Rebel Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  Thank the devil he’d purchased a decent mount last week. He had a suspicion Sudbury was not in the immediate vicinity. Jacob had seemed like a sensible lad. Why the deuce would he ride out in the middle of the night, leaving only a note to tell of his destination?

  Jerking on yesterday’s shirt and stockings, Alex recalled bits of last night’s argument with Evelyn. The memory of how she had felt in his arms came more vividly, and he groaned as his cock responded.

  There weren’t enough barmaids in all of Boston to satisfy his craving for the termagant. Even the demon rum didn’t help.

  He stomped out of the inn without shaving or locating a pressed cravat. The August heat was sufficient to ignore the formality of coat or vest. He had combed his hair back with his fingers and wrapped a ribbon in it to keep it from his face, but he probably looked like hell. He might as well look like he felt. If the brat had left at midnight, he was over eight hours gone. He could be anywhere.

  Evelyn opened the door at his rap. Her stare warned that his half-dressed, unshaven state made him look the part of murderous pirate.

  “What is this nonsense about Jacob running off to Sudbury? What is in Sudbury?” he demanded, stomping into the drawing room adorned with delicate Queen Anne furniture that made him feel like a bull in a china shop. Evelyn sent his polished riding boots a nervous glance, but he managed to avoid the curved legs of the curio cabinet.

  “I don’t know. Jacob’s never run away before. Mama has gone over to Uncle George’s to see if he can help, but he’s no great horseman. The carriage will take hours on those rutted roads.”

  “Jacob rode? On what?”

  “They said at the livery he took the gray a little after midnight.”

  “What makes you think the boy is in any danger? It sounds as if he knows what he’s doing to me.”

  Evelyn stared at her clasped hands. “He was still awake when I came in last night. I heard him moving about. Alex, I think he overheard us. I think he might be looking for the smugglers in Sudbury. And if Uncle George does have any connection . . . I tried to stop Mama from telling him, but what could I say?”

  Alex cursed at the pain in her plaintive cry. She was all violet eyes and smudged lashes this morning. Even her lovely hair was still caught in the single braid she must have worn to bed. Wisps curled about her face, and he touched them wonderingly. She had called him by his given name, as if she was starting to trust him.

  She didn’t brush away his touch, and Alex sighed in surrender. “Give me the directions to Sudbury. I’ll find the young scamp and give him the dressing-down he deserves.”

  “I could go with you. I don’t know the road well, but—”

  Alex interrupted with an abrupt gesture. “I can go faster by myself. If he is in any danger, I don’t wish to worry about another hostage. You stay here in case he returns or if there are any messages.”

  Such as ransom notes or reports of dead bodies. Evelyn apparently read that thought in his black expression. She paled even further. “Let me call on some friends to help. You cannot go alone. I know we make deliveries to the inn at Sudbury. It must be twenty miles or more.”

  “Good, then if I’m not back within four hours, send your most trusted friends, ones you can be certain have naught to do with this.” Alex caught her chin in his hand and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Do not look so, love. Jacob is probably sound asleep in a hayloft. I’m not inclined to risk my precious hide by attacking a band of dangerous thieves. Quit fretting and be patient. I’ll be right back.”

  The look of relief on her face was so obvious that he felt a great scoundrel, but he left her with the lie. Twenty miles could be covered three times over in eight hours, even with the livery’s worst nags.

  ***

  The dust flew beneath the horse’s hooves as Alex left the town’s cobblestones behind. In fits of restless energy he had ridden out this way before, but never with any destination in mind. It was time he began learning the lay of the land.

  Over the first miles he cursed himself for never having joined the army or learned anything constructive that would aid him in a situation like this. He knew how to wield a sword, but only in play. He was an excellent marksman, but he had aimed a weapon only against game birds and the occasional fox. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he had led the life of an idle gentleman for too many years. Now that he had discovered he enjoyed using his hands and wit to earn his way, he had little time to practice weaponry. The most dangerous ruffians he had encountered lately were drunken sailors in the back alleys of the ports he frequented. His fists alone were sufficient to end those encounters.

