Love A Rebel...Love A Rogue (Blackthorne Trilogy)

by Henke, Shirl

  She stroked his cheek and smiled. “And you saved my life—twice. That still leaves a balance owed in my tally book. I'll stay, Devon Blackthorne.”

  Their eyes locked and they simply stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then a shadow fell across the door, and an angry hiss of breath broke the spell.

  “I have brought food for you, Devon. Send her away so I may tend you.” Panther Woman knelt, turning her back on Barbara, and set down a tray of stiffly woven cane. ”I have sofky and fresh roast venison—even my mother's freshly baked ash cakes.”

  “You've been most hospitable, Panther Woman, but I shall see that Devon eats his meal,” Barbara said in that silky, oh-so-English voice that warned Devon of an impending volcanic eruption.

  The handsome Muskogee woman turned with pure loathing in her eyes for the tall, regal yellow-hair. “You are the one who will go, else I will—”

  “Don't you threaten me, you bloody bitch. I just put a skinning knife through a man's back, and he was twice your size. I'll make short work of you.”

  Devon fought the urge to laugh, knowing it would not only hurt like hell, but would also infuriate the two seething women. “Panther Woman, you do me great kindness by bringing this food, but I am honor-bound to keep this white woman under my protection, for she has saved my life. Please leave the food and I will eat.”

  “Devon—”

  “Please.” His voice was soft but firm.

  The woman rose with a furious swish of skirts and glared down at Barbara, then quit the room.

  Barbara turned frosty blue eyes on his guileless face. “You've been her lover, haven't you?”

  He did chuckle now, then groaned. “And what if I have? Muskogee women are under no restraints to maintain their chastity before marriage. I did no dishonor to her.”

  “But doubtless a great honor to you, bedding every wench in the miserable colony!” What am I doing! Acting like a jealous shrew! She positively hated the slow smile that insinuated its way across his face. “Don't you dare smirk at me, Devon Blackthorne! It's ill repayment for saving your miserable life.”

  He creased his brow in a frown. “Speaking of ill repayments, I seem to recall the matter of two fat rabbits you were to roast for us—and ended up eating yourself.”

  “They weren't fat at all and I only ate one—or rather, part of one...all right, the best part of one. You'd been such an insufferable beast, I scarcely felt inclined to feed you.”

  “Are you inclined now?” His eyes had lost all traces of humor. Something else glowed in their rich brown depths.

  She began to fuss with the food. Then she saw a wooden spoon on the tray and sputtered, “They made me eat with my fingers!”

  He shrugged, then winced. “That's the usual and reasonable way, but those of us raised among the whites have grown to prefer using utensils.”

  When he struggled to sit up, she helped him, rolling up several heavy blankets behind his back to serve as a support. He watched her work, inhaling the fragrance of lavender soap and enjoying the way the simple cotton shìrtand skirt flattered her voluptuous curves. “I like the dress, your ladyship,” he said softly.

  She almost dropped the spoon, then recovered. “Then you should see me all tricked out in a ballgown with my hair powdered and patches upon my face.”

  He took a lock of hair between his fingers and watched the light glisten as he rubbed it. “Never powder such glowing hair—it's like moonbeams and sunlight melded together.”

  “You'd best eat and regain your strength,” she choked out, more disturbed by his eloquent compliment than by his scathing mockery.

  “Yes, I will need my strength,” he replied softly.

  * * * *

  In the following days, Devon mended with amazing rapidity. Barbara spent most of each day tending him and warding off Panther Woman, who gave her furious looks and hissed insults at every opportunity.

  Oddly enough, she found herself beginning to enjoy living in a Muskogee village. She had always been an adventurous child, curious and daring. The Indians were fascinating, not at all the stupid and filthy savages spoken of with shudders of distaste in London drawing rooms.

  One morning Devon was amazed to find the imperious Lady Barbara with Mocking Bird and her daughters grinding corn in a big hollowed-out log. She had her magically beautiful hair braided, but small curly tendrils escaped about her face. As she worked in the warm morning sun, she brushed at the sweat-dampened curls and continued doggedly with her task.

