"Yes, that would be fine. In an hour?"
He watched as she left the morning room, her head still curiously averted from his. Was she crying now? God, he was fairly certain she was.
"You're going riding?" Spencer looked questioningly at Courtland. "Do you think that's wise? Taking Callie with you, I mean."
"Wiser than staying here listening to your feeble jokes and eventually punching you in the nose, you mean? Then, yes, I do," Courtland said as he observed Rian work with the "knife" he had fashioned for him, a single sharp, curved blade attached in the middle to a wooden handle, the whole thing looking much like an anchor, so that he could rock the blade back and forth over his meat, neatly cutting it with one hand. Of all the things Rian could have complained about since losing his arm, and with good reason, it seemed that having to watch someone else cut his meat for him held the most embarrassment.
"How about I harangue you instead?" Rian asked before popping a bit of country ham into his mouth. "Why did none of you wake me when you brought that fellow back here last night? Jasper and I are very good at interrogating prisoners, you know. Mostly, my most wonderful giant has only to look at them. Oh, and perhaps growl menacingly."
"I understand that's just what he did, while holding a hot iron from the forge as Jacko asked his questions," Spencer told them. "Not that you weren't menacing enough last night, Court, in your pretty costume. Unfortunately, all Jacko was able to learn was that this man wasn't the only one sent to reconnoiter the area. We've caught him, but there were more.
Are
more. So I'll ask again— do you think it's wise to take Callie with you on your ride this morning?"
Courtland had already had second thoughts on the idea, especially knowing something Spencer and Rian still did not, but a promise was a promise. "We won't go far, and with the land as flat as it is, I'd see an approaching rider, or even a man out walking, while he's still a mile away, as you both know. Only a fool would come within several miles of this place in daylight unless he wants to be seen."
"True enough," Spence said, piling a fresh plate with food. "Very well, take your little ride, not that you need or want my permission. I'm going to fetch Mariah some breakfast and hope she can eat it. She's sick the moment she lifts her head off the pillow, which always makes me feel a complete monster for having put her in this condition."
Courtland grinned at his brother. "Mariah's increasing again? Lizzie's only a few months old! Have you two made it your mission to repopulate the Marsh?"
Spencer grinned sheepishly. "It was a surprise to us, too. And not Romney Marsh, Court, but Hampton Roads. We get this mess over with soon, and our third child will be born in America. I've argued that we should wait until the baby's born, but Mariah is adamant that we leave as soon as possible."
"Probably because she doesn't want to wait for the
fourth
to be born," Rian said, winking at Courtland.
"There is that," Spencer admitted, and then sobered. "But we are going, the moment I know I'm not needed here. Did I tell you I've bought land? My friend Abraham, Marianna Warren's ship captain, scouted out five hundred acres for me, promising it's some of the best land in a dozen miles. The house is already being built and will be ready for us when we arrive."
"No, you didn't tell me that," Courtland said, laying down his fork. "I've known you're leaving, you and Rian both, but I suppose I never considered it would be so soon."
"None of us did, not that any of us is ready to thank Beales for showing up now like a particularly bad penny," Rian said as Spencer left the room, taking Lisette's hand in his and lifting it to his lips. "Although she doesn't remember New Orleans, I'm taking Lisette home. It will be a grand adventure, won't it, sweetheart?"
"I only wish we could go now," Lisette said, her expressive eyes filled with pleading. "I don't want to see him. I can't see him again."
Rian squeezed her hand, looked across the table at Courtland, his own eyes showing the pain he felt for his wife. "Court, what do you think of this? I take Lisette to Brede Manor for a few days, to visit with Fanny and Valentine? We'd not be that far away, and Valentine and I could return as soon as needed."
"I think that's a very good idea," Courtland said, not adding that he'd be happier if all of his family would leave Becket hall until Beales had been dealt with, defeated. And that they'd take Cassandra with them.
"And I think I'm not such a terrible coward, Rian Becket," Lisette said sharply, pushing away his hand and getting to her feet. "I said I can't see him, but what I mean is that I can't
not
see him, either. I want to see his cold, dead body being lowered into a grave that will never know a prayer or a marker, and know he's really gone. I may spit on that grave. For my
maman,
you understand."
With that, Lisette tipped her chin in the air and stomped out of the morning room, leaving Rian to smile at Courtland. "Bloodthirsty little thing, isn't she, for being raised in a convent? I think that's her mother's blood in her, don't you? You know the Battle of New Orleans that ended so badly for us last year, Court? I've read that it was a pirate, Somebody-Lafitte, who helped turn the tide. Imagine, brother mine, I go to live with pirates. It will almost be as if I've never left here."
"We're going to scatter off everywhere once this is finally over, aren't we, Rian?" Courtland commented, carrying his own plate over to the small table, the plate not empty, but his appetite already fled. "It's almost as if it's Beales who has kept us a family."
"No, it's Ainsley's who's kept us a family, our love for him, our love for each other. We'll always be Beckets, no matter where we scatter to, either here in England, or in America, or wherever we might finally settle ourselves. Some things are thicker than blood, much as everyone discounts that as a romantic notion. No one save us has lived the lives we have lived, no one else has the special and sometimes terrible bond forged that day on the island."
"And Cassandra?" Courtland asked after a moment.
"Oh, so that's it? You're still telling yourself that Callie's your sister, that you're some perverted creature for loving her?"
"I've never said I— "
"No, you never have," Rian said quickly. "That day, Court, Isabella gave Callie to you. You'll say to protect her, and I agree. But if Isabella could whisper in your ear right now, I think she'd tell you that there are many different kinds and levels of love, and that, with you, her daughter will have the benefit of all of them. Callie sees it, Court, she's always seen it. So have the rest of us. Fate put you in Callie's way long before what happened on the island. Now, Lisette will tell you I'm
romantical,
and I am, but that's how I see it. You and Callie were destined."
