Ruse of Love

by Jerri Hines

  “Not him. Another wanna to get rid of her. Been following her for a while. Even took a job with Old Man Reed. And it worked out. It woulda be done by now if Louie had dun w’at we were ’pose to. We were paid real good. Must haf a reason for it.”

  “And I’m to take your word when your clear intent was to rape and murder a young girl in the backwoods.”

  “I can ’pove it. Look...look in the wagon. In a cloak. There’s a note. The man wanted her found. He did. Wanted everyone to know…”

  “That makes no sense,” he muttered.

  Rebekah watched while Rory gestured to one of his men to collect the cloak. It wasn’t hers. That she knew, as hers lay on the ground. Rory reached into the pocket and pulled out a letter. He tore open the letter, reading it quickly.

  The raider glanced back at her. “So Rebekah Morse, you do seem to be Old Man Reed’s niece. What in heaven’s name did you do to deserve this punishment?”

  “I don’t know, I told you,” she said, unsure exactly what to say. Her voice wavered. “I have done nothing.”

  Rory leaned down to her in an amused manner. “So, my lady, where do you head?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know.”

  He folded the letter and placed it in his coat pocket.

  “Please,” she uttered. “Can you not untie me? In truth I’m a nobody—not worth your time.”

  He accepted none of her story. “Quickly tell me how you ended up here.”

  She shook her head and swallowed a rush of tears. “I told you I don’t know. My uncle…he turned me out because he thought I had broken our agreement and turned me out down at his office. He told that man to see that I left.” She pointed to Jemmy. “I didn’t know he hated me this much…” Her voice faded off.

  His eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh, what to do?” he asked out loud. He nodded to the one by his side. She stood silently as the two talked so she couldn’t hear. The next moment, Rory rode to her side, bent down, grasped her around her waist and hauled her clear off her feet. He swung her in front of him on his horse.

  “Come, my lady. We can’t leave you alone in the wilds, can we?”

  Surreally, Rebekah found herself in the most dreaded of all Loyalist raiders’ arms. Black Rory rode away without looking back. No sooner had they began riding down the dirt road, she heard a scream, a single gunshot, and then silence.

  She wanted nothing more than to be far from this place…these people, but she hadn’t a choice. Black Rory held her tightly against him, too tightly. Her bound hands still clutched her dress, but she squirmed to loosen his grip.

  He laughed in her ear, so close she felt his breath on her neck. "So you have nothing to say."

  Realization of her situation slowly dawned on her. She stiffened. "Are you going to kill me?"

  "If I was going to do so, you would already be dead," he said plainly. "You worry about me? I believe you might be indebted to me for saving you."

  "Are you?” she asked. “Saving me? To me at the moment I'm at the mercy of all around me. I have no control."

  "I believe I would consider your situation better than it was an hour ago. You are alive.” His hand pushed back her fallen hair from her neck in a manner that made her shiver. “Tell me. What did you do? There are no other ears to hear. Am I not seeing to your welfare, more so than your own kin?"

  "I told you I have done nothing."

  "You don't listen well, Rebekah. What does your uncle think you have done?"

  She thought for a moment of not answering. It made no sense to her how it would make a difference to him. Finally, she answered in a low voice, "He said I had disgraced him and our family. He said I had offended his friend's brother."

  "Did you?" he whispered in her ear. "Did you try to seduce a poor lad?"

  Recoiling from his words, he didn't let her move. Anger built back up in her.

  “No, I would never!" She pushed hard against his arm. "Let me down. I will walk. I...let me down! I won't bother you any longer."

  He let go and abruptly she lost balance, falling backwards off the horse. She hit the ground hard, losing her breath. She gasped. She reached up to her forehead. A warm liquid flowed down her cheek. She looked at her hand. Blood! She was bleeding.

  "It is nothing," Black Rory said.

  She didn't notice he dismounted or he had bent down to her. She pushed back against the ground. Her head spun, but a new sensation of cool air against her body revived her. Too late, she realized she had let go of her torn dress.

