Moonlight Rebel (32 page)

Her eyes blazed angry sparks. "If you think you can have me like some slave, waiting at your beck and call, you are sadly mistaken. I belong to no man, least of all you." She tried to pass, but he held her back.

He lifted a brow, dark amusement on his face. "Not even your British friend?"

"He, at least, was a gentleman."

"Why? Did he tip his hat before, after, or during?"

"During!" Uttering an oath, she turned away, wanting to be rid of him. He was a heartless, cruel fool. She had been right in her original belief. She was merely a diversion for him.

And she had let herself be used, had given in to the strange craving within her and allowed Jason to make love to her while all the time he was laughing at her, using her. Angry tears welled up as she stormed away from him.

He let her go, cursing her for not denying his words.

"Krystyna." Lucinda called softly from the parlor just as she reached the front door.

Krystyna stopped, biting the inside of her lip. Don't cry, don't, her mind kept repeating. He's not worth it. She turned toward Lucinda.

The other woman rushed up to her. "I did it," Lucinda whispered. "I warned him in time. Jeremiah and I got him out. We'd just managed to leave when Jason arrived. He's a nice man, your lieutenant."

So, the slave had helped Lucinda. But Krystyna didn't want Lucinda to misunderstand. Here, at least, she could tell the truth without being defensive. "He is not my lieutenant." Jason, why won't you believe that? she thought. "Thank you for helping me. That was very brave of you," she added.

Lucinda beamed. "It was, wasn't it? But before you came, I would have been too afraid to save him."

Krystyna stepped into the parlor, not wishing to be in the hall where Jason could chance upon them. "You don't care about this war, do you?" she asked, trying to keep her mind from her hurt.

Lucinda shook her head. A curl bounced against her cheek. She liked the feel of that. "I don't quite understand it, but nothing should make people want to kill each other. Nothing is an excuse for murder."

Krystyna put her hand over Lucinda's. "You are a wonderful person," she declared. "Do not ever change."

With that, she left the room just as Aaron was entering it. He was about to speak to her, but when he looked in his wife's direction, he was utterly amazed. Krystyna saw his reaction and felt a touch of pride. At least I have done some good, she thought as she left the house.

But the angry emptiness didn't go away.

"Lucinda?" Aaron asked uncertainly.

"Yes?" Lucinda tried to remain composed, but Aaron's approval was so important to her that her heart was beating as fast as it had the day he'd asked her for her hand. She didn't know then, as she did now, that it was an arranged marriage, thought of as advantageous to both families. She had thought of herself as being lucky until shortly after their honeymoon, when she had discovered letters from his first mistress. And then learned of the others.

Aaron slowly circled her. "What have you done to yourself?" he asked softly.

"I . . . Don't you like it?" She tried not to appear as crushed as she felt.

"Like it?" He laughed, taking her hands in his. "I'm overwhelmed. I never realized —"

"That I was something more than terribly plain and dull?" Lucinda supplied helpfully. There was no condemnation in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Well, yes." He couldn't get his fill of the change. "You never looked like this. I don't know what to say."

"Say you like it," Lucinda suggested.

He spread out her hands and drank in the picture of femininity before him. "I certainly do. You don't look like my mother anymore." They were both surprised at his words.

"What?" she cried.

"My mother," he repeated. "The way you dressed always reminded me of my mother. I hadn't thought about it until just now, but she always wore dull colors, too. And she was always so subservient to my father—more than a good wife should be," he clarified. "She had no will of her own, no spirit." He looked out the window for a moment, as if talking to himself. "My father says I'm just like her."

"Oh no," Lucinda cried. She took his hand in hers, and they gave each other strength. It was the most personal conversation they had had in more years than she could remember. "That's not true. You have spirit. You have wonderful spirit," she said loyally.

Aaron laughed. "You don't know what you're talking about." He stopped, amazed at the affection he felt for Lucinda. He was responding to her the way he once had to his mistress.

He had always viewed his wife in the same light in which he had viewed his mother. She was someone to help carry on the family name. That was the way his father had thought of his mother. There had been no affection, no intimacy, between his parents.

