Chapter 9
Morning had arrived when Gordon woke up, though the soft light said it was still early. The odor of burned wood was in the air, but the temperature was relatively cool for the moment.
Callie had moved during the night and rolled into him, her head tilted against his upper arm and her soft curves pressed along his side. She looked much younger and thoroughly irresistible in the pearly light. A few strands of apricot hair had curled loose against her fair skin. He felt a surge of pure, mindless desire, a need to bend over for a kiss and caress her into joyful morning passion....
Except that he damned well had to resist for more reasons than he had fingers and toes to count on. Reasons that started with “war zone” and continued to Callie currently having zero interest in him or any other man. Maybe later, when she was safe and her life sorted out, she’d be more open to dalliance. Or maybe that would never happen. She seemed quite determined to keep men out of her life, and he understood why. The men in her life had not done well by her.
Thinking of all she’d endured produced a deep tenderness shadowed by past, present, and future. The past was bright memories of playfulness and long conversations right up till they’d been wrenched apart and sent into different forms of exile. The present was delight, danger, and an absolute duty to get her safely away from this cursed city and reunited with the children who gave her life meaning.
The future was a mystery—except that he knew Callie had to be part of it. What that meant for him, he couldn’t guess, but no matter. He’d work it out as it came along. Today, escape to Baltimore, collect her family, then off to England posthaste.
He knew in his bones it wouldn’t be that easy.
Callie stirred and her eyes snapped open as she remembered where she was. Her hazel gaze was golden in the dawn, and the intimacy between them stabbed with rapier depth and intensity. He wanted to bolt from the bed like a scalded cat.
He didn’t have to because Callie beat him to it. She scrambled along the wall and off the end of the bed. When she stood, the coverlet fell away to reveal her body backlit by a shaft of sunshine that turned her shift translucent. Desire stirred again, but it was no match for his panic. Where the devil did that reaction come from?
He’d think about it later. For now, he slammed the door on his wildly veering thoughts and swung his feet to the floor. “How much needs to be done before we can leave? I presume you want to say good-bye to Mrs. Turner. Do you have any possessions in this cottage to carry away?”
“I do want to say good-bye to Edith, but otherwise I’ll be traveling very light,” she said ruefully. She pulled her blue gown from the clothespress. “All I have is the clothes I wore and my pistol. Luckily the skirt on this gown is full enough for me to ride astride behind you without being too indecent.”
“I have a better solution.” He stepped into the sitting room and opened one of the saddlebags he’d left by the door the night before, then removed two neatly folded garments. He handed them to Callie, then extracted a flattened hat, which he shaped into a wide-brimmed sun shade suitable for gardening or field work. “Wear these clothes. They’ll be loose, but not as loose as anything of mine.”
Her brows rose as she accepted the tan trousers, linen shirt, and hat. “You regularly carry around clothing that doesn’t fit?”
“When I’m going to rescue widows from war zones, yes,” he explained. “There are women who would rather die than wear male garments, but I like to be prepared. Female clothing isn’t well designed for escaping trouble. Climbing out of windows or riding astride are much easier in breeches. Because I wasn’t sure what size my widow would be, I erred on the side of large.”
She shook out the shirt, which fell to midthigh. “You certainly did. But it’s smaller than one of yours.”
“You’ll look like an urchin, but that’s not a bad thing in these circumstances.” He thought a moment. “You were wearing sturdy half boots, weren’t you? That’s good. Much better than delicate little slippers.”
“Like you, I was thinking ahead in case I might have to run for my life. Will you pack this in your saddlebag?” She handed over the blue gown, then disappeared into the bedroom to change.
He dressed also, pulling on his trousers and boots and tucking his shirt in. The heavy London coat could wait till they left. He explored the food basket Mrs. Turner had provided the evening before and found crumbly biscuits, a medium-sized chunk of cheese, and a bottle of tepid but flavorful lemonade.
Callie emerged from the bedroom in her shirt and trousers, her hair braided and pinned up so she’d look like a boy when wearing the hat. As she settled at the table to eat, she said, “I gather you’ll be in full lordly array.”
“Yes, and envying you for being lightly dressed,” he said feelingly. “But if we run into British troops, I may need to become all lordly again.” He sat opposite her and split a biscuit, then laid a slice of cheese in the middle.
When they’d finished eating, Callie packed the empty bottles into the basket along with the remaining food. “I’ll take this back to Edith when I say good-bye. I’ll miss her.”
Gordon rose and pulled his coat on. “I’ll saddle Samson while you take a last look around.”
