Moonlight Rebel (16 page)

He fought to keep his temper bridled. There was an ace to be played. "You do, and you'll never see a penny of my money." He leaned back again, placated. "That won't suit your Winthrop at all. In case it has escaped your notice, dear daughter, the Rutherfords may have their hooks into future titles, but they're a damn sight short on money."

Savannah clenched her fists angrily, but she was powerless to do anything about the matter, at least for now. She turned the topic away from her pending marriage back to her original purpose for seeing her father. "Then you won't send that wretch away?"

"Winthrop?" he asked mildly.

"No! That girl!" she cried.

"She stays."

Savannah closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to contain her rage, before she spun around on her heel and ran out.

"Good day, daughter," Morgan called out after her, chuckling.

Savannah is far too uppity for her own good, he thought, and wondered where it was that he had gone wrong with his children. If Aaron were a different sort, he would have gladly told him that the tobacco crop his son couldn't trace had been sold to Dutch traders, an act that was expressly forbidden under the law. Colonists were to sell to no one but the Crown. He would also have told him that the money the crop had brought was on its way to Washington
 
for the
 
army. But
 
Aaron
 
was
 
a
 
spineless
 
dolt whose loyalties were misplaced. He wasn't to be trusted.

Morgan hadn't informed Aaron of the land that was not to be planted with tobacco next spring. Instead, it would be used to grow food for the regulars, who were badly in need of supplies. Aaron would have exposed what his father was doing, wittingly or unwittingly, to any one of a number of their neighbors who had British leanings.

Morgan sighed, getting up. One son a Tory, the other a possible coward. And a daughter who gave herself airs and completely forgot her roots. He would be better off not having any children than having these three.

His grandson appeared in the doorway and Morgan smiled broadly. Ah, perhaps there was hope yet.

"You promised to spend the day with me," Christopher reminded him.

"And so I shall." Morgan put an arm about the boy's shoulders, and they went out the door together.

Chapter Twelve

"Would you like to take a tour of the plantation?" Jason asked Krystyna, as one of the house slaves cleared the last of the breakfast dishes away.

Krystyna had consumed a lot more than she normally was accustomed to eating at this early hour. She had lingered over the meal as long as possible. It had never been her way to retreat from anything or anyone, but in this one instance, she thought it would be more prudent if she did not stand in the path of temptation. And he was "temptation" if ever that sin had taken on a human form.

She moved her chair back and rose, but he caught her wrist. Annoyed, she tried to pull away. Jason held fast. "I would rather not."

"You've nothing to say about it," he said lightly. His fingers remained firmly on her wrist. "There're no duties for you to perform today and remember," he grinned at her, mischief in his eyes, "you're my bond servant. I bought you fair and square."

She angrily yanked her hand away. Jason made no move to recapture it. She thought of this morning in the cabin, as well as the other night. "You have already collected your ten pounds worth," she informed him coldly between tightly clenched teeth.

He laughed. "The price was ten and a half," he reminded her.
 
He enjoyed
 
seeing the color rise to
 
her cheeks. It made her even more desirable, and he felt his blood heat in his veins. "Well, if that's what it's going for these days, I believe I might have enough for another bit of heaven right here." He patted the leather pouch that hung from his belt.

Did he think she was some sort of painted whore whose favors could be bought? Anger flashed in her eyes as she picked up her skirts and whirled around on her heel.

"Damn your soul to hell!" she spat out. She was almost halfway down the hall before Jason had a chance to catch up with her.

"Krystyna!"

She had no intention of obeying him, but he grabbed her by the arm and turned her around to face him. When she averted her face, he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger, forcing her to look at him. That was her undoing. The soulful look in his eyes melted her anger like flame softens a candle.

He had gone too far in his teasing and had hurt her. That had never been his intent. "Krys, I'm truly sorry." And he was. When she said nothing, he added, "I didn't mean to hurt you. It was a bad jest on my part."

"A very bad one."

