Lord Rogue

by Patricia Rice

  And as Becky came out with her basket, Alicia knew the answer. Gripping the flour barrel for balance, she smiled in delight at her anxious maid. She had wanted a sign. Now she had one. The child within her had quickened. She was going to be a mother.

  Becky continued to watch her with concern. “You all right?” Becky asked suspiciously.

  “Never better in my life,” Alicia declared. “That basket will make your arm ache if you carry it long. Why don’t you take it back to the kitchen while I look around some more? I’ll follow you shortly.”

  She wanted to find Travis and tell him the news. She could picture the delight on his face. He wanted a family so badly, and she could provide one. Perhaps then he would realize how much she loved him, could love him, if he would let her. She had to tell him now.

  But not with Becky hanging around. Travis usually conducted business in the tavern that had been rebuilt since the fire. She couldn’t let Becky know she went there.

  Nursing a glass of cold cider while waiting for Auguste to return from the river, Travis observed the other occupants of the new saloon. Stanford had rebuilt this place with an eye to a wealthier clientele. Polished mahogany and gleaming crystal adorned the walls and ceilings, and the men at the tables spoke in low voices and wore snowy white cravats and top hats.

  The keelboat crews and trappers had been forced to find more suitable surroundings closer to the river. Travis regretted the loss of the informal bonhomie of the old bar, but this one was a good deal easier on the nerves. These gentlemen were not inclined to fisticuffs at the drop of a coin. They fought in the time-honored, civilized tradition of dueling, with a minimum of yelling and a maximum of stoic blood, taking their grievances to Bloody Island.

  Travis watched as the door swung open and a few more of the new arrivals from the keelboat entered. While Auguste was picking up news and information from members of the crew, Travis indulged in listening to the passengers. It had obviously not been a happy journey, and so far he had learned nothing from their conversations other than that the British still had New York blockaded.

  He followed the dignified progress of a young man turned out in high, starched cravat, wine-colored velvet, and shining new Hessians. The length of gold chain from his watch begged for removal, but it obviously had survived the perils of travel. He greeted several of the keelboat passengers with arrogant familiarity. They did not seem pleased to see him, and Travis suppressed a grin. The bantling obviously considered himself a cut above the rest.

  So it was with great surprise that he heard the young rooster speak his name, followed by instant suspicion at the sound of Alicia’s. Travis sank back in the shadows and listened as the stranger badgered the bartender with questions.

  “They told me down at the river that someone here could direct me to Stanford’s house. If you cannot tell me anything of this Lonetree, surely you can give me the direction of Miss Stanford?”

  Well aware of Travis’s presence and his relation to the boss’s daughter, the bartender avoided answering. “Perhaps you’d best ask around. I just work here.”

  Disgusted with this taciturn reply, the bantling turned to contemplate the tavern’s occupants. Approaching a respectable looking elderly man, he inquired, “Could you direct me to Chester Stanford? I have been told he has recently built his home here.”

  The man asked coldly, “Who wants to know?”

  “Edward Beauchamp III, sir.” Sweeping off his hat, he bowed. When this did not seem to impress, he played his wild card. “His son-in-law.”

  A sudden hush fell over the room. Edward had not spoken softly. Chester Stanford and his daughter were well known and liked. And every man in the room knew the lady’s fiancé sat at the corner table, listening to every word.

  Not rising from his chair, Travis drawled, “You wouldn’t be Teddy, by any chance, would you?” His expression remained impassive, but he clutched his glass as if he would crush it.

  Edward swung around to search the shadows where Travis sat.

  Travis was wearing his usual attire of a rawhide waistcoat over an open-necked linen shirt, unlike the other well-dressed occupants. He waited for the bantling’s reaction.

  Edward’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “I’m not the one who’s lost and asking directions.” Travis didn’t hide his scorn. Alicia had never described her rapist, but he had known men of this ilk before.

