Love Not a Rebel

  “No! I’ll shoot you, Eric, I swear it—”

  “And I do believe you, milady!” he retorted bitterly. Aye, she would shoot him! And be free …

  “Shoot me, then, if you dare, milady!” he challenged her. “But take heed, madame, that your weapon be loaded.”

  “Aye, ’tis loaded, Eric!” Was she trying to warn him? God! He wanted to believe in the tears that stung her eyes, in the warnings she tried to issue. He could not!

  He caught the gun by the barrel and sent it flying across the room. The damned thing exploded. He spun around, staring at her coldly. “It was loaded, milady. And aimed upon my heart!” She would have killed him. His own wife, she would have killed him. “And now, Highness …”

  “Wait!”

  “Wait for what, milady? Salvation? You shall not find any.”

  She stared at him a long moment, her green eyes still liquid, as if she would shed tears. Lying tears. And still, she was so beautiful, her breasts heaving, the pulse ticking at her throat. Her face so very fine that he longed to feel the lines beneath the stroke of his fingers.…

  Suddenly, like a doe, she leapt into action, trying to sweep past him. He took a step and seized her, catching her hair. She screamed out in pain and he swirled her back into his arms. She pummeled, kicked and fought wildly, and he felt the warmth of her against him, felt the rise of her breasts, the span of her hips, and so help him, all that he could remember for a fleeting moment was the laughter they had shared. Laughter, and sweet tender moments by the slow-moving river.

  She nearly caught his chin with her flailing fists. He caught her wrists savagely and wound them back together at the small of her back. She tossed back her head to meet his eyes. “So beautiful,” he told her. “So treacherous. But it is over now. Surrender, milady.”

  She smiled suddenly, and it was a smile that caught his heart, slow and nearly tender, and oh so wistful. She brought back all the years that gone between them, all the tempest, and all the precious moments of peace. “No surrender, my lord,” she said softly. “No retreat, and no surrender.”

  It was then that they were interrupted by one of the young Carolina lieutenants. The man came to a halt behind Eric and excitedly spouted, “We’ve found her! Highness! She gave the ship and the intelligence to the British.”

  His eyes remained locked with hers. “Aye, we’ve found her.” Fury gripped him. He no longer dared touch her. With an oath he cast her from him. She nearly fell against the back paneling and steadied herself there, ever tall and ever proud, and so damned dignified and beautiful despite it all!

  The lieutenant whistled softly. “No wonder she played our men so false so easily!”

  How bitter those words!

  “Aye,” he said quietly. “It was easy for her to play men falsely.”

  “I wonder if they will hang her,” the soldier said. He seemed very perplexed, anxious. “Would we hang a woman, General?” He hesitated a moment. Eric barely noticed, for still his gaze was caught by his wife’s brilliant green eyes, ever wider now. Was she afraid at last? Did she feel the itch of hemp about her throat?

  “Milord, surely you cannot have her hanged!”

  He smiled ironically, feeling her warmth, even now remembering that the very sun itself seemed to live in her kiss, in the glory of her hair, in the splendor of her arms.

  “Nay, I cannot,” he agreed, adding quietly, “for she is, you see, my wife.”

  The young man gasped. Eric knew that he dared not stay there now, his temper fraying so quickly and so visibly. He would deal with Amanda later, on his own territory.

  On territory familiar to them both.

  “Tell Daniel to set a course for Cameron Hall,” he ordered. “Have someone come for this lieutenant,” he said, referring to the Highlander. Apparently this man had fought and died—to protect Amanda from him! “The Brits must be buried at sea; our own will find rest at home.”

  He turned back to Amanda. “My love, I shall see you later.” He bowed deeply to her and then strode from the cabin as quickly as he could. He did not stop by the wheel, he walked straight to the tip of the bow and stood against the wind, feeling the wash and spray of the surf as it flooded over him.

  The deed, at least, was done. The arms and munitions were probably all lost, but the Lady Jane was his again.

