Isabeau opened her mouth to tell him to move, then noticed the glint of humor in his eyes as he quickly glanced at her hair and then away.
She put a hand up to her hair, felt a small twig and pulled it out. Looking down, her pretty green skirt had suffered a tear at the hem.
Grinning slightly, Malry reached out and pried another twig from her hair, with less than a gentle hand.
She stepped back, slapping away his hand. "Stop that."
"You look as if the hounds have been on your tail."
"Well, they might as well have been," she muttered. "Please move."
"Appease my curiosity: who was the shrieking woman?"
"Mrs. Sanderly."
He rubbed the bristly dark beard on his chin, and Isabeau had a notion he was trying not to laugh. "You have been to Sanderly Manor once, and already you've alienated that woman?"
"I don't slop pigs."
He didn't hide his amusement. Unable to help herself, Isabeau felt a grin pull at her own lips. "I suppose it was funny, in a crazy, dysfunctional way," she admitted. "But it's nothing you have to concern yourself about," she said airily.
"I concern myself. I am responsible for you being here. You are lucky you boarded The Lady."
"You're only indirectly responsible," Isabeau said dismissively. "Hawk hinted something terrible could have happened if I'd landed on a different ship."
Puffing out his cheeks, he rocked back on his heels. "Aye, the Cap'n would know of misery on some ships," he muttered, spitting tobacco juice into the bushes.
Curious, she asked, "Has Hawk been a stowaway?"
"No."
"Belva said he was kidnapped when he was younger."
Malry eyed her. "You're a nosey bugger -- you ask too many questions."
"You brought it up, but of course I want to know what happened."
"Perhaps you imagine intrigue where there is none."
"Listen, if you don't know the answer, just say so." Isabeau shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll ask Hawk."
"It is best if you don't." He squinted his eyes at her, then added, "As a young lad it's true the Cap'n was kidnapped."
"That's terrible!"
"Aye, impressed, more like. There are some on the seas who use unscrupulous means to obtain free labor."
"How did you meet up with Hawk? Were you a seaman on the same ship? Were you impressed, too?"
For some reason her words afforded Malry a measure of amusement.
"No, lass, I was not impressed along with the Cap'n. We met later, quite by accident. Perhaps one day I shall relate that tale."
"Not a wise choice, Malry. It would be a squeamish tale to tell a lady," Hawk said dryly from behind them.
Chapter Six
Isabeau threw Malry a narrowed glance, wondering if he had laid a trap for her. Malry merely stared at her, his face giving nothing away.
Hawk, dressed in dark shirt and breeches, was coated head-to-toe in a fine film of dust. His hair, unbound on his shoulders, was dark and wind-tossed.
"Any problem collecting the ledgers?" he asked casually. "I was surprised when Aunt mentioned she'd asked you to go."
"I had nothing else to do." She hesitated, then admitted, "Not really trouble, but Mrs. Sanderly may have taken exception to me. She wanted me to do something."
His face remained expressionless. "A chore? It didn't take very long since you're back so quickly."
"I refused," she stated baldly. "You can think what you like."
"Refused?"
"Well," she said with a sigh, "I did part of what she wanted, but when she told me to go in there with those giant things, there was no way "
"Giant things?" Hawk repeated slowly. "What are we talking about?"
"Pigs," Malry supplied, choking back a laugh.
She jerked her head up and glared at him.
"She wanted me to feed her pigs," she stated loudly. "I refused. I don't like pigs."
Malry seemed overcome as he staggered away. She swore she could hear his guffaws all the way to the stables.
The suggestion of a smile played about Hawk's lips, but at least he didn't laugh out loud. Isabeau glared at him.
"Were you afraid of the hogs?" he asked gently, his concern evident.
Frowning, Isabeau scuffed the toe of her shoe in the dirt. "I just don't like them. When I was small, I fell into a pen of pigs. I couldn't get out."
"Mrs. Sanderly sometimes forgets things have changed since the war."
