Patricia Potter (49 page)

C
hapter 26

THE BUGGY CAME
at daybreak. The driver, the same dark taciturn man who had brought them here several days ago, frowned when Meredith told him that Quinn and Cam were gone, and that they should wait here until midmorning. He had heard nothing, no alarm, he said, before he’d left Cairo just two hours earlier.

The driver gave his name as Butler and, during the tense hours that they waited together, said that he had been born free in Kentucky and had come to Cairo ten years earlier. He had worked at a livery stable until he earned enough money to buy first one horse, then another, and finally a buggy. Now he hired out his buggy. He had often been used by Captain Quinn to help fugitives and sometimes he donated his services to those who couldn’t pay. He had built a false front in the buggy, an area large enough for two people to hide, although not comfortably.

Meredith had told him earlier that Cam said they were to go to Sophie’s if neither he nor Quinn appeared. The driver accepted the instructions without comment, but his manner became distinctly nervous.

But no more nervous than Meredith’s. She tried to hide her fear from both Lissa and the man called Butler, but apprehension weighed her soul like a ship’s anchor. Every minute that passed meant Quinn was in trouble. Otherwise, Cam would be back by now, and they would be on their way to the
Lucky Lady.

Something had happened. She had sensed Cam’s own distress before he had left. And it had taken root in her and grown like a cancer, gnawing at the very essence of her heart and soul. Dawn had come and gone, its gloom a portent of disaster. She had wanted it to clear, wanted the sun to emerge from the boiling clouds and spread life and hope over the river. But the sky continued to foam with clouds, great bloated blobs of puce and purple riding across the horizon.

Where is he? Dear God, where is he?

She wanted to go after him, to fling herself on a horse and ride at a gallop to Cairo, but she had been trained too well. She knew a rash action could destroy them all. Although it went against her grit, against the pounding terror building in her heart, she forced herself to wait. She had promised. She paced the cabin and then, disregarding the chilled rain, she put on her cloak and went outside. She walked down to the usually placid stream, now swollen and racing, and followed it to the river. She could see only a portion of it, for it was shrouded with fog. It seemed endless, like an empty lonely infinity. Before long she felt a presence beside her, and she turned to see Lissa. Her sister’s eyes were sad and her arms were held out in comfort.

Meredith moved into them. They held each other, years falling away until they were frightened children again, and it was the two of them against the world. For the first time since they had left Marshall Evans’s plantation, Meredith felt something of the old bond that had been between them as children, the old desperate need for love and understanding and belonging. Meredith was tired of being alone, tired of fighting by herself, and now, more than ever, she needed someone to tell her that everything would be all right, that Quinn would return to her. She and Lissa clasped each other, tears mixing with tears, fears with fears, uncertainty with uncertainty. But there was a certain strength, too, and hope. Meredith felt both flooding back into her, and she looked out over the river again, hearing the waves slapping against the bank.

Then she heard another sound, and tipped her head, trying to identify it. A boat moving through water. She silently motioned Lissa to the protection of a tree. Surely there would not be patrols in this kind of weather. The river was dangerous now, its current fierce with rainwater, visibility completely gone. Not even the most diligent searchers would risk the Mississippi in this weather.

Meredith saw the curve of the rowboat first. It was jerking back and forth, as if trying to escape the conflicting tugs of the current and the oars. Then she saw the oar as it came up, shakily, as if the one handling it was barely in control. The mist had settled around this person, but she could see another form slumped over. Then the boat swung toward the stream, again jerking back and forth as if it were all the rower could do to just keep it moving. One oar dropped, and the second figure seemed to bend forward, as if he could no longer manage one more sweep of the oars, one more tiny effort to bring the boat safely in.

