Chapter 13 #2
Right. Hiding behind a tree. Talking loud enough that the enemy could hear him a mile away.
“Same here.” LeBeau sliced another bite. “If I was a few years younger and didn’t have more than a hundred slaves dependent upon me. Besides, if it wasn’t for us planters, the men on the front wouldn’t have anything but sticks and stones to throw at the enemy.”
Morning Fawn flickered a glance Devon’s way and traced a circular design on the tablecloth. The glow from the chandelier danced on her face. “Lieutenant Reynolds comes from a well-to-do family, but he prefers to fight for his way in the world.”
Devon blinked wide. She was defending him?
“For once, you’re right, cousin.” Thea slipped her fingers around his upper arm.
“The lieutenant told us about his battles the other night at dinner when you weren’t here.
” She shifted in her chair as if she needed to be another inch closer to him.
The yellow folds of her skirt lapped against his knee-high boots.
“But I would love to hear more. Especially about his missions fighting against wild Indians.”
She spouted enough tangy venom with the sugar-sweet tone to curdle his wine in his glass.
His arm itched beneath her hold. “As I mentioned the other evening, Miss Thea, I’d rather talk of more pleasant things—”
“I couldn’t agree more, Reynolds.” Moyer smiled. “Why dwell on the fact that you were the one to capture Miss Logan?”
“Kind of you to mention that.” Devon gritted his teeth.
“Reynolds did us a fine service.” LeBeau tugged on his waistcoat stretching over a slight bulge. “Best scout I could find. He got the job done and did it right. Brought her back without a scratch.”
Morning Fawn skewered Devon with her gaze.
“Lieutenant Reynolds has my eternal gratitude.” Moyer smoothed his fingers over his waxed mustache. “But I’d love to hear of Miss Beth’s life in the West.”
Morning Fawn blinked wide.
“Her life is right here in East Texas.” LeBeau cleared his throat. “And Tennessee before that.”
“Oh, but sir, I wish to hear of the natural wonders she beheld in her journeys. I have longed to travel to the western frontier and beyond. Of course, I wouldn’t want to cause her undue pain if the memories are too fresh.”
The man was like an overflowing rainspout of words.
“I would like to hear also if Beth wouldn’t mind.” Mrs. LeBeau dabbed her napkin to her lips.
They’d never asked her details about her life before?
Thea’s nails pressed deep into his sleeve, her proximity filling his nostrils with a scent much more potent than rosewater and not half as pleasant. “I’m sure it’s all desert, cacti, and thistles, a wasteland.”
Morning Fawn narrowed her eyes at her cousin and maybe him too.
“Only for those who don’t know what to look for.
” She swatted at a curl away from the smooth, bare skin of her upper shoulder.
“There’s the Red-Capped Canyons. But Palo Duro, as the Spanish call it, is the best. Miles and miles of mesas dressed in orange and red like Spanish skirts and trimmed in gray and white, with puffs of green dotting the valley floor… ”
Her eyes lit as she talked. Her love for the lands of endless sun shone through. Enough to make him want to crawl under the table. He’d taken her from the land of her heart.
The servants cleared the plates and served a lemon tart dessert.
The conversation moved on to the war. Further progress by the Yankees on Matagorda Island and Peninsula, even rumors that Fort Espenanza would fall.
A silent hurrah echoed in his head. And the most significant news—orders had come through for the cotton shipments to be halted temporarily until it could be determined that the road between Columbus and San Antonio was secure.
The cotton would pile up in Alleyton for now. Suited him just fine.
Just when they’d almost made it through dinner without open conflict, Moyer turned the conversation to talk of horses and asked Morning Fawn her favorite.
She stirred her peas, eyes downcast, as if she might not answer. “My favorite was a sleek black mustang. Full of spirit. My pia gave her to me—”
“What’s a pia?” Thea brushed her napkin against the lace that decorated her gown’s low neckline.
Morning Fawn glowered at her.
Trouble, if Devon’s recollection of the Comanche word proved accurate.
Morning Fawn jutted her chin. “Moth—”
“I think we should go riding.” Devon laid his fork down. Her uncle would go through the roof if she finished the word.
LeBeau sat up straight, his voice rigid. “I’d like to hear what Beth was going say.”
Morning Fawn lifted her head. She met his concerned gaze with wall-like obstinacy. “I honor my mother. But my Comanche pia took me in and treated me as her own. Her, too, I honor and love.”
“A filthy Indian.” LeBeau spit out the words.
Morning Fawn flinched. “A woman who loved me and cared for me as a daughter, and who’d go hungry so I could eat, who nursed me in illness—”
“I’ve heard enough.” LeBeau’s lip curled. “Feeding you was the least they could do after what they did to your entire family, your sister included.” He threw down his napkin.
“Robert, we have guests.” Mrs. LeBeau clasped the table edge.
“And I have a sister who was murdered and likely died defending her children. I’ll not have her attackers glorified.”
“My pia had nothing to do with that.” Morning Fawn clenched her hands. Moisture glistened in her eyes.
“They weakened your mind, young lady, turned you against your own—”
“Sir.” Devon raised his voice and pressed his palms on the table.
He couldn’t allow him to tear into Morning Fawn like that.
“Before the war, we were in the same tribe, so to speak, as Lincoln and the abolitionists. But that didn’t mean we saw eye to eye or followed their ways.
Can’t we give Morn—Beth’s adopted family the benefit of the doubt? ”
LeBeau’s glare bore into him. “Don’t play word games with me, Lieutenant, to win her favor. And her name is Miss Logan.”
Morning Fawn pushed out of her chair and stood, pale and shaking. “If I hear another word, I’m going to be sick.”
“Ladyhood and decorum at its finest,” Thea mumbled.
Morning Fawn strode out of the room, hand pressed to her mouth.
Devon followed, double-quick. He’d deal with LeBeau’s disfavor in the morning.
Sniffling, she paused at the bottom of the stairs and swiped away tears with her knuckles.
He’d tried to save her from the fight, but he swallowed back any thought of telling her so. “I’m sorry.”
She pivoted toward him. Red-rimmed eyes pierced him. “Leave me alone.”
“I know you’re upset and have every right to be. But if there’s anything I can—”
“Allow me to take you out for a breath of air, Miss Logan.” Moyer stepped between them. When had he come into the hall?
“I’ve had enough visiting tonight.” She hugged herself tight. Moisture ran from her nose.
Devon dug in his trouser pocket. Where was his blasted handkerchief?
“I understand completely.” Moyer’s voice smoothed like a snake charmer as he handed her a square of white silk from his waistcoat pocket, its perfect triangular fold snapping open.
“But surely, you don’t want to retreat to some stuffy room.
Let me escort you outside, give you a chance to settle down. ”
“She said she wants to be left alone.” Devon moved in front of the man.
“By you.” He smirked.
Jaw clenched, Devon’s fingers curled into his palms. “The lady—”
“The lady wants you two to be quiet.” Morning Fawn grabbed Moyer’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”
Devon crumpled his belated handkerchief in his hand.
She paused at the threshold to the porch and glanced over her shoulder at him. In a flurry of movement, she stepped back to him, snatched the linen from his hand, and then returned to Moyer’s elbow.
What in the world?