Wild legacy Page 4

  She left the dining room before her father could forbid her to go, and raced on out the front door. She had seen the troubled look fill Falcon's eyes just before he had left the table and thought he would seek the river for solace just as she had that morning. She found him down at the dock, and was pleased her intuition had proved correct.

  Falcon recognized the sound of Belle's footsteps as she ran across the weathered wood, and turned to face her. Not realizing he still held the bloody napkin, he waited for her to come close. "I know it was rude of me to leave. I'm sorry."

  Alarmed by the bright red splotches on the square of white linen, Belle rushed forward. "Have you been hurt?"

  "What? No." Falcon wadded up the stained napkin and jammed it into his pocket. "It's nothing. I just hit my head."

  "When? On what?"

  It was fear that had brought her close, and while her concern was touching, Falcon was positive he wasn't worthy of it. "It's nothing," he protested, but she started to walk

  around him, searching for the wound, and he had to turn on his heel to stay ahead of her. "I don't need your help, Belle, and after last night, you ought to be smart enough to stay clear of me."

  There weren't any bloodstains on his buckskins, but Belle doubted he was fine. She did not understand how he could have been fondling her under the table one minute, and then become this coldly forbidding stranger the next. "You must have been hit harder than you thought because you're not making any sense," she scolded. "Now bend down so I can take a good look at you."

  Falcon was reluctant to agree, but thinking this might be the last time she would ever want to touch him, he knelt down on one knee. He took her hand and held it to the back of his head. "There, you can feel the lump, but it's stopped bleeding. Don't bother asking how I got it because I won't tell you."

  They were so close that Belle longed to press his cheek against her bosom and simply hold him. When he released her hand, it was a struggle to simply stroke his hair lightly and step back. She would have sworn she had seen the full gamut of his emotions since last night, but as he rose, his expression took on a depth of anguish that frightened her.

  "My father wants to see you, but you needn't face him alone. You weren't alone last night, and that's when the trouble began. It's as much my fault as yours, and I won't allow anyone to blame you."

  The defiant tilt of her chin made it plain she was adamant about protecting him, but Falcon couldn't accept such a sacrifice and shook his head emphatically. Although he was the eldest and had instigated their childhood pranks, Belle had always defended him when they were caught. Their parents had never wanted to punish her harshly, so on more than one occasion he had escaped with a light scolding rather than the stern reprimand he had deserved. She was a treasure, but he had thought only of fulfilling his own

  needs last night, and of getting out of a forced marriage this morning. He could not forgive himself for being so selfish.

  "No, stay out of it," he warned. His sorrow deepening, he looked off toward the river. "I'd rather die than hurt you, but last night, well, I just wanted a woman, any woman, and you happened to be there. You had the good sense to stop me, and showed even better judgment in refusing my proposal today. I'll always be grateful to you for being so much wiser than I.

  "I'll talk with your father, but I won't admit any more than I did with our mothers, and then I'm riding back to South Carolina. You've seen what has to be the worst side of any man, and I can't expect you to forgive me for treating you like a woman I'd pay for her favors."

  Belle could not accept that crude dismissal of what they had shared. Until the moment she had asked for words of devotion, she had felt loved and cherished rather than merely used. Tears welled up in her eyes. "In wasn't like that, Falcon, not at all."

  Falcon discounted her opinion with a rude laugh and began backing away. "How would you know, Belle? You've never been with a whore, and I've been with plenty." He watched an anguished light fill her tearful gaze and while he longed to hold and comfort her, he feared all his tender promises would sound like another awkward attempt to win forgiveness for the inexcusable liberties he had taken. Unable to bear the heartache he had caused her, he left her standing on the dock alone looking very young and afraid. As he approached the house, he cursed himself with every step for placing her in such a miserable situation.

