The Rebel Page 20

  Catherine Purefoy laid down her needlework and rushed to her husband. “I’ve had Cook wait dinner, but it is getting late and…” she lowered her voice, “—Lady Spencer believes we shouldn’t wait at all.”

  The man gave a curt nod. “Have a tray sent to me in the library.”

  Alexandra watched the man’s rude behavior with disgust as he walked abruptly away. A glance at Clara showed the young woman’s cheerful demeanor return as soon as the conversation between her parents had ended. But Jane. Where was Jane?

  Armed with new purpose, Lady Spencer knew that she had to help the older sister. Fortune’s wheel sometimes did not turn quickly enough, she decided. It was up to her to meddle.

  ***

  The rising moon cast long stretches of shadows and made the mountains in the distance appear to loom large over the land.

  Nicholas tried to restrain his anger and frustration and instead focus on the moonlit countryside. So much of the land was already familiar. The Blackwater River lined by rolling farms and pastures. Further south, the higher moorland cut by deep valleys of marsh and woodland. The sight and the names of mountains and pagan stones and villages nestled into the hills were becoming inscribed in his memory. Boggeragh, Banteer, Drommahane, Nad. Tonight though, wherever he looked, Jane’s face was all he saw.

  He wanted her. This fierce yearning for a particular woman was a new sensation. It was one he’d never experienced before. And frankly, he found it as maddening as it was magical.

  He wanted to spend endless hours with her. He wanted to see her. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to lose himself in her taste and softness. He wanted to see her smile and watch her turn to him as she had done this morning when they’d left Rita’s cottage.

  But he couldn’t have her. By ‘sblood, he’d be damned if he would compete for her affection if she were already in love with another man. Nicholas refused to play the part of any second. He wanted her body, heart, and soul all for himself. And he wasn’t about to share her with anyone.

  Jane had said that there was nothing between Henry Adams and herself, but he believed she wasn’t being honest with herself. It had been to the parson’s house that she had wanted to take the three children. It had been the parson’s help that she’d sought.

  There was trust, friendship…and something much more, he suspected, between them.

  A sound coming from somewhere to his left caused Nicholas to rein in his horse and peer into the darkness. He was the only one abroad as far as he could see. He could see no one on foot. No light shone from any cottage or villages nearby. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and tested the convenience of the knife in his boot.

  Confident that he could handle whatever trouble might be lurking in the moon’s shadows, he turned his gaze on the appearance of a horse and rider coming over the crest of a hill to the east. They were still quite a few yards away, but the drumming of his heart in his chest—more than the strength of his vision—told him who the rider was.

  The moon was over her shoulder. Woman and horse presented a magnificent sight, and Nicholas found himself swallowing hard. With her loose dark hair dancing in the wind and her graceful body moving in harmony with the animal, she was surely an apparition from his dreams. As she drew near, she slowed Mab to a walk. With each step, Nicholas’s tongue knotted tighter in his head, and his heart hammered louder in his chest. Her beautiful eyes, shining in the darkness of night, studied him, appraised him—and a different kind of tightness formed in his gut when she reined Mab to a halt right beside him.

  “You give an incredibly good chase, Sir Nicholas.”

  “You have the eyes of a cat.” His voice was hoarse and low. “Have you been following me, Miss Jane?”

  Her gaze studied his face with a longing that scorched him—then it fell on his mouth. Nicholas’s hands tightened around the horse’s reins, but he didn’t move.

  “I have.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  She leaned toward him, her hand reaching behind his neck. Drawing him to her, she stretched herself upward until their lips met. Her mouth was soft and her tongue playful as she teased and tasted him. Nicholas savored the pleasure of the kiss, but his restraint was short-lived. Starved for her taste and her touch, his arms reached for her as their mouths engaged in a duel of passion. But just as he was about to pull her from her horse and onto his lap, she ended the kiss. Mab took a couple of steps back.

  He eyed her across the short span between them “This is a dangerous game you are playing.”

  “I know.” She sounded breathless and it took great effort on Nicholas’s part not to reach for her again.

  “What was the kiss for?”

  “To thank you for what you did for Rita and for her children.”

  Gratitude? That was no kiss of gratitude. Suddenly, he wanted her to admit that the kiss was more about her desire…passion…about the way she felt about him.

  “Were you equally grateful to Reverend Adams? He is helping that family, as well.”

  “Do I hear a hint of suspicion, even jealousy, in your tone?” She smiled.

  “I am just a simple person asking a simple question.”

  “There is nothing simple about you, Sir Nicholas Spencer.” Her softly spoken words caressed and soothed. “You have amazed me and surprised me and charmed me from the first moment that we met.”

  “Was that before or after I knocked you down?”

  “Very amusing.”

  “Do you mean you didn’t kiss Parson Adams?”

  She laughed, and Nicholas found his mood improving. “I did not. Not the way I kissed you, in any case.”

  Before he could ask the question about how was it exactly that she had kissed the minister, Jane reined Mab around and pointed at the hills to the south and west.

