Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  Lovingly he caressed Ashley's proud outline with his eyes—the fall of her hair, the lines of her arms and shoulders, the curve of her back. She was a woman such as he had never met before. As hot-tempered and fearless as any Highland warrior, she had fought shoulder to shoulder with him on the deck of the Snow Princess. She had saved his life, not once but several times. He had known few men with her courage. Yet beneath that fire lay a loving woman, a woman capable of more passion than he had believed possible.

  Kelt drew a long, ragged breath. The feelings he had tried so hard to suppress were undeniable. He loved her. He loved Ashley Morgan as he had never loved another human being. A rueful smile twisted his lips as pain shot through him. Under other circumstances, in another time and place, he would have traded his immortal soul for the chance to make Ashley his wife. But now... He shifted his gaze to the glowing coral and pink of the western sky as the bitter taste of reality filled his mouth.

  Ashley was a wealthy woman, a catch for any gentleman. Even with the shadow of her illegitimate birth, Ashley's broad lands and obvious physical attributes made her desirable as a wife. She was young and healthy, fit to bear sons. And more than one man would count her intelligence an asset despite her thorny temperament.

  Whoever won her hand would take all. Morgan's Fancy would become his by right of that marriage. The land, bond servants, livestock, and money would pass into her husband's keeping. It was the money that was the problem.

  Why in God's name couldn't ye have been a dairymaid? Or why couldn't he have been born with less pride? Most men looked for wealth in a woman. In Scotland, he would have taken his bride-to-be's dowry as a normal part of the joining of two great houses. He would have expected her to add to his estate. But now he had nothing. Nothing but a horse and the few personal belongings in his chest. The savings of ten years in the Colonies would not purchase a single field worker. Even if he could persuade her to accept him, if he took Ashley to wife, men would look askance at him and call him a fortune hunter behind his back. It would be a hard thing to live with—more so because he had no way to deny it.

  The British had taken his land, his name, and his family. They had exiled him from the country of his birth. They had imprisoned him and subjected him to torture. But they had never taken his pride. If he traded that pride now for a woman...

  His own reluctance to marry wasn't the only barrier to their happiness. "Nay," he murmured silently. "There is more." She was hiding something, he was certain of it.

  Ashley's preoccupation with the far horizon made him uneasy. He had no doubt she was watching for the skull and crossbones banner of the Scarlet Witch. But whether she watched in anticipation or in dread of another attack, he had no way of knowing.

  She had been unnaturally silent since she'd visited her brother's grave. At first he had thought nothing of it. Sorrow at the sudden death of her half brother was easy to understand. But when the meeting with her mother and their return to Bantree had failed to revive her normal high spirits, he became concerned.

  They had boarded the northbound merchant vessel at Bantree and Lady Pade had come down to the dock herself to bid them a safe voyage. Her son, James Pade, had been noticeably absent. "He was called away on urgent business," Lady Pade had informed them, explaining graciously that she herself had made the arrangements for their passage. The schooner was laden with cargo and bound for Chestertown. Not only did she carry a larger than normal crew, but she was also well protected with cannon. "You need have no fear for your safety," Lady Pade had said. "She will carry you directly to the dock at Morgan's Fancy."

  Kelt could not have chosen a better ship himself. If Ashley watched for a skull and crossbones, did she know something the rest of them did not?

  For the hundredth time he cursed himself for his suspicions. In the months since he'd come to Morgan's Fancy, nothing had given him reason to doubt her honesty. He had come to respect and then to admire her strong character and shrewd business sense. He had pored over Ashley's account books himself and seen the state of her finances. If she were profiting from illicit activities, she had hidden it well. Gentleman Jim's infamy was no proof that Ashley was part of the dark brotherhood. Even the luck of her tobacco shipments could have been purely that—unbelievable luck. He smiled wryly. Was he making excuses for Ashley because of the way he felt about her? Was she innocent, as she said, or a very clever accomplice.

