Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-four

Copyright

“Trust me, Dulcie,” Cal said softly.

“I want to…” Dulcie began. It was time to admit the truth.

He rested his hand gently along the side of her face, loving the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He felt a flicker of hope. He would move slowly, patiently, so as not to frighten her again. “I can help you, Dulcie. Just tell me everything.”

Her body strained toward his, and without realizing it, she lifted her face to him, hungry for the taste of his lips.

He stood very still, staring down into her eyes. But he made no move to kiss her.

She felt a wave of bitter disappointment. She had hoped to be able to lose herself in the mindless pleasure of passion. But he was not offering her passion.

What he was offering was trust.

And she knew with certainty that once he learned the truth he would turn away from her forever….

Bride’s Bay Resoit

Dear Reader,

In this, the last in the Bride’s Bay series for Harlequin, I take you back to the beginning. A country torn apart by bitter civil war. A South caught in the grip of death and destruction. And people, all hiding secrets, desperate to escape the insanity, who find not only purpose in their lives but also a measure of peace, joy and, most of all, love.

Dulcie’s Gift
Ruth Langan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RUTH LANGAN

traces her ancestry to Scotland and Ireland. It is no surprise, then, that she feels a kinship with the characters in her historical novels.

Married to her childhood sweetheart, she has raised five children and lives in Michigan, the state where she was born and raised.

To Anne Catherine Langan

Our newest blessing.

And her big brother, Tommy.

And her proud parents, Tom and Maureen.

And, of course, to Tom

Always to Tom.

Prologue

South Carolina

Spring, 1865

The ragged band of women and children broke free of the underbrush and stumbled toward the shore.

Dulcie, the group’s acknowledged leader, spotted a boat and urged the others to climb aboard.

“But it isn’t ours. We can’t steal it,” a solemn, dark-haired little girl challenged.

“We have no choice, Clara. Would you rather go back there?” Dulcie demanded, gathering her close.

“Look, Dulcie. Do you not see the storm?” The speaker was a young woman with hair the color of autumn leaves and a voice tinged with the lilt of Ireland.

“It can’t be helped,” Dulcie replied. Lifting one child on her back and another in her arms, she clambered over the edge and gratefully deposited her burdens on the rough wooden bottom of the boat. “There is nowhere else to go but out to sea. We dare not turn back now.”

One of the older girls clutched the hand of a small boy and tried to back away, terrified by the heavy winds that caused the little craft to rock violently. “I can’t, Dulcie. I’m…so afraid.”

Dulcie’s voice took on a note of command. “Fiona, Nathaniel, help Starlight aboard. There is no time to waste.” Her voice rose above the howling wind. “Remember what awaits us if we should tarry.”

“Aye. Come on, lass.” The Irish woman, bearing the weight of a six-year-old girl on her back, draped an arm around the pitifully frail shoulders of the younger woman and forced her to step into the angry, swirling surf. The little boy clung tightly to Starlight’s other hand.

As soon as all of them had been helped aboard, Dulcie hauled anchor and pressed an oar into the sand. Setting the small craft afloat, she began to row.

“Now that we have escaped, we must make a pact.” To convey the importance of her words, Dulcie deliberately met the wide, frightened stares of each member of the group. “No matter what happens, we must vow never to speak about what transpired back there.”

“Isn’t that the same as lying?” Once again, it was the earnest Clara who questioned their every move.

“That’s just like a girl…” Nathaniel began, but Dulcie shot him a look that silenced him.

“Listen to me, Clara,” Dulcie continued. “Our very lives depend upon secrecy.” At once the children began whimpering, and tears sprang to the eyes of the women. Dulcie’s own lips trembled, but she forced herself to go on. “The danger is not past. Perhaps it never will be. But this much I know. We must never entrust our story to others. Do you understand? Now swear.”

“I swear,” Nathaniel said when Dulcie turned to him.

“And you, Belle?”

The auburn-haired six-year-old nodded.

“Emily?”

Frizzy blond curls bobbed up and down.

“Clara?”

The others held their breath until the somber little girl, who had become the voice of everyone’s conscience, finally nodded in reluctant agreement. “I swear.”

“I swear, as well,” Fiona said.

“And I,” said fifteen-year-old Starlight in hushed tones beside her.

“Good.” Dulcie uncurled her fingers, which had been squeezed into such tight fists the nails had dug into her palms, drawing blood. She glanced around and realized that the shore was no longer visible. The wind and waves had dragged their little craft far out to sea. They were at the mercy of the storm.

“Now,” she went on breathlessly, “we must pray for deliverance, for I fear we have exchanged one danger for another.”

As they began the words of a familiar Bible verse, the storm broke directly overhead with such fury one oar was ripped from her grasp.

Fiona gathered the frightened children close, but as the small boat was tossed about like a piece of driftwood, she was flung backward, dragging Clara with her. Even the rumble of thunder couldn’t drown out the terrible sound of their heads hitting the wood. As the next flash of lightning tore through the darkened sky, a thin line of blood could be seen trickling down Fiona’s cheek. Beside her, Clara lay motionless in the bottom of the boat.

Dulcie wrapped them with her cape and petticoats to shield them from the full force of the storm. Then she took Fiona’s place, draping her arms around the weeping children. And though she was too frightened to speak, the words of the psalm continued playing through her mind.

“Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I will fear no evil…”

Chapter One

Jermain Island, South Carolina

The storm had lasted less than an hour, but its tremendous winds had uprooted trees and knocked down a storage shed, which had collapsed like a house of cards. Though rain still fell from a darkened sky, the worst of the downpour had blown out to sea.

Cal Jermain slogged his way through the flattened rows of tender seedlings to survey the damage. Frowning, he discovered evidence that confirmed his worst suspicions. The storm had completely wiped out days of backbreaking labor. The entire crop would have to be replanted if they were to have anything to harvest by late summer.

With a muttered oath he turned away and began to walk the shoreline, littered with debris. It was then that he spotted the flat-bottomed wooden boat bobbing in the surf.

“Any fool who can’t take the time to tie up his craft deserves to lose it,” he grumbled as he waded through the shallows to retrieve it.

He caught hold of the bow, then sucked in a quick breath.

Bodies were sprawled across the bottom of the craft. Three, six, seven of them in all. Women. Children. Bloodied. Battered. Sloshing in several inches of water that ran red with their blood.

He swore, loudly, savagely.

As he hauled the boat closer to the rough shore, he heard a low moan. Instantly he climbed over the edge of the craft to locate the survivor.

A young woman in a torn, sodden gown lifted her head. Hair as black as midnight hung in wet tendrils around a face devoid of color, except for two bright spots on her cheeks.

“Sarah!” The name was torn from Cal’s lips in a breathless cry. “God in heaven. You’ve come…”

He scrambled to her side and dropped to his knees. In that instant he realized his mistake. Not Sarah. Up close, this stranger bore no resemblance. But his voice still trembled. “You’re alive, then. Can you sit up?” He placed one arm carefully around the young woman’s shoulders.

“I…Yes…” Dulcie’s words trailed off as everything went black for a moment. Then a man’s face came into focus. She had a quick impression of dark hair. Dark eyes. A tight angry mouth. A big man. Scowling. Threatening. Even kneeling, he filled her line of vision. She shrank from his touch, shivering violently.

The movement wasn’t lost on Cal. There was a look of fear in her green eyes. A most unusual shade of green, which seemed to glow with some inner fire. Most probably fever. Or shock.

Very deliberately he lowered his hand to his side and backed away.

She relaxed her guard. “Where are we?”

The breathy voice was cultured, distinctly Southern. It whispered over his senses, touching a chord deep inside him. For as far back as he could remember, the women in his family had spoken in just such a soft, genteel manner.

“This bay is known as the Bay of Storms, and it’s on Jermain Island. Off the coast of Charleston.”

“How far from Charleston?” she asked a little too quickly.

At once he was alert to the terror that rippled through her. “An hour or more.” He saw her fear slowly turn to relief. “But I would recommend a sturdier craft than this if you venture out to sea again. I don’t know how you survived this wicked storm. You were indeed fortunate.”

He glanced around as several of the others began to move or make little sounds of distress. Relief flooded through him. His first impression had been wrong. They were not dead. But barely alive, from the looks of them.

“I’ll help you to shore.”

As he reached for her, Dulcie realized with a shock that his left hand was missing. Instinctively she recoiled from his touch.

At her reaction, Cal went still.

It was an awkward, shattering moment. One that set both their faces to flame, hers in embarrassment, his in anger. Then, moving quickly to cover her feelings, Dulcie swept past him.

“I can manage, thank you.” She was mortified by her reaction. Though it had been purely reflexive, it jarred her sense of fairness. After all, this stranger had already lost his hand. He should not have to suffer a loss of others’ civility, as well. Nevertheless, she couldn’t think of any way to make amends. “But if you would help the others…”

She scrambled over the edge of the boat and was nearly swamped by waves. Cal watched, making no effort to assist her, as the current tugged at her already soaked gown, dragging her to her knees before she managed to find her footing.

His eyes narrowed. He’d be damned if he’d offer his help a second time. Still, he kept careful watch to see that she made it to shore.

As soon as she dropped safely into the grass, he turned away and lifted out a small child who had begun to cry. When he’d carried the child to the grass, he returned to the boat again and again until all had been deposited on land. Assured now that everyone was alive, he called to Dulcie, who lay, breathing heavily, “I’ll go now.”

“Go?” She lifted her head in alarm, a challenge in her eyes.

As patiently as if he were addressing a child he said, “I have to go back to the barn and hitch the team if I’m to take all of you to safety.”

“Oh.” She turned her head, but not before he recognized the look of relief.

So, he thought as he trudged away, she’d expected to be abandoned. It was a typical reaction in the aftermath of the chaos that had swept the land. But it was not his problem, he reminded himself. There wasn’t a soul left in these parts who hadn’t been affected by the damnable war. And he certainly couldn’t heal all the wounds. Hell, he couldn’t even heal himself.

Leaning a shoulder into the heavy door, he entered the barn and breathed in the scents of warm dry hay, moist earth and dung. Scents that had been with him since his childhood on this island. Even now, all these years later, they soothed his troubled spirit.

Speaking softly to the horses, he hitched the team to the wagon, then hurried to the house for needed supplies.

When he returned a short time later, he found Dulcie kneeling in the midst of the others, soothing tears, calming fears. Most of them had managed to sit up. But two figures had not moved—the injured young woman and child.

“Which is the most seriously wounded?” Cal asked.

“Fiona.” Dulcie knelt beside the slender figure and pressed her hand to Fiona’s forehead. A low moan issued, but the woman’s eyes remained closed.

Cal dropped to his knees beside her.

“A wave nearly swamped our boat. My friend was tossed about and hit her head as she fell. It was the last time she moved.”

Cal lifted the young woman and placed her gently in the back of the wagon, which was strewn-with an assortment of quilts and feather pillows.

“Clara was also thrown backward, and she’s lost quite a bit of blood,” Dulcie said, indicating the child lying in the grass.