  And Amanda was his again.

  His fingers itched. He remembered Tarryton, and his words, and a staggering pain gripped his gut as he wondered what was true and what was not.

  They had been married more than two years. She was his wife! His, and no part of that bastard Tarryton. He should cast her from him, he should demand a divorce.…

  He could no more divorce her than he could cut away his own right hand. He shouldn’t touch her.

  He couldn’t wait to get his hands upon her. He needed time. Time to steady himself, time to prove the victor indeed. And there were things to be done. He had to find General Lewis, and join with him to make the final plans for hunting down Lord Dunmore.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the rigging. In time, Daniel came to him to tell him that they were nearly docked.

  “See that Frederick takes my wife home and that the servants are made aware that she is not to leave. I will ride immediately to find the troops. Our own men may stay aboard, or set tents upon the lawn, as is their choice.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Eric stayed where he was when Frederick went for Amanda. He watched from his vantage point as the man led her across the deck, and to the gangplank. And he watched, his heart pierced as if by fire, as she was saluted as a worthy foe.

  Damn her. Damn her a thousand times over.

  When the carriage disappeared with her within it, he strode off the ship himself. A horse was quickly supplied to him, and Daniel was ready to ride beside him.

  They didn’t have far to hunt for General Lewis, his old friend from the Indian days. Lewis had been heading along the peninsula, and now he was eager to point out Dunmore’s position.

  “We’ll chase him to his anchor off of Gwynn’s Island. We’ll see that he and his pirating fleet are sent far away for good!” Lewis swore vehemently.

  “We’ll join my men with the militia in the morning then, General,” Eric agreed. “I’ll ride back now to my men.”

  “Lord Cameron!” Lewis stopped him.

  Eric, halfway out of the brigadier general’s tent, paused beneath the flap. “Aye?”

  “I would have you know that there is no proof as to the identity of the spy,” the general said quietly.

  “No proof?”

  Lewis cleared his throat unhappily. “Well, news of your victory aboard the Lady Jane traveled even more swiftly than you did, my lord. The battle was witnessed from the shore, and the rumor is, of course, that your wife was aboard and that the men seemed to recognize her as ‘Highness.’ Bear in mind, sir, that some thought as how Dunmore would have liked to have kidnapped Mrs. Washington. Perhaps your lady was taken quite the same.”

  Eric nodded, not believing a word of it. His “lady” had already lifted a Brown Bess against him. God knew what surprises she might have waiting for him within their room.

  “I thank you for your concern, General Lewis. My wife will soon be leaving for France, where she will be safe from either side.”

  He saluted and left then, nodding to Daniel. He mounted his horse, with Daniel behind him, and he started off for home. Seconds later he was galloping across Virginia fields, more than anxious to reach his home.

  At the steps he dismounted. Pierre was there to take his mount, to greet him enthusiastically. “What happened here?” he demanded of his good servant. “The truth, Pierre. The truth of it.”

  Pierre shrugged unhappily. “I don’t know the whole truth of it, my lord. Danielle was struck and has just regained consciousness, and she swears your lady innocent.”

  “Danielle would swear her innocent were she caught in the king’s own arms!” Eric exclaimed.

 
Pierre shrugged unhappily. “She meant no harm to any of us. That monster Tarryton would have struck young Margaret, but Lady Cameron would not allow it.”

  “But she went with Tarryton easily enough herself.”

  Pierre lowered his head. “So it seemed,” he admitted softly.

  “That is all I need for now, Pierre,” he said. “I want her taken to France tomorrow, as soon as I have left. I shall leave the Good Earth here for that purpose. You will go with her, and Cassidy—”

  “Cassidy thinks that he should be serving you, milord.”

  “If he can keep my wife from mischief and harm, he will be serving me.”

  “And Danielle?”

  “Aye,” Eric said after a moment. “Danielle may accompany her.”

  “How long shall we stay?”