Rian pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "And that's all I'm going to say about that. Go for your ride, Court. Blow the last of the cobwebs out of that thick head, and for God's sake, stop scowling and put a smile on that ugly face of yours. Your entire world is about to change."
Rian was right, Courtland knew, his world was about to change. Cassandra was going to hate him.
* * *
CASSANDRA WORE HER DARK burgundy riding habit because Courtland had once said he liked it. And because it was wool, and quite warm on this clear but chilly day. Although Cassandra wanted to look as fine as possible, she was also a practical sort, and she didn't wish to be cold.
She waited in the stable yard, pacing, rhythmically tapping her riding crop against her thigh, alternately smiling at the fact that Courtland had shaved off the short beard he'd worn since she was about thirteen and feeling tears sting at her eyes that he would actually have done that for her.
To protect her tender skin.
Because he was going to kiss her again.
She had her papa's blessing, but she would also wager her beloved mare, Athena, that her papa would still rather see her back in the nursery, playing with her dolls and dreaming only of fairy castles and sugarplums.
Growing up was difficult, but now Cassandra wondered if the transition was even more difficult for the parent than the child….
"And where do you think you're going, hmm?"
Cassandra turned about, to see Jacko lumbering toward her from the side of the stables. Like Odette, he was growing older, almost without her noticing, for Jacko, like Odette, had always been a part of her life; she'd never questioned their places in that life, had never considered that life without them in it, just as she would always like to believe that her papa would live forever.
But now she saw the weariness around Jacko's always oddly smiling eyes, and could hear his labored breathing while he was still a good ten feet away from her. He carried a lot of weight with him, seemingly more with each passing year, and it would appear that the load was becoming more difficult to bear. It was nearly impossible now to believe he'd once strode the deck as Captain before Chance had shared that duty with him on the
Silver Ghost,
and even more impossible for her to believe any of the stories they had all heard whispered to them by some of the crew; stories of a fierce, cold-hearted Jacko, who could spit a man on his sword as soon as look at him. Sometimes, they'd said, without worry about having a reason to do so.
"Court and I are going riding, Uncle Jacko," she told him, the only Becket child to address him as Uncle. She propped her fists against her hips and shook her head at him disapprovingly— the only Becket child save his true pet, Eleanor, who would dare do such a thing. "And where have you been, hmm? You look as if you haven't slept all night."
"It's true, then," Jacko said, grinning at her, "children should be seen but never heard. You've been with Eleanor? How is she this mornin'?"
"The same as she was last night, Uncle Jacko. Bored and testy and driving poor Jack to distraction. Why don't you go see her?"
Jacko shook his head. "She doesn't need to see the likes of me. It's enough she's fine. And how is the old woman?"
"
Odette
is also just fine," Callie said, shaking a finger at him. "And don't let her hear you calling her an old woman."
"The old woman's dyin', that's what she's doin', and her sayin' she can take care of Eleanor's lyin'-in is like askin' me to fly— we neither of us can do either thing. Damn fool woman. Why do ya think I made sure Sheila Whiting is still here, huh? The minute Eleanor starts her pains, you go fetch Sheila Whiting to her. Odette won't like that, but that's the way it's goin' to be, hear me?"
"I think everyone within a mile heard you, Uncle Jacko," Cassandra said, hiding her surprise that Jacko knew Odette was sick. "But if you're adamant that it must be that way,
you
go tell Odette. After all, she's an old, sick woman, and you can't possibly be afraid of her, can you?"
Jacko looked at her in that way he had, stretching his head forward on his neck, hunching his massive shoulders, skewering her with his eyes. And then he smiled. Laughed. "So it's true. All grown-up, aren't you? And full of sass for your poor uncle. Serves us all right, I suppose, lettin' you run free for so long." His smile faded. "Just you mind what I said about Sheila Whiting."
Cassandra watched him go, lumbering along as if still maneuvering across a deck in a stormy sea. She sighed, knowing how Eleanor had come to be a Becket, and Jacko's role in the story. There were some who said Jacko loved no one, but Cassandra didn't believe that. He loved her papa, and he loved the petite, fragile Eleanor. He would probably gladly sacrifice himself for either one of them.
She began pacing once more, wondering what could be keeping Courtland, for he'd said an hour, and she'd been prompt. She looked over at Athena and to Courtland's new black, Poseidon, a gift from Morgan and Ethan, who now raised horses on their estate, many of them sired by Ethan's own Spanish stallion, Alejandro. They were both saddled and ready to go, Poseidon more than ready to go, it would seem, as he was dancing in place, tugging on the reins tied to a fence post.
Had Courtland decided it wouldn't be smart for them to ride out this morning? And, if so, he should at least have had the courtesy to— Ah, there he was. Walking toward her, making a leisurely journey out of it, too.
He looked so handsome, probably even more handsome than with his beard covering the bottom half of his face. Why, he had an almost square jaw, didn't he, cut so finely, so cleanly. Did he look younger now? Yes, he looked younger. Had he been attempting to appear older, was that why he'd grown the beard? A stodgy, hairy old man, much too old for her. Yes, that's what he'd been doing.
Silly man. As if a beard could change how she felt about him.
She could see a pistol tucked into his waistband beneath his dark blue hacking jacket, and she'd already seen the rifle attached to Poseidon's saddle, was fairly certain the bulges in a leather satchel strapped to that saddle contained more weapons. It wasn't as if anyone ever rode out on the Marsh unarmed, but this small arsenal seemed excessive.
"I thought you weren't coming," she called to him as she walked over to the mounting block, ready to climb on Athena's back and be gone before anyone else could wander by to say it wasn't safe out on the Marsh.
