Moonlight Rebel

by Ferrarella, Marie

  Elliot's high-pitched voice, an echo of his son's, pierced the air. "I want you to break all ties with the McKinley girl."

  "Father," Winthrop stuttered, "I-I can explain. . . "

  "There's nothing to explain," the man thundered. Incensed, he paced around the small room. "I won't have a son of mine marrying into a treasonous family, do you hear me!"

  Winthrop stared, both thunderstruck and relieved.

  His uncle misunderstood the reason for Winthrop's silence. Blake's arm awkwardly spanned the breadth of his nephew's shoulders. "I know this must be very hard on you, Winthrop. Young Savannah did seem to have a lot of merits, despite the influence of her father and brother. But certain things have come to light which I have taken upon myself to bring to the proper authorities. These things outweigh any attributes the girl might have. You cannot be allowed to marry her, my boy. In all likelihood, from what a certain associate tells me," he thought of the tale he'd heard about the conversation Jason and a disreputable sailor had held in a tavern, "her brother will be hung as a traitor."

  Winthrop bowed toward his father. "I have always tried to be an obedient son, Father, and I shall not stray from that course now." In his heart, he felt that vengeance against the McKinleys was imminent. He listened as his uncle continued his story.

  Krystyna was the first to see her after Jeremiah opened the door. Savannah was wearing Sin-Jin's jacket, her appearance disheveled. Concern filled her.

  "What happened?" she asked Sin-Jin as Jeremiah went to summon his daughter. Continually finding Zoe wanting, Savannah had permanently dismissed the younger woman to the kitchen. Leola was her new body servant.

  "I'm afraid the young lady was attacked," Sin-Jin answered. His expression hardened as he thought of the rutting pig he had saved her from.

  "Good God, by whom?" Aaron demanded from the landing. He had heard Jeremiah calling for Leola and had feared that something was amiss. He looked at his sister, her hair undone and hanging in her face, her habit torn and the heel of one boot missing. Aaron took the stairs two at a time. He grasped Savannah by both arms. "Who hurt you?"

  The horror of the episode came rushing back to Savannah, temporarily blotting out the solace she had found in Sin-Jin's arms. Her hand went to her throat and she realized that she was having trouble breathing. The thought of what could have been paralyzed her.

  "Winthrop. He . . . was an animal." She looked at Sin-Jin. "If it hadn't been for Sin-Jin . . ." Unable to finish, she shuddered.

  Aaron's face clouded over with rage. The fat little bastard! He should have realized Winthrop would attempt something heinous. Aaron looked at the lieutenant, gratitude in his eyes. He clasped the officer's hand in both of his. "I don't know how to thank you."

  "Her rescue is thanks enough," Sin-Jin replied.

  Krystyna realized that Savannah was no longer addressing John by his rank. She also noted the way the young woman was looking at him. There was something more in her eyes than there had been previously. And it wasn't only gratitude.

  "Here, take her to her room," Krystyna advised, leading the way for Sin-Jin. The lieutenant took Savannah up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. Savannah sank back, content to stay in his arms until the end of her days.

  Leola had fetched warm water from the kitchen and was busy laying out a fresh change of clothing. As Krystyna watched, Sin-Jin gently placed Savannah on the bed.

  Reluctantly, Savannah drew her arms away from his neck. "Will I see you again?" she whispered.

  "I am at your service night and day," he promised with a smile. He looked at Krystyna as he left the room. "Take care of her, she's had a nasty shock."

  Krystyna nodded, though she couldn't help wondering exactly what had come to pass that afternoon. "Do not worry, John. I shall." She closed the door behind him.

  "Why are you still here?" Savannah wanted to know when Krystyna crossed to her again.

  Always that tone, Krystyna thought. Even now. They were destined never to get along. "I thought I might be of some help. I went through the same experience not too long ago myself."

  The incident had been so singularly terrifying, Savannah couldn't imagine anyone else feeling as she had. "You?"

  "Yes. Remember, when I first came here, I said that your brother saved me." For the hundredth time that day, Krystyna wondered where Jason was and if he was safe.

