The Captive Heart (30 page)

They’d nearly joined the small group of women when Biz stepped up to Mrs. Greeley and Miss Browndell, her words as brash as her volume.

“Evening, Mrs. Greeley. Don’t think I’ve met yer new friend here yet. Seems I ought let the reverend know when there’s a new sheep to be fleeced, I mean, a sheep in his flock, or something like that. I’m Biz. Biz Hunter. And you are?” Biz grabbed Miss Browndell’s hand, pumping so that the smaller woman’s entire arm jerked with the movement. She paused for a moment and lifted the woman’s fingers eye-level, letting out a low whistle at a gleaming, silver ring. “Say, that’s a real beauty. Must have set you back a few coins, eh?”

“Really!” Mrs. Greeley’s face pinched to an unbecoming shade of red. Her head swiveled toward Molly, a spasm cinching one eye nearly closed. “Molly! Bid your friend goodnight.”

Before Molly could form any words—or even open her mouth—Mrs. Greeley turned to her guest. “My apologies, Miss Browndell. You’ll find that manners are scarce in this part of the country. It’s been a great trial for me, but I suppose one cannot expect a pig to behave as a butterfly.”

She skewered Biz with a steely gaze.

Judging by the cocky set of Biz’s jaw, she was about to unleash a few words that would burn a sailor’s ears. Molly shot Eleanor a pleading look.

Oh, la! Samuel’s cabin in the woods sounded better with each passing moment. Eleanor unwrapped Grace and set her down, tethering her with a firm grip on her hand, then faced Mrs. Greeley. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greeley, but I have been admiring your fichu all evening. Is that Hampton lace, the finest from Nantatter’s of London? My former employer, Duchess Brougham, simply adored their work. I can see your taste runs rather aristocratic.”

Mrs. Greeley’s fingers fluttered up to her bodice. Her lips opened and closed like a landed codfish. “Why … er … thank you, Mrs. Heath.”

“Heath?” Miss Browndell aimed a perfectly arched brow at Eleanor. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a knot, set beneath a snappy riding cap of green felt. She smiled with lips the color of warmed sherry, the rest of her skin surprisingly white in spite of her long trek from Charles Towne. The woman was a faerie. Ethereal. Artists would drop to their knees, begging to paint her portrait. Her tiny frame would make any man feel virile and protective of such a beautiful, porcelain treasure.

Towering a full handspan above the woman, Eleanor felt like an ogre.

“Oh, yes. Forgive me.” Mrs. Greeley’s head bobbed, the single feather atop her cap scolding her own slip in manners. “Miss Browndell, this is Mrs. Heath. Her husband is the fellow I was telling you about.”

Why was she surprised when Miss Browndell’s lips parted, revealing pearly teeth all lined up in a row? Of course she’d have a pure smile. Everything about this woman, from her beauty to her holy quest to spread God’s Word, was flawless.

Eleanor’s fingers itched to reach out and yank a curl out of place from her impeccably coiffed head. She gripped Grace’s hand tighter and masked a grimace. She wasn’t just an ogre, she was a wicked one at that.

“So pleased to meet you.” Miss Browndell’s voice was the resonant tone of angel song. “And I hope soon to meet your renowned husband.”

Little hairs stood at attention on the nape of Eleanor’s neck. An irrational urge rose to find Samuel, grab him, and run far and fast. She shifted her feet yet returned the woman’s smile, forcing a light tone to her voice. “Oh?”

“Miss Browndell is in need of a guide to the Cherokee Lower Town. Naturally, I thought of your husband as he is”—Mrs. Greeley sniffed as if she’d stepped in a pile of horse droppings—“very familiar with such a route.”

Grace tugged at her skirt, and she patted the girl’s head, hopefully pacifying her for a few moments more. The woman in front of her simply must have a defect—and she determined, here and now, to find out what that might be.

“If I may be so bold, Miss Browndell,” she lowered her voice, mixing just the right amount of curiosity and revere to her tone, “why would you risk travel to such a remote place?”

“I own it is a perilous mission, but you see, I owe it to my uncle’s honor.” A little sigh escaped her—much too fleeting to be serious grief. Either the woman belonged on a Drury Lane stage, or the impact of losing a loved one hadn’t quite hit home.

