The Rebel (22 page)

Although Alexandra didn’t have all the
details, she was still pleased with her daughter for viewing the
tittle-tattle with skepticism.

“I knew they weren’t going to tell me
everything. So after the maid was finished in my room, I went in
search of Fey.”

“The housekeeper?”

Frances nodded, wiping the last of wetness
off her face. “It is obvious that she cares for Jane. So I thought,
the best chance of hearing the truth would be from her.”

“And was Fey willing to talk to you about
this?”

“She was, after I told her about what I’d
heard.” The young woman lowered her voice again. “Jane’s reputation
was
ruined nine years ago. But the thing that the first
woman failed to say was that she never got so far as actually
running away. She couldn’t. Because the boy she’d been in love with
for some years was arrested and ordered to be hanged in the same
week. Oh, Mother…Sir Thomas ordered the boy’s hanging…and Jane…and
Jane had to watch him die.”

There were fresh tears that the young woman
stabbed at.

“That’s why she wears black. After all these
years…she still mourns the young man she loved. That is…so sad…so
sad!”

Alexandra gathered Frances in her arms and
let the young woman weep. Such a story, even with the tragedy of
the father ordering the death of this young man, was perfectly
believable. A reputation lost was a lifetime sentence for a woman.
But she didn’t want to remind her daughter of any of this now, for
what was customary was not necessarily right…or fair.

She recalled the paintings she’d seen in the
attic room. The power in them bespoke someone who knew suffering.
And now Alexandra understood. What greater anguish could a young
woman bear than to be sentenced to a lifetime living under the same
roof as your beloved’s executioner? Especially when that person was
your own father!

“I think we…we should tell Nicholas about
this.” Frances once again pulled out of the mother’s arm and blew
her nose. “I can already tell that…that he is interested in
Jane…but he cannot...it would never work.”

“We shall tell him nothing, my dear.”
Alexandra lifted the young woman’s chin and looked into her
surprised face. “Your brother shall learn what he needs to know on
his own. He will then make his own decisions. We shall be here
whenever he needs us. But Nicholas can decide on his future without
our interference.”

At first, Nicholas didn’t know what it was
that awakened him. It was still dark outside, and there were no
predawn noises coming in the window he’d left open overnight. He
listened closer and thought he could hear soft whisper of voices in
the corridor.

He was out of bed and had his door opened a
crack in the next instant. The passageway was dark with the
exception of a flicker of light coming from down the hall. He
recognized the housekeeper’s soft voice. He opened the door a bit
more and saw Fey standing before Jane’s door—speaking
hurriedly.

He could hear only snatches of what was
being said.

“…Seamus’s widow…wee ones…Buttevant…”

By the time he had retired last night, he
had been impatient enough to kick down every locked door and search
out every secret passageway in Woodfield House. She had
successfully avoided him for two entire days. Most of the day on
Saturday, he’d spent with Sir Thomas and Paul. The former
magistrate was very proud of showing off his stables and what
progress had been made since retiring from service to the Crown.
When they’d gotten back to the manor house, though, Jane had
continued to be absent throughout the afternoon, not even appearing
for dinner. Nicholas had worn a path between the house and the
stables, but her horse was missing. Later, he’d found Mab settled
for the night, though he had still not seen Jane, at all. And on
Sunday, the only other person who’d asked about her had been Parson
Adams, who’d come back with them after the church service to stay
for dinner.

The clergyman’s curiosity had only fueled
Nicholas’s impatience.

“…Musgrave…”

He frowned at the whisper of the name. The
door to Jane’s room closed. As Fey’s footsteps started down the
hall, Nicholas shut his own door quietly. He hurriedly dressed.
Though he didn’t know the nature of Fey’s early morning visit, the
few words had managed to fill him with distress. He was almost
certain that Jane would be leaving soon.

The corridor was again immersed in darkness
when Nicholas left his room. Taking a moment and letting his eyes
adjust to the dark, he glanced in the direction of Jane’s closed
door. He knew better than to assume that she would be leaving this
way, so instead he started down the stairs. He would intercept her
at the stables.

