Chapter 8

December 17, 1743

Ashley and Kelt walked across the orchard toward the dock. A light blanket of snow covered the ground, laced the winter-barren apple trees with garlands of glittering fairy dust, and muffled the shrill cries of swans winging overhead. The midmorning sun was bright, despite the dropping temperature, and a light wind off the Chesapeake brought the strong, sharp smell of salt.

Kelt glanced sideways at the woman striding briskly beside him. Ashley's mood was light and her cheeks glowed like roses. She had removed the bandages and, except for the bruise across her forehead and the smudge of purple beneath her eye, she looked the picture of health. The auburn-haired lass had recovered even more quickly from the fall than he could have imagined. Still... something was different about her since the accident.

She smiled up at him questioningly. "Soot on my nose, Scot?"

"I was wondering what you would say when I told you what I did this morning," he lied. He quickened his step, averting his eyes to keep her from reading his thoughts. I'd like to paint you as you are now... with the green wool hood of your cape framing your face and the snow behind you.

Ashley stopped short, folded her arms across her chest, and waited, "Well?" she demanded when he didn't explain. "What exactly did you do?"

"I accepted Martin Hopkins's invitation to the Christmas fete... for us both."

"You did what?"

Kelt shrugged and grinned. "Hopkins rode over and asked me himself. What else could I do?"

"You could have accepted for yourself." Ashley pursed her lips in a frown. "They tolerate me, for all my idiosyncrasies, but I don't really fit in." Doubt flickered behind the cinnamon-colored eyes. "Now there's no way I can get out of going without offering insult."

"It's Christmas. Surely you can allow yourself a little pleasure. Life's not all work, Ashley."

She stepped past him and hurried toward the dock, her knee-high Indian moccasins almost soundless on the crust of the sparkling snow.

"Wait, lass," he called, catching up to her with a few easy strides. "I thought ye'd be pleased. I never knew a woman who didn't like a party." He lay a gloved hand on her sleeve. "Is it that ye have nothing appropriate to wear?"

"No." She brushed away his hand and kept walking.

"Then what is it?" he demanded. "Are ye too proud to go to such an affair with your hired man? Do ye think 'twould cause talk among the gentlefolk of Chestertown?" The sarcasm in his burr was barely concealed.

"'Tis neither, you great Scottish ox!" Ashley retorted. Her voice dropped and she walked faster. "I can't dance."

A chuckle erupted from deep in Kelt's throat as he caught her around the waist and swung her in a half circle. "What did you say?" he demanded. "The mistress o' Morgan's Fancy canna dance? I dinna believe it."

Ashley's eyes narrowed dangerously and she stiffened in his hands. "Put me down," she ordered. When he complied, she stepped back, the tint of her cheeks revealing the depth of her anger. "Do you think a single kiss gives you leave to take liberties?"

"Two kisses," he reminded her. And I've half a mind to make it three.

"I don't deny that you're an attractive man, Saxon, or that I haven't thought about..." Ashley paused, searching for the right words. She shrugged. "Perhaps my grandfather taught me too well. My directness of thought and speech would be better suited to a man." Her lower lip trembled as she fixed him with a steady gaze. "I am no lightskirt, and I tell you straight out that I do not mean to wed—not ever! So, you'd be best advised to turn your charm on one of Martin's offspring."

"Marriage, is it? Marriage? Don't flatter yourself, cailleach!" Kelt threw his head back and glared at her arrogantly, his fists resting lightly on his slim hips. "When and if I take a wife, it won't be for her land and fortune! God knows there'd be no other reason a man would want such an ill-tempered harpy as ye." His gray eyes clouded with anger. "Do ye think the English have stripped me of my pride, woman?"

The question hung in the crisp air between them. For an instant, veins stood out on Kelt's forehead and Ashley was keenly aware of the straining sinews that threatened to rip the seams of the heavy leather vest. Frightened by the intensity of his barely controlled fury, it was all she could do to hold her ground and not back away.