  Shrugging when Edward made no reply, Travis declared, “Suit yourself,” and insolently lifted his glass to his lips.

  “You’re Lonetree,” Edward accused him. “Where is she? What have you done with Alicia?” His voice rose with his fury.

  “Are you Teddy?” Travis demanded again.

  “She calls me Teddy, yes! Now what have you done with her, you half-breed renegade?”

  The murmurs around them quieted.

  Travis set aside his glass and rose to tower a full head over his nemesis. “I take offense at the derogatory tone of your voice, sir. And I also take offense at your familiar use of my fiancée’s name. I trust you have someone you can call on to act as second?”

  Mockingly Travis repeated the protocol of the duel, knowing full well the response he would receive. Never let it be said that he had not at least attempted to settle this in a gentlemanly fashion, when what he wanted to do was rip the bastard’s insides out and feed them down his throat.

  The shock on Edward’s face was replaced with laughter. “Alicia and a savage! That is rich!” He howled his amusement, expecting their audience to join in.

  Instead men rose from their seats and edged away, leaving a ring around Edward and Travis. Travis’s ancestry might be hazy, but his temper was legendary.

  Travis rolled his fingers into fists as he studied the jackal’s soft jaw, but he held his temper in check while waiting for a reply to his challenge.

  Realizing he laughed alone, Edward assumed another pose. “Your fiancée? You presume too much, Lonetree. I don’t know what she’s told you, but I’ll not duel with a savage. You might consider another man’s leavings fair game, but I’ve decided to forgive her and take her back. She won’t have to—”

  The rest of his sentence went unspoken. Travis’s fist connected squarely with Edward’s jaw. Edward staggered backward, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. Travis hit him again, rage taking vengeance on the man who had physically violated the lady he was about to marry. Whether the rage was for himself or for Alicia was a moot point. He fully intended to annihilate the bastard.

  Alicia entered just as Travis sent Edward sprawling to the floor with a crushing blow to the abdomen. Edward folded up with a gagging gasp, and Travis was upon him in an instant, forcing him to fight back. Alicia’s scream almost went unheard in the shouts and yells of the crowd.

  Her first reaction was one of vengeful delight as Edward crumpled to the floor in pain. How she wished she could have done that herself! Her fists curled in anticipation with the sound of Travis’s blows, until the memory of the knife Travis usually carried in his belt made her blanch with terror.

  She had to stop him. She had to stop the violence that raged through her own veins, destroying her life as it had before. She screamed for Travis to halt. Her fragile peace shattered with every blow, returning her to the wounded, terrified creature she had once been. She screamed until tears formed in her eyes and shame filled every corner of her soul, and she had nowhere to hide from herself.

  Travis had become the savage she feared as much as Edward—as she would be if she let her fear act for her.

  When Auguste materialized at her side and tried to lead her away, Alicia jerked her arm away with a strength she did not know she possessed. The relentless smack, smack of fists against flesh tore at the imaginary world of peace she had created and ground it into ashes at her feet.

  Alicia broke through the circle of bystanders while Travis vented a lifetime of fury on the man who had violated her. Edward’s tailored clothes lay in
ribbons as he feebly attempted to protect himself. Alicia screamed again for Travis to halt.

  “You’ll kill him!” she cried, trying to return rationality where there was none, but still Travis did not hear. Panicking, Alicia avoided hands that tried to hold her back. Grabbing Travis’s collar, she yanked at it as the fools around them would not.

  Strangled by the grip on his shirt, Travis wheeled to take on this next opponent. Eyes burning with lust for battle, fists raised in rage, he started to swing.

  Alicia cried out in fear at the violence in his eyes, the same violence that had been in Teddy’s eyes when he had knocked her down and raped her. Even though Travis halted his swing before it could harm her, she reeled as if the blow had been a physical one. Sick to her stomach, she closed her eyes in agony.

