Chapter 10

Rae tried to lift her head but found the simple movement more than she could manage. Her cheek lay against something cool and unyielding, and her head tapped it with painful regularity. Her lids felt heavy, much too heavy to open, and beneath them her eyes were grainy, as if filled with sand from her desert dry mouth. Even the effort to wet her lips came to naught. Her pelisse covered her shoulders, and she wished she had the strength to pull the hood over her head to protect it from the jolting ride.

Though she found it difficult to move, her mind was oddly clear. She recognized the subdued voices around her as belonging to Sam Judge, Davis, and Wendell. She realized she was no longer on board the ship, but that she had been transferred to a carriage, and not a well-sprung conveyance, either. Each rut in the road jolted her spine and punished her pounding temples. Occasionally a soft moan escaped her lips, but no one heard, or if they heard, paid no attention.

Rae could not measure the passing of time. She had no idea if it had been hours or days since she had last seen Jericho. In her mind she had memories, as fleeting as a firefly's light, of Jericho moving purposefully about the cabin, of him tossing something snakelike out the windows. She recalled someone shaking her, loud and angry voices demanding answers from her, but she had been unable to speak, or even make sense of their urgency.

Later there had been rough hands on her body, holding her up and forcing her to drink more bitter-tasting wine. She had spit it in someone's face. Sam's? A sharp slap to her cheek and a thumb and finger on her nose had made her take the rest of it. Her pelisse had been thrown around her shoulders, more as an afterthought, not because there had been any concern that she might freeze once she was taken outside. The bitter, bracing air had been her undoing. One deep breath and she fell limply to the deck. It was the last thing she remembered.

She tried to concentrate on the conversation around her now, but kept drifting in and out of consciousness. The little that she heard and understood made her wish she had heard nothing at all.

"You think he's dead, then?" Davis asked.

"'Course he's dead," Sam Judge said. "Leastways for our purposes he is. And don't let on any different to that duke fellow. I aim to collect every bit of the money coming to us, so you would do well to keep your mouth shut. How far are we from Linfield?"

Davis peered out the coach window and studied the wooded landscape. "Another five miles and I reckon we'll be at the front gate."

Sam nodded, satisfied. "Tell Miller to pull this rig over."

Davis and Wendell exchanged puzzled glances.

"You don't think we was gonna march her up to the front door, do ye? Tell Miller to stop the rig. We'll leave her here, get our blunt, and escort the duke to the area. Then we're off. I'm not givin' him a chance to change his mind."

The carriage lurched to a sudden stop as Davis relayed Sam's orders. Rahab struggled listlessly as she was pulled from the coach, but the men only laughed at her poor attempts. She was as effective as a spitting kitten.

Wendell threw her over his shoulders, and Rae's empty stomach heaved at his roughness. She was carried from the edge of the road to a place several hundred feet into the woods. Sam pointed out where he wanted her and Wendell dropped her heavily to the ground. Judge unwound a length of rope he had been carrying at his waist and bound Rae's hands, then tied them to the base of a tree. Her shoulder and head rested uncomfortably against the trunk, and she shivered uncontrollably as cold air seeped through her cloak.

It was on the edge of her tongue to beg them not to leave her, but her pride and a good measure of fear asserted itself. She realized that alone she was safer than if either Wendell or Davis was made to stay with her. It was a case of better the devil you didn't know.

For a few minutes after the three men left the woods it seemed to Rae that the woods were eerily quiet. Then, over the chattering of her teeth, she began to hear sounds of the night animals prowling the area in search of prey. She felt her skin crawl over numb flesh. Her last thought before she slipped into oblivion was of what manner of beasts might be found in English woods.

They ran about on cloven feet, she decided, and thrashed noisily through the underbrush. Their talons were long and sharp and their breath was hot. Caught in their trap as she was, there was no place to hide, and she imagined she huddled closer to the tree for protection.

"Bring me the torch," Nigel demanded sharply of a servant. His large, powerful hand was grasping Rae's chin, forcing her face upward. Her eyes opened long enough to stare at him with fear, and then there was a clumsy rushing nearby, and finally the area was bathed in yellow light. Nigel thrust Rae's face away from him and knew a burning rage. His voice, however, caught none of the emotion coursing through him. "This is not she. This is not my ward." He straightened and began walking toward the road.

