Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  She had given a complete account of the attack to Lady Pade and again to the sheriff earlier in the day, omitting the name of the ship and its captain. No word had yet arrived on the fate of the Snow Princess. She'd been afraid to use Quincy's alibi. No one who knew her stepfather would have believed he would have traded a copper penny for her release.

  "Are you certain you didn't hear the pirates call their leader by name? Could it have been Gentleman Jim? He is known for his chivalry toward ladies."

  Ashley shook her head. "It was all so terrible, I remember very little. I believe I may have fainted. Master Saxon saved my life," she added smoothly, mixing truth with lies. Despite what her father was, she could not condemn him with her own testimony. If he ever came to trial for the capture of the Snow Princess, she would let Captain Webb accuse him. Rising in her place, she laid a crumpled napkin by her plate. "If you will excuse me," she entreated, "I am so very weary. I should like to go up to my room."

  "Of course, of course. How thoughtless of us to keep you talking," Lady Pade said. "I admire you, child. A lesser woman would have collapsed. First the attack by pirates, then to learn of Robert's tragic death. You should be in bed." She motioned to a maid. "Ruthie, show Mistress Morgan up to her bedchamber." She smiled at Ashley. "Breakfast is at eight. If you prefer, you may pull the bell and Ruthie will have a tray brought up to you. Sleep well."

  "Thank you, Lady Pade. I'm certain I will. Sir." Ashley nodded to James and followed the black girl from the room and up the wide center staircase.

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Ashley was awakened by a tapping at the window. With a start, she sat bolt upright, trying to get her bearings. The tapping came again, and she pushed aside the heavy bed hangings. "Who is it?" she called hesitantly. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the silhouette of a man outside the window.

  "Ashley!" came the harsh whisper. "Open this damned window."

  There was no mistaking that voice. Scrambling from the bed, she ran barefoot across the icy floor to release the lock and push open the window. Kelt swung into the room, landing catlike on the balls of his feet. His hands closed around her shoulders and he kissed her full on the lips.

  Ashley's astonishment was lost in the delight of his presence. "Are you mad?" she teased when they parted for air. "What if someone saw you? Have you no care for my reputation?"

  "If someone saw us, ye might be forced to marry me oot o' shame," he said. One hand slipped down to grasp her lower back. "I was lonely."

  "So you climbed the side of the house?"

  "I climbed a tree. You sleep like a rock! I've been out there banging on your window like a schoolboy."

  "And how did you know which room was mine?"

  "I was watching the house. I saw ye by candlelight. Ye should be more modest in your undressing, woman. 'Tis a sight to cause a mon to think lusty thoughts."

  "You were spying on me?"

  "Aye, I admit it," he said contritely. His hand moved lower to caress the curve of a firm buttock. "Ye have turned me to a satyr." With a wicked laugh, he bent to nibble at her neck and ear.

  "My feet are cold," Ashley protested.

  "Never let it be said I didna show proper respect for a lady's wishes." Picking her up, he carried her to the bed and tossed her into the center. "Give me but a second, sweeting, and I'll see what I can do about warming the rest of ye."

  Ashley lay back against the pillow, watching as he stripped off his coat and vest. God, but he's beautiful, she thought. The golden glow from the hearth formed a hazy aura around Kelt's head and shoulders. He half turned, pulling the shirt over his head, and Ashley caught a glimpse of his sinewy chest and taut, flat stomach. Delicious sensations spread through her as Kelt fumbled with the ties on his breeches. Her pulse quickened and she reached out to him. "I'm still cold," she said raggedly.

  He came to her and they snuggled beneath the quilts, entwining arms and legs until they lay breast to breast and lips to lips. The familiar sweet aching returned to haunt her as Kelt's fingers stroked and caressed her body, and her tongue met his in a long, lingering kiss of searing rapture.

  "I couldna sleep for thinking o' ye," he murmured into her hair. "And for wanting to hold ye like this."

  Boldly Ashley let her own fingers travel through the thick, curling hair on his chest, moving in teasing circles around the hard nubs of his nipples and up across the rock-hard muscles of his shoulder and upper arm. Kelt's moan of pleasure thrilled her and she traced her fingers' path with her mouth, nibbling and nipping, tasting the salt musk of his flesh, breathing in the overwhelming male scent of his mouth and body.

