Moonlight Lover (2 page)

"Aye, that it does for the first four or five tankards." His dreamy expression faded as he roused himself to be aware of his surroundings. "After that, it tastes like a bit of heaven, it does." With great effort, the man drew himself up to his full height, swaying forward on his toes to be nearly at eye level with Sin-Jin. "Riley O'Roarke is my name." As if he was pushing his end of a saw forward, he thrust his hand toward Sin-Jin and missed his target. "You'll have to be standing stiller than that if you want me to shake your hand."

"I'll do my best." Sin-Jin laughed and took Riley's hand in his. Riley's grip was surprisingly strong for a man in his condition, Sin-Jin mused. "St. John Lawrence at your service."

Riley cocked his head to one side, a robin listening for sounds of an approaching enemy. "You don't sound as if you're from around here." His grin flickered like a candle in the wind, about to be extinguished.

Sin-Jin had been in this position before more times than he cared to count or remember. He maintained his friendly expression, though he was on his guard. "Neither do you. Irish?"

Riley nodded slowly, his brows knitting together to form a wavy scowl. His nostrils flared, his ale-soaked body at the ready, or so he believed. "British?"

Sin-Jin kept his tone friendly. "Only by the misguided whimsy of fate."

He saw Riley clumsily reach for the pistol that was haphazardly tucked into the waistband of his trousers. In his present state, Sin-Jin had no doubts that the man was more apt to shoot off a very vital part of his anatomy rather than successfully threaten him. In a show of friendship and confidence, Sin-Jin raised the tankard to his lips.

"American by choice," Sin-Jin added nonchalantly. Placing the tankard down once more, he pushed it toward Riley.

Instantly, the suspicion was removed from Riley's brow and a wide, sunny smile descended on his lips once more. Curling both hands about the tankard, Riley nodded sagely.

"By choice," he echoed. "Aye, that would make two of us—or however many of you there are. It isn't sporting to be weaving around like that," he chided. "You're making me head spin." Paling, Riley blinked and passed his hand over his eyes. "Jeannie, Jeannie me darlin'," he called. "Where are you?"

He pawed the air for the barmaid. But she had taken the opportunity to slip away to seek a more generous patron. Sin-Jin glanced to the back of the tavern and saw that Jeannie was now happily in the process of entertaining a jovial man he recognized to be the town blacksmith.

Riley was completely unaware of the girl's disappearance. He seemed unable to turn his head without bringing the room down along with him. He placed a quavering hand on his new found friend's shoulder. "St. John?"

"Sin-Jin to my friends," Sin-Jin corrected.

Riley nodded and one knee buckled. His grip intensified. "Sin-Jin." The name was barely a whisper and lost in the noise of the tavern.

Sin-Jin leaned closer to hear what the man had to tell him. "Yes?"

Riley fought valiantly against the sudden wave that was sweeping him into a darkened place where he had no desire to go. He leaned toward Sin-Jin and the wave grew more intense, more overpowering. "It's afraid I am that I'll be fallin' soon."

Sin-Jin knew better than to argue with a man about the condition he perceived himself to be in. He reached for Riley's arm. He succeeded in grabbing the younger man just as Riley was about to bonelessly meet the well-scarred wooden floor, a wide and satisfied grin stamped on his amiable and quite unconscious face.

Chapter Two

"Riley?" Sin-Jin attempted to shake the man awake. All he received for his trouble was a contented sigh as Riley sank deeper into the misty cloud of oblivion. "Riley?"

Seeing that he was on the losing end of the battle, Sin-Jin looked around the noisy room for assistance. Sam, the tavern's proprietor, was at the far side of the bar, exchanging words with one of his customers. Bracing Riley against him with one hand, Sin-Jin waved and managed to catch the older man's eye.

Just as he did so, Riley began to sink and Sin-Jin dropped his hand to lace both together behind Riley's back. He felt as if he were dancing with a sack of meal.

Sam, a puzzled look upon his broad, fleshy face, made his way over to Sin-Jin in his habitual lumbering, slow gait. He eyed the two men with growing amusement. Riley's chin was resting on Sin-Jin's shoulder like a smitten young girl with her first love.

There was a new spill on the rough planks of the bar. Sam took the towel from his shoulder and began to wipe it away, his motions deceptively languid, his eyes on Sin-Jin. "Problem?"

