Ashes in the Wind (57 page)

Something caught at Alaina’s heart, a warming hope that all would be well between them and that
they could enjoy each other without restrictions. Still, she was hesitant and murmured, “We should discuss this further.”

“You are right, of course. But in a more private place.”

“My bedroom?”

“Perhaps. Or mine.”

“Later?”

“As much as I would like otherwise, it must be.”

Alaina’s left hand rested on his shoulder, and few of the other dancers noticed that it crept upward until it reached the top of his starched white collar where it dallied, gently caressing the nape of his neck.

“Aren’t you the tiniest bit interested in the book I found this evening?”

“Roberta’s diary?” He arched a brow questioningly. “Should I be?”

“It was a very personal account of her thoughts.”

“Then I think I am better off not knowing them,” he said, derisively.

Alaina searched his face. “Roberta once declared that she would never have a baby, and from what I was able to gather from her writings, she tried to do something about her condition—and that you knew what she had done.”

“I was aware of what she had done after she went to the butcher,” he admitted. “I tried to do what I could to save her, but the fever took her.”

“Uncle Angus blames you for her death.”

“I guessed as much.”

“He blames me for bringing you to the house.”

Cole grinned suddenly. “I think I should have taken you in to live with me the first time I saw you.
The one thing I would have done was clean you up a bit, then your secret would have been out for sure.”

“I probably would have shot your leg off, or something worse,” she chuckled. “I had a real aversion to Yankees then.”

“What about now?”

“I can stand a few,” she smiled, and her eyes glowed as he squeezed her hand in warm communication.

As far as Mindy was concerned, heaven began the moment the master of the house asked her to dance. They walked through the steps, and under Cole’s guidance, she caught the rhythm, following his deliberate small steps with a natural grace. The young girl beamed, and for a few moments at least, Cole took his attention away from Alaina as she was swept about the room in another man’s arms.

“Mistress Mindy, have you considered that you’re the belle of the ball?” Cole asked debonairly, smiling down into the child’s radiant face.

A quick, negative shake of the dark head and a nod in the direction of Alaina answered him. Cole had to agree with the girl. Alaina was like a shimmering butterfly, rid of its dour cocoon, now bright, beguiling, mesmerizing, a fascination to watch.

Sometime later, after Mindy had been tucked into bed, Alaina caught sight of Cole making his way toward her through the maze of dancers. He came steadily nearer, his gaze fastened intently upon her and eating of her every movement. As Braegar waltzed her about, she found her vision barred by the man’s massive shoulders and craned her neck to see past his arm, drawing that one’s inquisitiveness. When he glanced around to see
what she was staring at, he groaned aloud as he saw Cole only a short step away from them.

“I should have known! The first dance with her, and you take her from me. ‘Tis cruel you be, Master Latimer. Have you no sense o’ sharin’?”

“None at all,” Cole replied easily, taking Alaina’s hand and drawing her into his arms.

Except for the Virginia Reel and the faster steps that were beyond his agility, Cole proved to be most truthful to his statement. He refused to give in to the growing ache in his thigh and Braegar’s attempts to waltz with Alaina, but claimed her hand whenever the music permitted.

Cole could not be found when Alaina sought an escape from the zealous males who had given her no moment of respite. Pushing open the study door, Alaina slipped within, glancing hopefully about for Cole. The room was empty, and only the firelight from the hearth illuminated the shadows. With an exhausted sigh, she sank gratefully into the large wing chair and lifted her daintily slippered feet to the low stool that sat before it. There was much to be said about being a hostess; one just had to be endlessly gracious and stouthearted enough to endure the trampled toes and the heavily whiskeyed breaths in performing such duties. She didn’t care what Roberta’s preferences had been; being the grande dame of the ball was certainly more choresome than being on intimate terms with one’s husband—especially when that husband happened to be Cole.

The door hinges squeaked slightly as the portal was pushed ajar, and Alaina waited to hear the welcome sound of his halting step. But the heavy footfalls
that entered were not Cole’s, and her disappointment stirred.

Braegar Darvey came to stand before the hearth, unaware of her presence and, in a rare quiet mood, stared pensively into the flickering flames while he sipped his brandy.

“You seem deep in thought, sir,” she murmured.

