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IN THE WIND’S EYE
CHAPTER SEVEN
Even in evil, that dark cloud that bands over creation, we discern rays of light and hope, and gradually come to see, in suffering and temptation, proofs and instruments of the sublimest purposes
of wisdom and love. Channing
Tina was crying softly against her husband's shoulder. Brendan and Leland paced back and forth in front of the hearth. Grace Vivienne sat plying her knitting with dexterous fingers that defied her age and arthritis. Edward Delacroix stood like a statue in the corner of the drawing room, his fierce gaze locked hatefully on Sinclair. "I hold you responsible for this, McGregor!" he growled. Sinclair looked up from his contemplation of the rug at his feet and turned his head toward Delacroix. There was no expression on the younger man's face and when he did not answer the accusation, but simply stared at his enemy, Delacroix cursed him. "There is no need for vulgarities, Mr. Delacroix," Grace Vivienne stated firmly. "Rory Sinclair is not at fault here." "Then who is Madame?"" Delacroix shouted. "Do not raise your voice to me, young man!" Grace Vivienne cautioned. "This is my home and I will remind you that you are a guest here." Delacroix's jaw clenched. He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment of the chastisement. "My apologies, Miss Grace Vivienne," he muttered, his heated gaze straying once more to a silent Sinclair. "Dr. Doorenbos," Leland said quietly. Every eye in the room flew to the staircase down which the young doctor came. There was a weary look on his bearded face as he unfolded the shirt sleeves he had rolled above his elbows. His attention went straight to Edward as that man crossed the room in a rush. "How is she?" Delacroix demanded as he reached the staircase. Grace Vivienne looked toward Sinclair and frowned. The boy was still sitting there--as he had been for the last two hours--mute and detached, his face carefully blank. Even now, as he looked at the doctor, there was no emotion showing on his lean countenance. "Well?" Edward snapped. "I am sorry to be the one to tell you we were not able to save your daughter, Mr. Delacroix," the physician stated gravely. "Your wife is resting as comfortably as possible." "Daughter," Edward said as though the word were a heavy stone to be dropped. "Yes. I fear the infant had expired long before this afternoon." Dr. Doorenbos' brows pulled together. "Has your wife been ill in the last day or two?" Delacroix did not seem to be listening. He was looking past the physician, staring at the door to the room in which Ivonne lay. "A girl child," he muttered, then seemed to shake himself. A look of what appeared to everyone there as relief came over his face. "Well, I am, of course, devastated by the loss of my daughter, but there will be others." Dr. Doorenbos blinked. "Beg pardon?" he asked, shocked by the man's cavalier attitude. Edward waved a dismissive hand. "I had been expecting a boy, you see. While I am saddened to lose my firstborn, it was, after all, a female. I am sure the next babe will be a boy." Sinclair came slowly to his feet, his hands clenched into fists at his side. The physician stared with disbelief at the man. He shook his head, seeming to want to push away the shocking words he had heard. He looked from Grace Vivienne to Leland then back at Delacroix. "Sir?" he questioned. "You have not allowed me to finish what I have to say." "You can explain whatever needs saying on the way to WindLass," Edward declared. He turned, spying Brendan. "Brell, fetch my man. We will carry my wife……" "Sir!" Dr. Doorenbos interrupted, his face stern. "You will not be taking your lady-wife anywhere for the time being!" Delacroix looked back around and fixed the physician with an arched brow. "Her place is in our home, in her own bed." He glanced toward Sinclair who was still standing immobile by Leland's. He sneered, then turned back to Doorenbos. "I will not allow her to spend one more moment here." "Mr. Delacroix," Dr. Doorenbos spoke as though to the village idiot. "Your wife is ill. She has lost a great deal of blood and may be suffering a malaise with which I am not familiar." "What kind of malaise?" Grace Vivienne spoke up. The physician shook his head. "I am not certain. That is why I asked if the lady had been ill prior to today." "Of course she has not," Edward denied. "She was fine until that bastard brought on her miscarriage." "That was uncalled for!" Conor growled. "You can not blame Sin for…….." "I most certainly can!" Delacroix cut him off. "Had he not upset my wife, thrown her into turmoil with his demands…….." "What demands did I make?" Sinclair asked in a deadly quiet voice Delacroix raised his chin and looked down his nose. "Well, I suppose only you and my wife know what adulterous suggestions you were making to her behind my back, McGregor!" "Mister Delacroix!" Grace Vivienne gasped. "How dare you accuse my grandson of such a thing?!" Delacroix ignored the old woman's question. Instead, he turned back to the physician. "I am removing my wife from this house." He made to push past Doorenbos, but the young doctor reached out and took a firm grasp of Edward's upper arm. "No, Sir, you are not!" the physician stated succinctly. "I administered a goodly amount of laudanum so she would sleep. Rest