Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  "Will you betray him to the English soldiers?"

  "No," she whispered. "Not if I hang for it. I can't."

  Mari poked at the coals with a piece of kindling. "And if you do nothing?"

  "Quincy will still think it's a betrayal."

  "What would your grandfather say?"

  "That a man... or a woman... always pays their debts."

  "Are you not repaying that debt by allowing your father the chance to repair his ship?"

  Ashley rose and paced the room. "If I'd told my grandfather about Quincy years ago..."

  "The fault is not yours," Mari said firmly. "And if you did wrong, I did the same. Quincy placed his life on the shoulders of a child. He knew you would not betray him then, and he knows it now. If you refuse to help him, he will go without harming you. And no matter what he says, his heart will be glad that you did not weaken."

  Tears welled up in Ashley's eyes. "I've felt so guilty over it," she admitted. "First with my grandfather and then with Kelt."

  "Truth is a double-edged blade," Mari said softly. "A wise person is cautious about whom they hand it to. You acted out of love—first for Ash and then for this man. I cannot believe that Inu-msi-ila-fe-wanu, the Great Spirit, will judge you harshly."

  Ashley wiped away her tears and sniffed. "Why do you always make me feel like I'm twelve years old?"

  Mari laughed. "It is a failing of mothers." She rose gracefully. "Are you hungry? I have fresh corn cakes with blueberries. You are welcome to spend the night with me."

  "Thanks, but I'm not really hungry. I've got to ride back to the house and see what Kelt did about..." She trailed off, not wanting to have to explain the Scot's purchase of slaves and their public argument. She took a gourd dipper from its hook on the wall and scooped water from a covered crock, drinking thirstily.

  "Would you like me to ride back with you?"

  "No," Ashley said. "I'll be fine. Baron knows the way, and besides, there's plenty of moonlight." If the time came when she was afraid to ride her own land alone, she would truly be unfit to be the master of Morgan's Fancy.

  "Are you armed?" The Indian woman folded her arms across her chest. "I would feel better if you stayed here until the sun comes up. I have a bad feeling."

  "You always have a bad feeling. I'll be careful." Ashley moved toward the door. "Thanks for the advice."

  "I told you nothing."

  "And everything."

  "Ride easy, my child." The small brown fingers moved quickly, making a sign of protection in the air.

  "I will."

  Mari's concern echoed in her thoughts as Ashley rode back along the path in the chill night. The moonlight was pale, the shadows deep and menacing. Even the big bay seemed nervous, tossing his head and snorting at the ordinary noises of nocturnal creatures beside the trail. The forest path twisted and turned, crossing a marshy spot, then rising to an open meadow.

  A herd of grazing deer threw up their tails and fled, plunging into the thick woods on the far side of the clearing. Ashley hesitated only a moment before riding out into the meadow. She clicked softly to Baron, relieved to be out of the closeness of the trees. The stallion had gone no more than two lengths when the first shot rang out.

  Baron screamed and reared, pawing the air with his front hooves. Ashley struggled to hold her seat, fighting the animal's head for control. The second bullet struck the horse in the neck and he fell backward. Ashley kicked free of her stirrups and flung herself away from the thrashing stallion. She hit the ground hard and rolled.

  Another musket shot shattered the night as Baron moaned and tried to stagger to his feet. Dirt flew up, spraying Ashley's cheek. Instinct overcame terror. Desperately she ran toward the shelter of the trees, cursing the moonlight that made her a perfect target against the open meadow. A bullet whistled over her head and made a hollow thud as it buried itself harmlessly in a tree trunk. Another heartbeat and she was safe behind a big oak.

  For long minutes Ashley pressed her face against the rough bark and tried to shut out the sound of Baron's cries of pain. Her pistol lay somewhere on the grass near the fallen horse. Her only chance was to outrun her assassin and hide in the forest. Her shoulder ached from where she had landed on the ground and one knee was numb. Her nose was bleeding, but she barely noticed it. She tried to slow her breathing and listen intently for any sound.

  Ashley's mouth was dry and her palms sweaty. She couldn't keep her eyes off Baron. He was down again, lying full length on the grass, his harsh breathing clearly audible. Was he dying? She wanted to run to him, to hold his head in her lap and stroke the soft nose. Baron needed her, but she knew that if she went into the meadow again, she went to a swift and certain death.