  "Kelpie," he accused.

  Evidence of his rising desire pressed against her leg and Ashley moved to explore the velvety length of his tumescent manhood. He breathed her name into her ear and she felt a surge of liquid fire spill through her veins. She raised her mouth to join with his, thrilling to the moist, hot thrust of his tongue and the feel of his hands on her breasts.

  He had pushed her back upon the pillows and moved to cover her with his body when, without warning, came the clear sound of footsteps and the turn of the doorknob. Ashley pulled away, covering herself with a sheet.

  "Mistress Morgan, I must speak with you at once," came the urgent whisper from the door. "Please."

  Ashley covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a rising giggle. Sliding from the high bed, she fumbled on the floor for her nightgown. Kelt's hand closed on her arm and he shook his head firmly. "It's Lord Pade. I've got to see what he wants," Ashley whispered.

  "Send him away."

  The thick folds of the gown fell over her hips and she began to fasten the buttons. "Shhh," she warned. "He'll hear you."

  "Damn it, Ashley, don't answer the door. Pretend you're asleep."

  "I'm coming," she called. "You be quiet," she ordered Kelt. In a practiced motion she pulled the bed hangings closed. "Just don't say anything. If you make a sound, I'll kill you," she threatened sweetly.

  "Mistress Morgan!"

  Ashley hurried to the door. "Yes? What is it, Lord Pade? Is something wrong?"

  "I must speak to you about a private and urgent matter. Unlock the door."

  Kelt made an audible sound of disgust from behind the bed curtains.

  "Shhh." Ashley moved closer to the door. "This is not seemly, Lord Pade," she hedged. "What would your mother say?"

  "Mother is sleeping off the effects of a strong potion. I have information about your brother. You must let me in."

  "All right," Ashley agreed. "Just for a moment." She pulled back the bolt and opened the door.

  James Pade ducked inside and shut the door behind him. He was wearing a long silk robe and cap. "My dear Ashley," he began, "you must not let my late night visit alarm you. Let me assure you that you are under my protection."

  Ashley forced a modest demeanor and waited. James smelled of brandy and some dreadful sweet scent. He took a hesitant step toward her and she backed up an equal pace. "Lord Pade... James... you said you had something to tell me about my brother." Ashley pushed a lock of hair off her face and tried not to think of Kelt behind the hangings. "Please state your business, sir. I fear my reputation would be ruined if you are found here."

  "My dear Ashley," he repeated, clearing his throat, "you must know in what high esteem Mother and I hold you... have always held you... in spite of—"

  "In spite of my birth? How gracious of you, sir," Ashley replied. "Certainly you must know that I have always considered you both to be among my dearest friends."

  "I don't wish to be your friend, Ashley," James cried, seizing her hands and bringing her fingers to his lips. "I want to be more." He covered her hand with damp kisses. "Ashley, say you'll be my wife!"

  "James, please!" Ashley's voice was choked. "What has this to do with my brother? Did you shoot him?"

  "Me?" James dropped her hand. "Whyever would you think such a thing? I harbored no ill will toward Robert, or Henry either for that mat
ter."

  "But you said—"

  "A lie born of desperation. Would you have opened your door to me at this hour if I had told the truth?" James moved closer and Ashley backed toward the bed. "I adore you!" he confided. "Your hair... your eyes..."He exhaled loudly. "Can I compare thee to a summer's day?"

  "James, please. I'm deeply honored, but this is too serious a matter to be decided on the spur of the moment. You must give me time to consider your suit." Ashley's back brushed the bed curtain and something hard thumped her between the shoulder blades.

  "I know my own shortcomings," he said. "I'm somewhat older than you are, but many people con,sider that to be an asset in a husband. And certain... ah... ladies have complimented me on my prowess as a—" He stopped short, stumbling for words. "You'd be the mistress of Bantree after Mother, of course. I have other properties, too. You'll get no better offer, Ashley."

  "I'm certain I won't," she agreed, dodging James's sudden lunge and circling toward the door. "I will consider your offer. But you must go. I am a maiden, sir, and your sudden onslaught has frightened me."

