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IN THE WIND’S EYE
CHAPTER NINE
Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce,
He felt as if every bone had been broken in his body. Lying there, the night covering him like a blanket, he could neither see nor smell. His eyes were swollen shut, blood caked in the corners, and his nose was broken, clogged with bloody mucous. Inside his mouth, his tongue was swollen, cut, stuck to the soft pallet and two of his teeth were loose. His scarred cheek was pressed against a sharp rock and the rock was cutting into his flesh; but he was too hurt, too battered, to move his head; and even if he could, the excruciating ache that had settled in his brain would have surely caused him to black out should he try. Had they thought he would die here? he wondered. Certainly that had been their intent. The beating had been brutal and exacting, meant to do as much damage as possible. ` And it had. He knew there were at least two ribs broken; he had felt them snap. One was grating against another with every breath he took so he tried to breathe as gently through his split lips as he could. Lying on his belly, his left arm above his head, the other crooked downward at his side, he was incapable of pushing himself up. And God how he wished he could for he was lying in his own body wastes. He could taste the vomit that had sprayed from his mouth when he'd first awakened. He hadn't even been able to lift his head to avoid the putrid mess. All he had been capable of doing was retching, his gut on fire, and spew out his lunch. There was grit caked on his lower lip and a bit of it he'd sucked into his mouth. At some point, he had peed on himself and the wet clung to his thighs. All in all, he thought with a grim inner chuckle, he was pretty gods-be-damned messed up and in a whole heap of trouble. Something stung him on his left hand and he moaned, unable to do anything more than involuntarily flex the fingers of that hand against the pain. Whatever it was stung him again and the pain spread up his wrist, then his arm. He prayed it was a fire ant taking bites out of him and not a Black Widow spider. When the pain struck again, he managed to pull his hand off the ground and drag it closer to his side. The movement brought tears to his eyes. If you stay here, McGregor, he told himself, you are going to die for sure. The thought did little more than amuse him for there was no way under Heaven or on Earth that he could move of his own volition. He might as well have been crucified to the red Georgia clay on which he lay. Even if he could have pushed himself up, rolled over to his back, he doubted he could have sat up much less hauled himself to his feet. "Get the hell up, McGregor!" that inner voice scolded. And do what? Walk? Yeah, right, he mused. I'll just hop right on up and take a leisurely stroll on home. What's that you say? Well, no, I don't suppose I could see where I was going. Horse? Oh, no, thank you. Don't think I could climb up just now and I really don't think I could ride. No, he mentally corrected, I know I can't. I might well have a problem lying in the back of a buckboard, if truth be told. Even a litter would pose a slight imposition to the old bones. No, I'll just lie right here, thank you just the same. "And die?" the inner voice rebuked. Yeah, I can see that happening. A slight laugh pushed from Sinclair's torn mouth and he winced. There really wasn't anything to laugh about. He was in a hell of a predicament and the only hope he had was if someone just happened to notice he'd gone missing.
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"I don't suppose you know where your cousin is this morning, Leland Earl?" Grace Vivienne inquired as she passed her grandson the marmalade. Leland shook his head. "No, Ma'am." He spooned a dollop of the orange condiment on his bread plate then passed the silver server on to Brendan. "I would have thought he'd have come back to check on Ivonne last evening, but………" His voice trailed off. "You want me to go fetch him, Granny?" Brendan asked. Grace Vivienne winced, then turned the full force of her displeasure on her youngest grandchild. "Do NOT call me that vulgar appellation, Brendan Neil!" she warned. "I will NOT tolerate it. Do you understand?" Brendan smiled around the biscuit he had jammed into his mouth. "Yes, Ma'am," he agreed and had to duck his chin to keep a gob of marmalade from oozing out the side of his mouth. "Brendan Neil!" his grandmother hissed with exasperation. "The young have such deplorable manners these days, don't you agree, Miss Grace Vivienne?" Evangeline queried. She daintily applied her linen napkin to her lips. Grace Vivienne turned her head and surveyed the woman seated to her right. It had galled her to have Edward Delacroix's irritating sister spend the night at Willow Glen; but the social amenities must be extended even to those one considers to be quite beyond the pall. "My grandson has excellent table