  Damn you! Damn you! she screamed silently. It tore at her insides to know that Baron was suffering and she couldn't help him. There were no tears. The hurt went too deep. "You'll pay for this," Ashley promised. "So help me, God!"

  Trembling, she wiped the blood and dirt from her mouth. The acrid taste of fear was beginning to recede and she became aware of the musty smells of molding leaves and earth. A squirrel chattered angrily on a branch above her and a nighthawk screeched. Cautiously she dropped to her knees and began to inch backward into the woods. She was too close to the meadow for safety. Whoever was shooting at her would look here first.

  Ashley had moved about fifty feet from the edge of the clearing when the clear, plaintive call of a whippoorwill echoed through the trees. Startled, she dropped facedown in the leaves and lay still. Minutes passed. Then the sweet notes came again from the same direction. Ashley puckered her lips to return the whistling cry, but her mouth was so dry, only a useless puff of air came out. She licked her lips and tried again. Nothing. When the whippoorwill called a third time, from a much closer location, Ashley managed to give a respectable imitation of an owl's hoot.

  "Mari! I'm here!" Ashley scrambled to her feet and moved toward the sound of Mari's voice. On the far side of the meadow a shadow detached itself from the trees and waved.

  "It's safe, daughter," Mari cried. "He was alone."

  Ashley ran across the grass to the place where Baron lay. The big horse raised his head and whinnied. Trembling, she knelt beside him and tried to determine the extent of the animal's injuries. His neck and chest seemed a sea of blood. He flinched as her fingers found the hole; blood was still flowing.

  Tears blinded her as she moved to the far side of the stallion and rubbed his neck, trying to find the exit wound. There wasn't any. "Easy, boy, easy," she murmured. "I know you're hurting. Good boy, good Baron." She tried to guess how much blood he had lost, but it was impossible to tell. She'd have to examine the injury in good light and see if it was possible to remove the slug, or at least to stop the bleeding.

  "Ashley!" Mari's voice was insistent. "Come quickly. Leave the horse!"

  Reluctantly she obeyed, running across the meadow to the spot where the Indian woman waited, bow in hand. "He's hurt bad," Ashley said. "We've got to stop the bleeding or he'll die."

  Mari shook her head. "You must see this first." She motioned toward the trees.

  "How did you get here?" Ashley asked. "I thought—"

  "You thought I would let you go alone when I had a bad feeling?" Mari gave a short laugh. "I could not face your grandfather beyond the river if I did. No!" She laughed again. "I followed you. I could not stop him from shooting at you, but once he fired, it was an easy thing to circle around behind him." She made a face. "You make a sorry owl cry, daughter. Not even an Iroquois would be fooled. Not even your Kelt Saxon, I think."

  "Did you catch him?"

  Mari nodded. "You know this man who tries to kill you," she said softly. "He will go nowhere, but I think he follows the orders of another. We must find out who while he still can speak." She grasped Ashley's arm and squeezed it tightly. "You are all right? Good. Now let me have my way with this man. Death hovers over him. We must be quick." Ashley nodded again and followed Mari into the shadows.

  A
white man lay on his side gasping for breath. An arrow protruded from his chest. Ignoring Ashley's strangled cry, Mari knelt beside him. "You are hurt bad," Mari said, "but I do not think you will die."

  The man opened his eyes, moaned, and stretched out a hand to Ashley. "Mistress... help me," he begged. "You've got to help me."

  "Short John?"

  "Yeh... it's me," he whispered hoarsely. On the ground beside him lay two muskets.

  "You're the one," Ashley said. "You tried to kill me before, didn't you?"

  "I'm sorry. I swear to God, I'm sorry! Please! You can't let me die here like an animal."

  "You cut my cinch?"

  "He made me do it. It's his fault. He paid me." Short John began to cough, and a dark ribbon of blood trailed down the corner of his mouth.

  "Who?" Mari demanded. "Who paid you?"

  A spasm of coughing wracked the twisted body on the ground. "Please," he begged. "It hurts. Get it out." His fingers clutched at the arrow shaft.

  "Tell us who paid you and we will take out the arrow," Mari promised. "It is not too late to save your life. Do you want to live, Short John?" Mari's voice took on a strange tone. "Was it the overseer? Did he pay you to kill Ashley?"

  "Yeh. Yeh," the wounded man agreed. "It were the Scot." He choked again. "I don't wanna die. Please, mistress... help me. Get this arrow out o' me before it's too late."