The servant looked at the girl's pale face, her nearly blue lips, and her frozen posture. She could barely hold her head up and her wrists looked raw. Poor thing, he thought. If she was part of the scheme to separate the duke from his money, her friends had treated her most shabbily, and if she was innocent, then she had been treated abominably. Left in these woods, she would freeze to death. Before his courage failed him, he ran after his employer. "Your pardon, your grace, but what's to be done with the girl?" The torch shook slightly in his hand.

The duke never paused in his deliberate and angry stride. "Take care of it."

The footman stopped in his tracks as Nigel continued to where his horse was being held for him by one of the grooms. He watched the duke mount, still the horse's restless prancing, and turn it sharply toward Linfield. Slowly, mulling over the duke's curt orders, the footman retraced his steps back to the girl's side.

Nigel whipped his horse to a full gallop that never eased until he reached the Linfield stables. Grooms took care of the horse while Nigel strode to the house, his quirt beating a tattoo against his thigh. He tossed his cape at Stephens when he came through the door and went immediately to his study where he poured himself three fingers of scotch. He downed it and was pouring another when the scratching at the door distracted him. "What is it?"

Stephens stepped inside the study. "I've come to inquire about Miss Ashley, your grace. Is someone attending to her?"

"My ward is not coming. It was some Gypsy wench those men sought to foist on me."

"I see." Stephens slipped out of the room as the duke lifted his glass.

Nigel stared broodingly at the fire laid in the hearth. His thin mouth curled derisively. Sam Judge thought to make a fool of him, but he intended to have the last laugh in the fool American's scheme. It was bound to give the man something to think about when his carriage was held up by three highwaymen and he was relieved of all the blunt and jewels he had just received. Nigel wished he could see the man's face when he returned to his ship, without anything to show for his work, and tried to explain this night's events to his crew. If his men did not accuse him of holding out on them and mutiny, the naval authorities would have Judge's ship in tow by morning. Lord Lesley had eagerly agreed to follow Miller and Davis back to their ship to find its location, and it was Evans who fancied himself a highwayman.

"Always wanted to rob a coach," he had told the others. "Must be the greatest lark. Rather like Robin Hood in this case."

Once Evans had put forth his plan, there was no keeping Lesley and Newbrough from joining. Nigel found he rather liked the idea of getting back his ward without straining his resources. Now he was glad for their foresight. No one, certainly not a colonial macaroni, made a fool of the Duke of Linfield.

Laughing and good-humored voices signaled the return of the nobles-turned-highwaymen. All three men were dressed in coarse black breeches and capes they had borrowed from Nigel's servants for this occasion. Pistols were tucked neatly in their waistbands, and they wore black gloves, cocked hats, and scarves over the lower halves of their faces.

Nigel's brow merely rose a notch at the peculiar picture they made as they entered his study. He could imagine all three showing up at the next masked ball in such a guise. "A successful venture?" he asked dryly, as they deposited several pouches of money and jewelry on the divan.

Lesley pulled down his scarf and sailed his hat jauntily across the room. It skidded along the smooth marble top of the mantelpiece and dropped, as if by design, on the fireplace poker. "Most successful," Lesley grinned. "May take it up as a hobby. Astonishingly good fun. They were quite put out that anyone would rob them. Put up some resistance, too. Messy business, that. Evans had to wound one of them before they gave over. How is your ward, Nigel? Annoying of them to leave her in the woods. We probably should have killed the lot of them. One would think they didn't trust you."

Nigel handed the decanter of spirits to Newbrough and went to stand by the mantel as his friends made themselves comfortable. "It was not my ward they had."

Newbrough sputtered on the first swallow of liquor. "Not your ward? You said they described her to you. Who—"

"I have no idea," Nigel drawled. "She has only a surface resemblance to Ashley. No doubt she was part of their plan."

"Did she say so?" Evans asked.

"Think she would admit it?" Newbrough scoffed, looking down his great nose at Evans.

Lord Evans shrugged. "Nigel knows how to make a chit talk. Ain't that right, Nigel? Where is she? Bring her in and we'll discover what she knows."