Braeger looked around in surprise, then chuckled as his eyes found her in the overlarge chair. “I must have been if I failed to see such a pretty thing as yourself sitting there.”

“Is something troubling you?”

“Aye, girl,” he admitted. “But as you’re Cole’s wife and were Roberta’s cousin, I think I best not air my problems. I do not feel right speaking ill of the deceased.”

“Cousins or not, I’m afraid that Roberta and I were not the best of friends.”

“She hated you, I know.” He nodded. “Whenever Al’s name was spoken, she’d fly into a fit. Especially if it was Cole who mentioned it.”

Alaina turned her gaze to stare into the fire. “I suppose she had cause.”

“Aye?” His tone betrayed a doubtful acceptance of her statement. “As I’ve known you both, I’d say the cause was of Roberta’s own making.” He stared at her with a frowning intenseness until her eyes came to meet his. “Do you know what a bitch that woman was?”

“If you think to surprise me about her, I doubt that you can.”

Braegar took a healthy draught of his brandy and, waving his glass, began to pace back and forth
in front of the hearth. “The very first day they met, she gave Carolyn to understand that she was not to be seen within earshot of Cole, in public, in private, or otherwise.”

Alaina smiled at his subtle quip. “A common threat of Roberta’s, to be sure, Braegar Darvey.”

He strode toward her again. “She even went so far as to tell my mother that there was nothing about Cole that needed her attention, and that she—Roberta, I mean—would take care of whatever did need attention. She could not abide my friendship with Cole. Why, she had the gall to try to get me in bed at first. Oh, not because she wanted it, mind you. She just wanted to hurt Cole, and throw it into his face that his best friend had gone behind his back to do him dirt. That’s all it was, I could swear on it. Why, she’d fawn all over me, and rub herself against me, and on several occasions that I know of, told Cole that I tried to—uh—”

It was amusing to see the big Irishman stumble over words. Had his topic been less serious, Alaina might have smiled.

“I mean, that I tried to—maul her! She even came to my office in St. Cloud and, once alone with me, began to take off her clothes—insisting that I giver her a close examination. I’m afraid I became rather angry and bundled her up and sent her off with a firm lecture on the proprieties of being a good wife. I didn’t see either of them for some time. Then, just before she died, I passed Cole in town, and he refused to even speak to me. After that, he began to act the way he does when I’m around. I don’t know! I just don’t know!”

Resting an elbow on the mantel and rubbing a fist against his forehead, he heaved a laborious sigh and continued. “It has to be something that she told him—and I’ve got to find some way to set the record straight.”

“Braegar,” Alaina murmured softly. “There are three things the Irish do well. They are drinking, talking, and worrying. Thus far, you have not disappointed me in any of them.”

He stared at her for a moment, his mouth open as if he were caught in the middle of a word, then he laughed and mimicked in his thick brogue. “Ah, me darlin’ Alaina, ye have such a tender way o’ touchin’ a man’s heart. Oi’ve been kicked by horses and felt the pain less.”

Alaina rose to her feet and faced him squarely, giving him a troubled smile. “Roberta was a strange one. She demanded love from everyone, and her definition of the word meant blind, unquestioning obedience. She would have been more at ease in some far, secluded kingdom devoid of women, rich of appointment, and with a full table of the young, chaste, brightly armored knights to do battle for her and court her, but never to win her. She found the well-preened public pole of woman to her liking, but all the private scenes were burdensome and boring to her and she only accommodated them when they built her pedestal to a better height. It was perhaps her torment that she should ever pursue the role of wife, but never enjoy it.”

Braegar set down his drink and lightly applauded. “Ah, madam fair, you have dispelled the meanest rumor of the ages and made me own heart glad to see it.”

He waited, a strange light twinkling in his eyes, until she took the bait like a fine, wee trout. “And what was that, sir?”

“Why, madam,” his brown eye winked impishly. “ ‘Twas the one that a Scottish lass could be na but a mindless, working drudge.” He rushed on as she gasped in indignation. “Of course, it could be nane but some jealous English wench that set the word on high, for as anybody can see, ye have a good head on yer shoulders, and a great heart full o’ compassion and understanding. And, oh lordy, a foin, foin flask to put it all in.” He took her hand and bent over it briefly, then straightened with a broad grin lighting his face. “Were ye not so heavily committed, I would me own self sample yer brew to the last of its dregs.”

