The Rebel (48 page)

“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 near 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
sounds 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.

“What?” he screamed at the young man, who
stood ready to knock again on the door.

“’Tis Captain Wallis, sir.” The soldier took
a step backward. “He…he has…left the barracks. I rode here directly
to let you know.”

“Left to go where?” Musgrave snapped.

“To Cuchulainn’s Seat.”

The confusion and question must have shown
in Musgrave’s face as the young man quickly explained again.

“The captain and two dozen of his personal
Guard took all the prisoners…for the exchange with the rebels. The
captain told Corporal Evans that the meeting place and time had
changed, and…and that you were already aware of it.”

“WHAT?” Musgrave’s roar sent both soldier
and servant back another step.

“We…had…no way…of knowing…sir…until…Sergeant
Powers came back on duty…and he said…if you didn’t go with
them…then you didn’t know. Begging your par…”

“W
hen did they leave
?” Musgrave
shouted as he rushed about his room, dressing in haste.

“Just over an hour, sir…”

“Wake up whomever is left in the barracks.”
As the man leaped to go and do as he was told, a forbidding thought
occurred to the magistrate. “
Wait
!”