Heart of a Dove (33 page)

Hooves pounding close, Whistler and Aces, and then Sawyer was there. My heart swelled in gladness, despite everything, the heat and the pain.

“Oh God, what’s wrong?” Sawyer demanded, his deep voice shaking, and he took me from Boyd. I wanted to open my eyes to see him, but I couldn’t manage. The sun was just above me, pouring its melting heat over my face. I could almost trail my fingertips over its blazing surface. I tried to float away from it, still somehow seeing everything that was happening far below, as though I bore eyes in the back of my head.

“What’s wrong, Boyd? What’s wrong with Lorie?” Malcolm sounded near, almost in my ear. “Did she fall again?”

“Lorie, sweetheart,” Sawyer was saying, cradling me to him. Then to Boyd, the fear evident in his voice, “She’s burning up, she’s on fire. Oh Jesus…”

“Sawyer, you’ll not help anyone if you don’t get ahold of yourself, old friend,” Boyd said. “She’s fevered. Boy, ride ahead for Gus, go on now.”

“Sawyer,” I tried to whisper.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he said, curling over me, his lips on my forehead. He felt cool against my skin, which seemed to be crackling free from my face with heat.

“My head…” I tried to tell him.

He stroked hair away from my face and ordered Boyd, “Get my canteen.”

Boyd was back in an instant.

“Open it, soak this,” Sawyer insisted and seconds later a cloth was over my forehead. It was too cold, somehow, in the face of the sunlight upon me. I could feel the shakes coming, threatening me with their force, and I moaned. The shaking would rend my bones, I was sure. I would clatter apart here, beneath the sun, be nothing but broken bones. It was my last thought before I lost all sense of reality, dark heat pulling me absolutely under.

- 19 -

Days and nights swirled together in a crazy quilt of awareness. Day was garishly bright and nauseated me, and then after what seemed mere minutes, night would come on like the black of a crow’s wing. I drifted near cloud bellies when it was night, along their smooth undersides, though I could not escape the sun’s heat, as if it burned just above the layer of clouds.

As I drifted along, I came upon the red dirt road, lined with spruce and pawpaw trees, thick with honeysuckle and cardinal flowers, soft beneath my feet. I hurried along its length, holding my skirt high above my ankles; the dirt was brutally hot. I could hear Whistler somewhere near, around that bend up ahead, and I knew Sawyer would be there waiting, and he would take me away on her, just the two of us and our horse, forever.

I had to hasten, I knew it in my bones. I must, because Sam was behind me now. I could hear his heavy, plodding footfalls, his breathing. I began to cry, and to beg.

No, please don’t let him get me, please. Please, God, please.

Mama, where are you?

I can’t find you. I’m scared, I’m so scared.

He’ll get me.

Then a deep voice, a voice I knew in my truest heart, reaching me as though through a distant train tunnel.

Lorie, sweetheart, you’re safe here, you’re safe. I’m here,
mo ghrá milis
.

I tried to lift my arms to hold him, but they seemed no longer connected to me. Sawyer was crying then, pleading, and my heart ached, but I could not move to comfort him.

Please stay with me, please. Oh God, please, please don’t take her from me. I can’t bear it. Dear God, I’ll do anything.

I was vaguely aware of being given water at times, though my eyes would hardly open more than slits. Then I thought I would rattle apart with shaking. For other long, hideous stretches of time I drifted through the blazing belly of the sun, unable to shrink from its heat. I floated in a haze, outside of time, dreaming intermittently. The landscape of my dreams was consistently reddish and horrible, riddled with a sense of anger and turbulence, fighting, and then suddenly I could see Sawyer, on Whistler, and he was riding towards the north, his back to me.

Something was terribly wrong, as his shoulders were not at their usual military attention, but instead hunched forward, as though he was in pain, about to fall from her back.

Sawyer, Sawyer…

I tried to chase him, screaming his name, but I was so weak and he continued riding away.

I fell to my knees and screamed for all I was worth, screamed his name.

When my
eyes blinked open it was early evening and I was in my tent. I moved my head on the pillow and it was clear, at last, and I drew a breath. I was sweaty and uncomfortable, but I could think straight.

“Lorie.”

Sawyer was there, warm at my side. He immediately cupped my face and pressed his lips to my temple, and though my arms were weak I reached and gripped his forearms as hard as I was able, to keep him near me. The image of him riding away seemed seared against the darkness of my mind, and I wound my fingers even more tightly around him, the strength and immediacy of him.

“You’re not fevered, thank God, you’re not fevered,” he said, brokenly.

He tipped his forehead to mine, eyes closed, while I clung to him. For long moments he didn’t speak and I held him, breathing him and feeling him, knowing without being told that he’d stayed with me this entire time. When at last he drew back a spell, cupping my cheeks, I saw how drawn he looked, the shadows beneath his eyes. I reached and traced my thumbs over the dark smudges there, gently. He made a sound deep in his throat and kissed me softly on the lips, so softly.

