Moonlight Rebel (45 page)

"You agree?" The man looked at Krystyna.

"Krys here can't talk. Been like that since birth," Jason said quickly. He had no idea what sort of a voice she could use to convince the men of her gender, but he felt certain that hearing her would only arouse their suspicions.

"Deef, too?" Big Jim cocked his head, staring at her as if she were some sort of a freak.

Just in case she turned at the sound of any noise, Jason thought it best not to carry the charade too far. "No, he hears well enough, but he can't talk. Just makes noises."

How many disguises will I be forced to take on in this country? she wondered. First a boy, then a mute. What would be next? But she played along. Jason, she felt, knew best.

"We're headin' toward Fort Wayne first," Big Jim informed Jason once they were ready to ride.

Jason pulled his horse into formation next to McConnell's bay. Krystyna rode on his other side. "Why there?"

"Got a message from one of my scouts yesterday. Seems General Howe's men are fightin' some of our boys up yonder. We're retreatin' just enough to lead them down to the fort. The British think it's deserted." He laughed.

"And it's not," Jason guessed.

"Nope. Got a bunch of our soldiers waitin' on them. Me and my boys are riding to help give those damn redcoats a big surprise when they get there." He relished the thought. "We'll give those sons of bitches the welcome of their lives, we will."

The man on Big Jim's other side peered at Jason. "You from around here?"

Jason nodded. "Plantation down past Norfolk. My father's Morgan McKinley."

The man grinned, exposing two rows of crooked teeth. "He done talked at those meetings three years back. Fine man, your pa."

So they knew him. So much the better for us, Jason thought. "Thanks."

The man scratched his bald head. "Didn't know about his havin' a dumb kid, though."

"We don't talk about Krys too much. Hurts Ma. She kinda went a little strange after Krys was born." He hoped that that would be the end of the matter. These men might consider themselves patriots, but he didn't want to be put in a position to test their moral mettle if they discovered that Krystyna was a woman.

Quickly, Jason switched topics. "Have you been in this war since the beginning?" he asked Big Jim.

He had read the man correctly. Big Jim's favorite topic was Big Jim. "You might say that. Started out by tradin' with the Dutch. But that was too tame for the likes of me. Gettin' rid of those vermin is more my style." This time, there was a nasty timbre to his laugh. Braggart or not, he wasn't a man Jason would have wanted to get on the wrong side of.

The men made Krystyna nervous. To her, they were of the caliber of the sailors on the vessel that had brought her to these shores. What would they do if they discovered that she wasn't Jason's brother, that she wasn't a boy at all? Or if one of them found out about Jason’s money belt?

Her worried expression caught Jason's attention.

He guessed what was on her mind. Reaching over, he patted the hand resting on her saddle horn. "Needs reassuring. Strangers make him nervous," he explained to Big Jim. He might have saved his breath. The man was staring ahead, miles away.

"He's thinkin'," Enos told Jason. "We give him a lot of room. He's had us win every fight we done been in." It was obvious that Big Jim was not only their leader, he was their hero as well.

Jason settled back in the saddle and wondered if they could break away from these men before reaching the fort without arousing undue suspicion. He didn't want to involve Krystyna in a battle. But if they rode away, these volunteers might think them traitors. And there would be consequences for that.

It was half a day later when they finally approached the fort. Sounds of battle echoed about them like a macabre lament long before the stronghold came into view. The retreat was proceeding faster than expected.

Big Jim let loose with a wild yell meant to curl his enemies' hair. The other men followed suit as they all charged toward the fort.

Jason saw no way out. He had to join them. "Stay here!" he ordered Krystyna before he rode off with the others.

Stay here. Like an obedient dog. She'd be damned if he was
going to leave her behind. No battle went according to plan.

The soldiers wouldn't remain in neat formations. Havoc would ensue. She'd rather be with Jason, no matter what befell him, than by herself.

Kicking her heels into the horse's flanks, Krystyna quickly caught up with him.

Hearing the pounding hooves behind him, Jason turned.
Damn, why wouldn't she listen? "Stay back!" he shouted again.

