The Irish Rogue

by Judith E. French

  "Annie, Annie," he replied. "Calm yourself, and give us a kiss. All's well that ends well." He reached for her. "I did what we both wanted. I gave them all their freedom."

  Chapter 19

  O'Ryan moved to the table and lit a candle. "I suppose I deserve the thrashing. But I didn't want to expose you to any more danger than I already had."

  "Not knowing what you were doing was... You told me that my father treated me like a child. You do the same."

  He shook his head. "No, Annie. I never thought you a child. You are more woman than any female I've ever known before."

  "Then why all the secrecy? Why can't you be honest with me?"

  He removed his coat and hung it carefully over the back of a chair. "Have I given you so much reason to doubt me?"

  "You have." Anne got out of bed and threw a lacy mantle around her shoulders. "From the first it's been one falsehood upon another. I doubt if O'Ryan is even your real name."

  "If I've kept certain things from you, it's been for your own good."

  "Damn you, Michael!" She folded her arms over her breasts and paced restlessly. "Do you have any idea how many times my father told me that? Did you ever think that I might have helped you get our people safely north?"

  He shrugged. "If I'm such a worthless blackguard, I'd have thought you glad to be rid of me."

  "With every cent I owned?"

  "If I'd told you what I meant to do, you might have tried to stop me." He took a step toward her and her heart thumped.

  "I wouldn't have." Lord help her, she found him desirable even now. Was she so weak that she'd forgive any wrong? "Tell me the truth. If I'd had the five thousand dollars to give you, would you be long gone?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe."

  "So where do we go from here? Either we're a team or we're not." She sank into a straight-backed chair, still shaken by his sudden return. "Tell me everything. Where are Abraham and his wife now?"

  "They dropped me on a sandbar off the southern coast of New Jersey, near Barnegat Bay."

  "You offered to let them take the boat?"

  "Actually, I sold it to Abraham for one hundred dollars, and I gave him a bill of sale."

  Gooseflesh rose on Anne's arms. "Abraham couldn't possibly have that much money."

  "In a manner of speaking, he did. I paid him for work he did here on the plantation for the past few years. Not enough, but something. He's a good sailor. If his luck holds, he'll be in Canada in a few weeks. I signed papers of freedom for them all."

  She sighed. "I'm glad you did it."

  He began to untie the elegant lace stock at his throat. "But? I sense a but coming."

  Anne made a small sound of distress. "I am relieved that they're safely away. But what do we do without workers? Our tobacco crop is promised. If we can't harvest, how will we pay that debt? Between us, we have enough for the first payment to Rawlings and Rawlings, but much more will be due next year. When our creditors find out that our slaves are gone, they will be certain that we sold them and kept the money."

  "Probably." He draped the white lace over the arm of the chair and began to undo his cufflinks.

  "This is serious, Michael. I cannot rely on the generosity of our friends, and I have no money to hire labor." She bit her lower lip. "Even if we had the cash to take on free men, there are few available. Most work their own land."

  "Is that all that concerns you?"

  She fought back tears as silence stretched between them. With one bold act Michael had deprived Gentleman's Folly of more money than she would see in a lifetime. But what he had done was morally right.

  "Is it just the money that troubles you, or is there something more?" He removed his shirt and stretched. Muscles rippled beneath the light dusting of golden hair on his chest, and she felt her pulse quicken.

  She couldn't take her eyes off him. How beautiful he was, she thought, all sleek and graceful, a man such as Eve must have discovered in the Garden of Eden. In another moment, she'd forget all her doubts—forget tomorrow—and lose herself in his hot embrace.

  "No," she stammered. "It's not just the money."

  "Our bargain?" He pulled off his boots, one at a time, and stood them beside the chair, then carelessly pushed a wayward section of hair off his forehead.

  Heat leaped between them in a glance. She had missed him every day, but not as much as she had missed him here in her bed... had dreamed of him being here.

  "What do you want me to say, Annie?"

  Say you love me, she thought desperately. Say that you want us to be together, not in an arrangement, but for always. But pride kept her from speaking the words that might drive him completely away.

