Rebel Kiss: A Historical Romance Novel (Scottish Rebels Book 1) (2 page)

“Are you Miss
Stanton?” the man inquired, seeming to already know the answer to his question
as he toyed with the golden chain of his pocket watch. The tedium of exchanging
forced niceties played openly across his face.

“Yes, Sir,” Anna
said, regaining her composure as he spoke her name.

Anna felt a sudden
pang of longing for the wait staff that had been let go more than a year ago. 
No wellborn lady should be answering the door like a common butler. Despite her
financial ruin, Anna still held an air of pride and tradition close to her
heart when the Stanton name was spoken.

“Murdock’s the
name, Colonel Meriwether Murdock.  Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said,
smiling stoutly beneath the awkward mustache as he extended his hand towards
Anna.

 Anna extended her
hand out of habit, years of training made this motion automatic.   Her fingers
were quickly enveloped in Colonel Murdock’s grasp and he placed a kiss on the
top of her knuckles.  His mustache felt surprisingly scratchy on her skin,
causing Anna to jerk back unexpectedly from his touch.

“How may I help
you, Colonel Murdock?” Anna asked tersely, unconsciously wiping the back of her
hand on the fabric of her skirt.

“I’ve a
proposition for you, Miss Stanton.  I understand that your family has come
across, shall we say… difficult times?” Murdock said coolly, testing the waters
with his question.  His pale blue eyes watched Anna for a reaction.  To his
disappointment, he discovered the young lady was most difficult to read.  Her
face was like stone as she waited for him to speak further.

Colonel Murdock
knew that the Stanton family was financially ruined.  In fact, all of London knew of the scandal surrounding the ruin of Norman Stanton.  Stanton had squandered
generations of riches on gambling debts and mistresses, leaving Anna and her
mother nearly destitute.  Murdock’s informants had enlightened him to the fact
that Mr. and Mrs. Norman Stanton’s only daughter was proud, headstrong and
determined to save her family’s name.

Which is exactly
why Colonel Murdock had chosen Miss Anna Stanton.

She was perfect.

She was perfect
from her fine-boned figure to her golden hair.  In fact, she was just what he
needed.  The excitement of finally seeing Anna Stanton with his own eyes after
passing weeks making the inquiries that had led him to her door was enough to
cause butterflies of giddy excitement to flutter in Murdock’s stomach.

She was
absolutely, positively perfect.

“If you are here
to collect on my father’s debts, you know damn well that there is nothing left
to collect!”  Anna said defiantly, suddenly angered by the vile man standing on
her door step.  Meriwether Murdock was the most recent in a long stream of collectors,
the likes of which Anna had been burdened with since her father’s untimely
death.

“On the contrary,
Miss Stanton,” Murdock retorted with a sly smile.  “What if I offered you a
solution?  A solution that would fix all of this…” Murdock offered, eyebrows
arched in enticement as he looked past Anna and into the shambles of her
formerly well-furnished, prestigious home. 

Anna was suddenly
self conscious.  She edged the door closed a bit more.  But her futile action
had been too late.  Anna had watched Murdock’s eyes scan the bare flagstone
walls and the empty foyer of Stanton Place.  Her pride stung as she remembered
the luxurious tapestries that had hung on the walls of Stanton Place and the
imported furniture that had filled its rooms. 

It wasn’t that she
had particularly loved any of these fine things.  In fact it wasn’t that at
all.  Anna knew that she could live quite happily without any of the paintings,
tapestries or hand-carved furniture that had adorned the Stanton Place of her
youth.  The problem was that her mother needed these things.  As each of her
prized possessions were sold at auction or carried away by eager neighbors,
Anna had watched a little more of the life drain out of her dear mother.  The
ruin of Stanton Place was killing Claire Stanton, piece by piece.

“Have you ever
considered traveling to the New World, Miss Stanton?”  Murdock asked his loaded
question, eyes shimmering with anticipation. 

