Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  Horse and rider fell with a sickening thud. The black thrashed wildly as he tried to regain his feet. Jamie rolled free and seized Charity, pulling her into his arms. "Charity? Are you hurt?"

  "Jamie!" she cried.

  "Are you all right?" His hands moved over her body, feeling for broken bones. "Did he strike you? Can you stand?"

  "I'm all right," she sobbed, suddenly unable to stop shaking. "I'm... I'm fine... I..." Weeping, she clung to his sodden, muddy shirt. "Oh, Jamie, he's dead! Richard's dead."

  Jamie tilted her face up to his gently. "Moreland's dead?"

  She nodded, her throat too tight for words.

  He kissed her dirty forehead as if she were a child and lifted her in his arms. "Don't try to talk now," he said. "Whatever it is can wait until we get you warm and dry. I thought I'd killed you." He caught the black's dangling reins and led him a few steps to see that he was uninjured, then sat her in the saddle and swung up behind.

  Charity lay back against him, her mind a blank, conscious only of his soothing words.

  "I'll take care of you now, honey. Not to worry. Jamie's here."

  She closed her eyes, numb to the cold rain, oblivious of the curious stares of a passing farmer. The horse moved beneath them, his body warm between her thighs. Jamie would make it right. Jamie would take care of her. Exhaustion overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep.

  It was still raining when Jamie carried her into a small cabin half-hidden in the trees. He laid her gently on a low bed, covered her with a blanket, and went back outside to tend his horse.

  Charity's eyes flickered as the smell of something delicious teased her nose. She opened her eyes and stared around the unfamiliar room. It was small but richly furnished; open beams showed against the whitewashed ceiling. A fire burned on the brick hearth, the dancing flames cheerful against the evening shadows. A familiar figure knelt before the fire, stirring a bubbling copper kettle.

  "Jamie?" Charity pushed back the soft blanket and started to sit up, then realized she was completely naked beneath the wool covering. "James Drummond! Where are my clothes?" She yanked the blanket to her chin and glared at him. "What have you done with me? What godforsaken place is this?"

  He laughed, rising to face her. "This is the fox's den, love. You've been properly snatched and hidden away." He came to stand beside, her. "You were soaked to the skin, and I feared you'd take a fever. Your dress is drying, but I doubt if it will do for another wedding. I'm not much at playing washwoman. It seems beyond salvaging."

  "Oh." Charity's eyes grew large in her face as she remembered the events of the day. "Oh... Richard. For an instant I forgot. You nearly ran me down with your horse."

  "Aye. Quite a fright you gave him, too. He's not used to muddy apparitions dashing beneath his feet." Jamie grinned boyishly and sat on the bed beside her.

  "Richard's dead." Charity's voice dropped to a whisper, and her lower lip trembled. "He died... right there at the altar. And... they said... they said it was my fault." Childlike eyes, full of hurt, stared into his. "It wasn't... was it?"

  Jamie enfolded her in his arms, holding her tenderly, as though she were made of porcelain. "No, sweet," he murmured. "Of course not. How could it be your fault? What man would die and miss the comfort of your arms?"

  "Oh, Jamie, it was so awful." She clung to him as he rocked her, taking refuge in his strength. "Hold me, Jamie. Just hold me," she begged.

  "As long as you need me." A wave of protectiveness swept over him. What was it about this woman that made her different from all the rest? "Don't cry, sweet. It will be all right, I promise."

  How long he held her like that, warm and soft in his arms, he never knew. He only knew it filled an emptiness he had believed would never be eased.

  "This is not Bold Venture," she said, startling him out of his near trance. "Where are we?" Gently she twisted free from his arms.

  "I told you, this is the fox's den." With a sigh, Jamie began to massage his cramped shoulder. He'd taken a slug there once, and holding it still for so long had brought on a muscle spasm.

  "Are you all right?" Charity was suddenly aware that he was bare from the waist up. The firelight turned the russet of his curling hair to auburn and fueled the glowing mischief in his eyes. "Does it hurt?" Tenderly she fingered the old scar.

  Jamie tilted his head to kiss her fingertips. "Would you care?"

