After dinner, Latimer surprised Ceressa by asking her to walk with him to the stable. Once within, Latimer led her to an occupied stall and opened the door. A lovely chestnut mare tossed her regal head imperiously, her ebony mane swishing like coarse silk. Ceressa had come to appreciate and love horses that long ago summer. And this mare was undoubtedly a superb creature. “She’s beautiful, Latimer,” Ceressa said as she gently rubbed the horse’s back.
“Her previous owner called her Nosegay. She’s yours.”
“How wonderful. And what a perfectly sweet name.”
Latimer laughed. “Don’t be fooled by her name,” he warned. “She’s been known to indulge in mischief and doesn’t always listen when she should. But I like her.”
“You seem to have a fondness for difficult women. First Phyllis, Heloise—now Nosegay.”
“I notice you didn’t include yourself in that auspicious group.”
She knew he was teasing so she played along. “I’m not difficult. I’m merely determined.” Ceressa stroked the mare’s velvety muzzle, holding back a grin.
“I fail to see little difference between difficult and determined.” Latimer walked around to the other side of the stall. His horse—Firewind, a most appropriate name—whinnied and thrust his nose toward Latimer as though in search of a treat. “Both terms can be applied to a woman with a maddening ability to torment and enchant.”
“I am fully aware of your torment, but I’ve yet to notice you suffering from enchantment. Pray tell me what that does to one.”
“Gladly,” he agreed as he moved toward her. “It makes one irrational. It makes one yearn for a kiss.”
Ceressa’s heart plummeted. She’d been hoping he might say that it made one yearn for love.
“You sigh?”
“I can’t help but think of the loving relationship that existed between my mother and father. Every evening, before retiring for the night, they’d spend an hour together talking about all sorts of things—politics, art, music, the Bible. They’d often recite poetry to one another, and it was terribly romantic.”
Now Latimer sighed. “That explains so much.”
“Explains what, might I ask?”
“Your eccentricity.”
“I am not eccentric because I believe in romance.”
“Not the romance—your intellectual pursuits.”
“There’s nothing wrong with using my mind and having opinions.”
“Does not the Bible admonish a woman to obey her husband?”
“If that husband earns her obeisance.”
“I don’t recall that caveat.”
“Then you’re suffering a convenient lapse of memory. A man should speak gently and kindly to his wife.”
“I can’t understand why a woman goes about wishing for a man to speak pretty words and silly nothings when she should seek words of substance and forthrightness. Words mean little—actions define a man’s true worth.”
“The Bible tells us as much. But that same Bible also tells a husband to treasure his wife.”
“As though precious as rubies,” he added. “I’m not given to flowery words or reciting poetry. I could never be one such as the Viscount Montvale.”
She was mildly startled when he reached out and lifted a curl from her shoulder, twining it about his finger all the while staring at it.
“But when I look at you, I see you as an angel with hair spun of God’s finest gold, with eyes that shimmer like stars, and lips that are sweeter than the rarest nectar known to man. When I look at you, I see how I could be different. I see a life without bitterness or regret. I see a life with you.”
Firewind’s sudden, shrill neigh ended the moment, and Latimer quickly turned away. Ceressa was so shocked she couldn’t breathe. For a span of mere seconds, he’d no longer been that fire-breathing dragon she’d labeled him on that terrifying night by the London docks.
For months, she’d really thought of no one but herself—poor Ceressa, far, far away from everything she held dear and from everyone she’d ever loved, wanted for murdering the man who murdered her parents, and married to a man harsh and unyielding.
She’d never stopped to think what Latimer had endured—the jilting by his fiancée, discovering his uncle was his father, his desperate search to find a mother for the niece whose own mother had been murdered. And he’d ended up marrying a dazed, terrified girl he’d plucked from a tawdry inn, compromised by a renowned adulterer in the seamiest part of London.
Hesitantly, she walked up behind him and drawing in a deep breath for courage, she rested her hand on his shoulder. He came about so suddenly, her hand flew up and her knuckles hit him hard in the nose. Blood spurted from both nostrils, dusting his pristine white stock with flecks of red. Ceressa cried out in horror.
“Latimer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t!” He halted her in mid-sentence. “Leave me.” His words were cold and clipped and frightening as he withdrew a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose.
“Please let me help.”
“You’ve helped quite enough,” he said, anger in his voice.
“You don’t think I did this intentionally?”