"It is a man's place to support his wife and bairns, not the other way around." Kelt slowly relaxed his tense muscles. "King George's soldiers took much... but they didna take my pride." He pulled off his cocked hat and ran a hand through the dark hair. "I meant you no insult by my kisses—nor by my touch. But I didna speak a word of marriage. And when I choose, 'tis I will do the askin'."

"Good," Ashley replied. "Then we both know where we stand. I meant no insult to your damned Scot's pride, either. You wouldn't be the first man to look at broad fields and deep water docking. Even in the Highlands, property must be a consideration in deciding who to wed."

"Aye, I'll grant ye that. But 'tis different. In Scotland I have..." He shook his massive head and laughed wryly. "Nothing." The word was barely a whisper. "Nay, lass. I've unleashed my foul temper on you without cause." He replaced the hat and pulled it low over his forehead. "I am doubly sorry. A shrew ye be, but no cailleach. 'Tis my own bile that poisons me." The gray eyes softened. "I've seen too many make their fortune in this new world through a marriage bed and then betray the lass that brought it. I be no such mon, and I fear I have strong opinions on the matter."

"Agreed." Ashley gave him a faint smile. "My mother received much the same treatment from my stepfather, Nicholas Randall—and he was supposed to be a Virginia gentleman of breeding." She tilted her head slightly to gaze into his eyes. "What happened in Scotland, Kelt? Why were you transported to the Colonies?"

For several seconds he did not answer, then he sighed and shook his head. "'Tis over and done with. Better not to speak o' it."

Ashley caught his work-roughened hand and gripped it. "I know you, Kelt. You are no criminal."

"So my mother always said."

They reached the edge of the dock and sat down on an overturned rowboat. The gentle swish of the water lapping against the shore was oddly comforting to Kelt. "I think my mother would ha' liked you," he murmured finally.

Ashley laughed. "If she did, it would be the first time anyone's mother liked me."

"She admired spirit in others, and she was firm in her conviction that none of my sisters be married off to men they didna like."

Mischief twinkled in Ashley's eyes as she released his hand and crossed her legs under her. "And here I thought you were going to tell me she was a gentle, sweet creature with no thought but your father's wishes."

Kelt smiled wryly. "She was, and she would be shocked at your standards of housekeeping, but my mother had a wonderful sense of humor." He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, and stared at the water. "Even though my father had no title, we were wealthy, owning estates in England and Ireland as well as Scotland. My father's two younger brothers were declared Jacobites. They were both killed in 1719 at the Battle of Glenshiel."

"You must have been a child then," Ashley said.

"Aye, but the rebellion was our downfall just the same. My father was the oldest son, the heir; even though he took no direct part in the rebellion, his enemies tried to have him arrested as a Jacobite traitor. My father had no love for King George, but he was no rebel. He cared more for his land and his family than politics."

"And you?"

Kelt grinned wolfishly. "Young men are ever ready to do battle for some great cause. It was easy to hate the British soldiers; they burned farms, murdered whole families, carried off young girls to serve as whores in their camps. We saw little English justice in Scotland."

Ashley nodded. "I've heard the same thing from others."

"An English officer, the younger son of an earl, saw my sister Ceit at a ball in Edinburgh and he wanted her for his bride. Ceit was promised to my cousin Parian. The earl's son, Richard Humphry, came to Ceit's wedding uninvited. He drank too much and insulted Ceit. He and Parian fought, and Parian killed him in self-defense. When Parian was arrested for Humphry's murder, I testified on his behalf, but he was found guilty just the same. I stayed in Edinburgh to try and arrange a new trial while my brothers took Ceit home." Kelt's eyes glazed. "English soldiers went to my father's castle a week later. He'd been an invalid for months, but they accused him of attacking them and of perpetrating high treason against the King. My parents, my sisters and brothers, and their children, were all slaughtered, along with our family retainers. I escaped arrest and was declared an outlaw."

"And your cousin?"

"Hanged. I went to Humphry's quarters that night and killed him. It took the British nearly two years to catch me. I was convicted of murder and treason, and sentenced to die in a particularly unpleasant manner."

