When the Splendor Falls (55 page)

“That Captain Dagger is my cousin? Yes. That Captain Dagger and his men, these murderous Bloodriders, came to Travers Hill and found shelter in your stables? Yes.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

“Oh?”

“No, he didn’t give any.”

“Sounds like Neil.”

“He and his men were already in the stables when I went down there to get a bale of hay. He attacked me, Adam, out in the field and carried me back into the stables.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh. “I seem to remember you accosted him, and with your grandpapa’s fowling piece, the last time you met,” he reminded her. “How was he?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“Unhurt. But some of his men were badly wounded. We did the best we could for them,” Leigh admitted.

“You helped them?” Adam said, shaking his head in amazement.

“They were hurt. I didn’t do any more than I did when our home was used as a Yankee field hospital,” Leigh told him.

“There is a slight difference in the circumstances. And weren’t they still in the stables when our soldiers came through? Stephen says they didn’t leave until after dark,” he said, asking the question Leigh had hoped he would not.

“Yes. I lied to them,” she said, staring up at Adam almost defiantly.

“You could have betrayed them.”

“I didn’t want fighting on Travers land. There are children in the house, as well as Althea and Guy,” she explained readily enough.

“Of course,” Adam said, as if it was all very plain to him. “Nor did you wish to see Neil and his men massacred, did you, Leigh?” he added softly. “That is what would have happened with them trapped in the stables, his men wounded.”

Leigh shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, Adam. And I don’t know where he is, and I don’t care.”

“Don’t you?” Adam persisted.

“No!” she cried, her cheeks flushed. “Guy and Althea don’t know he was here. I thought it best to keep it a secret,” she said, glancing at a guilty-looking Stephen.

“Don’t blame Stephen. You forget, I knew the identity of Captain Dagger, and that he’d been seen in these parts. He knows this countryside. If he needed a place to hide, I think I know where he would go. I’m surprised he came by Travers Hill, but if he had wounded, it would have served his purpose.”

“He and his men didn’t steal that gold,” Leigh told him, for some reason wanting Adam not to believe his cousin was a cold-blooded murderer.

“How do you know?”

“He told me so.”

“And you believed him?” Adam asked. “Why should you believe anything good of Neil Braedon? I know about that evening, Leigh, the evening you announced your engagement to Matthew Wycliffe. I know what happened in the gardens.”

“Neil told you?”

“No, Guy did. When he sobered, he was quite ashamed of himself, and what he’d cost you. Of course, we were all surprised about Neil’s sudden departure from Royal Bay, and that when he left he took Capitaine, the colt you would sell to no one. I understand he drove a hard bargain that night. Your colt, or your brother’s life. So why should you believe Neil Braedon innocent of this latest brutality?”

Leigh had her answer ready. “Because they didn’t know about the gold bullion having been stolen. They, his men, were shocked. They weren’t lying, either. I would have known. They were very indignant. Angry, even, that they were being blamed. They admitted they’d blown up the railroad and that was why they were here; not to steal and murder. I believed them,” Leigh said.

Adam smiled, touching her hot cheek with the tip of his finger. “I always knew what Blythe was thinking. She couldn’t hide anything from me. Her eyes, and the wild blush that stained her cheeks, always gave her away,” Adam said.

Leigh opened her mouth to protest, but Adam had turned away.

“I’m going to stable my horse, then unpack my things,” he said tiredly. “But after that, we’re going to have that talk, Leigh,” he reminded her, his expression determined.

“I’ll see to your horse, Adam. No, no arguments. You know I do a better job,” she said, noting worriedly the bluish tinge around his lips.

“I cannot argue, at least with that,” he added, picking up the small bag he’d brought in with the woven chest and climbing the stairs.

For a moment, Leigh watched him, but when Adam stopped on the landing and looked back, she was gone.

Adam stood there for a moment, out of breath, a bleakness in his eyes as so many memories came flooding back to him. He walked past the closed doors to the silent rooms. He paused for a moment before the door to Leigh’s bedchamber, once Blythe’s too—before he had taken her as his bride.

On impulse, he entered the cold room, shutting the door behind him. He stared at the big four-poster, the quilt folded neatly, the blanket chest at the foot, where the trundle bed used to be, the cradle placed close where an arm could readily reach out to rock it gently during the long night. On the soft pillow was the silver baby rattle with the coral handle that he and Blythe had selected together when she’d discovered she was with child.

