Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (6 page)

And when the colonists had dared to protest, parliament had passed the “Coercive Acts”—again without colonial representation and in violation of their political rights, human rights, and their colonial charters. Americans had been disenfranchised by a distant government. Compromise and communication had been cut off. In the face of such harshness, what was left?

He side-stepped as a group of drunken sailors tumbled out of a tavern, fighting amongst themselves, fists and feet flying. He stepped over one prone body, almost hoping someone would challenge him and give him an excuse to vent his aggression, but the look on his face seemed enough to warn the sailors away. He continued without interruption.

The incident alerted his native caution. The drunks could just as well have been British spies lying in wait for him. The thought quickened his step and made him take mental inventory of anything he was carrying that could implicate him in espionage. He pushed his hand into a pocket, touched a crumpled piece of paper, and removed the letter from his pocket, then scanned the lines to commit them to memory before dropping it on a street urchin’s small fire on his way by.

The letter from his father had informed him that his sister, Fiona, was with child for the second time in as many years. Ryan’s former fiancée—who’d jilted him when he’d come to England— had married a loyalist. His father was at his wit’s end trying to comfort his mother—who was sunk in alternate melancholy and hysteria, demanding her son be returned from England. Would Ryan please find a way to get her word that he was well? He’d already penned a quick reply while Johnson had gone over his reports.

The only news that did not disturb him was that of his fiancée. She could not hold a candle to Miss Emily Nevins. He was no longer the same man who had courted the flighty colonial miss so long ago. Nor was he the man she had accepted.

He turned a corner and a blast of cold salt air slammed into him. The chill went clear to his bones. How he longed to see his family again, feel the balmy Virginia breezes, and keep the company of people he did not have to deceive. And he
could
go home, Johnson had told him, once he’d secured the operation. He may have been stretching his luck to the breaking point for the last year, but the greatest risk he’d taken was leaving Emily Nevins alive.

Devil take it! She was contentious, willful, and bad-tempered. He could curse her from here to Sunday for the way she had complicated his life. But he couldn’t forget the way she had melted in his arms, the way her lips had fused to his, and the wanton way she had plucked at the buttons of his waistcoat. Ice might form where she glanced, but the fires that burned deep within Emily Nevins could torch an entire city.

Ah, the irony! Because of Emily, he was trapped. God only knew what her conscience might bid her to do. He’d already jeopardized his mission by not informing Johnson of that particular complication. Yes, he had unfinished business in England. And if his luck held just a little longer, he’d have the information Johnson needed.

And he’d do whatever must be done to see that his luck held.

Chapter Six

Emily turned in her bed and glanced toward the open window. A light breeze stirred the curtains. There was a whisper in the wind tonight, something sinister. Something that had awakened her.

A rattle at the kitchen door sent her flying from her bed. She seized a robe from the bedside chair and wrapped it around herself as she tiptoed to the door and pressed an ear against the wood. Her pistol was in the desk drawer. Dare she risk going downstairs? Heart thumping wildly in her chest, she looked around the bedroom for anything she could use as a weapon. Nothing but the poker by the fireplace!

She seized the iron rod and opened her door a mere crack, easing the hinges so they wouldn’t squeak. Her throat constricted when she heard the soft pad of footsteps climbing the stairs. She could not have screamed if she wanted to. She raised the poker and pressed herself against the wall next to the door, then risked a peek into the hallway.

A shapeless, lumbering form appeared at the head of the stairs, and Emily took a deep breath to brace for a fight.

“Blast!”

The soft word in Bridey’s voice was reassuring, but she shrank into the shadows, not knowing if the maid was being forced to lead some thief or brigand to the valuables. When she topped the stairs, Bridey appeared to be quite alone.

Emily exhaled and dropped her arm, weak with relief.

Bridey shrieked and clutched at her heart. “Oh, miss! You gave me such a fright!”

“Why are you sneaking up the stairs, Bridey? It must be past midnight.”

“As scared as you are, miss, that’s only half what I was when he knocked on my door.”

“Who?” Oh, pray Mr. Sutton had not dragged Bridey into their dispute.

“That French devil, Reynard. Says he has your brandy, and it’s now or never, miss.”

“Oh! That…that inconvenient man! Where is he now?”

“He went back to the shore, miss. Told me to fetch you and come straight away.”

She was already turning back to her room to pull on a gown and boots. “Wake Simon and have him meet me at the beach. Then go back to bed. I won’t have you risking life and limb for this endeavor.”

Moments later she was donning her black cloak and glancing at the clock in the library. Half past one! The tide would turn shortly. Whatever had possessed the Frenchman to come without warning? It was barely a week since his last visit.

She took the freshly loaded pistol from her desk drawer and shoved it in the deep pocket of her cloak before she slipped through the narrow opening in the bookcase and pulled it closed behind her. After lighting the oil lamp and lowering the glass globe around the flame, she retrieved her money pouch and slipped it in her pocket with the pistol. A prickle of misgiving raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck and made her shiver.
Someone walking across your grave
, her mother used to say.

