0

MEG COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HAPPIER when she

came into the kitchen a few minutes later. She always began the day early, and today was special. Eben had returned as abruptly as he’d left, and he and Raven had spent the early evening making up for the time they’d lost to a simple misunderstanding.

She was rinsing out the coffeepot and putting it back on the spider when she heard the ring of boot heels on the back stair. In a moment, Eben appeared, a dark look on his face, and a length of fur-lined velvet draped over his arm.

“What’s that you have there?” Meg asked.

“My wedding gift to Raven,” he said. “I’m headed to McAllister’s Ford this morning to speak with Reverend Vent, so I figured I’d drop by Ellen’s shop and see if she can at least salvage the furs.”

“Salvage the furs?” Meg said. “I thought you said it was a gift?”

Eben spread the wrap for her inspection. “She left it lying on the table. When she came back down later to fetch it, this is what she found.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Meg said. “Dear God, but she must be heartbroken. And she didn’t even get to wear it.”

“Have you seen Ivory?”

“No, but she isn’t exactly an early riser. “ She watched him, and read his thoughts. “Oh, Eben. You don’t think she’d

—”

“She is the only one who leaps to mind. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

Meg set aside the cup she’d been holding. A tight little knot had formed in her stomach. Nerves, or dread, she could not tell. Perhaps a combination of both. Ivory had always been perverse, pushing him beyond what was prudent. If Meg lived

to be one hundred, she would never understand what drove her. “What are you going to do?”

“Put an end to this. I bought Sarah Fletcher’s farm a few weeks back. She took her son and daughter to live with her sister. The cabin is right enough for Raven and I to winter there. There’s plenty of wood, and the outbuildings are sound. We can be married and there by late afternoon. And Mrs.

Wharton can go to hell, for all I care—but she will not slander, or abuse my woman again.”

“Why not just drop it?” Meg suggested. “She’s caused enough trouble already.”

“I’ll be back by early afternoon.” He made to go out, then turned back. “If you see Raven, tell her I love her.”

“You can tell her yourself,” Meg said with a laugh she didn’t quite feel. It’ll be all right. It’ll all work out. A few more hours, and they’ll be beyond the reach of any evil that woman was planning.

It sounded good, yet with the taint of burnt fur and growing anger lingering in the warm air of the kitchen, it seemed a remote possibility at best.

EBEN RETURNED TO THE INN just before noon and handed the reins of his mount off to Jacob. “Put her up for me, will you, Jacob?”

He flipped the young man a coin and turned to leave when Ivory entered and ordered Jacob to saddle her gelding for her. Jacob looked from one to the other, until Eben said, “Just take the mare, Jacob. Mrs. Wharton isn’t going anywhere.”

“Subtle,” she said. “But then, you never quite caught on to nuances, did you, my love?”

“I caught on to you, though it certainly took me long enough. To think there was actually a time when I trusted you.”

“Loved,” she said. “You loved me.”

“In another lifetime. All of that’s behind me, thanks be to Christ, and I’m not as naïve as I once was.”

“You’ve matured, Eben.”

“I’ve gone on with my life, Mrs. Wharton. I suggest you do the same, and leave my wife alone. If you try to harm her again, I will make you regret it.”

“She isn’t your wife yet,” she said slyly. “And why would I wish to harm her?”

“That’s a very good question,” Eben said. “Why would you ruin her wrap? I know that you burned it. Only you could do something that hateful—and for what? Because she cherishes someone you threw away?”

Ivory stepped closer to him. She knew he was furious with her, but passion was passion, and it could easily be ignited into something else. It had always been that way with the two of them. Their relationship had been volatile, yet it was that precarious balance between fury and ecstasy that had made it so exciting, so erotic, and she wanted it back. Patrick didn’t figure into it. He never had. It was about her obsession for Eben. Four years of separation and marriage to another man hadn’t dulled her passion for him. If anything, it had intensified it.

She dared to touch him, there, finding him easily, stroking and petting until he grabbed her wrist, and forcefully set her away from him. He was hurting her, and she didn’t care. His cruel grip on her wrists was nothing compared to watching him pant after another woman. “Tell me you haven’t regretted what happened,” she said. “Tell me you haven’t missed the way we were.”

“I regret having known you at all,” he said. “I know poison when I smell it, and you reek of it. I will be damned if I will drink from that vessel again. You sicken me.” He shook off his anger like a dog shaking off water, then walked from the barn to the back door. He was done with her, he’d made that abundantly clear.

Or so he thought.

But she was far from done with him.