Without knowing why, Meredith scrambled down. She would be endangering them all if the boat’s occupants were enemies, yet something compelled her to go to them. The boat was bumping against the shore, right where the stream emptied into the river, and Meredith slid down the mudbank and grabbed the front of the boat, just as it seemed to be slipping back into the river. She pulled the boat’s rope, and realized other hands were now helping her. Lissa’s. Together they tugged the boat upstream, both of them slipping repeatedly into the water until they found a bank they could climb. Lissa wrapped the rope around a tree while Meredith looked in the boat. There were two men, both of them slumped over. She touched the first and felt the icy black skin. She didn’t have to look at the face to know it was Cam. She moved quickly to the second man. Quinn! He wore only black trousers and a once-white shirt now cut in a dozen places. His breathing was harsh and his skin as cold as Cam’s.

“Go get Mr. Butler,” she told Lissa. “Tell him Captain Quinn and Cam are here. Bring blankets. As many as possible.”

Meredith touched Quinn’s face, and his eyes fluttered open for a second, then closed again. She took off her cape—at least the top of it was dry—and put it over his shoulders. Cam, she noted, had an oilcloth wrapped around him. Quinn’s hands were still clutching the oars, and she gently pulled them away, rubbing them to try to restore warmth. Dear God, but he was cold. And then she saw the cuts on his chest, ugly slashes where the shirt parted. Her hands kept working on his hands; they were deathly white and still, when usually they were so strong and sure.

It seemed like a lifetime before she heard voices and saw Mr. Butler appear with Lissa. He took one look at the two men and issued quick orders. “I’ll take the larger one. You two try to take Captain Quinn.”

All three pulled Cam from the boat, and then Quinn. Butler raised Quinn to his feet and placed the captain’s arms around the women, watching as they staggered under his weight before moving slowly forward. He then leaned down over Cam, trying to wake him. He slapped Cam’s face twice, and finally Cam’s eyes moved slightly and focused accusingly on his rescuer.

“You have to help me,” Butler said to Cam, and he saw some awareness spark in the dark eyes. When he reached down, the help was there. The huge black man awkwardly rose with his help and, leaning on him, stumbled toward the cabin where warmth and safety waited.

Strengthened by desperation, Meredith and Lissa got Quinn inside the cabin. They laid him down on one of the beds, and Meredith, terribly aware of the way his whole body shivered, quickly started to undress him, wincing as she saw the many bruises and cuts on his body. She was grateful none of them were bleeding for she had no bandages, no medicine. She carefully and gently wrapped him in blankets provided by Lissa. “Start a fire,” she told Lissa.

Wordlessly, Lissa nodded. She knew, as Meredith knew, a fire was dangerous but they had no choice. Both Quinn and Cam could die of exposure if they weren’t warmed quickly.

The door slammed open again, and the carriage owner and Cam staggered into the room, shaking water over the floor. Cam was helped to the other bed, and Butler, as Meredith had done, quickly stripped Cam of his soddened clothes, rubbing his legs and arms and layering blankets over him.

Meredith could hear the spit and crackle of logs catching fire, and willed the flames to hurry. Quinn was so cold. His lips were blue, his dark hair icy. The tremors continued, and his eyes remained closed, as if he had used every ounce of strength to bring the boat to them. Her hands felt the cuts under the blanket and she winced with the number of them. He obviously had been tortured.

“This man’s been shot,” Mr. Butler said of Cam, and she reluctantly left Quinn to go to his friend. She saw the bullet holes at the front and back of the leg.

“You go back over to Mr. Quinn,” Lissa said, still uneasy with using Quinn’s given name. “I can take care of this one.” She gently steered Meredith back to Quinn’s side and knelt beside Cam, her fingers gently probing around the wound.

Meredith didn’t know how long she stayed next to Quinn, massaging his hands, his legs and arms, reaching down to kiss the cold lips and finally flinging herself next to him, to give him her heat, her strength, her life.

He moved restlessly, his eyes opening and yet they were blank. “Terrence,” he cried. “Terrence.” His fingers bunched in tight fists and he struck out, hitting her. “Not again,” he screamed. “Not again.”

Her hands moved along his skin, trying to soothe, to comfort, yet he kept striking out. “The bastards,” he screamed. “It was me, not him, not Terrence. Kill
me,
damn you. Kill
me.”

