Renegade (4 page)

The officer was at least ten years older than Mac and looked a little like a sausage stuffed into a uniform. The lantern light revealed graying hair at his temples and deep frown lines on either side of a thick mustache. It gave him a serious expression as his gaze passed over Mac and Robert and settled on Pearl. One dark brow rose as he recognized her, and his eyes darted back to Becks, half-hidden by Mac’s shoulders. “Miss Middleton?”

Miss Middleton?
This mysterious “Becks” was Eugenia’s daughter? Well, that complicated things. Robert’s muttered curse was probably too low to be heard by the officer, but it summed up Mac’s feeling entirely. He really should have asked for her last name. This was her land they were standing on, and that changed the situation.

And as the daughter of his business partner, her neck was strictly off-limits.

Had he not been standing right in front of her, he might not have felt her faint sigh. And when she stepped out from behind him to stare up at the officer, her smile was just a little too bright. He suspected she wasn’t as pleased to see the man as she was pretending.

“Why, Major Creel… what brings you to Beckett?”

Major Creel. God
damn
it
.
Tonight’s surprises were just piling up, and Mac didn’t think he wanted to hear the next one. This was the Major Eugenia had warned them about? The man who patrolled Edisto like he owned it? The man who’d sworn to personally catch whoever was moving un-tariffed goods from the St. Helena Sound up to Charleston?

Goddamn it.

But the Major didn’t look like he was here to make trouble. In fact, his face had fairly lit up when Becks had smiled up at him, and he swung down from his horse to greet her. “I stopped by the house to wish you a good evening, Miss Middleton, but your mother said that you were out—” He glanced down at her muddy feet. “—on a walk.”

Becks laughed, but it sounded forced, even to Mac. “Through the pluff mud, Major? No, we’ve been crabbing.”

“Really?” Creel switched his now-carefully blank gaze to Mac. “And did you catch any?”

“Oh, yes.” Becks continued, as the two men stared at one another. Mac kept his expression carefully neutral—bored, almost. “Incoming evening tides are always lucky, you know, even this early in the spring.”

The other man’s glare was almost threatening now, and neither of them were paying attention to her anymore. Mac knew enough about how men acted around women to know what was going on here: Creel had—or wanted—some kind of claim on Becks, and saw Mac as competition for her… affections.

He could use that. If there was one thing Mac was good at, it was stealing women’s interest.

She had to be aware of the tension between the two men, but Becks kept talking. “And I’d say tonight was as good as any. We’ve got enough for a fine soup tomorrow.”

That finally drew Creel’s attention back to her. “Really? And you know I love your Lola’s crab soup. Tomorrow, you say?”

He wasn’t being subtle at all, and Mac watched Becks’ smile freeze slightly. “Ah. Well then… you should join us for supper tomorrow, Major.”

He bowed slightly. “Thank you, Miss Middleton. I’d be honored. And now…” He turned back to Mac. “Perhaps you’d introduce me to your… crabbing partner?”

Mac saw her hesitation, and smiled. He’d snuck onto her land and she didn’t know a thing about him, but she was still reluctant to denounce him. Either she downright hated Creel, or Mac’s charm had worked better than he’d hoped.

Smoothly, he took her hand, and smiled at Creel. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he drew them to his lips. He heard her suck in a shocked breath just before he dropped a kiss on her knuckles, pretending an intimacy calculated to raise Creel’s ire. It worked.

“Well, Major.” Mac made his drawl particularly nonchalant, just to irritate the other man. “It seems that you haven’t done your research.”

Creel’s posture was stiff, and he didn’t even bother to hide his anger. “I beg your pardon?”

“After all, I know who
you
are. I made it a point to find out who else was courtin’ Becks.” Creel sucked in his breath at the insinuation that Mac was courting her, and that made Mac’s smile genuine.

His hand still holding hers, Mac pulled Becks a little closer. He must have caught her off guard, because she stumbled a bit. Welcoming the opportunity to put his arm around her, Mac caught her.

And then he looked down at her. In the light from the lantern, he could see her eyes, and Lord, they were just as interesting as the rest of her. They were blue, but unlike anything he’d seen before: the color of a clear sky around the pupils, darkening to a deeper blue around the outside of the iris. The contrast was striking, and he thought it fitting.

