The Colonel's Lady (39 page)

Oh, Roxie, what will become of you—and Abby—when I’m gone?

Coming nearer, he cast a long shadow over her as she slept. He stood enthralled, hands clasped behind his back. Her hair was all atumble, much like the night he’d claimed his kiss, not returned to its sooty knot but taken down all the way. Did it reach her waist? He hated that he didn’t know.

With a soft sigh like Abby might have made, she turned over, eyes still closed, and curled into a ball, her knees almost to her chin beneath her disheveled dress. Before she’d settled again, he leaned closer to brush his lips against her temple in a sort of farewell before going down the hill.

35

Still no Hank. Still a headache and residue of fever. Still dissension among his officers. But the scouts brought some astonishing news anyway. Reinforcements from Virginia were but two days away. And Abby was nearly chewing his ears off with her gabbiness. Having eluded Bella, she stood beside him now, sucking on a sugar lump beneath the flagpole and squinting up at him as if he, not the sun, were the center of her universe. He’d been within fort walls just a few hours, but his mind—and his eye—kept returning to the stone house.

“Where’s Mith Roxanna?”

He nearly smiled at her lisp, like she had too much sugar in her mouth. “Still abed,” he said.

“’Tis not bedtime, but noon,” she piped. With a winsome smile, she held up her sugar cone, licked down to the size of a guinea. “Want some?”

He stared down at her, distracted. “Nay, sugar is bad for soldiers. I ken the quartermaster spoils you.”

She dashed a look about, suddenly solemn. “Where is my pony?”

“Having his supper like you should be.”

Her face dimpled into a merry laugh. “But I don’t eat hay.”

Stuffing the remaining sugar in her mouth, she raised her arms and he picked her up, thinking how light she felt, no heavier than a sack of flour. Once in the empty dining room, he pushed open the kitchen door and found a dour Bella piling corn cakes on a platter. Thoughts of Hank sprang to mind, but he pushed them aside. The fierce odor of an unappetizing stew filled the air between them and made his stomach roil.

Bella blinked like she was seeing things as he set Abby down. “Law, but I never expected to see you so soon, sir.”

“Miss Rowan may put old Clary out of work.”

“Well, I reckon. Where is she?”

“Still abed,” Abby said.

“Nay, no longer,” came a reply from the back door. Roxanna entered, looking as fresh as he felt stale, her cheeks flushed from sleep. Abby latched on to her skirt like a burr, small face alight.

“I mithed you, Mith Roxanna. There’s been nobody to play with save Sukey. But the smithy’s dog had pups. He said I could have one if I asked you. I like the brown one. He looks like a sugar lump.”

“My, but I’ve missed a great deal being gone,” Roxanna said, hugging her and looking around as if to get her bearings. “But I’m back now to—”

“To get Gab—I mean Abby,” Cass said.

Roxanna looked at him, her sudden smile chasing every shadow from the room. “Yes, to get
Abby
,” she echoed.

“Gabby’s more like it,” Bella said, sour mood lifting. “Now let’s get ready for supper.”

“I’ll help serve,” Roxanna told her, donning an apron. “’Tis almost time for the officers.”

“Past time.” Bella glowered. “Major Hale’s forgot to call the men—again.”

But even as she said it, the summons sounded. With a smirk, Bella passed the platter of corn cakes to Abby and hefted two pitchers of cider herself. “Come along and help old Bella, Abby-gail. Maybe that sweet voice of yours will make my possum stew go down a bit better.”

With a wink, she and Abby went into the dining room, leaving Cass and Roxanna alone in the kitchen. This was what he’d hoped for—only he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. But simply standing up when he should still be flat on his back and having the woman he loved within arm’s reach was enough.

She smoothed her apron, her wary eyes meeting his reluctantly. “You seem to have risen from the dead.”

“Aye, ’twas your wine that cured me.”

“Nay, ’twas my prayers.”

He nodded. “I’m grateful for both.”

Her face clouded. “You’re still not well.”

“Well enough.”

“Well enough to . . . ?”

“Lead a campaign.” He looked down at her, his voice low and soft yet steel-edged. “But before I go, there’s one thing I need to know.” She stopped fussing with her apron and returned her full attention to him. “Do you have my locket, Roxie?”

Surprise burst from her blue eyes. “
My
locket, you mean.”

He smiled a bit guiltily at the fire he’d kindled in her. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

Yes, about a great many things
, her expression seemed to say. He could hear his officers filling the adjoining room and wished he was back in the stone house alone with her. If they were, he’d ask for her forgiveness again, gamble for her hand a second time . . .

“Colonel McLinn, sir.”

Joram Herkimer stood behind him. Never before had an interruption been so unwelcome. He felt all the expectancy seep out of him. Likewise, the lovely lines of her face were touched with regret. She rued the interruption just as much, he realized with a sharp stab of hope. For now, ’twas enough.

