Wild legacy (4 page)

With the speed that still made Hunter a formidable foe, he slammed his son back against the side of the house. Falcon's head bounced off the bricks. "No, you look,"

Hunter ordered in a threatening snarl. "You and Belle will make the perfect pair. I've no doubt that she loves you, but last night you must have insulted her very badly if she refused your proposal today. How do you behave with other women if you treat your own precious cousin so rudely?"

Falcon would have come right back at any other man who had manhandled him that brutally, but he had too much respect for his father to fight him. He yanked his buckskins back into place, but there was nothing he could do about the sharp pain in the back of his head. "Women have always liked me," he replied as soon as he had caught his breath, "and that's because I treat them as well as you treat Mother. I know how all this sounds—"

Hunter came close to bouncing Falcon off the wall a second time, but caught himself at the last instant. "I know from bitter experience just how quickly a woman's passions can change. You may never have another chance to win Belle for your wife. Don't waste it."

Sick of taking everyone's abuse, Falcon was too angry to keep sacrificing himself to protect Belle. "It would never have gone past the first kiss had Belle not wanted me, too. She wanted me!"

Shocked by the vehemence of Falcon's tone, Hunter backed away. "Yes, and she was sober. Never forget that." He gestured toward the door. "We need discuss this no further. You're too thin. Come, let's have dinner with the others."

Falcon had lost his appetite. He had expected a respite from danger when he had come home, but he had stumbled into more peril than he faced from the British. "Is Uncle Byron home?"

"Yes. Are you afraid of what he'll say about this?"

Falcon had always admired his uncle. Byron had attended the Continental Congress, which had declared war on Great Britain, and was widely respected by the men who supported the Patriot cause. He was also a generous uncle who

had never made any distinction between his cousin Alanna's children and his own.

"Yes, and with good reason."

"You have far more reason to fear me," Hunter warned, and led the way inside.

Still doubting he could eat, Falcon followed his father into the dining room. His brother, Christian, was apparently unaware of the trouble he was in and wore a ready grin as he came forward to greet him. Christian's wife, Liana, was smiling prettily, and their five-year-old daughter, Liberty, ran to meet him. He caught the lively red-haired girl in his arms and lifted her high. Only a quarter Seneca, she was the image of her mother, but the laughing child Falcon saw in his mind was Belle. He hugged Liberty tightly, then set her down and she dashed back to her mother's side.

His sister, Johanna, and her husband were there, too, but his nephews had been left at home in the servants' care. Falcon hugged her and shook David's hand. He moved on to his uncle, but it was plain from Byron's good-natured smile that he had hot been told anything yet. Falcon shook his hand, then his cousin Jean's, who at sixteen was nearly as tall as his father. He was a studious lad who planned to follow his father into Congress.

Falcon nodded to Dominique and feeling relieved that Belle had deigned to join them, included his whole family in the warmest smile he could manage. "It's good to be home." As a chorus they cheered him and replied how good it was to see him.

As everyone began to move to their places at the long table, Falcon quickly decided against taking his usual chair between his mother and Dominique. Instead, he cut around the end of the table to take Beau's empty seat across from Belle. Her mother occupied the place at the end of the table, and Arielle appeared, like his mother, to be making an attempt to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Falcon caught Belle's gaze and held it. When she smiled

slightly, he realized she was more provoked with her mother and aunt than with him over the proposal issue. That was an enormous relief, but he still felt far from content at the way they had parted. Things had gone so badly he was ready to go, but he knew he ought not to leave without at least attempting to make a better impression on Belle. He just wished he knew how to go about it.

With twelve adults and Liberty, the table was crowded; as Falcon ran a silent tally, he hoped he was the only one who had noticed they had assembled an unlucky number. "I miss Beau," he offered as soon as Byron had completed the blessing.

"Yes, we all do," Arielle replied, "but I imagine he is having far too exciting a time to miss us."

