The Willows (25 page)

Thinking of her cousin lying in some
field with a broken leg–or worse, broken neck–Edith paled. She
might resent Gwen, but she and never wanted to hurt her. “We have
got to go out searching.”

“
It’s too late.” shaking his
head, Lance pulled free from her grasp. He grabbed the bed post.
“Michael must have gotten her.”

Dismay over her cousin’s plight swiftly
turned to resentment. If Gwen was with handsome Michael, why waste
time worrying about her? Edith remembered how the man had kissed
her cousin, right there in front of everyone; however much Lance
might wish to, there was note that denying Gwen had kissed him
right back. Could bet a dollar to a doorknob that Gwen and her new
husband right now honeymooning their hearts out. And not worrying
about the confusion she had left behind.

It cannot escape her notice–though it
obviously had Gwen’s, but with Lance losing the competition, Gwen
had won their wager. It was a major triumph, at long last besting
Gwen, all the sweeter because she had always admired that locket,
for her cousin to dash off without that tiny bit of her beloved
aunt, merely fueled her resentment.

Nor was it fair that poor Lance should
stand here feeling angry and hurting and wondering what to do. Why
should her cousin always get what she wanted, while he–and Edith,
of course–were stuck with the leavings? Why sit by and watch him
cry over a woman who showed such little regret of his feelings?
Lance deserved his own it share of happiness, and she knew the
woman to give it to him. “She is running off to be with her new
husband,” she announced, reasoning that the sooner Lance faced
facts, the sooner they can begin their own future
together.

Lance was visibly shocked. “What are
you saying? You can’t think poor Gwen did anything other than go
out for a ride. Michael, that fdemon, must have crept up from
behind and abducted her.”

Edith was tired of men assuming her
cousin was a fragile doll; Gwen merely pretended to be helpless to
get them to do what you want. Maybe it was time for Edith to try a
few pretenses of her own. “I don’t know,” she said softly, slowly
moving closer. “She sure didn’t put you much of the fight against
marrying him. Why, the way she behaved, I am wondering if she
actually wanted Michael to win.”

His eyes narrowed.

“
I saw her near the
stables,” Edith went on a, knowing she was being awful to her
cousin, but knowing she had to convince Lance to forget her. “Why,
she had every opportunity to cut that cinch herself.”

Looking as if he’d been shot, Lance
took a step backward. “No,” he said, but his boys lacked
conviction. “She could have killed me.”

Edith looked away, not wishing him to
guess that she herself had cut that cinch. Not much of a
horsewoman, she hadn’t quite realize how dangerous it could be. She
had seen only that she must stop Lance from marrying her
cousin.

“
No,” Lance was shaking his
head. “It was Michael, I tell you.”

“
But Michael was in full
view of everyone for the entire competition,” she pressed on,
desperate now. Going up to hand, taking his lapels in her hands,
swallowed her sense of decency and made one last stab at winning
him away from her cousin. “Lance, thought pains me as much as it
does you, but there is a very good chance Gwen did it. For him. He
saw how she kissed him that night. I bet they played us along,
manipulating us just so they could marry.”

That stopped him. His eyes widen, as if
he were visualizing Gwen and Michael together.

“
Don’t let her upset you
so,” she said, tightening her grip on his jacket. “After what Gwen
did to you, she just isn’t worth it.”

“
I thought she was a
lady.”

“
I know,” he said softly,
taking him and her arms and patting his head. Poor Lance so
bewildered and lost. “But there are other ladies in this world,
girls who would be honored to love a finding gentleman like you. If
you face the truth about her, you can get on with your life. And
you must know, I will always be here to help you.”

She could tell the exact moment he
became aware of her, could feel the jolt of desire as if a
lightning bolt sparked between them.

“
Will you?” He asked
Horsley. He reached for her, his hands tightening instantly around
her waist. “Will you help me indeed?”

She felt a quivering between her
thighs; her pulse throbbed, leaving her begging with need. “Lance,
I have always been here, whenever you want me.”

“
I want you now.” His words
were clicked; his face darkened with passion as he backed her up
and dropped her onto the bed. Towering over her, he began to
unbutton his trousers.

Suddenly frightened by his and
intensity, by what he meant to do, she tried a feeble protests,
came down upon her and sounds to her with a desired-drugging kiss.
For Edith, so long starved for his love, it was like a gift from
heaven.

“
I need you,” he bit out at
last, his hands running roughly over her body. “I’ve waited so
long. Don’t you deny me, too?”

She shook her head. If she gave him
this, gave him herself, she would be offering something her cousin
never had. When it came time for marrying, surely Lance would
remember that stood by him and who had not.

There was a moment’s guilt, in which
she wondered about Gwen and hoped she was indeed enjoying herself
with Michael, before Edith surrendered completely to lance’s
possession.

***

Gwen sat on the porch swing, barely
moving. Never had she felt as though use as she did this moments,
covered with mud, her hair tangled, and her skin scratch in a dozen
places.

And never had escaped seem so hopeless.
She’d followed the stupid by all the way back here, and tell she
had no choice but to accept that she was trapped on some wretched
island. If she hoped to leave, she’d need some sort of a vessel,
for she absolutely refused to step one foot back in that water. She
shrugged as she thought of the Leach she’d had to pull off the
tender white flesh of her leg.

She done her best to scrub the mud from
her face and hands, but she doubted the riding dress would ever
dry. Its wool would cling to her uncomfortably for the rest of her
life, for what else had she to where? She’d removed her boots,
since the drying leather was tightening painfully, slipped off her
soggy stockings as quick as possible. All she’d accomplished,
however, was giving the mosquitoes licensed to feast on her
toes.

