Just Imagine aka Risen Glory Read online

  The flat, deadly tone of his voice chilled her. "What kind of appointment?"

  "With a minister. We're getting married."

  The world came to a thundering stop. "Married! Have you lost your mind?"

  "You might say."

  "I'd marry the devil first."

  "We're one and the same. But then, you'll find that out."

  The night was warm, but the cold certainty in his voice made her blood chill.

  "You burned down my mill," he said, "and now you're going to pay to rebuild it. Parsell isn't the only one who'll marry you for the money in your trust."

  "You're insane. I won't do it."

  "You're not going to have any choice. Mount up. Cogdell's waiting for us."

  Kit's knees went weak with relief. Reverend Cogdell was a friend. Once she told him what Cain had in mind, he'd never go along with this. She walked over to Vandal and began to mount.

  "In front of me," he growled. "I've learned the hard way not to turn my back on you."

  He swung her up, then mounted himself. He didn't speak until they'd left the clearing behind. "You'll get no help from Cogdell, if that's what you're hoping. I confirmed all his worst fears, and nothing will keep him from marrying us now."

  Her heart skipped a beat. "What fears are you talking about?"

  "I told him you were pregnant with my child."

  She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I'll deny it! You'll never get away with this. "

  "You can deny it all you want. I already told him you would. I explained everything to him. Since you found out you were pregnant, you haven't been acting rationally. You even tried to kill yourself last night in the fire. That's why I couldn't let you have your way any longer."

  "No."

  "I told him I'd been begging you for weeks to marry me so our child wouldn't be a bastard, but you wouldn't agree. He said he'd do the job tonight, no matter how much you protested. You can fight all you want, Kit, but in the end it won't do you any good."

  "You're not going to get away with this."

  There was the barest softening in his voice. "He cares for you, Kit. You'll spare him and yourself a lot of pain if you do what you're told."

  "You go to hell!"

  "Have it your way."

  But even as she cursed him, she knew she'd lost. There was an awful kind of justice in it. She'd done something evil, and now she would pay for it.

  Still, she made one last effort when she saw the minister and his wife waiting for them at the old slave church. She pulled away from. Cain and ran to Mary Cogdell.

  "Please… What Cain said isn't true. I'm not going to have a baby. We never-"

  "There, there, dear. You're upset." Her kind brown eyes clouded with tears as she patted Kit's shoulder. "You need to calm down for the baby's sake."

  That was when Kit knew she couldn't escape her fate.

  The ceremony was mercifully brief. Afterward, Mary Cogdell kissed her cheek, and the minister urged her to obey her husband in all things. She dully listened to them tell Cain that Miss Dolly had settled in with them for the night, and she understood that Cain had gotten her out of the way.

  He led her back outside to Vandal, and they set off for Risen Glory. The closer they got, the more her panic grew. What would he do to her when they were alone?

  They reached the house. Cain dismounted and handed Vandal over to Samuel. Then he clasped Kit around the waist and lifted her to the ground. For a moment her knees threatened to buckle, and he steadied her. She recovered and pulled away.

  "You have my money," she said as Samuel disappeared. "Leave me alone."

  "And deny myself the pleasure of our wedding night? I don't think so."

  Her stomach constricted. "There's not going to be a wedding night."

  "We're married, Kit. And tonight I'm going to bed you."

  Eve's Shame. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have argued with him, but she had no words left. All she could think about was running.

  Lights shone in the darkness from Magnus's house at the edge of the orchard. She picked up her skirts and began to run toward it.

  "Kit! Come back here!"

  She ran faster. Trying to outrace him. Trying to out-race her own vindictiveness.

  "Magnus!" she screamed.

  "Kit, stop! It's dark. You're going to hurt yourself."

  She raced into the orchard, jumping over the jutting roots that were as familiar to her as her own palm. Behind her, he cursed as he tripped over one of those same roots. Nevertheless, he gained on her.

  "Magnus!" Again she screamed.