  "Papa believed that slavery would come to an end in his lifetime, but he felt that the government should pay the price of freeing the slaves."

  "Yes, I know he did. He said as much to me once. But Abraham couldn't wait. I had to act." Michael crossed the room, stopping an arm's length away, clad only in his riding breeches and stockings.

  "What now?"

  He stroked her bare shoulder, a feather-light caress that sent shivers under the surface of her skin. "Now we try to save your plantation without slave labor."

  "Yes." She swallowed. "I agree." She moistened her dry lips. "But I want you to admit that you were wrong in not telling me what you were going to do before you ran off. You want trust, but you can't give it."

  "There's truth."

  His scent, his nearness, made her knees weak and her chest tight. "Tell me, Michael. Is it just business, or is there any chance for us?"

  His eyes held hers for what seemed an eternity. "Ah, you're one for the hard questions, aren't you?"

  "Do you care for me at all—in the way a man does a woman? Or is it just the money and what we have between the sheets?"

  He inhaled softly. "Aye, colleen, I do care for you. And I mean to see you through this mess you've found yourself in. But as for what happens when we've finished, I can't tell you. I don't know myself."

  "All right." The hollow ache inside swelled until she thought it would swallow her. All she could think of was how much she wanted to hear his loving lies and feel his arms around her.

  "It's not you, Anne, it's me."

  "No." She shook her head. "I asked for the truth. Don't try and soften it."

  He wanted to tell her what she wanted to hear. But that path was strewn with boulders. He swallowed hard. How the hell had he gotten himself into this? Love and marriage didn't go together. He'd learned the lesson all too well at his mother's knee—and later from a false sweetheart.

  Lucky at cards, unlucky at love. It had been his motto for more years than he cared to count.

  He should have laughed and carried her to the bed. He should have replied that she couldn't pretend theirs had been anything other than a business agreement from the start. He was fond of her, he might have said, but nothing more.

  But it was too late for those lies.

  Instead, he slipped his hand under her heavy mane of red-gold hair, caressing the nape of her neck. "Do you understand anything about Ireland?" he asked her.

  "A little. England holds your country in an iron fist."

  "True enough, and it's true also that there is a war there. It has gone on since long before my great-grandfather was weaned and will go on so long as English redcoats march on Irish lanes." He brushed her sweet mouth with his and felt her tremble in his arms.

  "You're a rebel?" she asked, when they paused long enough to draw breath.

  "Patriot." He kissed her again. "A soldier... in the cause..." Another kiss. "For... Irish freedom." He lowered his head to nuzzle her silken breasts.

  Her fingers teased and stroked the curves of his upper arms and shoulders. "Annie," he rasped, beginning to unbutton the front of her sleeping gown. Her nails scraped lightly in tantalizing circles over his skin.

  How had this woman slipped so deep behind his lines of defense? When he was with her, it felt to him as though they weren't two separat
e souls, but one. He dropped to his knees, the better to manage the tiny pearl buttons without losing contact with her warm, sweet flesh.

  "Michael." She sighed as he drew one swollen nipple between his lips.

  He fumbled with the buttons, then gave up and yanked the fragile garment asunder. Buttons flew across the room and hit the floor, but he didn't care. He clasped her narrow waist and slid his hands over her shapely buttocks as he trailed hot kisses over her flat belly and lower still.

  "I am a wanted man on Irish soil," he whispered. Auburn curls made his blood race and his mind spin, intoxicated by the woman-scent of her.

  He rained kisses over the soft nest, then glanced up into her wide-eyed gaze to add, "I escaped prison there on the day before I was to hang."

  She arched her back and groaned, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing his face deeper into the apex of her thighs. "Ah—ah..."

  He slipped two fingers inside, savoring the wet, delicious feel of her. She bucked against him, and he heard her gasp. "I can't wait," she cried. "Please!"

  He tore off his breeches and pulled her down to the floor, covering her with his body. "Annie, Annie." He moved quickly between her thighs and slid slowly inside, feeling her tight sheath contracting around his throbbing shaft.

