Moonlight Lover (17 page)

That night, the cottage had been burned to the ground and her mother with it.

Memories shimmered before Rachel as she looked at the man in her shop. "We've a right to print what we want."

"And I've a right to show you my opinion of it."

Like a bear swatting away a fly, the big man hit the chase with the back of his beefy hand, scattering the painstakingly placed type. They flew like so many drops of black rain falling through air.

Like a cornered animal, Rachel shrieked and, grabbing up the poker from the hearth, lunged for him.

Chapter Seventeen

The man roared in surprised anger as he felt the sting of the poker against his back. He raised his arms before
him to block the blows as Rachel swung the long iron rod
like a blunted sword. She managed to strike three times before the man darted his deceptively beefy paw out as
quick as a coiled water moccasin and seized the poker. He
yanked hard and she nearly pitched forward at his feet, managing to catch herself only at the last moment.

Bright blue eyes glittered through small slits as he looked down at her. "A hellcat are you?" The guttural laugh, menacing and almost deranged, came from deep within his cavernous chest. "I've ways of dealing with a hellcat."

Rachel's heart froze at the sight of the demonic smile that lifted the fat cheeks. Evil. The look on his face was pure evil.

For a moment she was paralyzed with fear. Rachel heard her cat screech as it got in the man's way. He kicked Mab aside with a heavy boot. The cat's shriek brought Rachel back to her senses. Her hand still on the poker, she gritted her teeth as she attempted to wrench it away from him.

But the man had a firm grip on it. He knocked the wind out of her as he slammed her to the wall. Squeezing her against it, he held the bar horizontally to her clavicle and shoulders. He pushed his weight against her until she felt that her bones would snap. His body was everywhere, a huge, odious mushroom that was encompassing her. Consuming her.

Winthrop Rutherford felt his breath growing shorter as his flabby flesh pressed against the girl's soft body. He was tired of seeing his way of life being ripped away from him. Tired of these whores who aligned themselves with the rebels to betray the landed gentry.

To betray him.

If not for them, if not for this diseased rabble, his father's lands would have been passed on intact to him. Now his father was dead and his fortune almost gone, stolen by these common thieves who passed themselves off as patriots. Well, he would be compensated. One way or the other, he would be compensated.

He sniffed her hair. She smelled good for a whore. Better than those wenches at the tavern. Almost as good as Savannah had. Savannah who had played him for a fool as well, dangling herself before him just out of reach, making him beg for favors like a damnable puppy. And then she gave herself to that turncoat coward, Lawrence. He had wanted to kill them both. He still did.

Winthrop had heard that Lawrence was sniffing around this one's skirts now. Talk traveled quickly now that the war news was waning. He'd avenge himself on Lawrence and the lot of them by destroying their precious print shop and having the girl in the bargain.

The malevolent smile spread as his eyes glistened, ravaging over her.

"If you ask me nicely, perhaps I'll let you go afterwards." He pressed his lips to her throat, his drool sliding down her skin.

Rachel shuddered in revulsion.

"No!" Rachel screamed, more outraged than frightened
as he pawed her.

She beat on him with fists, trying to pry him away as he ripped the skirt of her dress in his eagerness to yank away
her pantaloons. It was like a fly beating its wings against
the hide of a cow. Her blows had less than no effect at all.

A wave of nausea washed over her. Rachel felt his lust
hardening him as he moved against her. "No!"

The laugh was cruel. She felt her nerves jumping in fearful anticipation. "You should have thought of that before you came at me, you rebel whore. It's people like you and your brother who've destroyed us all. But I can have my revenge with you. I can show you your place."

His breath came in short, raspy pants as he groped her.
She had a fine, firm body and it had been a long time since
he had someone other than the colorless woman who waited for him at home—a British import his father had sent for just before he died. A woman who laid there and bore her duty in silence, as if she were not even in the
same room as he was. As if she was not even in the same
bed as he.

