Read Online The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn by Lori Benton - Free Book Online Page A

of mixed blood named Sarah, owned by the petitioner, was preferred and read to the Court, and it being also certified to the Court that the said Sarah is of good and meritorious character; the Court after taking the same under mature consideration do allow the said petition, and do grant the said Stephen Littlejohn license to set free and liberate the said Sarah agreeably to the prayer of said petition .
    Tamsen raced through the convoluted words, trying to make sense of them. A certain female slave of mixed blood . Seconds passed while her mind spun on the edge of an abyss, scrabbling for denial.
    Then her breath caught. Her mother’s arduous breathing had quieted.
    Tamsen lurched for the bed. “Mama?”
    The sunset glow had fled the room, stealing with it the rich hue of her mother’s skin. The flesh across her graceful bones had turned the gray ofashes, the blood on her face darkening to brown. Her eyes were closed, save for slits through which their darkness gleamed, no longer with joy.

    She hurtled into the dusk and crossed the yard to the stable. Inside she halted and looked to the loft ladder down the shadowy, deserted aisle. “Sim—are you there?”
    No reply came, save the ruckle and champ of horses that peered at her over their boxes.
    “Dell,” she hissed, fearing every shadow lest Mr. Parrish step from it.
    Her fear materialized in a tall form coming at her through the stable door, from outside. With a cry she whirled and struck.
    He moved fast, catching her upraised hand. “Easy there.”
    Captured by a man’s grip for the second time that evening, Tamsen yanked with all her might. Pain seared her bruised wrist, making her cry out. Her captor stepped back, opening the stable doors to the failing light, showing her the disconcerting face of the young man in deerskins—this time complete with fringed coat.
    Recognition lit his features. “I didn’t aim to hurt you, miss.” He reached for her, but she cringed back, raising a hand smeared with her mother’s blood. Seeing it, his gaze scrabbled over her as if seeking its source. She’d fled the house in her fine embroidered petticoat, now a bloodstained ruin, nothing up top but her shift and stays. “Are you hurt?”
    “Mama—She—” Desperation tripped her tongue. “She won’t wake up, and I can’t find Sim or Dell.”
    “I doubt you will. You aren’t hurt?”
    “No. Mama is!”
    His eyes swept her once more. “Take me to her.”
    It wasn’t the help she’d sought, but she needed no persuasion to accept it. “Hurry.”
    Her mother lay as she’d left her, battered and still. Wincing at the sight of her, the man pressed his fingers to her neck. He waited, leaning close, an alien presence smelling strong of horse and wood smoke, pines and sun. Yet his calm was some reassurance. Until he straightened and met her pleading gaze. Despair swallowed hope as she saw in his eyes what he had no need to say.
    She tried to push past him. He caught her shoulders between strong hands. “Did your stepfather do this?”
    “Yes.”
    His eyes were stricken with shock, outrage. The muscles in his lean jaw hardened, but while she was fast losing her head, he kept his. “Are you in danger?”
    Tears pooled, running from her eyes. She pressed her hands to them. “He means me to marry Mr. Kincaid. Mama was going to tell me a way out of it all, only he came before she could.” She was babbling but couldn’t stop. “He hit Mama for it and she fell. He’s killed her and now … I’m supposed to be getting dressed .”
    With that last word burning her throat like bile, she wrenched out of his grasp and lunged for the blue gown. She ripped it from the bedpost with bloodied hands and hurled it into the dying hearth fire. It caught flame at once. Still she went after it, kicking its silken folds onto the grate.
    The man stood back, staring at the burning gown, and her, in something like awe. “You aren’t minded to marry this Kincaid fellow?”
    “I’d