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When Wolf Dancer saw a look of peace come into Joshua’s eyes just before he closed them and drifted off into an unconscious state, the chief felt that that peaceful feeling alone might help save the wounded man.
But Wolf Dancer also knew that precious time had elapsed in talk and discoveries, and that the delay might have dangerously weakened Joshua.
He lifted the paddle and worked his way toward Mystic Island.
And there was someone else to consider. Wolf Dancer’s mind wandered again to the woman who intrigued him so much.
He must…he would…help her!
Lavinia.
Yes, the name of the white woman was Lavinia.
The name was as lovely as the woman to whom it belonged!
Chapter Three
Love bade me welcome;
Yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
—George Herbert
A cool breeze fluttered the sheer curtains at Lavinia’s bedroom windows.
The sweet smell of magnolia flowers wafted into the room along with the breeze.
All the shutters had been thrown open in order to help cool the bedroom.
Lavinia’s four-poster canopy bed was positioned between two windows so that there would be a cross breeze blowing over her for her comfort.
A wide stone fireplace took up the center of the far wall opposite the bed. On another wall stood a chest of drawers with a round, gilt-framed mirror above it. A blanket chest sat at the foot of the bed. A handsome braided rug covered most of the polished oak floor.
An attentive, worried Dorey sat on a rocking chair beside her mother’s bed, her eyes filled with tears as she watched and waited for her mother to wake up.
Hiram had carried her mother up to her bedroom after she’d awakened from her faint.
The realization that an Indian had killed Virgil with an arrow, and the hideous sight of that arrow still protruding from her husband’s chest, had been too much for Lavinia to bear.
She had since escaped the horror of it all by sleeping.
As Lavinia slowly awakened now, the instant recollection of what had happened to her husband was like an arrow to her own heart.
Their marriage had been one of convenience instead of true love, arranged by their parents, but she had cared about him nonetheless.
She had been good to him, had done her wifely duties at night, even though his touch never stirred pleasure within her.
That she had given him pleasure had been enough, for he was the kindest man she had ever known besides her father, who was now gone from this earth, as was her mother.
Her parents had been caught in the crossfire of two gunmen on the streets of Atlanta, Georgia, and killed instantly.
And now her husband was dead, too?
She now had only her daughter to live for. She vowed to make certain Dorey was happy and well cared for. That would be enough for Lavinia, along with her memories of Virgil.
“Mama, I’m so glad you are finally awake,” Dorey said, quickly standing. She gazed down at her mother with love shining in her eyes. “You’ve been asleep for such a long time. Are you going to be alright?”
