by Grace Walton
Dylan took the reins and swung up easily on the mare's back. He didn't urge the horse into a speedy gait. He let her settle into a steady plod. He needed time to think. First, he had to explain about Sander. Rory needed to be told the truth about what had happened the night before. Then he had to get her promise to help him in Savannah. There was also the problem of the illegal school, she was running. Keeping up with Rory Windsor was going to be a full-time job. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be spending all his time chasing after her. And none of it rooting out traitors for Arthur Bassett. He wasn't entirely sure having Rory with him in town would be an asset. She was a distraction. And most probably would become a liability.
Ahead he heard the happy sound of children laughing and playing. Coming into a clearing, he saw a simple clapboard house on a raised foundation. That must be the school. And he saw about a dozen children in assorted colors and sizes playing a circle game in the grass. He pulled up the mare out of their sight. He watched unobserved. Dylan recognized the game at once and grinned.
It was a kissing game he'd played as a child in Virginia. A boy was chosen to be the fool. He was blindfolded. The girls formed a circle around him while everyone danced and chanted a rhyme. The fool tried to recognize the girls by their voices. When the one he favored was near, he’d kneel and say, “Your humble servant.”
That was when the fool must take off his blindfold and give a kiss or a favor to the girl he'd chosen. The children screamed in anticipation when the roles were reversed. Now a girl would be in the middle of the circle.
They clapped and hooted when Rory was chosen to be the fool. Instead of claiming a kiss, she always wanted to give an outrageous favor. Once she had hopped one hundred times on one foot while the rest of them counted. Another time she had stood on her head and sang a nursery song.
Dylan eased quietly off the mare when he saw Rory being blindfolded. The children were tickled when he motioned for them to keep silent as he joined the circle of boys around her.
She heard the disturbance. “What's going on out there?” she asked gaily. That only made the giggling louder. The bigger children began to furiously shush the babies.
“Something is awfully funny,” she teased them again and sent them into howls of laughter. Finally, the girls began the chant. The boys started marching round and round her. At last, the rhyme ended and Rory knelt down. Again, the uproarious titters and giggles commenced.
“My goodness, you're a rowdy group today,” she commented. She pulled away the blindfold and found herself kneeling directly in front of a pair of tall black riding boots.
With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, Rory let her shocked gaze travel up the long length of his hard body until she reached the mocking ashen eyes. “You,” she spat out in revulsion. She got up and brushed her pants off.
Dylan reached to pluck the handkerchief blindfold from her nerveless fingers. “When do I get my kiss?” he asked.
“You got the only kiss you'll ever get from me last night.”
The children were standing in groups nearby drinking in every word. When Rory realized they had an avid audience, she ignored the man and spoke to the little ones, “School's out chickens, off you go.”
A few rushed up to hug her before speeding down the lane to their foster homes. The rest waved and yelled good-bye as they ran.
“I suppose I get to name a favor then,” he said.
“No, you don’t.” Rory whistled. Spot came loping around the corner of the little schoolhouse. She grabbed a handful of mane and vaulted onto his broad back.
Dylan gripped the big paint’s bridle near the bit. The man now had complete control of the mount.
“Let go of my horse St. John.”
“I need a favor Rory.”
“Is that so? Well, I need two wings and a halo so I can fly. But I think my chances of getting them are about the same as your chances are of getting a favor from me.”
“Can I explain about last night?”
“No, there's nothing to explain.” She studied her hands and tried to ignore him.
“Yes there is,” he argued and jerked the reins roughly out of her fingers. “Curse you, woman look at me.”
Rory glared down at him.
“I want you to tell you why I'm here, and why Sander came to my room last night,” he said.
“I don't care Dylan.” She was seething. “I don't care why you're here. I don't even care why some black man named Sander is parading around pretending to be an Arabian sheik. Now let go of my horse.” Rory kicked at him.
One of his hands shot out and captured the little scuffed boot. Before she could retaliate, Dylan had flipped her off the other side of Spot. She landed with a solid thud on her backside in the dirt. He slapped Spot's flank, sending the horse skittering down the road toward the stable. Rory was disoriented by the sudden fall. Dylan stood over her like a conquering hero.
