Shades of Gray

By Carol A. Spradling

Mail order bride, Kat Bailey has more to fear than malicious rumors about a crazed murderer. But a woman with no money or family has few options. She quickly learns that her intended groom is not as honorable as Hampton society believes him to be. Beaten by her betrothed, she seeks refuge in the home of the most feared man in town.

Accused murderer, Grayson Gregory is more interested in guarding a family secret than clearing his name. When a broken and battered woman collapses on his doorstep, he is reminded of a torturous past he can't escape. Kat may have opened old and festered wounds, but he can’t deny the fire she ignites in him.

Kat is determined to uncover the truth about Gray, regardless of what she finds. As their attraction to one another grows, Gray must confront his dark past in order to keep her safe. His secrets unfold, forcing him to choose between a new love, or to remain plagued by the demons of his past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol A. Spradling
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781475081732

Book preview

Chapter 1

August, 1752

Hampton, Virginia

Brush and weeds covered the deeply scarred ground, making the route nearly impossible to maneuver.  Grayson Gregory could have taken three different routes from Oak Willow to Hampton Township, but this was the quickest path, even with the obstacles.  Focusing on the road, he tried to concentrate on the trail and ignore the floundering fields to his sides. 

Eight years ago, tobacco leaves had covered miles of fertile ground.  The abundance of crops his plantation produced was of no surprise to anyone.  Oak Willow sat on the most fertile ground in Hampton Township.  While his land was capable of producing a hefty profit, it had gone fallow, along with Grayson’s desire for life.  He sighed and loosened his grip on the reins.  In no hurry to reach his destination, he allowed his horse to plod along at his own pace. 

Mr. Shields’ note had been specific.  Come get your box.  The boy who delivered the message had wet his breeches when sharing the information.  The lad looked barely old enough to ride a horse.  It was doubtful he had volunteered to travel the five miles of deserted road from town.  His face was unfamiliar to Grayson, but the boy acted as though he was aware of the man’s past. 

Grayson steered his horse to the left and sourness filled his mouth.  Two rows of high-pitched rooftops lined the upcoming street.  Hampton’s General Store was in the building nearest the docks.  He would have to ride a gauntlet of stares and comments to claim his property.  With any luck, he could retrieve his parcel and return home before more chaos erupted.  He stared straight ahead and concentrated on the ship in the harbor.  It didn’t matter what he endured; he would protect her. 

Wind gusts swept in from the docks like a raging tempest, and rain clouds drifted across the sun, shadowing the storefront window.  The glass rattled, shaking the black letters, as though the store name would crumble and fall into a powdered heap on the sill.  A summer storm seemed inevitable.  Perhaps the rain would be merciful and wait until Grayson returned home before releasing a downpour.

Grayson pulled the brake on the carriage and considered his options.  From what he remembered, Saturday afternoons generally brought local residents into town.  The social outing offered the townspeople a way of celebrating the end of a hard work week.  Although the interaction served as a welcomed relief to farm chores, no citizen was exempt from being the topic of ridicule for the news-hungry community.  Grayson stiffened with the remembrance of his time spent as the gossip mongers favorite subject. 

Long forgotten, his order had been placed when he was considered a reputable member of society.  A woman’s voice giggled in his memory.  Daria had been so excited with her selection and had assured Grayson that he would appreciate her choice as much as she would.  Her mischievous smile guaranteed her promise.  A woman’s wardrobe was hardly something he would give additional thought to.  Even though Mr. Shields had every right to sell the articles that had gone unclaimed, Grayson would not allow Daria’s garments to be strutted around town on the bodies of women who betrayed her.  Heavy-hearted, he climbed down from his carriage and stepped toward the general store. 

The buzz of inside conversation could be heard through the doorway.  A beehive should wish for such activity.  Grayson didn’t need to enter the building to know the busy-bodies were feasting on some unfortunate sinner’s remains.  Pecked clean, the women would claim the information was a matter of public record and if the person hadn’t been so foolish, there would be nothing to discuss.  The best the poor soul could hope for was a new catastrophe to distract the corseted vultures.  Perhaps their appetites would be satiated and not ready for a fresh carcass.  Grayson pulled his hat low on his brow and entered the establishment.

Mr. Pearson and his son sat in the corner of the room, and his wife and daughter plundered through bolts of fabric.  Brown and black bundles flew through the air, separating the mound like a collapsed, gopher hole.  Clutched tightly in his daughter’s fist, a cheerful looking, calico print sailed upward.  The girl held it above her beaming face like she had just won a pie eating contest.  To the right of the table, her gangly brother elbowed their father and nodded toward the door. 