Cal wrapped the child’s arm in clean linen, then placed her beside Fiona. When he turned, Dulcie was urging the other children to their feet.

“Climb into the wagon,” she called, and the little ones did as she bade, moving slowly, as though in a daze.

As Cal attempted to help Dulcie into the back of the wagon, she nearly slipped in the mud. At once he brought his other arm up to steady her.

The contact jolted them both.

Dulcie froze, unable to move, unable even to breathe, as his arm encircled her waist. Shock sliced through her, leaving her dazed. For a moment his face lowered to her, and she felt the warmth of his breath across her temple. Tiny sensations skittered along her spine.

Cal, too, seemed mesmerized by the touch of her. His hand lingered at her waist. Feelings long buried seemed to push their way to the surface of his mind, triggering half-remembered pleasures. He’d forgotten how soft a woman was. How warm her breath, how sweet her scent.

From behind came a little boy’s innocent remark. “Sir, did you lose your hand in the war?”

At once the mood was shattered. Cal’s mouth pressed into a grim, tight line.

“Hush, Nathaniel,” Dulcie admonished.

But the damage had been done. Without a word Cal lifted Dulcie into the back of the wagon, then bent to the boy. When all were settled, he circled around and climbed into the driver’s seat. With a crack of the whip, the team leaned into the harness and the wagon rolled through the mud with slow, lurching movements.

The little girls were weeping, and Dulcie drew them into her embrace, murmuring words of comfort.

“Look there. See?” She pointed to the darkened outline of the barn looming out of the curtain of rain. “Soon you’ll be snug and dry and warm.”

The horses continued past the barn toward another, larger structure. As they rolled closer, Dulcie made out a graceful old two-story house, with wooden shutters drawn over the windows against the storm. A veranda encircled both stories, the upper one supported by stately columns of pillars.

Though one wing of the house was gutted and appeared to have been burned, the main body of the building was intact.

This was even better than Dulcie had hoped for. It would have been enough to seek shelter in the barn. But a house! She gave a sigh of relief.

When the wagon jolted to a halt, the back door was opened wide. Light from a fireplace spilled into the growing darkness, illuminating several tall figures that stepped through the doorway onto the veranda. As the figures came down the steps to lend a hand, Dulcie realized they were young men no older than the driver. And like the driver, tight-lipped and unsmiling.

The women and children were helped from the wagon and led or carried inside to a room with wooden pegs along the wall that held an assortment of woolen cloaks. Along one wall stood a row of mud-spattered work boots of various sizes. Down the hall could be glimpsed a cozy parlor, where candles flickered in sconces along the wall, adding their warmth and light to the blaze in the fireplace.

“We must get these wet things off.” A tall, sturdy woman strode into the room with an armload of blankets. Dark hair, shot with silver, framed a handsome face set in stern lines.

“Are you strong enough to assist me with these children?” she called to Dulcie.

“Of course.”

Though Dulcie’s head was spinning from all that had happened, she bent to her task with cool determination. After she stripped off the children’s wet clothes, the woman wrapped them in warm, soft blankets. Each child was then handed off to one of the men and carried to the parlor. There the little ones curled up in front of the fire, and the youngest promptly fell asleep.

“This one is badly injured,” Dulcie whispered. She and the woman worked together, gently removing the torn clothing from Clara and wrapping her tiny figure in a blanket.

The child was handed to Cal, who disappeared through a doorway.

When the children had been taken care of, Dulcie and the woman moved to either side of fifteen-year-old Starlight. At Dulcie’s urging, the girl shed her soaked garments and gratefully accepted the blanket from her hostess. Then she was sent to join the children by the fire.

Finally they moved to the still form of Fiona. When her wet and bloodied clothing had been removed, the woman’s movements stilled as she studied the darkened bruises about Fiona’s back and shoulders, as well as a series of raised, puckered scars. Without a word she gently wrapped Fiona in a clean linen sheet, then covered her with a warm blanket, which quickly became stained with her blood. Again Cal was called upon to carry her away.

“That’s the lot of you?” the woman asked with a sigh.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Quickly now,” the woman commanded. “Off with those wet clothes.”

Dulcie shed her soaked clothing and gratefully accepted a blanket. The woman led the way to the parlor. Inside, two men turned from inspecting the children to study Dulcie, who was shivering violently.

“We are the Jermains,” the woman said in her brisk tone. “It would seem that nature has given you an inhospitable time to visit. My name is Elizabeth Jermain, but everyone calls me Aunt Bessie.”

“I’m Dulcie Trenton. The injured woman is Fiona O’Neil. And this,” Dulcie said, touching a hand to the younger woman’s shoulder as she lay on a sofa by the fireplace, “is Starlight.”

“What sort of name is that?” Aunt Bessie snapped

At her harsh tone, Starlight’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and she focused her gaze on a single candle set in a sconce on the wall. It was as though she’d gone off to another place in her mind.

“It is the name she chose.” Though Dulcie spoke softly, there was a thread of steel in her voice, as though she dared anyone to challenge her.

Starlight rewarded her a look of adoration before giving in to the need to close her eyes.

“The boy?” Aunt Bessie demanded.

“The boy is Nathaniel.”

“I’m eight and a half,” he said proudly.

Dulcie tousled his hair and said, “The girls are Belle, who’s six, and Emily, who’s five.” As their names were spoken, the children’s gazes fastened adoringly on Dulcie.

“And the injured child,” Dulcie continued, “is seven-year-old Clara. Where have you taken her?”

“To a bed.” Aunt Bessie turned to indicate the two men. “These are my nephews, Barclay and Darwin.”

“Everyone calls me Barc,” said the shorter of the two.

Dulcie’s hand was engulfed in a firm handshake, and she looked up into blue eyes set in a handsome, boyish face. Thick, brown hair curled wildly over the collar of his shirt. Despite his stern demeanor, there was a glint of wicked humor in his eyes. Was he amused by her appearance, she wondered, or by their unorthodox arrival? It didn’t matter. She was too weary to care how she looked or what her rescuers thought.

“Darwin,” Dulcie repeated as she accepted the handshake of the taller man, who appeared somewhat younger than Barclay.

“Dar, if you please,” he muttered. His hair was jet black, his eyes as dark as a raven’s. He had the rich, resonant voice of a preacher, and his bearing was rigid.

“We are most grateful for your hospitality.” Dulcie glanced around. “I would like to thank the one who rescued us.”

“Cal?” Barc gave a snort of laughter. “He would be offended by any display of gratitude, Miss Trenton. My older brother was merely doing his duty.”

Brother. Though she was caught unawares, she could see the resemblance in the stern set of the jaw, the thick, unruly hair and the rough timbre of their voices. But where these two men were at least attempting to be cordial, their older brother had seemed angry, even hostile. And he had left without a word. He had not even had the good manners to linger long enough to be introduced.

She determined to put him out of her mind. “I would like to check on Fiona and Clara now.”

“There is no need. They are in capable hands.” Aunt Bessie turned to the dignified-looking black man who stood, ramrod straight, in the doorway.

“Robert, bring warm milk for the children and something stronger for the women. Wine perhaps, since they have need of a fire in their blood. And I would like a sip of spirits, as well.”

“Yes, Miss Bessie.” With a deferential nod, the man turned away.

“You’d best warm yourself,” Aunt Bessie commanded imperiously.

“In a moment.” With soft words and tender touches, Dulcie moved among the children, touching a hand to a forehead to check for fever, tucking a blanket more firmly around a small body, assuring herself that all was well.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure in the doorway.

Before she could turn, she heard Cal’s voice, tense, challenging. “How did you come to be out in that storm?”

At once the children looked nervously from one to the other and then to Dulcie. Their sudden mood switch was not lost on the Jermains, who were clearly puzzled. Just moments earlier these same children had been on the verge of sleep.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Nathaniel protested.

The two little girls began to cry.

“Hush now.” Dulcie pressed a hand to Nathaniel’s shoulder reassuringly, then knelt to soothe the weeping girls. “No one has accused us of any wrongdoing—” she lifted her head and met Cal’s piercing stare “—have they?”

“I merely wondered why in hell anyone would be out in a small boat during such a storm.”

“I—did not know the storm was coming,” she said evasively.

“Even a fool could see—”

“The hour is late, Calhoun,” Aunt Bessie chided gently. She had been watching and listening with great interest. “We will speak of this tomorrow. Right now what they need is rest.” She turned to the young woman who was obviously the leader of this ragged band. “Miss Dulcie Trenton, may I present my oldest nephew, Calhoun Jermain.”

Each regarded the other with wariness before giving a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Mr. Jermain, for rescuing us.” Dulcie’s words were stiff, formal. “I thank God that our boat drifted to your shore.”

“You’d best thank Him for blowing the storm out to sea. I don’t think that old battered craft would have stayed afloat much longer,” Cal muttered. “And while you have His ear, you’d better ask for some common sense in the future or-”

“Sit, Miss Trenton.” Aunt Bessie indicated a chair in front of the fireplace. Robert had just reentered, and taking a glass of ruby liquid from his tray, she handed it to the young woman with a terse “Drink.”

Dulcie sank into the deep cushions and sipped, feeling the warmth of the wine trickle through her veins. She tried to hold on to her anger, but the warmth and the wine conspired against her. Heaven. She had just died and gone to heaven.

She heard the rumble of deep, masculine voices, as questions were asked. And the higher-pitched sounds of the children, as they answered.

“When did you last eat?” This from Aunt Bessie.

Nathaniel answered. “I don’t remember.”

“How long ago since you slept?” It was Barc’s voice, low, almost conversational.

“Many hours, I think.” Belle’s voice trembled slightly.

“Where is your home?” Aunt Bessie challenged.

“We have no home,” was Emily’s response.

There was an awkward silence.

“And none of you saw the storm coming?”

Another silence.

“Do you all belong to Miss Trenton?” A man’s voice, strong, demanding.

“Yes.” This emphatic response from Nathaniel. It caused Dulcie’s lips to curl in a dreamy smile. “Dulcie takes care of us.”

She could hardly keep up with the words, but it didn’t matter. For now, they were warm and dry and safe. That was all that mattered. And for one brief moment, she could relinquish her role as caretaker and relax her guard.

She glanced at the graceful curve of staircase that led to the second story. Perhaps they would be allowed to sleep here, curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace. If their hosts insisted upon seeing them to beds, she hoped she could just drift up, rather than climb, those stairs.

The voices seemed to fade. The half-empty glass was eased from her grip.

She must have slept, for when she opened her eyes, the fire had faded to embers and the candles had been snuffed. Against her will her lids flickered, then closed.

In the silence that followed, Dulcie felt herself being lifted in strong arms and cradled against a wall of chest. She smiled, remembering the way it had felt when Papa would carry her to her bed.

“Oh, Papa. You’re home at last.” With a sigh that arose from deep within her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her lips against his throat, breathing deeply. The male, musky scent of him filled her heart and soul and brought her the first real peace she’d known in so many years. Years filled with uncertainty and hunger and fear. But now, all that was behind her. Papa was home.

She felt herself being lowered to her bed. The edge of the soft feather mattress shifted as he sat beside her and tucked the covers around her shoulders.