“You don't play fair Dylan St. John,” she accused sourly.
“You're right. I cheat every chance I get. It makes winning easier.” Hauling her up, he placed a vice-like hand on each of her shoulders and lectured sternly, “Now you are going to listen.”
“I am not,” she vowed stubbornly and planted a finger in each ear.
Dylan's control snapped. “God help me, Rory, I think I'm going to kill you,” he snarled. He shook her none to gently in frustration.
Wild cinnamon hair flew out of its braid and settled on her shoulders and down her back. She blew the tangled mess of hair out of her face and stood her ground. “I really don't think the Lord is going to help you.” Rory was being provoking on purpose. “Besides, you've got to catch me before you can kill me.”
She slipped away from him and darted into the woods. Her chances of getting away were pretty good. After all, she had grown up in these woods. She knew all the back paths. So Rory didn't rush through the undergrowth, making a lot of noise. No, she crouched behind trees. She slipped quietly through thorny brambles that caught at her breeches and torn at the thin cotton shirt she wore. It really should have worked for her, except she didn't realize that Dylan had been raised on a southern plantation as well.
He'd been stalking animals since he was eight years old. Now he was silently stalking her. He'd found her about five minutes into the chase. Since then he'd stayed ahead of her and let her move deeper and deeper into the forest, always keeping her in sight.
Rory was feeling pretty confident. It had been half an hour and she hadn't seen or heard him. She found a nice convenient water oak to hide behind. So she leaned one shoulder there and rested. She yelped in surprise when he slammed her back flat against the big tree.
Dylan pinned her body there with his own. He knew how slippery she could be so he made sure he had a firm grip on both of her hands before he started talking. She wouldn’t be putting her fingers in her ears this time.
“Rory I'm a spy,” he said. There was no hesitant preamble and no apology in his terse words. “So is Sander. Someone in Savannah is giving guns to the Creek Indians. The Indians get the guns if they agree to kill as many whites as they can. I've got to find out who is shipping the guns here. And I’ve got to stop them. You're going to help me.”
“Dylan no,” she started to complain, but was cut off.
“No, this time I talk and you listen. We're going to Savannah together. We’ll say we're planning on getting married.”
“What!” it came out as a squeak.
He firmly clamped one hand over her mouth and continued. “You'll introduce me to everyone you know, and I'll do my job. When I find the traitor, you'll jilt me. I'll leave Savannah broken-hearted. You'll never need to see me again.”
She twisted furiously trying to escape. He pressed her further against the sturdy tree trunk as he continued mildly. “I'll feign love for you. You'll act besotted with me. Between us we'll fool them all. And we’ll save a host of innocent lives in the process.” Rory mumbled something scathing under his fingers, but he ignored h
er.
“You'll see, love. It won't be hard,” Dylan said softly. “Most people believe what they see. This is what they'll see from us.”
He removed the confining hand from her mouth and lowered his head. His lips came within a teasing inch of brushing hers before he stopped. He pulled her away from the tree. He anchored her against the strength of his body and then buried his fingers deeply into her hair. His mouth settled with a light firm pressure upon hers.
Rory felt her lips soften. This kiss was much different from the tender kiss of the night before. It was hot and passionate. It promised her things about which she knew nothing.
He gently bit and plundered at her lips. He dare not deepen the kiss further. The risk was too great. “Sweet,” he groaned against her aching lips. “So, so sweet.”
Dylan recognized the passion racing through his veins. He'd felt it before, with countless women. But never had it been this scalding nor this fast. He burned as he held her trapped against the tree. He gentled the kiss and pulled away from the girl. He hated himself for what he must do now.
Rory felt weak. As boneless as a child's rag doll. If Dylan had not been holding her, she’d have fallen to the ground.
“Tell me,” his raspy voice was seductive. Powerful hands framed her face. “Tell me you love me.”
