Heartstrings (39 page)

Twenty minutes later, when he stopped the carriage before a quaint cabin not far from the legendary Enchanted Hill, Theodosia remained bewildered.

Hammond alighted from the carriage, then assisted Theodosia. “This is the surprise,” he said, gesturing toward the cabin.

She examined the log cabin. Emerald-green ivy climbed along one side of the structure, a blue swing hung from the porch roof, and the garden of brilliant red zinnias that edged the front had attracted the attention of two hummingbirds.

Theodosia watched the tiny birds for a moment, then looked at Hammond. “The cabin is quite lovely, but I’m afraid I do not understand why you brought me here.”

He took her elbow and led her into the house.

Theodosia stopped short in the front room. Her trunks and bags lay on the floor near one of the three windows. On a small table near the fireplace sat John the Baptist, asleep in his cage with his head beneath his wing.

“Your horse and wagon are safe in a shed behind the cabin,” Hammond informed her. He removed his gloves and laid them on the top of a small pie safe. “I spotted this cabin yesterday when you and I visited Enchanted Hill. Of course, I thought little of it until this morning, when I realized it would be just the thing to take your mind off your depression. After renting it from the man who owns it, I took the liberty of having all your belongings moved here while you and I enjoyed our midday meal and conversed in the rose garden earlier. I have also hired one of the townswomen to bring us three hot meals a day so that we do not have to trouble ourselves by going into town to dine.”

Theodosia turned to face him. “I gather that you wish us to live here, but what I do not comprehend is why.”

“It’s quite simple, my dear,” he replied, glancing at her lush round breasts. “As I said before, many things in town remind you of Mr. Montana. You and he never came to this cabin together, so there is nothing here that could possibly cause you to remember him. I am only trying to help lessen your sadness so that you will feel more at ease while accomplishing your dream of conceiving a child for your poor sister.”

She almost told him that she could be on the other side of the world and still think of Roman. She needed no reminders to remember the man who had somehow carved his name on her heart, just the way he had carved hers on the oak tree.

She walked into the small bedroom in the back of the house and glanced at the bed.

Roman was gone. Missing him would not bring him back.

He’d reach his dreams. Soon. She had all the faith in the world that he would.

And she would attain hers as well.

She peered up at Hammond, who had followed her into the bedroom and now stood beside her. He was the perfect sire, and so she would lie with him as quickly and frequently as possible until she conceived. Then she would bear the child and get on with her life, which had been her plan all along.

She looked at the bed again. “Tonight, Hammond,” she murmured. “When darkness has fallen, I will lie with you.”

R
oman kicked dirt over the
remaining embers of the campfire he’d made a few miles outside Enchanted Hill. By his best estimation, it was around noon. He’d meant to be long gone by now, but had not found the will or the effort to hurry. Instead, he’d cleaned his weapons and tack, groomed Secret, washed his clothes, and polished his boots.

He kicked more dirt over the dead campfire and noticed an oak sapling growing nearby. Someday the tiny tree would be huge. And perhaps a man would climb it and carve a woman’s name into one of the branches.

He looked into the woods, in the direction where Enchanted Hill lay. Had she gone through with it and let Hammond Llewellyn into her bed?

Pain radiated from his chest like streaks of poison from an infected wound. He raked his fingers through his hair, then mounted Secret.

No job had actually existed in Morgan’s Grove. With no specific place to go, he allowed Secret to choose the way. The stallion tossed his head and ambled down a woodsy path that led south.

Before long, the path gave way to a long stretch of rocky dirt. A green lizard slithered off the warm dirt and into a mass of thorny vines. Roman paid no attention to the reptile.

Why? he asked himself for the thousandth time since last night. Why had she discussed him with Hammond Llewellyn? The question swarmed through his mind just as a cloud of gnats swarmed around his face.

Several hours passed. The buzz of the gnats grew louder, sounding more like bumblebees. Roman took off his hat, rubbed the back of his hand over his sweating forehead, and breathed air saturated with sharp odors.

He stopped Secret and sat straight and still in the saddle.

A powerful storm was brewing.

Hammond Llewellyn was a highly educated British nobleman, but he had no knowledge of Theodosia’s terror of lightning.

Roman did.

H
ammond counted the hours for
nighttime to arrive. As he and Theodosia strolled away from the cabin and through the windswept meadow, he glanced at the bright sky. Would the merciless Texas sun never set?

“Here we are,” he said when they finally reached the huge oak tree that grew in the same field that featured the famous wishing hill. “Would you care to dine now, Theodosia? I’m sure the lady from town packed a delicious supper for us. I instructed her to prepare only the finest meals.” He held up the picnic basket the townswoman had brought to the cabin a short while ago.

Theodosia sat down on the ground beneath the shelter of the oak branches. Fondling the heart-shaped ruby brooch nestled amidst the froth of lace at her throat, she remembered that the last time she’d eaten near an oak tree, she’d been up
in
it, not below it.

Hammond sat down beside her and handed her a plate of thinly sliced roast beef, tiny new potatoes, tender green beans, and fluffy biscuits.

She accepted the plate but remembered raisin sandwiches. A strong force pulled at her heart, drawing forth tender emotions that almost made her weep.

“My fellow companions departed Enchanted Hill this morning,” Hammond said, and took a bite of his biscuit. “I am to join them in a small town by the name of Rolling Ridge, whereupon we shall prepare for our return to London. But do not fret, my dear. My companions will not reach Rolling Ridge for another month, so you and I have ample time together.”