As he started to move away, she caught his hand and brought it to her lips. At once she heard the quick intake of breath and the muttered oath. Her lids fluttered open.

The figure was as tall as her father and as broad of shoulder. But where Papa’s hair had been streaked with gray, this hair was as black as coal. The face unlined with age. The eyes hard, unblinking.

“You!” As before, she recoiled and felt her cheeks flame when the realization dawned. Sweet heaven. She had just made a fool of herself in front of a scowling, furious Cal Jermain.

Without a word he turned and stalked from the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Leaving her alone with her burning shame.

Cal shed his wet clothing and picked up a towel. As he dried himself, he moved to the window and watched the play of lights far out to sea. A torch flickered then died.

Only a fool or a villain would be out on such a night, he thought. So what did that make the women and children he’d rescued? Fools or…?

He leaned a hip against the sill. It was obvious they were frightened. He’d seen the same dazed looks in the eyes of hundreds of survivors across the South. Still, these seven seemed especially secretive. And what of Dulcie Trenton? There was a toughness to her. As though she was ready to challenge anyone who threatened those in her care.

The war had done that to a lot of people, he thought with a growing sense of rage. It had torn this great nation apart, destroying entire families, turning them into something less than human.

He tried, without success, to put the dark-haired woman out of his mind. In that first instant when he’d seen her, he’d thought…God in heaven, what a fool he was. There was no place in his life now for a woman. Any woman. But especially one who reminded him of the past.

Still…

She’d called him Papa. And in her sleep she’d kissed him. A natural enough mistake. But his reaction to that kiss had been totally unexpected, and not at all paternal. Fool. With a hiss of anger he tossed the towel aside and strode naked to his bed. But sleep was a long time coming. As he tossed and turned, he could feel the press of her lips against his throat. And was forced to admit to himself the humiliation of his sudden, shocking arousal.

Chapter Two

Dulcie slipped from bed and crossed to the window. A spectacular sunrise was just visible on the horizon, and the land spread out below was still gilded with dew. She caught her breath at the sight of a herd of deer on a distant hill-side. A cow was lowing nearby, and the birds had begun their morning symphony.

The newly plowed fields, a deep rich black, were divided by rows of gangling palmetto trees. Their fronds waved in the gentle breeze. An occasional live oak, dripping with Spanish moss, spread its branches in a graceful arc.

She had just discovered heaven. After the battle-scarred countryside she had left behind, this peaceful pastoral setting brought tears to her eyes.

Her prayers had been answered a hundredfold. And now she must find a way to remain in this Eden. Hadn’t Papa always said that any fool could seize opportunity, but it took a wise man to create opportunity where none existed? She would have to get busy creating.

Dulcie turned away from the window, and for the first time noticed that her clothes were now washed and draped over a chair. Her chemise and petticoats were as clean as the day they’d been made. Her gown, though shabby, had been carefully pressed. Beside it were her old scuffed kid slippers, polished to a high shine.

She made her way to a basin of water that stood atop a low chest of drawers. Beside it was a cake of lavender soap and a soft linen towel. With a little smile of delight she set about washing herself.

Bless the Jermains, she thought. For all their stern posturing, they were being most kind. Now if only she could persuade them to be charitable, as well.

“She’s lying.” Cal’s voice was rough with anger. In the thin light of morning he joined his aunt and brothers around the elegant dining-room table and filled his plate with corn bread, eggs and slabs of roasted pork.

“And the children?” Aunt Bessie whispered. “How do you explain their answers?”

“They’re all lying.”

“People have been caught unawares by storms before,” Barc said logically.

“True—if the storm comes up unexpectedly. But this one gave plenty of warning. The skies over Charleston were black for days.”

“So why do you think they took to the boat?”

“They’re on the run. They refuse to talk about Charleston. Or the war. Most refugees are eager to talk about the people they lost, the homes, the belongings. I suspect something…”

“Something illegal perhaps?” Barc asked.

“Miss Trenton seems like a fine Southern lady,” Aunt Bessie protested.

“And a fine Southern lady can do no wrong?” Cal gave a hollow laugh. “Look around you, Aunt Bessie. The war has made something less of all of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Barc said with a sneer. “I rather like what I’ve become.”

“You would. How much did you lose on your last trip to Charleston?” his older brother snapped.

“Enough to assure me an invitation to their next round of poker.”

“I’m sure Nellie Simpson is thrilled at your patronage of her sporting house.” Cal’s features tightened.

“I only go for the games of chance,” Barc insisted.

“I’ve heard a man gambles every time he samples Nellie’s women,” Dar put in.

At the young man’s remark, Aunt Bessie’s eyes flashed fire. “I’ll not have such talk in my home, Darwin.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” Chastised, he lifted his cup to his lips and fixed his gaze on the spotless lace tablecloth.

“As for you, Barclay.” The older woman turned her full wrath on the smiling charmer who was her middle nephew. “How can you stand to visit Charleston and see what General Sherman has done to that lovely city? It’s—”

“We were talking about the women and children.” Cal refused to allow her to dwell on her favorite source of irritation.

“Yes. Of course. Now, Calhoun,” Aunt Bessie continued as though she’d never been sidetracked, “I don’t see how we can turn them away.”

“I’m not suggesting we turn them out in the cold.” Cal sampled the corn bread and thought again how he’d missed such simple pleasures when he’d been away at war. So many things had been taken for granted until they were gone. A bed. Dry clothes. Corn bread warm from the oven. “At least not now,” he added. “But as soon as the injured are well enough to travel, I want them returned to Charleston.” The sooner the better, he thought, and felt a little flush of displeasure at the image that had come, unbidden, to mind. The image of a body pressed to his, lips buried against his throat, lashes whispering across his heated skin. Abruptly he lost his appetite and shoved aside his plate.

“You will see to them, won’t you, Calhoun?” His aunt placed a hand over his.

At once she felt him pull back.

He had been this way since his return from the battlefield. Cold. Withdrawn. As though he could prove that he needed no sympathy for his loss. No comfort for his pain.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said, at the pleading look in her eyes.

“I’ll be happy to take them back to Charleston when they’re ready,” Barc said with a smile.

“It will give you an excuse to try your hand at the cards again,” Dar muttered.

“How soon do you think they can travel?” Aunt Bessie asked.

Cal shrugged. “A week or so, I should think. The child doesn’t seem as badly hurt as the woman.”

He stood, eager to keep his promise to his aunt so he could escape to the fields. His impatience wasn’t lost on the others. Ever since their return from the war, each brother had taken refuge in his own way. The reclusive Dar had his precious books. Outgoing Barc had his whiskey and gambling. And Cal, angry and embittered, lost himself in the mind-numbing, physical demands of farming.

“Is there some potion or poultice Robert could prepare?” Aunt Bessie asked.

Cal shook his head. “There isn’t any medicine that will erase a blow to the head.”

“Well, I know you’ll do the best you can,” his aunt said solemnly.

Cal was already striding from the room and up the stairs.

As he entered the Irishwoman’s room, he nearly collided with Dulcie. Instinctively his hand shot out to steady her.

The rush of feelings was the same. He felt the heat first and then the tiny current that seemed to pass from her to him and back again. He released her at once and took a step back.

It was obvious that her crimson satin gown had once been considered the height of fashion. Now one sleeve was torn, and the cuffs were frayed beyond repair.

Over her gown she had tied a simple white apron, which only served to emphasize her tiny waist.

But it was her face that held his gaze. Scrubbed clean of mud, her skin was flawless and as pale as alabaster. Burnished dark hair, brushed until it gleamed, fell in silky waves to below her waist. The striking green eyes were wide with surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I promised my aunt I would look to our injured guests.” He emphasized the word “guests” as he moved past Dulcie.

She stood with hands on hips, looking as if she would block his entrance. “Why?”

“I know a little about healing.” He sat on the edge of the bed and touched a hand to Fiona’s head, then gently lifted each eyelid, frowning as he studied her pupils.

Dulcie watched him, feeling a growing sense of panic. Of all the people in this house, why did it have to be this gruff, angry man who’d been sent to look after Fiona?

Well, this was his house. He had permitted them refuge from the storm. She had no right to interfere.

Nevertheless, she persisted. “Are you a doctor, Mr. Jermain?”

He shot her a quelling look. “I am a farmer, Miss Trenton. A simple farmer.”

When he returned his attentions to Fiona, Dulcie clenched her hands at her sides. A farmer maybe. But simple? Never. There was so much anger in this complex man, so much hostility, it fairly burned to burst free.

“Miss O’Neil.” Cal spoke sharply to the still figure in the bed. “Can you hear me, Miss O’Neil?”

Acting as a buffer between her friend and this stern stranger, Dulcie moved to the other side of the bed and reached out to clasp Fiona’s hand. “Oh, Fiona,” she whispered, “please, please hear me.”

“You must speak in a normal tone, Miss Trenton.”

Dulcie eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because your friend is in a deep sleep. You must find a way to penetrate the layers of pain. Each time you visit her bedside, you must attempt to engage her in conversation. Talk about things you both know. Things you’ve shared. Call to her. Invite her to reach out to you.”

She stared down at her friend, as if willing the young woman her strength. “Yes. All right.”

“Now, about those marks on her back…”

Dulcie’s head came up sharply, and he could see her closing up before his eyes.

“It is obvious that not all of them were caused by the fall in the boat. How did she come by the others?”

“I have no right to violate her privacy. You will have to ask her when she awakes.”

“I am asking you, Miss Trenton.”

Dulcie gritted her teeth and held her silence.

“Very well.” Cal stood and walked out of the room.

She released Fiona’s hand and raced after him as he crossed the hallway to another bedroom. “Clara is sleeping. I would rather you not disturb…”

Ignoring her, he stepped into the room and approached the bedside where the little girl lay. From the doorway Dulcie watched as he lifted the child’s hand and examined her injured arm. After applying a clean dressing, he felt her forehead, then gently rolled the sleeping child onto her stomach and ran his fingers along her spine. When at last he tucked the blankets around the little girl’s shoulders and turned away, Dulcie confronted him.

“You call yourself a simple farmer, Mr. Jermain, yet your actions say otherwise. I do not believe you.”

“Then we are even, Miss Trenton.” He pinned her with his dark, penetrating look. “For when you say you did not see the storm approaching, I do not believe you.”

Struck speechless, she could only stare after him as he moved around her and stalked away.

As Dulcie stepped into Starlight’s room, where the others had gathered, she was pleasantly surprised. The young woman had supervised sponge baths for everyone, and all stood, neatly dressed, hair combed.

But despite their spotless appearance, they wore identical frowns of concern.

“You look splendid. But please, tell me what’s wrong,” Dulcie coaxed.

“We’re afraid,” Starlight explained. “The Jermains are such stern people. It’s obvious they don’t like having us here.” She clutched Dulcie’s arm. “Oh, Dulcie. What if they send us back today?”

Dulcie swallowed. She’d been asking herself the same question.

“I don’t believe they will send us away until Fiona and Clara are capable of making the journey back to Charleston. So for a few days they will tolerate our presence on their island. And perhaps we can find a way to remain a little longer.”