manners, Mrs. Hardy," the older woman stated firmly. "He simply chooses to annoy me because he knows he can do so." She deliberately turned away from Evangeline and stared hard at Brendan. "Isn't that right, Brendan Neil?" "Yes, Ma'am," Brendan said with great dignity. "When he wants to," Conor piped up and yelped when his new bride clipped his shin none too gently beneath the table. "As for Rory Sinclair," Grace Vivienne said as though the subject had never changed, "he will eventually come wandering in, I suppose." "He could be seeing to that broken flume up at the mill, Grandmother," Leland put in. "He mentioned it yesterday." He wiped his mouth and laid his napkin beside his plate. "If you ladies will excuse me, I've a long day ahead of me in the ledger books." "Need any help?" Conor asked. "You promised to take me into town for wallpaper samples, C.J.," Tina protested. "We can do that anytime," C.J. complained. "Lee has……." "Enough sense to add numbers all on his own," their grandmother finished. She sent Conor a condemning look. "You made a promise to your wife and you will keep that promise young man. Is that clear?" "Yes, Ma'am," Conor mumbled. "Then if you are finished, escort your lady from the table and get ready to go," Grace Vivienne ordered. She glanced at Bossie. "Tell Felix to hitch up the buckboard for Mister Conor." Bossie rolled her eyes. "Mister Conor," she snorted as she waddled out of the room. "I aint never called dat tadpole Mister in all his born days and I aint gonna start callin' him dat now!" She clucked her tongue. "Mister Conor my fat black ass!" Evangeline wanted more of the fried ham steaks and hominy grits with red eye gravy, the cat's head biscuits with freshly-churned butter, but the old biddy was waving her hand at her grandson to pull out her chair for her, signaling the breakfast was over. Looking with longing at the rich pink meat and clouds of creamy white grits still mounded in the Sèvres bowls, the young widow sighed heavily. She had no choice but to leave the table. "Betcha don't get good food like this in New Orleans, do you, Miss Evangeline?" Brendan quipped. Evangeline's left brow arched at the young jackanapes who was pulling out her chair for her. He was grinning at her and in his young eyes--far too mature for his awkward age--she could see spite. When his lips twitched at her obvious pique at his words, he broke into a malicious grin that set Evangeline's teeth on edge. "Behave yourself, Brendan Neil," his grandmother said softly, but there was in the old woman's tone, a certain admiration for her grandson's taunting words. Casting grandmother and grandson a haughty look, Evangeline swept past them both and headed for the stairs. "I must look in on Sister," she pronounced. "You will excuse me?" "There is no excuse for her," Brendan Neil quipped under his breath. Grace Vivienne smiled and the gesture made her almost pretty again. She did not respond to her grandson's improper comment, but took his proffered arm and allowed him to walk her into the parlor. Climbing the stairs angrily, Evangeline cursed the bumpkins under whose roof she had been forced to spend the night. The feather mattress had been lumpy; the goose down pillows reeked of mildew, and there were holes in the mosquito netting. For heaven's sake, the sheets did not even appear to be all that clean, either! She could have sworn she had felt bedbugs crawling on her all night and though she had gotten out of bed, lit the lamp and held it over the covers to see if, indeed, that was what was making her twist and turn, she had not been able to discover any insects scuttling amidst the bedclothes. And to have been awakened at the break of dawn!? Well, it was absurd. One did not rise before noon in New Orleans. Nor had the day begun with any degree of pleasantness. Why, the bath water the hideously fat maidservant had brought had been absolutely cold! The soap was coarse and the washcloth, coarser still. Her morning libations had been most unsatisfactory and Evangeline had every intention of letting everyone who was anyone in Savannah know of the deplorable conditions the Brells had forced upon her! Stopping outside her sister-in-law sickroom, Evangeline arranged her chignon, smoothed her skirts, then flung the door open without knocking, a false smile plastered tightly over her blank face. "Good morning, Sister. How are you feeling today?" Ivonne was sitting up in bed, a breakfast tray across her lap. She had been pushing the food from one side of the plate to the other instead of eating it. Tina had spent the night coming into and out of her room checking on her until Ivonne had demanded her friend get some sleep. Bossie had slept in the chair near the window should Ivonne need anything and Miss Grace Vivienne had been earlier to discuss the arrangements for Ivonne's baby's funereal. For once, the old woman had actually seemed human and had even spoken with a gentleness Ivonne had never heard her use before. "He