  “Till hell freezes over, so it seems!” Eric muttered. Then he sighed. “I don’t know as yet. You will go to the Comte de la Rochelle, who is with the court at Versailles. When this thing is solved, I will come for my lady and the rest of you.”

  “Aye, my lord. And Cameron Hall?”

  “Richard will remain here. He knows the place even better than I. He has kept things running so well.”

  “If I may, milord, Lady Cameron has kept things running so well.”

  “Then, Pierre, it shall not run so well, but there is nothing else that I can do. Is everything clear?”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Good night then, Pierre.”

  “Good night, milord.”

  Eric started up the stairs to the house. Upon entering his home he saw the scorched walls and places where the fires had been beaten out. The faint smell of smoke still lay about the place, but very little had been harmed.

  He looked up the stairs and hesitated, his fingers winding into fists by his side.

  Then he started up the steps, and when he reached his own door he paused again.

  Control … he warned himself.

  He silently opened the door and stepped within the room.

  Instantly his eyes fell upon her. Passion and desire combined with raw fury to sweep all his thoughts of a cold and distant reunion aside.

  Steam still rose softly from a bath, but she was no longer within it. She stood by the window, her form draped in a towel, her features grave as she gazed upon the lawn, her hair high and sable and fire and gloss in a cascade of curls. She turned to him, her eyes wide and emerald and startled. There was an innocence, a vulnerability, to the way she clutched her towel to her breast. As if she held her innocence against him, as if they were strangers, never man and wife.

  You are my wife! he vowed in silence.

  Her eyes met his, clouded and wary. He turned and closed and locked the door, then leaned against it. His anger and desire joined to make his voice tremble with menace as he spoke to her.

  “Well, Highness, it has come. Our time of reckoning at last.”

  He waited for her reply, for her denial, for her cry of innocence.

  A smile curled his lip. He could no longer remain still; he could not bear the distance. A searing tempest all took root within his soul, and he took his first, ruthless step toward her.

  “Aye, milady, our time of reckoning at last.”

  Part IV

  But One Life

  XV

  Amanda stared at Eric wordlessly, unable to believe that he could have become the stranger standing there with the brutal lock to his jaw and the icy expression in his eyes.

  She wanted to cry out so badly that she had betrayed no one. As Eric strode on into the room, she thought that he meant to come straight to her, to wind his fingers around her throat, and she tried not to flinch. His eyes were dark now. They had that ability to go from silver gray to deepest cobalt, and now, by candlelight, they were dark indeed and fathomless.

  He did not come to her. Perhaps he was afraid to do so. Afraid of what he might do to her if he touched her.

  He pulled out a chair at the table and sat, wincing slightly as he lifted his foot to set it upon the opposite chair. She could scarcely breathe as he stared at her relentlessly, and neither could she move. Her fingers clenched about the snowy towel that enwrapped her, and other than that, she could do nothing but return his stare. He poured himself some wine, using her glass, and cast his gaze upon the tray of barely touched food. He sipped the wine, staring her way once again. “Is there a knife you harbor at your breast, my love?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “I have never desired your death.”

  “No? That’s not what you’ve said at times.”

  “I’ve spoken in anger.”

  “And you leveled a musket upon my heart this very day.”

  “I never wanted to kill you! And I do not carry a knife. Were I to desire your death, I would not be fool enough to carry a knife. You could too easily use it against me.”

  “Ah.” She didn’t like the way that he softly whispered the sound, nor did she like his manner as he continued. “Because you are weak, and I am stronger. Amanda, you do have the most exceptional talent for crying out about femininity the moment that you are cornered.”

  “I am not cornered. I am innocent.”

  “Innocent?”

  Her fingers clutched convulsively about the towel before she realized that it did seem she hid some weapon at her breast. She did not reply quickly enough and he suddenly and violently stood. This time there was no hesitation as he strode across the room toward her. His walk was so filled with menace that she gasped, seeking to elude him, but he was upon her too quickly, wrenching her arms from their taut wrap. The linen towel fell to her feet, her hair streamed damp red streamers down her back and over her shoulders, and but for that she was left naked before his gaze.