  He walked around the garden beside Tall Crane's house and approached her from behind. ”I see you're helping the women prepare for the Green Corn Festival.”

  She nearly dropped the big wooden pestle she was so clumsily wielding. Rather sheepishly, she smiled at Devon. “Actually I only took on this task in a fit of pique when Panther Woman said I was useless and lazy. Everyone else is working so hard...”

  She looked around the scattered homes and garden plots. Women were grinding corn, harvesting their gardens, and cleaning their houses while men butchered and skinned freshly killed deer.

  “The Muskogee year begins with the harvest of new corn. It's a special religious festival, a time of atonement for the Muskogee. People renew their lives and begin again. All crimes but murder are forgiven, and no one may harbor a grudge against his fellow,” Devon explained.

  “What a lovely idea. It would be so good to have all people everywhere end wars and hatreds and begin anew.”

  “Then you and your brother would return to England,” he said softly.

  “Perhaps. And what of you? Will you stay with the King's Rangers or return to live with your mother's people when the war ends?”

  “I'm not especially good at following orders. I imagine that once my duty's discharged, I'll return to being a trader, moving between the settlements and the Muskogee towns.”

  “Does Panther Woman fit into your plans, Devon?” What had made her ask that?

  He smiled that sunny,boyish grin she had grown so fond of. “Panther Woman's plans are her own, not mine. We were lovers once, but I told her before that I'd never wed her.”

  “Won't you get in trouble with Tall Crane for taking such liberties with his daughter?” She strove for a lightness in her voice that she did not feel.

  “No. She is not his daughter, else she'd be my cousin, and such a liaison is considered incest by the Muskogee. She was born to his wife before they wed, and no biological father claims her. Anyway, it's the maternal uncle or brother, not her father, who settles any matters of marriage.”

  “You say that so lightly, as if bastardy was no disgrace at all.”

  “If a woman has lovers before she's wed, having a child is no disgrace for her or the babe. Only after marriage are both husband and wife expected to be faithful. The punishments for adultery are very rigorous.”

  Barbara considered the irony of his words. ”Tis just the opposite among my kind. A woman must be as pure as new-fallen snow on her wedding night, but once she’s deflowered and has given her husband the requisite heir, she can sleep about as much as she wishes. So can her husband.” A wistful look came over her face. “My parents couldn't abide each other. Mother was relieved when Father died, although she didn't wait for his death before taking a succession of lovers. What a world turned upside down.”

  Devon could sense the hurt behind her words. “You had a lonely childhood, didn't you?”

  She raised the pestle and ground down with great force. “Oh, Monty and I had dozens of nannies and tutors. We were never alone.”

  “But you had no parents.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she turned to him, feeling suddenly an absurd need to reveal her innermost feelings. “Do you know why I was exiled to Savannah? I'd taken my mother's lover away from her.” At the look of incredulity on his face, she added, “Not that I ever bedded Darth. The idea makes me want to consume a gallon of that black drink and purge myself.”

  “You led him on just to spite her,” he said w
ith dawning comprehension.

  “That was only one of my sins. I ran up thousands at the gaming tables and traveled with altogether too fast a crowd for an unmarried female, even one of my class. I'm reckless and spoiled, Devon.” She said it like a dare.

  He touched her defiant chin and looked into her brilliant blue eyes. “Since we met, I've noticed your penchant for—shall we say, vengeful behavior from time to time.” A light danced in his eyes, but the longer they stood there in the center of the bustling village, the more everything else receded, until he felt as if he and Barbara were the last people on earth.

  A youth with a chunky ball and stick came dashing by them, nearly knocking Devon over in his haste to get to the playing field. He bowed apologetically, and Devon dismissed him with a fond smile and a pat on the back. The spell was broken.

  “It's afternoon. Everyone will finish their chores for the day and go to the field to watch the game.”

  “I've heard the yelling and cheering.”

