The Captain's Caress (48 page)

“Even the children know more about having babies than you do,” she teased. But as the afternoon wore on and the sun sank beyond the hillside, Brent’s patience wore thin and he subjugated each returning searcher to angry recriminations, driving some back into the dusk with orders not to return until they found Summer. When all but Roberto had wandered in exhausted and hungry, Brent made up his mind to go out himself. He couldn’t leave Summer alone and unprotected without trying to find her.

“What do you think you can do in the dark?” Madelena chided. “My people know these hills like their own hands, yet they cannot find anything on this moonless night. Why should you be able to do more?”

“I can’t stay here and do nothing while she may be at the mercy of any wild animal that roams these hills.”

“I know it’s hard to wait,” Madelena said kindly, “but she’s safe where she is. You’ll do that child no favor if you kill yourself out there in the dark.”

Brent unwillingly bowed to the wisdom of her argument.

“She sounds like a remarkable girl, this wife of yours.” Madelena patted his hand reassuringly. “And smart too. She’s outmaneuvered Gowan for months. I think she can do it for one more night.”

“You’re a jewel,” Brent said, his voice choked with emotion. “If I didn’t already love Summer so much, I’d run away with you.”

“You’re through stealing other men’s wives,” Madelena scolded. “Hasn’t it gotten you into enough trouble?”

Brent laughed, and some of the oppressive weight was lifted from his chest. He held Madelena a little tighter and stared into the empty blackness.

Moments later they were wrenched from their abstraction by the horseman that galloped up to the campfire, sending dirt clods into the coals. The light revealed the taut features of Roberto.

“Into the wagon,” he shouted without dismounting. “She’s at the old Smithurst farmhouse, and already in labor.” Brent would have saddled a horse for himself, but Roberto unceremoniously cut him short. “Drive the wagon. She needs Madelena and Fiona more than she needs you.”

They were out of the camp and swallowed up by the dark night in a trice. No one spoke. There was no moon to light the way so Brent had to concentrate on threading his way through the treacherous lanes. The women knew what Summer was suffering, and they hoped there would be no complications because it would be nearly two hours before they reached the farmhouse.

Chapter 45

It was nearly dark when Summer woke from her nap that first afternoon. She was so tired she went right back to bed as soon as she had taken care of her horse, but lying in the dark with nothing to do except listen for sounds outside the farmhouse caused her to become nervous and jumpy. She didn’t know who or what might be lurking in the woods or planning to use the farmhouse for a refuge.

Telling herself not to worry before she had reason to do so, Summer took out bread and some slices of beef, but as soon as she attempted to swallow the first mouthful, she remembered she had gotten water from the well for the horse but not for herself. When she returned, she found the smell of food had attracted two field mice. Stifling an urge to back down the ladder, she stamped her foot to frighten the mice from the loft, and then sat down to finish her meal.

When she had finished eating, she wrapped the food in a piece of oil cloth and tied it with a rope. Then, feeling along the rafters until she found a large nail, she looped the rope over the spike so the food hung well beyond the reach of any rodent.

Satisfied with that arrangement, she decided to remake her bed. She piled up straw until it was two feet deep and then covered it with a thick sheepskin rug. One of the extra dresses she’d brought, folded up and doubled over, served as a headrest, and a heavy cloak pulled up to her chin provided warmth. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, but no matter what she did she couldn’t fall asleep; she found herself straining to listen for every sound.

She was certain there was nothing to fear; nevertheless, she found herself trying to identify every noise. She had no idea who or what might attack her, but as the lonely hours crawled by, she wished her imagination were not quite so vivid.

Finally, just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard a scratching at the door and sat up, shivering with fright, the hair standing up on the back of her neck. It was a large animal, much larger than a rat. Why hadn’t she thought to ask if wolves or bears still lived in the hills?

Now the scratching was accompanied by a whining sound that became increasingly insistent. At least it wasn’t a bear. She was safe as long as she stayed in the attic. The scratching stopped, only to begin again and then stop once more. Summer crawled out of her bed and went to the ladder. She could still hear the whining, now from one window and soon from the other. Summer wondered if the animal was attracted by her food. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she picked up her pistol and climbed down the ladder.

With great stealth she crept over to the window, placed her face to one of the dusty panes, and peered into the night. A sudden scurrying made her reel back and scream. Her heart beating wildly, she stared into the big brown eyes of a huge sheepdog which barked a friendly greeting and wagged its tail so energetically its whole body shook.

Weak from shock, Summer sank to the floor, laughing at herself and her imagined fears. “I’ll bet you want a piece of meat,” she said, beginning to recover her courage. “I can’t give you any food, but I’d be grateful if you’d stay and guard my door.” The dog barked again, entreating her to let him in; instead Summer climbed the ladder and went back to bed. No further sounds worried her, and she soon fell fast asleep.

The sun was high in the heavens before Summer woke the next morning. There was no sign of the dog; but she was not lonely. She looked forward to spending a day in idleness, but this turned out to be the most boring day of her life. Summer was used to being busy, and after an hour she began to look for things to do. She was finally reduced to sweeping the dirt floor to keep from going crazy.

Summer was dozing when she heard the horse whinny. She sat up, listening intently. There was no answering call from the barn, but the unseen horse whinnied again. Then the whining and scratching of the past night started up; Summer was sure it was the same dog. She held her breath and waited. Minutes later she heard hoof beats in the lane and she fled up the ladder. For a time the only sounds that came to her were made by the dog, and she began to hope that the rider was just passing by. But just as she was trying to decide whether to go back down, footsteps approached the house and someone tried the door. When it didn’t open, the stranger knocked and then tried the door again, then the windows.