“But how?” Starlight asked.

Dulcie glanced around at her young charges. “God works in mysterious ways,” she said as bravely as she could manage. Then, straightening her spine, she said, “Come along. It’s time to greet our rescuers.” And face their prying questions once more, she thought.

As she descended the stairs, her fears nagged at her. The Jermains would be eager to be done with the burden of so many extra mouths to feed. She had to think of a way to make the burden lighter. For she was determined to remain here as long as possible. No matter what price they were forced to pay, she and the others must not be returned to Charleston.

“Well.” Aunt Bessie looked up from her mending. It was not one of her favorite tasks, but with all of the household work falling to Robert, she had no choice but to pitch in. “I see you are up and about at last.”

“Yes. Thank you for your hospitality. For the beds we slept in. And for washing our clothes,” Dulcie said as she shepherded the others into the room.

“For your clothes you can thank Robert. He was not happy with the muddy rags on his floor and thought it best to sacrifice a little sleep in order to achieve the cleanliness he desires.”

Aunt Bessie set aside her basket of mending. Though the women and children wore clothes that were clean and pressed, they were indeed little more than rags. It offended her sense of dignity.

“There is hot food in the dining room. Come along.”

All eyes widened when they entered the dining room and caught sight of the sideboard groaning under the weight of several silver trays.

“There is corn bread, roasted pork and coddled eggs,” Aunt Bessie announced. “I sent Darwin to milk the cow. As I recall, children have need of such nourishment.”

“That was kind of you.” Dulcie handed each child a plate. But instead of filling them, the children began cramming the food into their mouths.

Aunt Bessie looked horrified. “I simply cannot abide such a lack of manners,” she said with indignation. “Where were you children raised? In the streets?”

Dulcie bit back the words that sprang to her lips. Could the woman not see that the children were starving?

Taking charge, she admonished, “You will spoon the food onto your plates. Nathaniel, you may go back for seconds. But for now, take only what you can eat.”

“Yes’m.” He eyed the food with naked hunger.

“Emily and Belle, I think your eyes are bigger than your stomachs.”

The two little girls reluctantly returned half their food to the silver trays, put the rest on their plates and made their way to the table.

Frail Starlight, on the other hand, spooned only a speck of food onto her plate. Dulcie took it from her hands and filled it, then returned it to the young woman. “See that you eat, Starlight. You need to regain your strength.”

“I…I’ll try.”

When all were seated, Dulcie prepared a plate for herself and took a seat at the table. She bowed her head and the others did the same, clasping hands as Dulcie murmured, “We thank thee, Father, for this shelter from the storm and for this splendid food.”

“Amen,” the children intoned.

As the others began eating, Dulcie touched a hand almost lovingly to the lace tablecloth. “This is beautiful, Aunt Bessie.”

It took the older woman a moment to gather her wits. She had been first moved to anger by the shocking lack of dining etiquette and was now moved by some other, deeper emotion at the touching scene of the women and children praying.

It had been a long time since she had heard such words in this house. She had never been one for outward signs of religious faith. Her nephews were especially resistant to any displays of religion since their return from the war.

“The lace was made in Belgium.” As soon as she took her seat at the table, Robert appeared at her side with a steaming cup of tea. As always, his white shirt and dark pants were perfectly pressed, his shoes polished to a high shine.

A minute later Dar entered carrying a pitcher of milk. As he filled each child’s glass, he kept his gaze averted, as though reluctant to look directly into their eyes. But he did glance at Starlight, who ate slowly, as though she’d had little experience at such a feat. Almost at once he looked away.

“Milk?” He paused beside her.

“Yes, please.”

He filled her glass quickly, then moved on to Dulcie, who refused. She’d noted that Aunt Bessie had said cow. Singular. If, indeed, there was only one cow on the plantation, it would be important to save what little milk there was for the children who needed it.

His chore completed, Dar fled the room, obviously eager to get away from so many strangers. Perhaps, Dulcie thought, he did not like children. Nor, it seemed, did any of his family.

“Tea, missy?” Robert asked.

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for washing and pressing our clothes, Robert. That was very kind.”

Except for a slight arching of his brow, Robert’s handsome face remained expressionless.

As Dulcie bit into the coddled eggs, the first she’d actually tasted in months, and corn bread still warm from the oven, she couldn’t help sighing. Leaning back, she sipped strong, hot tea. “This is wonderful, Aunt Bessie.”

“Thanks to the Yankees who set fire to our home and helped themselves to most of our supplies, it’s simple fare,” the older woman snapped.

Out of the corner of her eye Dulcie saw the look that came over Starlight, and knew that Bessie’s words had sent her retreating into a safe place in her mind. She knew she must deftly change the subject, or the young woman would retreat even farther.

“Simple to you, perhaps, but not to us. This food is heaven-sent.” Dulcie glanced around the table, enjoying the way the children looked as they dug into their meal. It was the first time she’d seen them scrubbed clean, wearing crisply ironed clothes. They were, in Dulcie’s eyes, a band of angels.

When she’d searched the upper rooms this morning, Dulcie discovered that she was not the only one with her own room, which opened onto a graceful balcony. Nathaniel and Starlight had been given rooms of their own. Emily and Belle had been given a room together. Though they had probably been placed in separate beds, Dulcie had found the two little girls lying together in one bed, their arms still wrapped around each other for comfort.

She could hardly blame them for being fearful. It had been a dangerous, exhausting journey, and she still found it hard to believe they had survived.

“I’m sure you are eager to return to Charleston,” Aunt Bessie began. She caught the looks that passed between Dulcie and the others, and thought about what Cal had said over breakfast. She was not imagining the fear she saw in their faces. “But my nephew assures me that the woman and girl are not yet strong enough to make the trip. Therefore, it would appear that you will have to remain with us for a few days.”

Their relief was palpable.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Dulcie broke the silence. “We wish to repay your kindness.”

“And you shall,” Aunt Bessie said sternly. “This is a large plantation. Since the war, we find ourselves without help. There are floors to scrub and rugs to beat. Dishes to wash and—”

“—clothes to mend,” Dulcie put in, glancing down at her torn gown.

At the word “mend,” Aunt Bessie perked up. Perhaps she could be relieved of one of her dreaded chores. “Can one of you actually sew?”

“I can,” Starlight said softly as she finished her meal.

Aunt Bessie immediately warmed to the strange young woman. “Fine, child. Come with me. The rest of you can offer your services to Robert. But beware,” she cautioned, “he is a harsh taskmaster. And I am even more so.”

“We are not afraid of hard work,” Dulcie assured her.

As the children pushed away from the table, Dulcie called to them, “Each of you will carry a tray laden with dishes to the kitchen. Papa always said, ‘With many hands a burden is made light.’”

In the kitchen, they found Robert busily wrapping food in a square of linen. He seemed genuinely surprised when Dulcie explained that she and the others intended to work in payment for their keep.

“Just tell us what to do and it will be done,” she said simply.

He thought for several long moments, and it was plain to Dulcie that he was wondering whether he could entrust the care of this fine old house to such inexperienced hands. At length he nodded. “I will show the children what I want them to do. In the meantime, missy, this food must be taken to the men in the fields, along with a heavy jug of water. Can you manage?”

She nodded.

He glanced down at her kid slippers. “Then I would suggest you select a pair of boots from those in the cloakroom. After last night’s rain, the fields will be muddy.”

Dulcie made her way to the back hallway and pulled on a pair of oversize boots. Picking up the food and water, she stepped outside and began walking across the fields.

It was easy to see where the men were working. A horse plodded slowly across a distant field, with a man at the plow behind, churning up the rich black soil. In his wake walked two more men.

Despite the blazing sun overhead, the air was cooled by a fresh breeze off the water. Dulcie found herself savoring the chance to be alone with her thoughts while enjoying the beautiful day.

Oh, how Papa would have loved this! There was a time when the two of them could have stood here like this all day, enjoying the beauty of nature. Just thinking about those wonderful carefree days brought a smile to her lips. Then, remembering her duty, she walked on.

When she drew close to the two men, she saw they were Barc and Dar. They looked up in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Barc called.

“I’ve brought you your midday meal.”

“And none too soon.” Barc crossed to sit in the shade of a live oak.

Dar dropped down beside him. Both men eagerly drank from the jug, then leaned back on their elbows to watch as Cal followed the horse toward them, etching a straight, perfect furrow as he did.

Dulcie stood there, grateful for the shade. As Cal came closer, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him.

He was…magnificent. It was the first word that came to her mind. He had removed his shirt, and the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders bunched and tightened with every step. Sweat glistened in the dark hair that matted his chest. When he came abreast of them and reined in the horse, he lifted an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Robert has been replaced.” Barc handed the water jug to his older brother. “And I, for one, am grateful. Miss Trenton is far easier to look upon.”

At Barc’s gentle teasing, Dulcie felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So I see.” Cal balanced the heavy jug in one hand. Tilting back his head, he took a long, deep drink before returning the jug to Barc and wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

“Let’s see what Robert sent us.” Barc eagerly unwrapped the linen and helped himself to a chunk of corn bread and a slab of cold pork before passing it on to the others.

Cal sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He stretched out his long legs and lazily crossed one foot over the other. “To what do we owe this pleasure, Miss Trenton?”

Dulcie’s blush deepened. The sarcastic tone of his voice did not make it sound like a pleasure at all.

“Your aunt explained that if we were to remain here for several days, we might wish to earn our keep.”

“And do you wish to earn your keep?” he asked, studying her until she was forced to look away in embarrassment.

“Of course,” she said through gritted teeth. “It is not our intention to be a burden to anyone.”

“If you were a burden, Miss Trenton,” Barc said with a laugh, “you would at least be a most charming one.”

Grateful for his glib tongue, she offered him a smile. “What are you planting, Barc?”

“At one time, all of these fields used to be filled with white gold—” Dulcie was familiar with this term for cotton “—but now, with no market for it, and no way to get food-stuffs from the North, we must grow everything we need. In this field we’re planting sweet potatoes.”

“What other crops do you plant?” Dulcie asked, eager to keep the conversation on less personal subjects.

“Okra, sorghum, corn, beans, grain.” Barc pressed a hand to his back. “And anything else Cal can think of that’ll keep us stooped over a furrow all day. Isn’t that right, Dar?”

Dar only nodded and helped himself to more corn bread.

Cal finished his meal quickly and got to his feet. As he brushed past Dulcie, he muttered, “You may be able to earn your keep, Miss Trenton. But you’ll never earn our trust.”

He strode back to the waiting horse. Leaning into the harness, man and beast resumed the tedious, backbreaking job that seemed, given the vastness of the fields around them, never-ending.

Stung by Cal’s abrupt dismissal, Dulcie gathered up the remains of their meal. Barc touched a hand to her arm. “Don’t take offense, Miss Trenton. Cal…has not been himself since the war.”

“The war affected all of us,” she replied. As she turned to leave, she could feel Cal’s dark, piercing stare burn into her, even from the distance that separated them. Lifting her chin, she returned his look before tossing her head and beginning the long walk back to the house.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. She didn’t care what Cal Jermain said to her or thought of her, just as long as she and the others were allowed to remain here.

