More Than You Know (15 page)

The breeze-cooled verandah was the location Rand had chosen to have his confrontation with his sister. He knew the timing of it was poor. It was easily after nine o'clock, and the course of the day's events had made everyone at Henley long for sleep. As far as he knew, only Orrin and Cutch had found that blissful state. Orrin had been removed to his room after another bout with his bottle in the afternoon. Cutch was resting after his surgery.

Bria watched her brother for a few moments from the doorway before she stepped onto the wide porch. He was sitting stretched out in a wicker chair, his posture more indicative of sheer weariness than relaxation. His hands rested lightly on the arms of the chair but his fingers were quiet for a change, not tapping out an accompaniment for the crickets in the hedgerow or the owl in the pine boughs. He was staring off toward the gardens, and beyond that to the river. She wondered if his vision had gone as far as
Cerberus
and the ocean. She hoped so. He needed to leave.

She joined him, taking the companion chair beside him. He raised one hand a few inches, acknowledging her presence, and she reached for it. Bria squeezed his hand gently. “Addie said you wanted to see me."

Rand nodded. “I thought we might talk."

"Argue?” she asked.

"Talk,” he repeated.

Bria waited. When Rand didn't offer a subject for discussion, she said, “What were you thinking just before I came out here?"

"That Macauley Stuart is an ass."

"Oh,” Bria said softly, tempering her smile. She withdrew her hand from around his. “I thought it might have been something else."

Rand pushed himself a bit more upright. “He should have been able to remove the slug from Cutch's shoulder himself,” he said. “What sort of physician has no experience with bullet wounds?"

Bria's soft drawl was absent as she said in crisp accents, “Apparently a veddy proper English one."

"He's Scots,” Rand said dryly.

"Och, then a ver-r-r-a proper Edinburgh mun."

Rand was forced to laugh. “You do miserable impressions."

"I know.” But she had made him laugh and it was enough. “I don't suppose Dr. Stuart has had much opportunity to deal with bullets in his practice. He told me that it certainly wasn't something he had to perform at medical school. You said yourself that his specialty is in the matter of vision."

"Yes, but he had a general practice. Don't the Scots shoot each other from time to time?"

"I think they still hack about with broadswords and those spiked clubs. What are they called?"

"Maces."

"Yes, maces."

Rand smiled. “I think their weapons have improved, even if their physicians haven't kept up with the times."

"It was good that Dr. Edwards could come out. I wasn't certain he would operate on Cutch. He doesn't feel so differently than Orrin about the blacks."

"I didn't give him much choice."

Bria had thought it might be something like that. She didn't ask what manner Rand had used to persuade the doctor. She had noticed, though, that the Colt had gone missing. “Dr. Stuart attended to Orrin's head wound,” she pointed out. “And his hangover."

"Sobered him right up,” Rand said, refusing to give Macauley his due. “Got him ready for the second round. I think the Scots have experience with hard drinking and hard blows."

"Is that why you had Dr. Edwards check Mother? You didn't trust Macauley to recognize the difference between a sprain and a fracture?"

Rand did not miss the ease with which his sister called the Scottish physician by his Christian name. She also seemed willing to defend him. “Mother appeared in too much pain for it to be a sprain. I thought it might require a splint."

"Only to keep her fast to her bed,” Bria said. “Dr. Edwards confirmed precisely what Macauley said in the beginning. Mother needed to rest and keep her leg elevated. She has not followed his orders. You can hardly hold him accountable for that."

"He didn't mention phlebitis, did he? Edwards diagnosed that. Even Claire knew something else was wrong.” His mother had railed against the treatment Edwards prescribed—the same treatment he had overheard Claire suggesting just yesterday. Elizabeth wanted no part of having leeches placed on her swollen ankle and lower calf, but it was only when Dr. Stuart lent his opinion to the matter that she had complied.

"Macauley helped bring Mother around, Rand. You know he did."

Rand's grunt was noncommittal. “What are your feelings for the doctor?"

Bria deliberately misunderstood. “I wish Edwards had a less self-important bedside manner, but I find him competent."

"Bree."

She sighed. “Very well. The truth is, I have no feelings."

Rand waited to hear more, but when Bria was silent he realized that she believed she had explained it all. A chill went through him as he understood what she was really saying. His initial reaction was to deny it. “That can't be so, Bree."

"I don't know if you can appreciate how sincerely I meant it. I'm not like you, Rand. I'm not like anyone else I know. I playact at emotion. I have for a very long time. Sometimes I capture the nuances perfectly—the expression, the tone, the exact gesture—but it comes from the outside, not from within."

"But last night ... when you were with Stuart ... you were clearly terrified."

"Was I? I know you told me that when we talked afterward. I accepted it because you said so, not because I felt it. I didn't want him to touch me, that's true enough, but whether I felt anything about it, I couldn't say."

Rand turned sideways in his chair and studied his sister's shadowed profile. He remembered how she had looked in the entrance hall while Orrin held them all hostage. It was as if she was distanced from what was going on, as if she had somehow come to stand outside her physical self and could watch the drama without fear of being touched by it. Even when she had taken the gun, it was as though someone else were commanding her. Bria had been capable of pulling the trigger. He hadn't doubted it then. He'd heard nothing that made him revise that opinion now.

"Come with me, Bree,” Rand said. “Leave Henley. Join Cutch and me on
Cerberus.
Claire will appreciate the company and you and I can find the treasure together. You've never once sailed with—"

Bria reached across the space that separated her from her brother and touched Rand's hand again. “I'm not leaving Mother."

"I don't intend that you should. Neither of you is safe here with Orrin. You can both come. We'll make room aboard. I'll give up my cabin. I spend most of my time on deck anyway."