will be in to see you as soon as he gets here," the old woman had promised. "I shall see to it." "Edward won't like it, Miss Grace Vivienne. He…….." "Doesn't have to know about it," came one of the interruptions for which Sinclair's grandmother was infamous. "It isn't fair to Sinclair," Ivonne had protested, "to make him dance attendance on me because of what happened. He was not at fault though he thinks he is." "Of course he wasn't at fault," Grace Vivienne had stated firmly. Ivonne had looked down at her hands. "I don't want to hurt him any more than I have, Miss Grace Vivienne." "I will send him in to you as soon as he arrives," the old woman had repeated, ignoring the guilty words. When the door had opened, Ivonne's heart had leapt to her throat, thinking it was Sinclair. She should have know he would not have had the ill manners to come in unannounced. Seeing who had come to call, Ivonne returned her attention to the congealing grease spread out over the plate. "I am all right, Evangeline," she replied quietly. "Well, of course, you are," Evangeline agreed. She looked about the room, frowning. Why this boudoir was positively gorgeous! The coverlet was done in sprigs of ivy and hot pink roses on a cream background and was edged with a deep row of finely worked lace. White lace fluttered at the windows and the sheets looked crisply starched. There was no dust on the armoire or the desk or any of the tables though the room in which Evangeline had slept had seemed to be coated with the reddish grime. There was a fine carpet under foot; another amenity missing from Evangeline's room. There was even a slight scent of gardenia in the air. "Will you be returning to WindLass today?" Ivonne inquired. Evangeline's eyes hardened. Well, it did not take a genius to know Ivonne had been given a room in direct proportion to her standing with the Brells. After all, she had been Sinclair McGregor's whore, had she not? The thought of the man who had snubbed her the day before put Evangeline in a bitter frame of mind. She turned that bitterness on her sister-in-law. "Do tell me," she said, seating herself in the chair Tina had pulled up to Ivonne's bed earlier that morning, "how Captain McGregor came by that hideous scar." Ivonne stopped shuffling her face around and looked up. "Why do you ask?" Evangeline pretended to shudder. "Oh, my dear! It is quite awful, don't you think? Makes him look positively demonic!" "It does no such thing," Ivonne replied, a touch of color tinting her too-pale face. "I hardly notice it." The young widow's smile was patronizing. "Well, I quite understand," she said, reaching out to pat Ivonne's hand. "I am told they say love is blind to imperfection." Ivonne ground her teeth together. "You did not answer me, Evangeline," she said, pulling her hand away from her sister-in-law's reach. "Not until you do, Sister," Evangeline replied. "I am sure Edward would not abide you staying here without a chaperone." "A chaperone?" Ivonne questioned. She had been feeling sorry for herself, her loss nearly unbearable, but now--with the intrusion of this woman she had come to loathe over the last few weeks--some of Ivonne's natural spit and fire was resurfacing. "I am not in need of a chaperone!" "Edward feels you do and I must agree," Evangeline declared. She turned and looked about the room, becoming increasing more insulted by the pigsty in which she had been forced to sleep. "I have known the Brells all my life and………" Evangeline returned her gaze to Ivonne. "It is not the Brells who worry my brother, dear one, and well you know it." Certainly Ivonne knew, but she would not give the bitch the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, she sighed deeply, then pushed the tray away. "I am feeling weak, Evangeline. Would you please take the tray?" "You've eaten hardly anything at all!" Evangeline exclaimed. She surveyed the tray and was annoyed to find her mouth watering. "It is a sin to waste food." One of the things Edward had been complaining about so bitterly since his sister's arrival was her fondness for eating. The woman was constantly stuffing herself and it was a wonder her waist was as tiny as it was. By the time she reached middle age, Ivonne was quite sure Evangeline would be plump and wobbling with jowls and a double chin. "I can't eat another thing," Ivonne admitted truthfully. She lifted the tray weakly, giving Evangeline no choice but to take it. "Please, just set it on the table. Bossie will remove it later." "And have it draw flies?" Evangeline asked. She shook her head. "No, I shall carry it downstairs, myself." Empty, Ivonne thought, as her sister-in-law turned to go. "I shall return later to sit with you," Evangeline reported. Ivonne flinched with irritation. "You don't have to bother yourself." "No, I insist," Evangeline stressed. "It is my duty, Sister." There was no doubt in Ivonne's mind that the duty conceived in her sister-in-law's mind was to keep Sinclair from being alone with her.
