Flight of the Hawk, page 4
“You are a disgrace. You are his older brother. He should have been able to trust you. It must have been so hard for you to take orders from your younger brother. You always were dumber than him.” She taunted him recklessly.
“You’re a liar. I don’t know this Steven person.”
“Ballocks. We both know you’re Steven Morgan. I know because, you asshole, you have blond hair and blue eyes. No amount of mud will cover your hair color. And even though you keep your eyes downcast, they are still blue. Your brother, on the other hand, has thick brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes. Not to mention that I would know him from a mile away. No, I am sure, you are Steven. There is no way you’re Trace, and when he finds out what you did… Well, if I cared what happened to you, I would feel sorry for you. But I don’t, so I won’t.”
Leona stepped back. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a chain with two rings. One was Trace’s academy ring. The second ring had been a gift to Trace from his father. “I hope you know what these are. Something he would never part with, not while he was alive. If you are Colonel Morgan, then where is your ring? Goodbye, Steven.”
She left without another word. They had set him up to be killed. Leona could feel the stare of the phony colonel boring holes into her back as she walked away. Shoulders straight, she never let him know how much he scared her.
Back at the darkened home, Trace shook with anger that she was so frightened and he could do nothing to help her. He had no way of finding the town even if he could see. Being blind didn’t do anything but complicate the situation even more.
He was so angry at his helplessness that he struck out at anything in his way. Again. Within moments her home was like a storm had blown through.
He knew when she returned and could hear her sharp intake of disbelief. She dropped her purchases on the floor in shock. “What the hell happened here?”
Trace stumbled over to her. He was furious as his gaze sightlessly sought out her face.
“Who was the man that you let paw you all over? Is that why you didn’t want me to come with you? Were you scared that he might not want you, seeing you with a man from ‘the other side of the war’?”
“What did you do to my house?”
“How the hell should I know? I’m blind, remember?” he sneered at her.
“My house. What did you do to my house?” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Blind, yes, but I didn’t think that you would be this disrespectful. What makes you think that I let a man paw all over me?”
“I felt it.” Even to his anger-clouded mind, that didn’t seem like a logical reason. “I just… I just know. You smell like a man was touching you. And you smell like you were around a man that was very dirty.”
“Impressive.” He wasn’t sure what to make of the change in her tone. She gripped his arm and cleared her throat. “The war is over. Apparently you are alive and in prison. I spoke with you today. Funny thing, though. You have blond hair and blue eyes.”
Trace sat down heavily on the bed. The war was over? The war was over! He was in the prison? The only person who would be able to pull off passing as him would be…
“The bastard,” he seethed. “It was planned all along.” All the pieces fell into place and the veil of fog that had been over his eyes was lifted.
“I should have known when I saw them together, whispering, and they said it was about my birthday. Damn her. Damn him.” Trace didn’t even acknowledge that there were tears falling from his eyes. His brain was working out the problem and coming up with a suitable punishment for his brother and his wife.
Elle sat silently through the whole tirade. After a while she asked, “So who are you really? If that man is who you say you are, then who are you?”
He faced the direction her voice had come from. “I am the true Colonel Morgan. He is an imposter.”
“Why should I believe you? It’s not like you have anything on you to prove who you are.”
“I’m blind. Why would I lie about who I am? I never said anything different about who I was. Do you believe me?” He pleaded for her to believe his words.
“Well, if you were trying to plant yourself as a spy, getting a head injury wasn’t the best way to go about doing it. And your story hasn’t changed about who you are, so very well, I’ll take your word for it.”
“What can you tell me about the man who calls himself me? Does he have anything that you remember that sticks out in your mind?”
“Besides his smell?”
A small chuckle. “Yes, besides that.” She could make him laugh even in the midst of all this bad news. Again in the back of his mind came a small yet persistent tingle of recognition, but he just couldn’t put a face he should remember with the feeling.
“Let me see… He was about as tall as you, but even under that dirt in his hair it was easy to tell that he was blond. His shoulders weren’t as broad as yours. He didn’t move with the same effortless grace that you do.”
Elle didn’t have any idea what her description was doing to Trace. He had completely focused on her words and was imagining how he looked through her eyes. It was very erotic for him, to find out how she pictured him.
It wasn’t just her words alone. They created a misty or hazy image in his mind and he could almost see what her words described. To her Trace was a tall, proud man. Handsome.
“I guess the one thing about him that stood out… Well, there were two things. One, a scar on his left cheek, down toward his chin.”
Trace knew that scar. He had given it to his brother Steven in a fight when he had been sixteen and Steven had been twenty. He had been ganged up on by his brothers for the last time and soundly beaten the tar out of his older brother.
“And the second thing?” His voice was hard with painful memories.
“His eyes.” Elle spoke slowly, as if unsure how her words would be accepted. “While they were blue they were scary in some way. It’s like…well, like…” She searched for the right word. “Soulless. They were soulless. It was like looking into the eyes of the devil himself.”