  His failures haunted his thoughts, but not more so than Evelyn’s face lighting when she thought her brother safe because he said so. He should have warned her of the improbability of finding a needle in a haystack. She was as cynical as he. Why had she believed his nonsense? They both had moths in their upper stories.

  Cursing his untimely gallantry, Alex stopped to water his horse before driving the poor animal harder. He’d better solve this smuggling problem before he lost track of the way of the world. Before long he would even begin imagining she felt something for him beyond the lust they shared.

  Alex finally reached a clearing containing the substantial establishment he had been told was the Wayside Inn. The lack of originality in the name matched the inn’s appearance. It was a roadside tavern and nothing more. He looked around for some sign that would indicate the direction of the town or the Stockton Company. Presumably that would be the direction Jacob would have taken.

  Seeing nothing that so much as represented human habitation besides the inn, he dismounted by the stable. Jacob’s horse hadn’t returned to the livery. It had to be somewhere.

  Tying his gelding to the hitching post, Alex glanced inside the stable. Business apparently wasn’t booming. He could see only two moth-eaten nags in the place, and one looked familiar. Glancing toward the windows of the inn and seeing no one, he slipped into the cool darkness of the stable to verify his suspicion.

  The mottled gray was unmistakable. The livery had only one mean animal of that description. Luck was with him. Jacob had come here. Alex climbed into the hayloft.

  That was too easy. No sign of Jacob or the usual vagrants who paid a penny for a night’s lodging. The morning was growing too late for anyone to be abed. Dropping down, Alex strolled toward the inn. He had no idea how one went about searching for a boy without raising suspicions, but he knew people fairly well. He would judge his actions based on the kind of people he found inside.

  That decision lasted only long enough to discover there were no people inside, or at least none to be seen. Hoping Jacob would hear him and give some sign of his whereabouts, Alex raised his voice in bellows that should have shaken the rafters had they not been three-foot timbers. “Halloo-oo! Is anybody here? Where the deuce is everybody? I’m a starving man!”

  A worn middle-aged woman in unpressed cap and spattered apron appeared from a door behind the bar. The room had only one window, and at this time of day, no lamps were lit. The smoke-blackened timbers formed a dim background for the plank trestle tables. Alex didn’t see her approach until she spoke up.

  “Is there something you be wanting?” She spoke without inflection, but the lack of polite address hinted at insult.

  Alex chose caution as he regarded her lined and weary face. “I’m starving, madam. There’s too long a ride to Boston to wait. Have you a bite to eat?”

  She gave his linen shirt, ancient rifle, and powder horn a second glance, then shrugged. “There be a rasher of bacon and an egg or two, I wager.”

  “I could eat half the hog and as many eggs as the hens can lay,” Alex boasted with a swagger toward the door. “Cook up whatever you can find while I make use of your facilities. It’s been a long night.”

  As in any other inn, the hall would eventually lead out back to the privy and possibly a public washbowl. But there were rooms to either side that he could check
while the woman was busy in the kitchen. Watching her amble off and checking the stair to the rooms above and finding no one in sight, Alex started with the first door on the left. The private dining room was unlocked and empty. He found a larder and a closet with no visible means of hiding even the smallest of boys. He didn’t dare search the kitchen yet. It would be more likely the boy would be kept upstairs if he were there at all. But before risking that, he would check the outside buildings.

  Alex checked the toolshed and the firewood bin on the way to the privy. On his return, he spotted the trapdoor to the cellars beneath the inn. The cellar! If Jacob had some notion of proving that this inn kept illegal brandy, he would check the cellar first. Glancing around and verifying no one was in sight, he strode across the dirt yard to the trapdoor.

  A bolt held it in place, but no key. Sliding the pin from the bolt and carrying it with him, Alex swung the door open. He had no lamp to search the dark and no time to look for one. Hoping for the best, he stepped down the crude stone steps into the darkness.

  He halted at the foot until his eyes adjusted. A muffled cry caught his attention, and a small figure flung himself out of the black and into Alex’s arms.

