She arranged her hair in a single long braid at the back. Tendrils curled at her temples and in front of the tiny silver ear studs she'd fastened in her lobes. To shade her face, she'd bought a boy's black felt hat with a flat brim and a thin leather cord that fastened beneath her chin.
When she finished dressing, she frowned at her reflection in the cheval glass. Despite her masculine dress, no one could mistake her for a boy. The soft material of the shirt outlined her breasts with more definition than she'd anticipated, and the slim cut of the boy's britches clung to womanly hips.
What did it matter? She intended to wear her unorthodox outfit only when she rode on Risen Glory land. Anyplace else, she'd wear her new riding habit no matter how much she detested its confinement. She grimaced as she remembered that she'd also have to ride sidesaddle then, something she'd done only on occasional outings in Central Park. How she'd hated it. The sidesaddle had robbed her of the sense of power she loved and left her feeling awkward and unbalanced.
She let herself out of the house quietly, passing up breakfast and a morning chat with Sophronia. Her old friend had come to her room last night. Although Sophronia listened politely to Kit's stories, she'd volunteered little about the changes in her own life. When Kit had pressed her for details, she'd relayed neighborhood gossip that revealed nothing of herself. Only when Kit had asked her about Magnus Owen did she seem to be the Sophronia of old, haughty and snappish.
Sophronia had always been an enigma, but now she seemed even more so. It wasn't just the outward changes produced by pretty clothes and a good diet. Sophronia seemed to resent her. Maybe the feeling had always been there, but Kit had been too young to understand it. What made it even more puzzling was that, beneath that resentment, Kit felt the old, familiar force of Sophronia's love.
She delicately sniffed the air as she walked across the open yard behind the house. It smelled exactly as she remembered it, of good, rich earth and fresh manure. She even caught the faint scent of skunk, not altogether unpleasant at a distance. Merlin came out to greet her, and she stopped to scratch his ears and throw a stick for him to fetch.
The horses weren't yet in the paddock, so she let herself into the stable, a new building erected on the foundation of the one the Yankees had burned. The heels of her boots clicked on the stone floor, which was swept as cleanly as when Kit had attended to it.
There were ten stalls, four of which were currently filled, two with carriage horses. She inspected the other horses and dismissed one immediately, an old sorrel mare who was obviously gentle but had no sparkle. She'd be a good mount for a timid rider, but Kit wasn't timid.
The other horse excited her. He was a midnight-black gelding with a white blaze running down the center of his head. He was a large, powerful-looking animal, nearly eighteen hands, and his eyes were alert and lively.
She reached out a hand to stroke the long, elegant neck. "What's your name, boy?"
The animal whinnied softly and tossed his powerful head.
Kit smiled. "I have an idea we're going to be good friends."
Just then the stable door opened, and she turned to see a young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, come in.
"Are you Miz Kit?"
"Yes. Who are you?"
"I'm Samuel. The major told me if you came to the stable today, I'm's'posed to tell you he wants you to ride Lady."
Kit looked suspiciously toward the old sorrel mare. "Lady?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sorry, Samuel." She stroked the gelding's silky mane. "We'll saddle this one instead."
"That's Temptation, ma'am. And the major was most particular. He said for you to leave Temptation alone and ride Lady, and he said if I let you leave this stable on Temptation, he was goin' to have my hide, and then you'd have to live with that on your conscience."
Kit fumed at Cain's blatant manipulation. She doubted he'd see through on his threat to hurt Samuel, but the man still had the heart of a marauding Yankee, so she couldn't take the chance. She gazed longingly at Temptation. Never had a horse been better named.
"Saddle Lady." She sighed. "I'll talk to Mr. Cain."
As she'd suspected, Lady was more interested in grazing than racing. Kit soon gave up trying to urge the mare beyond a sedate trot and turned her attention to the changes around her.
All but a few of the old slave cabins had been destroyed. That was the part of Risen Glory she didn't let herself think about, and she was glad to see them gone. The cabins that were left had been painted and repaired. Each had its own garden, and flowers grew near the front doors. She waved at the children playing in the shade of the same buckthorns where she'd once played.