is what she needs at the moment and I can not allow you to remove her from her bed. She might likely bleed to death if you do!" "I am taking my wife home with me!" Delacroix shouted. "No, you aren't," Sinclair told him. Delacroix rounded on his enemy, stalking toward him, eyes blazing and fists raised. He would have swung at Sinclair had Leland not hobbled between them and caught Delacroix in a bear hug. "Be still, man!" Leland demanded. He half-pulled Delacroix's coat from his shoulders in his attempt to keep Edward from attacking Sinclair. "You want me," Sinclair challenged, "we'll take it outside; but Ivonne is not leaving this house." "You keep my wife's name from your filthy lips, McGregor!" Delacroix raged. He pulled away from Leland and shrugged his suit coat back into position. "I thought you a gentleman, Sir," Grace Vivienne observed, "but I can see I might well have been mistaken." She stood up. "I must ask you to leave my home." Shooting his cuffs, Delacroix glared spitefully at Sinclair, but made no further attempt to hit him. He turned toward the old woman, his jaw set. "I ask your pardon for my behavior, Miss Grace Vivienne. I must cite my grief as the culprit for allowing my baser instincts to govern my head." He ignored Sinclair's rude snort. There were no commiserating eyes looking at him from the room and he knew he had worn out his welcome. The only face-saving thing to do would be to depart. It galled him to leave Ivonne at Willow Glen, but he saw no way to force these people to hand her over to him. "Your sister is welcome to stay, of course," Grace Vivienne declared. "I would imagine Ivonne would appreciate the company." "She was a great help," Dr. Doorenbos said though he had taken an instant dislike to the woman. There had been something far too avid about her face when the child had been delivered stillborn. He shook off the feeling. "I will, naturally, be visiting every day. I need to peruse my medical journals. Perhaps I can discover similar conditions as those under which Mrs. Delacroix lost her child." "Evangeline is welcome to stay if she so desires," Edward mumbled. He could not have cared less if his sister stayed or dropped off the face of the earth. At the moment, he had plans to make and he was now eager to leave Willow Glen and the unfriendly faces watching him. "You may visit whenever you feel the need," Grace Vivienne commented but she would have bet every nickel she had squirreled away that the man's attendance on his wife would be sketchy at best. Delacroix bowed elegantly. "That is most gracious of you, Ma'am," he replied. He nodded at the doctor, at Leland, then spun on his heel and marched to the door. "I bid you all a good day." Taking his hat and cane from Bossie, he left. "And a good day to you, too, you pissant Yankee collaborator," Leland sniped beneath his breath. "How ill is she, Doctor?" Tina asked what every one there wanted to know. "That's hard to say, Mrs. Brell," the physician answered. "I wanted to ask if she had perhaps eaten tainted meat for she has all the symptoms of food poisoning." He scratched his head. "Yet, her sister-in-law says she's eaten nothing the rest of them have not eaten as well. She takes no special herbs or the like for energy and such. Frankly, I am at a loss to understand what caused the miscarriage. I am told the babe was active until today. It makes no sense." "Food poisoning," Sinclair repeated. He looked up the stairs, his eyes narrowed. "Could she have been given something to make her lose the child?" "What are you suggesting, Rory Sinclair?" his grandmother demanded. "I'm not suggesting anything, Grandmother. I am only asking Ray if that might be a possibility," Sinclair replied. Dr. Doorenbos shrugged. "Who would do such a thing, Sin? I know Delacroix is a heartless bastard, but surely he would not harm his own child." "He seemed glad enough to learn it was a female child," Tina accused. "I think he would have been less blasé had it been a male child he lost!" "He wanted the child," Evangeline spoke from the stairs and everyone looked up at her as she came down the staircase. Sinclair had not met Delacroix's sister and he wondered at the lack of resemblance between the two. Where Edward was dark haired and dark eyed, this woman was blond with eyes the color of fresh cut lavender. Where Delacroix was tall and rangy, his sister was petite with a body most men would find delectable. To him, she appeared overblown and haughty. As their eyes met, he saw instant assessment form in hers and he looked away. "My brother is a very private man. I am sure he is taking this harder than you all realize," Evangeline insisted. She came off the staircase, walked straight to Sinclair and held out her hand. "I do not believe we have been introduced." Sinclair had no choice but to take her proffered hand. Being the Southern gentleman he had been raised to be, he brought her fingers to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on her slender knuckles. "Sinclair McGregor, at your service," he said politely. "Evangeline Hardy," she replied, her gaze wandering over his handsome face and down his lean body. Leland saw the look of distaste flicker over his cousin's face as the brazen woman's scrutiny crawled over Sinclair. He might well have been amused by it if he, too, hadn't felt the essence of pure