Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (21 page)

"If you have questions concerning your estate, Mistress Bradford, you should ask your guardian. I am certain he will tell you the right of it."

Royal left the lawyer's office in shock. If there was no money left, why hadn't Damon informed her?

When she arrived home she went to her room and counted out her money. She had less than twelve pounds. That would hardly pay the butcher.

What was she to do?

21

Damon had used every means at his disposal to find Lord Preston Seaton. But so far he had not met with success. If the Englishman was a prisoner, he had either been transported north or was using an assumed name. In either instance it was not likely that Damon would locate him.

He had one last possibility to explore; he would have to slip past enemy lines and face a man who had neither scruples nor patriotism. He would go to the camp of a renegade group of cutthroats operating in Georgia and the Carolinas. Although they claimed to support the cause of liberty, often as not they preyed upon their own countrymen as well as the British.

The renegades were led by Vincent Murdock, a notorious bandit. He and his men would strike and disappear into the swamps, and thus far no one had been able to flush them out. Murdock was noted for his brutality. If Seaton had fallen into those murdering hands, God help him!

Damon slid a knife down the side of his knee-length moccasin. Since he would be traveling through British-held territory, he had abandoned his uniform in favor of more suitable buckskin trousers and shirt. He knew if he were captured out of uniform, the English would shoot him as a spy, but that was a chance he must take.

Before he sought out Murdock, he must make certain that Royal was safely in her house under the watchful eyes of Alba and Tobias. There were many English soldiers on the streets of Savannah, so he would have to go to her under the cover of night.

***

Royal watched the housekeeper polish the copper teakettle. "How did Damon handle the household bills, Alba?" she asked at last.

"We were told to make whatever purchases we needed from Masterson's Store and that the bills would be sent to John Bartholomew."

"It would seem that there is no more money, and that account has been closed."

"The shopkeeper is a Loyalist. I've long expected him to turn away from anyone who doesn't support the king. I suspect he learned that Tobias and I didn't share his love of King George."

"That's not all, Alba. I went to see Mr. Greenburg today because I needed money, and he told me there was none. I don't understand what happened to all the money."

Alba pretended to concentrate on the kettle and rubbed it vigorously. "I'm sure I don't know about such things, Miss Royal. But perhaps the attorney was the wrong person to ask. You should ask Mr. Bartholomew when next you see him, or Mr. Routhland himself."

Royal drew in a deep breath. "I wonder why Damon didn't tell me there is no money left in the estate?"

"Surely you aren't suggesting that Mr. Routhland has done anything wrong in managing your affairs?" Alba questioned, wanting to defend the man she had come to respect.

"No, I would never think that. It must be because of the war."

Alba turned back to her task, thinking Royal should go down on her knees and thank the good Lord that Damon Routhland had seen fit to take her as his ward. It was only because of Mr. Routhland's generosity that they had managed to maintain this house.

Although Mr. Routhland had sworn her and Tobias to secrecy, she wanted desperately to tell Royal that he had even paid them the legacy that Mr. Bradford had left them in his will. Mr. Routhland was an honorable man, and Alba had come to look on him as a true gentleman.

Alba bit back her vexation, knowing she must honor Mr. Routhland's wish for secrecy. Royal would never learn the truth from her lips.

***

Royal had been at the cemetery, placing flowers on her parents' graves, and had not realized night was falling until she glanced at the blood red sunset. The cobblestone streets were deserted as she hurried home.

Not wanting to enter the house just yet, she made her way to the flower garden at the back of the house. Sadness lay like a weight on her shoulders. Now that there was no money, she was concerned about keeping her house. She had already asked so much of Damon, she dared not ask more.

Tears of despair fell down her cheeks, and she quickly brushed them away. Thinking she was alone, Royal was startled when a deep voice spoke to her from the shadows, quoting a love sonnet: "Alas, sweet maiden, a tear from your eyes would fill an ocean in my heart."

She knew it was Damon even before she turned around. When she saw he was dressed in buckskin, she could only stare. "I... thought I... was alone," she stammered.

He moved to her side and was looking at her with a soft expression. "Shall I leave, then, Royal?"

She glanced around, fearing someone would see him. "Are you crazed to come here like this? How did you get through the British lines?"

He smiled at her with irony. "I have a pass forged with your Colonel Campbell's signature."

Royal looked at him hopefully. "Why have you come? Do you have word of Preston?"

Damon's lips tightened. "No, I was merely doing my duty by making certain that my ward had come to no harm. With you, I can never be sure." There was a slight smile on his lips that took the sting out of his words.

He wore his long dark hair loose, and Royal resisted the urge to push aside the lock that fell across his forehead. "I am much safer here than you are," she pointed out. "You must go at once."

Damon glanced up at the darkening sky. "How are you faring?"

"My health is good." She moved away from him, somehow disturbed by the warm glow in his eyes. "I paid a visit to Mr. Greenburg today."

Damon seemed to stiffen. "Oh?"

She moved down the path, aware that he followed her. "He has told me that I have no money left." She turned to face Damon. "Can you explain that?"

"What would you have me explain?"

"I was wondering about the investments my father made—how could the money be gone?"

He stepped closer to her and tilted her chin up so she was forced to meet his eyes. "Do I hear an accusation in your voice?"

"No, of course not, but you once told me that I need never worry about money." She blinked her eyes. "If the war has wiped out the inheritance, I need to know."

"Do you think I mismanaged your money, Royal?"

"I would never believe that of you. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I regret that I squandered large sums on clothing, never thinking about the consequences. Now I worry about Alba and Tobias's future, and I'm afraid I won't be able to maintain the house."

