I'm still catching my breath from the month long Tournament of Champions over at Clash of the Titles. It's almost over, but there's one last opportunity to vote for the Laurel Award winner. You can do so HERE, but you'd better come back when you're done, because I have another Warring Spirits excerpt to share!
The below scene is the first 1,000 words of scene 2, chapter 1. I'll post the second half tomorrow. If you haven't read scene 1, you gotta do that first! HERE.
Readers, let me introduce you to Milly. She's a little busy at the moment, so don't be offended if she doesn't return your wave. :-)
***
“You look fine, Miss Milly.” Isum transferred the reins to one hand then wiped a palm against his dingy, knee-length trousers. A sideways glance topped his crooked smile. “As fine as any white lady in stole clothes.”
Milly squirmed inside her stuffy petticoats. “Borrowed clothes, and don’t call me that. Milly will do.”
“No, miss. It won’t. Best make a habit of it now, before we’re needin’ it.”
“I hate admitting when you’re right.”
Isum chuckled, but Milly pressed her lips and snatched a peek over her shoulder.
“We’ll hear somebody comin’ before we see ‘em.” Isum’s voice remained steady, his demeanor casual, and his shoulders relaxed. His death-grip on the reigns told another story.
Three years ago, he had been as short and wiry as a plucked cotton bush. Now, his muscular, mahogany frame left little room to spare on the wagon seat. According to plantation gossip, the field girls took to nervous giggles whenever he came around. The master had perked up as well and taken to accepting bids.
There was only one thing Master Landcastle needed more than strong field workers. Cash.
The moment whispers in the big house revealed that Isum had been sold and would leave by dawn, Milly took action. There was no way she would let them take the only true friend she had, so ignoring the consequences, she loaded the buggy with vegetables. And one lady’s day gown.
As was their weekly custom, she and Isum set off toward town. Only this time, instead of stopping at the market, they went straight through.
Six miles of red, Georgia clay stretched behind them. Seventeen more before they ran into Spanish Florida. Sixty beyond that, Negro Fort, and safety.
It had been done many times before. It could be done again. But in broad daylight?
Escape stories ran through Milly’s twenty-four years of memory. Had there been a single one where a slave had taken to the road while the sun was at its highest? She shook her head.
But I have an advantage…so long as I’m not recognized.
The July sun beat down on her with mocking strength. She pressed a palm across the back of her stinging neck.
Isum reached to the floorboard then passed her the borrowed parasol. “You’ll be burnin’ if you don’t.”
Since he first came to the plantation as a skinny tyke five years her younger, Isum had been her responsibility. She had cared for him as meticulously as she did her own flesh. About the time his gaze tilted downward in order to look her in the eye, they swapped roles, and his protectiveness had grown in proportion to his towering height.
She frowned, opened the frilly contraption, and settled it against her shoulder. Immediately, her neck cooled. It did nothing for the bile rising in her throat.
Gripping the side of the bench, she failed to tamp down the regret that swelled within her.
The timing was wrong. They would be caught, and he would be sold. She dare not consider her own fate.
They should turn back. It wasn’t too late.
She swiveled and squinted at the road behind them. What options did she have? Mr. Grayson’s features, twisting with his customary, terrifying rage, flashed before her mind’s eye. It’s too late. We can’t turn around.
They should be moving faster.
Isum pulled on the reins.
“Why are you slowing?” Milly sat forward, resisting the urge to yank the whip from its holder and spur the mare to a gallop.
He swiped the floppy hat from his head and mopped his brow with his sleeve. “We ain’t alone. Best we not seem in too much of a hurry.” He indicated with his hat then settled it back in place before taking up a deliberate, relaxed posture.
A horseman topped the next slope.
“Oh God, help us.”
“What you worried about, Miss Milly? You’s armed with the most beautiful smile this side of the Chattahoochee. Ain’t no gentleman gonna see past it to doubt your word.”
But what if he wasn’t a gentleman? Milly forced a wobbly smile then swept her hand under her bonnet, securing any strays.
Within minutes, Isum pulled the buggy to a halt as the gentleman came alongside them. The creaking brake nearly sent Milly scrambling for the trees lining the road. Instead, she angled the parasol to shield her face, presumably, from the sun.
“Good afternoon.” The man’s unfamiliar voice released her pent-up breath.
Easing back the shade, she peered through the lace edging. Long seconds passed before Isum shifted beside her and nudged her back.
Milly lowered the parasol and forced her gaze to the stranger’s eyes. She found them friendly and unsuspecting. “Good afternoon to you, sir.” Tucking her trembling hands into the folds of the closed parasol, she tried for that beautiful smile but feared she fell short of Isum’s expectations.
The man studied her, never once glancing at Isum.
A cold sweat broke out on her upper lip. Like venom, fear coursed through her, poisoning her confidence. Her gaze slipped to the dirt where it belonged.
“You’re a might far from civilization. It’s not exactly safe out here, even with a strapping young buck such as yours.”
Milly’s line of sight skittered to the man’s chest, then, weighted by years of training, fell back to the ground. “I plan to trade with Creek in the next village. I hear they’ll give anything for a little food.”
“So they will, poor devils.” The man laughed, making Milly’s skin crawl. He sidled his horse close to the buggy, and the smell of his cologne wafted down. “I appreciate a woman with a tender heart.”
“If you don’t mind, we best be moving along. I wouldn’t want to be caught out after dark.”
The man’s silence lured Milly’s hesitant gaze. A smile crept up his face. “There they are, those pretty brown eyes.” He tipped his hat, bowing slightly at the waist. “It would be my pleasure to escort you, miss.”
24 DAYS UNTIL RELEASE!
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