  He smiled. “And you're curious.” He took the pestle from her and leaned it against the edge of the log. “Let's go watch the Muskogee's favorite pastime...well, their second favorite pastime,” he added with a wink.

  Barbara Caruthers actually found herself giggling as they set out across the village square toward a big open field with earthworks raised on three sides. Two H-shaped posts stood at opposite ends of the field, and several dozen young men milled about between them, eager to begin.

  When they climbed the steep, artificially created hillock, Devon paused for a moment to catch his breath. Barbara wrapped her arm about his waist and helped him the rest of the way.

  “Are you certain you're not overdoing?” she asked dubiously.

  “An English lady wielding a sofky pestle in the noon heat questions me? Best take care of yourself.”

  “I haven't had my side slashed open by a madman. Besides we Caruthers are a tough lot.”

  They watched the wild and fast game, cheering each time the Wind Clan's players knocked the small deerskin-covered ball through the posts. Each player was armed with two long sticks with small loops on one end. With one stick they carried and batted the ball; with the other they fended off their opponents.

  Devon had loved to participate in the no-holds-barred game as a youth, but now he wondered if the fierce, bloody competition might shock Barbara's sensibilities. Then he recalled his father describing the English fondness for cockfights and bear-baiting. At least in chunky, it was the men who voluntarily played who were injured, not innocent animals. When she stood up with face flushed and began to yell wildly with the rest of the Wind Clan spectators, he was delighted. What a magnificent woman!

  Watching Devon and Barbara as the days passed, Tall Crane became increasingly disturbed. Panther Woman had told him what was happening, but she was furiously jealous and spiteful. At first he'd dismissed her reports, thinking she was bitter because Devon chose not to wed her. Now he feared she was right. Devon Blackthorne was falling in love with an English noblewoman, a woman far beyond his reach. Only pain lay ahead for him if he pursued his present course. Should he have a talk with his nephew before the matter progressed any further?

  Chapter Thirteen

  They moved away from the crowd of laughing, chattering Muskogee who had watched the game, and wandered aimlessly toward the twisting course of the river. Soon they were far from the noise and confusion of the village.

  “You're mending quite well,” Barbara said.

  Devon bent down and scooped up a handful of. smooth stones, skipping them effortlessly across the surface of the slow-moving stream.

  He flashed her a smile. ”I had such a fine nurse, soon I'll be ready to play in the chunky games myself.”

  ”I don't think I'd enjoy that—seeing you bruised and blackened. Those players are too rough.”

  “I've managed to stay intact until now, except for a few scars—and they didn't come from playing chunky,” he added grimly.

  “Did you spend much time in these villages when you were growing up?” His past was an intriguing mystery to her. Devon Blackthorne was educated, yet fully at home among the Indians.

  “I grew up in two worlds.” His dark eyes became haunted, his expression bleak. “My father s first wife was from a very proper Virginia family. Her father and his arranged the match, and soon Andrew was born.”

  “But they weren't happy.” Barbara knew all too well about arranged marriages.

  “They hated each other from all I can gather. She wanted to return to Williamsburg, and her mother said Georgia was a wilderness full of savages. She died in a few years, during a diphtheria epidemic.”

  “And then your father met your mother.” It sounded exotic and romantic to her.

  His expression was still bleak. “No, not right away. He was lonely and had quit his wife's bed as soon as their heir was guaranteed. I've only heard whispered gossip, rumors, that he was infatuated with his brother's wife, Lady Anne, I believe her name was. It was a very long time ago.”

  “Did it create a rift in your family? Was that what drove your father to live among the Indians?”

  “He'd already been trading with the Muskogee. He and Uncle Robert had quite a profitable partnership in their youth. After my father's wife died, he and Robert must have come to blows over Robert's wife. They agreed he'd be better off living as far away from Blackthorne Hill as possible. He went to a large village, Coweta, where a half-caste woman whose father had educated her was teaching Muskogee children to read and write English.”

  “Your mother.”