"All right," he conceded, inclining his head. "A very bad one. But I do want you to come with me." He released her. Krystyna was free to go. She stayed where she was, waiting for him to continue. "I'd like to show you around. After all, you will be remaining with us for a while at least. And it is a beautiful day." Her expression softened. He saw uncertainty on her face. She is wavering, he thought. "I've picked out a horse for you, one with almost as much spirit as you have."

She looked at him suspiciously. "No riding together on one horse?"

"No." He smiled fondly. He had liked the way she'd felt against him, unsuspectingly testing his resolve with each step the horse took. "Not unless you want to."

She squared her shoulders. "My own horse will do fine, thank you."

He suspected she was making him pay for Charity. And Charity had never been worth it. Charity's lovemaking was tame and unimaginative, paling before even one of Krystyna's kisses, because in each one of those was a promise he longed to see fulfilled. And would, before long. One didn't need to drain a glass of wine completely to know that it tasted sweeter than another.

Krystyna thought over Jason's offer. After being on board a ship for so long, she longed for open fields, wanted to see an ocean of grass spread out before her instead of an endless sea. It would bring home back to her, if only for a little while.

"All right." Something warned her she was making a mistake. But at the same time, she felt light pinpricks of anticipation.

"Wonderful." She tried not to pay attention to the way his smile seemed to weave its way beneath her skin. "I had the groom saddle the horses before I came to fetch you." He took her elbow to escort her out.

This time, she didn't pull away. "Were you that certain I would agree?" She didn't like the fact that he believed she would acquiesce to his wishes so easily. It reminded her far too much of a master and his bond servant.

There was no cockiness in his smile. "Let's just say I was hopeful."

She had forgotten what it was like, to ride with the wind blowing through her hair, to feel it caressing her skin. Giving in to the joyful energy she felt within, Krystyna urged her horse into a gallop just as they reached a meadow.

For one moment, Jason thought she was trying to run away, just as she had that first night. But then he realized, as the sound of her laughter filled the morning air, that she was just enjoying herself.

He watched the wind whip her hair as she rode, she and the horse one. She had shunned using a sidesaddle and rode astride her mount, despite her wide skirts. He had to work to keep pace with her. She is magnificent, he thought. There has never been anyone like her.

He kicked his horse's flanks. "I'll beat you," he warned Krystyna.

She turned slightly in the saddle to look at him, wondering at his words. It was a moment before she understood that he was talking about the ride and not some physical blow.

"No, you will not!" She laughed, urging her own horse on.

"To the end of the meadow, then."

"To the ends of the world," she cried as her horse began to outdistance his. It was a silly thing to say, but it had been months since she had felt like saying something silly, months since she had felt like laughing. He did that for her, she realized. He made her laugh. He made her feel. That was truly dangerous to her peace of mind, and she would have to be careful. She could not allow herself to become involved with him. She had to be free to return home.

She reached the clump of trees scarcely a hare's breadth ahead of him. "I win!" she declared breathlessly, reining in her horse.

"Yes," he brought his horse to a halt next to hers, "you did."

Triumph made her look even more beautiful, coloring her cheeks and brightening her eyes. "I said I would," she reminded him.

He swung a leg over the saddle horn and easily slid off his horse. "Do you always do what you say you will?"

Circumventing his mount, Jason raised his arms to Krystyna, ready to help her dismount. She let him take her waist. Sensations stirred at his touch, just as she knew they would. Their eyes locked for a moment as he brought her down. "Yes, I do."

Then she would be leaving Smoke Tree someday, going where he could not follow. Jason forced the thought away for the moment. "I see."

He turned from her and tethered the horses, tying their reins on a low-hanging branch. "Come, I want to show you something." He took her hand but she didn't move.

"What?"

"A place," was all he said. He tugged gently and she followed, wondering if it was wise, knowing in her heart that it was not.

He brought her to a wide stream just a little beyond the meadow. To their left, twenty feet above them, was a waterfall. The water cascaded with endless enthusiasm down to the stream, a crown of foam forming beneath its drop. The picture was framed in colors of orange, yellow, and gold. Autumn colors. Just to look at the scene filled Krystyna with peace.