  Before he could even verify that the boy was unhurt, a shadow crossed the opening above. Thinking quickly, Alex grasped the back of the boy’s shirt and shook him. “You little fool! What have I told you about running away like that! When I get you home I’m going to thrash you within an inch of your life, just see that I don’t! I don’t know what the deuce—”

  A voice from above interrupted. “There some trouble mister?”

  Alex glanced upward as if in surprise. “You the owner of this place?”

  “And if I am?” The man stood with arms akimbo in the cellar entrance. Little of his features could be seen against the bright light of the sky behind him.

  “If you are, I’m much obliged to you for keeping this rascal under lock and key.” Alex shoved Jacob toward the stairs. “Get up there, boy. Your mama’s worried sick.”

  Jacob didn’t have to be told twice. Terrified, he scrambled away toward the safety of daylight, even if it meant scampering between the legs of the man who had imprisoned him. The man stepped out of his way to let him by, and Alex emerged in time to catch Jacob’s shirt by the neck again.

  He faced the wiry, unkempt inn owner with a shrug of his shoulders. “The lad’s willful and knows when he’s going to get beaten, so he runs away. I’m obliged to you for teaching him a lesson. His mama is poorly, and she’s almighty shaken by his contrariness.”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, the innkeeper glared at Jacob and spat a wad of tobacco into the yard. “Found him down in my cellars last night and thought he was a thief. That his horse I found in the woods?”

  “He stole it from the livery. Always does. Like I said, he’s lazy and willful. If you don’t mind, your woman is cooking up some breakfast inside, and I’m starved, came away without a bite to eat. I’ll pay you for your troubles. The lad will work it out in wages later.” Alex was already edging his prisoner toward the inn. If he had to make a break for it, he wanted to be as close to his horse as possible.

  The mention of money seemed to remove any further suspicion. The man shrugged and began to amble off. “Thrash him for me when he gets home. Women are too soft on them.”

  Alex released a ragged sigh as the man disappeared around the corner. Not daring to look the terrified Jacob in the face just yet, he pointed at the washbowl. “Scrub. We’re not going anywhere until I eat.”

  As it turned out, Jacob ate half the huge meal the woman laid out for them. The mug of ale Alex had ordered sat virtually untouched as he watched the boy put away what must surely have been his weight in food. When he wiped the plate clean with a crust of bread and polished his mouth with his napkin, Alex asked dryly, “Would you care for more?”

  Jacob grinned and stifled a burp. “No, thank you. That’ll hold me.”

  Alex rose and laid the coins for the fare on the table. “I’m going to recommend that thrashing when we get back. I’ll personally administer it, if necessary.”

  The smile left Jacob’s face, and he watched Alex warily as they left the inn for the stable. “I was just trying to help.” He glanced around to see that they were alone and whispered, “The crates are down there. I saw them.”

  Alex threw the boy up on his miserable nag and climbed onto his own horse, waiting until they were clear of the stable before replying. “Would it have helped if you got your fool head shot off? As it is, if the man has any brains at all, he’ll move the crates tonight. We have to work together, not all go our separate ways, if we wish to accomplish anything.”

  “That’s what they said at the meeting the other night,” Jacob informed him gloomily, “but I don’t see nobody getting much done.”

  “What meeting?” Alex demanded.

  Realizing he’d said too much, Jacob shook his head. “I’m sorry. Is Mama truly scared? I thought I’d be back before she got up.”

  “Your whole family is scared, including your sister. I ought to thrash you just for that. From now on, if you have any bright ideas, take them to me or Evelyn before you act.”

  Jacob yawned hugely and nodded. “I knew you were a right one, Mr. Hampton. I told them so, but nobody would believe me. You ain’t no Tory, are you? The smugglers are. I’ll make them understand so they won’t be mad at Evelyn anymore.”

