Chapter 9
Tension seeped from Morning Fawn’s shoulders as she fingered the empty hole on the window sash.
The moon shimmered through the scantily clad branches of the cottonwood.
She inhaled as a cool breeze drifted beneath the window where she’d raised it an inch.
A smidgen of freedom, courtesy of Devon Reynolds, and proof she wasn’t trapped despite the locked attic door.
Obviously, her uncle wasn’t ready to trust her yet.
But the fact that she was going to be allowed to journey to town tomorrow was nothing short of a miracle.
Was Reynolds responsible for all of this?
The splintered gouge scraped her skin as she rubbed the spot where the nail had been.
Reynolds wasn’t a kind man. Of that, she was almost certain.
Yet she couldn’t squelch the trace of warmth that spread through her chest, defying the depths of her skepticism.
Morning Fawn cupped her elbows. The man didn’t deserve her gratitude.
Two days ago, he’d dragged her back here.
Seventeen months ago, he bribed someone in her tribe to lure her to a nearby canyon.
She’d stuck her knife into the side of the man who sneaked up behind and grabbed her.
A steel grip had yanked her off the wounded scoundrel and thrown her to the ground.
The new attacker had shoved her face first into the pebbled sand, his knee boring into her back. Strong, muscular hands had wrenched her arms backward, grinding a rope around her wrists as if she were some calf to be tied.
He’d bent down, his breath hot against her ear. Spanish, the trade language of the frontier from the high prairies to Mexico, had poured from his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m not going to let you kill him, and I’m not going to let you warn your tribe.”
That was Devon Reynolds. And if his hard blue eyes had softened a bit since then, she shouldn’t let it fool her.
He cared more about money and his own interests than the people he hurt.
It didn’t matter that he’d freed her from the attic cage for dinner and saved her from another dose of laudanum.
She couldn’t trust him. She had no idea of what scheme he might be up to.
Maybe he wanted the land in Parker County, and this was his way to get it.
Or perhaps he felt guilty for ruining her life for three hundred dollars and was trying to make amends.
Either way, she wanted nothing to do with him.
Now, marriage was the price to be paid for land and freedom—the choice of a groom narrowed to only those who fit her uncle’s specifications. What kind of freedom was that?
She pressed her forehead to the pane and closed her eyes. God of my mother, where are You? Was her imprisonment on this plantation a punishment? She’d fallen short so many times. Don’t leave me alone. Please.
A shiver ran through her as she straightened.
Two nights ago, she’d stood here with Reynolds.
Well, not really stood, as she’d been sliding down the wall.
He’d carried her to the bed. And then? Left like a gentleman.
At least that seemed to be what happened.
It was all a bit blurry. “I’ll give you the moon.
” The words trailed across her memory, the residue from a dream-soaked whisper, too vapory to grasp. Had Reynolds really said that?
Morning Fawn peeked out the porch window. A heavy sheen of early-morning dew coated the courtyard. Breakfast had been a quick affair in her room. Fine by her. No Thea, no uncle, no critique of her manners.
A steady murmur of wheels and hoofs sounded on the gravel drive as Reynolds drove up in the new Victoria—a one-bench, open-front carriage with a raised driver’s seat.
He’d donned his butternut-colored uniform again.
One of the servants must have finished scrubbing the dirt and sand out of it.
Odd, how the shell jacket fit him snugly, hugging his muscular arms. One would have thought after all those weeks in an enemy hospital and tramping about the country making his way to Texas and halfway up the state that the wool would have hung loose on his limbs.
He secured the brake and climbed down. A frown settled on his face as he glanced at the carriage. She didn’t blame him there. She’d much rather have a horse and saddle beneath her and ride in the open air than to be shuttered inside on cushioned seats, elbow to elbow with her aunt.
A flock of geese honked overhead.
Removing his tan slouch hat, Reynolds raked his fingers through his thick brown hair, sweeping a couple of wayward strands from his forehead.
No pomade. The man wasn’t a dandy. Any man who could travel to her village beyond the Palo Duro and make it out alive again with a captive knew how to live rough and survive on little.
He glanced her way.
She ducked behind the curtain.
Hurried footfalls sounded on the stairs. Her aunt reached the landing and strode toward her, with a blue wool bonnet in hand. “Here, wear this. A perfect match for your dress.”
Morning Fawn pressed her lips together as she accepted it.
“Have Lucy fetch you a cloak.” Aunt Judith buttoned her own heavy garment of pink-and-brown silk and draped it over the folds of her deep-purple skirt and blouse. “I’ve already asked her to bring out a quilt. There’s a chill in the air today.”
“I’m coming, missus,” Lucy called from above, but Aunt Judith was already heading out the door.
Morning Fawn turned toward the hall mirror by the coat rack and gingerly set the bonnet on her head. Not her. Not at all. The royal-blue dress with its rose-patterned print was more than enough. She yanked the dainty hat from her head.
“The missus won’t be pleased.” Lucy tsked as she walked up with a red wool cloak on one arm and a quilt on the other.
“I need my straw hat.”
“I ain’t going to help you get in trouble.”
“You don’t have to.” Morning Fawn reached around the backside of the rack and retrieved the hat from beneath the coattails of her uncle’s hunting coat where she’d hidden it.
Lucy blew out a breath and draped the cloak over Morning Fawn’s shoulders. “Maybe all your gumption will catch the lieutenant’s fancy.” She’d lowered her voice to a whisper.
“I could care less about what he thinks.”
Lucy smiled. “If I was you, I’d find me some mud puddle to trip over and have him rescue me.”
“That man isn’t to be trusted.” She narrowed her gaze at her friend. “He stole me and sold me.”
