Love Not a Rebel (44 page)

The lieutenant whistled softly. “No wonder she played our men so false so easily!”

How bitter those words!

“Aye,” he said quietly. “It was easy for her to play men falsely.”

“I wonder if they will hang her,” the soldier said. He seemed very perplexed, anxious. “Would we hang a woman, General?” He hesitated a moment. Eric barely noticed, for still his gaze was caught by his wife’s brilliant green eyes, ever wider now. Was she afraid at last? Did she feel the itch of hemp about her throat?

“Milord, surely you
cannot
have her hanged!”

He smiled ironically, feeling her warmth, even now remembering that the very sun itself seemed to live in her kiss, in the glory of her hair, in the splendor of her arms.

“Nay, I cannot,” he agreed, adding quietly, “for she is, you see, my wife.”

The young man gasped. Eric knew that he dared not stay there now, his temper fraying so quickly and so visibly. He would deal with Amanda later, on his own territory.

On territory familiar to them both.

“Tell Daniel to set a course for Cameron Hall,” he ordered. “Have someone come for this lieutenant,” he said, referring to the Highlander. Apparently this man had fought and died—to protect Amanda from him! “The Brits must be buried at sea; our own will find rest at home.”

He turned back to Amanda. “My love, I shall see you
later.” He bowed deeply to her and then strode from the cabin as quickly as he could. He did not stop by the wheel, he walked straight to the tip of the bow and stood against the wind, feeling the wash and spray of the surf as it flooded over him.

The deed, at least, was done. The arms and munitions were probably all lost, but the
Lady Jane
was his again.

And Amanda was his again.

His fingers itched. He remembered Tarryton, and his words, and a staggering pain gripped his gut as he wondered what was true and what was not.

They had been married more than two years. She was his wife! His, and no part of that bastard Tarryton. He should cast her from him, he should demand a divorce.…

He could no more divorce her than he could cut away his own right hand. He shouldn’t touch her.

He couldn’t wait to get his hands upon her. He needed time. Time to steady himself, time to prove the victor indeed. And there were things to be done. He had to find General Lewis, and join with him to make the final plans for hunting down Lord Dunmore.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the rigging. In time, Daniel came to him to tell him that they were nearly docked.

“See that Frederick takes my wife home and that the servants are made aware that she is not to leave. I will ride immediately to find the troops. Our own men may stay aboard, or set tents upon the lawn, as is their choice.”

“Aye, sir!”

Eric stayed where he was when Frederick went for Amanda. He watched from his vantage point as the man led her across the deck, and to the gangplank. And he watched, his heart pierced as if by fire, as she was saluted as a worthy foe.

Damn her. Damn her a thousand times over.

When the carriage disappeared with her within it, he strode off the ship himself. A horse was quickly supplied to him, and Daniel was ready to ride beside him.

They didn’t have far to hunt for General Lewis, his old
friend from the Indian days. Lewis had been heading along the peninsula, and now he was eager to point out Dunmore’s position.

“We’ll chase him to his anchor off of Gwynn’s Island. We’ll see that he and his pirating fleet are sent far away for good!” Lewis swore vehemently.

“We’ll join my men with the militia in the morning then, General,” Eric agreed. “I’ll ride back now to my men.”

“Lord Cameron!” Lewis stopped him.

Eric, halfway out of the brigadier general’s tent, paused beneath the flap. “Aye?”

“I would have you know that there is no proof as to the identity of the spy,” the general said quietly.

“No proof?”

Lewis cleared his throat unhappily. “Well, news of your victory aboard the
Lady Jane
traveled even more swiftly than you did, my lord. The battle was witnessed from the shore, and the rumor is, of course, that your wife was aboard and that the men seemed to recognize her as ‘Highness.’ Bear in mind, sir, that some thought as how Dunmore would have liked to have kidnapped Mrs. Washington. Perhaps your lady was taken quite the same.”

Eric nodded, not believing a word of it. His “lady” had already lifted a Brown Bess against him. God knew what surprises she might have waiting for him within their room.

“I thank you for your concern, General Lewis. My wife will soon be leaving for France, where she will be safe from either side.”

He saluted and left then, nodding to Daniel. He mounted his horse, with Daniel behind him, and he started off for home. Seconds later he was galloping across Virginia fields, more than anxious to reach his home.

At the steps he dismounted. Pierre was there to take his mount, to greet him enthusiastically. “What happened here?” he demanded of his good servant. “The truth, Pierre. The truth of it.”

Pierre shrugged unhappily. “I don’t know the whole truth of it, my lord. Danielle was struck and has just
regained consciousness, and she swears your lady innocent.”

“Danielle would swear her innocent were she caught in the king’s own arms!” Eric exclaimed.

Pierre shrugged unhappily. “She meant no harm to any of us. That monster Tarryton would have struck young Margaret, but Lady Cameron would not allow it.”

“But she went with Tarryton easily enough herself.”

