Moonlight Rebel (36 page)

Savannah pressed her lips together stubbornly. "What did she do, come crying to you?"

"Krystyna does not come to me for anything." Would that she did, he thought. It would make the relationship easier for him. But there was nothing ordinary, nothing predictable about the woman. And that fascinated and frustrated him all at the same time.

"Then why are you so concerned with my actions toward a ...
a foreigner?" That hadn't been what she wanted to call
Krystyna. Savannah had held back that word at the last moment.

Jason was tired of her parading her station in life. "And what are you, my dear? An Irish-Welsh peasant one generation removed," Jason reminded her.

Savannah pulled her shoulders back. "Father is an honorable man — "

"No one is questioning that." Although he wondered what her evaluation of their father would be if she knew of Morgan's secret dealings and of his pact with Washington. "But he is the son of a peasant — and a foreigner. We all are at one level or another, dear heart, except for the Indians and I'm sure you would object to my consorting with an Indian and planning to marry her."

Savannah looked at him in horror. "Are you?"

He saw no reason for the expression on her face. "What, consorting with an Indian?"

She stamped her foot. "No, planning to marry that . . . that . . ." Words failed her.

Jason shrugged. He honestly had no answer. "I don't know. But if I am, you will have nothing to say about the matter." He was tired of trading words with his sister. She was a stubborn, empty-headed child and he didn't know why he even cared about her. "And you will treat her with the respect she deserves, let alone has earned. Or the next time, I'll make her leave you to the dogs."

Jason heard another figurine crash against the wall after he left the room.

Washington's army remained quartered at Smoke Tree only a few days. The general intended to push on to New York, where he was to meet with Nathan Hale and dispatch him to intercept enemy messages. Both the army's supplies and coffers had been replenished, thanks to Morgan's generosity and ingenuity. Washington was profoundly grateful for the food and dumbfounded when Morgan pressed yet another large pouch on him in the study just before his departure.

The general looked down at the worn leather pouch in his hand. He opened it and then glanced at Morgan in surprise. It was far more than he had dared to hope for. "Morgan, I don't know how to thank you."

"Then don't." McKinley shrugged, unable to hide his feeling of self-satisfaction. "Your men need boots as well as ammunition."

"Not to mention some sort of compensation," Washington murmured. It plagued his conscience no end that the men were ill-used for their services. "Congress sits about and debates everything from the weather to Lord knows what, while my soldiers are dying at my side. At least there will be something to pay the widows of some of them." He pulled the strings tight and placed the pouch inside his jacket. "I thank you both." He nodded at Morgan and Jason. "Should I ask where this came from?"

"Suffice it to say that not all of us need trade with only the British." Morgan smiled. "Some of us find other traders if we look hard enough."

Washington nodded, patting the bulge the pouch made beneath his jacket. "John Hancock, they tell me, is king as far as smugglers are concerned. Perhaps he could help you in your endeavors."

Jason wondered if what he heard was true. News was so contradictory these days. "Isn't Hancock at the Congress?"

The general had forgotten. "Ah yes, the Congress." Washington picked up his cloak and draped it over his arm. "If we moved the way that august body of men does, there'd be no reason for their existence." Drawing on his gloves, he crossed to the door. "Well, it is time, old friends."

"Will you tell Nathan that I'm proud of him?" Jason asked as they walked out into the courtyard.

It was a request Washington would enjoy satisfying. "We all are. I hope I get all these messages straight. The Countess is sending one to General Kosciusko as well," he explained when Jason looked confused. "He's a friend of hers from back home, you know."

"Yes," Jason said quietly. "I know." So the man had come to the Colonies, just as she had said he would. And she hadn't mentioned it to him. Was she planning to leave without saying anything?

The two older men went on talking. Neither one saw the muscles of Jason's jaw freeze.

News of how the war was going south of Boston came at regular intervals now. Congress declared that America had a right to trade openly with foreign ships. All ties with Britain were broken.

But the declaration of open trade was one thing. Finding ships and merchants to trade with was another. The British navy stood guard over the main ports. Only a few ships managed to sneak through, and those were predominantly profiteers without loyalties or allegiances.

