The Rebel

by May McGoldrick

  Nicholas had a similar image branded in his mind. One of the dogs stood up and stretched, putting her muzzle in Nicholas’s hand and getting a scratch behind the ears for her trouble. He considered his growing fascination. Jane Purefoy was a contradiction to every woman he’d ever known. He knew beyond doubt that the approach he generally used with other women would be totally insufficient with her. This was a woman who lived life fully every day. She would accept nothing less than the real Nicholas Spencer.

  “But I do not think I’m speaking out of turn to tell ye not everyone approves of the way herself and that horse roam these hills.”

  Nicholas understood the everyone to be her family. He nodded, and they fell silent again.

  “I heard the new magistrate today leaning on her to sell the mare to him. Your mistress became somewhat riled.”

  “The devil take the man!” Paul took the pipe out of his mouth and spat on the ground. “Sir Robert will be stoking the fires of hell long before Miss Jane agrees to sell Queen Mab to the likes of him…and the cur knows it!”

  Watching the groom come alive, Nicholas saw that the man was much more spry than he pretended to be, fiercer than he allowed to be known, and more protective of Jane than Nicholas had initially guessed. Paul stepped impatiently away from the wall.

  “For all the years I’ve worked for this family, I’ve ne’er known Miss Jane to be asking for one single thing. From the time she was a wee sprite, running barefoot and getting in everyone’s way, the lass has not once asked for a bleeding thing. Other first-borne lasses get spoilt to their bones, but not herself. I can tell ye, sir, the first time that girl e’er wanted anything for herself was the day she set her sweet eyes on that foal.”

  Paul drew a leather pouch from the pocket of his battered coat and began packing his pipe again. His eyes seemed almost to gleam, reflecting the rising moon.

  “And by the time Mab came into being, ‘twas not easy to do any asking of her father.” He paused and looked up at the house. “Not after all the muddied water standing between them in recent years. But the lass swallowed her pride and asked.”

  “And asking for a lame filly was a difficult thing?”

  “Aye, sir. More than ye know. But Sir Thomas was planning to put the animal down, anyway, so he gave the foal up to Miss Jane.” He stuck the pipe back into his mouth. “Four years, she’s had her now. For the past four years, Queen Mab has been Miss Jane’s horse…the only thing she’s ever laid claim to at Woodfield House. And that bleeding magistrate had better turn his covetous eyes toward someone else’s property, I’m thinking.”

  Nicholas felt his own anger rising inside him. “Their exchange had better be the end of it, for Sir Robert heard her refusal clearly…and I can tell you Miss Jane’s response was clear and direct.”

  “The magistrate’s head is filled with cobwebs, I’m afraid, sir. He hears what he likes.”

  “Then I may just knock a few of those cobwebs loose. If he ignores Miss Jane’s refusal, he shall do so at his peril.”

  The gruff possessiveness in his comment drew Paul’s curiosity immediately, for Nicholas saw the shining eyes turn on him. He didn’t know why he’d spoken his thoughts aloud, but it was too late to worry about it now. Hell, he thought, he’d felt protective enough of Jane to give her own father a good tongue-lashing. What did it matter if anyone else at Woodfield House guessed where his interest lay?

  Paul continued to study him quietly.

  “It’s getting late.” Nicholas glanced toward the stables. “I think I shall check on my ‘brave gentleman’ before retiring.”

  The stable master wished him a pleasant goodnight, but Nicholas noticed that he kept his vigil in the paddock until he was certain the guest had accomplished his task and was headed back toward the house.

  Reaching the stone archway by the main house, Nicholas turned and looked back at the stables. As he watched, Paul finally crossed the paddock and put out the light in the lantern.

  ***

  The shadowed Woodfield House loomed into view beyond the crest of the hill, and Jane decided how she was going to conceal her journey to Kildare.

  Her old tutor, Mrs. Barry, was living with her married daughter in Dublin. Perfect. She’d been invited many a time to visit with the retired teacher. The fact that the older woman would not know anything about the visit was irrelevant. All that mattered was that her parents should be told that she was starting out for Dublin. What happened to keep her from reaching there was something she could work out later.

  She thought about the last time Mrs. Barry made a point of inviting her for a visit and an extended stay. Last Easter. Yes, perfect.

  Jane had always been a favorite of the Englishwoman. Widowed not long after her husband had brought her and their daughter from the north, Mrs. Barry had been Jane’s first teacher and undoubtedly the most patient. She’d been the one to recognize a child’s restlessness with traditional subjects, and thought to encourage the young Jane to move beyond sketching and experiment with paints.

  Naturally, there were more than a few Protestant families in search of well-grounded instruction for their girls, so Jane had not been the tutor’s only pupil. Despite her popularity, though, Mrs. Barry hadn’t stayed around too long when her only daughter had married into a good Dublin family. Jane knew that the woman had been happily overseeing her grandchildren ever since.

  Relieved to have a plan, Jane spurred her mount up the hilly fields toward the familiar black shape of the stables. As she drew closer, however, she was surprised to see the glow of Paul’s pipe in the shadow of an oak a few yards from the paddock gate. Slowing Mab to a walk, she guided the animal where he stood.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Nay, lass. Nothing at all.” He put the pipe between his teeth and reached for the horse’s bridle as Jane dismounted.