Soft tinges of dawn were lightening the sky
above the eastern hills when Nicholas arrived at the stables. Going
first to Mab’s stall, he found the horse saddled and ready, though
there was no one tending her. He moved quietly to where his own
horse was kept and began readying it.

Saturday, when he’d been out with Sir Thomas
and Paul, the trainer had continuously sung Jane’s praises whenever
the father was out of the earshot. If Nicholas had been fairly
certain before of the older man’s devotion to Egan, now he
entertained no doubts. And this morning he’d discovered Fey passing
on a message to her.

Nicholas wondered how many others at
Woodfield House were supporters of Egan, despite the passionate
hatred the former magistrate harbored for the rebel.

He had just finished saddling his horse when
he heard the sound of a horse in the paddock. A moment later, he
heard her riding off. Hurrying, he was coaxing his steed out of the
stall when Paul’s tall frame appeared in the open doorway.

“Sir Nicholas,” the man said with a hushed
surprise.

“I am going with her, Paul.” He started to
mount up, but stopped when the stable master put a hand on his
arm.

“Going with who, sir? Everyone is still
asleep at the house, to my knowledge.”

“I’m going with Jane.” Nicholas kept his
voice low and turned to face the man. “I don’t plan to get in her
way. And I won’t interfere unless she needs me.”

The trainer reached for the horse’s bridle.
“Nay, sir. I’ve no doubt Miss Jane is sleeping like the angel that
she is. Why…”

“She is going to Buttevant, on business that
has to do with the new magistrate.” Nicholas knew he could
overpower Paul if he had to—but he was hoping for the man’s
cooperation and trust. But the stable master had roughly five
seconds. “Whatever the trouble is, it could be a trap set by
Musgrave.”

The man stared at Nicholas.

“I’ve known who she is from the first day.
I’ve witnessed what she does. She knows her secret is safe with
me.” He lowered his voice further and brought up the arm that had
been knifed by Jane. “I have great respect for her abilities, and I
know she is quite capable of defending herself. But I saw Musgrave
in Buttevant three days ago, and I believe he is planning
something.”

Paul’s hand dropped from the horse’s bridle.
“What’ll ye do?”

“Just be there,” Nicholas answered
confidently. “Just by being with Jane, I may be able to distract
Musgrave’s attention from her.”

The grim expression of hesitation gave way
to a trace of relief. “If ye ride hard up the valley north and then
follow east along the stream, ye should catch up with her.”

Nicholas climbed onto his horse. “Make some
excuse for me if anyone asks.”

“Aye, sir. I’ve become an expert liar, when
it comes down to it,” Paul assured him. “But I need to warn ye.
Once ye catch up with Miss Jane, there is no saying she’ll be
taking any comfort in yer company.”

“I once thought myself an expert in charming
women, but your mistress tells me that my powers of persuasions are
wanting when it comes to her.”

“Then how are you going to convince her to
have ye along?”

“Beg,” Nicholas said conspiratorially,
putting the spurs to his horse.

***

Jane rode through the night, her dress and
cape flying behind her. She’d considered whether it would be best
for her to ride out as Egan or as herself. Until she could be sure
of what needed to be done, she had decided, it would be best for
her to act as herself. Later, if need be, she would get her fellow
Shanavests involved.

The message had come from Buttevant. A
mother’s plea to look after her three children. Rita, Seamus’s
widow, had been dragged by the dragoons to the barracks gates.

The boy who had brought the message to
Woodfield House had also told of the soldiers showing up yesterday
afternoon at the decrepit cottage and tearing Rita from desperate
hands of her screaming children. The little ones had been left
behind to fend for themselves in the company of the blind old woman
who shared the same roof. The charge lodged against the mother was
unknown, but as Jane cut across a shallow stream and onto the
Buttevant road, she fretted that it might have had something to do
with the bag of coins she’d given the woman three days ago. She
spurred Mab along the road, thankful for the first slivers of dawn
spreading across the eastern sky and lighting her way.

