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

by Henke, Shirl

  “Andrew, of course!” He was not only a close friend of Major Caruthers, but also of that viscount, Colonel Weymouth, who was said to have General Clarke's ear in all matters. Andrew and Quintin may have had bitter differences over the war, but they were bound by blood after all. She climbed quickly into the carriage and instructed Obediah to drive her to her cousin's city house.

  Andrew watched her alight from the carriage and studied her pale, haunted expression with satisfaction. She had obviously dressed to impress the authorities in an elegant caraco jacket of russet silk over voluminous green silk petticoats, but her efforts had been wasted. She must have learned how hopeless it was to petition for her husband's release. Even if Andrew's odious partner had not been able to locate Quint and kill him, this would serve just as well—perhaps better. Once Quintin Blackthorne was shot by a firing squad, Madelyne would come flying into his arms for comfort.

  When she was ushered into the parlor, he took her hands and kissed them, drawing her to sit on the Serpentine sofa. “In spite of the warm day, you feel positively chilled, dear Madelyne. ”

  She smoothed her silk skirts nervously. I’m most distraught, Andrew. Yesterday a British patrol under Major Caruthers's command arrested Quint within hours of his homecoming. They mean to execute him.”

  ”I know, my dear. I dined with Monty only last evening,” he replied neutrally.

  Madelyne placed her hand on his jacket sleeve and squeezed his arm. “I understand you and Quint have had bitter differences, and I regret the disgrace he's caused you, but he is your cousin, blood of your blood. Surely you can talk to the major—to Colonel Weymouth—someone must intercede with General Clarke to free him.”

  ”I regret very much, my dearest Madelyne, that such is quite impossible. Quintin Blackthorne is a spy. There's no changing that fact, is there? Think, Madelyne, think of your honor, your Deveaux name, your loyalty. You've never belonged with a scoundrel and a deceiver like Quintin. No one blames you for his crimes—I have gone to a great deal of trouble to see to that.” He enveloped her cold hands in his and squeezed them, then brought them to his lips, brushing them with a wet kiss. “In fact, dearest, I shall offer you consolation once he's removed from your life for good.”

  She stiffened in premonition, studying the ardor glowing in his pale brown eyes. “What do you mean, Andrew?” She withdrew her hands from his.

  He smiled placatingly and patted her hand. ”I know tis too soon for it to be seemly to speak, but I have always held a great tendresse for you, my dear. I couldn't abide how cruel Quintin was in his dealings with you. He never loved you, Madelyne. I do. And after a decent period of mourning, I know everyone of account in Savannah will expect us to wed. After all, you'll need someone to run Blackthorne Hill.”

  Madelyne sat round-eyed, stupefied with shock as he gushed on. Then, recovering herself, she said coldly, “You seem to forget, Cousin Andrew, that I've been running the plantation alone and unaided for well over a year while Robert was ill and Quint off fighting with the Americans.” She stood up, desiring to get away from Andrew before she said something she would later regret.

  He, too, rose and stood stiffly, towering over her, his pock-marked face flushed with anger. “Don't act the fool, Madelyne. You've always been exceedingly bright for a female. You need the protection of marriage to me to shield you from the scandal of Quintin's death.”

  He reached for her, but she jerked away. “No! Quint isn't dead yet, but you're talking about him as if you wish he were.”

  “And why ever should I not? He and Devon have always been the lucky ones—wild, irresponsible, favored with pretty faces to charm weak, foolish women.”

  “Well, that lets me know your opinion of me and the rest of my sex. I shall go to Barbara. Perhaps she can persuade Monty with some of her weak, foolish wiles to spare my husband!”

  He snorted in disgust. ”Lud, you are naive. The Lady Barbara has seen common sense even if you refuse to. She's to wed Viscount Weymouth in a fortnight—just before they sail for England.”

  “No! She can't. She doesn't love him.” Images of Barbara crumpled on the ground, sobbing as Devon rode off flashed through her mind.

  “Love between a viscount and a baron's daughter has little to do with the arrangement. Marriage for the better classes is always a matter of property and social position. You'd do well to remember that, Madelyne,” he chided, struggling to bring his anger under control.