“Just go.” The abruptness of his words immediately erased any softer feelings she’d entertained a short time ago. Turning away, she marched from the stable, wishing she’d hit him on his thick skull, instead of his nose.
Just as she left the stable, something whished past her and embedded in the wood siding. Her gaze focused on the long shaft protruding from the wood, the feathers attached to the end quivering. As she realized she’d almost been struck by an arrow, a movement in the trees caught her gaze.
A deeply bronzed face appeared, his dark, intense eyes resting upon her. The man wore only a loin cloth, which ended at mid thigh. Paint encircled his eyes and crisscrossed his face. His hair was cropped close, save for one lone braid that hung over his shoulder, and two pheasant feathers were attached to the side of his finely shaped head. About his neck hung a circlet of shells and what appeared to be animal teeth; a large red stone fastened to the center of the adornment glittered in the fading sun.
Ceressa’s scream shattered the surrounding stillness.
****
The scream roused Latimer from his unabashed self-pity and absorption with his smarting nose. Dashing from the stable, he found Ceressa pressed to the wall of the structure, an arrow embedded in the wood beside her head. Looking toward the forest that encompassed the perimeter of his property, he saw a flash of bronze legs.
Assured Ceressa was unharmed, he gave pursuit but within seconds realized the native had disappeared and would not be found. The Indian was as one with his land, able to meld with it physically and spiritually. Turning around, Latimer retraced his steps and nearly knocked Ceressa down. He opened his mouth to scold her for following him then shut it quickly when he saw the stark terror in her eyes.
“Where did he go?” she gasped in a hoarse whisper.
“There’s no way to know. He’s long gone by now. I’ll never catch him. Are you all right?”
“I’m not hurt, but he was so—so fierce looking. He shot an arrow right at me.”
“If he’d meant to hit you, he wouldn’t have missed. The arrow is a warning.”
Bengie came crashing through the tangled, flowering vines that grew unhindered among the towering oaks and pines.
“I heard a scream. What happened?” the young man asked breathlessly, gripping a flintlock.
“I have good reason to believe we were paid a visit by a Pamunkey tribesman. Let’s return to the stable.” Grasping Ceressa’s hand, he led her back, Bengie reaching the stable first. He pulled out the arrow as a worried Mariette and Kate hurried toward them. Something had been wrapped about the shaft of the arrow, and Bengie removed it.
“Mistress Ceressa, what happened?” Mariette asked. “We heard you scream, then Benjamin grabbed a musket and told us to hide in the pantry. He ran out of the cottage.”
“I had my first sight of a native.” Ceressa seemed recovered from her fright, but she still held tightly to his hand. Latimer increased his pressure reassuringly.
“What did he look like?” Mariette asked.
“He was tall, his head shaved save for a long braid, and he wore hardly anything.” She paused, and Latimer noticed her blush. “There was a necklace about his throat and a large red glittering stone hung from it.”
Anger and fear raced along Latimer’s spine. The nerve of him; the unmitigated gall; how dare the man trespass upon his land and frighten Ceressa?
“Bocatakum,” Latimer ground between clenched teeth.
“Who?” Ceressa and Mariette chorused together.
“Kitchi’s brother,” Latimer said. “Constance’s brother-in-law.” Ceressa’s mouth formed a wide O.
Mariette still looked confused, and Bengie explained, “Master Latimer’s sister was married to a native man. The child, April, was born of their union. Kitchi’s tribe split into sides—those who chose to live in peace with the Englishmen and those who preferred death rather than accept their presence. It was that group which attacked Kitchi and Mistress Constance. They never noticed baby April, so she was spared. Bocatakum is Kitchi’s brother, both men great nephews of Chief Powhatan.”
“Why was he here?” Ceressa asked.
“I think I know,” Bengie said as he extended the small piece of tanned hide that had been tied about the shaft of the arrow.
Latimer took it and examined it. He was familiar enough with the Algonquin language and symbols to understand the message etched into the hide. And with understanding came a terror so unspeakable his hand shook.
Ceressa looked up at him in concern.
“What is it, Latimer?”
“Bengie,” he spoke roughly, not intentionally ignoring Ceressa but not trusting himself to speak coherently. “Saddle Firewind.” He released Ceressa’s hand and strode into the stable.
Bengie followed.
Drawing a deep breath, Latimer turned to face the young man though he still struggled to contain his emotions.
