by Linda Jones
"We weren't ready to take the soldiers, and I had to stand there in the woods and watch her walk into the middle of this. And now she's—"
"Sleeping,” Max finished, taking a dazed Dalton's arm as he reached the table. “Thanks to John's special blend of herbs."
"Sleeping?” Dalton raised misty eyes to Max. “She drank Chadwick's ale?"
Max nodded once. “Just a sip.” Thinking it was a deadly poison, she'd drunk deeply and then handed the tankard to Chadwick. Trying to make things right, she said. He'd always been unforgiving. Evil was evil, and right was right, and there was nothing in between. And now he was faced with this dilemma. Damn it, why was nothing in his life ever easy?
The relief that washed through Dalton was visible, almost tangible. Max released his arm, and he circled the table. “And this one?” Dalton grabbed a handful of hair and lifted Chadwick's head from the table. “This whoreson deserves to die."
Truer words were never spoken, but Max had to disagree vocally. It was the reason they'd decided a few hours ago to substitute the sleeping potion for the poison, the reason Chadwick was still alive. “But we can't kill him."
"Why not?"
"Because killing him here and now would bring the king's army down on these people's heads. They would pay for our revenge, and that's not right."
Dalton dropped Chadwick's head so it thunked hollowly on the table. “You're not going to let him go?"
"Not exactly.” A small smile crossed Max's face. “Lewis had a splendid idea."
Lewis explained his plan to send Chadwick on a long voyage to India where he would be the guest of, or rather a gift to, the barbarous nawab of Bengal. They would send Victor with one of Dalton's enterprising associates, who would be sure to make the journey long and arduous. Max wrapped his arms around Penelope and nestled her against his chest.
Penelope was safe now, but could he keep her safe always? The coming years promised to be uncertain, and there were more men like Victor Chadwick out there—men worse than Victor Chadwick. He bent to whisper in her ear. “I was terrified.” He'd never admitted his fear to anyone, not even as a child. Being afraid was one thing, but admitting to it made a man vulnerable. It felt rather like standing naked on deck during a hurricane. Exposed. Defenseless. But he wanted Penelope to know how he felt, what she meant to him. “Terrified,” he repeated.
She lifted her head and smiled at him. “There were moments I was terrified, too, but there were others when I felt no fear at all."
"Is that a fact?"
"I knew you would come, and I knew we would leave here together.” She was as serene as if she stood in her parlor dabbing at her mural.
"What confidence you have in me, m'dear."
Penelope slipped her arm around his waist. “What confidence I have in us,” she replied.
Beck made a laughing suggestion that they give Chadwick a tattoo to remember the Indigo Blade by, a small surprise for him to find when he awakened in the hold of the ship that would take him to India.
"A tattoo like yours?” Penelope asked.
"We all have them, here and there,” he answered, his voice as low as hers.
Penelope looked at the strange and marvelous crew that surrounded her. “And who is the artisan capable of performing such a task?” She studied the faces in the room, one by one, until her eyes finally rested on a grinning Dalton.
"Will he give me one?"
"Absolutely not!” Max answered, about the same time Dalton did. Behind him, Lewis and Beck laughed heartily.
As Dalton prepared to do his best—or his worst—to Chadwick, Max led Penelope to a far corner of the tavern. There, he gathered her in his arms and held her as he'd longed to from the moment he'd come through the door and seen her sitting at Chadwick's side. If he had his way, he would never let her go.
She did not tremble, and she did not cry. Her only tears had been for Mary, when she'd thought the ale to be truly poisoned. His delicate wife was evidently stronger than he'd imagined.
"Do you know how much I love you?” he asked softly.
"Perhaps as much as I love you."
"Perhaps."
Quietly, oddly content, they stood and watched as the League of the Indigo Blade shed their costumes. Wigs, padded coats, a couple of quickly discarded dresses, were all tossed into a sack.
