Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  She was surprised when he said, “After returning to England, I bought a house in a pleasant London neighborhood, not far from Mayfair but less grand. I found that I liked having a place to call home.” After Samson had taken another dozen steps, he added, “I was surprised to find that I look forward to returning when I’ve been away.”

  Given all the challenges he’d survived after being transported to New South Wales, she liked hearing that he had matured to the point where he craved a real home. Everyone needed a home. She felt a deep pang for the house she had loved and where she had known happiness, but ultimately, it was just a house. The people who made it a home were waiting for her in Baltimore.

  An ear-numbing explosion shattered the air. Placid Samson was so startled that he shied and jerked sideways. Callie instinctively grabbed Richard’s waist for balance and for a moment they were in danger of being thrown.

  “Hold on!” After several nerve-racking moments, Richard brought the horse under control again. He patted the sleek neck soothingly. “Samson doesn’t like sudden loud noises.”

  “Neither do I!” Nerves jangling, Callie released her grip on his waist. “Do you have any idea what that might be?”

  “An explosion that large is likely an American powder magazine, and it could have been set by either side to keep it from the hands of the enemy. I hope no one was nearby when it exploded.” Richard set Samson into a fast walk. “I’ll be glad to get out of Washington. Too many unpredictable things are happening.”

  Callie agreed wholeheartedly. Her tension eased when they left the city and headed east along a pleasantly rural road through heavy woodland. The tall trees kept the road cooler than the city, though the air was still heavy and ominously still. “How long a ride is it to our destination?”

  “About two hours to Tucker Hall if nothing delays us. The ship should be waiting in Tucker Creek near the plantation.”

  She eyed the dark clouds roiling on the horizon. “There’s a storm coming. I hope we reach our destination before it hits.”

  “Another storm?” He glanced up and saw the gathering clouds. “What a jolly place your Maryland is!”

  “Afternoon thunderstorms are common here in high summer, but they’re usually limited in scope. It can be pouring rain on one side of Washington and dry on the other. With luck, this storm might miss us.” She studied the breadth of the dark, roiling clouds. “But I’m not optimistic.”

  Richard set Samson to a faster pace. “Neither am I. Though rain only makes us wet, which is mild compared to being threatened by armed soldiers.”

  “Rain would feel pleasantly cool about now,” she said. “But summer storms can be fierce in this part of the world.”

  Swift flickers of lightning were visible in the approaching clouds, which suggested the storm would be a bad one. She wished they could take cover in a building, but the road was isolated and buildings were few and far between.

  The sky darkened so much that Richard slowed Samson down so he could watch the footing on the rutted road. A breeze began to stir the heavy air. Gradually it strengthened to wind, and then to near-gale strength. Small branches and dead leaves from the previous autumn whirled through the air, occasionally hitting with stinging force. Fat, heavy raindrops began to fall.

  At first there was just a spattering. Then trees began crashing in the woods and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 11

  In an instant the rain went from sprinkles to blowing sideways in sheets, soaking Callie and Richard to the skin. At first the water was blessedly cooling, but as the wind picked up, she began feeling chilled.

  Raising his voice against the roar of wind and rain, Richard called over his shoulder, “I wish now we’d taken shelter earlier, but I’d hoped to reach Tucker Hall before the storm. We’re not far now, so hang on. We’ll be safe indoors soon.”

  “Getting wet feels good, though it isn’t doing your beautiful coat any good!” she said cheerfully. “The rain could stop as suddenly as it started. These storms pass over quickly.” At least, they usually did. This was the most violent storm she’d seen since a hurricane hit Jamaica. Or maybe it just seemed worse because usually she wasn’t outdoors when such weather struck.

  She flinched as lightning blazed overhead and bone-rattling thunder followed almost immediately. Samson shied again and Richard had to use his considerable riding skill to keep the horse from bolting. “Samson is terrified by all these loud noises,” he said as he slowed their pace to soothe the horse.

  GA-GA-BOOOM! Searing lightning and thunder were now simultaneous. A tree crashed down across the road behind them and Samson panicked. He reared and bucked wildly. Falling, Callie released her grip on Richard’s waist so she wouldn’t drag him from the saddle along with her.

  Experienced in falls, she tucked and rolled when she hit the ground. More lightning and thunder and more trees crashing in the adjacent woods. Nature was showing her what it was like to be inside an artillery barrage, she thought dizzily.

  Richard managed to keep his seat, but as soon as he brought Samson under control, he swung from the saddle, asking urgently, “Callie, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She accepted his hand up. “The ground is so soft that I won’t even have bruises. But God be thanked we weren’t a few yards farther back along the road!”

  She stared at the great tree that had fallen, its leafy branches still vibrating from the impact with the earth. The trunk was easily a yard thick. They would have been dead if they’d been underneath when it crashed over.

  Richard swore, but since he was standing at Samson’s head he did it in the same soft, soothing voice he used to calm the horse. “It’s not safe to stay here. There’s a bridge over a creek just around the next bend. When I crossed yesterday, it felt sturdy, so I hope it’s still passable. On the other side there’s a small barn where we can shelter if the rain doesn’t let up by then.”