  The boy was rambling, half-asleep and still in shock. Alex didn’t know how much sense to make of his words. Since most of the colonists were Whigs, he could almost wager the smugglers were too, but what politics had to do with anything eluded him. “Tory” seemed to be an epithet with more meaning than he applied to it. And who was this “they” who were angry at Evelyn? Was there some other reason besides overwork that was causing the sleepless shadows under her eyes?

  Vowing to find out more, Alex almost missed Jacob’s nodding forward over his saddle. Just in time, he grabbed the boy’s shirt before he could slide off. Too sleepy to protest, Jacob allowed himself to be removed from his horse. He snuggled into Alex’s arms and nodded off again. Alex made him comfortable in the saddle, and leading the livery nag, started the long ride home. His friends in London were never going to believe this.

  ***

  When Alex rode up with Jacob safely tucked in his arms, Evelyn flew out the door with her mother close on her heels. Mrs. Wellington led Jacob away, scolding while examining him for injuries at the same time.

  Half-dressed, filthy, and looking exhausted, Alex wasn’t the idle dandy Evelyn had first met. She owed him much for returning Jacob. Wiping away tears of relief, she laid a hand on Alex’s bridle. “Won’t you come in? I’ll have Molly bring you some tea and breakfast. You must be starved.”

  He shook his head curtly. “We ate. He’ll tell you about it when he wakes up. I better go make myself respectable.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible. Presentable, yes. Respectable, never,” she said with a grin. “Come down or my mother will never forgive you for making her appear ungrateful. She’ll remember you’re here in a moment.”

  Swinging down, Alex landed in front of her with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. “Do you wish to show me your gratitude too?”

  “I would if I thought there were any way to do it and still keep my respectability. As it is, you will have to be satisfied with this.” Resting her hands on his chest, Evelyn stood on her toes and kissed his bristly cheek. He smelled of horse sweat and ale, and the masculine scents went straight to her head. When he caught her hands and held them against his shirt, she was grateful for his steadiness.

  “Did you think doing that in public would keep it respectable?”

  The dark glimmer of his eyes held her enthralled. Not a hint of a smile cracked his hard features, but she heard his pleasure in the low rumble of his voice. With a wide grin, she gave him back his own. “No, I figured your stink would accomplish that. I’ll get no closer.”

  He g
rowled and she shrieked in mock terror, and when Amanda Wellington came down the stairs a minute later, she was nearly bowled over as the two charged through the front room like a couple of yearlings.

  Chapter 7

  Unable to breach the Sons of Liberty meetings now that they had moved to all-male taverns, Evelyn was as much in the dark as the rest of the populace on the morning of the fourteenth of August. The effigies appearing in the spreading branches of the elm just off Newbury brought people running.

  “If they intended to declare rebellion, that’s a good way to do it,” she mused to her mother, who had accompanied her to see what the talk was about.

  “What do they mean by hanging Andrew Oliver?” her mother asked in puzzlement. “Surely the patriots do not mean to actually hang the man?”

  The stamp-tax collector was one of Uncle George’s closest cronies. Evelyn understood her mother’s concern. “Surely the patriots don’t mean to resort to murder,” she said reassuringly.

  But if they did, would they stop at Oliver? There were too many hated names on people’s tongues these days, her uncle’s among them. The threat of violence smoked the air.

  Evelyn sent her mother home, then hurried toward the warehouse. Alex met her before she reached the wharf.

  “What is going on?” he demanded. “The whole damned town’s on holiday.”

  How could she explain? He knew nothing of the patriots, cared less about their problems. Wordlessly, she turned and led him toward the Liberty Tree.

  He frowned at the throng gathering beneath the spreading branches. Evelyn tried to see the mob through his eyes. These weren’t riotous noisemakers like those she’d heard often tore up the streets of London. This was a holiday crowd of respectable people. True, there were those who were drinking. And angry voices lifted in argument as always. But for the most part the crowd merely seemed triumphant to have their opinions stated.

  Recognizing a friend of the governor’s, Evelyn signaled him.

  After the introductions, Alex asked, “Why is nothing being done to disperse this mob? Isn’t it potentially dangerous?”