Kathleen Woodiwiss - Come Love a Stranger

“I just don’t know, Hiram. I’m sorry,” Ashton replied. He lifted his unconscious charge onto his lap where his own body would cushion hers and she could be held safe from further bruising during the rough ride ahead. As he cradled the seemingly fragile form close against him, a scent of jasmine wafted through his senses. A pang of sweet recall tugged at his memory, giving him pause, but he thrust the sensation away with a fierce determination. It could not be, and he would not let his mind torture him with impossible yearnings.

He reached up a hand to brush the tangled web of red tresses from her face. The begrimed mass resisted his effort, but with gentle persistance he separated the strands and swept a portion behind her ear. As he leaned back and the light caught the pale visage, he drew in his breath sharply. His mind tumbled to a halt, and he was held frozen by what he saw.

“Lierin?” he breathed as a piercing pain of longing went through him.

Like an avalanche, memories of that time in New Orleans when he had met and married his young bride came crushing down upon him. Though he had been assured that Lierin was dead, he was now struck with the thought that a horrible mistake had been made and it was she who was with him now. If not, the resemblance this young woman bore to his late wife was, to say the least, most startling.

Hiram failed to find reassurance in the wide range of expressions that crossed his master’s face. “Massa, what’s wrong? Yo look like yo just seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I have,” Ashton murmured in stunned amazement. An overriding hope began to build within him, mingling with an odd mixture of elation and fear. If this was Lierin…

The urgency of the moment pressed upon him, and his tone conveyed his growing anxiety as he commanded, “Hiram! Get up there, and lay the leather to those horses! Hurry!”

The startled man slammed the door and quickly climbed up to his place. Ashton braced his legs against the far seat as the brakes creaked loose and Hiram’s shout echoed through the still night. “Yeeeaah! G’yap dere!”

The well-matched team lunged forward, taking their duties to heart, and in the cool evening air the steam rolled from their backs as Hiram drove them at a breakneck pace around a bend, not even checking their stride when the wheels caught a rut and the closed landau lurched sharply sideways. Ashton swayed with the careening motion and cradled his precious charge as if it were his own heart he carried. As he bent over her, his spirits soared with unaccustomed joy, and he closed his eyes as a prayer filled his soul: “Oh, God, let it be Lierin…and let her live!”

The shifting light of the carriage lanterns lent her pale skin a golden hue that belied the chilling touch of it while it teased him with haunting views of the delicate features. His fingers trembled and his brow creased in a pained frown as he tenderly touched the discolored swelling on her forehead, that same which once he might have kissed with loving affection. His emotions were unmercifully churned. While his hopes climbed to lofty heights with the hope that this was his own beloved Lierin, his fears at the same time ran as deep as a bottomless cavern, for he could not guess the extent of her injuries. It would be cruel fate if, after finding his wife alive, she was again taken from him. Indeed, he might find himself icapable of coping with the tragedy all over again.

Letting out his breath slowly, Ashton attempted to gather his scattered thoughts into some semblance of logical order. Was he just being plagued by memories of his dead wife? Was he going mad? Did he see a dearly remembered visage on another because of some trick of his mind? Was it only the rising hope of an aborted dream that made him think that it was she? After all, he had known Lierin less than a month before exchanging vows with her. Several of his friends in New Orleans had teased him about marrying her in an anxious fever while barely knowing her name. Then the black hand of tragedy had struck, and he had seen his love swirled away from him in currents dark and foul. Since that time he had counted the days until they had aged into three years, a month, and a week short a day. Now here she was again…or some young woman incredibly like his memories of Lierin. He had to allow that there was room for error, and yet he resisted his doubts, though he knew he could be leaving himself open to more pain and grief.

Gently he traced his lean fingers along her cheek, pausing at her temple until he felt the faint throbbing of a pulse. A sigh of relief slipped from him, but he could not ease the pounding of his hart.

A shout from Hiram announced their approach to the plantation house, and Ashton peered through the darkness toward the distant glow of lanterns that marked the mansion’s presence among the huge towering oaks. Beyond sweeping grounds Belle Chêne stood with the magnificence of a French château, buttressed on either side by wide wings and tall trees. The thought flickered through his consciousness that he was at last bringing home his love.

As the landau neared the structure, Ashton became aware of the carriages crowding the lane and a number of horses tied to the hitching posts. He could only surmise that his grandmother had seized upon the excuse of his homecoming to have a party. His eyes passed gently over his companion. The elder lady would hardly be expecting this latest turn of events. His entrance with an unconscious and improperly garbed woman would likely give her a turn. After his brief courtship and marriage in New Orleans, Amanda Wingate had become leery of her grandson’s jaunts downriver, and here he was returning from another such trip. It mattered naught to him that the incident would add grist to the grinding mill of gossip, but he had to consider that his grandmother was getting on in years.

Hiram stood on the brake, and in the lane the tethered horses stamped their feet in sudden distrust of this apparition that careened wildly through their midst. The landau was brought to a skidding stop in front of the verandah. There, the black man scrambled down and hurried to snatch open the carriage door. Ashton bundled his cloak carefully about his treasured burden and pressed her head upon his shoulder to protect her face from the crisp air. As he did so, the illusive scent tore through his senses once again, unlocking all the yearnings he had held in check these past three years. Their time together mght have been brief, but he knew without a doubt that it had not been lacking in quality and worth.

“Send a fast rider for Dr. Page,” Ashton barked over his shoulder as he bore her up the steps.

“Yassuh!” Hiram was quick to respond. “Ah send Latham ridin’ out lickety-split.”

Ashton’s long, swift strides took him across the porch to the door. He fumbled with the knob until the catch clicked free; then he braced himself to kick the portal wide. The butler had almost accomplished the same duty, having heard the carriage arrive, and was there in the front foyer when the door burst open. As Ashton shouldered his way through with his burden, the usually imperturbable Willis stumbled back with sagging jaw. It was certainly not a moment for which his training in decorum had prepared him.

“Massa Ash-” His voice broke on a high note, and he had to clear his throat to start again. “Massa Ashton, it sho’ good to see yo, suh….” His speech fled completely as a snarled strand of red hair tumbled from the folds of the black woolen cloak. His prepared greeting somehow failed to fit the occasion, and he could only gape in stunned awe as the master of the house strode past.

Amanda Wingate shared the servant’s dismay when she led her sister and several guests from the parlor into the wide hall, halting Ashton’s progress to the stairs. Her attention was snared by the slimly curving bundle he carried and the telltale red tress, and her mind and heart gathered speed as she closed the space between them.