  "You're lying," Ashley said. "It's not Kelt. Who paid you?"

  Mari got to her feet. "Your death is on your own head, Short John. Even when the ghosts hover over you, your tongue cannot speak the truth. You deserve to die here." She took a step back. "But I do not think you will die so easily. Did you hear the wolves before, Ashley? I think the smell of the horse's blood will draw them. And when they finish with the horse..."

  "It was Randall!" Short John screamed. "Nicholas Randall of Rosewood! He tempted me, mistress!"

  "What am I worth, Short John? How much was he going to give you for murdering me?"

  The man began to sob, mumbling a string of broken pleas. Ashley turned away. "Help him, Mari," she said.

  Mari went to her knees and seized the arrow shaft, snapping it off just below the iron head. In a single quick motion, she yanked the remaining shaft free from the man's chest. Short John screamed once and was silent.

  Shaken, Ashley turned back to look at the still form. "You said he would live," she whispered. "You said it wasn't too late."

  Mari shrugged. "I lied."

  The two women kept vigil through the long hours of the night, changing the bandages on Baron's wound and talking softly to him. Twice Mari returned to her cabin to bring water, medicine, and supplies for the suffering animal. Short John lay where he had fallen. Ashley suggested dragging the body near their camp-fire to keep the wolves from disturbing it, but Mari protested in a rare show of anger.

  "If the wolves come for carrion, then let them have it," the Indian woman said in her own tongue. "Daylight will be soon enough to carry him back to his woman. She knew of his plan to kill you, of that you can be certain. That one"—Mari motioned toward the body—"would never have dared murder without her urging."

  Ashley nodded. "You're probably right, but we'll never prove it. No matter what she is, I'll not bring her husband's body back in pieces."

  Mari shrugged. "You always had a soft heart. Bring the body by our fire if you wish, but do not ask my help. He would have shot you down without pity, and you are all I have left. "

  Chapter 20

  It was midafternoon by the time Ashley returned to the manor house. Baron was still alive; the bleeding had stopped and Mari was treating him for fever and infection. Ashley hated to leave the animal, but she knew Mari would do everything in her power to save him.

  Joshua and Edgar had listened in astonishment as Ashley had told them of the attempted murder and John's death. She did not tell them who had hired Short John. "Send men to bring his body back," she ordered. "Give it to his wife and make the arrangements for his funeral. Tell her that her indenture will be torn up, but I want her off Morgan's Fancy as soon as Short John is buried."

  "Aye, miss," Edgar said. "We'll take care o' it right away."

  Ashley dismounted and handed the reins of 'Mari's horse to Joshua. "I'll contact the sheriff about Short John tomorrow. Right now, all I can think about is a bath and some sleep."

  Joshua frowned and scuffed the ground with a worn shoe. "They's somethin' you oughta know, mistress. He come back yesterday."

  "Who? Master Saxon?"

  "Yep." Joshua spat out a wad of tobacco. "Master Saxon come back and brought slaves wi' him."

  "Slaves? Are you certain?"

  "Yep. Got some women up t' the house, cleanin' like it was Judgment Day."

  Ashley's face whitened in anger. "Do you know where Master Saxon is?"

  "Down by the dock."

  "Tell him I'd like to speak with him, at once." Her shoulders stiffened as she strode toward the house. Kelt had brought the slaves here in spite of everything she'd said, had he? She'd soon see about that!

  A scratching noise caught Ashley's attention as she passed the woodshed and she stopped to listen. A dog whined and then barked loudly. Ashley unlatched the heavy door and Jai bounded out wagging his tail. "What are you doing in there?" she demanded. She patted his head and then turned back toward the house.

  * * *

  "You wanted to see me?" Kelt asked as he entered the great hall of Morgan's Fancy an hour later.

  Ashley turned from the window and glared at him. "Who do you think you are?" Her fingers tightened around the handle of her whip as she glared at him. "Knowing how I despise slavery, you bought those slaves anyway? You brought them to my plantation? How dare you!" She threw the whip on the floor as her smoldering gaze traversed the room.

  Nothing in the room was the same as it had been twenty-four hours ago. The half-mended bridle was missing from the cherry table; the books she'd been reading had vanished as well. The window glass sparkled. The floor had been swept clean of dustballs and sand. The silver candlesticks and brass andirons shone. Even the furniture had been moved.