With Lewis's help, Dalton gathered together the supplies he needed—a bone that was sharpened at one end and a vial of indigo ink—and sat at the table between the two unconscious victims of John's sleeping potion. He worked his magic first on the side of Chadwick's neck.
The indigo dagger Dalton fashioned there was long and narrow, and the tip ended just beneath Chadwick's ear. It was a tedious process and took quite a while, but everyone watched with a mixture of amazement and amusement.
It wasn't enough, apparently, to satisfy Dalton. A smaller dagger was etched above Chadwick's right eyebrow. During this process the proprietor of the tavern and the men of Cypress Crossroads who had stormed into the tavern with Dalton wandered away, one by one, until only Penelope, the sleeping Mary and Chadwick, and the League of the Indigo Blade remained.
Another tattoo was added to the top of Chadwick's left hand. Dalton might have continued, but Mary stirred and stole his attention.
Mary, who had taken a much smaller amount of the drugged ale than Chadwick, lifted her head slowly. Penelope took a step forward to go to her cousin, to comfort her in spite of—or perhaps because of—all that had happened. But Max pulled her back.
"I have to...” she began.
"Look,” he whispered.
Mary, when she realized that she was not dead after all, came to her feet as quickly as she could, clearly with every intention of bolting from the tavern. Dalton stopped her with a swift and firm hand that found Mary's wrist and held her tight.
Lewis and Beck stood over Chadwick, and with a silent nod they each took an arm and hauled the marked man to his feet and away from the table. Chadwick's long journey had just begun.
Mary watched as Victor was dragged away, and then she lifted her eyes to Dalton, whose hand remained tightly at her wrist. “I didn't drink enough."
She was looking for the hate in those blue eyes, but hate wasn't what she saw. Tears filled Dalton's eyes, tears that didn't fall but simply glistened here. What would make a man like this cry? It wasn't as if—her heart leapt with the possibility—it wasn't as if he loved her.
"I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “For a split second, when I saw you lying there, I thought Max or Chadwick had killed you."
"I drank..."
"I know what you did, damn it,” he said angrily, pulling her close. “If Max hadn't decided to substitute a sleeping potion for the poison, you would be dead."
"It wasn't poison?"
Dalton sighed and lifted his free hand to her cheek. “No, thank God. It wasn't poison."
It should have been poison. She should be dead right now ... but Dalton's hand on her face was so gentle and warm and wonderful, she was glad to be alive, glad for this second chance.
But what would happen to her now? She couldn't go back to Charles Town, and she had nowhere else to go but the plantation. She hated that place, had always hated it, but what choice did she have?
Right now, she just wanted to get out of here. She had to get away from Dalton and Maximillian and Penelope.
"Changes will have to be made,” Dalton said softly, and Mary nodded her head, unable to speak. She didn't want to contemplate such changes. She looked at his throat, studied the vein that throbbed there, unable to look into those tear-filled eyes again. He was so very disappointed in her, still.
"You must learn to trust me,” he continued, “with everything. I cannot have a wife who lies to me, who doesn't know without doubt that I would never hurt her."
She lifted her eyes slowly. “Wife?"
"You must learn serenity,” he pronounced. “I will need that from you."
"Wife?” she repeated.
> "If you'll have me."
She nodded slowly, and was rewarded with a small smile. Dalton sat heavily in the nearest chair, and pulled her with him, depositing her on his lap.
"I want you to understand who I am and why I'm here, before we go any further."
She melted against him and laid her head against his shoulder, safe at last. “I want to know everything."
He wrapped his arms around her, holding on tight. Whether the support was for her or for him, she didn't know. It didn't matter. From now on they would support one another.
"His name was Jamie...” Dalton began.
* * * *
Penelope found she could not watch the scene unfolding in the corner, as Dalton pulled Mary onto his lap. It was too personal, and not meant to be shared,
Instead she fastened her eyes on Garrick, Fletcher, and John as they hesitantly approached their leader.
