to lie still and turn her face, like a good
woman, until he was done.
  She had obeyed him. And bitten right through her
lip to still her scream when she was made to feel
violated by his every touch and his crude grunts.
Now that it was too late, she understood the
mistake she had made. She should have taken the
money Trev once offered and run as far as it would
have taken her.
  Her hand curved over her lower belly. She
couldn't run. Her father cursed her for being a
whore, but she knew the whoring came from marrying
Roddy. Despite having said her vows to him, she
stood in his home and thought of Trev. He would
never know how much she loved him. Leah had
to summon her pride, the same pride which had
sent her to speak frankly with Roddy before she had
agreed to marry him.
  Trevor Shelby would never know if there was a
child. Roddy had agreed to claim a baby as his,
and few of their neighbors would dare count the months
on their fingers openly, since she had been in
Roddy's company when she had visited her sister.
It was another reason why she had chosen him. Being
away from Rosehall and Trev's haunting
memory was the other. But she didn't believe there
was a place for her to run to, or hide in, that
would take Trev from her thoughts.
  She had to remember the vows she had made this
day. She could not tarnish them with a love that had
abandoned and then betrayed her. Trev had asked
her to wait, but without one word from him, she had
to believe he wasn't coming back.
  With a last look at the night sky, Leah
turned and gathered the hem of her nightgown to make
the climb up the stairs and into her husband's bed.
Never again would she allow a ghostly lover to come between
them. She would be a good, dutiful wife. She
would, she vowed, if God granted that she bore
Trev's child.

  "Gone? How can she be gone?"
  "It's just as I said, Trev."
Robert tossed aside the newspaper he had
been reading and rose from the sofa where he had been
lazing the boring afternoon away. He repeated for the
second time since Trev had burst into the room,
demanding to know where Leah was, "I told you. They
packed up and left. Good riddance, too.
Reese was getting uppity as a nigger. I found
his presence on Rosehall near intolerable."
  "But why?" Trev asked in an agonized
whisper, still unable to believe it.
  "They wanted to live near their daughters.
Leah decided to marry that farmer near one of her
sisters. Copper or Coper--"
  "Cooper. His name is Roddy Cooper."
  "Yes, well, that's it. Come tell me the
news you've gathered on your travels. Since
Lincoln was elected by popular vote and South
Carolina seceded the same day, rumors are
flying."
  Not once in this had Robert looked at
Trev. He still could not bring himself to do it as he
poured out a drink for himself. Tossing it back, he
spoke quickly. "Clifford said the government
officials have resigned and that they hoisted the
Palmetto flag. Father believes we shall soon
see a southern confederacy. That," he stated,
pointing to the newspaper he had discarded, "is a
copy of the Mercury. I know you won't believe
this, Trev, but I was reading the Honorable
Charles C. Jones's speech given at Fort
Pulaski. Savannah's mayor preaches
caution. Most of Alabama's men believe that
should it come to civil war because of us forming a
confederacy, it will be preferable to submission
to Black Republicanism. There isn't a
planter in the South who's not aware that the North
intends to crush us."
  The chilled black silence forced Robert
to look at Trev, who gripped the edges of the
sideboard, shoulders hunched over as if he had
taken a blow. Guilt sent a flush to color
Robert's face, deepening when Trev turned
around. Trev's bearded face and dust-laden
clothes added to the dangerous gleam of his eyes.
  "Gone? Married?" he repeated with icy
contempt. "Didn't you give her my note?"
  "I tried, but she refused. Took the money,
though. Well, she didn't, but her father came
asking for it and Leah was the only one I told that
you had left it for her."
  "I'll need a fresh horse, Robert.
I've run King High to the ground getting back
here."
  "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
  "I'm going to find Leah. I want her
to tell me that she doesn't love me, never
did." He shook his head to clear it. "I can't
believe she married, knowing I'd return. I
needed to know she was waiting. Leah was the only thing
that made this time away bearable for me. I want
to hear why she did it from her own lips."
  "Damn it, Trev, don't be a fool.
She's not worth--" The door slammed and
silenced him. He stood there, staring at the door,
understanding at last that Trev had meant every word. He
loved Leah. He had intended to ask her to marry
him. And Robert had not believed him. He had
dismissed the talk as the heat of passion and nothing
more.
  "My God, he really wanted to marry her."
  "Marry? Who's that, Robert," Frances
asked, sweeping into the room. "I thought I heard
voices, but no one is here."
  "Trev was. Here and gone. And he's the one
who wanted to marry."
  "Trev? Are you tellin' me he wanted
to marry Leah? But you claimed ... Oh,
Robert, what have you done? He's your friend,
closer than a brother all these years." She
ceased the moment she saw her son's eyes. "Where
is he?"
  "Getting a fresh horse. He's going to see
her."
  "Well, you've got to stop him, Robert.
Leah is married now. She mustn't have Trev
upsettin' her with vows of love. It wouldn't do a
bit of good. Make her miserable, an' nothin'
more."
  "I can't stop him. You're a fool to think
I'll try. I'd have to tell him what I've
done. And I can't. I won't. If Leah
loves him, she'll save me that. She won't
explain, won't say a word about my part in this.
And stop looking at me as if you're ashamed,
Mother. It's nothing to what I'm feeling."
  He came to stand before her, his hands gripping her
shoulders. "Swear to me that you will never tell
Trev what I've done. Swear it!"
  "Take your hands off me, Robert. I'm still
your mother. The remorse I see in your
eyes is the only thing that stops me from cursing you.
From the time he came to us as a boy, we have known
what his life was like. Robert," she said, seeing
despair meld with the remorse, lifting her hand
to his cheek, "if you can live with this foul lie on
your conscience, I will never say a word to Trev."
  She started to walk away, then turned. "But
if you are his friend, go with him. He'll need you after
he has seen her."

  This thirtieth day of November was blustery and
cold as Leah returned from ministering what help
she could to her sister Ruth, who had taken with the
broken-bone fever. The onset was quick, the pain in
the joints unbearable, but its duration was short in
most cases. Martin's mother had come to relieve
her, but Leah was in no hurry to make her way
home.
  She had been married for two weeks, and each
day the realization of her mistake grew. The man
did not like her books, so she hid them. He did
not want her wasting time picking wildflowers
to brighten up the kitchen. He did not ... Leah
stopped herself from repeating the list of Roddy's
want nots, must nots, should nots, wishing he
would add one, just one, to his unrelenting list.
She longed for him to tell her not to come to his bed
each night.
  Carefully stepping over the deep wagon ruts
in the lane, she hugged her winter cloak close,
chilled as she was whenever she thought of the agonizing
long hours of the nights. She had tried to talk
to Roddy about wanting to please him, trying hard
to wipe the memories of Trev from her mind. But
Roddy's answer was to tell her it was shameful
talk, he'd have none of it in his home. And she was
left alone without any warmth, without the least show of
tenderness.
  It was condemnation in a prison of her own
making. Lost in her thoughts, Leah did not hear the
drumming hoofbeats behind her until the rider
swerved to avoid her. She jumped back,
tripping on the cloak's hem, and fell into the
bushes with a cry.
  Stunned by her fall, she looked up, but the
sun blinded her. The rider had not dismounted, but
Leah felt the tenseness that suddenly gripped her.
She knew before she shaded her eyes, knew with the
way her heartbeat quickened and every sense came
alive, that Trev had come. His lithe
body swung down from the horse, moving toward
her, the body she knew as well as her own.
  Stop! she thought to cry out, unable to move. In
a flash she saw her chance to grow whole again
disappear when he reached out his hand toward her. She
cringed, scratching her cheek on the twigs that
entangled her hair.
  He stood leaning over her, blocking out the weak
sunlight, taking the very air she tried to breathe.
Dark and forbidding, he was a Trev she had never
seen. It wasn't the thick stubble on his face,
but the bleak despair in his eyes that frightened her.
She was afraid to move, afraid that she would
shatter, so great was her shock at seeing him.
Leah clasped the tie of her cloak, holding the
cloth together as if it would somehow protect her.
  "I had to know if it was true," he said in a
voice marked with bitterness and exhaustion. His
gaze locked on her hand, staring at the sun
glinting off the gold of another man's wedding ring.
  "It's true, Trev. I'm married."
  "Why? Why didn't you wait for me? Not even
a damn month--"
  "Seven weeks. Seven weeks and four
days."
  A fire spread in his belly. She was
married. Married and counting the days. "Are you so
joyous in wedded bliss that you count each day?
Don't bother to answer. I don't want to know.
Just give me your hand so you can get up, and stop
cowering as if I'd beat you."
  Leah didn't want him to touch her. He had
no right to be angry with her. She had tried
to wait for him. But the child ... Oh, Lord, she
couldn't tell him about the child. He might try
to claim it for his own once it was born.
  Trev needed to touch her. He grabbed her and
dragged her up before she could twist aside to avoid
him.
  "Why didn't you wait for me? I need to know,
Leah. I told you to trust me. I asked you
to wait. There were things ... none that matter now, but
they kept me from coming to you. Just tell me why," he
demanded, his eyes ablaze.
  He pulled her close, unable to stop himself from
giving in to the need of having her in his arms again.
Her struggles were easily subdued by his
strength, but he couldn't understand why she refused
to answer him.
  "You told me you loved me," he
said, cradling her face between his hands. "Don't
close your eyes, Leah. Look at me.
Listen to what I'm saying to you."
  Her expressive brown eyes were dull and
filled with fear. But Trev was so set on having
his say that he ignored the fear. "I trusted your
love, Leah. I believed you when I believed in
nothing else. I can't ... I won't accept
your love was a lie. Do you hear me? I won't
believe it was a lie!"
  Leah knew what she had to do to protect her child
and herself. She couldn't let Trev think she still
loved him, but the words seemed to choke her each time
she tried to speak.
  Her silence defeated him as no words could.
Trev pulled back and released her. He stared
at his clenched hands and slowly lowered them to his
sides.
  The burning inside him receded, replaced by a
coldness that seeped into his bones. "I'm begging
you for an answer, Leah." He drew a shuddering
breath and released it, fighting for calm.
  He turned away just as she started to reach out
to him and Leah let her hand fall back. "Roddy
asked me to marry him. You never did, Trev."
The words were soft, but as chillingly cold as the
numbness that seeped inside her. He said he
loved her. Now he said he loved her. But
when she tried to walk away, he blocked her.
  "No. I'm not finished. You were mine. I
told you I was coming back."
  Wrapping her arms around her to stop the shivers,
Leah stared at the ground. He wasn't going
to let her go. She had to pray for the strength to withstand
him when all she wanted to do was be held in his
arms.
  "You never said when you would come back."
  "Was your bed lonely? Is that why you ran off
and married him? Or didn't you believe me?"
  Leah closed her eyes. She hated him so much
at this moment that she was afraid to answer him.
All the torment, the emotional battering she had from
everyone pushing her into marriage would come free in
rage and betrayal against him. She had to remember
how close to home she was. Roddy must never know
that Trev had come here. Roddy must never know about
Trev at all. Her hand slid beneath the cloak so
the move was concealed from Trev. She took
courage from the tiny life she held.
  "You don't have any right to question me,
Trev."
  He turned toward her. "I have no right," he
repeated with disbelief. "I have every right. I'm the
man you betrayed with your damn lie of love."
  "No!" Leah shoved at him, knowing she
didn't have the courage or the strength to take any
more.
  But Trev caught her up against him with one arm
and held her chin so she had to look up at him.
Her eyes were wild, like a trapped animal's.
Her skin had paled to white and he could feel every
shiver that rippled through her body. But his fury
cooled, for he had never seen Leah like this; she had
never been frightened of him.
  "Do you understand what you've done to me, Leah?
I never trusted anyone but Robert until I
met you. Do you know what it does to a man to have that
trust betrayed? You took my money and betrayed
my love--"
  "No," she whispered, shaking her head until
she was free of his hold. "I never touched your
money. I told Robert I didn't want
it," she cried, the memory of that day and how
sullied Robert made her feel coming back. But
there was no fight left in her, none in her words,
for the weeks of fighting with everyone had taken their
toll.
  "Robert told me your father came at your
request for the money."
  "Robert said that? But it's not true. I never
sent my father to him." Stricken that he would not
believe her, Leah stopped defending herself. Why
had Robert lied to Trev? She stopped herself from
asking. Trev had said he trusted no one but
Robert until he had met her. No matter
what she said, she would never have his trust again. It was
too late for them. She was married. She had
to remember her vow to God. She would be a good
wife to Roddy if He let her have Trev's child.
  "You took my money and married another man.
Do you know what that makes you? Do you?" he
demanded, struggling against the knowledge he had lost her.
He couldn't stand touching her and knowing she was not his.
Never again would Leah be his.
  He turned his back to her. Leah knew she
could walk away from him. But there had always been a
need within her to ease the darkness that haunted him.
His voice was as bleak and despairing as the look
in his eyes. The money didn't matter. If
Robert had given it to her father, or if
her father had demanded it as payment for her shame, it
would change nothing. The damage was done. She would
still feel betrayed that Trev had left her for so
long. She would always carry the memory of Robert
making her feel sullied by what she shared with
Trev.
  Leah couldn't hate Trev. He had not lied
to her. He had kept her in his life for as long as
he could. If he had once said he loved her,
she would have waited forever, no matter what anyone
said or did.
  She started to walk away, only to have him stop
her once again.
  "Why did you refuse to take my note from
Robert?"
  "Your note?"
  "Yes, my note," he repeated with harsh
impatience. He couldn't look at her. Trev
knew he would reveal the pain her betrayal
caused him. He had never begged her, but he would.
He had to know, had to fully understand why she
didn't wait for him.
  "I sent it to you once I knew I would be
delayed in Charleston. Robert said you refused
to take it. Had you already made up your mind
to marry Roddy?"
  Horror spread inside her. His accusation
stung. He thought she had plotted to marry Roddy
while claiming to love Trev. Robert had lied
to him. Robert had never tried to give her
Trev's note. Robert, the only friend that
Trev trusted. Words of denial sprang to her
lips, but Leah couldn't speak them. Betrayed.
They had both been betrayed by Robert.
  Leah swayed where she stood. How could she
hurt Trev by telling him about his best friend's
betrayal? It was agony to be tormented by this
decision. She wanted to tell him the truth. She
longed to defend herself. Years of sharing had gone
into the trust and friendship that Trev had with Robert.
Could she destroy it? Would Trev even believe
her over anything Robert said? Trev had no one
but Robert. She couldn't take that from him. She
loved Trev, but he was lost to her. Hurting him
would only hurt herself more and she couldn't do it.
  It pained her to look at him. "I must get
home. My have-husband is waiting for me."
  For long moments Trev searched for some sign
of the love she had given him. Leah's eyes,
always so revealing of her feelings, were now
blank. He stifled the rush of pity he felt
upon hearing her weary sigh. She stood waiting for
him to let her go to another man. No, he
clarified. Not just another man. Her husband.
  The hopes and dreams he planned to share with her
now that he was free came crashing down on him.
And the pain inside him grew. Trev had never
used the desire between them to hurt her. But he was
fighting the despairing blackness that threatened him.
  He caught her and pulled her to him. "I
haven't had a chance to kiss the bride, Leah."
  "Don't do this," she pleaded, forming the words
against his lips closing on hers. God help her,
she couldn't fight him. This was her love and he had
been cruelly taken from her by lies. And she had
never denied him.
  Tears came for the bitterness she drank from his
kiss. She could only cry out silently in pain
for the truth she withheld from him. His lips were cold,
as if there were no warmth left inside him. And she
could do nothing to ease the heartache she tasted in his
kiss.
  It was too much to stand there and not give in to the need
to give and receive love from his lips to hers. Leah
summoned the strength to do it. Trev would end up
hating her, but she loved him too much to hurt him
again.
  When he lifted his head and stared down at her,
Trev held her cheek so she couldn't look
away from him. "I want you to know that I loved you.
I wanted you for my wife. I would have beggared my
soul to have you share my life," he ended with deadly
softness.
  Leah didn't feel her tears until he
wiped them away. "Have I made you sad, Leah?
Are you crying for what we could have had? No man will
ever love you as much I did. No man could ever
treasure the gift of that love as I would have."
  "No more-more. I can-can't--" She bit
her bottom lip to stop herself. Lost. He was
lost to her. And she was imprisoned in a marriage
without love. Her chest became tight with the need
to draw a breath that was free of him. "What else
do you want from me, Trev?"
  "To never forget what we shared."
  Fear formed a hard knot inside her. If she
had his child, she would never be able to forget him.
  "Did you ever love me?" he asked with
anguished torment, raking his hand through his hair.
  "Yes."
  "But you couldn't wait--"
  "They said you were gone. Gone and never coming
back," she answered in a deadened voice.
Soon, let it be over soon, she silently
begged, hurting as she never had, aching with the
despair of how they had both been sentenced to be
apart.
  "And you," he whispered so softly she had
to strain to hear, "believed everyone but me?"
  "Yes!" she cried out. "I believed
everyone."
  His sigh echoed her own. Why was he continuing
to question her? She was married and lost to him. Yet he
couldn't accept it. He couldn't accept losing
yet another heart-held dream, and live with the
intense pain that spread without end. His hand
trembled, caressing her cheek, but he had no
pride left to try to hide it.
  Leah looked into his eyes. They were as dark and
empty as a night without stars. She had had to be
strong before, and now she demanded more of herself. But he
made a choked sound and held her tight, and she
had to steal a last moment for good-bye.
  Her cheek was pressed against the soft wool of his
cloak, listening, as she had so many times in the
past, to his heartbeat.
  And Trev whispered his final retribution.
  "Can he make you tremble with his touch, Leah?
Do you look into his eyes and know you are the only
woman he loves? Can he bring a cry from you,
begging him to come inside you to make you feel
whole?" His lips brushed her temple, her
cheek, and lingered at the corner of her mouth. "When
you lie in his arms filled with completion, does he
hold you as if you are the sunrise, warming everything
you touch? Does he?" he repeated, breathing the
words over her trembling mouth before he barely
touched them with his.
  "I loved you like that, Leah. You taught me
to dream again. To hope and to love. And you stole
everything back, leaving me nothing."
  He spun on his heel and walked back to his
horse. Leah swayed where she stood. Robert
stole from us. It wasn't me! she longed to cry
out. When he set his heels to the horse and
galloped past without looking at her, she clutched
the edges of her cloak. She mouthed his name,
wanting to call him back ... wanting what she
could never have.
  Dreams, hopes, and love.
Shattered. She didn't know how long she stood
there before the cold bite of the wind forced her to move.
Every reluctant step took her closer to a
loveless prison.
  When she stumbled, her hands protectively
folded over the slight swell of her belly.
"Candle in my endless night," she murmured.
She had lost Trev but had his child within her. He was
stripped of everything.
  And Roddy, standing as a silent witness in the
woods across the lane, watched his wife's every step
with his cold, proud eyes.

            Chapter Fifteen

  "Trev? Trev, you've got to climb out of that
bottle long enough to hear this." Robert glanced around
the hotel room, then roughly shook his friend's
shoulder to rouse him. At least he was sitting up
today, Robert thought, stepping back when Trev
focused bleary eyes on him.
  "I've had a letter from my father. He's with the
governor in Mobile. Governor Moore is
asking all the banks to retain all gold and
silver in their possession as of December fourth
as a matter of state. Father goes on to say that
there is scarcely a doubt that Alabama will
secede from the Union before the fourth of March in the
new year. Do you know what this means, Trev?
We are going to war."
  From the mind-numbing, liquor-induced haze,
Trev managed a smile and reached for the bottle
on the table. He drank deeply, then offered it
to Robert. "Calls for a celebration. A war?
Men die in war, Robert. Do you think they'd have
me?"
  "I think you've had enough." But Robert made
no move to take the bottle away from him. It
had taken him two weeks of following Trev from
one tavern to another, as Trev sought the lowest
company, before he had managed to bring Trev home
to Rosehall. Trev hadn't had a sober day
since. But Trev retained enough sense not to inflict
himself on his parent's hospitality and had moved
to a hotel in Montgomery. Robert had been
splitting his time between plantation and hotel ever
since. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't
rouse Trev to care about anything.
  Guilt forced Robert to hide his disgust with
Trev's slovenly appearance, as well
as the condition of his room. He didn't bother
to argue anymore, but went and rang the
bellpull. His anger had not worked; Trev
laughed it off. His biting mockery that Trev was
wallowing in pity, earned him the sharper edge of
Trev's tongue. When he pleaded with Trev
to stop, Robert saw Trev withdraw.
  But Robert had had enough. "I'm ordering your
room cleaned and hot water for a bath for you, as
well as valet service. We are dining out this
evening, Trev. I won't take no for
answer."
  Trev's reply was another drink. His walls
of defense had crumbled, and he wasn't able
to shore them in place for any length of time. With a
weary sigh, he leaned his head against the high back
of the sofa, wishing Robert would leave him alone.
  Poor Robert. He tried so hard to get him
to care. A man couldn't have a better friend.
Robert just didn't understand that he had lost
everything: Sweet Bay, his dream, and Leah.
Bella was cared for and loved. He had nothing. And
he knew the import of the letter Robert read. The
South would go to war unless cooler heads prevailed
and some compromise was reached quickly.
  Men died in war. Guns offered a sudden,
clean death, not his cowardly choice of crawling
into bottle after bottle. Like my father before me,
I have found the solace of drink when life has
become unbearable.
  But he didn't ever want to be like his father.
Leah had held out the hope he could save himself.
Leah. The forbidden one. He had to bury her.
Bury her as deep as he had buried the past.
  Trev heard the door open and close, listened
to the murmur of Robert's voice giving orders,
and he smiled. A man could go to hell and back with
someone like Robert at his side. He should get up
and thank the man.
  "Robert, my friend, have I thanked you?"
  "Thanked me for what?" he asked, opening the
drapes.
  "For whatever it is a man thanks his friend for when
he's as stubborn as you. My company has not--"
  "Trev, it doesn't matter. Nor do I
want thanks. We're friends, just as you said."
Robert came over to him, and this time he took the
bottle. "There's a new girl at Lavale's
I want you to see. He's holding an auction for
her first night."
  "First nights are not my pleasure."
  Helping him to stand, Robert grinned. "Wait
till you see her, Trev. Exquisite from the
top of her blond hair--"
  "No blondes!" He shoved Robert aside
and staggered over to the window. Lights were ablaze in
every building. Another day lost. Leah was lost.
Leah and her damn silky hair. He couldn't
stomach the sight of pale blond hair. The
memories were still too sharp and cut too deep.
  "There's Angeline or those Chinese twins.
Just come with me tonight, Trev. Get out of this hole
you've buried yourself in. No woman is worth
what you're doing to yourself."
  "Do you think I care? It's not just her."
Trev turned slowly and faced him but locked his
fingers around the carved molding of the sill. "I
blame myself for what happened. If I had told
her why and where I was going that night, she would have
waited until I came back. There were a
hundred times when I could have said that I loved her.
But I never did. I sent you to her, never
realizing that Leah wouldn't trust you."
  Robert turned away and stared at the bottle.
Tell him. But he choked on the confession he
should make.
  "I didn't mean to hurt you, Robert. But
since I'm making these admissions, I want you
to know that I added to Leah's distrust of you."
  "I don't think I want to hear anymore,
Trev. Your bathwater should be here and once you're
cleaned up, meet me downstairs in the bar.
Norbeck and Clifford will be joining us. We
haven't been together for a good game in a while."
  Trev slumped back against the window when
Robert left. Now he had succeeded in
alienating the only friend he had. He shouldn't have
told Robert how Leah felt about him; nor should
he have confessed how he encouraged her to feel that
way. Robert did not deserve to have any blame
placed on him for the mess Trev had made of his
life.
  If going with Robert tonight would make up for his
surly behavior these last few weeks, he had
to do it. And with this understanding, Trev realized he had
reached yet another turning point.
  He would give Robert tonight as he had asked,
but no more. There was a time when he had courted
danger and survived; perhaps there was mercy somewhere and
he wouldn't this time.
  But when the hotel valet arrived and Trev was
undressing, he found himself withdrawing his grandmother's
ring from the pocket of his waistcoat. No matter
what condition he was in, the ring stayed with him. He
opened and closed the hearts, slowly clenching his
fingers over the ring in his palm. A reminder and no
more. There wasn't anything worth caring about. And
never, ever another woman.
  The hot water made him sweat, and he closed
his eyes as the man bustled about, setting the room
to rights. He had one last memory to drag forth and
then he would be done. Trev had avoided thinking
about the way Leah looked on that blustery day.
There were deep bruised shadows beneath her eyes as
if she had not slept. He had cast aside how
thin she had felt to him when he had held her. And
he had to recall the desperation, then the frantic
look in her eyes. Had to listen again to her husky
voice speaking of denial, of her marriage, of
her vows.
  He had loved her and she had betrayed him.
He had trusted her and she denied him.
  Too many shattered dreams had taken their
toll. He couldn't afford any more. He simply
couldn't care.
  And later at Lavale's, he found himself
ready to begin his new life.
  The cards were hot, the liquor smooth, and the
women like silk.
  When he returned to the card room in the wee
hours of the morning and joined yet another poker
game, Trev found he was envied his luck.
  "The devil's own," one player said, throwing in
his hand.
  Trev didn't smile, didn't even
attempt to rake in the pot he had just won. But
he answered the man. "You're right, you know. It's
the devil's own luck I have. You see, I was
born in hell."
  Robert heard the last as Trev shoved back
his chair and walked away. He stared at the
winnings left behind and quickly motioned to one of the young
women to gather them up and give them to Lavale,
who would keep them for Trev. Then he followed his
friend.

  Love was not in Roddy Cooper's eyes as he
watched the twisted turnings of his wife in their
marriage bed as her body fought to reject the child
she carried. He didn't know if he
should pray that she kept this child or that she should lose
it, for Leah had refused to tell anyone whose child
she carried. It was a somber mood that lay over
his home with the comings and goings of his family and
Leah's, and the well-meant neighboring wives with
their advice.
  He suffered their pitying stares and whispered words
to have hope, to pray that Leah would not lose their child,
while he longed to expose her for the whore she
was. But he had taken the dowry money he had
needed to enlarge his farm to raise himself to the position
that he felt was his stolen birthright. It was all that
kept him silent while the prideful bitch he
had married dared to tell him she had taken a
lover who then abandoned her. He had lulled her
into believing he would accept a child if there was one,
raising it with his name, as his child. In return he would
have Leah's loyalty forever.
  Bitter gall rose when he recalled that not
even two weeks after their wedding she had betrayed
those vows. And without knowing whose child she carried, he
dare not get rid of her.
  Roddy cursed his grandfather to the blackest pit of
hell. If he had not lost their rich lands when
Georgia sold land to them, land that later became
part of Alabama and Mississippi, he would be
a wealthy planter today. But the man had had no
backbone, giving up before the Yazoo land fraud
case was settled in the family's favor by the
federal court, losing the wealth the family had.
His father had barely managed to buy this small farm
and hold on to it, but Roddy knew he could do
better.
  Leah thought him a stupid man, but he was already
seeing the turn of the tide with the talk of war. His
hate of every landed Georgian, every slight and slur
the Alabama planters had laid at his door,
would be paid back. And he'd keep Leah, not because
he wanted her, but to deny another of those hated
Georgians, Trevor Shelby, from having her.
  If she lived, if she gave him a son and
if there was justice, that would allow him to have his
revenge on her.

