“I certainly did. Colonel Rourke suggested it.” Simon produced a bottle filled with a vile purgative. “A good dose too. And unless that horse starts gallopin’, Captain Johnson will be a hurtin’ Rebel.”
Chapter Nine
Moonlight spilled through the window, casting her father’s study in a luminous glow. In a haze of sleep, Rachel reclined on the settee, murmured, and then bolted upright. An obscure figure rose out of the gloom, and a wave of awareness raised her above the reign of slumber.
“Lucas?”
“Why are you crying?” He struck a match and lit a candle, emitting an arc of brilliant gold in the blackness.
She wiped away tears. Had she really cried? “It’s nothing.”
“I heard your screams—”
“I did not ask you to come.”
“No, you did not. I am here despite your objections.” He eased onto the settee and placed a worn pillow on the other side of her.
Rachel hugged her knees beneath her knitted shawl, twisting a strand of loose hair around her fingers. He leaned back on the sofa, tucking her head beneath his chin. No, she should not allow the intimacy.
But for now, she felt safe.
“Was it the purgative given Johnson that has you weeping?” he teased.
Rachel shook her head and wiped a tear. “On the contrary, if it had been me, I might have emptied the entire bottle in his glass.”
Lucas produced a handkerchief and she blew her nose.
“Tell me what’s troubling you.”
Her heart gave an unswerving leap from the genuine warmth of his deep baritone voice.
Infinitely patient.
Memories boiled and churned and surged. Most of what had been bottled up inside had been there too long. Trembling, she sat there silently, and like a fallen leaf caught in a whirlpool, drowning in all the sadness and sorrows, and sinking her farther into the muck. Couldn’t breathe. No…far too agonizing to resurrect. Talk. She had to talk…about anything else.
With fingers as light as a feather, he lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Candlelight glimmered over his handsome face…so strong and confident and reassuring. But to expose the most vulnerable part of her life?
To share the yoke of her guilt.
Rachel released a ragged breath. “To me, my father stood a giant, a great and noble man. I loved him dearly. He was a wonderful father, and my life was rich and full because of him. He was my best friend and was to be admired, ready to sacrifice his world against a horrible wrong. He hated the tyranny of the slavrocracy, it was so against his grain to see men bought and sold…beaten and worked to death. He grew bolder with each success in helping slaves escape.”
Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat. Lucas did not speak. He did not seem to judge. He waited for her to continue and the telling came easier.
“One night, Father had helped a group of slaves cross the river. We were in the barn when a group of horsemen rode into the yard. My father told me to flee. I refused and hid in the haymow. I watched everything. I watched Captain Johnson with other men…” Rachel wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Unspeakable things,” she whispered.
She tore her gaze from his, swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She didn’t want him to see her cry. To see how weak she really was. “They tied him to a timber and whipped him. I can still hear his screams. Before they left, they threw a rope over a beam and hanged him. I inched across the beam…tried to cut him down…the barn had been fired…I was unable to reach him…there was nothing left for me to bury.”
Lucas cursed and yanked her into his arms while she wet his shirt with her tears. A knot grew in his chest, and he felt the heat of her tear roll down his hand from her cheek. “There was nothing you could do to save him. It was an act of violence against a loved one. You should never have witnessed it.”
At last, he understood why this lovely woman with outward steely confidence stood so brazen against a hostile world. To have kept all the years of loneliness, grief and isolation locked inside? Most men crumbled to what she had endured.
Standing up against a society so wrong and championing her cause the best way she could, astounded him. The fact she cared more for others less fortunate than herself and risked her life, slammed into his heart.
For lack of knowing what to do, Lucas sat there for a long time, cradling her, and unable to get her revelations from his mind. “Never-ending remorse is a detrimental reaction. You should not feel guilt.”
At a loss of what more he could offer, he allowed the stillness of the night to garner all her burdens and sufferings like so many moonbeams painted across the floor. The War Between the States still raged but in the tiny nucleus of her home they contented themselves with a peace cut off from the misery and bloodshed.
When she was able to get her grief under control, her body relaxed against him. He smoothed her long auburn hair, and an urge to protect her washed over him. Determined to talk about anything that might take her mind from her troubles, he said, “Tell me about your family.”