  She looked up at him with tear-blurred eyes. “Property and social position be damned, Andrew. I love Quint and will not let him die!” She turned from him and fled, slamming the door behind her.

  Andrew watched her ride off from his vantage point at the window, stroking his chin in consideration. “You'll come around once he's dead, stupid little chit.” He imagined her soft, perfectly formed little body lying naked on the big bed in Blackthorne Hill's master suite, her lush mahogany hair spread like silk across the pillows. “Soon, Madelyne, soon,” he murmured with a sly smile.

  When Madelyne reached the Caruthers' house she was told the Lady Barbara was not receiving that day, having just returned from an outing with a migraine.

  ”I simply must speak with her,” Madelyne informed the goggle-eyed butler as she imperiously shoved him aside and ascended the stairs while he gaped in amazement. Ladies, even colonial women of quality, simply did not behave this way!

  Madelyne found Barbara lying on her bed, dressed in a soft cotton robe, with a wet towel pressed across her eyes. When she sat up in response to Madelyne's entrance, she removed the cloth.

  “You've been crying.” The telltale red rims of Barbara's puffy eyes spoke as eloquently as the look of bleak despair in their depths. “You don't want to wed the colonel.”

  “Considering that I finalized the nuptial plans with Alfred an hour ago, that seems rather irrelevant now. My wishes aren't the issue, Madelyne. Let it rest.”

  “Let it rest? You love Devon Blackthorne.”

  “Devon won't ever marry me,” Barbara replied softly. “And anyway, there are other matters to consider, such as Monty's gaming debts.”

  “You told me not a fortnight ago that you'd let the authorities cart Monty off to debtors' prison before you sold yourself to save him.” Madelyne watched Barbara nervously twist the damp cloth in her hands. She did not meet Madelyne's eyes.

  “The viscount is a very powerful man, Madelyne—and quite kind, really. Dev...” She paused as her throat thickened. “Dev told me I could do far worse than to marry Alfred.”

  Suddenly Madelyne understood. “Colonel Weymouth is influential and he desires you, and Monty's desperate to settle his gaming debts. They've struck a deal, but it isn't just for your brother's debts is it, Barbara? You'd never throw your life away just for that. Monty and the colonel are going to free Quint—in exchange for you, aren't they?”

  Barbara managed a wobbly smile. “You always were too clever by half. Small wonder you drove the arrogant Quintin Blackthorne to distraction.”

  “You can't do it. I won't have it, Barbara. Quint would never ask such a sacrifice. We'll find another way. How are they going to arrange it—bribe the guards?”

  Barbara shrugged. “Something of the sort. Alfred is paying for it, and Monty is handling the details.”

  “Oh, Barbara, what a true friend you are!” Madelyne hugged the taller woman.

  “You love Quintin, and in time, once he's free, he'll believe you're innocent. Be happy, Madelyne, for my sake,”

  “Not at the price of your soul. You love Dev.”

  “But I can't have him. You already have Quint.”

  Madelyne turned away. “Quint is my husband, yes, but he may never return my love, Barbara. I'll find a way to get you free of this tangle. See if I don't!”

  * * * *

  Blackthorne Hill, at the Riverfront

  The warehouse was dark and musty as Madelyne made her way through its labyrinth of crates, barrels, and boxes with Gulliver padding silently behind her. The punge
nt odor of cured hides mingled with the spicy fragrance of tea, now a rare and hoarded commodity. The sheer size of the place had always awed her, even viewed from a distance when she had ridden up the hill to the plantation house. Now, for the first time, she ventured inside. It was night and no one was about. Her lone candle flickered feebly in the darkness as she stepped cautiously from one creaking floorboard to the next.

  Madelyne and her canine protector had slipped past the sleeping guard. Since Andrew had refused to help free Quint, she knew he would refuse to allow her access to the warehouse. He would certainly not approve of her diverting funds to bribe a royal official for Quint's freedom. She lifted the latch on the office door at the rear of the warehouse and entered the interior, which smelled of ink and mildewed paper. It was cluttered with piles of dusty ledgers.