evil flowing from Delacroix's sister. "How is Ivonne?" Sinclair asked, withdrawing his hand. Evangeline's lips pursed, giving away her displeasure at not being fully appreciated as she had intended. She fluttered her eyelashes in an attempt to garner interest in this handsome man, but when McGregor failed to take the bait, she frowned, remembered she was doing so, and relaxed her features. After all, frowns caused lines and wrinkles. "My dear sister is resting," Evangeline said, dismissing Sinclair with a look intended to punish him for his lack of attentiveness. She moved away, going unbidden to take a seat beside Grace Vivienne on the settle. "I do appreciate the offer to stay here in your beautiful home, Mrs. Brell. I am sure Ivonne will need my help." Grace Vivienne eyed the beautiful woman and also felt the current of underlying evil about her. She nodded politely, but moved her skirts from contact with the other woman's. "You are welcome to stay as long as needs be," the old woman offered. "That is most kind of you," Evangeline replied. "I promise I will be no trouble at all." Leland exchanged a look with Sinclair. Neither man would care to make a wager on how much trouble the blond woman would turn out to be. Sinclair shrugged in answer to Leland's raised brow. "Well, I'll be going," Dr. Doorenbos said. He bowed to Grace Vivienne. "You will send for me if you need me?" Grace Vivienne inclined her head. "Most certainly, Doctor." She watched the physician take his leave then turned her hawk-like attention to Sinclair. "Rory Sinclair?" she questioned. Sinclair looked around "Yes, Ma'am?" 'Please check on our guest and make sure she is sleeping comfortably." Evangeline gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest. "I certainly do not think it proper for a young man to enter a disposed lady's boudoir!" she protested. Grace Vivienne smiled nastily and reached out to pat a soothing hand on the younger woman's arm. "That's quite all right, dear. Rory Sinclair and Ivonne had been friends since childhood." A harsh red stain enveloped Evangeline's face, turning her pretty face ugly. "I know of their connection, Miss Grace Vivienne, and I am certain my brother would object most strenuously to Captain McGregor………" "Your brother is not here," Grace Vivienne said firmly, "and nothing untoward will occur under my roof while Ivonne is here, I can assure you." She turned away from the shocked look on Evangeline's face and stared pointedly at Sinclair. "Is that a correct assumption, Rory Sinclair?" He knew what his grandmother was doing. He also knew word of his having gone to Ivonne's room would get back to the man intended to be angered by it. The meddling old biddy had every intention of seeing him and Delacroix at each other's throat. He hoped the outcome of their inevitable meeting would be to her liking. "I would protect Ivonne with my life, Grandmother," he replied. "Her honor is as sacred to me as it is to her." Evangeline glared at him, consigning him to the devil with a look intended to allow him to see her displeasure. "I shall," she said through clenched teeth, "have to report this impropriety to my brother." "By all means, dear," Grace Vivienne agreed. "We certainly want no secrets between our two families, do we, Rory Sinclair?" Sinclair shook his head. His grandmother was a crafty, sly old bitch, who loved nothing better than to manipulate people. He wondered how his grandfather had ever lived with her as long as he did. "I'll look in on her, then I'll be heading back home," he answered. "You aren't staying?" Leland asked. Sinclair glanced at Evangeline. "It's best if I don't, Lee." Leland sighed. "I suppose you're right." Tina reached out to touch Sinclair as he passed her. "You will give her my love?" Sinclair covered her fingers with his hand. "I won't wake her if she's sleeping, but if she isn't, I'll tell her you're waiting to see her, okay?" Tina nodded thankfully. "I know every cloud has a silver stitching, but I just fail to see it here." Conor winced at his wife's words, sighed, then put an arm around her. "Let's take a walk outside, dearling. You need the fresh air. Sin will come get you if Ivonne is awake." Evangeline watched the tall man climb the stairs to Ivonne's room and hated him with every fiber of her being. Not only had he failed to be smitten by her beauty, he had made it obvious he preferred the dark looks of Edward's harlot to her own fair grace. The man had once been Ivonne's lover, had he not? Edward had hinted as much to her. She narrowed her violet gaze. Were they still seeing one another now that McGregor had returned? Obviously so from the eager way he had insisted Ivonne stay at Willow Glen. She looked around her. And were not these people, this family of his, participating partners in McGregor's continued seduction of her brother's legal wife? Not that she cared one way or the other for Edward's happiness, but family honor was at stake here! Surely, even in the backwaters of this heathen Savannah, adultery was frowned upon by genteel society! Perhaps a few well chosen words in the right ears………. "Will you partake of a glass of sherry with us, Mrs. Hardy?" Grace Vivienne interrupted Evangeline's spiteful plans. The young blond woman smiled gaily. "I would love a spot of Madeira if you have it!" Grace Vivienne nodded. "Of course."
