Passion's Joy (34 page)

Ram simply stated the fact. "You will marry me. Whether by force or reason, it matters

"Force? You can't force someone to marry—"

"Can't I? There isn't a magistrate in this country or mine that would refuse my bid, not when

my paternity is etched into every line of your figure. And by God's will, girl, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming into a court, I will. Though I don't think I will, for while I've long since

grown used to scandals following my every movement, I should think a mother would want to spare her child's history from a gossiping public's maliciousness."

She tried to deny it, any one part of it, but this was not possible. He could force her! He would force her!

The bars of an iron-tight prison closed around her. She just sat there staring at him with wide, frightened and still uncertain eyes, not knowing the punishment she dealt him as he stared back.

"Joy." He reached to touch her, to offer some reassurance, but she stiffened, her eyes widened more.

"Please. Don't... touch me."

He withdrew his hand again, and as though shocked by her own words, she tried to explain. "I need ... time. I—"

“Time is the one thing I can't give you. We will be leaving—"

A loud and queer bird's call interrupted him, and she had not taken the next breath before Ram flew into action. He swept her off the bed and into his arms. He held her backside against himself, one hand lightly covered her mouth to prevent her scream, while both her hands covered his.

As he brought her quickly to the window, Joy held her breath, instinctively cautioned against moving in any way. Ram pushed open the window, before pressing against the wall and listening, still holding her with an inexplicable force, so gentle yet firm. With his free hand he removed a long shiny pistol from his shoulder harness.

Against the unnerving quiet of the forest, the shrill call sounded five times in close succession. She heard Ram's soft curse above the pounding of her heart and held perfectly still, as the curse seemed to unleash the terrifying power of his braced body.

"Does that door lock?' She shook her head.

"Can you fit under the bed, then?"

He asked this as he brought her there, easing her backside to the floor. She slid quickly under, not an inch of room to spare her shape and far too familiar with danger to question him now.

"Do not move again until you hear my voice," he whispered. "Understood?"

She nodded but he could not have seen as he quickly brought the chair from her sitting desk to the door to jam it. She watched the steps of the soft suede boots move from the door to the window. She gasped as they disappeared, Ram jumping two stories down to the ground. She never heard his fall, for he suddenly moved in the cloak of a predator's silence.

Ram took cover behind a cluster of trees and bush shading the side of the house. Sean had signaled five men approaching, not just any five men, but five hired assassins with the single intent of murder. They must have followed Sean and him out. This alone spoke for the assassins' skill, for neither Sean nor himself often let such deadly details go unchecked, let alone unnoticed. Aye, he thought, a considerable cut above average, no doubt.

Ram had fought alongside Sean his whole life, save for his years in India and the dark continent, and he knew well what their game plan was. Sean had slipped into hiding, choosing an advantageous position while waiting for Ram to position himself opposite, with the men in between.

The silence of the forest was complete, save for the rush of water nearby and so quiet. Ram heard snow shifting off the tree limbs. There was no sign of any of the five men. This told him everything. Unlike most encounters, these men were to be taken seriously.

A shrill bird's call broke the silence, and Ram's gaze swept the distance in that direction, guessing where Sean hid. The sound came from across the open space in front of the house. Very convenient. Now to see where these would-be threats were hiding and just how good they were.

Ram knelt and picked up a heavy stick. With pistol poised and ready, he threw it hard against the wood beams of the house. It worked instantly; three shots fired in close succession, with both Sean and Ram returning fire so close on top of that as to be inseparable shots. Neither Sean nor Ram oft missed; Sean's man dropped from a tree while Ram's man fell from the upper barn window, draped lifelessly over the ledge. Libertine's startled cry filled the air as Sean and Ram, moving in the exact same moment, aimed at the third of the three; but just as Ram's finger touched the draw, Sean spotted the movement behind Ram and shouted, “Turn!"

An outside observer would have sworn Ram turned before the word was out, so quick were his reflexes. He spun round on a heel as he fell to a roll, and between the two movements his pistol fired into the man's chest. A second too late, the assassin's shot only grazed past Ram's ear.

