Night Winds (2 page)

“I hate that horse!” she wailed.

“Here, get up.” The arrogant lordling stuck a hand out as if doing her a favor.

Who was this stranger, who felt so qualified to catalog her faults
? Ignoring his offer, Shae struggled to stand. One leg crooked like a heron’s, she demanded, “Run and catch Delilah, before she —”

Both their heads jerked toward a crash
. The gig lay on its side, the left wheel spinning rapidly. The mare stood with legs splayed, bewildered as if she’d never wrecked a buggy in her life.

“Oh!” Shae sank back to the sand and put her hands up to her face
. “I might as well go join the Ursulines as face my father now!”

Her tormentor smirked
. “I don’t believe the nuns would approve of the décolletage.”

Shae flushed in at his ungentlemanly mention of her neckline
. Then, as her embarrassment gave way to anger, her fingers dug into the damp sand, made a fist around it. “You think this is funny, don’t you? You think I’ll gladly await your order
s
as soon as I wail and cry for your help and forgiveness.”

“Under the circumstances, it would seem appropriate.”

“So does this.” She flung the sand across his frock coat, all over his gray pants. It smacked the fabric with a satisfying popping sound, like bacon frying. A dark clot stuck on his square chin.

Shae smiled despite her pain
. Every now and then, she mentally thanked, instead of cursed, her mother for some unexpected gift. How long had that Irish temper lain dormant in her blood and muscles, before urging them to even once strike back?

Now that she had, she felt elated
. At least until he wiped his face and glared at her again.

“Ordinarily, I would help an injured lady in distress
. But as there is obviously no lady present, you have absolved me of that duty.”

She stared at him in disbelief as he turned and strode away
. He was going to leave her here, she realized, alone and hurt, with her gig tipped over in the sand! How could he, after he had set this accident in motion?

As she tried in vain to stand, something rattled in her silk bag — broken shards of a crushed shell.

The man mounted a black horse and rode away without a single backward glance. Shae couldn’t imagine which of Ethan’s useless friends he was; she only knew she hated him the most.

*

“Be still, Mary Shae.” Aunt Alberta tugged on the loose bandages on Shae’s injured foot, jolting her with fresh pain. Her Philadelphian accent, like her brother’s, had not been softened by eight years spent in the South. The sturdy woman ignored Shae’s groan and secured the wrapping none too gently. Though she sometimes sympathized with the girl she’d helped raise, she’d been first to curse Shae for her ridiculous notion of escape.

“What sort of nonsense is this
? You told me you were looking forward to this marriage. Now that they’ve heard you weren’t so ‘indisposed’ after all, it’s ruined. You might have thought of us, young lady. It’s rather awkward to provide you with a lie and have you muck it up by getting caught.” With each word, the tugs at her bandage became a little harder. Knowing she deserved each one, Shae gritted her teeth and kept her peace.

She couldn’t have known the only people to heed her cries for help would be guests leaving the Lowells’ failed engagement party
. But she wouldn’t argue that small point after what she’d done. Especially not with Father stalking somewhere in the house. She flinched at the sound of a slammed door in another room.

The kitchen door banged open, and King strode in
. Everything about him set her to mind of a print she’d seen once of an old lion, from his muttonchop whiskers to the graying mane. And especially the ever-present roar. “Damn it, I have
tried
! God knows I’ve done everything I could to give you this one chance. And you race off like some stupid slut. Destroyed the gig! Destroyed your life, as far as I’m concerned. Because the simple truth is you never deserved Ethan Lowell in the first place. You’re just like Her, Mary Shae! Just like Her after all.”

Shae slid still lower in the straight-backed chair.

Tears blurred her vision as he stormed out of the room. Up until now, she hadn’t cried. Not when she’d had to call out for help on the beach. Not even when Alberta pulled the shard of wood out of her foot. But Father’s words, as always, wounded deeply. And just like fishhooks, each point had a barb, so it would work its way into her and lodge inside her heart.

Alone with Alberta, Shae could no longer dam the tears. Why hadn’t she simply gone through with this party, gone through with this marriage so she could leave this soulless house
? She had to escape somewhere, anywhere, where King’s demands could never follow.

The thickset woman wrapped a fleshy arm around her niece
. A spinster, Alberta had come to live with them several years before Shae’s mother’s disappearance.

