Sin-Jin shifted to keep Riley from sinking down further. "Sam, it's late and I'm in no mood for your humor." Impatience was beginning to encroach on the perimeter of his words like a hunter stalking a deer. He nodded at Riley. "Do something with him."
Sam gave Sin-Jin a look of innocence that would have been at home on a three-year-old child's face. "Out of my hands, Lawrence." As if to emphasize his words, Sam raised two beefy palms up toward the ceiling. "I've got my hands full with this rabble. Hey, you there," he suddenly yelled at a pair past Sin-Jin's shoulder. Sin-Jin attempted to see who had gained Sam's attention, but Riley made it difficult to turn. "Stop that or I'll be cracking both your heads wide open like a pair of ripe melons."
Sin-Jin guessed that Sam's words were addressed to the fighting pair who had jostled him earlier. The men had stamina, he thought, which was far more than he had at the moment.
"Sam," he implored.
His attention returning to Sin-Jin, Sam shook his head.
"I've no one to spare to take Mr. O'Roarke home this evening. James's taken to his bed tonight and Willie hasn't been around for days." He frowned darkly for a fleeting moment. "I can't even leave the bar to see to my own necessities."
Three men approached the far end of the bar and Sam turned to make his way toward them.
This wasn't turning out the way Sin-Jin wanted. "Well, what am I supposed to do with him?" he called after Sam.
The man turned on his heel and leveled a gaze at Sin-Jin that said far more than his words did. "Anything your conscience tells you to."
Anything his conscience told him to. Now there was a sure way to make matters more difficult, Sin-Jin thought. If he could have ignored his conscience, he would have taken Vanessa away from his brother, or attempted to steal Krystyna away from Jason. Or kept his slaves. Then he would have only had to feed them rather than to pay them wages as well. Listening to his conscience had only made things worse for him. Or at least woefully arduous.
But he was a man bound by such things that didn't trouble others. And a sore conscience could keep him awake at night. He frowned, looking down at Riley. "You've a way of wording things, Sam."
"Comes with the territory, Lawrence. Comes with the territory."
It was all the philosophy Sam would allow himself for the night. If he waxed too sagely, people might begin to suspect that he was more than the amiable barkeep he portrayed himself to be. And then how would he be able to pass messages along?
Sin-Jin sighed. There was no decent way out of the situation but one.
"All right. Where does he live?" The question was asked grudgingly. Sam knew everything there was to know about everyone within a fifty-mile radius. "And it had better not be too far out of my way."
As it was, Sin-Jin calculated that he would probably reach his own plantation by early dawn. He was suddenly bone weary. The alcohol he had consumed was finally beginning to have effect, numbing his senses. All he really wanted to do now was rid himself of this load and to fall into his own bed.
Sam waved a hand at the men at the end of the bar to be patient. "Not far at all, lad." He leaned over the bar and peered closer at Riley's face. The silly grin was still in place. It made Sam chuckle at the irony of it all. "Do you know who he is?"
"A drunken man," Sin-Jin muttered.
"And our new editor."
"Editor?" Sin-Jin tried to shift the man in order to get another look at Riley, but it was impossible. Riley's face was pressed against him, apparently content to use Sin-Jin's chest as a pillow. "Of what, pray tell?"
"The Virginia Gazette."
This was news to him. Any information he received was strictly by hearsay, not paper. "And since when do we have a newspaper?"
"Since yon gentleman came into town and opened a newspaper office. We had a periodical once, about ten years ago. Loyalists took exception to one of the editorials and burned it down." Sam gestured grandly at the sleeping man. Sam was privy to everything first, one way or another, and at times he forgot that not everyone was as fortunate. He gave Sin-Jin an apologetic half-smile. "I forget, we haven't seen you in three months. O'Roarke came in around then. We had a house raising. Quite a party it was, too."
Sin-Jin nodded his head, only partially listening. It was closer to four months since he had been at Sam's. He had been far too busy these last months to come to town himself. Whenever supplies were needed, he sent in his overseer, or one of the men. If he wanted company, there were the McKinleys to turn to.
