Love Not a Rebel

  Nor did she hear the connecting door open when the clocks about the house were striking midnight.

  Eric stood and looked down on her as she slept. The dying firelight lay gently upon her face, and she looked very young. Fragile and vulnerable. Anger rose within him as he thought of Nigel Sterling, and he wondered how any man could so mistreat a daughter, especially one so beautiful and proud as this. He wanted to touch her, but he did not allow himself to do so. He did not want to wake her, and so he just watched her, the ache to possess her tempered by the very innocence of her appearance. She evoked so many things within him. From the moment he had seen her dancing at Thomas Mabry’s in Boston, he had wanted her with an urgent fever. From the night he had touched her in the garden, he had wanted her forever with something that burned and sizzled inside of him. But from the time he had seen her with her father, he had wanted to protect her with all of his heart. Her loyalty to the Crown was so very fierce! If she could but love a man so fiercely, then he would gladly lay down his life for her and smile in the dying.

  He reached out but did not allow his hand to fall. He smiled and felt the cool breeze ripple over him, and then he turned to go back to his own room. The game had changed, if subtly so.

  In the morning when Amanda walked into the dining room, Eric was nowhere about. The girl he had mentioned, Margaret, a fresh-faced farm lass with bright dark eyes and bouncing black curls, came to inform her that his lordship was about seeing to the mustering of his Tidewater troops. Margaret left then, and Thom served her—coffee that morning, rather than the berry tea—delicately seasoned fish and fresh-baked bread. When she was finished with the meal she decided to explore beyond the house. After exiting by the rear, she started down a path that led by the outbuildings, the smokehouse, laundry, bakehouse, kitchen, the cooper’s and the blacksmith’s, and the barns and stables. Men and women stopped in their work to look her way curiously, then quickly bowed or curtsied to her. She smiled to all she met in turn, wondering how many of the blacks were slaves and how many were freemen. Nor were the servants all black, and not just within the house. A white woman who spoke with a soft French accent was directing the smoking of a butchered hog. There were numerous Acadians here, she thought, and she was happy, for Danielle would be pleased to meet so many of her own people.

  Just as she thought of Danielle she came upon the stables. To her surprise she saw Danielle there, deeply engrossed in conversation with a tall white man. Amanda hurried forward, then paused. The two were speaking French very quickly. And furtively. They whispered, they gesticulated.

  Amanda instinctively slipped behind the wall of the barn and looked at the man. He was very handsome, perhaps forty years old, with dark hair and sensitive light eyes, eyes that haunted his face and gave it much of its appeal. His features were fine. He almost had the look of a scholar about him, except that he was tall and well muscled, and wore the plain breeches and hardy hose and shoes of an outdoors worker. He did not seem to be the blacksmith, which made Amanda wonder at his work.

  “Lady Sterling.”

  Startled—and caught in the act of spying upon the servants—Amanda swung around. Cassidy was there, towering over her. He seemed to glisten beneath the sun.

  “Aye, Cassidy!” she said, annoyed and embarrassed.

  He betrayed no emotion at all. “Lord Dunmore has come to look over Lord Cameron’s troops. Your father has accompanied him, along with Lord Hastings.”

  “I shall come right away, Cassidy.” She fell into step beside him but he quickly let her precede him. She fell back, determined to be on her guard. “Then Lord Cameron has returned?”

  “He has. They await you in the parlor.”

  “Thank you.”

  She walked ahead again. When she came around the trail, she could see that the rear yard was filling with canvas tents. Men were arriving, camping out on the open lawn. A captain drilled a company of foot soldiers near the river while others sat about on crates or on the ground, cleaning their rifles, drinking from tins, laughing with one another. She could not make out faces or men, but she estimated that at least fifty men had come, and they seemed to be dressed in the buckskin clothing that was associated with the West County men. She paused again and waited pointedly for Cassidy.

  “Who are all these men? They are not regular militia.”

  “No, Lady Sterling. They are troops raised by Lord Cameron—tenants, farmers, a few artisans. And many cousins.”

  “Cousins?”

  “Distant, perhaps. Half of the men out there are Camerons. They own property, some estates, near here, all on the old Carlyle Hundred grounds. The first lord and lady had several children, and since that was well over a hundred years ago, you can imagine that their descendants are many.”

  “Of course,” Amanda murmured.

  “Milady, they’re waiting.”

  She had hardly fled her father and he was upon her again like a vulture. She did not answer Cassidy but hurried up the back steps to the hall and went from there straight to the parlor. The men were all there, her father and Lord Hastings with his “four-score chins,” Lord Dunmore and Eric himself. Lord Dunmore was striking as usual with his flashing brown eyes and elegant apparel. Eric wore navy breeches and a white cotton shirt. Her eyes were drawn to his, a habit that seemed more and more customary as time wore on.

  “Ah, Amanda, my dear!” Her father drew her close and kissed her cheek. She wanted to scream and refuse his touch. However, she managed to hold her ground and escape him, allowing the governor to take her hand and bow low over it.

