Moonlight Rebel (2 page)

The Count looked down at his hands, unable to face his daughter. From so much to so little in so short a time. "I have secured a position for myself. Jan arranged it," he added quietly.

Krystyna's eyes grew wider. "But Uncle Jan is in —"

Count Stefan nodded. "America."

America? The very name made her blood run cold. "Why would you want to go to America, Papa? They are . . . barbarians," she protested, using the only word that could accurately describe the inhabitants of a country devoid of social graces and infested with savages who scalped people.

Breaking tradition, her father had hired instructors for her. A vast succession of tutors had educated the young Countess not only in the graceful, womanly arts, but in reading and writing in several languages. She absorbed history with zeal. History had always fascinated her. The history of those wayward British colonies that were populated with strange people who had no manners or breeding, some of whom could point to antecedents who were criminals sent abroad as outcasts of society, was marked by savagery.

"We can't live in a place like that," she cried, horror-stricken. "It's uncivilized!"

"I'm afraid we can't live in a civilized place for a while." Ste
fan rose, bearing his weight heavily. "Our enemies seem to be everywhere. Of course, my cousin may be exaggerating, but I won't take a chance on your life. America is the only answer. They won't find us in America."

"No one will find us in America," Krystyna said with a sigh.

Her father was undoubtedly right. He always was. But she couldn't bring herself to give up just yet. He was thinking of her, she knew. Still, she couldn't let him give up without a fight. She wanted to stay. To run was unthinkable. It was against everything he had ever taught her.

She knelt on the floor next to him, her hands on his arm in supplication. "Father, we can't just leave because you are afraid for me."

"The matter is not to be discussed. We are leaving." His voice was firm.

A chill wrapped itself around her heart. "Forever?" she asked softly.

The Count rose heavily. Krystyna got to her feet beside him. They were almost the same height. Stefan put an arm around her shoulders as they walked out of the room. "Per
haps not," he said. "Perhaps not." He respected her far too well
to lie to her by making promises he wasn't sure he could keep. This was the best that he could offer.

Krystyna merely nodded. She took in a deep breath and resigned herself to the events ahead. There were a great many things to be seen to. She didn't have time for self-pity.

There would be time enough for that later.

Chapter Two

So much to do, and no time to do it. A lifetime to pack away in only a few short hours. Krystyna sat on her four-poster bed, staring at the furnishings surrounding her, things that had always been part of her world. Clothes, paintings, tiny mementos. She wanted to take everything with her. Each item had a memory tucked into it.

But she knew that all had to be left behind. Trunks would
only slow them. Swift flight was of the essence if they were to
escape. Without being told, Krystyna knew that their situation was even graver than her father had said.

Shutting her eyes to the myriad of possessions that tugged at her heart, she packed only a few changes of clothing; a worn copy of Copernicus's writings, a gift from Thaddeus; and the small sampler her mother had embroidered for her when she was a child.

As she took it from its frame, Krystyna ran her fingers over the worn material and looked at the words as if seeing them for the first time:
Always trust in God and in yourself
. She sighed. "There's not much left beyond that now, Mamma."

Pushing other thoughts aside, she carefully rolled up the sampler and tucked it inside one of the shoes in her valise.

And then, suddenly, it was time to go. Goodbyes were quick, but not quick enough to escape the pain. Maruska cried for all of them.

"We will see each other again, my little one." She repeatedly
stroked Krystyna's face, as if touch could help her retain the memory of her young mistress: "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Krystyna refused to succumb to the anguish she was feeling. "It's all right, Maruska." She kissed the soft, wrinkled cheek.

Maruska dried her tears on her apron, nodding. Muffled sobs rang in Krystyna's ears as she ducked her head and sat down in the closed carriage beside Thaddeus. He gave her a heartening smile.

Don't cry
, she told herself, her hands clenched in her lap.
Don't cry
!

There was no one but the old woman to watch the two cloaked figures disappear into the coach and ride away in the predawn light. She stood until she could no longer hear the sound of hoofbeats against the cobblestoned courtyard.