  We, the people of the State of South Carolina,
in convention assembled, do declare and ordain, and it is
hereby declared and ordained, That the ordinance adopted
by us in convention on the twenty-third of May, in the
year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and
eighty-eight, whereby the Constitution of the
United States of America was ratified, and
also all acts and parts of the acts of the General
Assembly of this State ratifying amendments of
said Constitution, are hereby repealed; and that union
now subsisting between South Carolina and other
States, under the name of the "United States of
America," is hereby dissolved.
  Done at Charleston the twentieth day of
December, in the year of our Lord one thousand
eight hundred and sixty.

  South Carolina's declaration was repeated in the
weeks that followed until Trev could recite
it, if he wanted to. He allowed himself to be
swept up in the celebrations of the coming holidays
and the fervor which accompanied every ball and dinner he
attended as talk of secession escalated.
  And Robert was always with him, watching as
Trev's withdrawal became complete. Trev was
cynical and remote. He attracted women's
attention, but they meant nothing to him. No one would
partner him at the fencing schools, for his blade was
wielded with a skill that cut through a man's
defensive moves within minutes.
  It was Frances who thought of a solution that would
break the destructive cycle. She was proud that
Robert shouldered his responsibilities for
overseeing the plantation with old Silas's aid,
but guilt for her unwitting role between Leah and
Trev prompted her to go to her husband.
  "Robert and Trev have military training,
schooling, and are loyal, Albert. The governor
asked you to recommend men to him."
  "And who, pray tell me, wife, will run
Rosehall?"
  Snuggled against him in their velvet-draped bed,
Frances said, "Silas taught Robert and can do
the same for me."
  "My dear, think about what you're proposing.
Running our plantation is an unending round of
work."
  "But if we should go to war, Albert, Robert will
be called and you'll be in the capital. Who else
can see to Rosehall? Widow Charmers has had
the management of her estates for four years an'
made a fine job of it, too. Even you said so."
  "It's Trev that has you worried as well.
Don't bother to deny it, dear. I've seen
what's happened. All right, I'll do it."
  Frances lifted her face for his
kiss, praying she was right.

  Once Albert presented his proposition
to Governor Moore, who agreed they were good
choices to act as messengers for correspondence
which could not be sent by regular routes, Robert and
Trev were summoned.
  Robert saw this as an opportunity to redeem
himself in his mother's eyes as well as his own. And it
could be Trev's salvation.
  Trev was bored with Montgomery's offers of
entertainment. His recklessness, far from bringing him a
challenge that would release him from hell, earned him
a reputation which had men speak softly or not at
all to him. Few resisted gambling with him, for
all his devil's luck. And when his voice took
on that hard edge bordering on insult, thoughts of the
two men he had already killed in duels made
others back away.
  Robert's hope that Trev would take interest
in what they had to do was quickly dashed. While he was
with Governor Rector of Arkansas, learning
Rector was disposed to Alabama's view
to secede, Trev honed his knife-fighting
skills in taverns. Robert had to force himself
to concentrate on what the governor was saying.
  "You must express my deep concern for the
counties bordering the Indian nations. The
Creeks, Cherokees, Choctaws, and
Chickasaws have them worried. They are
reluctant to vote for secession and leave those
tribes under the influence of the government in
Washington. The Indians receive large stipends and
annuities and unless I can be assured that the
South will do as well as the North for them, I cannot
hope to induce them to change their alliances and
dependence."
  Robert took his leave, promising to return
in the morning for a formal letter, and went to find
Trev. An apple-cheeked barmaid was using
Trev's ripped-off sleeve to bandage the cut
on his arm when Robert finally located him.
  "Got careless, Robert, but it's just a
scratch, so don't frown. I'll live."
  "And you're none too pleased about it," Robert
snapped, gathering up Trev's coat and
neckcloth.
  "Such truth deserves a drink. Draw a
pitcher of your best ale, lovey," Trev said
to the barmaid. He saw the resignation in
Robert's eyes and grinned. "Just one; then
I'll leave with you." With his good hand he reached
into his waistcoat pocket for a coin. For a moment
Trev stared down at the ring he carried, and without
a word or change of expression, he tucked it
back into the pocket and tossed the gold coins on
the table.
  Robert watched, then resigned himself to drinking
the ale. Trev never mentioned Leah, but he
carried that ring with him. And Robert wondered if the
love Trev had for her would ever diminish or die
before Trev's own death wish was granted.
  They only spent two days in Montgomery
before they were sent to Louisiana. Rights, honor,
future peace, and safety were words on every
southerner's lips, but privately to Robert,
Trev mocked them as words without substance.
Arriving too late to deliver the governor's
message to the Louisiana legislature,
Robert insisted that Trev help him speak to the
men still present in the capital.
  But one representative's son, Anton
Chevette, recognized the bored, reckless
look in Trev's eyes and quickly suggested he
accompany him. Robert was due to have a private
meeting with the governor and couldn't go. He thought of
warning the Creole about Trev, but knew if
Trev found out, he would just disappear. So while
Robert listened to the governor's conclusion that there
was no hope of justice for the South except in
separation because of Lincoln's election, he thought of
Trev's hopelessness. And despaired of helping
his friend, just as the governor related his own
despair that Lincoln's opinions and ideas of
constitutional duty were wholly incompatible with the
South's.
  It took Robert two days to find Trev this
time, going from cockfights to gambling dens, then every
bordello in the city. Directed to Rampart
Street, where Anton had a home for his
quadroon mistress, Robert discovered Trev
loading a pair of dueling pistols that Anton
provided.
  "What have you done this time, Trev?" Robert
asked, after being served coffee. He watched the
lovely, near-white Danielle withdraw at a
signal from Anton and close the doors.
  "He had no choice, Robert," Anton
answered. "A Creole's blood runs hot and
one took exception to Trev following his
wife into a shop."
  "Trev?" When he didn't answer, Robert
sighed and shook his head. "She was blond and
slender and you thought--"
  "Nothing, Robert, I thought nothing. It was a
mistake that will be satisfied this morning behind some
cemetery."
  "When does this stop, Trev? When are you going
to start caring?"
  "It stops, my friend," Trev said, looking up
with a cool gaze, "when I find the knife blade
or pistol shot with my name on it."
  But it wasn't to be that morning. Trev fired
first, his aim deliberately off, and when his
opponent raised his pistol, every man there cried out
as Trev, ignoring the gentlemen's rules
governing duels, stepped forward to present a
better target. The man was so shaken that he
missed him, but honor had been satisfied.
  As they began their hard ride back
to Alabama so Robert could make his report,
he reminded Trev of a conversation they had had.
"You asked me if I ever wanted more from life.
I--"
  "You answered that your racing, gambling, drinking,
and whoring left you no time for more."
  "But I never wanted to die, Trev. You've
got to see what you're doing to yourself." But all
Robert received was a cynical look as Trev
set his heels to his horse.
  Trev could never admit to him or to anyone that
he was still shaken by the sight of that woman among the
crowds of holiday shoppers. It wasn't drink
that had clouded his mind and made him follow her, it
was her resemblance to Leah. Would she never stop
haunting him?
  The night after their return to Montgomery,
Trev wished he could refuse the governor's
invitation to dinner, but Robert and his parents insisted
he go with them. Robert told his father what he had
reported to the governor, while Trev half
listened, wondering when Robert had become so
serious.
  "New Orleans is their great commercial
depot and their great concern, which is why they are
taking a course of reflection. The governor
did say that if Alabama announces its
intention to secede as a foregone conclusion, the other
states would promptly respond. There's no
doubt that having Louisiana will add
dignity and importance to the movement. She is a
state that is essential to secure the respect and
recognition of foreign nations and the support of the
hesitating states."
  Frances and Albert basked in Moore's
approval of the job their son was doing, and,
unaware of Trev's misdeeds, included him.
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Frances
told several women that she had given serious thought
to hiring a secretary to handle all the invitations
arriving for Robert and Trev. The two men, it was
agreed, made a handsome pair, often surrounded
by the loveliest belles wherever they went. But
Frances thought of Trev's distancing himself from all
that went on around him. At least he had not
refused to come tonight, as he had several times
earlier.
  She had debated about telling him of the hastily
scrawled note she had received from Leah, begging
for a meeting between the two women. Leah had
accompanied her husband to the city. At first
Frances wasn't going to go, thinking it best that
Leah be cut off completely from the past. But she
feared the young woman might still harbor a tendre
for Trev and had to know. When she first saw Leah,
she had to still her conscience, for there was little to remind
her of the lovely girl she once knew. Leah was
pale, her brown eyes lifeless. Frances heard
about her coming child and wondered where was the joy it should have
brought Leah.
  Frances kept their meeting brief, answering
Leah's questions about those she had cared about at
Rosehall. But her control softened when she saw
the longing in Leah's eyes after she had told her
what Robert was doing.
  "It's Trev you want to know about, isn't it?
Well, he's fine. Working for the governor, just like
my Robert. You're a married woman expecting
your first child, Leah, and must forget Trev,"
Frances sternly reminded her.
  But even now, amid the warmth and charming company
of the dinner guests, Frances felt chilled when she
recalled the bleak despair in Leah's voice,
asking, "Will you tell me how to forget him?"
  She had to dismiss the incident from her mind as the
ladies rejoined the gentlemen. When Albert
told her the governor had proposed a toast
to Robert and Trev for the exemplary service they
rendered Alabama in these troubled times, Frances
was proud. Perhaps her son's desire
to serve his state had come from lies and misunderstandings
with Trev, but Robert had matured. Learning they
were going to Kentucky immediately after the new year, she
hoped that Trev would find the peace he was looking
for so desperately.
  Beriah Magoffin, the governor of
Kentucky, issued a proclamation the day after their
arrival, convening the legislature in extra
session for the seventeenth of January. He asked
for two days to consider the lengthy missive
Robert delivered. Once again, Moore had
expressed his hope that while each state would
determine its own reaction to the grave issues
facing the South, the decision makers would take
into account the identity of common interests,
sympathy, and institutions in the slave-holding
states. It was his wish that these things would lead to the
frank consideration of common grievances and the
measures necessary to correct them.
  For once, Trev accompanied Robert on his
rounds of Frankfort, Kentucky's capital,
gauging the temper of the Kentuckians, not only in
the private clubs where their status gave them
entry, but in the taverns as well.
  Southerners repeated their grievances, convinced that
the Northern states had violated their sister
state's rights. Trev chose a corner table,
nursed a drink, and listened to the passion, wishing
he could find it within himself, as Robert recently
had.
  It was simply beyond him to make the effort. He
served as a bystander while Robert held court
at the bar, reminding men that slavery existed in
twelve of the thirteen states at the time the
Constitution had been adopted. Four billion
dollars was the estimated worth of slaves in the
southern states now, which formed an important
element of their political power.
  "We all know," Robert stated, after buying a
round of drinks, "that the North has waged war
to destroy our power for nearly a quarter of a
century. We have conceded to the northern states every
right secured to them by the Constitution. We have
protected the lives and property of their
citizens when they come before southern jurisdiction."
  "That's right," several men quickly agreed. One
added, "And when southerners try to reclaim their
fugitive slaves--their own property,
gentlemen--they are set upon by mobs and are lucky
to escape with their lives."
  "It's fanaticism!" yet another man put
forth, pushing his way through the crowd. "I know my
slaves were stolen. Two prime bucks. And when
I made a requisition through the governor to have the
thief brought to justice, that northern bastard dared
insult us and claim there was no felon, nor had
a crime been committed."
  "War is our only means of redress!"
someone yelled, as glasses were raised.
  Robert motioned to Trev as he slipped away
and, once outside, asked Trev what he thought.
  "Oh, I agree, Robert. War is the
answer they're all looking for. I might even
find my own answer there."
  Robert understood the mockery, but since Trev
agreed to stay with him, he didn't remark about it.
And as the night progressed and the incidents of the
past summer were raked up by men all over the city,
Robert realized that Trev was growing very quiet.
He would give anything to have Trev's insights, but
it was a useless wish and he carefully made his own
mental notes of what angered these Kentuckians
the most.
  Liquor loosened tongues and Robert had the
money to buy. He learned of the abolitionists who
burned whole towns in Texas and poisoned
slave owners to the cry of "Alarm to their sleep,
fire to their dwellings, and poison to their food!"
  The sufferings of Kansas came up, having
gone on for years, leaving death and desolation. The
armed incursion into Virginia for the purpose of
exciting a servile insurrection among the
slaves and arming them for the destruction of their owners
brought a near riot in one club. It was with
horror that one man recounted the sympathy
manifested in the North for John Brown, leader
of a raid into Virginia, who died on the gallows
a condemned felon. In the North he was
celebrated as a martyour to liberty.
  "And who needs a squadron of our navy
maintained off Africa to enforce the laws against the
slave trade?" one overzealous man demanded of
Trev. He grabbed Trev's arm and spilled his
drink. "I'll buy you another, sir. Hell,
if you can answer me, I'll buy you a
bottle."
  "That will not be necessary," Robert replied, holding
on to Trev's arm. He was afraid of what
Trev would do and added, "We are leaving."
Trev's gaze held a rare show of
temper. Robert had to remind him that he was
to gather information, not attack those who spoke
freely.
  Trev shrugged off his hold.
  "I tell you all," the man continued, "we're
payin' for it. Payin' for the navy to be kept
afloat on the seas and not one damn coin is
spent by Congress to protect us and our property.
Those northerners preach 'bout equality. Tell
me, any one of you, where is the equality for us?"
  "Don't forget," another man added, his
voice hushed to draw complete attention, "the
final insult we are to bear. The black day of
November sixth shall live as an outrage to every
true southerner when Lincoln and Hamlin were voted
into office!"
  Trev and Robert slipped away to the shouts of
never submitting and the belief that the South would
prevail with glory. Robert had his information and
Trev a case of aged bourbon to take back
home. But while Robert presented Governor
Magoffin's idea of a united southern presentation
to Congress, stressing the hope that just demands would be
conceded and the Union preserved, Trev went
to Rosehall to pack his belongings.
  Frances tried to talk him out of it and informed
Robert the moment he returned. "Talk
to Trev," she pleaded with her son. "I'm
afraid of what he'll do, Robert."
  "You think I haven't tried!" Exhausted from
the hours of talk, Robert rubbed his eyes.
"If I can't stop him, Mother, I'll have to go with
him. You and I know I owe Trev that much."
  "I worry that if he goes to war, Robert,
he'll be killed and you won't deal well with
losing him. We were wrong to interfere, no matter
what you believed. Help him. Something has
to make him care about living again."
  But Trev, who rarely showed anger these days,
made it clear he did not want Robert to come with
him.
  "I do not need a nursemaid, which is the role
you've chosen to play, Robert. I'm sick of
it!"
  "Well, you can't leave without seeing Moore.
He's got to release you. Damn it, Trev,
at least tell me where you're going."
  "Lawton is forming a brigade. I'm joining
him in Savannah."
  "There's no need to pack your things.
You can leave them at Rosehall. You did before.
You always called this your home."
  Trev finished placing his shaving gear into his
case. "I can't stand the sight of the place. There
is too much here for me. And I need to be alone,
Robert."
  "That's too much to ask of our friendship," he
protested.
  "That's the hell of it, Robert. I'm not
asking for anything from you. I don't want
anything from you."
  And guilt-ridden Robert let him go.
  Trev resented the time he wasted going to see the
governor. He pointed out that there were other men
better suited to carry Moore's message
to Governor Joseph Brown, but Moore
wouldn't even consider it. Trev didn't bother
to argue; he listened to Moore and counted the
minutes.
  "Trevor, his excellency should hear my words
from a native son of his great state. Although, I
admit, I've come to think of you as an adopted
son of Alabama, I do understand your wish
to return to the state of your nativity. Invoke
our brother, the governor of our glorious mother
state of Old Georgia, to give us his counsel
and advice. Events now transpiring must unite
us all, as loyal sons of the South, in the
defense of the South.
  "Remind him that we should make ready for the
conflict which is nigh well upon us. Delay is
dangerous; hesitation, weakness; opposition,
treason. And while we honor the gallant act
of our sister state of South Carolina, we want
word from Georgia on where she stands. It is only
accident and fortuitous circumstances that have placed
South Carolina in the front of the battle. Our
state will be there, too."
  Sure that Moore was finally finished, Trev
rose from his chair. "Sir, I did not make
myself clear. I will not be returning. I've been
assured a position on Colonel Lawton's
staff."
  "Ah, the lure of action for the young. Words are the
swords of old men and you're anxious, like most
young bloods, to see fighting with real weapons. I
pray daily that it will not come to pass. Find me
someone reliable to bring the governor's reply and
know that I wish you well."
  There was no sense of freedom once
Trev began his journey back to Georgia.
Leah and the memory of their last night together
haunted him without mercy.
  Once she had taken the nightmares away from
him and replaced them with dreams of her. Now the
nightmares had returned, but she led the cast of
players, calling out to him while he searched in
vain to find her. Robert never asked about the
nights Trev had awakened, drenched in sweat and
hearing his own tormented groans. Trev knew there
had been a deeper bond, aside from the love he
shared with Leah, that refused to allow him to find
peace.
  He found no solace in liquor. Other
women had satisfied a physical need, but none
could touch the hunger of his soul. He had given
Leah a part of himself that he had once buried, and
now Trev found it far too easy to return any
gentleness, any show of tenderness or compassion,
back to its grave.

        END OF VOLUME II




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
           TARNISHED HEARTS

                  by
           Raine Cantrell




    Volume III of Three Volumes
       Pages i-ii and 349-528




For special distribution as authorized by Act of
Congress under Public Law 89-522, andwiththe
permission of the copyright holder.




Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
National Library Service for the Blind and
Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
Inc., 1995.











Copyright Theresa DiBenedetto, 1994
All rights reserved












           TARNISHED HEARTS

            Chapter Sixteen

  Trev met with Governor Brown and delivered
his message. Since Colonel Lawton was
away from the city, Trev was left to his own
amusements. He told Robert he wanted to be
alone, yet volunteered for temporary duty on
the governor's staff to fill the hours. By the end
of January, the resolutions made by a caucus
of senators from seven of the southern states in
Washington revealed the opinion of these states
to secede. In addition, a provision was made for
them to organize a confederacy and to meet in
Montgomery no later than the middle of
February.
  Nights when he gambled, he stopped listening
to talk of the latest dispatches that were sent from one
state to another. As disillusioned as Trev was,
he could not provoke those men whose rage grew when
they learned the Republicans refused to consider
the Border-State Compromise and pledged
to sustain the president. Mississippi passed
a resolution to raise a committee to draft the
ordinance of secession, with plans to secede
immediately. Florida followed. Volunteers were
requested to man forts. Andwiththe dispatches came word
that the ordinances were passed to strike out the words
"Constitution of the United States" and to call the
state militia into active service.
  Trev was at Fort Pulaski when Robert
showed up, Georgia's troops just having seized
the fort. Robert was dismayed when Trev shrugged off
his explanation that he was joining Trev in
Lawton's brigade because Robert was sure they
would see action long before any Alabama
troops. He volunteered, along with Trev,
to inspect armories for possible purchase, the
only job Trev could find that would keep him on
the move.
  The two friends were the first to learn--being with
Governor Brown at the time--that Edwin
Morgan, the governor of New York,
condemned the seizures by Georgia and her sister
states. All post offices, customs houses,
monies, and fortifications within the states that had
once belonged to the federal government were seized by the
state governments.
  "Treasonable acts. Insurgents, he names
us, gentlemen," the governor stated.
"He will devote fortune, lives and sacred
honor to uphold the union and the Constitution. And
what of our honor?"
  Honor. No one spoke of anything else.
Trev sickened to hear the word, thinking of the cost
honor had demanded of him. But men all over the
South, motivated by patriotism, resigned their
appointments in the navy and army of the United
States and tendered their service to their home
states. On February 8, the Constitution for the
Provisional Government of the Confederate States
of America was announced. Jefferson Davis was
unanimously elected president. Frances
wrote to Robert, who shared the excitement and
celebrations going on in Montgomery with Trev.
  Robert didn't tell Trev that Leah was
expecting a child in late summer. He didn't
mention her at all.
  Lincoln was inaugurated. The Confederate
acts were passed to provide for a war department,
munitions, and the purchase of armories. Trev
anxiously awaited his orders.
  Far from the active service Trev had
envisioned, he and Robert were assigned as aides
to the newly appointed Brigadier General
Lawton. Due to their military schooling, the
general insisted they remain in Savannah, as he
was charged with the defense of the city, harbor, and
coast.
  Robert hid Trev's drinking, wishing his friend
would stop. Their pay of ninety dollars a month
as lieutenants was supplemented by thirty-five
dollars more as aide-de-camps, but Trev won
and lost ten times their pay in a night. Robert
watched Trev pace like a caged animal if he
was idle for a few minutes, and knew he
volunteered for whatever extra duty kept him
too exhausted to think. Trev drilled troops,
but found no pleasure in hearing their admiration for his
skills.
  Lawton refused to allow Trev to go north,
commanding him to check the garrisons at Fort
Pulaski and Fort Jackson. Robert prayed
Trev would never find out that he had taken it upon
himself to speak to the general. Robert was left
to visit the ladies of Savannah engaged in
preparing cartridges for muskets and cannons,
while others employed their sewing skills making
flannel shirts and rolling bandages.
  Trev began to hate Savannah.
The sight of lovers strolling arm in arm and the
frenzy of sudden marriages sent him into a deeper
depression. Four months he had waited, and when
April came along with new shirts from Frances,
he knew the wait was over. The great principles
of political and civil liberty upon which the
Union had been founded and stood for eighty years
was at an end.
  He was going to war.

  Spring came slowly to the hill country of
Alabama, but Leah welcomed every sign of
life. She had to hide the old papers she
gathered from every source, waiting until Roddy was
asleep before she read every line. Alabama was
proud of her sons who were already serving the South and
she knew that Robert was in Savannah and Trev
had to be with him.
  It was late May before she read about the
blockade of the Georgia harbor by the
Harriet-Lane and learned that Trev had been
there when the ship fired on a Spanish brig, then
chased it off. The reporter lamented the fact that the
ship remained out of Fort Pulaski's gun
range, but bottled the harbor much the way the
Niagara blockaded Charleston.
  Disappointed that nothing more was mentioned, she folded
the paper and placed it beneath her mending in the sewing
basket. Rubbing her back, which seemed to ache more
as the days passed, she thought it strange that Roddy
had very little to say about the war. He was happy enough when
the state announced that the war department would
purchase all corn offered for sale, but whenever
Martin or Nicholas mentioned the fighting at
Manassas, the first victory for the South, Roddy
was silent.
  But then, she reminded herself, Roddy didn't have
much to say to anyone these days, while she awaited
the birth of her child. If it weren't for her sisters
coming by, she would get no news at all, for this
late in her pregnancy she was forbidden by a
rigid code of what was proper, to be seen
by anyone but family.
  Taking up her candle, Leah went into the kitchen
for a drink of water. The pump handle still squeaked
when she primed it. Roddy kept saying he would
fix it, but never did. Small repairs were being
left undone all over the farm, yet he was gone
for most of the day. Leah had learned not to question him.
He had a temper that flared as suddenly
as the spring rains.
  Now she heard the creak of the stair and knew he
was coming down to see where she was. Leah tossed out
the rest of the water and snatched up her candle. She
reached the parlor just as he appeared on the last
step.
  "This is the third night in a row you've left
our bed. They say a woman walks at night
when her time is near."
  "I told you the child isn't due for months
yet." Leah stared at the bare feet and
hair-dusted calves his nightshirt didn't
cover. She wished it were concern that had made him
get up to look for her. But there was no concern for
her in his voice, or his eyes. There was disgust for
her ungainly appearance. Andwitha silent sigh, she
waited for him to start back upstairs, then
followed him.
  Lying beside him in the dark, she thought of Frances
telling her that all things needed love and nurturing
to survive. She was given none by the man she
married. And as the hours passed, she wondered if
Trev had found love that would help him survive
the war.

  The men he served with called Trev the
"devil's own," for no one took more risks in a
battle, none was as reckless to court danger,
yet he remained whole.
  After the Seven Days Battle, in which nineteen
thousand raw Confederate soldiers were killed,
Trev began to believe that even death didn't
want him. The moans of the wounded were drowned in his
drink, but even liquor couldn't wash the taste of
bile from his mouth. If he had been old enough
to fight his father on the day his fate had been sealed
and become a doctor, maybe he could now be of
use. Robert was there at his side in battle, and
later when he passed out from drink, always covering for
him. But Trev volunteered for every mission that
promised death for a careless man. Trev came
to believe that he really did have the devil riding
on his shoulder, for he couldn't find a shot with his
name on it.
  The days were a blend of danger and carnage, but
he never reached the callous stage that some men did.
His nightmares about Leah melded with the screams of the
wounded men in the field tents, begging for
doctors.
  Robert saw to it that Trev ate.
When the generosity of southerners allowed, they had
mouth-watering pot likker, made from ham,
cabbage, potatoes, and corn-meal dumplings.
When times were lean and supplies were left rotting
due to lack of transportation, they made do with
black-eyed peas and cornbread. Robert's
mother's letters begged him to take care of himself. She
knew why he had to be with Trev, but she feared that
he was the one who would be killed.
  Trev always led the reconnaissance missions.
Only once did he lose a man to sniper
fire.
  "It should have been me that died."
  And all Robert could answer was, "Keep
trying, Trev, you've got months yet of
fighting, with the way the war is going."
  The days ran together. Skirmishes took one
toll on the men, boredom another. When the
diseases swept through the camps, the death toll
mounted from dysentery, typhoid, chicken pox, and
raging infections. Trev found it impossible
to stay away from the field tents. But not one man
dared to tease him, not within his hearing when he fought
to instill the need for basic cleanliness in the
medical tent. More than a few found that Trev's
temper was like the hair trigger on his Henry
repeating rifle.
  But that didn't stop the men from speculating
among themselves about why Trev had fought with the doctor
and insisted on burning all the blankets and
uniforms of every man who had the pox.
  "Maybe he figures the smoke'll finish
off the Yankees when that fancy repeater of his
runs out of cartridges," one young and very new
recruit said.
  "Yore jus' jealous 'cause you can't buy
yore own gun on thirteen dollars a month.
That Henry's worth eight soldiers shooting from
cover."
  "Ain't that right," another hardened soldier
agreed. "Yore so wet behind the ears you can't be
knowin' that damn Yankee gun Shelley got
tradin' with a picket can be loaded on Sunday
an' fired all week.
  "An' whatever you do, boy, don't tweak that
devil's tail. Better men than you tried and
failed."