  “Why did you wait up?” she asked, walking beside him as they moved toward the paddock.

  “Old habit.”

  Something was bothering him, she thought, as he glanced back at the deserted countryside behind.

  “Ye did not see anyone out and about now, did ye?”

  “Not a soul.” How many years had he been waiting up for her? She thought of all those early years, and how she would find him sick with worry at the bottom of the hill. Waiting. Scolding. Caring. For too many years than she could count, he’d been more of a father to her than Sir Thomas. She glanced up at the cap that he wore low on his head, at the sparkling eyes that continued to scan the fields she’d crossed only moments ago.

  “What’s wrong, Paul?” she asked softly.

  “I heard about that mealy-mouthed cur Musgrave giving ye a hard time today. That was plenty to get me going.”

  “You talked to the Englishman.”

  “That I did, lass…and more than once.”

  How curious that Spencer refused to limit his time to socializing only with the gentry. Even at Ballyclough she’d silently observed him befriending Mrs. Brown and Henry’s cook and even two of the villagers who had just happened to come by on some business with Reverend Adams.

  They reached the paddock. He pushed open the gate. “And that’s what has me out here thinking, miss.”

  “Come now, Paul. Out with it.”

  “Very well. ‘Tis just this. I’m thinking everybody’s got it wrong.”

  Jane turned away, closing the paddock gate behind them. “Everybody’s got what wrong?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “He doesn’t want Miss Clara, lass. He’s set his cap on ye, sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Really, Paul! Of all the notions!” Her denial echoed faintly as the stable master pulled open the door to Mab’s stall. She followed. “You don’t have to do that. I can take care of her.”

  “I know, my joy. But I don’t mind spoiling ye a wee bit every now and then.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Be on yer way to the house now.”

  She stared after them as they disappeared ins
ide. Jane shook her head and turned away, not quite understanding what was going on with her old friend.

  The house lay dark and quiet on the hill. The moon lit a bright path through the garden. Though she would not chance to go that way, Jane also decided against going through the dank underground passage that had been in existence since a castle had stood on this hill.

  The night was too beautiful, and there was too much rattling in her mind that she needed to clear. She decided on taking the walk-path, knowing that if the door beneath the great stone arch was barred for the night, she could go in through the kitchen wing. With a sigh, she started for the paddock gate.

  “And Jane…”

  Paul’s whisper stopped her. He was peering out from Mab’s stall.

  “There’s far more to him that one than meets the eye, I’m thinking.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Following the path, she climbed the hill toward the sleeping hulk of a house…just as he’d hoped she would. As she approached, Nicholas felt his senses sharpen perceptibly at the sight of her. With her came the smell of wind and the tingling promise of darkness. She moved like a cat, her lithe body gliding effortlessly through the night.

  By ‘sblood, Nicholas thought, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had stirred in him such anticipation.

  “A far more pleasant night for riding, I should think.”

  Startled, Jane whirled and peered into the shadows of the garden entry. Nicholas was almost disappointed when she didn’t reach for the dagger he knew she would be carrying. He would have enjoyed getting close enough to have to handle her and the knife.

  “What are you doing here?” Her dark eyes flashed like two jewels in the moonlight. “I shouldn’t have thought you were one who hides in dark corners and spies on people.”

  “I’m not…usually.” He continued to lean a shoulder against the rough stone of the garden wall. His gaze took in the loose-fitting dark breeches, the high boots, the black smock. “I was only enjoying the beautiful view.”

  She was dressed as a man, and yet Nicholas could not for a moment fathom how anyone who looked at her could be fooled. His eyes lingered on the dark ringlets framing a complexion that rivaled the moon’s glow. How could any observer fail to see that she was all woman?

  Jane cast a glance over her shoulder at the house looming behind her. “If a beautiful view is what you are after, then you are facing the wrong direction.”

  “I don’t believe I am.”

  The true meaning behind his seemingly matter-of-fact statement was slow to hit her. She was not accustomed to receiving such compliments. He slowly pushed away from the wall and moved through the moonlight toward her. Her objection to his compliment withered on her tongue as a strange, tingling sensation began to spread quickly through her limbs. He had discarded his jacket. Her gaze moved uncontrollably to the open collar of his shirt and the sleeves rolled up to display muscular arms.

  “It is very late. I should be going in.” But her feet, for some reason, seemed to have taken root.

  “Please stay.”

  If he had made an attempt to use his physical charm in persuading her, she would have escaped easily. But the simple request only managed to unnerve her more. She searched for safe words to say as he came to a stop before her, but could think of nothing.

  “Clara!” she blurted out. “Yes, Clara is an early riser. You should go in, too. She will certainly be looking forward to having breakfast with you.”

  “Well, I intend to sleep until noon tomorrow.”

  Anger flared within her. “I do wish you would stop treating her so poorly.” She couldn’t bring herself to look up into his face—not when he was standing so close. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

  “She appears to be perfectly happy with the way she is being treated…as are your parents and everyone else at Woodfield House. You, Jane, are the only one who complains.”