"But you were spared?"

"Aye. After I spent a long time in prison, someone in power, a real Jacobite, I suspect, arranged to have me pardoned on the treason charge. As a common murderer, I was worth more alive than dead, so I was shipped off to Annapolis to be sold as an indentured servant."

"Maryland? But I thought—"

"My indenture was purchased in Maryland, but my first master had a plantation near St. Mary's. I was only there a few weeks when he moved south to Virginia. I served nine years as a bond slave before I got my freedom."

Ashley blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. "I'm sorry about your mother... your family. You have reason to hate."

"Nay, no more," he said softly. "Hate eats at a mon until it destroys him. Hate willna bring them back."

"But you don't forget."

"Nay, you don't forget."

They sat in silence for a while, then Kelt turned to her quizzically. "I've satisfied your curiosity, now ye can do the same for me. How is it that a lady such as yourself canna dance? You must admit it is somewhat difficult to ken." He grinned at her discomfort. "Never mind, lass, it just so happens that I'm a wonderful dancer. We've a week before the party. I'll teach ye to dance."

"I can't wait." Ashley grimaced. "But I warn you, I sent my last dancing teacher away raving like a madman."

"What did ye do to the poor woman?"

"He was a man, and I poured honey in his wig and ants in his bed." Ashley got to her feet. "Unless you've forgotten, we came to check the repairs on the sloop." Her dancing ability, or lack of it, was not something she wanted to discuss with him. That she couldn't dance was her own fault. God knew her grandfather had gone to enough effort to give her lessons in the finer arts.

She walked cautiously across the dock toward the moored sloop. The wooden boards were icy beneath her moccasins and she had no wish to fall flat on her bottom and give Kelt even more reason to laugh at her. The storm that had caused the loss of the barn had done considerable damage to the plantation sloop. Repairs had been made in Chestertown by John Saloway, master boat builder; even now, his considerable bill lay on her desk. He must be paid at once, but she'd be a fool to pay without examining the work first.

Ashley knelt beside the sloop and ran her fingers along the seams of the new wood. The old and new boards were joined so tightly that it was almost impossible to tell where the hole in the hull had been. The boat builder had earned his fee—if only she could figure how to come up with the silver to pay for the repairs.

Kelt's teasing brought back memories she hadn't thought about in years. She'd been hiding from her dance master the first time she met Gentleman Jim. She couldn't abide Roger de Ives, with his powdered wig and affected manners. She'd accidentally stepped on his satin slipper and the other children had laughed at her. She'd been so angry, she'd taken her pony from the barn and ridden to the far end of the plantation.

She'd heard voices from the woods, tied her pony, and crawled on hands and knees to peer through the bushes at an unfamiliar ship anchored in the creek. Even a child knew a hundred-ton schooner with eight cannon and swivel guns was no honest merchant vessel. They were pirates. They had to be. Pirates on Morgan's Fancy! So intent was she on her spying that the first indication that she'd been seen was when a powerful hand seized her ankle and lifted her upside down into the air like a captured rabbit...

"Ashley!"

She blinked and looked at Kelt standing beside her. "What?"

"I said I was riding to Chestertown for lead and powder. Do ye wish me to settle with the boat builder? His apprentice was insistent on being paid immediately. They didn't even want to let Joshua sail it out of the boatyard." Kelt ran his hand along the hull approvingly. "They did a good job on this." His brow furrowed. "I'll be needing more axheads for the lumbering. The harnesses can be made here on the plantation, but I must have iron for billhooks and brass—"

"I know," she interrupted. "I'm not questioning your need." She pushed back the vivid memories of childhood and fixed her attention on the problems Kelt's requests would cause. "Frankly, I'm short on coin." She sighed. "Until word comes from London with the total of our crop, we'll get no credit from the merchants." She swore under her breath. "As if the colony did not live and breathe on borrowed monies! Martin has half the land I do and the merchants will carry his accounts for years. It's because I'm a woman. They fear I'll not pay."