  "Tried and failed" was the refrain Leah
repeated to herself. As on every other Sunday
afternoon, her sisters and Roddy's two cousins,
along with their husbands and children, had come to call. The
children had eaten, played, and now most of them
napped. The women sat in the shade of the wooden
porch while the men were down at the barn sampling
Roddy's home brew. Her smile masked her
thoughts as they chattered about her coming child, Roddy's
proud strut, and how anxious she must be to have the
heat of summer over. They managed to admire
each other's needlework, too.
  Leah discovered that if she nodded every once in a
while and kept smiling, they would talk for hours and
she wouldn't need to say a word.
  Being married had not bridged the gap between her and
her sisters. Roddy had never offered to rub her
back as Ruth claimed her Martin did for every child
she carried when her time drew near. And she
couldn't imagine Roddy walking the floor with a
baby to let her sleep as Nicholas had on
occasion done for Sarah. Even Kate, Roddy's
cousin, who was expecting her fourth child, had some
kindness bestowed by her husband. As did the shy
Agnes.
  She could not share with them the silences that filled
her home, nor tell of the brooding way Roddy
watched her. She shared with no one the forbidden thoughts
she had of Trev, and again, because of Roddy, had little
news of the war, so she didn't know where he was.
  There was the shameful secret she never told:
Her husband found her ugly as her time drew near
and slept in the spare room. He didn't like
sitting down to supper with her, and when he did, he
refused to talk. She understood his need to know whose
child she carried, and this, no matter what it cost
her, she refused to do. He had made her a
promise that he would accept the child if it was
Trev's, not that she had given him the man's name,
but something had happened to make Roddy change
soon after the last time she saw Trev.
  Frances had been sparse with information the one time
they met. And Leah knew Frances was right to tell
her to forget Trev. But she was still trying to find out
how. There were nights when she couldn't sleep, when
the nagging backache that had so plagued her today
kept her walking the floors. The way she
soothed herself was with memories of Trev, then she
worried about where he was and if he was hurt.
  And she would remember the last touch of his lips,
not the words or the pain in his eyes the last time she
saw him. Suddenly Leah sat up
straight. She felt as if someone had taken a
knife and sliced across her back. Swallowing her
cry, she grabbed hold of the chair edge on either
side. She had the same warning pain when she was
near to losing the baby. The child couldn't be coming now,
she thought. But another pain cut across her middle
and sweat broke out.
  "Leah, honey?" Ruth started, reaching over
to touch her sister's hand. "Leah? Agnes, get
Roddy. He's got to carry Leah upstairs."
  "Ruth, is it the baby?" Leah demanded.
  "Now, don't get scared, Leah. I know
it's too soon, but you'll be fine. I promise
you Sarah and I will stay."
  Leah held both her sisters' hands. She
looked from Ruth to Sarah and bit back another
cry of pain. "Don't ... like-let Roddy be
... alone--"
  "Doan you know anythin', Leah?" Kate cut
in before Leah could finish. "Roddy'll stay with the men
down to the barn, gettin' drunk while you're
doin' the birthin'."
  Leah glared at her, then pulled on Sarah's
hand so that she leaned closer. "The baby. Don't
let Roddy be alone with my baby."
  Sarah shared a look with Ruth. "We'll see
to everything, sister. Don't fret now. Save your
strength and worryin'."
  But Leah grew frantic with worry. The
baby was full term, a week late by her
reckoning. They all believed the child was early.
Roddy would know this was her lover's child. Not his.
And Roddy already hated her.
  Pain gathered in another forceful wave and left
her panting. Gently, Leah cradled her
swollen belly. Trev's child. Impatient to be
born. She closed out the voices around her and
thought only of having Trev's child to hold and
love. Hers alone. As Trev never could be.
  "Leah," Agnes said, taking hold of her
hand, "let Roddy carry you upstairs."
  Pain gripped Leah just as Roddy lifted her
into his arms. She met her husband's fierce
gaze. And she cried out, afraid.

  At the same moment, Trev sighted his
rifle, fired, and missed. A strange
prickle of danger slithered down his spine. He
closed his eyes and in his mind he heard Leah
scream his name.
  "Damn, Trev, that's the second one you
missed." Robert didn't bother to hide his
annoyance. "Rabbit's about all we're having for
supper, and not much of that if you can't shoot
straight."
  Trev ignored him. He couldn't explain
what had happened. It wasn't the first time his aim
was off. Waking or sleeping, he could hear Leah
call out to him. Like a mist stealing up to conceal the
enemy's presence, so Leah stole into his thoughts.
She was a danger to him. He wondered when he would
stop thinking about her.
  With no other game in sight, Trev and
Robert returned to camp, where they found orders
waiting for them to move out.
  The days began to blur together. There were a few
skirmishes, there was a great deal of waiting, and
then they were sent to Maryland.
  They were badly outnumbered at Sharpsburg.
Trev agreed with most of the men and officers that
only the Union General McClellan's
piecemeal attacks against them allowed General
Lee to present a strong force at every turn. The
Confederate soldiers were ordered to take the land and
hold it, relinquish it when they were overcome, then
reclaim it once more, the land blood soaked and
covered with bodies.
  In September, a wounded General Lawton
was sent home to Savannah. Trev had been
fighting nearly eighteen months and was ordered
to count the dead of his brigade. Nearly half of the
eleven hundred men were lost, along with five of
their six regimental commanders.
  Trev was sick after he made his report. But
he never regretted his lack of medical knowledge more
than when he walked by the field tents of the wounded
and heard their cries. He did what he could
to help, but he was ordered to ride out with another
Georgia brigade under the command of General
Braxton Bragg. Robert and half the
remaining men filled the depleted ranks and the
Confederacy passed a conscription act as the cost
of war kept mounting in the number of dead and wounded.
  Trev and Robert were in Perryville,
Kentucky, when they missed being crushed by a larger
Union force. Rains turned roads
into impassable morasses, and when Trev and
Robert could ride, they traveled sometimes
fifteen miles in a day, only to find the enemy
had slipped away--that is, if the enemy
had even been there in the first place, for there were
incidents in which Union sightings were the imaginings
of volatile cavalrymen. In November, their
division commander, McLaw, told his four
brigades that Lieutenant General James
Longstreet had appealed for their meat rations, but
there was delay in getting them.
  As the new year of 1863 approached, they were
once more on the move. Trev brought information
to General Bragg that Union forces under General
Burnside were at Knoxville with twenty-three
thousand men. The Confederates left Sweet
Water to take up positions near Jackson's
Ford on the Little Tennessee River.
  There was a misty rain and Trev could barely
see. Robert was at his side, and three raw, very
nervous recruits followed them as they scouted
ahead of the main force. Trev wished the young
soldiers were country men, who knew how to move
quietly, not these city-bred boys who were tramping
noisily through the woods.
  They had been out almost two hours and had seen
no sign of the enemy. Trev knew it didn't
mean the enemy wasn't out there, but only that they were
well hidden. He had just turned to Robert when a
shot was fired, sending him spinning, and a burning
spread in his thigh where he was hit. Robert shoved
him to the ground, crouching over him, taking four
shots in his arm before he could raise his rifle.
  "Fire, damn you!" he ordered the recruits
before he gave in to the ripping pain and passed out.
  Trev pushed Robert aside, raised his
repeater, and fired. He didn't hear the cry that
told him he had hit one Yankee. His mind
wasn't on what he needed to do. He couldn't
let Robert die. When his rifle was empty,
he took up Robert's, covering the recruits
while they reloaded their single-shot rifles.
  In minutes they were surrounded by their own force, but
Trev wouldn't let them separate him and
Robert. He managed to keep a seat on
someone's offered horse, then took Robert up in
front of him. Trev's hand was covered with
Robert's blood. The way Robert's arm
hung uselessly warned Trev his friend would have
to lose it. He had regretted his lack of
skill, cursed his father for stealing his dream of being a
doctor, but now a deep well of black
bitterness rose, for he knew what awaited
Robert.
  Trev's pants leg was soaked with blood from
his own wound when he rode into camp. He couldn't
get down fast enough to stop them from taking Robert.
When he tried to follow, one of the aides stopped
him.
  "You don't want to go in there, sir. We ran
out of chloroform two days ago. And that leg of
yours needs to be looked at."
  "Then do it while I hold him," Trev
answered, pushing his way inside the tent. "And
send someone for the whiskey in my tent. We'll
all use it."
  Trev stood by Robert's head, holding his
face between his hands, talking of their times together.
Talking over Robert's screams, over the sound
of the saw, swallowing bile, and never once looking
away from Robert's glazed eyes. And when it was
done, he stayed with Robert, wondering how he was
going to repay his friend for saving his life and losing his
own arm. How could Robert do it, when he knew
Trev's self-destructive wish?
  There was fighting, but Trev heard none of it.
He cared for Robert through his fever, ignoring his
own wound. The shot had passed through the fleshy part
of his thigh. Trev would have a scar, but would heal
whole.
  It was long after midnight and the moans of the wounded
were a never-ending sound when Robert woke. He
screamed, seeing the stump that remained of his arm.
Trev held him when the tears came, rocking him
as he would a child, but begging Robert to tell him why
he had risked his life for him.
  "You know I was looking for that shot with my name on
it. By all that's holy, Robert, why did you
get in the way?"
  Clear-eyed for the first time, Robert looked up
at Trev and with his one hand gripped Trev's arm.
"You're my friend. M. The brother I never had.
But you'll repay me, Trev. You won't let
me live like this. One shot. That's all I ask.
Don't let them send me home a cripple."
  Trev didn't waste time feeding Robert the
platitudes that a thousand men had been given when
they lost a limb or an eye. But he could and
did refuse Robert's repeated pleas that
Trev should shoot him and let him die.
  Frantic, Robert tried to sit up, only
to find his balance was gone. He was desperate enough
now to get Trev to do what he wanted. "You've
got to do it. You're the only one who will.
It's my fault that Leah married Roddy. I
lied to her. Lied to you. I never told her you were
coming back to marry her. I never gave her your
note. Do you hear what I'm telling you,
Trev? You lost her because of me."
  "There have been times, Robert, when you've spun
some tales--"
  "The truth. The goddamn bloody truth! You
still don't believe me. I'm the one who told
Boyd about the money, and he took it to give
to Roddy. And if that's not enough to make you pull the
trigger, I offered to make her my whore." He
fell back against the thin mattress, panting,
wild-eyed, as Trev slowly rose and stood
staring down at him. "I went to her the day after you
left. I knew Boyd had beat her, and so did
I with every word. She looked like the walking dead. You
remember Mama Rassia teasing us about their
eyes. Leah's eyes were like that. That's what I
did when I said you left money for her but that I
would double it if she'd be my whore."
  Trev shook his head, half knowing Robert was
telling him the truth, but still needing to deny it. All
this time, Robert, always with him. Robert, his friend.
Robert had stolen the only thing that offered him
hope. Leah lost because of Robert. Leah called
a whore. By Robert. Fury built inside
him.
  "You'll do it now, won't you?" Robert
begged.
  "No."
  "I lied to my mother. Told her you didn't
want Leah. She talked to her, convinced her
to marry. Now?"
  "No."
  "We all worked against you. Boyd wanted to go
to you. I threatened to throw him off Rosehall if
he dared. That's why they left. Now, Trev?"
  "No. No," he grated from between clenched
teeth.
  "I didn't believe you could love a fancy
piece--"
  "Shut up!" Trev felt the wound opening, not
of the flesh, but of his heart and his soul. Leah!
Yet he couldn't walk away.
  "I wanted her. Would have had her, too. I
knew you were with her that day at the bluff. Was she
good, Trev? Did she pleasure you? Tell
me, Trev. We've always shared. Did she
spread her legs--"
  "Don't, for Christ's sake, don't--"
  "It wasn't rape, was it?" Robert goaded,
kicking aside the thin blanket and struggling
until he sat up. He tried to grab hold of
Trev's arm, but Trev backed away. "Do you
want more? Go get your pistol, Trev. Or
better yet, use your hands. Take your
revenge. Killing me would service us both."
  "I can't kill you. I couldn't kill my father
when I thought he destroyed me. I won't kill
you, Robert." But he gazed down at his clenched
hands, shaking with the need to choke off his truth.
  "Bastard!" Robert yelled. "Where the hell
are you going?"
  Trev dragged his wounded leg and shoved through the
small crowd that had collected in the tent. He
was torn and broken, like the scattered remains found
in the carnage of the battlefields. But rage was
exploding and he knew if he didn't get
away, he would do what Robert begged. He would
kill him. Yet he turned at the entrance and
looked at Robert.
  "I won't kill you, but I'll kill any
man who grants your wish. I'm taking you
home, Robert. I want you to live. Live and
remember that you destroyed me. Live with what you
condemned Leah to. Just live, Robert," he
whispered in a soft, so soft, but deadly voice.
"And when life becomes hell, maybe the devil
will pity you. Maybe God, if there is one, will
forgive you. But I never will."
  He left him, left men staring after him as
whispers flew through the camp. Not one man tried
to stop him when he crossed their picket line and
found a hole in the woods to crawl into.
  It had been fifteen years since he had
felt the hot, burning sting of tears. He had
been a boy then; he was a broken man now. But
Trev didn't shed one tear for himself. They were for
Leah, the woman he accused of betrayal and
believed a whore. His love, who had believed
Robert's lies, just as he had.

  Trev had warned Frances about her son's
injury and attitude about it. He didn't do it
to spare her feelings, but for himself. Trev was not
going to deal well with her tears, for on the long
ride home Robert never stopped telling him
what they had done to Leah.
  Trev wouldn't go into the house. He
waited silently while Henry and the houseboys
carried a fevered Robert inside. Frances went
to tend to her son, shivering at the cold-eyed
stranger Trev had become and who now called her
Mrs. DeMoise. She knew without being told
that Trev had found out what she and Robert had
done. It was buried in his weary eyes, eyes that
had seen too much and survived. She sent one of the
boys to tell him to wait for her, for she couldn't
let him go without talking to him.
  Cato was still down at the barn, but had little to do
these days, since the blooded horses were all
gone. But when Trev asked him about Leah,
Cato told him that Boyd caught her that night
and beat her. He spared Trev nothing of the way
they all had gathered around her like a pack of
wolves, tearing at her until she gave in.
  And Trev listened to how his love had been
alone, sick and frightened, with no one to turn to.
His punishment, his guilt that he had left her.
  Frances found him helping Cato feed and water
his horses. It hurt to know he hadn't even
taken them from their traces, making clear his intent
to leave immediately. She found she needed more courage
to talk to Trev than to face what had happened
to her son. But the years of war had brought her the
understanding of how strong a woman could be.
  "We did what we thought best for you, Trev.
Robert was able to tell me he confessed to you the part
we played. But I swear to you," she declared,
gazing into the piercing blue of his eyes, "that I
did what was best for Leah. I believed my
son, who loves you like a brother." Frances
stepped forward and cringed inwardly when Trev
stepped back before she could touch him.
  "Forgive me, Trev. Forgive my son.
We've all suffered--"
  "Mrs. DeMoise, I have no forgiveness for
anyone but Leah. And I see that Cato is
done, so I'll take my leave."
  "What will you do? Trev, don't--"
  "Do?" he repeated, climbing up onto the
wagon's seat and taking up the reins. "What can
I do? All of you destroyed my life."
  It was his deadened voice that made Frances cry
out, "Then go to Leah. Tell her. She loves
you, Trev. She's never stopped, and I will carry
the memory of her tears and what we've done
to both of you to my grave."
  "Then I wish for you what I wish for
your son. May you live a long life. Both of
you."

           Chapter Seventeen

  Leah escaped to the rolling hill-country
woodlands whenever she could. Today she desperately
needed the solitude the woods offered. How could
she come to terms with what she had just learned?
  Roddy was a traitor! There were Yankees in
their barn. He had been hiding them, and others,
all along. She couldn't doubt what she heard for
herself. She couldn't.
  She had believed him when, to account for the wound in
his leg, he said that he had fallen and his gun had
gone off accidentally. He was left with a limp and
unable to answer the conscription call. But now she
knew it for the lie it was. All the while she had
cared for him, hoping they could still have a chance to make
something good of their marriage, he had been laughing
at her. Now that final, slim hope was crushed.
Roddy, a traitor, who had made her one,
too.
  Unwittingly, she had supplied him with information
to give the enemy. Her eyes were bleak as she
looked back at the chimney of their house, hating
herself for leaving her son with him. There had been no
excuse she could think of to take the baby from
Roddy when the child enjoyed being with him. She had
to get away from Roddy.
  What could she do? How was she going to live with
knowing that she may have sent men to their deaths?
  Damn him! Roddy made a mockery of every vow
he had made before God.
  Leah rubbed her arms through her cloak. Her
skin felt as if it were crawling with unseen things.
She was sick that her own husband had used her.
He had placed them all in danger by giving aid
to the enemy.
  It was all she could do to stop from heaving. Like most
of the women in Coosa and Talladega counties,
she had offered what help she could to ease their
soldiers' lot. Now that the fighting was right over the
northern border in Tennessee, the wounded men were being
sent into Alabama. Once her chores were done,
Leah spent time at the church, reading to the
soldiers. She knew where they had been wounded and
where they would be sent once they were healed. How many
times had she filled the silence at supper and
told Roddy what she knew?
  And what if Trev had been with those men? What
if she had somehow caused him to be hurt? Leah
hoped that whatever help she gave to the soldiers,
the same would be offered to Trev if he needed it.
Frances was the only one who knew how she felt.
  She and Frances had come to an understanding. As the
president of the Society of Mothers, Frances had
visited every farm, plantation, and town in the county
to solicit aid and cooperation, gathering supplies
or offers of care for the wounded. When she came to the
farm a second time, telling Leah she needed
quinine, Leah bargained with her. She told
Frances how to make the desperately needed
quinine from the berries of the dogwood trees, and a
soothing cordial from blackberry roots for
dysentery. In return she wanted news of
Trev.
  Frances never gave her much. But it was enough to know
that Trev was alive and whole, even if he was in
the thick of the fighting in Maryland. As supplies
dried up due to blockades and lack of
transport, Frances came more often. They compared
whatever information there was to be had about wild plants
and barks that could be used not only to make
medicines, but as substitutes for foods, tea,
and coffee.
  Now it was clear why Roddy never once
objected to Frances's visits. Often he would
stop work to come up to the house when Frances arrived.
Leah had been proud of his helping to load
Frances's wagon with the supplies gathered by themselves
and their neighbors. How many times had he packed
the barks of wild cherry, poplar, and wahoo
trees from their woods, knowing they would be boiled
down into an extract for chills and ague? All
the while, Frances would talk, and Roddy would
listen. What had happened to the captain or
colonel who had been sent back to his
brigade? Roddy, nodding, his smile false,
telling her he wished he could be out there defending
their homeland, while he gathered troop movement
information to pass along to the Yankees.
  Leah leaned against a sweet-gum tree, rubbing
the ache in her back. Who could she trust to tell?
And how could she betray the man whose child she carried?
He had waited months after William's birth
before he rejoined her in their marriage bed.
Months in which she was terrified he would harm the child.
She knew he watched the baby's soft downy
hair grow into a light brown and the
unfocused eyes that gradually became a deeper
blue. He had never voiced the question she'd find
burning in his eyes: Whose son was he? Leah always
looked away. William's birth had been
difficult. The child was small, so small they had
feared he wouldn't live. But she had loved him so
fiercely that she had willed him to live.
Despite the gloom of those first months of his
life, William had survived and grown into a
sturdy little boy who would celebrate his second
birthday on July second.
  She thanked the Lord every time she looked at her
son and saw only a resemblance to herself in his
changing features. But all these thoughts brought her
back to the fear of those Union soldiers being
discovered on their land. How could Roddy not only
betray the bond of the Confederacy, but put them all
in danger?
  And if he knew what she had found out, what
would Roddy do to her? She was alone in deciding this,
as she had always been alone. Except for the time
spent with Trev. But Trev was lost to her and she
mustn't think about him. For the need and longing to be with
him, to know again the joy of their times together, would
overwhelm her with grief. And the passion that was hers
had been replaced by the nurturings of motherhood.
  With an almost frantic haste, she began
picking the round globes of the sweet gum. These
had become a substitute for those who could not get
tallow for candles. It was Frances who had passed
this along from women on the south Alabama farms.
By placing melted lard in shallow bowls, then
letting the sweet-gum globes become
saturated, they could be lit and floated in the
oil, giving off a fairylike light. She always
had a few baskets to give Frances, and it would
be better for her if Roddy knew why she had
been away from the house.
  Fast as she picked, Leah couldn't shake off
the despair that Roddy's betrayal brought her.
He could have passed along information that may have
gotten Trev killed. Trev and so many others.
Someone had to stop Roddy. But who? Did her father
know? were Martin and Nicholas involved?
Neighbors? Friends? Her basket was barely
filled, but she stopped gathering more. Maybe those
Union soldiers would be gone by the time she got
back. Maybe she had mistaken what she
overheard. And maybe the two stolen sows they had
been fattening would be back in their pens.
  Leah pressed a hand to the aching small of her
back, then lifted her basket. So many
incidents became suddenly clear. How many times
had she held William and stood by the window as a
detail of Confederate soldiers rode up the
lane and Roddy went outside to meet them? No
matter what they wanted, their arrival would
precipitate Roddy's anger. Not that he
allowed it to show.
  She hated his cowardly lying when those very
soldiers risked their lives to protect the land
he claimed as his. Roddy took their gold when
they had it, cheated on the weights for the grain and
corn he sold to them for horse fodder, and denied
he had more stored away. He thought she didn't
know about the burned-out remains of an old cabin
and the stone cellar in the woods. Roddy hid
sacks of grain there; she had never suspected
what he was doing with them until today.
  Her father would be no help, even if she could
summon the courage to go to him. He treated her
with a cold contempt and forced her mother to stay away,
too.
  Could she betray Roddy? She knew what her
fate and William's would be. If they weren't
burned out, they would be ostracized. She didn't
care for herself, but there were her children to think about. One
born and one to come.
  How much more was she to bear? Her steps dragged
over the path. Somehow she had to find a way to deal
with this and still protect her children.
  But when Leah returned to the house, Roddy was
gone and William with him. Standing on the porch,
pulling her cloak around her, she gazed at the
closed double doors of the barn. It was too early
for milking, a chore Roddy had taken over a
few weeks ago. She had thought it was due to her
awkwardness and inability to sit on the three-legged
stool since she had passed her sixth month. But
now she knew it was to keep her away from the barn and
from finding out what he had been up to.
  Another small hope that their marriage might
work had been crushed. She couldn't bring herself to go
into the barn. The baby would be safe enough. He'd
just learned how to say "mama," and not much more. He
adored Roddy, though Roddy spent as little time as
he could with the boy.
  She knew Roddy would be different with this child she
carried. This one he had no doubt about. And she
would never tell him what he longed to know.
But these deep thoughts added to her agitation and she
didn't hear the creak of a wagon's wheels coming
up the lane.
  Leah heard nothing of the wheels, but she did
hear the whisper of her name. A whisper from dreams,
a whisper born of her longings, a soft murmur
repeated over and over with an added entreaty for her
to turn around.
  When she did, her first impulse was to run.
Her body wouldn't respond to the frantic
message her mind sent. Torn between pleasure and
fear, she breathed deeply, her heart beating
heavily, for the sun was at his back and all she
saw was a black silhouette. From nightmare and
dreams came the vision she wanted, the vision she
had not seen for two and a half years. She
simply stared at him.
  Shock held her, just as the blue of his eyes
did. That piercing blue that turned almost black with
passion. And she felt the thin layers of
protection she had carefully built being ripped
away, leaving her vulnerable once more.
  With a cry, Leah closed her eyes, denying
what she saw, denying that she loved him still.
  "Leah?" he whispered, his voice naked with
longing despite its gentleness.
  Hope and fear melded; love tore fear
away. "Trev? Oh, Trev, is it really
you?"
  Time stopped in those moments, stopped as it had so
often for her, and she beheld the only man she would
ever love. Leah didn't remember moving toward
him, his name a cry on her lips. She didn't
remember him climbing off the wagon seat
to enfold her into his arms. It was as if he had
never been gone, never believed she had betrayed
their love, and when he lifted his gloved hand
to caress her cheek, she sighed his name yet again,
lifting her face for his kiss.
  The cherishing feel of his lips on hers was balm
to her soul. She took his strength, his warmth,
swallowing the emotions that threatened to erupt and steal
her dream. Trev holding her, kissing her ...
  It was a sweeter, wilder passion that held
sway over her senses, like the first time their lips
had touched. His gentle coaxing deepened the kiss,
and for Leah a shower of sensual memories spread
inside her. Just as they did when she dreamed of
him.
  She needed to touch him. Her fingers
slid up the soft wool of his coat, then clung
to his shoulders, wanting him to be real. Trev,
taking her back in time, until there was only the
two of them. Leah knocked off his hat, threading
her fingers into the thick black silk of his hair,
holding him closer. Her move to press nearer was
stopped by the rounded swell of her belly, andwitha
wrenching cry she pulled free of him.
  Trev didn't want to let her go. After two
years of unholy, unjust, brutal war, he had
tasted life. Once he had thought that war would bring
him a clean, sudden death. He even thought all
feelings, everything good in his life, had died when
he lost Leah. But watching her turn away from
him now brought an understanding of what death really
meant.
  He had come to beg her forgiveness. He craved
that from her. But when he called her name and she came
to him, he could no more remember that she was another
man's wife than he could stop breathing.
  A blind fury rose, which he stifled, when she
folded her arms protectively over the rounded
swell beneath her cloak and turned to him. She should
have been carrying his child. She should have been his wife.
His!
  "Why have you come here, Trev?" Leah finally
asked. She hurried around to the side of the house
where they would be out of Roddy's sight if he
looked out from the barn. She found the courage
to look at him. His face was gaunt, his body
thinner. But now there was the unmistakable stamp of
cynicism etched on his features as if repeated
disillusionment had tarnished his view of the world. Leah
wondered if her face revealed the same to him.
Compassion for what he must have seen in the war almost
sent her back into his arms. But if Trev
felt the desire his kiss had conveyed, it was not
apparent in the cool fire of his eyes. And she was
left with her fragile walls shattered.
  She asked him again why he had come.
  "To see you. To beg your forgiveness. I know the
truth now, Leah."
  "Whose truth is that? Yours? Robert's? Or
mine?" She heard the mocking bite of her words,
but he seemed determined to ignore it, for his gaze
softened. She watched him pick up his hat and
saw that he was a captain now.
  "Leah, I--"
  "Just answer me."
  "You've every right to hate me. I swear
to you I never knew until a few weeks ago
what Robert had done to you. They were lies." He
couldn't meet her direct gaze, and toyed with his
hat brim. "I wish I could see the compassion that
was there a moment ago in your eyes. I've a wound
that never healed, Leah. I never stopped loving
you."
  "Don't," she pleaded, closing her eyes
briefly. "You can't--mustn't--say such things
to me. It's all in the past, Trev." She
wanted to walk away from him, but once again her
body refused to obey the dictates of her mind.
  "We need to talk. You can't deny me that. I
didn't know, I tell you."
  "But it doesn't matter, Trev. We can't
let it matter."
  "Is your husband home?"
  Instinctively, Leah looked toward the porch.
  "You risk kissing me with him inside?"
  "No. Yes. Yes, I risked it, but
Roddy's not inside. He's down-- I'm not
sure where he is. Please, you've got
to leave."
  "Leah, don't be afraid. I won't do
anything to cause--"
  "You don't need to do anything. Your presence
here brings enough trouble."
  Trev tossed his hat on the wagon seat, then
raked his fingers through his hair. "Does he know?"
  "I never named you." She had to lock her hands
together not to touch him again. "What purpose does it
serve to bring the past back? And why are you here in
Alabama? I heard--" Leah bit her lip.
She hadn't meant for him to know she was keeping
track of his moves.
  "I've brought Robert home. He's lost his
arm and begged me to kill him. I wanted to,
Leah. When he told me what he did to you that
day, I wanted to kill him. I understand now how
frightened and alone you must have felt." He was unable
to remain this far away from her and closed the distance
between them.
  He thought of the ring he had meant to give her--the
ring he still carried with him--but Leah turned as if
to run. He flattened his hand against the wood,
cutting off her escape. The only thing he would
kill for would be to see the love in her eyes again.
All the love that was his when he was afraid
to claim it, afraid to admit how much he needed
her love, needed her. And he knew he
was a liar, because he couldn't keep from touching her.
He cradled her face, lifting it so he could
look into her eyes.
  "I would do anything, give anything, including
my life, to take away what you went through. But
it's for myself that I've come. I need you to forgive
me, Leah. My sorrow rests with all the harsh,
cruel things I said to you. I loved you, and never
stopped. Can't. You claimed my heart."
  She saw the truth of every word in his eyes, but her
fingers bit into his gloved wrists, pulling his
hands from her face. Pain filled her and she knew
by the way his expression changed that she was not hiding
it.
  "If I--I forgive you, will you go, Trev?
Will you let me keep what little peace I've
found?" Trembling, both from fear that he would
discover Roddy's secret and from fear that Roddy
would discover them together, she lowered her head. "Go,"
she whispered. "Please, I beg you."
  Nothing prepared her for his hands pushing aside
her cloak, both gently splaying wide across her
rounded shape. The wall at her back stopped her
from moving.
  "Trev?" And when he looked up, she couldn't
swallow the soft, shattering cry that escaped her
lips. He gazed at her with such love, such
intense longing that far surpassed any dream.
  "Leah, if you want, I'll take you and your
child, even this unborn one. I'll claim them as
my own. But if you are loved, I swear I'll
walk away from you. Can you tell me that?" he
pleaded. "I never would admit, even to myself, how
many times I dreamed of seeing you like this, carrying my
child."
  Speak the lie. Tell him you love,
Roddy. He'll leave and you'll protect him from
the Union soldiers hiding in the barn. And you'll
protect your children and yourself. Trev will never know that
you are married to a traitor. Tears spilled
down her cheeks, Trev's name a soft litany.
"If only you knew ... Trev ... if
only. Hold me. Once more, then go. Please,
you must go."
  But his arms were her haven. His lips were the cup
which caught her bitter tears, then whispered the words
she had yearned to hear.
  "I love you, Leah. Love you," he
murmured, scattering kisses across her cheeks.
"Then, now. Always." Suddenly he was
silently praying that she would not tell him her
love belonged to another man. He brushed his
lips against hers, needing to speak words he had
kept bottled up until it was too late. Now
he had no right to say them. But death had stalked his
days, the death he had courted so daringly, and he
had learned not to count on any tms.
  Softly then, rocking her gently, he said,
"I want you to know that I dreamed of you. I'd
hear you crying out my name, calling for me, and I
despaired of finding you, Leah. There were nights--
no, I won't tell you of the nights. I can't
speak to you of death, when you were and always will be light and
life to me."
  Leah held his face within her hands. Her love
for him had never died. She had lost him once and
it had nearly killed her, but now ... now she
knew she needed the strength his love would give
her. Leah kissed him, all the buried yearnings,
all of her love welling up from inside her,
given to Trev along with her heart. And his kiss
made her feel cherished, desired, and loved in
return.
  "Love, listen to me," Trev murmured.
"I never told you why I left or couldn't say
that I loved you and wanted to marry you. But I say
it now." And he bared his soul, telling her how his
father had killed his dream and held Bella
hostage to get what he wanted. The words were
rushed, for he was aware of the risk to her of his
presence, but he had to make her understand what he
had kept from her. Trev spared himself nothing in the
telling, and when done, he was drained.
  He brushed the glisten of tears from her eyes and
held his fingertips over her mouth. "I've come
to give you what you've wanted, Leah. Your dream
to teach. You can't tell me that you love him. You
can't want to stay with him. Come away--"
  Trev broke off and stepped back away from
her. There were hoofbeats coming up the lane.
  "Not now," Leah whispered, horrified, rushing
back onto the front porch. "Dear God, not
now."