Absolutely mesmerized, she met his compelling eyes. “I love you Dylan St. John.” Rory moistened her tremulous lips and confessed solemnly, “I think I'll always, always love you.”
In her heart, she knew it was true.
“No sweetheart, you don't.” Dylan's smile was world-weary as he shook his head. He tenderly brushed the hair away from her puzzled forehead. He chastely kissed her there. “But I’m a very convincing liar. And posing as a man in love with you will be no hardship for me.”
Carefully, he pulled her back into the comforting haven of his arms. Strong warm hands kneaded the painful tautness from her neck and shoulders. “Together we can deceive them all.”
“It doesn't feel like a lie,” she grouched into his chest. The kiss obviously meant nothing to the arrogant man. He wasn't even breathing hard. She, in contrast, was breathless. It was another of his dratted object lessons. She was feeling completely out of charity with the blackguard when she heard the deep rumbling chuckle before his explanation.
“Rule number one for being a successful spy- Never trust your feelings. They'll lead you astray every time.” He threw a brotherly arm across her shoulders and started out of the woods. “Facts you can rely on. Logic will never fail you. But your heart will turn you into a mindless fool.”
“That doesn't make any sense,” she argued, trying to keep up with his long strides. “If I don't love you, why do I feel this way?”
“I'm not exactly a troll, Rory.” He was relieved by the delicious giggle that bubbled up from her throat. He began walking back toward the school.
“No you aren't,” she agreed following in his wake. “But Tirzah says that good women,”
He stopped to hold back a briar limb, so she could get through the brambles. “Don't tell me she's been feeding you that old lie about good women? Do you believe in Father Christmas too? Sweetheart if men and women didn't want each other, humanity would have come to an end long ago.”
“So you think it's just attraction?” She was unsure.
“No, I think it’s good old-fashioned lust.” He lifted her easily over a narrow brackish stream. Then leapt over and kept clearing the trail for her.
She hoped he wouldn't notice the bright blush crawling up her face. “No.” She wanted to argue.
“Yes,” he said, cutting her off. “You might not recognize lust, but I do.”
“I'm sure you do, with your vast experience to call upon,” she snipped back. “Everyone in the civilized world knows about you. Heartless St. John, Gray told me about you this morning. Your scandals are in the newspapers. They even draw blasted cartoons about you.”
Dylan heaved a weary sigh, stopped, and let his eyes bore into hers. “Don't.”
She swallowed. “Don't what?”
“Don't ask disgusting questions.” He didn't move, and neither did she.
“What qualifies as disgusting?” It was a dare plain and simple.
Dylan wanted nothing more than to show her instead of tell her just how much carnal experience he possessed. But by clenching his teeth, he managed to keep his control. He planned to shock her little innocent soul to the core, and then maybe she would have the sense to leave it alone. He prowled closer. She stepped back until she hit another tree. He shifted close and trapped her with a hand on the tree trunk above her hand.
“How many women have you had St. John? Do you even remember how many?” His voice was dark and cynical. “Is that little blonde opera dancer as lusty as she looks? How many by-blows do you claim? Does Lady Smithe squeal like an animal in her passion? Tell me, would you say Lady Smithe's breasts are like pears or would you compare them to melons. You can tell me, I know you've undressed her. St. John, old friend, tell me the truth now. Did you really flip up Lady Smithe's skirts and have her against the wall of her husband's stable? Lady Smithe says you’d put Lander’s prize bull to shame, old man. The betting book at Whites is full of wagers concerning her claim. Tell me St. John, is it true you pleasured Lady Smithe in the garden during the Fellows Ball. Do they call you Heartless St. John because you never feel anything, even when you take a woman? Or is it all those female hearts you've broken?” He stopped when she closed her eyes and slumped against the tree. “Is that enough,” he snarled. “Or do you want to hear more disgusting questions I've been asked to answer.”
“No,” she stammered. “No, I'm sorry Dylan.” She opened her eyes.
He hated the look of compassion and pity in their depths. “Don't be sorry. I earned it all. The disgusting questions, the scandals, and the wicked reputation, I earned them all.”