"Godspeed, my little one. Godspeed."

The bouncing and jarring of the coach was almost unbearable as they rode swiftly toward the harbor. The queasy feeling in her stomach vied with the desolation she felt in her soul. Krystyna tried not to think as the carriage carried them closer to the docks. There was so much to remember, so much to try to understand, but now she would have to concentrate only on survival. For if she didn't survive, the rest wouldn't matter. The thought eased the task of shutting out memories.

Catching her father peering anxiously at her, she offered him a smile. They still had each other. The rest would fall into place somehow.

She stole a glance at the handsome man at her side. Think of him, she told herself. Think of him. What might come tomorrow very well could offer you a new life with him.

Far worse things than that could happen. She had been more than half in love with Thaddeus ever since he had begun to frequent her father's house and table five years ago. Even now, as Thaddeus offered her a warm, encouraging smile, Krystyna felt the surge of first love flow through her veins. Yes, things could be a lot worse.

She soon found that they would be.

"But why aren't you coming with us?" she asked Thaddeus unhappily as they stood at the dock. She had thought she'd had her fill of unhappiness. Now there was something more to be faced. How much could God ask her to stand? First she'd lost her beloved home, and now she was losing the man she had hoped to, someday, build a life with, losing him before she ever had a chance to show him how she felt.

Count Kosciusko took her hand and smiled. "Because my work isn't done here. I'm still needed."

"I could stay with you." She knew that she appeared eager to him, but she didn't care. Perhaps if he read the love in her
eyes, he would let her stay — or go with her. "I could be a help
to you." She looked into his deep, dark eyes and searched for some sign of affection. She found only an amused twinkle.

"I know you could," he said with some honesty, realizing that this unusual young woman was spurred on by a measure of patriotism that he had glimpsed only once or twice in other men, "but your life is in danger—"

"No more than yours is, they tell me," she countered quickly.

"A man is used to these sorts of things," he said to her fondly. "Trust me."

She looked down at the clothes she had been forced to put on, clothes intended to disguise her gender and to present the world with a picture of a young boy traveling with his father. "I'm dressed like a man. I might as well behave as one." Her mouth curved as she remembered the insults Andrej had hurled at her. "I've been accused of that often enough."

Thaddeus laughed. "No amount of clothing could ever turn you into a man, Krystyna."

Her pulse raced as she stood close to him. Was there something more to his words, or was he still seeing her as an amusing child? This wasn't fair. She needed time with him, time to show him how she felt, time to try to really understand her own feelings. Those strange, surging, hungry feelings that danced through her were so new.

"If it wouldn't spoil your disguise, I'd kiss you goodbye," he told her, drawing his hand away from hers.

Cheated even of that, she thought bitterly, wondering what it would be like to have someone you cared for kiss you. She recalled the time that Andrej had tried to force himself on her in the library when they were alone. The memory brought a wave of revulsion along with it. He had suddenly leaped upon her like one of the animals she had seen in the barnyard. How could her father ever have thought she'd marry Andrej? Why hadn't he set up a match with Thaddeus instead? She didn't care if he owned less property than her father. What did she need with more land?

And now you haven't any, she thought with a pang. Nor Thaddeus either.

She saw his eyes look over her head.

"The captain is signalling. It's time to bid you adieu."

As if on cue, Krystyna's father came forward, having stood a discreet distance away to allow them a measure of privacy. Too late he had realized the way Krystyna felt about the tall, handsome young Count. Too late, he thought heavily. An oppressive depression settled in his chest and enfolded him in its dark cloak.

Kosciusko clasped the Count's hand firmly in his. "Godspeed, my dear friend. And you," he turned his dark eyes toward Krystyna, "take care of your father. I'll see you both soon."

"I'll never forgive you if you break your promise to me," she
declared.

He was struck by the fierceness in her voice. "I never break a promise to a Countess," Kosciusko whispered, bowing before both of them.