  "Yes, yes," she moaned.

  He plunged deeper, and then the intensity of his desire drove him beyond control. She rose to meet him, wrapping her legs around him, crying with joy as they sought rapture together.

  Later, breathing heavily, lightly sheened with sweat, they lay in the tangle of his breeches and her ruined gown. "Darling, darling," he murmured.

  She nestled in the crook of his arm as he wound a length of her hair around his finger. "Have I shared my bed with a murderer?" she whispered.

  "A hard bed," he teased.

  Her dark eyes narrowed, and he saw that she wanted an answer.

  "You're asking me if I've killed men? Or if I've broken the Ten Commandments?"

  "You're good with words, Michael." She stroked the line of his jaw. "Are you a murderer?"

  "Nay." He kissed her bottom lip. "Nor a thief." He chuckled. "I've relieved a few landlords of their ill-gotten gains, but I've turned everything I ever acquired back to the people."

  She traced the outline of his mouth with her forefinger. "Will you tell me your real name?" she begged.

  He smiled and kissed her again. "I gave that to a lady, once," he admitted. "We were to be wed. Hell, we lived together as man and wife. But she sold me to an English captain and near cost me my neck."

  "You must have loved her very much."

  "I thought I did then. But that's the way of love, is it not? It deceives a man, makes him think day is night, and pain pleasure."

  "Is that woman Kathleen?"

  He laughed softly. "Nay. I've told you what Kathleen is to me." He sat up, pulling her with him. "This floor is getting harder by the minute."

  "Do you mean to return to Ireland?"

  "Nay." He rose to his feet and helped her up. "I'm weary of that fight, darling. It's time others took up the struggle."

  She tilted her head and looked at him strangely. "You are bitter."

  "Bitterness is bred into an Irishman's bones. If I gave that up, what would I have left? I've thrown away an inheritance large enough to buy Gentleman's Folly three times over. I've given my youth and my family to the ongoing war with the English tyrants. I've been shot, beaten, and almost sent to the gallows. That tends to stay with a man."

  "I think I could love you, O'Ryan," she said. "I think I do, in spite of everything. You could start over, here. We could start over."

  Her words sucked the breath from his chest and made his bones turn to water. "On my father's grave, I tell you that you mean more to me than any man or woman ever has," he admitted. "But I'm trouble. I'd bring naught to you but unhappiness. In the end, I'd break your heart... or you'd break mine."

  "Supposing you had a heart left to break."

  "Ah, Annie." He pulled her to him and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You do make me laugh."

  She pressed him gently away. "None of that," she said lightly. "What now? How do we find workmen when you've sent mine off to Canada?"

  "Am I forgiven for that?"

  She went to the high bed and climbed up into it. "Probably. But I won't forget the way you went about it." She beckoned to him. "Put out the light and come to bed. We can talk about that tomorrow."

  He chuckled. "You're not sending me to sleep in the barn?" He wanted her again already. They might go to bed, but he doubted that either would get much rest this night. He wanted to feel her against him, to make her his for a little while, at least.

  She laughed. "I should send you to the stables, but if I did, I'd follow you there."

  He joined her, leaning lazily back against the heaped pillows. "I've given you enough of my heart's blood to send me back to Ireland in chains."

  "No more talk," she said as she put her arms around his neck. "Tomorrow we'll worry about the plantation and your wicked past."

  "Not tonight," he teased, kissing her soundly.

  "No," she answered softly. "Not tonight."

  * * *

  The following morning, Anne and O'Ryan shared a lovers' breakfast of scrambled eggs, biscuits, and fresh-caught fish, all of which he cooked and served. As they ate, Anne told him how much money she'd gotten from selling off the livestock and household goods.

  They decided to travel to Annapolis together and pay off the first installment to Rawlings and Rawlings before going on to Baltimore to look for Sean Cleary and his family.

