Alex led the horses into the barn and dropped the crossbar over the door behind him. The old man had a cow and an ancient horse in there, and a few chickens roosting in the rafters. It was a dirty old building and Alex hoped it didn’t rain or they’d be soaked, for he could see the fading daylight through the holes in the roof. They’d been riding hard for nearly twenty-four hours.
He left the girl, still asleep, on the horse as he checked that all he’d paid for was there. A bale of straw was in the corner, there were some oats for the horses, and a bowl of thin, watery soup and a hard hunk of bread was on an old table. Meager as it was, Alex felt that the old man had given as mu
ch as he could spare.
After spreading the straw in an empty stall, Alex went for the girl. She was falling into a deeper sleep and beginning to weave about on the horse. He put his hand up to her waist to steady her and carefully pulled her toward him. She was a sturdy little thing, heavier than he’d thought, but then again, he was weaker than he usually was. Still asleep, she snuggled against him, as though she was used to being carried by a man—and he knew she was. One of the reasons he knew who she was and about her life was because when he was small, his mother had read the letters from her mother, Edilean Harcourt, aloud to Alex and his father.
It was after his mother’s death, when he was just nine years old, that he started exchanging letters with Cay’s brother Nate. They were born in the same year, and Mrs. Harcourt thought that corresponding with someone his own age would help with Alex’s grief. It had, and he and Nate had never stopped writing each other.
In the fifteen years or so that he’d been corresponding with her brother, he’d learned a lot about the Harcourt family. When he and Nate were ten, they decided to keep their letters secret. For Alex that meant he’d not read Nate’s letters aloud to his father—but he’d told his father everything. But for Nate, living with his large family and sharing everything, that meant he kept Alex for himself. Only his parents knew of the correspondence between the boys.
Alex remembered every word Nate had written about his young sister, and while he was in prison, T.C. had said the daughter was visiting him in Charleston.
“But he didn’t have to send her to me,” Alex muttered.
The girl stirred in his arms, and as he lifted her higher, her arms went about his neck. The cloak fell away, revealing her iridescent white dress, her bare arm, and the upper part of her bosom.
When he tried to cover her, he almost dropped her. Weeks of little food and no exercise had taken a toll on him.
Carefully, he laid her down on the straw in the stall, then stood up and stretched his back. He couldn’t help looking at her. Her dark red hair was spread out around her like a halo, and the beautiful dress sparkled in the fading sunlight coming through the roof. She lay on the big cloak, which spread under her like a blanket. She was indeed a vision of loveliness—and the sight made him groan.
What the hell was he to do with her?
To send someone as fragile and innocent as her into the world alone was not something he could fathom.
He left her lying there, sound asleep, while he took care of the horses. He removed their saddles and the packs, rubbed them down with handfuls of straw, and gave them food and water.
When he went back to the girl, she hadn’t moved, so he sat down at the rickety old table and chairs by the end of the stall and looked at her as he ate half of the meager meal Yates had set out for them. It took him only minutes to finish, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He wished he had his plaid with him so he could roll in it and cover his thin, torn clothing, but he didn’t.
He was considering where to sleep when the girl moved to her side, leaving part of her big wool cloak uncovered. He knew he shouldn’t, but the comfort she offered was irresistible. He lifted one side of the cloak, stretched out beside her, and pulled the heavy wool over him. If he weren’t so dirty, he would have snuggled beside her, but he knew the filth of him would soil her dress. As he fell asleep, he wondered how she could ride a horse for so many hours and stay so clean. But then, in his opinion, an ability to remain clean was one of the mysteries of women.
Four
Alex awoke with a start, but he lay still, his eyes closed, and listened. When he heard nothing, he got up and looked about him. On the surface, the barn was just as he’d left it, but he could feel that something had changed—or was about to change. His father said that Alex had inherited a wee bit of the Second Sight from his mother. She always knew when someone was coming. By the time Alex was six and he saw his mother scurrying about to clean the house, his heart began to race with anticipation because he knew something was about to happen. She was never wrong.
Alex glanced down at the girl, still on her side, and still sound asleep. He stood there quietly, listening to the soft sounds of the few animals in the barn; nothing was amiss. But Alex couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that something bad was about to happen.
When he glanced up at the holes in the roof, he saw that it was hours before daylight, which meant he’d had little rest. Something inside him said that he needed to get the horses out. When the danger came, he knew that he and the girl would have to leave quickly, so he needed to have their horses ready.
Quietly, Alex went to the stall where his horse was and ran his hands over the back of the animal. It wasn’t one of the racehorses he was used to, nor the sturdy Highland ponies of his youth, but the animal was a good choice for carrying the equipment that T.C. knew Alex would need.
In a soft voice, Alex apologized to the horse as he began to put the gear back on him. The animal had not had enough time free of its burdens, but under Alex’s gentle, knowledgeable hands, the horse didn’t protest.
Next, he moved to the girl’s mare and ran his hands down its flanks. He had an idea that this animal was probably the best T.C. had in his stables. The mare fidgeted, but Alex quietened her with his whispered words and his gentle hands. She was young, and he had an idea that she could run fast enough to leave others behind. As he checked the mare’s hooves, he couldn’t help smiling as he remembered the girl’s riding. She’d been taught well and was as at ease on horseback as if she’d been raised in the Highlands. At that thought he smiled broader. No doubt she’d tell him that any Virginian could ride as well as any Scotsman.
Slowly, silently, Alex began to saddle the mare with the pretty English saddle the girl used. It had no bags for carrying things and was therefore useless, but it was certainly lovely. Alex was glad to see that the girl hadn’t ridden sidesaddle—even though he knew she probably usually did.
When the horses were saddled, Alex went to the big barn door and cautiously opened it. He heard nothing, saw no one. Silently, he led the animals out, then walked them the half mile or so to the big oak tree and securely tied them there. If it didn’t rain, they’d be all right, but he knew they’d miss the comfort of the barn. After an apology to them, he made his way back to the barn.
He bolted the door behind him and went to the girl. She was still asleep, still in the same position he’d left her. Obviously, she’d had a lifetime of safety where there was never a need to stay alert even during the night. Alex moved about the barn, his hands running over the dark walls and searching. The only door was the one in front, but Alex felt that they might need another way to escape. There were four loose, rotten boards toward the back, and it was easy to remove them. He closed the wide gap by leaning the boards over it.
When he at last felt safe again, he went back to the girl. She rubbed her nose in her sleep, making him smile. Nate had once sent a tiny sketch of his little sister, drawn by their mother, and Alex had kept it by his bed for years. When Lilith saw it, she’d almost been jealous.
At the thought of his wife, his smile left him. Now all he seemed to have in his mind was the image of her in a pool of blood. Her death, her leaving, had at first taken away his will to live. It was T.C. who’d given him the idea of clearing his name.
“Go to Florida with Grady,” T.C. had said, his voice low so the guards wouldn’t hear him. “A few months on a flatboat in such splendor will give you time to think and to remember.”
“I don’t want to remember,” Alex had said.