  "You know I would." She wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't..." The words caught in her throat. She could still feel his warm skin against hers... feel the safe, loved feeling of his embrace. "I shouldn't be here. Elizabeth will be looking for me."

  His strong fingers caressed a stray lock of Charity's flaxen hair, trailing down to brush her bare shoulder, sending threads of hot tingling desire through her fevered body. "I sent Elizabeth a message. She knows you're safe."

  "Am I?" Her voice was husky in the semidarkness. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her pulse pounding. Could he hear the loud beating of her heart?

  Jamie leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. "Sweet Charity," he whispered. "This is your wedding night." Slowly he pulled back the blankets, revealing her trembling body. "Let me love you," he begged. His mouth sought hers hungrily and their kiss deepened.

  Her lips parted and the tip of his tongue teased hers. Her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him ever closer. "Jamie... you'll be my undoing." Vaguely she was aware of the rustle of clothing as he slid beneath the blanket to lie close to her.

  "Darling, I won't hurt you," he promised. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

  Another long kiss, and Charity nestled against him languidly, letting the misty-warm enchantment seep through her mind and body. Right and wrong had no place here tonight. If she must pay for this hour, she would do it gladly.

  Her head fitted naturally into the hollow of his shoulder; her hand explored the silky mat spreading across his muscular chest. Embers of heady intoxication took fire in her blood; she pressed wantonly against him, molding her flesh to his as their kisses grew more intense.

  His mouth deserted hers and blazed a trail of moist, hot kisses down her pulsing throat and across the satin skin of her tumescent breasts. Charity drew a long shuddering breath as desire inflamed her arching body. Was this the act she had been avoiding all her life? This sweet, sweet agony? "Jamie," she whispered. "I've wanted you. God forgive me, but I've wanted to lie beside you and have you touch me like this... kiss me like this."

  "And I've wanted you. Since the first minute I laid eyes on you." His fingers brushed her nipples lightly, teasing, caressing the swollen buds. "Do you want me to kiss them?" he moaned. Urgently she guided his head down to her breast.

  A cry of joy escaped her lips as he took the nipple in his mouth, sucking gently, letting his hands slide over her shapely body to cup her rounded buttocks and mold her against his burning flesh.

  "You were made for love," he said hoarsely. "For me, just for me."

  "Oh, Jamie... Jamie, I love you!" she cried, nuzzling the warm mat of his chest, daring to tease the surface of his tight, male nipples with her darting tongue.

  "I want to see you," he murmured. "All of you." Throwing back the blanket, he rose and gathered her in his arms, carrying her easily to lay her on the white wolf pelt before the fire. "You're beautiful," he said thickly. "Too beautiful to be real."

  A faint sheen of moisture glistened on his shoulders as he bent over her to cup a full breast in his trembling hand.

  Her answering laughter was low and warm. "I'm real enough," she promised, drawing him down to cover her naked body with his own.

  The heat of the fire enveloped them; they were no longer two, but one. Charity strained to meet him as he entered her swiftly, and the brief pain was lost in growing waves of passion. The earth fell away as they rose together in a swirling, all-encompassing act of glory. And when she knew she must die from the joy of it, the glory culminated in a burst of falling stars...

  His kisses on her eyelid
s were as soft as butterfly wings. She opened her eyes to stare dreamily into his. "So that's what it's like." Her lips curved upward in a shy smile, and she snuggled deeper into the thick pelt. "Was I... was I all right?" She blushed rosily. "For you, I mean?"

  Jamie kissed the full lips tenderly. "I really was the first, wasn't I?"

  She nodded. The glow in her eyes spoke volumes. "I'm glad it was you."

  "I'm glad it was me too," he whispered.

  Charity rolled over on her stomach and moistened her lips and the tip of her tongue as she inspected the room more carefully. "You still didn't tell me where we are," she insisted. The log room was solid but plain, making the elegant furnishings all the more puzzling. A fine walnut writing desk stood against one whitewashed wall. The chair with the carved feet was the equal of one she had seen at Lord Beauford's home.