  “If you are in no great hurry to get back to Woodfield House, then I can properly thank you by showing you one of the most interesting sights in Munster. And before you ask…” She smiled at him. “—I’ve never taken Parson Adams to the stones at Knocknakilla.”

  “I should not have dreamed of asking.” Nicholas brought his horse alongside hers as they started off. “And, to be frank with you, Jane, if you are not at Woodfield House, I haven’t any particular care ever to go back.”

  Even in the darkness of the night he could see the way the words affected her. She looked at him and, for a moment, he thought she was about to reach her hand out to him. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, though, breaking the spell. She smiled and turned her gaze to the western hills.

  “Try to keep up, Spencer,” she said, spurring Mab on. “‘Tis a good ride we have ahead of us, and I do need to return you to my family at some reasonable hour.”

  *****

  While their horses grazed on the windswept moor, they walked together toward the ancient circle of stones. The stillness of the night, so perfect and complete, could not have been more at odds with the turmoil going on within her.

  The agitation Jane was feeling had nothing to do with the man walking beside her. It had everything to do, rather, with coming back to this place.

  There had been certain things that had remained sacred to her during the past nine years. She continued to wear black. She had never allowed herself to become emotionally or physically attracted to another man. She had foregone passion. And she had never come back here.

  There were other things that had remained constant, too, for a rebel’s life is often cut short. She never allowed herself to plan or dream of a future. She never wished for things that she could never have. Love, family, children—none of them had any place in Egan’s life.

  And yet, being here now, surrounded by night and the magic of the land…

  For the first time in so many years, Jane felt the growing ache of what might have been.

  She placed a hand on one of the stones and found it warm. Within it, she sensed the pulse of life.

  “Is it not beautiful?” She filled her lungs and, l
ooking up at the blanket of stars, turned her back to the breeze that came up at that moment.

  “Stunning.”

  Jane turned her head and found Nicholas looking only at her.

  “You are stunning,” he repeated, coming closer. With each step Jane’s heart pounded faster. Every limb in her body tingled with awareness as his gaze swept over her.

  He stopped only a breath away. His large hand covered hers on top of the stone. An unfamiliar rhythm of need began to pound within her. It was as terrifying as it was exciting.

  Jane tried to focus on the beauty of the land and not on the man. The moon had risen high on the sky. Not far from the circle of stones, a deserted cottage stood half hidden in the high meadow grass. In spite of the brilliance of the moon, a million stars lit up the velvet cloth of heaven.

  “I had forgotten how this place made me believe I could touch the sky…become part of the wind.” She met his gaze. “Too many years I have been away from here.”

  “Wearing black—staying away from here—playing the hermit—being frightened of any attachments. They are all related, are they not?”

  “I am not frightened of attachments,” she immediately protested, not entirely certain that she was ready to pour out her heart…and her past.

  “But you are, Jane.” Nicholas’s fingers brushed the windblown hair away from her face. His warm touch lingered on her skin. “You are frightened of me. I am not talking about my physical size, or if I can handle you or not when you are pointing a knife at me. And I am not referring to whatever knowledge I might have of your secret activities, either.” He gave her a knowing smile. “You are afraid of the man, of our mutual attraction, and what is happening between us.”

  “There is nothing between us.” She tried to pull away from the stone, but the pressure of his hand held her in place. She still wasn’t ready to give up the fight. “If you believe that because I kissed you, that I am attracted to you…I told you that was an expression of gratitude…I was moved by what you did…and…”

  “You appear flustered, Jane.” He brushed his mouth against hers, and pulled back before she could either push him away or melt against him. “You want to ignore ‘us.’ But you do not know what to do with everything you are feeling here.” He pressed a finger at her heart. “And here.” He gently touched her temple. “I could gladly show you where else you are confused, but I would not take such liberties until you readily admit you are as attracted to me as I am to you.”

  “This is foolishness.” She turned her face away, not wanting him to know how accurate his words were.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Nicholas cupped her chin and turned her face to him. “There is something here that you want to show me or perhaps tell me.”

  “I only brought you here for the excellent view.”

  “At night?” he asked softly.

  She asked the same question of herself. The impulsiveness of riding after him, and then kissing him, and then wanting to share…this particular place. What had she been thinking? These pagan stones at Knocknakilla held a special place in her life. They had belonged for so many years only to two young people in love.

  Looking up at him, she wondered with a moment’s panic if it was just because of this man that she was willing to open this door to her past. How could so much change so quickly?

  “I have seen you in action, Jane. You have no fear in risking your life for these people—for your beliefs. And yet, right now you are afraid.”

  Of course she was afraid. She knew the pain a wound to the heart inflicts. She knew the rending ache that comes in the night, tearing at you until you pray you will die before the dawn comes. She knew what it was like to lie curled in the corner of a room and watch the evening light fade, and have no more tears to cry.

  Yes, she was afraid. She was afraid of how he would act—how he would feel—if he knew the whole truth.

  But she was also afraid that she cared for Nicholas Spencer much more than she could ever put into words.

  The stars seemed to disappear in the sky. Everything around them became still. The birds. The breezes. Nature itself appeared to be waiting for Jane to speak.