In the past few days, she and Bridey had removed enough rubble in the secret tunnel to allow easy passage, and Simon had braced fresh timbers at the crossbeams. The tunnel seemed endless, and the absolute darkness swallowed the lantern light, illuminating no more than ten feet ahead of her.

When she reached the end of the tunnel, she placed the lantern on the dirt floor and turned the wick down, leaving it burning for her return. The salt air carried the sound of voices arguing. She pushed the trailing foliage and tree roots aside to step into the open air.

She blinked. Her maid had disregarded her instructions and come to the cove. “Bridey? What are you doing here?”

“Won’t have you facing that French devil alone, miss. Planned deliveries is one thing, surprise arrivals is another.”

“I am not alone, Bridey. Simon is always with me.”

“Pah! Simon’ll be busy with the unloading. If there’s only the two of you, what’s to stop that wily Frenchman from throwing a sack over your head and—?”

“Greed, Bridey. He wouldn’t kill or abduct one of his best customers. Honor among thieves, remember?”

“Couldn’t stop her from coming, Miss Emily,” Simon told her as he joined them. “Short of tyin’ her up, there weren’t nothin’ I could do.”

There was no time for argument. Every minute the smugglers lay at anchor was another minute a Navy sloop of war could discover them. “Come, then, but this is the last time.”

Reynard was waiting at the ocean’s edge. A skiff bearing hogsheads of wine was being unloaded on the shore, and another skiff had been beached to await Reynard’s return. He hurried toward her when he saw her, one hand out in a gesture of relief.

“At last you come, eh,
Anglaise
?”

“I cannot pay you, captain. Simon has not found buyers for all the lace yet. You did not warn me you would be back so soon.”

“
Excusez-moi
. It is me. I wait. I am not good at the waiting.”

Reynard must have some reason to be anxious other than being pleased to see her. “You said you have brandy? I cannot take a full shipment.”

“Yes, yes, the brandy.” Reynard waved toward his first mate and the sailors unloading barrels. He took several steps toward the skiff. “You come look, no?”

She took an instinctive step backward, and Bridey clung to her cloak.

“I require of you the favor, eh? After we leave you last week, your navy fires upon me. The
Sea Fox
is faster than their frigate, and we escape. But we cannot return ’ome. We lay in at a cove to make the repairs to the mast and ’ull.”

“I am sorry for your misfortunes, Captain, but I know nothing of how to repair ships.”

“
Mon Dieu!
Misfortune comes not alone, eh? Come look, then all becomes clear. I give to you my sacred honor no trickery is at ’and.”

She touched the heavy bulge of her pistol in her pocket and was somewhat reassured. She believed what she had told Bridey—that Reynard would not harm her because it was not in his best interests to do so. Still, he was French and unpredictable. She took a few cautious steps toward the skiff.

Bridey gave a sharp tug on her sleeve, but Emily shot her a quelling glance. Leaving Simon to supervise the unloading, she followed Captain Reynard to the ocean’s edge next to the waiting skiff.

A feverish young man lay upon a litter, thrashing and murmuring intermittently. She frowned. “I do not understand, Captain.”

His brow lowered. “’Ow can I make it plain?”

“I must be missing some French subtlety,” she snapped. She was not entirely comfortable so far from Simon, and only the thump of casks being loaded on the dray kept her there—enough brandy to pay the last installment of taxes and mortgage if she could convince Reynard she was good for the second half. Oh, but how could she take favors from the man?

Reynard began pacing. “’E is wounded. The musket ball. In the skirmish with your navy.”

“I gathered as much.” She fought a niggling of guilt. The young smuggler had been wounded bringing
her
brandy. Did Reynard hold her responsible? Ah, but he’d admitted he had not returned to France after leaving Oak Hill, so he’d had the brandy in his hull all along. Saved to sell for a higher price to another customer, no doubt. And now he was bartering the brandy he’d refused her a week ago for her help now.

“‘E ’as the fever.” Reynard continued.

Emily sighed, knowing she was lost. The sailor’s fair hair clung to his head in damp curls, and he muttered a few words in his native language before falling silent again. She knelt and placed her hand on the man’s forehead. He was burning up. “I have little skill in these matters, Captain. You must take him to a doctor at once.”

“
Sacre bleu!
That I cannot do,
Anglaise
. I know not where to find the doctor, and we are far from France. I must repair the damage before I make the crossing. We limp back to the cove tonight. A day, perhaps two, I will need for the repair. But there is no village near. There will be no doctor and ’e will die. So I bring ’im to you.
Voila!
”

“I cannot take him to a doctor.” She arched a single eyebrow to indicate her displeasure with his sarcasm.

