It was Titch who seemed the most offended as he stared aghast at the contraption. “You can’t be serious!”

“I have nothing else of comparable size, and there is quite a number of you,” Ashton reminded him. “If you’re unduly squeamish, you can always walk. Perhaps next time you will consider waiting for an invitation; then I can be better prepared, but for now, I would suggest you be on your way…whichever way you choose to travel.”

Sheriff Dobbs faced the discontented pack with a widening grin. “You heard ’im, boys. It’s time for you to be leaving. I might warn you also: The next time you presume to take over my responsibilities, I’ll set a fine so stiff, you’ll have to come out here and work for Judd Barnum to get enough to pay for it.” He chuckled at his own humor. “You mosey on into town now, and mind you, if you’re set on walking, don’t dally on Mr. Wingate’s lands. I’ll be along in a moment to see that you abide by what I say. So get on your way.”

Hickory sat on the high seat, clear of the stench and the flies, and whistled through his gapping front teeth and a wide, innocent grin as those who chose to accept the offering climbed in. After all, they reasoned, it was a long way back to Natchez.

Mr. Titch held back, stubbornly resolving to walk behind the conveyance. He cast dire glares toward his erstwhile host as the wagon trundled down the lane.

Sheriff Dobbs stood chortling as he observed their untidy departure. “A few miles down the road, and most of ’em won’t know the wagon even smells, but heaven help Lower Town when they arrive.”

“They should remember this for some time,” Ashton remarked.

Harvey crinkled his brows. “Some of those boys are not too forgiving, Ashton. You’d better look to yourself and your own for a while. Sometimes, it’s the ones who seem the most harmless who carry the biggest grudge.”

Ashton dropped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll try to take care, Harvey…and thanks.”

“Anytime.” The lawman grinned and turned to watch the departing band.

Several who had selected to walk went away limping, and the gallant Mumford Horace Titch, who had ridden in the fore on the way out, was now pushed to the rear in disgrace. It was much later when he relented and jumped up on the tailgate, where he clung tenaciously to the precarious perch until he was forced by discomfort to walk again. Needless to say, he had sufficient time to contemplate the error of trespassing on Ashton Wingate’s property.

Chapter Six

THE rattle of hooves faded in the distance as the sheriff and his men departed. The house settled back into a tranquil calm, but Lierin knew no such peace. She had returned to the parlor, allowing Ashton the opportunity to speak in privacy with his friend before the man went on his way, but as she perched tensely on the edge of her chair she was unable to stop shaking. An inner fear had attacked her when she heard the railing accusations, for she had been afraid that Horace Titch and his band of ruffians were right…that she was the woman who escaped from the madhouse. Since the day she had awakened from the void, she had never felt the anguish and frustration of her memory loss as much as she did now. It was like facing a blank door, knowing there was something on the other side and yet unable to find a latch or knob with which to open it. Beyond the barrier most of her life lay hidden well out of her reach. She wanted desperately to know where she had come from, who her family and friends were, and what events had led her to a collision with Ashton’s coach.

Mr. Logan had spoken in her defense, and the matter hopefully was settled. But while she watched from the foyer, she had noticed something perhaps the others had not discerned. Though Ashton had given every indication that he would protect her to the death against the mob of men, he had seemed somehow reluctant to have the gray-haired attendant see her, as if he himself suffered nagging doubts concerning her identity.

She spread her trembling hands upon her lap and stared with fixed gaze at the thin fingers and the plain, golden band until a flash of pain made her close her eyes. Slowly she rubbed her brow with her fingertips, trying to massage away the ache, and behind her eyelids a vision began to form, that of a hand clasping a long, slim poker with a spike at its head. The iron was raised high, then it came slashing cruelly downward, again and again. Of a sudden her mind was filled with a twisted mask that progressively evolved into the face of a man. The visage was contorted by a gaping maw and terror-filled eyes that bore into her very soul. Cringing away from the horrible phantasm, she mewled in fear, wanting to be rid of these fantasies that kept tormenting her.

Lierin came to her feet with a strangled cry as a hand was laid on her shoulder. In a desperate attempt at freedom, she lunged away from the tall form, but an arm reached out, catching her about the waist and drawing her back against a solid chest.

“Lierin?” Ashton gave her a light shake as she tried to fight him, bringing her back to her senses. “Lierin, what’s wrong?”

Staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, she pressed a hand over her quivering mouth and shook her head. “I don’t know, Ashton,” she choked. “I keep seeing something…or remembering.” She averted her face, hiding it from his worried gaze, and spoke through her tears. “I see a hand raised, and it keeps on hitting…hitting.” Her shoulders trembled as she began to sob. “I wonder if I might have hurt someone. Perhaps you should have let them take me! Maybe I am the one they want, and Mr. Logan lied!”

“Foolishness!” Ashton took her by the shoulders and stared intently into the deep, tear-wet pools of emerald, as if compelling her to believe him. “There’s nothing wrong with you but a simple loss of memory. You’ve had a shock, and you can’t remember. You’re letting the accusations of those churlish louts become your memory.”

“Nooo!” she moaned. “You don’t understand. I had a similar vision before those men ever came out here.”

Ashton brought her close against him, enfolding her in his arms as he brushed his lips against her temple. “It’s probably only a dream you’ve had and nothing to be taken seriously.”

“I wish I could believe that.” Lierin leaned her forehead against the side of his neck where she could feel the strong, slowly drumming beat of his pulse. Security seemed an almost tangible substance in his arms, and somewhere deep within her a yearning grew. As if her soul commanded her to speak, her thoughts came unbidden to her tongue. “I want so much to believe that the nightmare never happened. I…really want to believe I am your wife, Ashton. I…want to be a part of you and your family, to know with certainty that I belong here in your home. I have to know what the truth is.”

Unfaltering in his effort to soothe her, Ashton gently cupped her face in his hands and probed the dark, translucent depths that were open to his gaze. “Then believe, Lierin,” he urged in a whisper. “Accept what I say as fact and trust me. I mean you no hurt. If you knew how much I loved you, you’d not be afraid.”

With deliberate care, his mouth lowered and covered hers in a slowly stirring kiss that continued unrelentingly until her fears were banished to the farthermost region of her consciousness. His lips moved upon hers, parting and playing and, with subtle persistence, demanding a response. Sleeping embers were fanned aflame, warming her and turning her mind slowly inside out. Her hands crept up his back, and she yielded her lips to his ardor. It was bliss. Heaven come down to earth. A sweet nectar that only lovers could taste. A potion to be savored leisurely and to its fullest, which indeed it might have been had the distant approach of clattering heels not warned them. Ashton raised his head, and the hazel eyes burned into hers, branding her with an unspoken promise. He stepped away and strode from the room, leaving her warmly flushed and totally unnerved. It was not a state she wished to be found in. Lifting her skirts, she followed Ashton’s exit through the dining room and into the far hall, then blushed in confusion as he paused farther down the corridor to look back. His gaze seemed to touch her everywhere, stripping the pale body bare and snatching her breath with the boldness of his stare. His eyes flared as they plunged to the core of her being, and the evidence that he accurately assessed her condition became brazenly visible in those shining hazel orbs. With purposeful intent, he began to retrace his steps. Over the pounding of her heart, she could hear the chatter of the elder ladies as they entered the parlor, and she realized the way through the main hall was now clear. She fled, knowing that if she allowed him to touch her again, all reason would be swept away.

Breathless, she raced up the stairs and sought what safety her room afforded. She locked the door and, curling on the chaise longue, stared at the bleached wood portal, while her ears strained to catch the leisured stride of booted heels. They came unswervingly to her door and paused there as knuckles were lightly applied to the panel. She chewed her lip as she waited for the second summons to come. It was followed by a third. The knob was briefly tested, and finally the footsteps moved away. She might have breathed a sigh of relief, but a feeling of disappointment rose within her, displacing any small sense of victory she might have experienced.

Chilling winds swept in from the north, bringing with them a roiling mass of black clouds that snuffed the last rosy glow from the western horizon. Droplets began to fall, first in a light sprinkling that washed the dust from the air and brought the sweet scent of rain into the house. Then, as the lightning pranced closer in a flashing, sizzling display of the storm’s power, a torrential downpour marched across the fields of Belle Chêne. Servants hastened to close windows and rekindle fires that had been allowed to die in the warmth of the day. Amusing speculations were made about the possible plight of Mr. Titch and his band of stalwarts. Everyone agreed that Hickory had sense enough to find shelter from the storm, but whether the rest could spend the night cooped up together in a barn without an outright war being waged seemed highly unlikely.