Chapter 23

Charity pulled the quilt over her head and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the tap-tap coming from the priest's hole. She'd as much as promised Jamie she'd let him out after the house was asleep, but now she knew better. If she opened that door... if she opened that door she wasn't sure she could remain true to her marriage vows.

He'd pleaded with her earlier to release the catch. She'd refused, telling him she didn't trust him. It was a lie. It was herself she didn't trust.

"Oh, Jamie," she whispered into the pillow. "I want you so much."

Rain intermixed with sleet beat against the windows. The temperature was dropping. Lord Beauford had predicted they'd have snow before morning.

Kat lay sleeping peacefully in her cradle. Charity had sent the wet nurse to sleep elsewhere, complaining that she snored. If Kat woke in the night, she'd have to call the girl to feed her. She'd drawn the cradle closer to the fireplace to be sure Kat was warm enough.

She was a happy baby who hardly ever cried. Charity couldn't help thinking what Jamie would say if he knew he was only a few feet from his own daughter. Would he be proud of her, or would he wish she'd never been born? At least no one could ever name her bastard. She had a name. A good name... even if it wasn't really her own.

She'd searched little Kat's features day after day looking for Jamie's stamp. There seemed to be nothing of her father in her face or coloring.

Her hair was gold; ringlets covered her head. Her skin was very fair, the eyes as blue as a Tidewater sky. Mam's eyes? Beauford swore they were his.

The tapping grew louder.

"Go to sleep," Charity hissed. Captain Halifax slept only a few doors down the hallway. It wasn't safe to let him out.

Charity sighed. It certainly wasn't safe. Memories of his lovemaking tortured her... the feel of his mouth on hers... the solid length of his body pressed hotly against her.

She shook her head to clear away the sinful thoughts. If she didn't have Kat... But she did. And because of Kat she had to do what was right. No, she thought. Not just for Kat. For herself and for Harry. She'd given her vows freely. A woman who would break her solemn vows of marriage deserved to bum in hell. There was much she had done in her life to be ashamed of, much to regret. But she was no cheat! She had promised Harry her body. It was his, whether he could make use of it or not. She could not betray him. You betrayed Jamie, the voice in her head reminded.

"That was different." Charity burrowed deeper into the bed. The sheets were suddenly harsh against her sensitive skin. An urgent need began to grow within her. "No. I won't think of Jamie. I'll think of something else."

Charity pushed her way from the covers and went to the window. The floorboards were icy against her bare feet. She laid her face against the panes and stared out into the bitter night, ignoring an impulse to open the window and let the cold rain beat against her face.

A faint voice came from behind the panel. "Charity. Open this door. Please."

She crossed the room and struck the panel with her fist. "No." She slid down the wall and leaned against it, wrapping her arms about her knees. "No, Jamie. You can't come out. Lord Beauford may come to my bed." Another lie. "In the morning. I'll bring more food in the morning."

Heat rose in her body and she swallowed hard. Her hand crept toward the hidden latch. If you open that door, you know what will happen, the inner voice said. She drew her hand back and sat on it.

"Charity."

"No. I won't." Grabbing Kat, she carried the baby into the sitting room.

Kat yawned and waved a minute fist. Charity smothered her face in kisses. "I love you," she said. "I love you, Kat." She rocked the infant in her arms.

"Tomorrow I'll get him out of there if I have to face down the devil himself," Charity swore. She let out a deep breath and hugged Kat tighter, certain the devil was within her own soul.

"I'm tempted," she admitted to the child. "Very tempted. But I won't do it. I won't." Resolutely she left the sitting room and went to the servants' quarters to fetch the wet nurse. Somehow she knew she'd get a lot more sleep if the girl came to share her bedroom.

At ten o'clock the next morning Captain Halifax and his soldiers took ship back to Annapolis. A few minutes later, Charity opened the panel to the secret room.

"Damn it, Charity, why did you wait so long? I've been without even a candle since last night." Jamie's face was flushed. "My leg hurts like hell."

"Can you walk on it?" She felt his head. He had a fever for certain. "I've got to get you out of here."