  “Agreed. Will Samson cross the bridge?”

  “I think so if I lead him. I don’t blame him for being frightened.” He stroked the horse’s neck, then started walking the muddy road again, Samson obediently falling into step beside him. “Stay close. Visibility is only a dozen feet in this rain.”

  “It beats bullets. I’ll walk on Samson’s other side and keep hold of a stirrup.”

  “Good lass. At least the rain will quickly wash the mud off you.” He grinned at her over the saddle. His hat had been blown into the woods and his blond hair was darkened by the rain and he was the most beautiful, dashing man she’d ever seen.

  Suddenly this was an adventure, not sodden drudgery, and she laughed out loud. “I’ll be the cleanest woman in Maryland!”

  Clean but windblown. Twigs and leaves banged into her, blown by the force of the wind. She reminded herself that this wouldn’t last much longer. The hurricane in Jamaica had gone on for hours, but this wasn’t Jamaica.

  As Richard had predicted, the bridge was around the next bend in the muddy road. Vague outlines of a barn were visible on the other side of the creek. The building looked intact and it sat in a meadow with no trees close enough to crush the structure if they were blown over. She found that reassuring.

  But first they had to cross the bridge, and the creek was close to overflowing with water raging downstream like wild horses. “I’m guessing that the water level wasn’t this high when you came through yesterday!”

  “It was four or five feet lower and the current was lazy by comparison,” he said grimly. “The bridge still looks sound, though. It’s made of several large logs laid across the creek with boards nailed on top to level it off. With pilings at both ends and railings, it should be safe if we cross before the water rises any higher.”

  Another tree crashed behind them, this one close enough for leaves to brush Callie’s heels. “Do you want me to walk across the bridge to test that it’s still sound?”

  “I’m heavier, so I’ll do the testing. Take Samson.”

  She took hold of Samson’s
bridle, petting his neck and murmuring words of comfort. The horse was skittish at the sight of the bridge and rushing water, but he didn’t look panicked. They should be able to lead him across safely.

  Richard proceeded onto the bridge cautiously. Despite being hatless and saturated, he seemed still very much the gentleman.

  As he’d told her, he was a pragmatic adventurer, not taking unnecessary risks, so he started by gripping the left side railing and shaking hard. It was merely a long, thin tree branch, irregular but solid. It didn’t move.

  Holding on to the railing, he stepped onto the boards of the bridge, stamping with one foot while keeping the other on land. The bridge vibrated from his stamping and the water beating against the pilings, but it was solid enough for safety.

  The bridge was short, perhaps thirty feet long. After crossing with care, Richard returned at a much quicker pace. “That’s a good piece of bridge building. Now let’s get across into that barn before lightning or a flying tree hits us! You go first. Once you’re safe on the other side, I’ll bring Samson across.”

  Callie waited till Richard took control of the horse, then cautiously started across the bridge. After a brief lessening of intensity, the rain was again so heavy that she could barely see the opposite bank. Though the bridge felt solid, the shaking of the structure seemed much stronger now that she was actually walking on it. Water was starting to splash across the boards. A few more minutes and the bridge would be flooded.

  She reached the other side and stepped gratefully onto land. Turning, she called, “Your turn!”

  Samson was clearly nervous, but he’d been well trained. With Richard at his shoulder, he stepped warily onto the bridge and started to cross. Callie’s gaze was so intent on man and horse that she didn’t see a massive, uprooted tree sweeping full speed down the creek. Just before it slammed into the bridge, she recognized the danger and screamed, “Richard! Look out!”

  Before she could say more, the tree’s huge root ball slammed into the middle of the bridge, smashing the boards and tearing the underlying logs away from the pilings that had secured them. Samson reared in panic and tore free of Richard’s grip. Callie instinctively tried to catch the horse as he galloped past her, but she failed and barely escaped falling under his thundering hooves.

  Richard, where is Richard?

  Dear God, he’d fallen into the raging current and was being swept away! One of the bridge railings had torn loose and was about to be dragged into the water. She grabbed hold before the water could take it and raced along the bank of the creek, the long railing dragging behind her.

  A sapling tree had fallen into the water, its roots still tenuously connected to the bank. Richard managed to snag one of the upper branches, which reached almost the middle of the creek. The thin upper branches bent and the sapling’s roots started to pull from the bank, but his hold slowed him down long enough for Callie to catch up with him. She shouted, “Grab this!”

  He looked up and saw her shoving the railing through the water toward him. He released his hold on the sapling’s branches just as the young tree was wrenched from the embankment. He was just able to catch the end of the railing before he was swept out of range. His weight almost pulled Callie into the water. She dove flat on the muddy embankment, holding grimly to the railing.

  The slippery wood almost tore from her grip, but she managed to hang on while Richard hauled himself hand over hand along the railing toward her. There was blood in his hair and she guessed he’d been hit by floating debris. But he doggedly fought his way through the chaotic currents until he reached the bank.

  She helped pull him onto land and for a long moment, they lay side by side gasping for breath as the rain pounded on their thoroughly saturated bodies. Richard said in a breathless voice, “I am really beginning to loathe this country of yours!”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not that fond of this piece of America just now, either. Come on, we need to get to that barn.”