  “I’ve come to see how Eric is managing to gather men. I did not believe he could summon so many,” Lord Dunmore said.

  “Only half have arrived as yet, John. The others will come by the end of the week, I believe. We shall be ready to travel very soon.”

  “Good. Lewis has his West County men out on the frontier; we’ll come at the Shawnee in a pincer movement and settle this once and for all,” the governor stated.

  Glancing at Eric, Amanda didn’t think he believed that things would be settled once and for all, but he didn’t say so. Instead he announced, “I believe that our meal is ready to be served. Gentlemen, Lady Amanda, shall we?”

  Eric would have taken her arm, she thought, except that she stood before Lord Hastings, and the old man hooked his arm into her own, smiling down at her with his little beady dark eyes. “May I, milady?”

  “Ah … of course,” she murmured, and so she was escorted into the dining room on his arm. She was very grateful when he released her and they all took their seats about the table.

  The dining room took up almost the entire left side of the house. The table was long, able to seat at least twenty, but this afternoon the five of them were gathered at the far end. Upon the walls were several displays of arms, and a large family crest sat high above the fireplace. There were sideboards on all four sides of the rooms, and deep window seats where Amanda imagined guests could relax and socialize before and after the meal. Perhaps the ladies gathered by the fire in the plush seats when the men exited the room for their brandy and pipes.

  She drew her eyes from the room to realize that Lord Dunmore was watching her. She flushed and asked after his countess’s health.

  “She is quite well, thank you.”

  “I had not heard that she was ill,” Eric commented, frowning.

  “Not ill, soon to create a new Virginian,” the governor said.

  “Ah, then to your fair lady’s health!” Eric murmured, lifting his glass of Madeira. About the table the toast was repeated and they all sipped wine. Thom and Cassidy served the meal of delicious wild fowl and summer squash and pole beans. Amanda was somewhat forgotten as Dunmore heatedly discussed tactics with Eric.

  Eric calmly disagreed on many points. “I have fought the Indians before, Governor. They are not cowards, and their practices are not so different from our own at times. The white men on the frontier take scalps as often as the Indians. The Indians themselves a
re fierce fighters who were never taught to stand in neat lines. They attack from the brush, they attack in darkness, and they must never, never be taken lightly as simple savages. Especially not the Shawnee.”

  Amanda shivered, suddenly aware that she did not want Eric Cameron falling beneath a Shawnee’s scalping knife. He was leaning back quite calmly and comfortably in his chair, dauntless, she thought, yet aware. She set down her fork, paling.

  “Gentlemen! Our conversation is distressing the lady!” Lord Hastings protested.

  “Is it?” Eric, amused, was looking her way. “I do apologize most deeply, Amanda.”

  She smiled, standing quickly. “I do believe I could benefit from some fresh air. If you gentlemen will just excuse me.…”

  They all stood, but she gave none the chance to protest, sweeping quickly from the dining room and out into the hall. She raced out to the front porch and stared down the endless drive before the house.

  “Lady Amanda!”

  She turned, truly distressed to discover that Lord Hastings had followed her. She tried to smile as he waddled to her, panting. She backed away from him, but he reached for her hands. “Are you unwell?” he asked.

  “No, no, I’m so sorry that you left the meal—”

  “I’m so sorry that you were distressed. Yet perhaps, my dear, it is best that you realize that young Cameron may not return.” He clicked his tongue unhappily against his cheeks.

  “Oh, I … I’m sure that Eric will return. He’s fought the Indians before. He will take care.”

  “Still … my dear, I hope that you do not think of me unkindly.”

  “No … of course not, Lord Hastings. I shall never forget all the wonderful hunts at your estate when I was a child.”

  “You are a child no more, Amanda. And you must not be worried for the future. I would have you know now that if Eric does not return from the front, I will be there for you. I know that I am an old man, but I am one who is humbly and deeply in love with you. I have spoken with your father and if anything does not go as planned, well, then he has agreed that I should be your husband.” She tried not to gaze at him in horror, but a light in his beady dark eyes made her feel as if she would spew her meal all over his fine silk shirt. She swallowed hard, gaping at him. Then she realized that the other men were coming out on the porch, Eric between her father and the governor.

  “How … kind,” she told Lord Hastings. She felt cold, sick, imagining his fleshy hands upon her. She would die first, she thought.

  “How very, very kind, but … you see, we, er, we cannot wait. We cannot wait—”

  “Cannot wait for what?” her father boomed out.

  She moistened her lips. Eric was watching her, amused once again. She ignored his look, smiled regretfully at Hastings, then hurried past him and slipped her arm through Eric’s. “We—we have agreed that we cannot wait for Eric to return. We’re going to be married right away.”

  “What? But there are just days before we are due to leave for the frontier—” the governor protested.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Eric murmured, his cobalt eyes falling upon her with a sizzle. “And we should have spoken earlier, Amanda, we should have told them right away.” His eyes remained upon hers, daring her. “Alas, it is the very thought that I could die that has prompted us to this measure. I would leave an heir behind if I could.”

