Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Byrony was out of the bathtub in but a moment, her heart pounding. Lizzie stood gaping at her as she quickly toweled herself dry and

began to jerk on her riding habit.

“Missis,” Lizzie wailed, “you suppose to call me for help.”

“I will, Lizzie, next time.” Ten minutes later, Byrony was racing out of the house.

Oliver, a bent old stablehand, saddled a mare, muttering under his breath that the massa went to the fields with Mr. Paxton.

He pointed toward the north. Byrony click-clicked her mare, whose name was Velvet, in that direction. Dear God, what had she done? She rode beneath thick-branched elm and oak trees that allowed only slivers of late-afternoon sun to knife through the green leaves. There were horse paths into the fields. She’d seen them on her ride with Drew. She veered onto the one that was nearest to being toward the north. The cotton fields were flat and seemed to stretch endlessly. There were small trails between the rows. She was beginning to wonder if old Oliver had sent her astray when she saw a group of black men clustered in a small clearing.

The sun was setting when she saw Frank Paxton, the only white man present, coiling up his whip. Ragged slaves stood in a loose circle about an oak tree. She felt her stomach turn as she reined in the mare. Sabilla, the pregnant young woman who had begged her for fewer hours in the fields, was hanging by her bound hands to a low branch, naked to the waist. Her back was crisscrossed with bloody welts. From Paxton’s whip. Byrony heard her soft, keening moans.

She slipped off the mare’s back and rushed to Paxton. “Cut her down, this minute.”

“Mrs. Hammond,” Frank Paxton said, closing his fingers over her arm, “the woman deserved the punishment. Don’t interfere in things that don’t concern you.”

“Don’t concern me?” She shook her arm free of him. “This woman is pregnant, Mr. Paxton. Cut her down this instant.”

“No, ma’am,” he said finally. “She will stay as she is until dark. Those are the rules.”

“Then animals made the rules.” She started toward Sabilla.

Frank Paxton moved swiftly to block her way. He said, his voice deadly soft, “Listen to me, Mrs. Hammond. You will get back on your horse and ride out of here, back to the house. I will not tolerate any interference from you. White people don’t argue in front of slaves, do you understand?”

Byrony heard the soft rumbling sounds from the dozen or so male slaves. She didn’t know what to do. Oh God, it was worse than a nightmare.

“What is going on here?”

Byrony could have yelled with relief at the sound of Brent’s voice. She turned to watch him gracefully dismount from the back of a huge black stallion.

“Nothing at all, Brent,” Frank Paxton said easily. “I was just telling your wife that she should return to the house.”

“Brent,” Byrony said quietly, “he’s flogged Sabilla. I must help her, for it’s my fault. She’s pregnant.”

There was a long moment of silence; then Brent said in a calm, emotionless voice, “No, Byrony. She isn’t, not any longer.”

“No.” Byrony’s eyes fell to the rivulet of blood that streaked down Sabilla’s legs. So much blood, making splotches on what remained of her coarse wool dress.

“Get on your horse and ride back to the house now.”

She raised her eyes to her husband’s face. “But, Brent—”

“Do as I tell you. I will see that the woman is taken care of. I promise you. Go, now.”

Slowly Byrony walked to her mare. She felt Brent’s hands close about her waist and lift her into the saddle. She let the mare gallop wildly back toward her waiting stall.

The lamp flickered, then filled the room with light.

“Get up and get dressed now. You will not miss dinner.”

Byrony stared at her husband, but didn’t move. “Sabilla?”

“We will speak of it later.” He turned and walked to the door and called, “Lizzie. Get in here and help your mistress.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt like a perfect fool. He couldn’t very well bathe and change with the girl in the room. When she came skittering to a halt in front of him, her eyes wide on his face, he said, “Never mind. Have water sent up here, now. That’s a good girl.”

He said over his shoulder. “You can hide in bed for a while longer, I have yet to bathe. Lord knows I need it.”