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

by Henke, Shirl

  Dev looked around the camp and found the skirmish was over. Three of the raiders were dead and another wounded. The Muskogee waited for further orders as Pig Sticker held a knife at the throat of the wounded man.

  Noting the emotionless way the big brute held steady beneath Pig Sticker's considerable menace, Dev decided to try his luck with Squirrel Face, who was rocking back and forth, cursing and sobbing as he cradled his arm.

  “Rags! I need rags to wrap my goddamn arm. I'll bleed to death.” He let loose another string of oaths.

  Dev took a proffered strip of linen from Tall Crane and held it before the little outlaw. “If you want me to bind that arm, start talking. Where's McGilvey?”

  Squirrel Face's eyes moved from side to side, taking in the fierce savages with gleaming bronze skin and beaded scalplocks. ”Yer gonna let 'em kill me anyways.”

  Dev ran his finger caressingly across the length of hisknife,then said, “There's dying...and then there's dying.”

  Squirrel Face blanched, then choked out, “He left us two days ago. A man he knowed come ridin' in, half killed a horse gettin' to the boss. He had a message from someone in Savannah. George, he left Macklin there in charge.” He pointed to one of the dead men.

  “Who sent for McGilvey? What was the message?”

  The little raider grimaced in pain, then whined. ”I only heard part of it. Something about that toff whose warehouse we take the goods from. Him bein' dead.”

  “Andrew Blackthorne? What about him?”

  “Whoever sent for McGilvey wanted him to come back to Savannah because of it. Like I said, I couldn't make out all they said. I only know he rode out of camp two days back, headed for the city.”

  Dev motioned for Tall Crane to assist him as he bound up the raider's slashed forearm, then had him and his wounded companion tied to their horses. “Pig Sticker, you take the muskets and powder to your village. Tall Crane, I want you and two of your men to take the rum and these fellows to whatever passes for the rebel authorities in Augusta. They've burned and raided the Americans even more than the loyalists. I expect the new government might want to hang them,” he said cheerfully.

  “Why not just kill them now and keep the rum?” Pig Sticker asked reasonably.

  “We will need to curry favor with our American neighbors and their new leaders. This is a small beginning,” Tall Crane explained.

  Dev nodded in agreement.

  “Do you think you will capture this McGilvey before he reaches the city?” Pig Sticker asked.

  Devon shrugged. “He knows the land well enough, but I expect a Muskogee can travel faster than a white man. Since I know his destination, I'll not slow down to track him. A man like McGilvey won't be hard to ferret out in the city. I wonder who the devil summoned him that he left this prize and backtracked all the way to Savannah?”

  “You will doubtless learn that and many other things when you reach the city,” Tall Crane replied enigmatically.

  * * * *

  July 11, Savannah

  The waterfront was a scene of pandemonium as all manner of small sailing craft, pirogues, and flat-boats took on cargo and passengers. A smattering of women dressed in fine silks ordered servants to have a care with their trunks and boxes while nursemaids fussed with crying, frightened children. Hard-looking rivermen dressed in greasy buckskins spat and swore as they poled their overloaded craft down the river toward Tybee Island, maneuvering past other craft and occasionally colliding with them in the melee.

  Smartly dressed officers in scarlet barked commands at enlisted men and civilians alike as muskets, cannons, and ship's victuals were loaded for the journey downriver. Columns of soldiers marched with a brisk efficiency, oddly at variance with the chaos surrounding them. The British army was evacuating Savannah.

  Inside the Blackthorne city house on St. James Square, Lady Barbara Caruthers and Major Montgomery Caruthers faced each other at the foot of the massive spiral staircase in the front entry.

  “You look quite resplendent, Monty. I'm certain there will be lots of rich young heiresses waiting in London, fair swooning for the chance to marry a war hero. You'll land on your feet.”

  ”I simply cannot sail off and leave you here all alone with this colonial riffraff.” Monty's voice was imploring, almost desperate.

  “I’m scarcely alone. Quint Blackthorne is our cousin. He and Madelyne have offered me their protection and this beautiful house to live in until I settle my life. I'll not have to take to the streets to support myself.”