            Chapter Eighteen

  Trev stared at her, not understanding. But he quickly
followed, standing protectively in front of
Leah, shading his eyes with one hand, while the other
opened the leather flap of his holster.
  "The uniforms are gray, Leah," he said almost
immediately. "There's nothing for you to be afraid of.
It's only a small patrol, likely looking
for stragglers. I'll deal with them if you want me
to."
  "You should have left when I told you to go,
Trev." She was stricken by the thought of those
Yankees in the barn, but was too frightened to even
turn and gaze down that way. Dear Lord, she
prayed, please don't let Roddy come up to the
house until these Confederate soldiers are gone.
"Get rid of them, Trev, please."
  He shot her a puzzled look, but stepped off
the porch as the patrol drew to a halt.
  The major returned Trev's salute,
while Trev summed up his men. Three were raw
recruits and two had the hardened look of men who
had seen war, as did the major. But what drew
Trev's gaze and held it were the two men riding
double, dressed in Union blue, a rope
secured around their waists and then wrapped around the
horse's belly.
  "Major James Thomas Gee, sir," he
offered, holding out his gauntleted hand on Trev,
"late of the Tuscaloosa School of
Instruction, on assignment to track down
Yankee scum crossing our borders."
  "And good hunting, too, I see," Trev
returned. Then he introduced himself. "But I
am well acquainted with Mrs. Cooper and
attest to her loyalty. You won't find
bluebellies here."
  Leah, listening to them, knew she had to get rid
of them and Trev quickly. If Roddy came out of the
barn and saw them here, there was no telling what he
and those Yankee soldiers hiding in the barn would
do. She wasn't sure, but she thought there were more
than six of them. Leah knew, too, she had to do
all she could to protect Roddy, and in turn
protect her son and her unborn child. Incidents
of whole families being dragged from their homes, the
men beaten and the buildings burned because they were
suspected of being northern sympathizers, rose
in her mind.
  Before she thought of something, the major turned
to her. "Ma'am, we've had a hard cold ride
these last two days and would be most grateful if you
could spare us somethin' warm."
  "I've soup on the fire and could make you
coffee," she answered, unable to deny them
food, but she didn't see the look Trev shot
her way, hearing the underlying resentment in her
voice.
  "Coffee?" one of the men asked.
  "It's not real," she hastened to explain.
"Coffee's nearly sixty dollars a pound now,
but we've used roasted okra seeds and the taste is
mighty close." Leah forced a smile while
murmurs of appreciation went through the men. As they
were dismounting, she heard William calling her.
  "Mama, Mama."
  Leah rushed off the porch and stopped just beyond the
rail to scoop up her little boy, noting with a
desperate gaze that the barn doors were open.
  When she turned, holding the boy
protectively in her arms, Trev felt
gut-shot. The chubby undefined features were
Leah's, but his eyes ... "The boy's eyes are
blue," he managed, searching for the truth in her
expressive brown eyes.
  But Leah wasn't looking at him now. She
placed a kiss on her son's hair. "Yes.
William has his father's eyes."
  Conscious of the other men, Trev couldn't ask
another question, but it burned his tongue to hold them
back. His gaze followed Leah as she came up
the porch and stood before the door. The longing he had
felt to touch her, round with child, was nothing to compare with the
hunger that now rose and nearly consumed him. She
held a boy who could be his son.
  Not knowing what else to do, Leah, terrified
now, invited them inside. She stepped over the
threshold, only to stop and spin around with a
choked-off cry when the major ordered his men
to take the horses and prisoners down to the barn.
Her gaze met Trev's, saw his hunger
directed at her son, and she ached for him. But
William's safety had to come first. She could
only try to protect them both.
  "Not the barn, Major," she said quickly. "Our
cow just died. There might be lingering disease. And
I'm sure your prisoners could do with food and
coffee as well."
  Wild yells and two shots threw the men in the
yard into a melee of orders and rearing horses.
More than a dozen Union soldiers came around
from both sides of the house to encircle the
Confederates. Trev shoved Leah inside, shouting
for her to slam the door, yanking his Colt
revolver from his holster, kneeling and
firing. The major drew his saber and attacked the
two men who tried to grab both him and his horse.
  Leah cradled William tight, running to the
window and tearing aside the lace curtain to watch.
Prayers tumbled with no sense from her lips and her
son began to cry. She couldn't see Roddy, but
Trev was fighting with a burly man who slammed his
fist into Trev's jaw and sent him sprawling. The
horses were in the midst of the confusion, their dangerous
hooves rising and falling as two Union
soldiers gathered their reins. Trev had reached
into his boot and pulled his knife as one
attacker closed on him, and Leah felt everything
blur and shift to a day when Trev had used that
wickedly sharp blade to cut squares of
pralines. William wailed and she hushed him.
  "They can't win or get away," Roddy said,
coming up behind her.
  His hot breath touched the back of her neck, and
she shivered, suddenly chilled. But Leah couldn't
turn away. Pressing William's head against
her shoulder she heard the shot that sent one of the
gray-clad young men staggering back, his hand grabbing
his shoulder where blood seeped.
  "Stop it, Roddy! They'll kill them all."
  "You think I don't know who he is? I
hope to God they kill him." He pushed Leah
forward until her forehead touched the glass, and
crowded her from behind. "He can't last much longer.
Him and that major are the only two left standing.
And look at that cowardly Reb, running off."
  Leah did see the wounded young man grab hold
of one of the milling horses and, despite his wound,
manage to haul himself up onto the saddle. He
flattened himself, setting heels to the horse as
shots were fired, but he held on and was soon lost
to sight.
  The major ran his saber through the man he had
been fighting, only to turn and find himself
confronted with three Union men holding their guns
on him. He set down his sword and slowly
raised his hands. Trev fought alone, and now the
Union soldiers turned their attention to him.
Leah saw the war in his eyes, she who knew every
mood those blue eyes conveyed. Don't die,
she silently begged him. Give up, Trev.
I love you. Live for me.
  And as he stood there, chest heaving, his fine new
uniform ripped and filthy, she was sure he had
heard her every plea, for his gaze came
to rest on the window where she stood, and in the next
moment he handed over his knife.
  His defeat and despair were Leah's. Weakened
by the moment, she didn't realize that Roddy was
herding her through the door and outside to view the
results of the attack. Two Union soldiers
lay dead, as did one of the Confederates. The
major had a gash in his thigh, but it was to Trev that
she was forced to look.
  The skin of his right cheek was scraped raw and his
eye was already swelling, along with his jaw. With the
back of his hand he wiped the blood from his cut
lip and raised his gaze to hers. Why? he seemed
to ask, but Leah had no chance to say anything. She
was shamed by the praise of the Union captain to her
husband, thankful that William's cries had
subsided.
  "It's not me, but my wife you should be thankin'.
She's the one that held them here until you were in
position."
  Leah cringed when the officer turned to her. She
didn't hear one word that he spoke, for the condemning
stares of the men in gray made her feel as if she
had taken physical blows.
  "Don't you dare lay your own traitorous
acts on me, Roddy. I did not stall them.
I didn't betray them. You're the one who brought
this shame here. You and your--"
  "Silence!" His large square hand slammed
across her face, sending Leah and the child she clutched
reeling back against the post of the porch roof. She
held William tight, his terrified crying
renewed, and remembered another man making her
feel as helpless with a blow. Leah banished the
memory and the burning sting of her cheek to soothe her
son and didn't see the Union officer move
toward her, quickly checked by Roddy, who stood in
front of her and the child.
  She could feel the pull of Trev's gaze
demanding that she look at him, and tried to resist,
but their bonding was too strong. Raw fury lit his
eyes and she gave him a quick shake of her head
when he fought the constraints of the two soldiers
holding his arms. But even the plea from Leah's
eyes couldn't silence him.
  "You're a cowardly bastard, Cooper. If it
takes a lifetime to hunt you down, I'll do it
and kill you for hitting her."
  Roddy spat in the dirt at Trev's feet.
"Reb scum. Make all the empty
threats you want. Where you're goin' you ain't
gonna survive." Hitching up his pants,
Roddy ignored the stares of every single man.
"Well, Captain Bixby, I said I'd
help you and did. You owe me ten dollars
apiece for the enlisted men and twenty for the two
officers. They should have plenty of information you can
use. And I'll have my payment in gold."
  "Judas money," Leah whispered as Roddy
held out his big blunt-fingered hand and the officer
took coins from his pouch, counting them out, but dropping
them into Roddy's open palm as if he couldn't
bear to touch him.
  Leah wanted to run and hide. Not even the days
when she wanted to die, believing that Trev had
betrayed her, brought such black despair.
Roddy had sold these men to the enemy. He had
sold Trev. She fought and found courage, needing
to stay and learn Trev's fate.
  "Since my wife was willing enough to feed this Reb
scum, you and your men are welcome to the food,"
Roddy offered, his hand clenched tight around the
coins.
  Captain Bixby looked at each of his men in
turn and found that silently they agreed with him. But
it was the soldier near Trev's wagon who saved
him from trying to find the words that wouldn't insult
Cooper's wife.
  "Cap', there's provisions here for all of us.
An' that Reb that got away is sure to be
comin' back. Seems as how we got what we
came for."
  "Yes, we have. Secure the prisoners, and
bury the dead before we leave." Turning to Roddy,
he said, "You won't mind if we find a
suitable spot in those woods to bury them, will you?"
  "Not if you bury 'em deep so no animal can
dig 'em up."
  Bixby started to turn away, caught the
gazes exchanged between the Confederate captain and
Cooper's wife, who still bore a livid
imprint on her cheek, and issued a warning for her
sake.
  "Think about that Reb coming back here with
reinforcements, Cooper. If I was you, I
wouldn't be around to explain what happened here."
  "Wait, please," Leah cried out. "Where will
you take him--them?"
  "It's not for me to decide, ma'am. I want
to apologize for what you have been
subjected to. It was never our intent--"
  "None of that matters, Captain," she
interrupted, longing to have a private word with
Trev, but they were already securing his wrists and
leading him over to his wagon.
  Trev held that last look at Leah, barely
able to stop himself from telling her that he loved her,
he would come for her, no matter how long it took
or where she was. The only thing that held him
quiet was the gloating look on Roddy's face
and the knowledge that he was powerless to stop Roddy from delivering
any retaliation he wanted on Leah.
  A gust of wind blew up, whipping Leah's
cloak and the hem of her gown. Trev stared at
her, not seeing the movement of the troops around him,
not caring about the rope biting into his wrists. She
pressed her lips to her son's head, returning
Trev's gaze, just as the boy turned and nestled
against her shoulder. Trev couldn't hear what
Roddy whispered, but his hand on Leah's arm made
it clear he wanted her to go inside. Leah
resisted. Roddy leaned closer and whispered something
that made her face pale, while her eyes grew
wide with fear.
  Trev had suffered agonies which had plunged
him into a helpless bleak despair, but nothing had
torn his insides as Leah's last frightened look
at him, before Roddy shoved her and William into the
house. Roddy's gloating look sent Trev
lurching to his feet, fighting to find his footing on
the loaded wagon bed. He struggled to free his
hands, every civilized restraint snapping under the
lightning-raw need to protect Leah.
  A bluecoat swung his rifle butt against the
backs of Trev's knees, knocking him forward.
Only the major's twisting turn prevented
Trev from falling. But when Trev tried to jump
off the wagon bed, the bluecoat cursed him and
jammed his rifle butt into Trev's belly,
shoving him back.
  A sharp reprimand from the Union captain
made the bluecoat stand aside. To Trev, who
still struggled to deny his pain and get up again,
Bixby said, "You don't strike me as a
foolish man, but this is the height of stupidity.
Don't force me to have you restrained further.
Understand you're making it worse."
  Trev looked at him, caught the warning in his
voice, and followed his gaze to where Roddy stood.
The man was glaring at them with cold, wary
eyes. When the captain once again turned
to Trev, he saw pity within his eyes, a frown
deepening the lines of his face.
  "Shelby, is it? I thought that's what I
heard when the major here arrived. Well, you've
seen action, by the look of you. The war brings about
acts which no gentleman can bear, but the constraints
of my office do not allow me to interfere. Will you
give me your word of honor, Captain, that you will
attempt no further disruption while we are
here?"
  Leaning closer, seeing the drops of sweat
beading Trev's face, he added, "If you
won't give your word, I'll have you trussed up
like a bird ready for the spit."
  "Do it, Shelby," the major urged, for he
had been close and knew the force of the blows
Trev had taken.
  "I haven't any choice," Trev muttered,
pain encompassing him. But he looked up as
Roddy rushed inside and slammed the door
closed. The wood offered no barrier to his
shouting.
  "Get your things together quickly! Move, woman.
We're leaving before those Rebs come back."
  "Roddy, please. Wait. Go without us. You can
leave us here. William and I will go to my
parents."
  "Your father doesn't want you! Damn you,
obey me and hurry!"
  "I beg you, Roddy, don't do this. I'm
carrying your child. Stop it! You can't take
William," Leah screamed over the wails of the
child. "Coward! Liar! Give me back my
son."
  "Captain," Trev yelled, hearing a crash
and cry from the house. "Stop him before he hurts
her. Move. I'll swear on my word of honor
that I won't try to escape. But show some pity and
stop him."
  "You've mine as well and my men's," Major
Gee added.
  Bixby accepted their promise not to escape
with a curt nod and hurried up the steps to pound on
the door, knowing the cost of his prisoner's sworn
word. It was the sacred duty of every officer
to attempt escape from the enemy. When Roddy
finally opened the door, he met the man's fury
with his own.
  "Cooper, you'll cease your abuse of
your wife or I'll take back that pass I
gave you to see you safe through our lines. We're
pulling out, but I can send word along to keep a
watch on you. Damn it, Cooper, find more
fitting targets than a woman or forget calling
yourself a man."
  "Get off my land! You got what you came for,
so go." From his side, Roddy raised his rifle
on them.
  Trev was the only one who realized it was his
Henry rifle that Cooper held.
  Bixby, confronting a repeater and not a
single-shot muzzle loader, motioned to his men
already mounted to form their line. He ordered a
private up on the wagon and told them to move
out. There was nothing more he could do.
  Trev twisted and turned to keep the house in
view, Leah's cries ringing in his ears. When he
couldn't stand more, he closed his eyes, but the sounds
of her voice wouldn't leave him.
  Nine months later, Trev knew the
soul-sickness of war held no measure against the
sufferings he witnessed that went unrelieved in the
Rock Island prison in Illinois.
  Smallpox, pneumonia, and fevers took a
toll of death that brought the attention of the acting
surgeon general of the Union army. The
barracks were overcrowded, there was no drainage,
there were no decent rations, and the orders to the guards
did not preclude brutal treatment of the
prisoners. They were not allowed to converse with the
prisoners, nor allow them to collect in
squads, especially at night, and they could fire
upon any prisoner rushing the fence. The
cornbread, supplied from outside the prison,
made so many ill that their ration was cut. The post
quartermaster was a drunk and rarely did the
prisoners receive the letters and packages addressed
to them.
  Trev and the other officers did what they could
to keep morale high, but their task was nearly
impossible. The bed straw rotted and filled with
vermin before it was changed; blankets were rags before
new ones were issued. Nearly one hundred
survivors of smallpox had their clothing taken
and burned, but were given nothing to replace it
until another inspection brought a demand that was
answered.
  Men poured in from St. Louis, sicker, and
badly clothed. Measles broke out and
Trev despaired that he could do no more to help.
Orders came that the prisoners were to hang their
blankets out to air every day, but did not take
into account the days it rained and they were left without
blankets. The war dragged on and life became
a wretched struggle for survival. Trev joined
in plans for an escape, helping to dig the
tunnel under their barracks to directly outside
the parapet. Only ten of the original eighteen
had the strength left to try, and they were in such a
weakened condition that the last two were caught. Trev
went back, but heard behind him the firing and yells
which revealed that only three men made good their
escape.
  The remaining men in the barracks, as well as
those who were caught, were beaten and put on rations of
one small loaf of bread, when three loaves were
needed to make a pound, and a piece of meat two
inches square and so fouled that only the most
desperate would eat it. Men began taking the
Union oath to escape this hell.
  Trev received two letters from his sister, written
a year apart, telling him of her happiness that she
finally had given birth to a daughter. The second
letter asked why he had not acknowledged her
packages to him, which he had not received, and vowed
renewed efforts to get permission to visit him.
  Trev received another letter. He recognized
Frances's handwriting and couldn't bring himself to open
it. But something held him back from tossing the letter
away.
  He carried it around with him, fingering the paper
until the edges frayed, forcing himself to finally open
it.
  She began with her prayers for him to remain
hopeful and strong. Albert was getting involved
with the prisoner exchanges, but there were numerous
delays. There were a few lines concerning
Robert's continued bitterness over the loss of his
arm and his beloved horses.
  Trev read as far as Frances's expressed
hope for his eventual forgiveness before he threw the
letter down. It was then that he saw the postscript
on the other side.
  Leah's name had him snatch up the letter and hold
it with hands that shook.

  I have managed to learn that Roddy has taken
Leah and their son to the Northwest Territory.
It is believed that he has been hired
to work for the Overland Stage line. I wish I had
more to tell you.
                               Frances.

  As the conditions in the prison worsened, bringing
Trev a deep depression for the wounds he could not
heal, the illness he could not prevent, not only for
lack of skill but for lack of the basic
supplies, he focused on Leah. Light
to his darkest hours, thoughts of her willed him
to live and find her no matter how long it took.
  For it wasn't only the news of where she was that
kept him sane and fueled his struggle
to survive, it was the realization of Leah's
admission when he had first seen her son.
  "Yes. He has his father's eyes."
  Not my husband's eyes. Not Roddy's. But his
father's eyes.
  He remembered the cold, haughty look of
Roddy's blue-gray eyes and thought of his own
color.
  Was William his child? Had Leah borne him a
son? His need to know burned daily. When the
call came that Confederate soldiers were to be
offered a chance to take the oath to the Union and
serve an enlistment in the Western territory,
Trev knew he could no longer stand with the five
thousand strong who refused to consider it. He could not
die here in this rotting hole without knowing if he had
a son. Without holding his love close once more.
  Soldiers were needed to fight the rising threat of
Indians, as troops were called back
to replenish the depleted ranks of the Union
army. Men were reduced to eating rats if they could
catch them. A wearied soul such as Trev's
examined the oath he had sworn to the Confederacy and
thought of all those other vows and promises he had
been forced to break through the years. The honorable
choice was to stay in prison. Or he could, with a
small measure of privacy, take the oath to the
Union. He would have to answer four questions composed
by President Lincoln. Once done, he would be
separated into what was called the "calfpen," where
other former Confederate soldiers awaited their new
orders and uniforms of blue.
  It was a desperate and emaciated Captain
Trevor Randolph Shelby of the Confederate
States Army who left the cattle yard called
the bull pen. He and others just as disreputable in
appearance sent a last sweeping gaze
over the silent group swarming with vermin that watched
them line up for an the oath-taking that would free
them. He had been savaged by the war and prison,
had lost faith in himself and his dream, but would vow to the
devil himself if he could have the chance to find Leah
again.
  She alone meant life to him.