"The war?" Isabeau said dubiously. "The war's been over --"
"A long time -- but for some it's been a hard transition. Mrs. Sanderly is intent on keeping the Old South intact. She hasn't accepted we're moving into a new century. Thank you for gathering my ledgers. I will make a point of speaking with Mrs. Sanderly later today."
"Aye, smooth over any complaints," Malry muttered behind her.
Isabeau turned. "I thought you left Mr. Malry."
"I come and I go, lass," he said with a grin.
"Time is moving into a new century," Isabeau said to Hawk. "Are you looking forward to it?"
"I have no fear of the future," he said evasively, then he grimaced. "Even with this damnable memory loss."
"It's exciting, entering a new century."
Hawk nodded his head slowly. "Virginia can only improve with age. The railroads bring change, and with it comes work. One day the South will have as many large and industrial cities as the North."
"A new age," Isabeau would not be here to see it with him.
"Many predict new beginnings," and he smiled at her.
Isabeau felt the effect of his smile all the way down to her toes. Surely she wasn't foolish enough to be attracted to a man who wasn't from her own time.
"Please have Lenore put the ledgers in my study," Hawk requested. "I must visit the fields and speak with the laborers before dusk."
"Hawk?" She put her hand on his arm as he turned to leave.
He halted and turned back to her.
"Have you come to any conclusions regarding what we talked about?"
"Sadly, I have not. I am sorry that disappoints you, but you have to admit it is an incredible truth to ask someone to believe. Perhaps it is possible," he said slowly, "we both suffer from some kind of memory lapse."
"No," she said softly, "I recall my life. I just don't recall the transition from that life to this one here."
"Well, perhaps we can help you adjust to living here, for now."
Isabeau nodded, there was nothing else she could say. She wondered how she would react if she was in his shoes.
Malry and Hawk disappeared in the direction of the stables and she walked into the kitchen, hoping to find Belva or Maize, but found Lenore cleaning silver in the kitchen with one of the younger maids.
"Mr. Hawk asked that you bring these to his study."
"Thank you, miss." Lenore took the ledgers and left the room.
Since the day was too warm and beautiful to waste, Isabeau made her way outside once again. Curious about the stables, she walked the path behind the house, taking the one that led to the right, away from the river and toward the stables.
Men with pick ax tools were in narrow trenches digging what looked like a series of irrigation ditches. Malry and Hawk worked alongside them in the trenches. Isabeau sat in the grass on a small hill a short distance from where they worked, watching the men with picks and shovels, the warm sun beating down on them. A young girl from one of the nearby families brought them something cool to drink, and the men stopped their heavy work, gladly drinking down the cool lemonade and water. They set back to work after a short break, their white shirts heavily stained with sweat and dust. Wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow was filled with the rich dark soil, transferred to a low cart, then taken away to be used somewhere else. Isabeau admired Hawk and Malry's dedication to the job as they worked alongside the men they'd hired to dig the ditches.
When the sun grew uncomfortably warm, Isabeau walked across the gre
en meadow liberally dotted with wildflowers. It was such a beautiful area and she'd been so consumed with finding a way out of her current situation she had somewhat ignored her surroundings up to now.
Seeing a path into a wooded area, Isabeau veered from the meadow. She followed the path through a stand of young white birch trees and soon heard the sound of water. A shallow stream fed a small pond at the center of the woods. Delighted by the sun dappling the water's surface, Isabeau sat in the tall grass on the pond's edge. The setting felt idyllic.
Since she'd discovered the unbelievable truth of her circumstances, she had made every effort to listen to the conversations around her, hoping to find clues as to who would harm Hawk Morgan. Daily, she was in close proximity to Hawk. He struck her as a shrewd businessman, despite his apparent memory loss. When she listened to Hawk and Malry discuss plans for Hawk's Den, she realized Hawk continually looked for modern, cost-effective ways to improve his shipping business and the plantation. She wondered if it were possible someone who was jealous of his success wanted to take him down. No one had ever suggested the attempts on Hawk's life had started long ago, but it was something Isabeau mulled over. There just seemed too many coincidental accidents through the years that couldn't be dismissed. And the fact that he had been kidnapped and impressed upon a labor ship was another incident that could be related, to her way of thinking.
