Love A Rebel...Love A Rogue (Blackthorne Trilogy)

by Henke, Shirl

  “Well, it would seem, mistress, that you have found life with Indians and soldiers much to your liking. Your brush with danger has greatly improved your appearance.”

  Madelyne whirled at the sound of the clipped, cold voice. ”I see your manners remain constant, even if my appearance does not,” she replied over-sweetly, sketching a slight curtsy.

  When she bowed before him, Quint quickly re-evaluated his opinion of her body. She was small but in no way deficient. The soft cloth hugged delicately full breasts and showed off a tiny waist before flaring into a froth of billowy petticoats draped with an overskirt of paler green.

  After watching the exchange with detached amusement, Devon stepped up to Madelyne and bowed. “You look even more ravishing this morning, my dear cousin.”

  Quint's eyes were shards of green ice as he looked quellingly at Dev. “Pay Dev no further heed. He will be leaving us shortly, off to the Muskogee towns in the interior.”

  ”I greatly fear my men and I must be off,too, dear lady. Are you certain we cannot prevail upon you to return to Charles Town with us?” Caruthers asked, ignoring Quintin and his half-caste cousin.

  “Absolutely not.” Quint answered for Madelyne. “We've been delayed enough, and it's only a day to Savannah. You had best look to your command, Major. I'll attend to my fiancee.”

  “But Jemmy is still too badly hurt to ride,” Madelyne said tartly, angered by Quint's rudeness.

  Quint turned to Dev. ”I assume you can have your friends here see to his care until the fellow is well enough for travel?”

  Devon nodded, turning to Madelyne. “I'll personally escort the injured boy to the nearest village—it's far closer than Savannah, and he'll get the best of care there.”

  “In that case, I do thank you, Mr. Blackthorne.” Madelyne favored Devon with a smile. “At least one member of the Blackthorne family is possessed of some courtesy,” she murmured sweetly.

  Quint seethed as Madelyne had her small retinue of servants load her trunks and bags onto horses lent them by the Muskogee. Having heard about the bondsman who attacked her and was killed by Smooth Stone, he felt obliged to offer the youth a handsome gift—his pocket watch, an item he knew always fascinated Indians.

  Since it was only a day's hard ride, Quint decided to set out for Savannah at once. After formal thank-yous and farewells were made to Mad Turkey and the Muskogees, they also bade the British soldiers Godspeed, Madelyne with far more enthusiasm than Quint. Then only Devon remained, standing with legs braced apart, arms folded across his broad chest.

  “Well, cousins.” He smiled and winked at Madelyne. ”I shall miss you. Be safe on your journey.”

  “Surely you'll be at our wedding,” Madelyne said, liking the easy-mannered Devon instinctively.

  His face lost its devilish glint of humor for a brief moment. “No, I fear not. I am not welcome in Uncle Robert's house. Quint can explain it to you in good time. Only be happy, Madelyne. You, too, Quint. And don't take life so seriously.”

  The cousins embraced each other, then separated. “Take care of yourself with the Muskogee. And, Devon, you're always welcome in my home—damn Robert Blackthorne and all his kind.”

  ”I know, Quint. I'll turn up one day…like a bad penny.” With that he bowed to Madelyne and turned back toward the Muskogee camp.

  They rode out with Madelyne's great hulking brute of a dog trailing beside her horse. Jasper Oldham, a tough, wiry old Carolinian, and two other of the Deveaux servants managed the pack train of luggage wending its way behind them. As a courtesy and for added protection, Mad Turkey had also sent along six of his warriors.

  “It was most gracious of you to give Smooth Stone the watch. He was very pleased,” Madelyne said as they rode. Wanting to break the brooding silence between them, she was determined to be pleasant and draw the harsh stranger to talk with her.

  “The boy obviously saved your life. Twas the least I could do.” His profile was forbidding, and he said no more.

  “Yes, he was very brave. Will Tarrant was a huge bully. I never liked him.” She shivered, recalling his filthy, foul-smelling body.

  “If he was so untrustworthy, what were you doing alone with him so far from camp?” His green eyes skewered her accusingly.