When she came to the edge of the first planted field, she dismounted and walked over to inspect it. The young cotton plants were covered with tight buds. A lizard slithered in the dirt near her boots, and she smiled. Lizards and toads, along with martins and mockingbirds, preyed on the bollworms that could be so destructive to the cotton plants. It was too early to tell, but it looked as if Cain had the beginnings of a good crop. She felt a mixture of pride and anger. This should be her crop, not his.
As she stood looking out across the land she knew so well, she felt a flutter of panic. It was far more prosperous than she'd imagined. What if she didn't have enough money in her trust fund to buy the plantation back? Somehow she had to get access to the plantation's books. She refused to consider the awful possibility that he might not be willing to sell.
She strode over to Lady, who was nibbling away at a patch of new clover, and snatched up the bridle she hadn't bothered to secure. She used a stump to climb back into the saddle, then headed toward the pond, where she'd spent so many happy summer hours swimming. It was just as she remembered, with its clean spring-fed water and willow-lined bank. She promised herself a swim as soon as she was certain she wouldn't be disturbed.
She rode on to the tiny cemetery where her mother and her grandparents were buried and paused outside the iron fence. Only her father's body was missing, buried in a mass grave in Hardin County Tennessee, not far from Shiloh Church. Rosemary Weston lay alone by the far corner of the fence.
Kit grimly set out toward the southeast corner of the property and the new spinning mill she'd heard about from Brandon Parsell. Just before she cleared the last stand of trees, she saw a big chestnut tied off to the side and decided it must be Vandal, the horse Samuel had told her about while he was saddling Lady. The gelding was a fine animal, but she missed Apollo. She remembered what Magnus had told her about Cain.
The major doesn't let himself get too attached to things
—
horses, the towns where he lives, even his books
.
She rounded the trees and caught her first sight of the new spinning mill. The South had always shipped most of its bulk cotton to England for processing and weaving. In the years since the war, a handful of men had built a few scattered mills that took the ginned cotton and spun it into thread. As a result, compact cotton spools could be shipped to England for weaving instead of the bulky cotton bales, yielding a thousand times the value for the same tonnage. It was an idea whose time had come. Kit just wished it hadn't come on Risen Glory's land.
Last night, Kit had questioned Sophronia about Cain's mill and learned there wouldn't be any power looms for weaving. This would be a spinning mill only. It would take the ginned cotton, clean it, card it to straighten the fibers, then pull and twist them into yarn.
Now she saw an oblong brick building, two and a half stories tall, with many windows. The building was smaller than the pictures she'd seen of the big New England textile mills along the Merrimack River, but huge and threatening on Risen Glory's land. It would make everything so much more complicated.
The mill was alive with hammering and the voices of the workers. Three men worked on the roof, while another climbed the ladder leaning against the side of the building with a stack of shingles on his back.
They'd all shed their shirts. As one of them straightened, a wave of muscles rippled on his back. Even though he was turned away, she recognized him. She rode closer to the building and dismounted.
A burly man pushing a wheelbarrow saw her and nudged the man next to him. Both of them stopped what they were doing to stare at her. Gradually the construction site fell silent as, one by one, the men stepped out of the building or peered through open windows to see the young woman dressed in boy's clothing.
Cain grew conscious of the silence and looked down from his perch on the roof. At first he saw only the top of a flat-brimmed hat, but he didn't need to see the face beneath it to recognize his visitor. One look at the slim, womanly body so clearly revealed by that white shirt and those khaki britches that hugged a pair of long, slim legs told him everything he needed to know.
He swung his foot onto the ladder and descended. When he reached the bottom he turned to Kit and studied her. God, she was beautiful.
Kit felt her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She should have worn the modest riding habit she hated. Instead of reprimanding her as she'd expected, Cain seemed to be enjoying her outfit. The corner of his mouth crinkled.
"You might be wearing britches, but you sure don't look like my stable boy anymore."
