Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  On the whole, he thought he’d adapted well to the new life that had been forced on him. He’d survived and, while he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, he hadn’t become evil. But somewhere along the way, he’d lost his youthful capacity for hope and deep feeling.

  Not the capacity for desire. That was alive and well, and he desired Callie with embarrassing intensity. But he cared for her enough not to want to do any damage. She’d suffered enough. She needed a friend.

  He could manage that. She didn’t need the complications of an affair, and he didn’t need his life to be shattered again. Desire was a different matter, and he could control that. They’d be friends.

  Forever friends.

  * * *

  He dozed as well, coming awake when he realized the rain was falling more gently and there were no more rumbles of thunder. He hadn’t slept long, less than an hour, but he felt recovered from his most recent escape from death. The darkness in the barn had lessened as the storm passed, and when he opened his eyes he saw that Callie was also awake and watching him with thoughtful hazel eyes.

  He smiled at her. “Hello, Catkin.”

  “I should call you Lion,” she murmured. “Larger than a cat, but of the same nature. And the courage of a lion.”

  “Richard the Lionheart?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “You have the tawny coloring for it.”

  “More or less. Didn’t the Lionheart spend years kicking around the Holy Land getting into trouble rather than staying home in England and taking care of his responsibilities?”

  She grinned. “The resemblance grows stronger.”

  He laughed. “The difference being that I’m not king of England and I have no responsibilities to the nation.”

  “But now you do have a home there,” she said softly.

  Yes, he had a home in London and he was bemused by how much he wanted to return to it. “It’s a rather modest house, not a Plantagenet castle. There’s not much damage I can do to England.”

  “Maybe not the nation, but just as the Lionheart was irresponsible to leave England at the mercy of his brother, now known as Bad King John, you have a bad brother, too. When the appalling Viscount Welham inherits and becomes Marquess of Kingston, he’ll be the equivalent of Bad King John.” Callie’s nose wrinkled. “He was a nasty piece of work. He regularly tried to get me alone so he could paw me.”

  “What!” Gordon jerked to full wakefulness, shocked by her casual words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I thought you might kill him,” she said flatly. “I didn’t want to see you hanged.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said, trying to clamp down on his fury. He’d never liked Welham, the oldest and most bullying of the Audley brothers, but now he felt murderous. How dare that obnoxious brute try to molest Callie! “If I had killed him, I’d have been very careful to make it look like an accident.”

  “I should have thought of that,” she said with a wry smile. “He might deserve killing for any number of reasons, but I prefer to think of people who wronged me the same way my nanny did.” She grinned. “She always said, ‘Get on with your business secure in the knowledge that God will get ’em eventually.’ ”

  He chuckled and began to relax. “It’s a wise philosophy. These days I usually do just that, but if Welham was here, I’d beat him bloody for what he did to you. I chased him away from housemaids, but I never thought he’d go after a well-born neighbor.”

  “I was good at avoiding him, so he was merely a nuisance, not a threat.” Callie’s expression changed. “You said earlier that you haven’t been really close to anyone in years. What about bedmates? I don’t imagine that you took any vows of chastity.”

  The unexpected question made Gordon roll onto his back and gaze up at the rough-hewn beams. Callie said with amusement, “I assume that means you don’t want to discuss your romantic life.”

  “It’s not a topic a gentleman, even a tarnished secondhand version like me, discusses with a lady.” He slanted his gaze over to her. “But you’re not a lady, you’re Callie, and we’ve always been open with each other.”

  “I’ll try to look on that as a compliment,” she said. “How about if you tell me the truth, but not the whole truth? We all have our secrets.”

  “That’s a good approach.” He preferred not to think about the whole truth even in the privacy of his own mind. “Unlike Welham, I never touch unwilling women.”

  “That I’ve always known. You’re much nicer than you look, Richard.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said wryly. “But since I grew up with a female as my best friend, how could I go on to mistreat other women?”

  “So I get the credit for your treating the fair sex well? Good.”

  “There’s a vast distance between not actually abusing women and always treating them well,” he said soberly. “Because I moved around a great deal, for years I chose unhappy wives as bedmates. They knew the relationship would be limited and that I would never betray them. In return, I did my best to give them pleasure so there would be some happiness in their lives for at least a brief time.” He drew a slow breath. “Then I realized that I might not mean to inflict pain, but I did.”

  “Because some of those foolish women fell in love with you?”

  He turned his full gaze to her. “How did you guess?”

  “How could they not?” She twirled a pinch of hay absently between her fingers. “For a woman trapped in an unhappy marriage, a handsome man who treats her kindly and wishes to give her pleasure is a dream come true. Such a woman would want you always in her life, not merely as a brief, passing affair. I hope no married woman quietly murdered her husband in hopes that you’d marry her.”

  He frowned. “I certainly hope not! But it took me years to realize that I was causing pain because I always moved on to some other place.”

  “You implied that you changed your behavior at some point. How did that happen?” Her brows arched. “Slowly dawning maturity?”