She would work. She would endure. But she would never go back.

Chapter Three

“No, little missy, not like that.” With a sigh of impatience, Robert took the feather duster from five-year-old Emily’s hand and circled it lightly around the various objects that cluttered a tabletop in the formal parlor. “Like this.”

The child watched for a moment, more interested in the array of glittering crystal animals than in his deft touch. “It’s a bunny!” she cried in delight, lifting one of the pieces.

“You must not touch,” Robert admonished sternly. He took the crystal rabbit from her and replaced it exactly as it had been. “Those things belong to Miss Bessie. They are not to be handled by anyone else.”

She lowered her head. “Yes, sir.”

“I am not a sir. I am just…” Frustrated, he searched for a word. “I am just Robert.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a shake of his head he handed her the duster and crossed the room to where Nathaniel knelt on the hearth scrubbing soot from the blackened fireplace. Though the fieldstone gleamed, the boy was black from head to foot. Even his blond hair was streaked with soot.

“How does it look?” Nathaniel asked with pride.

Robert took his time, examining the work carefully. The quality of the boy’s work was a pleasant surprise.

He pointed to a far corner of the fireplace. “You forgot a spot.”

For a moment Nathaniel seemed discouraged. Then he bent to his work once more, saying, “I’ll get it so clean you’ll be able to see your reflection.”

“Eek!”

At Belle’s cry of alarm from across the room, Robert raced to where the six-year-old was huddled, her eyes wide with terror. Her job had been a simple one: shake the dust and cobwebs from the heavy draperies and open all the windows to air out the parlor.

The servant drew aside the draperies to see what had caused such an uproar. “Why, it’s just a dead mouse, little missy. He cannot hurt anyone.”

His words, meant to reassure, only caused her to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and begin to weep and wail.

Nathaniel abandoned his post and hurried over. Seeing the mouse, he wrapped his soot-covered arms around the little girl, as he’d seen Dulcie do a hundred times, and pressed her face against his filthy shirt. Over her head he explained to a startled Robert, “When the soldiers came, Belle and her mother hid in their cellar for weeks. They had nothing to eat, so her mother was finally forced to cook whatever they could catch. Mice mostly. And then her mother died, and Belle was alone…” With all the wisdom of an eight-year-old, he patted Belle’s head clumsily and whispered, “Don’t cry, Belle. You’re not alone now. Like Dulcie said, you’ll always have us.”

Watching the scene, Robert swallowed, then seemed to take an inordinately long time clearing his throat. At last he commanded imperiously, “You may go back to your chore, Nathaniel. Little missy, you come with me.”

The little girl trailed behind his stiff figure, out of the parlor, along the hallway and into the kitchen, at the rear of the big house. While she stood trembling in the doorway, Robert crossed the room and lifted the heavy black kettle from the fireplace.

A wave of terror twisted Belle’s dainty features. In her mind’s eye she could already see this fearsome man cooking the dead mouse and forcing her to eat it as punishment for failing to complete her chores.

“Come here, little missy,” he called sternly.

With slow, jerky movements she made her way to the table, where he stood waiting.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Trembling violently, she did as she was told and watched as he placed a steaming cup in front of her.

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Tea,” he said. “When Miss Bessie finds the day… upsetting, I always fix her tea.”

The little girl stared at him, then at the cup. While she watched, he produced a plate on which rested two precious cookies still warm from the oven.

“When you finish your tea and cookies,” he said, “you will find me in the parlor.” And with that he strode from the room.

Throughout the long afternoon, Dulcie drove herself, beating rugs, scrubbing floors until they shone, rubbing Fiona’s bloodied sheets on a scrubbing board until her knuckles were raw. And all the while she kept hearing Cal Jermain’s taunting words. You may earn your keep, Miss Trenton. But you will never earn our trust.

What did it matter to her what that cruel, ignorant clod thought? As the sun made its arc across the sky, she snapped the sheets off the line and struggled to fold them in the stiff breeze. With each snap of the laundry she told herself that she cared not even that much about Cal Jermain’s opinion.

When the last sheet was folded, she grabbed up the huge wicker basket and turned, only to find the object of her venom standing shirtless by the well, washing himself in a bucket of cold water.

For the space of a heartbeat she could do nothing more than stare at the ripple of muscles across his back as he plunged his arms deep into the water and splashed it over his face. Then, forcing herself to move, she started past him. At that moment he turned toward her.

“Miss Trenton. Earning your keep, I see.”

She lifted her chin and held her silence. But as she took a step, his hand suddenly shot out, stopping her in midstride.

Shock waves vibrated through her at the strength of his touch. Perhaps it was the heat of the afternoon. Or exhaustion. But whatever, she lashed out at him in a tone usually reserved for Yankee soldiers and villains.

“Unhand me, Mr. Jermain.”

Cal had intended to do just that. In fact, he had just broken his self-imposed rule against touching. But now that she was as mad as a spitting wildcat, he changed his mind. He enjoyed seeing her lose that infuriatingly cool composure. A hint of a smile curled his lips. “And if I don’t?”

“How would you like to explain to your aunt how a basket of sheets happened to be dumped over you?”

Caught by surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. “Now how do I know you’re serious?”

“You need only continue holding me, Mr. Jermain, and you will find out.”

His laughter died, though his lips still curved invitingly. “By God, Miss Trenton, I think you’d do just that.”

“Then you had best release me.”

“I could.” His voice lowered to a seductive purr. “Or I could call your bluff.”

Using his good right hand, he hauled her roughly against him. She was so astonished by his actions, she dropped the basket, aware of nothing but a pair of dark eyes looking into hers. And lips, still carved in a dangerous smile.

And then his mouth was on hers and she forgot everything except the feel of his lips. Rough. Bruising. Hungry.

His hunger fueled her own. She knew that she should be offering resistance. Instead, her arms hung limply at her sides.

She heard a sound and realized it had come from deep inside her throat, like a growl of pain. Or pleasure. He answered with a moan of his own.

She was lost. Lost in the dark, mysterious taste of him. Lost in feelings unlike any she’d ever known before. Feelings that sent her pulse racing and her heart soaring. Feelings that whispered over her senses, seducing, arousing, making her forget everything except this man and his dangerous, intimate kiss.

Cal couldn’t seem to find the will to stop. Holding her, kissing her, stirred up feelings he’d thought buried forever. He had the strangest urge to go on kissing her until night crept over the land and the two of them could get lost in the darkness.

The hunger gnawed at him, causing an ache in his chest. God in heaven, what was happening to him? Calling on all his willpower, he lifted his head, dropped his arms and took a step back.

Dulcie’s eyes snapped open. In their depths he could read confusion—and something else. A slumbering sensuality. And then a sudden return of temper.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Trenton.” He was surprised at how difficult it was to speak.

“For which offense are you apologizing, Mr. Jermain?” Dulcie struggled to ignore the dryness in her throat. “The kiss? Or your cruel words?”

“I apologize for both, ma’am. I had no right.”

Without taking time to think, she lifted the wicker basket and dumped the contents over his head.

“Apology accepted,” she called over her shoulder as she turned and raced toward the house as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her.

“This is my favorite time of day.” Aunt Bessie surveyed everyone seated around the table. “The day’s chores are behind us, and the evening stretches before us like a gift to be savored.”

A gift to be savored indeed, thought Dulcie. She’d been given to understand that she and the others were expected to make their appearance at supper and continue with their chores until bedtime.

What was even more difficult was having to face Cal Jermain. She would never be able to forget the scene at the well. Or the confusing feelings he’d stirred up in her.

She forced her attention away from him.

Aunt Bessie wore an elegant gown of black, watered silk with high, ruffled neckline and long, tapered sleeves. At her throat was a cameo broach, and at her earlobes, elegant pearl-and-jade earrings.

Her nephews had changed from their rough field garb to crisp white shirts and dark suits. Though Dulcie, Starlight and the children had no change of clothes, they, too, had taken great pains to wash and make themselves presentable.

Dulcie found herself seated on Cal’s right, with Starlight and the girls alongside her. Nathaniel was seated on Cal’s left, with Barclay and Darwin beside him. She noted that many of the china plates were cracked, and several of the crystal goblets were chipped. But the dozen candles in silver candelabra in the center of the table cast their golden glow over the lace tablecloth, making the setting appear truly festive.

Robert circled the table, pouring a small amount of wine into goblets. The children’s glasses were filled with lemonade.

As Robert took his seat beside Starlight, Dulcie reached out her hands to those on either side of her as she always did. Starlight clasped her right hand, and the children followed suit. Dulcie said softly, “We would ask a blessing upon this food.”

She could feel the astonished looks from the Jermain family at her boldness. She was, after all, not an honored guest at table. She was, in fact, an intruder.

Aunt Bessie, a stickler for propriety, said imperiously, “In this house we do our praying without such outward displays of artificial reverence.”

“Artificial—!” Starlight began, but a look from Dulcie stopped her in midsentence.

Dulcie and the others lowered their hands to their laps. From his vantage point, however, Cal could plainly see that, under cover of the tablecloth, the young women and children reached out until their hands were once more clasped.

“Besides,” Aunt Bessie said sternly, “I believe God has turned His back on us since this damnable war.” She turned to her youngest nephew. “Darwin,” she said dryly, “you will lead us in prayer.”

“Bless this food,” Dar intoned.

“Amen,” his brothers said in unison, relieved that the prayer had been short and simple.

Aunt Bessie shot Dar a challenging look as she lifted her goblet of wine to her lips. “For a man trained to be elo- quent, you were very brief. I suppose this is something you learned while fighting Yankees.”

Dar stared pointedly at the table, taking care not to look at the others. Across from him, Starlight focused on the candles blazing in their splendid silver holders, seemingly oblivious to the words being spoken.

“We put in a hard day in the fields,” Barc said in defense of his brother. He drained his goblet in one swallow. “Besides, you know Dar isn’t fond of public speaking.”

“I notice you have no such problem,” his aunt chided.

“None whatever.” He turned his attention to Dulcie. “How are the Irish girl, and the little one?”

“They’re improving, thank you.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cal’s head swivel toward her, but she determinedly kept her gaze focused on his brother. She knew she was blushing, and that only made the color deepen. “Fiona isn’t alert yet, but her eyes opened once and she managed a few sounds. And Clara is awake, but she’s too weak to eat yet.”

“That’s good news—” Barc turned to his older brother “—isn’t it, Cal?”

“Mmm.” His brother took a sip of wine before asking, “What sort of sounds?”

“Moans, really.” Dulcie swallowed, remembering the look of pain that had crossed Fiona’s face when she’d responded to Dulcie’s voice. “And she squeezed my hand.”

“Yes, that’s a good sign.”

“I hope Fiona wakes up soon,” Emily chirped. “I miss her songs. And the funny stories she tells.”

“Do you remember the one—” Belle began, but Aunt Bessie cut her off.

