Yankee Earl (42 page)

      
“We could let him sleep.” Jason waited to see what she might reply to that pregnant comment, but just then Fox stirred.

      
Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he asked, “Is it time to ride again?”

      
Faint streaks of red were lighting the eastern sky as he climbed dutifully from his blankets and reached for a hunk of cheese Rachel offered. He ate with the appetite of a growing boy on the brink of puberty. After their night's exertions, Rachel and Jason also found themselves starving.

      
She eyed the remaining food supplies dubiously. “I fear I may not have packed enough to last us until we reach Bristol.”

      
“Then we can go on a raid, can't we, Jace?” the boy responded brightly, looking at his mentor.

      
“A raid?” she echoed with an arched eyebrow. “Is this another of your Shawnee customs?”

      
Jason shrugged. "There is a bit of intertribal…er, competition—"

      
“We steal each other's horses,” Fox put in with a grin. “It's considered a great honor for a warrior to return to his village with many enemy ponies.”

      
“Well, in case it has escaped your notice, young sir, we are still in England and there are no enemies from whom to steal. Besides that, we English do not eat horses,” Rachel scolded. Soon she would lose not only her love, but also this wonderful boy.

      
Jason laughed. “As a general rule, neither do the Shawnee. In fact, right now we have too many horses. I believe it would be wise to release the ones we've ridden the hardest. They'll be of no further use to us, and if we leave them to graze on Moreland's estates here, they'll soon be found by his gamekeeper. Having served our initial needs, they'll only slow us down.” He watched Rachel, wondering if she would argue to keep the remounts in order to make her party more vulnerable to capture. What did the little witch really want? However, her reply gave him no clear answer.

      
“That sounds practical but still does not solve the issue of food,” she said.

      
“Well, since we can't go raiding, Jace has money enough to buy food from some farmer,” Fox supplied helpfully. “Unless you had to give it all to that sheriff yesterday to get him to let us go,” he added. The thought had suddenly occurred to him that if they had no food or fresh horses, perhaps they might call off this whole foolish plan and decide to be married after all.

      
Fox and Rachel both looked expectantly at Jason, but before he could reply, the sound of a hound baying echoed across the hills. “That might be Moreland's gamekeeper. Best he not find us on the viscount's land,” Jason said, gathering up his saddle and throwing it on Araby's back.

      
Rachel and Fox did the same, and their meager camp was quickly packed up. Jason released the three remounts, giving them sharp swats on their rumps to send them running in the direction from which they had heard the hound. They rode cautiously out of the swale and skirted the woods for half an hour or so, looking for a safe place to climb up onto the road. Seeing a clearing, Rachel motioned for them to follow her and started out.

      
She had no more than kicked her gelding into a trot when a shot whistled by her head and a voice called out, “There they be—the thievin' Gypsy bastards!”

      
Another man fired, yelling, “We know you stole them horses from Quality!”

      
“Stay low on your horses and ride like hell,” Jason commanded, assuming the rear guard position as he urged his charges forward. This was no time to try explaining who they were!

Chapter Twenty-two

      
They rode madly down the twisting mud-rutted road with Rachel in the lead. If any of the horses stumbled, they would be doomed, but Jason trusted her knowledge of the surrounding countryside. Fox's horsemanship had improved considerably, he noted, giving silent thanks to poor Bradley.

      
Jason considered returning a shot or two, but decided against it since the gamekeepers were only doing what they considered right in apprehending a trio of horse thieves. He'd made a bad misjudgment in releasing the horses. At least they appeared to be widening the distance between themselves and Moreland's men. Rachel and Fox turned at a sharp bend in the road. Just as Jason was about to follow, he felt the sting of lead biting into the flesh of his thigh.

      
Gritting out a curse at the pain, he nevertheless gave thanks that it was he and not Fox or Rachel who had been hit. He wheeled Araby around, determined to hold off their pursuers until she and the boy could escape. “Keep riding,” he yelled as he guided the black into a dense stand of elm. “I'll meet you at the ship.”

      
Before he could jump from the stallion's back and set up a line of fire, Rachel had turned her mount, as had Fox. Both of them followed him into the brush. “Get the hell out of here while I distract them,” he whispered furiously to her.

      
“Even a fierce Yankee privateer cannot hold off three men with a brace of pistols,” she hissed as the riders came thundering into sight.

      
Fox watched as the men kept coming, riding at breakneck speed. “I don't think they've seen us, Jace,” he whispered.

      
“Keep your mounts quiet,” Jason replied. Perhaps a bit of luck was coming their way after all the ill that had befallen them since they began this wretched misadventure.

      
Sure enough, the gamekeepers continued down the road and vanished around the next curve. “I would have considered this evasion a stroke of considerable cleverness on your part, m'lord, if you'd not given all away with your foolish heroics,” Rachel said with a chuckle.

      
“Jace, you're bleeding!” Fox cried, noticing the gash in Jason's britches oozing dark red.

      
“Let me see that,” Rachel said, moving her horse closer, her amusement vanishing.

      
“Tis nothing. Soon those men will figure out that we've left the road and double back. We need to ride hard and fast now.” Jason urged Araby out of the brush and then turned to Rachel. “Which way now, m'lady pathfinder?”

      
Shaking her head at male stubbornness, she sighed. “We should reach Chippenham by mid-afternoon…that is, if you do not bleed to death before then.”

      
“I shall endeavor not to inconvenience you, although you'd be a right wealthy widow, Countess,” he said in a teasing, lazy drawl.

