Oh, the night would reign long.
After all, he wasn’t a saint.
Chapter Ten
Humming a familiar tune, Rachel crossed the yard to the barn. In the beauty of the day, her cheeks warmed from the thought of Lucas’ kiss. She had other kisses to compare. Captain Johnson’s kiss was like a foul reptile tongue or Ernest Columbine, whose kiss was like whitewash painted on a fence. Nothing she’d care to repeat or to remember.
However, Lucas’s kiss was what a young girl dreamed of—like a princess would receive from her prince. Was the kiss something she’d regret? He had fired a latent primitive force inside her…warm, melting twinges low in her belly…making her yearn for something more.
Yet, her longings were a fool’s dream. A choking bitterness rose within, for the very thing she wanted the most, she could not have.
She wanted Lucas. How she dared to dream. Yet the vagaries of life were as wide as they were severe, leaving her with no choices. Like new continents, they would remain undiscovered and unexplored, oceans apart and a sea of doubt between them.
Caution.She had to be cautious when dealing with the future. So entrenched in the war, she could not allow love concerns to muddle her mind. Love would complicate matters, and give rise to many questions that she was not prepared to answer. No. It would be far too dangerous to get involved with Colonel Rourke.
Yet, when she lay in his arms last night, it was impossible not to imagine a perfect life—a husband, a family, a home. Her life when her parents were alive seemed so far away now, a memory of a distant past. And then Colonel Rourke came into her life. She sighed. Something similar to regret touched her.
She gave herself a mental shake. Donotthink of the past, nor ponder what could have been, what could be at this moment or in the future. It is a futile effort.
Lucas had made his position clear. He wanted promotion and recognition. Pride spoke for him. Proud men possessed a habit of looking down on things and people. Of course, if one is looking down, then he couldn’t see the important people to the side of him.
She had made her decision and it was the right one. Of that, she remained certain. No room for doubt or futile guilt or the “what ifs”. After the war was over, and slavery abolished, and all the dreadful horrors and privations gone—she would forget the interlude had ever taken place. But could she?
The wind blew, kicking up whorls of dust, and she coughed as she turned the corner of the barn. A lanky soldier and two horses rested in front of the door. Her heart stalled. Bands of fear tightened around her chest.
The soldier stepped in front of her. He pushed a chaw of tobacco into his bristled cheek. “You can’t go in the barn.”
Whatever was going on, it was bad. “Step aside, Soldier. It’s my property.” As the soldier protested, Rachel dodged him and stalked into the barn. He was on her heels. She picked up a plank, swiveled, and then smacked him across the head. Down he went. She brushed the dust off her hands.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, worn barrels, a pitchfork, beat-up water buckets, bags of feed grain slumped against the poles, dusty frames of wooden stalls, the heavy bosom of the loft above, gray pigeons clinging to the rafters. From her first slow breath, her nose twitched with moldering hay and manure.
Everything was quiet as it should be except for the horses snorting and wheeling in their stalls. A muffled cry came from the back. Rachel picked up a pitchfork, and edged along the stalls, the crackle of dry straw beneath her feet. She looked over a gate. With lash in hand, Captain Johnson stood over a half-naked Sally, a servant who came once a week to do Rachel’s wash.
“I’ll show you respect, you black bitch,” he said and raised his whip.
Sally kicked at Johnson, a look of terror on her face. She crawled into a ball as the lash descended over her ebony skin. Johnson’s eyes shone with his excitement, his mouth curled in a malevolent sneer as he brought his whip down again.
“Stop!” Rachel shouted, gripped the handle of her pitchfork and pointed the tines at him. “Get out and off my property. If I ever find you on this property again I’ll kill you.” She nodded at Sally. “Sally, go into the house and fetch Simon.”
Dazed, Sally stumbled to her feet, holding her torn dress in front of her. “But Miss Rachel, Simon went into town.”
To let Johnson know she was alone was the last thing Rachel wanted Sally to say.
The stink of cheap whiskey and the smell of sex lingered in the air.Poor Sally.The servant girl teetered around Captain Johnson and fled.
“You think a pitchfork’s going to stop me from taking you, Rachel.” He leered at her, his excitement combined with anticipation, evident.
Knees shaking, Rachel kept the fork steady, parrying him every time he tried to cut around her.
His upper lip curled. “I’ve had enough of your haughty refusals. How I’ll delight in a nice Virginia peach and compromise you in the delightful process.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her chin quivered, and she swallowed. The liquor had made him bold and he was twice the size of her.
He took a step closer. She backed up, holding the tines to his ferretlike face. He rushed at her and she thrust, scoring deep furrows in his cheek. He slapped the fork away and her weapon clanged against a stall door. Johnson put his hand up to his face. Scarlett against white smeared his palm.
“You bitch.” In two steps, he flung her to the floor. The back of her head smacked on stone and she shook her head to clear the dizziness. The dry taste of chaff stirred up and onto her lips.
He straddled her, leered into her face. Rachel did not bother screaming. Her fingers curved into a tight fist and she struck him. The blow glanced off his cheekbone.
