She pushed her fingers into the hair above her ears, drawing it up and away from her face, lifting both her curls and her face toward the sun; a young, healthy animal enjoying the freedom of the Marsh after a long week of confinement. The movement exposed the sweet curve of her cheek, and then she let go, shaking her head so that the ringlets tumbled down past her shoulders once more, and a few soft corkscrew curls kissed at her forehead, blew lightly against her cheeks.
Courtland had a quick, sharp vision of those curls splayed across his pillow, and just as quickly suppressed it. Too fast. After so many years of an often uneasy status quo, things between them were now happening too fast.
"Callie," he said, still with his shoulder leaned against the damp stone, "we should go back."
"In a minute," she said, patting the hearthstone beside her. "I love the smell of the Marsh after rain, don't you? Some people might not, I suppose. I can't believe we'll be leaving here soon. Do you suppose Hampton Roads lies on a marsh? Probably not. At least we'll be near the sea, there is that. I don't think I could survive, living far from the ocean. I don't think Papa could, either."
"A sailor is a sailor," Courtland said, at last giving up the fight and joining her on the hearthstone, the two of them looking out over the waving grasses of the Marsh, watching white clouds scudding across an unusually bright blue sky. Where could he start? How would he say what he knew he must say?
"Yes, I suppose that's it. Although, except for a few short sails on the
Respite,
I couldn't possibly call myself a sailor." She turned to smile at him. "What is it like, Court, to command a ship? Sailing before the wind, nearly one hundred men waiting for your commands, outrunning the Waterguard? Your blood must
sing
with the danger, the adventure of the thing."
Courtland smiled, more than willing to keep the conversation in safer territory for a while longer. That probably made him a coward. "That sort of life is not all that romantic, Callie, and I'm glad we're done with such adventures, to tell you the truth. The Black Ghost, the smuggling runs, all of it. I know it cost Chance a lot, walking away from it all, but I'm not so adventurous. When I was younger, even as young as when we were on the island, I thought I wanted to be just like him, just like the others, like Ainsley. And you know what I discovered?"
She put her hand on his arm, looked at him curiously. "No, tell me what you found out about Courtland Becket."
He covered her hand with his own, sighed. Perhaps there was no safe conversation. Perhaps he simply had to say what must be said. "I realized that I'm a caretaker, a steward, a dull, boring man who wants nothing more of life than his family around him, safe, protected. The family who lived here, Callie? The father died on a smuggling run, leaving behind his wife and a dozen young children, one of whom was killed trying to bring his share of the booty from a smuggling run back to his family. I remember the terror in that woman's eyes, as we told her about her son, took her to see two more of her boys we'd brought to Becket Hall, one wounded, one simply a child again, sobbing for his mother."
"I know that story, so many of the stories. Papa says life has always been hard on the Marsh."
Courtland shook his head. "And it shouldn't be. If the government would pay a decent price for wool, if a man could feed his family with hard work alone. But we've been so isolated here, with the world, even the rest of England, believing Romney Marsh to be a country set apart, too different, too strange. It's why Ainsley chose this spot. Nobody looks too closely at the Marsh, not if he knows what's good for him, for we protect our own."
"You don't want to leave here, do you?" Cassandra asked him, turning to look toward the horizon once more.
"No, I don't," he said honestly, telling her what he'd been thinking, the conclusions he'd come to, not easily, but what was easy in this world? "I have to leave, just as your papa has to leave. Chance has rebuilt his life, he's safe, accepted. Jack is also safe, he and Eleanor, because Jack's only connected to the Beckets through his marriage, and his part in our actions always secret, behind the scenes. The girls are safe with their husbands. But the rest of us? We broke the King's law, Callie, we're known. We've been living on borrowed time for some years now, since I first put on that damned costume and went out to avenge Pike's death. Before the world comes here, we have no choice but to go. We've probably already waited too long. But we need Beales gone now that we know he's after us, no more ghosts to follow us, chase us away from wherever we go next."
"You're blaming yourself, Court? Because you rode out as the Black Ghost? That's ridiculous, you had no real choice. The Red Men Gang couldn't be allowed to control this area of the Marsh."
He smiled at her. It was as if she was helping him prove one of the points he felt he needed to bring home to her. "Now you sound like your papa. No, I really didn't have a choice, being the plodding, protective sort I am, the one who wanted only peace, only safety. I knew we had to risk that peace in order to preserve our safety. I'm only saying that I didn't like it, Callie, I didn't enjoy a minute of it. I'm not some brave, dashing hero out of a Pennypress novel. I'm only a practical man."
"And old," Cassandra teased, leaning her head against his shoulder. "No wonder you shaved all that fuzz off your face. It was probably going to turn gray at any moment. Why, you're nothing but a boring old graybeard, Courtland Becket, and I have no idea why we're here, and I'm hoping you'll kiss me again."
He slipped his arm around her shoulders. He shouldn't have, but some things couldn't be resisted, even for a sane, practical man. "So I haven't dissuaded you? You still think I'm what you want?"
She pushed away from him, leaving her palm pressed against his chest. "I still
know
you're who I want. Everyone knows. You, most especially. Now, unless I disgust you, or you have more arguments prepared for me, more examples like this poor ruined cottage to show me, would you please kiss me, Court? Kiss me now?"
He wanted to, he really did.
"No, Callie. It's time we went back."
She looked at him in clear astonishment. "No? But…but I thought…I…you don't want to kiss me? Is that it?"
"Callie," he said quietly, unable to put what he had to say off any longer, "sometimes…sometimes we only think we know what we want. We might even be surrounded by people— caring, kind people— who think they know what we want, believe they know what's best for us. What's right, what's natural, expected. But that doesn't make it true. It just makes it…convenient."