  “It is inevitable that you should hear scandalous rumors of my past while you are staying at Woodfield House.” She spoke quickly before losing her courage. “I myself have hinted more than a few times of my ruined reputation. I brought you here because…because I thought instead of rumor, you deserve to hear the truth…from me.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “Once you hear what I am all about, then we can rethink this business about your…your attraction to me.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers on top of the stone. “Tell me this thing that is so horrible about your past.”

  It would have been much easier to talk of her past if she were not faced with the reality of the present. Nicholas Spencer was all around her.

  “Right here, in this very place, I gave my maidenhead to a man I loved.” She hoped to shock him with the bluntness of the truth. “We played together as children, fell in love quite by accident, and—on many nights just like this—stood where we are standing and planned our future together.”

  Jane looked around her and saw all the images of long ago imprinted on the grass and stone.

  “Conor was everything to me. He was my past, my present, my future. He was my life and my dreams. He was my hero and my hope. He offered the sanctuary I had never found within my own family.” She looked up into Nicholas’s face. “I have no regret for what I did, and I feel no shame in talking about him…to you or anyone, ever.”

  “Nor should you.” His touch stayed—his eyes dark and shining and never once wavering from hers.

  “But he was a poor farmer. A commoner. A Catholic. Even worse, Conor was a Shanavest who had a heart generous enough to love me despite the sins of my father and my country against his people.” She didn’t want the tears to come. By God, she didn’t! But they burned her eyes, and she turned away from him, this time pulling her hand free.

  The wind began to pick up again. Jane pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and walked to the center of the circle of stones.

  “Unlike my own people…” she said bitterly, “—who spend their entire lives judging others by narrow, hypocritical standards and acting in ways that breed hatred, Conor treated me as a living, breathing person…and not as some straw figure representing his English oppressors. He refused to judge me based on the past. He refused to be intimidated by our differences in station—or my so-called education. We would all be judged as equals in God’s eyes, he would say.”

  She looked up at the stars through a sheen of tears. The hurt still cut so deep. The memories, though hazy, continued to stab at her heart.

  “Where is he now? Where did he go?”

  “He was hanged.” The salty taste of tears reached Jane’s lips. She tried to take a deep breath to steady her voice. “Conor was hanged on the orders of my own father. He was killed not because of any horrible crime. He was always the most peace loving of the Shanavests. The magistrate…” She stabbed at the tears. “—my father…issued his death warrant because of his involvement with…me.”

  The tears choked the words in her throat. Jane let out a broken breath and tried to fight the sob rising in her chest. She walked out of the circle and stared at the valley beyond. In her mind’s eye, she could see Conor’s dead body swaying heavily. In the wind, she could almost hear her own cries echoing through the town.

  Nicholas’s arms reached around her and captured her hands, and Jane welcomed his strength when he drew her gently back against his chest.

  “This is a hard world, Jane.” His chin brushed against her hair. “And I am sorry for the injustice we bring to it.”

  She leaned against him. Nicholas’s strength gave her courage to find her voice again.

  “We were to elope the next day. But somehow—through one of the servants, I think—my father found out about our plan. I was locked in…but I mana
ged to send Conor a message. Still, though, he showed up…hoping, I suppose, that I’d be able to get away.” She closed her eyes to lesson the pain, but it could not be shut out. It was inside of her. “Four other Shanavests—Conor’s friends all—were arrested that night, as well, not far from Waterford. None of them, though, had any idea how quick their end would come.”

  Jane tried to pull a hand free to wipe her face, but Nicholas turned her gently in his arms and carefully brushed her tears away himself.

  “They…my family…were planning to keep me locked up. They wanted to hide what I had done…what Conor and I were going to do. As far as they were concerned, no one outside of the household would ever know about their daughter’s shame. But they couldn’t hold me. I ran away.” She stared at the lapel of Nicholas’s jacket, but all she saw were five bodies dangling in the wind. “When I found him…them…I made sure everyone knew. I was mad, I suppose. I forced my way through and cut those bodies down. I knelt on that gallows and cursed my father and the others who were responsible. I told the crowds that gathered that Conor was my lover. I even claimed that I was carrying his child.”

  “Were you?”

  “I thought I was. I prayed that day that I was. But it was just not to be.”

  Nicholas lifted her chin. The brush of his callused thumb against her skin caused her to shiver involuntarily. In her mind’s eye she saw another man, barely more than a boy—a work-roughened thumb brushing away her tears. How many times she’d cried in Conor’s arms, fearing for their future?

  “The only vengeance I could wreak that day…on my father…on my family…was in ruining their name. I never thought for an instant that their peers would sympathize with them over the incomprehensible wickedness of a daughter. Indeed, the world…and my father…would cut me out of the light. From that day on, I would become the daughter that they never had.”

  He simply pulled her tightly against his chest and held her. Jane let her sorrow pour out, her tears falling on his jacket. She didn’t know how long they stood there. No words passed between them, but with an occasional brush of his lips against her hair, the press of his hands on her back, a change began to occur within her.