  She looked up to see his eye on her. Instinctually, she drew in her knees around her. Her hands rounded her knees. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. Choking them back, she cried, "Leave me. Please. Just let me die here."

  "Ah, then what would the fun be in surviving, Rebekah? It must have occurred to you that in your journey that someone had your demise in mind. Could it be your uncle?"

  She looked up quickly, too quickly; her head hurt. She stared blankly at him.

  "Come. You seem an intelligent sort. Could he have placed you in a situation in which you had no escape, only death? But a man such as Adam Reed does not plot to kill his niece in such a manner for no reason. Why would one want your body found and make known it was you? If you disgraced him and he felt so inclined, would it not make more sense to simply make you disappear, never to be seen or heard from again? No, my dear Rebekah Morse, there is more to the story.”

  She tried in vain to wipe back the water falling from her eyes. No, he was wrong. Her uncle didn't care for her, but hate her to such a degree? No, he couldn't. But then there was no other that held such hatred of her.

  "No, Uncle Adam wouldn't do that. He's a religious man. He wanted only to rid me of his house. He didn’t know what that idiot had planned. He may have long held me in contempt, but I am his niece. Daniel wanted me to leave long ago. He didn't understand...I hadn’t told my brother, but…it was the agreement I made with Uncle Adam."

  She rambled, talking to herself, trying desperately to make sense of this madness. "I couldn't. He threatened to throw us out on the streets. If I agreed, he would care for the others, educate them, let them have a life. A price had to be paid, he said. I agreed. I did as he demanded, but he let me have friends. Katy...she's going to be so worried…It was only hard when everyone went..." She drew in a deep breath. "But Ian...he is only a friend. He couldn't be more. He's so sick, an invalid."

  "One can be sick and still want female companionship."

  She brought her face back up, staring out into the dark. "No, not from me. It was agreed...my agreement with my uncle. I would not marry until all the children had left the house. Of course, I knew I would never. Little Peter is only five..." She stopped. Her chest felt as though she had a brick placed on top of it.

  In that moment, clarity suffused within her. She turned slowly back to the raider. "Why do you want to know everything? Why does my wretched life have meaning to you? Why not leave me here?"

  "Can I not show kindness?" His lips edged upward. She saw he was amused.

  "You don't strike me as the sort to. No," she said honestly.

  "Let us say, I am curious," he said in a manner to end the discussion. He bent down, taking her hands. At first she withdrew from his touch, but he was stronger. He untied the rope and freed her hands. He stood. Taking off his coat, he wrapped it around her. "We need to ride. I want to make it to a place I can leave you. You're right. I have spent too much time on this."

  Scared and frightened—oh, so frightened—Rebekah rode in silence. She had no more fight in her this night; only a void encompassed her. Her mind raced, trying to comprehend her perilous situation, trying to tell herself not to trust this dangerous stranger’s—raider’s—help, but in the midst of the night she knew only one fact. This strange man had saved her from certain death. If nothing else was true, she would be dead in the most disturbing manner if not for this Black Rory.

  Only last night, troubles abounded for her, but she was sa
fe in a house with the knowledge she had her family...Oh, God, what am I to do? She wanted so desperately to tell him to take her home. But the question arose—where was home?

  Could she go back to Charles Town after this? If her uncle thought her shameful before, what would he think now!

  Her head pounded; her body ached. Her heart felt as though it was stuck in her throat. An overwhelming sense of failure enveloped her. Never had she felt so desolate as she did at this moment, not even when she lost her mother.

  She fought against her eyes closing, but somewhere along the trail, she fell asleep against the chest of her rescuer. Seemingly only moments later, she woke abruptly.

  The raider reined his horse. She looked up to find her raider smiling down at her. He reached up to her hand, which gripped tightly to his shirt, and loosened her fingers.

  He didn't say a word, but dismounted, leaving her on his horse. Wavering for an instant, she collected herself. She must have slept more soundly than she realized, for the sun was breaking over the horizon.

