The Ruffian and the Rose

by Colleen French

  Keely nodded in understanding. "I have to be going, but it was nice speaking with you."

  "We ladies of the Patriot Society meet occasionally for tea and talk. Would you like to come sometime?"

  "Yes, I would, when this is all over and my husband's home safe again. Thank you."

  Sally nodded. "I'll send a message next time we gather. Have a good day, Mistress Bartholomew."

  Keely watched the patriot woman walk away and then turned to head back up the street. I guess I'm one of them now, she thought with amusement. I'm a patriot, a traitor to our King. It was funny that the transformation had come so slowly that she hadn't realized it was happening. When had she stopped being an English woman and become an American?

  With a sigh, Keely hurried along, refusing to dwell on the matter. Right now she had to meet with Manessah and discuss the possibility of the informer being a member of the committee. Manessah had been on the eastern shore of Maryland when she'd returned from New York three days ago, but he'd returned last night. Keely had sent Mort with a message that it was urgent they speak in private. Manessah suggested they meet at the Golden Fleece tavern on the Green just after noon.

  "Keely! Keely!" a voice called, startling her.

  She looked up to see a covered carriage pulling up beside her on the street.

  "Keely! Thank God you're safe, sweetheart! I've been mad with worry!" Micah alighted from the carriage dressed in a gold silk voided suit with matching gold shoes.

  "Micah!" Keely dropped her hands to her hips. "I don't want to talk to you!"

  "Nonsense, love. We have so many plans to make. Come home to Fortune's Find and sup with me." He clasped her arm, and she tried to twist it free.

  "Micah, release me. This isn't funny anymore!"

  "Why are you so angry, sweetheart? I know that jaunt to New York was tiring. That's all it is, isn't it? You're just tired?"

  She took a deep breath. "Micah, I went to see my husband."

  "I know. And you told him about us? You told him you were going with me?"

  Keely tried to take a step back, but he held fast to her arm. The carriage blocked her view of the street, in the same turn blocking anyone else's view of the two of them. "Micah, you must stop this. I'm not going anywhere with you! I don't love you! I love Brock!"

  Micah snapped her arm viciously, pulling her against him. "Don't say that! Don't ever say that again. You should have married me. I wanted you." He lowered his voice. "I'll have you . . ."

  Keely swung with her free arm, clipping Micah in the chin, but he twisted her arm behind her, making her cry out in pain. "Shut up," he ordered, "or someone will hear you!"

  She opened her mouth to scream, but he clamped his hand hard down against it. She bit down on the soft flesh of his palm and he cursed her beneath his breath.

  "Cain! Get down here and help me!" he ordered, stifling her voice with his injured hand.

  Keely struggled, kicking as the manservant with the scarred face lifted her and shoved her into the carriage. She fell forward under the force of his hands and struck her forehead on the corner of the seat. Dazed, she struggled to sit up, all too aware that Micah had jumped into the carriage and it was pulling away.

  "Micah," she begged. "What are you doing to me?"

  "Oh, love, you're bleeding. What has that beast Cain done to you?" Micah pulled a silk handkerchief from his sleeve and leaned to dab gently at her head.

  She snatched the handkerchief from his hand, still on her knees on the carriage floor. "Don't touch me," she threatened. "Don't you ever touch me again!"

  "Keely!" Micah sat back in the seat. "How can you talk to me like that?" He sounded like a schoolboy whose tender feelings had been injured. "I love you, sweetheart. I'd never hurt you." He studied her intently, his clear blue eyes wide with honesty. "I love you. I'm going to make you my wife."

  "I'm Brock's wife," she insisted, making no attempt to cover the utter contempt in her voice. She held the handkerchief to her forehead and slowly the white silk turned crimson with her blood.

  "I know. But I took care of all of that, sweet."

  Keely lifted her head to stare at the handsome blond-haired man. Her throat constricted in fear until she thought she would suffocate. Suddenly everything was swirling; blackness threatened to overcome her. "Y-you did what?"

  Micah folded his hands neatly on his lap. "I took care of it. Once Brock is out of the way, you'll be free to marry me, right?"