      
“I did not wed you for your money, m'lord,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

      
Fox watched them exchange a gaze that spoke volumes. As they resumed riding, he considered once more how utterly irrational adults often seemed. Especially when they were in love.

* * * *

      
Rachel's prediction about Chippenham was conservative. By dusk they were well to the west of it, nearing Bristol. “We could keep riding and get a room in a waterfront inn for the night,” Jason said, eyeing her speculatively.

      
Rachel met the hot, dark fire in his gaze, wondering for the hundredth time since their wedding night just how to assess his true feelings for her. “I think it would be wiser to camp somewhere off the road and let me see to your injury before we ride any farther. If 'tis as slight as you insist, we can press on to Bristol. Otherwise, we will spend the night and ride at dawn…if you are able.”

      
Will the ship sail without them if they do not arrive in time?
The thought tantalized her as she watched his reaction to her proposal.

      
“I’m well able to ride, Countess,” he said in a husky murmur that suggested an entirely different sort of activity. “But if 'twill ease your mind, I'll let you tend my wound while Fox sets up camp.”

      
Rachel snorted. “How magnanimous of you, m'lord. Let us search out a hidden spot off the beaten paths. I do not know this countryside as well as that back east.”

      
Within a quarter hour Fox was building a small fire while Rachel took medical supplies from her saddlebags. Jason watched her lay out bandages and various vials of herbal ointments and other mysterious remedies. “Good lord, were you anticipating a battle?”

      
She met his slumberous gaze and knew they would not be leaving this place until they had made love again. Swallowing to moisten her dry throat, she replied, “Just so. And since making your acquaintance, I have yet to be disappointed.”

      
“And to think only half a dozen or so of the dangerous encounters I've survived were caused by you, m'dear,” he said with a husky laugh.

      
“Remove your britches,” she instructed in as steady a voice as she could muster. At his wickedly cocked eyebrow, she added, “I must cleanse the wound of any bits of fabric embedded by the shot.” She was grateful that the fading light concealed her scorched cheeks.

      
Fox was concentrating on rubbing down the horses and seemingly paid no attention to what the adults were doing. Rachel knelt by the fire beside Jason, who peeled his pants down, then sat on a blanket with his shirttails covering strategic parts of his anatomy. He stretched out one long leg, revealing an ugly gash running diagonally across his thigh.

      
“Tis shallow. That is the good part,” she said, inspecting the wound with a practiced eye.

      
“I told you 'twas but a scratch,” Jason said with an indrawn hiss of breath when she applied a warm wet cloth to the injury.

      
“Tis also clotted with dried blood. That is the bad part,” she replied sweetly as she soaked the blackish crust away. “I think it best if I stitch it to keep it closed, since we must ride again soon.”

      
“Then stitch away, Countess, since we must ride again…soon.” Each word was like a caress.

      
She knew he was not referring to reaching Bristol. Her hands trembled as she threaded the needle. “I might as well monogram my initials on your thick Yankee hide, I've stitched so many other places on you already,” she said, attempting an acerbic tone.

      
His hand reached out and steadied hers, large dark fingers wrapping gently around her slender wrist. “I'll bear your mark for the rest of my life, Rachel…deep inside here,” he replied, placing her palm against his chest.

      
“You truly are a buffoon, sir. Courtly protestations! With your breeches pulled down around your ankles?” Still, she could feel his heart beat, feel the heat of his body through the thin cloth of his shirt; and suddenly she longed to have no clothing between them, nothing separating naked flesh from naked flesh. As if reading her thoughts, he guided her hand through the gaping opening, burying her fingers in the crisp black hair on his chest.

      
Fox broke the spell when one of the horses began dancing sideways and the boy had to scold and tug on the gelding's bridle to get him to obey.

      
Without another word, Rachel set to work, willing her hands to perform the task of closing the ragged wound. Once it was done, she smeared more of the healing ointment on it and then bandaged it carefully. “You rest by the fire. I'd best help Fox finish with the horses.”

      
“You set out our food. I can help Fox.” Jason pulled up his pants and stood. With a slight grimace, he walked over to where the boy was working.

      
“Yankee lobcock,” she said fondly, too softly for him to hear. He was incredibly tough. And to date, he had been quite lucky, considering all the attempts on his life. What would his future on the high seas bring? She could not bear to think of that, so she began rummaging about in the saddlebags for the meager remainders of bread and cheese.

      
By full dark, Fox was sleeping soundly and Rachel and Jason sat facing each other from opposite sides of the fire. Wordlessly he stood up and stepped around the flames, reaching his hand down to her, palm open. She placed her hand in it and felt his strong fingers close over hers as he drew her up into his arms. She pulled the blanket with her while they made their way from the fire into the darkness to seek out another kind of heat.

      
This time they stripped off their clothes before coming together and wrapped themselves in the heavy blanket, bodies pressed closely, legs entwined as their kisses grew fierce and then, by turns, gentle, exploratory. He rolled on his uninjured side and spooned her against him, then entered her very slowly while his fingers played delicately with her breasts. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, moving with the keen pleasure that had now grown so dearly familiar and necessary to her.

      
They went slowly, murmuring indistinct love words, climbing the summit together and finding that ultimate peace that was at once fierce and yet ever so tender. Jason held her to his body, kissed the nape of her neck, then buried his face in the dark masses of her hair. At length, he murmured softly, “Do we need to continue on to Bristol, Countess?”