"Forget the chit. She was near dead when we found her. I doubt she can speak of anything now." A hard glance at each of his friends told them what he had not said, and an uneasy silence blanketed the room.

In the kitchen of the great house there was a wealth of uneasiness, but not one moment of silence. Everyone had an opinion about what should be done with the girl the footman had brought there. Mrs. Timms, the cook, made it known that she wanted no part of the goings-on. The girl was bound to be nothing but trouble. The kitchen boys knew better than to gainsay the cook, else their ears would suffer a certain boxing. The housekeeper, who had made it her life's work never to agree with anything Mrs. Timms said, decided it was their Christian duty to see to the girl. Hadn't his grace said to take care of her? The footman coughed, but thought the wiser course was to remain silent. One of the upstairs maids sided with the housekeeper, and a kitchen servant declared her soft in the head. Sides were drawn, and the dispute was gathering alarming volume when Stephens entered and demanded to know the nature of the argument.

As the servants stepped aside, Rahab was revealed to him. She was slumped in a straight-backed chair, dangerously close to toppling forward on the table. "Who is she?" he asked, coming forward. He made as if to touch her, then drew back. There was no telling what sort of illness she might have, though she appeared to be suffering from no more than the bad effects of the cold.

"She's the one those ruffians said was Miss Ashley," the footman explained. "The duke said I should take care of her."

Stephen's wintry and disapproving expression remained unchanged, but he knew very well what it was the duke had meant. He wondered if they dared allow the chit to remain in the house. Of course, it was doubtful that the duke would ever notice her. Nigel Lynne knew only those servants who held positions of responsibility in his house, and this girl would be far beneath his inspection. The duke had called her a Gypsy, but Stephens could see this clearly was not the case. "She is nothing at all like Miss Ashley," he said, submitting Rahab to a sweeping glance.

"That's the truth," Mrs. Timms said. "And she has about as much business as that one in my kitchen. What am I supposed to do with her? She can hardly hold her head up, and she's dripping all over the floor now."

Rae's cape and clothes that had been stiff from the cold and damp ground were indeed thawing, and the ring of water at her feet was simply one more reason Mrs. Timms wanted her gone.

"Provided the girl is willing and free of disease, have you work for her, Mrs. Ritchie?" Stephens asked the housekeeper. He ignored the cook's disgruntled snort.

"You dismissed Betty not above a week ago," she reminded him. "I've been short staffed since. Of course, there's work for the lass. Nancy can train her."

Nancy bobbed her assent, and one of the kitchen girls repeated that she had gone daft. Before there was any hair pulling, Stephens held up his hand and addressed the footman and Nancy. "She shall have Betty's bed. You can take her there. She may have one night here. If she cannot work in the morning, then she's to go. There is not one of you with enough time to tend to a sick girl."

Mrs. Timms gave the housekeeper a triumphant glance, for there was, in her estimation, no chance that the girl would be able to work. She was clearly in danger of expiring before the night was over. Mrs. Ritchie glared at the cook and dared her to speak her uncharitable thoughts aloud. She would have the girl polishing silver at dawn's light if she had to tie her in a chair to keep her upright.

The footman and Nancy ignored the battle of wills that raged over their heads and pulled Rahab to her feet, supporting her between them, and took leave of the kitchen.

"Did his grace really say we should take her in, Jack?" Nancy asked as they struggled to mount the narrow, dark passageway to the servants' sleeping quarters. "Or were you just being tenderhearted?"

Jack blushed under Nancy's gentle teasing. "I couldn't leave her there, Nance. She was a pathetic sight, I can tell you, and his nibs didn't give her a second thought once he saw she wasn't Miss Ashley."

"Hush, Jack. You musn't speak so. Someone might hear, and you'd be dismissed without a character. Then what would become of us?" Her dark curls bounced saucily about her face. "I'll not marry you if you don't have employment, for there is no life in being poor."

Jack held his tongue, because she was right about someone's hearing them, and about the fact that there was no future for them if he was released from the duke's service. He grunted as Rahab slipped in his hold and nearly carried them all down the stairs.

"Let me put her on my shoulders." He stooped low and hefted Rae. She moaned softly.

"Have you hurt her, Jack?"

"No," he panted, taking the steps quickly.

