The Rebel Read online

  “It was very quiet around here without you going out and coming back in all hours of the night.”

  She bit back her surprise.

  “But it was also very rewarding to know that for as many days as you were away in London, you were safe.” He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced out a small window toward the house. “Nicholas and I had an extensive talk. Actually, ‘battle’ might be a better way of describing it.”

  With every sentence, he was managing to confuse her more, and Jane had difficulty keeping up her pretense of indifference.

  “He wants none of your fortune.”

  She didn’t know she had any.

  “He insists on taking no land, no money, no dowry settlement of any kind. And he is pigheaded, by thunder.”

  Emotions rose up in Jane, even though she already knew how unselfish Nicholas’s love for her was. It was the loss of it that made a tear slip down her face.

  “But I can be as pigheaded as he is, devil take him. You are my oldest daughter. Rightfully, most of what your mother and I have should go to you and your future children.” He actually chuckled. “But have no fear. We did successfully settled our differences, but not before I forced him to become more flexible. This old soldier is not so easily beaten.”

  Jane cleared her throat, making sure she had a voice. “I cannot understand the trouble you are putting yourself through. He already knows how my family perceives me. Nothing you say or do will make a difference in his opinion.”

  “Do not mistake me. I like him. But I don’t give a damn about his opinion. It is you that…”

  “Why?” The question wrenched itself from her breast. “What is all this about? Suddenly you act as if you care!”

  “I have always cared about you, Jane.” He took a step toward her.

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Do not speak to me in…” Sir Thomas forced himself to stop, and he ran a weary hand down his face. “Jane…I admit…I know I made a horrible mistake nine years ago. I knew you…I should have known that my action…in ordering that boy to hang…would not return my daughter to me. Ah, Jane! From the time you were a wee child you were different. You loved, you cared…you became a part of people around you. Your mother and I came to Ireland when you were barely four years old, and not a year later you were running barefoot in those hills looking no different than the hungry Irish tenant brats.”

  She told herself she had no time to hear any of this. But her feet had become permanently rooted to the floor.

  “When you were eight years old, you became deathly sick. Do you remember? All because one of the tenants had sold off his youngest daughter to the tinkers to pay a physician’s fee when fever struck down the rest of the family.” He came still closer. “Catherine and I thought we were going to lose you.”

  Jane looked down at her boots, fighting back tears.

  “You brought her back.” He had a heart then.

  “It was unfortunate that the girl died the year after when the fever came back to the valley. And you mourned her as if you had lost your own sister.” His voice was gentle, understanding. “I know you have been involved for years with these Whiteboys. You might think…that boy…Conor was the reason…or perhaps it was me and your will to go against anything I do or say. But even without us, you were…you are a person that had to be involved. You see injustice and you need to react.”

  “If you knew hanging those men was an injustice, then why didn’t you do anything about it? Why don’t you do something for the Irish now?”

  “By the time my eyes were opened, a great deal of damage had already been done. I did the only thing that I could, I resigned my post.”

  “How convenient.” She didn’t bother to hide any of her hostility when their gazes locked. “But I have no time left to set blame or to try to reform…or educate you on how much there is left that can be corrected.”

  “Who would be better than Egan to offer vision to a blind man?”

  His words stopped her from walking away.

  “I knew about your activities with your blasted Shanavests, but I never knew you were Egan, the fearless leader of these people, until the morning of the ball.” His gaze was actually admiring. “I should have known that you could not go down any road half way. It has always been everything or nothing with you.”

  He was confusing her more than he had any right to do.

  “Sir Nicholas tells me that you two plan to divide your time between England and Ireland. I am not asking any questions about what is to become of Egan, but I do ask you to make time to show me…to educate me…to make me understand where a change might still make a difference.”

  Why now? she thought. Why must he be so late?

  “Believe me when I tell you that my motivation is not to set a trap for the others…or…”

  Her gaze narrowed. “But the trap has already been set.” She blurted out bitterly. “Even on the eve of the Shanavests disbanding.”

  “What trap?”

  She shook her head, walking away.

  “You are too late, Sir Thomas. You are far, far too late.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Finn had just closed the stall gate in the parsonage’s stable when a woman carrying a small lamp approached the doorway. Thinking quickly, he tucked the hat and the mask under an old saddle blanket lying on the ground.

  “Is that you, Henry?”

  “Clara?” He straightened up, surprised. It took him a long minute, though, before he found the rest of his words. Like a beggar starved for sustenance, his eyes hungrily took in all of her. “What are you doing here at this late hour?”

  “Waiting for you.” She put the lamp down outside the stable and entered. “I arrived just as Mrs. Brown was going to bed. We had a cup of tea before I sent her up, and then I waited in your parlor for awhile. After that I spent some time in your study…then back to the parlor…then I came out and waited in your garden.”

  She stopped a breath away from him. Her gaze took in his rough, homespun woolen clothing—his high boots.

  “You still haven’t told me why you are here?”

  Her white teeth flashed prettily as she smiled in the darkness. “Mr. Adams, you look more like a highwayman than a respectable minister.”