  He smiled ruefully. “By chance, I ran into a woman I’d had an affair with several years before. I was pleased because my memories of our time together were good ones. I discovered my error when she walked up and returned my greeting by punching me in the jaw. She threw a good fist, too. I asked her what I had done and she explained. I apologized for my criminal thoughtlessness and said I would do better in the future.”

  “Did she believe you?”

  “I don’t know, but I did change.” He glanced at the ventilation holes at the end of the barn. “It looks like the rain has stopped, so we can proceed on our way.” He stood and brushed off his damp breeches, then offered her a hand up from the hay.

  She came up, wincing. “I was wrong that I wouldn’t have any bruises from coming off the horse! Nothing serious, though.”

  Gordon opened the door, then retrieved his sodden coat from the floor and checked the inside pocket. “Good, the oilcloth preserved my letters of introduction. We may still need them.” He wrung as much water from the coat as he could, then tied the arms around his waist rather than wear it.

  Outside, the saturated soil was steaming under the rays of the sun. The temperature had dropped with the storm, but it was still hot and as humid as any tropical country he’d ever visited. The bridge had completely vanished and the creek had overflowed its banks in some places.

  “I’m glad we made it over the creek while there was still a bridge,” Callie observed. “How much farther?”

  “Less than a mile, I think.” He smiled encouragingly. “Then we’re ready for the next stage of this adventure.”

  “Speak for yourself, Lionheart! I don’t want an adventure. I want a thoroughly boring journey to Baltimore.”

  “Where we will then await the invasion of the most powerful army in the world. That will be very boring, I’m sure,” he said dryly.

  Callie laughed. “A lady can hope!”

  Chapter 13

  They found the owner of Tucker Hall, Thomas Gre
en, in his stables grooming Samson. He looked up warily when they entered, then relaxed when he recognized Richard. “I’m glad to see you’re safe. I started to worry when Samson galloped in here.” He fed the horse a carrot, then left the loose box and latched the door as he came out to greet his visitors. “He’s a good steady beast most of the time, but he doesn’t like thunder.”

  “So we discovered,” Richard said as he shook Green’s hand. “I was leading him across the bridge when an uprooted tree smashed the bridge dead center. Samson was already anxious, so he bolted to solid ground and headed for home while Mrs. Audley here fished me out of the creek. We took shelter in that barn till the storm passed.”

  Green grimaced. “I thought the bridge would be all right, but we didn’t build it to survive a floating battering ram. I’m glad you made it over here safely.” He offered a hand to Callie. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Audley. I’m glad Lord George was able to find you. Are you heading back to England now?”

  “I have no idea,” she said as they shook hands. “I sent my family to Baltimore for safety. I didn’t expect the British to burn my house down, but they did. My main concern now is to get to my family and hug them all.”

  “I’m sorry about your house.” He sighed. “I want my family back, too. I hope they’ll be able to return soon. Any idea whether the British plan to occupy Washington?”

  “I suspect that they intended a raid, not an occupation,” Richard replied. “They must have been shocked to find that after Bladensburg, there was no attempt to defend the capital. It probably won’t be long until some competent American officers organize a counterattack, and the British might not want to wait around for that.”

  “I hope that means the British troops leave soon!” Green said fervently. “Infamous to burn our capital city! It’s time America stopped relying on inexperienced militia volunteers and trained more regular army soldiers like Britain has.”

  “Surely that will happen,” Callie said. “Our military defeats have been appalling. We can do better.” Yet as she said the words, she wondered if she had the right to think of herself as an American. She’d been in the country for little more than three years, and being around Richard was making her feel more English.

  Richard asked, “Is the Zephyr out in Tucker Creek? I didn’t see any masts when we came in.”

  “When the storm hit, the ship sailed out into the open river rather than risk being smashed up in the creek,” Green replied. “I assume it will return now the storm has passed.”

  “I guessed that’s what Hawkins would do. The current down the creek now is ferocious, so he’ll probably wait until the floodwaters subside.”

  “He might not return till tomorrow,” Green agreed. “But I’m being a poor host. Come into the house and I’ll find you dry clothing and food.”

  “Something dry would be lovely!” Callie gestured at her wet, clinging trousers. “And a proper dress would be nice if you can spare one.”

  “For saving Lizzie, you’re welcome to anything in the house.” Green led them from the stables to the spacious, airy house and summoned a pair of servants.

  Within half an hour, Callie was dry and her hair was combed out loose over her shoulders so it could dry, too. When offered her choice of garments from Mrs. Green’s wardrobe, she chose a plain old cotton gown that was faded from washing since Mrs. Green probably wouldn’t miss it much.

  The sun was setting and she enjoyed the cooler air when she joined the two men for a simple supper. As she met them in the dining room, she smiled at the sight of Richard. He wore an ill-fitting shirt and trousers, yet he still looked every inch an English gentleman. She must ask him how he managed it.

  * * *

  Tom Green proved to be an exemplary host. The clothing he’d offered Gordon from his son’s wardrobe was clean and dry and the fit wasn’t bad. A servant took charge of Gordon’s expensive and much loved boots, promising that by the next morning they’d be almost back to normal. His coat, minus the precious introductory letters, was also taken away, though the servant wasn’t optimistic about how well it could be restored.