  He prayed he could fool his uncle as easily as he had fooled Belle, but his whole body ached with the pain of hurting her, and he doubted he could speak at all. He stepped into the dining room and waved to his uncle, but then waited in the study for him to finish eating. Bathed

  in warm sunshine, the book-lined room invited the serious discussions that often took place there, but Falcon recalled last night's seductive shadows and felt sick to his stomach. He sank down into one of the red wing chairs and closed his eyes. He had fallen asleep by the time his uncle joined him.

  Byron shook Falcon's shoulder. "Would you like a brandy?"

  Embarrassed to have drifted off, Falcon quickly straightened up. "No, thank you. I've given up spirits."

  "Really?" Byron poured himself a splash of his favorite drink and sat down at his desk to enjoy it. "Beau was more Christian's friend than yours," he mused thoughtfully, "and Jean was too young to keep up with you, but as I recall, you and Belle were inseparable. I want your word that you won't push your former closeness into more than it ought to be."

  Falcon returned his uncle's level stare as he repeated his demand in his mind. All he had needed was one more push, or thrust, and they would be planning the wedding. Because his earlier attempts to defend himself had gone so poorly, he was content for the moment simply to agree. "You have it."

  On Falcon's infrequent visits home, their conversations had centered on the war. As Byron regarded the young man more closely, he noted his weight loss and another change that was far more disturbing. Falcon didn't just appear weary; he looked past caring. During the French and Indian War, Byron had seen that same fearlessness reflected in Hunter's eyes. The Seneca brave had fought with a stoic exhilaration, yet whenever their eyes had met, Byron had been grateful they were allies for it had been terrifyingly plain that Hunter would show an enemy no mercy.

  Unlike Hunter, Falcon had not been raised as a Seneca warrior, but he had grown to manhood with a rifle in his

  hand. "You've served long enough," Byron advised. "Don't go back."

  Falcon thought his uncle daft. "Stay home, but stay away from Belle?" He could still feel the angelic sweetness of her caress. "That's impossible."

  Belle and Dominique were pretty and popular, and Byron was positive if the war had not gone on so long, by this time they would both be happily married and have children of their own. Falcon wasn't the husband he would have selected for Belle, but she had always been too strong-willed to accept his choice anyway. She and Falcon were related, but only as second cousins, so there was no real barrier to the match.

  "Then stay and marry her," he suggested.

  "She's already turned me down," Falcon replied, "and with good reason." He sat forward slightly. "If you've no more to say, I'd like to start back for South Carolina while there's still plenty of light."

  Byron had not meant to chase Falcon away from his own home, and immediately began to argue. "You can't want to leave when you only arrived home last night."

  "I know, but I shouldn't have come." Falcon rose with a weary stretch. "It's better for all of us if I don't stay"

  "Wait a minute," Byron cautioned. "I can't believe Belle turned you down. Give her a few days to get used to having you home again, and her answer will surely be different."

  Falcon leaned against the edge of the desk. "No, she made a wise choice, and I'll not try to influence her to change it."

  "Sit down," Byron urged, but Falcon shook his head and remained standing. "I couldn't love you more if you were my own son," Byron swore convincingly. "You look exhausted. Don't leave home until you've had a chance to rest and eat plenty of good foo
d. You'll not only be doing yourself a favor, but the men with whom you serve as well."

  Falcon responded with a rueful laugh. "I'll be doing the

  family an even greater favor by leaving." He waited as Byron left his chair and came around to the front of the desk. They were standing right where he and Belle had been last night. Guilt made Falcon's skin crawl, and he wanted out of the study so badly he began inching toward the door. "Thank you for all you've done for me over the years. You've been the best of uncles."

  Falcon offered his hand, and Byron took it. "Be careful," he begged. "We don't want to lose you."

  Falcon doubted it would be much of a loss, but nodded, and left before his uncle grew maudlin. He knew he ought to tell his mother and father good-bye, but didn't feel up to hearing any more of their questions or advice. He went to his room to gather up the few things he had brought home, then left by the back door. He went down to the stable, where a groom had brushed his sorrel gelding's coat to a burnished copper. When the handsome horse saw Falcon he tossed his white mane and snickered a greeting.