"Is Halifax gone?"

She nodded. "I'll keep Harry occupied, and the butler if I can." She put an arm under his shoulder. "Put on these clothes and go downstairs and out by way of the garden. I've ordered the closed carriage brought around to take me to Sweetwater. I'll have the coachman stop by the garden lane, near the tall cedar. Once you're in the carriage, I'll tell the driver I've changed my mind and want to go to Widow's Endeavor." She chewed at her lower lip nervously. "If I can get you to Elizabeth, she'll be able to do more for your leg than I can."

Jamie tested the bad leg. He gasped and caught himself with a hand on the wall. "I don't know if I can make it on my own. Send John up here." He forced a grin at her uncomprehending stare. "It's all right, he's one of us."

"John? What do you mean?"

"I mean he works for me. He's a friend. He can help me get down to the garden and into the coach if necessary." The room spun, and Jamie lowered himself into a chair. "Is this what you want me to put on?" He picked up a garment.

Charity nodded. "John is a smuggler?" It was beyond belief. "I can't stand him. I wouldn't trust him with a shilling."

"A woman's dress? You want me to wear a dress and mob-cap?"

"Suppose someone saw you? I could hardly have a man coming out of my room. No one will notice another maid, even if she is too tall." She helped him out of his coat. "I'll burn these things in the fireplace."

"You will not! Do you know what that coat cost? Roll it into a bundle. I'll take it with me." Jamie rubbed at the aching leg. "I'll be lucky if I don't lose it. What do you know about healing?"

She ignored his insult. "I still don't trust John. Can't you do it without him?"

"No, I can't. Just do as I tell you." Grumbling, he let her help him into the drab wool gown and apron. "It might be better to hang. If I am caught, I'm going to feel like such a fool."

Charity set the starched cap on his head and pulled it over his brown hair. "Actually, you're not too bad-looking as a woman. It wouldn't be hard to find some man to buy your indenture if you were a bondmaid." A delicate eyebrow arched and she pursed her lips to hide the forming giggle. The green eyes danced as she adjusted the cap. "I might buy you myself," she teased.

"Enough of this farce. Let's get on with it," Jamie said gruffly. He grabbed her arm and pulled her a breath's distance away. Before she could draw away, his lips captured hers in a deep yearning kiss of unrestrained passion.

The tension building within her rose to a heated pitch, sweeping all reason, all caution away in a tide of raw emotion. Her arms encircled his neck, pulling him down to her, her warm body molded to his.

The months of waiting, the hope and despair, her heartache and desire all flowed together into this one searing kiss.

With a cry, Charity pulled away. "No... Jamie... I can't..." She placed a trembling hand on the doorknob! Salt tears flooded up in the green eyes, now burning with an inner fire. "I love you, Jamie," she said and fled the room.

A few hundred yards from the house, Charity leaned her head out and called to the coachman. "Stop! Stop, I say!"

The black man slowed his team and then reined them to a halt. He leaned from the seat to see what Lady Beauford wanted.

Charity opened the door and jumped down, a shocking breach of etiquette. In the process, she became entangled in her petticoats and fell to the ground. "Don't just sit there, you fool!" she shrieked.

The coachman leaped down from his seat to aid the lady, and in the midst of the distraction, John helped Jamie into the far side of the carriage.

The butler appeared at the coachman's elbow as he was assisting Charity to her feet. "What's amiss here?" John demanded.

The Coachman attempted to explain, but Charity waved him aside imperiously. "If he would just drive the horses instead of neglecting his duties," she complained.

John drew himself up stiffly, motioned toward the driver's seat, and dropped the step under the carriage door. "I'll help Lady Beauford into the carriage," he said. The driver hastened to obey, and John opened the door, winked at Charity, and helped her into the vehicle.

Jamie grinned at Charity from the opposite seat. The mobcap was perched jauntily on his head. Charity covered her mouth with her hands and stifled a giggle.