  "One kiss, sweet Ashley. One kiss, and I promise I shall depart in gentlemanly haste."

  "James!" Ashley's voice took on an authoritarian tone. "Out!" She folded her arms across her chest in as near an imitation of Lady Pade as she could manage.

  "But, my dear," he stammered, "all I've asked for is a single—"

  "Many a maiden has been undone by a single chaste kiss," she reminded him sternly. "And"—her voice softened a little—"as you said yourself, your reputation with the ladies is such that I have every reason to fear your touch, sir." Ashley indicated the door. "I am honored by your proposal, but I would not be worthy of that honor, Lord Pade, if I let you remain a second longer in my chambers. Good night, sir."

  "Very well." He sighed sadly. "Until tomorrow." He opened the door, glanced nervously up and down the hallway, then hurried out, vanishing into the shadows.

  Ashley locked the door and flung herself across the room into Kelt's arms, erupting into smothered laughter. "You fiend," she accused as tears of mirth ran down her cheeks. "You nearly shoved me into his arms with that love tap."

  "Sweet maiden?" Kelt growled and threw her back against the pillows in mock anger. "One chaste kiss?" Teasingly he nuzzled her neck and breasts, pinning her with his weight and repeating the feigned animal growls.

  "Let me up, you beast," she gasped, too weak with laughter to fight back. "Unhand me, I say." In self-defense she began to tickle his ribs. "Villain! Despoiler of innocents!" she accused. Laughing, Kelt rolled away, pulling Ashley on top of him.

  "Now who is the despoiler of innocents?" he said huskily as he ran a hand possessively down her hip and bared thigh. "Uruisg."

  Laughing, she moved provocatively against him, brushing his lips with soft, feathery kisses, running her fingers over his chest and up his throat.

  It seemed to Kelt as though her touch turned his blood to pulsing rivers of incandescent heat. With a groan, he arched beneath her, joining his mouth to hers, letting loose the pent-up passion that welled within him and pulling her astride his engorged manhood.

  Ashley's muffled cries of desire matched his as they blended flesh and soul in the age-old dance of love, shutting out the world and losing themselves in the sweet joy of shared rapture.

  * * *

  Ashley stood beside her brother's grave in silence. Beyond the cedar grove, Kelt waited with the horse and dogcart. She had wanted a few moments here alone before she said goodbye to her mother.

  Only a fresh mound of earth covered with wreath of holly and crow's-foot gave evidence of the passing of Rosewood's heir. The tombstone was not finished and the season wrong for flowers. Despite the morning's sunshine, the little graveyard seemed as desolate as Ashley's thoughts.

  Why could she feel no remorse, no grief? Robert had been her brother. Even though they had argued frequently, they shared a common parent. Robert was Ash's grandson. What was wrong with her that she could think of nothing but the silent recitation of a rote prayer for his departed soul?

  "A pretty picture, sister."

  Ashley turned to face the petulant-looking young man entering the gate behind her. "Henry! You startled me."

  The resemblance to his father was becoming stronger every day. Both Henry and Robert had favored Nicholas, but no one had ever confused the two brothers. Henry was short, nearly an inch shorter than she was, and had a round face with over-red cheeks and a pouting, girlish mouth. His eyes were blue, like Cicely's, but in Henry's sullen, babyish face they seemed too feminine. A pity, Ashley thought, that her brother had inherited none of their mother's beauty.

  Ashley noticed that Henry had grown a sparse mustache since she had seen him last. He was dressed, as always, in the latest London mode and wore a wig over his short-cropped blond hair.

  "Your man told me you were down here." He glanced back toward the lane. "He looks vaguely familiar."

  "Kelt is my new overseer at Morgan's Fancy. You might have seen him somewhere before. He comes from Virginia."

  Henry came within five feet of Robert's grave, then paused, resting one hand on his hip. "A pity about brother Robert, isn't it? I warned him. No matter how good a shot you think you are, there's always someone better." He shook his head. "I know you must be desolate. You and Robert were always so close."

  "No closer than the two of you," Ashley said.

