The Captive Heart (25 page)

Hefting her skirts to avoid a mound of horse droppings, she picked her way up the steps to the mercantile. The front door opened, and she paused to allow a trim lady in an indigo gown pass by.

But the woman didn’t pass. She stopped, her brown eyes widening. “Elle Bell!”

Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “Biz?”

The woman laughed and twirled, the swirl poofing out her skirt and petticoat. A sateen ribbon streamed from her bonnet, and the lace at her sleeves rippled. “Aye, ’tis me. Din’t think to see me in a dress, did ya?” She leaned close, one hand aside her mouth. “Nor did I.”

“Why … you are lovely! Absolutely lovely.”

And she was. Biz’s fair hair had grown longer and curled around her face in a comely fashion. The cut of her dress hugged curves that her former men’s clothing had hidden. Cleaned up and dressed properly, Biz Hunter could turn the head of any man in town.

“Pish!” Biz blew off the compliment, but the pink on her cheeks belied the gruffness. In fact, her whole face glowed. Apparently she’d thrived these past several months.

Biz narrowed her eyes, studying Eleanor from head to toe, then stepped nearer. “Molly and I were gettin’ worried, not having seen you for so long. We thought that …” She glanced over her shoulder, where Samuel waited in line. The jingle of harnesses floated on the air as one of the carts pulled away from the dock.

Turning back, Biz lowered her voice. “How’s that man of yours? He treating you a’right?”

This was new. Biz caring for someone other than herself? Eleanor cocked a brow. “I own that Mr. Heath is not one to coddle, but yes, he treats me well. He is firm yet fair. I could ask for nothing more.”

Biz ripped out a curse.

So, she hadn’t changed that much.

“O’ course you could!” The woman stepped nearer. Any closer and she’d be atop Eleanor’s shoes. “And if you want me to help you run off, just say the word.”

What on earth? She gaped. “But why would I want—”

“Eleanor!” Molly darted out the front door and parted her from Biz. She wrapped her in an embrace, her growing babe a swollen mound between them.

“Oh!” Molly’s voice broke. “How happy I am to see you.”

Eleanor squirmed away. Something was not right. She folded her arms, using her governess stance to shame them. “The two of you are acting as if you never expected to see me again.”

Molly and Biz locked gazes.

Eleanor looked from one to the other. “There is something you are not telling me. What is it?”

With a glance at the door, Molly tugged on her arm, pulling her farther down the porch. Biz followed, and they huddled close to her.

“I’ve only a few moments before Mrs. Greeley discovers me missing, so pardon my abruptness.” Molly reached a hand to Eleanor’s cheek, her green eyes pools of sorrow. “Did you know you married a murderer?”

“What?” Eleanor batted her hand away. “Do not be silly.”

Biz’s mouth twisted as if she’d bit into a lemon. “Nothing silly about it. I knew something weren’t right with that man the day he took you. Takes a bad seed to recognize another.”

The words crawled in, shallow at first, the seeds Biz spoke about poking around for a place to root. Eleanor eyed them both. “I think you had better explain yourselves.”

Molly licked her lips, angling her head ever so slightly across the road. “That burnt patch of ground over there, well, hard to tell now with the weeds all grown. But that used to be the house where Mr. Heath lived with his first wife, Mariah.”

Biz tipped her chin to a rakish angle, making some kind of point.

But Eleanor had no idea what that point might be. She frowned. “Yes, I know he has been married and his wife’s name was Mariah and that she died. That proves nothing. It does not mean he is a murderer.”

“Shh!” Biz swiveled her head as if Samuel stood at her shoulder, then she pinned Eleanor with a burning stare. “But do you know
how
she died?”

Doubt dug in, roots sinking lower, reaching to her stomach. She had no idea, for Samuel had never spoken of the incident in detail. She’d assumed childbirth—but she didn’t really know. She pursed her lips, giving a little shake to her head. “No. My husband is reluctant to speak of it, nor do I blame him. It cannot be easy losing someone you love.”

Biz blew out a snort. “He didn’t.”

“Did not what?”

“Love her. The word is she married him because she had to.” Biz wiggled her eyebrows, the insinuation made even more vulgar by the action.