  “But you cannot marry so quickly—” Sterling began.

  “Your pardon, sir! Lord Dunmore can give us a special license, and the service can be quiet and performed at Bruton Parish within the week.”

  “It’s quite inappropriate—” Nigel began.

  “I like it,” the governor said. His Scots burr sounded for just a moment and his brown eyes sparkled. “I like it very well. We shall marry our little loyalist to this doubtful fellow and keep him in line, what do you say?”

  They all laughed. The tension lay far beneath the comment, and at the moment, it was ignored by them all.

  “Perhaps, under these circumstances, Amanda should return with me to Williamsburg,” Sterling said.

  “No!” Eric retorted. So quickly that it was almost rude. He softened his speech, smiling. “Gentlemen, we should all spend the night here and go into town tomorrow.”

  “Splendid!” the governor agreed.

  He clamped his hand on Sterling’s shoulder. “A good match, Nigel. Come, let’s imbibe upon your son-in-law’s spirits and toast to your future grandchildren!”

  Lord Dunmore led Sterling back toward the house. Lord Hastings looked from the older men to the young people, then sighed and headed toward the house. When they were alone at last, Amanda struggled to free herself from Eric’s hold. He did not release her. She tossed back her head to stare into his eyes.

  “I’m delighted,” he murmured. “What brought on this sudden ardor upon your part? Have you discovered if not love, then lust for me at last?”

  “Don’t be absurd. I’ve discovered … I’ve discovered Lord Hastings’s four-score chins,” she retorted.

  His smile deepened. A dimple showed against his cheek and his eyes were touched by a silver glitter born of the very devil. “You have cast yourself into this. You will not renege?”

  She swallowed, shaking her head. She could not breathe. “No. No, I will not renege.”

  “You needn’t say that as if you were going to your execution.”

  “That is how I feel.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, then he lifted her chin with his finger, searching out her eyes. “You are mistaken. I will prove to you that it will be fun.”

  “Fun!” She shivered. “It cannot be fun. Not for a wife.”

  “But it will be,” he promised her. His eyes seemed to pour down upon her with fierce and unyielding promise. His fingers stroked over her throat and then his lips touched down on hers. Her eyes closed and she felt as if demons set fire throughout her, causing a cascade of searing liquid to dance against her limbs. Then his lips left hers and touched down upon the arch of her throat, and the sensations increased. She swallowed suddenly, tearing away. Puzzled, he caught her hand and pulled her back. Color blazed in her cheeks.

  “What in God’s name is wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “It isn’t—right!” She gasped.

  Angrily he held her against him, lifting her chin once more to meet the tumult in her eyes. “Not right? Lady, you are not a harlot I have chosen for the night. We are to marry.”

  She lowered her lashes. “Let me go, please! We are not married as yet.”

  He did not let her go. “Tomorrow we will be. And when the words are said and you are my wife, don’t think that you can turn to me and trust in my honor to leave you be. I am taking a wife because I desire one. You do understand that.”

  “Yes!” She wrenched free from him and turned and ran down the steps. He started to follow her and then paused, then turned to reenter the house.

  That night Amanda was too nervous to remember the dark-haired man with whom Danielle had been having her curious animated conversation. She paced the room endlessly, having preferred supper on a tray to the gentlemen’s company that evening. She walked back and forth telling Danielle that she was insane, but that she did not know what else to do. Danielle was quiet, but Amanda did not even notice.

  She ceased her pacing when a knock came on the door at about eight o’clock. She did not answer it—her father opened the door and stepped into the room. He took one look at Danielle and said curtly, “Go.” The woman glanced toward Amanda but obeyed him quickly enough.

  He closed the door behind Danielle. “So you are going to marry him tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Father. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But I want you to remember that even if you are his wife, you remain my daughter.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You will do as I say.”

  She smiled, glad of her coming marriage for one reason. Eric Cameron could protect her from anything. “He is a forc
eful man. He might disagree.”

  “He cannot save Damien Roswell’s neck from the hangman.”

  She paled, her pleasure cleanly erased. Sterling kept talking, ignoring her. “Damien is accompanying Lord Cameron to the front, did you know that? No, I did not suppose so. Perhaps one of them will die. It will be interesting to see.”

  He turned to leave her. “Don’t forget how very much of your future I still hold, my dear, dear child.”

  The door closed. Amanda sank down on the bed, shaking.

  Eric Cameron could not protect her from everything.

  In the morning Danielle came to her very early. Amanda dressed numbly. Danielle had chosen a soft blue-gray gown for her with pearls stitched into the lacing. She did not bind or cover Amanda’s hair, but let it stream down upon the gown like a ripple of dark fire. When Amanda was ready, she walked down the stairs. The servants were lined up on the stairs. A glass was raised to her, and she was welcomed among them as Lady Cameron. She thanked them but had gone so pale that she could not manage a smile.

  She remained numb for the long drive back to Williamsburg. She and Danielle rode alone, for Eric had gone in with the others even earlier to make the arrangements.