"Take Lady Beauford to Widow's Endeavor," John ordered. "Any more insolence on your part, and I'll be forced to report your behavior to Lord Beauford." He cleared his throat importantly. "Her ladyship has informed me that your attitude needs improving. If I have to speak to you again, you'll go back to being a stableboy."

Gathering the reins in both hands, the chastised driver clicked to his team and drove off down the road toward Lady Deale's plantation without another word.

"Do I please your ladyship?" Jamie asked in a false, high-pitched voice.

"Shhh," Charity warned. Did he realize what they both were risking? If anything went wrong...

Jamie leaned across and caught Charity's hand. His lips formed a silent I love you.

Charity pulled her hand free and settled back against the cushioned seat. The sooner Jamie was safely away from Avalon, the better. She only hoped that getting him out of the carriage would be as simple as getting him in.

The distance to Widow's Endeavor was traveled in silence. Charity kept her eyes averted. Jamie's nearness, even in those ridiculous clothes, was maddening.

She had admitted to him that she still loved him. But it changed nothing. She was Lord Beauford's wife. She and Jamie could have no future as long as Harry lived.

As the carriage turned into Elizabeth's lane, Charity threw a lap robe over him. The curtains at the windows were drawn. With a little luck, she could get out without anyone seeing Jamie. "Elizabeth will see you get proper care," she whispered. "She'll hide you until you're well enough to go home. For God's sake, take care of yourself. And please stay clear of Avalon."

The coachman was relieved to see the lady's evil mood had vanished as he helped her down.

"Go around to the kitchen," she instructed. "I'll have Lady Deale's cook give you something. We'll say no more about what happened earlier."

"No, my lady." Gratefully the man did as he was told.

Once inside, Charity was able to explain her plight to Elizabeth. "He's hurt," she said. "He needs a physician. And you have to get him out of my carriage without anyone knowing."

"Don't worry," the older woman assured her. "I've had some experience with this kind of thing before. Remember, Jamie Drummond and I have been partners for a long time. I'll have you on your way home in due-time with none the wiser."

"There's just one thing," Charity said. Mischief lit the catlike green eyes. "He's wearing a dress."

"You stay here," Elizabeth ordered, unable to hold back the chuckles. "This is one sight I have to see for myself."

* * *

Winter seized the Eastern Shore in a bitter grip. Winds from the northwest swept across the Chesapeake, locking the Tidewater in a cold wave worse than any the oldest settlers could remember. Rivers froze from bank to bank; trees cracked from the intense cold. Waterfowl, unable to feed along the creeks and marshes, starved.

The human inhabitants of the land suffered too. Families huddled close to fireplaces and wrapped themselves in blankets and extra clothing. Water for drinking and household use had to be heated. Caring for livestock became a monumental chore.

At Avalon, Charity was concerned with keeping Kat warm and healthy. The cold had brought sickness—an inflammation of the chest and coughing. Dozens of the people at Avalon were flat on their backs, and news from Widow's Endeavor and Oxford confirmed the fact of an epidemic.

Charity's concern for Jamie's recovery was overshadowed by her fear that Kat would become one of the victims of the illness. Fourteen children had died in Oxford alone.

Lord Beauford had ordered that Charity, Nan, the wet nurse, and Kat be confined to Charity's chambers. Only John was permitted to bring food. Everything that went in or out of the apartment was passed through the doorway with no contact.

So critical was the situation that Christmas passed without celebration.

Then in January, as quickly as they had begun, the northwest winds stopped. The temperature rose, and with the change in weather the illness passed.

Due to Lord Beauford's strict regulations and prompt measures, only three had died on Avalon, and one of those was a very old woman.

Charity was delighted to be released from the prison of her chambers. Too long had she paced the confines of those familiar rooms without a breath of fresh air. She was glad to accept Harry's invitation to ride to Elizabeth's to see how they had fared during the sickness and cold.

Elizabeth welcomed them with open arms, assuring Charity privately that Jamie's leg was healing nicely and that he hadn't been taken with the illness. "He asked after you and the child," she said. "Almost daily."

"Kat's fine," Charity replied. "She can hold the bell and coral rattle you gave her, and she laughs out loud. You won't believe how she's grown. We were so frightened she'd take the sickness, but she didn't even get a sniffle."

