Brittany had an uneasy feeling because Wilhelmina kept staring at her. “I have always been healthy. If you have nothing more to say to me, I shall go to my room,” Brittany said, coming to her feet.
“Not just yet. I would like to ask you a few questions.” Wilhelmina made an attempt at a smile. “I know so little about you, and, after all, you are my stepson’s wife.”
Brittany sat down again, although she was impatient to leave. “What would you like to know?”
“I understand you were born in Turkey.”
“Yes, I was.”
“But your father was an American. I believe he was from the eminent Sinclair family of Philadelphia.”
“That is right,” Brittany answered woodenly. “You are well informed. I cannot think how you would know so much about me.”
Wilhelmina’s expression became harsh. “I have my sources. I believe you know that Thorn and I…” She shrugged. “I am certain you are not interested in how Thorn and I feel about each other.” She sat down beside Brittany. “I have heard that you lost a slave and are most anxious to get him back.”
Brittany tried not to show her distress at Wilhelmina’s innuendo about Thorn and herself. “Achmed is not a slave—he is my friend.”
“Another oddity,” Wilhelmina muttered. “I assume there has been no word of your…friend?”
Brittany nodded. “No, none.”
“Pity. You seem to suffer from this Achmed’s absence. If you have no objections, I will enlist Dr. Cross’s help in finding your man. The doctor visits most of the plantations in
the county, and I will tell him to keep a look out for Achmed. Can you describe him for me?”
Brittany’s eyes rounded with hope. She could not believe that Wilhelmina would want to help her find Achmed. She was thoughtful as she decided how to describe him. “He is very tall and strong, and very black. He is intelligent, can read and write, and speaks several languages.”
Wilhelmina stared into Brittany’s eyes. “I will tell the doctor to look for just such a man. With Achmed’s special aptitudes, he should be easy to locate.”
Brittany came to her feet. “You are most kind.”
Wilhelmina seemed to forget that Brittany was there. She stood up and moved to the window. “I would not be at all surprised if Dr. Cross were to find your man.”
After lying awake for most of the night, Brittany finally fell asleep near morning. Her sleep was restless, and when she awoke there was no morning sunlight to greet her, for the room was gloomy and dark.
Slipping off the bed, she padded across the floor to the window and looked out on the storm clouds that now shrouded the sun. The dark, ominous clouds appeared to roll and boil violently. Her brow knotted with concern. The storm was coming from the direction of Charleston.
It was so dark that she was forced to light a lamp so she could dress. She quickly fastened her gown and left the room. She had wanted to ride today, but that would not be possible with the approaching storm. The air was heavy, and a feeling of foreboding that she tried to shake off enveloped Brittany.
George Cross trailed his hand across Wilhelmina’s breasts and down her stomach. “If this plan works, you will be one step closer to your heart’s desire.”
She curled up in his arms, soft and yielding, bestowing her favors on him because she needed his help. “Yes, when Thorn’s wife is dead, I will not be concerned about her having his child.” Her voice was laced with spite. “I detest that girl with her superior manners.”
“She is beautiful. It is a shame to end her life,” he said regretfully.
Wilhelmina twisted her head and looked at him. “More beautiful than I?”
He shook his head. “No one can compare with you.” “When we are rid of the girl, there will only be the old man and Thorn to contend with.”
“Yes, only Thorn and Ben.”
George fumbled with her heavy breast. He bent forward and sucked on the nipple, and she closed her eyes, hating the feel of his mouth.
Her hand trailed down his back. “Are you certain the man you engaged will know what to do?”
“Yes. I have given him careful instructions.”
George pushed Wilhelmina over and mounted her while she forced a smile. When he drove into her body, she wanted to scream out at the unwanted invasion, but she could not. She had to pretend that she enjoyed his clumsy lovemaking. He slid in and out of her, his breath coming out in short pants. His hands moved over her breasts, and his wet mouth closed over hers, making her feel nauseated. Waves of revulsion churned in her stomach until she thought she would scream.
She tried to imagine that it was Thorn who was in command of her body. She pretended it was his hands that caressed and teased her breasts—his lips kissing her into a heated surrender. Her breath was trapped in her throat, and she heard George grunt with a shuddering release. The fantasy could not last. George was a poor substitute for Thorn.
When George attempted to pull her into his arms, she pushed him away. “Can you trust this man not to talk after Brittany meets her…untimely death?”
“Yes. He is loyal to me.”
She got out of bed and moved to the window. Arching her body, she looked out the window as rain peppered against it. “George, this storm could work in our favor. If Brittany puts up a struggle, the rain will wash away the evidence.”
It was after lunch, and Brittany was resting in her room when the knock came on the door and Livia entered.
“Dr. Cross wants to see you, Miz Brittany,” she said. “He’s in the morning room with the mistress.”