  “I do not know what you are about tonight, but I clearly need to find a way to get you home.” He took her by the arm and started to lead her out of the stables, but she planted her feet.

  “I have been away for more than a fortnight.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you should also know this is no way to greet someone whom you have been missing terribly.”

  He met her challenging and playful glare. “When did I say…”

  She silenced his question by sliding easily into his arms and capturing his mouth in a kiss.

  A throaty groan escaped Henry and before he could stop himself, he had deepened the kiss. His hands were greedily pressing every curve of her body against his. She moaned softly into his mouth when his palm cupped her breast through the dress.

  He abruptly ended the kiss, pulling his hands away from her as if burned.

  “No! This is wrong.” He tried to take a step back, but Clara followed him, her hands reaching out to him.

  “Do not dare to deny that you feel nothing for me, Henry Adams. And do not lie about not wanting me. False denials and lies are wrong, too. More wrong!”

  She clutched at the lapels of his jacket, and as he backed against the gate of the stall, her body trapped him.

  “I was young…stupid…impressionable in the most naïve way, but I loved you even then. I made a horrible mistake in believing that my parents knew what was best for me. But I was wrong!” She raised herself on her toes and looked into his eyes. “I told you before, and I am repeating it again. I love you. I want to marry you. No one else. And I don’t give a rush if I must wear the same dress for the next twenty years…or if we have to live in a one room hovel for the rest of our lives. So long as I am ne
ar you, then I shall be happy. And I shall make you happy, too.”

  She brushed another kiss across his lips and then let her hands drop. “And I am not giving up. I shall stay after you, Henry. I shall pester you, remain a thorn on your side, until you are ready to face the truth.” She walked away then, but turned by the door to the stables. “Now, you of all people, a man who constantly preaches forgiveness, might consider practicing a little of that, yourself.”

  “Clara…I…”

  “I’ll be back.”

  ***

  The sharp knock on the magistrate’s door brought the man’s head up.

  “Bloody hell. What now?” Musgrave muttered before calling irritably, “Come in.”

  As the door opened, Sir Robert hastily covered the correspondence he’d been reading again and again for the past three days. He was not surprised at all to find Sir Thomas Purefoy accompanying Captain Wallis.

  “How delightful to find you here at such an early hour of the morning, sir.” Musgrave said, rising to his feet. “I was planning to stop at Woodfield House later today to give my regards to Miss Jane. I hear she is back from England.”

  “She is.” Sir Thomas refused the offer of a chair.

  “And did she have a pleasant stay?”

  “Very. Thank you.”

  “You can leave us now, Captain.” Musgrave said, dismissing the man.

  “I hope you have no objections, Sir Robert, but I asked Wallis here to stay. This is not a social visit.”

  Musgrave nodded curtly and sat back in his chair behind his ornate desk. “What can we help you with today, Sir Thomas?”

  The ex-magistrate took a folded quarto sheet of cheap, unmarked broadside from his pocket. Opening it, he flung it on Sir Robert’s desk.

  “These are circulating all over Munster. This one was found on the desk of the director of the new Butter Exchange in Cork City. Are you aware of it?”

  “Yes, I am.” Musgrave disdainfully brushed the paper aside. “I find nothing of value in it. None of the printers in Cork admit to having printed it. I think it is not worth the paper it is printed on.”

  Sir Thomas snatched up the paper, summarizing its contents as if Musgrave were not capable of comprehending it by himself. “It is a call for peace by the Whiteboys. By thunder, these notices say that the Shanavests are disbanding.”

  “I know what it says, Sir Thomas.” He leaned back in his chair. “But as I said before, I find no value in them at all.”

  “And why is that, sir?”

  “Because I shall accomplish the same thing without any noble peace offerings from them.”

  “And how is that?”

  “By arresting and hanging them one by one…starting with their leaders.” Musgrave smiled proudly. “This trash you hold shows that they are beaten. And now, I shall crush them. With no leaders, there will be no band of ruffians. No band of ruffians and there is no resistance. The lessons you have taught me have been invaluable, Sir Thomas. I am finally learning.”

  “You tried to take them before, but had no success.”

  “This time is different. I have bait, you see, and they shall come to me.”

  “What are you using as bait? Or should I ask…whom?”

  “I am afraid I must refrain from answering.”

  “You do not trust me, Sir Robert?”

  “It is not a matter of trust, sir, but the sensitiveness of the subject.” Tired of the other man looming over him, Musgrave rose to his feet and faced the older man across the desk. “When you hanged those five Whiteboys nine years ago, you all but crushed the resistance in this area for years. Before dawn tomorrow, I shall hang four of the most active of the rebel leaders, and start my campaign to eradicate them entirely.”

  “But there was no offer of peace back then. I would not have ordered the killing if there had been an option.”

  “You say that now, but I think not.” Musgrave shrugged. “We all want to leave a legacy behind. I should like to be remembered as the one who hanged the cursed Liam…and Patrick… and Finn…and Egan. Yes, I should like it much better than being remembered as the foolish magistrate who agreed to let them disperse…for as long as it suited them.”

