Moonlight Rebel (42 page)

The rain had finally stopped, and the first light of day was upon them when Aaron broke the silence. "My brother's a lucky man," he said to Krystyna.

She blinked, unsure that she had even heard the words. "I do not understand." A cough was welling up in her chest. Her clothes, wet and clammy, clung uncomfortably to her skin.

"I'm not quite the fool everyone thinks I am," Aaron answered. "I do observe things." And he had seen the way Jason looked at Krystyna.

Despite the situation and the ache in her bones, Krystyna smiled. "I have never thought you a fool, Aaron. Only, perhaps, a little confused."

Aaron laughed. There was no arguing that point.

The forest outside of Norfolk gave way to a grove. The trail to the outskirts of the town was marked with mud. They saw the wagons first, the homes of the camp followers, the mistresses and laundresses of the soldiers. Theirs was a way of life marked by poverty and hard times, with just enough gaiety in it to see the women through from one scrap of happiness to the next.

As they rode past the wagons, Krystyna could feel more than one set of curious eyes peering out, watching their progress.

Her nerves felt taut.

Most of the townspeople had fled before the invading army at Christmastime. Now the British were headquartered in the buildings that had remained unscathed by the ensuing fires. There were signs of several divisions camped in the area.

A girl, not more than fifteen, walked by slowly, swaying her hips in a deliberate invitation to any soldier who had the time and the money to buy a little affection, a few hours of lovemaking.

"Excuse me," Aaron called to her.

The girl turned and looked at him expectantly before she approached. She placed her small hand on Aaron's thigh and gazed up at him with eyes that had long lost their luster. "What can I do for you, sir?"

She could be my daughter, Aaron thought, pity mingling with disgust. "Can you tell me where I might find Lieutenant St. John Lawrence? He'd be with General Wallace."

The girl withdrew her hand, her annoyance showing as she pulled her dirty pink shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I don't have time to keep track of all of them." She began to step away when the shining gold coin in Aaron's hand caught her attention. A knowing smile curved her lips. "Well, why didn't you put it that way in the first place?" she cried, snatching the coin from him. She bit down on it, winced, and then grinned, satisfied.

"There," she pointed to a long, squat building that had served until recently as the town council's meeting house. "He'd be in there, like as not. Wallace stays there, he does."

She scurried off quickly, holding her prize in a tight-fisted hand.

"I had better go in first. Alone." Krystyna stared at the building. "Perhaps if I could talk to John in private . . ."

She didn't finish, but Aaron guessed at her meaning. "All right. We'll try that first. Be careful."

"Always." Krystyna dismounted and handed her reins to Jeremiah.

Her heart hammered in her ears as she approached the building. Would John listen to her? Or would he expose her and perhaps have her imprisoned as well? It occurred to her that she didn't know him very well and had nothing to go on but instinct. The same instinct that had prompted her to save him in the first place.

"I would like to see Lieutenant Lawrence," she told the soldier posted at the door. The man looked at her coldly. "I have a message for him from a lady friend of his."

The skeptical look remained. "I'll take it." The soldier put out his hand.

She shook her head. "It is not written. I was told that it was for his ears only."

They stood, at an impasse for a moment. But then the soldier relented. He didn't want to incur the lieutenant's wrath. Lawrence seemed amiable enough, but you never knew with officers.

"Lift your cape and turn about," the soldier ordered. "I want to make sure you're not hiding something dangerous on your person."

Krystyna did as she was told, slowly turning about, her heart pounding in her throat. Finally, the soldier waved her on, indicating Sin-Jin's door.

She knocked twice before there was an answer: "Come in."

Sin-Jin was busy staring at a poorly drawn map, trying to visualize their next campaign. Campaign. What a strange word to use for the slaughter of one's fellow man, he thought.

He hardly looked up as the door closed, but felt eyes upon him.
 
When
 
there was only silence, he
 
glanced up. His mouth dropped open slightly as he recognized her.