  Auguste caught her elbow, but Alicia shook herself free. She knew what she had to do, what she should have done from the first. Stripping the sapphire ring from her finger, she dropped it at Travis’s feet. Disdainfully meeting his dumbfounded gaze, she said, “A wolf in sheep’s clothing still eats sheep.”

  She swung on her heel and stalked out.

  Chapter 28

  The rage roaring in Travis’s blood boiled over at Alicia’s regal rejection of everything he had worked to earn. He had been protecting her name as well as his. Did she think he would let the filthy bastard go with no more than a pat on the back and a “So sorry, old chap, you lose”?

  Without another look at the crumpled dandy on the floor, Travis stormed from the tavern, the sapphire engagement ring in his pocket. They had made a commitment and he would see it honored, if he had to hold her at gunpoint to see it done.

  Alicia ran back to her father’s house, ordered the servants to refuse Travis entrance, then bolted up the stairs and locked herself in her room. Her father was gone on another one of his business trips, but Letitia should arrive soon. Surely another woman would understand her predicament.

  Collapsing on her bed, Alicia shook all over. She pulled the covers around her, trying to halt the tremors She had just thrown away her life, her hopes, and her child’s father. Was she mad?

  Her hand resting protectively over the place that held the future which had given her such happiness earlier, Alicia sobbed into the pillow. Travis would be back; she did not cry for that. He would be wild with rage, but he would be back. She meant too much to his plans to gain society’s acceptance to allow her insults to hold him off. But that was all he wanted from her. Why had she been so blind as not to see it until now?

  He hadn’t changed. He never pretended he had. She was the one who had imbued Travis with qualities he never possessed. He was a brutal barbarian who drank and fought and whored. Why on earth had she imagined he would settle into a faithful, loving husband?

  She must flee. She had thought Travis offered the peace and security she craved, but she had only been fooling herself. She would not lose this child as she had the other, and she would not allow him to reduce her to a knife-wielding harlot. Somehow she must have the strength to stay away from Travis as a drunk must stay away from drink.

  Only one cure came to mind. A drunk could throw out the bottle, and it would not get back up and come in the door. Throwing Travis out would have no such effect. Instead of hiding the bottle, she would have to hide herself.

  The only means of doing that would be to leave St. Louis. Gradually Alicia’s tears faded as she put her mind to work. She had been through this before. She knew what to do. It could work, if she planned it carefully. The first thing she must do was not confide in Becky. Her maid’s loyalty was uncertain at best.

  Blocked from Stanford’s house by the servants, Travis had sent a message to Letitia. He glared at her response and, wadding it up, heaved it in the river. Letitia promised to talk sense to Alicia as soon as she calmed down, but he knew Alicia better than that. It had taken months to break down those stubborn barriers of hers.

  When Becky slipped away from the house to inform him Alicia had locked herself in her room with a trunk, Travis felt his future slipping away through his fingers. He could not let her go. Would not. If she thought of him as the same spineless caliber as that fish bait she had left before, he would have to teach her differently. He might not have the piece of paper to prove it in a court of law, but she was his wife. He would fight until his dying breath to keep her.

  Travis made his plans discreetly. He knew Alicia’s mind as well as his own. The river swarmed with boats this time of year. One had already carried a beaten Teddy away for a small fee. Alicia would most certainly be seeking another.

  The hired wagon appeared at the rear of Stanford House before dawn. Alicia led the driver to her trunk and followed him out to the wagon as he loaded it. For a few coins he transported her to the river and none was the wiser.

  She had no difficulty in locating the keelboat the kitchen boy had described. It was the only one tied to the bank at the foot of the hill. Already men were preparing for departure, just as the note had promised. They would be gone before the town woke.

  The kitchen boy might remember the exchange of notes later, after Alicia had left, but it would be too late by then. This current would carry her straight downriver. Not even Travis could catch up with her. She would have to be careful to disguise herself and use another name so she was not so easily traced this time. She’d had no idea Teddy would come after her, but she could count on Travis’s trying to follow.