Johanna had dark hair and eyes like her brothers, but her fair mother's sweet prettiness. "Let's not talk about Beau when Falcon's home," she begged. "You must have had some adventures since the last time you were here, Falcon. Won't you please tell us about them?"

"My tales would only spoil the meal," he responded, but the whole table urged him to continue and finally he gave a report. "Since General Clinton captured Charleston in May, the Patriots in South Carolina have suffered terribly. Their homes have been torched, their livestock slaughtered, their crops ruined. Great numbers of people have been herded into prison camps, but the meaner the British are, the more determined we've become to defeat them."

In the early days of the war, Christian had fought with the Virginia militia, but now that he had three children, he had chosen to remain at home. As their plates were being served, he hoped aloud that Charleston would soon be liberated. "The British must be stopped before they reach Virginia," he vowed.

"Yes, we all hope for that," Byron agreed. "Now please, we've read enough accounts of the war in the Virginia Gazette to understand the situation without relying on Falcon's

description. Let's enjoy this delicious meal without any further mention of the war."

"You can't mean that," Belle argued. "What other subject even compares with it? Everyone is well. The tobacco crop should be excellent. Now, why don't we turn our thoughts to helping the good people of South Carolina? Are there enough volunteers to care for the wounded, Falcon?"

Falcon had a mouthful of the savory layered chicken and pastry dish that was one of his favorites among his aunt's recipes and he had to raise his hand to plead for a moment to swallow before answering. "I'm out in the countryside, Belle. I don't really know, but I imagine there is always a need for help in tending the wounded."

Rather than pursue her interest in volunteering with the whole family present, Belle simply nodded, but she found the idea increasingly appealing. In Acadia, her mother had been known as a sage-femme. When she had come to Virginia, she had continued to practice her healing arts and had passed on a treasury of herbal cures to her daughters. There was obviously a need for trained healers in South Carolina, and Belle was eager to go. She glanced toward her mother.

"Don't even think about it," Arielle whispered.

Belle smiled, but she had no intention of abandoning the idea. Her mother may have forced Falcon to propose, but she could not keep her at home when it was far too painful to remain. She had missed Falcon terribly while he had been away, but her loneliness did not even begin to compare with the wretched disappointment she felt today. He was so close, but now she doubted she could trust anything he said, as sincere, and his nearness was agony. She toyed with her chicken, but didn't raise a single morsel to her mouth.

After the first few awkward bites, Falcon had found the chicken so delicious he asked for seconds, but he wasn't so absorbed in the food that he missed his aunt's warning. That Belle might consider traveling to South Carolina to

tend wounded soldiers was not an idea he would encourage, either. He glanced down the table at Dominique and found her laughing at an amusing observation of King George III her father had made. She was a consummate flirt, but he had never even been tempted by her seductive ways.

Seduction wasn't the word to describe what had happened between him and Belle. That had been a glorious mutual surrender. He watched Belle take a sip of wine. Her gesture was graceful, and as the crystal goblet touched her lips, he was filled with a longing to kiss her that was so strong he had to look away. He had refused a glass of wine, but was sorely tempted to ask for one now. He had meant his promise to Belle, however, and knew better than to break it right in front of her.

He sat back in his chair and listened to the conversations taking place around him. At Belle's urging, the discussion had continued to be centered on the war, but each person had his or her own view. The loss of Charleston was lamented deeply, but none had lost faith in the United States' ability to prevail. He felt Belle watching him, and turned back toward her with a smile. He had caught her studying him with a serious gaze, and hoped he had not displayed such poor table manners that he had given her a new cause to refuse him.

He apologized just in case. "I've been eating my meals squatting beside a campfire for so long, I've almost forgotten how to use a fork."

"Nonsense," Arielle assured him. "I'm positive you can still behave as a gentleman." A smile crossed her lips, but failed to brighten her gaze.

Falcon couldn't bring himself to thank her for a comment he had taken as a warning rather than a compliment. He looked across the table at Belle, and wondered if he might touch her without the others noticing. He extended his leg, slipped his foot under her dark blue skirt and lace-trimmed petticoats, then ran the side of his moccasin up her calf.