  She sighed and set her candle on a high desk after clearing a place for it. Then she located another one and lit it to provide more light as Gulliver watched with curious eyes. This is going to be a long night, she thought as she climbed onto a high oak stool in front of the desk and began to sort through the papers.

  Monty's debts, in addition to the bribe for Quint's jailers, amounted to much more than all her household budget. She would have to sell off or trade some of the valuable items from the warehouse. Perhaps the listings of luxury imports on some of the cargo manifests might give her a clue as to what would be best to barter.

  She had no more than begun to read when Gulliver's low growl alerted her to danger. Then the sound of loud cursing echoed through the long warehouse. She quickly doused her candles and ducked behind the desk.

  “Them damblasted Frenchies'll be waitin' fer these pelts 'n the British rum and muskets. It's a damn long ride across the hill country. Git the men in here, and I'll tell them where to start loadin', ” a raspy voice commanded.

  “Why is it we always have to risk our scalps crossin' Creek country while Blackthorne sits all nice 'n safe, waitin' ta collect the biggest share of the profits?” another high-pitched voice whined.

  The first man cursed some more, then added, “Cause he's the boss...at least until the war's over 'n them fancy redcoats leave.”

  ”Aw shit, McGilvey, we oughta just clean out this whole warehouse right now 'n sell everythin' in New Orleans. I got me a woman there...”

  His words faded as he and the man called McGilvey turned another direction in the vast warehouse. Madelyne stood frozen in the darkness. They were stealing British trade goods intended for the Creek and selling them to England's enemy, the French! And Devon was responsible for their treachery! How could she have so misjudged a man? Barbara loved him. Surely it could not be true, but if not Devon, then... Suddenly Madelyne remembered Quint saying that Andrew's wastrel ways had led him near penury.

  Could it be? She must learn which Blackthorne brother was the thief and traitor. When her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, she made her way out of the office, creeping stealthily toward the muted voices. Gulliver now held his peace, but his hackles bristled as he moved silently at her side. Half-a-dozen men were carrying rum barrels, boxes of muskets, and bundles of deerhides from the warehouse under the orders of a big, rangy man with stringy hair and cold yellow eyes. He looked like one of the outliers who preyed on both sides during the war. She crouched behind a pile of boxes marked china—a commodity they would most certainly not find profit in transporting overland.

  “Be on the trail a month before we see any French silver fer this stuff,” one scrawny man with odd, puffy eyes wheezed, hefting a cask.

  “Part I hate worst is havin' ta split th' loot with Blackthorne,” the whiny-voiced man replied.

  Puffy Eyes spat a gob of tobacco juice on the floor and chuckled. “That skinny, pock-marked bastard don't get all his share and you know it. McGilvey always sees to it we short him.”

  Skinny, pock-marked! Stunned, Madelyne had her answer. It was Andrew—Andrew who had always been so kind to her, Andrew who wanted Quint dead so he could woo her and take over all the wealth of old Robert's estates.

  Trembling, Madelyne crawled away from the scene of pilferage and climbed out the window in the office. The dog jumped agilely to the muddy ground below, but the drop was too great for her to risk it. She scrambled down one of the splintering log supports that held the warehouse above floodtide waters. As she made her way back up the hill to the plantation, she considered what to do.

  “No wonder Andrew was always so solicitous about taking care of Quint's business for me. It provided the perfect opportunity to steal me blind!” She racked her brains for a way out of the coil. “Who can I trust to help Quint escape?” she rhetorically asked the dog.

  * * * *

  The Outskirts of Savannah

  Devon stared incredulously at the small, bedraggled woman who stood in the center of the austere log cabin he temporarily occupied. He was still groggy after being awakened by Madelyne's insistent pounding. After several days on patrol searching fruitlessly for McGilvey, he had just returned to the city. “You can't be serious!”

  ”Dev, I would scarcely have ridden through the night to awaken you with such a tale if it weren't true! Andrew wants Quint dead so he can inherit. God only knows what he planned to do to James once he had Robert's estates under his control. Barbara was right about him, and I was such a blind fool!”