‘Soulless. It was like looking into the eyes of the devil himself.’ Trace had heard that description of his brother once before. But where? Who’d said that to him?
Why was this an important memory for him to remember? Why can’t I remember? Fists clenched as he searched for those lost memories that seemed always just out of reach.
It was his brother Steven. He knew that. Their eldest brother had been killed years earlier by a jealous husband who had found his wife and their brother David in bed together. After that, it was just Steven and Trace. Steven was the worst by far.
Steven was very hard on his slaves. He beat his wife for no reason and would kill a slave after blaming them for touching her. He was pure evil. So much more evil than David had ever been. Growing up with him had taught Trace how to defend himself at a young age.
But to plan his own brother’s murder… Was Steven really capable of that? Of course he was. He had always resented the fact that Trace had made colonel and he had to salute him. Hated that he was just a private in the army. Steven even thought that Bethany should have been his. Well, apparently, she really was.
Curiously, though, Trace wasn’t all that saddened about losing her. His son would be another story. If he was even his own son. He did love Garrett Hawkins Morgan with all his heart and always would, no matter if he was his flesh and blood or not.
Trace swallowed down his rage. Now was not the time for fury. It was the time for decisions. He waited for Elle to continue with her account of her day. When there were no more words forthcoming, he used his nose to find her scent and faced the direction where he believed her to be. And prodded.
“Is that it? What else did you do?” Why was he more concerned about the fact she had spent time with another male in town? It was like he was at the edge of a cliff waiting for her answer.
“I ate with a friend and went to the jail. Nothing more, besides getting some needed supplies.”
Trace barely suppressed the growl of rage at the thought of her eating with another male. Laughing for another man.
Chapter Five
Elle began to make them something to dine on. Trace was content to stay quiet and think on what she had told him. His blood still boiled at the thought of his brother’s and his wife’s betrayal.
But as he sat there and listened to the now familiar sounds of Elle in the kitchen, his blood slowly cooled. He could do nothing now, but soon.
When he was better, he would take care of things. Steven would wish he had never even sustained the notion of betraying his brother again.
Trace’s head fell back against the cool wall as he listened to Elle hum softly to herself as she cooked.
He lost himself in more memories of the past. Ones he’d thought he’d buried long ago.
* * * *
Trace, aged sixteen
Maybe, just maybe, it was a lie. He hoped so.
The door had opened slowly and with caution, however, and two blond heads had blocked out the little bit of light as they’d peeked in at their brother sitting in there trussed up tighter than a Christmas pig.
Their faces had been full of demonic joy as they’d sneered at him. An unholy light had filled their gazes as they’d told him the details.
“There was so much blood. Can you believe how much there was? Fifteen lashes. Fifteen! It was amazing to watch.” This had been from his oldest brother, David.
Steven had spoken then. “Don’t forget how it was to watch the whip breaking across her skin. It was a work of art to see the skin, her tender skin, separating under the force of each stroke of the lash.”
Tied up, he’d strained against his ropes, his face becoming mottled with rage combined with the exertion of pulling on the ropes. He’d spat around the filthy gag that had been in his mouth as he’d ranted and raved, and Trace knew his eyes had burned with vehemence. His struggles had been futile however, and the two older boys had wickedly egged him on.
David, the eldest, had continued telling his story. “We all got to see her naked. For a slave, she was pretty cute all stripped down. If I had known what she looked like I would have had her like you did.”
“Me too. I would have liked to sample that one. I bet she was a nice fuck.” That had been from Steven, the middle child.
“Not that it matters now, for Dad says he’s going to breed her to Big Jake. I bet he’ll tear her up good when he takes her to bed,” David had said, laughing at the prospect of causing the slave more pain.
The boys had jerked up their younger brother and dragged him out of the closet. Ripping off his gag, they’d begun to beat him. It had been as if witnessing the whipping had made them excited and this was the only way they knew to expend their bloodlust.
So, tied up and completely unable to defend himself, the youngest brother had taken hit after hit, kick after kick, until his body had been covered in bruises and blood had streamed from open cuts. After his brothers had beaten him into unconsciousness, they’d untied him and put him in his bed.
He’d stayed in his bed for two weeks, until he’d been healed completely. He never forgave his brothers, and had spent the much of his time trying to find out what had happened to the girl, without his father’s knowledge. She and her mom had escaped. He had never seen her again since the day they’d been yanked out of each other’s arms by his angry father.
Now, despite owning slaves and being married, he still had never forgotten about that young girl. The one who had befriended him, the one who had been a true friend, the one he hadn’t been able to protect. Couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect her.
Her memory lived on in the back of his mind, far enough back that he could say to himself that he had gotten over her, over his shame of failure, and that she was forgotten. Although he knew that was a lie, for no matter how fast or hard he ran, she was always there behind him, blaming him, accusing him.