Morgan and Jason sought them out. The stored tobacco crop dwindled and then disappeared from the storehouses as more and more of it was smuggled out to be sold to the French and the Dutch.

The dangers of such transactions increased as the war wore on. The British began to realize that they weren't merely involved in teaching a group of marauding farmers an object lesson. They were truly fighting for their King's rule of a faraway land. The honor of the Empire was at stake.

The British Army moved into Virginia and North Carolina. The latter move was an attempt to restore the British governor to his seat. He had been forced to leave when the rebels had taken over his home. Wherever the British went, they commandeered plantations and set up posts. And so it was with Smoke Tree.

Chapter Twenty Eight

With his safe passage notice tucked into a pouch that hung from a strap slung over his shoulder, Jeremiah drove the wagon toward town on an errand. What he chanced to see on the winding path below him had him doubling back. There was a cloud of dust approaching. It could only mean one thing. An army on horseback. Straining his eyes, the old man saw the flash of red uniforms. It was all the warning he needed.

The matter was far too serious for him to lose any time. His loyalty was with Morgan. The British were an unknown element. They could carry off the children, rape the women, and leave the others for dead.

Jeremiah whipped his horse harder. The wagon shuddered and shook as it took the road quickly.

Aaron saw him first. Why was the old man in such a hurry, driving as if the very devil were behind him? Though he and Jeremiah hardly ever exchanged words, this was too unusual for Aaron to ignore.

"What is it?" he demanded, hurrying out.

Jeremiah left the wagon where it stood. One of the groom's helpers came to take the sweating horse in. To Aaron, Jeremiah said only, "I have to see the master."

Aaron hated being a nonentity on the plantation, despite his hard work. Always the news was secondhand, coming first to his father or his brother. "You can speak to me. He's busy"

Though his expression didn't give him away, Jeremiah's thoughts were evident to Aaron. "I have to speak to the master," Jeremiah repeated firmly.

Aaron was frustrated, but forcing his will on the man was not his way. He backed off. "He's in the study."

Jeremiah inclined his head. "Thank you, sir." The tall man strode quickly up the steps to the house. Aaron remained where he was and shook his head.

"Are you sure?" Morgan asked, after Jeremiah had reported what he'd seen. He was on his feet instantly, anger in his eyes.

Jeremiah nodded. "I seen 'em comin'. I ain't sure if they're comin' here, but they're headin' in this direction. I thought you should know. Beat the horse some to get here."

Morgan nodded. His mind wasn't on mistreated horseflesh as he tried to decide what course to take. There was no time to arm anyone. Jason was gone, involved in the tobacco trade Morgan had counseled him about. Aaron couldn't be depended on. There was just enough time to hide the money.

Morgan crossed to the safe hidden behind his wife's portrait. "Here." He took out two heavy sacks and handed one to Jeremiah. "Help me carry these to the third cellar." The third cellar was located beneath the two wine cellars, hardly more than a hole in the ground and rarely used. Only Morgan and Jason had known of its existence. And now Jeremiah. The irony of trusting his slave more than his other son never occurred to Morgan.

Aaron arrived just as they were leaving the room. "Father, what is it?" Aaron stared at the sacks of money he hadn't known existed. What else was the old man keeping from him?

"Your friends are coming to tea," Morgan snapped.

Aaron began to follow him. "My friends?" he echoed, confused.

"Yes," Morgan barked. His eyes narrowed as he realized that Aaron meant to go with him. He hugged the sack closer to him. "You stay here!"

Aaron stood awkwardly in the hallway, not knowing what to do with himself. He heard the scurrying of feet overhead, and then his wife came running down the stairs.

She flew into his arms, breathless. "The British army, they're coming this way. I just saw them from the attic window." She looked around. "Where's your father? I've got to tell him."

Aaron was amazed at the difference in her character. Not that long ago, she would have said nothing, shown no signs of involvement. She would have cowered in her corner, doing needlepoint, and badly at that, no matter who was coming. But when Washington had been here, she had sat and silently listened. And learned. Unfortunately, he thought, her sudden awakening had taken her in the wrong direction.