There was such torment in his voice that Meredith couldn’t keep shivers of her own from traveling up and down her spine. She caught his flailing hands and held them tight, kissing each finger, and then the palms of his hands. But her comfort went unacknowledged. Instead, Quinn’s mouth twisted in despair, and his eyes looked as if they had seen every horror in hell. “No,” he screamed, and the noise echoed through the small cabin, the terrible denial behind the word hovering in the air.

“Quinn,” she whispered, trying to break through the terror trapping him. “It’s all right, Quinn. Cam’s all right. We’re safe, love.”

“Safe?” Somehow, he had heard the word. “No one’s safe around me. No one. Meredith. Merry. Pretty brave Merry. I’ll kill her too.” The words faded into a sob, and Meredith thought she had never heard such defeated anguish in a voice. Her heart shattered, pierced by the thousand shards of agony in his voice, in his life and his world. How well he had protected her from them. How well he had protected himself from her.

She looked up at Lissa and saw the unspoken helpless sympathy in her sister’s eyes.

Meredith looked back at Quinn’s glazed eyes, at the lines around his eyes and mouth, at the lips twisted with grief, and thought of the cool arrogant man with whom she’d first matched wits. She wondered whether she had ever really known him at all. She leaned down and kissed him, and put her head next to his cheek, wanting to share some of his pain, to absorb it so he wouldn’t bear it alone. Slowly, he quieted, his hands stilling, his dark blue eyes losing that faraway look as dark lashes slowly, ever so slowly, once again curtained all the emotions he had so ably hidden all these years. Still she stroked his arms, unable to relinquish this brief hold on him.

“I love you,” she whispered, knowing the words had a desperate quality. “I love you.” And her own tears mixed with the tears that ran from the corner of one of his eyes.

By afternoon, it was obvious that Quinn was recovering. It was equally obvious that Cam was not.

Quinn had finally fallen into a deep healthy sleep, and the shivers that racked his body gradually receded. But Cam had become feverish and the wounds on his leg discolored.

Mr. Butler shook his head as Cam tossed restlessly, his body dripping sweat. Whenever Lissa wiped the perspiration from his body, he would start shivering again.

They kept him wrapped in blankets. Once the two men were warmed, and their clothes dried, it was deemed too dangerous to keep the fire going. It was, in fact, terribly perilous to stay where they were. Search parties would be combing the riverbanks before long, even in this weather.

As Quinn slept, Meredith, Lissa, and Butler discussed their options. Meredith felt Lissa and Cam were in the greatest danger. Between racking spasms, Cam had told them a little of what had happened. Meredith knew, that if captured, he would die for attacking white men. Only God knew what would happen to Lissa.

And Quinn? Meredith was sick inside with apprehension. Not only would he go to prison, but he would have to live with more guilt. And he was already consumed with it. She hadn’t known that until now. She didn’t know why or how, but she had seen the force of it, and it terrified her.

And she’d thought she knew him.

She leaned down and ran her hand along his cheek. Dear God, but she loved him. Her finger hovered at the lines around his eyes and moved slowly to the hair, crusty with dried muddy river water. She remembered that open friendly smile when he was a young man, and later that crooked sardonic grin when she met him again on the
Lucky Lady.
She couldn’t even start to imagine all that had happened in between those two periods of time, or what additional secrets he withheld from her.

He looked so…vulnerable now. So tired. Fatigue had erased all the protective devices under which he hid so much of what was inside. But the raw naked pain, the loss of hope were visible now.

Something twisted and squirmed inside her, something as frightening as the specters that haunted him. The last words he had uttered—
I’ll kill her too…
If he believed that, if he truly believed that, he would leave her. And if Cam died…

She heard a groan from the other bed and looked up.

“We must get him to a doctor,” Butler said.

“But how?” Meredith’s question was full of bitter despair. “All Cairo will be looking for them. And Lissa.”