  And then it was all over. From the corner of her eye she saw Cain hurl himself through the air. He tackled her from behind.

  She cried out as they both fell to the ground.

  He pinioned her with his body.

  She lifted her head and sank her teeth into the muscled flesh of his shoulder.

  "Damn it!" He pulled her to her feet with a growl.

  "What's going on here?"

  Kit gave a sob of relief at the sound of Magnus's voice. She broke away and ran toward him. "Magnus! Let me stay at your house tonight."

  He put his hand gently on her arm and turned to Cain. "What are you doin' to her?"

  "Trying to keep her from killing herself. Or me. Right now, I don't know which one of us is in more danger."

  Magnus looked at her questioningly.

  "She's my wife," Cain said. "I married her not an hour ago."

  "He forced me into it!" Kit exclaimed. "I want to stay at your house tonight."

  Magnus frowned. "You can't do that. You belong to him now."

  "I belong to myself! And both of you can go to hell."

  She turned to run away, but Cain was too quick for her. Before she could move, he caught her and tossed her over his shoulder.

  The blood rushed to her head. His grip tightened on her thighs. He began to stalk toward the house.

  She punched him in the back and got a smack on her bottom for her efforts. "Stop that before I drop you."

  Magnus's feet came into view walking beside them. "Major, that's a fine woman you've got there, and you're handling her a little rough. Maybe you'd better give yourself some time to cool down."

  "That'd take the rest of my life." Cain turned the corner to the front of the house, his boots crunching on the gravel drive.

  Magnus's next words sent Kit's already uneasy stomach pitching. "If you ruin her tonight, you're goin' to regret it the rest of your life. Remember what happens to a horse that gets broke too fast."

  For a moment, stars swirled behind her eyelids. Then she heard the welcome sound of feet rushing down the front steps.

  "Kit! Sweet Jesus, what's happened?"

  "Sophronia!" Kit tried to jerk upright. At the same time, Sophronia grabbed Cain's arm.

  "Put her down!"

  Cain pushed Sophronia toward Magnus. "Keep her out of the house tonight." With that, he carried Kit up the steps and through the door.

  Sophronia struggled inside the circle of Magnus's arms. "Let me go! I have to help her. You don't know what a man like that can do to a woman. White man. Thinks he owns the world. Thinks he owns her."

  "He does." Magnus held her to him and stroked her. "They're married now, honey."

  "Married!"

  In calm, soothing tones, he told her what he'd just heard. "We can't interfere with what takes place between a man and his wife. He won't hurt her."

  As he said it, he hoped she wouldn't hear the faint thread of doubt in his voice. Cain was the most just man he knew, but tonight there had been something violent in his eyes. Despite this, he continued to comfort her as he led her across the dark orchard.

  Only when they reached his house did she grow aware of their destination. Her head shot up. "Where do you think you're taking me?"

  "Home with me," he said calmly. "We're goin' to go inside and have a little bite to eat. Then, if you feel like it, we'll sit in the kitchen and talk for a spell. Or if
you're tired, you can go in the bedroom and sleep. I'll get myself a blanket and make a bed right out here on the porch with Merlin, where it's nice and cool."

  Sophronia said nothing. She simply gazed at him. He waited, letting her take her time. Finally she nodded and went into his house.

  Cain slouched in the wing chair that rested near the open window of his bedroom. His shirt was open to the waist to catch the breeze; his ankles were crossed on a footstool in front of him. A glass of brandy dangled from the hand that hung over the arm of the chair.

  He liked this room. It was comfortable, with enough furniture to be functional but not enough to crowd him. The bed was large enough to accommodate his tall frame. Next to it was a washstand and across the room were a chest and a bookcase. In the winter the polished floorboards were covered with braided rugs for warmth, but now they were bare, the way he liked them.