  ”I wasn't alone with him. He was trying to escape. He was my father's bondsman with three years yet to serve.”

  “And you, a small, unarmed female, felt compelled to attempt to stop him?” His voice was laced with scorn.

  “It didn't quite occur that way,” she replied defensively. ”I merely happened to be at the creek when he came along. Gulliver had stayed with Jemmy, else the man would never have dared to threaten me.”

  Quintin looked down at the shaggy mountain of fur loping ahead of them, raised one eyebrow as if to question her further, then lapsed again into silence.

  “Why are you so displeased with me?” When he looked at her with patent disbelief etched on his face, she hastened to add, ”Oh, I don't mean about the episode with Will or Lieutenant Goodly's breeches or any of that. I...I just mean...me. When you came to Aunt Claud's summer house, you were very rude, as if you disliked me even before you met me. I know I looked a fright but—”

  “Your looks pleased me far better then than now. As to my being rude, if you take it so, best get used to it. I will be honest, mistress. I did not seek to wed you. Twas arranged between your father and mine. I merely approved Robert Blackthorne's choice. Now I wonder if I made a mistake, but it's too late, isn't it, lady?”

  “Perhaps you are not alone in feeling this match a most ill-conceived one,” Madelyne replied stiffly, refusing to let herself give in to the tears stinging beneath her eyelids. Her throat thickened, but she forced down the lump of misery and held her head high. As they rode in silence, she cast furtive glances at his forbidding profile and wondered how she could allow this cold enigma to bed her on their wedding night.

  Chapter Four

  The remainder of their journey to Savannah was no better than its beginning. Late that afternoon, nearly past the supper hour, they arrived at the Purrysburg ferry, where they crossed the muddy and turbulent Savannah River. After growing up in South Carolina's swampy back country, Madelyne was well used to fording small, brackish streams and taking ferries across the larger ones, but when she reached the middle of the flat, wide river, she was certain her father's fear of water must have been hereditary. The small wooden ferry, scarce more than a log-lashed raft, bobbed and weaved across the churning waters, swollen from recent heavy rains. The horses skittered and the big black slaves pulled in stony silence, as if resigned to a watery grave.

  Madelyne looked forlornly back at her men, waiting patiently on the South Carolina shore with the rest of the horses and her baggage. Sensing Quintin's eyes on her, she gripped the splintery log railing and looked ahead, swearing she would show no fear in front of the infuriating boor.

  “We'll spend the night with some German friends in Ebenezer. It's only slightly over twenty miles into Savannah from there,” was his only comment.

  Madelyne determined to enter Savannah looking every inch the lady of quality. If her husband-to-be was not pleased with her, perhaps she could at least charm his father, who had arranged the match. From a few passing comments, Madelyne guessed that Quintin and Robert Blackthorne did not get on at all well. At least that leaves some hope for the father. Madelyne felt certain it would strain even the most loving parent to excuse behavior as surly as Quintin Blackthorne's.

  The warm hospitality of the German settlers of Ebenezer was in marked contrast to Quintin's coldness. Madelyne chatted with the plump, friendly Frau Dussel, ate a simple but hearty repast, and slept in a clean, soft bed that night.

  Early the next day, they were off to Savannah. As they rode, Madelyne speculated about what kind of a place the city might be. Her father had made it clear that the Blackthorne family was fabulously wealthy. Considering that Georgia was the poorest and most backward of all the Colonies, she had been dub
ious. Weren't they all convicts and debtors brought over in the 1730's by misguided missionaries? She knew the Utopia had floundered so badly that the trustees gave over their colony to royal authority in 1752. Still, nearly three decades later, stories of the meanness of life in Georgia persisted. To what kind of a man and a home had Theodore Deveaux sent his only child?

  Madelyne sighed as they neared the city. Probably her father did not give a fig. All her life he had been but an infrequent visitor, a widower eager to return to his military duties. At last he would no longer have the burden of her care. She was Quintin Blackthorne's responsibility for the rest of her life.