  "Oh." Savannah frowned as Leola began to help her off with her torn clothes. "What were you whispering about with Sin-Jin just now?"

  Krystyna could almost feel the hostility in Savannah's voice. A lioness defending her territory. "We were not whispering. He asked me to take care of you."

  "He's very thoughtful." Savannah's voice was soft as she thought of him.

  "Yes, he is," Krystyna agreed.

  Savannah stepped out of her skirt, her face hardening. Leola gathered up the torn clothes. "Yes, you would know that, wouldn't you?" There was a challenge in her eyes.

  Krystyna looked directly at her, and there was a trace of pity in her glance as well as annoyance. She felt a fool to have wasted her sympathy on the likes of Savannah, even though it was her nature to be kind. "I do not know exactly what it is you are trying to say in your cruel fashion, but you have nothing to fear from me as far as John is concerned."

  "He was in your cabin." Savannah stepped into the fresh pair of pantaloons that Leola held out for her. All sorts of possibilities flashed through her mind. As she visualized Krystyna lost in Sin-Jin's embrace, her mouth hardened, impotent fury filling her.

  "We have gone through that. He was wounded and ill. I nursed him back to health. He was too weak to bed me if that is what is troubling you."

  Savannah couldn't prevent her anger from surfacing. "When he talks to you, his voice gets softer. Don't think I haven't noticed!" She couldn't bear the idea of Sin-Jin being with Krystyna.

  "He is grateful for his life. He feels he owes it to me. And we are friends. Men and women can be friends. If you are so taken with him, rather than trying to keep other women from him, why do you not see to it that you behave better than any of them?" Krystyna asked. "You can begin by not being such a shrew."

  Her patience gone, Krystyna slammed the door on her way out.

  The few days that followed the incident were idyllic for Savannah. Wallace had no need of Sin-Jin, so he was free to be with her. Despite herself, Savannah took Krystyna's advice to heart. Where Sin-Jin was concerned, she was sweet, thoughtful, kind, and above all, in love.

  But all too quickly, the occupation of the McKinley mansion came to an end.

  "So soon?" Savannah cried. Her eyes filled with tears. Without thinking, she picked at the blanket beneath her. For her, the picnic was abruptly over.

  "Yes, I'm afraid so." Sin-Jin studied the tips of his boots, his legs being stretched out on the blanket as he lay beside her. "The war pulls you about as if you were nothing more than a puppet, made to take orders." He sighed as he sat up abruptly.

  "When shall I see you again?"

  "War is a funny thing. I never thought I'd be back here once I fled, and yet here I am." He shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps in a month . . .*

  "Perhaps never." A tear trickled down her cheek.

  He wiped it away with the tip of his finger. "No need to cry over me," he said gently.

  Suddenly, there were things she wanted to say, things she wanted to make him understand. "Sin-Jin, I never, ever . . . that afternoon, it was—"

  He placed his finger over her lips. "Shh. That afternoon was nothing you had planned, I know. It happened, much to my great fortune."

  She searched his face anxiously. "Did you feel something, too?"

  "Yes, my pet." He took her into his arms. "I felt something. You are a passionate little wench, and I shall miss you greatly."

  "Oh please, Sin-Jin, can't you stay?"

  He laughed. "Not without being court-martialed for desertion, I'm afraid."

  She was used to getting her way. Refusal was hard for Savannah to accept
. "Will you write me?"

  "Whenever I get a chance," he promised. "But you must remember that letters do not always get through."

  She read between the lines. "Then you won't write."

  He laughed. In her own way, she was clever and yes, charming. "I shall come back instead to see you when the war and circumstances permit."

  "No, you won't." She was going to cry again and averted her face before he could see. "There are the camp followers. I know about them."

  "Oh you do, do you?" he asked, amused.

  "Yes." She turned to face him again. "I'm not a child," she said indignantly. "They'll make love to you, and you'll forget all about me."

  He drew her back into his arms. "Forget about the most wondrous time I have ever spent with a woman?" He saw her eyes light up at his words. "Never." He realized that he was only half teasing. "I shall return, if only to gaze upon your lovely face again. It shall remind me that there is a heaven on earth."