  Sir Thomas leaned menacingly over the desk. “We are discussing human lives. You kill those people now, and you stir up rebellion in others. Vengeance drives people to do mad things, Musgrave. The course you are choosing will bring unnecessary dangers to our own people’s lives.”

  “How different a tune I hear now, Sir Thomas, from the one you were whistling scarcely a month ago.”

  “Speak plainly, Musgrave.”

  “Excuse me, Sir Thomas, but we are all entitled to make our own mistakes before we learn from them.” He motioned to Wallis to open the door. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a great deal of work left to do before the arrests and the executions tomorrow morning.”

  Purefoy’s face was fiery with rage when he stormed from the room ahead of Captain Wallis, but Musgrave didn’t care a whit. He dug out the familiar letter from beneath the other sheets of paper.

  The official correspondence in his had come from the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland three days ago. Musgrave had been called back to England. He was relieved of his duties… immediately.

  He was no fool. He knew Nicholas Spencer was responsible for this. The insolent dog had been the only one who had ever threatened his authority, and Spencer had been completely charmed by the beautiful slut, Jane Purefoy. He must have acted quickly when he’d gotten to England.

  The magistrate threw the correspondence back on his desk. Well, the Lord Lieutenant would have to wait, for he was going nowhere until he had finished with his plans. Indeed, Sir Nicholas’s interest in the Purefoy’s would make her hanging all that much more satisfying.

  Yes, some had to die—most especially Egan—before Musgrave obeyed any order inveigled by some cocky London rogue.

  And yes, despite the former magistrate’s illustrious past, Sir Robert didn’t trust Sir Thomas Purefoy further than the length of his own sword.

  ***

  Nicholas’s arms tightened instinctively around Jane as she tried to slide from the bed. She turned and found him sound asleep. A tighter knot grew in her throat, strangling her, but she again fought back the tears. She forced herself to lift his hand slowly off her stomach as she slipped from under it.

  Jane knew she was on the verge of falling apart, so she hastily pulled on her clothes. At the door, she looked one last time at his muscular arm spread over the side of the bed where she’d been pretending to sleep only minutes ago.

  She had refused to get involved with announcements and wedding plans today. This day had belonged only to the two of them. Their lovemaking tonight had been hungry. She had touched him and kissed him and given herself to him as if there were no tomorrow.

  And indeed, there would be no tomorrow.

  He had wanted to talk of the future, but she could not bear it. She had wanted only rapture, the pure and simple joy of drowning in the moment, in the night, in each other.

  She gave him one last look and a smile. Then she slipped out of his chamber, finally letting the tears fall, marking their final farewell.

  Jane had to stop at her room and change into the clothing that signified that she was Egan. Although by dawn there would be no question that the two where one and the same, she refused to give Musgrave the satisfaction of arresting Jane Purefoy. No, it would be Egan that he hangs…Jane Purefoy would remain in the heart of the man she’d just left

  The ritual of carefully putting her hat on and pulling it low over her eyes, of sliding the dagger into its sheath, of tucking her pistol into her belt, was performed slowly, thoughtfully. Each movement brought back to her fully the purpose behind the cause she’d been fighting for. Each movement, completed one last time, fortified her spirit that she was dying that others would live.

  She used the secret passageway to make her way to the stables. It was already past midnight, and the familiar sou
nds and smells of the old dark structure struck her fully tonight. These were things she wanted embedded in her memory, as well. She moved silently toward Mab’s stall.

  Aside from losing a life with Nicholas, she had one great regret. Musgrave. The man would probably be lionized in the Houses of Parliament for his attention to duty, cheered in the offices of the Lord Lieutenant, toasted in the homes of English landowners.

  But he had no empathy for the Irish. He would never feel remorse for his brutality. Egan had a hard time believing he would go through with his promise to free the families of Liam and Patrick in an exchange. She had said so last night. But the other three men had been willing to trust in Musgrave’s honor.

  She had the sickening feeling that everyone was to suffer tonight.

  Egan frowned when she looked into Mab’s empty stall. Confused, she looked for her saddle and found that missing, too. Hoping that Paul had been alerted to when she would need the mare, she walked out to the paddock where the stable master might possibly be waiting with her horse.

  It was all quiet there, too. No horse, no Paul, no anyone.

  Beginning to feel a little rattled—for time was running short—she moved hurriedly into another stall and saddled one of her father’s horses instead. In all these years nothing like this had ever happened. Paul knew that Mab was not to be moved or ridden by anyone else. Everyone knew.

  A few minutes later, she left Woodfield House behind and galloped through the night. The more she thought of it as she rode, though, Egan was actually relieved that Queen Mab, at least, would not fall into Musgrave’s hands.

  ***

  The sharp knock on the door brought the startled magistrate up straight in his bed. His mind and his eyes needed a moment to adjust to suddenness of the disturbance. A soldier’s urgent call outside his door made him push the covers aside and rush to the door. His unhappy manservant stood holding a candle behind a young dragoon.