Moonlight Lover (8 page)

Never had it pleased Sin-Jin more than now to say, "I have no slaves."

She had thought that he was the owner of a plantation from the way he spoke. Perhaps she had attributed too much to his abilities. "You oversee them, then, in someone else's employ?"

Sin-Jin shook his head. "I'm not in anyone's employ but my own." It was not a popular stand, but it was his and he would not back down from it, though there had been a threat or two to his person for it. "I have no slaves because I set them free. Those who work for me earn a wage." He saw the surprise bloom in her eyes. Sin-Jin continued with relish.

"Not a very high one because as of yet I am not in the same financial position as some of my neighbors." Now suspicion edged out the surprise on her face. She was a hard woman to deal with, he thought. But he had ceased to enjoy the easy way out and welcomed a good challenge. "But it is an honest wage and I am proud to give it, Rachel."

She pouted slightly at the use of her given name. "Mistress O'Roarke," she corrected him, though the conviction in her voice wavered.

"You set your slaves free?" Riley's interest was aroused. The ache in his head had taken itself, in lesser proportions, to the corners of his temple.

Sin-Jin nodded. He answered without first weighing the import of his words. "Upon receiving them from my father-in-law as a gift on my wedding day."

Rachel's eyes grew dark and accusing.

He was married!

Married and he had kissed her! If she could, she would
have cut out his heart here and now and fed it to her cat. Only fear of poisoning the small animal would have prevented her.

Married.

The word echoed in her brain like the annoying tattoo of an Indian chant. She hardly heard her brother's questions. They had something to do with talking to Sin-Jin at length some time in the near future. He wanted to do a story on him as a visionary.

He wasn't a visionary, she thought, feeling hot tears claw in her throat. He was only a brute.

Chapter Eight

So now there were two things to despise him for.

Rachel hated him for being British. A memory flashed through her brain—Lancaster assaulting her mother, laughing when she pleaded to be released—and Rachel's mouth hardened. Only the lowest scum of the earth were British.

And if she had any doubts of that, she could add the
lowest thing of all; Mr. Saint John Lawrence was married.
Saint indeed. Saint in the same way that Lucifer had been
an angel before The Fall.

Married and he had kissed her in the manner a man kissed his intended. Fury flamed in Rachel's eyes as she thought of it. May his immortal soul burn in hell for all eternity! Indignation rekindled in her breast. She couldn't wait to be rid of him.

Rachel remained uncharacteristically silent as Sin-Jin bid her good day. She refused to so much as look in his direction. Seconds dribbled passed by ever so slowly as she waited to hear the door close.

When it finally did, she whirled upon her brother, an accusation hot on her lips.

"Riley, how could you?"

During the course of Sin-Jin's visit, Riley's self-inflicted condition had begun to slowly dissipate. Now the pounding returned with a vengeance. He eyed his sister wearily, but with a measure of patience. She was, after all, doing the tasks that he should have been about this morning.

"And what 'how could I' is it now, sweet sister?" He shook his head, thinking that she had probably driven Sin-Jin off permanently with her display of temper. "Rachel, I swear by all that is holy, you are beginning to be a very difficult woman to love."

Her small features puckered into a pout. "Don't you swear at me, Riley Sean O'Roarke." She tossed her head as she reached for the ink. "And if you did love me, you wouldn't have invited the likes of that horrid man to eat with us."

She never wanted to see his face as long as she lived. Or
longer. And here was her brother, inviting the man to dinner. With an oath, she grasped the handle of the inker and applied it to the typeset with more force than was necessary. Ink oozed between the letters and she swore even more royally.

Riley knew that there was something about the situation that wasn't quite right, but a sweet temper was something neither one of them possessed. He moved
until he was directly before her, his male pride wounded.

"And since when is it that I'd be needing your permission before asking someone to come and break bread with us?"

Her chin went up like the comb of a game cock before a
battle.
 
"Since right now." Riley could have sworn lightning flashed in her eyes. Green lightning. "It's his head I'd rather be breaking than any miserable loaf of bread."