Pierre lowered his head. “So it seemed,” he admitted softly.

“That is all I need for now, Pierre,” he said. “I want her taken to France tomorrow, as soon as I have left. I shall leave the
Good Earth
here for that purpose. You will go with her, and Cassidy—”

“Cassidy thinks that he should be serving you, milord.”

“If he can keep my wife from mischief and harm, he will be serving me.”

“And Danielle?”

“Aye,” Eric said after a moment. “Danielle may accompany her.”

“How long shall we stay?”

“Till hell freezes over, so it seems!” Eric muttered. Then he sighed. “I don’t know as yet. You will go to the Comte de la Rochelle, who is with the court at Versailles. When this thing is solved, I will come for my lady and the rest of you.”

“Aye, my lord. And Cameron Hall?”

“Richard will remain here. He knows the place even better than I. He has kept things running so well.”

“If I may, milord, Lady Cameron has kept things running so well.”

“Then, Pierre, it shall not run so well, but there is nothing else that I can do. Is everything clear?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Good night then, Pierre.”

“Good night, milord.”

Eric started up the stairs to the house. Upon entering his home he saw the scorched walls and places where the fires had been beaten out. The faint smell of smoke still lay about the place, but very little had been harmed.

He looked up the stairs and hesitated, his fingers winding into fists by his side.

Then he started up the steps, and when he reached his own door he paused again.

Control … he warned himself.

He silently opened the door and stepped within the room.

Instantly his eyes fell upon her. Passion and desire combined with raw fury to sweep all his thoughts of a cold and distant reunion aside.

Steam still rose softly from a bath, but she was no longer within it. She stood by the window, her form draped in a towel, her features grave as she gazed upon the lawn, her hair high and sable and fire and gloss in a cascade of curls. She turned to him, her eyes wide and emerald and startled. There was an innocence, a vulnerability, to the way she clutched her towel to her breast. As if she held her innocence against him, as if they were strangers, never man and wife.

You are my wife! he vowed in silence.

Her eyes met his, clouded and wary. He turned and closed and locked the door, then leaned against it. His anger and desire joined to make his voice tremble with menace as he spoke to her.

“Well, Highness, it has come. Our time of reckoning at last.”

He waited for her reply, for her denial, for her cry of innocence.

A smile curled his lip. He could no longer remain still; he could not bear the distance. A searing tempest all took root within his soul, and he took his first, ruthless step toward her.

“Aye, milady, our time of reckoning at last.”

Part IV
But One Life

XV
  

A
manda stared at Eric wordlessly, unable to believe that he could have become the stranger standing there with the brutal lock to his jaw and the icy expression in his eyes.

She wanted to cry out so badly that she had betrayed no one. As Eric strode on into the room, she thought that he meant to come straight to her, to wind his fingers around her throat, and she tried not to flinch. His eyes were dark now. They had that ability to go from silver gray to deepest cobalt, and now, by candlelight, they were dark indeed and fathomless.

He did not come to her. Perhaps he was afraid to do so. Afraid of what he might do to her if he touched her.

He pulled out a chair at the table and sat, wincing slightly as he lifted his foot to set it upon the opposite chair. She could scarcely breathe as he stared at her relentlessly, and neither could she move. Her fingers clenched about the snowy towel that enwrapped her, and
other than that, she could do nothing but return his stare. He poured himself some wine, using her glass, and cast his gaze upon the tray of barely touched food. He sipped the wine, staring her way once again. “Is there a knife you harbor at your breast, my love?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “I have never desired your death.”

“No? That’s not what you’ve said at times.”

“I’ve spoken in anger.”

“And you leveled a musket upon my heart this very day.”

“I never wanted to kill you! And I do not carry a knife. Were I to desire your death, I would not be fool enough to carry a knife. You could too easily use it against me.”

“Ah.” She didn’t like the way that he softly whispered the sound, nor did she like his manner as he continued. “Because you are weak, and I am stronger. Amanda, you do have the most exceptional talent for crying out about femininity the moment that you are cornered.”

“I am not cornered. I am innocent.”

“Innocent?”

Her fingers clutched convulsively about the towel before she realized that it did seem she hid some weapon at her breast. She did not reply quickly enough and he suddenly and violently stood. This time there was no hesitation as he strode across the room toward her. His walk was so filled with menace that she gasped, seeking to elude him, but he was upon her too quickly, wrenching her arms from their taut wrap. The linen towel fell to her feet, her hair streamed damp red streamers down her back and over her shoulders, and but for that she was left naked before his gaze.

And his eyes went darker still.

She longed to reach for the towel quickly, to retreat, but they had now taken their battle farther than they had ever gone, and she could not play the coward. She lifted her chin and spoke mockingly instead. “No blade, milord, as you can see.” She waited, condemning him with her eyes. Then she did begin to slowly bend to retrieve her towel. “If you’ll excuse me—”