“No, I have not,
Colonel Murdock,” Anna said with annoyance, parlaying Murdock with her curt
words.  Anna was quickly growing impatient with Murdock’s vague questions.  Her
annoyance was evident as she folded her arms across her chest and took a
defensive stance in the doorway of her home.

“I like your
spunk, Miss Stanton,” Murdock said appreciatively, never having liked the games
that most women played.  He preferred the direct approach that men more often
took.  “I quite believe that your current situation has made you wise beyond
your years in the way of dealing with business,” Murdock remarked approvingly
as he beheld the lovely young lady standing defensively in the doorway of the
shambles of her home.  She was absolutely, positively perfect and Murdock was
determined to make his proposition take hold.

“Exactly how may I
help you, Colonel Murdock?” Anna asked, shifting her weight to one hip as she
held Murdock’s appraising gaze.  Anna Stanton was not the kind of woman who was
easily intimidated.

“I’ll be frank
with you, Miss Stanton.   I hope that I do not offend your fair notions by
doing so,” Murdock said, eyebrows rising again as if in question.  “There is a
lack of wellborn women folk that are willing to travel to the New World.  At
present, men fair outnumber womenfolk four to one in the colonies and many of
our fine English officers are hard-pressed to find well-bred women to take to
wife.”

Murdock paused and
looked up at Anna.  She stood frozen like a statue in the doorway, considering
the words that he had just spoken.  It dawned on Murdock that Anna had not
invited him inside the house as would have been the courteous manner in which
to treat a visitor. Anna Stanton stood like a sentry, guarding the doorway. 

The only
difference was that she was a much more beautiful than the typical sentry. 
Anna had striking blonde hair which fell in loose ringlets about her
shoulders.  Her hazel eyes were bright and clear, resting beneath brows that
were knit together in contemplation of his proposal.  Her nose was straight and
her lips were full.  Murdock noticed that she chewed on the corner of her full
bottom lip, a habit that he knew she would stop if only she had been aware that
she was doing it.  Anna Stanton was a rare beauty, destitute or not.  Murdock
knew that his client would be most pleased, most pleased indeed if he could
interest Miss Stanton in the proposal of marriage.

“My client wishes to
find a well-bred Englishwoman to take to wife.  I know that, despite your
present circumstances, you were born and bred into privilege, Miss Stanton.  You
are exactly the kind of bride that my client is looking for,” Murdock said
hopefully, hanging eagerly on Anna’s response.

“And what sort of
financial compensation would this marriage entail?” Anna asked directly, chin
held high and teeth gritted together.  She couldn’t believe that she had been
brought to this, contemplating selling herself to save her mother, to save the Stanton family name.

“My client is a
Lieutenant in the King’s Army in the New World.  He would pay handsomely for a
bride of your upbringing.  He desires a young lady of your status to help him
build a life in America,” Murdock ventured, seeking to bolster Anna’s pride.

“How much?” Anna
asked sternly, shifting her weight to her other hip and unknowingly scrunching
her eyebrows together into a fierce scowl.

“Enough to fix all
of this,” Murdock said as he gestured at the ruin of Stanton Place with a grand
sweep of his arm.   “Enough to bring Stanton Place back to its former glory.”

Anna thought for a
minute, again chewing absentmindedly on the flesh of her lower lip. 

“I’ll do it,” Anna
whispered, not believing that she had uttered the words out loud.  “I’ll do
it,” she repeated, this time with a ring of pride in her voice.  Anna hoped
that her father would be proud of her and then thought twice about the notion.

Suddenly Anna
wondered if the Earl of Stanton might just be rolling over in his grave.

Chapter Two

“Stay together!” 
Rowan thundered against the sheets of rain and salty ocean water that pummeled
his face.  He brushed back his chestnut hair harshly with his forearm, looking
into his brother’s eyes.  Malcolm’s eyes were green, like their mother’s.  And
Quinn’s eyes were a steely gray, filled with anger and resentment.

The storm raged
around them as they stood on the deck of the
Mary Catherine
, clinging to
the railing as they prepared to jump into the sea.
 
The ship bucked to
the right, preparing for her final descent into the depths of the Atlantic.