  “You're waiting for that half-breed, aren't you?” he asked bitterly.

  Barbara ran her hand nervously back and forth along the polished walnut newel post. “Yes, Monty, I'm waiting, but even if he doesn't return, or if he does and refuses to marry me, I still choose to live here.”

  “Why in the name of God? Weymouth—”

  “Weymouth, not God, has everything to do with why I'll never go home. If you and mother didn't force me to marry him, it would only be someone else like him. I'll not go back to that kind of life.”

  “Don't be a lackwit. Would you rather live among savages?” he asked contemptuously.

  “If I have to. I'd prefer the Muskogee to the London ton. The Indians are kinder—and more honest.”

  “You've taken leave of your senses.” He took two steps toward her, but before he could seize hold of her, Barbara produced a turn-off pistol from the folds of her muslin skirts.

  “It's primed and ready to fire, Monty. Madelyne taught me how to use it.”

  “You are mad! You can't shoot your only brother!” He looked at her set jaw and glacial blue eyes.

  “I'd much regret it, and being a cripple would prove an impediment to finding a rich wife. Goodbye, Monty. I'm sorry it has to be this way.” Although the gun did not waver, she was relieved to see two of the Blackthorne family servants enter the hall. One politely opened the front door while the other stood patiently, awaiting her orders.

  “You'll soon enough come to regret this rash act, Barbara. Damn Devon Blackthorne for rescuing his cousin! You'd have wed Weymouth if not for that.”

  “And been unhappy for the rest of my life. It would seem the Blackthornes care more for me than you do.”

  “Balderdash! I only pray I can repair the damage to your reputation in London by the time you come to your senses and return.” With that he spun on his heel and stalked out the door.

  Barbara let the pistol fall to her side and leaned against the newel post as tears filled her eyes. “Goodbye, Monty,” she called after him.

  * * * *

  The following morning dawned sultry and hot. Dull gold light poured in the window of Barbara's bedroom, and dust motes danced on the heavy air. Pulling aside the mosquito netting, she slid from the bed, feeling restless, cut adrift. She had asked Madelyne for this time alone, foolishly hoping Dev might return from his dangerous hunt for McGilvey and come for her. If he would not have her, she would need time to think of how she might spend the rest of her life without him.

  Rather than ringing for a maid, Barbara stretched and yawned, then walked over to the enamel pitcher and bowl on the Chippendale dressing table by the window. After splashing her face with cool water, she sponged off her sticky skin as best she could and dressed in a simple riding skirt and shirt. She studied the heavy linen riding jacket and then sighed in resignation as she slipped it on.

  “I'm enough of a social liability to Madelyne and Quint just being English, without adding the disgrace of riding in public improperly attired.”

  She finished dressing and left the house without any of the servants seeing her, although she could hear the cook preparing the morning meal as she passed the kitchen on her way to the stable. Soon she was riding with her hair flying free, cooled by the rise of a slight breeze. She could smell rain in the air.

  Barbara rode without purpose or direction, only feeling the need for exercise. Bilbo, a young groom, stoically followed just behind her, having been roused from sound sleep to
accompany the mistress. Dev had been gone for over two weeks now and she feared for him, but Madelyne had reassured her, saying he had Pig Sticker, Tall Crane, and half a dozen other trusted Muskogee scouts with him on his dangerous mission.

  It still seemed incredible that the fastidious Andrew Blackthorne had been in league with that vile raider. No wonder her immediate instinct had been to dislike and mistrust him and that witch Serena Fallowfield.

  As she rode through the sandy streets, she noticed absently that Serena's house was at the next square. “I wonder what she’ll do now that she no longer has Andrew to bedevil,” Barbara murmured to herself as she nodded good morning to a pair of well-dressed matrons riding in a carriage. Outside of a few busily scurrying tradespeople, the streets were still quiet.

  Just as she was about to pass the corner on which the Fallowfield city house was located, Barbara noticed a big, roughly dressed man unlatching the side gate and slipping furtively inside.