Brittany quickly moved off the bed, fearing the doctor had grave news about Thorn’s father. She rushed downstairs and into the morning room, where she found Dr. Cross and Wilhelmina waiting for her.
Wilhelmina came across the room to her, smiling all the while. “You will never believe it,” the woman gushed. “I told you the doctor could help you.”
Brittany looked puzzled for a moment. “This is not about Thorn’s father?”
Dr. Cross come forward. “I fear your father-in-law’s condition has not changed. My reason for asking to see you is about another matter entirely. I have found your Achmed!”
Brittany could hardly believe it. To see her friend again would be wonderful. Suddenly her eyes darkened. “Is he well? Has he suffered?”
“I believe that he is now in perfect health. When he went into town for you, I am told he became ill. A kindly woman and her husband took him in to nurse him back to health. He did not know how to contact you since you had left Stonehouse.”
“When can I see him?”
The doctor glanced at Wilhelmina. “Well, the weather is bad today. It’s too muddy to take a carriage.”
“I can ride,” Brittany said excitedly. “I have to see Achmed for myself and know that he is well.”
“Well,” he said, pretending doubtfulness. “I have my man at the stables and he knows the way.” He shook his head. “No, it is unthinkable in this weather.”
Wilhelmina shook her head. “It is much too foul a day to be about. But if you do not go today, perhaps the roads will flood and you will be unable to go for days. That happens sometimes when the rain is heavy like it is now.”
“I am going to see Achmed today,” Brittany said with conviction. “I would appreciate it if your man would show me
the way, but if he does not, Cappy will be here later in the day and he will accompany me.”
Wilhelmina’s face drained of color at the mention of the first mate. “I forgot about him,” she said, knowing that Cappy could ruin her plans. She looked at George Cross with a pretense of pleading. “Can you please convince your man to take Brittany into Charleston?”
George pretended to capitulate. “I suppose it will do no harm. Yes, I will have him lead you.”
Already Brittany was racing out of the room. “It will take but a moment for me to change into my riding habit.”
Wilhelmina’s face was etched with a satisfied smile. “Run, little bird,” she said maliciously so only George Cross could hear. “Run to meet your death!”
Brittany glanced at the doctor when he introduced her to Mr. Deavers, who would be leading her to Achmed. She then turned her attention to Wilhelmina. “If Cappy should come, tell him I will return as quickly as possible. If I find that Achmed is too ill to be moved, I may remain in Charleston.”
“Are you sure you want to go in this weather?” George Cross asked. “It will probably rain again.”
Brittany adjusted her hat at an angle so the rain would not settle on the brim. “Yes, I am going.”
Wilhelmina stood beneath the protection of the porch, a half-smile on her lips. “Deavers, take care of your charge. See that she comes to no harm.”
A secret look passed between Deavers and the mistress of Stoddard Hill. “I will see to her,” he said with assurance. “You can depend on me.”
When Brittany would have ridden away, Deavers reached out and grabbed her reins, forestalling her. “Know this from the beginning—you will do exactly what I say at all times, is that understood? Or else I won’t go with you.”
She was startled by his forwardness. “I will do as you say, if it is in Achmed’s best interest,” she concurred, not liking the man’s high-handed attitude. “Can we go now?”
“Just so you remember that I am in charge.”
Brittany jerked her reins free and moved ahead of the man. She did not like him in the least, but she could endure him because he was taking her to Achmed.
As they rode away from Stoddard Hill, the storm clouds seemed to darken, and it began to rain once more. Brittany, unmindful of the discomfort, set her chin. It might be raining, but it was a glorious day. Achmed had been found!
They had been riding but a short time when the rain grew heavier, and still Brittany rode on, her great horse splashing through the puddles of water that stood in the roadway. She knew Mr. Deavers was beside her, but she refused to look in his direction.
It was late afternoon when Mr. Deavers motioned for Brittany to halt her horse. “You are pushing your horse much too hard, Mrs. Stoddard,” he shouted, shifting his gaze away from her. “We must not tire the poor beasts, who have to labor twice as hard in the mud.”
She whirled her horse away from him, resenting his attitude more than ever. When he caught up with her, she shouted to him. “I do not need instructions from you on how to care for a horse. I was taught by a man called Simijin, and he was a master with horses. This horse is not even winded.”
He regarded her with a cold stare. “Slow your pace or I’ll turn back.”
She did not know why Mr. Deavers was behaving so rudely. Her horse was still fresh. “I intend to push on. Since we have to go all the way into Charleston, we should hurry. If that is not satisfactory with you, then tell me where I can find Achmed, and I will go without you.”