  Falcon thanked the groom, then saddled his mount himself. He was proud of the fine horse he had named Rusty Nails, but he had quickly dropped the reference to color and begun calling him Nails. He was just leading Nails to the door when Belle appeared. She was out of breath, her face flushed, and so lovely he had to turn away. "Just let me go, Belle."

  Belle ran her hand over the sorrel's rump as she circled him. At seventeen hands, Nails was of an impressive size, but playful; she didn't fear being kicked as she followed Falcon. She reached out to touch his sleeve before he could put his foot in the stirrup.

  "Kiss me good-bye," she begged.

  "Belle—" Falcon spoke her name in a soft sigh, but the feeble protest was lost when she stepped into his arms. He couldn't refuse the affection he craved so badly, and he slid his arms around her waist. He lowered his mouth to hers

  for a kiss he meant to be no more than a gentle caress but the instant their lips met, he was lost in a haze of desire.

  Her taste was delicious, her whole body so soft and sweet; one kiss blurred into a half-dozen before he found the strength to push her away. Her gaze was as dazed as his, but Falcon knew he had made the best decision for them both. He mounted with a haste he would have used in battle, then galloped out of the stable, determined to stay out of her life.

  Belle ran to the wide doorway and watched him ride away. She had always missed him when he was away, but now as he disappeared in the dust-cloaked distance, she was overcome with a sorrow so profound it approached the painful loss of death. Unmindftil of the groom's curious stare, she wept openly, certain she had done everything wrong and yet unable to imagine how she might have set things right. When Dominique found her half an hour later, she had not moved.

  Dominique handed her sister a lace handkerchief and urged her to dry her tears. "Whatever is wrong with you?" she asked. "Both you and Falcon are behaving strangely, and I want to know why. Aunt Alanna made me leave the sitting room right after you rushed out so all I have are suspicions without the necessary facts. Come, let's find a quiet spot to sit and talk. I want you to tell me what happened from the very beginning, and don't leave out a single delicious detail."

  The very last thing Belle wanted to do was confide in Dominique, but she let herself be led to a bench down by the river. Once there, she offered only a brief sketch of what had happened in the study. "We just kissed," she lied. "Then this morning Mother and Alanna forced Falcon to propose to me. It was a wretched situation for us both, and quite naturally I refused."

  From what Dominique could recall, Falcon had looked more embarrassed than burdened with guilt when he had

  presented Belle with the beautiful bouquet and vague apology. "That doesn't make any sense," she chided. "There's got to be more to this if they demanded he propose, and I insist that you tell me everything."

  They often discussed their beaus, but Belle had never had more than a passing interest in any man except Falcon and had had no reason to keep secrets. She blotted the last of her tears on Dominique's now soggy handkerchief. "No, not this time, Dominique. I want these memories to be solely mine."

  Dominique studied her sister's downcast expression and leapt to the only possible conclusion. Shocked, she reached out to take her hand. "My God, Belle, did you make love with him?"

  Belle looked out over the river. A bright green dragonfly dipped low on the water. She envied him his iridescent wings and wished she could escape her pain in the churning river's mist. In her view, she and Falcon had most definitely made love, but she knew Dominique wasn't referring to the tantalizing exchange of fevered kisses that had led them to the brink of intimacy, but to the act itself.

  "No, but I do love him and would have had I not realized at the last instant that he'd been drinking and wasn't himself. Now stop pestering me. I feel awful about this whole mess, and Falcon's gone back to the war."

  Stunned by Belle's somber declaration of love, Dominique relaxed her pose and leaned back against the bench. "I won't deny that I love Falcon, too, but it's not in the way you mean. It's with the same sweet sisterly warmth I love Beau, Jean, and Christian. Falcon treats me as a sister, but I've always known you meant much more to him."

  Belle longed to believe she had inspired Falcon's ardor, but his comment about whores had dashed any such naive hopes. "He said he had just wanted a woman, any woman. I was convenient."