She learned a lot about life on the plantation from James. Although Hawk's Den did not operate on a grand scale, men and women were kept employed year round. Peanuts, corn and vegetables were grown, and the apple orchards were expected to begin making a profit this year.
Isabeau had seen the condition of the outlying cottages. The housing was comfortably pleasant and set up primarily for families. From what she had seen of the people living and working at Hawk's Den, they seemed content with their lot in these simpler times. They worked hard, were paid a fair wage, and watched their families grow up around them. At Hawk's Den the children were even provided with schooling, as James had mentioned.
Why would someone want to harm a man so helpful to the community?
Glumly, she tossed a handful of pebbles into the water. Life was increasingly difficult the longer she stayed here. Was Leif searching for her as frantically as she had tried to find him? Maybe in her own time she was dead. She shivered at that thought. She had to believe she could return. Belva had said she'd been drawn here to this time because she was in someone's heart. What did that mean?
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Isabeau pulled off the hot shoes, then pulled her skirts up tightly and waded into the pool. The hard, smooth stones beneath her feet steadied her in the cool depths.
She lifted her face to the sky, dapples of sun bright through the cover of leaves overhead. It felt an eternity since she had held a camera. Isabeau itched to take pictures. The area overflowed with photographic possibilities. She wondered if Hawk had a camera at the house.
Pulling the shoes back onto her cooled feet, Isabeau followed the creek back to Hawk's Den, delighting in the irresistible promise of something more beautiful around the corner. She stopped beside a tiny waterfall. Behind her she could just make out the outline of Hawk's Den through the evergreens. She pushed damp tendrils away from her forehead, dipping her hands into the water and splashing it on her face.
Peering through the woods, Isabeau took note of the thick covering of pines all around her. Not giving herself much time to think, she ducked into the pines and pulled her clothes off and once more removed her shoes. After hanging her clothes on the branches of a bush, she waited, but heard only her own nervous breathing.
Dipping into the creek, Isabeau sighed as the cool water enveloped her heated skin. Dull green moss hung from tree limbs, brushing her face as she stepped into the water.
She lowered her body to the frothing water, sitting on a stone seat nature had provided. The combined sensation of coarse stone and bubbling water sent an invigorating shiver along her spine.
Arching her back, she felt the goose bumps rising on her flesh. With a reminiscent smile, Isabeau recalled the times she had skinny-dipped while growing up in frigid Catskill Mountain creeks. When she was younger, her mother had caught her once and grounded her for a week, but it hadn't cured her of this forbidden delight.
Isabeau thought of her mother, Elise. She would be beside herself when she heard her daughter was missing. She had no one else in the world. Isabeau hoped to God she wasn't perceived as dead. That would surely devastate her mom.
Isabeau regretted she had let herself becomes so busy she hadn't seen much of her mother in the last several months. Leif's photography business took them all over the country. The pace was hectic and demanding, but she'd always felt the experience well worth the price of living out of two suitcases. Even though she'd joined Leif's company to help him set up for photo shoots, she had gradually taken on more responsibility under his supervision. He called her a natural with a camera. But right now all that seemed very far away.
Looking around, she knew the simpler pleasures were not meant to be ignored. It had taken this cataclysmic event to open her eyes.
"If I get out of here back to where I belong, I'm not going to forget to kick back once in a while." She wondered if she would miss Hawk, knowing she would never see him again.
#
Hawk allowed his horse more rein as he moved down the steep bank. Having traversed these woods many times previously, his mount knew the way home as well as he.
The air hung in quietness, the woods as calming as he always found them. God knows there hadn't been much calmness in his life of late. Like a toothache, the uncertainty of losing his memory tugged at him constantly. He desperately needed to find the way to bring back all his memories. He knew they were just waiting to be tapped, but aside from a few pictures flashing in his head, they remained elusive.