  This time, her rising temper forced her to look up, and she was immediately amazed that how tall he was—and how intensely he was studying every flaw in her face. Paul’s words came back to her. “But Clara…”

  “Surrender that cause, Jane. I simply do not care to talk about Clara.”

  His arm brushed against hers, shocking her with the heat that emanated from the spot. She took an immediate step back. “I…I need to go in.”

  “Stay…just for a few minutes.” A strong hand reached out and took hold of her wrist. His thumb gently caressed her skin.

  “Why?”

  “It is a beautiful night. I’ve been desperate for a tour of the gardens.”

  “I shall go and awaken Clara for that. She is far more knowledgeable—”

  “I lied.”

  “What?”

  “I lied. I do not want a tour. But I recall seeing a stone bench by the wall at the lower end of the garden. I would very much like to sit on that bench and talk.”

  She tried to ignore the gentle pressure of his fingers—the warmth. “Since you do not wish to talk about my sister, then we have nothing to say to each other.”

  “But we do.” He tugged gently and drew her gaze. “I have questions that I would not want to ask of anyone but you.”

  She arched a brow. “About Clara?”

  He laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that made her smile in spite of herself. “By ‘sblood, madam, you are persistent.”

  “Thank you for the compliment.”

  “But it was not a compliment,” he growled good-naturedly, tugging again on her wrist and unbalancing her slightly. “Trust me, when I give you a compliment, you’ll know. Come and sit with me for a few minutes. You might just earn one yet.”

  Jane pulled her wrist free, and hesitated a moment. There was no denying it. She wanted to go with him. At the same time, she didn’t dare even to think why she wanted to. She nodded and tried to make light of the whole situation.

  “You are greatly lacking in the power of persuasion.” She saw him open his mouth to argue and waved him off, continuing. “Nonetheless, I suppose I have let you beg enough. I’ve decided, therefore, to humor you a little, sir. I shall walk to the garden wall and back.”

  Another rumble of laughter from the baronet brought a smile to Jane’s lips. As far as the rules of propriety were concerned, she knew it was completely improper to be walking at midnight with a gentleman through a dark garden. But then again, she rationalized, she had no reputation to protect. And as far as any potentially dishonorable intentions on his part, she knew she was quite capable of protecting herself. She was a rebel leader, and he knew it. She was not some naïve, starry-eyed virgin hoping to be kissed by some rogue under a trellis of late-blooming roses.

  These thoughts set Jane’s body and mind more at ease—at least momentarily—as they walked beneath the stone arch. Immediately, though, the fragrant scents of the garden beds surrounded them, and she felt her pulse begin to race again at the sight of the seductive shadows cast by the light of the moon. She felt her sense of security beginning to dissolve, and forced herself to push away such foolish thoughts. She simply needed to treat him in the same way that she treated every other man she knew…with blunt honesty and indifference.

  “The early hours we keep in the country must be a torment to someone like you.”

  “The hours we keep are perfectly satisfactory. To be candid, I shouldn’t care to have anybody else about right now.”

  Jane found him watching her, and she shook her head. “I was speaking in general terms when I say ‘we.’ But you might as well put aside your cleverly disguised discourse and charming ways, Sir Nicholas. They have no effect on me.”

  His arm brushed against hers again, this time intentionally, she thought. “Are you certain I have no effect on you, at all”

  She shook her head and smiled at him. Stepping to the edge of the path, she put some space between them. “I am not one of your London society maidens. I am incapable of being dared or taunted or tempted. Now kindly tell me what it was that you wi
shed to ask me?”

  The look he gave her told her that he didn’t believe her bravado for a moment. But he was clearly enough of a gentleman not to press her. “The topic is a matter of some seriousness.”

  “I’m glad. I should hate to think of forfeiting needed sleep for anything less.”

  His hands were now clasped behind his back, his expression grave, as the two of them continued down the path.

  “Since our arrival in your part of the world,” he continued, “I have had the good fortune of coming face to face with a band of well-known rebels and their leader. I also have been questioned about and endured interminable lectures regarding this very same group. Unfortunately, many of those doing the questioning and lecturing I find to be scarcely objective in their presentation of the truth.”

  Jane frowned in the darkness. She’d been expecting the questions. It would only be natural that he should want to know the reason for her involvement with the Whiteboys. As a member of the English gentry, Spencer would no doubt see it as his absolute duty to ask these things. And after the answers would come the advice that a gentleman must provide to insignificant, unintelligent, vulnerable females. She could almost hear him already.

  Jane had to give him credit, though. At least he’d been able to delay his meddling for nearly two days.

  “So much of what we read and hear in England is based on gross generalization. I know that to be true, for I recall the discussions I heard with regard to the American colonies after I returned from there. What was said often had little to do with the truth or with accuracy. We speak of strife and division here, but ignore the poverty and exploitation that causes it. We discuss the threatened involvement of Spaniards and French against England. We confer the titles of ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ on the basis of whether a person is English or not. We only see what it is in our interest to see.”