  "I've been thinking," Anne said. "You told me that there are a lot of Irish immigrants in Baltimore. And if your friend Sean is such a good worker, perhaps we might find other laborers there, Irishmen who would be willing to come here and—"

  "Do our farm labor."

  "Exactly," she said.

  "That would be a brilliant idea if we had the money to pay their hire. We've a little extra, after we pay your creditors, but remember, no merchant will give you anything without cash payment. If we took on ten, perhaps twelve workmen, we'd have to support them through the winter."

  "I know, but what if..." She placed her cup on the table and continued in a rush. "What if we promised them land?"

  "What?"

  "Land of their own? So many acres for working for, say, five years."

  "Most of these men are desperate. They'd trade their right arms for an acre of land. But are you willing to give up part of Gentleman's Folly for—"

  "I can give up a little to save the rest. Besides, Papa has some scattered holdings, good land, on the water, that aren't part of the main parcel. I think we can work something out that I can live with."

  "You're serious," he said.

  "Absolutely. Without laborers, we can't get our crops planted or harvested."

  "You know some of these men will have families, wives, children, perhaps elderly relatives. They won't leave them in Baltimore."

  "They will be welcome here if the men are willing to work. I'll put up with no drunkards or slackers. I'll expect fair exchange for what I'm offering."

  "It's worth a try, Mrs. O'Ryan. But pack sensible shoes, a plain dress, and an old bonnet."

  "You don't like my blue taffeta?" she asked, glancing down at the dress she had on.

  "You're as pretty as a picture," he replied. "But where we're going, you'd be as out of place as an ox in a horse race."

  * * *

  After completing their business in Annapolis, O'Ryan and Anne took passage with a merchant delivering imported china and cheese to Baltimore. They had supper at a busy inn near the wharf, so that Anne's arriving garbed as a fine lady and leaving as a country farmer's wife caused barely a ripple of gossip among the servants.

  She wasn't the only one who had changed her appearance. When she emerged from the ladies' necessary in her new persona, she found that O'Ryan had altered his station as well. He had traded his fine w
ool trousers for tight-fitting buckskin breeches, his sky-blue English riding coat for a well-worn, double-breasted tailcoat of indeterminate color, and his Irish lace stock for a tradesman's linen one. His leather boots remained, but instead of the elegant, low-crowned top hat, he wore a green felt tricorne.

  "I don't understand," Anne persisted as O'Ryan led her out into the twilight. "Why the masquerade?"

  "Where we're going, that garb would brand us as gentlefolk. Such clothing would keep a starving family in food for months. 'Tis easier to shed it than for me to spend needless energy to prevent a pack of predators from slitting our throats."

  Anne noticed the thick oaken walking stick that O'Ryan had acquired in her absence. "Thieves? You want me to go back into the sort of area that almost got me killed in Philadelphia?"

  He caught her arm and pulled her back as a team of horses trotted past, drawing a heavily loaded wagon. "Careful, sweet," he warned.

  They were walking through a newly constructed commercial area of the town. Shops and businesses rose on either side of the narrow street, and the air was heavy with the scents of new lumber and smoke. Tradesmen hurried past, dodging ox-drawn vehicles and farmers on horseback. Anne saw no other women but plenty of barking dogs, chickens, and even a stray pig. Obviously, this section of emerging Baltimore was nothing like the gracious port town of Annapolis.

  "Why, O'Ryan? Why come here if it is so unsafe?" She didn't see anyone she thought was particularly dangerous. True, many of the passersby were unshaved or roughly dressed, but all seemed honest enough. And most seemed to be workmen on their way home.

  Her husband chuckled. "How is it that I am Michael when you are happy with me, and O'Ryan when you're not?"

  "I'm certain neither is your true name," she replied. "I may as well call you Bill or Patrick." She lifted her skirts to avoid a puddle.

  "Rest easy, Annie. Michael was the name given me at my christening."

  She studied his expression to see if he was telling the truth. "You swear it?" she asked.

  "On my mother's soul."

  "All right." Anne walked on for a while and then asked, "If this doesn't work, what do we do then? Depend on your skill at gambling?"