Grayson tipped his head and peered out from under the brim of his tricorn.  The farmer’s befuddled expressions vanished, and he stood to his feet.  With his hands on his son’s shoulder, he steered the boy toward the rest of the family.  They rounded the display table, and Mr. Pearson leaned his head toward his wife.  Her eyes widened and she clamped a hand over her open mouth.  Quiet whispers ended when blood drained from her face, and she slowly turned her attention in Grayson’s direction.  Still staring, she freed the bolt of fabric from her daughter’s grip and pointed across the room.  The girl whined, obviously more concerned with her loss of yard goods than of the reason for the family’s departure.  She stuck her bottom lip out and followed after her mother, mumbling under her breath as she went.

A chill filled the room and the noise quieted.  Other patrons continued to shop, but concentrated their browsing efforts on merchandise placed near the far wall.  Bullet casts might interest a few of the men, but could hardly capture everyone’s attention.  Grayson smirked and scanned the rest of the room.  To the devil with them all.  He would conduct his business, give the local biddies something to share at the church social, and return to his plantation.  There was no judgment there, only memories.

Milton Shields, the proprietor, tucked a cloth under his arm and emptied the last box from a back shelf.  He blew into the corner of the ledge.  A spider scurried to the front of the support and disappeared into a crack.  Grayson maneuvered past a woman clutching her child and made his way to the willowy shopkeeper.

Good day, Mr. Shields, Grayson said. 

The delicately built merchant teetered on his stool, and Grayson reached a hand to steady the bookish man.  Eight years ago, this one individual had become his only friend.  Although there was no truth to repudiate the fraudulent rumors aimed at Grayson, the businessman had not believed the rants of the incensed mob.  Violent abuse and murder were hard charges to deflect, even with no proof to support either accusation. 

Reece Mullins had incited the vigilant mob to agree with his side of the story.  Without a chance to explain, Grayson was tried and convicted by most of the community.  Reece’s word was hard to dispute.  His family had owned property in Virginia for several generations, and had led the way to establish the township.  No one seemed to care that he had done it all with the blood of the local Indians.

The merchant centered his eye glasses on his nose and looked up.  His squint softened and his eyes widened.  Gray.  How good it is to see you.

A twinge of a smile tugged at the corner of Gray’s mouth.  He hadn’t heard his nickname since...since he had stopped coming into town.  I hope I’m not costing you customers by being here, he said and gestured to the crowd at the front of the store.  Shoe leather shuffled against the wood floor, indicating the shoppers were expanding their interests.

Mr. Shields repositioned his frames and glanced past Gray’s arm.  He curled his nose and shrugged a shoulder.  The Pearsons?  Don’t concern yourself with them.  Their daughter is in here at least once a week, and she always walks out of the store empty handed.  I’m surprised she persuaded the entire family to accompany her.  He flipped his cloth toward his vacated shelf.  "The Flaming Arrow arrived this morning and just in time as far as I’m concerned.  I thought I would be out of business due to a lack of goods."  Waving his hand through the air, he motioned for Gray to walk with him as he headed down an aisle. 

Glass rattled at the front of the store, drawing both men’s attention.  A young boy had pushed himself up on the counter and was elbow deep in the candy jar.  Clearly, he was in too big of a hurry to wait for service.  He pulled a licorice whip into the open, closed the lid on the canister, and slammed his payment next to the register.  Snapping off a piece of the black strap, he tossed the bite in his mouth and left the store.  Three other boys hooted and hollered and then gave chase to the brazen lad.

Mr. Shields scratched his head and glanced to his side.  He must have lost a dare.  Now then, what was I— 

Gray pushed his tricorn up from his brows.  My order?

"No, that wasn’t it.  The Flaming Arrow.  Ah, yes.  Now there’s an order that will set some tongues to wagging.  I think every person in town came out to see her.  Not the ship, mind you, but the girl.  He flipped his cleaning cloth over a shoulder and watched Gray.  The merchant’s brown eyes stared, seeming to await a reaction.  Apparently disappointed with the lack of response, he wrinkled his face and shook his head.  She’s a bride for Reece," the old man said.  He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Gray bumped into a sack of seed corn and turned his attention to the little man.  From the crooked smile and the amused light dancing behind the aged eyes, Mr. Shields enjoyed being the one to pass along this information. 

I thought that would get your attention, he said.

Gray shoved the sack back into place.  Reece is not my concern.

I thought you might have an interest when a young lady crosses an ocean at Reece Mullins’ invitation.

I don’t, he snapped.  Send my order to the house.

Mr. Shields grabbed Gray’s arm.  The long fingers tightening on his forearm like a viper.  You’ll take it with you.  I’ll not bring it out.  It grieves me to see the way you’ve squandered Oak Willow.  It was bad enough my stock boy soiled himself.  I had to pay him an extra day’s wage for the errand.  To do this to yourself is one thing, but to make your mother live in isolation. . . you should be ashamed of yourself.