“I do believe that children should be seen and not heard. Now sit up straight. And take your elbows off the table. As long as you are under my roof, you will learn the proper way a young lady comports herself.”

The two little girls looked crestfallen as they struggled to obey. The older woman glanced at Robert. At once he hurried to the kitchen and returned with a tray of food, which he carried around so that the people at the table could serve themselves.

Dulcie glanced at the dour man beside her. As strange as it seemed, she drew comfort from Cal’s simple words about Fiona’s moans. Despite his lack of manners and his cool, angry demeanor, despite that kiss, which had shaken her to her very core, there was about him an aura of knowledge and solid dependability. Though she was loath to admit it, she trusted his opinion.

Forcing herself out of her musings, Dulcie smiled at the children as they feasted on thick slabs of roasted pork and corn bread smothered in hot gravy. She would take comfort in the fact that the food was good and plentiful. Given enough time here, they would all regain much-needed strength for the task ahead.

“This is truly a fine meal, Aunt Bessie. And a rare treat for all of us.” Across the table she saw sunny little Emily cram an entire roll into her mouth and wash it down with lemonade. From the stern look on Aunt Bessie’s face, she knew the older woman had seen it, too.

“I must apologize for the dullness of our meals,” Aunt Bessie said. “There was a time when we would roast several geese, a wild deer and perhaps a whole pig for one evening’s feast.” She sighed, a deep sigh of remembrance or regret. “And we would drink champagne from France and wear gowns from Paris and London. Now, thanks to the war,” she said wistfully, “it all seems like just a lovely dream. Who knows when we will be able to restore our poor little island to its former beauty.” She fell silent for a long moment. “Once again it seems, I have forgotten my vow. I promised myself that if my beloved nephews were returned safely, I would never complain about another thing. And here we are, all together at last. For that I am most humbly grateful.”

“You were all in the war?” Nathaniel asked. “Where?”

Cal swung his gaze to the boy. There was something in Nathaniel’s tone. Something anguished, something… seeking.

For a moment no one responded to the question. At last Barc said, “I spent half the war in Richmond, then joined General Lee himself. Dar was with Pickett’s forces at Gettysburg. Cal was with the Seventh under Stonewall Jackson until he…stayed a little too long at Chancellorsville.”

Cal saw the boy lower his gaze to the table. Whatever he was seeking, he had not found it in Barc’s words.

Although the children did not understand the importance of the places Barc had mentioned, the names were not lost on Dulcie. She felt saddened and shocked to think that all three brothers had faced such danger.

Aunt Bessie touched a napkin to her lips and spoke to Robert. “We will take our coffee and dessert in the main parlor, Robert.”

“Yes, Miss Bessie.”

She pushed away from the table and waited until Cal approached and offered his arm.

Dulcie had to rouse Starlight from the dark cloud that enveloped her, brought about by the talk of the war.

Her hand on Cal’s sleeve, Aunt’Bessie led the way along the hallway to a set of ornate double doors. Sliding the doors open, Cal stood aside and waited for the others to enter. Inside, candles had been lit in sconces along the walls and in an ornate candelabra atop a table. The floor and ta- bletops gleamed in the candle glow, and everything smelled of beeswax and lye soap.

“What happened to this room?” Barc lifted a brow in surprise.

“We cleaned it,” Nathaniel said proudly. “I did the fireplace.”

“I’ve never seen it so clean,” Barc said.

“I did the tabletops and little glass animals,” Emily said excitedly, her blond curls bobbing up and down.

“And a fine job you did,” Barc assured her.

“I counted them,” the little girl went on. “Starlight is teaching me to count. There were twenty-eleven of them,” she declared.

Dar winced, but Barc smiled and prodded gently, “And can you name all of them?”

“There’s a bunny and a turtle and a deer and…” Her voice faded for a moment, then she announced, “But the bunny is my favorite, even though I can’t ever touch it.”

“And why is that?” Barc asked.

“Mr. Robert said they belong to Aunt Bessie, and I must never, ever touch them.”

“Quite right,” Aunt Bessie said in her regal tones. She crossed the room and took a seat beside the table.

After everyone else was seated, Robert moved among them, offering coffee for the adults, glasses of milk for the children and cookies for everyone.

When Aunt Bessie saw Nathaniel reaching for a second cookie before he’d eaten his first, she admonished, “Nathaniel, it is polite to take only what you can eat.”

“Yes’m. But I know I can eat two.”

He glanced at Dulcie for permission. She gently shook her head. With reluctance he replaced the second cookie.

Beside him, Barc helped himself to two cookies and slipped one into the boy’s hand. The look on Nathaniel’s face spoke volumes.

Across the room, Cal stood alone, a cup in his hand, his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. When Dulcie glanced at him, she found him staring at her. A shiver passed through her and she looked away. But against her will she shot another glance in his direction. Cal bowed his head ever so slightly and lifted his cup in a salute. Her cheeks reddened, and she stiffened her back defiantly before turning away from him.

Across the room, Aunt Bessie watched, intrigued by what she saw. Her flinty nephew and that mysterious young woman struck sparks off each other every time they came close. They had best beware, she thought with a tightly clenched jaw. Sometimes, a single spark was all it took to ignite a forest fire.

Chapter Four

“I will say good-night now.” Aunt Bessie handed her cup to Robert and made her way to the door. “Calhoun, will you see me to my room?”

“Of course.” Her nephew put down his coffee and offered his arm.

As the two swept from the room and up the wide, curved staircase, Dulcie stifled a yawn. “Come, children,” she said. “It’s time for bed.”

Lulled by the food, exhausted by their day’s work, Starlight and the children offered no protest as they followed Dulcie out of the room and up the stairs. Dulcie tucked the two little girls in bed, kissed them, then proceeded to Nathaniel’s room.

“Barc is nice, isn’t he?” the child murmured as Dulcie smoothed the covers over him.

“Yes.”

“He gave me one of his cookies.”

“That was kind of him.”

“You don’t mind?”

Dulcie laughed. “No, Nathaniel, I don’t mind. I just want you to remember your manners. These people are kind enough to offer us shelter, and in return we owe them some courtesy.”

“I’ll work hard, Dulcie.”

She tousled his hair and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I know you will. I’m very proud of you, Nathaniel. Good night.”

“Good night, Dulcie.”

She closed his door and made her way to the room where Clara lay sleeping. A touch to the child’s forehead assured her that there was no fever. For long moments she stood beside the bed, listening to the slow, easy breathing, relieved that her young charge seemed to be mending.

Next she checked on Fiona. The room was in darkness except for a pale sliver of light, and she clasped her friend’s hand as she stood by the bed. “Oh, Fiona, I’m frightened for you.”

“Don’t be.” Cal’s deep voice, directly behind her, made her gasp and spin around.

At her reaction he said, “Forgive me, Miss Trenton. I thought you’d seen me when you came in. I just thought I’d look in on your friend.”

Cal studied Dulcie in the spill of moonlight. Though she resembled so many of the other refugees he’d seen clogging the roads in the South, there was a stubborn strength in her, a fierceness that said she would survive at any cost.

He had a wild impulse to plunge his hand into the silken waves of her dark hair, to feel its smooth texture against his skin. His gaze skimmed her mouth, and he felt his throat go dry at the thought of the kiss he had stolen earlier.

An awkward silence settled between them.

Dulcie studied the man who stood scant inches from her, half his face moonlit, half in shadow. That was how she saw him. A part of him solid and steady, another part dark and dangerous. What was most alarming was that she couldn’t decide which side was most attractive to her.

“I’ll say good-night now, Miss Trenton.” He made no move to leave.

“Good night, Mr. Jermain.” She stood very still, watching him.

The figure in the bed moaned, and they both turned, their shoulders brushing as they leaned close.

“Fiona,” Dulcie whispered, “can you hear me?”

The young woman moaned again, then drifted back to sleep.

Dulcie gave a shaky sigh. “I suppose I must stop hoping for miracles.”

Cal gave a harsh sound that might have been a laugh had it not been so filled with pain. “I gave up on miracles a long time ago.”

Without thinking she glanced down at his sleeve. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he stiffened, then turned away.

She thought briefly about holding him back with a touch, a word. But what could she possibly do or say that would ease the awkwardness between them? She allowed the moment to pass.

Without a word he left.

For long minutes she remained, listening to her friend’s breathing. The only other sound in the room was the pounding of her own heart.

Cal awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of feminine voices down the hall. Opening one eye, he peered through the gloom, then rolled over, determined to steal a little more rest.

There was a trill of laughter, then more talking.

So much for sleep, he thought as he crawled out of bed and snatched up a pair of trousers. He pulled on his boots, then made his way down the hall, pulling on a shirt as he did. Without bothering to button it, he paused outside a closed door, listening to the high-pitched voices. Though it was not yet dawn, they were chattering like magpies.

He twisted open the door and thundered, “Doesn’t anyone care that there are people asleep in this house?”

The sight that greeted him was like a bucket of cold water to his heated temper. The young Irishwoman was propped up in her bed, with mounds of pillows supporting her. Beside her sat the little girl with the injured arm, Clara. Though both of them still looked pale, their eyes were crinkled with laughter. But it was the figure in the middle of the bed that caught and held his attention.

Dulcie sat, surrounded by all her charges, dressed in her chemise and petticoat and draped in a ragged shawl. Her waist-length hair spilled about her shoulders in a riot of curls.

They all looked up with alarm, their laughter quickly extinguished.

“Forgive me, Mr. Jermain,” Dulcie said. “We were so happy to see Clara and Fiona recovered from their wounds that we forgot about you and your family.”

“I see.” He took a step closer to the bed and said to Fiona, “So, you are awake at last.”

“Aye.” Fiona studied him suspiciously. “And who might you be?”

“Fiona,” Dulcie put in quickly, “this is Mr. Cal Jermain. He found our boat and brought us here to his plantation.”

“Then I am in your debt, Mr. Jermain.” Fiona extended her hand. She continued to watch him warily.

He accepted her handshake. But when he tried to touch a hand to Clara’s forehead, the little girl shrank from him.

“It’s all right,” Dulcie said softly. “Mr. Jermain just wants to see if your fever has subsided.”

Cal deliberately kept his touch gentle as he pressed his fingers to the young girl’s skin. After the briefest of contacts, he lowered his hand. He saw her gaze follow his movement, then shift to his other arm, where the cuff of his shirt ended abruptly.

“You will require some nourishment,” he said, turning away. “I’ll wake Robert.”

“No.” Dulcie wriggled off the bed. “It’s enough that we cost you your sleep. Please don’t wake Robert. I can see to their needs.”

He tried not to stare at the bare feet, the shapely ankles, peeking out from beneath her petticoat. “As you wish, Miss Trenton. Come along.” He lifted a candle from the table beside Fiona’s bed. “I’ll give you some assistance.”

Cal led the way to the kitchen and lit a lantern to dispel the gloom. Soon, with a fire on the hearth, the empty room took on a warm glow.

Without a word, Cal disappeared.

Dulcie filled a kettle from a bucket of water and placed it over the fire to boil. Then she split half a dozen biscuits and drizzled them with honey before placing them on a warming shelf above the fireplace.

