Yankee Earl (17 page)

      
Convincing his riding instructor was a more difficult matter, but he had finally carried the day. Odd, but there seemed to be a bit of antagonism between the men. Bradley had a swollen jaw, almost as if someone had given him what Grandfather called a right proper facer. Had the riding instructor and Jace fought? Fox wondered if it had anything to do with Mace's leaving. When Fox came downstairs that morning, he had been informed that the man had been discharged by the earl. Jace refused to explain why; and since Fox disliked the boxer, he had not pressed the issue. But he did rather like Bradley and hoped the riding instructor would not be let go as well.

      
Little Chief distracted him by nuzzling his cheek, hoping for another treat. “That's enough for you, you rascal. We have to ride back to Jace's house to meet Grandfather soon, and you don't want to be so full that you pop your saddle girth, do you?”

      
“That would not be good, for certain,” Rachel said as she walked her big bay into the stable.

      
“Oh, good afternoon, Miss Fairchild,” Fox said shyly. He was surprised to see her dressed in men's breeches and shirt, but even so, she was still the most beautiful lady he could ever imagine. When she began to unsaddle Reddy herself, he rushed over. “M-may I help you?”

      
Rachel smiled. “I’d appreciate that very much.” The boy placed the stirrups over the saddle and reached for the cinch strap to unfasten it. “You seem to know your way about horses.”

      
“Until I came to England I never had much chance, but I always loved horses. Jace took me riding a few times, but he was away at sea a lot by the time I grew old enough to really ride. All because of this stupid old war. I want it to be over.”

      
“Do you miss your home in America?” she asked.

      
“Oh, I want to go back some day, but now that you and Jace are getting married, I'm just as content to stay in England. Grandfather says I can spend part of the time with him and part of the time with you…that is, if you don't mind.”

      
His expression was so wistful, it squeezed her heart. How could she tell him that his beloved Jace did not wish to many her? Best to allow Jason to explain the situation to his young charge during their voyage back to America. “I would love to have you spend as much time with me as you wish, whenever you wish,” she replied honestly.

      
“Then…we're friends, Miss Fairchild?”

      
“Yes, we are,” she replied with a big smile. “And just to prove it, I give you leave to call me Rachel.”

      
Fox gulped in surprise. “Do you mean it, Miss Fair—Rachel?” he asked, daring to do as she bade him.

      
She smiled again. “Yes, I most certainly do, if I may call you Fox? Now, you grab the blanket when I swing the saddle off Reddy's back.”

      
As they worked, putting away the tack and rubbing down the horse, she drew out the shy boy, getting him to talk about his life in Maryland. Of course, he could not describe any event without mentioning his hero Jason. He boasted of his foster brother's exploits on land and sea.

      
“My mother's people call Jace the Moccasin. It's a name of high honor among the Shawnee.”

      
“Really?” she questioned, puzzled. “I shouldn't imagine being called a shoe to be much of an honor.”

      
Fox laughed. “No, not that kind of moccasin. A water moccasin.” At her blank look, he explained, “That's one of the most deadly snakes in the wilderness. Poisonous and swift as lightning when it strikes.”

      
“Oh, and he earned this name, did he?” She could think of a number of occasions when he'd behaved like a snake, no doubt about it!

      
“Yes, he did.” Fox warmed to his tale. “When he was fifteen, Jace came to live with my mother's sister and her husband for a season. You see, he wanted to learn the Shawnee way just like his father had before him. One day while the men and older boys were off hunting, a band of Cherokee raided our village and carried off my aunt Singing Wind because my uncle Otter is a great chief and they wanted to lure him into a trap. But Uncle Otter was too smart for them.

      
“Instead of leading all his warriors into an ambush, he waited and sent out scouts to learn where they were holding her. Then he and Jace sneaked past the sentries into their camp while the foolish Cherokee slept. My brother cut my aunt free, while my uncle signaled his men to attack as soon as she was safe. But one of the enemy awakened and attacked Jace. Jace buried his hatchet in the warrior's head as fast and clean as could be. Uncle Otter told me it split his skull in half right down to his neck,” the boy said with relish.

      
Rachel turned pale green. The image of brains and blood flashed before her eyes. She'd seen a man's skull burst open in a riding accident when she was little older than Fox. It had not been a pretty sight.

      
“And Jace took three more scalps before the raiders were driven into the woods by my uncle's warriors.”

      
“Scalps?” she gulped, swallowing her gorge. Perhaps she had better reconsider the idea of actually going through with this marriage.

      
“Yes. He struck with such deadly speed that my uncle gave him the name Moccasin. They sing about him around the campfires to this day,” the boy said proudly.

      
Not wanting to crush his enthusiasm, Rachel squelched her repulsion and changed the subject. “Soon I shall have to get ready for the Mountjoys' ball tonight, and you—”

      
“Will have to ride back to Falconridge with Bradley and me,” the subject of the boy's paean said as he sauntered into the stable. “Why don't you go find Bradley and have him help you saddle your horse?”

      
“All right. I was just telling Rachel how you got your Shawnee name. Maybe after you're married and you come to America for a visit, you can take her to meet Aunt Singing Wind and Uncle Otter.”

      
“Perhaps,” Jason replied, amused by the greenish cast of Rachel's complexion. “Now off with you, or I shall be late for the ball tonight.” As soon as Fox dashed out the door, he turned to Rachel with a grin. “Now you are utterly convinced that I belong back with people your fine English sensibilities consider savages.”

      
“You were just a boy. Not to be blamed for…for…” She swallowed, remembering Amos Chidley's brains smashed against the paving bricks after that riding accident. “Fox possesses considerable skill as a storyteller.”

