'Delilah,' Kristin murmured, her sense of humor returning at last, 'I'm sure I don't remember what proper is anymore. I tried. Honest to God, I tried.' She shrugged. 'I'm not going to do you any good around here. I'll see you in a bit, huh?'
She hurried toward the stairs, giving Delilah a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed. She felt the older woman's worried gaze follow her, but by the time she reached the landing, she had forgotten about her.
The house felt so empty now.
Delilah and Samson and their baby had the rooms on the third floor. Kristin's and Shannon's were here on the second floor. But Matthew's room was empty now, as was the big master bedroom where her father and mother had slept. The two guest rooms were empty, too. They hadn't entertained guests in a long, long time.
Kristin walked down the hallway, not toward her own room but toward the room that had been her parents'. She opened the door, stood there and smiled slowly. Her mother had been dead for years, but her father had been unable to part with the big Bavarian sleigh bed that his wife had so cherished. After her death he'd slept in it alone. And it was beautiful still. Delilah kept the mahogany polished and the bedding clean, as if she expected Pa to come back anytime.
Kristin walked into the room. There were giant armoires on either side of the window. One still held Pa's clothes, and the other still held her mother's.
We don't take to change easily here, Kristin thought. She smiled. It was the Irish blood, Pa had always told her. They were too sentimental. But that was good. It was good to hold on to the past. It helped keep the dream alive. Someday Pa's grandchildren would have this room. Matthew's children, probably.
If Matthew survived the war. It couldn't be easy for him, a Southern boy fighting in the Yankee army.
Kristin turned away. If Zeke Moreau had his way, none of them would survive the war. And when he was done torturing and killing, he would burn the house to the ground.
She started to close the door. Then she hesitated and turned back. She could suddenly see Cole Slater stretched out on that sleigh bed. It was a big bed, plenty big enough for his height and for the breadth of his shoulders. She could imagine him there, smiling lazily, negligently. Then suddenly, a whirlwind, a tempest of heat and fire…
She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes tightly and swore. She was sick of thinking about Cole Slater, and she was sick of remembering how grateful she had to be to a man who made her feel this way.
She slammed the door to her parents' room and hurried to her own. She threw her good dress on her bed and did likewise with her silk slippers and her corset. She slipped on a chemise, a cotton shirt, a pair of breeches and her high leather boots, and headed straight for the stables. She didn't bother with a saddle, but grabbed a bridle from a hook on the wall for Debutante and slipped into the stall to find her horse.
Debutante was an Arabian mare, a gift to Pa from one of the men he'd done business with in Chicago. She was a chestnut with white stockings, a deep dish in her nose and a tail that rode as high as the sun. Kristin loved her. She was amazed that the horse hadn't been stolen yet, but so far she had managed to have the horse out in the far pasture when the various raiding parties had swept through.
'Hello, you beautiful thing,' Kristin whispered as she slipped the bit into the mare's mouth. Debutante nudged her. Kristin stroked the horse's velvety nose, then leaped on her back. Debutante nudged the stall door open, and Kristin gave her free rein as they left the stables behind.
It felt good to ride. It was good to feel the wind strike her cheeks, to feel the coolness of the air as it rushed by her. She was glad she had come bareback. She could feel the power of the animal beneath her, the rhythm of her smooth gallop, the great constriction and release of superbly toned muscle. Kristin leaned close to Debutante's neck. The horse's mane whipped back, stinging her cheeks, but she laughed with delight, glad simply to be alive.
Then Kristin realized she was being followed.
She wasn't sure how she knew she was being followed, except that there was an extra beat to the rhythm churning the earth, something that moved in discord.
She tried to look behind her. Her hair swept into her face, nearly blinding her.
There was a rider behind her. A lone figure, riding hard.
Panic seized her. She was already riding like the wind. How much harder could she drive the mare?
'Debutante! Please! We must become the wind!' She locked her knees more tightly against the animal's flanks. They were moving still faster now. The Arabian mare was swift and graceful, but the horse behind them seemed to be swifter. Either that, or Debutante's stamina was fading.
'Please!'
Kristin leaned closer to the mare's neck. She conjured up a mental image of the terrain. Adam had once owned this land. Ahead, just to the right, was a forest of tall oaks. She could elude her pursuer there.
The trees loomed before her. She raced the mare into the forest, then reined in when the trees became too dense for a gallop. She moved to the right and to the left, pushing deeper and deeper into the maze of foliage. Then she slid from the mare's back and led her onward.
Kristin's heart was pounding as she sought shelter.
If Zeke had come back, if he found her now…
She would pray for death.
But he was alone this time, she thought, praying for courage. She could fight him.
A twig snapped behind her. She spun around. She couldn't see anything, but she knew that her pursuer had dismounted, too, that he was still following her.
The branches closed above her like an arbor. The day was not bright and blue here, it was green and secretive, and the air was cold. She began to shiver.
She wasn't even armed, she realized ruefully. She was a fool. After all that had happened this morning she had ridden away from home without even a pocketknife with which to defend herself.
Kristin searched the ground and found a good solid branch.
Another twig snapped behind her. She dropped the mare's reins and crouched down against an oak. Someone was moving toward her.
Someone was behind her.
She spun around, the branch raised, determined to get in the first blow.
'Son of a bitch!' he swore.
She had gotten in the first blow — just barely. The man had raised his arm, and the branch struck it hard.
The impact sent her flying, her hair in her eyes. She landed in the dirt, and he was on top of her in an instant. She slammed her fist into his face, and heard a violent oath.
'Stop it! Kristin!'
He caught her wrists and straddled her.
She blinked and went still. It was Cole Slater.
'You!'
He rubbed his jaw. 'You pack a hell of a punch.'
'A hell of a punch?' she repeated. 'You — you —' She was trembling with fear and with fury. She didn't mean to strike him again but she was nearly hysterical with relief, and she moved without thinking, slapping him across the face.
She knew instantly it was a mistake. His eyes narrowed, and everything about him hardened. Kristin gasped and looked around her for another weapon. Her fingers curled around a branch, and she raised it threateningly.
Cole wrenched the branch from her grasp and broke it over his knee, then pulled her roughly against his chest.
'What do you think you're doing?' he asked.
She had never seen him so furious, not even when he had gone up against Zeke and his gang of bushwhackers. Then he had seemed as cool as a spring stream. Now his eyes were the dark gray of a winter's sky, and his mouth was a white line of rage.
Kristin clenched her teeth hard, struggling to free herself from his grip. 'What am I doing? You scared me to death.'
He pulled her closer, and when he spoke again, his words were a mere whisper. 'You're a fool, girl. After a morning like this you take off into the woods, without a word, without a care.'