“My brother’s wrong, Shae, wrong
. You’re not Her. You never have been.” Though she was fiercely loyal to King, Alberta always spoke her mind. As far as Shae knew, hers was the only criticism King tolerated. Perhaps he felt he needed it to round out the toadying he demanded from his employees and associates.

“He’s right about one thing
. No one thinks I deserve a Lowell,” Shae used the older woman’s offered kerchief to wipe away her tears. “That’s why I couldn’t go tonight. Cynthia tells me all the gossip —”

“— Of course she does.” Alberta pulled away and picked a cloth off the pile of scraps she’d torn for bandages
. After dipping it in the washbasin, she wiped blood spatters from the wood floor. Her face puckered as she spoke of Shae’s friend. “That girl’s had her cap set for Ethan Lowell since the moment someone first explained trust funds. Without all the big words, that is. I imagine your ‘good friend’ is consoling him even as we speak.”

Shae wanted to argue, but she suspected that her aunt was right
. She had always wondered at the edge of glee in Cynthia’s voice as her friend reported the latest set of snide remarks. Could Cynthia have exaggerated what she overheard to drive Shae from the man she wanted for herself?

Shae imagined Cynthia marrying Ethan
. Dressing in the finest frills purchased with all his ready cash. Planning menus with his stuffy mother and the household staff. Socializing with the ladies of the garden club. Listening to him report the latest cotton export figures or extol his sailing prowess.

Though she knew how inappropriate it must look, she felt her lips twitch and then draw back in a smile
. “I don’t think I deserve Ethan either. I don’t believe any thinking woman does.”

Aunt Alberta slapped her hand down on the table
. “Have you no sense at all? Do you realize what you’ve lost, or what you’ve cost your father’s reputation?”

Shae felt the blood drain from her face
. Though she cared little for her own loss, she felt guilt over her father’s. Guilt and fear, twined together like two hissing serpents.

For if she’d learned anything these past six years, she’d learned how King reacted to a loss
. With this incident, she may have pushed him beyond the point of purgatory. Now he’d make her life a living hell.

It was after ten o’clock already, but Phillip Payton couldn’t think of sleeping. Though the maids had smoothed the fresh linens on his bed, he felt as if a thousand sand fleas crawled over his body. His flesh itched with the memory of the girl he’d left on the beach.

What if no one had helped her
? He remembered the blood spots on the sand. She must have cut her foot quite badly, and by now she would have lain there for almost two hours.

Served her right, he tried to tell himself
. Her game was obvious. Marry poor, foolish Ethan for his money and his name.

But what had put her off of it, he wondered
? Had she only lost her nerve, as he’d assumed? Or had the gossip about her mother and Shae’s unladylike profession turned her?

Thinking of his own experience with gossip, he almost pitied her
. Ever since his father died, he’d heard the whispers.

“A shame he’s not more like the old man
. Just doesn’t have a head for business.”

By that, his detractors meant he wasn’t the ruthless terror his father had been
. If a man was injured on the job, Phillip saw to it the company provided for his family. Despite his earlier assumptions that blacks and whites could never work together peacefully, he’d been willing to listen to a group of freedmen and afterwards, to give several a try. When those men proved themselves, Phillip agreed that he would continue to consider Negroes for positions on the docks. His “radical” hiring practices infuriated the white workers, who walked off the job and disrupted wharf business for weeks. His fellow businessmen insisted he’d “misspoken” and need only clarify his comments to the black men. In other words, go back on his word.

When he’d refused, the whispered gossip rose in volume to an outraged roar.

He’d upset the establishment, and for that they made him pay. His position on the board of the Port Providence Wharf Company, which he’d gained out of respect for his father’s influence, was unanimously rescinded. Still, he stubbornly refused to reconsider. His family’s social invitations mysteriously dwindled and then ceased. His mother was so upset with him, she’d gone to stay with her brother in New Orleans. He imagined she intended to boycott her home city until he finally bowed to the weight of her displeasure.

Only Ethan Lowel
l
a friend he’d been long estranged fro
m
his sisters, and his fiancée stood beside him in this crisis. Well, at least he was certain of Ethan and his sisters. Rachel had “gone visiting” in Houston about the same time his mother had left town. But she planned to return tomorrow. Even though he hadn’t heard from her, he wasn’t worried. Much.

A gilded clock ticked on the mantel
. Surely, someone must have found Shae Rowan by this time. People often walked along that section of beach, most of them in better moods than he had been tonight. She wouldn’t have been alone too long, he told himself.