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He eased the door open and looked inside. Ivonne was sleeping, her face turned slightly to one side. The room had been darkened, the draperies closed, but a faint glow from the lantern cast enough light for him to see the pallor of Ivonne's flesh. He frowned and came on into the room. Walking quietly, not wanting to wake her, he went to the bed and stood staring down at her. What he saw filled his heart with terrible grief. Her cheeks were slightly sunken, faint blue lines underscored her shuttered eyes. She was far too pale and far to quiet for his peace of mind. Going to his knees beside the bed, he reached for her still hand and laid his lightly upon it. Her flesh was cool, dry, and the feel of it worried him even more. Gently he curled the fingers of his right hand under her palm and held her hand. He reached up to push a lock of dark hair from her forehead and when he did, her eyelids fluttered open. "I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips. "How are you, my lady?" She smiled weakly at him. "My lady," she echoed, her heart and soul in the words. Sinclair's face crumpled and he lowered his head. Silent sobs shook his broad shoulders. "Ivonne, I am so sorry!" She reached across with her free hand and placed her palm on his head. "I know," she answered. "I know." "If I caused….." "Shush!" she told him. 'You caused nothing. It was God's will. A punishment He saw fit to bestow upon me." He looked up, his face streaked with tears. "Punishment for what?" he challenged. "For loving you," she returned, "more than anything on this earth." Her chin trembled. "More than anything in this life!" "Oh, God!" he cried out, burying his face against the mattress. His tortured cries shook the bed beneath her and she cradled his head in her hand. "Sinclair, you can not blame yourself for this. It was meant to be," she whispered. "No!" he spat, pushing away from the bed and springing to his face. "If I had not sought you out, if I had left you alone…….." "Nothing would have changed," she told him. "Aye, it would have," he disagreed. "I will not have you blaming yourself for what could not be helped!" she chastised him sternly. "I'll hear no more of such talk." "Ivonne……." he pleaded, his torment stamped plainly on his tearful countenance. "I need to rest," she said. "I can not…….I do not…….." She turned away. "Go, Sinclair. Please!" "Don't send me away, Ivonne," he begged her. "Let me stay until you……." "Go away, Sinclair!" she ordered. She refused to look at him again. He backed away from the bed, never taking his eyes from her, wanting to stay, needing to be with her. He ached to reach out and take her in his arms, to hold her, to soothe away the pain making her lovely face so wretched. "Please go," she said one last time and closed her eyes, shutting him out.
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His mind was not on where he was or what he was doing. His thoughts were dark, hateful, and squeezing his heart. He did not hear nor see the men until they rode down on him and when he at last became aware of their purpose, it was already too late. They dragged him from his horse and to the ground, their booted feet and gloved hands vicious as they beat him. He fell and a sharp pain shot through his side as a brutal kick landed squarely in his ribcage, another half-lifted him from the ground as it dug into his back. He rolled, trying to escape the punishment, He crawled a few feet and another boot slammed into his belly, lifting him and rolling him to his back. He flipped to his side, drew his knees up and out of the corner of his eye, saw a boot coming straight at his head. He threw his arms over his head but it did little good. The glancing blow to his temple was excruciating and brought the stars down from the heavens. It stunned him and he was unable to fight back as two of them jerked him to his feet and held him as the third man set about to destroy Sinclair's face. The first hit was savage, breaking bone and spraying blood as his nose broke. A gush of blood flooding down his throat gagged him and he coughed, gasping for breath and sucking more liquid into his lungs. His belly was on fire from the brutal punches into his gut and his jawbone felt as though it caved in as one particularly wicked punch clipped his chin. His battered face gave way beneath the strength of the man hitting him: an eye closed, his lip split, a tooth was knocked loose. He sagged between the two men holding him, feeling his knees giving way as the third man's hard fists drove unmercifully into his stomach. His head rocked from side to side and his vision began to close as his eyes swelled shut. He grunted as they dropped him to the ground and began to kick him. Curling into a protective ball, he endured their savage assault for he could do nothing else. Not one word was spoken throughout the attack. He knew none of his assailants. What he did know was who was to blame, who had ordered what was being done to him, but he could never prove it. If he survived long enough to point a finger, he doubted he would be recognizable. He began to pray for his own death as the beating continued without letup until, with one well-aimed punch, agonized pain replaced all the light in his world and Sinclair McGregor's consciousness shut down.
THE LEGENDS BEGIN WITH THE KEEPER OF THE WIND
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