His distraction must have helped his illusion that he was courting Becks, because Creel had started sputtering. But before the man could say anything—although whether it would have been to insist he wasn’t sweet on Miss Middleton, or to denounce Mac, he’d never know—Mac tore his gaze away from the remarkable woman in his arms. “I called earlier.” He deliberately implied he’d been up to the house to call on her. “And found Becks and Miss Pearl down here. Of course we joined right in.” Mac’s drawl was getting thicker, to make him sound like a good ol’ Charleston boy. He wanted Creel to think of him as an opponent for Becks’ affections, and not suspect him of anything else.

“Then Miss Middleton certainly cannot be blamed for you pushing your company on her.” Creel was stiff with outraged propriety. “Nor for the fact that I found her in such company, with no chaperone besides your two Negros.”

Mac felt Becks go stiff against him, and he couldn’t help his own tensing muscles. He was daily surrounded by people who seemed incapable of seeing Robert as a man, who relegated him to “that nigra.” Robert minded, but had spent a lifetime ignoring the hate and ignorance. Mac didn’t have to.
He
could lash out at the people who saw his closest friend as less than human.

But she beat him to it. Beck’s voice was too even to be anything but carefully contained anger. “
My sister
and I are perfectly capable of being alone on
our
land, Major Creel. A man’s presence makes no never-mind to us.”

And just like that, Mac’s shoulders relaxed. It was an odd reaction to be sure, and one he’d have to study later. But seeing—and feeling—her stand up to Creel, to defend Pearl as a person, had inexplicably made Mac proud. He tightened his hold on her, and when she glanced up at him, he smiled at her.

She blinked, and then smiled shyly back, as if she could sense his approval. He couldn’t help himself; he was going to kiss her. He knew it, but he told himself it was just part of the charade he was playing for Creel’s benefit.

Of course, at that point, he would have told himself any lie, just to taste her. He was already leaning down when he realized that fact, and smiled, right before their lips met.

It was just a quick peck, a kiss between acquaintances, and over before she could blink again.

It wasn’t enough. Mac wanted more, and did he dare to hope that was curiosity in her eyes? Did she want—need—more as well? His other arm snaked around her, pulling her chest to his, and he reveled in the feel of her breasts plastered against him. It didn’t feel like she was wearing a corset, and that aroused him more than he’d expected.

He was drawing her closer when Creel’s voice—icy with anger—finally choked free. “Your name,
sir
.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand, and Mac couldn’t help his response. He’d never done well with authority; he’d never listened to demands. He wouldn’t start now. Raising his head just enough to throw a cocky grin in Creel’s direction, Mac answered. “Come now, Major.
I
did my research. You’ll have to do yours.”

And then he kissed her. It wasn’t deep, or passionate, but he pressed his lips to hers for a moment longer than before. Pearl made a sound of protest, but Becks didn’t say a thing. He felt her softness and tasted her sweetness, and when her lips parted slightly, he was hard-pressed not to accept the invitation to slip his tongue between them. Then she made a sexy little noise in the back of her throat, and he stopped resisting. She was—surprisingly—as enthusiastic about the kiss as he was, and he had to remind himself that this was just for show.

Mac forced himself to pull away, although it was hard not to lose himself in the taste of her. He dropped a kiss to her forehead, noting the way her brows drew together in what he hoped was disappointment. But he knew that he was pushing his luck, and had to call it quits before the now-sputtering Creel called him out. In another time and place, he might have been worried about her slapping him, but Becks Middleton wasn’t like other ladies. She didn’t act like other ladies, she didn’t
kiss
like other ladies, and she sure as hell didn’t taste like other ladies.

So he stepped back, swept her hand up again in his, and placed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Still holding her, he called out to her sister. “Miss Pearl, do you trust Major Creel to escort you and your sister up to the house?”

If Pearl was surprised by being addressed, she didn’t show it. “As Becks so clearly pointed out,
sir
. We don’t need a man to escort us on Beckett land.”

“True.” Mac smiled at her, and then down at Becks. “Very true.” He squeezed the small hand in his. “Well then, all that’s left is for us to say thank you—”
Thank you
for not using our names,
thank you
for defending the “two negroes,”
thank you
for that kiss. “—and take our leave.”