  Feeling dizzy, Keely got up off her knees and sat down on the seat across from Micah. The carriage careened down the dirt road, heading east out of Dover at an alarming speed. It was very quickly becoming obvious to Keely that this was no silly infatuation Micah had for her. The man was disturbed!

  Seeing her head sway, Micah caught her hand and set her upright. "I've no smelling salts with me," he cried in panic. "Keely, are you all right?"

  She forced the stifling black void from her mind, clearing her thoughts. This was no time for silly fainting spells. If she was going to get herself out of this mess, she would need all her wits about her. "I—I'm all right, Micah." She wiped her mouth with the soiled handkerchief. "Could you . . . could you just open the window so I can get some air?"

  He sighed. "Sorry, sweet, but then you might holler out and someone might hear you. We'll be at Fortune's Find in just a few minutes."

  She lifted her head to stare at him. "Micah, how could you do this to me . . . to Brock? They may hang him, for God's sake!"

  "I told you you never should have married the red bastard." He shook his head. "I told you he'd come to ill ends."

  "Because of you!"

  "Me—the next man? What difference would it make? He can thank me for keeping him safe as long as I did."

  She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. Micah wasn't making any sense. She was so confused. What did he mean, he'd kept Brock safe? "Where are you taking me?"

  "I told you," he said exasperated. "To Fortune's Find."

  "And what? You're going to hold me there against my will forever?"

  He laughed. "Certainly not, love. I wouldn't do that to you. I'm going to take you with me."

  "With you where?" she demanded.

  Micah smoothed the golden silk coat he wore. "To my new assignment." He smiled. "We're going north and to the west!"

  "Micah, I don't understand. What new assignment? What are you talking about? Your duties are here in Dover giving aid to the committee."

  "We're going to a fort, in Detroit."

  "Detroit?" Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But those forts are Brit—" Keely stopped in midsentence, the nausea rising in her throat. All of a sudden, it all made sense, everything that had happened in the last year. Micah was the British informant. . . .

  "Micah, how could you?" Keely paced the floor of his bedchamber. Cain stood outside the closed door, barring her escape. "He was your friend. You wouldn't really see him hang," she declared, still in shock.

  Micah leaned back in an upholstered chair, tugging on his neat blond queue. "It's true enough that I didn't think they'd be quite so serious about the whole matter, but"—he shrugged—"it's a simple solution. My superiors wanted Brock, I wanted you."

  Keely stared at Micah. How could he speak so calmly of Brock's impending death? It all seemed so unreal, Micah kidnapping her like this, his obsession with her. She had known for some time now that he was infatuated with her, but it had never entered her mind that his kind words and friendship would result in such a bizarre turn of events. "You started all of this, you could end it. You could save him, couldn't you?" she said, her voice barely audible in the opulent bedchamber.

  He lifted his chin with interest. "I suppose I could if I wanted to." His chest swelled with self-importance.

  Keely forced herself to walk toward him, her gaze steady. "Would you do it for me?" Treat him like a child, she told herself. Treat him like Von Bueren, only remember, he's more dangerous.

  Micah licked his lips, his breath quickeni
ng. She was so breathtakingly lovely, an angel with a halo of red-gold hair. "But if I saved him from the noose, you'd go running back to him. I'd have nothing."

  Without thought, she spoke again. "No. If you give me your word that he'd be set free, Micah, I . . ." Her breath caught in her throat and she lowered her lashes. "I'd go with you," she finished. Her own words echoed in her ears.

  "I don't know." Micah shook his head. "There could be no tricks. I could just have him arrested again."

  "No, no tricks. I swear it." She touched her hand to her forehead. She had finally stanched the bleeding with Micah's handkerchief and now the wide gash was growing crusty. "I've never lied to you, Micah. You and I, we've been friends since I came to Dover."

  His brows furrowed in puzzlement. "But you said you loved him . . ."

  "I . . . could learn to love you, Micah."

  He beamed. "You could?"

  "Tell me you'll have him released."

  "I'll think about it."