  He heard splashing from the copper tub behind the screen in a corner of the room, and his mouth tightened. He hadn't told Sophronia that the bath he'd asked her to have ready upon his return was for Kit, not himself. Kit had ordered him out of the room; then, when she'd seen he wasn't going, she'd stuck her nose in the air and disappeared behind the screen. Despite the fact that the water could no longer be warm, she wasn't in any hurry to get out.

  Even without seeing her, he knew how she'd look when she rose from that tub. Her skin would glow golden in the light from the lamp, and her hair would curl over her shoulders, its inky blackness stark against the pale cream of her skin.

  He thought about the trust fund he'd married her for. Marrying for money was something he would have despised another man for doing, yet it didn't bother him. He wondered why. And then he stopped wondering, because he didn't want to know the answer. He didn't want to acknowledge that this marriage had little to do with money or rebuilding the cotton mill. Instead, it was about that single moment of vulnerability when he'd abandoned the caution of a lifetime and decided to open his heart to a woman. For one moment, his thoughts had been tender, foolish, and ultimately more dangerous to him than all the battles of the war.

  In the end it wouldn't be the cotton mill he was going to make her pay for, but that moment of vulnerability. Tonight, the antagonism between them would be sealed forever. Then he'd be able to go on with his life without being tantalized by phantom hopes for the future.

  He raised the brandy to his lips, took a sip, then set the glass on the floor. He wanted to be stone-cold sober for what was about to happen.

  From behind the screen, Kit heard the scrape of wooden legs across the bare floor and knew he'd grown impatient with waiting. She grabbed for a towel and, while she wrapped it around herself, wished she had something more substantial to cover her. But her own clothing was gone. Cain had disposed of her ruined garments after she'd taken them off.

  Her head shot up as he pushed back one end of the folding screen. He stood resting one hand on top of the wooden frame.

  "I'm not finished yet," she managed to say.

  "You've had enough time."

  "I don't know why you forced me to take my bath in your room."

  "Yes, you do."

  She clutched the towel more tightly. Once again she searched for some escape from what lay ahead, but there was an awful sense of inevitability about it. He was her husband now. If she tried to run, he'd catch her. If she fought him, he'd overpower her. Her only course lay in submission, just as Mrs. Templeton had advised in that distant life Kit had lived only a little more than a month ago. But submission had never been an easy course for her.

  She gazed at the thin gold ring on her finger. It was small and pretty, with two tiny hearts at the top delicately outlined in diamond-and-ruby chips. He told her he'd gotten it from Miss Dolly.

  "I don't have anything to put on," she said.

  "You don't need anything."

  "I'm cold."

  Slowly, without taking his gaze from hers, he unbuttoned his shirt and passed it over.

  "I don't want to take your shirt. If you'll move out of the way, I'll go to my room and get my robe."

  "I'd rather stay here."

  Obstinate, overbearing man! She gritted her teeth and stepped out of the tub. Holding the towel to her body with one hand, she reached for his shirt with the other. Clumsily, she slipped it on over the towel. Then she turned her back to him, dropped the towel, and rapidly fastened the row of buttons.

  The long sleeves kept getting in her way, making the job more difficult. As the shirttails clung to her damp thighs, she was conscious of how thin the material was over her nakedness. She turned up the cuffs and edged past him. "I need to go to my room and comb out my hair or it'll tangle."

  "Use my comb." He inclined his head toward the bureau.

  She walked over and picked it up. Her face stared back at her from the mirror. She looked pale and wary, but she didn't look frightened. She should be, she thought, as she drew the comb through the long strands of wet hair. Cain hated her. He was powerful and unpredictable, stronger than she was, and he had the law on his side. She should be screaming for mercy now. Instead, she felt an odd agitation.

  In the mirror's reflection she saw him slouch into the wing chair. He idly crossed one ankle over his knee. His eyes caught hers. She looked away and combed her hair more vigorously, sending droplets spattering.

  She heard movement, and her gaze darted back to the mirror. Cain had picked up a glass from the floor and was lifting it to her reflection.

  "Here's to wedded bliss, Mrs. Cain."

  "Don't call me that."

