Merline Lovelace (23 page)

Barbara had spent enough time with both men now to know they’d graduated from West Point and served at different posts before being assigned to the frontier. Although Nate never tired of ribbing Zach for throwing in his lot with the ragtag rangers, he’d crowed with delight when he heard Old Hickory had promised a captaincy in the new regiment of dragoons to Lieutenant Zachariah Morgan.

Now Zach would not only forfeit his promotion, he’d surrender his commission altogether. Crushed by guilt, Barbara laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Your mother was right. This is my fault.”

“I’ve more than enough whiskey in me to agree with that if I didn’t know it to be nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” she said miserably. “I’ve brought you nothing but disaster.”

Reaching for her hand, he drew her around. Another tug brought her down onto his knee. She perched gingerly, afraid of jarring him.

“I’m a soldier. Or I was. I’ve taken my share of musket balls and knife wounds. Any one of them could have ended my life or my military career.”

“You suffered those injuries in the performance of your duty. This one you took aiding a convict to escape his chains.”

Tears burned behind her lids. Her throat raw and aching, she slid her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry, Zach. So very sorry.”

“Here now!” He managed a crooked grin. “There’s no need for you to sing that song. I’m sorry enough for the both of us right now.”

The grin broke her heart. The long, slow shudder that rippled through his powerful frame when he buried his face between her breasts loosed the tears Barbara had tried desperately to dam. They spilled down her cheeks, silent testament to his searing loss and the guilt she knew she’d always carry.

“It’ll be all right,” she murmured. “I know it will.”

The tears flowed freely while she held him, stroking his hair, soothing him the way a mother would a hurt child.

“Commissioner Stokes sings your praises every time I get within earshot. He’ll…he’ll want you to continue in your advisory capacity, whether you’re in uniform or out. I know he will.”

Zach muttered something against her breast. She didn’t catch the words, but the inflection indicated exactly what he thought of his advisory role.

“It’s not the same,” she said with quiet desperation. “I know it’s not the same. But what you’re doing is so important. Nate says the Cherokee in Georgia and North Carolina are being hunted down like animals and killed for their land. The commission has to negotiate a treaty with their delegation or it will mean the end of them.”

He drew back then. “What’s this? Are you crying over the plight of the Cherokee?”

She could hardly admit the tears were for him. He wouldn’t want them. She was searching for an answer, when the baby pushed against her distended belly. “Oh!”

Her eyes rounded, her hand went to her stomach, and Zach immediately tensed.

“What is it?”

“A foot, I think. Or a fist. There! There it is again.”

He flattened his palm on her belly. She edged it over to the right spot. “Wait a moment. Perhaps he’ll move again.”

“He?”

“Or she. Does it matter which?”

“Not to me.”

His palm was warm against her skin, his breath an aromatic waft. When the baby stretched again, a smile replaced the desolation she’d glimpsed on his face just moments ago.

“If it’s a girl, I hope she has her mother’s dainty ankles.”

Barbara’s ankles were anything but dainty at the moment, but she summoned an answering smile.

“I thank you, sir.” Dipping her head, she feathered a kiss along his right temple. “If it’s a boy, I hope he has his father’s heart.”

The brush of her lips against his skin stirred something deep in Zach’s gut. Beneath the pain of his
back, below the wretchedness of knowing he’d not have any part in the new regiment, he felt a tug of desire. It seeped through the whiskey that hadn’t dulled either ache and roused a new one.

God, he wanted her. These months of stretching out on his bedroll just yards away from her had all but unmanned him. He went to sleep hurting and woke up feeling like a bear with a sore tooth.

Her advancing pregnancy and his damn back had kept him from assuaging the constant, nagging ache. But now her mouth hovered just inches from his own and the whiskey he’d swilled still heated his veins. He didn’t so much as try to stop himself. Curling a hand around the soft skin of her nape, he covered her mouth with his.

After her first start of surprise, she gave a breathless little moan and leaned into the kiss. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, her mounded belly his middle. She was so ripe, so fecund. So incredibly, damnably arousing.

Cursing, Zach jerked his head back. “I’m sorry.”

The flush in her cheeks faded. Sadness and regret shadowed her beautiful turquoise eyes.

“So am I,” she whispered. “Can you ever forgive me for hurting you as I have?”

He blew out a long breath. “I’m past forgiving,” he admitted ruefully, “and well into wanting.”