  She pushed herself to a sitting position and stared at the creek. The bridge was gone except for the pilings. “Are you hurt?”

  He cautiously moved his arms and legs, then rubbed the bleeding area on his head, wincing a little. “Bruised, but I don’t think anything is broken.” He sat up, moving gingerly. “I assume Samson is halfway to his home barn by now.”

  “If I had four legs I’d be right behind him,” she said wryly.

  “Shall we get a roof over our heads?” He stood and offered her a hand. When they were both upright, he slung an arm around her shoulders and they wove their way to the barn, battered by the still falling rain.

  “I think it’s letting up a bit.” She stumbled in a rut and he kept her from falling.

  “Optimist. I think this is the first of forty days and nights that will drown the world.” He lifted the iron latch that secured the doors and swung one open for her. She stepped inside, grateful to be out of the pounding rain.

  He closed the door behind them, putting them in darkness except for the light coming in the ventilation holes under the eaves, which wasn’t much because of how dark it was outside. Darkness heightened the fragrance of fresh green hay. She made an involuntary sound as the distinctive scent snapped her back fifteen years to the night when they’d taken shelter in a hay barn during their doomed elopement.

  Richard’s gaze moved around the familiar farm tools, rough beams, and stored fodder and he exhaled softly. “You’re thinking of the barn we stayed in when we eloped, aren’t you?”

  “How could I not?” she said as she gazed at his dark outline. Because that was when everything in her life had changed.

  Chapter 12

  That Lancashire barn had been half a lifetime and thousands of miles away. He’d been a young fool not to recognize how disastrous their impulsive actions could be. And he was the damned fool who had suggested that they run away together.

  He drew a deep, slow breath as he peeled off his heavy, saturated coat and dropped it on the floor in a soggy pile. Then he caught Callie’s hand and drew her toward a soft, fragrant pile of hay. “Let’s see if American hay is as comfortable as the British variety.”

  She went willingly, exhausted by the day and the danger. He lay on his side, studying her face. The dim light emphasized the delicacy of her features. Her hat had vanished as his had, and her long braid of red-gold hair had darkened with the rain.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” he said affectionately. “A very pretty drowned rat. Thank you for pulling me out of the water.”

  He bent his head, meaning to brush a light thank-you kiss on her mouth, but her lips moved under his and he found he couldn’t stop because she was kissing him back. His mind became as turbulent as the roaring waters that had almost drowned him. He moved closer and her arms came around him as she gave a breathy little sigh.

  Callie, Callie . . . His hand slid down to cup the soft breast concealed under her wet, baggy shirt. She was sweet and strong and deeply feminine, a woman like no other. . . .

  Abruptly she pulled away, crushing the hay and releasing a fresh clover scent. “No! I need you as a friend, Richard! I don’t have room in my life for anything else!”

  He wanted to kiss her again and change her mind, but he’d learned a few things over the years. “Sorry! That was a grateful impulse gone awry. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  He rolled onto his back, his gaze fixed on the dim patterns of light from the ventilation holes. “I didn’t mean anything more than a thank-you kiss, but you have an . . . unfortunate effect on my common sense. I keep forgetting that I’m here to help you, not make your life more complicated.”

  “More complicated, but better.” She drew a deep breath, and he was pleased to see that he was affecting her also. “Much of the blame is mine. I shouldn’t have kissed you back, but for a few moments there, it . . . seemed like a good idea.”

  He’d thought it a splendid idea. But . . . “You terrify me, Callie.”

  “Me?” She blinked at
him. “I’m not even armed at the moment!”

  He laughed and the tension eased. “I’m reasonably sure I could beat you in a fair fight, though probably not an unfair one.”

  “The only kind I would attempt,” she said promptly. “Why fight fair with someone twice my size?”

  “That’s my girl.” He took her hand, making no attempt to move closer. “You’re terrifying because—” He hesitated as he thought about it. “Over the years I’ve had my share of friends and enemies, but . . . I haven’t been really close to anyone since I was a boy. And it was you then, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can see why that would be disconcerting.” After a long silence, she said, “I’ve been close to others, particularly the children and Sarah and Josh. But my friendship with you was a different kind of closeness. A kind I haven’t known since our ways parted.”

  “Who could have guessed how far our lives would diverge given that we started in such similar places? I’m finding it very interesting.” He squeezed her hand briefly. “Rest now, Catkin. I think the rain is letting up some. When it ends, we’ll walk the last distance to Tucker Hall.”

  She exhaled roughly. “That’s a good idea. Rain on the roof is much more soothing than rain beating down on one’s head.”

  She closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. Still holding his hand, she rolled on her side so she was facing him, her features peaceful.

  With sudden pain, he realized why Callie terrified him. It wasn’t just that he’d not been close to anyone for fifteen years, but that he was no longer capable of such closeness. He’d survived by cultivating cool, ironic detachment.

  He was capable of enjoying life and other people, but never so much that he couldn’t leave without looking back. The capacity to feel deep emotional connection had died when he’d been convicted of theft and kidnapping and shoved onto a hell ship bound for the far side of the world.