  Madelyne watched him covertly as they rode side by side. His mount was splendid and his clothing expertly tailored, from the fine woolen cocked hat on his head to the gleaming leather boots on his feet. He looked rich. He looked as beautiful as sin. She thought wistfully of all her girlhood dreams of a love match with a handsome, dashing man. Quintin Blackthorne certainly fit the description physically. Madelyne vowed to have patience with his sour disposition, even though the tolerant Isolde had always told her she lacked that virtue.

  If she learned to deal with his peremptory ways, perhaps in time he might become reconciled to the arranged match. Yet Madelyne felt certain that no one, not even the formidable Robert Blackthorne, could force this man riding beside her to do anything he did not wish to do. He exuded a will of iron and the most disconcerting virility. Every time he touched her, no matter how impersonal the gesture, she felt electricity fly between them, much like the sort of thing Mr. Franklin had described in his experiments.

  How can I be attracted to a man who so obviously disdains me? It was not as if Madelyne had lacked suitors when Isolde had introduced her for her one brief season in Charles Town. Of course, halfway through it, her beloved aunt fell ill and they retired to the country, where Isolde died. If not for that cruel quirk of fate, she would doubtless be happily wed by now to a man who wanted her.

  Madelyne reminded herself that she had wanted none of those drooling, foolish young dandies for a husband. She decided she was just being perverse. Quintin was handsome and rich, certainly two points in his favor. If only he had a delightful, teasing sense of humor and ready smile, like his cousin Devon.

  “Why cannot your cousin Devon attend our wedding?” The question just popped out. “He is not welcome at Blackthortie Hill.” Quintin's voice was tight, as if he guarded a secret.

  “So he said, but that doesn't explain why. He's quite the gentleman and most agreeably charming.”

  “He is one quarter Muskogee. His mother was a half-caste who wed into our exalted family. Robert has never forgiven his brother Alastair. Neither has Devon's half brother, Andrew, although Andrew will inherit everything of importance.”

  “So that's why he's returning to the Indians. How unfair and sad,” she said pensively.

  Quintin felt a spark of admiration for her, but quickly squelched it. “Devon prefers to live with the Muskogee. He's an ardent supporter of the loyalist cause and feels he can accomplish more by acting as liaison between the Creek Confederacy and the British Army than he could sitting home counting money as Andrew does.”

  “And what of you? You aren't in service to his majesty, are you?” What insane urge made her say that?

  “I'm in the Georgia Royal Militia. I fought at the siege of Savannah last fall when we withstood an entire French fleet, as well as three thousand rebels. Admiral d'Estaing was a fool,” he said with bitterness in his voice.

  “Yet we won and held Savannah. Why are you so disgusted by a man who obviously aided your cause with his incompetence?”

  ”I abhor senseless slaughter.” He raised an eyebrow and studied her for a moment. “Something a female blinded by pretty uniforms and fancy military parades could scarcely be expected to understand.”

  Madelyne bristled but reminded herself of her vow. Patience, she would learn patience...if it killed her! They rode in silence through the thickening afternoon heat.

  Suddenly Quintin announced, “We're close to Blackthorne Hill. If we had more time we could stop to freshen up, but since we're already a week late...” He let his words fade and shrugged.

  “My father made the travel arrangements, not I. And the cart's breaking a wheel was none of my doing either.” She felt she must defend herself.

  Quintin seemed indifferent. ”Tis no matter now. Shortly we'll be at our city house, where my father eagerly awaits your arrival.”

  ”I shall look forward to someone eagerly awaiting me. Twill be a novelty, I warrant.”

  He ignored the remark.

  As they approached the northern perimeter of the city, Madelyne's heart sank. The buildings were scarcely more than rough-hewn plank-and-log shanties set in irregular patterns along the banks of the vast river plain, which was filled with wide, flat islands. The soil was sandy, and with every rise in what had earlier been a mercifully cooling breeze, the sand filled the air, fairly choking them and stinging their eyes.

  As if guessing her thoughts, Quintin said, “Although it's far smaller than Charles Town, for a city scarce forty-five years old, Savannah boasts public buildings and squares of considerable grace and beauty. This is just the temporary overflow of new settlers who have built here.”

  “Is there a Presbyterian Church?”