“It’s been four days,” he whispered. “You were in a fever. Lorie, I’ve been so scared. Are you hurting anywhere yet?”

“No,” I whispered, my throat hoarse. He moved at once and brought a canteen to my lips, helping me sit and smoothing back my damp hair.

I drank and drank, as he held me. I could hear the sounds of the horses, and suddenly Angus was ducking inside, his gray eyes as severe with emotion as I’d seen them that first night we’d met, at Ginny’s.

Malcolm crowded behind him and leaped towards the bedding saying, “I ran to tell everyone you was better. Lorie, oh thank the Lord,” and he hugged me gently, as I set the canteen upon the ground. “We was so scared.” His dark eyes implored me. “What was you dreaming, Lorie? It was right terrible-sounding. An’ you were callin’ and callin’ for Sawyer, though he were right beside you.”

Sawyer was still holding me, his arm about my waist, and I longed to give in to the keen, all-consuming urge to burrow against him and be held fully; Malcolm and Gus were both too near, staring at me intently. I reminded myself that they had also been concerned, that it would be unkind to beg them to leave me alone with Sawyer.

“Malcolm, Sawyer, may Lorie and I have a moment?” Angus asked, surprising me, his gray eyes steady upon me.

Mine flashed at once to Sawyer and the agony in the depths of his hawk eyes clawed at me. At once, my body flared with a desperation I had never known.

What’s happening?
I begged him to tell me.

Talk to Gus, Lorie
, he said back.

Don’t go
, I told him, pleading.

Sawyer closed his eyes and it was clear to me he was in torture; when he opened them and met my gaze, he told me,
I’m sorry, Lorie, oh Jesus, I am so sorry.

My heart spattered blood frantically as he gently withdrew his arm from me and followed Malcolm from the tent.

In their absence, Angus came to sit near me and his gray eyes held mine somberly. He said, “We’ve been so worried, Lorie, these past days. If you weren’t better by tomorrow, Boyd was going to ride to find a town, no matter how far. I felt it would run its course, and you weren’t struck with typhoid, as I know that illness well.” He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, loose to his shoulders, his own face lined with worry. My ears rang with terror; I was desperate for Sawyer to come back and tell me what was happening.

Though I knew, I understood then.

Angus knew, and what I feared was happening.

I counted frantically back over the weeks, certain it had been at least six since I’d bled, perhaps more.

“Lorie, I must speak frankly,” Angus said. He took my right hand in his, gently, folding my fingers within his palm. He said, “I’ve been so torn with guilt over what happened the night we met, when I came to you. You gave me the gift of your body that night, and I took it, selfishly. And now…” and he paused, touching his free hand to his forehead, seeming to fortify himself. “Now it seems that…you’re carrying a child. It never occurred to me that it would be a possibility. I’m a fool, Lorie. But I will take all responsibility for you now, as I should have from the first. As soon as we come to a town, I will marry you and give you my name, and our child will know its parents, both.”

I flailed out of control, tumbling over a pit and into black, echoing space. How had this come to pass while I lay in sickness?

Where was Sawyer, why wasn’t he stopping this?

Angus said, “I know this is sudden, and I know it is impertinent of me, Lorie, but I have longed for a child of my own since before the War. We, Grace and I, lost two of our own, before they were yet born, and it broke my heart both times. I will love you, and this child, and care for you, always.” His gray eyes drove into mine, with compassion and sincerity. He held my hand tightly. I sat as though carved from a tree stump, one with no core, hollowed out completely.

“Gus,” I whispered weakly. “I…”

His eyes closed as he said, “I despise springing this upon you, I do. Sawyer has told me about how…about how he feels for you, but you are carrying my child, Lorie. Though he insisted that he be allowed to stay with you until you were no longer fevered.”

I pulled my fingers from his and curled both hands around my own neck, afraid that I may vomit, so weak I sank back to the bedding. I knew I was insulting Angus, and I had no wish to insult him. But the horror of what he was telling me, what he was making me understand, was more than I could bear.

Surely you knew this would happen
.

This was wrong, so wrong, and I felt it to the core of my bones.

I closed my eyes, silently willing him to go away. After a moment he said softly, and with compassion, “I’ll get you something to eat, Lorie.”

It was near to darkness now, and I curled around my belly on the soiled bedding, sweat and self-loathing both soaking my skin. The pillow near my own held Sawyer’s scent, and I clutched it against me, buried my face into it and shuddered with sobs, stifling all sound with an agony of effort.

I thought I heard Angus come back in, but the hand that touched me was Sawyer’s, and he collected me against him as I heaved with sobs, hating myself but unable to stop.