A tiny quiver rippled across Miss Browndell’s lower lip. “You see, it was my uncle’s dying wish to bring the Word of God to the heathens.”

“What makes you think they don’t already have it?”

Samuel’s deep voice wrapped around her from behind, the heat of his body warming her back as he stepped close. If she retreated, just an inch or so, would his strength calm her whirlwind thoughts—or ignite them into the wildfire she’d experienced in his arms?

Reverend Parker drew up behind Biz as well, a good-natured twinkle in his eyes. “Surely that’s a moot point, Mr. Heath. Can one ever have enough of the Word of God?”

“Well said!” Though Miss Browndell spoke to the reverend, her brown eyes gazed past Eleanor—and devoured Samuel. “So happy to finally meet you, Mr. Heath. I hear you are the best guide in the area.”

“That so?” Samuel’s breath warmed her ear as he spoke.

“I’m told there’s none better.” The woman beamed up at him with a flutter to her eyelashes. “I’d like to hire your services, sir.” She leaned forward with a little bounce to her toes, clapping her hands together as if the world were a party and she the guest of honor. “And I should like to set out come morning. Do say you’ll take me?”

“Oh!” Mrs. Greeley’s exclamation piggybacked on a screechy note from the fiddle. “Miss Browndell, I object. It wouldn’t be seemly for a single young woman like yourself to travel unaccompanied with a man, even a married one. And most especially out in the wild.”

“Ahh, but you forget, Mrs. Greeley. My manservant, Mingo, attends me.” With a flicker of her fingers, she indicated a large black man standing with folded arms, ten paces off.

Eleanor bit her lip. Oh, how she wanted to spin about, study Samuel’s face, and see if he seriously entertained the notion of guiding this woman and her servant to Keowee by himself. But she settled for listening with all her might, picking apart the inflection, volume, and timbre of his voice.

“It’s a hard trail.” His tone was flat. Emotionless. As matter-of-fact as if he merely instructed how to load a flintlock. “Nothing like the road you just traveled from Charles Towne.”

“I assure you, Mr. Heath, I have excellent horsemanship—among other talents.” Her smile changed, almost unnoticeable, but Eleanor didn’t miss the predatory slant to her lips. “If you’re half the guide I’ve heard about, then I trust you’ll let no harm come my way.”

Eleanor stiffened. This was no missionary, not the way her brown gaze fixed on Samuel. Too bold. Too daring. Why did no one else notice the woman was a fake? Didn’t Samuel see through her facade?

Or had Miss Browndell’s flattery entrapped him every bit as much as his former wife’s?

In front of him, the fabric of Red Bird’s dress stretched taut across her shoulders. Samuel stifled a smile. He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined a tight pull to her brow and a frowning dimple deep-set on one cheek. The more Miss Browndell praised him, the more his wife stilled. He’d never seen her react so strongly to another woman. And—God’s truth—he hadn’t been this amused since the time Inoli slipped on a moss-covered rock and landed face-first in the creek. What sport it would be to fan that tiny ember of Red Bird’s jealousy—if it was such—and see what kind of flame would erupt.

But playing with fire was dangerous, and this was no trifling situation, not if the woman asking him for passage to Keowee was the negotiator. He ground his teeth. Blast the British beasts! A good cover, but sending a woman out on such a dangerous mission? Had they no souls?

Grace let go of Red Bird’s hand and grabbed on to his fingers instead. Miss Browndell’s gaze flicked down to the child, hardened ever so slightly, then softened as she lifted her face back to his.

Something was definitely not right—or righteous—about this woman.

He met Miss Browndell’s gaze. “Why are you bent on leaving in the morning? Did you not just arrive this afternoon?”

She tilted her head—any more and her halo might slip. “Time is of the essence when it comes to saving souls, sir.”

“Bravo, Miss Browndell.” On the other side of Red Bird, standing directly behind her firebrand of a friend, the Reverend Parker grinned. A few new creases lined his face. What other marks had that hellcat Biz left behind? God surely had a sense of humor putting that one in the reverend’s household.