Except that tonight, the McKinleys wouldn't have done. Seeing Jason and Aaron's contentment in the wedded state would have been akin to rubbing the newly formed skin from a wound. He wanted to forget, not remember.
Riley sagged and Sin-Jin shifted again.
Sam raised a black, shaggy brow that bore more than a passing resemblance to a fuzzy caterpillar. "Getting a mite heavy for you?"
Sin-Jin locked his hands together. Pressing tightly against the man's ribs, he managed to drag him up a little higher. It wasn't a battle he was destined to win in the long run. "You might say that."
Sam knew when to end a jest. There was a fine line between amusing a man and rousing his ire, and he tread it daily at the tavern. Sam pointed toward the rear of the tavern, as if the walls would melt away and permit Sin-Jin a view. "He lives in the little house next to the newspaper office. It's the one near the Emporium."
Sin-Jin could visualize the Emporium. A year ago there had been nothing around it. Since he had settled here, the seaport town had grown from three buildings to more than a dozen, with small wood-framed houses clustering about them like chicks seeking the warmth of a mother hen. It wouldn't be a difficult matter to find the house where the inebriated editor of their new periodical lived.
With Riley resting against him, Sin-Jin attempted to reach the pouch hanging from his belt. "I owe you for the last ale."
Sam waved the matter away. "It's on the house, Lawrence. You're doing me a favor, taking O'Roarke home. I've seen him have a few before, but never to this point. Seems like a nice fellow. Hate to see anything happen to him in this state."
Sam nodded at the insistent calls of the men waiting to be serviced. He banked down his impatience with them. Sin-Jin was worth any eight of them by his count and perhaps more than that. He'd rather have a converted Redcoat in his establishment than a hot-headed, untried rebel. But money was money.
He eyed Sin-Jin before turning away. "Be seeing you again soon?"
"Perhaps," Sin-Jin muttered, preoccupied with the task at hand.
Sin-Jin weighted his options and decided that it was best just to hoist the slighter man over his shoulder and carry him out that way. He knew that he wasn't about to get any help from the man himself. Riley was far past the point where he was aware of what was happening.
Men obligingly moved out of Sin-Jin's way as he wove his way to the front door. With a grunt, he pulled it open and stepped outside, slightly bowed beneath the weight he was carrying. The door shut behind him. The late night autumn air was brisk, broadly hinting at the winter that was soon to come.
Winters were the hardest to live through, Sin-Jin thought, his melancholy returning. They were always so long and dark. And bleak.
He roused himself. This just wasn't like him. He wasn't one to wallow in self-pity. Tomorrow would be different, he promised himself. He'd feel better tomorrow.
Carefully, he placed the unconscious Riley over the saddle of his horse. Taking the reins, Sin-Jin began to walk in the direction of the emporium. The newspaper office was standing boldly next to it, a bantam contender waiting to make its mark on the world.
Sin-Jin whistled softly as he stopped before the newly constructed one-story wooden building. It boasted windows of real glass. They must have cost a pretty penny, he thought. A copy of the first issue of the Virginia Gazette, dated two months ago, was hung in the window closest to him for all to see, a valorous declaration of a new era announced upon its first page.
Civilization, Sin-Jin muse
d, was quickly gaining on them.
He turned his attention to the house that was situated on the other side of the newspaper office. It was slightly recessed from its sister buildings, as if it wished to keep its own counsel.
"This must be it," he murmured. And none too soon at that.
Bracing himself, Sin-Jin eased Riley from the horse and once again hoisted the man on his back. Turning, Sin-Jin approached the small white picket fence that spread out before the front yard like delicate lace about a young girl's collar. He opened the gate and didn't bother attempting to close it behind him. Riley was heavy and he wanted to get this over with.
Sin-Jin realized that he hadn't inquired as to Riley's family. He had naturally assumed that the man was married, and there was nothing to change his assumption. At least there appeared to be someone living with him. Sin-Jin detected the light from a fireplace seeping through the flimsy curtains at the window.