His good mood irked her. "Stop it."
"What?"
"Smiling."
"I'm not supposed to smile?"
"Not at me. It looks ridiculous. Don't smile at anyone. Your face was born to scowl."
"I'll try to remember that." He took her arm and nudged her toward the mill door. "Come on. I'll show you around."
Although the construction of the building was nearly completed, the steam engine that would power the machinery was the only equipment that had been installed. Cain described the overhead belt drive and spindles, but she had a hard time concentrating. He should have put his shirt on before he'd decided to act as her tour guide.
She met a middle-aged man with ginger hair and whiskers whom Cain introduced as Jacob Childs, a New Englander he'd hired away from a mill in Providence. For the first time, she learned that Cain had made several trips North during the past few years to visit the textile mills there. It galled her that he'd never once stopped at the Academy to check on her, and she told him so.
"I didn't think of it," he replied.
"You're a terrible excuse for a guardian."
"I won't argue with you there."
"Mrs. Templeton could have been beating me, for all you knew."
"Not likely. You'd have shot her. I wasn't worried."
She saw his pride in the mill, but as they moved back into the yard, she couldn't find it in her to compliment him. "I'd like to talk to you about Temptation."
Cain appeared distracted. She glanced down to see what he was looking at and realized her curves were more apparent in the sunlight than they'd been in the dim interior of the building. She moved into the shade and pointed an accusing finger at Lady, who was decapitating a patch of buttercups.
"That horse is nearly as old as Miss Dolly. I want to ride Temptation."
Cain seemed to have to force his attention back to her face. "He's too much horse for a woman. I know Lady's old, but you'll have to make do."
"I've been riding horses like Temptation since I was eight years old."
"Sorry, Kit, but that horse is a handful, even for me."
"But we're not talking about you," she said smoothly. "We're talking about someone who knows how to ride."
Cain seemed more amused than angry. "You think so?"
"What do you say we see? You on Vandal and me on Temptation. We'll start at the gate next to the barn, race past the pond to the maple grove, and finish right here."
"You're not going to bait me."
"Oh, I'm not baiting you." She gave him a silky smile. "I'm challenging you."
"You do like to live dangerously, don't you, Katharine Louise?"
"It's the only way."
"All right. Let's see what you've got."
He was going to race her. She gave a silent cheer as he grabbed his shirt from a sawhorse. While he buttoned it, he issued orders to the men who'd been standing around staring at her. Then he picked up a worn Western hat with a stained sweatband that testified to years of comfortable wear and set it on his head.
"I'll meet you at the stable." He rode from the clearing without bothering to wait for her.
Lady was eager for the oats that awaited her, and she made the homeward journey a little faster, but they still arrived well after Cain. Temptation was already saddled when Kit got there, and Cain was checking the cinch strap. Kit dismounted and handed Lady's bridle to Samuel. Then she walked over to Temptation and ran a hand down his muzzle.
"Ready?" Cain said shortly.
"I'm ready."
He gave her a leg up, and she swung into the saddle. When Temptation felt her weight, he began to prance and sidestep, and it took all her skill to keep him under control. By the time the horse had finally settled down, Cain had mounted Vandal.
As she rode from the yard, Kit was intoxicated by the sensation of leashed power in the animal beneath her, and she could barely resist giving him his head. She reluctantly reined in when she reached the gate near the barn.
"The first one who makes it back to the mill wins," she said to Cain.
He tipped up the brim of his hat with his thumb. "I'm not racing you."
"What do you mean?" Kit needed to race him. She wanted to compete with him at something where his size and strength wouldn't give him an advantage. On horseback, the differences between a man and a woman would disappear.
"Exactly what I said."
"Is the Hero of Missionary Ridge afraid to get beat by a woman in front of his men?"
Cain squinted slightly in the blaze of the late-morning sun. "I don't have anything to prove, and you're not going to bait me."
"Why did you come here if you weren't going to race?"
"You were doing a little bragging back there. I wanted to see if any of it was true."