But what if the wrong people stopped for her
? With its healthy maritime economy, Port Providence drew rowdy sailors and longshoremen by the score. He’d read about so many brawls and knife fights in the paper that he’d long since lost count.

Despite her wretched manners, her rank stupidity, and her transparent goals, the girl was beautiful
. A helpless morsel in pink silk upon the sand.

Phillip swore
. If he expected any sleep tonight, he would have to dress and check on her.

His sister tittered as he met her on the step
. “Don’t tell me you’re off to see a patient at this hour!”

Lydia still liked to tease him about his abandoned medical practice
. As if his dream had been some sort of silly joke. After his father’s death two years ago, his mother and sister had insisted he wake up. The dream became a nightmare as he took up the reins of his father’s business, a business he had sworn he’d never run.

But there had been no other choice
. Despite the yellow fever ravaging his father’s body, the elder Payton had put every last ounce of his energy into pressuring his only son to keep the business in the family.

Lydia smiled, enthusiastic as any other eighteen year-old who’d touched on a big brother’s weakness
. She’d let down her long, black hair. Hours had gone into arranging it for the Lowell’s party, the only social engagement she’d attended since July, when Phillip’s troubles had begun.

“Well
? What is it, Phillip?” she asked slyly. “Some steamy rendezvous? Won’t Rachel be amused!”

“I just thought I’d take a late stroll
. Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

Despite the nightgown she was wearing, Lydia’s eyes glistened like morning dew
. “How could I possibly sleep? I was telling Justine all about that ungrateful Rowan girl who let down poor Ethan. I’m sure there’s more to it than illness, or whatever her family cooked up. Did you know the girl’s mother ran off with a strange man?”

“That’s hardly the daughter’s fault,” Phillip answered, unsure of why he bothered to defend Shae
. “After all,
I
wouldn’t want to be held liable for
your
tart mouth. And I’m surprised at Justine for welcoming such gossip.”

“Justine thinks it’s tragic
. She might be so shy she can barely speak to anyone outside the family, but she still thinks everyone’s a story.” Lydia rolled her eyes at her twin sister’s odd notions.

A smile tugged at the corner of Phillip’s mouth
. “And you think everyone’s a scandal. Goodnight, Lydia.”

“This wouldn’t be a meeting to settle that silly disagreement you’re having about the business?” she guessed
.

“It wouldn’t.”

“Oh, splendid. I’m
so
enjoying my months as a pariah.” She raised a drooping hand to her forehead in such a perfect imitation of their mother’s histrionics that Phillip couldn’t help but laugh.

He kissed the top of her dark head
. “Thank you for that.”

“It’s a woman, then, I’m guessing
. If you do anything interesting, I’m sure to find out. I’m fiendishly good at guessing secrets,” she warned.

“Don’t wait up for me.” He winked at her
. “You’ll need all your strength tomorrow for your investigation.”

*

While Aunt Alberta made a pot of tea, Shae hobbled to the stairwell and moved awkwardly upstairs toward her room. Her rooms, she might have called the large space, for her father had allowed her to have a wall knocked out so she’d have space enough to set her spells to canvas.

Spells . . . She smiled at the thought
. No one had called her painting magical in years, no one since her mother, when Shae was yet fifteen.

Glennis’s eyes had glowed in admiration of the green-rimmed lake that seemed to sparkle from the midst of Shae’s landscape. “Faith! You’ve painted Ireland
! Ireland’s in your blood, even if you’ve never seen it!”

“You’ve told me about it so many times. . .” Shae had shrugged, even then embarrassed by the praise
. She didn’t paint or mold clay to hear how good her work was. Instead, she did those things out of an inexplicable compulsion to capture the images inside her. Mother had never understood that, in either Shae or Father. Glennis didn’t create beauty; she simply worshipped it. Had her adoration of King’s craft drawn the two together from the start? Had they used it as a substitute for love?

Her mother shook her head so hard, her simple chignon unwound itself
. Tears gleamed on the ends of her red-blond lashes. “No, child. Your eyes, they’re touched by faeries. You truly see it, Shae. This is
home
. Killarney.”

The way she’d said it,
home
, had given Shae her first inkling of how badly her mother still missed Ireland. But Shae had never dreamed she might go back. Not without her. Not without goodbye.