            Chapter Nineteen

  Leah, seated beneath a spring-leafed cottonwood
while ten-month-old James slept at her
side, smiled to see the serious concentration on
William's face. He was wading at the edge
of the stream, calling to the fish that were just stirring from the
cold winter. William imagined himself a
skilled Indian hunter and she didn't have the
heart to stop his pretend play, for he had little enough
to enjoy.
  Gathering up the remains of their picnic lunch,
Leah thought about the old miner, Giddon Ellis,
who had stayed at their Overland Stage home station
while he recovered from painful mountain fever.
  The miner had filled William's head with
tales of Indian hunters. For a reason known
only to William, he had latched on to the
description of Indians luring fish to remain still,
then catching them with their bare hands.
  It was harmless, but Roddy grew angry when
William refused to stop. It was one of the few
things William would be stubborn about when Roddy
confronted him. But then, Roddy did all he could
to belittle any imaginings William had, just as he
forbade her to take her books with them.
  She had accepted Roddy's growing embitterment
with her and their marriage, but he couldn't steal her
joy in her sons. She could have found a measure of
peace and even happiness after their flight from their
home.
  The home station Roddy was finally hired to run
for the Overland stage and mail line was in a broad,
saddle-shaped valley, filled with
cottonwoods, willows, and wild apple
trees. After the incredible journey through the Rocky
Mountains and the wide plain of sand and sagebrush
at the end of the Wind River Range, this place
was an oasis.
  Here along the creek, the wild roses were
beginning to bud, soon to perfume the air with their
scent. But Leah no longer thought of
gathering their petals to make soap; she neither had
the time or cared enough to do it. Roddy would only begin
his tirade that she was a Jezebel, not fit to be
a wife of a decent man. And she had no
defense against it.
  No matter how she tried not to let memories
of Trev interfere with the need to make a stable home
for her sons, she was guilty of keeping those
memories alive. The news recently passed
on by the soldiers from Fort Bridger as they rode
their patrols to escort the stages from the station ten
miles southwest to the fort was that troops of
Confederate prisoners were going to be sent here to the
Utah Territory to replace the Union forces
needed to fight the continuing war to the east.
White-washed Rebs, was how Captain Emerson
George described them.
  She didn't know which prison Trev had been
sent to. When they waited in St. Louis for
Roddy to be approved as a stationmaster, she had
attempted to have a letter to Frances posted, but Roddy
found out and destroyed it. Since his threats against
her didn't always work, he had taken to threatening
William. Leah didn't try to write again.
  There was no question in her mind that Trev was
alive, despite the horrid conditions of
prisons on both sides. It wasn't just her
heart that knew; she had a link which reinforced her
belief.
  With a quick look around, Leah withdrew a gold
ring from the small deerskin pouch where she kept her
storeroom key. From the moment she had discovered the
ring of twisted gold hearts in the yard where Trev
had fought, she knew it belonged to him. The gold was
near pink in color, but always warm no matter how
cold the weather. She held the ring tight, praying
that Trev would have the strength to overcome whatever
horrors he was forced to endure. Her prayers
never included seeing him again, but she wished that he
live and find not only love, but find a way
to become a doctor. For her, it was too late
to dream of more than escape.
  Little James stirred restlessly in his sleep as
if her thoughts had reached him. Leah leaned over
to brush his flaxen hair from where it curled over his
forehead. She had labored for two days to give
birth to him on the nightmare journey west. If
it weren't for the women in the wagon train with them,
she wondered if she would have survived. Not only
had they tended to her, but they had taken
care of William while Roddy brooded and
drank. Far from the joy she had expected from
Roddy when James, a son unquestionably his, was
born, Roddy ignored the baby as much as he
ignored her. William was now his target,
except at night.
  Roddy's drinking alarmed her, even when it
kept him from claiming his husbandly rights. Roddy
had taken to trading meat for "Valley Tan,"
Jack Robertson's locally made cheap
whiskey. She had gathered courage to ask the
mountain man to stop, but he had as little respect for
women as Roddy. She lived in dread of the nights
when Roddy would try to attempt to bed her. If
she was silent, he accused her of being at fault
for laying there like a corpse, and the abuse would begin.
If she defended herself, his rage erupted that much
sooner. But he never left her with bruises that
could be seen or stop her from doing chores.
  "Mama, biscuit, please. I found
fishies!"
  "Oh, did you? Well, there should be a few
left." As she found the biscuits in the
basket, Leah warned, "Don't try and catch
them again, lambkin. Last time you fell in."
  "I know how. I know how," he insisted,
snatching the biscuits from her and running back to the
stream.
  "Then be careful, love," she called out.
Despite the hardships, William had thrived
here. He lost his chubbiness on their journey, but
had grown taller, his features--all but his
darkening brown hair and light blue eyes--her
own. For the sake of her sons she had tried to put
money aside with the hope of one day getting on the
stage and going to California. Twice now,
Roddy had discovered her hidden cache of money.
  He claimed it as his, although some money was
given to her from grateful travelers for the meals she
offered. She made use of the wild greens,
trout, and sage hens the size of turkeys,
along with meat from the pronghorn antelope, rather
than offer the standard station fare of bacon and beans.
  The fort trader, William Carter--Judge,
most called him--had given her another
opportunity to earn money. He was a true
Virginia gentleman who let her trade her
dried herbs and salted meats. She knew
Judge, as well as others, was aware of her
troubled marriage, but there was nothing he
or anyone could do.
  Leah roused herself to look around, carefully
scanning the wooded area across the stream bed where
William, shoes and stockings off, waded near the
bank to catch an early-stirring trout. They had
been free of raids through the long, bitterly
cold winter, but everyone warned that spring would bring
the Cheyenne and Sioux war parties out again.
  She touched her rifle. She had been forced
to learn to shoot and carried it everywhere with her when she
left the safe walls of the stockade. When they
arrived here to take up the duties of station
keeping, it had been late July. The elder
trees had been in flower and the gooseberries
ripe.
  By December, word came of the shameful Sand
Creek massacre that led to escalating Indian
troubles. A Colorado volunteer militia
regiment slaughtered Cheyenne women and children, thus
provoking the Cheyenne to join with the Sioux. All
the trails west, the Oregon, California, and
Bozeman, as well as the forts that guarded these
routes and every Overland home station and swing station, were
subjected to raids. The Indians struck like
lightning, and their home station was particularly
vulnerable, for the Indians prized the strong stage
horses.
  Far to the north she could see the Wind River
Range, and realized how long she had been here.
James was stirring, William laughing as he
splashed up the bank, likely because the fish tried
to nibble his toes, and she had to call an end to their
free time. It was worth whatever price Roddy
demanded to see William with a smile as he came
to her call.

  After months of delay, Trev finally arrived
at Fort Kearney. He had an adjustment
to make wearing a blue uniform again, but it wasn't
as bad for him as for others, for he had worn one for
two years. Once he had given his oath with the
understanding that he would be sent to the western frontier
to keep peace with the plains Indians, not fight his
comrades in the war, Trev and the other galvanized
Yankees, as they were called, were kept separated
from the other prisoners while Washington dickered
over their status and whose responsibility their
rations and new uniforms fell to.
  But once at the fort, Trev had not wasted his
time. He had searched and been rewarded
to discover a former West Pointer, now Colonel
David Harrington, was on assignment here.
Trev had requested a meeting and now waited
outside David's office.
  Ushered in minutes later, Trev instantly
saw the changes the years had brought. David was
no longer the lanky, sallow-faced boy. His
hair had touches of gray in the dark brown
color, and his face bore the deep lines worry
forced on a man. David's greeting was less
than Trev had expected--cold, actually--
until his aide closed the office door behind him
and left them alone.
  David came up out of his chair and around the
desk to give Trev a bear hug. "Damn, but
it's good to see you. I've your record here, and
admit, Trev, I was surprised to see that you
had taken the oath."
  "It's a long story," Trev answered,
taking the seat in front of the desk as David
returned to his behind it. "But I won't bore
you. David, I need a favor, and you're the
man in position to grant it. I want an
assignment to Fort Bridger."
  "Just like that? Surely there is more you are going
to tell me?"
  Trev knew this was no time for reluctance.
"There's someone--"
  "Ah, Cooper's wife, I'll bet.
Half the men at the fort talk about her." He
looked up and quickly judged Trev's tense
expression. "I hear she is lovely, but they
talk about her cooking and kindness. She has made
their station one of the best." David paused, and
toyed with the papers on his desk. "As a friend,
I'm asking if there'll be trouble between you and
Cooper if I do assign you out there?"
  "Cooper can't make trouble for me. I know
too much about him. As for myself--" Trev knew it
would be easy to lie, but couldn't. "I'd like to kill
him, but I won't. I didn't when I had a
chance. But there was once something between his wife and me.
I just want to be close by if she needs me.
If the war--"
  "Jesus, Trev, say no more. My brother
lost his wife to another man after he was wounded at
Shiloh. Cost him an eye." Heaving a weary
sigh, David pushed his chair back and opened his
bottom drawer. He withdrew a bottle and two
glasses, pouring out drinks for them.
  "I'll do this for you, Trev, but I want
to warn you that you won't have it easy. The Indians
have been brutalizing the stage stations to get the
horses. They've burned out settlers and nearly
destroyed the telegraph lines. And the Union
commanders and soldiers aren't going to accept you.
Expect mistrust, Trev. And I'm afraid
you'll have to remain a noncommissioned officer."
  "I don't care, David. I'll be a
private if that's what it takes. Prison
taught me to take orders."
  "Trev, keep your bitterness hidden. There are
men out here who escaped from Andersonville. You'll
find no sympathy from them."
  "I don't want any."
  "All right. Since you've served a tour in the
Southwest, I can arrange for you to have a detail of
nine men. You'll ride escort to the stage between
Cooper's home station and the fort."
  "When?" was all Trev asked as he accepted
the offered drink.
  "Would next week be too soon?"
  "David, after surviving hell, I hope
it's not too late."

  Leah had a week of warning to arm herself against
seeing Trev again. Wally Colfax, one of the
stage drivers, brought the news of the new officer
and patrol that would be stationed there. She expected
Roddy's outburst, but it never came. Nor did
he turn on her. When liquor loosened his
tongue, he brooded that Trev would reveal what
he had done.
  She fully understood his fear. The men out here--
traders, soldiers, even travelers--all
seemed to want a fresh start. They were more likely
to admire a man's fighting skills against the
hostiles, or his drinking ability, than ask him
which side he fought on in the war. The reports that
reached them of the South's steady retreat and lack of
weapons, food, and supplies brought the daily
expectation of the South's surrender.
  To avoid problems with Roddy, Leah kept
to her own daily routine. Despite repeated
warnings that the warming weather was sure to bring Indian
raids, she escaped down to the stream with her children.
  Luis, the young stock tender, had come fishing with
her. Leah left the quilt where James sat
playing and walked down to the creek to see the fish
William caught with the Mexican
boy's help. She was halfway between her sons
when she noticed the sudden silence. And the sense of
danger from that silence came as suddenly.
  "Luis, bring William. Leave the fish and
come to me," she ordered, spinning around to run back
to her baby and her rifle.
  Wild yells exploded from the woods across the
stream. Leah threw a look over her shoulder and
saw four mounted Indians break from the trees.
Luis had a struggling William thrown over his
thin shoulder and was running toward her. There would be
no time to run back to the stockade. She snatched
up her loaded rifle, ignoring little James's
cry, screaming for Luis to hurry as she began
firing. No matter how prepared she thought she
was, she was shaking as she tried to aim at the
Indians. Eagle feathers decorated their hair
and trailed from long skins on their shoulders.
  There were six shots in her Colt rifle, but
Leah forgot Wally's instructions to count each one.
Luis had grabbed James and was running up the
hill behind her when she realized her rifle was
empty. The first raider was almost upon her. Leah
wanted to run, wanted to make sure her children were
safe, but she ran out from beneath the tree into the path of
an oncoming rider. Swinging her rifle like a
club, she battered his leg, but before she could hit
him again, another Indian crowded her between the
horses and wrenched the rifle from her hands.
  A kick to her lower back sent her staggering,
her fall stopped by whoever gripped her hair.
She couldn't scream--the pain had taken her breath
--but she clawed at whatever was within reach, afraid
to even look up at her attackers. Another
blow brought her to her knees, where she remained,
chest heaving, while her fingers dug into the earth.
She gathered her strength and came up in a rush,
flinging dirt at the Indian leaning out of his saddle
to grab hold of her.
  A roaring filled her ears. She didn't
understand why the Indian suddenly pitched backward,
away from her. Shoving her hair from her face, she
saw one Indian holding her rifle high, his
horse rearing up while he yelled what sounded like
a challenge. It was then she heard the steady firing
from the top of the hill and the shouted order for her to get
down.
  With her face buried in her hands, Leah
huddled on the ground. Seconds, minutes, she
was never sure how long the shooting
continued, or when it stopped. Time didn't
matter. Her sons were safe.
  The gradual realization that the shooting had
stopped brought the sound of .his voice calling her
name.
  She believed herself strong. She thought she had
accepted the loss of Trev in her life. Leah
thanked God every day for the gift of having Trev's
son. She promised herself at each sunset that
she wouldn't destroy herself with the endless longing she had
for Trev. But the sound of his voice calling to her
proved she wasn't strong at all.
  The rich caress of his voice brought back
memories. Memories of love and hope.
Memories and dreams of Trev. With an
anguished moan, Leah tore the grass from its
roots. Trev wasn't her hope. He
wasn't her love. He would hate her for his
imprisonment.
  Tears of fright streamed down her cheeks as he
turned her over. She felt him pry open her
hands, which still clutched earth and grass. The need
to be held by him, comforted and cherished, ripped through
her. She shook with the force of that need.
  But Trev wasn't gathering her into his arms.
He wasn't whispering of missing, of longing, of the
same need. Trev wasn't even looking at
her. His gaze, all his tense concentration, was on
her hands as he slowly brushed them clean.
  "My children?" she finally whispered through parched
lips.
  "Frightened, but safe. And you? Are you hurt,
Mrs. Cooper?"
  The hiss of her indrawn breath cut into the
quiet. Leah attempted to swallow, but there was a
knot constricting her throat. Every fear that he would
hate her came rushing back.
  "Mrs. Cooper, the other soldiers are
concerned. Are you all right?"
  It took Leah moments to understand that he was not
only reminding her who she was, but warning her they
were not alone. But his curt manner cut into her. were
they to pretend to be strangers? She couldn't. No
one could demand the strength such a role would take.
  She tried to jerk her hand away. Trev
gently shackled her wrist with one hand. "You've
cut yourself," he murmured, unable to look at her
as he opened the knot of the bright yellow bandanna
around his neck. Her hands were all he dared to touch,
though he wanted to hold her. Hold
Leah and rock her against him until the terrified
look in her eyes disappeared. He knew the
strength he would need to demand of himself when he saw
her again, but not this much. Not when he felt as if his
insides were being torn apart.
  The shuffle of feet and murmurs of the soldiers
behind him reminded him they were watching. He didn't
dare linger over a woman who wasn't his. Could
never be his. And the rush of renewed anger the knowledge
brought forced him to make short work of wrapping her
hand while he knelt at her side.
  A quick look showed him that the blaze of life in
her eyes had faded. He longed to whisper words of
hope to bring them back to life. He needed to know
the tears that spilled down her cheeks weren't those
of despair, but of joy. Every nerve in his body
screamed with the need to feel her sweet body
pressed to his, to feel alive once more. But the
others were crowding closer, wondering what was taking
him so long.
  Leah barely heard the other soldiers state the
reassurances that her children were safe. She could feel
Trev's withdrawal, longed to speak freely
to him, but bit back the words. She stole a look
at his harshly drawn features. There were small
scars. Dark shadows beneath his eyes. He was
thinner, but still had a taut, dangerous aura about
him. She didn't have the courage to pull away
when he helped her to stand. Leah had been starved for
too long and the need to be near him ruled her now.
  "Will you be able to stand by yourself, Mrs. Cooper?"
Trev asked as if fighting to keep his emotions from
being revealed.
  Once again she had to hear his curt, polite,
distanced voice. With it, she absorbed the shock of
Trev in a Union uniform. But this time a
swift, sharp pain sliced through her. She shuddered
violently. An icy cloak surrounded her. And
he looked at her with the eyes of a stranger, forcing
the pain to spread beneath the numbness. Leah could
barely answer him.
  "Yes. Yes, I'm from-fine." Leah rubbed
her arms, wincing from deep hurt he brought to her,
hardly feeling the pain as she put pressure on
her cut palm.
  "Someone will need to see to that cut," Trev
warned.
  "I will. I've had to learn to tend so many
wounds. So I'll do it. They took my rifle.
It was empty. But they took it," she
mumbled, filling the silence, keeping him close.
"I did what Wally told me. Fired right at
them. They didn't turn and run. Wally said they
would. They didn't. I forgot to ... to count the
shots. I really did forget--" Leah broke
off and looked up at Trev, finding compassion and a
blaze of fury. She quickly glanced at each of the
other soldiers. Pity and sympathy were in most of
their gazes except for three of them. Leah
didn't want to think about what was in their eyes.
But she couldn't help feeling as if something dirty
had crawled over her.
  Trev's fury threatened to explode. Leah,
his lovely Leah, alone and defenseless,
apologizing to them, when her bravery outshone those of
some men he had fought with in the war.
  "Ain't a need for you to explain, ma'am. You
did jus' fine. But you ain't got to worry.
We won't let this happen again."
  Trev sent a resentful look at Rye
Munroe, but kept silent. Leah was shaken and
he couldn't do a damn thing to help her. If it
had been any other woman, Trev knew he would
have held her. Any other woman would have had the
comfort she needed.
  She swayed where she stood and he gripped her
upper arm, still unable to meet her gaze, which seemed
to cry out to him. Trev didn't trust himself not
to fall apart and carry her off, stealing what had
been denied him. Leah and her love. He had
schooled himself to see her again. But never like this. Not
bruised and fighting for her children and her life. Not
with the knowing eyes of other men watching them.
  She was still as lovely as the memory he carried
with him, but the girl's innocence and softness were gone.
He regretted their loss. In their place, her
face revealed the honed strength of a woman who
had survived her hardships. It was a look that
Trev knew well. His face, like those of the
soldiers around them, bore the same stamp. But
they were men.
  Leah was no longer his little dreamer. From a
bitter well inside rose the knowledge that his best friend's
betrayal had stolen that from her.
  He wasn't sure where he found the strength
to release her, but he did, and fired orders
to his men.
  "Private Randall, you and Private
Briggs escort Mrs. Cooper back to the
stockade." Mrs. Cooper. He
swallowed the bile for having to call her that.
Trev stood aside as the two young men, both
ex-Confederates out of Morton Prison, took
up their places on either side of Leah and offered
their arms. In that next brief moment their gazes
met. Leah's filled with a plea, with a longing and
renewed hope. Trev knew his eyes revealed
his regret and pain. He had to force out the order for
them to leave.
  "We gonna track 'em, Cap?"
  "Those are our orders. And it's sergeant,
Private Butler," Trev reminded him, but
without heat, without really caring. Danny Butler was
as green as new apples, good-natured about being
made the butt of jokes by the others, but one of the
most anxious-to-please men that Trev ever had
under his command. The boy had been captured
by Union forces two days after he had enlisted on
his seventeenth birthday. After four months at
Rock Island, working the burial detail with
Trev, Danny had taken the oath the first time it
was offered to him. There were times when Trev wished he
had a little of the boy's resilience.
  Trev's gaze had never left Leah's
retreating figure. He was distracted by the
childish voice calling her "Mama." She was still
flanked by the two privates, but knelt with arms
open to hug the little boy flinging himself at her.
William. Trev had to close his eyes
briefly. The sight was too painful, the need
to know if the boy was his son too sharp an edge that
tore at him.
  "We'd best be moseyin', Sergeant. Them
hostiles ain't gonna wait 'round for us."
  The reminder tore Trev from the past. He
hid his gratitude, but focused on his
corporal. Dooley Matthews was Danny's
opposite. Trev had instinctively trusted the
older man. He topped Trev by a good six
inches, his lanky frame as easy moving as his
slow drawl. Dooley never talked about the war,
where he was from, or if he had a family. But the
man had a savvy about surviving, which was apparent
when he chose to speak. From the sharp look in his
eyes it was a savvy Danny needed to learn.
Trev ordered them to team up with three other
ex-Confederates from Point Lookout Prison in
Maryland. Pender Applewood, Ed Wilson,
and Alex Hayden were men Trev had been warned
to watch as potential deserters. He
sent the five of them back to get their horses.
  "Rye, you and Riley come with me. We'll
see how far we can track them on foot."
  Until the very moment he had to turn away,
Trev swore he would not look at Leah and her
son again. But he had learned how well-paved the
road to hell was with all his good intentions.
  "Go on ahead," he ordered, "I want
to make sure that Dooley doesn't have trouble with
those three." A feeble excuse at best, Trev
knew, but he didn't care. He needed the sight
of Leah, real, not a vision that haunted his
nights. She still knelt at the top of the hill.
She had one arm around William, and in the other
she held another son. The five soldiers
passed her, but he saw that Leah didn't look
at them. Her gaze was as steady on him, as his was
on her. Only an inner warning that he was lingering
too long made him remember his place. Trev
turned away and followed his men.
  But he couldn't help shooting one last glance
back as he crossed the stream, wondering where in the
hell Cooper was. He had not seen Cooper
when his detail had arrived at the logged walls
of the stockade half an hour ago. With the help of
One-eyed Pete, the stock tender, they had
stripped their horses of gear and turned them out in
the corral. There was still no sign of Cooper when
Leah's screams and the shot sent Trev and his men
running to find her.
  Not once, not even now that she and her sons were
safe, did Cooper show up. But he would
eventually. And Trev knew he would have to dig
deep inside himself not to kill the bastard. Not for
what Roddy had done to him and the other Confederates
by sending them into hellholes, but for his abusing
Leah.
  Trev was aware, as he began to block his
thoughts and let survival instincts take over, that
killing had become anathema to him. Except
to protect life. Leah. Her children. This was the one
vow he had to keep. It was a chance to regain a
measure of self-respect.
  He had lost it all: home, dreams,
honor, his love, and perhaps a son. Somewhere beneath this
vast land's sky there had to be a place for him
to start over.
  Either that or find his grave.