Riley's temper simmered down like a pot of stew that had the flame go out beneath it. Concern took over. "Rachel, what's come over you?" He failed to understand his sister's reaction. It appeared to be totally out of proportion to what had just transpired. Even for Rachel.

She didn't want to share the details with him, at least not yet. It was too raw. "I don't like Tories. And, I might add, I was under the opinion that neither did you."

She glanced down at her hand. With an annoyed cry, she set the roller down and looked at her fingers. They were all tipped in black. She sighed, rubbing her apron over them. It seemed as if the ink had permanently seeped into her skin.

Was that all there was to it? Riley wondered. She thought Sin-Jin was a Tory? Didn't she realize that he would have never befriended a loyalist? Riley let out an annoyed breath. "The man isn't a Tory, Rachel. He's an American."

Rachel raised her eyes to Riley's. "And how do you know that?"

There were times that Riley felt Rachel was too suspicious. "He said so."

Was Riley really that simple? She spread a sheet of paper over the platen with a snap of her wrists. "And if I'd be telling you that I was the queen of England, would you believe me?"

Riley grasped the handle on the printing press. As he pulled it toward him, the two sides moved closer together. He frowned at his sister's condescending face. "No, of course not."

Rachel tossed her head impatiently as she made her point. "Well, why not? I said so."

When she was like this, there was no reasoning with her. He had more of a chance of winning an argument with the King than he had with his pigheaded sister. "Rachel Colleen O'Roarke, you are impossible."

"No, not impossible." She turned to pick up another sheet of paper. A movement caught her eye, and she looked out the window that faced the edge of town. Sin-Jin was just disappearing from view astride his horse. He cut a magnificent figure and she hated him for it. "Just very, very angry," she said in a heated whisper.

It was her cherished conviction that married men who kissed women other than their wives or their mothers should be hung by their thumbs over the nearest chasm.

Especially when they kissed so well.

With a huff, Rachel spread out the sheet. Riley knew better than to continue the conversation. It was doomed from the beginning.

Bronson Calloway let out a prolonged sigh of relief as
he saw the big black stallion approach the house. Hurrying out of the shed where he had been working, he was ready to grasp the reins when Sin-Jin dismounted.

"I was just about to send someone into town to search for you. I thought you'd been shanghaied aboard some privateer or pressed into service by a ragtag brigade of soldiers."

Though the air was crisp, Bronson's rounded face was sweaty just from the effort of hurrying across the lawn. He was a short, stocky man, and his weight was evenly distributed, giving him the appearance of an amiable brick wall.

Sin-Jin waved over the stable hand who stood peering at the two men in the distance. The young boy was quick to comply. Everyone liked Mas't 'Jin.

"Thank you, Seth," Sin-Jin murmured to the dark-skinned youth. He turned to Bronson. The overseer had been worried, just as Sin-Jin had predicted. He smiled at the man easily. "I'm afraid that the evening slipped away from me."

Bronson was aware that when his employer had left yesterday, there had been a sadness about him that was rare. Yesterday was the date of his marriage to Miss Savannah. Bronson had guessed that loneliness was licking at Sin-Jin's soul. It had been his fervent hope that Sin-Jin would find relief in town. He grinned now. Apparently he had. "Was she pretty?"

Sin-Jin walked into the stately mansion that had been his home for the last five years. Bronson followed in his wake. Sin-Jin thought of the taste of Rachel's mouth as he walked past the parlor to his library. "Like ripe strawberries dropped on a field of fresh virgin snow."

Bronson scratched the thinning fringe of wheat colored hair that still decorated his pate. He'd been to town and stopped by the tavern only the week before.

"That doesn't sound like any of the ladies Sam has at the tavern." His moon-like face broke into a hopeful grin. "Has he brought in any new barmaids?"

Sin-Jin laughed, shrugging out of his coat. He draped it with care over a settee. He knew Emily would be by to put it away before long. He looked at the wistful expression on Bronson's face and guessed at his thoughts. "I believe
that you're making a good deal more of my evening than I
did."

Bronson was a simple man, not given to subtleties. "Sir?"