It was possible for a lifetime of memories to disappear in a moment. He was proof of that. Malry had given him important details and dates, but they sounded only vaguely familiar, as if he were reading the particulars in a history lesson. He had read the journal he kept close, pondering the events he'd written about over the last year. And there were other journals he'd kept, safely back at Hawk's Den. He'd read them all. He just felt he needed something to jog his memory loose. It was frustrating to go day to day, feeling like half of him was blank.
He was thirty-one years old, and that age felt right, but there was nothing else for him to tie that knowledge to. Sometimes he'd get headaches when he pushed too hard for recall.
He continued along a level area, the damp leaves beneath barely murmuring a sound. At the top of the second steep bank, Hawk pulled his horse to a halt.
He inhaled the scent of sun-warmed balsam intermingled with rain-wet bark and crushed mint. The mint he could see growing in the shade of a massive oak. His horse had trod on it as they'd brushed by the tree.
His horse Salatin's ears twitched alertly. Wondering if he were being followed, Hawk scanned his surroundings. Through the mass of branches partially obscuring his vision, he glimpsed a woman down the hill from him, near the creek that emptied into the river.
She played in the water, her smooth, lithe body as bare as the day she had been born. Her white back curved to a slim waist and narrow hips. A rounded derriere gave way to long, shapely legs.
As she half-turned toward him, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of bare breasts. Because of the moss hanging from the trees, her face was obscured.
Her laughter carried to him, the sound pure enjoyment. Something inside him tightened. A burst of light exploded in his head, memory tearing at his gut. Hawk put a hand quickly to his temple, pressing against the skin and bone, waiting for the sharp pain to subside. Muttering a hoarse imprecation, something told him he had to see her face.
He nudged his horse down the bank, pebbles scattering. He caught a glimpse of her as she scrambled from the water.
They made their way down the next sloped terrace, Hawk lea
ning forward with his arm extended to keep the branches from his face.
His horse slid several feet down shale outcroppings of rock, his steel shoes clattering noisily as they reached the perimeter of the pool.
She lunged forward and out of the creek, her slim legs carrying her into waist-high ferns.
"Hold up! I mean you no harm."
He thought she ducked down, but when he reached the area, he saw no trace of her.
Quickly, Hawk scanned the area. She must have fled into a close growth of small pines, somewhere his horse couldn't negotiate without risking injury to the animal's legs.
He'd been a clumsy oaf in his approach to her, too eager, scaring her off. But more importantly, something had been triggered in his brain. He searched for several more moments, but she seemed to have vanished into air.
#
Shivering, Isabeau lay with her cheek pressed to the ground, clenching her jaw so her teeth wouldn't chatter. Would the horseman pursue her into the pines?
She'd screwed up big time going into the water in unfamiliar territory.
She wasn't sure, but she thought it might have been Hawk. Of course, it could have been Sanderly also, but it had sounded like Hawk.
A hard ache formed in her throat.
She had no idea how she was going to get out of this embarrassment if he figured out it was her skinny dipping. No doubt it would be considered unladylike, to say the least. Isabeau cursed her impulsiveness.
#
Isabeau stood outside the library. Clenching her fists nervously, she knew she had to speak to him.
She knocked on the wood panel.
"Come in."
She entered the room. Hawk sat at his writing desk, the leather-bound journal open before him. "Isabeau." He seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
She closed the door behind her, curious as to what he recorded so meticulously each day in the journal, his handwriting bold, quite unlike her own scribbled writing.
A knock sounded on the door at her back.
"That will be Lenore with a new decanter of bourbon. Could you let her in, please?" he asked.
She opened the door to find not Lenore but another girl. The new housemaid smiled nervously and squinted at Isabeau, as if she had trouble seeing. Isabeau thought the girl looked familiar, but she couldn't place her.
The girl bobbed a curtsy, a small amount of flaxen hair coming loose from the tight kerchief covering her hair. In her hands she held a tray with a crystal decanter and glass. The girl almost thrust the tray into Isabeau's hands and immediately scuttled away and out the door.