  Dev stiffened as the pain lashed at him again. “Barbara's taken care of herself very sensibly.”

  “No! Barbara's marrying Weymouth to save Quint. The colonel was to forgive all Monty's gaming debts and bribe the watch to free Quint. That's why I went to the warehouse in the first place—to search for some means of raising funds to get Quint free without her having to pay such a terrible price. She loves you, Dev.”

  He raised one golden eyebrow skeptically, then shrugged in resignation. “And you love Quint.”

  “Can you not forgive him his deception? He believes in his cause just as passionately as you do in yours. It's men like Andrew and that awful McGilvey he employs who have no honor.”

  Dev caught his breath. “McGilvey! He was the man in the warehouse? Describe him to me.”

  “Tall and heavyset, wearing greasy buckskins, stringy filthy hair—I think it was red—cold yellow eyes—”

  “Enough. That's him. My pious brother and that pillaging butcher. Bloody hell, what's this world come to?” Dev ran his fingers through his tousled hair and shook his head, dazed.

  “The war has done terrible things to us all, but you and Quint have fought for principle—even if on opposite sides.”

  The old familiar grin that Madelyne had not seen on Devon Blackthorne's face in many long months flashed once again. He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “All right. I'll gather some of my Muskogee brothers for a rescue mission. We have access to military headquarters. The British regulars are used to me and my Muskogee scouts by now.”

  Madelyne threw her arms around Dev's neck and hugged him. “Oh, Dev, thank you!You're the only one I could turn to. Perhaps this will mend the rift between you and my husband. After all, you're willing to risk all to save his life…”

  He smiled sadly at her and shrugged. “Perhaps. In the meanwhile, I want you to return to Blackthorne Hill. Stay well clear of Andrew. I'll deal with him after I see to Quint.”

  * * * *

  “She was a real shapely wench, she was. Wouldn't mind tumblin' her if'n only I could find her agin.” McGilvey took a swallow of rum and belched, then wiped a big paw across his beard-stubbled chin and leaned back on his chair.

  Andrew winced in distaste and looked nervously around the crowded riverfront alehouse where he had summoned his minion for a report before the expedition to the French departed. ”I don't like it, seeing a woman snooping around the warehouse while you were transferring goods.”

  “Bloody hell, she was just some indentured from th' plantation, probably comin' back from meetin' her man down at the riverside. Little bit of a thing, but she had this big brute of a hound with her. I wouldn't
like to tangle with him. Sure would've liked to tumble th' wench, though. She had lots of pretty dark hair—looked reddish when th' moonlight struck it.”

  Andrew almost dropped his mug of ale. “A small woman with reddish hair and a big shaggy dog?” God above, could it be? He cursed and stood up, tossing a coin on the table. “Be off with your wares and don't try to cheat me this time, McGilvey. I'll see to the matter of the wench.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Tall Crane has been gone too long,” Pig Sticker said in the Muskogee dialect. He was leaning against the wall of a barracks, across the street from the weapons storage depot of the military headquarters.

  Dev replied in the same dialect, “He's well known and trusted by the British officers. It was best that he check on the position of the guards.” He scanned the chaotic scene about him with keen eyes while lounging with seeming indolence beside his savage-looking Indian companion. “They're getting ready to pull out within a few weeks or I miss my guess.”

  “Do they wait for orders from the big chief to the north?”

  Dev grunted. “More likely the bigger chief from across the waters. Britain is conceding these colonies, leaving her loyal subjects to emigrate or remain and face at best a very uncertain future here.”

  “What will you do? Surely you would not live in the cold country with the redcoats.” Pig Sticker studied the pensive, bitter expression in Golden Eagle's eyes.

  “No. Ill return to my mother's people.”

  “Panther Woman will rejoice.” The Muskogee waited for Dev's reaction.

  With a shuttered look, Dev replied coldly, “Panther Woman would do well to look elsewhere for a husband.”

  Before Pig Sticker could frame a reply, Tall Crane strolled past them and engaged a half dozen of Dev's Muskogee scouts in conversation, using a mixture of English and their own language. Very casually, Dev and Pig Sticker drifted over to join the group.