Can clothes make that much of a difference, he wondered, or was her sweetness always there? Have I been so blind?

He had to know. "What made you do all this?"

"I did it to please you. Krystyna suggested it."

"Ah, yes, Krystyna." He might have guessed. "She's certainly brought about changes since she's come here." He looked at Lucinda for a long moment. "I'm very glad she did. I never realized how lovely you really are."

Lucinda blushed and looked at the floor. "If I'm lovely," she murmured, "it's because of my love for you."

"Love?" Aaron repeated, almost dumbly. "You still love me after all these years of ... of philandering?"

She smiled at the bewildered look on his face. "I would love you no matter what you had done or how you treated me. I loved you the moment I saw you." She wondered where she found the courage to be so bold. "I couldn't believe my good fortune when you asked my parents for my hand."

Aaron shook his head. It was he who was lucky. And he had only now found out. "You know, until just this moment, I hadn't realized how fortunate my greed made me."

Aaron took Lucinda into his arms and, for the first time, kissed his wife without thinking of anything or anyone but her.

Chapter Twenty Five

The war effort proceeded slowly, with more and more people recognizing that there was something other than just a verbal rift between America and her mother country. Hardships encroached on trade as embargoes and blockades were put into effect. Americans who had tried to ignore what was happening now found they had to look at their consciences and take a stand. The rebel army was gaining in power and size, its new members convinced either directly or indirectly by the actions of British soldiers that there would be no peace, no rest, and no freedom until independence was won.

Jason listened to the arguments. Events were quickly falling into place, and his conscience was calling for him to make a decision. With the war edging closer and many of the leaders coming from his own county, it was no longer a situation which didn't directly involve him. He began to see that there was no choice for him. His lot was with the Rebels.

The deciding factor came with the arrival of the commander-in-chiefs mother, Mary Washington, at Smoke Tree. She had stopped at the plantation for a short visit with Morgan on her way to Philadelphia to see the second Continental Congress.

She sat, a small, stout, matronly woman in black, bitterness outlining her mouth as she sipped the last of their precious tea and scowled over her cup at the McKinley family. They'd welcomed her into their home out of respect for her position in Virginia society and, more importantly, out of respect for her son.

The purpose of her visit to the Congress astounded them. The men gathered in Philadelphia were wrestling with the profound question of whether to break with Britain or to merely ask the mother country to approve a new set of rules with which to govern the Colonies. Mrs. Washington's petition, Jason thought as he watched her, seemed incredibly petty and mean spirited.

His father was obviously fighting to remain patient with this small woman. "Do you think that's wise, at this time?" Morgan's eyes narrowed, betraying his thoughts as he looked at Mrs. Washington.

Jason had always thought Mrs. Washington a remarkably selfish woman who never showed the slightest affection for any of her children. But even he hadn't thought her capable of this. She sat ramrod straight in her chair and looked at Morgan indignantly. "Of course it is wise."

"Pardon, madam, but it'll be a great source of embarrassment to your son," Jason interjected.

Mrs. Washington refused to even look in Jason's direction. "And well he should be embarrassed," she snapped. "Leaving me to go gallivanting off to this ridiculous war, thinking nothing of how I am to live from day to day." She leaned forward to look at Morgan. "Sir, my very existence is from hand to mouth. I need that sum I am asking for in order to survive, and if he won't care for me, someone should bring him to task for it. Who better than these popinjays who put themselves in charge of us?" She drew herself up. "I fully intend to ask them for an allowance to help me with my expenses."

Jason noted her expanded waistline. Mrs. Washington certainly didn't look as if she wanted for sustenance. And he knew, just as they all did, that Washington had bought Mount Vernon from her at a great cost and was still paying her for the care of his lands and horses while he was away. Humiliating him was her revenge for his ignoring her wishes.

"He's known to be the richest man in Virginia, if not the entire Colonies, and he's left his mother penniless —to starve," she lamented. "Besides, he's enticing innocent young men into his service, men who should be about their appointed work, just as he should. Pah, such foolishness. He sent a messenger for his horses the other day, claiming the soldiers needed them. I wouldn't give them any," she told them proudly. "Not a crust of my meager bread, nor any of my horses."