  Unbelievable. The word echoed in his mind. If she was involved with her father and his pirate raids, she was flirting with the hangman's noose—and so was he. Her sex wouldn't protect her from a charge of piracy. As for a man who had already received the King's mercy... Kelt fingered the old manacle scar on his left wrist. He had been a prisoner of the crown once, a prisoner accused of high treason and murder. He had served time in prison before he was transported as an indentured servant. Another charge, no matter how flimsy the evidence, would see him hang from a gallows.

  Kelt stood up and stretched, bracing his legs against the ship's roll. To the west, the sky was streaked with orange and gold as dusk began to settle over the wide expanse of water. To the east, the shoreline faded. Only a vague smudge of dark gave evidence of the thickly wooded shoreline. A smell of frying fish penetrated the strong scent of tar and tobacco. A red-faced sailor ambled past carrying a bucket of water. Kelt stared after him, secretly amused at the man's rolling gait. When his gaze shifted, he and Ashley were alone on the deck.

  "Ashley," he called. His voice sounded strange to his ears. She seemed not to hear, and he repeated her name. "Ashley Morgan."

  She turned to glance at him over her shoulder and he read the doubt in her eyes as clearly as a written page. "Kelt."

  "Aye." He moved to stand beside her. "We must talk, lass."

  She sighed, pulling the woolen cloak tighter and nodding. "I think we must," she murmured, her face impassive.

  A sea gull circled the ship, swooping low before them and crying in a shrill, raucous tone. Ashley stared at the bird intently as it dipped to skim the blue-green water, then rosp abruptly, flying east toward the far shore.

  "What troubles ye so?"

  Her fingers tightened on the rail and she moistened her lips, tilting her face up to meet his unwavering gaze. The huge cinnamon eyes seemed flecked with emerald as they searched his intently. "I saw my brother Henry at the burial ground," she said.

  "And?"

  "He told me my stepfather has hired someone to kill me." Her left hand curled into a knot. "He wants Morgan's Fancy. If I'm dead, my mother will inherit it... and through her, he'll gain control."

  Kelt swore a foul oath as bands of tightness compressed his chest and a haze of anger clouded his brain. "Why the hell are ye staring so at me?" he snapped. "Do ye suppose I'm the mon?"

  Ashley didn't blink. "Henry thinks so. You did appear at my plantation the night of the fire and you've been nearby whenever the attempts on my life were made."

  "Do ye believe it?"

  She swallowed and dropped her gaze to the deck at his feet as bright spots stained her cheeks. "No... no, I don't," she answered. "But I'd be a fool if I didn't consider it. With what Nicholas is offering for my life, you wouldn't have to work for anyone else again. You could manage your own place. It would be a great temptation for a landless man."

  "By God, woman!" A white-hot fury whipped through him and he clenched his teeth until pain shot up his head. "Do ye think so little of me that you'd believe I'd do such a thing?" he demanded. "That I'd sleep in your bed and then—"

  She threw up a hand to ward him off. "Stop being so damned self-righteous!" The dark eyes narrowed. "You doubted me about my connections with my father. You still think I may be a part of their illegal ventures. Can you deny it?"

  His hands closed around her shoulders, gripping the wool of her cloak and biting into her flesh and bones until she caught her lower lip between her teeth and winced with pain. "Would ye ha' me go then, lass? Is that what ye want?"

  "No, damn it," she flung bac
k. Tears welled in her eyes and he relaxed his fingers.

  "I'm sorry, Ashley. I wouldna hurt ye." His voice cracked with emotion and a bitter hollowness rose within him. "Say the word and I'll go."

  She sighed and shook her head. "If you are trying to kill me, it would be just as easy to do so even if you aren't living on the plantation."

  "Well?" He arched a thick eyebrow wickedly. "Would you expect a murderer to admit his deed to the intended victim? Wouldn't I lie to you, if I was guilty?"

  She exhaled loudly, folding her arms across her chest and setting her chin in a stubborn line. "You would... and I would lie to you if I were really working with my father. "

  "What's t' be done then?"

  "We go on as before," she said softly.

  "And trust?"

  She looked down at her outspread hands. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I think I'd rather have you put a bullet in my back than risk destroying what we have between us on the word of my brother."