When Theodosia remained silent, Hammond became more determined to draw her into conversation. If he couldn’t make love to her yet, he could at least fill the hours with lively discourse. “I saw a smattering of Comanche Indians recently, Theodosia. My companions and I were visiting a town by the name of King’s Cove when a group of soldiers passed through with their Comanche captives. As I recall, there were five or six warriors and one squaw with a baby. The red-skinned devils were almost dead, but do you know their black eyes continued to smolder with the promise of violence? The soldiers executed them that very night, but from what I understand two escaped, a warrior and his son.”

At that, Theodosia gave him her undivided attention, her heart thrashing against her ribs and spine as thoughts of Mamante and his child returned to her memory. “A warrior and his son?”

Made smug by the fact that his conversation had so seized her interest, Hammond ate another bite of biscuit, took his time chewing, and nodded. “The soldiers hunted everywhere, but failed to find the brave who escaped with the child. The warrior might have been able to fashion some sort of crude weapon after he escaped, but he’d been beaten severely. And without food or a mount, he and his child most likely perished. Their deaths are a blessing, as I see it. Anyone with a jot of intelligence comprehends the fact that this country can never live up to its full potential while there is a single one of those horrible Indians alive, and I, for one, fully support their eradication.”

Theodosia recalled Roman’s deep compassion and gentle understanding toward Mamante. The Comanche warrior of whom Hammond spoke might not have been Mamante, but it didn’t matter.

Hammond’s insensitive views repulsed her.

“Don’t you agree, Theodosia?” Smiling, Hammond dabbed the corners of his mouth with a red-and-white-checkered napkin.

“No, Hammond, I do not agree,” she snapped. “Furthermore, I find your lack of compassion grossly unsettling.”

He almost choked on a mouthful of potatoes. “Compassion? For an
Indian?”

Her anger increased, as did her understanding of Hammond Charles Alexander Llewellyn. Did she really want this cold-hearted man to father a baby for her kind-hearted gentle sister and brother-in-law?

What if the child inherited Hammond’s cruelty?

“The Indians are people, Hammond, not animals to be slaughtered at the will of white men. They possess the same emotions as other human beings, and pride is among the feelings they experience. You have no right to celebrate the killing of such a proud people. Nor have you the right to hope for the eradication of an entire race. Why, you hoped for the death of an
infant,
Hammond! An innocent
baby!”

“But I—”

“And while we are on the subject of your personal opinions, I shall take this opportunity to inform you that Roman’s ability with his weapons is not sleight-of-hand foolishness. You, Sir Blueblood, would do well to master the same skills he possesses. Moreover, I will have you know that Roman Montana is not a savage but a man whose kindness is of such astonishing depth that I fear it goes well beyond your realm of comprehension.”

Hammond reddened with fury. “You prefer that ill-bred gunslinger to me!”

Theodosia presented him her back and looked out over the wide open field ahead. The orange, blue, and lavender wild flowers splashed vivid colors through the long, verdant grass, and sunbeams spread shimmering goldness upon everything they touched. A few sparrows skimmed directly above the flowers. They flew so low that it appeared to Theodosia that the vegetation brushed across their feathered breasts.

A hot breeze swept past her, bringing with it an unusually loud sound of crickets. She listened to the sharp noise for a moment, then breathed deeply of the humid air, discovering it to be filled with an especially strong scent of cedar.

An eerie sensation crawled over her, like insects creeping upon her skin.

“Theodosia,” Hammond flared, “I allowed my companions to continue their tour without me because you and I had an agreement. I have spent a goodly amount of money renting the cabin and paying the townswoman to bring our meals. I must insist that you honor the bargain we made.”

She continued to stare into the meadow. Her ominous feelings intensified.

Through her mind drifted a conversation she’d once had with Roman.

Mr. Montana? About the rain—how did you know?

The birds were flying close to the ground, Miss Worth. The sounds were sharper, and everything smelled stronger than usual. Three sure signs of rain.

The sparrows in the meadow, she thought. The cricket sounds, and the strong scent of cedar.

She looked up into the oak tree.

A storm was gathering.

She was sitting beneath a tree.

Picnicking.

She scrambled off the ground, and just as she began to run, black clouds moved in front of the sun. A dark shadow veiled the ground, and a wicked fork of lightning stabbed through the somber sky.

Theodosia could barely see through her tears. Having no idea in which direction she fled, she continued blindly through the meadow.

Hammond chased her. “Theodosia! Theodosia, stop!”

She heard him calling to her, but a deep, loud rumble overcame his voice. She thought it was thunder, until five white horses galloped into the distance ahead.

Upon each snowy steed sat a black-garbed man.

“Theodosia!” Hammond shouted again. He continued racing after her but stopped suddenly when he saw the five mounted men on the other side of the field. Horror consumed him. He’d heard enough about the outlaws to know exactly who they were. “Theodosia, it’s the Blanco y Negro Gang!”

With no further consideration for Theodosia’s safety, he turned and fled toward town.

Theodosia slowed her frantic pace long enough to look over her shoulder and see Hammond leaving her. Alone beneath a sky that continued to sizzle with dangerous lightning, and at the mercy of five criminals whose horses now sped toward her, she felt a sickening terror rise into her throat, cutting off her breath and almost gagging her.

Real thunder joined the roar of the horses’ hoofbeats. As the terrible noises hammered through her, she ran. Rain began to pelt her face and drench her skirts. The soggy fabric clung to her legs, slowing her flight.

Lightning crackled above her, and the horses galloped behind her. She saw Enchanted Hill and stumbled toward the small knoll. There she fell facedown, and the horses stopped all around her. One pawed the earth near her feet.

“Get up, woman.”

Lightning continued to flash, followed by terrible thunder that shook the ground on which she lay. Her tears slipped into the sodden grass.