In His Eyes(46)

“We need to hurry!” Sibby yelled, her last word lost under the crack of thunder.

Ella lifted her skirts higher, exposing her ankles and most of her calves and broke into a trot. Lee bounced against her, and she thought he would cry out, but he remained silent. Pulling the babe tighter with one hand while trying to keep the fabric from tripping her with the other, Ella ran.

Sibby kept pace, her body not encumbered by an infant. Boggin skirts! Always they tangled about the legs. A man’s invention to make it harder for women to get away! The wind gusted harder, as though chiding her for using one of Papa’s Scottish words that she knew wouldn’t be acceptable in polite company. Well, good thing that word had stayed in her head where it belonged.

Not like the others she’d spit out at the Yankee major without the first bit of thought.

Ella clenched her teeth and blinked against the driving rain. A bit farther and they would reach the house—safety from the storm, if not from the man within.

Suddenly Sibby squealed and her hands flew up in the air as her body lurched to the side. Ella stumbled to a halt and whirled around, only to find Sibby lying on the ground and clutching her ankle. Mud splattered across her bodice and Sibby’s shawl took flight like a tornado swept blue jay.

Ella dropped to her knees, sodden skirts landing hard in the muck that accumulated near the carriage block. She adjusted the baby and reached to grasp Sibby’s shoulder. Rain ran in rivers down the woman’s dark skin and mingled with the sea of mud beneath her. “Sibby! What happened?”

“Don’t know. I tripped on somethin’.” She wailed. “It hurts right awful!”

Ella grasped her upper arm and tried to get her to her feet. “We have to get you inside!”

Sibby grabbed her leg and moaned. “I can’t! Get Mista Westley!”

Ella set her teeth and struggled to her feet, her shoes sliding and sending her careening sideways. She stumbled through the mud and blinked her eyes against the stinging rain. The stairs made her feet tangle in her skirts and she nearly fell, but she managed to right herself and pull her soggy frame onto the front porch. The wind plastered her dress against her, but at least she no longer stood beneath a waterfall.

She threw the door wide, and it slammed against the wall. “Major!”

No reply. Torn with uncertainty on whether to search for him or try to put Lee down and help Sibby by herself, Ella hesitated for a moment, dripping water on the polished floor. She bit her lip. If Sibby had broken her leg, Ella wouldn’t be able to carry her in the house.

With a groan she lifted her soggy skirt once more and carefully traipsed across the floor into the ladies’ parlor. She tracked mud across the fine rugs, passed through the pocket doors into the men’s parlor, left a trail of leaves and dirt inside the dining room, yet still didn’t see the man anywhere.

“Major!” she screamed, frustration and fear pitching her voice to a near wail.

A noise. She scrunched her nose and followed it to the door under the stairs that hung ajar. Ella put her fingertips on the fine wood and shoved, sending the door flying backward and banging against a set of the library shelves.

Major Remington startled in the leather armchair, the glass in his hand rolling to the floor. His dark eyes sprang open, and in one movement he leapt to his feet and threw his fists in the air.

Ella couldn’t breathe. Major’s Remington’s pupils were dilated as he tried to focus on her. Her gaze darted to the glass on the floor and then up to the small table where a nearly empty decanter perched precariously on the edge. She forced air into her lungs.

He’d found the devil’s drink and would be in its clutches. She backed away slowly, her pulse pounding in her ears. Perhaps she could close the door and find a way to secure him inside….

Clarity pushed away the fog in his eyes and he dropped his hands. “Miss Whitaker! What are you doing?”

Ella stared at him. Was he in the drink’s clutches or merely startled from a deep sleep? Her hand tightened on the doorknob.

The confusion—and dare she think worry?—on his face lowered her pulse. Perhaps only the final dregs of sleep.

“Miss Whitaker? Are you all right?”

Ella jerked her chin toward the foyer. “Sibby fell. She can’t get up, and she’s stuck out in the storm.”

Confusion marred his deceptively handsome face, and he plucked his cane from where it rested against the bookshelf. Ella groaned. He wouldn’t be able to carry Sibby either! He could barely carry himself.

As though sensing her thoughts, his wide shoulders stiffened. “Best you wrap your son in a warm blanket and come help me.”

Ella slipped around him to pluck a folded quilt from the other armchair by the hearth. He waited, and Ella scurried around him and away before he could grab her. He made no move to snatch her, however, and by the time she wrapped Lee tightly and laid him in the cradle in the parlor, he passed through the foyer behind her. The thump of his cane went to the porch, and then disappeared beneath the howling wind and rolling thunder.

Ella rubbed her fingers across Lee’s brow, but he didn’t stir. His skin felt warm beneath her chilled hands. Perhaps the quilt made him too hot. She loosened the edges and draped it over him. He sure slept soundly for one who had been jostled so much.

She leaned nearer to put her lips on his tiny forehead when shouts from outside reminded her of her mission. Ella straightened, and telling herself he would be safe for a few moments without her, hurried out into the rain.