"Well, be careful." Nancy passed him at the landing and ran ahead to open the door to the room she had shared with the unfortunate Betty. She lighted a tallow candle and turned down the covers on the thin straw-filled mattress. "Over here, Jack. Be quick. Help me get her cape off. Oooh, did you ever see such a thing?" she asked as her fingers touched the soft fur lining of the pelisse. "It's like something a grand lady would own. How do you suppose she came by it?"

Jack was not one for speculation. "Don't know," he said shortly, lowering Rahab to the mattress. "But tell her to keep it here, if she doesn't want to answer a lot of Cook's questions."

At that moment Rahab stirred. "Jack, look! She's waking up." Nancy sat beside Rae, touching the back of her hand to Rae's forehead. "Don't say a word, deary. You're safe. I'm Nancy, and this here is my Jack. We're going to be mar—"

"Nancy," Jack admonished. "I doubt she wants every detail. You're at Linfield, miss, and Stephens says you might stay if you can work on the morrow."

Rae blinked, puzzlement in the line of her dark brows as they came together above her clouded eyes. "Linfield? Then Nigel paid the ransom?"

Nancy's mouth gaped in astonishment. "Jack?" she whispered. "Did you hear? She called his grace by his Christian name. What can she be thinking of? Who are you?"

"Did the duke pay the ransom?" Rae demanded again as her teeth began to chatter wildly. She massaged the chafed skin on her wrists. "So—so cold. The ransom? Did he—"

There was very little the servants at Linfield did not know about the duke's dealings, but they were never discussed with anyone outside the household. The rule was set down by Stephens, not the duke, and it was strictly enforced. Jack looked at Rae warily, wondering what he should tell her. After all, she was nearly a member of the staff, and it seemed she knew things neither he nor Nancy could guess. "There was a ransom paid, but it was stolen back. Your friends were chased off without a farthing."

"Not my friends," Rae said, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "I can't keep my eyes open. Drugged my wine." Her speech slurred at the last, but her companions were able to make it out.

"Drugged!" Nancy cried, appalled at this bit of unseemly behavior and not a little intrigued. "Do you think she's telling the truth?"

"Does it matter? Take care to get her out of her wet things, and I'll see if I can't use a bit of guile on Mrs. Timms to get her something hot to drink. She looks as if she could use with a bit of warmth." Jack left the room without looking squarely at Nancy, afraid she would see how much he regretted bringing the girl into the house. He was beginning to believe the cook's pronouncement that she would be nothing but trouble.

Nancy crooned softly to Rahab as she undressed her. "Here, what's this?" she demanded, arms akimbo as she saw an unfamiliar protrusion beneath Rae's slip. Nancy carefully lifted the material and stared, openmouthed, at the wooden dagger strapped to Rae's thigh. "Well, I never! This isn't the colonies, m'girl, and we don't have to fend off barbarians at every turn. You've spent too much time in the company of pirates and their ilk, poor thing." Nancy shuddered delicately as she relieved Rae of her weapon. Having no place to put it, she slid it beneath Rae's mattress. "Out of sight, out of mind." She stripped Rae of the rest of her clothes and managed to get her into a clean nightdress.

There was still a debate raging belowstairs when she went to see what was keeping the warm drink from reaching her patient. She thought it best to keep the dagger a secret, so while Jack cajoled Mrs. Timms, Nancy made off with a cup of freshly brewed tea.

It was not a simple task to get Rae to drink the stuff, for in her confused state she imagined it was poisoned also. It was well after midnight when Nancy was able to go to her own bed, but by then she was a firm believer in Rae's garbled tale.

* * *

It was still dark when Nancy shook Rae awake. "It's time you were up, m'girl. If you want to stay here, you'll have to show Stephens you can do the work."

Rae turned groggily on her side and received a sharp slap on her posterior.

"Up with you. I'll help what I can, but you have to get out of bed."

Much against her will, Rae felt herself being pulled to her feet. She swayed unsteadily and stared stupidly at the soft chocolate eyes that peered anxiously into her face. A button nose screwed up in front of her and a pair of full, cherry red lips pursed in impatience. Rae giggled at the face and yelped when she was pinched on her upper arm.