When the water boiled, she wrapped a linen square around her hand and lifted the blackened kettle from the fire. Turning, she was surprised to see Cal standing at the table with a bucket of milk, which he poured into several glasses.

“I thought you’d gone to bed.” She felt a flush creep into her cheeks.

“No point in trying to sleep now. Besides, the cow would need milking in a few hours. I thought I’d save Dar the trouble. And I figured the children might be feeling hungry.”

He reached over her to a high shelf. As he did, his hand brushed the top of her head. The softness of her hair against his skin caused a pleasant sensation. Though he hadn’t intended it, he slowed his movements in order to better enjoy the moment.

What was it about this woman that heightened all his senses? Standing here, barely touching, he became aware of the soft scent of her, like a meadow after a spring rain. Though the shawl preserved her modesty, he could tell that the body beneath the opaque chemise and petticoat was perfectly formed. Long legs. Rounded hips. A slender waist. A shadowy cleft between high, firm breasts. The pale column of throat. And a face so fair, so lovely, it made his heart skip a beat.

He removed a small pouch containing tea and spices. “Aunt Bessie swears by their healing properties,” he said as he measured some into a cup.

Dulcie poured the water, inhaling their fragrance. “I don’t know if this can truly heal, but it smells wonderful.”

“Then fix yourself a cup. And one for me,” he added impulsively, sprinkling the precious spiced tea into two more cups.

He couldn’t imagine why he’d said that. It had been years since he’d tasted Aunt Bessie’s tea. And even more years since he’d done something so spontaneous. But the tea and spices did smell wonderful. And it was a small compensation for having missed his sleep.

When everything was arranged on a heavy silver tray, Cal picked it up, deftly balancing one side on his maimed arm. He indicated the lantern. “Lead the way, Miss Trenton.”

He followed her along the hallway and up the stairs, achingly aware of the sway of her hips beneath the petticoat. If the very proper Miss Dulcie Trenton knew what he was thinking, he would certainly taste her temper again. Only this time, instead of a basket of sheets, he might find himself wearing a tray of biscuits, milk and hot tea.

He could still taste that first shocking kiss. A second one would be worth whatever punishment she meted out. The thought brought a smile to his lips, which he quickly erased as she shoved open the door to Fiona’s room.

At the sight of milk and biscuits, little Emily clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, Dulcie! Is this a party?”

“Indeed it is. We are celebrating Clara and Fiona’s return to the land of the living.” Dulcie made room on the nightstand, and Cal set down the tray.

“Aunt Bessie’s spiced tea for you, Fiona,” Dulcie announced as she handed her friend a cup.

“Aunt Bessie?”

“She is Mr. Jermain’s aunt. She asked us to call her Aunt Bessie while we are here.”

Clara accepted a glass of milk and asked solemnly, “How long will that be?”

Everyone glanced at Cal. Aware of the tense silence that had descended upon them, he weighed his words carefully. They were, after all, an inconvenience to him and his family. But it seemed unnecessary to spoil the moment.

“I’m sure you will be eager to leave as soon as both Fiona and Clara are strong enough to travel by boat to the mainland.”

“Do you mean Charleston?” Clara asked.

“Yes. That would be the nearest town.”

“But we can’t—”

In a panic, Dulcie passed the plate under the child’s nose and said firmly, “Have a biscuit, Clara.”

Cal saw the worried glances the others exchanged.

The moment passed. Clara nibbled a biscuit and retreated into stony silence. The other children sat, heads bowed, avoiding his eyes. Even Starlight, nervously tracing a finger along the pattern on the quilt, refused to lift her head.

The little scene confirmed Cal’s worst suspicions. This bunch was hiding something. Even innocent children had been coerced into keeping the secret.

He drained his cup without taking the time to taste the delicate spices. Then he placed it on the tray and said abruptly, “I’ll bid you all good morning.”

No one spoke as Cal’s footsteps receded down the hallway.

Minutes later Dulcie gathered the empty glasses and cups and placed them on the silver tray. Turning, she kissed Clara and Fiona, then said to the others, “There’s still time for an hour or more of sleep before the day begins. I suggest we put it to good use”

She lifted the candle and led her little party to their rooms. Then she headed downstairs with the tray. But as she stepped into the kitchen, she realized her mistake.

Cal had not gone back to bed. He was standing by the window, staring out over the moonlit fields. When he turned to her, there was an ominous look in his eyes.

“What is it you and the others are hiding, Miss Trenton?”

Dulcie’s breath backed up in her throat. Setting down the tray, she turned away, intent on leaving without a response. But his hand on her sleeve stopped her.

“I demand an answer, Miss Trenton.”

She lifted her chin in that infuriating way and turned to face him. “What you ask is none of your concern, Mr. Jermain.”

“The fact that you have taken refuge in my home makes it my concern, Miss Trenton. I want no trouble brought to my doorstep. The war has left my family weary beyond belief.”

Her own tone deepened with passion. “I will remind you that yours was not the only family touched by the war. We are all weary. But we must go on if we are to survive.”

Anger made him careless. Without taking time to consider his actions, he dragged her close, until her face was mere inches from his. Hot breath fanned her cheek as he growled, “Woman, you try my patience to the limit. Now tell me what it is that sent you fleeing into the eye of a storm.”

She tried to pull away, but his strength was too great. The fire in his eyes frightened her, but she would never let him know that. Instead, she fought back with haughty indignation. “You go too far, sir. Release me at once.”

“Tell me why you are running.”

Dulcie froze.

Seeing her reaction he said, “If it is in my power, I will help you. But you must be honest with me.”

She struggled to push free of his arms, but he held her fast. “Damn you, woman. Trust me.”

She gave a sound that might have been a harsh laugh. Her throat was so constricted she could barely get the words out. “If the war has taught me one thing, it is not to trust anyone.” Anger darkened her eyes. “Certainly not a man who tries to force his will on me.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed as though he’d been struck. Without a word he turned away and strode from the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

For long minutes Dulcie stood, listening to the sound of his footfall as he stalked to the barn. If only she was free to confide in him. But she dared not. She had sworn the others to secrecy. She would not be the one to break the vow.

For now, she must live in a prison of her own making. And there was no room in that prison for the embittered Cal Jermain.

Chapter Five

As Dulcie and Starlight entered the dining room for the morning meal, they were met by Aunt Bessie.

“Good morning.” The older woman studied them both with a cool, calculating look that had Dulcie’s cheeks blooming. “Are the children still abed?”

“Yes. I thought I would let them sleep awhile.” Dulcie glanced around the table, noting with relief that Cal was missing. “I see they are not the only ones still sleeping.”

Barc gave a short laugh. “If you mean my brother, Miss Trenton, you are mistaken. Cal has been out in the fields since sunup.”

“Oh, dear. We disturbed his sleep, I fear,” Starlight said in dismay.

“Cal?” Barclay shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about him. Since his return from the war, he rarely sleeps more than a few hours a night.”

“Does his wound still pain him?” Starlight asked.

“To which wound do you refer?” Barc sipped hot, strong coffee and watched as the two young women helped themselves to food from the sideboard.

At Dulcie’s urging, Starlight filled her plate. Satisfied that the girl was eating enough to regain her strength, Dulcie helped herself to eggs and a biscuit and took her seat at the table.

Starlight arched a brow. “I don’t understand. How many wounds has your brother suffered?”

“There is the obvious one,” Barc said, “and I suppose the loss of a hand would be enough to do in most men. But Cal carries other, hidden wounds, as well.”

“Hidden?” Starlight said softly.

Beside her, Dulcie went very still.

Barc glanced at his aunt, who was frowning in disapproval.

“It is not proper to discuss such personal matters with strangers,” she protested.

He shrugged. “Aunt Bessie, Cal is not the first man whose beloved refused to wait for him while he was off fighting the war.”

His revelation had Dulcie reeling. She could imagine Cal’s pain at returning, broken in body and spirit, only to find that the woman he loved had deserted him. That would explain at least some of his bitterness.

And then another thought intruded. Sarah. The woman’s name was Sarah. That was what Cal had called her in the boat. She shivered, recalling dark, angry eyes, the threatening, ominous stance. Did she look like Sarah? she wondered. Was that why he was forever scowling at her?

“Fortunately,” Barc added with a chuckle, “I do not share my brother’s problems. In fact, quite the contrary. There were so many ladies waiting for my return I was forced to lavish attention on dozens of them. It’s quite exhausting work, which continues to drain me more with each passing evening.”

Dulcie managed to smile at his joke, grateful that he always seemed able to relieve the tension. But his aunt was still frowning.

When Robert appeared at Dulcie’s side with a cup of tea, she accepted gratefully. “Thank you, Robert,” she murmured. “Where would you like us to begin work today?”

He looked beyond her to Aunt Bessie, who said, “You can begin on the upper floor today. I would like the bedrooms thoroughly cleaned and aired.” She wrinkled her nose and added, “Barclay’s room positively reeks of cigar smoke whenever I pass by. And Darwin has accumulated so many books it’s a wonder he is able to find his bed.”

Across the table, Dar blushed clear to his toes, but as was his custom, he said nothing in his own defense.

Starlight’s eyes danced with unconcealed joy. “You have books to read, Dar?”

When he merely nodded, Barc answered for him. “It’s my younger brother’s passion. I believe he would rather read than eat or sleep.”

“I envy you,” the young woman said shyly.

“Would…would you care to borrow one or two of my books?” Dar asked.

Starlight was suddenly as shy as he. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly. But thank you.”

Both of them seemed to become deeply engrossed in the food on their plates.

Barc pushed away from the table. “It’s time we got to work. By now, Cal has probably plowed another acre. Or five. He seems in an especially dark mood today. That always means more work than usual.”

Dar stood and followed him from the room without a word. For a moment Aunt Bessie watched them go with a look of sadness in her eyes. Then, as if pulling herself back from her thoughts, she faced the two young women.

“You may begin with Barclay’s room. I’ll send the children along to help after they’ve eaten their breakfast.” As Dulcie and Starlight got up from the table, she added, “But don’t bother with Calhoun’s room. He left word that he did not want anything disturbed.”

Barc’s room did indeed reek of cigar smoke. And whiskey. A crystal decanter of aged bourbon stood on the nightstand, along with an impressive array of legal tomes, which showed evidence of having been much read.

Dulcie and Starlight threw open the windows and stripped the bedding. At Dulcie’s insistence, Starlight was allowed to help only with lighter tasks, which would not tax her fragile strength.

With Robert’s help Dulcie hauled the feather mattress outside, where she beat it and left it in the sun to air. When the children had finished breakfast, they helped scrub the floors until they gleamed, under the stern, watchful eye of Aunt Bessie. Nathaniel again worked on the stones of the fireplace until all the soot had been removed.

In Dar’s room Dulcie and Starlight found a lantern still burning beside a pile of books on his night table.

“Absentminded,” Starlight muttered as she began to clean the blackened chimney of the lantern.

“Look at all the books!” Dulcie exclaimed.

There were history books stacked on the hearth. Books on astronomy, science, biology on a table near the window. Mathematics books, English textbooks, poetry peeking out from beneath his bed.