Damon was silent for a long moment. "Have no worry, Royal, you are still in possession of a sizable fortune. Had you not come back to Savannah, you would have been able to draw on money in England."

She felt embarrassed to talk about finances with him. Already he had done so much for her. "I didn't want to trouble you, and that's why I went to see Mr. Greenburg. He was certain there was nothing left."

"The attorney would not be in a position to know about your finances, since I handle them myself," Damon bit out. "Only John Bartholomew can help you. Somehow I will send word that he is to see to your needs. I apologize for not doing so before now, but you see, I can't go home. You may not know Swanhouse is being watched by your friends, the British. They would consider it a great feat to take me prisoner."

She placed her hand on his arm. "And yet you put yourself in danger to see me?"

He hesitated for a moment. "There is little danger unless you are expecting Colonel Campbell for dinner."

"Please be careful, Damon, and don't make light of the peril." There was an earnest light in her eyes. "I'm sorry I had to speak to you about money. I suppose I am not accustomed to making decisions on my own, because for so long you have made them for me."

"As you have said, it was John who always took care of your needs. Did you not feel worry free in England?"

"Yes, there was never a time when I worried about my future, and I know I have you to thank for that."

She turned away and watched as the now purple sky darkened even more. "I have been doing a lot of thinking since last we spoke. It is most difficult to be lost between two worlds and to belong to neither of them." She spun around and faced him. "Do you know what it feels like to be me?"

"I am beginning to see how deeply this is affecting you. Perhaps I should never have sent you to England."

"You did what you thought was right. I have known that for some time. You have long been a man I admire."

Suddenly his eyes ran down her face to her neck, and she knew he was remembering what had happened between the two of them at his cottage.

"You give me too much credit, Royal, for I am just a man like any other. When I am tempted by a beautiful woman, I often succumb, as would any man under like circumstances."

She managed a shy smile. "Is this in the way of an apology?"

"It is. I ask that you forgive my behavior on our first meeting."

"It was my fault."

"Yes, it was, but nonetheless I ask that you put it out of your mind." He gripped her shoulders. "And never behave with any man as you did with me—is that understood?"

"I understand," she whispered, wishing she could lay her head against his broad shoulder and have him hold her.

Damon released her and stepped back into the shadows. "I do not know when I shall see you again. Tell no one that I was here."

"I will never betray you," she whispered. But already the shadows were deepening, and he had disappeared among them. She stood for a long time, staring into the night, feeling as if she had hurt Damon in some way.

***

Damon had ridden all night to reach the swamps where he suspected Vincent Murdock made his encampment. Just through the trees, he saw smoke rise from several campfires, and he knew he had come to the right place.

Dismounting, he removed his rifle from his saddle holster and moved cautiously toward the marshes, aware that the renegades would have posted lookouts and more than likely had been alerted to his presence.

This land was as familiar to him as his own, because as a boy he had hunted every inch of these swamps. He knew where to find fresh water, as well as the quicksand beds and other places to avoid, like those that were stagnant with poison gasses.

A twig snapped behind him, and he spun around just as a man dropped out of a moss-laden cypress tree. Damon aimed his rifle at him. "Take me to Murdock at once."

The man, who was unkempt and dressed in filthy buckskin, only shrugged. "I don't know no one by that name. I'm just a poor farmer, took to the swamps to put meat on my family's table."

Damon shouldered his rifle. "My name is Colonel Damon Routhland, and I have come to discuss an important matter with Murdock."

The man stared into cold golden eyes and quickly relented. He held out his hand for Damon's rifle. "If you aim to be taken to our encampment, you'll have to give me your gun."

Damon handed him the rifle. "Lead the way."

The man scratched his scraggly beard and looked Damon over suspiciously. "Well, if n you're who you say you are, why ain't you in uniform?"

"For the obvious reason. Loyalist troops are swarming all over this valley. I could hardly leave my calling card."

"I reckon you be right. And I reckon there'll be someone in camp who will know if you are who you say you are." The man jabbed the rifle into Damon's back, motioning for him to walk ahead.

Damon's moccasins sank into the mire as he moved forward. A lone birdcall echoed from deep within the swamp, but all else was strangely silent and eerie. They soon stepped onto a well-worn path, and just ahead Damon could see a clearing. Suddenly they were surrounded by men clad in buckskin, all looking at Damon with malignant eyes and pointing muskets at him.

Damon glanced around the camp with distaste. There were scantily clad, dirty children, playing near reed huts. Several women with matted hair and ragged gowns eyed him boldly. Ferocious dogs chained to trees lunged forward, baring their teeth at anyone who came near.

The man poked the rifle into Damon's ribs again and pushed him in the direction of a lean-to that had been constructed from unseasoned logs.

Damon turned to the man with anger blazing in his eyes. "Do that again, and by God, I'll break it over your head!"

The man merely nodded to a tall, heavyset man dressed in beaded buckskin and knee-high moccasins who had just come out of the lean-to to meet them. A pretty woman with long black hair stood at his shoulder, and a baby clung to her.

Damon looked into the man's serpent-like black eyes. Although Damon had never met him, he knew he faced Vincent Murdock himself.

For a moment the two men stood eye to eye, challenging each other. At last Murdock laughed. "Well, if it ain't the lord of Swanhouse Plantation. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I am glad you know who I am, because that saves a lot of time. I know you as a man with no loyalties."

The man merely smiled. "I have loyalties, although they are to myself first." He pointed a finger at Damon. "Everyone knows about you." He looked around at his men and said in a taunting voice, "I guess we could say we have here the most influential man in all Georgia, unless you want to count the British, who seem to be in control at the moment. Why do you suppose Colonel Damon Routhland would seek out the likes of us?"