  Glancing around in the early morning light, she took in her surroundings. The house itself was in a sad state of repairs, but a large house, nonetheless. The windows in the front of the home were boarded with planks of wood. The main door closed in an awkward position and seemed to be hanging on its hinges.

  The house sat in the middle of an unkempt lawn, although from the looks of it at one time she well imagined it had been thickly grassed and maintained. Behind her, a canopy of moss-bedecked branches arched high above the lane leading up to the house. For a brief moment, she envisioned a grand white house.

  A cookhouse sat detached from the main house, along with what at one time must have been a stable and carriage house attached to a fenced-in pasture. At the edge of the pasture, more sheds and barns stood with a gate. The vision faded of its once grandeur.

  Her attention turned to Rory, walking around to the rear of the house. A fleeting thought of escape emerged…of riding away, but it was quickly distinguished. Although in the night’s ride the gang dwindled, Rory left her guarded by three ruffians.

  She looked down at her dress, soiled and ripped. She pulled tighter to his coat. Her hair hung down her back, wild and disheveled. She must look a sight, dirty and filthy. Her stomach growled. Every muscle in her body cried out against any movement. No, she would accept this man’s help, if only for the moment. Had he not said that she had escaped an unimaginable fate? She shivered. But had she escaped?

  Rory reemerged around the corner of the house. He walked back to her. Extending his arms, he helped her down to the ground.

  “Come. We’re set.”

  Rory walked next to Rebekah with his hand around her waist and guided her through the entrance to the back of the house. Once inside, the door closed quickly behind her. A sudden need to breath enveloped her, feeling as if a spring to a trap had been sprung. She blinked, adjusting to the diffuse light filtering through the boarded window.

  Rory pushed her forward down a darkened hall, through a dining room, and into a parlor. The home seemed stripped of most of its furnishings—almost barren. The dining room held a small table that seemed to be swallowed in the vastness of the space, surrounded by four hardback wooden chairs. The parlor held only a semblance of a settee, the cushion worn and the back torn.

  A middle-aged colorless woman stood in the middle of the room. She looked drained of life and extremely thin. The brown dress she wore accentuated the hollowness of her complexion. Her hair was drawn straight back from her brow and plaited into a rather unwieldy knob at her neck. Her eyes were small, her lips tightly shut. She looked at Rebekah as though there was something distasteful about her.

  Behind them, a young man who seemed close in age to her raider, perhaps in his middle twenties, tall and lean with dark eyes, walked into the room. His hair was almost black, similar to Rory’s. Rebekah looked back at her raider.

  In the morning light the scars on one side of his face seemed more pronounced. The scar ran deep across his cheek underneath the patch; his other eye, dark and relentless, stared at her. He had taken his hat off in his hand. His dark hair was tied back in a queue. She looked back over at the other. The resemblance couldn’t be denied.

  “Miss Rebekah Morse, my brother, Tobias…and Annie,” Rory stated, without explanation of whom the lady was or to what purpose she had in the house. “Annie will take you to refresh yourself and change. I’m certain she will be able to find you something presentable.”

  She made no protest at the obvious dismissal. She was too tired and hungry to think. She followed the woman, glancing back at Black Rory. He had already turned and was in deep discussion with his brother. After she composed herself, she would approach the subject of returning to Charles Town. Surely, he would not want the added distraction of her presence.

  Rebekah sat tense and silent in the corner of the dining room. For the last couple of hours rain cascaded down, driving against the dwelling. As she contemplated her situation, she managed to maintain an outward show of calm despite the turbulence that brewed within her.

  The woman, Annie, having seen to her physical welfare, deposited her at the table with a semblance of a breakfast and had not returned. A façade of confidence returned with a full stomach and having donned a respectable gown, a faded blue dress with a laced-up bodice, but she was disappointed she had no cap to cover her hair or pins to pull it back.