  She prayed she would not run into Teddy anywhere south of here, but she doubted he would be in any state to interfere if she did. It would just be a matter of looking over the cities that they stopped in and deciding which one would be her new home. New Orleans sounded pleasant. She wondered if it would be large enough to lose herself in.

  Disguised behind a long gray traveling veil, Alicia followed the wagon driver aboard the keelboat. A flatboat full of settlers would have been preferable, but few traveled south from here. The captain had promised her a private berth among the cargo, and a keelboat would be faster. She would have to take her chances.

  As soon as the driver returned to shore, the crew cast off. The boat’s captain did not seem in the least familiar. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had done it.

  The weather had never truly warmed as it should have by this late in spring. After an icy winter and wet spring, it seemed as if the summer might never arrive. Alicia pulled her pelisse around her and watched the few familiar landmarks pass by. She was really leaving. She could scarcely believe it herself. She hoped her father would forgive her.

  Pacing up and down the planks, Alicia could not bring herself to retire to the stuffy interior. It was simpler and less painful to act than to think. Before long they would be passing the landing that led to what would have been her home. She wondered what would become of her furniture when it arrived. Nervously she strolled to the other side of the stern to avoid watching the passing bank.

  The sun did not reach the river until some hours after dawn. They had surely passed by Travis’s landing by now. Alicia turned back to face the shore again. Pink redbud laced the barren forest, creating a haze of color through lifeless trees. Never had she seen anything lovelier, but her spirits did not lift as they ought. She might never see these shores again.

  She had almost resolved to go inside when the boat drifted toward shore. It could not yet be time for lunch. There did not seem to be any landing out here in this wilderness. Why were they stopping?

  Irrational instinct produced immediate panic. Frantically Alicia searched for a cause for this diversion, and her gaze swept the deck, finding her answer in the man emerging from the cabin. Travis!

  Without sending a glance in her direction, he took over the lead pole and guided the keel toward a small outcropping of land. The air had warmed sufficiently so that he did not need coat or jacket, and the loose sleeves of his shirt whipped in the brisk breeze off the water. In the unforgiving sunlight his sharp visage looked more Indian than usual, and Alicia clenched her teeth in genu
ine fear. She knew that she was being kidnapped just as surely as if he had held her at gunpoint. Where was he taking her?

  In moments her trunk had been thrown to shore, and Travis stalked the deck in pursuit of her. His black eyes glittered with fury. She could jump overboard. The river’s current was swift and would carry her out of reach, but that was suicide. She could jump for land and run, but Alicia knew Travis could outrun her even were she not hampered by skirts. She was trapped.

  Grabbing Alicia by the waist, he threw her over his shoulder and lifted her onto shore. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the boat. Not until the crew shoved off and the boat drifted into the current did he lower her.

  Alicia lifted her hand to smack the grim look of satisfaction from his face, but Travis caught her arm and twisted it behind her back, bringing her up against him.

  “Don’t start what you can’t finish, Alicia. You’re on my turf now. It will pay you to follow the fashion of whatever society you find yourself in. I am speaking from experience, so heed me well.”

  Without another word of explanation he turned his moccasins to a path winding up the bank, leaving Alicia to follow. For a wild moment she contemplated fleeing in another direction, but a glance up and down the bank taught her the foolishness of that notion. Her slippers would be torn apart upon the rocks and thorns, and her fragile gown would disintegrate should she try to beat her way through the underbrush. She should have remembered one of the first lessons he had taught her—dress sensibly.

  It mattered little. She could not survive in the wilderness on her own even if Travis allowed her to run. And he wouldn’t. Grudgingly she followed the slender path through the bushes. The trunk stayed behind.

  At the top of the bank they stood on the edge of a neatly furrowed cornfield. Because of the late spring, the green shoots were not tall. Alicia gazed past this sign of civilization in search of a farmhouse. Perhaps she could attract someone’s sympathy.