Morgan felt like throttling her, but to his surprise, it was Jason who answered her ridiculous statement. "But they're his horses, madam, to requisition."

Mrs. Washington cast a disapproving eye on Jason and said coldly, "Not until he gives me my money. You, young sir, sound like the ilk that George is seducing into his ranks." She sniffed. "Like your young cousin, who, being so highly educated, should know better."

She had his interest. "My cousin, madam?"

"Yes that Northern boy. Nathan, I think his name is," she said vaguely.

Jason and Krystyna exchanged looks, the first that had passed between them since their words in the hall almost a month ago. Nathan? Sweet-tempered Nathan? "Nathan's in the army?" Jason echoed in disbelief.

"He most certainly is, following George around like some fool puppy, I hear. It's sinful. I tell you, this war is an evil thing!"

Krystyna saw the strange look that entered Jason's eyes. What was he thinking? Glancing at Morgan, she knew there was no question as to what was on the older man's mind.

Morgan slapped his knee and chuckled. "Damn, didn't think the boy had it in him. Some of the old McKinley blood got through after all." His eyes shifted to his sons. "Pity it stopped there."

Jason was no longer listening. His cousin in the army. If Nathan felt so strongly about the matter as to forsake his pacifist feelings, then it was time for him to act as well. He glanced at Mrs. Washington. He owed the soured old woman a debt.

Aaron shifted uncomfortably at his father's words. "Father, hotheads who run off without thinking—"

"Are worth more than you," Morgan lashed out in disappointment at his seed.

Lucinda slipped Aaron's hand into her own and squeezed it. Her eyes told him that what the old man said didn't matter.

Enough of this endless prattle, Savannah thought. "What Aaron is trying to say, Father, is what we've been trying to tell you all along. If we're to keep our land, we must go with those who would protect the well-to-do. Only rabble are fighting to gain what they weren't born to and would never attain by legal means."

"What good is keeping our land if we're kept in bondage," Morgan shot back, rising. "I'll not be bending a knee to a king who hasn't been granted any divine rights by me!" He thumped his barrel chest.

"Sir, you are not God!" Mrs. Washington cried, shocked by his words.

"And neither is King George. He won't rule over me from across the ocean, not knowing my needs, not understanding my situation." He turned toward Savannah and Aaron. "As to keeping our lands, are you so blind that you can't see that what is given with one hand can be taken away with the other?" Now it was Jason he turned to in an unspoken plea for support. "This is not the king's land to protect, it's mine, and I shall keep it and defend it from him and from anyone else who would take it. Heaven preserve me from all this government intruding into my life." He sat down again, the brocade chair groaning beneath his weight. "At least, in a sovereign country I have a chance to mold the laws. As it is now, we are servants to the man's every whim. That's not life, that's only a semblance of life, and I for one cannot abide by it."

"You're right, Father," Jason said quietly.

Morgan stopped, his mouth open in surprise. Then the corners turned up in a huge, satisfied grin. "Finally!"

"Jason!" Savannah cried. "Have you lost your mind, too?"

But he paid no attention to his sister and blocked out the look of pride that came to Krystyna's eyes. There were still thoughts to wrestle with, matters to be settled within him; and not all concerned the war. He excused himself politely to their guest's surprise and left the room.

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Washington looked at Aaron. "At least you have one sensible son, Mr. McKinley."

"Yes." Morgan looked toward the doorway as Jason disappeared. "One."

Krystyna slipped out of the room, her departure unnoticed by Mrs. Washington and the others.

She reached the hall as the front door closed. Hurrying after Jason, she saw that he was going to the stables. Quickening her pace, she followed him inside. In the last month, since Sin-Jin's discovery and flight, they had avoided each other, both too hurt and too angry to make the first move. The ache Krystyna felt at his indifferent behavior grew as time passed instead of abating. She couldn't live with it any longer, despite her pride.