The Raider (5 page)

It was while Alex was attempting to get information from Pitman that he saw a head appear at the top of the window—an upside-down head of one of the Taggert kids. The head disappeared almost in the same instant, but Alex knew that the child had been listening.

Alex waved his hand at Pitman. “I'm tired now. You may tell me more later. I think I shall take a stroll, then nap before supper.” He yawned behind his handkerchief and then rose and left the room without a further word to Pitman.

“If I get my hands on that kid, I'll wrap his ears about his throat,” Alex muttered. He couldn't hurry through the corridors of the house because if someone saw him, his image would be shattered. It wasn't easy to act languid and still hurry. He had to catch that child and find out what he'd heard.

Once outside, he stood still, trying to figure where a child would have run to if he'd been caught doing what he shouldn't. Alex remembered how many times he'd escaped to the woods when he was a boy.

Following an old Indian trail, he walked into the quiet darkness of the forest that ran behind the Montgomery house. About half a mile in was a cliff that led down to a little rocky beach called Farrier's Cove. Alex headed for it now.

Agilely, he made his way down the bank and came face to face with the Taggert boy he'd caught eavesdropping and Jessica.

“You may go, Nathaniel,” Jessica said haughtily, her eyes on Alexander, every bit of her hatred showing in them.

“But, Jess, I didn't tell you—”

“Nathaniel!” she said sharply, and the boy clambered up the embankment and they could hear his footsteps retreating.

Alex didn't say a word to her, since he wanted to find out how much the boy had told her.

“So now we know why you came back to Warbrooke. Those poor fools thought you were going to help them. Twenty-five percent should keep you in laces.”

Alex tried to keep his face from showing his emotion. It looked as if the brat had told her everything. Amazing memory—not to mention hearing—the child had. He turned his back to her so that she couldn't see his face. He had to find a way to keep her from talking. If this got back to the townspeople or…He thought of his father, already an invalid: this would kill him.

He turned back to her, smiling. “So how much do I pay you to keep your mouth shut?”

“I don't sell myself for money.”

He gave her a sneering look up and down, then put his handkerchief to his nose as if to get away from her fish-stinking clothes. “I can see that.”

She advanced on him. He was taller than she, but with his s-curved slouch, they were almost equal. “There are no words low enough to describe you. You'd take money from a man who ruins people just so you can have those silk clothes.”

As she moved closer to him, Alex forgot all about what she'd heard and that he wanted to keep her from repeating it. All he was aware of was her eyes flashing with fire and passion and her breasts inches from his chest and heaving. She kept yelling at him and calling him names that no lady had ever called him before, but he didn't hear a word of it. When her lips were very close to his, she stopped abruptly and moved back. Alex's breath was coming from deep within his chest.

Jessica stood back and looked at him, her eyes blinking rapidly, as if in confusion.

Alex recovered himself and looked with longing at the sea. He considered jumping into the water to cool off.

“And who do you plan to tell about this?” he asked at last, no longer looking at her. He was too aware of the privacy of where they were to trust himself too far.

“The people of Warbrooke are afraid of Pitman because he represents the king—not to mention the English navy. But you, they aren't afraid of you. If they knew what Nate heard this morning, they'd tar and feather you and then hang you. You wouldn't be allowed to live. They want someone to blame for what happened to Josiah.”

“So what do you plan to do with your information?”

“It would kill your father if he knew.” She looked down at the rocky beach. Not far from her was a basket half-full of clams which she'd obviously been digging before he came.

“Perhaps I can make your decision easier for you.” He tried to keep his easy stance, tried not to let her see the energy and desire that was running through his body at the moment. “If you let other people know, even so much as your sister, your family will suffer. Now you have a roof over your head and food to eat.” He studied his fingernails. “And all those brats of yours are alive.” He looked back at her.

Something inside him tightened when he saw that she believed his threats. Was there no one who had known him all his life who'd stand up and say, “Alexander Montgomery wouldn't do such a thing”?