Sin-Jin tolerated the man's humor for the moment. "Yes, there's a problem. I'm not used to having a man in my arms, Sam," he said evenly. Especially not one who felt as if he shared the same bodily composition as the Liberty Bell.

Sam's jowls spread as his smile broadened. He raised his voice to be heard above the noise and shrugged. "Times are hard. Of course," he draped the half-damp towel on his shoulder again, "I would have thought, though, that Jeannie was more to each of your liking—"

Sin-Jin shifted to keep Riley from sinking down further. "Sam, it's late and I'm in no mood for your humor." Impatience was beginning to encroach on the perimeter of his words like a hunter stalking a deer. He nodded at Riley. "Do something with him."

Sam gave Sin-Jin a look of innocence that would have been at home on a three-year-old child's face. "Out of my hands, Lawrence." As if to emphasize his words, Sam raised two beefy palms up toward the ceiling. "I've got my hands full with this rabble. Hey, you there," he suddenly yelled at a pair past Sin-Jin's shoulder. Sin-Jin attempted to see who had gained Sam's attention, but Riley made it difficult to turn. "Stop that or I'll be cracking both your heads wide open like a pair of ripe melons."

Sin-Jin guessed that Sam's words were addressed to the fighting pair who had jostled him earlier. The men had stamina, he thought, which was far more than he had at the moment.

"Sam," he implored.

His attention returning to Sin-Jin, Sam shook his head.

"I've no one to spare to take Mr. O'Roarke home this evening. James's taken to his bed tonight and Willie hasn't been around for days." He frowned darkly for a fleeting moment. "I can't even leave the bar to see to my own necessities."

Three men approached the far end of the bar and Sam turned to make his way toward them.

This wasn't turning out the way Sin-Jin wanted. "Well, what am I supposed to do with him?" he called after Sam.

The man turned on his heel and leveled a gaze at Sin-Jin that said far more than his words did. "Anything your conscience tells you to."

Anything his conscience told him to. Now there was a sure way to make matters more difficult, Sin-Jin thought. If he could have ignored his conscience, he would have taken Vanessa away from his brother, or attempted to steal Krystyna away from Jason. Or kept his slaves. Then he would have only had to feed them rather than to pay them wages as well. Listening to his conscience had only made things worse for him. Or at least woefully arduous.

But he was a man bound by such things that didn't trouble others. And a sore conscience could keep him awake at night. He frowned, looking down at Riley. "You've a way of wording things, Sam."

"Comes with the territory, Lawrence. Comes with the territory."

It was all the philosophy Sam would allow himself for the night. If he waxed too sagely, people might begin to suspect that he was more than the amiable barkeep he portrayed himself to be. And then how would he be able to pass messages along?

Sin-Jin sighed. There was no decent way out of the situation but one.

"All right. Where does he live?" The question was asked grudgingly. Sam knew everything there was to know about everyone within a fifty-mile radius. "And it had better not be too far out of my way."

As it was, Sin-Jin calculated that he would probably reach his own plantation by early dawn. He was suddenly bone weary. The alcohol he had consumed was finally beginning to have effect, numbing his senses. All he really wanted to do now was rid himself of this load and to fall into his own bed.

Sam waved a hand at the men at the end of the bar to be patient. "Not far at all, lad." He leaned over the bar and peered closer at Riley's face. The silly grin was still in place. It made Sam chuckle at the irony of it all. "Do you know who he is?"

"A drunken man," Sin-Jin muttered.

"And our new editor."

"Editor?" Sin-Jin tried to shift the man in order to get another look at Riley, but it was impossible. Riley's face was pressed against him, apparently content to use Sin-Jin's chest as a pillow. "Of what, pray tell?"

"The Virginia Gazette."

This was news to him. Any information he received was strictly by hearsay, not paper. "And since when do we have a newspaper?"

"Since yon gentleman came into town and opened a newspaper office. We had a periodical once, about ten years ago. Loyalists took exception to one of the editorials and burned it down." Sam gestured grandly at the sleeping man. Sam was privy to everything first, one way or another, and at times he forgot that not everyone was as fortunate. He gave Sin-Jin an apologetic half-smile. "I forget, we haven't seen you in three months. O'Roarke came in around then. We had a house raising. Quite a party it was, too."

