****
At first, she thought she'd never be able to say it aloud. She'd never spoken of it to another living soul. But Brandon was different. In spite of all the years that had passed, the bond they shared as children, born of an unshakable trust, was still there – strong as it ever had been, even through the passage of time.
Brandon's fingers twined in her hair gently, possessively, and Allie burrowed as close to his side as she dared, careful of his bandaged ribs.
He held her, letting his strength flow into her. His patient breathing comforted her, and finally, after nearly five years of silence on the event that had changed her life forever, she began to speak.
"Mrs. Nielson had been buried, and Mr. Nielson and I were on the way home from the funeral. She wasn't like a real mother – not like my own mother had been before she died…but she was kind to me in her own way. I always suspected that she might have had an idea about what – what Mr. Nielson had in mind for me, even before she died."
"Why?"
"Just – the way her eyes followed me sometimes when she thought I didn't know." Allie shrugged, not looking at Brandon. "She was a sad person, but not just because she was so ill. She had to realize Mr. Nielson's heart – or lack of it.
"We were in Mr. Nielson's carriage, coming onto the circle drive of their estate. He hadn't spoken a word to me, so I was surprised when he asked me to meet him in his study in an hour."
Brandon shifted beneath where her arm lay across him, and she looked up to meet his eyes.
"I take it they were quite well off, from your description."
Allie laughed softly. "Yes, you might say that. They owned a beautiful old hacienda just outside of Santa Fe. My fa – uh, Mr. Nielson was an ex-territorial governor."
Brandon gave a low whistle. "Surely they had plenty of servants, then."
Allie nodded. "Yes, for the household. But both of them had an aversion to the Mexican women for – other pursuits. Mrs. Nielson wanted a white girl to attend to her personal needs – and, evidently, so did her husband."
"So, rather than paying for a white servant, they adopted one," Brandon observed quietly. "What happened when you met him in the study that day?"
She hesitated, then said, "I was scared. Mr. Nielson and I had never really said too much to each other, except – at the end. When his wife got so much worse.
"I knocked on the door and he called for me to come in…"
Chapter 8
Hiram Nielson sat behind a massive oak desk, a glass of fine port at hand. An extra glass stood beside it, poured and ready for his guest. He glanced up as Allie entered, his blue eyes piercing her soul as he watched her in silence.
"Come in, my dear." His tone carried a trace of irritation at her hesitancy. He motioned to the overstuffed leather office chair before his desk. "I don't bite, Allison," he sniffed. "Do sit down – we have matters to discuss, now that poor Lucinda is gone from us."
"I shall miss her," Allie ventured, taking the seat he'd offered.
His smile was brittle. "As shall I, my dear; as shall I. But, we must move forward. Carpe diem, as the Romans said; seize the day."
Allie looked at him blankly.
"Care for some wine, my dear?" He moved the glass across the desk to put it directly in front of Allie.
"N-No sir. Thank you."
The smile faded from his features. "I didn't think so," he muttered. Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers under his chin. "I'll get right to the point. What do you see as your role in our – ah – family, Allison?"
Allie tensed, desperately hoping to answer correctly. "I want to be a good daughter—"
"That's what I thought." He sighed in disappointment.
Allie shook her head. "I don't understand. Is that wrong?"
When he looked into her eyes again, his face was a mask of malevolent fury. "Yes, that's wrong, you stupid chit." He brought himself under control, his lips tightening.
Allie cowered across from him, making herself as small as she could. His sudden fury reminded her of someone she'd sworn to escape – Reverend Tolliver.
"I have something else in mind for you, dear Allison," he purred. Rising from the plush dark leather, he walked around the end of the desk, stopping in front of her. Reaching out, he slipped a cool finger under her chin and raised her head, forcing her to look at him.
Icy fingers of terror wrapped around her insides. Her breathing came in rapid pants as she tried to calm her fear. Surely, surely she misunderstood.