“Trysting amid the ordure, my dear?” Patrick questioned.

He’d entered silently from below, and heard voices—his wife’s and her former lover’s, and so he’d lingered in the shadows of the barn to listen.

She spat an oath so foul that Patrick flinched. “When I am done with him, he’ll wish he’d died with his kin!”

“So, St. Claire wanted none of you,” Patrick said, amused at her fury, especially since it had nothing to do with him. She could flay the flesh from a man’s bones before he knew what was happening, and leave him raw and bleeding. He couldn’t say that he didn’t look forward to seeing her strip St. Claire of everything—as long as no hint of scandal touched him. He’d worked too hard to allow his good name to be sullied by anyone—even his wife. “I can’t say I’m surprised. If I had to choose between you and that spritely little piece he’s about to marry—”

He did not get a chance to finish what he’d been saying, because she shoved him hard enough to send him stumbling backwards against the nearest stall. The gate, unlatched, gave way and Patrick sat down in something cold and fragrant. He cursed her viciously as she hovered over him, but even the meanest utterances couldn’t block out what she was saying.

“Do not mention her to me again! Do you hear me? I will not hear her name again until it is spoken over her grave!”

“And how do you intend to accomplish that?” he huffed at her. “St. Claire loathes you. Do you think he will stand by and allow you to harm his bride? Have you gone insane? He will kill you.”

“She will never take his name. I will see to that. And you are going to help me.”

WORD HAD SPREAD LIKE WILDFIRE through the

community and many had come to witness the nuptials of the county’s most elusive bachelor, and his beautiful intended bride. Bob Bently was there with two of his nephews, though the promise of celebratory drink had proved a stronger lure than any desire to witness Eben’s nuptials. Sarah and Timothy Fletcher, and her daughter Maura were present, and so was

Ellen Miller, standing beside Meg with a handful of wheat, which she intended to toss on the newlyweds, according to custom. Sam Ruston had come and was squiring one of the local girls who flushed shyly as the bridegroom walked past.

Eben, resplendent in an indigo coat over tight-fitting nankeen trousers and his gleaming Hessian boots, looked as if he’d been made to stand by Raven’s side. “I, Eben James, take thee, Raven… .” There was no hesitation as he swore to cleave to her, and only her. Not the slightest shred of doubt.

He’d given her his love, his heart, his loyalty. Now, he pledged his name, his life, eternity.

Raven felt like she was part of some beautiful dream. How could she be standing here beside the man she loved, dressed in golden silk? Her heart fluttered in her breast, and she was suddenly breathless. In a moment, they would be legally bound, one to the other, and no more doubts or fears would touch them.

But, outside at that very moment, a sobbing Jacob stumbled up the steps to the portico.

“With this ring, I thee wed… .” His words a warm caress, Eben slid the golden band over Raven’s knuckle. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

Reverend Issac Vent smiled down upon the happy couple, ready to pronounce them man and wife when the door burst open. “Ju-Judge McAllister! Miz Wharton—in the barn—she’s dead, sir!”

Meg cut through the crowd, taking Jacob by the arm. “What are you saying, boy?”

“She’s dead, Miss Cleary! I saw her!” Tears ran unchecked down his thin cheeks, and Ellen stepped up to put her arm around him. “I think her neck’s been broke.”

Eben went to lay a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, but the youth flinched away, his expression full of fear. Zeb had gone out immediately, but soon was back, his face a ghastly white.

“This can’t be happening,” Meg said. “Not now.”

“Jacob,” Zeb said. “Sit down, lad, and tell me all you know.”

“Mr. St. Claire come to the barn with his horse and asked me to put her up for him. Then, Miz Wharton, she wanted her horse saddled, but he told me to never mind that, and do as he said. Cause she wasn’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Eben was with my daughter, in the barn? When was this?”

“About two hours ago, sir.” ‘Did you hear what went on?”

“I heard, but did not see. I was tending to Cadence.”

Zeb rubbed a knotted hand along his jaw. “Tell me, then.

What did you hear?”

“They argued. Mr. St. Claire told her to stay away from Miss Raven, or he’d make her sorry.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. I was done with the mare, so I went out.

When I come back, Mr. St. Claire was gone, and Miz Wharton was layin’ in the straw, her head off to one side.”

The judge turned to Eben, and the old animosity surfaced. “Is what Jacob said true?”

“I was there,” Eben admitted, “but she was alive and angry when I left the barn.”