“Lorie,” he whispered into my hair, holding me so tightly against him that it seemed he would never let go.

“Sawyer,” I moaned, clinging to him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and it sounded as though his throat was full of sharp edges, cutting him as he spoke. “Oh God, I’m so sorry…I told Gus…about the…child. I was so scared as you lay ill. I didn’t move from your side.”

“But…he…said…” I could hardly speak through the sobs. “He…said…”

Sawyer made a choked sound against me, and I realized he was weeping. My heart stabbed in fright. I shifted to look upon him, desperate to make him see that he could not let this happen. His face was agonized, tears swimming in his hawk eyes and streaking forth.

“No, no, no,” I pleaded, clinging to him. I begged, “No, oh Sawyer, no…don’t leave, oh please, don’t leave me.”

“Lorie,” he said, closing his eyes. I had never seen such pain on a face, and I knew it mirrored my own. His eyes opened and he cupped my jaws in his shaking hands. “I told him everything, but he…”

He paused and his own jaw clenched, and I felt the same clenching around my heart, crushing it to bits.

“You…are carrying his child.” His words shuddered forth, low and tortured. “From the time…I was a boy, I knew how much he…wanted a child. He and Grace never were…able.” He closed his eyes and I felt the trembling move all through him. “He will care…for you,” he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper. “He is a good…man, Lorie, a good man. I know this.”

“No,” I whispered, shaking too, the covering ripped away from the despair in my soul once more. “Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll go away with you, anything—”

Tears spilled over his face and he crushed me close. He whispered brokenly, “I can’t do that…to Gus. Not when he wants a child and this is…his child.”

“I’m so sorry, oh Sawyer, I’m so sorry,” I whispered then, though the words were pitiful and changed nothing, as my hands fell away from him. I couldn’t bear to keep touching him when he was leaving me, abandoning me to my deserved fate. Sawyer was far too good a man, far too honorable, and he would keep himself from me.

He made himself draw away, smoothing hair from my face. I couldn’t bear the expression in his eyes; it sliced like a razor through my soul, infinitely more painful than Sam Rainey’s knife had been over my flesh.

“I told Gus I would not go until the fever broke,” he said, and there was a husk in his voice. “In the morning, Boyd and Malcolm and I…will ride ahead. We’ll make better time…on the horses…” His words dwindled to a painful halt.

“No,” I whispered. I wrapped into my own arms, a roaring in my skull. Again, life was gutting me yet again.

“We’ll wait for you, ahead,” he said raggedly, his eyes driving into mine. He went on, “We’ll restock and you and Gus…will catch up with us…”

It was cruel, to the both of us, but heat flared in my eyes, the desperate heat of the condemned, and I vowed, “I will never love anyone but you. I will die loving you.” I withered, as he did before me, aching at what was happening between us. I grew cold then, and distant. I lay back down, weakly, using both arms over my face to block all sight of him and his hawk eyes.

“Go,” I whispered, huddled there.

His breath sounded broken, choked. My heart constricted, but I didn’t dare look at him. He touched my hair, with such tenderness that my chest heaved.

Then he left me alone.

I curled around myself, refusing to eat a bite of the food that Angus brought to me later, his gray eyes so worried, so concerned. I had heard Sawyer gathering things, I had heard him saddling Whistler, and I had heard him riding out.

And then the sound of my own heart, draining away into non-existence.

Malcolm came to me after that, and he crawled to the bedding and in his usual blunt and unflappable fashion, aligned his slim body with my back, his skinny left arm over my waist. He hooked his chin on my shoulder as I shook with weeping, petting my hair and murmuring nonsense. When I’d stilled a fraction, he whispered, “Lorie, Gus an’ Sawyer fought something fierce yesterday. Boyd had to break it up.”

My fault, all my fault.

I wished that Angus had never come across me, that Sam Rainey had indeed managed to kill me on the two occasions he’d intended; that they would come to such a pass because of me was more than I could bear.

“Are you…truly carrying Gus’s child?”

I nodded, and whispered, “Malcolm, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry they fought.”

He went on, “I’ve never seen Sawyer so crazy-like. He was cryin’, Lorie. He loves you, something fierce. But Gus said you’re carrying his child.”

“Malcolm, I’m sorry you had…to hear that,” I whispered, through a throat that felt sliced in two. I was at a loss to explain.

“Well, things’ll work themselves out, Gus told me,” Malcolm went on, with the confidence of a boy. “But I hate to ride ahead without you an’ Gus. Gus said you an’ him was gonna get to know each other before you wed. I told you he aimed to marry you, Lorie-Lorie. I’ll miss you, just. We won’t see you for a spell, probably.”

“I’ll miss you too, Malcolm,” I told him. “So much.”

“You want me to lay with you?” he asked, so endearingly.