The Rebel's Bride

by JoAnn DeLazzari

  He rode the edge of the palisade overlooking the fast flowing Hudson River below. The air, still chilled, was invigorating as the land stretched before him. He followed the river until he pulled in the reins just above a marsh.

  Lucifer’s breath was visible in the cool April morning. He seemed restless still. Ransom strained to gaze over the marshland. His ship was there. He knew it, yet he was pleased he could not spot her easily. Finally, he relaxed in the saddle.

  The tall black mast of the Ebony would appear as a burnt tree jutting up into the foliage to anyone else. He knew this was a good place to hide his prized ship. Even though the tides dictated when he could move her, she was safe from the British and could wreak havoc when the need arose. No one would look for her here.

  He leaned to brace his arm on his thigh and thought of the previous night. With her black sails and hull, he had taken her down the river on the outgoing tide to intercept a British gunboat. He was able to get right up to it before the crew of the other vessel knew the Ebony was there. In less than an hour, his crew had disabled the smaller ship, stripped it of its guns, and caught the tide back up the river.

  He was proud of his ship and his crew. His men were unsung heroes for this new country. Everything they did was covert. They led normal lives by day and hunted by night, but they were having a positive effect on the war. He knew the guns they confiscated armed the ragtag troops trying to keep the British from reclaiming them.

  Satisfied with the success of the previous night’s raid, Ransom turned his horse back toward his house. The men should have cached the excess from the raid by now. Since half his staff at the Devil’s Head worked on the ship, they were able to use the house as well as the ship in their endeavors.

  As he made his way back to the stable, he could see his friend, Holden Blakely, standing near the door. He seemed to be concerned with something he held in his hand. Ransom could only guess it had to do with the expected arrival of his bride-to-be. Things had been going too well in his life, he mused.

  “Well,” he called to Holden, “has this Lady Thorpe arrived?”

  “Nope, and neither did her ship.” Ransom raised one dark brow as he dismounted and handed his reins to the boy hired solely to care for Lucifer. “It went down somewhere off Newport,” Holden announced as they made their way toward the house.

  Ransom stopped walking for a moment. He sighed heavily. “It seems the war has not claimed enough.” As he stared across the landscape, Ransom’s thoughts centered on the small ship and the place from whence it came. England. His father. Hard memories returned, making him scowl. “I hate the loss of life, yet I find myself relieved to be free of my father’s mandate.”

  Holden shook his head. “Don’t be too relieved. You may yet be a bridegroom. There were survivors.”

  Snorting in disdain, Ransom yanked off the black ribbon that held his shoulder length hair back and ran his hands through the thick mane. “There would be,” he groaned, his head beginning to ache.

  Inside, Holden poured two brandies and handed one to him. Ransom took the drink and gazed at his friend. Holden had been with him since before his arrival to America. From the moment they met in a West Indies tavern, both homeless and destined to drift, they formed a bond that grew stronger as they moved closer to their destiny. Ransom had hired Holden as first mate on the second ship he bought. That ship had become the Ebony. There were several other ships, but they were awaiting the end of the war to resume their trade routes.

  “We gonna go see if she was one of them?” Holden asked.

  Sighing heavily, Ransom sipped his drink. “Do we have a choice?” Holden shrugged. “I didn’t think my luck would stay all good.” He set his glass aside. Slowly, he stretched his muscles until he felt his black silk shirt strain across his shoulders.

  “I need a few hours sleep after last night’s raid. See if we can get a steamer from Nyack in the next day or two. We can take one of my ships from New York.” He yawned as he made his way to the door. “Give the men a few days off while we settle this,” he added. “No sense in all of us being made to suffer.”

  Ransom scowled as he left the room. It was possible he would soon have a bride. There would have been no problem had he loved his father less, or himself more. He would simply have turned his back and lived the life he desired. But therein lay the rub. He climbed the stairs slowly. He hated England, but not as much as he loved his father.

