“You remembered my favorite tune.”
“Why you love such a sad song is beyond understanding, but you do, so of course that’s what I asked the smith to make for you.” His smile was tempting and proud.
Grainne pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come back in a fortnight. I’ll tell you my answer then,” she said, as the song wound into silence.
“Two weeks will feel like two centuries, but I’ll do as you ask. I’ll always do as you ask.”
That sincere admission warmed her heart, almost enough to banish the worm of foreboding that threatened the happy future they hoped for.
“When you come back meet me at the brook by the rowan tree.”
“Where I first kissed you.” Now Luc’s handsome expression was wistful.
“Where I first allowed you to kiss me, sir.” Pretending haughtiness, she stuck her nose in the air.
“Aye, the first time,” he said. “Now, get you gone.” She aimed him toward the road and slapped his shoulder. “Da will be home soon, and I don’t want you two to argue.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He planted a kiss atop her head then his long legs carried him off.
Grainne stared into the box. She stroked the ring with her finger then closed the lid. She removed the music box key and closed the covering knob then locked the box shut. Returning the keys to their slots, she hurried into the house and up to her cot under the eaves. She wrapped the box in a clean rag then shoved it beneath her bed. If Da found it, he’d sell it. He might even beat her for accepting it first.
She must decide what to do. Luc might think a fortnight a long time, but Grainne knew better. Two weeks would come entirely too soon. She also knew what she would say to Luc.
Grace came awake slowly.
What a very odd dream. Prompted by that music box, no doubt. That was most likely why everything, even the man named Luc, felt familiar. The broad, white-shirted shoulders, the tight pants, the chiseled chin and night dark eyes. That he shared the same name as the dream man must be coincidence. The box beside her makeshift bed was identical to the one in her dream. Right down to the two keys and the green velvet lining. Although, that had been replaced two or three times—Aunt Sarah had told her when she’d given the box to Grace.
The song was the same as well.
Early one morning,
Just as the sun was rising, …
She’d always liked the melody, even after she understood how sad it was, and she hummed the tune as she sat up.
A groan cut off her humming.
Yesterday’s aches and pains were nothing compared to this morning. Her head had joined the chorus of agony, throbbing in every muscle and sinew. She needed a day off, but she could not have one. She wanted the house restored by summer, or she would labor in the heat. She had both dried lavender and peppermint. She’d make a tea, just as Aunt Sarah had taught her when her childhood nightmares had become too stressful. With the tension of the move from Boston and the events of the past year, there was more than enough cause for headaches. Having remedies close at hand was a relief.
Grace wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to, a confidant. However, the only person she’d met, Captain Lucien Flynn, was far from the type to inspire confidences. He unsettled her. When moonlight had finally revealed him, he should’ve been bleeding. She hadn’t wanted to kill him, just teach him a very painful lesson. Instead, he’d calmly suggested her aim was off.
I don’t want to believe he was right, but what else would explain the lack of a wound?
Odd, her intruder shared a name and possessed a strong resemblance to the man of her dream. However, that man had shown tenderness and glimpses of joy along with some sorrow over his father. The stranger of the previous night, had shown no softness of any sort. In hind sight, she decided the man was a cynic with a low opinion of a woman’s capabilities. He would come back, and she would show him, or any intruder, just how capable she was. Another encounter with her rifle would no doubt convince him to leave her be. Grace dismissed Flynn from her mind, and cleaned up the small mess of her meal. Then she went to work, searching the rooms for more usable pieces of furniture. The task took most of the day, and she had not begun to delve into the attics. She’d save those for the future.
Chapter Four
December 02, 1911, Waxing Gibbous
Sweet Dreams Plantation House, Mal Chance Bayou
Lantern alight and rifle in hand, Grace left by the back door, as night defeated dusk. Every evening for the last eight days, she’d gone to the dock. The gentle lap of the bayou against the wood soothed, helping her relax while the moon rose. Tonight, would be the same as every other night since she’d arrived. Except for that first night.
She found herself again searching the tree line for any sign of her visitor.
He must have taken me seriously. Surprising as that was, the captain’s continued absence was a blessing.Right now, I don’t need or want any company, and certainly not that of some conceited stranger. Grace didn’t care how handsome he might appear in the moonlight or how odd his attire. Clouds scudded slowly over the pale orb, making her glad of the lantern.
Two steps from the house, a scent caught her attention. She sniffed, cinnamon and…spent black powder. The sulfurous scent was imprinted on her memory from a demonstration of antique canons in one of her graduate classes. The odor wasn’t normal for a backwoods bayou. Grace needed to seek it out and destroy it, before the irritating aroma destroyed her peace.