"Krystyna." Was she really here, or was he just imagining her? But if he were, she wouldn't be in boy's clothing. He rose to his feet. Amused, he lifted her hat and watched her hair tumble down. "What are you doing here?" And then he remembered. Jason. "Oh yes, you've come about the prisoner."

"Then he's alive?" She offered up silent words of thanksgiving before Sin-Jin answered. Sweet Jesu, they weren't too late.

He heard the relief in her voice and envied his prisoner. "Quite. He's beaten two of the guards while trying to escape last night."

Concern etched her face. "Is he hurt?"

"Yes. One of the men shot him when he was captured at the docks. But it was a clean hit, and the physician dressed it. Don't worry, we're not barbarians." Or are we? he wondered. Despite all our polite words and precise rules.

She chose her words carefully. "You once said you owed me a life. I have come to collect that."

Sin-Jin came around the desk. "No," he corrected. "I once said I owed you my life and that it is yours forever if you so choose." He took her hands in his and studied her closely. "How much does this American mean to you?"

She raised her head slightly. "He rescued me once." The words weren't the ones he expected to hear. "I owe him as you owe me."

"Your words are purposely vague." He smiled into her eyes. "But I see through you." He let go of her hands, but still allowed himself to drink in the sweet fragrance that clung to her. "Tell me, what are you prepared to do to save him?"

She hadn't expected this from him. "Anything I have to," she answered, her eyes never wavering from his.

Sin-Jin smiled. "Will you allow me to take you to my bed?"

"Yes."

He laughed at the expression on her face. "It wouldn't be that odious, I promise you."

Her anger rose, a sharp prick against her conscience. She had begun to think of him as a friend. She'd been wrong. "It is not that. I just do not make a practice of getting my way by…”

Sin-Jin shook his head, stopping her words. "I know." He sighed. "And more the fool I for not pressing you to keep your word. But I will not take you this way, in exchange for another man's life."

"Then you will not help?" Her heart sank, even as her mind raced, seeking another way.

"I didn't say that. Your Jason is not a desperate criminal, although I believe two of my men might think so. He is, for the Crown, an example to be used to frighten the rest of the Colonists into trading only with us. Jason is really rather unimportant. Except to you." He sat on the desk, his eyes on her face. What he wouldn't give to have her feel that way about him. "I shall see what I can do about setting your man free, although God knows it might get me killed if they find out." He leaned forward, taking her hands again. "Tell me, would it be equally odious to you if you kissed me?"

"None of it would have been odious," she answered softly.

His lips lightly touched hers. He savored what was offered, keeping his desire in check. Her kiss was sweeter, richer than Savannah's. There was no hunger here, no demand. He cursed Jason from the bottom of his soul.

"Well." He drew a breath as he released her. "I shall do what I can." Sin-Jin thought for a moment, then smiled. "It is a fortunate thing that most soldiers earn so little money. They can be easily bought." He walked her to the door, an arm around her shoulders, his voice low. "I want you to keep a fast horse waiting near the prison —that storehouse right behind the general store across the street," he clarified when she looked at him blankly. "Be there after eleven tonight."

"Well?" Aaron stepped forward when Krystyna came around the side of the building by which he and Jeremiah had been waiting for the better part of an hour.

She took his hand. "He will help us. We are to have a horse waiting tonight near that building." She pointed out the storehouse.

Aaron smiled grimly, nodding his head. He hoped the lieutenant could be trusted and that they weren't walking into a trap.

Chapter Thirty Six

The air remained damp and hot as the hours stretched to midnight and then passed. The tension of the three waiting behind the general store was thick and palpable. Each approaching footstep brought fear and anticipation.

But Jason didn't-come.

Finally, just before two, Sin-Jin appeared, his dark officer's
cloak wrapped around him despite the weather. It served to
hide him in the shadows.

Nerves knotted within Krystyna's stomach. Something
had gone wrong. "What happened? Where is he?"

Sin-Jin took her hands in his, wishing he could soothe
away her agitation. "I'm sorry, Krystyna. The guard I had posted came down with dysentery. There's another in his place tonight, one whose suspicions I can't risk arousing."