  Resolved, Ransom knew he would free his father of a large debt by marrying the duke’s daughter—if she still lived.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “There were twelve survivors,” the doctor informed Ransom as they walked to the room where women patients were kept. “Three died from internal injuries within the first two days.” He opened the door and pointed to the far end of the room. “Last bed on the left,” he told him.

  Ransom wondered how he would identify a woman he had never seen. He didn’t even know her given name, but he had heard she was a beauty. Unfortunately, even that would not help. The doctor said the woman had been struck in the face by debris from the wreck. She would be bandaged.

  As he neared the bed, he frowned. Beneath the blankets he could see the person was small, like a child. She was on her side, her back to him. Her hair was hidden beneath some sort of cap. There was nothing that even resembled a woman.

  “Has she regained consciousness?” he asked, holding his voice steady.

  “Not really.” The doctor checked to see if she was even breathing. “From time to time she calls out for some viscount, but nothing else.”

  Ransom gave up his title when he left England. Few knew of it, so he could disclaim knowledge of the title easily. But when the doctor reached into a small drawer beside her bed and withdrew a ring and a tattered ribbon, Ransom knew Lady Thorpe had survived.

  “She was wearing this about her neck,” he handed the ring to her visitor and stepped back.

  Turning the distinctive ring over in his fingers, Ransom sighed. “This is the woman I seek.” He ripped away the ribbon and slipped the ring on his finger. Ransom looked at his prospective bride, but there was no way to see beyond the bandages and swelling. What little he could see was either distorted or discolored.

  For a moment, he pitied the woman. She had come so far at her father’s bidding. He knew she was escaping a scandal, yet she was as much a pawn as he. Damn the British for their stiff social rules. So she had been indiscreet; was that any reason to have her punished so severely?

  “Will she live?” he asked, momentarily tender.

  “I don’t know, Captain Kent,” the doctor sighed. “She’s weak and doesn’t seem to be making any improvements.”

  Abruptly, he turned away from her and the sympathy he felt. Ransom left the room with long strides. Outside in the hall, he turned to the doctor. “Can you find me a minister who will marry us?” he asked, his face a mask of indifference.

  “Why . . . yes,” he replied, clearly surprised by the request. “I think Pastor Williams would do it.”

  “See to it,” Ransom instructed. He may not like his peerage or the heritage that bred it, but it was always there when he needed to assume authority.

  The doctor nodded and made haste to do his bidding. Holden leaned against the wall, clearly amused with Ransom’s arrogance. “What do you want to marry her for? She might die.”

  “True,” Ransom shrugged, “but the debt will be paid and the promise met.” He strode back and forth in the hall, his black Hessian boots beating a steady tattoo on the floor. “If she lives, it’s done and I can get on with my life.”

  Half an hour later, the stick-thin pastor came running into the ward, his bible clutched in his hands and his black coat flapping about his thighs. “Captain Kent,” he called. “I understand you have some need of me.”

  “Can you perform a marriage for me?” Ransom asked, not wishing to dwell on the amenities.

  “That I can,” Pastor Williams smiled. “The doctor
informed me of the situation. It is a bit unorthodox, but under the circumstances I’m sure we can overlook any incongruities.”

  Ransom nodded. “Then let’s get it done.”

  It was a solemn group standing around the bed. Ransom took the woman’s limp hand in his as the pastor recited the words that bound them together. There was an awkward moment when Pastor Williams asked for her first name, but Ransom got through it with a request she be shown the respect of her station rather than admit he didn’t know. If the pastor considered an argument of the legality, Ransom’s scowl silenced him.

  When a ring was called for, Ransom removed the emerald from his hand and slid it onto her finger. He noticed she closed her hand to grasp it the moment he did.

  The pastor, obviously wrapped up in the glories of a wedding ceremony, extended his hand. “Congratulations, Captain!” he exclaimed. Ransom’s frown made him blush and stammer. “I . . . I’m sorry, I—”

  “Can we move her?” Ransom inquired of the doctor, dismissing the embarrassed clergyman.