Now a wave of painful longing swelled inside Shae’s chest
. She wiped her eyes with a stained sleeve of pink silk and wondered why Father’s anger forever made her think of Mother. Why should his bitterness always feed her guilt? She was not the one who’d run away, taking only her jewelry and their love. It was Mother, only Mother, who had hurt them both.

As she used the banister to pull herself to the second floor landing, a stiff breeze made the lace curtains stand out in the hallway
. She paused to close the window. Past it, a flickering street lamp lit the quiet avenue. Tiredly, Shae limped toward her room.

The door stood open, though she rarely left it so
. Aunt Alberta harassed her so much about her jumble of brushes and supplies that it was easier to keep the whole mess out of sight.

Shae felt her face grow warm
. If Aunt Alberta had put everything away again, she’d never remember how she’d mixed the right soft green for the dune grass. But when she stepped inside the room to survey the damage, the dim light of the open veranda door illuminated a far more distressing scene.

Her easel lay on its side across the floor, pointing like an arrow to the fallen painting. Forgetting her sore foot, Shae dropped to her knees to check for damage
. The canvas had fallen facedown on the hardwood floor. Though she lifted it carefully, the wet oil paints had smeared beyond redemption, leaving a blurry whorl upon the floor. Her low moan built in strength as she thought of all the hours lost, then spied the deep crack in the easel’s leg.

How on earth could the easel fall
? Though it stood fairly close to the doorway, it was solid, too heavy to have blown.

A thought chilled her to the core
. Had Father come in here to find her when she’d run? Could he have done this? Though his cruel words often bruised her soul, he had never laid a hand on her or any of her things. Had her flight swept aside his last, thin vestige of control? Shae sank beside the easel, her limbs unstrung by the thought.

Surely not
. Father loved her paintings, didn’t he? How often had he stood behind her, whispering praise at her captured images? Or had that happened before Mother left, in the days when he had painted, when he’d yet been himself? Still, hadn’t he bought her the easel and supplies? Father truly loved her, no matter what mistakes she made, no matter how awful his temper had become.

It was then she looked up and noticed that her birds had disappeared.

Her finches! A jolt of fear lifted her to her feet, then onto the gallery. She stuck her head over its railing and looked down but could see nothing in the darkness. Heedless of her bandaged foot, she ran out of the room, terror propelling every step. Had he taken them somewhere? Or could the cage have somehow fallen? No, it
couldn’t
have! But neither could the easel!

Blades of pain stabbed through her cut foot with each step as she ran downstairs and then past the kitchen doorway
. From the corner of her eye, she saw her aunt set down the teapot.

“Mary Shae,” Aunt Alberta exclaimed, “what is it?”

“My birds!” she cried. The front door slammed against the wall as she flung it open.

*

The stars gave little light as Phillip came upon her, where she knelt on the walk beside the lawn. Silhouetted by the dim glow from the front windows, her features were invisible. Still, he knew something was very wrong. He knew it by her rocking, by the unnatural stiffness of her back and shoulders.

He hesitated and then heard her quiet whimpers
. His black gelding, Cure, stamped and snorted, impatient at the delay.

Phillip frowned
. He should go home now. Early the next morning, he had a meeting with his buyers. A half-Irish Jezebel was no concern of his. Or was she? Had she been thrown out of the house because he’d caused her horse to wreck the gig?

Cursing himself, Phillip dismounted and wrapped Cure’s rein around the wrought iron fence
. He opened the gate and walked into the yard. As he moved closer, he could see a birdcage, its frame crumpled, on the walk. Several small forms lay still inside it, their feathers puffed out from their bodies. Two others showed some signs of life, one with twitching feet, the other flopping helplessly around the ruined cage.

The young woman still wore her party dress, though by now mud and salt water had stained it beyond hope
. As she struggled with the cage door, she didn’t seem to notice him.

“Could
I
might I help with that?” The offer came without conscious decision. Though he knew he couldn’t be to blame for this, he wasn’t one to ignore the suffering of any creature.

“He killed the
m
killed them,” she sobbed outright, paying no attention to his offer. “They’re only little birds. My finches.”

Phillip had no idea if she recognized him, or even realized anyone was here
. Her delicate hands still clawed at the cage door in a futile attempt to force it open.

Phillip put his large hand over both of hers and stilled them
. “Stop. Let me. You’ve cut yourself.”