  Jamie leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "I told you it was the fox's den," he teased. "You speak so easily of London intrigue, don't you recognize a smuggler's hideout when you see one?"

  "But... this furniture... these things are so fine."

  He laughed. "I'm glad you approve of my taste. Many things pass through my hands. Some I keep, some I use for a while before delivery. This"—he indicated the wolfskin they were lying on—"was meant for sale in Paris. It's worth more than you can possibly imagine on the right market."

  "But you kept it."

  "Maybe it appeals to my savage nature." Without warning, he pounced on her and they rolled over, laughing together, then kissing playfully. "Charity, Charity, I do love you," he admitted.

  "How much?" she dared, reaching down to stroke his swelling member. Delicious sensations of desire teased her mind.

  Could they repeat the experience so soon? "How much do you love me?" she repeated.

  She did not need to ask again.

  * * *

  Three days and nights they remained at the cabin. For Charity there was no yesterday, no tomorrow... only the joy of this moment with the man she loved. They laughed and talked together as easily as children, slipping naturally into an intimate relationship... making love as though they were the first man and woman on the earth.

  Only once did Charity bring reality to their secret place when she asked, "What will Elizabeth think of me?"

  "Elizabeth keeps her own counsel. She has, no doubt, offered an excuse as to why you could not attend Moreland's funeral. You are probably prostrate with grief in your bedchamber." Jamie's eyes showed a flicker of amusement as he poured steaming tea from an elegant silver teapot. "Elizabeth is more than my partner, Charity. She is a true friend. She will make no judgments on our behavior."

  Charity's hand trembled as she took the fragile saucer. "Richard Moreland was a good man. I should have been there."

  His lips brushed her forehead. "You were fair to him in life. A man can ask no more. Will you deny yourself happiness?"

  She leaned against him and sighed, conscious of his clean, male scent. His arms tightened around her. She was happy, happier than she had ever been. Why then was there a nagging voice of warning at the back of her brain? She rose and kissed him, pushing back the gray shadows of doubt. "It is beautiful here," she said.

  The door stood open to the shady clearing before the cabin. Pine boughs hung nearly to the ground above soft green grass. Charity blushed. They had proved the softness of the grass at twilight. She had come back into the cabin looking like some woodland nymph, her hair full of pine needles, her gown stained further by the woodland floor.

  Jamie had laughed at her distress arid produced yet another gown, fit more for the governor's ball in Williamsburg's palace than a hidden cabin in the wilderness.

  "Have you no ordinary clothes?" she had protested.

  "Not unless you'd care to be a boy again," he had leered archly. "Captain MacKenzie does favor a firm bottom in trousers."

  She had thrown the rose satin gown at him, and they had ended upon the bed, minding neither the pine needles nor the bits of grass and bark.

  Charity looked up into the eyes of the man who held her. Would she ever know him... truly? Could they bridge the gap between their worlds? He broke into her thoughts with a quiet statement.

  "We must leave here at dark."

  "To go home?" Was he taking her back to Elizabeth? A knot of tension filled her throat, and she tried to make her voice sound normal. "Is it necessary that we travel by night like brigands?"

  "We're not going back. We're going to Philadelphia. I have business there, and you may as well come with me."

  "Business? What kind of business?"

  His eyes darkened, and the hint of tightness passed over his lips before he forced a grin. "Come now, Charity, where's your sense of adventure? You've never seen Philadelphia, have you?"

  "No... but..."

  "You'll love it. There's no better place in the Colonies for a honeymoon."

  The knot tightened and she met his eyes with hopeful ones. If there would be a honeymoon, would there not first be a wedding?

  Chapter 10

  They rode away from the cabin soon after nightfall. Charity left the beautiful gown behind and wore the remains of her wedding dress. A few miles from the hideaway, they met a black man leading four horses. He was hidden in the trees and nearly frightened Charity out of her skin.

  They dismounted and exchanged Jamie's Ebony for the other horses. Charity never heard a word spoken. The only sound was the stallion's worried nicker as the man rode him away down the beach.

