Free The Colonel's Lady by Laura Frantz Page A

about his breakfast! He’d said but a mouthful of words to her, yet she sensed it must be him. Her flush, brought on by the heat of the hearth fire, deepened. Just what had he said to her Christmas Eve?
    Miss Rowan . . . I’m so sorry . . .
    Remembering made her eyes sting, and she lifted a corner of her apron discreetly. Bella was at her side at once. “Now, you go on back to yo’ cabin and get out o’ this here kitchen. Most of the men are done eatin’ anyway. But best leave out the back door so he won’t see you.”
    Biting her lip, Roxanna stood steadfastly and flipped the cakes. “I was hoping you’d ask me to help you do the washing next.”
    Bella looked aghast. “Law, but you’d best get that out o’ yo’ head once and for all. The colonel’s back, and such a thing won’t be done on his watch, let me tell you. If he even finds you in this kitchen, he’ll have my hide for supper!”
    Nancy returned, bleary-eyed and empty-handed. “We need more pancakes and bacon—and coffee. Quick.”
    Roxanna heaped another platter high, glancing up as she exited. In the split second before the door shut, she could make out the colonel sitting in uniform at the head of the long table, his broad back to her, the bright queue of his hair bound with black silk ribbon and falling between widespread shoulder blades.
    In moments Dovie returned, cheeks pink, eyes on Roxanna. “The colonel sends his compliments to the cook . . . and he says he’s wantin’ to know who the cook is.”
    Bella moved to stand near her, her voice a strained whisper. “And what all did you tell him?”
    “I ain’t stupid,” Dovie hissed. “I said he’d best ask you .”
    Bella rolled her eyes and slapped her thigh with a dishrag. “Miz Roxanna, you best get on back to yo’ cabin.”
    But Roxanna merely smiled and shook her head, filling the coffeepot again with a steady hand. “Leave Colonel McLinn to me, Bella. This is my doing, not yours, remember.”
    Bella’s dark face creased with fresh agitation. “I never figured on him comin’ over from the stone house so soon. You see, the real cook and his helper deserted while the colonel was gone on this here campaign, and Hank ain’t had the time or the gumption to tell him. And this ain’t the day to do it with a court-martial about to commence and some soldiers set for floggin’ and all them prisoners to fret over.”
    Suddenly a pall seemed cast over the day. Roxanna looked around the overwarm kitchen with mixed emotions. In the fortnight she’d been its mistress, save the week she’d spent mourning Papa’s passing, it had made the hours in this wretched place move faster. Would Colonel McLinn now oust her?
    She didn’t have the heart to return to the cold cabin where Papa’s shadow seemed to linger in every corner. And she’d rather be occupied here than having to linger there and wonder about all this bad business involving court-martials and floggings and prisoners of war—and how much like a prisoner she was as well.
    She took Papa’s watch from her dress pocket. Half past eight. Her mind was already moving to the noon meal—
    “Miss Rowan.”
    Slowly she turned toward the sound. There was no one in the kitchen now save her . . . and him. Cassius McLinn stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a gaunt giant. The ravages of illness highlighted every single feature of his handsome, intense face, and his eyes seemed awash—a glittering lapis blue.
    “Colonel McLinn,” she returned.
    “’Twas a fine breakfast.”
    She nodded her thanks and nearly curtsied. What was it about this man that made her want to bow and scrape? Her back stiffened. She was no backwoods girl but a daughter of a fine Virginia family with solid British roots.
    He came forward and straddled a stool, arms still crossed. “Miss Rowan, do you enjoy feeding an army?”
    Surprised by his easy manner, she smoothed her soiled apron. “’Tis better than going into battle, surely.”
    His generous