“No” She would not let him frighten her. She saw deep into his soul. She saw how damaged he was by sin. But she knew he could be changed. He could be redeemed.
“Yes, Mothers hide their daughters and shudder when I come into a ballroom,” he said with a scowl.
“I'll wager their daughters shudder too, but for a vastly different reason,” she said this with a perfectly straight face.
He couldn't stop his shout of laughter. “Curse you Rory. You’ve got to stop doing that to me.” He backed up letting her move away from the tree.
“Doing what?” She fell into step beside him as they walked through the woods.
“Surprising me,” he said as he pulled another branch out of her way. “I don't like surprises.”
“I'm sorry,” she said. She grabbed his hand and slowed him down. “And I'll sorry you've been asked such obscene and disgusting questions.”
He shrugged, trying to ignore her and the understanding she offered. She wasn't about to let him.
“That Lady Smithe must have a prodigious social life.” She peeked up at him from under her lashes.
“You're doing it again,” he growled. It took everything in him not to laugh out loud at her scandalous remark. Bloody sodding Hades, he liked her.
“Sorry,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Dylan, you’re sure the Creeks are killing for no reason?” She was suddenly serious.
“They believe they have a legitimate reason. The British have lied to them. They’ve been told once they get rid of all the white settlers, the land will be theirs again.”
“Can't they see the British just want the territory for themselves?”
“Rory, desperate people can be made to believe almost anything.”
“And you think I can help stop the guns from getting to the Indians?”
He stopped and stared steadily down at her. “I can’t do it without your help.” They reached the clearing by the school. Dylan walked over to where the horse was peacefully cropping at the scarce winter grass. He retrieved the mare's reins and led her over to Rory.
The girl quietly mull
ed over all that he'd told her. Finally, she shrugged and commented, “I guess I don't have a choice.”
“No,” He looped the reins together. He tossed them over the horse's head, “You do have a choice. There is no guarantee that we'll succeed. Even if we do, success might be very costly.” He threw her easily up into the saddle and mounted behind her. “Everything of value has a price.” He nudged the mare's sides and sent her plodding down the dirt road toward the house.
“Dylan, I want to help.” She snuggled against his chest as if she'd ridden this way all her life.
He nodded. “Good,” his voice was friendly and relaxed. But his body was having the reaction he'd come to expect when she was in his arms. “We've important business to attend to in Savannah. We need to prepare for it. You’ll need a new wardrobe.”
“Why?”
“Because Miss Windsor, you are going to provide the citizens of Savannah with such a stunning diversion, no one will give me a second glance once they've seen you. And you'll need the right clothes to do it.”
“I will?”
“You will,” he assured, helping her off the horse. “Go up to your room. Get Tirzah to help you lay out your things. I'll be there shortly.”
The girl started to leave, but he kept her hand.
“Rory,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She nodded and added, “One more thing Dylan, no more twisting red-headed wenches around your thumb.”
“I didn't think you’d forgotten that remark,” he said and chuckled softly. Suddenly serious he grasped her shoulders and held her lightly before him. “Rory I don't need someone I can twist around my thumb. I need someone I can trust.”
Rory swallowed hard at the intensity of his words. She nodded and reached up on her toes to plant a solemn kiss on his cheek. It was a vow. “You can trust me Dylan.” Overcome by shyness, Rory pivoted and darted away toward the house.
When she was out of sight, Dylan wearily laid his forehead against the mare's side. Within him, a massive conflict was raging. There was no rush of sudden victory at her commitment to him. The second her lips had touched his hard cheek, it had seemed as if every muscle in his body had fiercely contracted at once. Dylan St. John knew that in that moment, she had given him a precious and irreplaceable gift. She’d given him a commitment to trust him, to help him no matter what the circumstances or outcome. She should be wishing him to perdition. For there was nothing remotely trustworthy about him. Especially not about what he was setting out to do with and to Miss Aurora Windsor. The mare jerked her head and snorted in fright when her rider's powerful fist slammed into the stable wall.