  Long ago, she had taken time with her appearance. At her uncle’s, she had taken pains to ensure no attention was drawn to herself. Even the faded blue gown would have been deemed unacceptable in her uncle’s eyes. She long studied her reflection in a broken mirror atop a damaged chest before she exited the small bare room that at one time must have served as a servant’s quarters.

  Her one claim to glory, she had often thought, was her hair. Her lustrous, dark auburn brown hair was thick, full and invariably untidy, flowing down her back to her waist. Her mother liked her hair to frame her face, but her uncle insisted on pulling it back tightly in a bun under a cap. At the moment, her reach only allowed one option: to braid it and leave it hanging to one side.

  Her face lacked the high cheekbones of classic beauties and her nose Katy called ‘pert,’ but her eyes were comely—a dark blue, sapphire really, which contrasted her complexion. Her forehead was high and smooth and she was graced with good teeth. Katy said she would have numerous suitors if allowed.

  Her mind lay on other concerns. She wanted nothing more than to ask that woman questions about her rescuer…her raider, but Annie didn’t invite conversation. The words uttered to Rebekah bordered on terse and curt. Without question, that woman wasn’t happy with her appearance.

  She straightened apprehensively as footsteps echoed an empty, hollow sound over the bare wooden floor in the corridor. Her qualms eased greatly when her raider entered into the room.

  “I see that Annie found a suitable gown, quite suitable,” Rory said, looking as though he had rolled out of bed. His hair fell free on his shoulders; his shirt hung loose over his breeches.

  He met her gaze with warmth and laughter in his eye. He walked to her seat and reached for her hand. He pulled her to her feet with a wide smile. “Yes. Quite suitable.”

  Rebekah faced him, refusing to acknowledge the flame of her cheeks or the quiver spiraling throughout her body with his touch. This was Black Rory. She swallowed hard. “This is your home?”

  Rory displayed no surprise at the question. “At one time. I have no home to speak of now, only places I lay my head. It is safe, if that is your concern.”

  “I’m unsure where my concern should lie.”

  “Ah,” he said in a soft voice. “That I have decided to help you undertake to determine.”

  Rory released her and walked to the window. Wind spattered droplets of water against the pane. He observed brusquely, “The weather should break soon.”

  “I don’t care about the weather…” her voice faltered, unsure what to call the man in front
of her. He turned back to her with a mocking smile plastered on his face. She stepped toward him. “I want to return to Charles Town. I’m confused and flustered with all that has happened. I am grateful for your help. I understand also that you bringing me back to Charles Town is out of the question, but if…”

  “Without knowing who tried to kill you?” he asked. “It would be foolish on my part. From your own words, you were turned out. Where would you go?”

  She broke from his gaze and lowered her eyes. “I have a friend that will see to my care.”

  “This friend wouldn’t happen to be the one your uncle accused you of seducing?”

  “I told you I would never!” She stepped back quickly, but he grasped her arm and drew her back to him.

  “Ah, so you have told me. I don’t know what to believe, my pretty one.”

  She pushed back on his grip, but to no avail. Her lips barely moved as she whispered, “If Ian cannot give me help, he will see me to Philadelphia. I have friends there.”

  “And pray how will he do so, when Philadelphia is under British control? Unless you differ from your uncle. Are you a Loyalist at heart?”

  She had forgotten. Her throat tightened, choking back her frustration. “You know that I am not. Release me. I’m not your concern. Why would you care whether I live or die?”

  “Let us say that my curiosity has been flamed. Are you not in the least grateful to me for saving you? I feel…how can I say this…that I have become quite protective toward you. I can’t just drop you back into Charles Town without finding out who wanted your demise. You wouldn’t want that. Would you?”

  “I want only to be with my family,” she answered straight forth. She couldn’t think with him looking at her, touching her. “I don’t want to impose upon you any longer…”

  “I can assure you, Rebekah, you aren’t imposing.”

  He reached under her chin and brought her face up to meet his eye. He had the devil in his eye, teasing her in a manner she had never experienced. To her shock, his fingers caressed her lips, creating a sensation sweeping through her body. He seemed darkly pleased with her response.