  “How odd.” Something about the fellow sent a prickle of apprehension racing along her spine. Frontiersmen dressed in greasy buckskins were a common enough sight in Savannah, but his enormous shoulders and that stringy red hair—he had looked for all the world like George McGilvey. Of course, that was patently ridiculous. The renegade was halfway to New Orleans with Dev in close pursuit. Still... She turned her mare around the corner of Abercorn Street, then dismounted beneath the shade of an elm tree.

  “Bilbo, I feel the need to pay a surprise call on the Widow Fallowfield. Wait here with the horses. I'll not be long.”

  The youth nodded uncertainly as Barbara disappeared around the high iron fence, thickly vined with bougainvillea. As quietly as possible, she made her way to the side gate and lifted the latch. Was that man McGilvey? If so, even the likes of Serena Fallowfield did not deserve to be menaced by him. Or was he expected?

  Absurd as the idea sounded, it was only slightly less believable than the raider's association with Andrew. Looking around the lush spring garden, which Barbara noted was poorly tended and overgrown with weeds, she made her way cautiously toward the house. What do I do now? Demand that the servants awaken their mistress and tell her a desperate outlaw is prowling in her garden?

  Just then she caught sight of Serena, dressed in a plum silk robe with her long black hair in disheveled tangles about her shoulders. The widow was walking toward a gazebo in the far corner of the yard, hidden from the house by several Chickasaw plum bushes overgrown with morning glory vines and deergrass. Now Barbara was certain Serena had a rendezvous with George McGilvey. But why? She pulled her full riding skirts close about her legs and began to creep closer to the gazebo, where she was certain the marauder waited for the widow.

  Dev cursed the blind chance that had caused him to lose sight of his quarry. A large wagon filled with rum barrels had overturned, blocking his way as he followed McGilvey across the city. The raider was on foot, seemingly headed for a specific destination. Dev had decided to see what it was before stopping McGilvey. But now the hunter was stymied, for when he had detoured around the barricade of broken barrels and terrified horses, McGilvey had vanished.

  “He must've slipped into one of these houses.” Dev loped Firebrand slowly down the street, looking at the elegant brick homes. “What the hell is a man like McGilvey doing in this part of the city?” Dev pondered as he turned the corner and saw one of Quint's stableboys standing nervously beneath an elm tree with two horses.

  “Bilbo. A little early for a ride. What're you doing out here, son?”

  “Mastah Devon. I'se sure glad to see you. The mistress, she done gone 'n run off on me. I been powerful worried.” His Adam's apple bobbed painfully, and his liquid black eyes looked enormous.

  “The mistress? Is Madelyne here in the city?”

  “No, suh. It's her friend, the English lady.”

  “Barbara Caruthers?”

  “Yes, suh. She went in that yard, followin' some big, mean-lookin' fella.”

  Dev sprinted across the street and around the corner, immediately spying the unlatched gate. Dear God, what insane urge had led Barbara to stalk a man as dangerous as McGilvey!

  Once inside the yard, he silently made his way around the perimeter. Best to scout out the grounds before entering the house. The sound of whispered voices in a terse, angry exchange floated on the still morning air. He moved closer to the gazebo which was hidden from the house by an overgrowth of vine-covered Chickasaw plums.

  The hair on the back of Devon's neck stood straight up. He freed the Kentucky pistol from his belt and checked to make certain it was ready to fire, then walked up to the gazebo where McGilvey was saying, “The Blackthorne warehouse'll be cold cinders by tomorrow night.”

  “Not if you think to put the torch to it, McGilvey,” Dev said as he stepped up onto the wooden planking of the gazebo.

  Serena clutched her silk robe to her bosom and paled as the half-breed Muskogee leveled his pistol at McGilvey. “Thank heavens you're here, Devon! This filthy brute accosted me as I walked in the privacy of my own yard.” She moved closer to Dev, wanting to give McGilvey the opportunity to overpower Blackthorne.

  “Don't believe her, Dev.” Barbara entered the gazebo from the opposite side, where she had been hiding. ”I heard her instruct McGilvey to burn the warehouse because it contains Andrew's records—which implicate her! She's as guilty as your brother was.”

  “You lying, meddling bitch,” Serena hissed as she turned and came at Barbara with her hands curled into claws.