“There’s nothing here worth carrying away.” She moved into the bedroom and returned with a folded blanket and her pistol. “It’s going to be awkward riding on your saddlebags. This blanket can be used as a pad so I won’t be so uncomfortable.”
He accepted the blanket and pistol. “I presume this is loaded from yesterday. Rather than pack it away, better to ride with it ready to hand.”
“It’s loaded. Perhaps it will be more useful today than last night.” She bit her lip as she gazed at the weapon. “But . . . I don’t know if I can shoot a man. Though I’m a good shot, last night when those soldiers broke into my house I couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger. Since shooting only one man wouldn’t save me and would probably get me killed, I was spared from having to fire, but today . . . might be different. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do what is needed.”
“It’s hard to deliberately choose to kill another human being,” he said seriously. “I’ve had to do so, and it wasn’t easy. It’s not something I make a habit of. But a warning shot can have a sobering effect on attackers, and if anyone really needs to be killed, I’ll take care of it.”
She smiled wryly. “As much as I like to proclaim how capable I am, that’s one responsibility I’ll gladly leave to you.”
“I learned such skills the hard way, so I’ll do what’s needed. But sparingly.” He lifted the saddlebags and added her folded blanket. “I’ll saddle Samson. We can walk him down to Mrs. Turner’s house for your farewells.”
She lifted the basket. “I’ll look around to see if there’s anything Edith might be able to use, then join you out in the street.”
He nodded and headed outside. The acrid scent of smoke was much stronger there, but the storm in the early hours had saturated the ground and smothered some of the odors.
Samson had made good use of the fodder and water and looked ready to face the day. Callie’s idea of the blanket pad was good and Gordon secured it across the saddlebags on Samson’s broad back. When he led his mount from the shed, he saw that Callie was in the street but had turned right toward the remains of her house rather than left toward Mrs. Turner’s.
Leading Samson, he followed her. She stopped and stared at the ruins of her home, her face like granite. Charred bricks and blackened timbers had collapsed into rough piles, and rain had turned the ashes into a filthy mess. At the far edge of the wreckage, a thin wisp of smoke rose.
Abruptly she pivoted and walked toward him, her jaw set. “I’m sorry, Catkin,” he said quietly.
Ignoring his sympathy, she said, “Thus ends one act of my life. We’ll see what comes next.”
He fell into step beside her, Samson ambling obediently behind. He realized that they’d avoided looking each other in the eyes since that disturbing moment when they woke up. The relationship between them was compelling but impossible to define.
“I had concealed holsters built into the front edge of the saddlebags.” He tapped the left bag. “Your pistol is in here, not visible but easy to draw if necessary.”
“You remembered that I’m left-handed,” she said, surprised.
“Of course, since I am, too.” He chuckled. “Sinister, which means ‘left’ in Latin. It gave our fathers another reason to believe we were limbs of Satan.”
She smiled, much of her tension fading. “They never lacked for reasons to believe that. Nor did they ever realize that treating a child as if it’s wicked will make it genuinely wicked in time.”
Interested, he asked, “Is the opposite true? If you treat a child as if it’s good, does it become so?”
“Probably, but I’m not sure. My children have always been good.”
Their conversation ended when Edith Turner saw them and came outside. She stared at Callie. “I’d not have recognized you, Lady George! Are you leaving now?”
“Yes, I came to say good-bye and to leave you the key to the cottage. Feel free to use it if needed.” Callie set the basket on the ground and gave her friend a hug. “I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here.”
Since tears seemed imminent, Gordon said, “I’ll take good care of her, Mrs. Turner.”
“I’m sure you will.” Hug ended, Mrs. Turner dabbed at her eyes. “Your beautiful house is gone, but the land is very well situated. Will you sell it?”
Callie looked blank. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. It’s a good location. I suppose Washington will still exist no matter how this beastly war turns out, and the property is of no use to me anymore.”
“If someone is interested, do you have a lawyer I can refer them to?”
Callie frowned. “A lawyer over in Georgetown has handled several small matters for me. Mr. Key, Francis Scott Key. Do you know him? I made some gowns for his wife and became friends with both of them.”
“I know the name and will send any interested buyers to him,” Mrs. Turner replied. “Take care, my dear, and write when you’re properly settled again.”
Callie promised to do so. Gordon mounted, then offered Callie a hand. She took it, set her foot on his stirruped boot, and swung up behind him. “Please say good-bye to my other friends for me, Edith.”
“I will. They’ll miss you and your wonderful gowns as well. Have a safe journey!”
Gordon couldn’t agree more.