She sat up with a start, and he had a difficult time swallowing the laugh that would have alerted everyone to his mischief. Belle sent him a furious glare, but the flattering blush in her cheeks was so pretty he forgave her.

Finally allowing himself to relax enough to enjoy being home, he gave his attention to his other companions. For a few blissful moments, the familiar scene held a perfection he knew he would remember with great fondness while he was away. Then Dominique caught his eye, and raised her wine goblet in a silent toast. He did not feel like a returning hero though and could barely nod an acknowledgment.

Dominique was an elegant beauty who belonged with a man who shared her extravagant tastes. Flirtatious and sweet, she deserved to be pampered by a doting husband, while what he wanted was a woman who cared so deeply for others she wished to discuss the war and worried about the wounded. He was appalled he had disappointed Belle so badly she had turned him down, and he was ashamed he had not thought to propose on his own. With sudden insight he realized why his father had been so angry with him, and feared what Belle deserved was a better man than he would ever be.

He felt for the lump swelling on the back of his head, and his fingers came away covered with blood. He grabbed his napkin to wipe his hand, then carried it with him as he lurched to his feet. "Excuse me," he begged, and unable to explain his urgent need to get away, he left the room with unseemly haste.

cousin, Alanna Barclay. They had raised Christian and together had had Johanna and Falcon.

Six years ago, in a move that had completely baffled them all, Christian had begun pursuing Ian and Rebecca Scott's daughter, Liana. In a fit of bitter rage, Ian had disowned Liana and abandoned her on the Barclays' doorstep. While she and Christian were happily married, no one would ever compliment him on the manner in which he had won his bride.

Appalled that Falcon appeared to be following in Hunter and Christian's scandalous footsteps, and with his own sweet Belle, Byron threw down his napkin and started to rise. "I must speak with Falcon at once."

Belle could only imagine what Dominique had confided, but because her father's reaction was such a poor one, she feared it had been dreadful and leaped from her chair. "Finish your meal," she offered helpfully. "I'll call him."

She left the dining room before her father could forbid her to go, and raced on out the front door. She had seen the troubled look fill Falcon's eyes just before he had left the table and thought he would seek the river for solace just as she had that morning. She found him down at the dock, and was pleased her intuition had proved correct.

Falcon recognized the sound of Belle's footsteps as she ran across the weathered wood, and turned to face her. Not realizing he still held the bloody napkin, he waited for her to come close. "I know it was rude of me to leave. I'm sorry."

Alarmed by the bright red splotches on the square of white linen, Belle rushed forward. "Have you been hurt?"

"What? No." Falcon wadded up the stained napkin and jammed it into his pocket. "It's nothing. I just hit my head."

"When? On what?"

It was fear that had brought her close, and while her concern was touching, Falcon was positive he wasn't worthy of it. "It's nothing," he protested, but she started to walk

around him, searching for the wound, and he had to turn on his heel to stay ahead of her. "I don't need your help, Belle, and after last night, you ought to be smart enough to stay clear of me."

There weren't any bloodstains on his buckskins, but Belle doubted he was fine. She did not understand how he could have been fondling her under the table one minute, and then become this coldly forbidding stranger the next. "You must have been hit harder than you thought because you're not making any sense," she scolded. "Now bend down so I can take a good look at you."

Falcon was reluctant to agree, but thinking this might be the last time she would ever want to touch him, he knelt down on one knee. He took her hand and held it to the back of his head. "There, you can feel the lump, but it's stopped bleeding. Don't bother asking how I got it because I won't tell you."

They were so close that Belle longed to press his cheek against her bosom and simply hold him. When he released her hand, it was a struggle to simply stroke his hair lightly and step back. She would have sworn she had seen the full gamut of his emotions since last night, but as he rose, his expression took on a depth of anguish that frightened her.

"My father wants to see you, but you needn't face him alone. You weren't alone last night, and that's when the trouble began. It's as much my fault as yours, and I won't allow anyone to blame you."