Simultaneously, Sean and another man fired; Sean's distraction losing him precious seconds of accuracy, his bullet missed the mark. The return fire hit his shoulder but with only a sting of a scratch. Sean jumped ten feet to the ground, swinging quickly behind the cover of the tree's trunk.

"Not bad shots, my lord."

The fallen man at Ram's feet wore common clothes but had the look of a trained soldier.

Not trained well enough, Ram thought, as he started to circle around through the cover of the trees. "I've seen better," he said loudly in a tone that shocked all who heard, save Seanessy. "The odds are even now, and the thrill is gone. Let's get the bloody business over."

A shot fired so close to Ram's head, he laughed, and his laughter alarmed one Paul Bantam far more than the precision of Lord Barrington's return fire or the speed of his reflexes. My God, he thinks he's playing with fools!

The silence of the next minutes changed everything. Ram was just about to offer impunity as he and Sean both circled around the front of the house from opposite directions, dashing from cover to cover in search of the two remaining men. They finally came within twelve feet of each other, having seen and heard nothing. Just as they started back, a movement off to the side caught their gazes.

"Shall we toss?" Sean asked.

"No, I've only one shot left. Go ahead." Ram was already loading his empty pistol.

"Very well" Sean said, as he took aim. The man moved again, but with a savage's grace and speed, and wisely Sean did not waste fire. "A savage or a half-breed by the looks of him."

Finished reloading, Ram took aim, too. Both were behind trees for cover now. "Jesus, they're always sending the infidels to do their dirty work." Louder, he offered, "Your life or your weapons. Now man!"

There was no answer, but then Ram didn't expect any. The savage darted between trees; Ram fired and hit him in the arm. "Geez, I missed."

"It's your sympathies Ram—always been with the dark-skinned." The man darted again and Sean fired, missed.

"What goes here?" Ram asked. "Target practice," Sean replied. "Sean—"

Sean took one glance at Ram, who was suddenly staring at the house, and in a flash of a second, all was known. "A setup!"

Ram was already running toward the house. The movement drew the savage out, and Sean aimed, firing a split second before a bullet fired at Ram. The savage dropped dead and Sean was running, too.

Joy Claret held perfectly still underneath the bed. Perhaps owing to the adrenaline pump, the pounding of her heart, or the rush of her blood, the child in her womb kicked as he never had; he might be turning somersaults. Both her hands pressed hard against the life there, partially to protect and partially with the queer idea of somehow holding him still. All she could think of was that the terror pounding in her temples would cause a two month early birth, one that no child could survive!

She began praying.

Her small pistol had been loaded since the day she had escaped Orleans. This was but another thing that had changed. It was common knowledge that there were no greater protective instincts than those of a mother—any mother. She was no different. Not only had she loaded her pistol, but she now knew to use it; she knew only that she would do anything—absolutely anything

—to protect the life growing inside her.

Moving with quiet grace and skill, Paul Bantam had taken advantage of the situation. Lord Barrington had come out here for a woman, a woman he had thought worth at least one thousand American dollars. From that, he had guessed the rest. He wondered how much they would pay for the death of the woman carrying Lord Barrington's child. A good deal, no doubt, especially if her death brought the necessary advantage needed for the Lord Barrington's death. Risky for sure but it just might work if he could take out Barrington's man, too.

With pistol raised and aimed at the front door, he climbed up the stairs, ducking in the cover of the hall. One door was ajar, the other closed in a clear signal that she was behind it. Joy's hands flew to her mouth as he kicked the door open, the chair tumbling in a clamor to the side. She never saw the swing of the man's arm as his pistol instantly swept the room in search of a target. Nothing. Nothing but thin curtains hanging lifelessly from the open window.

Joy watched in mute horror, as the wet black boots approached, step by deadly step. She reached for her pistol, but her hand trembled so! Ram's name was cried over and over in her mind

as she desperately tried to get a firm enough grip on the pistol. Was he dead? Dear God, was he dead now?

"Come out, my lady. I shan't hurt you."