Sin-Jin sat at his desk, stretching his legs out before him. There was a healthy fire burning behind him. He could always trust that Emily and her husband, Joe, would keep things running smoothly at the house.

"I met the printer's sister Rachel last night under very chaste circumstances." He smiled, steepling his fingers together. "Not that I wouldn't have entertained the notion of having them not quite so chaste."

Bronson scowled, his thick brows knitting together in a furrow. "I didn't know the printer had a sister Rachel." He paused to consider his own words. "Or that we had a printer."

"That we do." Leaning over, Sin-Jin took out a folded sheet that he had taken with him when he left Sam's. It
was part of the Gazette. "As of two months ago, or so, the
good citizens of Morgan Creek have been graced with a periodical."

Bronson stared at the sheet. When Sin-Jin offered it to him, Bronson took it, turning it around in his hands. "A what-i-gul?"

"Periodical." Sin-Jin sat up and tapped the sheet to emphasize his words. He studied the blank look on Bronson's face as the latter regarded the newspaper with interest. "A publication that makes its appearance regularly."

Bronson shrugged, handing the paper back to him. He straightened, dusting his clothes a little awkwardly. "Well, it can appear as regularly as it wants, makes no difference to me."

"You can't read?" Sin-Jin guessed, surprised. When he had hired Bronson under Morgan McKinley's recommendation five years ago, it had never occurred to Sin-Jin to inquire whether Bronson could read or not. It was just something he had assumed. To learn differently, after all these years, was a surprise.

The shrug became more pronounced and self-conscious, though his inability had never really troubled Bronson before. Book learning, he had always believed, was only for the rich who didn't have to worry about working for a living. "Not a word."

Sin-Jin crossed his arms before him as he leaned back in his chair. He couldn't imagine having the written word remain a mystery to him. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Why?" Bronson challenged, then his tone mellowed. "Who the bloody blazes has time to read? I'm busy from sunup to sundown." He laughed, trying to imagine himself even holding a book. "Besides, what would I read if I did have the time?"

"I have books in the library." Sin-Jin gestured around the room to make his point. Two walls were completely devoted to shelves he had made himself. They were filled with books. Well-thumbed books.

Bronson looked around solemnly as he thought was expected of him, though he had been in this room countless times. "They make the room like nice and cozy, they do," the overseer declared, thinking that was the response Sin-Jin wanted.

Sin-Jin shook his head. "They're not for decor, Bronson." He saw that the man didn't comprehend. "I don't have them here just to look impressive."

The thick brows met once again over the bridge of Bronson's aquiline nose. "You don't mean that you've read them?"

Sin-Jin bit his lip to keep from laughing. He didn't want to hurt the man's feelings. "Yes."

Bronson crossed to the nearest bookcase and looked at it slowly. There were books from floor to ceiling. He turned back to Sin-Jin, awed. "All of them?"

"Yes." Sin-Jin rose to join his overseer. "I had them sent from back home."

Odd, he thought, how he could use the word and yet not feel the stirring that went with it. He had spent most of his life in England, yet his life had only really begun once he had arrived on these shores. Once he had shed a way of life, a role that was thrust onto him. Only when he had taken up a life of his own choosing did things begin to fall into place for him.

Bronson ran a wide, thick fingered palm over the spine of a black covered volume. Letters that were a complete mystery to him glittered there. "And it didn't hurt your head any?"

"I didn't read them all at once." Sin-Jan laughed. He cocked his head, considering a newly conceived thought. The crops were in and the nights that stretched before him promised to be long. It would be satisfying to have a hand in educating someone and doing something worthwhile with his time.

Sin-Jan placed a hand over Bronson's wide shoulders. "Tell you what, man. Come by the house after dusk tonight. I'd like to teach you."

Like a bull taking a stand, Bronson shook his head from side to side. He didn't need things cluttering his head.

"Thank you, but if it's all the same to you, Mister Lawrence, I think I'll pass on the offer. No offense, but reading's for gentlemen with time on their hands." To
make his point, he spread his hands, palms down, in front of him. They were far wider and beefier than Sin-Jin's. "I
work with mine."