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Leonie's horse shied away from something just beyond the roadway in the tall grasses that melded into the forest. "Easy, girl," Leonie soothed the big gray mare. "Easy." She leaned forward and patted the horse's sleek neck. "What do you see, huh? The mare whinnied, then sidestepped to the other side of the road, jerking her head as though trying to get the bit between her teeth. Obviously something was spooking the animal. Looking about, Leonie saw nothing other than the strange dark mound in the tall grass. She hesitated, expertly controlling her mount with her knees and the grip on the reins. Should she investigate or just ride on to Willow Glen to see how Ivonne was doing and send someone else back to see what it was there? If it was a dead animal, someone would need to bury it. If it was an injured animal, it would be dangerous and should be approached with caution. Either way, Leonie wasn't sure her own intervention was necessary. She had made up her mind to ride on and had already drummed her heels into her horse's flanks when she heard a low moan. "Whoa, girl!" she ordered, pulling on the reins. She stood up in the stirrups, the better to see, and saw a brief movement that brought another moan. "Hello?" she called out. "Are you hurt?" When there was no answer, she repeated: "Hello?" As tenderhearted as she was, Leonie Emerson could not force herself to ride away when she knew for a certainly there was someone hurt. She felt her heart racing in her throat, but there was nothing to do but see if she could be of any assistance. When Windkeeper, her horse, would not venture any further across the road, Leonie pursed her lips and climbed down. She walked the horse over to a scrub oak and tied her reins. Hitching up her own courage, she moved cautiously toward whoever was lying in the grass. "Hello?" she called out again. "Do you need assistance?" "Help me," came the ragged plea. Leonie felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She stopped where she was, biting her lip. Could this be some kind of ploy to get her into the forest? She had heard of things like that happening and had been warned often it wasn't safe for a woman to ride out alone. No one had ever bothered her, but that wasn't to say someone hadn't followed her out of town. "Who are you?" she called out, taking a step back. "Please, help me." The words were weak. "I'll send someone to help," she said. She stopped again when the groan of hopelessness shot straight to her heart. "I…..can't……hurt……you…" Not 'I won't hurt you', she thought as she stood there, but 'I can't hurt you'. She let out a long breath, then made up her mind. I'm middle aged and as plain a Jane as any in Chatham County, she told herself. Who the hell in their right mind would want to pounce on me? She stomped across the roadway, waded through the grass and came to an abrupt halt as soon as she saw the man lying on his stomach in the grass. "Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" she exclaimed, running the rest of the way and falling to her knees beside him. She began to frantically sweep away the red ants crawling on his right hand and arm. "P…please…help…….me…….up…..," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. Not even bothering to answer, Leonie used all the strength the adrenaline pumping through her body gave her. She levered her arms under him, wincing at the terrible yelp of pain that told her beyond any doubt there were ribs broken inside this man's bloody, battered body. She fervently prayed she didn't send one straight through a lung. Hoisting him as best as she could, she managed to help him to his knees, then swung his swollen right hand and arm over her shoulder then wobbled them both to their feet. "Damn it!" she yelled as a fire ant stung her own hand. She batted her hand against her skirt, crushing the wicked thing. Nothing hurt worse than the sting of one of these small red ants. The venom inside their pinchers not only caused blisters, it could kill you if you got bit by enough of them. "God," she heard the man whimper as she struggled to help him walk. "Can you ride?" she asked. "No," he whispered and before they could take another step, his knees went out from under him and it was all she could do to keep him from crashing to the ground. As it was, it took all her strength to lower him as gently as she could to his back. She was too intent on looking for fire ant mounds to notice his face at first, but when she did, she drew in a harsh gasp. Someone had worked him over but good. She wasn't sure if the swelling was entirely from the fist that had broken his nose and torn his lips or if the fire ants hadn't gotten to him there, as well. "I've got to get help," she said and started to rise, but he caught her wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. 'Don't leave m….me," he asked. "B…..been here all n…..night." He was shivering and Leonie knew it certainly wasn't from the cold for the day was blazing hot with a sun bearing down like a fireball out of the sky. "Water," she said, scanning his cracked lips. "You need water." She eased his fingers from her wrist. "Let me go to my horse." "Don't leave me!" he gasped. "I'm not," she told him. "I'm only going to the horse." Before he could stop her, she was up and running. She unhooked the canteen from her saddlehorn, untied the reins, then swatted her horse as hard as she could on its rump. "GET!" she shouted. "GO BACK HOME!" The horse took off running, eagerly to be away from the smell of blood coming from the man across the road anyway. Its hooves shook the ground as it raced back toward town. Leonie knew someone would catch Windy then send a party out looking for her. "At least I hope they do," she said, hurrying back to her patient. He was panting when she got there, his teeth clicking together from the chill that had gripped him. His flesh was hot to the touch and she knew the fire ant venom was racing through his system. Gently slipping her hand under his head, she placed the canteen against his lips and dribbled a little water into his mouth. "Easy, now. Not too much," she cautioned. As he tried to swallow, she realized his tongue was swollen and he was having difficulty breathing. Easing down to the ground, she cradled his head in her lap and gave him a bit more water to drink. With his head at that angle, his throat less constricted, he could drink. She poured some of the water in her hand and tried to wash some of the blood and dirt from his face. Gently, she swept the blood-streaked hair from out of his eyes and back over his high forehead. It was as she was smoothing away the caked dirt on his left cheek that she noticed the long deep scar. Her hand stilled on his dirty flesh. "Sinclair?" she whispered, her eyes roaming over the battered face with disbelief. It couldn't be! she thought, her hand trembling as she gently cupped his chin. This couldn't be! "I am so c…..cold," he told her. Without even thinking about what she was doing, Leonie cautiously lifted his head and laid it down on the ground once more. She lay down, stretching out beside him, and took him into her arms, bringing his body to hers. "You'll be all right," she said, fury lighting the fires in Leonie Emerson that had never been adequately stoked. "I swear to God you will be all right!"
THE LEGENDS BEGIN WITH THE KEEPER OF THE WIND Go To Chapter Ten |
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