"I've lost five of my people," Elizabeth confided. "One was near the age of Kat. Harry was right to keep her away from the servants. The little ones seemed to have no resistance to it." She took a deep breath. "Sometimes it's very hard to accept God's will." For a fraction of a minute, Charity glimpsed the weight of responsibilities that rested on Elizabeth's shoulders, then a smile lit her face. "Enough gloomy talk." She led the way into the small sitting room where Harry was sipping brandy. "I have Christmas gifts for all three of you."

They spent the afternoon laughing and talking and enjoying Elizabeth's bountiful fare, finally leaving for Avalon just before dark, laden with packages for Kat.

As the light was fast failing, Harry led Charity home by a shortcut across the frozen surface of Frenchman's Creek.

"I'm not sure about this, my lord," Charity said nervously. The little mare balked at the edge of the ice. "Couldn't we go around by the road?" Duchess threw her head up and twitched her ears. "She doesn't like the ice."

"Nonsense! It's perfectly safe," Lord Beauford insisted. "Be firm with her." He urged the bay gelding out ahead of her. "This ice is six inches thick. Just keep her to a walk so she doesn't slip."

Charity dismounted and led Duchess down the bank onto the ice. It did seem solid enough. The mare snorted and stepped gingerly, raising each hoof in an exaggerated manner. Lord Beauford was already more than halfway across.

Cautiously leading the horse, Charity followed. The surface of the creek was cold on the bottom of her feet; the thin leather riding boots were little protection.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a sickening crack, and the bay gelding plunged knee-high through the ice. Charity screamed and dropped the mare's reins.

Lord Beauford fought for control of the terrified animal. The cracking grew louder as a cobweb of splintering crevices appeared in the ice. "Go back, Caroline!" Harry yelled. The bay fell heavily. A hole opened and water poured onto the surface of the ice. Horse and rider struggled to keep from being sucked under by the current.

Charity stood frozen to the spot as Duchess turned and scrambled back up the bank. "Harry!"

To her horror, the bay disappeared in the black water. Seconds later, the old man bobbed up and clung to the edge of the broken ice.

"My lord!" Charity shrieked, running toward him.

"No," he moaned.

She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled closer. The ice creaked beneath the weight of her body ; she could see movement. "Hold on! I'm coming! I'll get you out!"

The piece of ice he was clinging to gave way, and Harry was again dumped into the water. Once more he swam to the top and grasped the fragile edge.

Charity backed up until the surface was solid, then got to her feet and ran back to Duchess. A rope! If only she had a rope! She pulled off the mare's bridle and tied one rein to a short, stout branch. Then, badly frightened, she edged back across the creek toward Lord Beauford.

"Hold on, my lord! I'm coming," she repeated over and over. When she had gone as far as she dared, she slid the branch out over the ice toward Beauford. "Catch hold!" she yelled. "Grab it!"

On the third try he succeeded. Using all her strength, she began to pull. The ice splintered, but the old man held on.

"Just a few more feet," she cried. She could not have believed he weighed so much. It was hard to get a grip on the slippery ice.

After what seemed like hours, Charity was able to pull him far enough from the broken ice to grab him with her hands. Frantically she drew him to the bank and ripped at the sodden clothing. He was shivering so hard he couldn't speak a word. Removing her heavy woolen cloak, she wrapped it around him. "I'll have to ride back to Elizabeth's for help," she explained. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

It took precious minutes to coax Duchess near enough to put the bridle back on and to mount. Then Charity was off across the fields at a gallop, too frightened to notice the cold.

The rescue party carried the old earl home to Avalon and put him to bed more dead than alive. For days Charity hardly left his bedside as he tossed with fever. Elizabeth came daily to administer potions and to pack his chest with herb poultices, but it was Charity who spooned broth between his lips and wiped his sweating brow. Not once did she admit that there was a chance that Lord Beauford would succumb to his fever.

"You will soon be strong again, my lord," she soothed. "You're too tough to let a little water get the best of you."