  “Her name is Charity.” A flash of warmth lit his eyes. “She healed his bitterness and eased his loneliness. They were married, and he brought her back to Savannah.” His expression darkened again. “It was a mistake.”

  “The colonists don't approve of intermarriage with Indians,” she said softly, understanding.

  He scoffed. “That's putting it mildly. My half brother Andrew's mother came from a fine old Virginia family. They were aghast. So was Uncle Robert. Everyone treated my mother as if she were a leper. There were no social invitations. And then I was born. At first my parents were happy, but when they tried to hire tutors for me, no one would teach a dirty half-breed.”

  Barbara put her hand on his arm. “You must have had a sad childhood.”

  He shrugged in that familiar defiant way. “We visited my mother's people a lot when I was growing up. They accepted me, and there was always my cousin Quint. He and I sneaked away to meet on his father's estate often. Uncle Robert caned him for playing with me more than once.

  “When it became obvious that I could pass for white with my blond hair, they sent me north to Philadelphia to complete my education. Quint was already there. We'd been close ever since we were children, far closer than Andrew and I could ever hope to be. Quint stayed in school to graduate, while I, I'm afraid, was not so diligent a pupil. After a couple of years, I came home.”

  “Did you miss Georgia?”

  “Yes, but more than that, my father's health was failing and I knew how lonely it was for my mother, surrounded by whites who were polite only when they had to be. By the time I returned, my father had let his trading business go deeply into debt. Andrew tried to take over, but the two of them fought and matters only grew worse. Then father died, and Andrew inherited everything.”

  “Georgia has entail laws just as England does?” she asked.

  “Yes. Mama and I always knew Andrew would get all my father's estates, but Papa had put aside some business investments to provide for Mama and held the Crown trading appointment for me.”

  “It isn't fair,” Barbara said. “God, how I've hated the whole bloody system all my life.” She laughed hollowly. “For all their babble about the rights of men, the colonials are just as class-ridden and hypocritical as the English nobility.”

  His expression softened. “Better watch out. You'll become a revolutionary. Then I'd have to shoot you, 'pon my honor as a King's Ranger.”r />
  They stopped now, alone in the silence except for the hum of insects and the rippling sound of the river. Their eyes locked and they stared, each powerless to break the spell.

  Then Barbara said softly, “Isn't there something you'd much rather do than shoot me, Dev?” She'd meant it to be a teasing retort, but somehow it did not come out that way. I want him to kiss me!

  You know there is! His hand touched her face, stroking it with a whisper-soft caress as his lips drew nearer hers. “This is madness, your ladyship,” he said hoarsely, just before his mouth claimed hers.

  Barbara had been kissed often since her “come-out”—by bumbling boys and lecherous older men. Mostly she'd found it amusing, occasionally repellent. Nothing prepared her for the jolt of breathless pleasure when Devon's lips brushed hers. Then he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers and drawing her tightly against his chest, encircling her waist with his arm. She felt one lock of straight gold hair brush her cheek. Her fingers touched it, then combed through the thick coarse hair, burrowing deep to his scalp as she pulled him down and the kiss grew fierce, passionate.

  Devon let his tongue probe the seam of her lips. She quickly opened for him, welcoming him into the hot, sweet interior of her mouth. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, feel both their hearts thudding like a herd of galloping horses.

  A twig cracked sharply, deliberately broken; It took a moment for the disrupting noise to register in Devon's passion-drugged mind. Unwillingly, he dragged his mouth free of Barbara's and looked up, holding her protectively in his arms. Tall Crane stood beside a large cypress tree, discreetly clearing his throat and looking with intent interest at a dragonfly lighting on a wildflower.

  When Devon broke the kiss, Barbara felt bereft, her senses clamoring for more. Then she felt him stiffen and look past her. She turned in his arms and saw his uncle. When Devon gently set her away from him, she blushed like a green schoolgirl caught trysting with her first beau. The reproach she saw in Tall Crane's eyes brought a sudden flare of anger. Who was he—from a tribe where premarital promiscuity was allowed—to make her feel guilty?