  "Ah, as sharp as ever." Henry's eyes narrowed. "That's what I always admired about you. You could deliver such stinging comebacks. It drove Robert crazy. That's why he was always playing such nasty tricks on you. And now"—he cleared his throat—"Father is stuck with me as his heir. A fitting—" He began to cough and pulled a lace handkerchief from his sleeve, covering his mouth. Henry turned away, wracked with violent spasms. When it calmed and he turned back, Ashley noticed flecks of scarlet on the balled handkerchief.

  "Are you all right?"

  "What? Hoping to rid yourself of me, too?" Henry cleared his throat again and fixed her with his intense blue eyes. "Let's have no pretense between us, Ashley. The only thing we share is a fondness for Mother and"—he smiled wickedly—"and our hatred for Nicholas." He dropped his voice and his expression became serious. "Because of that hatred, I'm going to share something with you. Nicholas hired someone to kill you."

  "What? I don't believe it!"

  "Shut up, you fool!" Henry whispered. "Do you want everyone on the James to hear? Robert told me the morning he was killed. Father is so intent upon having your estates that he's arranged to have you murdered."

  Ashley took a step backward, staring at her half brother with numb incredulity. "Someone has been trying to kill me," she admitted, "but I never thought—"

  "Thought what? That he didn't hate you enough? That Nicholas was too noble to do such a thing?" Henry scoffed. "Because of you, Father's never been able to forget that our mother slept with someone else first. He imagines that men laugh at him behind his back. You know how he is about money. He honestly believes that Morgan's Fancy should have gone to Mother instead of you."

  "And then to you and Robert?"

  Henry shrugged. "Probably me, since Robert would have Rosewood and the others. God only knows why Father would imagine I'd go north to live in the wilderness."

  Ashley drew a ragged breath. "Does Cicely know?"

  "Of course she doesn't know. I didn't know until Robert told me. He said he'd sent a message to you that mother was dying. Since the scheme was going so badly in Maryland, they intended to lure you here."

  "And shoot me in my mother's house?"

  "Nothing so crude. A riding accident. A fall overboard from the ship, perhaps. No one expected Gentleman Jim to interfere or..." Henry chuckled. "No one expected brother Robert to be shot by a jealous husband before the plot could thicken."

  "I know Nicholas has always hated me," Ashley said softly, "but murder?" She covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. "Do you know whom he hired?"

>   "Not by name, no. But if your new overseer is from Virginia, I'd be very suspicious of him. The price Father set on your head is enough to tempt any man."

  Not Kelt, her inner voice screamed. It couldn't be!

  Trembling, she raised her eyes to Henry's. "Any man," she repeated. "Any man, but not you?"

  A dark flush rose up his neck and face. "I may not like you, big sister, but I draw the line at homicide." He shot her a warning glance. "Don't think to go to the sheriff with this information. I'll forget we ever had this conversation."

  "Fair enough, and... thank you, Henry." Her mouth tasted of ashes. She had to think. Not Kelt! It couldn't be the man she had made love to just this morning. Maybe Henry was lying. He'd lied to her in the past. She'd be a fool to doubt Kelt on the word of a—

  Cold reason flooded her brain. Kelt had appeared the night of the fire in the barn. He had been nearby when she'd taken the fall, when she'd been shot at. Could he have been behind the false message that Cicely was dying—the message carried by his friend, Philip Fraser?

  "Go back to your plantation," Henry advised. "And get rid of the big Scot."

  "I could tell Cicely," she said. "Mother would never—"

  "Mother would never believe a word of it. You know how she is. She lives in her own dream world." He shook his head. "No, say anything to her and you put her life in danger, too. Go home, sister... and stay there. And just pray to God you outlive Father."

  Chapter 16

  Kelt's gaze rested on Ashley as she leaned against the rail of the ship. The hood of her rust-colored wool cape was thrown back and the breeze off the water played with the auburn curls that came loose from the velvet ribbon at the base of her neck. The red-gold of her hair shimmered in the setting sun, sending sharp rills of excitement to his artist's soul. If he had a brush and oils, he would paint her so—with the tumbled Tidewater sky and sparkling waves as a backdrop. She would have made an excellent subject; she had barely moved since they'd sailed out of the mouth of the James River.