  And his eyes went darker still.

  She longed to reach for the towel quickly, to retreat, but they had now taken their battle farther than they had ever gone, and she could not play the coward. She lifted her chin and spoke mockingly instead. “No blade, milord, as you can see.” She waited, condemning him with her eyes. Then she did begin to slowly bend to retrieve her towel. “If you’ll excuse me—”

  “If I’ll excuse you? Madame, do you think that I intend to engage in some drawing-room conversation. No, my love, that is the point here. I am done with excusing you!” he thundered out vengefully. His hands were upon her shoulders, wrenching her up to face him. His fingers lay upon her naked flesh, biting and cruel, and he drew her hard against him. Fire burned brightly within his eyes as they tore into hers. “I knew from the beginning that you followed the Crown, and I even knew that you were Dunmore’s spy, and that didn’t matter to me, lady. When we married I had you watched and followed, not so that you could not give away the information you had been given, but because I feared for your safety.”

  Her face went pale. He nearly ceased in his tirade. He could not. He had missed her too long. And she had played him false when he had believed that if not her love, her loyalty to the very house she called home would have kept her true. He was too shaken to cease. Too shaken to take his hands from her. He clenched her shoulders even more tightly. “My God, lady, if there is an excuse, tell it to me now!”

  “I didn’t do it!”

  “You lie!”

  “I do not!”

  She brought her fists up between them to beat against him, but he swung her around and she stumbled, falling to her knees before him. She cast her hair back again, fighting tears. There had been so many times when she had deserved his wrath! She had fought him and hated him at every turn, but not now. Now she was in love with him, and, innocent, she had no defense.

  “There is nothing that I can say!” she cried out to him. “Cast me before your courts, hang me for a traitor if you will, but by God, leave me be—”

  “Leave you be!” He hunched down before her. His ruffled shirt was torn and powder smudged, his waistcoat and frock coat both showed signs of the day’s wear. “I am called back from service in New York because my wife is plann
ing my very doom! Handing my very property to the enemy! My God, you might very well have set fire to the house with your very own hand!”

  “No!”

  “You might have sailed the ship!”

  She couldn’t believe that there seemed to be no mercy, no reason in him at all. And still, she was desperate to make him understand. “I did not fire the house! Eric, I pleaded that they not burn the manor. I said that I would go if only—”

  “Stop it!” he hissed, and his hand lashed out in a fury, stopping just short of her cheek. “You did what?”

  “I said that I would go along willingly if they did not burn the house! And it didn’t burn, Eric! It—”

  “Bitch!” He swore to her, low and trembling. “You went with him willingly! Into Tarryton’s arms! You forget how we met, my lady wife!” he charged her scathingly. “That you would need bargain with Robert Tarryton! The army lies languishing and I need run to capture my own wife, the Brit’s courtesan!”

  “How dare you!” she cried, near tears of anguish and fury. She could not fight. Not even the truth stood in her defense. Rising, she lashed out at him. The fight had been simmering and brewing between the two of them, and he was glad of it. He seized her arm and dragged her up to him. In panic she struggled against him. She had never seen this dark rage take hold of him, and it terrified her. “Let me go! Eric, you’re hurting me, let go of me, Eric!”

  He flung her hard on the elegant bed and fell atop of her, his thumbs and forefingers caressing her temples as he stared down at her.

  “I’ve wondered. I’ve lain awake nights, and I’ve wondered if you were here, alone, in this bed. I agonized over leaving you so, yet I believed that you had vowed yourself into this marriage and that you would honor the promise sworn between us. I’ve faced bullets and steel time and again, and never have I sweat as I did nights, lady, torturing myself with visions of you as I have found you this night, sweet and fragrant from the bath, your flesh like alabaster, your heart beating that pulse to your veins. I’ve tried not to think that Tarryton might find his way to you, that his hands might close over your breasts, as mine do now.”