“You…you wouldn't.”

He merely looked at her, not bothering to comment.

“You make Pitman look like one of the Lord's angels. At least some of what he is doing is for his country. For you, it's just greed.” She turned on her heel as if to leave, then on impulse spun and slapped Alex across the face. A cloud of powder flew up from his full wig.

Alex had seen the slap coming but he didn't stop her. Anyone who'd heard all she had that morning had a right to slap the cause of her pain. He dug his hands into the padding on his thighs. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

“I pity you,” she whispered. “I pity us.” She turned, her slim little body straight, and walked up the bank to the forest.

B
EN
Sampson's going to lose everything he owns. You mark my words,” Eleanor was saying. She and Jessica were in the Taggert kitchen, Jess finishing a meal, Eleanor cleaning.

“Possibly,” Jessica said mildly. “But then again he may make a profit.” Last night she'd docked her little ship next to Ben's big one that had just returned from a voyage to Jamaica. While she'd been welcoming Ben home, one of his crew dropped a crate. The false bottom had been full of contraband tea. “All he has to do is store it twenty-four hours, then he can sneak it down to Boston.”

“If you saw the crate break, how many others did, too?”

“No one.” She gripped her wooden mug in her hand. “Not even your precious Alexander saw it.”

“What's that supposed to mean? All I said was that he certainly doesn't eat much for a fat man and that he's extremely polite and considerate. He never causes me nor anyone else the least bit of extra work,” Eleanor said as she chopped the head off a big haddock.

“You don't know anything about him,” Jess said, thinking of what Nate had overheard. If Ben were caught and his property confiscated, Alexander would profit. “I just wish Adam or Kit would come home. They'd kick Pitman out of the house.”

“Their brother-in-law? A man appointed by the king? Be realistic, Jessica. Are you going to sit there and dawdle all night? I have to get back to the Montgomerys' and you need to take these fish to Mrs. Wentworth.”

Jess glanced at the basket of cleaned fish. “Lazy bunch of women,” she sneered. “Mistress Abigail is afraid the men won't like the smell of fish on her pure white hands.”

Eleanor slammed the basket on the table. “It wouldn't hurt
you
to think a little more about how you smell. Now, go on, take this and don't start a fight with Abigail.”

Jessica started to defend herself, but Eleanor didn't bother to listen before leaving the little house. Reluctantly, Jess took the basket of fish and started toward the Wentworths' big house.

She'd delivered the fish to Mrs. Wentworth and thought she was going to escape without having to see Abigail, but her luck ran out just as she opened the back door and stepped onto the porch.

“Jessica!” Abigail said. “How good to see you.”

Jess knew Abigail was lying through her teeth. “Good evening. Fine clear night it's going to be, isn't it?”

Abby leaned forward in conspiracy. “Did you hear about Mr. Sampson? He brought in tea today and he didn't go through England. Do you think Mr. Pitman will find out?”

Jessica couldn't speak she was so astonished. If Abigail had heard of the tea, then of course Pitman had. “I have to warn Ben,” was all Jess was able to say at last. She started toward the porch stairs with Abby, who had no intention of missing out on the excitement, close on her heels, when they were nearly run down by a man dressed in black riding a big black horse.

Both women came to a halt, Jess with her arm across Abby's chest in a protective gesture.

“Jess,” Abby said breathlessly, “was that man wearing a mask?”

Jessica didn't answer but took off running, following the masked man's trail of dust. Abigail pulled her skirts to her knees, praying that her mother or the church deacons wouldn't see her, then followed Jessica.

They stopped at Ben Sampson's house. There were six British soldiers holding muskets on Ben.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ben lied, and the sweat pouring off his face in spite of the cool evening air gave him away.

“Open up in the name of John Pitman, the king's agent,” one of the soldiers said, raising his musket higher.

“Where's the man in black?” Abigail whispered.