  Disgusted with her cousin, Dominique's expression filled

  with revulsion. "What an awful thing for him to say. It doesn't even sound like Falcon."

  Belle studied her sister's face before replying. Dominique had a more vivacious personality and far more flirtatious ways, but their features were strikingly similar. Like their mother, their blue eyes held a hint of green, and their profiles had a cameo's elegant perfection. They also had Arielle's pale blond hair, but had inherited their father's charming curls.

  "No, it doesn't," Belle agreed, "and I didn't want to believe him either, but he swears it's the truth." She closed her eyes and sighed sadly. "I'm so afraid he's not coming back."

  If Belle's shocking portrayal of Falcon's flippant excuse for his behavior was correct, Dominique did not understand why she would even want him to. Knowing such a bitter comment would be no comfort, she held her tongue until another far more appealing possibility presented itself. The blissfully romantic thought made her smile. "If I truly loved a man, as you love Falcon, then I would make love to him even if he were drunk, and I'd accept his proposal no matter what had prompted him to give it."

  "Dominique!"

  Dominique could see she had shocked her sister, but wouldn't hesitate to stoop to deception in the name of love. "I'm serious, Belle. If my beau had too much to drink and were in an amorous mood, I'd make certain that by dawn he would be so desperately in love with me he could not wait to make me his wife."

  Belle took note of the triumphant gleam dancing in Dominique's eyes, and did not doubt the confident beauty's ability to succeed. "Yes, you would," she agreed, "but I don't recall your ever being in love. So many men have called on you, brought you expensive gifts, and sworn their devotion. While you've always been gracious, you've never expressed any particular fondness for any of them. You've

  broken their hearts, and one by one, they've all drifted away."

  Embarrassed by Belle's summation of her romantic involvements, which truly had all been brief and quite innocent, Dominique hated to think of herself as merely being fickle. Perhaps she had been spoiled by the admiration she had always received without having to do more than smile. She had certainly enjoyed the company of each of her suitors, but had longed for something more than pretty presents and adoring sighs. Despite Belle's current sorrow, she envied her her love for Falcon and wished she had felt more than a vague sense of disappointment with her beaus.

  "There was one man," she recalled wistfully. "You might have been too young to remember Sean O'Keefe. He was a British o
fficer, and looked absolutely magnificent in his uniform, but he only pursued me to be near Liana and when his true purpose became clear, he left and didn't return. Besides, I have my pride, and wouldn't have spoken with him even if he had."

  "I do remember him," Belle replied. "He was tall and dark and quite handsome."

  "Yes, that's him. He kissed me a time or two, and there was definitely something special about him, or at least I thought there was at the time. Perhaps it was only the danger of being courted by a British officer while all the men here were plotting rebellion. I wonder if he's still alive."

  Falcon had described how easily he shot British officers, but Belle thought better of relaying such distressing news when Sean could easily have been one of his victims. "If he is, he might be in Charleston."

  "Yes, he just might." Dominique seldom allowed herself to think of Sean, and then it was always with regret. She was silent a long while, but when she at last turned to Belle, her tone had dropped to a more serious level. "I caught only a fragment of the conversation at your end of the table,

  but didn't you ask Falcon about the need for volunteers to tend the wounded?"

  "Yes. I didn't want to be here the next time Falcon came home, and going on a mission of mercy would make an excellent excuse to leave. Now my main concern is that Falcon won't be coming home."

  Belle's sorrow was so deep, her love obviously sincere, that Dominique didn't hesitate to offer what she considered a brilliant suggestion. "Then let's go after him."

  "What?"

  Dominique laughed at her sister's dismay. "The men in our family have all served to further the cause of the United States, but what have we done? Nothing but provide amusing company for the young men who have a few days to spend with us between battles. They're grateful for any woman's company, and I never trust their compliments to be sincere. Why don't we go to South Carolina and tend the wounded? It would give you the chance to straighten out things with Falcon, and if I can locate Sean, perhaps we could meet."