Eleanor banished the thought. Samuel had ever been the gentleman in that respect the entire time she’d lived with him. Still … “That is hardly grounds for murder.”

“Molly!” A voice harsh as a crow’s hawked from an upstairs window. “Where are you?”

Molly laid a hand on Eleanor’s sleeve. “I haven’t much time, so listen. Please. The story is Mariah arrived in Newcastle with her father, a banker, who intended to make it rich in the fur trade. He did quite well until he died from the ague, leaving Mariah alone. Maybe if he’d lived, none of what followed would’ve happened.”

Biz huffed, sharp and short. “She shoulda packed up and gone back to Charles Towne. I woulda. Better prospects there.”

Molly shot a glower at Biz. “Regardless, she didn’t. She set her cap on Mr. Heath, the wealthiest man in the territory.”

Eleanor sucked in a breath. None of this made any sense. “No. Impossible.”

“Hah!” Biz laughed. “You din’t know?”

Eleanor shook her head, hoping the movement would reassemble all the information from Biz and Molly into some sort of picture.

Molly patted her arm. “He was also quite the drunkard, as I understand.”

“No!” Eleanor pulled away, her shoulder hitting the wooden slats of the mercantile’s wall. “That is not true. I have never seen him take a drink.”

“Molly!” This time the voice sailed out the front door, followed by the clack of heels.

“Eleanor, listen.” Molly leaned closer. “You gave me advice once on how to care for Mrs. Greeley. I took it to heart, and it made my life easier. Grant that you’ll do the same with my advice. Go stay with Biz and Reverend Parker. It is not safe for you to remain under Mr. Heath’s roof, whether he’s your husband or not.”

“But I do not think I am in any danger—”

“Molly!” Mrs. Greeley’s voice shrieked like an off-tune violin. “Come when you are summoned!”

Molly darted off, calling over her shoulder, “I must go. Do say you’ll come tonight.”

“Come where?”

But it was too late. Mrs. Greeley grabbed Molly’s upper arm and swept her into the store. Eleanor had no choice but to turn back to Biz. “What is she talking about?”

“You look as bewildered as the first time I laid eyes on you back in Bristol. There’s a—” Biz’s face paled as she looked past Eleanor’s shoulder. She lowered her voice. “Here comes yer man. I’ll make this fast. You should know that Mariah went after your Heath. But someone named McDivitt wanted her for himself. There’s bad blood between those two, so to spite him, Heath gave in to Mariah’s wiles.”

Grace’s babble carried from the stairs.

Biz spoke faster. “But turns out the woman were after his money, so the marriage din’t go well from the start. One night, after a drunken rage, yer man set fire to the house, burning her alive. Some say as he was remorseful though, being he ran back in and pulled out his daughter. But all say it were his fault.”

“Then why did he not go to jail?” Eleanor whispered.

“He did. But they let him go. It was his word against a dead woman’s—and the dead don’t testify.”

Wariness buzzed inside her heart like a swarm of bees, stinging and pricking and poisoning. How was she to understand any of this? The man who’d saved her life, twice over now, and never forced himself upon her was a schemer, a drunkard—a murderer? “I can hardly believe it,” she murmured.

Footsteps thudded behind her. A low voice curled into her ear. “You pick out that fabric yet?”

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and turned to face Samuel. “No, not yet. May I introduce you to Miss Hunter,”—she swept out a hand—“though you met her that first day when you collected me. Miss Hunter, Mr. Heath.”

“Aye. I remember.” Samuel tugged the brim of his hat. “Miss Hunter.”

“Mr. Heath.” Biz tossed her head like a saucy mare and faced Eleanor. “Say you’ll come to the festival tonight.”

Eleanor glanced up at Samuel, expecting him to say no immediately. He said nothing, just slid his gaze to hers. Who knew what went on behind those dark eyes of his?

She wetted her lips. “Biz and Molly have invited me to some sort of festivity this evening. Might I … er, I mean, may we stay?”

“Festivity?” Samuel’s eyes shot to Biz. “Prettied up the name, did you?”

Biz scowled.