Leona knew he had awoken from whatever thoughts had taken him. She could feel the direction of his thoughts. It was comforting to her to sense that he wished he could have protected her more when they were younger. It made her feel special.
“You are special.” His voice broke through the path she wandered down in her mind.
Leona almost dropped the bowl of potatoes that she was carrying to the table. How had he known what she was thinking? Was he testing her? Did he really know who she was?
“Thank you, I think. What made you say that?”
“Not many people would do what you have done for me. That alone makes you special.”
With the table filled with food, Leona turned to look at her blind guest, eagerly drinking her fill of his ruggedly handsome and defiantly good looks. His recovery had been amazing. His face was no longer overly gaunt, but healthy. Nicely firm lips sat on a face that spoke of power, and an ageless strength made her weak in the knees.
His eyes, although sightless to him, were a rich warm chocolate-brown to her. They were magnetic, and drew her like a moth to a flame, speaking in volumes. He had thick lashes that framed his eyes like a lover holding onto his woman.
The walking they had done outside had filled him back out. His body had become lean with a sinewy strength. Powerful shoulders, broad chest. He was a beautiful man and she enjoyed looking at his attractive and very tempting male physique.
Her mouth had gone dry as a barren wasteland and her breathing had become hitched. Leona’s eyes fluttered as her thoughts began to fill with desire.
Leona realized the second he knew what she had been thinking. His face got a look on it that men get when they know they are desired. His eyes flared with a response to her own desire and one side of his mouth quirked up in an attempt to keep the smirk off his face.
“Are you ready to eat?” Leona asked as she walked over to him. Determined not to let him know that she knew he knew how she felt. Her voice, however, was nothing more than a husky whisper.
He answered in words that held a faint tremor, as if some unknown emotion touched him. Deep and sensual, his timbre sent through her body a ripple of awareness. “I couldn’t be more ready.”
Somehow she didn’t think that it was dinner he spoke of.
His arm reached out for hers. At the contact of skin on skin, both of them felt the current of energy. He rose smoothly beside her and waited for her to lead him to the table.
Dinner was eaten in silence as each was lost in their own personal thoughts. Over the time they had been together, Trace had gotten better at eating. Leona was careful to place things in the same spots, just as she had done for her mother. She learned that for her mother it was to make sure she didn’t feel so helpless, and she wanted it to be the same for him. Trace was proven with his quick study and learning of how to function blind. He learned where everything was and didn’t seem to fumble as much anymore.
“Will you go on a walk with me after dinner?” Trace interrupted her thoughts as she ate.
“A walk? After dinner? Yes. I think that would be a lovely idea.”
With dinner and clean-up over, they got ready to go on a stroll.
Arm in arm, they exited out of her house. Leona instinctively headed up the trail toward the mountains. She was heading to her favorite spot to just sit and think—and where she got her ideas.
They moved in companionable silence up the path. When they finally got to her clearing, she spoke up. Her spoken words were low, soft and clear. “Don’t go much past where we’ll be sitting. There is an edge. It’s about fifty steps forward from where we’ll sit.”
It was on the tip of Trace’s tongue to ask why she would take him to a place where he could hurt himself. Immediately he was angry that she didn’t seem to care about him. But then he sensed a feeling of contentment emerge from her that banished his anger back to where it belonged, under control.
Trace sank to the ground by her feet and leaned his back up against the log she sat on, content to just be close to her. She was calm, and he knew that this place held some special meaning for her.
“What is this place?” Trace’s murmured voice was hushed.
“My favorite place in the world. We’re on the side of the mountain. I come here to watch the sunsets. My mom and I used to come here together. She loved this place. Even after she lost her sight, we still came at least once a week. Mama always said that she could still see the sunsets. She said that their colors smelled beautiful.” Leona’s statement cracked with emotion. “I still feel close to her when I am here.”
Trace sought her hand and picked it up in one of his own, offering silent comfort. Threading their fingers together, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her thumb and the back of her silken hand. “What do you see right now? Can you explain it to me? Let me see it through your eyes.”
Lost in the sensation of his touch, it took her a moment to process his request. When it registered, she opened her eyes and looked out over the magnificent view her mountains presented.
Leona opened herself up to him completely. She allowed him to see the world through her eyes. “Well, the sun is going down between two of the largest mountains. There are about six peaks that you can see from here. Some with snow, some without. There is a river that snakes into the mountains that the sun is reflecting off of. The sky is a multitude of colors, vibrant colors. Beautiful colors. The colors blend together making almost new ones. Blues, purples, reds, oranges, yellows. It is absolutely amazing.”
She shifted on the grass, took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. “Just sitting here makes one realize what in life is really important. It kind of makes me feel small. There’s a pair of eagles flying on the wind currents. Down by the stream is a family of deer drinking water and eating the rich grass. It is perfect harmony. Here and now, the world is perfect. There is no ugliness, only beauty.” Leona stopped, unable to continue speaking amidst the beauty.