"I will not! I have come too far to do that," she retorted. Her hat caught on a low branch as she reached him. She snatched at it, but it was too late. Her hair tumbled down her back.

"God damn, you're a girl!" Big Jim cried as he gaped at her. The whine of musket fire brought his attention back to the fight.

Muttering a curse under her breath, Krystyna hung onto the reins as she stuffed her hair back under her hat. She followed behind the men whose eyes shone with the lust of war.

The long line of redcoats had abruptly disbanded when the soldiers had realized that they had been led into a trap. The fort had belonged to the British a few short weeks ago. It'd been stripped when the army moved farther north. Lines of communication had been broken. They didn't know that the fort had been recaptured.

Suddenly, a soldier came charging from behind a tree, his bayonet poised to strike. Krystyna's horse reared and she clung to its neck to keep from falling. The soldier charged between her and Jason. With a crazed look in his eyes, he pulled Jason from his horse. He would have run him through, but Big Jim was quicker. The hilt of his hunting knife still quivered, protruding from the redcoat's back, as the soldier fell over on top of Jason, dead.

Pushing aside the soldier's body, Jason looked around toward Big Jim. But the man was gone, having ridden into the thick of the fray.

Krystyna jumped off her horse and ran to Jason, but the hand-to-hand combat sucked her into its midst. Before she could reach Jason, someone grabbed her waist and pulled her away. Surprised, frightened, she looked up into the face of the man who had been with Peter the night her father had been murdered.

"You!" Her hands flew up, clawing at his face. She bit his hand, and he let her go with a scream. Instead of fleeing, she turned and ran after him, in a fury. Fargo fled with Krystyna behind him.

She tripped over a musket. Snatching it up, she raised it and fired. Nothing happened. The musket hadn't been primed. Screaming an oath, she hurled it after the fleeing figure.

Suddenly, she realized that she was in the midst of the fight. Jason was nowhere around. She ran toward where she had last seen him. A rider cut her off. Heart hammering in her throat, she looked up.

"Always you." Sin-Jin had spied Fargo trying to carry her off. He had grabbed the nearest horse and ridden to her rescue.

She took hold of the arm he extended toward her and swung up behind him in his saddle. Sin-Jin brought her to the perimeter of the fort. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to stay alive. Get inside," he ordered above the din. "You'll be safe there." He knew that by now the fort was overrun with rebels. He couldn't safely go any further. But she could. He turned and rode back to his men.

Krystyna ran into the shelter of the fort, but within it was little better. The grounds were crowded with men fighting hand to hand. The British were in uniform. Some of the Americans were, but most were not. Red and blue and homespun brown seemed to run together for her.

She gasped as someone grabbed her ankle. As she yanked herself free, she looked down into a bloodied face, and her fear left her. The lad was no more than Christopher's age. Blood flowed quickly from his side, where a British soldier's bayonet had caught him. A few feet away lay the body of his attacker. The boy's knife was sticking out of the man's chest.

"I got him," he told her proudly. Then his face contorted, and he began to cough. It was the last sound he ever made.

She didn't know what to do. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to. Sounds of battle and the groans of wounded men filled the air.

Where was Jason? How was she to find him amid all this? Well, I certainly won't if I don't stay alive, she thought, looking around desperately. She ran for the shelter of one of the barracks.

Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it. It took her a moment to realize that she was being watched.

Huddled in the inner recesses of the room were two women, British camp followers. They'd been separated from the others when the fighting had ensued.

"Is it over?" one woman asked, moving toward Krystyna cautiously.

Krystyna shook her head. "No, not yet."

The other, a younger woman, had her hands over her ears, trying to block out the horrid noise. "I ain't never going to get used to those damn sounds," she said bitterly. "Hope my Terry ain't one of them that's hurt."

The first woman, the more buxomy of the two, looked Krystyna over curiously. "You got a man out there, dearie?"

"Yes," Krystyna answered. "I have a man out there." Please God, keep him safe.