Mr. Shields disappeared into the back room, and Gray’s hands balled into fists.  He ached to hit something, but some targets were beyond reproach.  Bullying a defenseless man or woman was something he would have no part of.  He tried to temper the anger building in his chest.  No one needed to remind him of his mother and the life she led.  He had not prevented her from leaving Oak Willow.  The woman refused to leave, insisting she would stay on the plantation. 

We don’t see much of you in town these days, a distant voice said from behind him. 

Gray turned his head away from the noise and tried to focus on anything else.  He didn’t need a confrontation to keep him from returning home.

I knew the Scots were clannish, but you’re in Virginia now.  Over here, it’s considered proper to speak when addressed.  The voice continued to goad, and added a chuckle to the taunt.

What? Gray asked.  Slowly gaining control of himself, he turned.

A stout man stood in front of him.  His shoulders were reared back, and he rolled his sleeves up his arm.  I said.  He switched to the other arm.  You’re kind of uppity for a man who got run out of an entire country.  What was it I heard?  ‘MacGregors are too bad-tempered to keep out of trouble.’  You’ve already proven that.  I think, maybe they are stupid, too.  He drew back his fist, ready to punch.

Donald! Mr. Shields shouted.  The curtain behind him fell back into place.  He pushed a wooden crate in front of him.  I hear tell the magistrate’s after you.  Should I let him know you were just here, trying to bust up my shop?

The burly man lowered his arm and glared at Gray.  Him ignoring me doesn’t change things.  Neither does changing his name.  He stepped close, his breath in desperate need of a parsley sprig.  You can call yourself Gregory all you want, but you’ll always be a MacGregor, and you’ll always be without a country, or a clan.

Gray’s eye twitched and he flexed his hands.  Gray didn’t know if he was happy or annoyed with his friend’s timing.  Donald could have been the release he needed.

The blond man turned and glowered at Gray and then stormed out the door.

Don’t mind Donald, Mr. Shields said.  He upended the crate on its side.  Some people don’t have the sense God gave a turnip.  Donald’s own wife won’t have anything to do with him.  He stretched his back and looked at Gray.  I want to thank you for holding your temper.  From the redness of your neck, I can tell it wasn’t easy for you.  I see your disposition has calmed tremendously since th...what I mean...thanks for not breaking up my place.  There’s no denying he earned a good thrashing, but I’m grateful to you, nonetheless.

Gray nodded.  He hefted the crate to his shoulder and moved toward the exit. 

Thunder rumbled and wind blew against the door, pushing it open.  A thickly sweet odor weighted down the breeze.  That nauseating smell still permeated the crevices of Gray’s thoughts, and there was only one man in town who enjoyed the stench.

The entrance pushed completely open and Reece Mullins filled the doorway, his cigar wedged in the corner of his mouth.  Behind the ribbon of smoke, his eyes widened and his head pulled back.  The bite on his cigar tightened.  One solid punch would send it down his throat.  With any luck, it would lodge against his windpipe and end Gray’s suffering.

Gray, Reece sneered.  His hazel eyes darkened and then lit, exposing a glint of wickedness.  His brand of evil was never far from the surface.  Gray was certain he caught a whiff of brimstone. 

He stepped to the side and nodded toward the door.  One shrug of his shoulder and the crate he carried would pin the man against the jamb.  No one would ever believe it was accidental.  The town’s residents hadn’t believed the truth, why would they question a direct attack?  He shifted his gaze toward Reece, his jaw flexing. 

Reece looked past Gray and swept the room with a quick glance.  Utter enjoyment spread across his face, exposing perfectly straight teeth.  He leaned his arm against the frame and crossed one foot over the other.  Is that any way to treat a bridegroom?

Gray turned his head to face Reece and slid his hand to the back of the crate.  At this angle, he could shove the entire end of the box into the man’s scornful face.

Gray! Mr. Shields yelled from the back of the room.  Donald isn’t the only one the magistrate would like to see behind bars.  I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you a bit.  But, can you afford to be locked up?

Reece chuckled.  He raised his open hand and inspected his fingernails.  As soon as my wife gets settled, he flicked his gaze upward, we’ll make a point to invite you over.  I know how you like the English ladies.

Gray’s shipment clattered to the floor and in one movement, he caught Reece by the neck.  Pinning him to the door, he fought the urge to squeeze.

Gray! Mr. Shields screamed.

He had waited for an opportunity like this, dreamed of the man being clutched in his grasp, squeezing until his breath ceased.  He would sacrifice the justice he desperately wanted to extract revenge for this man’s cruel act.  A pulse beat under his fingertips, exactly as he imagined.  He had the strength to end his life.  Why?  Why couldn’t he compress his grip?