"Well?” John muttered. “What do we do with those four British soldiers?"
"They're just lads, really,” Fletcher added. “One of them looked familiar, and do you know who he turned out to be? The captain who righted that wagon for us a few months back. Bradford Thurman, he said his name was."
"Really,” Maximillian muttered.
Fletcher nodded his head. “He doesn't like you much, Max, and before I shoved the gag back in his mouth he made it clear that he doesn't care for the colonies, either."
Maximillian raised a rakish eyebrow.
"They're not hurt at all,” Fletcher continued. “Just bound and gagged and scared half to death. They seem like nice lads, except for that Thurman fellow. I'd hate to have to kill them."
Garrick brushed absently at the powder in his little black beard. “What choice do we have?"
Maximillian pondered the question for a moment, and then he smiled as the answer came to him. “Make the choice theirs. They can sail for India with Chadwick, or they can sail for England on their word they will never return to these colonies."
"They don't look like deserters,” Garrick said cynically.
Max only smiled. “Put them on a secure ship headed for home, and woo them with talk of living the rest of their lives in the English countryside, where they will marry country maids and make babies and happily forget that they ever heard of Charles Town and Victor Chadwick and the Indigo Blade. Tell them I have a feeling the army will be much too busy in the coming months to diligently look for four soldiers who come up missing.” His smile faded. “And tell them that if they do come back, they'll bloody well wish they hadn't. I'll make sure of it."
They all approved of that solution, certain they could convince the young soldiers to be glad to head for home and leave the colonies behind.
But before they left to see to the soldiers, Garrick turned his black gaze on Penelope. “I understand we owe you an apology, madam,” he said coldly. “We are not usually so quick to judge, I assure you, but...” There was a softening of his dark eyes. “Suffice it to say, I offer my deepest regrets for my mistake, and I am now and forever your humble servant.” He took her hand, bent over it stiffly, and kissed her knuckles briefly before John nudged him aside.
"Don't you believe him,” John said, taking Penelope's hand and giving her a wicked smile. “Garrick wouldn't know humble if it bit him on the ass.” He lifted her hand for a kiss that lingered a moment more than was proper. “But as for what he said about being wrong and sorry and all that,” he lifted his eyes to hers, “same goes for me, madam."
John stepped aside and Fletcher took his place. He, too, took her hand. Red-faced and obviously embarrassed, he shook that hand slightly. “I always knew these boys were fools,” he said softly. “But I never expected to make myself a simpleton right alongside them."
She smiled at his apology, and when he saw her grin, he lifted her hand to his lips, briefly.
"That's quite enough,” Maximillian said, taking her much-honored hand in his own.
"Lewis and Beck will want to apologize, I would think,” John said as they made their way to the door.
"Saints preserve us,” Fletcher said, and then they all laughed.
Penelope fell easily into her husband's protective arms.
"I have a feeling,” she confided, “that life with the Indigo Blade is going to be an adventure."
"Will that be a problem for you?” Maximillian asked as if he dreaded the answer, as if he didn't already know. But perhaps he didn't. So much had happened in the past few days. Did he think she could ever prefer the safe and sheltered life she'd enjoyed before becoming his wife?
She drew her head away from his chest and looked him square in the eyes. The love was there, the love she'd seen on the night they met. It was deeper now, impossibly stronger. And it would grow stronger, still.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
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Epilogue
She'd made a lot of progress in the past month. Sections of the mural were complete, while still others were practically bare. It would take her weeks, perhaps months, to finish it to her satisfaction.
Of course, the mural would be progressing more quickly without her daily lessons, but Maximillian was insistent. If she planned to be a member of the league, she had to prepare herself accordingly. She rather enjoyed the swordplay, but the pistols still made her uneasy. Maximillian demanded, though, that she become proficient with both.
