Embrace of the Enemy (Winds of Betrayal) (29 page)

“Where is the girl?” The force of his words made Rebekah shudder. “Rory ain’t gonna be happy!”

She didn’t need to hear anymore. She spun on her heels, castigating herself as an absolute idiot. Rory was after her! 
Oh, what a fool she had been!
 She backed up, knocking into the table in the hall. The vase came crashing down. Trembling uncontrollably, she edged down the wall. Hearing hurried footsteps, fear encompassed her when she saw two men running up the staircase. 
Rory’s men!
 She panicked.

Bolting in the opposite direction, she headed for the back stairs. Her hope of slipping down the stairs undetected dissipated hearing the rumblings behind her. Rebekah quickened her pace, rapidly taking each step until she hit the first floor. She hit the back door running, struck by an impelling urge to get as far from the inn as possible.

Fleeing through the rainstormed night, she tried to peer through the pouring rain. She had gone some distance when she gasped for breath. Leaning against a brick building, she hadn’t a clue where she had run. Clasping her side against the pain, she blinked away the water streaming down her face, not knowing whether it was the rain or tears.

Suddenly a hand grasped her shoulder…

“Rebekah!” Jonathan fought the wind. Doubting she could hear him, he ignored the pelleting rain and rushed forward, grabbing her arm. In one swift motion, he swirled her around to face him.

Instantly, a look of sheer terror swept across her face. Slowly, recognition flooded her. She gripped tightly to his arm. “Oh, Jonathan!”

The next moment she collapsed into his arms. He wasted no time, but carried her down the street into the waiting carriage. A large black man quickly opened the carriage door for Jonathan. “Is she…?”

“She’s fine. She has only just fainted…”

“Jasper, Dr. Corbett, Jasper,” the old man said and closed the carriage’s door, but not before Jonathan heard the servant utter, “Thank the good Lord.”

Jonathan wrapped a blanket around Rebekah while he felt the wheels of the carriage move beneath him. He drew her into his arms and instinctively, she nestled into him. He stroked her head. As much as she claimed she had changed, she still inspired love and loyalty into those around her.

The wind picked up, shaking the carriage; the rain pounded harder. He was drenched and soaked. Strange—warmth spread through him he hadn’t felt in years.

“Jasper.” Jonathan set Rebekah down in the middle of her bedroom. A young blackie girl followed, frantically crying that her mistress was dead. No, Rebekah wasn’t dead, he thought. She had wakened and she wasn’t happy. “Jasper, shut the door and keep everyone else out.”

“Oh, Mistress Esther won’t like that none,” Rebekah’s maid uttered. “No sir.”

Jonathan shot her a look that silenced the girl. Rebekah pushed back from Jonathan, stumbling. Reaching out, he caught her arm. “Be careful,” he said in a harsh voice, his patience lost.

“Leave,” she answered his behavior. “You have done your duty.”

“Duty?” Jonathan’s voice rose. “Duty? You call looking for you in the midst of a torrential storm duty? Where was your head, Rebekah?”

“You would not understand,” she said. Her eyes flamed at him, but her hand reached down for her midriff; her hand trembled.

Immediately, he swept her back into his arms and carried her to the side of her bed. He motioned for the maid to step forward. “Get her dry clothes! She is to be put to bed.”

“Sully,” Rebekah said. “It is fine. I need only to get out of these wet clothes.”

Sully nodded, but fear shone in her eyes at Jonathan. She skirted to the wardrobe and withdrew a nightgown. Turning, she waited for Jonathan to leave, but he made no movement.

“If you don’t get her out of these wet clothes, I will.”

The young maid looked at Rebekah inquiringly, reluctant to begin undressing her mistress in front of a man.

“It is fine, Sully,” Rebekah said as she slung off her cloak. “Obviously, Dr. Corbett feels it is his duty.”

“I do.” Jonathan walked to the door. “I will be right outside. This is not over, Rebekah.”

He slammed the door behind him, shaking the wall. He found Jasper in the hall with a set of dry clothes for him. “Mistress Esther left these for you. You can change in the room down the corridor. I’ll take your boots to dry. It was some of Mistress Esther’s husband’s. Master Ian’s would be too small. She sent word to the others that Rebekah’s been found. I’ll stay here and make sure no one enters.”

“And Mistress Esther?” Jonathan asked.

“Said you can deal with Miss Rebekah.”

Coming 2014

THE HEAVENS SHALL FALL
,

Book Four Winds of Betrayal

ANOTHER NIGHT FALLS 
by Jerri Hines

Book Three, Tides of Charleston Series- Whiskey Creek Press

Sumner Meador walked in a world of wealth and privilege as part of Charles Town’s elite, but that was years ago. Now he fights in the Southern backwoods driven by the passion he holds for the Patriot cause, shadowed by his past. Reeling from a devastating defeat at the hands of the British, Sumner seeks haven at his farm, only to find an interloper—an unwelcome and unwanted distraction. He has no time for the young woman or the complications she brings with her, but soon discovers he has no option but to give aid to the stubborn, courageous beauty whether she wants it or not.

A widower, Sumner has been haunted by the death of his wife and is consumed with a desire for revenge. Jane Kilmer has been violently thrust into the midst of the civil war ensuing in the backwoods. Hiding from one of the most dangerous vigilantes, Jane trusts no one. Suddenly, she has no choice but to put her life in Sumner’s hands. Both desire revenge, but neither wants what happens—to fall completely, undeniably in love with each other—so much so, that both are willing to die for the other. And they might have to.

Excerpt

Jane Kilmer stood by the window, looking out over the moonlit landscape. The full moon hung low upon this hot night. Not a breeze to ease the sweltering heat to give her sleep. Shadows from the weeping willow hung over the path that led to the house. She broke her gaze thankful she wasn’t prone to being scared. Her brother, Troy, would have laughed at her if she fended fear.