It took her a moment or two to catch his meaning. When she did, her color rose again. Looking
embarrassed and more than a little excited, she draped her arms around his neck.

“As it so happens, I’m well into wanting myself. You wouldn’t think so with this great belly weighing me down, but the other wives said the…the urge often grips a woman at this stage.”

“Did they?” Zach crooked an eyebrow. “Did they also suggest ways to satisfy this urge?”

“We didn’t discuss the matter in exact detail,” she replied primly. “But if I were to straddle your lap…like this…and you were to sit very still so you didn’t jar your back, I think… Yes, I’m quite sure we could achieve a certain friction.”

They achieved far more than mere friction. Zach had to grit his teeth against the agony in his lower back, but managed to bring Barbara to writhing, gasping pleasure. When she did the same for him, his pain dissolved in a flash of heat.

They fell asleep in the chair, with Zach propped against the back and Barbara curled against his front. Just before he drifted off, the whiskey in him brought the feelings he’d buried up until now swimming to the surface.

She was his wife. She carried his child. He was damned if he was going to let her go.

Z
ach ended his military career on the last day of May 1833. As he chose not to request a formal ceremony, it was a quiet transition. One day he rose, buttoned up his uniform jacket and buckled on his sword. The next, he reported to Commissioner Stokes in civilian attire.

Barbara’s crushing guilt over her role in the abrupt termination of his military career was assuaged by the fact that they seemed to have found some peace between them at last. They shared meals, conversation about the day’s events and a companionship that surprised them both.

Zach grew ever more involved in boundary negotiations for the tribes President Jackson was determined to move to Indian Country. Given the federal charter of the commission, the former lieutenant and his wife continued to occupy their quarters on post.
Barbara spent her days in the company of other wives and kept busy readying her nest for the baby’s arrival.

One by one, the days slipped by. June rolled in with violent thunderstorms that uprooted trees and blew over a portion of the north palisade. The first week of July brought muggy heat and swarms of mosquitoes. They bred in the cane breaks along the river and made life miserable for both man and beast.

With the low-lying fort steaming in the hot summer sun, Zach tried to convince Barbara to remove to Morgan’s Falls to escape the worst of the heat.

“I’d rather remain here,” she told him.

“My mother has birthed eight children. She would help you with this one.”

“I know she would. But…”

Biting her lip, she looked around their two small rooms. How could she explain to Zach that these whitewashed log walls and rug-covered dirt floors had become a home, her first real home since childhood?

“I should like to stay here,” she said simply. “Sallie Nicks has promised to help with my lying in, and the midwife here on post has delivered any number of babies.”

Zach, too, glanced around the crowded rooms. He saw them with different eyes, Barbara knew, and no doubt compared them to the spacious, well-appointed house at Morgan’s Falls.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

They’d yet to broach the subject of what would happen after the baby’s birth, but the marriage that had begun under such dire conditions was slowly taking on a shape and depth neither had foreseen.

“If I can learn to sew curtains with my own hand,” she said with a smile, “I expect I can cultivate a tolerance for heat and mosquitoes. After all, I’m the wife of a rough-and-tumble frontiersman.”

In his neat civilian attire he hardly fit that label, but the grin he gave her was all backwoods rogue.

“Yes, you are. And just so you don’t forget it…”

Sliding a hand under the heavy knot of her hair, he drew her forward. The kiss he dropped on her mouth left Barbara breathless and clinging to a fragile hope.

Her hope shattered into a thousand pieces the day following the celebrations that marked America’s independence from British rule. Barbara was browsing at the sutler’s store when one of Sallie’s employees rushed in.

“The patrol that went out from Company D last week just marched into view.”

The dark-haired widow glanced up from the roll of unbleached muslin she had suggested for swaddling clothes. The return of a patrol always excited interest. In this instance, the interest took a sharp turn into dismay.

“Word is they came under fire,” the servant announced. “Lost two men, they did. One of ’em was their lieutenant.”

Barbara’s immediate reaction was one of relief. For the first time, she was grateful Zach no longer wore a uniform and thus hadn’t been detailed to take out this particular patrol.

Hard on the heels of relief came guilt. How horrible to be glad someone else’s loved one had gone down.

Guilt didn’t turn to grief, however, until she joined the crowd that quickly gathered at the parade ground. Like weary old men, the infantry squad shrugged out of their packs and stacked their weapons. Their sergeant saw to the unloading of the two bodies lashed to the saddle of the lieutenant’s mount.