Jane had another reason for not getting her
fellow rebels involved immediately. She knew there was no way they
could challenge Musgrave and a barrack full of dragoons without
considerable bloodshed. And she was smart enough to know that this
may have been exactly what the magistrate was hoping for when he
arranged for the arrest of the poor woman.

The first realization that she was
not
the only traveler heading north this early in the day
came almost half hour after she’d left home. On the crest of a
hill—as was always her habit—she looked back and spotted the horse
and rider racing across the countryside after her.

At first, because of the distance and the
dim light of dawn, she didn’t recognize him. But as she hesitated a
few moments longer, Jane realized that the man pushing the gray
stallion at the breakneck speed could only be Nicholas Spencer.

Jane’s immediate spark of delight quickly
turned to annoyance. Forcing the smile from her face, she allowed
the anger to well up within her. No one followed her. For all the
years she’d been leaving Woodfield House—at all hours of day or
night—no one had ever come chasing after her. Until this man.

She had enough confidence to know she could
lose him
en route
if she set her mind to it. But instead,
she let her temper rise and wheeled Mab around to face the meddling
rogue and challenge his presumptuous behavior.

Waiting for him was the toughest, but Jane
endured it by imagining the most wicked punishments she could
inflict on him. She even considered riding down into the groove of
trees in the next valley and springing on him by surprise. But time
was short, Rita’s children needed her, and she could not allow
herself to be distracted, no matter how sweet the reward.

“Good day to you, Jane.”

The upbeat greeting as he drew near fueled
the fire even more. The smile on his handsome face had a contagious
edge to it, so she gave him her fiercest frown.

“You need to be corrected on two counts,
sir,” she said as horse and rider came to a stop beside her. “I do
not consider this hour to be officially day, and I much prefer we
retain formal manners of address, Sir Nicholas.”

“My apologies, Miss Purefoy.”

He didn’t look sorry to her. And she tried
to overlook how downright appealing he looked with a day’s growth
of whiskers and blond hair loose and wind-tossed about his
shoulders. He was the very image of the rogue, rather than the
noble gentleman everyone assumed him to be.

“Sir Nicholas, would you please explain to
me, and briefly, what you are doing here?”

“Riding, miss. I happen to enjoy the
exercise.”

“You might save your wit, sir, for the
drawing room. Would you please explain why you are following
me?”

“I…”

“And tell me why I shouldn’t be suspicious
of your motives.”

“Well, I…”

“For you have told me repeatedly that you
have no intention of exposing me, sir. And yet I find you…well,
trailing after me.”

“Now…”

“And I should tell you I consider lying a
dreadful thing…in situations such as this.” She could see the
amused expression etched around his blue eyes. “And this is not the
time to think of one of your witty comments.”

“Miss. Jane…”

“I refuse to be treated as some half-witted,
rusticated ass, sir,” she blurted out, leaning menacingly in his
direction. “The least you can do is to try to think of an
answer.”

He smiled. “If…”

“But if you cannot, I strongly suggest that
you turn your horse around this instant and start back…”

He reached over so quickly that Jane was
stunned when his large hand slipped around the nape of her neck and
his lips crushed down on hers. Everything became still for an
insane moment. The urge to fight was suspended in air. And as his
other hand drew her still nearer, the temper instantly turned to
heat. Her hands clutched desperately at the lapel of his jacket.
She was further shocked by the unfamiliar sound of satisfaction
that she realized had come from her own throat when he deepened the
kiss.

“Now, that’s better.” Nicholas said in a
voice like velvet as he broke off the kiss. His fingers lingered a
moment longer, and he traced her lips. “I hope I have not bruised
you again. You have the most delicate skin. If anyone were to come
upon us, they would know for certain that you have been properly
kissed.”

A fog hung over Jane for the longest moment.
Then clarity suddenly returned, and she straightened in her saddle.
How vulnerable she was to his charms, she thought with alarm.