 Rowan grabbed his
younger brother’s arm a little too firmly, causing Malcolm to wince. Fear
played openly across the boy’s face.  His mouth opened momentarily, as if to
formulate a sudden protest against jumping into the ocean.  Unable to find
words, Malcolm closed his mouth and nodded his head in agreement. Malcolm had
always trusted Rowan with his life and knew that now was not the time to revoke
that trust.

 
Lord, please
keep him safe.  
Rowan chanted the words over and over in his mind, sending
one last prayer for his little brother’s safety heavenward.

“On the count of
three, we jump,” Rowan ordered, glancing at Quinn long enough to shoot him a
challenging glare, daring him not to follow.

“One….Two…Three!”
Rowan exclaimed, still holding Malcolm’s arm as the Murray brothers jumped into
the hostile waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

Malcolm surfaced
first, thankful to find that Rowan still had a hold of his left arm.  He was
trying to be grown up and stoic about this adventure, but the truth was that he
was bloody scared out of his right mind. 

Rowan broke the
surface of the water and was surprised that it was warmer than he had expected. 
He scanned the water for Quinn and reached out to grab his older brother’s
shirt as he broke the surface sputtering sea water.  Rowan pulled Quinn towards
them and thanked God that they had remained together after jumping into the
sea.

“Malcolm!” shouted
Quinn above the thundering noise of the waves.  “Try tae conserve yer
strength.  I ken that ye can swim, as we all can, but we might be in the water
for awhile.”

“Alright,” nodded
Malcolm, eyes bulging from the terror of being adrift in the massive ocean at
the mercy of a raging storm.  At only seventeen years of age, this was far more
adventure than Malcolm had bargained for.

Malcolm’s eyes
scanned the water around him.  It was dark and foreboding.  The swelling and
crashing of the angry waves made the muscles of his stomach clench.  Malcolm
could hear people screaming as the
Mary Catherine
was torn apart by the
raging storm.  He closed his eyes, seeking to shut out their desperate
screams.  Malcolm fisted a hand into Rowan’s shirt, finding comfort in his
brother’s strength.  Surely, Rowan would not let him die.

“We’re going tae
make it!” Rowan yelled over the deafening waves in an effort to calm his little
brother.  He squeezed Malcolm’s arm in reassurance, having seen the fear that
had rooted in Malcolm’s eyes.  “We need tae stay together if we can.  Let’s
move away from the ship in case she makes an undertow when she goes down!” he
called above the roaring of the swelling waves.

Rowan began to
swim away from the sinking ship, fighting against the surge of the storm.  Malcolm
and Quinn followed behind him, struggling to remain together amidst the choppy
waves.

“Is that part of
the mast?” Malcolm screamed as he pointed at an object bobbing up and down in
the waves.  His eyes burned from the salty water and he rubbed at them harshly,
straining to see through the rushing water.  “I see something floating over
there.”

“Aye, it might be,”
Rowan said.  “It’s no far.  It would do tae have something tae hold ontae,” he
said as they changed course and swam towards the floating object.

Malcolm was the
first to reach the large piece of water-logged wood, which indeed turned out to
be part of the ship’s broken mast.  He wrapped his arms protectively around the
sizeable mast and gave his legs a rest, relaxing slightly against the cold,
slippery wood.

“Good find,
Malcolm,” Quinn praised as he also latched onto the mast.  His chest heaved
from the exertion of fighting the crashing waves.

“This should help
us get tae shore,” Rowan said approvingly as he wrapped an arm over the stout
piece of floating wood.  His legs burned from the struggle of swimming against
the waves still fully clothed.  His boots felt like lead weights intent on
pulling him down to the dark depths of the ocean.  Rowan had thought of taking
them off, but had decided to struggle onward with his boots intact.  Boots
would be a valuable possession if they made it to dry land.

