The Flame and the Flower (65 page)

"Well, as William Court received what he deserved, so did Mr. Hint. Let's forget them both now. I've an idea to pay a certain wench back for her cockiness."

Heather laughed playfully, feeling free now of all plaguing doubts and fears, and she curled in a ball against him.

"So, you resort to antics when you know I'm lame in my shoulder and arm. Don't be so sure I can't handle you for teasing me, wench. I'll turn that bare backside up and give you a swat you'll long remember."

Uncertain whether he teased or spoke the truth, she uncurled and looked at him cautiously, but he was grinning broadly.

"Madam, you amaze me. Never once have I laid a hand to you and still you act as if you expect me to. Do you think I would take the chance of bruising my playground? Now come here, my little vixen, and let me use it."

"But your shoulder," she said in concern.

He grinned confidently, drawing her close against him. "Madam, you will ride this night after all."

The worst of the storm had passed when they journeyed home the next morning on Lady Fair. Clouds still chased across the sky, but the rain had ceased and the wind was nothing but a shallow ghost of the past evening's giant. The cloak Heather had worn the afternoon before was damp and stifling now in the late morning heat, and she longed to be rid of it but found Brandon's shirt lacked something of the popular mode.

"Jeff won't mind if you discard the thing, and Hatti is quite used to seeing you in much less," Brandon teased.

Heather cast him a mischievous look and made to undo the enveloping cloak. "If you're sure Jeff won't mind..."

He caught her hand and grinned. "He won't mind, minx, but I will. You saw what I did to Mr. Hint for trespassing. I would surely hate to turn against my own brother."

So the cloak remained and they arrived home a few minutes later with Heather literally steaming. Everybody came running from the house to meet them, Jeff looking as if he hadn't slept at all, Hatti crying in her apron.

"Oh Lordy, Master Bran, we done thought something bad had happened to you. Leopold come back in a temper an' we thought sure he done went wild and broke your neck." She turned to her mistress, shaking her graying head. "An' you, Miss Heather, scared me pea green. I nearly killed that James for lettin' you go. I been sick with worry about you, child."

A gust of wind caught Heather's cloak and whipped it from her legs. Brandon snatched it closed again, but not before Jeff and Hatti glimpsed a bare thigh.

"Miss Heather! What happened to your clothes, child?"

"Louisa's murderer tried to put an end to her, too," Brandon replied and swung down from Lady Fair. He grimaced with pain and grabbed for the bandage over his shoulder, turning pale.

Heather slid from her horse and anxiously inspected the bandages. "Oh, Brandon, it's begun to bleed again. You must get upstairs and let me see to it." She turned to Hatti. "I'll need some fresh bandages and water and tell Mary to bring Beau to me please. I hope he's starving at the moment. I have need to be rid of some milk. James, will you take Lady and give her a good rubbing. Luke, please go to Charleston and tell Sheriff Townsend he is needed at Oakley Plantation with a few stout men. Jeff, do come up with us. Brandon will want to tell you what happened last night."

Each went scurrying to do the task presented him, and Hatti chuckled as she bustled along.

"She's a gettin' more like Miss Catherine every day."

In the hall Heather came upon George, who hung his head as she passed him and shuffled his feet in embarrassment. She stopped and turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"George?"

"Aye, mum?" he replied and raised his head. One eye had definitely been blackened.

"Whatever happened to your eye, George? It's all black."

"Aye, mum," he agreed.

"Well?" she persisted.

He looked to his captain and cleared his throat. "'Twas a matter what needed setting straight in Charleston, mum."

"What matter?"

He glanced around uncomfortably and drew a chuckle from Jeff.

"'Twas Dickie, mum. You remember Dickie?"

"Aye, George," she, nodded. "I remember Dickie. And how many black eyes is Dickie sporting?"

"Two, mum, and he's awfully sorry for the trouble he caused you, mum, and swears not another word, drunk or sober," he said in a rush.

She nodded again and turned to take her husband's arm, but then threw a smile over her shoulder at the servant.

"Two, did you say? Thank you, George."

"Aye, mum," he grinned.

After she redressed Brandon's wound and donned a cool muslin gown, she sat apart from the men with her back to Jeff and put Beau to her breast. As Brandon talked with his brother of their adventures of the previous evening, she glanced around their bedroom, feeling its warmth and friendliness. Her gaze swept briefly to a table beside her then returned quickly. Brandon's miniature portrait of his mother rested there. The green eyes which the artist had painted so well seemed alive, full of impish satisfaction, and Heather wondered at the power of a dead woman to take care of those she loved. It was surely her earrings which had brought everything out in the open and exposed Mr. Hint for what he was. Was it truly possible?

"Don't you agree, pet?"

She glanced up, startled from her thoughts. "What, my love? I'm afraid I wasn't listening."

Brandon laughed. "Jeff is going to buy Oakley and I insist he take the land as a birthday gift. Don't you agree he should?"

She smiled at her husband with something close to worship in her eyes. "Most certainly, my love," she replied and glanced back briefly to the portrait. The eyes had regained their dignified stillness, but Heather wondered if she had imagined the gleam in Catherine's eyes. They shared a secret, these two Birmingham women, which their men would never know. To the world they seemed frail and in need of protection, but their love gave them greater strength and courage than was believable. From the grave their influence still shaped events. A knowing smile curved Heather's lips and she nodded to the portrait of Catherine Birmingham.

Kathleen E. Woodiwiss wrote the very first historical romance novel in 1972—
The Flame and the Flower
created a genre and made Ms. Woodiwiss one of the world's most popular writers, with 36 million books in print. In celebration of Ms. Woodiwiss's new novel,
The Reluctant Suitor
(2003), PerfectBound is publishing Ms. Woodiwiss's classic backlist, including the complete Birmingham Family Saga:
The Flame and the Flower
;
The Elusive Flame
;
A Season Beyond a Kiss
. Also available are Ms. Woodiwiss's
Ashes in the Wind
;
Come Love a Stranger
;
Forever in Your Embrace
;
Petals on the River
;
A Rose in Winter
;
Shanna
;
So Worthy My Love
;
The Wolf and the Dove
.

"A LEGEND!"

Atlanta Journal-Constitution

"A PHENOMENON"

The New York Times

"THE FIRST LADY OF THE GENRE."

Publishers Weekly

"EXCELLENT!"

Ottawa Citizen

"A SENSATION!"

Washington Post Book World

"WOODIWISS REIGNS!"

Life

The Birmingham Family Saga:

The Flame and the Flower

The Elusive Flame

A Season Beyond a Kiss

And also:

Ashes in the Wind

Come Love a Stranger

Forever in Your Embrace

Petals on the River

A Rose in Winter

Shanna

So Worthy My Love

The Wolf and the Dove

The Reluctant Suitor

THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER.

Copyright \a169 1972 by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss.

PerfectBound and the PerfectBound logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Palm Reader edition v 1. March 2003 ISBN 0-06-053188-6

First Avon Books printing: October 1972

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