                                  
            Chapter Twenty

  Murmuring soothing sounds to her sons, Leah
watched Trev until the woods hid the last
bit of his uniform. She was still shaken by the Indian
attack, but an inner turmoil claimed her
thoughts that had nothing to do with the attack and everything with
seeing Trev again.
  She knew he was just under six feet tall, but
his body now had a rawhide leanness which made him
appear taller. Prison had put its stamp on
him; it was there in the hardness of his features, his
eyes, even his voice. Where had he gotten those
small scars on his face? And what scars were
hidden from her, from everyone? That last day when they had
been together so briefly and he had told her about his
father, she knew he had withheld so much from her. In
the same way she always had sensed the darkness in
him, Leah had a strong feeling that the darkness,
along with the scars prison had left on Trev,
had taken root so deeply they would never leave
him. Had it been only a year since she had
seen him? It seemed a lifetime to her.
  Inside her, there burned a need to talk
to Trev, a yearning to know again the laughter and
pleasure they shared just being with each other. Leah
knew her scars were as well hidden as his, but there
were times, like now, when the hunger for comfort all but
overwhelmed her.
  William calling to her brought Leah back with a
start. Her sons needed her. They had to come first.
There was no one else but her to take care of them.
Yet her heart ached for Trev, and her prayers
went with him.
  Leah wasn't sure which of the privates urged
them to get back to the stockade, then offered to take
James from her. His smile, as warm as his
snapping black eyes, eased not only her fear,
but the little boy's as well. The moment the soldier
held out his arms to James, the baby went to him.
  "Don't worry 'bout me droppin' him,
ma'am. I've got six little brothers left at
home. Ma always said I did real fine acarin'
for them."
  "I'm sure you did," Leah answered, seeing
the comfortable way he held James. Not at all
the awkwardness that Roddy displayed on the rare
occasions he held his son. "I'm sorry," she
added in a distracted voice. "I don't know your
name."
  "Private Joe Randall, ma'am. This
'ere's Tate Briggs. Tate, you take that
other little fella from Mrs. Cooper so we can get
back. Ain't no place to be standin' 'bout
jawin'."
  "I was gonna do it. Don't need you to give
me orders, Joe. You ain't a corporal no
more. Private same as me," Tate reminded
him.
  Leah saw the smiles they exchanged, understanding
they were only teasing. Her smile was a mere hint
that curved her lips for the way James had nestled
his head on Joe's shoulder. Both of her children
hungered for a father's love and attention. As long as
she remained with Roddy, they would remain hungry.
Just as she would.
  "'Sides, Joe, Shelby didn't say--"
  "That's Sergeant Shelby to you, Briggs,"
Joe cut in as he settled James in his arms
and started to walk away.
  "Yeah, well, anyway--ah, the heck with
it!" Tate steadied Leah as she rose to stand up
beside him. "Let me take this fine-looking little
fella, Mrs. Cooper."
  William buried his head against Leah's
neck, his small arms clinging to her. "He's shy
with strangers," she explained, hating herself for the
lie that came so easily now. Her little boy was
becoming more withdrawn with every passing day and she knew
the blame was Roddy's. It was one more thing for her
to add to the simmering pot of hate that was threatening
to erupt into a boil. Only the thought of her sons
being hurt kept Leah from an open confrontation with
Roddy. He wouldn't hesitate to hurt them
to get back at her.
  But as she walked back to the station with Tate
teasing William, she roused herself to hope that
Trev and his soldiers would bring laughter back
into their lives. Just as they reached the stockade
gate, Tate managed to get a shy little smile
from William when he gave the boy his cap.
  Tate looked back, then said, "You and the boy
don't need to worry this'll happen again.
Dooley Matthews is one fine tracker an'
he'll find them. But your husband must be worried
something fierce over where you and the boy are, ma'am."
  Leah didn't answer him. William gave
up the cap without a struggle when Leah asked for it
and returned the hat to the private. Roddy
worried? If he was, he certainly
had a strange way of showing it. Her face heated
with shame, for it wouldn't be long before they would all
know about Roddy's concern for her and the boys.
  Leah had to wait until she had supper ready
before Roddy came into the kitchen. One look told
her he had been drinking. He wasn't staggering
drunk, not like some nights, but he had that gleam in
his eyes that boded no good for her. Perhaps it was her
worry over Trev and his men still out there searching for the
Indians, or just the thought of Trev being near, that
gave her the courage to attack instead of merely
being quiet.
  "Where were you, Roddy? Couldn't you come to see if
we had been hurt? You're always reminding me that
I mustn't give anyone reason to talk, but what
about you? What kind of a man does it make you,
who wouldn't even come to see if his wife and children
needed him?"
  "Need? You dare talk about need to me?" he
demanded, banging his fist on the table. "You got
what you deserved, woman. Told you time and again not
to leave the stockade. Didn't I? Whatever
happened was your fault. But I guess you ain't
all that much. Even the damn Indians didn't
want you."
  "I--I run-runned will-with Lu-Luis."
  Leah froze. The spoon she had been using
to stir the stew pot dripped on the floor.
William's stammering could trigger Roddy's
abuse. Roddy just didn't understand or care that he
was the only one William stammered to.
  "If you had a decent woman for a mother, boy,
you wouldn't have had to run anywhere." Roddy ignored
the boy standing nearby and pulled out the bench. He
glanced at the table, rubbed his eyes, then shot a
glaring look at Leah. "There's only one
plate."
  "I ate with the boys," she murmured, gesturing
for William to come to her. When he refused and
stood by Roddy's side, his little face turned up
looking for attention, Leah felt her heart
squeeze with agony; William begged, and
Roddy ignored him.
  "You saying I'm late again?"
  She turned to ladle the stew into a bowl for him.
James was already asleep and now she had to get
William to bed before Roddy started on him. Without
answering, she set the bowl in front of him.
  "Serve me. Show me what a good little wife
I've got."
  "It's not a wife but a slave you want,
Roddy." But she said it without heat, having
repeated it too many times to matter anymore.
These were the small humiliations he heaped upon her;
there were others, the ones that kept her walking the
floors at night. "William, come with mama.
It's time for bed."
  "No. Leave him right where he is." Roddy
reached out to shackle William's small wrist and
pulled the boy closer. "You set right down there,
next to me," he ordered Leah. "I want
to see if having Indian hands on you changed you
any."
  "Roddy, don't do this. Please." She
closed her eyes for a moment, then sat to one side
of him. Leah took William's other hand within
hers, feeling how chilled his skin was. "Let
me put him to bed, Roddy. He's had a shock
today and James was cranky by the time we--"
  "You saw him, didn't you?" he interrupted,
shoveling in a mouthful of stew. He chewed
noisily, motioning with his fork for Leah to push the
plate of bread closer. William tugged against
the grip on his wrist, but once more Roddy
ignored him. "Answer me, wife. You did
see him."
  "Let William go, Roddy. You can do
whatever it is you need to me, but let him go." His
blank stare forced her up and around the table.
William started to whimper when Leah tried to pry
Roddy's thick fingers off her son's thin arm.
Roddy didn't say a word, just kept on eating
while she silently struggled to get him to release
his grip.
  "If you don't stop, Leah, I'm gonna
give that boy something to remember. Something you
won't be forgetting, either."
  The soft-voiced threat made her look up at
him. Hate poured from his eyes as they went from her
to William, then back to hold her gaze. "Go
sit down, Leah." With a rough shake
to William's arm, he added, "Stop that
whimpering, boy. You remember what I did to you
the last time. You'll get more of the same."
  Leah didn't sit. She grabbed the poker from
the fire. "Not this time. Not ever again, Roddy. You
let my son go or I'll use this on you."
  He threw back his head and started laughing.
"You threaten me? Figuring that bastard's gonna
take you and these brats in?" He moved
suddenly, shoving William aside, not even
glancing when the boy fell and Leah cried out.
Roddy blocked her way when she tried to go around
him to get to her son.
  Leah ducked his fist, but he caught her around
the neck with one big hand, bringing her up short.
"Go to bed, William. Please listen to mama.
G. Now." Roddy's fingers tightened, cutting
off her breath.
  "I'll fix it so he won't want you. No
man'll want you."
  The furious pounding on the door stopped him with
his fist in midair. He shot a murderous look
at Leah, but she was gasping, her fingers clawing
at his hand. Roddy let her go.
  "Get inside with your son." He didn't
wait to see if she obeyed him, but went to the
door. "What the devil do you want?" he
demanded of the soldier standing there.
  "Shelby and Hayden tangled with the Indians.
We need your wife, Mr. Cooper," Danny
Butler told him.
  "She ain't touching them. You go find someone
else to tend them."
  "There ain't no one else."
  Roddy knew the truth of that, but he started
to close the door anyway.
  "I'll be right there, Private," Leah said from
behind him. "But I'll need someone to stay with my children
since my husband still has work to finish." She
refused to look at Roddy as he turned to face
her. "Unless they are able to be moved here? I have
everything I need and--" Leah cut herself off as she
realized that Trev was one of the men hurt. "How
badly are they wounded?"
  "Sergeant Shelby's got a gash in his side
and Hayden got a bullet crease on his head.
If you don't mind, Mr. Cooper, it would be
better for them to come here. Our quarters ain't what
you'd call clean. That last detail sure
left--"
  "Please," Leah interrupted, "go get them.
I'll get my things together."
  Roddy closed the door, then rounded on Leah.
"You bitch! You couldn't wait to get him into my
house. You can't wait to get your hands on him.
I wish to hell they had killed him."
  "I'd do the same no matter who was hurt,
Roddy, and you know it. I've never lied to you about
my feelings for Trev. You married me
knowing that I loved another man. I'm only
sorry you found out who it was." Leah knew she
should stop, but while she would not berate Roddy for his
claim that this was his house, she had no intention of
letting him believe she would betray him.
  "Roddy, it's not Trev being here for me that's
eating at you. You're afraid he'll tell what
you did to him and those soldiers that day. It's that and
your own failures that make you turn on me and the
boys. Stay here. Watch me, if you're so
worried that I'll disgrace you."
  She walked away and heard the door slam in
answer. Leah gripped the doorframe to their
small bedroom until she stopped shaking.
Roddy was wrong. Wrong about this being his house,
wrong about her. The station belonged to the stage
company, just as the meager furnishings did. And
Leah knew that no matter who was hurt, she would
tend them as best as she could.
  Gathering up her herb basket and clean rags,
she set water to boil. If this was the result of the
first day Trev was here, what would the following days
be like? Once again the knock at the door stopped
her musings.
  William came into the kitchen just as Trev and
Hayden entered with the help of Tate and Joe.
Leah couldn't force herself to look at Trev, but
then he thanked her and she had to turn. How she
managed to swallow her cry, she never knew. His
shirt was blood-soaked on his left side.
Leah crushed the linen rags in her hands.
  "Mrs. Cooper," Trev said, demanding her
attention, "we appreciate your offer.
Especially after what you've been through today. But
please take care of Hayden first. That bullet
crease knocked him off his horse and his bruises
are worse than mine." He didn't wait
to meet her gaze, for he couldn't. His rage
grew when he saw the reddened marks on her
neck. And then there was the boy.
  Trev moved the bench nearer to the table, saw the
unfinished plate, and once more wondered where
Roddy was. But little William stood there
watching him, and Trev felt an ache that turned
to a razor-sharp pain when he saw fear in the
boy's eyes. Hayden was seated across from him, and
Leah was already washing his head wound, with her back
toward Trev. Tate hovered at her side,
ready to give whatever help she needed. And
Trev had to fight from going to the boy, from
making a move or saying a word that would give him
or Leah away.
  "I'll go tend to the horses," Joe said.
"Unless you'll need me here, too, ma'am?"
  "No, I can manage with just Tate," Leah
answered. She heard the scrape of the bench being
pulled nearer to the table and wanted to look behind her
to see where William was. But to turn around
meant she would have to see Trev again, and she
wasn't ready for it. Hayden moaned when she
spread his cut to clean out the dirt that had been
ground into the wound. Leah, without realizing it, made
the same soothing sounds she murmured earlier to her
sons. And when she tied off the bandage, there was no
more time to avoid seeing Trev.
  "Tate, you'll have to help Alex back to the
room." Trev ordered. "The others should have it
cleaned by now."
  "I wanted to do it," Leah began, then stopped
herself. She couldn't tell him Roddy had forbidden
her. William whispered to her and Leah rushed
to her son. Picking him up, she smiled when he
rubbed his eyes. "Sergeant Shelby," she
called softly, "let me tuck my son into bed.
I'll be right back."
  Trev nodded, unbuttoning his bib-front
shirt, conscious that Leah was watching him. He
wouldn't turn around until the men were gone. When
he did he found Leah was gone too. He gazed
around the kitchen, the big iron pots testimony
to the cooking she did for the stage passengers.
Dried bundles of herbs hung from the wood
rafters, filling the room with pleasant scents.
He shot a look back at the doorway where
Leah had disappeared, assuming the two rooms
jutting out from the back of the building were their
bedrooms. Across from where he stood, another table
with two benches piled on top blocked off yet
another doorway.
  It had to lead to the sutler's store that Roddy
managed, and the bar. He had never seen Leah's
home once she had married Roddy, but even
to his eyes, there was little here to suggest a woman's
personal possessions.
  Leah rushed back into the room, quickly tossing
out the pan of water, rinsing it, then filling it with
fresh hot water. She set it on the table,
avoided looking at Trev, then realized how
foolish she was behaving.
  He was about to yank off the
blood-soaked neckerchief he had pressed against
the gash on his side. "No, let me wet it
first," she said. But the intriguing shadows playing
over his body from both the lamp and firelight
held her still. Trev looked up at her, and
Leah read too much in his eyes, suddenly aware
that they were alone. And just as aware that Roddy could come
in at any moment.
  "Please, Trev," she whispered huskily,
stepping forward. "It'll bleed again if you just pull
it off."
  His eyes narrowed at the change in Leah's
voice. The very softness of hers made his own harsh
and clipped. "If you touch me, Mrs.
Cooper," he stated flatly as a reminder
to both of them, "I won't be--"
  "You need my help. I told you I had
to tend wounds and injuries. There's no one
else." She didn't wait for his consent, but
took up a clean cloth and, after wetting it,
barely squeezed it before she brought it to his skin.
At the first scrape of the cloth to his bruised
flesh, Trev's breath hissed between his teeth.
Leah told herself the tremor in her hands was just the
events of the day catching up to her. When she
managed to peel away his makeshift bandage, she
told herself it was the pain that caused his body
to tense. It had nothing to do with her touching him.
Nothing at all to do with the enforced intimacy of
closeness as she leaned over to wash his bare flesh.
And he meant nothing by splaying his hand over her
hip to steady her. But even as Leah repeated this
over and over to herself, she knew she lied. A low
sound of distress escaped her lips, and she worked
faster.
  "How did you let yourself get so close to them?"
she asked, trying desperately to distract herself from
the hundred other questions she wanted answered. She
could only be thankful that the wound was shallow and
wouldn't need stitches.
  "They had split up and we did, too.
Only we didn't know they banded together a ways
up the trail." Trev stopped himself for a few
moments. He couldn't tell Leah he had been
thinking about her, forgetting the most basic rule of
survival. Nothing, but nothing should distract a
man when he was tracking an enemy. "Anyway,"
he went on, "they were waiting for us. Once
Alex went down, the four of them jumped us. I
guess I got lucky." He closed
his eyes, letting every nerve ending absorb the
gentle, slow way her hands moved over his skin.
The pain of the wound receded, and in its place the
deeper ache he had been carrying with him for so long
began to spread. Hunger that he had denied,
buried, and thought he controlled now surfaced.
  "Trev?" Leah cupped his cheek with one hand.
"How can you say you were lucky? You were hurt."
When he didn't answer her, she began to spread
a salve over the gash, then tore strips from the
big squares of linen.
  He wondered how he let himself make that
slip. Did he really tell her he was lucky?
That was from the past, when he had gone looking for a
knife blade with his name on it. How many times had
he said as much to Robert? Robert. He was
buried in the past, too. When Leah leaned over
him again, Trev brushed his chin against her hair,
remembering the feel of its silky weight free
and sliding over his skin. He tried to control his
elemental response to her, but if anything,
Leah's touch became more gentle, almost caressing.
  "Leah? Do you know what you're doing to me?"
  His voice was husky and so, so soft, shimmering
through her, but she glanced up, saw desire in his
eyes, and retreated. "I'm sorry if I
hurt you. I want to make sure there are no
bits of thread stuck to the wound."
  "Well, finish it. I can't take much more."
Curt and harsh, the words snapped out, but Trev
couldn't help it. He felt the enticing whisper of
her breath across his bare flesh, her fingers
unconsciously rubbing the hair on his chest.
All the while her eyes darkened. He knew
Leah, knew she had to be aware of what was
happening. But she moved her head just then and the
lamplight revealed the bruises on her neck.
Trev had not forgotten about them.
  He slid forward before she could move, capturing
her between his spread thighs. Bracing both hands on
her hips, he held her still. "I know you didn't
have those marks on your neck from the attack. I
want to know why Roddy put his hands on you again.
And what's more, Leah," he demanded softly, "I
want to know if--"
  "No." When she met his gaze, his eyes
weren't soft at all. She denied him with a quick
shake of her head.
  Trev lost his patience. He yanked her against
him, his head thrown back to look up at
her. "Why, Leah? How many times? Because of me?
I want to know."
  Leah clutched his shoulders, closing her eyes,
fighting not to tell him. She thought of her endless
struggle to escape Roddy, and knew if she said
one word to Trev, she would never fight alone again.
The temptation was there, not for herself but for William
and James. From her deepest memories came the
reminder of Trev's dream, and all who had
denied it to him. He had longed to heal, not to hurt.
If she told him about Roddy, she knew Trev
would go after him. Roddy hated Trev enough to kill
him. She couldn't risk that. Her silence was
Trev's protection.
  "The baby grabbed me. That's all it is."
With a hard shove that caught him unaware, she
managed to pull away, but the table edge blocked
her from freedom. "Don't interfere."
  "If you won't tell me, I swear I'll
go after Roddy. A child's fingers didn't make those
marks, Leah. It's more than past time for me
to confront that bastard. I haven't forgotten what
he did to you."
  "Stay away from him, Trev." Leah wrapped
her arms around her waist to keep from holding on
to him. She wanted to be in his arms, resting her
head on his shoulder, turning back time, freezing
it forever in a place where they had loved.
  "Leah?"
  The caress he made of her name almost undid every
sworn promise she had made to herself. She
wanted Trev free of the taint of death, needed
him to have his dream. She would sacrifice everything but
her children to see him find the love they had been
denied.
  "Trev, please let me finish binding up your
wound. I--I can't ... someone, might come ...
just please let this be done." Tears burned her
eyes, but she fought to keep him from seeing them.
  He rose and placed both hands on the table's
edge, caging her. Trev leaned into Leah so that she
was forced backward and had to look up at him. Her
hands came up to rest on his shoulders of their own
volition. She never knew where she found the strength
not to pull him closer and once again taste heaven from
his lips.
  His knuckles whitened as he kept himself from
taking her into his arms and holding her as he had
yearned to from the moment he saw her lying in the
dirt. "Leah, how much more will you have us
denied? I can't have you, but I won't stand by and see
him hurt you again. I will not," he stated in an
even softer, more deadly voice, "ever let him
put his hands on you again. He should have been with you
today, or forbidden you to leave the stockade.
Doesn't he care?"
  "Listen to me," she demanded, digging her fingers
into his shoulders. "You have no right. I knew the
danger. I took the risk--"
  "Why? Why would you risk your children, yourself?"
  "I--I needed to--leave it be, Trev."
She couldn't look into his eyes any longer.
They were intense with a meld of desire and rage.
"I told you, you have no right to ask. No rights at
all. Roddy is my husband. What he
does--"
  "He put the fear in William's eyes,
didn't he?" No longer able to stop himself,
Trev caught her up against him, holding her
tight. For a moment he allowed himself to bask in the
fulfilled need of having Leah in his arms, of
feeling her body pressed against the length of his.
He smoothed her hair with one hand andwiththe other
tilted her face up. "Whose right is that, Leah?
Roddy's? Or mine?"
  "Mine," she whispered without hesitation, knowing
she could say nothing else. "The right is mine, just
as William is mine."
  "Two things kept me alive in prison.
Finding you and keeping you safe and wondering if
William is my son. You deny me both."
  With a wrenching despair Leah stared at him.
"Yes, Trev, I deny you."
  Someone whistled outside and Trev shot a
look over his shoulder. He had to let her go, but
even as he told himself this, he was brushing his lips
against hers. "If once," he murmured against the
trembling fullness of her mouth, "you told me you
loved him, I would walk away from you, Leah. But
the love in your eyes is for me, and nothing will
make me leave you until it is gone."
  "You don't know what you're saying. Let me
go before someone comes in. Please, Trev, understand
that you can't stay here. You must get another
assignment. There'll be trouble with Roddy. More
than before. I can't see you hurt again. I can't
live with knowing that--" She closed her eyes and
turned her head. "You are making a heaven and
hell for me, Trev," she said after a few
moments.
  "It's better than what I've lived with,"
he snapped, letting her go. But his gaze
promised he wasn't done.
  Leah gathered up the linen, her fingers clumsy,
her body shaking. She barely managed to tie off
the ends of the bandage when a soft knock at the
door caught her attention.
  "Who's there?" she called out, stepping away from
Trev.
  "Private Randall, ma'am."
  "The door's open," Leah said, but was already
walking across to open it herself. "Come in," she
offered.
  "No need, ma'am. I brought over a clean
shirt for the sergeant. Thought he could use it and some
help to walk back."
  "I'll be right with you," Trev answered, making
no move to take the shirt that Joe handed over
to Leah.
  She closed the door to keep the night chill
out, then slowly walked back to give Trev the
shirt. Leah watched him struggle to pull it over
his head, wanting to help, not daring to touch him again.
She picked up his discarded shirt and held it when
he tried to take it from her.
  "I can wash and mend it. You'll need this,
Trev."
  The burning throb of pain from his wound forced
Trev to hold his side when he moved toward her.
Leaning close, he whispered, "To hell with my
needs. My only concern is what you need."
  Leah didn't answer him. She twisted the
cloth of his shirt, waiting for the door to close behind
him. She heard Trev's ragged breathing and had
to look up.
  "Thank you again for all your help, Mrs.
Cooper."
  He said her name like a curse and Leah shivered.
"Rest a day or so to let that gash heal," she
managed to say, because of Joe standing there, looking from
Trev to her. And she needed a last word, a last
look. "If you should start bleeding again, or
need--"
  Shimmering rage exploded in Trev's eyes.
"I haven't stopped bleeding."
  Leah saw him close the door. She glanced
around the empty room, then down at the bloodstain
on her faded gown. "How much more, dear God?"
she whispered, unable to touch the stain. She raised
Trev's shirt to her lips and stared at
the widening dark spot her tears made on the
blue cloth. "Lord, help me. I love him
so. I love him and I'm so afraid of what will
happen if he stays."
  James whimpered in his sleep. Leah knew the
bars on her cage would never open. Like a trapped
animal she wanted to crawl away and hide. But
when James cried out, she was reminded of her
place. Mother. Roddy's wife. And never, ever more
than Trev's memory.

          Chapter Twenty-One

  Two days later, under a sky that promised
rain by day's end, Trev had his patrol mounted
to escort the stage to the fort. He had stayed away
from Leah, and Roddy kept from his sight. Hayden,
still complaining of dizziness, was being left behind, but
Trev felt uneasy about it. The soldier had
demanded Leah's attention, playing on her
sympathy. Trev had been spared warning him
away from her, afraid of what Roddy might do
to her. Both Rye and Joe managed to get
to Hayden before him.
  Wally, driving today, called out to Trev from
atop the stage, anxious to get started. Luis,
standing by the stockade gates, opened them at
Trev's signal. Dooley led four men out,
with the stage following. Trev was about to join them when
a bellow of rage came from the sutler's store.
Huber, the relief driver, was over near the
corral, closer than Trev but not quicker.
  "Take them out, Rye," Trev ordered,
telling himself he was not going to interfere, just as Leah
begged him not to.
  But when a child's high-pitched, fearful cry
ripped through the air, followed by another yell,
nothing was going to stop Trev. He was off his
horse and running before Huber was halfway across the
yard.
  The door was open, but the overcast sky and dim
interior offered little light. The crowded stacks of
flour and barrels hid Roddy from him. Brine and
oiled leather melded with the musty smell of the store.
  "Cooper?" A scuffling noise sent him
running down the only clear aisle.
  "Little bastard! Come outta there."
  Trev saw the bulk of Roddy's body bend
over. He came even with the counter just as Roddy
dragged a whimpering William out from beneath
a table stacked with blankets. The child's cry was enough
reason to go after Roddy, but it was the sight of the
belt looped in his hand that sent rage into Trev.
  "Put it down, Cooper. Fight me, not the
boy." Glass crunched under Trev's boots as
he leaped at Roddy. He dodged the belt
swung at him and landed a solid blow that sent
Roddy staggering.
  "Get out, boy. Go to your mother." It was all
Trev managed. Roddy's fist slammed into his
jaw, rocking his head back. The second blow
forced Trev against the stack of barrels and only the
fact that everything was so tightly packed into the store
saved him from falling.
  Roddy came at him again, swinging the belt at
Trev's face. Ducking his head, Trev threw
up his arm and caught the sting of leather. The gash on
his side opened and he felt a burning tear. Behind
him he heard Huber with William, but he
couldn't spare a look to make sure Huber was
taking the boy outside.
  "I'll teach you to come between me and mine. They
should've killed you in that damn prison. But you
won't get away from me. I swear you won't!"
Enraged that Trev managed to land his fist again,
Roddy dropped one end of the belt. He snapped
the leather like a whip, and even in the dim light
Roddy saw the glitter of the thick metal
buckle land on his enemy's back. Again and again,
he wielded the belt, beating Trev back down
the aisle, never letting him get close enough to use
his fists.
  Trev took every blow, luring Cooper
outside, where he would have room. "C'mon
Cooper. Hit me again," Trev goaded, staying
out of his reach now. "Can't fight like a man, can you?
Women and children don't fight back, do they?"
Only the cleaner smell of air told Trev
he was close to the door. Just as he was about to step
through the doorway, Leah came rushing in behind him.
The moment Trev turned his back to protect her
from being hit, Roddy lunged at him.
  With a shove, Trev sent Leah out the door.
He took the full brunt of Roddy's weight
and went down beneath him. Splinters from the raw wood
frame tore through his shirt.
  But the pain was nothing to the searing force of
Roddy's big fist slamming into his wounded
side. Trev couldn't breathe. He felt as if
a knife had cut him open again.
Black lights danced in front of his eyes. From
a distance he heard Leah.
  "Get off him! Roddy, please, you'll kill
him. Stop it! Somebody stop him!"
  "Christ, Leah, get the hell away from him,"
Trev muttered, gathering himself to try to dump
Roddy off. He felt the hem of her gown against
the back of his head. Roddy had his hand spread
over the back of his head and Trev sucked in air
the moment his head was lifted. "Get away," he
shouted, bucking, unable to get Roddy off, and
eating dirt when his face was banged against the
ground.
  Trev went still. His only hope was to have Roddy
think he had knocked him out. Leah was shouting and still
close. Then he saw her fall backward,
unsure if Roddy shoved her or if she
stumbled.
  With an enraged cry Trev jammed his elbow
back, the grunt of pain a pure satisfaction
as he twisted and heaved himself free. He kicked
Roddy's shoulder, swiping at his eyes, going for
him with fists that seemed apart from the rest of his aching
body. He spit blood and felt his eyes
closing, but nothing stopped him.
  "I swore you'd never hurt her again. I
swore it," he cried, not even making an
attempt to see where his blows were landing, just striking
out over and over.
  Roddy butted his head into Trev's stomach,
sending him staggering backward. Trev knew he
couldn't take much more of the beating. He wasn't
anywhere near recovered from the deprivations of
prison.
  "Use your gun, soldier!" Huber shouted.
  Shaking his head, Trev glanced down at his
sidearm. The distraction nearly cost him his
life. Roddy grabbed a pick from the jumble near
the store's door and flung it at Trev.
Only Leah's scream made him move aside
at the last possible moment. Roddy's rage at
missing Trev poured out in a steady stream of
swearing and filth. He held his fists high and
once again came at him.
  "The gun! Use your damn gun before he
kills you!"
  But Trev made no move to do so. He
swayed where he stood, trying to brace himself for the
next blow. Roddy swerved at the last second
and went for Leah.
  "No! God, no!" Trev heard himself cry
from far off. He heard a shot that kicked up the
dirt at Roddy's feet, stopping Roddy
cold. Through a haze of sweat and blood he saw
that two men were standing on either side of Roddy,
holding rifles on him. Then he looked down and
saw the gun in his hand. It wasn't his Colt, but
the smooth grip fit his hand as if made for him.
He stared at the long barrel, stared at it and saw
Leah's face reddened with the imprint of Roddy's
big hand. He saw the marks on her neck, the
fear in her eyes. He saw William. Fear.
Heard the whimpers. And then Trev looked up
to where the men held Roddy Cooper.
  He brought the gun barrel up until he
knew he would have a clean shot at Cooper's
heart. He didn't need the use of both eyes;
one was enough to sight in on his waiting target. His
finger was swollen but he gently began to squeeze
the trigger. One shot. That's all it would take.
Roddy would be dead and Leah free. One ...
single ... bullet ...
  "Trev, you'll never forgive yourself if you kill
him," Leah whispered at his side.
  He didn't turn to look at her. He
couldn't.
  "Trev, please. No more deaths. No more
blood."
  "He'd have hurt you again. He was going to beat
William with his belt."
  The soft, chilling deadness of his voice cost
Leah whatever hope she had of reaching him. Her
whisper carried no farther than Trev. "I
love you. Don't do this."
  His hand shook; even bracing his wrist with his other
hand couldn't stop the trembling that beset him.
  "You stopped him from hurting William. That's
all that really matters, Trev. He won't do
it again. Roddy's a coward. You know that," she
rushed to say, so afraid he would stop listening, so
afraid that he would pull that trigger. "You're
hurt. Come away from here. Let Huber and
Pete see to him. Come with me, Trev," she
repeated, very gently touching his extended arm. The
same trembling that racked his body held sway
over hers.
  "Don't let hate consume you, Trev.
It's what your father wanted."
  "No!"
  "Yes, Trev," she insisted, then
pleaded. "He never wanted you to know love.
Love is what makes you strong. Your father
didn't want a son who could be gentle or
tender. He despised those soft emotions. You know
he did," Leah begged, gripping his arm. "He
tried to mold you into the same destructive man that
he was. But you wouldn't let him do it. You're so
strong, Trev. You were never afraid to show me how
gentle you could be. You do know how to love?
Remember?" She barely murmured the last,
parched as she was, but Leah refused to give up
the hope of stopping him.
  "Remember us, Trev. Remember our
love."
  "Leah, stop--"
  "I can't. I've bargained with the devil and
he's finally had his fill of me. God answered
my prayers and let me see you again. And I--"
  "God had nothing to do with it," he ruthlessly
cut in. "I would've torn this country apart
to find you again. But I knew where you were. Where that
bastard had taken you. Nothing, not the damn
Union force could've stopped me from coming here."
  "Then don't destroy what we had. If you
kill Roddy, you will kill all hope of realizing
your dream to heal. Trev, look at me!" But
she went on when he refused. "Will you let
Roddy win? Roddy and your father?" Leah ducked
beneath his arm and stood in front of him. Trev
didn't take his gaze from where Huber and Pete
held Roddy. And she was stricken by the feral
gleam in his eyes.
  "Get out of the way, Leah."
  The snarl of his voice only reinforced her need
to stop him. Her fingers clenched around the cloth of
her gown. His face was battered and bleeding, but she
was afraid that if she touched him, Trev would
explode.
  "Shoot him and you'll crucify yourself. And
me."
  He could no longer ignore Leah's words or
the urgency in her voice. And the love she held
out to him. Trev closed his eyes. A shudder
ripped through him and pain threatened to overwhelm his
battered body. Trev barely managed to fight
it off and stay on his feet. He had listened
to everything Leah had said, but he still wouldn't lower the
gun.
  "Why, Leah? Why now?" he asked in a
hoarse, ragged voice.
  She knew what he was asking her. Why had she
stripped away any hope of their past remaining
secret from all but Roddy. Leah knew the
answer, but she deliberately let him think she
had misunderstood what he had asked her.
  "William wanted a peppermint stick.
Roddy wouldn't let him have one. He yelled and
William tried to get the jar down from the counter
by himself. It fell and broke. The rest--"
  "Damn you! Is it my son that he beats?"
  His furious whisper lashed her. Leah lowered
her head, shaking because she had gambled and lost. She
couldn't even summon a prayer for help.
  "Answer me, Leah!"
  "Does it matter so much? He's a little boy.
My son, Trev. And he pays for my sins,
my guilt, my past," she said in an odd,
flat voice. "And he needs me," she added,
defeated enough to walk away.
  She couldn't stay and watch Trev destroy
himself. She would not see Roddy die. The guilt
was all hers. She had brought the three of them to this
moment.
  "Leah!"
  Trev's voice almost stopped her, but Luis
was near the corner of the store with her sons. She
had to remember her place and it wasn't
by Trev's side. She had lied to him when she said
the devil was done with her. He was laughing over every
step she took away from her love and back
into hell.
  Remember us. Remember love. Your father
wanted to mold you. Hate consumes. Destroy
your dream. I love you. Love you. Leah's
words pounded in his mind, and the bloodlust surged
hotter with each repetition Trev made of them.
  He stared at the wavering figures of Pete,
Huber, and Roddy. He thought of Leah
proclaiming the sins and the guilt were hers. If he
pulled the trigger, they would be his as well. And he
wanted to do it, consequences be damned. But so would
he damn his love.
  Trev slowly lowered his arm to his side. The
weight of the gun pulled at him. "Leah?" he
whispered as the ground rushed up to meet him.