With effort, Sin-Jin eased Riley from his shoulder, resting the man against the wall. He rapped softly on the door, then louder as his temper began to loosen when there was no answer. What was he going to do with the man if there was no one here to admit them? He had no idea why he was putting himself out like this for a man he had hardly exchanged five sentences with. Any number of other people would have left the man on the tavern floor. Since Riley had passed out in Sam's establishment, the man was clearly Sam's problem, not his own.
Except that Sin-Jin didn't believe in passing responsibilities onto someone else. Not any more. Not since the time Krystyna had risked her life to save his six years ago, even though he was a total stranger to her.
Sin-Jin raised his hand to knock again when the front door suddenly flew open. The words on his tongue backed up and slid down his throat as he found himself looking down the business end of a musket wielded by a fiery looking young woman with hair spun from flames and eyes that flashed like lightning. The personification of fury, she was nonetheless a vision of loveliness. And she was dressed in a nightshirt.
Rachel had peered through the side window on the first knock. She never seen this man in town before. Alone, she was guided by caution. Greeting a stranger with a musket in hand was the best way she knew to be cautious.
As inherently wary of strangers as her brother was friendly, Rachel made certain there was no misunderstanding about her intent. She cocked back the trigger. She hoped that the man had no way of knowing that the musket wasn't primed. "So you've brought him home, have you?''
This is madness, Sin-Jin thought. He was going to get his head blown off for playing the good Samaritan.
"Yes, I have." He reached out to push the barrel of the musket aside and found that she was not about to allow that. The weapon remained pointed at his chest. "Would you mind putting that away?"
Her eyes narrowed. The stranger was tall and blond and spoke with a British accent. That made him the enemy. She wished the musket was loaded. "And why should I be doing that?"
Just his luck to run afoul of a hot-headed wench. Sin-Jin attempted to charm her. "Well, for one thing, I'd rather not have a hole in my chest. And for another, I'm not overly fond of powder burns on my clothes, either."
When no smile appeared in response to his words and the musket remained in position, Sin-Jin decided it was safer to direct the conversation toward the reason he was here. "Now, where do you want him, Mistress O'Roarke?"
She made no immediate attempt to answer. Sin-Jin began to despair that he would never be on his way home tonight. "Or shall I just drop him at your feet?"
As Sin-Jin studied her face, the young woman appeared to be weighing her reply. He opened his mouth to tell her that he had no more time to waste when she spun on her bare heel and turned toward the interior of the house.
"Bring him in." Without turning, she beckoned Sin-Jin on, her voice sharp.
"Certainly do know how to order a man around, don't you?" he muttered, picking Riley up for what he hoped was the last time.
She cast a glance over her shoulder that was colder than the dead of night in January. "I find that most men need to be ordered about."
No wonder the man drank, Sin-Jin thought, pitying Riley. He was married to a shrew.
As he followed her into the main room, the flames from the fireplace cast golden fingers of light throughout the room. They probed wantonly through the fabric of her nightshirt, suggestively illuminating the outline of her body.
She was shapely and more than a little ripe, Sin-Jin thought, and felt a distant stirring within his loins. He smiled to himself. When the girls at Sam's Tavern had tried to tempt him to no avail, he had begun to suspect that perhaps a very vital part of him had died along with Savannah. Apparently not.
When she turned to look at him, Sin-Jin averted his eyes from her torso and looked at her face. But not quickly enough.
Rachel's frown deepened. The lecher was raping her with his eyes! Holding her dignity to her, she pulled back a curtain with one hand. The musket remained poised in her other.
"Put him in his room, please." She nodded toward the small curtained-off section of the main room. Behind the curtain a single, narrow bed was braced up against the back wall.
"Gladly."
With a sigh of relief, Sin-Jin heaved his charge onto the bed. Riley didn't even stir. Sin-Jin looked closer to see if Riley was still breathing. He was. And sleeping like a baby.