  "I come back to find strange women cleaning my kitchen—slaves! And my dog..." Ashley paused for breath. "My Jai locked in the woodshed!" She kicked at the whip furiously. "I told you I wouldn't have slaves on this plantation! I told you—but you just don't listen."

  Kelt bristled. "Enough of your damnable temper, woman. I'll explain about the new servants later. I've more important things to discuss wi' ye at this moment." He extended a hand toward her and she slapped it away.

  "By God, we will!" she cried. Her brown eyes hardened to shards of jasper. "Since I left you in Chestertown I've been roughed up, threatened, had my horse shot out from under me—" She broke off and choked back an onslaught of tears. "Baron... he was shot in the neck. I still don't, know if Mari can save him or not. A man I trusted—a man who worked for me—tried to murder me. And I come home to find you..." Ashley couldn't keep her voice from shaking. "To find you demanding answers to your questions."

  "Aye," he said flatly. "I'm demanding answers. And I'll ha' them now. No more o' your tricks and no more lies."

  Ashley bent to retrieve her whip from the floor. "Get off my plantation. Now. Today. You—" Kelt's hand shot out and grabbed her arm. "Bastard! I'll—" His free hand clamped over her mouth. Furiously she lashed out at him, kicking and punching.

  "Stop it!" Kelt yanked her against him, pressing her head into his chest, holding her so tight he nearly cut off her breath. "Don't make me hurt you. This is no game, woman," he insisted. "You'll listen to what I ha' to say."

  "Say it then." Her angry words were muffled in his shirt.

  "Upstairs. Where they'll be no ears to hear." His fingers tightened on her back. "Gi' me your word you'll come wi'oot a fuss, or so help me God, I'll knock ye cold and carry ye o'er my shoulder like a sack o' wheat."

  "Let me go."

  "Your word!" She nodded and he released her cautiously. "Damn y
our hellish temper, woman! There's no need t' stare at me like I was some slavering beast. I'd nae wish to lay hands on ye like that. I've not hurt ye and you've tried me sore." He motioned toward the doorway. "Please, Ashley."

  Spine rigid, she spun and stalked from the room and up the staircase to his chambers. Kelt closed the door behind them and took a deep breath. Ashley sat on the bed and folded her arms across her chest. "Well? I'm waiting."

  "The Scarlet Witch is anchored on Morgan's Fancy."

  "How did you find out?"

  Kelt swore under his breath and sent a canvas and tripod flying across the room with a backhanded blow. "Ye knew it." It was an accusation.

  Ashley flushed and dropped her eyes. "Not until yesterday," she lied.

  "Aye. And I'm Bonnie Prince Charlie." Kelt moved to the bed, towering over her, his face dark with rage. "I'm nae fool, Ashley. If ye speak the truth, ye'll go wi' me to Chestertown to report it to the authorities. They can send ships to block the creek. He'll be trapped."

  Ashley knotted her fingers in the woven bedspread.

  "You don't understand," she pleaded. The anger was gone from her voice. "Kelt..."

  "Once and for all, ye must decide." Kelt's brow furrowed in frustration. "He's a killer. If you're innocent, you've got to declare that innocence by helping to capture him." He laid his hand on Ashley's cheek and tilted her face up to his. "They'll hang ye wi' him if ye don't."

  Ashley pushed his hand away and tried to put her tortured emotions into words. "He's not... not all bad."

  He took her shoulders and shook her roughly. "Stop looking at it like a child! Quincy is a pirate—a murderer. I'd have to stop him... if he were my own father."

  "Are you asking me to betray Quincy because you're angry with me?" she cried. "I thought you loved me."

  "Love ye?" He released her and turned away. "And that's the hell o' it, lass." Kelt covered his face with his hands. "I do."

  "So much that you're leaving?" She laughed bitterly. "It's a strange love you offer a woman, Kelt Saxon."

  "Nay." His head snapped up and he turned back. "Nay. The fault is yours. I offered ye marriage an' my name." He reached down to pick up the unfinished canvas. "Do ye see this?" He held it up for her to look at. It was a portrait of a woman on horseback. The horse was clearly Baron; he had captured the proud animal, with his flowing mane and tail, to perfection. The young woman had Ashley's hair and posture, but the face was blank. "Look," Kelt insisted. "I'm an artist, but I canna paint you." He let the canvas drop from his fingers. "There's a wall between us, Ashley... a wall of your making. I dinna know you. You willna let me."