“Ain’t nothin’ I can think of that would scare you, Jane,” he taunted her as children. In that he hadn’t known her well enough for she did have fear. She had faced her fear several times over the last few months of her life. Now she had nothing left to fear.

Could death become an acquaintance, she wondered? For she had seen it many times, too many times in her twenty years. Jane caught herself. She didn’t want to wonder anything. She wanted only to exist, not to think or to feel. They said that time healed everything. What did anyone know of time?

She daubed the perspiration from her body with a wet handkerchief. Even with the translucent gown she wore the heat seemed oppressive. She looked down upon the gown. She found it within the wardrobe upon her arrival. She had known of Beltcher and knew he had had no wife. Even at the time she thought it strange to have found such.

The nightgown wasn’t the only clothes she found within trunks in the back bedroom, garments made of the finest material and felt luxurious to the touch. The thought crossed her mind that the woman who owned these had a man to impress or perhaps it had been the man who wanted to impress the lady with these gifts?

The clothing she supposed mattered little. While she hid from the world, she had no fear of anyone seeing her in such a nightgown. Only at night did she dare wear such whether anyone saw or not.

She walked away from the window and turned into the room. The house was quaint, not large, but sufficient, especially for her needs. She had made the necessary adjustments needed for the time she had spent for well over three months. The garden that Beltcher had laid she tended. In time she produced enough food for her needs. The horse she boarded in the barn and let graze in the pasture. She had only to decide upon her course for the winter. Soon she would have to make a decision about her fate for this comfort wouldn’t last a winter.

Suddenly, her senses alerted to a danger. She raced back to the window with her heart pounding. She heard the horse long before she saw it. In the next moment, a figure of the horse silhouetted the night and loomed in the shadows of the path up to the house. 
Where had she left her pistol? In the bedroom? Why had she let her guard down after all this time
?

To her horror, the horse didn’t ride up to the front of the house but headed round for the stables. Was there was only one horse? Jane saw only a single rider. Could they have only sent one? She swallowed. Quickly he would learn of her existence with the inevitable discovery of the horse. She hadn’t long.

She ran to the bedroom and took the pistol which lay upon the table. She looked upon the clothes she had worn during the day. She had no time to change. She eased out the window. She would only have one chance. The intruder wouldn’t have time to unsaddle his horse upon finding that one lived within the deserted house.

She knew the countryside well enough if she had access to a horse. Where she would go she didn’t know, but she would live another day. She stepped quietly across the yard and slid through the open stable door into the darkness. Her eyes couldn’t make out a figure, but she saw well the saddled horse. The animal heard her and sidled away, snorting. Where was the intruder?

Her horse nudged the door to his stall, calling attention to her. She frowned dropping the pistol to her side. The horse quieted when she stilled herself. She glanced around to the side. He had to be within. She slowly turned her glance in the darkness. A noise behind startled her. She held her musket out and turned quickly, but he was to her side.

Hitting her upon her arm, the pistol fell harmlessly behind the horse. The impact sent her reeling
. Oh Mother of all! What would she do now?
 She crawled to her knees. Regaining her footing, she ran, but to no avail the quicker feet had her within his grasp within moments. She struggled with every bit of energy in her. She tried to claw at him, but he held tight her hands. Then she kicked at him. She knew where it would hurt.

Surprised at her assault, her assailant cried out, “Good Gawd, woman!”

In the same breath he let go. She ran out the barn and looked frantically around, searching for an escape, but he lunged at her and she fell against the hard ground, a hard rock. Her head hurt. She tried to stand, but lost balance. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. Though within her vision she saw a face whose eyes showed concern, handsome eyes. She knew nothing else as darkness descended upon her.

* * * *

Sumner settled the girl in the front bedroom of the house. He laid the mystery lady down on the bed. What the bloody hell had happened here? Who was this woman? She hadn’t the look of a homeless wanderer. Moreover what was she doing in his house?

The room looked as though she lived within it, littered with female garments. A dress hung over the back of a hardback chair. Slippers sat on the underside of the bed. Running his hand through his hair, his gaze fell back upon her. He studied her while he felt the bump on her head, a large bump.

With his touch, she began to mutter unintelligible words. At least he hadn't killed the poor thing. He hadn't known what to expect when he entered the stable and saw the horse. The house in the darkness had given no indication of someone lived in his house, no light, no noise. Seeing the horse put him on immediate alert.

He heard crackling of leaves and trigs when he dismounted. He eased off and waited. He attacked with the same force he would have a man. He hadn’t intended to harm a young woman, especially one as beautiful as she. Or was it the moonlight that had shone down upon her?

He watched her breathing. His eyes inspected her from her lovely face sweeping down her body to her bare feet. He hadn't looked upon a woman in this manner for a long time. The fabric of the white nightgown hung from her shoulders, leaving her arms bare and revealed the swell of her breasts, falling loose around her petite body. Her hair as dark as midnight hung, unbound, over her shoulders and down her back. He wondered what color her eyes were, but her features were fine. 

Uncomfortable, she squirmed. One of her dainty hands folded into a fist and hit against the mattress, twisting and turning.
 
Of course she was!
 He had knocked her out, but Lord, he must be in a bad state, for he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Questions raked his mind. Who was she? Why became clear as he thought. She was running, hiding. She had to be or she wouldn't be in such an isolated homestead. Was she running from her father, an abusive husband? In that he didn't know.

A few things he could discern about her while he watched her. She didn't frighten easily. She knew how to fight. And by God, she was beautiful.

Book One, Secret Lives Series