“Bocatakum has taken April from Tidelands. He plans to hold her until I agree to talk with him. Now that I’ve returned, he thinks I can stop Bacon.”
“Master Latimer you can’t go to him alone. I’ll go with you.”
“No!” thundered Latimer more forcefully than he’d intended. “You have to stay here with the women. Bocatakum won’t harm me.”
“But there are others in the tribe who might. Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t believe that would be wise.”
“I’m going alone, Bengie. Either saddle Firewind or go back to the cottage.” Latimer removed his velvet coat. Next, the soiled stock came off then he rolled up his sleeves.
Sighing, Bengie went to the stallion and led him from the stall. He saddled Firewind quickly, and Latimer lost no time mounting. He pounded out of the stable and into the yard, drawing the horse up sharply as Ceressa darted into his path. Swallowing an oath, he looked down at eyes filled with fear.
“Latimer, where are you going? Why won’t you tell me what’s happened?”
“There isn’t time. You’ve already cost me precious minutes.” As soon as he uttered the harsh words, he winced inwardly. He was taking out his fear on Ceressa, and she’d done nothing but express her concern.
She quickly turned and ran toward the cottage.
“Ceressa!” She refused to turn around and soon disappeared from sight.
Groaning, he put the horse to a gallop, knowing he had a long ride ahead—a ride that would take him beyond the York River and up the Pamunkey, deep into the land still populated by several tribes. Some of which were responsible for the murders and destruction in the western settlements.
****
Ceressa entered the hall of the cottage in a daze, terrified by the look on Latimer’s face and by what he hadn’t said. Something dreadful had occurred, and she feared that Latimer needed help.
Mariette and Kate entered, Kate’s face pale and Mariette trembling from head to toe.
“Mistress Ceressa, are you all right?” Kate asked.
“Of course I’m not all right. What has happened, Kate? I’ve never seen Latimer like this.” She’d seen him angry and condemning, as he’d been the night he rescued her from Charles Herrington, but never frightened and distraught. His eyes held fear even though his actions had portrayed anger.
Wringing her hands, Kate dropped upon the settle. “I don’t know for sure, but I suspect it involves the little Miss—Mistress April. I’ve never known the master to be upset by anythin’ unless it concerns Mistress April. He loves that child even if he doesn’t talk about it much. I just can’t imagine…” Her voice faded and, clasping hands before her, she lowered her head as though praying.
Benjamin entered the cottage, his eyes clouded with worry.
“What’s happened to April?” Ceressa demanded.
The young man glanced over at Kate accusingly then quickly returned his gaze to Ceressa. “I’m not sure—”
Ceressa closed the distance between them and grasped the lapels of his waistcoat, prepared to shake the truth from him.
“Mistress Ceressa, Master Latimer wants to take care of this.”
“You’re wasting time, Benjamin,” she warned. “Tell me.”
He sighed, the determination to remain silent escaping with his breath. Ceressa released him and awaited his explanation even as her impatience mounted.
“Bocatakum has kidnapped April and is holding her until Latimer comes to him. He believes Latimer can keep Bacon and his band from attacking the natives along the western frontier. His tribe has been set upon twice, and they aren’t involved in the killings and burnings.”
“That was the message?”
Bengie nodded.
Her mind whirling rapidly, Ceressa struggled with choices. Did she meekly stay behind or did she offer Latimer help? He’d saved her life in London. Didn’t she owe him for that? And his niece obviously meant everything to him. Her gaze rested on Kate’s mending, various garments spread over the work table, a pair of breeches among the collection. Judging by the length, she was certain they were Bengie’s. Snatching them up, she hurried from the hall. “Come with me, Mariette,” she commanded as she started up the stairs.
“Mistress Ceressa,” Bengie called out, his footsteps following her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m borrowing your breeches.”
“You can’t leave the cottage, Mistress Ceressa,” Bengie insisted, still following. Ceressa refused to be deterred.
“Latimer didn’t tell me I couldn’t leave. He may have told you to stay at the cottage, which you should do in the event the Indians deliver another message.” She entered Latimer’s chamber. Bengie stood outside the door, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.
“Mistress Ceressa, you can’t possibly mean to follow Master Latimer. You’ll never catch up with him.”
“I will if you stop protesting and let me change.”
Blushing furiously, Bengie accepted defeat, allowing Mariette to enter the room. She promptly shut the door in his face.