The husky promise came in a whispered English voice, but she was so scared by this point she never thought. She pulled the trigger, firing at close range into a boot. The man howled as he jumped, but her next breath brought into her lungs nothing but smoke. She choked, blinded by smoke and fear. With a vicious curse, he kicked the small bed. The force sent it to the wall, and she lay exposed.

Joy screamed as she sat up, bringing her knees against herself and her arms holding tight her head. She never saw the man, for as she braced for death, four shots fired in such close succession as to be indistinguishable. Sean from the doorway; Ram from the window. The man dropped with a heavy thud, and before she knew what had happened, Ram's hands were on her, lifting her upright.

"Joy, oh my love—"

She opened her eyes to see him with a choked gasp of relief, and for the second time in her life, she fainted. Ram caught her effortlessly into his arms. Seeing her for the first time, Sean was taken by her appearance. "My God, she's even more beautiful than before."

"I had thought it my imagination.''

"I verify the reality," Sean said, but his eyes widened still. "And enormous!"

Ram smiled at this, but then, as he held her in a tender gaze for a long moment, he said, "That was too damn close, Sean."

"Aye," Sean's gaze dropped to the dead man. "We grow too cocksure with age, but the next time—"

"There won't be a next time. We set sail as soon as we reach Boston." "But the child?" Sean asked in alarm.

"I dare say, it will be easier for her to carry the child safely in her womb than to travel with a newborn. She has two months. We should reach England with plenty of time to see her safely settled at Barrington Hall for the birth."

Considering it, Sean had to agree. "Better by far than sitting in wait of the next round of fools they send us."

"Indeed."

Late that night, Joy lay in bed crying. The terror of the afternoon was gone, fading upon waking and the presentation of the news that she would be leaving her family at morning light. Cory and she had spent the entire night crying in each other's arms. Sammy spent the night watching this. He felt guilty because he wasn't willing to give up all that they finally had to travel to some faraway white folks land—where they not only didn't have Negroes to free, but they didn't have Negroes period—for what Ram said would be a year or two. Guilty also because his staying meant Cory stayed as well. The worst? The sorrow brought from knowing they would miss the birth of Joy's child.

Everything had been settled calmly and rationally in a long talk. Seanessy had made the bargain that she had agreed to, as had Ram. If ever she saw Ram's fears shadowing the child's life or if she ever found fault with the way Ram treated the child, she would be allowed to take the child to another household. Ram swore to the arrangement and thereby, in one sweep, her only fear and uncertainty was wiped away. The simple bargain removed the single awful fear she had lived with for so long.

This was not the problem now. She felt desperate, so desperate, and like anyone who had not a stick to fight with, she flung back the covers. With only a thin cotton night dress, grabbing her shawl against the cold, she finally found herself racing down the stairs. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing light in the small room where Ram lay on the bedroll spread before the fire. Sean was nowhere in sight. Tomorrow, one night away, she would be leaving all she knew and loved.

Tomorrow she would be married.

Upon hearing her footsteps on the stairs, Ram's gaze lifted to her. She stood with her hands clasped nervously, staring, pausing with some unspoken caution he understood well. He expected the tears and desperation. What he was not expecting was the sight of her form silhouetted in the firelight, barely concealed in the fabric of the nightgown, and he chuckled with the quickness of his body's response to the woman haunting his dreams.

"I give fair warning, Joy. Approach and plead at your own risk."

"My own risk?" she questioned in a whisper as she came to him. "My own risk? Upon my life, what more can I lose?" She dropped to her knees; the drama of the move was not lost to him, and a bare hint of a smile crossed the handsome features of his face. "Oh Ram, please! I'll marry you; I'll do anything, but please don't make me leave my family!"

He took her clasped hands in one of his, a gentle yet firm hold, as his other hand brushed a tear from her cheek. "I explained already. We must be in England as soon as possible and well before the birth. I cannot wait for a bullet to find me, let alone you. The journey will not be too trying for you—I will see to it. I no longer nourish any love for my country; eventually we will make our lives elsewhere. It will take a year, two at the most..."