"Convenient?" Cassandra's eyes had gone wide. "You think I think you're
convenient?
Is that how you see me? As
convenient?
That…that you and I, together, would be convenient? For whom? You? Me?
Everyone else?
"
"Don't…" Courtland said, nearly begged. "I'm only attempting to— "
"Oh, I know what you're
attempting,
Courtland Becket. It's been obvious for a long time. But I thought you'd changed, that you'd finally realized that I— How can you think that I don't know my own mind! That's insulting, Court, it truly is."
This wasn't any easier than he'd imagined the moment to be. "I'm being practical, Callie. You've said it— you only know Romney Marsh. You only know the people here, life here."
"That's nothing but— but twaddle!" She narrowed her eyelids. "You don't want me, do you? You've let me chase after you all of these years, making a perfect fool of myself, but you don't want me. Not really. You kissed me, but you didn't want to kiss me, you only wanted to— Why did you shave off your beard if you didn't plan to kiss me again?"
It was a good question, but one he didn't want to answer, because he had wanted to kiss her again. Do more than kiss her. Much more. But somewhere between the act of shaving off that beard late last night and seeing her sitting at the breakfast table, so young, so innocent, he'd realized that his needs, his wants, had nothing to do with life as it truly was. It was a curse, being the practical one.
"I've given this— us— a lot of thought. You'll soon go to America with Ainsley. A whole new world is about to open up for you, Callie. I've decided to stay here a while longer, or perhaps travel on the continent. I'll…I'll visit in a year or two, and if you still feel the way you think you do now, then— "
"A year or two? No!" She got to her feet, glared down at him. "Don't lie to me, Courtland. Don't put me off with promises about some vague
someday.
You can't wait for me to be gone, can you? God, what a trial I must be to you. Morgan
tarting
me up and pointing me at you the night we sang together, Spence and Rian and everyone teasing you, all but telling you that you have no choice but to—
God!
"
Courtland grabbed at her arm as he stood up, because she was about to run from him. He had to make her understand. Didn't he? Wasn't it important that she understood, even if he didn't quite understand himself? "Callie, wait. I never said I didn't want you."
"Really?" Her eyes were shooting green fire at him now, her chest rising and falling quickly. "Then prove that to me, Court. Prove it to me now."
He shook his head. "You still don't understand what I'm trying to say. I'm trying to protect you."
"Protect me? How? Make me understand, Courtland," she demanded as a cloud slid across the sun, throwing the Marsh into shadow. "You tell me to wait, even as you tell me you want me. Make me believe you. Make me believe you're not just saying you want me because you think that's what I want to hear."
His mind exploding, his heart still caught between demons pulling him toward her and away from her at the same time, he crushed her against him, brought his mouth down, hard.
She moaned against his lips, her hands grasping at him, her arms sliding up and over his shoulders, clinging to him as he deepened their kiss, at last gave into the temptation of her sweet curves, cradling her breast in his palm, sliding his thumb between two buttons of her jacket, to burn against the silk of her bare skin.
He felt her shudder, probably shocked by this new intimacy, but this was what she thought she wanted, and what he knew he desired more than breath, more than life itself.
With his free hand, he cupped her buttocks, pulled her against him, let her feel his arousal. He slipped his hand lower, easing it beneath her, between the split-leg fabric of her riding skirt, pressing into her softness, lifting her against his manhood, condemning himself to the frustration he would feel once he let her go.
If he let go.
He had to let her go…
"Court?" she whispered as he broke off the kiss and she was looking up at him once more, this time with a thousand questions in her eyes. And, perhaps, just a little maidenly fear.
"Enough, Callie," he said, stepping away from her, turning his back to her. "Don't…don't ever think I don't want you. But it may not be what you want, not really. It…
I
may just be what you feel you should want. The reality, what goes on between a man and a woman, may not be what you want at all."
She put her crossed hands to her breast. "You think I only want the dream? Is that what you're saying? That this reality is more than I might have bargained for?"
He turned to face her once more. "And was it?"
"I…I don't know," she said, and he could see that she was uncertain about her feelings for him, and with herself, perhaps for the first time in a life of thinking she knew just what and whom she wanted. "What I do know, Court, is that you've been lying to at least one of us all morning."
And with that she was gone, lifting her skirts and running back toward the horses. By the time he'd mentally kicked himself for being eight kinds of a fool, she had walked Athena over to a small pile of stones from the cottage and had mounted, ready to ride back to Becket Hall.
He lifted himself into the saddle. "Callie?"
"Leave it be, Court," she told him, her head held high. "I think we've done more than enough talking for now. I just want to go home."
Without another word, he turned Poseidon and led the way back to the beaten track through the tall grasses, feeling every one of the thirteen years that separated him from Cassandra.
Once the track widened, Cassandra urged Athena forward, and flew past Courtland at a full gallop, leaving him to follow, giving her some distance between them, until Becket Village was in sight and Athena slowed, Cassandra cooling the horse on the way to the stable yard.
He caught up with her and she turned to look at him. "I want to apologize, Court," she said, surprising him with her calm, even tone. "I don't know how you put up with me all of these years."
He attempted a smile. "You sound as if you're saying goodbye, Callie."
She smiled, and hers was a very real smile. "No, not goodbye. Oh, goodbye to the Callie you knew, definitely. The pest, I suppose. You…um…I was a little frightened. Back there? You were right. I never…I never felt that like before."
Courtland didn't know what to say, other than to tell her the truth. "If it makes you feel any less apprehensive, neither have I. I don't know what's going to happen, Callie. But you're definitely not a child anymore. No mere child could make me wonder what in bloody blazes I'm about, make me feel as if I'm in constant danger of my mind slipping its moorings."