His arms tightened around Lucinda, giving her support. "It appears Father already knows about them. Jeremiah just returned to warn him."

The house was divided, but the stronger personalities— Morgan, Krystyna, and Jason —were on the side of the rebels. To Lucinda that meant the British were the enemy. "What shall we do?" Lucinda asked.

Aaron smiled at her concern. Even in this, she seemed oddly endearing. How strange after all these years to be in love with your wife for the first time. "Why, invite them in, of course. They'll come in anyway, and if we show them hospitality, all the better for us. Remember," he told her kindly, "they are our kind." She will learn, he told himself. It will take time, but she will learn.

"What is all this noise?" Savannah stood at the top of the landing, hands on her hips. "Lucinda, I can hear you caterwauling all the way up here. How is a person to sleep?"

"A person shouldn't be sleeping at ten in the morning, dear sister." Aaron placed a defensive arm around his wife's shoulders. "Get dressed. We have visitors. The British have arrived."

Savannah looked at him in surprise, pushing stray blond hairs from her face. "When?" She sailed down the stairs, her long, lavender robe trailing after her.

A knock answered her question.

"Now," Aaron said.

As he opened the front door, Krystyna came out of the nursery, Christopher's hand in hers. They had been about his lessons when she had heard the commotion. She caught her breath as she saw the British officer in the doorway.

"Lieutenant Lawrence. I am here to inform you that General Wallace will be needing the use of your home for several days, possibly weeks. We shall, of course, try not to let any harm come to anything."

Before Aaron could convey his welcome, Krystyna let go of Christopher's hand and came down the stairs as if in a trance. She looked at the man in the doorway, her eyes large and incredulous.

"You."

A smile, this time a warm one, came to his lips. "Me." He bowed low before her, delighted that she was still there. It was more than he had hoped for. But he had hoped for it as soon as he had learned of the general's intended destination. "As you can see," he spread his arms before her, "I mended rather well, thanks to you."

Duty called, and he turned his attention back to Aaron. "Now then, Mr. McKinley, if you would be so kind as to tell your father that we are here and that I need to tell him of my general's requirements . . ."

Savannah stood staring at Sin-Jin. She had never seen such a handsome man before in her life. The aristocratic planes of his face were fine and pure. His blond hair made her think of a god. She felt weak in the knees.

His glance passed over her, and she detected the glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. Winthrop and the sniveling apology he had tendered to return to her good graces were entirely forgotten.

She looked toward Krystyna. Envious and jealous, she asked, "This is the officer you had hidden in your cabin?"

"Yes, this is the man." Krystyna's eyes followed Sin-Jin. What had she done by helping him escape? Would he now take revenge on the household? Had she been wrong about him? She didn't want to believe that.

But here he was, with an army at his back.

Savannah couldn't take her eyes from Sin-Jin. "Must have kept you busy," she muttered, "running between my brother and that man."

There was no point in answering such an accusation, so Krystyna turned and followed Aaron into the study. Sin-Jin offered her his arm. She ignored it, heartsick over what was to come.

Savannah fairly raced up the stairs. She wanted to put on her most becoming gown in the hope of appealing to the young lieutenant. She shouted for Zoe as she headed for her room.

By the time the others were settling themselves in the study, Morgan reappeared. As Sin-Jin introduced himself, the older man glared at him.

Sin-Jin took it all in stride. "I fear we shall have to be on your hands for a little while, sir. I do regret the inconvenience." It is a fine study, Sin-Jin thought, glancing around. The man is not a scholar, but he seems to be well read.

"Then you can get the hell out of here!" Morgan ordered. He looked accusingly at Krystyna. "Is this the bastard you nursed back to life with my food?"

Krystyna had no recourse but to tell the truth. "Yes, sir."

Morgan blew out an angry breath. He should have had the
man killed as soon as he'd learned of his presence. This was the
way kindness was repaid. Not kindness, he amended. Weakness. "Well, you can see how well your good intentions are rewarded."
Morgan waved an irreverent hand at Sin-Jin.