Rebel Dreams (9 page)

He watched as Evelyn ignored Hampton’s outstretched hand to
climb the steps into the kitchen. He liked Mr. Hampton, even though the man
strove to look bored whenever he taught him the tricks with strings or listened
to his news about the fight he’d won with Billy. He listened, and that was more
than most of Evelyn’s friends would do. And if Evelyn was going to marry him,
he was practically family and had to be trusted, despite what was being
whispered at the patriot meetings. Evelyn would never turn her back on friends
and become a Tory.

He’d have to go to Sudbury and prove it for himself.

Evelyn’s frantic message reached Alex at the unmentionable
hour of eight in the morning after a night of drowning his misery in a bottle
of rum. As the boy at the door waited for a reply, Alex staggered to the dormer
window of his tavern room, seeking light to read the letter.

It took a moment before Evelyn’s frantic phrases penetrated
Alex’s foggy mind. When they finally did, he crumpled the letter and sagged
against the low ceiling, his head upon his arm as he tried to concentrate. Why
would the boy go riding off at midnight to Sudbury? Where in hell was Sudbury?

Realizing the messenger was waiting, Alex reached in his
pocket and flung him a coin. “Tell Miss Wellington I’ll be right there. And
tell the stable to saddle my horse.”

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.”