When they stretched the corpses out on the parade ground, groans and soft cries rose from the crowd. Barbara’s horrified gaze passed over the body of a small, stocky private and fixed on the one wearing the shoulder pips of an infantry lieutenant. The troopers had wrapped a blanket around his neck and head. The gray army blanket was stained with blood and almost black from the flies swarming about it. Only the tips of blond mustaches matted with gore showed beneath the blanket.

“Oh, no!”

Her hand groped for Sallie’s. The widow caught it in a tight grip.

“He was so young,” Sallie murmured in genuine distress. “So very handsome.”

The hot sun beat down on Barbara’s head right through the protective shield of her straw bonnet. Sweat dewed her upper lip. A dozen images tumbled through her head.

Of Nate Prescott, the first time she’d met him, all stiff and starched in his uniform. His silly grin when he’d presented her with a posy of wood violets the night of the Cotton Balers’ Ball. His drunken despair the night Zach learned the regimental surgeon’s verdict. He’d been a friend to Barbara, and as close as a brother to Zach.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears when Zach strode out of the building given over to use by the commissioners. His knuckles showed white on the handle of his cane as he got his first look at the bodies.

“It was squatters, sir.”

The weathered sergeant who’d accompanied the patrol spit out a brown wad. Zach might not wear a uniform any longer, but he still commanded the respect and instant attention of the men on post.

“Damn farmer and his two growed sons. We came across ’em splittin’ logs to build a cabin deep inside Creek Country. They kept shoutin’ and wavin’ their deed at the lieutenant, then things got outta hand and one of the boys snatched up his shotgun. All three o’ those land-grubbers is eatin’ dirt now,” he finished with grim satisfaction.

“Did they have any womenfolk or livestock with them?”

“No sir, it was just them three hotheads. My guess is they was goin’ to send for their womenfolk when they got their cabin up.”

“How about papers? We’ll need to—” He caught himself. “Colonel Arbuckle will need to notify their kinfolk.”

“Just a Bible. And this.”

Disgusted, the sergeant dug a crumpled, bloodstained scrap of paper out of his pocket.

“If I ever come across any of the bastards what print up these false deeds, I swear I’ll put a bullet right through ’em. Just look at this one, sir. It’s got gold seals and fancy print enough to fool a judge.”

His jaw tight, Zach scanned the document. “It would have fooled me, too. The Whitestone Title and Deed Company certainly appears authentic.”

The ground swayed under Barbara’s feet. Her fingers clutched tight around Sallie’s. For a moment, she feared the heat would take her.

“Whoever printed up this deed will pay. I’ll see to that.”

She barely heard Zach’s fierce promise over the buzzing in her ears. When he returned the deed to the sergeant, the splotchy red spots staining it danced before her eyes. She heard Sallie calling to her as if from a deep tunnel.

“Lady Barbara? Are you all right?”

She couldn’t answer, couldn’t force so much as a single syllable through a throat that had closed tight.

Sallie slipped an arm around her waist and called out sharply. “Lieutenant Morgan! Your wife is feeling faint. You’d best get her out of the sun.”

Hours later, Barbara perched on the edge of her bed. Suffocating heat surrounded her. She could hear Zach in the front room, scratching out a letter to Nate’s parents. She’d left him to the grim task and sought a private refuge where she could give vent to her own grief and clamoring fears.

It
had
to be a coincidence!

Surely it was a coincidence.

Whitestone was a common enough name. She knew of at least one other Whitestone Manor in England besides the property her father had lost to a turn of the cards so many, many years ago. Harry
wouldn’t
create a fictitious title company and give it the same name as his former home.

As swiftly as her heart issued the frantic denials, her mind scorned them. Of course Harry would. He’d done it before. His fraudulent Swiss railway company had been named for the estate that should by rights have come to him. In his mind, it was only fair turnabout to bilk investors with heavy pockets since he himself had been cheated of his inheritance.

Now, it appeared, he was bilking land-hungry
farmers of their savings and their dreams. And Barbara had provided him the means to do it!

Wrapping her arms around her middle, she rocked back and forth. She should have known Harry would use the funds she’d given him for some new scheme. He’d made vague reference to it in his last letter, but she’d shrugged the matter aside. She’d been too absorbed in the task of arranging her little nest. Too content to simply let the days slide by until the birth of her child.

The thought Harry might have inadvertently contributed to Nate’s death appalled her. The very real possibility that Zach might hold her responsible as well made her feel physically ill.