Clearly they both knew something she didn’t. The unwelcome feeling was becoming all too familiar and beginning to pinch. She studied Samuel’s face for a clue. “Is there a festival or is there not?”

His lips twitched. Nothing more. “I’ve not heard it called such before. Some say it’s a rendezvous. Others call it the Summer Outfit. I say it’s an excuse for brawling and drinking.”

Well, then. Apparently she had her answer. She reached out and squeezed one of Biz’s hands. “I am sorry we cannot stay. Please give Molly my apology as well. I appreciate the invitation but—”

“We’ll be there.”

Eleanor whirled to face Samuel. “We will?”

Why would he want to stay for brawling and …
Oh, God.
Drinking? Surely he would not, would he?

He flashed a smile at her and tipped his hat once more at Biz. Stooping, he swept up Grace, who’d held on to his leg, then strode across the porch and entered the mercantile.

Eleanor turned to Biz, trying hard to keep from gaping.

Biz arched a brow. “If I were you, I’d be careful.”

Samuel threw the last pelt atop the stack beneath the canvas, a slapdash shelter which was tied to one side of the wagon and staked to the ground. Not a tent fit for royalty, but it would do for one night. He straightened and slipped his gaze to the west. Beyond the rise of blue hills, the sky stretched ever bluer, endless, pure, without blemish of cloud. Warm, but no threat of rain. Indeed. The shelter would do.

Pivoting, he strode the few yards to where Red Bird sat on a quilt spread beneath a hickory. Grace sprawled like a hound, head in the woman’s lap, a chubby thumb popped in her mouth. The girl did not lift her head at his approach. Her eyes merely followed his movement. Red Bird’s did not. She’d not met his gaze since earlier in the day.

He crouched on one corner of the blanket and nodded toward the improvised tent. “Grace can sleep over there for now, and you can both sleep there tonight.”

The woman’s lips flattened as she eyed the tent. “You seem rather well prepared. As if you’d intended we stay all along.”

A sigh—more of a huff, really—whooshed out his mouth. The whole ride this morning she’d been nothing but smiles and curiosity, open and warm. Now she was a trap snapped shut. Cold. Steely. He frowned. “Something’s eating at you, woman. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, whiskers rasping against his fingers. He knew exactly where this conversation was headed—nowhere. He’d learned long ago that when a woman said
nothing,
she meant she’d die a bloody death before divulging what she thought he should already know.

So he shot to his feet. “I got someone I need to talk to. I won’t be gone long. You and Grace stay here.”

“Of course.” Red Bird tucked her chin, the crown of her head hidden by a straw hat, the meaning of her words every bit as concealed.

“What’s got into you?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

He stepped closer, making divots in the quilt where his boots fell, and didn’t stop until he reached the hem of her skirt. “Look at me.”

It took a moment, but eventually she lifted her face—yet her eyes never quite reached his, just focused somewhere on his chin.

“Tatsu’hwa.”

Slowly, her blue gaze slid to meet his.

His chest tightened, and suddenly breathing required effort. He’d seen that look before. A lifetime ago. Just before his shot met its mark. It had always bothered him when trepidation registered in Mariah’s eyes, but from Eleanor it was a kidney punch.

He sucked in a breath. “You look as if I’m about to strike at any moment.”

“Ridiculous.” She dipped her face again, this time smoothing her hand along Grace’s loose hair.

A valiant effort at disguise—but one that didn’t work. Not the way her fingers trembled. The woman feared him in a new way—but why? He sorted through the events of the day like rummaging through a haversack, picking out one memory after another, examining each, none of which … ahh. She’d spoken to that fair-haired vixen friend of hers at the mercantile. A fierce scowl pulled down his brow. That fear in his wife’s eyes was put there by one thing.

Gossip.

He turned on his heel. The sooner they were out of this town, this bed of vipers, the better. “I won’t be long.”

He clomped off, digging each step more forcefully than needed. A reckless gesture—but satisfying in a small way. As he set foot on the road leading into Newcastle, the stench of manure, sweat, and clothing and bodies that hadn’t been washed—maybe never—crawled in and festered in his gut. A hive of men swarmed around the trading post. Renner had to be grinning about that.