"Well, they could hardly have you thrown into the stocks if you didn't. How would it look?"

"You're no better than the rest of them. 'Tis custom that debts cannot be collected before the tobacco sales are completed—yet I am not even given benefit of that consideration." Ashley began to walk quickly back down the dock.

"I take no sides, woman. I only state the facts." Kelt lengthened his stride to catch up with her. "And have you forgotten? Seven men finish their indentures next month. We must give their release money and find other men to replace them. We are short-handed to begin with—we cannot operate without skilled labor. I think you should buy slaves."

She whirled on him. "I have told you over and over, no slaves! Bondmen if we must, but no slaves."

"They are not practical. Most are but lads or men past their prime. Lumbering is men's work. It takes a strong back and a constitution of iron. There is a stand of white oak near the river I mean to level before plowing time. We can float the logs to Chestertown for sale as masts. The navy has raised its price again for prime wood. That will solve some of your money problems, but I canna cut trees without muscle."

"Then you will have to choose the new bondmen carefully. I would sooner lose Morgan's Fancy than grow her crops with the sweat of slaves." She slipped in the snow and Kelt caught her arm. "I'm all right," she said, pushing his hand away. "I can walk without help."

"So it seems," he murmured. "But that doesna solve the problem. Where is the silver to come from?"

"I'll sell some of grandfather's books." Ashley swallowed hard as a tight knot rose in her throat. "There is a copy of Pindar that Lord Miles has been after me to sell him and..." She sighed. "He can have the engraved Virgil as well. They should pay for the repairs and all the rest, including some new bondmen."

"The books are precious," Kelt said. "Is there no other way?" He knew Ashley valued her grandfather's extensive library beyond price.

"None that I can think of." She shrugged. "I'll change and ride with you to Chestertown. I can see Lord Miles on the way and then help with the other dealing. If there are decent men to be had, he'll know." Ashley kicked at an unbroken drift of snow. "If I am to charm Lord Miles out of his hoarded silver, I must dress as befitting a gentle maid. Doubtless it will please you no end to see me in women's garb."

"Aye. To see such a sight is worth a long ride in winter," he agreed. "But I must see it to believe."

* * *

The following evening, Ashley paused on the wide staircase to pick up a stray kitten, then descended to the hall. The mother cat rubbed against her boot, purring loudly. "You should keep a closer watch on your kittens," Ashley chided the cat. "That cursed Scot's been seeking out all ingredients of things to mix into a haggis."

"I've not come yet to eating cat," Kelt said from the open doorway. "And if I did, I'd not ruin a good haggis with that one."

She laughed and led the way into the great hall. Several candelabras cast pools of light across the polished floor of the elegantly furnished room. Shivering, Ashley glanced toward the cold hearth. "It's freezing," she said. "You could have lit a fire in here."

"I didna think fire building was part of my responsibilities," he answered, dropping smoothly to one knee to light the kindling with a flickering candle. "Besides, little will come of the lesson anyway. I've never taught a lass in breeches to dance before. You should have put on a gown," Kelt accused, eyeing the snug fit of Ashley's doeskin breeches.

"If I must pretend music, then you must imagine the dress," she parried.

"Aye. There's truth in that. I can tell ye that 'tis easier for a mon to imagine skirts off a lass than on." Gallantly he took her hand and led her to the middle of the room. "Dancing is simple. Just think of dance as an exercise in mathematics—so many steps one way, bow and curtsy, toe point. Once you memorize the pattern, it's the same thing over and over. We'll start with the minuet; it's in three-quarter."

"I feel silly." Ashley's fingers tingled where Kelt grasped them firmly in his large ones and her heart was beating much faster than normal. Why do I feel like some fourteen-year-old chit? She forced herself to follow his softly spoken directions.

"Relax," he instructed. "Pretend you're on horseback. You've no trouble there." Kelt put his hand on her waist and positioned her body. "Stand this way, chin up, and smile—this isn't a hanging."