Dropping Becks’ hand just then felt like a betrayal, somehow, but he did it. Ignoring Creel, who was now loudly demanding his name, Mac turned to Robert and noted the other man’s firm stance, crossed arms, and carefully blank expression. This was the Robert that Mac had seen all his life, whenever they were confronted with an authority who considered Robert to be less than he was. Mac nodded curtly, sorry that the other man had to experience such bigotry again tonight.

“Well, my friend, shall we head home?” Even as he said it, Mac knew it was stupid to draw Creel’s attention to the black man and their friendship. It would make them more memorable, just when he wanted to slip away. But dammit, he’d kissed the woman the Major was sweet on, and he figured there was nothing worse he could do now.

Robert glanced once in Pearl’s direction, and then turned towards the dinghy without acknowledging anyone else. Mac followed, climbing down the bank to stand barefoot in the mud of the shore. He wriggled his toes, and then turned once more to see Becks.

She was holding Pearl’s hand, and they were both looking towards the bank. Between the shadows of the oak and Spanish moss, and the lantern light behind them, it was impossible to see their expressions. Mac wondered if Becks was angry, or curious, or sad to see him go.

It didn’t really matter, though, because he
was
going. There was a creek a ways downriver on The Neck side; the men would have to work to row against the tide, but they could harbor there for a few hours, and venture out to make the drop again when Beckett was quiet. With a sigh he didn’t quite repress, Mac put his shoulder against the bow of the dinghy and shoved Robert out into the current. Then, hopping in beside his friend, they both turned their attention to the oars.

Mac rowed without thinking, trusting Robert to call out any course corrections. Instead, he watched those two lovely silhouettes under the broad branches of that oak tree, and thought about an unusual young woman. He was sorry to be leaving Beckett.

But he damn sure wasn’t sorry for kissing Becks.

He’d be back.

CHAPTER THREE

“You’ve been staring at yourself for the last two chapters of this book.”

Pearl’s voice startled Becks, and she blinked at her own reflection. She’d been sitting at her dressing table, writing out a list for Zeb to pick up the next time he visited Holmes’ Store, when she’d glanced up and caught sight of her reflection.

She knew that she wasn’t pretty, not the way her sister was. What had made him kiss her? She stared, trying to see herself as a stranger might. Straight, limp hair, the color of wet sand, and brown splotches on her nose and cheeks from too many afternoons in the sun without her hat. Her eyes were the only thing to recommend her, and even those were only interesting, rather than pretty. Her mother often told her that they were ‘fascinating’, but mothers were supposed to say those sorts of things. Unbidden, her fingers had risen to touch her lower lip, remembering the feel of his mouth, and wondering what he saw when he’d looked at her.

Now, though, she dropped her hand and scowled at her sister in the mirror. “Well, you’re a fast reader.”

Pearl carefully placed a marker in her spot, and closed the book. Then, leaning against the battered settee they’d bartered for to replace the one the Yankees burned, she gave Becks her full attention. “The speed of my reading doesn’t matter, Becks. Since when have you been so fascinated by your own reflection?”

“I was thinking.” Becks picked up the pencil again, but couldn’t think of anything else to write. She tapped it against the table, and heard Pearl’s quiet
tsk
.

“Thinking about tonight’s crabbing adventure, no doubt?”

“I was wondering if Lola would need more crabs, with Major Creel coming tomorrow for supper.”

“No, you weren’t. You weren’t thinkin’ about Creel at all.”

“Maybe I was.”

“You were thinkin’ about someone else entirely.”

“I wonder what he was doing there.”

“Creel?” Pearl was teasing her now, and Becks twisted on her stool to glare at her sister.

“You know who I mean.”

“I just wanted to hear you admit that you were thinking about him.”

“I wonder who he was.”

“Really?” Pearl had a way of drawling words when she was being sarcastic. “It didn’t look like it mattered. His name was Mac, and he wasn’t a pirate, and apparently that’s all you need to know about a man before you let him kiss you.”

Becks gasped in mock outrage. “Did you just call me a hussy?”

“Now, you heard every word that came out of my mouth, and not once—”

“You implied it pretty damn hard!”

Becks glared at her sister, but Pearl’s grin grew. “Girl, you acted worse than a hussy tonight!”