Reece’s brows drew together, obviously confused as to why he still breathed.  Do it, Gray, he coaxed.  Choke me.  With all of these witnesses, I will possess everything you own.  Everything. 

Someone pulled on his arm, and Gray released his hold.  Mr. Shields’ held Gray’s battered package up to him.  His eyes held no contempt, only understanding.

Gray accepted both and pushed past Reece, scraping the crate against him as he left.  He burst outside and hurried down the sidewalk, gulping air as he walked.  Turning a corner, he collapsed against the brick wall.  Unable to face another pointing finger, he closed his eyes and waited for his body to stop trembling.  Although the throbbing in his ears continued to pound, his pulse finally subsided.  He shifted the weight of the heavy crate.  Why didn’t he leave it in the carriage before dodging out of sight?  One man had removed everything good from his life, and Reece’s mocking laughter had fueled five years of Gray’s blinding rage.  Mr. Shields was wrong.  Gray didn’t have control of his temper where Reece Mullins was concerned.  He only had contempt and hatred for the man.  Still, there was no need to reignite community animosity.  He breathed deep and pushed himself away from the building.  His carriage was one block away, he could find rest there.  He tightened his arm around the crate and rounded the corner.  Something unexpectedly soft blocked his path.  Lowering his box, he looked to see what damage he had caused with his carelessness.

In front of him, a woman stumbled backward, tripping over her dropped satchels.  Her arms flailed the air, grasping for anything to break her fall.  Landing with a thud, an oversized straw hat fell from her head, revealing long, golden blonde hair.  Gray dropped his box to the ground and bent to help her up.  Accepting his hand, she stood to her feet.

Please forgive me, she said, and scrambled to gather her bags.  I didn’t mean to. . .   She righted the overturned cases and lined them up next to her. 

Wind blew and caught her hat, blowing it against Gray’s legs.  His stomach fluttered and he froze.  It had only been a twinge, but it struck like a lightning bolt.  He stared down at the woman rummaging for her belongings.  How could a strange woman stir something in him he thought long dead?  Rattled, he picked up her hat and handed it to her. 

Thank you, she said.  She tilted her head and blinked large green eyes up at him.  I should have paid closer attention to where I was walking.

There’s no need to apologize.  The fault is mine.  He glanced around to see if someone searched for her.  Except for the few passersby who held to the opposite side of the street, they were relatively alone.  Rain spattered the dry roadway, spotting the dirt with pea-sized divots.  Gray touched her elbow and guided her under an awning.  He glanced up at the sky and then back to her.  From the heaviness of the drops, she should have time to reach her destination without being drenched.  May I direct you? he asked.

Her brows drew together and she stepped closer.  She touched her hand to his arm.  By any chance, are you Reece Mullins?

Gray stiffened, his anger rising.  I am not, he stated flatly.

She bent her arms to cover her chest, and her fingers fluttered the lace on the front of her dress.  I’m sorry, she said.  I didn’t mean to presume.  It’s only, my name is Katherine Bailey and I am to meet Mr. Mullins at the general store, but was delayed.  When I saw you, I thought he had come to look for me.

Gray stepped to the side and pointed to a spot down the street.  You will find him there.

She bobbed a thank you and hurried to her belongings. From the bulging sides of the canvas, it appeared as though everything she owned was crammed into the three cases.  She huddled one bag under each arm, and clutched the last satchel in her hand.  Wobbling away from him, she looked like a pack mule heading into the unknown.  The rain fell heavier, and she hurried her steps.  If she knew what kind of man she ran to, she would leave everything she owned to get away from him.

Gray waited for her to disappear into the store.  She hesitated before entering, but didn’t look back.  He grabbed the rope handle on the side of his box and swung it onto his shoulder.  Tucked behind the crate, her hat lay pressed against the wall.  Apparently, her covering wasn’t important to her.  Gray scooped the garment up and glanced toward the store.  It wouldn’t be long before she would know that feeling on a more personal level.  Everyone has to walk out the consequences of their actions.  He hoped she was prepared for the road that lay ahead of her.  His carriage waited to return him to his.

Chapter 2

Katherine Bailey’s bare feet pounded the ground in uneven rhythms.  Thorns and briars tugged at her nightdress, snatching at bits and pieces of flannel.  She puffed short quick breaths of air, and pushed herself deeper into the thicket.  She didn’t have much of a head start.  Reece had only been dazed when she escaped.  Grabbing the handiest item in the bedroom, she had swung the weighty bed warmer with a two-fisted grip.  Hot with coals, the metal pan had sprayed the room with embers, emptying fully when it clanged against his head.  The wood floors would most likely be scarred, but shouldn’t burn.  She hoped Reece would carry a similar reminder of her determination to leave his presence.

Dogs barked in the distance, and hoof beats thundered close behind the growling mongrels.  Loud curses filled the