  The doctor shrugged. “I can’t see why not. We can do no more for her here. You might as well take her home. Perhaps you have someone who can care for her better there.”

  Fully aware that the doctor would prefer she die somewhere away from the small hospital, Ransom instructed Holden to fetch some of his men. They would take her to the ship and sail back to New York. He considered leaving her there, but thought it best to ensconce her at Devil’s Head. Should the woman live, it would facilitate matters if he didn’t have her wandering about the countryside seeking him.

  Two of his men arrived quickly with a stretcher. She was so small, he could have carried her easily, but he might hurt her further. It was best she be handled gently—in case she did survive.

  Without a word, he followed the men to her bed. Very carefully they lifted her, bedding and all. She moaned and Ransom couldn’t help but wince. He was glad she was not awake to experience the pain of her injuries. Ridiculous. What was this to him? He shook off any momentary concern as he watched them take her away to his ship.

  “This should cover the expense of her stay,” he stated and pressed a sum into the doctor’s hand. The doctor smiled at the amount. “Holden, see to the documents.” Without another word, Ransom dismissed them all. He quit the room as quickly as his long legs would carry him.

  * * *

  Fortunately, it was only two days journey to Devil’s Head. Ransom hadn’t thought ahead to secure someone to see to his wife on the voyage, but Holden had found an old woman seeking passage to New York who would tend to the lady for her fare.

  Relieved of the responsibility, he kept to the deck. It was odd how her presence aboard brought things to mind he had not considered for years. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t wanted a wife and now he had one he didn’t even know. But how could knowing her help him in any way? He had been betrayed by the same woman as Lord Marshant. Both men had known her. And it had cost Marshant his life and Ransom his heritage. He had no lingering regrets about his losses, but he often recalled how he had killed an innocent man because of the woman’s duplicity.

  His life had taken a positive turn after he arrived in America. He had found a purpose and had pledged himself completely to this young country. But he would always bear the guilt of killing a man so a woman could wed her lover.

  As he thought of his own past, he wondered what transgression his wife had committed. Had she been as devious as Lady Marshant? Had others suffered for what she had done? Or had she merely taken a lover and gotten caught? He couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of how the man involved was probably still being applauded for his conquest, even as the woman lay dying for the same sin.

  He shook off the melancholia and strode to the wheel. “I’ll take it for a while,” he sighed. The watch stepped aside, relinquishing the right to his captain.

  Ransom felt joy in the power of his ship as she made her way toward the city. This was the best life had to offer, he thought. A good ship. A fine crew. The wind and the sea as his companions. He didn’t need this wife. He looked up at the billowing sails with a sigh. If this woman lived, he would leave her to enjoy her own life—as he intended to enjoy his.

  For eight years he had kept his past buried. He didn’t intend to have her as a reminder. She could live in New York or Philadelphia if she wished. For that matter, she could return to England when the war was over.

  Holden came up to the bridge and stood beside him, his hands braced behind his back. “She’s still hangin’ on,” he murmured with a note of admiration in his voice. Ransom remained silent. He added, “For a little thing, she’s a fighter.”

  “Or she isn’t as badly hurt as the doctor said.”

  Holden glanced at his friend. “You don’t want her to be strong, do you?”

  Ransom sighed, thinking of the way she kept his ring clutched in her hand. “I don’t want her at all, but as I am stuck with her, I hope she will be happy to do as she pleases, expecting nothing from me.”

  * * *

  After leaving his ship in New York, and transferring to the steam ship for the voyage upriver, the trip was completed swiftly. Extra coin exchanged hands so the steam ship would stop at the base of the hill below Devil’s Head. Ransom wasn’t so concerned with getting his wife settled as much as he was with leaving her behind so he could resume his schedule. There were guns to deliver along the river. Another shipment reportedly was coming within the grasp of the Ebony.