This one wouldn't be. This one would claw and scream,
twist and turn against him, arousing his lust. This one
had stoked an instant fire in his loins and he was going to
enjoy himself and burn the newspaper office to boot. That would show those rebels. And he would reap a double revenge on Lawrence!

He grabbed Rachel by her hair and yanked her to him,
his mouth devouring hers like a hungry animal on a bone.

No
! Rachel thought, the single word screaming in her brain.
No, by God, I'll see you in hell first.

Suddenly, he shrieked as her teeth came down on his lower lip.

"You bitch!" he shrieked. Blood dripped down his chin, rippling into the folds. "You goddamn bitch." He hit her with the back of his hand, spending her flying across the room and into the side of the printing press.

Rachel groaned as she hit her head and fought for consciousness. Stars and lights threatened to take the young woman into a world of sheer darkness, but she struggled to push them back. She dragged huge gulps of air into her lungs.

She attempted to scramble back to her feet and failed, her head buzzing like a squadron of bees circling a hive. She felt helpless, barely conscious, yet horribly aware of this rutting beast who was preparing to mount her. To her horror, she saw the man lunge at her. Somewhere in the background a door slammed open. An angry sound,
like a battle cry, shattered the air as a man streaked across
the room.

Riley!

Riley, she thought. He'd come to save her. She felt like crying with relief as she fought to keep from being sucked
into the blackness that beckoned to her. She shook her head, attempting to get the multiple images to consolidate into one. Instantly, she regretted it. The action made
her nauseated. She felt as if she was tottering on the edge
of a bottomless pit.

Rachel groped for the side of the printing press, and, summoning all of her strength, she pulled herself up on wobbly legs.

Rachel focused her eyes. It wasn't her brother who had
flown to her rescue. The man who was bearing down on the odious stranger, pummeling him to the floor, wasn't Riley.

It was Sin-Jin.

She sank to her knees again before she managed to drag
herself up to her feet, one hand on the printing press for
support. She wanted to help Sin-Jin, wanted revenge. She
looked around for the poker.

But he didn't need her help. It was as if he was possessed by fury. She'd never seen this side of him, never suspected that there was this much rage, this much anger within him. It made her temper seem pale in comparison.

The battle was short. Within a few minutes, Winthrop was on the ground with the point of Sin-Jin's boot on his neck. Small, deep-set eyes filled with fear and anticipation looked up into the single barrel of the handgun that Sin-Jin held.

Sin-Jin had never wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to kill Winthrop.

It took tremendous effort to contain his rage. The world would be the better without this creature, he
reasoned, cocking the hammer. Winthrop quaked beneath
Sin-Jin's boot like kidney pie before it set. Sin-Jin felt disgust rise to his mouth like bitter fruit.

"God damn you to hell, I should have killed you a long time ago, Rutherford. All you seem to be able to do is try and force that pitiable appendage of yours on defenseless
women." Sin-Jin shifted his pistol, aiming low on Winthrop's torso. Winthrop whimpered like a whipped dog. "For less than a ha'penny, I'd shoot it off now."

Sin-Jin looked at Rachel. His stomach twisted within him as he took in her disheveled appearance. The filthy beast had hurt her, had put his hands on her. "Say the word, Rachel. Just say the word and I'll castrate this crazed pig."

Winthrop squealed pitiably. "You couldn't. Lawrence, for God's sake—"

"For everyone's sake," Sin-Jin said, his voice low as he
began to squeeze the trigger.

Rachel placed her hand over Sin-Jin's quickly. She didn't want the blood of this vermin on her conscience. She didn't want to be responsible for that. And she didn't want to be in debt to Sin-Jin any more than she already was.

"Don't." Sin-Jin looked at her, confused. "It would be
a pitiable waste of ball and powder and we still might be in
need of it."

A thin layer of calm descended upon his fury, covering it like morning mist over blades of grass. With an oath, he
repositioned the hammer and raised the pistol's barrel into the air.

But his eyes still smoldered as they cut the man on the floor into ribbons. "Get up. Get out of here and thank whatever god watches over you that Rachel is kind hearted. For I'm not."