Lucy shook her head. “Begging your pardon, but you don’t know much about being sold.” The doom of the auction block weighted her tone.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Morning Fawn touched her friend’s arm. “Maybe once I have my land, I can ask my uncle to give you to me, and then I can set you free.”
Lucy blew out a breath. “You’ll have your husband, and he’ll be the one doing the deciding.”
“I’ll find a way. Or who knows? The Yankees might win this war.”
Lucy gnawed her lip, her expression flat, and handed her the quilt. “You’d best find your way out to the carriage before your aunt comes to fetch you.”
Morning Fawn would show her there was hope. Until yesterday, she hadn’t believed in it herself. She turned and hurried outside.
A mockingbird trilled from a nearby tree.
Her aunt peeked from beneath the carriage top. “I told you to wear the bonnet.”
“It didn’t suit me.” Morning Fawn pattered down the steps.
Reynolds’s mouth quirked upward as he stood at the carriage step ready to assist.
“Mr. Nicholas Moyer prefers bonnets.” Her aunt waved her finger.
“He can take me as I am.” The shoes were already pinching her feet. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of rabbit fur-lined moccasins.
“What do you mean, take—” Reynolds cut himself short.
Morning Fawn glared at him. Moyer was none of his concern.
No softness in those lake-blue eyes today.
Aunt Judith scooted her skirts over to her side of the seat. “If we have time after shopping, I’m thinking we’ll drive over to Alleyton to ask Mr. Moyer to supper later this week.”
Reynolds glanced at the sky with its trace of clouds. “I doubt we’ll have time. I think the weather might turn.”
“We’ll leave it up to your discretion, Lieutenant.” Aunt Judith folded her cloak around her. “We can always send a note if we don’t go in person.”
We will not leave it up to you, Lieutenant. Morning Fawn jutted her chin and lifted her cumbersome skirts, which hung about her like weeds.
Reynolds held out his gloved hand. Work gloves, not fancy ones like her uncle and not the gauntlets of real cavalry who were out doing their duty.
She merely stared at it as she placed her foot on the carriage step. Her gaze skimmed his uniform. “I see you’re a lieutenant again.”
With a smirk, he whispered, “I see you’re still Miss Trouble.”
She blinked. A reference to the night he’d sneaked into her room? Heat spread across her cheeks. The nerve of the man. She bristled into the carriage and settled herself next to her aunt. This was going to be a long ride.
Reynolds climbed into the driver’s seat, not nearly far enough away.
He clicked the reins, and they trotted down the tree-lined path, past stubbled fields and the distant slave quarters.
She’d heard tell that eighty men, women, and children lived in those shacks.
Lucy was one of the fortunate ones, spared from the fields.
At least when Morning Fawn had been captured by the Comanche, she’d been taken in by a family who came to love her and eventually treat her as an equal.
Eyes-Like-Sky had not been so fortunate.
Morning Fawn clenched her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to yank the straw hat off her head and stomp it.
Instead, she pressed her lips together as Aunt Judith chatted on about lace, and silk, and linens, and how a proper young lady should drop her handkerchief or wave her fan to discretely catch a gentleman’s eye.
Morning Fawn shut her eyes, but the memory erupted.
Eyes-Like-Sky in a dirty, worn buckskin, scabs from half-healed wounds on her arms, gathering firewood in the brush for her master.
Trembling, Morning Fawn crouched behind a tree with a cake of pemmican in her hand and tears streaming down her cheeks.
She longed to take the food to her sister and hug her, but she was afraid.
Afraid of being seen with her, afraid that the people in the village would recognize how she belonged right there with Eyes-Like-Sky, beaten and enslaved, with no pia or ahpu, no one, not even a little sister, brave enough to stand up for her.
She ran, shoved the pemmican in Eyes-Like-Sky’s hand, and fled.
No wonder the Lord shut his ears to her prayers.
“Have you listened to a word I’ve said?” Aunt Judith spread the star-patterned quilt across both of their laps.
Morning Fawn shuddered and sat forward, glancing beneath the side canopy. Off to the right, withered grass and caked mud banks led to the narrowed Colorado River. Rain had been scarce all summer and fall.
“Beth?” Her aunt nudged her arm.
“I’ve been listening enough to wonder how a young lady with all of the hankie dropping, eyelash fluttering, and flattery can ever hope to secure a man of any worth.”
Reynolds snorted.
Morning Fawn rolled her eyes. Didn’t the man have anything better to do than eavesdrop?
“Keep your ears on the road, Lieutenant.” Aunt Julia pointed a finger at his back.
Morning Fawn unbuttoned the cloak at her throat. Too warm. Too confining. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck. She had to get her mind off the past before she had another panic fit.
Aunt Judith lowered her voice. “A young woman of character doesn’t make up falsities about the man in question. She merely searches her mind for compliments, accentuating the gentleman’s good qualities.”
Accentuating? She wouldn’t bother to ask the meaning.
Aunt Judith tilted her chin. “A pleasant smile and a little fluttering are means of showing you’re agreeable and discreetly conveying your interest.”
Discreet? From what she knew of that word, it had never entered into Thea’s vocabulary. “In my village, if a warrior was interested in a maiden—”
“That was a world away from here.” Aunt Judith wiggled her ruby ring.
“You must focus on the present and show the gentlemen of this county that you are a civilized young woman capable of running their household and being an asset to them in the community. That you’re not a wild horse in danger of breaking down the fence and fleeing to kingdom come at the drop of a feather. Forever chomping at the bit.”
“I don’t care for bits,” Morning Fawn muttered and pushed the quilt to her aunt’s side of the carriage.
The lieutenant’s shoulders twitched. Was he listening? He was the exact type of man who’d think he could bridle a woman and have her trot or canter at his command. He’d best go find himself a little mouse who didn’t know how to squeak.