  He was so deep in thought over his assignments that he could barely spare a moment to enjoy the magnificence of the river. Yet, with each trip, he still marveled at the beauty of the nearly vertical rock cliffs lining parts of the mighty river and the trees clutching desperately to the broken rocks at their base. He knew it well enough from memory by now. The new greens of early spring couldn’t even entice his glance. Not until they had passed the marsh did he divert his attention, focusing on the shore to be certain his black ship could not be seen.

  When his house became visible, he stared up at it. It was situated back from the river on a rise. He supposed it had been grand when well tended, but he had let it go. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the place; its run-down appearance kept visitors away. He knew they thought he was a slightly mad recluse and he took pains to nurture the image.

  The small ship pulled up beside his private dock and Holden jumped ashore to secure it. The two men who had journeyed up river with them lifted the litter and carefully made their way up the path toward the house. Ransom followed, still wondering if this was the right thing to do. As he neared the house and saw John Milton, his overseer, he realized it was too late to turn back.

  “Call your wife, John,” Ransom ordered, planning to leave the care of his new wife in her hands. There were few others he could trust. He kept his staff sparse to minimize the possibility that someone should discover what went on there.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” John nodded, going to the small house he and his wife occupied.

  “Where do you want her?” Holden asked, having halted the men in the foyer.

  Unsure whether there were any rooms except his and Holden’s ready to receive a guest, Ransom paused. “Alice will be here in a moment. She can tell you where she wants to put her.”

  He turned away, dismissing the entire episode as he made his way to his sanctuary. The library was his private domain and, at the moment, he needed it to rejuvenate his spirit.

  He eventually heard voices and knew Alice was taking care of the situation. After a moment of quiet, there was a knock at the door. He called for his friend to enter and handed him a brandy as he neared the desk.

  “She’ll be well taken care of,” Holden announced.

  Ransom shrugged noncommittally, then turned to a pile of papers on his desk. “We can still make the rendezvous with that arms shipment,” he said, resuming his role as though nothing had interfered with it.

  Holden leaned over to review the report. “And will we still make t
he run to New Orleans?”

  “I can’t see why not. We’ll have guns and they need them.” Grinning crookedly, Ransom leaned back in his chair. “Should be fun.”

  “Running a blockade could be called many things, but only you would call it fun,” Holden grunted and poured himself another drink. “Sometimes I think you have a death wish.”

  “No, my friend,” Ransom sighed, “I want to live. But I’m not afraid to die, especially if I do so helping my new country.”

  Holden lifted his drink in a toast. “Then to your success, my friend. Since I’ll be with you, I hope you live very long.”

  * * *

  “Such a little thing,” Alice muttered as the men lifted Catherine’s small body to the bed hastily prepared on the ground floor near the kitchen. After the men left, she began bathing the captain’s wife with a cloth.

  Alice examined her injuries. “Don’t think it’s broken,” she muttered as she tested the bruised cheek. She drew the wash cloth close to Catherine’s black and swollen eye. “You been banged up real good, girl, but I can’t figure why you ain’t wakin’ up.” Alice started to undo the buttons of Catherine’s nightgown. “You should have rallied by now. Holden said the accident was—” Alice gasped. “My God! You look nigh on ta starvin’!”

  Gently, Alice removed the soiled gown. She shook her head. “It’s like they just figured ya’d die and here ya was too weak ta ask for somethin’ ta eat and getting weaker all the time.” Alice finished the bath before she bustled to the kitchen to demand a rich broth. “And make sure it has plenty of finely chopped meat and vegetables,” she ordered.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ ta make no broth with,” the cook sniffed, hefting her bulk from a chair to pour herself a cup of tea.

  “Then get it!” Alice snapped. “It’s for the new mistress.” Beatrice cast a sidelong glance at Alice. “You daft? Ain’t no mistress would come ta this place. If’n there was one, ya don’t think she would stay with him!”