The sound of screaming
drew Rowan’s attention back to the sinking ship.  The
Mary Catherine
was
now lying helplessly on her side, taking in water quickly with each passing
wave that pummeled her hull.  The unfortunate souls that could not swim clung
to the sides and the railings of the vessel, screaming frantically for help,
mercy or any miraculous form of salvation.  A giant wave swelled behind the
ship and crashed over the top of her, wrenching the last passengers from the
ship and casting them to their deaths in the ocean.

“Lord have mercy
on them,” whispered Quinn under his breath.  Part of him still wished that he
had gone down with the ship.  He said a silent prayer, closing his eyes as he
held onto the bobbing mast. 

The screams gradually
died off as the last passengers succumbed to their watery graves.  The Murray brothers watched silently as the
Mary Catherine
was struck by a final wave
and drug beneath the surface of the water.  The sea continued to churn.  It was
as if the
Mary Catherine
had never existed.  In an instant, the ship was
completely gone, falling towards its resting place at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Rowan heard a
woman screaming behind them and he turned towards the noise.  He loosened his
grip on the mast and tried to peer over the waves, looking for the source of
the voice.

“Help!” sputtered
a terror ridden female voice amongst the waves.  “Get off of me!  You’re
pulling me under!”

“She’s over
there!” Malcolm yelled as he spotted the young woman fighting to stay afloat in
the treacherous waves.

Rowan looked over
his shoulder in the direction that Malcolm was pointing.  About twenty strokes
from the safety of the mast, Rowan saw a man clawing at a young woman, trying
to climb atop her and keep himself out of the water.  She fought him
ferociously, sputtering and kicking as he pushed her beneath the water. 

Enraged by the
man’s cowardice, Rowan cast a quick glance towards his brothers.

“I’m going tae
help her.  Stay here,” he ordered as he pushed away from the mast and swam
towards the couple.

“Rowan!  Ye canna
save everyone!” Malcolm cried out over the waves, not wanting to see his
brother die in an act of heroism.

Rowan ignored his
brother’s protests and kicked against the waves.  His skilled arms carried him
deftly through the water, making up for the heavy weight of his boots.

The couple was not
far away but it was difficult to reach them due to the rising and cresting of
the swelling waves.   Rowan battled the waves, swimming with such intensity
that his arms burned with exertion.  He heard the woman cry out and he looked
up to see her still thrashing against the man.  The man pushed her under water
again as he tried to crawl on top of her. Rowan kicked harder, ignoring the
burning exhaustion of his quadriceps as cleared the distance between them.

He had to get to
her soon or she would surely drown.  Despite the burning of his muscles, Rowan
put his face in the water and swam with all of his power.  His eyes stung from
the salt water, but in a few swift strokes, he was upon the couple.

“Get off of her,
ye bastard!” Rowan yelled as he pushed the middle aged man away from the young
woman.  The man was wild with fear, clawing and grabbing at the woman’s dress,
sputtering as he inhaled the salty ocean water.  Treading water with his legs,
Rowan ripped the woman’s dress from the grips of the frantic man, trying to
free her so that she could swim.   The man caught her wrist and pulled her
beneath the water, again trying to climb atop her so that he could keep afloat.

Rowan growled low
in his throat.

Enough was
enough. 

Rowan pulled back
his fist and punched the man square in the jaw. 

“Leave her be!”
Rowan commanded as he pulled the woman away, clasping her against his chest. 
He kicked powerfully with his legs to put distance between them and the
desperate man.  His chest heaved from the exertion of his swim. Rowan leaned
onto his back and pulled the woman against his chest, wrapping his right arm
under her right armpit and across her breasts, tethering her to him as he swam
away.  His muscles surged with pain as he fought to support two people in the
angry waves of the Atlantic.

“It’s alright. 
I’ve got ye,” Rowan whispered against the salty skin of the woman’s cheek.   He
stopped swimming for a moment, allowing his body to float on the surface of the
ocean.  He needed to rest, to regain his strength, or they would both drown.  They
bobbed up with the swell of a wave.  A sob racked the woman’s body and she
relaxed against Rowan’s muscled chest as he treaded water, allowing her head to
fall against his shoulder in exhaustion.

“Thank you,” she
said simply.  “He was going to pull me under, and I was so scared.”