Jessica listened to the sounds of the town and the evening. “There,” she whispered, directing her glance toward the trees behind Ben's house. She saw a movement then grabbed Abby's plump arm and pulled her to the safety of the porch of the house across the street. They had just reached safety when all hell broke loose.

The masked man rode toward the soldiers, a weighted fishing net spreading behind him. The element of surprise was on his side, for the soldiers and Ben all stopped to gawk at him. The masked rider flung the net over four of the soldiers, then pulled a pistol on the other two. About the rider's belt was an arsenal of weapons. Instinctively, the men who weren't ensnared in the net dropped their muskets. The trapped ones still had their guns, but their hands were struggling with the net rather than with triggers.

“No man from Warbrooke has tea that hasn't been declared,” the man on the horse said. He spoke with an odd accent, not quite English, not quite like the people whose families had been in America for generations.

Abigail looked at Jess and started to say something in protest, but Jess shook her head.

“Go back to your master and tell him that if he falsely accuses again, he'll have to answer to the Raider.” He tossed the lead line of the net to one of the soldiers. “Take them back.”

The man who called himself the Raider rode past Ben and the soldiers, the horse's hoofs striking very close to their legs.

As he rode past Abigail and Jessica standing on their high perch of the porch, he reined his horse sharply and looked at them.

Even with the mask covering the upper half of his face and the tricorn pulled low, he was a handsome man. Piercing black eyes were fiercely alive behind the silk mask and below it was a sensual, full mouth with finely chiseled lips. His black silk shirt, black pants and boots clung to his broad-shouldered, muscular body.

Abigail gave a heartfelt sigh and nearly swooned under the Raider's gaze. She would have fallen if Jess hadn't caught her beneath the arm and held her upright.

The Raider's lips stretched into a smile, not a grin, but a smile of such sweetness and knowing that Jess had to hold onto Abby with added strength.

Still smiling, the Raider leaned forward, put his big hand behind Abby's neck and kissed her long and sensually.

By now the soldiers and Ben had almost forgotten the reason for the Raider's appearance. He appealed to their sense of romance and, besides, it meant nothing to the homesick soldiers whether or not they found tea in Ben Sampson's cellar. Here was a masked man dressed in black, charging about the country and kissing the pretty girls.

They applauded when the Raider kissed Mistress Abigail, then held their breath when he turned to Mistress Jessica—the woman who'd haunted every man's dreams but had laughed in the faces of all of them.

Jessica was astonished at the look in the eye of this man who called himself the Raider when he released Abigail. Did he think
she
was as foolish as Abigail, who drooled over every man who paid her a compliment?

As the Raider leaned forward, as if he meant to kiss her also, Jessica leaned backward. She couldn't move too far as she was still holding Abby upright. “Don't you touch me,” she hissed at the man.

She wasn't prepared for the change in his eyes. It was almost as if he hated her.

One minute she was standing on the porch, supporting a half-fainting Abigail, and the next she was being pulled across the Raider's saddle. The pommel hit her in the stomach painfully just as she heard Abigail hit the floor of the porch. She also heard the deafening sound of laughter from the soldiers and Ben. Doors up and down the street began slamming as people came outside, leaving their dinner tables, to see what the commotion was.

They were greeted by the sight of a man dressed in black with a black face mask, on a black horse, riding down the street with what had to be Mistress Jessica, bottom end up, across the saddle. He was followed by a parade of four soldiers with a net half over their bodies and making no attempt to escape, their net being pulled by two more soldiers, and all of whom were laughing heartily. The soldiers were followed by Ben Sampson, who was supporting a limp-limbed Abigail Wentworth. Down the road, the townspeople saw Mrs. Sampson and her two oldest boys removing crates from their cellar.

No one had any idea what was going on, but they joined the laughter when the masked man dumped Jessica Taggert in a tub of dirty washwater that Mistress Coffin had slovenly left overnight.

Jessica looked up, blinking from the washwater in her face.