  "It's your name. Have you forgotten already?"

  "I haven't forgotten anything." She took a deep breath. "I haven't forgotten that I've wronged you. But I've already paid the price, and I don't need to pay any more."

  "I'll be the judge of that. Now put down that comb and turn around so I can look at you."

  Slowly she did as he said, a queer excitement building along with her dread. Her eyes settled on the scars that marred his chest. "Where did you get the scar on your shoulder?"

  "Missionary Ridge."

  "What about the one on your hand?"

  "Petersburg. And I got the one on my gut fighting over a crooked poker game in a Laredo whorehouse. Now unbutton that shirt and come over here so I can take a better look at my newest piece of property."

  "I'm not your property, Baron Cain."

  "That isn't what the law says, Mrs. Cain. Women belong to the men who marry them."

  "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you happy. But I don't belong to anybody except myself."

  He rose and walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "Let's get something straight right from the start. I own you. And from now on, you'll do exactly what I say. If I want you to polish my boots, you'll polish them. If I tell you to muck out my stable, you'll do that, too. And when I want you in my bed, you'd better be flat on your back with your legs spread by the time I have my belt unbuckled."

  His words should have made her stomach churn in fear, but there was something too calculated about them. He was deliberately trying to break her, and she wasn't going to let him do it.

  "I'm terrified," she drawled.

  She hadn't given him the reaction he wanted, so he came after her again. "When you married me, you lost your last bit of freedom. Now I can do anything I want with you, short of killing you. And if I'm not too obvious about it, I can probably do that, too."

  "If I don't get you first," she retorted.

  "Not a chance."

  She tried again to reason with him. "I did a terrible thing. It was wrong, but you have my money. It's triple what it should cost you to rebuild that mill, so let's put an end to this."

  "Some things don't have a price." He rested one shoulder against a bedpost. "This should amuse you…"

  She regarded him warily. Somehow she didn't think so.

  "I'd already made up my mind not to send you back to New York. I was going to tell you in the morning."

  She fel
t sick. She shook her head, hoping it wasn't true.

  "Ironic, isn't it?" he said. "I didn't want to hurt you like that. But everything's changed now, and I don't much care about that." He reached out and began unfastening the buttons of her shirt.

  She stood perfectly still, her earlier spark of confidence evaporating. "Don't do this."

  "It's too late." He parted the shirt and gazed down at her breasts.

  She tried not to say it, but she couldn't help it. "I'm afraid."

  "I know."

  "Will it hurt?"

  "Yes."

  She closed her eyes tight. He removed her shirt. She stood naked before him.

  Tonight would be the worst, she told herself. When it was done, he'd have lost his power over her.

  He caught her under the knees and carried her to his bed. She turned her head away as he began to strip off his clothing. Moments later, he lowered himself to the side of the bed. It sagged beneath his weight.

  Something twisted inside Cain at the sight of her turned away from him. Her closed eyes… The resignation in that heart-shaped face… What had it cost her to admit her fear? Damn it, he didn't want her like this. He wanted her spitting and fighting. He wanted her cursing him and sparking his anger as only she knew how.

  He cupped her knees to prod a reaction from her, but even then she didn't fight him. He pushed her legs apart and shifted his weight to kneel between them. Then he looked down at the secret part of her, bathed in lamplight.

  She lay still as he separated the dark, silken threads with his fingers. His wild rose of the deep wood. Petals within petals. Protectively folded around the heart of her. His stomach knotted at the sight. He knew from the afternoon at the pond how small she was, how tight. He was flooded with a damning sense of tenderness.

  From the corner of his eye he saw one delicate hand curl into a fist on the counterpane. He waited for her to swing at him, to fight him for what he was doing. Wished for it to happen. But she didn't move, and her very defenselessness undid him.

  With a groan, he lay down and pulled her into his arms. She was trembling. Guilt as powerful as his desire ate at him. He'd never treated a woman so callously. This was part of the madness that had claimed him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.