So close and yet so far. "Tomorrow night?" She looked at
him hopefully.

Sin-Jin shook his head. "The execution is set for eight to
morrow morning."

Krystyna stared at him in horror, her hands tensing within his. "I thought you said that Jason was only an example."

"Yes, but he is to be a lasting one." Sin-Jin's expression was
grim.

Silence met his words. Finally, Aaron said quietly, "Thank you, Lieutenant. We won't be needing your help any longer."
He placed an arm around Krystyna's shoulders. "Well find
some other way to free him."

Sin-Jin shook his head. "There's no one to appeal to. The sentence has already been passed. The general can't be moved. He's presiding over the hanging."

But Aarons mind was made up. "There's always someone to turn to." Aaron looked around. There was no one else about. "Would you leave us alone now? The less you know of the matter, the better for you."

Sin-Jin thought of protesting, of offering to be in on whatever it was that Aaron was going to suggest. But he was the interloper. His red uniform made him that. With a nod, he moved back into the shadows and wished them Godspeed.

At dawn, Krystyna knocked urgently on the general's door. His aide opened it, grumbling about the hour, and was surprised to see a woman in man's clothing.

In an attempt to look as appealing as the situation allowed, Krystyna had let her hair down and affixed Christopher's clothing more securely on her body, accentuating her curves. The interested leer that rose to the soldier's lips told her she had succeeded.

"What can I do for you, miss?"

Her hand was on the doorknob, but the soldier's covered it, restraining her. "I must see your general."

"I'm sorry, but the general has an execution to attend soon. He's quite busy." He trailed his hand up her arm. "Perhaps I can-"

"No, I must see him this minute." Moving quickly, Krystyna pushed past the man and darted inside. The soldier shouted for her to stop.

In the inner office, several minutes earlier, Wallace had been conferring with Count Andrej Malinowski. The stoop-shouldered older man had sought this early meeting for purposes of secrecy. He was incensed that Wallace had interfered with his plans by capturing Jason.

"If you had only had the presence of mind to ask me before blundering ahead with this trap . . "

General Wallace felt he had exercised more than extreme
patience with this comical-looking little man. He didn't like him, no matter what his British superiors thought of the
Count's abilities. Malinowski was vain, with the morals and the conscience of a water moccasin. And he treated everyone
like a fool.

"My dear count, I am sorry, but—"

"Bah!" The Count threw up his hands in disgust. "Being
sorry does not repair the damage!"

With a little encouragement, he would have wrung the man's thick neck. "The Reverend Blake informed me that
young McKinley was trafficking with the Dutch. How was I
to know that you were the one behind the scenes in this in
stance?"

The Count whirled on him, his coattails flapping. "You
might have asked. Any fool would have asked. You know
perfectly well that the game I play is a double-edged one." He
rapped his cane angrily on the wooden floor. "I was going to use him for several of these trades, filling your warehouses."
He emphasized the word your as he glared at the general.
"And in the end, I would have had the gold back and would
have handed him to you on a silver platter."

"But I-"

The Count placed the cane's tip at the general's throat, silencing him. Hate smoldered in the general's eyes. "Do not
think that just because I am only in your country six months,
I can be played for a fool." He dropped the cane from the gen
eral's throat. "These Colonials are eager to trade with foreign
powers, but it will take me time to set up another such con
nection."

"That won't be a difficult matter for someone of your talents. "Wallace hated all these preening popinjays. He won
dered when this war would be over so he could return home
to be with civilized people?

The general looked critically at Malinowski's broad back as the Count paced angrily about the room. He's from some European country, Germany or Poland, Wallace thought. They are all alike. He knew the Count had entrenched him
self in American society with the cunning of a fox, swiftly set
ting up a network by which goods were to be exchanged for the gold of foreign buyers. The gold was then handed over to him, to be entrusted to those who would use it to benefit the American soldiers. Somewhere along the line, however, the money would disappear into the Count's pocket and be sent to the British war effort instead.