  * * *

  Even in the final grip of winter, the land was beautiful in Ashley's eyes. The gray of barren trees and fallow fields ran together, melting into the blue-gray sky. The ground beneath her stallion's hooves was rock-hard and the dried grass sparkled with morning frost.

  Reining in the prancing animal, she wrapped the leather lines about her wrist and stood in the stirrups, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed south across the Chesapeake. Not a single sail broke the expanse of blue. She gave a sigh of relief and patted the bay's neck, speaking softly to him. "Good boy, good Baron."

  In the weeks since their return to Morgan's Fancy, Ashley had kept a private vigil, riding out before dawn each morning to search the open water for signs of the Scarlet Witch. Her fervent hope that Gentleman Jim had taken his hunting elsewhere had been dashed two days ago, when news reached her of a battle that had taken place between the pirate ship and a British patrol boat within sight of the town of Oxford.

  The patrol boat had taken a ball just below the waterline and had limped into town for repairs. She'd claimed heavy damage to the Scarlet Witch, and ships had combed the coves and creeks of the upper Chesapeake like hounds after a wounded fox.

  "Damn you to hell," Ashley cried to the empty sky. "I hope they send you to the bottom." A lump formed in her throat, and she dug her knees into the stallion's side, urging him into a run. Liar! Liar! She didn't want Quincy dead. Not really. Despite what he'd done, he was her father.

  She leaned low over the bay's neck, welcoming the cold wind that whipped the tears from her eyes. "Faster! Faster!" she shouted. Baron's hooves thundered against the frozen ground, streaking across the open pasture and sailing effortlessly over a narrow ditch. Ashley wrapped her fingers in his mane, letting herself become one with the horse, shutting out everything but the smell of horse and leather. If she could keep on running, maybe they could outrun the danger she felt threatening everything she had worked so hard to achieve.

  A three-rail fence loomed up before them. Instinctively she braced herself for the jump, thrilling to the power of the stallion as he flew over it with nearly a hand span to spare. Her cocked hat blew off and she laughed, reining Baron in a wide circle, then leaning from the saddle to scoop up the hat and clamp it down over her forehead.

  Foam streaked the animal's chest and legs; his great neck was wet with sweat. Crooning softly, Ashley slowed him to a trot. The run had taken some of the tension out of them both, but it had done nothing about the threat of the Scarlet Witch.

  There had been enough work on the plantation to keep both her and Kelt busy from sunup to sundown.

  The cold, crisp days had been perfect for lumbering. So long as rain or melting snow didn't turn the earth to mire, the men could topple the great white oaks and trim the branches with broadaxes. Patient teams of oxen could drag the logs to the dock to be stacked for sale.

  The work was slow and backbreaking, but Ashley took pleasure in the thought that the towering trees were not wasted, as they were in the colonies to the north. Her grandfather had told her of acre after acre of prime timber, girdled and left to rot or piled in mountains to burn. The logs cut from Morgan's Fancy would make masts and hulls for sailing ships. Some cherry and walnut, rough sawn and dried on the plantation, would go to Philadelphia to be planed and dried again, eventually to become fine furniture.

  The lumbering was Kelt's responsibility. Ashley supervised the planting of tobacco seed in the wood-lots as well as the day-to-day duties of the dozens of workmen and women on the plantation. There were dozens of decisions to be made every day to make certain that all were fed and sheltered and given proper medical care. Food supplies had to be carefully watched over. It would be many months before the gardens produced fresh vegetables and if the women ran out of flour or salt, there would be no more without the expense of a trip to Chestertown to purchase supplies at inflated winter prices. Even with the success of her tobacco crop, Ashley was well aware of the importance of counting every shilling.

  Ashley also operated a profitable fur trading business. She met with trappers, counting out the endless bales of beaver and deerskin, the thick wolf pelts and the occasional bearhide from west and north of the Chesapeake. Some of the men were Indians or half-breeds, with sloe-eyed wives and children peering shyly through the doorway of the hide house as Ashley made her purchases. Furs would bring a good price in Europe if they were properly cured and packed. Mari was invaluable, translating for those who spoke no English and advising Ashley with a frown or a wink on the quality or asking price of the pelts.