“Do you not comprehend? A doctor will report to your authorities!” Reynard stopped his pacing and faced her with a weary sigh. “I think to myself, ‘Jacques, where will this brave one be safe? Where will the
batards
who are responsible for this not find ’im? ’oo will shelter this unfortunate and make ’im well?’ I answer myself, ‘Miss
Anglaise
’as the tender ’eart. She will keep ’im safe.’”

French! They were French! Her country’s declared enemies for more than a year. It was one thing to do reluctant business with them to keep body and soul together, but quite another to shelter and care for one. To have him in her home. “I am leaving for London day after tomorrow, Captain, and I cannot delay without calling attention to Oak Hill.” She looked down at the young man and, again, her conscience tweaked her. “What if this man should die? What then?”

“If you ’ave done your best…” He shrugged, both palms upward.

His words could as easily have been a threat as a plea. She sighed and looked into Reynard’s anxious face. “This young man should be with his family.”

Reynard became even more agitated. He tugged at his hair and gestured wildly. “The
Sea Fox
will not be readied for the crossing for two days. ’
E
,” the captain pointed dramatically at the wounded man, “will not live another two days without ’elp.” He moved closer to her, his manner almost threatening. “Look at ’is wound,
Anglaise
.”

Emily stooped and turned the blanket down to the young man’s waist. A thick wad of folded cotton was bound to the fleshy part of his left shoulder. Reynard leaned down and cut the ties with a razor-sharp dagger. When she lifted the wad, bile rose in her throat. She feared for a moment that she was going to faint.

Bridey peered over Emily’s shoulder. “By the saints!”

The flesh surrounding the wound was morbid and swollen, while the wound itself was a blackish red. The entire area was hot to the touch. Thank heavens it was not yet gangrene. She had occasionally tended injured farm animals and taken poultices and medicines to her tenants, but this was different. This was beyond her skill. She closed her eyes for a moment and let her breath out in a slow even sigh.

Reynard was right. This man needed treatment at once. And Oak Hill was a better place for him than aboard a ship. Somewhere in her library there would be a medical book with treatments for such injuries.

“This…this,” she gestured at the young man’s shoulder, “is grave. Critical. Do you understand?”

“I understand you are my only ’ope.”

Emily faced Reynard. “The wound is infected, Captain. That is very bad. We may not be able to save him. We have a few medicines and poultices at Oak Hill, but I do not know if any will help.”

“If we do nothing,
Anglaise
, ’e will die. You will do your best.”

“That may not be good enough. And if this man is discovered at Oak Hill, we will all pay the price.” She looked back at the young man. His lips moved, and she wondered if he had rallied enough to understand their conversation. She bent to listen to his slurred words.

“No more deaths because of the soldiers,
mam’selle
. I go with Reynard.”

Emily sat back on her heels and chewed her lower lip. She’d never been able to turn her back on someone who needed help. “How long would you leave him, Captain?”

“The moon,
Anglaise
. She will be bright by the time we repair the
Sea Fox
. Too dangerous to come back then. ’E must wait until our return at the next new moon.”

Three weeks. At least she would have tonight and tomorrow to nurse the man before she left for London. She should know by then if he was going to live. “I am willing to shelter him, but I cannot ask my people to take such a risk.”

“Mary will take the risk, Miss Emily,” Bridey whispered. “You know how she loves nursing. He’d not be fit to leave so soon anyways. And Mary told me she helped tend the sick at a hospital in London before she married Mr. Bart.”

“Perhaps I could delay Mr. Dodge.”

“No, miss. I wouldn’t put it past him to come to the house with a company of men to remove you. He’s already waited four days.”

Dear Lord! What would Ryan Sutton make of that? Well, she had to go to London. There was no way around it that would not put Oak Hill at risk. “We shall return once I discover what Mr. Dodge is up to.” She turned back to Reynard.
Frenchmen, dear God!
“Leave him then. We shall do everything we can, Captain.”

“That is why I brought ’im to you. The others I deal with—they are scum, yes? You are the only one I trust. Nine years I ’ave been coming ’ere. First your
maman
, and now you. I am indebted.
Merci, Anglaise.
” His voice faltered with emotion.

Emily stood and addressed a group of waiting smugglers. “Put him in the dray.” Simon would have to come back for the rest of the brandy before daylight. She faced Reynard again with a weary sigh. “There is no debt, Captain.”

Reynard’s coal-dark eyes glittered for a moment before he blinked and clapped his hands together. “No charge tonight, eh?”

“Thank you, Captain, but I always pay my debts. Always.” She met his gaze and did not waver. She needed to make him understand that her help could not be bought, that it was hers to give or withhold and was entirely separate from their business arrangement. She took the cash from her pouch and emptied it into Reynard’s hand. “I shall take the rest of the brandy when you return—if I have the money.”

“Tonight, the special price, eh? This that you give me is enough.”