He would never believe she’d had no part in the false deed scheme. Why should he? She’d fed him lie after lie. She’d dragged him into a dangerous plan to bribe Harry’s way out of prison. Because of her, he’d taken the bullet that ended his military career. Now Nate had taken one, too, and Barbara might as well have pulled the trigger herself.

Piled on top of her fear about what Zach would think was the vengeance he’d sworn for Nate’s death. The Morgans held to their promises. Zach had held to his despite all the lies she’d uttered. He’d track Harry down and bring him to justice, just as he’d sworn he would. The idea that her husband might well be the one to send her brother back to prison—or to the gallows—tore a low groan from the back of her throat.

Oh, Harry! How could you do this?

Burying her face in her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to blank out the image of Nate’s gore-stained mustaches and blood-spattered uniform.

“Barbara?”

Slowly, she dropped her hands. She wanted to run away and crawl into some dark hole, but she forced herself to meet her husband’s worried frown.

“I heard you moan. Is it the baby? Have your pains started?”

“No. I…I was thinking about Nate.”

Zach blew out a ragged breath. “He died in the line of duty. That’s rough consolation, I know, but one those of us who wore the uniform take to heart.”

That he would offer her comfort in the midst of his own sorrow was almost more than she could bear. Her guilt was ripping her apart. Guilt, and her love for two very different men.

She owed it to Zach to tell him her suspicions. Yet her loyalty to Harry went bone deep. How could she betray her brother? How could she
not?

“Nate wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick,” Zach said gruffly. “You must try to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Coward that she was, Barbara blamed her distress on grief and heat. “It’s too hot, and I’m too over-wrought to sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see Nate’s mustaches and remember how proud he was of them.”

“Vain as a damn peacock, you mean.” A smile lightened the sadness in his eyes. “I told him so often enough. He thumped me soundly the last time.”

His thoughts turned inward, to a time and place she had no part of. Moving to the washstand, he poured water into the bowl and dipped a facecloth in it.

“Here, this will cool you.”

Settling beside her, he drew her hair to one side. The cloth felt blessedly cool against the heated skin of her neck, but the very relief it provided only added to Barbara’s misery.

“You’re all in knots. Roll your neck and try to relax.”

He stroked the cloth over her neck and one shoulder, then moved her hair aside to give him access to the other. His hand lingered on the thick mass. It was lank and lusterless, Barbara knew, and as sweaty as the rest of her.

“Do you want me to wash your hair for you tomorrow?”

“You would do that?”

“I’ve done it often enough before. I’ve four younger sisters, remember?”

It was so much easier—so much
safer
—to speak of these mundane matters.

“I may just hold you to that offer,” she said wearily. “I’ve grown so clumsy of late, the simplest tasks are beyond me.”

He sponged her neck and back. “I wish you would let me hire someone to attend you. I could speak to Hattie. If I asked her, she would leave John Stallworth’s tavern and come back to work for you.”

“Oh, Zach, we’ve discussed this before. You know that won’t answer. Hattie loves you, and hates me for the pain that slices into you with every step.”

“The pain is bearable.” He dropped a feather-light kiss on her nape. “And I consider it a small price to pay for you, sweeting. I’ll have to make Hattie understand a certain blond beauty has won my heart.”

Oh, God! How she’d longed to hear that tender endearment. She ached to turn and tell him she felt the same. Guilt and remorse held her mute.

“You’re too close to your time for me to feel comfortable leaving you alone. I’ll speak to her after Nate’s funeral.”

The reminder that he’d bury his closest friend tomorrow wiped all thought but one from Barbara’s mind. Swinging around, she caught his arm.

“Zach.”

“Yes?”

“The false deed, the one issued by that company. You said this morning you intended to find out who’s behind it.”

“And so I will. When I finish my letter to Nate’s parents, I’ll pen one to my mother’s man of business in New Orleans. He’ll ferret out who’s behind Whitestone soon enough. When he does, I’ll track the bas
tard down. He’ll be lucky if he lives long enough to face a judge.”

The sick feeling in Barbara’s stomach intensified. Harry wouldn’t be taken without a fight. He’d already spent seven months in a prison hellhole. He’d kill anyone who tried to send him back.

She would lose one of them, she knew with awful certainty. Unless she sent Harry away forever.

She lay awake while he labored over his letters, watching the shadows cast by the lantern in the front room, listening to the scratch of his pen.