  The nightmare waited beyond pain. Trev
welcomed the pain and fought off the mist that veiled his
mind. Leah calling him. Leah needing him. He
twisted and turned, aches and bruises
setting his body on fire with every move, but he
couldn't escape.
  "Where are you?" he cried out. "I can't see
you, Leah. Oh, Christ! Stop her. I don't
want to listen. I can't ..."
  "Hush, love. Hush."
  "Leah? Where are you? I need you. I want
to see you. I've got to find you." In Trev's
mind, the mist dipped and swirled, rising to a
thick dark gray so that he couldn't even hear her
faint whisper. Again and again he cried out.
Struggling to wake. Needing to put an end to the
torment.
  And then there was a warmth enfolding him. Soft,
sweet murmurs eased his torment. Tension
slowly seeped from his body and he sought the comfort this
new dream offered.
  "Leah," he whispered, the feel of her long
hair brushing against his bare flesh, so real that he
stopped fighting and let every exquisite touch sink
deep into his soul, where he hungered.
  How many nights had he dreamed of gathering her
into his arms, his hands smoothing her hair? His every
breath was filled with the scent of her. Leah. His
love. His life.
  Time had stopped for him. Peaceful contentment
cradled him until pain receded and desire
kindled with the need to taste her lips. An aching
groan came from deep inside him when he felt
cool drops against his mouth. Trev licked his
lips and slowly roused himself with the understanding his lips
were wet with tears.
  "Don't cry, my love," he whispered,
opening one eye, for the other was swollen shut. The
darkness of the small room off the men's barracks
was near absolute, but he didn't need to see.
Leah was in his arms. Real. Not the devil's
trick. Not a dream.
  Trev tried to speak. Her lips closed
softly, gently over his. Her fingertips
lightly held his face still, but nothing could have made
him move. Love seeped its balm into him from her
kiss, from the tears she shed, and the sweet, breathless
way she said his name.
  The trembling warmth of her mouth sent heat
licking through him. Leah curled her body closer
to his like a small bird seeking the safety of
its nest. Trev welcomed her, welcomed the
release from the loneliness that had plagued him. He
held love in his arms, tasted its healing
power from the deepening heat of her kiss and knew again
the deep feeling of being whole.
  His hand caught the length of her hair, drawing
it up slowly against his chest. He held it while
he cradled her head and rocked his mouth against
hers, taking every bitter moment of the past, every
agonizing hour they had been lost to each other, and
he gave back his love, his hope, his intense
need for her.
  And Leah gave as well, just as she had from the
beginning, all of herself, all of her heart, with
nothing held back from him. There was a clawing
hunger to know again the tenderness and gentleness which only
Trev had given to her. For her, time stopped.
They were alone in the world. Her well-hidden wounds
were salved by his deepening kisses. This man that
she loved was healing her spirit. She longed to heal his
as well.
  "Trev?" she whispered, lifting her head,
unable to stem the flow of her tears. She brought his
hand to her mouth, kissing the skinned flesh, wishing
she could take all of his pain away with so simple
a gesture. Because of her he had suffered. Leah
felt she offered him so little.
  His hand turned within hers and caressed her cheek.
"Why did you come? I would have spared you anyone
knowing about us."
  "I had to. Luis stayed with me and the children. I
couldn't sleep worrying about you. Huber said he and
Pete had cleaned you up and gave you whiskey
to sleep, but I had to know--had to see you for myself."
  He drew her head down to his shoulder.
"Where's Cooper?" The question had burned his tongue
from the moment he realized that Leah was not the
devil's haunting.
  "When you passed out, Roddy tried to go after you
again. Pete and Huber stopped him. They locked
him in the store. I didn't even go to see him,
Trev," she confessed, tension gripping hold of
her. "I didn't even want to see how badly
he was hurt. When he--"
  "Hush. Don't say more. We've been through so
much, Leah. Stay here beside me." He shifted
to his side, ignoring the pain from the beating, and
gathered her close. "You my love, are all that
I need." And as he brought his lips to hers,
Trev knew he must not allow anything to come between
them now. Whatever time Leah had stolen for them, he
had no choice but to take. His broken spirit was
beginning to feel the healing power of her
love and he fed off the strength that love gave
to him.
  Once there had been the raw lightning of passion
between them, but now Leah felt a deeper, stronger
bond that made passion shimmer to life. She was
afraid of hurting him and broke their kiss, but
she couldn't stop touching him.
  From the blackest pit of his nightmare Trev
couldn't stop thinking about Leah being forced to take
Roddy to her bed. A hard lump twisted into a
knot in his stomach, the pain more intense than any
bruise. Leah was so giving, and he, her first
lover, knew how sensual she was. Jealousy
reared its ugly head and he battled to block it.
  "What's wrong?" Leah sensed the sudden
change in him and tried to back away, but he
held her tight. "Trev, the time is long past
for lies or for us to hold back anything from each
other. If you want me to go--"
  "No!" He took her mouth with a desperate
urgency fed by the need to wipe the guilt clean that
because of him she had had to marry that bastard who
abused her.
  With one hand caught between their bodies and the other
gripping his shoulder, Leah offered him no
resistance. Trev had his demons to fight, just as
she did. His kiss was fierce with a possessive
demand that took and took. She gave, but took as
much, for passion burst to life within her, a passion
that went beyond physical desire to be strengthened
by her love for this one man.
  There was no risks. No conscience. Leah
needed him and would not deny herself one moment of the
completeness he brought to her. She knew his body
as well as her own. Knew its heat and its power.
And with Trev--Trev alone--she knew her power
as a woman. It had been so long--too long--that
she had been denied her rights as a woman. Rights
that Trev had taught her, even as he fulfilled
them.
  Leah twisted beneath him as he settled himself over
her. Her body was taut with need, but softened to the
hard fit of his. Memories flashed of every time
they had made love. Memories that were all she
had lived on. Her hands were frantic moving over
him, so afraid he would be snatched away from her.
The stinging nip of his teeth, instantly soothed by the
lave of his tongue, made her cry out.
  Trev drank that cry and the softer, pleasure
moan which followed. "I swear to you," he
promised between stringing kisses down her bared, arched
throat, "he'll never touch you again."
  "Trev, don't--"
  His lips silenced her.
  And when the kiss ended, Leah held his face
between her hands. "Don't hate me, but Trev I
can't make love with you now. I never meant for you
to think that I would. Listen," she insisted when he
tried to jerk his head back. "William wakes
with nightmares. I need to be there for him."
  There was the temptation to coax her to stay, to give
them both what they needed. He wasn't wrong about
Leah's wanting him; she was trembling with passion.
But he slowly eased himself to her side and, with
only the promise of a future, found the strength
to deny what his body craved.
  Leah sensed what the denial cost him. She was
already paying for it. She listened to their ragged
breathing, unable to help herself from reaching out and placing
her hand over Trev's heart.
  "You're angry with me."
  "No. I can't be. I hoped for a little time before
I said this. But after what happened today, there is no
time. The detail will be back with our supplies
sometime tomorrow. I want you packed and ready to leave
with the boys."
  "Trev, you'll--"
  "Just listen," he said, looming over her in the
dark before she could rise. "We can't stay here. You
and your children can't. Once before I offered to take you
away from him. Now there is no choice, Leah.
I didn't kill him," he grated from between
clenched teeth, fighting the desire and emotions that
churned inside him. "Not today. But there'll be tomorrow
or next week. You can't live with him. You can't
tell me you still want to honor any damn vows you
made to him when he's broken those of God and
man!"
  "No! No, I won't tell you that. But it's
you, Trev. Will you break your oath to the army?
I--"
  "Break this one? Do you believe anything
matters to me but you?" His hand was shaking when he
smoothed her hair back from her face. "I
didn't want to run."
  "They'll hunt for you."
  "I don't matter. It's you and the boys. It
won't be easy, Leah. I can't lie and say it
will. The hardship--"
  "Trev, oh, Trev," she cried.
"I thought I understood what love was. But
you're willing to sacrifice everything--"
  "Love, listen to yourself," he whispered, drawing
her up so he could hold her. "Do you think I could
ever make up for what you've suffered because of me?
Oaths and honor are small weights, Leah,
when measured against the love I have for you." He
treasured the way she held him, the feel of
supple strength in her body, and prayed the tears
were those of happiness. He had to release her or
he simply wouldn't. "Leah, I'll let you go
now, but understand, it's for the last time."
  "The last time," she repeated, pressing a quick
hard kiss to his lips, then leaving him before the
temptation to stay could overwhelm her. She closed
the door to his room carefully behind her and shivered
in the night chill. Her heart was so full of
love that she cast her gaze skyward and whispered,
"Thank you, dear Lord, for bringing my love back
to me."
  She didn't want to think about escape; she
only wanted to breathe life into the hope that she and
Trev would be together, making a new life for themselves
and keeping her children safe.
  But as she ran across the compound back to her
sons, an insidious whisper cautioned her
to beware. What Trev had proposed seemed all
too easy. Leah argued with herself as she opened the
door to the kitchen and saw that the fire had nearly
died. Why shouldn't it be easy for them? They had
been through enough.
  Yet the warning persisted. Would the Lord allow
her to cast aside the vows she had made before Him?
Would Trev be able to break the oath made on his
honor without a fearful retribution being demanded of
them?
  Leah didn't know the answers. Without bothering
to light a lamp, she went into the small room where
Luis slept with the children. William was curled up
on the single bunk with Luis. She smoothed the
quilt over them, reassured by their deep, even
breathing that their sleep was peaceful. James no
longer slept in his cradle--he was too active
--so Leah was careful not to make any noise when
she pulled one of the chairs away which kept him from
rolling off the bunk.
  She pulled the edge of the quilt down, for
James had a tendency to crawl beneath it. But even
in the dark, she realized something was wrong. His
breathing ... "James," she whispered,
having to force herself to reach out and touch her son.
  Leah didn't understand. She tore the quilt
off the bed. Lifted the rolled blanket.
"James!" Panic choked her breath. She
stood, frozen, crushing the wool in her hands,
unable to believe that her baby wasn't there.

          Chapter Twenty-Two

  Leah's screams tore through the night. Trev
jackknifed off his bunk, grabbed his gun from the
holster hanging on the post, and ran outside. The
rain that had been promised all day burst with a
sudden downpour and he couldn't see for a moment.
Bootless, shirtless, he ran across the compound
yard, his only thought that Roddy had gotten out and was
hurting her.
  He burst through the kitchen door, cursing the
darkness inside. "Leah! Where are you?" When the
screams stopped, his heart missed a beat.
Softer then, he called her, making his way into the
room.
  An animal whimper came from behind him. Trev
cocked his gun, swirling around, and dropped to one
knee, ready to fire. He never knew what
stilled his finger on the trigger. From the doorway
came Leah.
  "Trev?"
  "Sweet Christ! I almost shot you. What the
hell happened?" He was up and started to walk
toward her when Pete and Huber came in.
  "Missus? What's all the ruckus?"
Huber, first through the door, asked. "It's wetter
than a cow's tit, an' you'll pardon me for
sayin' so," he grumbled, slapping water off the
floppy brim of his hat.
  "I was trying to find out," Trev said, his
voice sharp with warning. He found the lamp on the
table and lit it.
  "Stop your jawing and get inside, you skinny
old coot," Pete muttered behind Huber. Like
Trev, they were barefoot, carrying their rifles,
and Pete tried to hold the top of his union
suit together as Huber made room for him to come
inside.
  Trev turned to Leah. Her face was bleached
of color and her eyes were huge and dark. "What
happened?"
  She shook her head, gesturing behind her into the
dark room. Pete adjusted his eye
patch and started forward, but Trev motioned him
back. He touched her arm but she jerked away from
him.
  "Bring me the lamp, Pete. I can't see."
Trev wasn't sure Pete had heard, but the
spry old man was quick to do as he had asked.
"My God!" Trev didn't hear Pete echo
that and more. He went to the bunk and looked down at
Luis and William. Both were bound and, he
guessed, gagged with the rags on the floor. When
he tried to rouse Luis, he saw the lump on
the back of the boy's head. Rage choked him.
He had to force himself to touch the smaller boy, the child
who could be his son. Bile rose and he gagged.
William's body was almost lifeless. "He hit
them? That bastard hit them." He heard the
disbelief in his voice. His mind shied away from
what he was seeing. It was without thought that he reached
down and withdrew the knife from his boot. He no
longer had handmade sheaths, but merely a piece of
rawhide a harness maker had sown in place.
Trev cut through the rope binding the boys and he
lifted William into his arms.
  The boy's head lolled to one side and Trev
saw the lump and crusted blood that had come from the
blow. He turned to Leah. "Why? What kind of
an animal--"
  But Leah wasn't looking at him. Her fist
was pressed to her lips and he could see her shake.
Trev followed her gaze to the other bunk. The
empty bunk.
  And he saw his love's eyes were lifeless. A
blinding coldness spread inside him. "He took
James? He took the child, Leah? Tell me,"
he demanded in a soft voice, afraid to let the
rage escape him.
  "I couldn't find him, Trev. When I came
back I couldn't find my baby."
  He knew she was in shock; he had seen enough in
the war. But never had the sight of those same
vacant eyes along with her puzzled voice ever
pierced him like a knife thrust to the gut.
  "Will you help me find James? Will you?"
  Leah's voice rose shrilly, shattering the
silence that had held all of them. Trev thrust
William into Pete's arms. His walk was slow,
so unlike the fury churning, demanding action from
him. "Leah, we need you to make some coffee. The
fire's nearly dead and it's cold in here.
Huber will help you. Won't you?" he
asked the man hovering in the doorway.
  "Sure thing, missus. You come along with me."
  But when he reached out to take her arm, Leah
snarled at him and backed into the corner between the
wall and the chest.
  Trev's stomach lurched. She was like an
animal at bay. Her eyes were wild, darting from
one to the other, but never settling on William or
Luis. He was torn about what to do. She needed
him, but he needed to find Roddy. Roddy and
James. He held out his hand to her, unashamed that
it was trembling.
  "Come here, Leah. You know I won't hurt
you. No one here will hurt you. I need you, love.
I'll find James for you. But I want you to come
to me."
  "He took my baby."
  "I know, love. I'm going to get him back.
James'll be safe. I promise you that."
Trev held his gaze to hers, but she wasn't
seeing him. Her hands were splayed against the logged
wall, clawing at the wood, but he knew she
wasn't even aware of what she was doing. He
heard Pete moving around behind him, but not even that
distracted Leah. He hurt for her, the pain
nearly dropping him to his knees and he prayed.
He bargained with God, and he begged Leah to come
to him.
  The sound of water splashing into a basin behind him
made Trev thankful that Huber and Pete were here
to take care of Luis and William. He
didn't even realize he still held his knife
until he saw Leah staring at it. With care, he
brought his hand up and let her see him toss the
knife on James's empty bed. What he
never expected was Leah's lunge for the weapon.
  "I'll kill him!"
  Trev grabbed her before she got hold of the
knife. Her hands clawed at him. Searing pain
shot from his swollen eye. Trev had one wrist in
his grasp and he used it to twist her around so that he
pressed her back against his chest, with his own arms
locked over hers.
  "Easy, love. Easy," he murmured,
feeling the icy chill of her body. He hoped
to warm her with the heat of his, and rocked her
gently, until the fight went out of her. The
rippling shudder that went through her body as her first
sob came was both a curse and benediction for him
to feel and hear.
  He turned her and cradled her head, thinking
of the time that Roddy had been gone, listening to the rain
pound on the roof. Leah didn't cling to him, nor
did he feel tears. And he ached to shed them for
her.
  "It's God's punishment," she murmured after
a few minutes in a flat voice. "I was so
happy and he took my son away to punish
me."
  "No! No one is punishing you. Roddy took
James. Roddy is the bastard who'll pay."
  "The little one's coming around and Luis is
awake," Pete informed them.
  "Go to William, Leah," Trev whispered,
tilting her face up to his. "He needs you now.
You've got to be strong for him and for me. I can't
leave you like this, but I can't let Roddy have more of a
head start."
  "He ain't the only one gone," Huber said from
where he stood at the doorway. "Figured it
best I check on Hayden. Recovered right quick,
since his horse and gear are missin'. But you'll
have hell's own time tryin' to track 'em in this
rain."
  "He's right," Pete added, setting down the
basin he had used to wash the boy's wounds. "Be
best if you let Huber or me come with you. We
know the country and you don't."
  "You'll find them, Trev?" Leah asked in a
trembling voice.
  "I'll find them," he promised, looking
toward the bed when William cried out.
  He didn't see the way Huber and Pete
stared at him, but Leah did. She heard death in
his voice and saw, as she roused herself, that the
promise of death was in Trev's eyes. Was there
never to be peace for them? This is what she had been
warned about; this was the retribution demanded. James
for Trev. Her mind whispered that over and over as
she dragged herself to the bed and cradled William
to her breast. She couldn't summon tears. She
rocked back and forth, wondering how she would ever
pay the price.
  Huber motioned for Trev to come into the kitchen with
him. With a last look at Leah, Trev followed
him. The stock tender handed him a cup of coffee
and at his first sip, Trev mumbled his thanks for the
whiskey Huber had added.
  "Didn't want to say more in front of the
missus, but Roddy took more'n the
boy. He cleaned out every box of cartridges an'
near as I remember, 'bout eight repeatin'
rifles. Took most of the whiskey, too."
  "How the hell did he get out, Huber? You
told me--"
  "Said he was locked up tight an' that's jus'
what he was. Don't think any of us figured
that door over there locks from inside the store."
  Trev followed his gesture to where the extra
table and benches were piled against the door leading to the
store. It wouldn't have taken a man of Cooper's
strength much effort to shove them out of his way.
Roddy had to have made his escape while Leah was
in his room with him. Trev glanced toward the
doorway. Leah must have realized it by now. She
would be blaming herself that James was gone, but he
kept thinking of what Roddy would have done to her if
he had found her here. He slugged down the
coffee, needing its heat, needing to wipe out the
bitter taste coating his mouth.
  "Since you found Hayden missing, Huber, do
you know if he went with Cooper?"
  "Three horses is gone an' a mule.
Can't rightly figure where they'd think of headin'.
Injuns stirrin'. Ain't safe for two white
men alone. Me an' Pete an' Wally been
keepin' an eye on Cooper. Wouldn't
surprise me none at all to find out he's
tradin' with them Cheyenne. Here, fill your cup.
You ain't in no shape to ride out after them."
  "There's no one else." Trev told him.
"I can't leave the station with only one man here.
My detail won't be back with supplies
until late afternoon at the earliest."
  Huber noisily drank his coffee, smacking
his lips when he was done. "Know you ain't wantin'
to hear this now, but iffen you'd listened to me, the
missus would be wearin' widow's weeds an' been
better off."
  "You're right. I don't want to hear it.
What I want from you is a likely direction
they could have taken. And if you've warmed up your
belly--"
  "An' my cold feet."
  "And your cold feet, Huber. I'll need
help saddling my horse. And a spare. I can
ride in relays and make better time." Trev
sipped at his second cup, knowing nothing would
take the inner cold away, but racking his mind for
some idea of where to begin searching. Thunder
rumbled off in the distance and the rain was still a steady
downpour.
  "Hear that? You think you can find peas in that soup
out there? That's what it'll be like. Lookin' for peas
in thick soup." Huber didn't bother with coffee
this time. He filled his cup from the jug of whiskey
he had taken from the store. He offered some
to Trev, who refused.
  "I think you should give some to Leah, Huber."
  "Well, here. Take it."
  "No. You do it. I don't think she wants
to see me."
  "Horse dumplin's! Feelin' sorry for
yourself? Ain't a one of us could've figured him
to pull off gettin' out. As for that Hayden,
I've seen his likes before. End up with his boots
planted. See if I ain't right. Ain't either of
'em fit to be called a man, an' that's a
fact."
  Trev listened to Leah's crooning voice coming
from the bedroom just as Pete joined them. "How are
they?"
  "Hurting, all three of them," Pete
answered, helping himself to both the coffee and the
whiskey. "I heard you say you're going after them
alone and I'll add to what Huber told you.
You're a fool to try. Wait till light. The
damp never hit my bones, which means the rain will
stop before long. Once it starts drying up, you'll
have prints like a map to follow."
  There was an urge to reject what made
perfect sense for Trev. He needed to do something,
not stand around and wait for the rain to stop. He kept
thinking about little James. He was Roddy's son and
therein lay the boy's protection. But then, his mind
countered, what kind of a father would take a young child from
his mother?
  He listened to Huber fill Pete in on what
he had found missing and Trev paced, his glance
constantly going to the bedroom doorway. Finally
he couldn't take any more. He stood undecided
for a few moments, then abruptly went to the
bedroom. Leaning against the frame, he watched
Leah. William had his head nestled in the
curve of her shoulder, where her hair cushioned
him. Luis was curled up at her side and her
hand absently stroked his head. All of them had
their eyes closed and Trev drank in the
picture they made for him.
  Leah's hair held no sheen from the
lamp. It was as dull and lifeless as the eyes she
opened and directed at him. "Have you found
James?"
  "Not yet. I'm--" Trev stopped himself.
She had closed her eyes and shut him out. There were
so many things he wanted to say and not one of them what
Leah needed to hear. Defeated by the moment, his
shoulders slumped and Trev lowered his head.
  "Don't come back to me without my baby,"
Leah stated in an odd, soft voice.
  Trev felt the knife twist inside him.
He spun around and ran for the door. He'd never
utter another useless promise to her, only
to himself.
  The rain had slackened just as Pete had said it
would. Trev stopped thinking and headed for his room.
His gun wanted cleaning. He had no time.
Once dressed, he went to the barn and once more
found himself facing Pete and Huber. But he had
sealed himself against their arguments. "The only thing either
of you can do is pick out the best horse for a
spare."
  Trev smoothed the blanket over the big
bay's back without thinking. When he hefted his
saddle, he staggered before he caught his balance and
swung it up onto the horse's back. He
knew Pete and Huber were watching him, knew they
thought him a fool. And maybe he agreed with them.
He was in no shape to ride. But James belonged
to the woman he loved. He had no choice.
  Huber got on the other side of the bay and
swung the cinch belt under the horse's belly so
Trev could grab it. "You got enough muscle
to knee this critter?"
  A grunt was Trev's answer as he kneed the
horse's belly and yanked the cinch tight. He
was careful to wrap the excess leather so it wouldn't
rub the bay's hide, for he had no idea how
long he would be riding.
  Pete handed over the canteen he filled and a
packet of food. "You didn't eat, so take
it. And when that detail gets back, I'll send
Dooley and Rye after you." He held the
bridle as Trev mounted, sharing a look with
Huber for the exhaustion that marked Trev's every
move.
  "Don't send Rye. He's got sense. More
than me. Tell him to keep watch over
Wilson and Pender Applewood. They were
close to Hayden. If he deserted,
they might make a run for it, too. Send
Tate with Dooley. He's a good shot."
  "Here, now, you 'bout forgot this," Huber said,
handing Trev his hat. "You take care. That
missus is gonna need someone."
  "Yeah. Her son." Trev pulled his hat
low, then urged the bay out at a walk. He
crossed the muddy compound yard, thankful the rain was
now a drizzle.
  Just as he reached the gate, a chill prickled
its way down his spine and he had to turn around.
Leah stood by the back door with William in her
arms, watching him.
  He remembered her last words. "Don't
come back to me without my baby."
  Trev knew what death felt like. It had to be
the same black coldness that encompassed him at
this moment. He set his heels to the horse and
rode out. And the pain in her eyes followed him.
  Only Huber and Pete saw the glisten of her
tears. They witnessed her faltering steps and heard
her call him back.