Dropping his bag, he knelt down beside the chest and opened the lid. Drawing a deep breath, he reached inside, removing the sword that had belonged to Palmer William. He pulled the glinting blade partly from its scabbard, staring at it for a moment, a faraway look in his eye. Then he shoved it back in, moving it aside and forgetting about it when his hand came into contact with the softness of Blythe’s cloak. How many times had he seen her wearing it, the emerald green reflected in her hazel eyes, shining with such love of life, her laughing face hidden in the dark fur?

Why Blythe? he wondered for the thousandth time. Why had she been taken from him? His blithe spirit, the light of his life. Why her? Why a lovely young creature of such sweetness and innocence, who had never hurt anyone or anything in her life? Why? he asked, hot tears falling onto the velvety folds of the cloak.

He touched the moist spot and saw the ivory fan. He remembered the night of her sixteenth birthday party, when he’d first realized she had become a beautiful woman, the woman he had fallen in love with. She’d flirted innocently with him that night, peeking at him from behind the delicately carved ivory, teasing him, and never realizing she’d captured his heart. Folded on top of the cloak was the shawl. He ran his finger along the lacy edge, remembering draping it across her pale shoulders, and placing a kiss against her throat, where her pulse had been beating wildly, and he had known then she was not averse to his touch.

Adam’s hand closed around the dark green perfume bottle. How she had loved it, he thought, and removing the stopper, he caught his breath as the sweetly spiced fragrance floated around him, reminding him of when they had lain together as lovers. Carefully, he replaced it, his hand touching the silver brush and comb that had graced her dressing table. He felt the flatness of the delicate, floral-painted embroidery work box that held her sewing materials: mother-of-pearl thimble, needle cases, scissors, and tape measure. He had given it to her, thinking it merely a pretty box, but she’d seemed to take great pleasure in actually using it, especially when mending his clothes, although she’d despaired of ever having enough gray thread. He’d gotten her the cut brass and red tortoiseshell desk set when in the Bahamas. She’d used it to write letters home, and to him. Long, loving letters that had been such a joy to receive, lifting his spirits as he thought of returning to her. A stack of neatly tied letters had been placed next to the desk set in the chest.

Her letters to Leigh, he was thinking, when he noticed a wadded-up piece of paper tucked down deep on the side. He pulled it out and smoothed it open.

“Damn!” he cursed softly beneath his breath as he read the tax assessment and knew the reason now why the offending piece of paper had been crumpled into a ball and stuffed deep in the chest.

He had one just like it in his own coat pocket.

Replacing Palmer William’s sword, he lowered the lid of the chest, closing out the memories of happier times, of other days, of those who had died. He thought of the family cemetery on the high ground overlooking the peaceful river, where he had stopped and knelt beside his wife’s grave, the rest of the Travers family at rest around her. He couldn’t help them any longer, but his daughter, and these people at Travers Hill, who were his family now, he could help, he decided as he walked over to the window and stared out across the barren trees toward the bend in the river—remembering a secret place where he, Nathan, and Neil had hidden when boys.

And he wondered if Sun Dagger—Captain Dagger—had remembered it.

Seventeen

Thou hast given him his heart’s desire.

Psalm 21:2

“Wish we had some more of that hot broth right now. Would taste mighty good,” the Bucktail said wistfully.

“Wish we did too, Bucky, just to keep your stomach from rumbling so loud,” the sentinel about to relieve himself agreed as he heard the loud grumbling from behind his turned back. “Sure to give us away to any reb patrols nearby,” he commented, selecting a couple of green leaves and thinking they would do nicely.

“Reckon they’ll jus’ think it’s thunder.”

“What was that?” his friend asked, jerking up his breeches. “Wouldn’t you know, after all the battles I been in, the rebs would finally catch me, and me with my breeches down ’round my ankles,” he said, humiliated.

“Didn’t hear nothin’,” the Bucktail said, gazing into the darkness beneath the stone bridge. “Gettin’ light,” he said, glancing at the gray clouds, tinged with pink, overhead.

“Wonder how long the cap’n’s goin’ to stay holed up here.”