      
“All boys that age are bloodthirsty little savages, red and white. A pity you never had brothers, else you'd have learned that.”

      
“I scarcely possess a weak stomach,” Rachel said, raising her chin a notch.

      
“And you're exercising great Christian charity toward me,” he replied, chuckling. Odd, but instead of being angered by her “civilized” prejudices, he found her willingness to excuse him endearing. “Allow me to give you some reassurance regarding the scalps.”

      
“Oh, and what, pray, could that be?” she asked, proud of the steadiness of her voice.

      
“Contrary to what Fox believes, I did not take them,” he whispered conspiratorially. Rachel blinked. He suddenly wondered if telling her the rest of the story was such a wise idea.
I must be growing soft in the head over this witch.
That was the only place he grew soft while in Rachel Fairchild's presence, he realized wryly. “You see, I was so concerned with getting Singing Wind out of the enemy camp that I never even thought about…er, exercising my warrior's prerogatives. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Otter took care of that. After the battle, he collected the trophies for me.”

      
Rachel was beginning to see a bit of humor to the grisly tale in spite of her earlier revulsion. He appeared to be embarrassed by the whole thing. “Oh? And what did you do with these trophies?”

      
“Remember, I was only fifteen and didn't want to appear any less than a full-fledged warrior.”

      
Now she was certain of his discomfiture. “So?” she prompted.

      
“Like an idiot, I told the warriors my mother would not let me keep them.” When Rachel burst out laughing, he felt his face heating. How had he managed to turn the tables on himself so completely? “I am so pleased my story amuses you. I explained that my mother had a dream warning her that if I kept scalps, it would bring her misfortune.”

      
“And they believed this?”

      
“The Shawnee are great believers in medicine dreams—with some good reason. Only a couple of years ago, a great Shawnee chief predicted not only the appearance of a comet but an earthquake as well.”

      
“And both occurred?” she asked incredulously.

      
“Within weeks of when Tecumseh said they would, yes. Anyway, our band respected my mother's wishes, and Otter kept the scalps for me.”

      
“I trust you have not had cause to take any others since?” she asked, only half jesting.

      
He fingered her long plait of chocolate-colored hair consideringly, holding it fast when she tried to move back a step. “Not until recently, Countess.”

* * * *

      
As soon as Jason and Fox returned to Falconridge, the boy excitedly dashed to the house to greet his “grandfather.” Jason still could not help wondering at the bond that had formed between the old man and the boy. He was also alarmed, for a number of reasons. It greatly complicated his plans for returning Fox to America, but more importantly, he feared that the marquess could be using Fox as a mere pawn on his chessboard. Once he'd achieved his endgame, he might discard the lad without a care.

      
If appearances were to be believed, that was not so, but no one knew better than Jason just how devious the old man could be. He tried to reassure himself that in the long run it would not signify, since Fox would be sailing home in a matter of weeks. Children had short memories; and once he was reunited with “Mama Beaumont” and his Shawnee relations, “Grandfather” would quickly be relegated to the past.

      
Jason had no more than set foot in the foyer of his manor house when a servant announced in tones of hushed awe that the Marquess of Cargrave wished to see him in the study. Commanded his presence was what the old goat really meant. Without bothering to change from his riding clothes, Jason strode to the study. He could hear Fox explaining about his adventures at Harleigh Hall. Standing quietly in the doorway, Jason observed the exchange, paying particular attention to the way the marquess listened, interjecting questions now and again, but mostly just enjoying the lad's youthful enthusiasm. Genuine affection shone from those harsh gray eyes, no doubt of it.

      
Clearing his throat to make his presence known, Jason strode into the room. “You summoned me, m'lord?” he asked without preamble.

      
“Ah, Jason, good to see you, too, lad.” Then turning to Fox with a jovial wink, he said, “Your brother has not a fragment of your fine manners. You really must tutor him.”

      
“Allow him to remain with me at Falconridge and he can do so,” Jason said with a gleam of a dare in his eyes, but the old man responded just as he expected.

      
“Balderdash! I have plans for Master Fox at Cargrave Hall. His new French tutor has just arrived, and Lady Belmot has just whelped.” Lady Bel was the old man's water spaniel. “Six puppies, and,” he added, turning to Fox, “you shall have pick of the litter.”

      
“Oh, Grandfather, really? I love Lady Bel already. One of her puppies for my very own would be wonderful.” Collecting himself, he bowed politely and said, “Thank you, Grandfather.”

      
Giving the boy's hair a fond tousle, the marquess laughed. “Well done, lad, well done. Now off with you. Your brother and I have business to discuss.”

      
As soon as Fox had closed the door behind him, Cargrave fixed his grandson with a shrewd stare. “Fox informs me that I shall have to find a new bodyguard. Since I was the one who employed him, I cannot credit that Bings would have allowed you to dismiss him so easily.”

      
“He couldn't argue. He was unconscious. I'll let Bradley impart the details, but suffice it to say the fellow was every bit as unsuitable as I warned you he would be. He attacked Rachel in the stable, thinking her to be a serving wench.”

      
The old man stood up abruptly. “Good God! The gel wasn't harmed, was she?”

      
“No, but it was probably better that I dealt with him than she. The 'gel' carries a stiletto in her boot,” Jason said dryly.

      
Cargrave laughed heartily. “She does have spunk, that one. Always liked her best of Hugh's daughters. The other two are flibbertigibbets, but Rachel has a head on her shoulders. Reminds me of Mathilda.”