The season had turned almost on the very night a tattooed and unconscious Victor Chadwick had sailed out of their lives, the days becoming warmer, the nights wonderfully balmy. Perhaps that was merely coincidence, but there were moments when Penelope didn't think it was coincidence at all that Victor and the last vestiges of winter left their lives at the exact same time.
"When people see this, they'll think you've lost your mind."
Penelope glanced over her shoulder to smile at Tyler. Once Victor was safely at sea, Maximillian had collected her brother and brought him home ... where he caused turmoil daily. Tyler and Garrick butted heads on a regular basis, but at the same time, her little brother was becoming fast friends with John and Beck.
"I rather like it,” she said defensively.
"I didn't say I didn't like it,” he said as he stepped into the room and checked her progress. “I just think it's peculiar."
She couldn't argue with Tyler for long. She'd missed him so much she was likely to agree with most anything he said, or to grab him as he passed by and give him a big hug for no reason, at any time of the day. As long as no one else was around, he didn't seem to mind.
One day, Tyler would likely join Maximillian and his league, and after an initial burst of protective denial, Penelope accepted that when the time came it would be a good and proper action. No one was more passionate about liberty than her brother.
Tyler had learned, as the others had, that Penelope had nothing to do with Heath's capture. He had apologized quietly and sincerely for believing her capable of such treachery, and Penelope had forgiven him.
"Do you mind terribly having a peculiar sister?"
She put her brushes aside to face her brother. He grew taller and more handsome, to her loving eye, every day. With his pale hair and blue eyes, he looked more like Maximillian's blood than her own. The three of them were becoming a family, gradually, not always easily—at least, they were the beginnings of a family.
"A moderately peculiar sister I can handle,” he said with a sneer. “But that husband of yours is damned odd."
"Tyler! What a thing to say.” She couldn't help but smile.
He lowered his voice. “I received a lesson this very afternoon on the importance of a properly tied cravat.” He spoke with a touch of horror. “Maximillian, with John's assistance and Beck watching on, gave me a lecture on this important subject that lasted at least three-quarters of an hour.” The sneer had merely faded.
"He means well,” Penelope said, trying and failing to restrain her smile. Maximillian did love to bedevil Tyler at every opportunity.
When Maximillian, dressed in pale blue silk, stepped into the parlor, studiously examining the lace of his white cuff, Tyler left abruptly, with a mumbled insult Penelope couldn't quite decipher. They hadn't yet told Tyler that his dandy brother-in-law was the Indigo Blade, and the fiery young man had no patience for the foppish Maximillian Broderick.
Maximillian smiled widely when they were, at last, alone. “Your brother is a fine young man,” he said as he surveyed the walls and her progress. “He has your fire and determination."
She'd never known she had fire and determination, until Maximillian had brought it out. “We should really tell him who you are,” she said softly. “He'll be much happier."
"Soon,” he agreed. “We should first give him time to adjust to the news that his cousin is marrying the butler, don't you think?"
Uncle William was mortified, and Tyler likely would be, too, when he heard. For all his talk of equality and freedom, there was a bit of a snob in her brother.
It would likely be a scandal, but for once Mary didn't seem to care what anyone else thought. This was her second chance, she said, and if Dalton would have her, she would defy anyone and everyone to have him. Maximillian had not completely forgiven Mary yet, but Penelope had hopes that he would, one day. After all, Mary had been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to save them all.
Maximillian, who still reminded Penelope on occasion of her cruel trick as she seduced the Indigo Blade, was not as quick to forgive as she.
Penelope watched as her husband paced her parlor nervously. He likely had another mission planned and was delaying telling her. He didn't like to worry her, and he most definitely did not like it when she asked to come along. After today, he would likely never allow her to ride with him.
"It's coming along nicely,” he said, walking around the room and studying each detail of the mural. “When you're finished here, perhaps you should do something like this in my study."
"I don't think I'll have time,” she said, stepping in front of her strolling husband to halt his progress.
"No time?” He raised his eyebrows and wrapped his arms around her waist.