Rowan immediately
noticed the distinct ring of an English accent in her voice, and he gritted his
teeth in response.  He had more than one reason to hate the English.

“Can ye swim,
lass?” Rowan asked.  Terror coursed through him as he searched the waves for
his brothers.  His heart stilled when he spotted them, still clinging to the
mast, not far off in the distance.   He began to swim again, pulling the woman
through the waves toward his brothers.  The waves were dying down as the worst
of the storm had now passed.  Rowan looked up towards the sky, noting that the
clouds were beginning to dissipate.  It seemed that the storm would move on as
quickly as it had come.

“Not very well.  I
can keep myself afloat, but my dress keeps getting tangled up,” she said,
brushing her hair back from her face.

“Well, we need tae
get ye out of it then,” Rowan said matter-of-factly.

“My dress?” the
woman asked flabbergasted, her body tensing against Rowan’s chest.

“Well, if ye canna
swim with it on, ye need tae get out of it,” Rowan said, this seeming to be a
perfectly logical solution in his mind.  He righted his body in the water and
used his free arm and legs to keep both of their heads above the waves.

“But I’ve only got
a shift on underneath my dress!” she exclaimed, clearly unnerved by Rowan’s
suggestion.

“It seems tae me
that if ye have the choice between drowning or stripping down tae yer shift,
the more logical choice would be tae get rid of yer dress,” Rowan barked,
vowing that he would never understand women.  Here they were, shipwrecked in
the ocean and he was arguing with a woman over the proprieties of removing her
dress so that she would not drown.

“Will you look at
me?” she asked, still tense against Rowan’s chest.  Her eyes shifted from
Rowan’s to cast down upon the waves that lapped at her neck.

“No, I willna look
at ye.  I promise tae be most respectable,” Rowan grumbled, as he rolled his
eyes heavenward and gritted his teeth together.  His legs were stinging from
exhaustion as he propelled them back towards the safety of the mast and his
brothers.  His boots felt like iron weights and with each kick the aching in
Rowan’s muscles intensified.  The woman’s silly notions were making Rowan begin
to regret his heroic act.

Then he realized
that his right arm was in quite a precarious position, right between her lovely
breasts, pulling her lithe body close against his as he swam.  Mayhap he
would
steal a peek at her when she took off the dress. 

“Alright, will you
please unlace the back of my dress?” she asked, relenting to Rowan’s
reasoning.  She leaned away from his chest to bear her laces to him.  Waves
splashed at her face as she struggled to remain afloat in the water.

Rowan stopped
swimming and treaded water, struggling to rip out the laces from the back of
her gown as the salt water splattered his face.  He tore the laces free then
felt the bodice of her gown give way.  Seeking to help her out of the confines
of the dress, he pulled the sleeve down her arm and jerked it roughly when it
seemed to catch on something.

“My bracelet!” she
screamed, flailing frantically in the water.  “Oh my God, is it caught in the
sleeve?” she asked frantically, hands searching the fabric of the soaked gown. 
“You lost it!” she said angrily as the wave crested, causing them both to rise
with its gentle swell.  Her were eyes piercing Rowan like daggers.  “It was all
I had left of them!”

“It’s gone lass.  I’m
sorry, the sleeve was caught and I just pulled it…” Rowan trailed off, feeling
guilty that the loss of this bracelet had upset her so much. 

The woman reached
out to grasp his shoulders again, suddenly overtaken with panic as the water
had placed distance between them. Rowan helped her slip out of the skirt of her
gown, sputtering when she accidentally splashed salt water in his face.

  When her legs
were free of the confining skirt, she began to kick them in an effort to tread
water.  Still her hands clung around Rowan’s shoulders, and it was only then
that Rowan realized how beautiful the young lady actually was.  Her blonde hair
was unbound and hung loosely about her face, curling slightly from the sea
water.  A smattering of freckles dusted her nose and her large hazel eyes were
rimmed with thick black lashes.  She clung to him trustingly with her hazel
eyes focused intently on his.