  Ashley leaned forward in her saddle as the ringing of a broadax reached her ears. If she rode down to the lumbering site, would Kelt be swinging that ax? Resolutely she pushed away the desire to find out. She had promised to meet with Joshua and mark the boundaries of a new fence line. She must wait until dinner to see Kelt, or even until night if he took his nooning in the woods with the men, as he often did.

  Heat rose in her throat and cheeks as she thought of the night to come. No matter how hard they worked in the daytime, the long hours of dark were theirs alone. Sometimes they played chess or cards, or simply sipped wine and laughed together over the day's successes and failures.

  "I never knew how alone I was before he came," Ashley whispered to the big horse. Could she ever face the solitude again if Kelt left her? By the King's bare arse! Why couldn't she be like other women, content to come and go at her man's bidding? Why was she cursed with the desire to rule her own life, to make her own decisions and manage her own lands? "If I don't make a choice soon, I'll lose him," she said softly. It was true. She had read it in his eyes. He would marry her if she asked him, but he wouldn't stay as her lover. They had argued over it just the night before.

  "And if you quicken with my child?" Kelt had shouted, throwing down the pad with the charcoal sketch he'd been making of her. "What then?"

  "Then I'll have a child," she answered, more calmly than she felt.

  "And what name will my son bear?"

  "Morgan."

  "Damn you to hell for being a stupid bitch!" Kelt's face blackened like a sudden storm cloud over the Chesapeake. "Do you think I'd have a son wi'oot my name? For all men to call bastard?"

  "I survived it," she reminded him.

  "Aye, survived. But tell me it hasna marked ye." He seized her shoulders and pulled her so close she could feel his breath on her lips. "I'll not be your kept man, Ashley. 'Tis unnatural."

  "Your contract says overseer. Am I to blame if you come to my bed?"

  "Aye." He groaned, bringing his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss of uncontrolled passion. Their angry words had ended, as they always did, in torrid lovemaking that settled nothing between them.

  He awakened her in the shadowy darkness before dawn, tucking a coverlet tenderly about her shoulders. "I'm sorry, lass," he whispered. "I do love ye."

  "And I love you," she declared, pulling him down to taste his lips, savoring the hard feel of his hands and taut body.

&nbs
p; For long moments they lay wrapped in each other's arms, safe from the demands of the world. "Stay with me a little while," she begged him. "Hold me, Kelt... just awhile longer."

  "Nay, sweeting. I canna," he answered. "For the servants will be about and some might see me coming from this room. I willna give them more to say than they already have." He kissed her lips and the tip of her nose. "A good day to ye, Mistress Morgan. And dinna give too much for your beaver skins today. Mari told me you're getting soft."

  "You're welcome to do the job," she offered willingly.

  "Nay, not me." He laughed. "A haggling merchant I'm not, nor ever shall be. Gi' it over to Mari, if it's too much for ye. She speaks that wild tongue."

  "You see," she said, pushing back the covers and sitting up. "You know nothing about Indians. Mari cares nothing for profit. She would give whatever they asked. You're hopeless, the both of you."

  So they'd shared laughter in their last minutes together before the day began. And then she had dressed and gone downstairs to take up her duties as Morgan Fancy's mistress. And with the daylight had come the familiar fears. She loved Kelt, but she couldn't trust him, and he trusted her even less.

  Baron turned his head toward the house, but Ashley rained him back firmly. "Not yet," she murmured, more to herself than to the big animal. "There's one more place I want to check."

  They followed the woods line for a few hundred yards, then cut into the forest, following an old game trail. Only an occasional crow and the chatter of a squirrel disturbed the solitude of the virgin woodland. Mari said the ground here was sacred. Some of the giant oaks, Ashley guessed, were hundreds of years old. She knew she would never permit lumbering on this section. Sacred Indian land or not, it was too beautiful, too peaceful to disturb.

  Ahead the trees thinned to cedar and yellow pine. Beyond that, a meadow ran down to a deep, narrow creek. This was the spot she had to be sure of, the place where she had first met her father.