  When Callie entered the dining room to join the men, she wore a faded gray gown, but with her damp, shining, red-gold hair falling over her shoulders, she looked like the girl he’d run away with. Except for her eyes, which were old beyond her years.

  The meal was light and pleasant, with cold roast chicken, warm crumbly biscuits, and a fresh vegetable salad. Callie said little as they ate. He’d have thought she was a demure young lady, except that this was Callie. He guessed that her thoughts were complicated and troubled.

  After tea and a delicious fresh peach cake, Green pushed his chair back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my office for a couple of hours. I must catch up on my accounts.”

  Callie asked, “Did you send some of your people across the river to safety?”

  “No need. My blacks are safe here. The British leave them alone.” Green grimaced. “Except for luring some of them away and giving them uniforms and weapons and calling them Colonial Marines.”

  Gordon wouldn’t have touched that topic, but Callie said, “I freed my slaves. Have you considered doing that? Then they wouldn’t need to run away to the British.”

  “You’re not running a great plantation like I am,” Green said in a patronizing voice. “I can’t afford to free my slaves. I’m already shorthanded because of the ones who ran off to the British to fight Americans.”

  “One can see why they’re tempted into running,” Gordon said, keeping his voice relaxed and conversational. “If you were a slave, wouldn’t you do the same?”

  Green started to protest, then closed his mouth with a scowl. “I suppose I would. But Africans are different from us. I treat my slaves well, better than most owners. If they had any sense, they’d stay with me.”

  “The desire for freedom is powerful,” Callie said in a soft voice. “As powerful as the desire for love and family. Men and women of all races will risk their lives for those things.”

  Green looked acutely uncomfortable. “I don’t disagree, but I can’t run this plantation without slaves.”

  Voice still soft, Callie said, “Why not treat them like indentured workers? Let your slaves get their freedom after a certain number of years of work. If the slave agrees, draw up a contract explaining the terms, and have it witnessed by a local preacher or abolitionist that the slave trusts. That would give your finances time to adjust, and I think many of the workers would stay on after they’re freed.”

  Green opened his mouth, then closed it again as he considered. “Perhaps that would be possible. When this crisis is over and my wife and son and his family are home again, I’ll discuss the matter with them.”

  Callie gave Green a shining smile so potent that it almost knocked Gordon from his chair even though it wasn’t aimed at him. Green looked stunned for a moment, then said, “I will indeed consider this seriously, Mrs. Audley. Thank you.” He rose from his chair. “But now I must return to work.”

  After Green left the room, Callie also stood. “Good night, Richard. I’m going to get a bit of fresh air on the veranda and then go to bed. It’s been a tiring day.”

  He stood courteously. “That it has. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.” Her smile was wry. “You can tell me which direction Washington is so I can see if anything is still burning.”

  “Probably nothing after that rain.” He followed her outside. There was enough moonlight to dimly illuminate the wide veranda that ran around three sides of the house. Wooden rocking chairs were clustered in groups on all sides, and it was easy to imagine the Greens and their guests sitting out and enjoying the beautiful scenery with chilled drinks in hand.

  He guided her to the western side of the house. “The city is that way.” He pointed. “No signs of flames.”

  “Thank heaven for that!”

  The veranda overlooked the moon-touched currents of Tucker Creek. Unlike
the bridge, the sturdy pier that jutted out into the creek had survived. Gordon observed, “The pier was submerged when we arrived, but the water has dropped a couple of feet since then. By tomorrow morning, the creek should be close to normal level.”

  “So we can set sail for Baltimore.” Callie crossed her arms and leaned against one of the tall wooden columns that supported the roof of the veranda. Her hair was mostly dry now and it fell over her shoulders in a shining veil.

  She looked as young as when they’d eloped together and was so beautiful it hurt to see her. More than anything on earth, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and keep her with him forever.

  But Callie’s thoughts were far different. “Do you think Mr. Green will take my suggestion to convert his slaves into indentured servants and eventually free them?”

  “He might.” Gordon hesitated, not wanting to be falsely optimistic. “But I’ve not spent years living in a slave society as you have. Your guess is better than mine.”

  “In Jamaica, most people simply assumed slaves were necessary and must be kept subjugated. Some are less comfortable with slavery and would welcome an alternative that won’t bankrupt them. Mr. Green might be one of those.” She exhaled roughly. “But I haven’t the energy to worry about great societal problems just now. What I really want to do is go to Baltimore and snatch up my family and keep them close and safe.”

  Not unlike his desire for her. He gazed at Callie’s graceful silhouette and knew that he wanted her more than anyone or anything in his life before. But he’d have to be a flaming fool to think now was a good time to try to engage her interest.

  All the same, he could offer comfort. He looped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. “Your family is fine and you’ll see them soon,” he said reassuringly.

  After an instant of resistance, she settled against him with a small sigh of relaxation. “I’m sure you’re right, but with all that’s happened, I won’t be happy until we’re together again.”

  The soft, well-worn gown she wore had been stored with lavender and the lovely scent made her even more Callie-like. He swallowed hard and told himself not to draw her so close she took flight. “Tell me about your children. I know nothing except that they’re quadroons. Surely there is much more to say about them.”