  Jamie motioned for silence. "Shhh," he whispered. "Sound carries too easily over the water." He lifted her up on the wide back of a large bay gelding and put the reins in her hands.

  "Is that why he didn't speak?"

  "He can't talk. He's got no tongue." Jamie mounted and led the way back into the shadowy forest.

  Charity shivered, holding tightly to the horse's mane as the bay followed the other animals. Leaves brushed against her face and arms. She hoped there were no spiders on them.

  Finally Jamie called a halt in a clearing. "We're far enough from the water now. British patrols are watching the beach. I've other clothes for you." He helped her dismount and took a pack off one of the horses.

  The sky stretched overhead like thick gray velvet, cloud-strewn and mysterious. Charity caught glimpses of a pale moon, shimmering like a cold pearl. The air felt moist; they'd left the breeze behind them on the narrow beach.

  "Was he one of your slaves?" She took the homespun dress and plain leather shoes.

  "He's a free man." Jamie added a shift to the pile.

  "If he's not a slave then why..." She turned so Jamie could unbutton her gown.

  His lips brushed her bare shoulder. "You ask too many questions for a smuggler's wench."

  "But I want to know. Who is he? Why is he helping you, and who cut out his tongue?" She wiggled into the coarse stomacher and then the bodice, lacing it up over her breasts and tucking in the well-worn and none too white modesty piece of lace at the throat. Her hair was knotted at the back of her neck and covered with a large dust cap. "I could serve at the Red Boar without lifting an eyebrow, couldn't I, guv'nor?" she quipped.

  Jamie turned to face her and Charity gasped. He'd covered one eye with a black patch and suddenly sprouted a mustache.

  "Don't you want me to wear one of those too?" She giggled. "I feel like a child playing dress-up!"

  "Don't talk if you can help it; your voice has a bit too much of London in it yet," he said seriously. "Maybe a patch might—"

  "I'll not!" she protested, then blushed at how easily he'd tricked her when she saw him break into a grin. "I'm an honest girl and not used to such trickery. But I still want to know about the black man," she persisted.

  Jamie tied the animals. "'Tis not safe for you to know too much. I trust him. He's smart and knows his way around the bay. He has a wife and children. What more do you want to know?"

  "Who cut out his tongue?"

  He handed her a roll of blankets. "Spr
ead those under the tree. We don't need a fire tonight, but we can get some sleep before morning." He finished unloading the pack animals, then returned to squat beside her. "He used to be a pirate before he took up the smuggling trade, down in the islands. His captain cut out his tongue to keep him from telling where they buried their treasure."

  "I don't believe you. How could he tell you that if he has no tongue?" She shook the dust from a blanket and laid it on the grass. "Pirates and treasure indeed! You take me for a babe to swallow such tales!"

  Jamie chuckled. "It's true enough, all right. He doesn't have to talk, he can write. He buried his captain in the hole instead of the treasure and used the coin to buy his own boat." He lay down beside her and she snuggled close.

  "I don't like your stories. It's dark out here, and I'm lost in the woods, and I'm tired." She shut her eyes and curled into a tight ball. "You're trouble, Jamie Drummond. I knew it from the first," she grumbled.

  "Hush up, woman, and let me get some sleep." His hand slipped down to cup a full breast. "Tomorrow I'll take you where there are plenty of people."

  She murmured something sleepily and pressed even tighter to Jamie. From far off came the cry of a night bird, then the answering hoot of an owl nearly overhead. Charity wished she were home in her bed at Widow's Endeavor. The woods was definitely not her choice of sleeping spots. She feared she would never make a proper Colonial.

  The events of the past few days kept repeating themselves in her mind. She clamped her eyes shut, trying not to listen to the strange night sounds... the rustling and creaking. She was safe here in his arms, wasn't she?

  Jamie's breathing was slow and steady. How could he sleep as though he had no cares, as though they weren't engaged in something that could get them both hanged?

  If she had a lick of sense, she'd demand he take her home to Widow's Endeavor first thing in the morning. He would probably be happy to be rid of her. He hadn't even tried to make love to her tonight. True, she'd said she was tired, but if he really desired her, he would have at least tried, wouldn't he?