Sin-Jin nodded his head, only partially listening. It was closer to four months since he had been at Sam's. He had been far too busy these last months to come to town himself. Whenever supplies were needed, he sent in his overseer, or one of the men. If he wanted company, there were the McKinleys to turn to.

Except that tonight, the McKinleys wouldn't have done. Seeing Jason and Aaron's contentment in the wedded state would have been akin to rubbing the newly formed skin from a wound. He wanted to forget, not remember.

Riley sagged and Sin-Jin shifted again.

Sam raised a black, shaggy brow that bore more than a passing resemblance to a fuzzy caterpillar. "Getting a mite heavy for you?"

Sin-Jin locked his hands together. Pressing tightly against the man's ribs, he managed to drag him up a little higher. It wasn't a battle he was destined to win in the long run. "You might say that."

Sam knew when to end a jest. There was a fine line between amusing a man and rousing his ire, and he tread it daily at the tavern. Sam pointed toward the rear of the tavern, as if the walls would melt away and permit Sin-Jin a view. "He lives in the little house next to the newspaper office. It's the one near the Emporium."

Sin-Jin could visualize the Emporium. A year ago there had been nothing around it. Since he had settled here, the seaport town had grown from three buildings to more than a dozen, with small wood-framed houses clustering about them like chicks seeking the warmth of a mother hen. It wouldn't be a difficult matter to find the house where the inebriated editor of their new periodical lived.

With Riley resting against him, Sin-Jin attempted to reach the pouch hanging from his belt. "I owe you for the last ale."

Sam waved the matter away. "It's on the house, Lawrence. You're doing me a favor, taking O'Roarke home. I've seen him have a few before, but never to this point. Seems like a nice fellow. Hate to see anything happen to him in this state."

Sam nodded at the insistent calls of the men waiting to be serviced. He banked down his impatience with them. Sin-Jin was worth any eight of them by his count and perhaps more than that. He'd rather have a converted Redcoat in his establishment than a hot-headed, untried rebel. But money was money.

He eyed Sin-Jin before turning away. "Be seeing you again soon?"

"Perhaps," Sin-Jin muttered, preoccupied with the task at hand.

Sin-Jin weighted his options and decided that it was best just to hoist the slighter man over his shoulder and carry him out that way. He knew that he wasn't about to get any help from the man himself. Riley was far past the point where he was aware of what was happening.

Men obligingly moved out of Sin-Jin's way as he wove his way to the front door. With a grunt, he pulled it open and stepped outside, slightly bowed beneath the weight he was carrying. The door shut behind him. The late night autumn air was brisk, broadly hinting at the winter that was soon to come.

Winters were the hardest to live through, Sin-Jin thought, his melancholy returning. They were always so long and dark. And bleak.

He roused himself. This just wasn't like him. He wasn't one to wallow in self-pity. Tomorrow would be different, he promised himself. He'd feel better tomorrow.

Carefully, he placed the unconscious Riley over the saddle of his horse. Taking the reins, Sin-Jin began to walk in the direction of the emporium. The newspaper office was standing boldly next to it, a bantam contender waiting to make its mark on the world.

Sin-Jin whistled softly as he stopped before the newly constructed one-story wooden building. It boasted windows of real glass. They must have cost a pretty penny, he thought. A copy of the first issue of the Virginia Gazette, dated two months ago, was hung in the window closest to him for all to see, a valorous declaration of a new era announced upon its first page.

Civilization, Sin-Jin mused, was quickly gaining on them.

He turned his attention to the house that was situated on the other side of the newspaper office. It was slightly recessed from its sister buildings, as if it wished to keep its own counsel.

"This must be it," he murmured. And none too soon at that.

Bracing himself, Sin-Jin eased Riley from the horse and once again hoisted the man on his back. Turning, Sin-Jin approached the small white picket fence that spread out before the front yard like delicate lace about a young girl's collar. He opened the gate and didn't bother attempting to close it behind him. Riley was heavy and he wanted to get this over with.

Sin-Jin realized that he hadn't inquired as to Riley's family.
 
He had naturally assumed that the man was married, and there was nothing to change his assumption. At least there appeared to be someone living with him. Sin-Jin detected the light from a fireplace seeping through the flimsy curtains at the window.