Alaina took the backhanded compliment in stride and gave as good as she got. “Bragger Darvey, ‘twas a master stroke of the fates that yer father should have laid the name upon ye to warn the rest o’ mankind, and, saints forbid, all o’ womankind.”

“Ye turn the screws with the best of ’em, lass. But ‘tis a blessed man the good Master Latimer be to have found such a one as you for his life’s mate.”

“I’m glad you admire my taste in women so much!”

They turned as Cole’s voice came from the doorway, and from his viewpoint, their movement seemed furtive, almost guilty. Many glasses of brandy had failed to ease the painful throbbing in his leg, but had sadly blunted the edge of his judgment. Or perhaps he judged himself, for he would have given no pause with the tables reversed and Alaina the woman concerned.

Cole slammed the door behind him as he entered and, bracing both hands on the handle of his cane, favored them with a glower meant to bestir the hearts of weaker spirits. “I’ll share my brandy, and I’ll share my horses, but, sir, I will not share my wife.”

“Cole Latimer!” The one of sweet, fair form positioned herself before him with arms akimbo and cheeks flushed with outrage. “How can you be so crude! You have no reason to accuse either of us!”

Braegar stepped beside her, and Cole faced him with obvious ill humor. “I have taken much from you in friendship, Cole, and my temper grows weak with the effort. If you have a complaint, then air it now or—”

“Friendship!” Cole snorted. “Friendship!” he barked. “I have been cuckolded in my own house, and you say you have borne much in the name of friendship!”

“Cuckolded?” Braegar stared at him in amazement, no less stunned than Alaina herself. “Man, I believe the pain has finally addled your mind. Cockolded? Do you think that this—Me? Ye’re insane or drunk, but either way, ye’re a blithering fool. Ten years ago I’d have called you out for the likes of this!”

Braegar turned away in frustration, but Cole grabbed his sleeve. “Ten years ago? And what stops ye now, me foin Irish boy?” he mocked. “Do ye have no stomach to fight a cripple?”

“Cole!” Alaina gasped in horrified apprehension.

A red flush crept upward from Braegar’s collar, and his brow darkened. The blunt edge of judgment turned upon Cole as he flailed onward.

“Aye, and the pox on the likes of you who prattle
blithely in your simpering delights, but, when faced by a sterner caste, turn tail and run.”

Braegar’s head snapped around with such force that his hair fell tousled on his brow. “Who prattles, lord?” he sneered. “We simple folk of the Irish clans? Or you whelps of the narrow, pale-born German ilk who sell their swords to the highest bidder and serve a foreign king, then call it honor?”

“I served in the Union when it called,” Cole snarled. “I paid no man to bleed for me.”

“I see.” Braegar stared at Cole. “And you have a cause to slander folk while you wear your limp and cane like some great bejeweled badge.”

Alaina glanced between them fearfully. They stood nose to nose with savage snarls twisting their faces, their eyes red and fierce.

“I’d trade the shell and scar for a good night’s rest and a day free of pain,” Cole grounded out. “But as for the cane—” He tossed it up and caught it in his fist. “Ten years or no, ‘twas made to thrash a thickset skull with an Irish lisp.”

“Irish lisp! Fey, man. Ye’ve gone too far!” Braegar snatched the stick from Cole’s grasp and sent it sailing across the room. In the next moment, Cole was lifted by the shirtfront and slammed back into the bookshelves.

“Braegar Darvey!” Alaina shrieked and pushed between them, her back toward Cole, her hands thrusting at the Irishman’s great barreled chest. “Let him go! Let him go!”

Master Darvey regained his temper and backed away, releasing his host. Alaina waited until there was a good space between the men before she
turned and faced Cole. Her heart sank. Red-faced, he glared at her with a hateful leer.

“I do not need your skirts to protect me, madam,” he sneered. He raised his glower to Braegar. “There is not room for both of us here—”

“Cole!”

His eyes lowered to find a look of utter contempt on his wife’s face. He remembered her rage the last time he had ordered Braegar from the house and could not bring himself to do it again. Instead, he bowed mockingly. “Therefore, I shall leave until a sweeter clime is met.”