"That was a foolish thing you did," he gasped, caught in a spasm of coughing.

"You could have been killed."

Charity laughed. "Ma—Someone once told me that a woman meant to be hanged will never die another way." She kissed his lined forehead. "You were the brave one, my lord. I could never have fought that current so long."

With a sigh, Lord Beauford lay back against the white pillow and closed his eyes. His breathing came in shuddering gulps.

Maybe it would have been easier if he had let the water take him as it had taken the horse.

"Sleep, my lord. I'll be here by you," she promised.

Beauford's heart was warmed by the genuine concern in her voice. How many men, he wondered, had received so much from a marriage of convenience? Clutching her hand, he drifted off to sleep.

On the seventh day, Lady Beauford was called from the earl's bedside on an urgent matter.

"My lady." John waited in the hall. "You must come at once. A dead man has been found on the creek bank."

"A dead man? How did he die? Who is it?" Charity demanded, reaching for the cloak a maid held out. Since Lord Beauford's accident, the atmosphere had changed greatly at Avalon. The servants, once so distant and ill-mannered, had responded to Charity's act of bravery with fervent loyalty.

The cook had put into words what the others had felt. "She 'ad nothin' to do but stand there and scream," she declared. "And she would 'ave become a rich widow. But she didn't. She held fast to 'er lord and done 'er duty. She's all right, 'er ladyship is."

Charity's care of the ailing man had only added to the growing legend.

"The woman's a saint," the laundress said. "Commoner or not, she's a real lady."

The sudden turnabout had been a little disconcerting to Charity. Suddenly she was stumbling over servants, all eager to do her slightest bidding.

The hint of a smile passed over John's thin lips. "Of course, it's not my place to say. But it may be that this dead man is the escaped smuggler." He winked. "He seems to have been under the ice for some time, perhaps even since the christening."

Charity's pulse quickened. Jamie? No, it couldn't be. Why was John behaving so strangely? "Did the man meet with foul play?"

John shrugged. "After so long in the water, who knows? But he wears a coat similar to one described by Captain Halifax."

"But how is that possible?" It couldn't be Jamie. He'd carried the coat with him when he left Avalon. She followed John out of the house and into the big barn.

A crowd of men and women were gathered around a still form. The object was laid out on a feed box and covered with a gray blanket. Talking ceased as Lady Beauford approached.

Charity's mouth felt dry. "John, have you viewed the body?" Her voice cracked. "Do... do you recognize him?"

The butler took hold of the corner of the blanket. "Do you wish to see him yourself, my lady?"

She shook her head. "No... no. That won't be necessary. But did you...?" Charity swallowed hard. "Are you certain it's none of our people? No one we know?"

"Albert!" John called to a husky bondman. "Tell Lady Beauford what you know of this."

The man's Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he stepped forward from the onlookers. "Me and—" John glared at him, and the man yanked off his shapeless wool cap. "Me and Jock was chasing a loose heifer down by the creek. I stopped to..." His face turned a vivid shade of crimson.

"You saw the body," John supplied.

"Yes, lady. We seed the body. Jock, he run for the overseer, and he told us to fetch John from the house. We thought right off it might be the fella the soldiers was looking for, on account of his fancy coat. He ain't got much face left, but how many gentlemen had disappeared around here? It must be the smuggler," he finished lamely.

"Thank you, Albert." Charity glanced at John helplessly. "Should we call the sheriff?"

"Yes, my lady." John beamed. "I'll send someone at once, my lady."

"And send for a priest or a minister. Whoever the poor devil is, he deserves a Christian burial," she said quietly. Charity tried to ignore the whispers that followed her from the barn.

"MacKenzie."

"The smuggler, certain."

"Jock said he had a hole in his leg you could drive a team through."

Charity swayed slightly, and John's hand caught her arm. "Not to fret, Lady Beauford," he murmured. "It's no one we know."

She stopped and looked at him quizzically. "But the coat?"

"I put it on him myself, my lady. Just before I slid him into the creek."

She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Rest your mind. He died a natural death. Hanged at sea for murder."

"How?"