Winthrop crawled up to his knees on all fours, then lumbered heavily to his feet. His jacket was stained with new sweat.

"She brought it upon herself. I was just ridding us of this nuisance." He waved a hand at the printing press. "They're printing lies." Desperate, still fearing for his
life, Winthrop tried to align himself with the very man he
hated. "Insurrectionist drivel, that's what it is. Surely, you as a fellow member of the crown—"

"Former member," Sin-Jin corrected him with contempt. He watched Winthrop, knowing better than to turn his back on the man. "And I wouldn't mingle your name with mine in the same sentence. You and I have no more in common than a mosquito has with an eagle."

Winthrop opened his mouth. Sin-Jin cocked the pistol again, leveling the barrel at Winthrop's wide chest. "Now get out of here before I change my mind and 'waste some ball and powder.'"

Stumbling, Winthrop backed away until he reached the door. Pawing it open, he ran out of the shop.

Sin-Jin lost no more time on Winthrop. Tucking his pistol into the waistband of his breeches, he crossed to Rachel. He placed his hands on either of her shoulders, turning her so that he could examine her face for bruises. There was only a faint trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. Sin-Jin took out his handkerchief and dabbed at it, cursing Winthrop.

"I should have killed the bastard."

Rachel said nothing.

Though Rachel looked as defiant as ever, Sin-Jin could feel her trembling as he wiped away the blood. "Are you all right?"

She fought against the urge to simply sag against him and sob. It was over. Thank God it was over.

She nodded. "Yes." Forming the word hurt. She could taste blood in her mouth. Rachel tried not to think of what might have happened had Sin-Jin not been there to save her. Temper was her only crutch to keep from falling apart. "I suppose you'll be wanting me to thank you now.

He resisted the urge to shake her. He shoved his handkerchief into his jacket a little too hard. The corner of the pocket tore. "No, but I would like you to change your attitude toward me."

Now that it was all over the fear began to set in. To her
embarrassment, Rachel discovered that her knees were not quite as solid as she would have wanted them to be. She leaned against the printing press, trying not to look too obvious.

"Attitude?" she echoed.

He saw that she was having trouble talking and once more regretted not shooting Winthrop. Placing his hand beneath her chin, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. It was meant to soothe, not arouse. It did a little of both.

"Yes, attitude. You look at me as if I'm something you want to crush beneath the heel of your shoe."

He was right and this one time, she was wrong. At least
partially. She allowed herself to smile just a little at the image, though it did her mouth no good. "You're much too tall for me to lift my leg so high."

His expression changed as he combed his fingers through her loosened hair. She was wearing it the way she had the first time he had seen her. The first time he had lost his heart to her.

He studied her closely. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "Jarred my head a little, but Riley
always said it was the hardest part of my body." She saw
anger begin to rise again in his eyes. "No, you came just in time," she assured him. Rachel let out a ragged breath, then smiled at him. "I am grateful."

Sin-Jin felt his heart lurch. To his recollection, he had never seen her smile before. Not at him. He'd been right. It made her even more beautiful. Because he couldn't continue touching her and not have her, he let his hands fall to his sides. "What did Winthrop want, besides the obvious?”

"You do know him, then?"

Sin-Jin nodded. "He and his father were staunch Tory sympathizers. His father was the head of some organization to counteract the rebellion from within before he was killed. Winthrop isn't the man his father was, except perhaps in size."

Rachel laughed then and her hand flew to her mouth as
she winced. "As near as I could understand, he had a quarrel with the newspaper. He started to smash the printing press. I hit him with a poker." She nodded at the iron rod on the floor.

Another woman would have run, not stood and fought.
Sin-Jin shook his head, wanting to gather her to him. "You're far too brave for your own good, Rachel O'Roarke."

"There's no such thing as too much bravery. I—" Rachel stopped and sniffed the air. Suddenly, it smelled as if it was filled with the odor of burning wood. She
looked at Sin-Jin, a bubble of panic leaping to her throat.
"Do you smell something?"