Bria shook her head. “Stop, Rand. I'm not coming with you. Neither is Mother. We're not going to leave Henley, so there's no sense in you making plans to the contrary. I came to realize this morning that I can protect Mother. I'm not afraid of Orrin Foster, Rand. I saw it in his eyes. He's afraid of me. I don't think he presents the same threat to Mother as he did before."

"What about you?"

She shrugged. “He's only ever been a nuisance to me. A fly in the ointment. I think of Orrin differently than you. I don't manage Henley to spite him; I manage it
in
spite of him. It still requires his Yankee money to keep things going. This will be only the third year we can anticipate a profit since the war."

Rand's cheeks puffed slightly as he released a long breath. Bria didn't need to remind him that she had been supervising every aspect of Henley just five years. Before that, Orrin Foster's money had not been enough to save the plantation from his own mismanagement. At nineteen, Bria had taken over the reins, subtly at first, merely countermanding Orrin's directives with more suitable ones of her own. By the time she was twenty, she was in control in every way that mattered. Orrin never acknowledged that he knew perfectly well what was going on, and no one had ever faulted him for being stupid. The truth was that after four years of trying to restore Henley to its former grandeur, he had lost interest. As long as there was liquor, details could be left to others. He claimed full ownership and not a whit of responsibility.

"Perhaps I should leave Cutch with you and Mother,” Rand said.

"So Orrin can take another shot at him? I think that's a poor plan. Cutch would think so, too."

Rand's elusive smile flickered briefly. “All right. It was a bad idea. But I don't know how I can leave this time."

Bria shot to her feet. “No, Rand. Don't even consider staying, or staying longer than you planned. Nothing good can come of it. Besides, you entered into a business arrangement with Claire and her godfather. You can't renege on that."

"God, Bree. What would you have me do? How am I supposed to—"

Bria dropped to her knees in front of Rand. She took his hands in hers and held them. “You don't belong here,” she said earnestly. “It's not a sacrifice for me to be here, Rand. It never has been. I can't explain it, but Henley is the only place I feel truly safe. I don't expect you to understand. I don't myself. After what happened to me here, it would be natural to think I'd be happier anywhere else. But it isn't like that. Not for me. I'm not giving anything up by staying at Henley.
You
would be."

Rand shook his head, denying that she spoke any part of the truth. “You're wrong, Bree. Name one thing that I'd be giving up that I couldn't live without."

Bria did not hesitate. “Claire,” she said. “You'd be giving up Claire."

Tearing his hands away from Bria, Rand stood. He stepped around her kneeling figure and stopped on the lip of the verandah. “For someone who insists she has no feelings, you take some peculiar romantic notions to heart."

"I don't have to feel it,” she said, rising to her feet. “I only have to know what it looks like."

He glanced over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?"

"Love. You're in love with Claire."

"Jesus, Bree.” He shook off her attempt to place one hand on his forearm. “You need to make another study of the matter before you try acting on it yourself. I was in a room with her godfather for upwards of thirty minutes before I even noticed her."

Bria's smile was gentle. “I didn't say it was love at first sight,” she said. “But you notice her now. You notice everything about her. If she knew how your eyes follow her, she wouldn't be able to cross a room without her knees buckling."

"You're confusing me with the good doctor."

"Not for a moment. He watches her, yes, but not as you do."

"You're mistaken, Bria."

"About which part?"

"All of it."

She laughed lightly, mocking him. This time when she patted his arm, he did not pull away. “You go ahead and think so,” she told him. “Perhaps a magician's greatest trick is to hide his own heart."

Rand's brows drew together. He raked back his hair impatiently. “What is that supposed to mean? I'm a magician now?"

"What else am I to think?” she continued gently. “I picked up your jacket this morning, Rand, after Cutch dropped it. It seems that you always have something up your sleeve.” With that parting shot, Bria turned on her heel and neatly dodged her brother's attempt to capture her. She ran into the house and slammed the door on him, locking it for good measure. The tumbler fell in place with a satisfying click.

"Bree!” Rand called after her. “Bree!” Through the window he watched her sashay down the lighted hallway, pausing just once to toss him a mischievous smile over her shoulder. “Damn you! I'll get—"

The sound of a throat clearing brought him up short. He spun around and saw Claire's slim figure limned by moonlight. She was standing on the lower step of the verandah, holding her cane in front of her. Her hands rested one on top of the other and covered the gold-plated knob.

"How long have you been there?” he asked roughly. If she took exception to his tone, Rand noticed, she hid it well.

"I came up through the gardens,” Claire said. “I was sitting on the riverbank."

Which was not an answer to his question. “I didn't see you."

"No? I suppose because you were occupied with tormenting your sister. Did she lock the door?"

"Yes."

Claire nodded. “I thought perhaps she had. I'll go around to the other side.” She turned and extended her cane to guide her off the step. She was brought up short by Rand, who not only halted her progress but lifted her over the next step and set her on the verandah.

"Stay here. I'll go. Unless I miss my guess, Bree's locked the other door by now. There's no point in you going."

Claire was seated in the chair previously occupied by Bria when Rand returned. He leaned against one of the porch's fluted columns and crossed his arms in front him. “Apparently she's rallied everyone to her cause,” he reported with ill humor. “I couldn't get anyone's attention to let me in."

"There are windows, aren't there? Perhaps one of them is open."

"I thought of that. They're open on the second floor but not on the ground. The last time I was boosted through a window that high, I had my brothers’ shoulders under me."

Claire smiled, imagining the acrobatics involved in that maneuver. “Did you make it into your room safely?"

"I didn't say it was my room I was trying to get into."