  McGilvey took advantage of the women's exchange and lunged for Barbara, seizing her by her hair and pulling her against his chest. “Throw away that gun, you Muskogee bastard.” He raised his knife toward Barbara's throat.

  Devon threw his gun across the floorboards of the weathered old gazebo.

  Desperately, Barbara stomped on McGilvey's instep with the heel of her riding boot and twisted free.

  As Barbara broke free, Dev dove at McGilvey. The two men went down, rolling across the splintering planks, punching and gouging at each other. When they broke apart and stood up, each held a knife in his hand.

  “Now I'm gonna lift that yeller hair from your half-breed skin,” the renegade said as he circled Devon. “Then I’ll have yer woman. Maybe I'll let her keep all that silver hair of hers...for a while.”

  “Keep your filthy mouth off my woman, scum.” Dev's jaw clenched as he circled the hulking renegade. His eyes never left McGilvey as he asked Barbara, “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, Dev, he didn't hurt me,” she replied, warmed by his words. My woman. She stood well to the side as the two men lunged and parried.

  Dev drew first blood, slashing the raider's shoulder. “This time we're evenly matched, McGilvey. I haven't been gutted by one of your renegades. Let's see how you fight against a Muskogee.” He feinted high with his blade, then moved in low with lightning speed and grazed McGilvey again, this time on his forearm.

  As the men continued to fight, Serena edged slowly around the vine-covered gazebo, intent on reaching the pistol Dev had thrown away. Barbara had the same idea and the two women came at the weapon from opposite sides, kneeling to reach for it at the same time.

  Serena cursed as Barbara's hand knocked the gun from her grasp, then fastened in her ebony hair with a hard yank, cracking her head on the wooden floor.

  “I think not, you silk-clad viper.” Barbara pinned Serena to the plank floor, trying desperately to hold her down, out of the way of the men engaged in lethal combat.

  By now, both Devon and McGilvey were sweat-soaked and breathing fast in the sultry morning air. Blood smeared their bodies, and their clothing hung in tatters,slashed by the keen edges of honed steel they wielded with ruthless intent.

  Dev saw Barbara struggling with Serena for the gun and prayed his brother's accomplice would not harm his love. McGilvey, too, noted the women and smirked. “This time the Englishwoman won't sink a blade into me before I finish you.” He waited for Dev's eyes to flicker to Barbara and
Serena for an instant, then lunged for the kill.

  But Devon sidestepped just as the bigger man's blade sliced through his rifle shirt. His own knife came up from McGilvey's blind side, and sank into his lower abdomen, left to right, gutting him.

  McGilvey let out a gasp of agony and surprise as he staggered free, but Dev's blade flashed again, this time finding its mark for a quick, clean kill, under the breast bone and into the renegade's heart. Dev watched as the brute fell to his knees, eyes already glazed in death. Then he toppled face forward, clutching his belly and landing in a lifeless heap on the floor.

  Barbara punched Serena on her jaw, knocking her back into the railing where she collapsed, unconscious. Seizing the gun, she scrambled up and raced into Devon's arms.

  “How, by all that's holy, did you stumble on McGilvey? Didn't your first encounter with him teach you anything?”

  “Yes. That I'm your woman. And you just repeated it,” she said as her hand caressed his face, wiping a smear of blood from one cheek. “Oh, Dev, hold me.” She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

  “I thought you sailed with your brother. You were mad to stay behind.”

  “So Monty told me. But you see, I don't ever again intend to live as I did in London. Madelyne and Quint have opened their home to me—while I decide what to do for the future.”

  “And what will you do?” His hands tangled in her silver-gilt hair, stroking the silky masses, reveling in the sweet, feminine smell of her skin.

  She looked up at him. “As Alastair Blackthorne's heir, you could make his estates profitable with work and time. And I'm learning to be a very hard worker, Dev. We can do it together...if you'll have me.” She hesitated, but he didn't reply. “If not, well, I shall open a shop for ladies. After all, who knows fine fashion better than an Englishwoman?”

  He felt the warm, pure joy welling up inside him, flowing over him in waves, leaving him speechless with the bliss of the moment. He held her fast and nuzzled her neck as she babbled on about her modiste's shop until he could recapture his voice. “And how will you finance such a venture?”