“Do you think anyone could read all these?” Starlight asked.

“Of course,” Dulcie replied. “Why else would they be here?”

Starlight seemed awestruck as she flipped through the pages. “So many things to read. To understand. To know. He must be…brilliant.”

Dulcie found herself agreeing, though she said nothing. The shy man who inhabited this room showed a curious, questing mind. It would seem, she thought as she and Starlight filled a pitcher with fresh water and returned clean rugs to the floor, that Dar Jermain was more complex than he appeared. Though the man said very little, he was obviously well versed on a variety of subjects.

Aunt Bessie’s room was a curious mix of neatness and clutter. Her huge four-poster was mounded with pillows.

“Seven,” Starlight exclaimed in surprise as she began removing them. “Imagine that. How can anyone use seven pillows?”

“Perhaps she’s a restless sleeper,” Dulcie said as she stripped the rest of the bedding.

Aunt Bessie’s armoire was a model of efficiency, her gowns hung in orderly rows, shoes set in pairs beneath, hats and gloves laid out on a shelf above. Her jewelry, on the other hand, carelessly spilled from a satin case and covered almost every inch of her dressing table. The mantel above the fireplace was crammed with more crystal figurines, heavy silver candlesticks, various bric-a-brac and souvenirs from Bessie’s world travels.

A chaise was pulled up in front of the fireplace. Tossed negligently over it was an ornate Oriental dressing gown.

“Dulcie,” Starlight called, tracing a finger over the patterns on the silk, “whatever are these?”

“They would appear to be Chinese characters,” Dulcie said.

“Do you think Aunt Bessie has been all the way to China?”

Dulcie smiled. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“Just think,” Starlight said with a sigh. “She has led such an exciting life, and I’ve never been anywhere except Charleston. And, of course, this island.”

Dulcie glanced out the window, her gaze drawn to the figures working in the distant field. “Papa used to say it doesn’t matter where you live. It’s how you live that counts.”

It was dinnertime. Upstairs in the hallway Clara clutched Dulcie’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white from the effort. She and Fiona were about to be presented to the household, and she was plainly nervous. Dulcie gave her a reassuring smile, and when Fiona and the others joined them, the group descended the stairs.

As they entered the dining room, Cal, Barc and Dar were standing to one side of the room talking among themselves. All three men had, as usual, changed from their work garb into white shirts and dark suits.

Aunt Bessie, already seated at the head of the table, wore a gown of black satin, with a rope of iridescent pearls that shimmered in the candlelight. Her hair had been swept up into an elegant knot secured with jeweled combs.

Dulcie led Fiona and Clara to her chair and said, “Aunt Bessie, this is my friend, Fiona O’Neil. And this,” she said, keeping her hands on the little girl’s shoulders to lend her courage, “is Clara.”

“At last we can be formally introduced,” Aunt Bessie said. “I am pleased you feel strong enough to join us.” She made an elegant, sweeping gesture with her hand. “May I present my nephews, Calhoun, Barclay and Darwin.”

The three men nodded stiffly.

“Come and sit,” Aunt Bessie invited. “Miss O’Neil, take the seat beside me. I should like to hear more about the adventure that caused your injury.”

Fiona shot a glance at Dulcie before taking the proffered chair. She was aware that the three men had suddenly taken a keen interest in her conversation as they seated themselves.

“Aye,” Fiona said softly, “’Twas indeed an adventure. When the storm broke above us, I thought we’d breathed our last. Imagine my surprise at waking up in a fine bed surrounded by such luxury.”

“Will your family not be worried?” Aunt Bessie asked sharply.

Fiona’s brogue thickened. “I’ve no family here in America. And no one to worry over the likes of me. Only Dulcie and Starlight and the children. We look out for one another.” Her loving gaze swept all of them.

The Jermain family saw that affection returned in the eyes of their guests.

Aunt Bessie summoned Robert, who entered carrying a silver tray. When he lifted the domed lid, the room was suddenly filled with the fragrance of roast turkey with sage dressing and wild rice.

“Robert can work wonders with wild game,” Aunt Bessie boasted as he circled the table.

Dulcie was grateful for his presence. Though she had warned Fiona and Clara about Aunt Bessie’s sharp tongue and keen powers of observation, she was not eager to see the little girl go through the same interrogation as Fiona. She was, in fact, determined to keep Clara as far away from Aunt Bessie as possible.

As if reading her mind, the older woman pinned Clara with a look and asked, “And how about you, child? Are you also without family?”

“This is my family,” Clara said solemnly. “Dulcie and Fiona and Starlight, and Emily and Belle and…Nathaniel.” The little boy’s name was spoken reluctantly, as though she regretted having to consider him family.

“And no one searches for any of you?”

“Searches…?” Clara turned wide eyes on Dulcie before lowering her head to stare at a spot on the table.

Robert chose that moment to pause beside Clara’s chair.

“Help yourself, little missy.”

When her hands began to tremble, Dulcie took the serving fork and filled Clara’s plate and then her own.

“Thank you, Robert,” she murmured. He would never know how grateful she was for that little interruption. Or had he done it deliberately?

As he took his seat at the table, Dulcie turned to Aunt Bessie. “I hope you don’t mind if we ask a blessing upon our food?”

“Do you really believe He can keep track of so many of us, Miss Trenton?” Without waiting for a reply the older woman turned to her middle nephew. “Would you like to lead us in prayer, Barclay?”

“I’m out of practice,” he said as Dulcie and the others clasped hands beneath the tablecloth, “but I’ll do my best.” He paused. “Heavenly Father, bless this charming company, especially the two who have been given the strength to finally join us, and bless this fine food, which You have so generously provided.”

“Amen,” chimed in the others.

“I see your oratorical skills did not fail you,” Aunt Bessie said dryly. “Now if only you could pass them along to your brothers.” She turned to Cal. “How is the planting coming?”

“Slow.” He dragged his gaze from Dulcie, who had taken great pains to soothe the anxious little girl beside her. There was more going on here than met the eye. All of them were afraid of something or someone. He pulled his thoughts back to his aunt’s question. “The storm ruined one field of seedlings. That set us back about a week or more. Looks like another storm is brewing. If it hits, we’ll probably have another washout.”

“What we need are a dozen more field hands,” Barc said wryly. “Dar and I can’t keep up with Cal’s plowing. He’s like a man possessed, working from sunup to sundown. I believe he’d work through the night if he could.”

Nathaniel’s head came up. “I could help,” he said around a mouthful of sweet potatoes.

Barc’s eyes warmed with amusement. “You’re not quite what I had in mind, lad.”

“But I’m a good worker. Tell him, Dulcie,” the boy pleaded. “Tell him I could help.”

She studied his earnest expression a moment before saying softly, “Indeed you could, Nathaniel. In fact—” her voice rose with excitement “—we could all help with the planting.”

“It isn’t fit work for women and children,” Cal said sternly.

“But—” Dulcie began.

“I quite agree,” Aunt Bessie said emphatically.

From the tone of her voice, Dulcie knew the subject was closed.

“And furthermore,” the older woman went on, “I have repeatedly instructed you children to speak only when spoken to. I hope I should not have to remind you again.” She stared pointedly at Nathaniel. “Especially when your mouth is full.”

“Yes’m,” he said, ducking his head.

“Robert,” Aunt Bessie said sharply, “we will take our coffee and dessert in the parlor.”

With that command, she swooped from the room on Cal’s arm, leaving the others to follow in her wake.

When they entered the parlor, Fiona decided to ask about the portrait above the fireplace. “Who are these handsome people?”

“Our parents.” Barc’s tone was warm with affection.

“Cal looks like his father,” Starlight said.

“Indeed he does,” Aunt Bessie agreed. “And he was named for him. My brother, Calhoun, was a well-respected judge here in the Carolinas. Barclay and Darwin more resemble their mother. Catherine was a true lady, educated in the finest schools and a much-loved teacher herself. From the day she married my brother, she became my best friend. I miss her every day.”

“Have they been…gone long?” Starlight asked hesitantly.

“Three years now. Catherine followed Calhoun to the grave by less than a month. I will always believe she died of a broken heart.” Aunt Bessie sighed. “Brought about, not only by the death of her dear husband, but by the fact that all three of her sons were off fighting, and not one of them could be here in her hour of need. That damnable war,” she muttered as she sank into an overstuffed chair and was rewarded by a gasp from little Clara at her profanity. Her voice rose. “I shall never forgive those Yankees for what they did to my beloved South.”

“Not all of the destruction was done by Yankees,” Dulcie said sharply.

“What sort of traitorous talk is that, girl?” Aunt Bessie rounded on her. “Did you see what General Sherman did to our land? He ordered his soldiers to burn our crops, kill our flocks and level our buildings.”

“I am aware of that,” Dulcie said. “But I still say there were many who contributed to our downfall. And not all of them outsiders.”

“You are quite right.” Cal’s words, spoken softly, had everyone turning to him. “There is no one alive in this country, North or South, who was untouched by the war.”

“I suppose so.” Aunt Bessie sighed, her sudden flare of anger deflected by her nephew’s words. “And I have no right to complain, for our little family is intact.”

Robert moved among them, dispensing coffee and milk and small plates on which rested thick slices of cake drizzled with raspberry preserves.

Clara, perched on a chaise between Fiona and Dulcie, stared long and hard at the precious cake on her plate, as if unable to believe her eyes.

“You mean I can eat all of it?” she whispered.

Cal, overhearing, watched as Dulcie assured the little girl that she could. When the child’s cake had been devoured, Dulcie offered hers, as well, but Clara shook her head solemnly.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” she said.

Dulcie dared not argue with Clara’s rigid sense of right and wrong. To appease her, she ate half her cake, then coaxed Clara to eat the other half by insisting that she was too full to eat another crumb. Soon the child’s eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned her head on Dulcie’s shoulder.

“Come, Clara,” Dulcie whispered.

Before she could rouse the child, Cal scooped her into his arms. “If you’ll lead the way, Miss Trenton, I’ll carry her. I think she’s had quite enough on her first day out of bed.”

“Thank you.” She lifted a candle from the table.

As she started toward the door, Fiona said, “There is no need to return for the other children, Dulcie. Starlight and I can see the children to their beds.”

“I bid you all good-night then,” Dulcie called from the doorway.

She led the way up the curving staircase, her heartbeat accelerating with every step. She pushed open the door to Clara’s room, set the candle on the nightstand and drew back the covers, then stepped aside so that Cal could deposit the sleeping child in bed. Bending, she tucked the covers around Clara’s shoulders and brushed a kiss over her forehead.

She straightened and turned. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Cal didn’t say a word. He merely stared at her in that deep, penetrating way that made her scalp prickle with discomfort.

Alarmed, she picked up the candle from the nightstand. “I will say good-night now, Mr. Jermain.”

She was startled when, as she headed toward the door, he stopped her with a hand on her arm and blew out the candle, leaving them in only the faint light from the hallway. The candle slipped from her fingers and would have fallen to the floor had he not caught it and set it on the chest of drawers.

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