“’How sharper than a serpent’s tooth’,” the judge said cuttingly. “You were just a stripling lad when I took you in, thin in body and with a spirit chiseled in ice. I fed, and clothed, and educated you, and this is the thanks I get. My child, Eben. My only daughter!”

“Damn it, Zeb. I didn’t kill her!” Eben shouted, but the common room had erupted into chaos, with everyone talking at once.

“You will have your say at trial, in front of a jury of your peers. Until then, you will be held under guard. Take him to the attic.”

He nodded to the Bently boys, brawny young bulls far larger than Eben. They took his arms and he shook them off, turning to face the judge. “At least, give me a moment with Raven.”

“Would that I had been granted a moment to say goodbye to Ivory,” Zeb said coldly. “Get him out of here.”

The two appointed guards moved forward again and seized Eben by the arms, but he wrenched free and smashed his fist into the face of the nearest one. Eben took a step toward Raven, but his freedom was short-lived. Bently, now enraged and roaring like a bull, bowled into Eben, and the two of them toppled. The crowd surged back to make room, but the fight had already been decided. Bob Bently struggled up, his grin bloody. He rubbed his knuckles. “He’s quiet now.”

Across the room, Raven ran for Eben as he was dragged away, but Tyler Lee caught her, holding her back. “It’s bad enough. If you go to him now, it will only make things worse.”

Wild-eyed, she stared at him, her face drained of color. “You don’t understand! They hanged his grandfather! They will hang him, too! I must help him, Tyler! I’m all he has!”

“Be still and listen to me!” Tyler said, and his voice seemed a stranger’s, instead of his own. Gone was his lazy way of speaking, his indolence. “I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

Raven didn’t hear his vow. Mercifully, she’d fainted.

NAN’S SHARP EYES LIT UPON the stranger who quietly closed the door and surveyed the commotion, as if debating if he should stay, or venture back into the cold. She sensed, rather than saw his brittle gaze slowly turning over every detail of the room and felt a tiny shiver chase down her spine when he at last looked her way.

She’d seen his type before, tall and dangerous, without a penny to his name. His clothing was dark and nondescript, his boots worn, and the leather cracked—nothing except the hard, male body inside the clothing to catch a girl’s eye. Without prospects this evening, she thought she might just try him out.

Perhaps she was wrong, and he had a coin or two he might not mind parting with, once she’d pleasured him.

“It’s druther cold out there this evenin’, sir,” she said, smiling and showing all her teeth. “Why don’t you come and sit by the fire and let me see to your needs.”

She led him to the fireside and watched as he put his hands out to warm them. They were fine hands with long, tapering fingers and clean, well-cared-for nails. Not at all like the men who Nan normally serviced, whose fingers were hardened by hard physical labor, their nails rimed with black. They looked like the hands of a gentleman. “What can I bring you?” she asked, peering into his face as if expecting to see the word “gentry” branded on his cold-reddened cheek. He returned her eager gaze with one that matched the night’s frigidness, and Nan took an involuntary step backward, suddenly nervous.

There was something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar and at the same time unsettling. It tugged at her memory, but she could not lay a finger on where she might have seen the stranger before.

“If you’ve anything hot to eat, then bring it,” he said. “And a glass of your best whiskey.” With that he turned to the fire, dismissing her completely.

Nan hurried to bring what he wanted. At the kitchen door she glanced back once to see him staring at the flames as if spellbound. The gold of the fire filled his eyes until not a speck of icy blue remained. Set like golden jewels in his lean dark face, his trim black beard creeping up the hollows of his cheeks, he looked like some demon come straight from the throne of Belial, instead of a flesh and blood mortal man. All of the tales told by her granny to frighten her into treading the straight and narrow rose up now to haunt her. She must have stared a moment too long, because that sinister face slowly turned in her direction.

Jolted from her immobility, she rushed into the hallway, and collided with Meg, who nearly dropped the tea tray she was carrying. “Clumsy girl!” Meg chided. “Watch where you’re going!”

The voice brought Jase from his private musings and back to the present. A familiar voice, straight from the distant past. Meg Cleary. She was older now, but just as forceful, just as efficient in word and movement. He came slowly out of his chair, drawing her notice, and she nearly dropped the tray a second time. “Dear God. Cameron St. Claire—are you real? Am I losing my wits?”

Jase took off the hat that had shaded his face and covered the wealth of shining black hair that crowned his head and curled at his nape. “Meg Cleary. Will you let your imagination run away with you? Or tell me what is happening here?”

Meg stared for a few seconds, speechless.