         Chapter Twenty-Three

  The trail Trev followed was heading north.
Why would Cooper and Hayden risk riding
into Indian territory? Unless Huber had been
right and Cooper was illegally trading with them.
  A wind whipped his damp clothes and he huddled
beneath his poncho to conserve his body heat. Trev
longed to spur his mount, but the footing was slippery
for both horses and he dared not risk injury to either
one. He skirted the Sweetwater station, manned
with the same amount of men as he had, sure that
Cooper and Hayden had done the same. Hayden
especially wouldn't want to be seen by soldiers,
deserter that he was.
  Through grasslands just showing signs of greening, he
rode, keeping a wary eye on the river ahead.
It turned abruptly and passed through a ridge.
Devil's Gate was the name of the chasm. Trev
struggled to recall the map he had been given at
the fort.
  It wasn't the map he remembered but the
crusty old scout who warned him of the gate being a
favorite place for the Indians to ambush
immigrant trains.
  The walls rose, gray granite streaked with
black from bottom to top. Trev judged the
height at well over three hundred feet
while he rode through an area no more than thirty
feet wide.
  The gelding Huber had chosen for his spare tugged
at the lead rein. Trev didn't bother to look
back. He knew he should let the animal's
instincts be a guide, since his were less than
sharp, but he had no choice. He had to go on through
the chasm.
  This is the way the trail led. Out of
Devil's Gate and on to sage flats and barren
hills.
  Trev checked his back trail, pushing himself
to continue, but wishing he wasn't alone. If he
was ambushed by a raiding party, Cooper and Hayden
would get away. There would be no one to follow them.
A feeble sun rose and his stomach growled in
warning. He searched for a spot to safely stop, for
his strength was ebbing with every minute. The ridges were
crested with pines and the slopes showed clusters of
aspens. Far beyond them, to the northwest, loomed the
mountains, their peaks still white with winter's snow.
  Beneath the sheltering overhang of rock, Trev
dismounted for a breather. Huber had packed jerky and
Trev helped himself to that and water. He couldn't
understand why he hadn't caught sight of Cooper and
Hayden. A few hours' lead was all they could have
had.
  He deliberately avoided any thought about
Leah. He needed a clear head. Any emotions
could cloud his judgment. Still chewing the last of the
jerky, he switched the lead rein to his horse and
mounted the gelding. The ground was already drying and he
set off at a fast walk, driven by the urgency
of how much time had passed.
  At the mouth of a gully the gelding shied,
nickering before Trev could stop him. And the answering
nicker that came from somewhere up ahead chilled his
blood. He withdrew his rifle from its boot and
flowed down out of the saddle, crouching to present as
small a target as possible.
  The wind came blowing hard from the mountains and he
cursed it, trying as he was to hear any sound that would
warn him of what he could expect to encounter. He
cursed Huber as well for choosing that damn
horse. A glance showed the gelding was trained
to obey the ground rein, for he and the bay were at
ease, chomping at the early spring
grass. But Trev didn't trust this sign that
there was no danger.
  He moved forward around an outcrop, keeping the
rifle close to his body to prevent a glint of
metal from giving any warning. As suddenly as it
had come, the wind died away. And he heard a
faint sound, almost like a mewling.
  No matter how he strained to hear more, that was the
only sound that came to him. That and the sudden thunder of
hoofbeats coming in behind him.
  Trev swiveled around to fire, jerking the
rifle high when he saw army blue and the flash of
sunlight on brass. He eased his finger off the
trigger as soon as he recognized Dooley and
Tate.
  They drew rein near his horses and he stepped
out from his cover, motioning them for silence.
  Dooley reached him first. Leaning close
to Trev's ear, he whispered, "Cut your track
and Indian sign about a mile back. Careless of
you."
  There was nothing Trev could say to defend himself,
but he gestured toward the gully. Once again the
faint mewling came to them. He watched Dooley
for a reaction, glad the man was as puzzled as he
was. At least he hadn't lost all sense.
Tate remained with the horses and Trev gave
over the lead to Dooley as they started into the
gully.
  "Jesus!" whispered Dooley, coming up from a
crouch. The smell of death waited for them around the
rocks. Ever cautious, he took the time to search
the rocks above them before he went forward.
  Trev saw the horse. Stiff-legged, on its
side with two arrows through its throat, several in
its saddle. The other horse was down, too, but from
where Trev stood with Dooley, he couldn't see
if it was wounded. And that faint mewling sound came
again.
  The ground was churned mud, showing signs of a
struggle. Dread filled Trev as he started
forward. The dead horse had an army brand and he
knew it had to be the one Hayden had stolen.
  "I figure there were eight, maybe twelve
riders. Two men wouldn't have had a chance,
Sergeant."
  "But where are the bodies?" Trev had to know
what happened to Cooper, but more, he feared for
James. "Would they have taken the boy? You know the
Sioux, Dooley."
  "Those arrows aren't Sioux. They're
Cheyenne."
  "And the mule is gone." Trev made his way
past the dead horse and knelt by the other. The
animal raised its head and struggled to rise, but
Trev held it down, soothing the horse with his
touch and murmurs. He glanced up at Dooley
on the other side, uneasy that they were in a crease
which left them blind.
  There was a sharp exclamation from Dooley.
"Well, I'll be damned." He had untied the
blanket knotted at its four corners and
slipped over the saddle horn. "Mrs. Cooper
is going to be one happy mother."
  "James? You found James." Trev
scrambled to his feet and came around
to Dooley's side. "That was the mewling sound I
heard," he said as Dooley lifted the little boy
up. The baby's eyes were squeezed shut and his
small hands were curled into fists pressed to his
mouth. But at the sound of the men's voices,
James opened his mouth to cry.
  "Here," Dooley said, "you take him. I'm
not big on holding babies."
  Trev did so gladly. "Easy, little one."
He tried to see if the boy was injured, but there was
no blood. Offering a prayer, his elation was slow
in coming that the boy was safe and he could bring James
home to Leah. He rushed back to where Tate
waited with the horses, firing off orders for his
canteen and blanket roll. The boy was soaked,
still making those faint mewling noises.
  "Bet he cried himself out, Sergeant. That's
why he ain't howling now. Any idea how long
he was alone there?"
  "None. Maybe Dooley can figure it out.
Go help him, Tate. There's an injured
horse and one that wants burying." Trev tore
off his neckerchief and set James down on the
blanket Tate had spread. He wet the cloth
and washed the boy's face, then soaked the end in the
water and gently opened his mouth.
  A hint of a smile creased his lips to see the
eager way James sucked the cloth. "Thirsty,
huh? Well, we'll have you back to your mama
soon." The boy's hair was as pale a blond
as Leah's, his eyes gray with a hint of blue.
Trev caught himself looking for a resemblance
to Roddy, realizing it didn't matter. This was
Leah's son. Just as she claimed
William was. They were hers, and it was all the
reason he needed to protect them with his life.
  Trev used his knife to cut off a corner of the
blanket, carefully opening the soaked cloth
surrounding James so that he could replace it. The
wrapper was wet and Trev discarded it, once more
cutting off a length of the blanket. He slit a
hole in the roughly cut rectangle, sliding it
over James's head like a poncho.
  Very gently then, Trev lifted the baby
into his arms and cradled him. Smoothing his forehead
with one finger, Trev rocked him in his arms. He
had been given the gift of this child's life.
Leah's child. And now, by right of the love filling him,
his. Trev swore it as he lowered his head and
gently kissed the baby.
  "Shelby!" Tate whispered, coming at him on
the run. "Get down. Dooley spotted smoke
coming from that far ridge."
  "Maybe the Cheyenne couldn't wait."
  Tate's gulp was loud enough to make Trev
look at him. A cold sweat broke out on the
private's forehead and he wiped it
impatiently, before resettling his cap on his
head. "Guess it's me and Dooley going after
them?"
  Trev gazed at the baby. He wanted to bring
him back to Leah. Needed to. But it wasn't
Tate's responsibility to go after Cooper or
Hayden. He cupped the baby's head with his hand
and lifted him to his lips. Pressing a quick,
light kiss on his head, Trev handed him
to Tate.
  "You take him back."
  "But I can't ride--"
  "We can't take the baby with us, Private.
If Dooley and I are between you and those Cheyenne,
you'll have a better chance of making it."
  James lifted his head from Tate's shoulder and
solemnly stared at Trev. His small arm
reached out for him. "Get going, Private," was
all Trev could manage. He shook his head,
thinking he was reading more into the baby's gesture than
was really there.
  Trev handed over his neckerchief. "Make
sure you give him more to drink." He held the
boy briefly while Tate mounted, then handed him
up to the private. "Get going. And don't stop
for anything." He took up the reins of his bay,
the gelding, and Dooley's hammerhead
roan. The horse was the ugliest he had ever seen
and when he tried to bite Trev, he knew he
had a disposition to match.
  Dooley was waiting for him a little ways from the
dead horses. "Had to slit this one's throat.
Leg was broke. I didn't want to risk a
shot. Look up there, Sergeant."
  "Forget the sergeant," Trev shaded his eyes
and saw the faint rising smoke. "Campfire?"
  "Might be. Seems right strange to stop in
midafternoon and make a fire. If it was a hunting
party and they were hungry, I might not worry. But
if Hayden and Cooper were just riding along, there was
no reason to attack them."
  "Unless Cooper had something they wanted."
  "True enough. Huber said he cleaned out the
cartridges and all the rifles. Pete said he
might of been trading with them right along. Maybe
he promised them more than he could deliver."
  "Like our supplies that you brought back,"
Trev answered. "Listen, Dooley, you can go
back if you want. I've got to go on. I
can't leave--"
  "Ain't going. I'm with you all the way."
  "Then mount up. I won't rest until I
know what happened."
  Dooley studied the ground as they kept the
horses to a walk out of the gully. Twice he
dismounted and walked a ways before he came back
to where Trev waited.
  "Smoke's still rising and you can near smell it."
  "Can you tell how many came this way?"
  Dooley set his cap back on his head.
"Two riding double for sure. A packed mule and
my best guess is ten Indian ponies. You
real sure about going on?"
  "I'm sure. There's no choice for me."
  "Well, see that shoulder? We can leave the
horses there and make our way up on foot."
  Trev gazed to where Dooley was pointing. They
would have the cover of the trees a good way up the
slope to shield them. He rode along behind
Dooley, not wanting to think about Cooper or
Hayden. Trev didn't want to speculate
on what they might find. Whatever Cooper got,
it would never be enough for what he had done to Leah and the
children.
  Dooley cautiously led the way across a
grassy ledge, then into a sparse grove of
aspens. He kept checking the trail
ahead, and Trev kept watch there as well as on
their back trail. The last thing they needed was
to get caught.
  The stink was subtle at first, but as they rode
on, Trev began to gag. His horse was tense,
ears pricked forward, shying at the shadows.
Dooley was having the same trouble. Trev
called a halt and saw the knowledge in Dooley's
gaze. "We've both breathed the same stench
before," Trev said.
  "Yeah. Burned flesh. Whatever we're going
to find up there won't be pretty."
  "Move out, Dooley," was all Trev
answered. One way or the other, he had to know.
He couldn't go back to Leah with any doubt about
Roddy. He breathed through his mouth to avoid the
stench. Trev had had enough of it during the war. Just as
he had had enough of death.
  They were climbing now, the breeze growing stronger
and the cover of the trees thinning. Far to the southwest,
Trev caught a glimpse of an eagle soaring
and envied the bird of prey his freedom.
  "This is as far as we ride." Dooley was out
of his saddle with his rifle in hand almost as soon as
he spoke.
  Trev followed suit, tying the reins to a low
limb just as Dooley was. There was no sense in
having the horses get spooked and run off. This
was not country that a man wanted to be on foot.
And the stench was overwhelming.
  There was a trail of sorts up through the
scattered trees and boulders. Both men were
careful to step lightly and look first so they wouldn't
dislodge a rock. Trev shared a look with
Dooley when they began hearing moans.
  Trev stepped closer to Dooley. "Listen
to me," he whispered against Dooley's ear. "I
don't want you to risk your life. Not for the
likes of those two."
  "You going?"
  Trev nodded and started forward, but Dooley's
hand on his arm stopped him. He gestured with his
rifle to a split in the rocks. "There's a
crease down there. And the smell. And I'm still with
you."
  Once again Trev nodded, for the words went no
further than his ear. Dooley was right about the
crease. And the smell. Trev flattened himself
against the rock, his stomach churning.
  There were two stakes in the ground.
Hayden, recognizable by his dark hair, was
tied to one, Roddy the other. Neither man had a
stitch of clothing left on. Blood ran from
cuts. Trev saw a severed hand on the ground,
saw Indians holding knives, but it was the two
arrows being heated by the fire that made his bile
rise. He signaled Dooley and backed down
and away, thankful the Indians were making enough
noise snapping their whips at their victims that
they didn't hear them.
  When they went far enough, Trev stopped.
  "You can't just leave them, Shelby. Doesn't
matter what they've done. No man deserves
to die like that. They're killing them by inches."
  "I saw." Trev turned away. He
swore he wouldn't kill again. They had no hope
of rescuing the two men, not outnumbered as they
were. And to do what Dooley suggested meant going
back up there and shooting them.
  Trev stared down at his hands. So much blood
had touched them. But he had never killed for
revenge. No matter how tempted. He was never
able to kill his father, whose cruelty ruined so many
lives. He couldn't kill Robert, not even when
he had begged, not even when he confessed his
betrayal. Now there was Hayden and Cooper.
  An animallike wail of pain sent shivers
up his back and cut into his thoughts. There was no more
time to think about it. Dooley was already turning,
running back, and Trev had to follow. He
cocked his rifle as he ran. And it wasn't
until he once again flattened himself against the
rock that he realized Dooley had taken the
place he had had before. Dooley was now aiming
at Hayden, and that left ...
  Christ! He couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot
Roddy. Bitter bile, thick and choking, rose
in his throat. He wanted to call out to Dooley,
tell him, but the other man was already sighting down his
barrel. Once more, time ran out. Trev had
to bring his rifle up. Had to look down its
barrel at Roddy Cooper. Had to do it now, because
if he and Dooley were to get out alive, the shots
had to come together.
  The trailing length of what appeared to be a
scarf of eagle feathers came into his vision. A
calmness pervaded Trev's mind and his body.
Another cry split the air. Then a long,
drawn-out moan. Trev could feel Dooley
staring at him. Could almost hear the silent
question of why was he waiting.
  At that moment Trev couldn't have answered him.
He had brought his rifle sight up to Roddy's
forehead. Trev blinked. It wasn't possible that
Roddy could see him, with the blood that was running
down from his head. But Trev swore his eyes were
on him.
  No! No, you bastard! It's no more than you
deserve!
  The click of Dooley's hammer being cocked
sounded like a shot to Trev. He cast him a fast
look, and gave him a curt nod.
  They fired simultaneously. And as one, the
two men were up and running.
  Trev leaped from rock to rock, but Dooley
turned as wild howls came from behind them. Trev
cursed him. Dooley fired his rifle until it
was empty.
  "Go!" Trev shouted, dropping down to one
knee and squeezing off two shots. One
Cheyenne went down; another took a graze
to his upper arm that didn't slow him down at
all. The rest of the Indians, cheated of their
captives, were swarming up and over the rocks, coming
after them. Trev fired again. He missed and
swore. Then he was running down the slope,
dodging trees, rock, and brush.
  Dooley was holed up behind a tree that barely
concealed him. He was trying to reload as Trev
ran by. "Run, damn you!" Trev yelled,
turning and squeezing off his last two shots.
  Rock chips flew as the Indians returned
fire. Trev broke out in a sweat, expecting
to feel the slam of a bullet in his back at any
second. Dooley came up alongside him.
Both ran for all they were worth.
  Trev slid on loose scree. Dooley
grabbed his arm to steady him.
  "I'm loaded. Get the horses."
  Trev couldn't argue. There were at least four
Indians shooting at him and Dooley. Danger
fed a rush of blood that kept him going.
Panting, knowing he had only minutes or he
wouldn't make it, Trev slid his knife from his
boot and cut the tied ends of the reins. He
grabbed hold of them quickly, for the horses smelled
blood and tried to rear, and the gelding broke
free.
  His bay pivoted. Holding the reins of
Dooley's horse made it difficult
to mount. Trev got his boot in the stirrup and
looked up as he climbed into his saddle.
Dooley was swinging his rifle at the Indian
closing in on him. Two more were nearly on him.
Trev threw his knife. His aim was off because of the
restive moves of the horse, but he bought
Dooley enough time to fire his pistol and warn the other
two back.
  Under the steady barrage of fire from Trev's
pistol, Dooley got his horse. The animal
was already at a run when he swung himself into the
saddle.
  "I'm empty, so we ride!"
  "Keep down. I don't want to lose you!"
Trev yelled back.
  Without exchanging another word, they rode hard
for the gully. Trev knew they would have a little time
to reload and make a stand. The only thing that had
saved them was that the Cheyenne had to go back for their
ponies.
  Trev saw the land in a blur. Exhaustion was
overtaking him. He could barely stay in his saddle
and a quick look showed Dooley in little better
shape. Twice he caught himself slipping. He
had to thread his fingers into the bay's thick mane,
then lean forward until his head rested against the
horse's neck.
  His eyes closed. Pain throbbed behind the
swollen one. An agonizing groan tore from his
lips. Even with his eyes shut for a few moments,
he couldn't wipe out the sight of Roddy's last
look. Deep in the rational part of his mind,
Trev knew there was nothing else he could have done.
But he was beyond allowing rationale to rule.
  He didn't realize the bay was slowing to keep
pace with Dooley's hammerhead roan. He
couldn't rouse himself to care. Leah had her son.
One promise he kept from so many empty ones
made.
  "Shelby! Shelby! Can you make it to the
gate?" Dooley drew rein and kept his roan
to a fast walk, bringing him up alongside
Trev's horse. He reached out and shook him.
Repeated the question again. Trev's mumble made no
sense to him. Dooley took matters into his own
hands. There was no more sign of pursuit, but he
knew that didn't mean a thing. The Cheyenne could
be circling around them. The war party was big enough
to split up. Another look at the way Trev
was slumped over his horse made
Dooley believe he was on his own.
  He set his heels to the roan, knowing the bay
would keep pace, and decided to make a run all
the way to the station.
  "You hang on, Shelby. Just hang on."
  "Have to," Trev muttered. "Got to ...
go back."
  Dooley pulled up once they entered
Devil's Gate. He helped Trev dismount and
tucked him into a crevice while he went back
to scout their back trail.
  Trev forced himself to eat more of the jerky. He was
a danger to Dooley and himself without the strength
to lift his gun. He emptied his canteen trying
to rid his mouth of the taste of bile and when Dooley
came back to report, he was able to stand on his
own.
  "Not a sign of them. Can't understand it, but I'm
not one to question a bit of luck."
  "Yours, Dooley. Mine ran out a long time
ago. Just pray it holds." Trev couldn't
look at him. He squinted through his good eye and
grabbed hold of his saddle horn to pull himself up
on his horse. "You intend to stand there and test your
luck?"
  "Not me. But you're a hell of a man to ride
with, Shelby. There's not many I'd say that about."
  "If you knew--"
  "About what happened at the station with Cooper?
Huber told me and Tate. Not too much," he
added, once again setting a fast pace. "Still think
you're a hell of a man." Dooley saw no
point in telling Trev he had reported the
Indian raid to the commander at Fort Bridger.
Or the rumors he had heard about Cooper and the
way he treated his wife. The way Dooley
saw it, and knew he wasn't alone, Shelby
did them all a favor.
  He was reminded of that when they finally saw the
stockade of the home station. He saw Trev
rousing himself to sit up as they rode through the gate.
  Riley Tucker spotted them and let out a
yell. Men came out of the barracks at a run.
Trev saw Joe, Tate, and Rye Munroe,
but shook his head when he realized that he was either
seeing double or there were too many men here.
  There was only one face he wanted to see and his
gaze went to the doorway, where he hoped to find
Leah. The door opened as he dismounted, ignoring
the slaps on his back, the questions shot at
him from too many. But it wasn't Leah who came
out of the door into the yard. The uniform was blue. The
man was a stranger, but the rank was captain.
  "Sergeant Shelby! I'll see you in my
quarters immediately."
  "That's Captain Hanibal Dorsey,
Trev," Rye whispered. "Fresh from school with
about as much sense as a daisy."
  Trev didn't answer Rye or the command.
He slipped his rifle out of its boot and started
walking away.
  "Sergeant! You come back here!"
  Dorsey's voice grated on Trev's
ears. The babble increased and still he walked away.
  "Trev?"
  He stopped dead. Soft as it was, Leah's
voice cut through the noise, the whoops as
Dooley recounted what had happened. Trev
turned slowly. She was halfway across the yard,
poised for flight. To me, Leah. Run
to me. He had eyes for no one else. He
closed off his hearing to all but her whisper of his
name. Trev didn't see, hear, or feel the
wrath of the captain at his side, shouting orders,
demanding obedience, grabbing hold of his arm.
  Leah was running to him.
  Trev shoved the rifle at the captain's chest
and walked forward.
  "I'll have you confined to quarters, Shelby!
I'll bring you up on charges!"
  "Do it," Trev returned, opening his
gunbelt and letting it fall.
  "I'm ordering you to come back here, Sergeant.
I'll strip you of your stripes! I'm not done with
you."
  "Go to hell, Dorsey," Trev said loud enough
so that every man heard him. "I'm the one who's
finished."
  "Court-marshaled, Shelby! You hear that?
Thrown out of the army. Disgraced!"
  "I'll push a broom and muck out stables,
Dorsey. But I'm done with killing." Trev
meant every word for the captain, but he said them to Leah.
His gaze held hers. He searched her dark
brown eyes for what he most needed. Forgiveness.
  "Stop him! I want that man escorted under
guard to the barracks."
  Not one man moved. They couldn't. Pete and
Huber had picked up Trev's weapons and
stood guard. They weren't alone.
Trev's detail joined them.
  "This 'ere's the Overland Stage's home station,
Captain Dorsey," Huber stated. "An'
it's home station business that wants fixin'."
  Trev couldn't acknowledge Huber's
support, or that of the other men. Leah was so
close, her breath mingled with his. He closed his
eyes when she reached up with her hand to touch his
bearded cheek.
  "Forgive me, Trev," she whispered. Her
lips were dry. She couldn't summon enough moisture
to say more.
  "I killed him, Leah. I'm the one who
asks for forgiveness. It doesn't matter why I
did it. But I killed Roddy."
  It wasn't the stark words of his confession that
made her cradle his face within her trembling
hands, it was the pain she saw in his eyes. "You
brought James back. You came back. That's
all that matters, Trev. You're safe." Leah
was aware that others listened. But she had no shame.
Someday she would tell Trev of her own guilt for
wishing Roddy dead. Someday when they had time, and a
long enough chance to rebuild a life with love.
  Love in her eyes was all Trev saw as he
took her into his arms. His head dropped to her
shoulder and he nestled his face against her neck.
  Leah held him tight. "Come with me,
Trev," she murmured, the weariness of his body
and spirit bringing a well of love and compassion. She
slid her arm around his waist, stepping to his
side. The sun was beginning to set and cast their
shadows before them.
  "Wait, Leah. We need to talk."
  "We will, Trev. We will. There's time now,
my love." She couldn't say more, but she could show
him. From the deep pocket of her apron, Leah
withdrew the gold double heart ring. She closed her
hand around it, then uncurled her fingers and brought the
ring to her lips to press a kiss on it. Then she
offered it to Trev.
  With a bewildered look he took it. "Where--"
  "I've had it since that day the Union
soldiers captured you."
  "All this time I thought I lost it." He
took a few faltering steps. It was only
Leah's strength that lent itself to him so he could walk
beside her. "How did you know it was mine?"
  "It was warm. Warmed by love, and the gold
gleamed as though someone had constantly
touched it. From the moment I picked it up, I just
knew the ring belonged to you."
  At the doorway, Leah slipped free of him
and turned. "Huber, I want you and Pete
to keep everyone away. Including you, Captain
Dorsey." And when she turned back, it was
to see Trev framed in the doorway. Her
love. Strength tempered by gentleness. She had
never loved him more than at this moment when the sun
seemed to be pouring its last rays on him. His
spirit, his immense courage, and his quiet pride
whispered to her.
  It wasn't a time to smile. It wasn't a
time for tears. But it was long past time for her
to love. And it was with love that she went into his
waiting arms, her heart filled with joy. For there
had been no shadows, no darkness around him.
  Trev closed the door. But he wasn't
caged. For the first time, he was free.





              Epilogue

  She kissed the scars on her lover's body,
blessed in the aftermath of their passion by the bonding of
mind, heart, and spirit. Love graced and enriched the
passion Leah had shared with her husband over the
years. Love that they cherished and nurtured for the
precious gift that it was. And when she pressed
a last lingering kiss to Trev's lips, Leah
rested her chin on her folded hands crossed over
Trev's chest and gazed at him.
  "I love you, Trev."
  "Do you know," he asked, gathering up the pale
sheen of her hair, his gaze riveted to her face,
"that I never want you to stop saying those words?"
Five years only made the elegant lines of
her face seem more beautiful. His breath caught.
In the muted light of the lamp in their bedroom, her
eyes glowed with her joy. He never tired of
seeing it. Never tired of loving her, or of being
loved in return.
  He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the
palm, then the ring she proudly wore. His ring.
His wife. "Are you sorry that we moved from
Boston?"
  "No. Although I wonder why you keep
asking me. I loved being with your sister and her
family, Trev, but it wasn't what you wanted.
We agreed to give this a try." Leah glanced
at the dresser top, where Trev's new medical
set of specula rested in a velvet-lined
wooden case. Each of the ivory handles were
inscribed DR. TREVOR SHELBY. It was
her birthday gift to him.
  "Trev, we're both needed here on the
reservation. It's our chance to make dreams come
true. I've already had three new students at
school. And you can't deny," she teased, tapping the
cleft in his chin, "that you take as much pleasure in
what you learned about Indian medicine as what you have
taught.
  "We've been happy, and the children--"
  "Ah, yes, thankfully the little darlings are
all asleep," he said, gently rolling her to her
side and raising himself above her. There were dreams
alive in her eyes now and he prayed he would
always be able to make them real for her. "I love
you," he murmured, bringing his lips to hers.
"Love you. Love ..." And with each word, he
scattered kisses across her face, then lowered his
head to nuzzle the sweeter flesh of her breast.
  They had struggled so long and so hard to be together
that Trev knew Leah felt as he did; every
moment was a precious gift to treasure.
  Her shivering sigh was all a lover could want
to hear. But Trev heard another noise, a
softer one that brought his head up with a jerk.
  "That came from the loft!" he whispered, rolling
quickly to the other side of the bed. "Where did you throw
my pants?"
  "My nightgown, Trev. I can't find it."
  "If you weren't such a wanton ... throwing
clothes ... here," he said grumpily, throwing the
nightgown toward her. He hopped about, trying
to get his pants on.
  "Hurry," Leah's muffled voice warned as
she slid the gown over her head and grabbed the
quilt at the edge of the bed.
  "Papa?"
  "I'm coming, W." Trev heard Leah laughing
while he swore beneath his breath as he tried
to close at least two of the buttons on his
pants.
  "James had a bad dream," William
announced at the doorway. He came in, for
there was always welcome in his parents' bed,
and dragged James along in his wake.
  "Your sons, Trev--"
  "My sons? Yours, Mrs. Shelby, don't
know how to sleep at night. Do they?" he asked
with mock intensity as he turned up the lamp and
looked from eight-year-old William's face
to James, who was nearly six.
  Trev dropped to a crouch and held out his arms.
"Come tell Papa what's been chasing you this
time."
  James tugged free of William's hand and
ran to Trev. But even as he cradled the boy with
one arm, Trev eyed the strange way William
just stood there.
  "Will?"
  The boy didn't answer, but the small face
peering around his nightshirt told Trev what was
wrong. "You, too, Bell? Up on the bed, the
lot of you." He saw with pride how Will lifted
two-year-old Isabella up to his mother and then
ran around to ensure a place beside Trev.
  Amid giggles and laughter the children squirmed and
finally settled down. Leah on her side, with
Bell curled up next to her, thumb in mouth,
her dark brown eyes as wide as her mother's.
Trev leaned against the headboard, James on one
side, his little rump pressed to Trev's hip, and
William, with Trev's encouragement, sat up
beside him.
  Trev rumpled Will's hair and tucked his head
against his shoulder just as Leah remarked with a thankful
sigh, "At least Matthew is asleep."
  "Tell us again how Dooley saved your life,
Papa," James murmured, closing his eyes.
  "That's why Matthew got his name," Will added,
looking up at his father with adoration.
  And Trev hugged his first son, the son of his
heart, his gaze meeting Leah's. They needed no
words. Their shared look said someday they would tell
them. But someday was far off in the future, where tms
waited.
  "We live for today, Trev," Leah reminded
him, and herself as well. "The good memories of the
past are ours to cherish, but we will always have the dreams
of tomorrow. Always," she repeated. "Our vow. One
we will keep as long as we have love in our
hearts."

               THE END