The woman fingered Krystyna's jacket. "I don't remember you from around the camp." She peered closely into her face. "You new?"

Krystyna merely nodded. This was no time for explanations. She looked out the window at the hell outside. Bodies and faces were whirling past her. It was all happening too fast for her to pick out Jason. From where she stood, she could make out the front gates, where she had seen him last. But he wasn't to be found there.

Voices came from behind her. The women were talking about her, and she couldn't follow everything that was being said. She didn't care. She wanted only to find Jason and get out of there.

Where was he?

The sound of the door closing and the ensuing silence suddenly registered. A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She spun about, and her heart stood still.

"Oh my God, it is you." Her voice had faded to a whisper of disbelief.

The other women had cleared out. The room was empty except for Andrej. Andrej, whom she hadn't seen for . . . how long was it now? A year? Could it have been such a little time? It seemed to her that she had last seen him a hundred years ago, in another life. She had stood in her father's study, ordering him to leave and never return. She remembered the satisfaction she had felt while watching him walk away.

She had thought then that she had seen the last of those wide, sloping shoulders, yet here he was, hovering about her just the way he had then, when he had tried to take liberties that weren't his to assume.

"Krystyna, how wonderful to see you again," Andrej said to her in Polish.

How long had it been since she had heard words in her native tongue? A bittersweetness filtered through her, but then it was gone. In its place was the revulsion she always felt for Andrej.

He has lost more hair, she thought. His rounded dome now peered through the sparse, wheat-colored hairs. "What are you doing here?" Never in her life would she have expected to see him again, not here.

"I am an advisor, an aide, if you will, in this war between the Crown and the Colonies."

That sounded too altruistic for the man she knew. "I would never have thought that you would join the revolution." She remembered how he enjoyed his comforts back in Poland.

"Ah, there is much money to be made here from these dolts."

He hadn't changed. "There are more important things than money." A sense of alarm was beginning to fill her. She didn't want to be alone with him. Carefully, she edged toward the door.

He clamped a hand on her wrist. "Where are you going?

We have so much to talk about." His smile was cold and made her shiver.

"I have to look for someone." She tried to pull free, but he held on firmly.

"Ah yes, your young man . . ."

She looked at him sharply. "What do you know about him?" she demanded.

"You would be surprised how much I know about what has happened to you since you escaped Poland."

Her eyes opened wide just as Fargo walked into the room. "I found the carriage," he told the Count.

Fargo, the man who had tried to rape her. He had smelled so foul, and he had been there when her father was murdered. Murdered for no reason.

Except on another man's orders. She turned, the thought suddenly striking her like lightning.

"You!" Screaming, she doubled up her fists and beat Andrej wherever she could make contact.

He held his hands in front of his face as he backed away. "Grab her, you idiot!"

Fargo caught Krystyna from behind and nearly broke her arms as he bent them behind her.

The Count was shaking with rage. "You will pay for that." He grabbed a dirty burlap sack that was lying in the corner and draped it over Krystyna's head, pulling it down around her body. She started to scream at the top of her lungs, damning his soul to hell. Then something struck her head and a blackness engulfed her.

"Take her to the carriage," Andrej ordered. Fargo threw her over his shoulder and followed the Count out the door.

Fleeing through the melee, they managed to reach the carriage. Fargo threw Krystyna's limp body in the back, took the reins, and drove off. The howl of the battle grew fainter as they headed north.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Jason killed four men that day and the battle continued to drag on. He had seen Krystyna carried off by a British officer but had been powerless to pursue her. Survival had been a difficult matter that afternoon.

Was she safe? He prayed that the officer who had whisked her out of the line of fire had been the one she had told him about. At least the lieutenant would take care of her until Jason could find a way to rescue her.

It wouldn't be easy.

The musket discharged, Jason quickly went through the tedious process of reloading, readying for another assault. As he poured powder down the long muzzle, he was struck across the back from behind. Reflexes had him swinging around, holding the muzzle of his musket like a club. Without looking, he swung hard, knocking the air out of his attacker and sending him sprawling.