And did the children care? She glared
at the now closed door. No, they just went about their business,
snickering at her whenever they pass in an out of the cabin. You
must know how her empty stomach reacted to the smells of their
cooking, but no one had offered to share their meal, not even when
starvation had gotten the best of her and she’d gone in, prepared
to be gracious if it turned her a slice of bread.

Though there’d carefully blank faces
and not stopped her, site of whatever was on their plates did.
Staring at the mess, Gwen made the mistake of asking what it was.
To each child, they’d shielded their bowls with their arms, Jude
telling her that their food wasn’t for sharing. If Ms. high and
mighty wanted to eat, she could cook for herself.

“
What are you doing back
here anyway?” Jude had added nastily. “We thought you were running
away.”

And then they’d laughed at her, giving
Gwen no choice but to tell them that she’d decided to stay and make
their lives miserable. Smiling smugly, she’d then announced that
she was retiring to her quarters.

That had earned their silence.
Unfortunately, when Gwen stomped into the back hallway, she
realized she had not the slightest idea where she was to sleep. It
donned on her, with a slow creepy flush, that as Michael’s wife,
she’d probably sleeping down with him.

She’d found three doors in the dark,
narrow hallway. The one on the right open up into the as yet
unrepaired pantry, with the hole in the roof. Briefly, she wondered
what the children might have been doing to start a fire, but
turning to the door to her left, she told herself it was none of
her concern. The less she knew about those brats, the
better.

The next room had been relatively
large, the size of the main room. Several bunks line the walls, and
from the mess she decided this was beware the children slept.
Shuddering again, she’d been ready to turn away when Jude came up
from behind her. “You got no call to be snooping about our things,
“the child said belligerently.

“
I was not snooping. I was
trying to find my room.”

He sneered back, “I don’t believe you
for a minute,” Jude pointed to the third door. “The back room.
That’s yours.”

Opening the door, Gwen had found it to
be small, furnished only with a cupboard and a narrow cot with a
straw mattress and threadbare blanket. At least the bed was a
single. If she cannot sleep comfortably, Gwen had thought at the
time, at least she could sleep alone.

But now, sitting on the porch by
herself, she found it rather daunting how little the prospect
appealed to her.

I am not used to being ignored, she
thought, rocking the swing with more vigor. Most men cannot wait to
seeing her praises, but Michael had called her a drowned rat. His
teasing grin, his lack of regard for her feelings, proved he did
not view her as a desirable woman. All he wanted her for was to
stand guard over these brats he called children.

You should have kidnapped Edith, she
thought angrily. With her cousin’s newfound abilities to cook and
clean, she’d have soon with the entire house sold back into
shape.

Stunned by how much that thought
bothered her, Gwen blamed her sudden in the on habit, a result of
competing against her cousin for so many years. What was there to
be jealous of? Edith lived the life of a Drudge.

Except now, Edith stock would improve,
Gwen it didn’t doubt. Her cousin would take full advantage of her
absence to influence her daddy–and perhaps even Lance–against
her.

He is my Lancelot, she thought, feeling
doubly sorry for herself. In her mind, Lance became a symbol of all
she had lost, and all she had stolen from her. Closing her eyes,
she tried to imagine him coming to her rescue, putting his strong
arms around her shoulders and leading her out of this dismal
swamp.

But her imagination played tricks on
her, too, for when he leaned down for a kiss, his fair features
suddenly darkened.

“
Michael” she hurt herself
whisper.

She saw the boat first, breached on the
bank of the Bayou, then the man bending over it to lift something
out. “Michael,” she whispered again. As he stood, she felt a second
stab of disappointment.

Coming toward her carry a heavy cast
iron pot, the man be no more than inch or two taller than Gwen,
though clearly a good many years her senior. A grizzled beard
covered his face, no doubt to make up for the small gray hair on
his head. His hunched body moved awkwardly, but it was hard to tell
if age, or merely the wait is did. He had a ruddy complexion,
indicating a good part of his time spent outdoors, and, she noticed
as he came closer, there was a devilish twinkle in his gray green
eyes.

“
Gumbo I made,” he said, his
accent a mixed blend of Cajun and southern drawl. “You are hungry,
no?”

Even had she not gone through the swamp
all morning and missed her lunch, Gwen would not be able to resist
the delicious sense waving up from the pot. Peppers, onions,
spices–heavens, was that seafood?–Sent visions of Lavinia’s shrimp
and crab concoction dancing in her head. Had Gwen been the rat
Michael called her, she’d have followed the pipe piper himself,
happy to march to the death for a single bite.

Besides, the poor man had his hands
full; was only polite that she offered to open the door.

The children were again busy at the
fire place, either planning a second arson, or devising another
crazy meal. They glanced up with their usual hostility, until they
saw she was not alone.

“
Jeffrey” the little one
cried out, running forward as if to wrap his arms around the old
man’s legs. Forcing potential disaster, Gwen reach out to take the
pot from Jeffrey’s hands.

It was heavier than she’d anticipated,
and smelled even more delicious up close. As the children came
running to bus over their guest, Gwen carried the pot to the table,
meaning to sneak a peek, if not a taste, while they were too
preoccupied to notice.

Jeffrey clapped his hands as he reached
for the lid, she yanked her hand behind her back with a guilty
blush. “Quick, quick,” he said to the children, helping Gwen
realize he had not been clapping at her. “The sooner you set the
table, the sooner we eat.”

They obeyed so quickly, Gwen wondered
if he might be some relative-a grandfather, perhaps-but more
likely, they were as starved as she. Gwen would gladly have set the
table herself, if she’d the least idea how to do so, and if she
thought for a moment the children would let her touch their
plates.

With an uncomfortable gulp, she knew
she must brace herself, for there was a good chance she would not
be invited to dinner.