“You’ve set your heart on a noble quest,” Parker continued. “But Mrs. Greeley brings up a good point. It would not be proper to travel alone with naught but Mr. Heath and your manservant. No quarter should ever be given to impropriety. Mrs. Heath should be in attendance as well.”

“Why, yes! A brilliant idea.” Miss Browndell reached out and grabbed Red Bird’s hands, clasping them in hers. “I should be delighted to have you as my companion. We shall become the dearest friends, I just know it.”

Red Bird didn’t yank back her hands—but neither did she speak.

Behind Samuel, the songs grew bawdier, the music as discordant as the suggestion. “If I agree—
if
—you should know what’s ahead of you, miss. With my wife and child along, it’ll take six days or more to reach Keowee. The trail is narrow, treacherous, and we pack our horses only. No wagon. No comforts.”

“So long?” The woman dropped Red Bird’s hands and lifted a pout his way. “Surely a man of your prowess could get us there sooner.”

His earlier amusement fled. Her manipulation wrapped around his throat like a noose, altogether too familiar. This snip of a dress was a sight smaller than Mariah had been, but head to head, the two could’ve raced a fair match.

“I can do it in three days if pressed, but not with two women.” He bent and scooped up Grace. “And especially not with a child.”

“Hmm.” Miss Browndell tapped a finger to her mouth, likely fully cognizant that the action pulled everyone’s attention to her lips. One tap, two, three, then she turned her charms to Parker. “The souls, Reverend. An entire field ready to harvest. Just think of it. Surely you could take in the child while we travel to do God’s work. Why, in a sense, you’d be part of bringing salvation to a dark, dark place.”

Samuel’s gut clenched. Keowee was light and air compared to the calculating black soul batting her eyelashes at the reverend.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but yes. Of course.” Parker glanced at him. “Miss Hunter and I would be delighted to look after little Grace in your absence.”

Biz spun, poking a finger into Parker’s chest. “Are you out of your God-fearing mind?”

“Perfect!” Miss Browndell clapped her hands once again. “It’s settled, then, is it not?”

The woman leaned forward and blinked up at him, forgetting that her new “dearest friend” stood between them.

A ramrod couldn’t have been straighter than Red Bird’s spine. She didn’t turn. Didn’t seek his face. Didn’t anything.

Samuel rubbed the back of his neck, muscles tight. God knew he didn’t want to take Red Bird into Running Doe’s lair. But neither could he leave her behind as easy prey for McDivitt. Rock. Hard place. Must that thin space always be where he lived?

“Mr. Heath?”

He lowered his hand. Four sets of eyes waited on his answer—but not the blue gaze he most wished to see. Either Red Bird’s mind was far off and she’d not heard the question, or she chose not to influence his decision.

“Fine. We leave in the morning.” He steeled himself for a finger to his own chest.

But Red Bird didn’t turn and accuse the way Biz had. She didn’t need to. The slight flinch jerking her shoulders was a more direct blow to his heart.

God, help me.

A
n orange line thickened on the horizon, chasing away dawn’s grey light and painting a healthy glow on Miss Browndell’s cheeks. The woman was a portrait. Eleanor rubbed her knuckles across her own cheeks. She probably looked a sight, having slept on a blanket on the ground with Grace, while Miss Browndell had enjoyed a feather bed as a guest of Mrs. Greeley.

A frown creased Eleanor’s brow. She probably looked as weathered as the log walls of the livery they stood in front of, waiting for Samuel. Wohali flicked her tail where she waited as well, tethered near the door.

“Oh! This is so exciting.” Next to her, Miss Browndell beamed, her eyes as bright as her merry voice. “I’ve dreamed of sharing God’s Word since I was a little girl.”

Eleanor tugged on her sleeve hem, annoyed. How could the woman be so enthusiastic this early in the day? Or for that matter, at all? “I own I am more nervous than excited to travel into Cherokee lands, yet I have a husband to look after me. You are alone. It must be very difficult for you, having lost your uncle.”

A shadow darkened her face—some kind of raincloud from the inside, for the sun broke true in a flawless sky. “Yes, my heart does ache, but I know my uncle would want me to continue.”

Shame tasted as bitter as the coffee Samuel made before they’d broken camp that morning. La, she was becoming as rude as Biz. “I am sorry. I should not have mentioned your loss.”