Becks gasped again, and twisted in her seat to snatch up a hairbrush to throw at her sister’s head. Pearl laughed, and dodged it. “Your aim hasn’t improved any, either. It’s a miracle you managed to land in his arms.” And then, seeing Becks scoop up her grandmama’s porcelain powder dish, Pearl squealed and threw herself over the edge of the battered settee. Peeking from behind it, she tried her best apologetic grin. But Becks wasn’t fooled; her sister was moments from laughing. “Truce?”

“No. Stick your head up a little higher.”

Pearl stuck her tongue out, and then ducked down again when Becks pretended like she really would throw her heirloom dish. When her sister was hidden again, Becks carefully returned the dish to her table, and put the lid back on. It was a beautiful—and useless—piece of art that Becks enjoyed looking at simply for its history. Her family, and Beckett Plantation in general, had so few items left that were just pretty. She might never remember to use the precious powder the dish held, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love it just the same.

Pearl’s voice floated up from behind the settee. “I know you’re not really mad.”

“You called me a hussy.”

“You
kissed
a man you just met!”

“He kissed
me
.” Although the distinction really shouldn’t matter, because Becks had kissed him right back. From the moment she’d gotten a good look at the man, she’d been utterly enthralled. Once he smiled at her, she’d known that she wanted to taste him. And gracious peace alive
,
he’d tasted good.

“You let him. You should have slapped him.”

Becks sighed, and glanced at herself in the mirror again. “I didn’t want to.”

“I know. You should’ve seen Creel’s face when you didn’t. Lord, I thought he’d have a conniption.”

“I don’t think I really care. Mama mentioned that Creel’d come calling last week when we were out in the back plot. I guess he’s imagining we’re courting now.”

“Did you notice your mysterious Mac managed to not tell Creel anything about himself?”

“I noticed that he asked me Mac’s name three times on the way back up to the house.”

“Really? You were so dazed I’m surprised you noticed anything. And did you notice
I
managed to divert his attention, each time?”

“Yes, thank you.” Becks turned on her stool again, and resting her elbows against the table, leaned back. Her sister’s legs were sticking out from behind the furniture, daintily crossed at the ankle. “Do get up off the floor. You look like a rag doll.”

“I was waitin’ for you to ignore me as thoroughly as you ignored Creel.” Pearl didn’t look at all chagrined as she pulled herself up gracefully. Honestly, didn’t she ever look clumsy?

“That man is single-minded, and I don’t think I like that I’m his new fixation.”

“The
nice
Major certainly has a poor opinion of negroes.”

“I know.” Becks grinned mischievously. “Honestly, to imply that you didn’t even count as a chaperone, when anyone could see that you were doing such a mighty fine job of it.”

Pearl snorted, and brushed some dirt off her skirt. “Like I could have stopped you from doing anything you set your mind to doing.” She peeked up at Becks then, and two sets of identical blue eyes stared at each other for a moment before crinkling—identically—into smiles. “Or
anyone
.”

Becks started chuckling then, and Pearl followed. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?” There was no use hiding any of her thoughts from Pearl. Her sister knew her better than she knew herself.

“Girl, I thought you were going to drool, when he touched your cheek.”

“Oh Lord, I was so embarrassed, standing there covered in mud.”

Pearl snorted. “Please. You spend most of your life covered in mud.”

“That’s not true.” Becks shrugged, still smiling. “Not entirely true, anyhow.”

“So… speak plain, Becks.” One lovely eyebrow rose. “You enjoyed the kiss?”

Becks sighed again softly, remembering the feel of his lips against hers. Pearl chuckled, “Never mind, your face says you did.”

“Pearl, he was positively the most sensual man I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen many men.”

“That’s not true, either!” Becks might have been born in this house, but she spent her childhood in Charleston with the rest of the people who’d fled the Sea Islands during the war. She’d moved home with her mother and sister back in ’66, but they still traveled into Charleston to visit her mother’s cousins and old friends. And there was plenty of opportunity for social calls on Edisto, especially among her father’s family. Why, they even traveled to Eddingsville Beach every summer with the portion of Edisto society that tolerated her mother. Sure, Becks didn’t love the whirlwind of social activity, and missed being away from her beloved Beckett, but that didn’t mean she was cloistered. She’d just never seen a man interesting enough to tempt her away from what she loved best in the world.