A surly expression hardened the man’s features, and suddenly Brittany felt uneasy. “Ride on, Mrs. Stoddard.” His voice was almost like a warning. “Surely you have noticed that the roadway is becoming flooded.”
The rain was coming down in heavy torrents, and Brittany’s hair hung lankly down her face. She was drenched
and miserable, but still she pushed forward. Her burning desire was to find Achmed, and she also intended to show this man that he had no control over her.
Mr. Deavers glanced ahead for a satisfactory place to stop. He had been promised a great deal of money if he made certain that this girl did not return to Stoddard Hill. He was not a particularly sentimental man, and he had no aversion to seeing that she met with a fatal accident.
Just ahead, he saw a place where the roadway had washed away. If he could hurl her off the road there, it would look like an accident. He drew even with her, and, reaching out, jerked the reins from her hands and pulled her horse to a halt.
“We had best slow down now, ma’am.”
She bit her lip in vexation, knowing he was being unreasonable. “I will not stop here. Why are you doing this?”
There were dark forces at work within the mind of Mr. Deavers, and his eyes burned into hers. “I believe we should get off and walk here, ma’am.”
“How much farther is it to our destination?”
“In this rain, an hour, maybe less.”
Here the land was flat, but there was a green valley just ahead. “I do not mind the rain. Let us ride past the valley. After we are there, I will do whatever you think is best. If you insist on walking the horses then, I will agree.”
He saw that she was not going to comply with his plan. It would make it harder, but the end would be the same—she would still be dead. He was almost glad to end this one’s life. She had superior airs, she was stubborn and proud—but he would show her that he was superior, in the end.
“Very well, Mrs. Stoddard. We will ride on past the valley.”
Brittany urged her horse forward, but soon had to pull him up short when she saw that a whole section of the roadway had been washed away by gushing floodwaters. She was faced with a sheer drop on either side of the road, and the middle had become like a raging river.
Mr. Deavers appeared to be having trouble maneuvering his horse up the slope. With a gleam of determination in her eyes, Brittany resolved to go forward, with or without him. She was mounted on a stalwart gelding, and she was certain that with its powerful legs, the animal could clear the swift current.
Without pausing to weigh the consequences, she prodded her mount forward. The gelding did not hesitate. Like a bird taking flight, he leaped the distance between the cliffs, landing safely on the other side.
Brittany’s heart was beating with excitement as she looked back at Mr. Deavers, who stared at her in anger. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “It is but a short jump,” she taunted. “Surely you are not going to allow a little danger to stop you.”
The man’s eyes held a chill as he glanced across at her. With a quick kick to his horse’s flanks, he, too, sailed over the newly formed ravine to land safely on the other side.
His lips curled in a snarl. “Surely you did not think my horsemanship would be inferior to yours, Mrs. Stoddard?”
Her head went up and her shoulders back, for he was making her feel like an impulsive child. “Shall we ride on?” she asked coldly.
“No, now we stop.”
She dismounted and looked back across the wide gap. Her brow knitted with a perplexed expression. Up ahead, she saw where the roadway had disappeared, completely covered by the raging flood.
“We cannot go on,” she said with a heavy heart. “We shall have to turn back.”
Mr. Deavers dismounted and moved closer to Brittany. “Yes, it’s swift.” His eyes gleamed. “Anyone caught in the current would be swept all the way to the river and would surely drown.”
With a suddenness that startled her, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Hold on there, Mrs. Stoddard. You are a mite too close to the edge.”
Fear ate at her mind. “Let me go,” she stated in anger, jerking her arm out of his grip. “I resent your manner. I want to go back now.”
He smiled, showing a row of blackened teeth. “I would be less than responsible if I allowed you to rush headlong into danger.”
Her eyes sparkled with anger. “I do not need you to accompany me any farther. I can find my way back to Stoddard Hill on my own.”
His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I have overestimated the danger. Why don’t you cross here?” He advanced toward her, and she backed away from him.
Brittany reached for her horse’s reins with the intention of mounting when she felt the man’s hand on her back. She spun away from him, and her sudden movement spooked her horse, causing it to bump against her. She cried out as she felt the ground give way beneath her and she fell forward.
Caught in the current, Brittany was being swept along by the floodwaters.
In desperation, she looked back at Mr. Deavers for assistance, but she saw that he made no effort to save her. Instead there was a satisfied smile on his lips.
She made a desperate attempt to save herself by grabbing on to a protruding tree root. Her hand slipped, and she went plummeting over a cliff.
It seemed as though Brittany was suspended in the air for an eternity. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see her death. When she hit the water, she felt stunned from the force of the fall.
She plunged deeper and deeper into the swirling waters, and her lungs felt as though they would burst from want of air. She fought and struggled to reach upward so she could breathe, but her boots and heavy clothing were dragging her down. She was caught in the current and it pushed her forward.