And then he was gone.

Neither Kosciusko nor the two people left on the lonely dock saw the man in the shadows who watched the whole scene. They were oblivious of the chilling, satisfied look on his face, of his signal to the tall, thin sailor who stood before the main mast, watching for him. And for the Count and his daughter.

Krystyna turned to face the ship. It was a weather-worn cargo vessel that hardly appeared seaworthy. No one would look for them here, Kosciusko had been certain, nonetheless, the sight of the ship sorely depressed her. The smell of wet wood assaulted her nostrils and made her faintly nauseous. She wondered if this vessel was up to making the laborious journey across the Atlantic. Or for that matter, if she was.

She shivered.

It would be terrible to die at sea, without anyone knowing that she was gone. Thaddeus would go on thinking she was safe in America. How would he ever learn what happened to her? Would he care? Would he grieve for her?

Her eyes strayed toward her father, and all the thoughts that were racing through her head came to an abrupt halt. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself, not even considering what this flight meant to him. She was still young, but to lose everything at his age . . .

She took her father's hand and squeezed it. "To our new adventure," she whispered with more bravery than she felt.

Her father looked at her fondly, knowing what she was trying to do, knowing how she felt about leaving everything behind. He had raised her in his own image. He knew every thought in her head.

Lovingly, he adjusted the woolen cap on her head. "Ah, I may be leaving my property behind, but I am bringing my greatest treasure with me." He put an arm around her shoulders.

The captain motioned them aboard impatiently. He was a burly man who greatly preferred the sea to the land. He knew how to handle the sea, how to read water, wind, and sky. Things on land tended to become muddled and obscure. He had no idea who he was transporting, but from the large sum of money he had been given, he knew these were people of importance. No matter. He didn't concern himself with politics and rebellions. The only things that concerned him were his ship and the vast blue wilderness that rippled before him.

"Your cabin is ready, sir," he said gruffly in halting Polish. Krystyna listened to his accent. As he continued speaking, she decided that he was Dutch. "I've sent in some food." His voice trailed off, as if that was all that needed to be said.

"You are most kind." Count Stefan bowed formally. He motioned Krystyna before him as the captain began to lead the way below, but she shook her head. "Krys?" he asked uncertainly.

"I'll be with you in a moment." she answered in a low voice, then she turned toward the dock. The order to cast off had
been given. Ever so slowly, she could feel that they were sway
ing to and fro, and pulling away from land.

"Goodbye," she whispered, staring unseeingly at the dock and the lands beyond. She was leaving her entire world behind. "Goodbye."

She swallowed. Surrounded by water, her throat was dry, almost parched. Taking a deep breath, she turned her face to the sea and walked to her father, who stood waiting for her.

The trip was long, tiresome, and depressing, one endless, restless day feeding into another. Krystyna, forced to stay inside the cabin, grew to hate the small wooden cell that in effect became her prison. But venturing topside was too dangerous. Her father worried that she would inadvertendy give herself away. Once that happened, even the captain couldn't save her. Sailors out to sea for weeks at a time tended to become unreasonable where their appetites were concerned. She would be, her father warned, the victim of some crew member's "unbridled passion." Krystyna stayed in the cabin. Their meals, mostly hardtack and tasteless biscuits, were brought to them by a sullen man who hardly acknowledged any of their questions.

It was a lonely, hard journey for Krystyna. With no books to read, except for the one she had brought with her, she was left to her own thoughts hour after hour. The idea of going to America festered in her mind. Who would ever have thought, when Professor Nicholas was teaching her American history, that she would someday have to go there? How odd the way pieces of a life fall into place.

Or out of place, she thought bitterly.

She shivered despite her resolve to be brave. Though equipped with the language, she didn't feel equipped to face that wild country. To her it was a land where men were slaughtered in their beds by devils wearing feathers in their hair and little else. She was aware that there was political discord between the Colonies and the mother country, but knew the situation wasn't as dire as that in her own country.