One glance at her face told him that she shared his feelings about this place. It gave them a bond, a tie, however small. He would find others.

"I wanted you to see this," he told her quietly. "It's my favorite spot on the plantation. Perhaps in the whole world." Dropping her hand, Jason sank down on the grassy bank, his legs folded beneath him. The invitation was clear.

She hesitated a moment, then joined him. Her thigh accidentally brushed against his, and a jumble of sensations rampaged through her, like tiny flames leaping from a newly made fire in the hearth.

She would do well, she warned herself, to remain wary and on her guard.

"I can see why. It is beautiful." For a moment, listening to the waterfall, she could pretend that nothing was wrong, that she was home again and there were no sad thoughts to plague her mind or plunder her heart. She tugged at a blade of grass, then slowly split it in half. It is no different from the grass at home, she thought. No matter what happens, the earth always remains unchanged. The land endures.

"How large is your plantation?"

She is homesick, he thought. He could see it in her eyes. He leaned back for a moment, his weight resting on the palms of his hands. "My father says we have close to a quarter of a million acres." He saw her surprise. "What's the matter?" He laughed. "Didn't you think people in the Colonies had a lot of land?" He watched in fascination as the sun played on her hair, teasing out red shafts. It made him ache to touch it. To touch her. "I'm sure this is nothing compared to what you left behind, but out here, it's considered a sizable piece."

What will she do if I kiss her again? he wondered. Will she push me away? Or will she welcome it as much as I?

"Oh, it is quite large," she agreed. "Ours is — " She pressed her lips together, remembering. "Was larger, but not by very much." Was. It caused her pain to say it. "We had a lot of people living on it and harvesting our crop." She smiled at him, grateful for this small respite. "Like you do."

He shook his head, straightening up. "No, not quite like us." He didn't really know what stand to take on the issue of slavery. Although, in his heart, he felt that all men should be free, he saw no other options for landowners with property the size of his father's. Still, it was something he was going to have to resolve for himself before he became master of his own land.

"Your people are peasants, poor, but their own masters. Ours belong to us."

She couldn't tell by his expression whether he approved of slavery or not. She knew that she didn't. "Our peasants," she told him quietly, "are free to do the work, or to leave —and die." She turned toward him. "The situation, Mr. Morgan, is much the same."

She is trying to put distance between us, he thought. Addressing him the way she did, she was hiding behind manners. It wouldn't work. "Jason," he prompted.

She rose abruptly and moved toward an elm tree, putting it between them. Jason followed, as she knew he would. She was desperately trying to construct a wall, to keep him from getting close to her. And she was failing.

"Where I come from, it is not considered polite to call a stranger by his first name."

Picking up a handful of pebbles, Jason crossed to her side. He tossed a pebble into the stream and watched the rings of water form as it sank from view. "I think I'm hardly a stranger."

She had expected him to mock her, and was surprised when he didn't. She watched in silence as he threw another pebble. It skimmed along the surface, and the water shimmered. Just as my skin does when he touches me, she thought.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked quietly.

"I told you. I wanted you to see this."

It was not enough. "But why did you trust me? I tried to run away that first night," she reminded him.

He shrugged. "You gave your word to my father that you would stay."

Honor and her word were everything to her, but she hadn't expected him to understand. That he did, that he trusted her, warmed her heart. It made her vulnerable to him, and there was nothing she could do about it. "And you believed that?"

Yes, he did. He didn't know why, but he did. There were things he knew about this raven-haired woman, knew without knowing why. They were kindred souls. He wondered when she would grow to understand that. "I believe that once you give your word, you'll keep it." The small rock he threw sank, leaving only two rings to commemorate it. Would he be like that rock, or like the one that skimmed the water touching many places before it left a wealth of rings in its wake? He looked at her for a moment. "You don't strike me as the flighty type."