Could he feel her trembling? She was suddenly warm in the icy room as waves of emotion coursed through her. I'm no better than a mare in heat, Ashley castigated herself. Her feet stopped moving and she pulled free. "Must you hold me so tightly? I've not seen partners in a minuet so near."

"St. Stephen give me patience," Kelt muttered. "During the actual dance, my hand would not be on your waist. I must lead to teach ye the steps. How can I lead if you dinna follow?" He seized her hand. "Step. Step. Now, balance, curtsy... point your toe. Your toe, not the—" Kelt bit back a curse. "Riding boots are nae for dancing. You must have slippers. Change, or forget the whole thing."

With a feigned pout, Ashley left the room and ran upstairs to rummage in her great-grandmother's cherry chest for a pair of dancing slippers. The first one she dug out was red satin and belonged to Cicely. She threw it over her shoulder; she'd not been able to fit into her mother's shoes since she was eleven. Cicely's feet were so tiny that even her riding boots were probably suitable for dancing.

"What you lookin' fer?" Joan called from the hall. "He said—"

"My old slippers, the black kidskin ones."

"You throwed them out last year," Joan obliged. "Yer good ones is all—"

"I don't want my good ones. I just need something to—Here! This should do." Ashley perched on the edge of the bed and tugged off the leather boots, then replaced them with a pair of scuffed olive-green slippers.

"Them's the pair we shoulda throwed out, miss," Joan said. She leaned against the doorjamb and scratched her head. "I done somethin'," she admitted. "'Tweren't me fault. Jest happened."

Ashley shoved the boots under the high poster bed. "What wasn't your fault?"

"Thet spider thing sorta fell over."

"What spider thing?"

"In his room. That spider kinda thing his pitchers sit on." Joan threw up one hand. "I didn't go near it—swear to God, Miss Ashley. I was just chasin' the cat and the damned spider thing started shakin' and fell over. You s'pose that room is haunted?"

"Master Saxon's door is kept shut. How did the cat get in there for you to chase?"

"I heard a noise. The funniest little noise. Thomas said there was ghosts in that room, thet it used to be yer grandmother's room and thet she died there."

"Go on, Joan," Ashley insisted, trying to keep a straight face. "You heard a noise?"

"Yes'm, I did. I heard this rustle-rustle like somethin' creepin' around—and I knew he was down in the great hall wi' you doin' somethin'."

"Dancing."

"Dancin' wi' his arm around you and no fiddler."

Ashley fixed Joan with a threatening look and took a step in her direction.

"I knew he warn't there, so I opened the door jest a crack and that ole mama cat flew in there like she were possessed! Why do you suppose she went in there, unless she heard it too?"

"I wouldn't have any idea, Joan."

"So I figured I better catch her on account of how he hates cats in his room. So..." She paused for breath. "I jest dived fer her and bang, down went thet spider thing. I didn't move thet sheet. I just snatched up that cat and run to tell you." Joan stared at the pool of candlelight on the floor and drew a small circle with her toe. "He's gonna be mad."

"If you didn't touch it, if you didn't go near it, it must have been the ghost." Ashley shrugged. "Don't tell Master Saxon. He can pick it up himself. But..." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I wouldn't go in there anymore if I were you. I wouldn't even open the door. Ghosts can't leave a room they died in. If you don't go in, it can't haunt you."

"It can't?"

Ashley shook her head slowly. "You took a big chance when you opened that door. You were brave... but a person can be too brave. I heard of a girl once..."

"What?" Joan's eyes grew large in her pale face.

"Never mind. You don't want to know." Ashley feigned a shiver. "But they had to bury her in a closed box."

"Mistress Morgan!"

Kelt's shout from the bottom of the staircase reminded Ashley of the dancing lessons. "Go on." She motioned impatiently. "You're finished for the evening. I'll say nothing to Master Saxon of your trespassing. But unless you want something unearthly creeping down your throat at night, I'd stay clear of that haunted room."

"Are we to do this or not?" Kelt demanded.

"Coming."