The butler guided her toward the house. "MacKenzie was too dangerous to live. If Halifax has what he's looking for, he'll trouble us no more." John permitted himself a dry chuckle. "I paid four shillings for the poor wretch's body myself in Oxford a month ago."

Charity was unconvinced. "But that's sacrilege... to... to make such use of a dead man." She shuddered at the thought.

"A murderer?" He shook his head. "No. Besides." He winked. "As you said yourself, we'll give him a Christian burial. If we hadn't made use of him, he'd have been lucky to be covered over with a few shovelfuls of oyster shells. Nobody would have prayed over him, that's for certain." John grinned. "If you see fit, my lady, we'll even give him a real wood coffin."

* * *

Lord Beauford was still too ill to leave his bed, but Lady Deale and her neighbor, Viscount Braemar, were present, along with several other planters. The sheriff had been by earlier, both to view the corpse and to make a full report of the incident.

Charity had ordered the man buried in the plantation cemetery. It was a proper day for a funeral; the skies were overcast and low clouds hung over the bay. The air was raw rather than bitter cold, but Charity welcomed the warmth of her powder-blue wool cloak. The hood covered her hair and shielded part of her face from view.

"You are a vision of loveliness, Lady Beauford," the viscount assured her, raising her gloved hand to his lips. "Isn't she, Elizabeth?"

Charity pulled her hand back, turning toward the priest. "You may begin, Father DuClaire," she instructed. The sooner this was over, the better, she thought. If only Jamie wouldn't stare at her. She could feel his eyes through the thick wool of the cloak. The priest began the rite for the dead, and she gave him her full attention.

The brief ceremony was nearly ended when Captain Daniel Halifax thundered down the hill with a half dozen soldiers behind him. He reined hard on his horse and the animal reared, foam spewing from his mouth. "By what authority have you buried this man?" the captain demanded.

Charity drew herself up stiffly. Her green eyes met his coolly. "By my authority, sir. I am mistress of Avalon, a fact you seem to have forgotten."

Halifax threw himself from the saddle. "In the King's name, I'll have explanations." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

"If you're here, Captain Halifax, you must know the circumstances." Behind her, she heard the angry murmur of her neighbors. Charity knew she must carry this off, knew she couldn't let Halifax see the fear that had turned her knees to water. Her eyes narrowed and she stared at him arrogantly. Halifax was in full uniform, his boots so shiny he could have used them for a shaving mirror.

The captain was trembling with anger, his face crimson, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Why wasn't I notified? You knew we were still searching for him."

Jamie stepped forward. "See here, captain. You've a damned poor sense of timing." He arched an eyebrow in disgust. "Doesn't Lady Beauford have enough to worry about, what with his lordship's illness?"

"Stay out of this, Braemar," Halifax flared. His hand went to the pistol at his side. "There's too much sympathy for the smugglers in this area. If any of you are implicated—"

Charity moved between them. "Sheriff Bennett was notified. I fail to see what interest you could possibly have in a corpse, especially one that has..." She paused delicately. "Has been under water for some time."

Halifax looked grim. "If this be trickery, your husband's position will do you little good."

"By your leave!" Elizabeth exploded. "Have you lost your senses? Do you accuse Lady Beauford of being a smuggler? Do you accuse me and these good gentlemen?"

"I accuse no one," Halifax stuttered. He whirled on Charity. "The coat, Lady Beauford. Where is the coat?"

Jamie flicked an imaginary speck off his splendid rose-satin greatcoat. "They buried him in it. Did you think they'd tuck him away half naked?" The cinnamon eyes were amused. "Surprised to see you here at all. We heard you'd been called back to England."

"I sail on Thursday." He turned hard eyes on Charity. "You had no authority to bury this criminal. If he is MacKenzie, he will be dealt with accordingly." He motioned to the soldiers. "Dig him up."

Despite the protests of the priest, Lady Beauford, and her neighbors, the smuggler Angus MacKenzie was exhumed, inspected by an agent of His Majesty, King George, and carried back to England in a barrel of vinegar as final proof of his termination.