“Reckon till some of them reb patrols get tired of bumpin’ into themselves comin’ and goin’ and findin’ nothin’ of the Bloodriders. Besides, McGuire and the lieutenant wouldn’t be able to get far, ’specially if we had to make a run for it. McGuire’s been feverish the last two nights. Never heard such babblin’. Lil’ reb knew what she was doin’, though, ’cause the cap’n says McGuire’s wound ain’t festerin’ none. Wish Jimmy was doin’ as well. Too bad, him havin’ that attack of swamp fever. Thought he was lookin’ a bit peaked. Kept gettin’ the shivers yesterday. Came down with it last summer. Remember when we were in White Oak Swamp? Didn’t think we’d ever get out of there to Seven Pines, then, couldn’t believe all that marshland north of Fair Oaks Station. Never thought we’d make it to the banks of the Chickahominy, and Jimmy comin’ down sick with that fever and rebs swarmin’ all over the place. I sure thought he was over it. Would’ve brought along a tin of quinine if I’d known.”

“Wish we had a fire. It’d help poor ol’ Jimmy stop shakin’. Don’t think he’s goin’ to have any teeth left. Say, you remember them ash cakes we had a while back?” the other one asked, thinking of the cornmeal they’d mixed with water and salt and some beef drippings. Patting the mixture into cakes, then wrapping them up tight in wet cloth, they’d buried them under hot ashes. “Nice an’ crunchy, remember? Now that’d make a tasty breakfast this mornin’. Figure we’ll be chewin’ on beef jerky. Least it ain’t rainin’.”

“Ought to have wars just in summertime. Figure the best time for fightin’, and bein’ out in the countryside, is in late summer or early autumn, ’cause there’s plenty to eat. You remember that cornfield? We took them ears of corn and roasted them right in the shuck. Best tastin’ I’ve ever had.”

“Only wish we’d had some butter.”

“Yup, would’ve too, ’ceptin’ for you makin’ eyes at that farmer’s wife. Shouldn’t have done that, Bucky. ’Specially after they gave us that buttermilk, and him standin’ there with that bucket of hog slop,” his friend complained, wandering around the small clearing as if searching for something.

“Didn’t want to disappoint her, her bein’ so glad to see a good-lookin’ man for a change,” the Bucktail said. “Never seen such an ugly fella as that jug-headed jackass she was hitched to.”

“Yeah, well he missed his aim and it took me a week to get that slop out of my clothes,” he remembered.

“Gotta learn to move faster, Davy,” the Bucktail warned. “Figure you stood there lookin’ like a fool for about a minute.”

“Yup, had me cold, he did. Me standin’ there jus’ to the left of you. Missed you by ’bout a foot didn’t he?”

“You was about a foot back of me and to the right a bit. Wish you’d keep still now. What’re you looking for anyhow?”

“Some more green leaves.”

“Ain’t you finished yet?” the Bucktail demanded with a sigh. “Here, I’ll help you. Thought I saw some big, soft green leaves over this way,” he was murmuring thoughtfully as he moved toward the stone bridge where the entwining vines dangled thickly like a concealing curtain. “How many you goin’ to need?”

“Reckon ’bout three.”

“That many, eh?”

“Yup. Say, do you remember when we got our hands on that whiskey and tried to sneak it back into camp?”

“Sure do.”

“Hid one barrel in Schneickerberger’s breeches. Tied the legs off and stuffed them full of corncobs. Put the other barrel in his coat, then stuck that lil’ pumpkin on top, with Schneickerberger’s slouch hat pulled down low. That picket let us walk right by, though I saw him eyein’ Schneickerberger’s breeches mighty close like, ’specially seein’ how that corncob was stickin’ out where it shouldn’t have been. Would’ve done all right, ’cept that dogrobber of a cook found the barrels and started to do a little double-shot drinkin’ out of them every time he was in our tent. Still wonder what he started puttin’ in the one to keep it filled. Kept gettin’ more sour by the day. Thought he was goin’ to faint when we forced him to drink from it.”

“Ah, here’s one,” the Bucktail said, pulling on a green leaf from the vine, “and…two…and…THREE!”

Suddenly he ducked beneath, his friend doing the same at precisely the same instant. There was a scuffling sound and some cursing, then they reappeared from behind the curtain of vines, dragging their struggling captive with them into the revealing light.

“Works every time,” the Bucktail said with a grin, before making a sound like a whippoorwill, then glancing down at the man held trussed like a turkey between them. The knife held pressed against the man’s throat suddenly wavered, however, as he stared into the man’s pale eyes.