  Quintin laughed. “Yes. Georgia is teeming with Nonconformists. You saw Ebenezer, which is all German Lutherans. Baptists and your own dear Calvinists are well represented. We even have a sizeable and prosperous Jewish community. But since 1757 the Established Church is maintained by all.” He turned and looked at her with those unnerving ice-green eyes, as if testing her reaction. “Well be married at the family estate by an Anglican priest. That's one thing about which Robert Blackthorne will never compromise.”

  “He is a religious man then?” Somehow the Blackthorne family didn't seem especially pious, if one could judge from Quintin and his cousin Devon.

  Quintin gave a nasty chuckle. “Old Robert is many things, but religious is scarce an adjective anyone would apply to him. No, he's Church of England because it's the proper, loyal way to be. You must conform, you see, else he'll break you.”

  “And has he broken you?” She smoothed a windblown curl back beneath the meager protection of her hood and waited for his reply.

  “Hardly. Robert and I have reached ... an understanding.”

  His face seemed to lose its harshness for a brief moment. Traces of pain, perhaps regret, softened it, then vanished. Madelyne felt an odd thrill of compassion and curiosity. “You call him by his given name so often. Do you truly dislike your own father that much?”

  He turned in the saddle and faced her. “Let me put it as simply as possible. I feel toward Robert Blackthorne precisely the same emotion that he feels toward me. Unadulterated hate.”

  At that moment a crowd of ragged children came running up to their horses, begging coins and creating a terrible cacophony of squeals and shrieks. To Madelyne's amazement, Quintin talked with several of them, calling them by name as he tossed coppers, one by one, to each boy and girl.

  “Their fathers work on the waterfront, for hire as boatmen upriver or loading and unloading ocean ships,” he explained.

  ”A brief lapse into humanity that must be rationalized, Quintin?” She couldn't keep the arch tone from her voice or her expression. “Or is it that the Blackthornes as shipping traders exploit their fathers?”

  He snorted in disgust. “You and my father should get along famously if you challenge him at every turn,” he said with heavy irony. “Perhaps he'll even call off the marriage.”

  “Then I shall apply myself with all diligence,” she replied.

  By the time they entered the inner city, Madelyne was forced to revise her opinion of Savannah. Quintin had not exaggerated when he said the buildings were grand. Even the frame houses were predominantly two stories high, and many of the others were of handsome fire-glazed brick. Almost all had real glazed windows. The s
treets were a bit on the narrow side, but the public squares, laid out at regular intervals throughout the city, gave a feeling of spaciousness. Lovely magnolia and myrtle trees shaded the walks.

  When they rode into St. James Square, Quintin pointed out Governor Wright's imposing residence, as well as several other houses of influential men. Then he gestured straight ahead at one of the grandest houses Madelyne had ever seen.

  “That is your city house?” Her voice almost squeaked.

  Quintin smiled coolly, as if amused at her provincialism. The structure was of brick, three stories high with six enormous windows across both the first and second stories. Handsome dormers were set into the roof for the third story. When they rode up to the entry, a young black servant waited to take their mounts to the stables. Quintin assisted Madelyne in dismounting, while Jasper and his men followed the boy to the rear of the house.

  As always, when he touched her, she felt her pulse race and that odd breathless feeling washed over her. Madelyne found that she could not meet his mocking green eyes. He knows how he affects me, damn him

  “So there you are. About time. I've been waiting all morning.” The gruff comments came from a tall, spare figure with iron-gray hair. He stood inside the wide double doors held open by a liveried servant.

  From his imperious tone of voice and arrogant stance, Madelyne knew he must be Robert Blackthorne. She smoothed the folds of her gold brocade riding skirts and raised her head, carefully positioning her hood so a few gleaming mahogany curls were artfully displayed. Willing herself not to tremble in the face of the harsh-looking old man, she climbed the stone steps at Quintin's side and curtsied gracefully to her future father-in-law.

  “Well, what have we here, hmm?” Robert took Madelyne's cool hand and saluted it gallantly. He quirked his eyebrows expressively at Quintin, almost as if sharing a private joke—one that was on Quintin. “You're quite a surprise, gel. Yes, quite a surprise. Never knew your mother. Looks must've come from her. Old Theo couldn't have given 'em to you.”