For a trice Griffiths’ ire faded to alarm.
“Your debts are many, addicted to dice and drink as you are,” Bleu continued. “There’s a new debtor’s jail beside the Winchester courthouse. Perhaps now would be the time for me to post an advertisement in Virginia papers telling your creditors of your whereabouts. Once that becomes known you’ll have neither tavern nor indentures.”
Bleu reached for the pouch, half-amused when Griffiths seized it with a cat-like swipe. “Take your indentures and get out of my sight.”
“Count the coins and write down our arrangement.” Inking the quill on the desk, Bleu extended it. “I’ll tell Miss Farrow and the boy they’re free.”
He couldn’t keep the mockery from his tone nor tamp down his soaring elation. Leaving the office, he sought the kitchen and found it empty though plenty of pots and pans spat and burbled in the hearth. The back door was open wide as if the Sabbath raid that dark day had never happened.
He stepped outside as another growl of thunder came from the east and the sun hid behind a bank of clouds. Somehow it seemed fitting to find Brielle in the garden for that was his shining memory of her. Surrounded by beauty. Trying to hold tight to something lovely amid the turmoil. Her back was to him as she bent and picked mint hurriedly, adding it to her basket. Had she run out of the mint punch the tavern served?
At so mountainous a moment he reverted to the language nearest his heart.
“Venez, nous partons.”
Come, we are leaving.
She whirled around, upsetting her basket and staring at him as if he was a phantom. He held out a hand, savoring the sudden joy in her expression. And then she burst into tears, her hands covering her face as her shoulders shook with silents sobs. He’d seen his sister, Sylvie, do the same when overcome and she had no words.
He set down his gun, retrieving the basket at her feet—and the spilled mint—though she had no need of it now. His own eyes were damp, and he wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her till her emotional storm quieted. As it was, on oneknee before her, he handed her the basket when she lowered her hands and looked at him again.
“Please repeat to me what you said.” A dozen questions clouded her eyes. “I think I misunderstood.”
Brielle looked at Bleu, every inch of her wanting his embrace if only to steady her. His sudden appearing turned her to jelly, her shock at seeing him eclipsed by his more shocking words.
Come, we are leaving.
We? Other than the trinity, never had there been a more blessedwe, at least to her.
She stared at him, afraid to hope what she’d heard was true. His intensity told her there was much more. “We’re leaving here together—you, me, and Titus. Your freedom has been paid for, your contracts fulfilled. Griffiths is signing the transaction now. All that needs doing is gathering your belongings.”
Taking back her dropped herb basket, she tried to make sense of what he just said. What sort of man bought one’s freedom? Freedom for the both of them couldn’t have come cheap. Why had he done so?
“Titus was last in the public room.” The boom of thunder jarred her into action. “I’ll collect what we have from the attic.”
The satisfaction in Bleu’s expression—the feeling in his eyes—was something she’d need to unravel in time. For now, an urgency to depart overtook her, as if Griffiths might change his mind and freedom was fleeting. She all but ran up the back stair to the attic. Her belongings—and Titus’s—were blessed few. In her haste she nearly forgot her most beloved possession, her mother’s jewelry box. Wrapping it in a petticoat, she safeguarded it for travel.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to quiet her emotions as she returned downstairs. This morning’s confrontation with her former bondsman had lost its power. The iron bolt still lay on the kitchen table.
Bleu’s return seemed nothing short of providential.
12
Bleu walked toward the stables as lightning slashed the sky. Folks dispersed in all directions, seeking shelter as the wind picked up and nearly removed his felt hat. Titus had seen him and come out of the tavern at a near run as if Bleu might leave before he could speak with him.
“I never thought to see you again.” The boy’s eyes rounded, his pleasure plain. “What brings you back?
Bleu tousled his shock of flaxen hair. “Your work here is done. Follow me to the stables and I’ll tell you more.”
In a quarter of an hour the three of them had filled saddlebags with their meagre possessions as well as provisions for the journey, Griffiths’ signed paper secured. They said little as they prepared to go, caught in a web of shared joy and disbelief. Neither the weather nor the unknown could diminish the triumph of the moment.
“She’s sure a fine horse.” Titus ran a hand over the newly shod roan Bleu had bought as Brielle looked on. “I’ve never seen such trappings.”
The woman’s saddle had a fine slipcover of blue cloth. With Brielle in mind, he’d paid handsomely for both in Winchester. The timely purchase had restored some of his hard-won peace and somehow seemed confirmation of his plan to redeem them.
After visiting Tamsen’s gravesite a final time, Bleu handed Brielle up, sensing her quiet astonishment. Titus sat on a second pillion saddle behind her. He made sure they were comfortable before securing his rifle and mounting Windigo. He cast an assessing glance at the glowering skies and led out, intent on caverns a few miles distant that might shelter them from the worst of the weather.
He kept his gaze on the shifting landscape, not Brielle, lest he be less than vigilant. The Indians had struck too recently for ease and though he’d encountered no sign since, he felt it was only a matter of time till another raid bloodied the valley.