Roxanna waited till the officers were mid-meal before disappearing to her cabin. She felt so overcome that Cass was on his feet again, her emotions so raw, that she sought the privacy of her own quiet place. Drawing in the latchstring and closing the shutter, she knelt by her bed, feeling childlike, so tossed about by her emotions her prayer of thanks seemed almost incoherent. But God alone understood the depths of her heart.

Oh, Lord, forgive me for my lack of forgiveness.

Her earthly father, incapable of holding a grudge, would have been shamed to see her struggle so. Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back. She needed to tell Cass what was uppermost in her head and heart while there was still time. She hated farewells of any kind, and this one, while so very necessary, would be more than she could bear.

She slowly got to her feet, her eyes roaming the shadows and coming to rest on a torn-up floorboard in the far corner. Startled, she drew closer to Cass’s hiding place. There, just below, was the tooled leather chest—looking the same as she’d left it, or so it seemed. With unsteady hands, she lifted it out and set it on the table. Her fingers fumbled with the buckles and straps, dread ticking inside her, wondering what she’d find.

Holding her breath, she eased back the lid to . . .
emptiness
. Shock coursed through her in icy trickles. What? How? Only a few days ago, the trunk had been full, nearly overflowing with cash and gold coin. While she’d been nursing Cass on the hill, someone had stolen it! Who?

Setting it down, she hurried to the door, hoping to catch Cass before he went up the hill. Abby was just outside, new freckles spattering her delicate skin from the summer sun, eyes more blue than gray today. She clutched her rag doll in the crook of her arm, her small face mirroring Roxanna’s own alarm.

“Oh, Abby, I’m missing something. Will you take a note to Colonel McLinn?”

She simply nodded, and for a moment Roxanna feared she’d slip back into muteness. Framing Abby’s face with trembling hands, Roxanna said, “Forget the note. Just whisper in his ear. Tell him I need him. Once he’s finished his supper, of course.”

As if sensing the urgency of her mission, Abby started off at a near run across the parade ground. Little dust devils erupted beneath her bare feet, and her calico dress was a flash of blue. She was running to her daddy, Roxanna mused. Only her daddy was in the middle ground.

Cass’s gaze swung to the open door the moment Abby filled it. Pushing aside his pewter plate, he felt warmth suffuse his chest.
She might have been mine . . . she should have been mine.
Same copper curls. Same stubborn set of features. A hearty dose of Irish freckles. Then and there he prayed that Liam’s meanness hadn’t touched her fresh spirit. Mayhap her mother had been amiable. No matter. Roxie would see that she was raised right.

He looked down the long table, leaned back in his chair, and inclined his head to invite her in. At his notice, her oval face bloomed like a fragile flower in the sunlight. She stepped warily into the shadowed room, where lamplight struck pewter and the clink of utensils and drone of masculine voices made a discordant melody. But on she came with her rag doll, climbing onto his knee to the amusement of his men.

She eyed his nearly untouched stew and half-eaten corn cake, and he said drily, “Go ahead, Abby-girl, have a bite.”

But she made such a face his officers burst out laughing and looked askance at their own unappetizing plates.

Placing a soft hand on the ginger stubble of his cheek, she brought his head down till her mouth was against his ear. “Mith Roxanna is sad. She’s mithing something.”

The innocent words, confusing though they were, sent an icy river of alarm down his spine. Standing so fast he nearly lost his balance, he left the table without a word to anyone, Abby in his arms. Glancing past the east barracks to Roxanna’s cabin, he noticed clumps of regulars awaiting their supper and watching him with wary fascination.

“Adams, Miss Abby would like a pony ride,” he said to the nearest regular, knowing he needed to meet Roxanna alone.

The trek across the parade seemed strange since he’d been away from the fort for so long. He felt every eye upon him, marveling at his quick recovery—or his boldness in seeking her out. But he wasn’t cowed and he didn’t care. He would have kicked the door down if he’d needed to, but it was open—wide—and she was just inside, her face drawn with worry.

Her chest rose and fell, and her words were almost nonsensical. “Your chest—all the contents—everything—are gone.”

His gaze shot to the corner where the trunk and floorboard were awry, the chest gaping open. He leaned against the door frame, adjusting to the last thing he’d expected to hear.

She stared at him, perplexed. “Who could have taken it? I’ve told no one—”

“Few secrets are kept in a fort, particularly with a spy on the loose.”

Coming inside, he shut the door and drew the latchstring in, casting the cabin in deep shadows. Only a smattering of light filtered through the shutter, and it was aswirl with dust motes. She backed up a bit, lips parting in surprise.

Did she think he might take her in his arms—kiss her?

Standing before her in the dimness, he tried to make sense of the loss. He’d meant the trunk’s contents to be her future—hers and Abby’s. That alone had given him some solace, had made up in some small measure for his failings—and Liam’s. Barring this, he groped for the only alternative he could.

“’Tis not too late to wed me, Roxie. If only in name. For Abby’s sake.”