  "You're making fun of me," she pouted, hanging her head.

  "No I'm not" he said affectionately. "Perhaps teasing you a little, but not making fun." And he stopped her mouth with his own, stemming the tide of any further questions. Doubts and fears were erased from her mind as he gently pushed her back on the blanket, his hand caressing her willing body.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  The week had passed slowly, but, finally, the time arrived for the exchange. Jason brought the bales of tobacco, as arranged, and waited to be paid. The moon had just come out from behind a cloud, casting an eerie light upon the proceedings. The Dutch sailor had returned, as good as his word. He now drew a sizable amount of paper money from his bag.

  Jason saw the currency and shook his head. "Not good enough."

  "What d'you mean, not good enough?" the sailor asked sharply. He shifted his shoulders, as if there was something pricking his spine.

  "Each colony has started printing its own money," Jason said, "as you well know. And, as you also know, one colony won't accept another's money or, at the very least, won't attach the same value on it. If that's all you have to trade with, the tobacco returns with me." Jason's voice was pleasant, but his hand rested on the butt of the pistol in his waistband.

  The sailor chuckled a little nervously. "Can't blame the captain for trying, lad." He reached further into his duffel bag. This time he handed Jason a pouch of gold coins. He saw Jason eye them. "Don't worry. They're the real thing, straight from His Majesty's coffers by way of a vessel now resting comfortably at the bottom of the ocean." He laughed shortly.

  Standing close to him, Jason could just detect a line of

  perspiration on the sailor's upper lip. Well, Jason thought, at least I'm not the only one who is nervous. And he was, despite his calm tone. Throughout the entire meeting, the back of his neck had prickled. And he still felt uneasy, as if something wasn't right.

  He tried to blame it on nerves; the penalty for trafficking with anyone but the British was high. Since he had never possessed a sixth sense, he considered it highly unlikely that he would develop one now. But he couldn't deny the tremendous sense of relief he felt as the tobacco bales were carted away toward the ship.

  The coins were now in his money belt, but he knew he wouldn't relax until he handed it over to the Count. He wondered if he would get any better at this as time progressed.

  A cat shrieked somewhere, and the sound made both men jump. The sailor grinned sheepishly at Jason. "Nervous business, this." The dock was empty except for them, the three men loading the tobacco on board, and the captain who stood at the helm and watched silently.

  "Well, young sir, see you next trip—mebbe." The old sailor laughed as he clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder.

  Jason turned and started walking back to his wagon. Before he reached it, the pounding of hooves shattered the stillness of the night, Within moments, the area was alive with British soldiers. Five on horseback chased down the fleeing sailors, cornering them. One of the soldiers fired a pistol. A sailor fell dead, a cutlass dropping from his hand.

  Three mounted soldiers surrounded Jason, their swords drawn. "In the name of His Majesty, the King," one of them shouted, "I arrest you for treason."

  There was nowhere for Jason to run. One of the soldiers, a corporal, dismounted quickly. He searched Jason, flinging down the pistol and unbuckling the money belt. He held it aloft and grinned triumphantly.

  "Got it, Johnny!"

  The momentary diversion was all Jason needed. Shoving that soldier into the others, he darted back to the shelter of the alley, hoping that the cover of darkness would aid his escape.

  The sound of a discharging musket was the last thing Jason heard before the world turned completely black.

  Wallace and his men took their leave of the McKinley plantation early the next morning. A messenger had arrived in the wee hours of the morning to inform the general that his plan had worked well. The traitor had been captured alive, ripe for hanging. Sin-Jin noticed that his commander was unusually cheerful, but he had no inkling as to what had brought about this sudden change of mood. It couldn't be because of the war. That was not going according to plan. They were losing.

  Perhaps the general's lady, who was traveling with him, had been particularly accommodating last night, Sin-Jin speculated. He smiled. Savannah certainly had been when he had slipped into her room. He would miss her.

  He might write as he had initially promised. Who knew? He might even be back someday. There wasn't all that much waiting for him in England any longer.