Becks lifted the powder dish again, turning it in her hands, pretending great interest in the delicate blue-and-white design on the lid. Faking a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she asked her sister, “You didn’t think he was handsome?”

She saw Pearl shrug out of the corner of her eye. “Not particularly. I thought he looked like a pirate. Or a smuggler.”

Becks felt herself bristle in defense of him. “Maybe you were too busy lookin’ at his fine-looking friend.”

There was a sudden stillness from her sister. After a moment, Pearl spoke again, her voice chilly. “And here I thought you were doing so well to not bring him up.”

“Just wanted you to know that I saw you lookin’ awful hard at Robert.”

Pearl gasped, “You were mistaken!”

“I don’t think so. He was lookin’ hard enough at you, and I saw you eyeballing him—” 

“I wasn’t.”

Becks narrowed her eyes. That denial had sounded just a little too forceful, and while Pearl’s expression told her to drop the subject, Becks wasn’t willing to forgive her sister for her earlier tormenting.

“All I’m saying is that Robert was lookin’ like he wanted to kiss
you.”

“Well, that boy can look all he wants, but he won’t get near me.”

There’d been genuine disgust in Pearl’s voice when she’d called him “boy.” They’d both been raised around black men, and Becks had never heard her sister talk about any of them with the derision this stranger had just received. It was… shocking. So she hesitated, and then ventured a cautious, “Pearl…?” She meant
Pearl, why are you so angry at him?
but couldn’t ask.

Luckily, she didn’t need to. Sisters understood each other. Pearl sighed. “Becks, he’s… he’s not for me. No one’s for me.”

And Becks understood. Her sister was gorgeous. And graceful, and witty, and well-read. She’d be the belle of Charleston… except that she’d been born a slave. Eugenia had freed her at birth so that the two sisters could be raised together, and Becks would be forever grateful to her mother for that opportunity. But being a half-negro woman raised in white society had given Pearl all sorts of complexes. She knew that she was desirable, more beautiful than even her own sister… and she knew that she’d never be allowed to amount to anything. She desperately wanted a place in a society that didn’t find her bloodline worthy but would willingly exploit her beauty, and that wanting tore her up inside. Becks thought that yearning was stupid, and knew that deep down Pearl agreed with her, but that didn’t stop the beautiful woman from aching for acceptance.

Apparently, admitting that she found Robert handsome would weaken that chance for acceptance, and Pearl was nothing if not stubborn. So Becks sighed, abandoning her teasing. She knew how badly her sister wanted to find her place.

As a peace offering, Becks changed the subject. “Did you see Mac’s arm?”

“The tattoos?”

“That’s what those were?”

“Good Lord, Becks, you have got to read more.”

“I know what tattoos are.” Becks put the dish back and bit her bottom lip. “I’ve just never seen them… so large.” She meant
so compelling
and
so touchable
but figured Pearl didn’t need to know that. “Moses’ are much smaller.”

“Moses’ are brands, not tattoos.” The former slave’s marks were covered by his shirt most of the time, as well.

“I know.” At Pearl’s penetrating look, she reiterated, “No, really. I do. I’m just…”

Her sister seemed to understand. Perhaps she did. Pearl waited a long moment, and then smiled slightly. “Your Mac was certainly interesting, wasn’t he?”

“He’s not mine.”

“You wouldn’t mind if he was, though, would you?”

Becks sighed yet again. “It’s that obvious?”

“Oh, honey.” Pearl started laughing. “It’s obvious.”

Later, after Pearl had retired to her own room, Becks lay in bed and thought about her sister’s words.
You wouldn’t mind if he
was
yours
. Lord, no. She sighed, and tried to get comfortable under the thin quilt. There was a slight breeze coming in through the mosquito netting on the open window, but she still felt stifled and warm in her cotton gown. In frustration, she kicked off the quilt, and reveled in the freedom of being able to splay her legs in abandon.

Hers
. What if he
were
hers? He’d been the most interesting, most desirable man she’d ever met, even if—as Pearl said—she hadn’t met many. His dark hair was thick and wavy and too long to be fashionable… between that and his bare feet, he looked like a sailor from a bygone era.