“Countess, are you in there?” The man spoke with an accent Summer had never heard before. “I’m not one of the earl’s men. I’ve come from Captain Douglas.” Summer’s heart lurched so violently she nearly lost her grip on the ladder.

Fool, she told herself, that’s exactly the kind of cruel trick Gowan would employ. He wouldn’t care if the pain tore you apart. But the voice kept calling, kept using Brent’s name, until it rang inside her head with the insistence of a tolling bell. She fought the weight of sadness, the birth of hope, the tears and the racking sobs that had not been exhausted by months of grieving.

At last, unable to stand the torture any longer, she called out, “You’re lying. Go away and leave me alone.”

The intruder pushed on the door harder than before. The wooden bar was stout, but dry rot had eaten into its cradle and one mighty heave sent it crashing to the floor. As the door swung inward and banged against the wall, Summer reached into the pocket of her cloak and took out a pistol. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, but if she let this man go, he would tell Gowan.

Roberto smiled when he saw the freshly swept floor. It reminded him of Madelena. “Countess, I’m coming up,” he called, knowing instinctively that Summer was hiding in the loft. “I don’t want to harm you. I only want to talk with you, to tell you about Master Brent.”

Summer closed her eyes. The pain was almost too much to bear. If he didn’t stop using Brent’s name, she would have to shoot him. She couldn’t stand to hear him talk as if Brent were still alive, as if all she had to do was climb down the ladder and he would lead her to him. She blocked Brent’s image from her mind, and forced herself to think only of the danger below.

Roberto placed one foot on the ladder and began to climb slowly and deliberately. When he put his head into the loft the first thing he saw was the pistol less than six inches from his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Summer commanded. “I’ll kill us both if I have to.”

Roberto stared at her, his breath coming quickly. “You are beautiful,” he said, in awe of her, “just as beautiful as Master Brent said you were.”

“I’ll shoot you if you speak Brent’s name one more time,” she cried out, fighting back tears. “I know he’s dead. I saw him die with my own eyes.”

“He almost died,” Roberto told her, advancing very slowly, “but he’s well now, and he’s here in Scotland.”

“I don’t believe you.” Summer’s tears were almost blinding her; but against her will, the seed of hope took root. “I saw Gowan shoot him. I
saw
all the blood. I
saw him die!”
She broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

“He’s very much alive. We started searching for you the moment we heard you’d escaped. We thought you might be on Douglas land.”

“How?…”

“My wife visits your egg woman every day.”

“Please don’t say this if it isn’t true,” Summer begged. “I will go mad if I lose him again.”

Roberto was in the loft now, but he made no move to approach Summer.

“I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ve know Master Brent since he was a boy. I would do anything for the woman he loved, especially when she’s carrying his child.”

Summer instinctively covered her belly. “Why do you say that?”

“Brent swore you wouldn’t let the earl come near you.” A heartrending sob broke from Summer, but it was cut short by a stabbing pain.

“My labor has started,” she gasped.

“You’ve got to get below,” Roberto decided.

“I can’t move.”

“I’m going for Brent, and a midwife. We may not be able to move you by the time I get back so I’ll hide you under the straw. My dog will guard you.”

“A large sheepdog?” she asked.

“How did you guess?”

“He was here last night. He nearly scared me to death.”

“So that’s why he led me this way. I would never have taken this lane in the dark, but when my horse neighed I knew there was someone about. I hoped it was you.”

A spasm of pain swept over Summer as she descended the ladder; she froze and held on until it passed.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can try sending the dog back alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “Just bring Brent as quickly as you can. And if you’ve lied, I swear I’ll kill you.” Roberto prepared a deep straw pallet for Summer, and as soon as she was comfortable, he left his dog with her and vanished into the night.

The wait was the most terrible torture Summer had ever endured. Sometimes she expected Brent to walk through the door and sweep her into his arms. At others she feared that Gowan would appear and drag her off to Edinburgh and those doctors who were willing to do anything for money. Only the huge dog sitting next to the door convinced her she hadn’t dreamed it all.

As time inched forward, doubts scourged her newborn hope and the pains grew sharper and more frequent. She was slipping into semiconsciousness when she heard horses’s hooves and wagon wheels.

Brent’s nerves were stretched nearly to the breaking point by the time he pulled into the farmhouse yard. “She’s on a straw pallet in the corner,” Roberto called as he leapt from the still-moving wagon, taking the lantern with him. He rushed through the door holding the light above his head, his eager eyes searching the dark corners.

“Brent?” The weak voice came from his left. “Is it really you?” Turning in the direction of the sound, Brent beheld Summer lying in a corner, almost entirely covered in straw. Her tear-stained face was contorted by a spasm of pain, but when she recognized him joy relaxed her features. Brent tenderly took her into his arms, but Summer, laughing, crying, and saying his name over and over, was momentarily oblivious to pain. She covered his face with kisses, and clung to him, unable to believe that he was really alive. Brent, too, forgot the baby and returned her embraces with crushing strength. The three onlookers, gathered at the door, were mute witnesses to a reunion that moved even the pragmatic Roberto.

“Shouldn’t she lie down?” Roberto asked, fearful that the tight embrace would injure Summer or the baby.

“Let them be,” whispered Madelena. “The baby can wait.”

When a contraction turned Summer rigid in Brent’s arms, the more practical Fiona announced, “You can finish this later,” and bustled into action, adding, “right now we’ve got to get her comfortable.”

“Don’t leave me,” Summer begged.

“I won’t stir from your side,” Brent promised.

“This is no time to have a man about,” Fiona admonished. “You go stay in the wagon.”

“I’m staying here,” Brent declared.