  Keely went down on one knee, clasping Micah's hand. It seemed so tiny and pale compared to Brock's. "Please—for me?"

  He turned her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. "Of your own free will, you would come?"

  "Yes," she breathed. "But he has to be safe. You have to guarantee he'll never be arrested again," she pleaded desperately.

  "I don't know . . ."

  "You could do it, you know you could!" She stared up at him, her hazel eyes fixed on his face. "You must be a very important man to the British."

  He bobbed his head. "I am. You know I am."

  Keely withdrew her hand and walked away. "You'll have to free him if you really want me, Micah."

  He jumped up out of his chair. "You're all that matters to me in this world, my love."

  Keely shuddered. The same words that Brock had once uttered sounded so twisted coming from Micah. "If you love me as you say you do, you'll have to prove it to me."

  Micah rested his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. "Of course I love you; I could never live without you. Don't you see that? That's why I must have you!" He released her, running to his bed. Getting down on his knees, he pulled a small chest from beneath the bed. "Look at the things I've saved," he told her eagerly. "Things of yours. At night, in my bed, I surrounded myself with your belongings because I don't have you."

  As the minutes ticked by, the hideous strength of Micah's obsession was becoming more apparent to Keely. She watched him withdraw one of her handkerchiefs, a glove, a pressed rose from the box.

  "Where did you get those things?" she demanded. "They're mine!"

  "I hope you're not angry with me, love. I would have asked, but you'd have said no, so I just took them."

  Keely snatched the glove from his hand. She'd lost it at a party he'd escorted her to in February. The lace handkerchief had been missing more than a month. She watched incredulously as he removed one item after another from the box . . . a button, a bit of green ribbon, even a long strand of red hair. In disgust, Keely turned away.

  "Tell me you'll have him set free, Micah," she ordered firmly. "If you want me, I must have your solemn promise that he'll be all right."

  Carefully, Micah returned each item to the box. "What of his child?"

  Keely lifted her dark lashes, suddenly very tired. "She will stay with her father. If you're to drag me into the wilderness, she's better left here with him."

  "Yes, yes, I think you're right, darling." Micah put out his hand. "The glove, might I have it back?"

  Keely threw it at him in surrender. Nothing seemed real anymore. How could life be so cruel? Brock's life would be spared, but in order for that to happen, she would have to go with this madman! But once Brock was free and he returned home, he would find her gone and come searching for her. Keely knew in her heart that Brock would go to the ends of the earth to find her. It was her only hope.

  Micah returned Keely's glove to his treasure chest and slipped it under his bed. "I think we should leave tomorrow. I have business at a fort in Penn's Colony. We'll stay there a few days and then on to Detroit."

  "When will Brock be set free?" Keely asked without emotion.

  "I could have a message sent tonight," he answered hesitantly. "The captain could be released by the end of the week." Micah moved to the tea table beside the settee and poured two porcelain cups full. "Would that suit, love?"

  Keely lowered herself into the chair across from Micah. Her head was spinning and her throat was dry. She took the teacup he offered. "You want me to go with you. What's expected of me?"

  He peered over the rim of his teacup. "I just want you to love me . . ." he told her innocently.

  The hot tea soothed her throat. "You don't expect me to bed you tonight, do you?" she asked starkly. She could go with him, she could even pretend to care for him, but she knew she could never ever let him touch her.

  "What kind of beast do you think I am, Keely?" He dumped a second spoon of sugar into his teacup, then added another. "I know that will take time, love. And I'm willing to wait. What kind of gentleman would force a woman into intimacies against her will?"

  "What kind of gentleman would kidnap a woman and take her from her husband and child?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

  Sadistic anger flashed across Micah's face. "I'm not kidnapping you," he snapped. "You agreed to go! Do you or don't you want the red bastard set free?"

  "Yes!" She leaned forward in the chair. "I'm sorry, Micah. I didn't mean it!"

  His anger faded. "I didn't think you did. Now finish your tea. I'll be taking you back to your house to get whatever you want to take with you."

  "All right. But first you have to write the message that will have Brock released. I want to see it."