Sin-Jin turned toward the avenging angel in white, trying not to think of the supple body he had spied beneath the thin cloth. "Does he always drink like this?"
Still holding the musket, Rachel loosened Riley's shirt, though she knew it wouldn't make a difference to him. She decided to let the boots remain. "Only when he's celebrating."
Sin-Jin looked at the small woman as she straightened next to him. He had an urge to run his fingers through her hair and discover for himself whether it was as silky as it appeared.
The thoughts that sprang to his mind were on his tongue before he fully realized what he was saying. "If I were married to the likes of you, I'd be doing all my celebrating at home."
Rachel looked at him sharply, a hot blush seizing her and traveling at lightning speed simultaneously up to the roots of her hair and down to the ends of her toes. Just who did the man think he was, to be so bold with her? She gripped the musket in both hands. And British to boot, she thought angrily.
"How dare you, sir?"
He wondered if she could actually shoot that musket. He knew that Krystyna could and was not foolish enough to believe that there was only one woman like her. He kept one eye on the woman's weapon. "I'm not 'daring,' Mistress O'Roarke. I'm observing."
She knew he thought she was Riley's wife and felt compelled to correct him, though she couldn't have explained why if the question was put to her. "It's his sister I am and his keeper. Neither of whom are at all pleased with the likes of you."
He liked the sound of her voice. The lilting Irish brogue had a pleasing cadence, even if the words were hot. Without thinking, he took a step toward her, as if to warm himself in the heat of her words. "And why is that?"
Alerted, a hare watching a cunning fox, Rachel took a step back. "Because you've gotten him drunk."
Sin-Jin shook his head, his eyes slowly drifting along the contours of her face. It was an oval face, with high cheekbones that bespoke of nobility. There were glittering emeralds set where her eyes should be. With her cheeks flushed and her hair tumbling about her shoulders like a wild summer breeze, she was breathtaking. "I only found him this way."
Rachel laughed, employing more bravado than she felt. "A likely story."
He shrugged, wondering if he should risk disarming her. The musket could discharge accidentally. It wouldn't be the first time. He would have hated for this to end before it began. "It's the only one I have."
She lifted her chin, her fingers tightening about the musket. "Well, good sir, you'll not be spinning any more for me tonight. I'll thank you to leave now." Raising the weapon slightly, she gestured tow
ard the door behind him with the tip of her musket.
In such a hurry to take his leave only a few minutes before, Sin-Jin suddenly found that he didn't want to go. "But the evening is still young."
Ah, she might have known. A lecher as well as a debaucher. She should shoot him here and now and be done with it, saving some poor defenseless lady along the way. And then, to her regret, she remembered that the musket was empty. There was nothing to do but try to stare him down.
"And if you wish to be any older than you are at this very moment, I'd be suggesting that you leave, Redcoat." She hissed the term between her teeth, hatred glowing in her eyes.
He was bound to give it at least one more try and took a step toward her. Surely she could be persuaded to at least tell him her given name. "But I—"
Rachel raised the musket to her eye and took aim. "Now!"
Chapter Three
Sin-Jin raised his hands until his fingertips were level with his shoulders and extended toward the ceiling. The lady obviously felt threatened. She looked both willing and able to use the musket. Sin-Jin eyed the barrel carefully.
"You wouldn't use that." He said the words with a great deal more conviction than he actually felt at the moment.
The bastard probably thought he could charm her into putting down her weapon, Rachel thought. She wanted him out the door before he discovered that the musket wasn't primed and loaded. She regretted the fact that she hadn't had enough time to do either.
"If you're vain enough to try and find out if you're right or wrong, you'll not be liking the answer to your question."
He'd already seen the flash of anger in her eyes and knew better than to goad her. He had a healthy respect for women's tempers, and for what they were capable of once aroused.
"What's your grievance with me?" he asked, his voice soft and low. He raised his eyes from the musket. "I've done you no harm."
Moonlight Lover Page 2