“Please apologize for me to Mistress Coffin for ruining her wash,” the Raider called over his shoulder before kicking his horse and disappearing down the street.

Jessica's ears were ringing with the people's laughter as she struggled to get out of the tub. She tried to keep her head up but it wasn't easy. She was sure every person in Warbrooke was in the street now and watching her.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted herself out of the tub, knowing that her sailor's clothes clung to her body and gave the people all around her more reason to laugh.

Out of nowhere, Nathaniel appeared and took her hand. Dear, sweet Nathaniel, she thought and regretted all the times she'd threatened to kill him for his mischief.

“You stop laughing at my sister,” he yelled, but no one obeyed him.

“Take me to Eleanor,” Jessica managed to say. She would
not
cry. Under no circumstances in this world would she cry. She kept her back straight, her chin high and didn't look right or left.

Nathaniel, for reasons of his own, led Jessica not to Eleanor but to Sayer Montgomery.

Jessica, all her energy expended on trying not to cry, just stood there rather stupidly and stared at the old man who'd lost the use of his legs. In her childhood, he'd seemed formidable to her and she hadn't seen him except in quick glimpses since he'd been injured.

Vaguely, she was aware of Nate telling the old man what had happened, explaining why Jessica was soaking wet and her fishy clothes were smelling to high heaven, and why her face was fat and puffy with unshed tears.

Sayer's eyes widened, then he held out his arms. “I may be useless as a man nowadays, but I still have shoulders for pretty girls to cry on.”

Jessica didn't think twice but almost fell on him and cried as if her heart were breaking. “I didn't do anything to him,” she wailed. “I've never met him, so why should I let him kiss me?”

“Ah, but he was the Raider,” Sayer said, holding her and stroking her back. He didn't mind her fish odor in the least. “Most girls would have acted as Abigail did.”

“Abigail is an idiot,” she said, sitting up slightly, but still in his arms.

“True.” Sayer smiled. “But an awful pretty one. Quite kissable.”

“But I'm…I mean…” Jessica started crying again. “The boys don't like me and I don't like them.”

“Yes they do like you. They're just afraid of you. Hardly any of them can do half of what you can do. They see you captain that leaky tug of yours and haul anchors and”—he paused to smile—“and keep young Nathaniel in line and they know you're a better man than they are.”

“Man?” she gasped. “Do they think I'm a
man?”

He pulled her back to him, burying his hands in her hair that was hanging down about her waist. “Far from it. They all know you're the prettiest girl they've ever seen.”

“Not as pretty as Abigail,” she said, glancing out of the corner of her eye at him.

“Abigail is pretty today, when she's sixteen, but she won't be pretty tomorrow. You, my dear, will be pretty when you're a hundred.”

“Well, I wish I were a hundred today. How can I face the townspeople tomorrow?”

He put his fingertips under her chin. “You did nothing wrong. Now think about it this way: while everyone was watching you, Ben's wife was able to get the tea out.”

“But all Pitman has to do is
accuse
Ben.”

Sayer's once handsome face turned hard. “Yes, my son-in-law has only to accuse. Perhaps Alexander—”

“Alexander!” Jessica said, sitting up. “How could you have two glorious sons and then the third one be so…so…”

“That's a question I've been asking myself,” Sayer said thoughtfully, then looked at Jessica. “I want you to think about what this Raider did for Ben. Try to think of what happened to you as part of the whole picture.” He smiled. “And next time, when you see this Raider, run the opposite way.”

“Next time! He wouldn't have the courage to appear again. Pitman will have his soldiers tearing the countryside apart looking for him.”

Sayer pushed her off the bed. “Go now and get cleaned up. Really, Jessica, you should wear a dress now and then.”

She smiled at him, feeling much better. “Aye, Captain.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” She left the room.

Sayer waited a few moments and then bellowed, “Nathaniel!” Within moments the boy appeared, holding his little brother Samuel's hand. “I want you to find out what you can about this Raider.”