  He shrugged. "Very well." Getting up from the settee, he walked to a small desk and sat down. In a matter of moments he was bringing a sheet of paper for her approval.

  Keely took the document, taking care not to smudge the wet ink. She read the letter quickly. "You didn't say why he was to be released. Don't you have to make up a reason?" She looked up at Micah.

  "No. They've gotten enough information out of me in the last two years to humor me on this one. Besides, Von Bueren owes me a favor."

  She handed him back the letter. "You promise it will actually be sent?"

  "Cain," Micah called.

  The manservant stepped inside the bedchamber. "Sir?"

  "Get Charles Lutton to deliver this to Major Perkins. I want it sent to Lieutenant Colonel Von Bueren in New York immediately."

  "Right away, sir." The man with the scarred face took the note from his master and exited the bedchamber.

  "Charles Lutton?" Keely asked. "Isn't he one of the new members of the committee?"

  Micah returned to the settee and lifted the silver teapot to pour himself another cup. "Very observant. He's to replace me here in Dover. Such a nice young man; I recruited him myself. More tea, darling?"

  "Now remember . . ." Micah caught Keely by the arm as she started up the steps of the house. "You do anything to give me or our plan away and I swear Brock Bartholomew will be dead by sunset tomorrow."

  Keely pulled her hand from his grasp, staring at him in the darkness. "I understand."

  "Let's go then. Pack as little as possible. I'll buy you new gowns. When I finish this assignment, I thought maybe we'd do the tour, Paris, Venice, perhaps the Orient. Would you like that, dearest?" He followed her up the front steps.

  "It would be lovely . . ." she lied.

  It was near midnight when the two entered the front hall of her and Brock's home. A lamp stood burning on the table in anticipation of her return.

  Carrying the lamp, Keely went straight to the bedchamber she and Brock had shared, just as Micah had instructed. Hurrying, she gathered a few necessary items, trying to ignore evidence of Brock lying everywhere. She pushed aside his shirts to gather two clean shifts. A cocked hat he wore with his Sunday best fell haphazardly to the floor as she gathere
d a hairbrush, a small box of hairpins, and a handful of ribbons to tie back her hair. Micah followed behind her, filling a kidskin bag he'd brought from Fortune's Find.

  "Miss Keely?" The sound of the nursery door startled Keely, making her drop the silver-handled toothbrush Brock had given her only weeks ago.

  "Miss Keely, thank God yer home! We was worried sick about ye!"

  "Patience, go back to bed," Keely said in a tired voice.

  "Miss Keely, is that Master Micah?" She shifted from one bare foot to the other.

  "Patience, I said you may go back to bed. I'll be in to see Laura in a minute."

  "Where you been all day? Everyone's been lookin' fer ye. Master Manessah, he's been here—"

  "Patience!" Keely interrupted sharply. "I said you're dismissed."

  Patience gave a gulp, staring from her mistress to the man who stood in the shadows behind her. "Yes, ma'am." Nodding her head, she backed into the nursery and closed the door behind her.

  Micah kneeled to retrieve the toothbrush. "Excellent, darling. I can see we're going to get along just fine."

  "That's it," Keely answered quietly. "I want to say good-bye to Laura and then we can go."

  "This is all you're taking? Don't you think you need at least one clean gown?"

  "The one I have on is fine. Just let me kiss Laura." Her face remained inanimate.

  He followed behind her and Keely stopped. "Might I go alone?" she asked. If only she could be alone with Patience for just a minute . . .

  "I'm sorry, dear, but I can't risk it. What if you were to reveal something to your maid? You just can't be trusted yet, my love. I must be careful until we're a safe distance from here."

  With a sigh of defeat, Keely entered the small nursery. Micah stood in the doorway.

  Staring down at the sleeping infant, tears welled in Keely's eyes. Slowly she leaned to kiss the baby's downy red head. "Good-bye, sweetheart," she whispered. "Mama loves you."

  "Where ye goin' Miss Keely? Goin' all the way to New York again?"

  Keely wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She couldn't let herself cry, because if she started, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop. "Patience, I want you to stay here in the nursery with Laura. You're not to follow me downstairs."