  Of course, if he were to return to Smoke Tree, he'd still rather do it for Krystyna. Despite all the affection Savannah had lavished on him, he still wondered what it would be like to hold Krystyna in his arms.

  Forbidden fruit, he thought with resignation, as he got ready to leave. There was an air of mystery about Krystyna. It intrigued him. Or perhaps the memory of Vanessa still haunted him. Whatever it was, and he had no time to philosophize now, he knew that had he a choice, he would choose Krystyna.

  Poor little Savannah. What would she do if she knew how he really felt? She certainly wouldn't be charitable about something like this. She'd probably fight for him, he thought without conceit, the way he should have fought for Vanessa.

  But then, he had decided that Vanessa hadn't been worth it, and besides, he had never fought for anything in his private life. He'd left all to the whimsy of fate.

  He glanced down at his uniform, the humorous aspect of his philosophy striking him.

  Savannah stood on the veranda, watching the troops move into formation. A lump lodged in her throat. She wished Sin-Jin weren't going. She had never felt this way before, had never thought that she could fall in love. But it had happened.

  Savannah had noted with triumph that Krystyna wasn't present. Only Aaron stood next to her.

  He had thought it best to bid the departing troops goodbye. His father's abusive words still rang in his ears, and he knew that once the soldiers were gone, he would have to pay dearly for this trespass. But he also knew that he had done it for the good of the household. One didn't antagonize the enemy.

  He smiled as he realized that he now thought of the British as the enemy.

  "Thank you, Mr. McKinley, for your hospitality." The general saluted Aaron smartly, while thinking him a fool. "I hope we have not put you out too greatly."

  "No, of course not." Aaron was anxious to have them gone.

  "Perhaps we shall all meet again when peace is restored." The general mounted his horse.

  "Perhaps," Aaron agreed.

  Savannah waited for her last kiss, but became angry when Sin-Jin asked her if Krystyna was coming out to bid them goodbye.

  "No," she snapped. "Would you rather kiss her goodbye?"

  Sin-Jin laughed easily. "No, only tell her farewell. I owe her my life, remember?"

  Anger left Savannah. In an odd way, she was beholden to Krystyna as well. The tally of her debts to that horrid woman was mounting. "Yes," she said quietly. "I know.
Do you owe me anything?" Like a young child, she waited for words of endearment. For words of reassurance.

  "To you I owe my thanks for the best time I have ever had. I told you as much last night. You shouldn't need to be reassured so often, Savannah. My sentiments stay the same." He lifted her chin with the crook of his finger and kissed her lips lightly while his commanding officer looked on, amused.

  They departed within a few minutes. Neither Savannah nor Aaron had any reason to suspect that Wallace was going to meet with the soldiers who had taken Jason prisoner.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  There were many things Samuel was privy to in his tavern, many conversations he overheard while seeming to be about his business. That was why he had agreed to volunteer his services to the rebels. He fancied being a "spy." Short, fat, balding, and hardly meriting a second glance, his clandestine doings were a source of pride. And he did his job well.

  He had been at the docks, hidden in the shadows, when Jason, betrayed by an informant, had been ambushed by the British. He had lost no-time in returning to the rooms above the tavern and rousing one of his bar girls from her bed. Eileen, the only one he trusted.

  She looked at him, her eyes bleary. "A customer at this hour?"

  He closed the door behind him. "No, a message. Hurry, get dressed."

  Sleep evaporated from her brain. Eileen listened while she dressed. When she heard Jason's name, she shook her head in genuine regret. "I've always liked that one."

  "If you want to keep on likin' him, ride like the wind."

  "Aye." She threw her cloak about her shoulders, combing through her hair with the tips of her fingers. She was gone in a trice.

  Breathless and exhausted, her horse lathered, Eileen arrived at the McKinleys' front door less than two days later. She hardly had the strength to knock on the weathered wood.

  Jeremiah responded, and cast an appraising eye on the gaudily clad woman before him. Spent, her hair in disarray and her cloak askew, she looked like a camp follower. He wondered if she had somehow gotten lost.