Jase took her by the arm and sat her down before the fire. “If you remember my father’s name, then surely you remember me?”

Her hand went to her mouth, and she began to weep.

Jase turned and barked at the serving girl to fetch the whiskey.

“Oh, I can’t believe this. All these years, and here you are.” She took his hand and held it. “Real. Oh, my. I must tell Eben. Right now. Knowing you are here—alive—will give him hope.”

“Then, it’s true. He’s living still? Where?” he said. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs,” she said. “Come. I’ll take you there.”

The small attic room was tucked beneath the eaves, and hardly well suited for providing the meanest comfort. It had no grate for a fire, and what little heat drifted up from below stairs was immediately obliterated by the brisk winter wind whistling through the broken glass of the only window set high in the western wall.

Scratch, scratch, scratch… . the brush of bony limbs across the remaining panes was driving Eben mad. He crouched where the Bently boys had thrown him, on the scant straw of an ancient pallet which smelled of mold and decay and was lightly sprinkled with snow. Yet, it wasn’t his physical

discomfort that concerned him, but the events of the past few hours.

Again and again, he replayed the afternoon, moment by moment, leaving out no small detail. From the conversation with Meg early that morning to his argument with Ivory.

Especially his argument with Ivory.

Yes, the exchange had been filled with animosity. Yes, he had set her from him when she’d laid her hands on him, but he had not harmed her, and when he left her in the barn, she’d been alive and furious.

Yet, they had found her lifeless body inside the barn.

Someone had killed her—possibly moments after he left her.

But who?

Tyler Lee had no reason to want her dead, and Patrick Wharton had not returned from the city. The effort to sort out the puzzle made his headache pound all the harder. He laid his head on his arms, and he must have slept, for he dreamt he heard Meg’s voice calling the guards to come down and eat.

Slowly, the wisps of the dream faded away, and the lonely whistle of the night wind once again filled the silent chamber.

“Raise your head, man, and let me have a look at you.” “I’m losing my mind,” Eben muttered, but he looked up,

staring into a face that was very like his own. Framed by the small square watch-hole in the door, was the man for whom he’d been searching for so many years. “Jase?”

“Aye, little brother, it’s me. Come here and greet me properly. Meg has provided us with a little time, but it will go by quickly enough.”

Eben dragged himself off the straw and put his hand sideways through the bars in the opening. “My God. You look like Pa.”

“So, I’ve been told,” Jase said. “I could say the same for you—except for Mother’s fair hair.” He smiled, but the

expression was troubled. “What happened, Eben? Why are you in there?”

Eben shook his head. “I don’t know. The judge’s daughter, Ivory is dead—murdered, they say—and Zeb thinks I’m responsible.”

“Are you?”

“No. We argued early in the day. We have an unpleasant history, but she was very much alive when I left her.”

“Meg said the woman burned a cloak.”

“Aye. It was a wedding gift I bought for Raven. We were in the middle of the ceremony when they dragged me up here.

Have you seen her, Jase? How is she?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure yet, but I can assure you she’s being looked after.” Jase rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. His stubble rasped softly in the ensuing silence. “So, this woman was causing mischief, and you warned her away. Did you lay hands on her, Eben?”

“Only to set her from me. How could she think I would welcome her touch when she tried to hurt the woman I love?”

“Did you strike her?” Jase kept stubbornly on.

“God, no! I took her wrists and pushed her away. That was all. Then, I came to the inn to prepare for the ceremony. I didn’t give her another thought until Jacob Miller came in, shouting that she was dead.”

“And you passed no one on your way to the inn? Saw nothing remarkable that might shed light on who did this?”

“Nothing.”

“How much time elapsed, do you think? Between the time you left her, and the boy’s grim announcement?”

“An hour, perhaps? Maybe two? Time enough for me to make myself presentable for my bride.” Eben shook his head. “Look, if I knew who killed her, I would tell you so that I could get on with my life.”

“I know that,” Jase said. “But there must be someone here who hates her enough to want her dead. Someone who might profit in some way, by her death.”

Eben let go of the bar and raked a hand through his hair. “I would suggest you ask her husband that question. He left here a week ago and is supposed to return tomorrow.”

Footsteps and the sound of voices announced the guards’ return. Eben sighed. There was no more time, and so much left to say. He put his hand back through the bars, reaching, and Jase clasped it firmly. “Take heart, man,” he said. “I’ll get you out of here.”

And then he was gone, as if he hadn’t been there at all.

Eben walked back to the pallet and sank down, his back to the wall, and folded his arms over his upraised knees.