Nancy stamped her foot. "There's no time for that, m'girl. We've got to get you dressed, for there's work to be done. I've put out your clothes, but don't expect I'll do the same every day. I'm hardly in your service. Can you manage, do you think, or are you still feeling the drugs those brigands gave you?"

Rae's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"You told me often enough last night. You don't remember, do you? Of course not, poor thing. Don't fret; it will stay with me and Jack unless you want Stephens to know."

"Jack?"

"If you're going to ask a lot of questions, then you may as well be dressing at the same time," Nancy said pointedly. "There's water in the basin over there. It's cold, mind you, but just what you need to clear your head."

Rae moved sluggishly to the basin and dunked her face full in the cold water, holding on to the stand for support. Behind her she could hear Nancy's gasp, but when she reached for a towel, one was put in her hand. She dried her face and throat briskly, rolled up her sleeves, and scrubbed the rest of her while keeping the nightdress on. Nancy would have been horrified if she had taken it off to wash. It was not a common practice to clean oneself while naked, and the maid would have thought Rae a doxy if she had tried it. After her hasty washing, Rae discovered she felt much more the thing.

"Who is Jack?" she asked as she began changing her clothes.

"My intended. He's the one what brought you here from the woods."

"Oh, I remember that. He was very gentle, I think."

"That's my Jack," Nancy said happily. "He's a footman now, but don't think he'll be that forever. Someday he'll be head of all staff, mark my words."

"And Stephens?"

"He's in charge now. He's the one who said you could stay. I'm Nancy Wright."

"I remember."

That pleased Nancy, and she beamed. "You'll be working under Mrs. Ritchie's keen eye. She's the housekeeper, and she's hard but fair. She stood up to the cook last night and is giving you a chance. Don't cross her, or you'll be out on your ear as Betty was."

Rae didn't think she could take in much more. Betty's story would have to wait, though Nancy appeared eager to tell all. "Am I really at Linfield, then?"

"Of course."

"How strange. I never thought..." Her voice trailed off as she twisted to fasten her skirt. "Does the duke know I am here?"

"I think so, though why it should matter to you I can't suppose. He told my Jack to take care of you. What's wrong? You're pale of a sudden." Nancy helped Rae sit down on the edge of the bed. "You're very lucky to be alive after the trick that was played on him. The duke is not one to suffer fools. Anyone can see you're not Miss Ashley."

"Almost anyone," Rae said tersely. "If Sam Judge had known, I wouldn't be here at all." Nancy's bewildered face stopped Rae from explaining further. "Never mind." She pulled on thick black stockings and slid on her own shoes. "You said I was to begin work. What would you have me do?"

Nancy eyed Rae shrewdly as she straightened. It was clear she was not ready for any strenuous labor, but she was a game one, Nancy would give her that. "There's fires to be laid. Come. I'll show you what's to be done." At the door she paused. "What's your name? I can't keep calling you poor thing."

"Rahab." When Nancy continued to look at her expectantly, she added, "Smith. Rahab Smith."

"What an odd sort of name."

"Yes." But one I hope will be mine someday, she said silently. Her eyes closed briefly, as if in prayer. Jericho, where are you?

* * *

Jericho was wondering much the same about Rahab. He remembered calling out her name in his sleep, and he wondered if the old crofter whose cottage he shared had heard him. He didn't like to think he had disturbed the man's sleep when he had been shown every kindness by the farmer. He owed his life to the gnarled little man who had dragged him from the water and offered hospitality with virtually no questions asked. Drew Goodfellow was a man deserving of his name, and Jericho gave his thanks again that he had been found by one such as he.

It had taken nearly twenty-four hours for him to recover from his dunking in the cold seawater, and Drew watched over him like a nervous mother protecting the runt of her brood.

Now Drew stepped away from the hearth and placed a bowl of hot gruel on the table in front of Jericho. "Eat that."

Jericho smiled to himself, half expecting Goodfellow to spoon feed him. Dutifully he began eating.

"Your friends were surprised by the authorities this morning," Drew said as he sat on a three-legged stool beside Jericho. He placed his knobby cane on his lap and rolled it back and forth across his thighs, working his arthritic fingers to some measure of nimbleness. "The ship and crew were taken away. I watched from the hill."

And the damp air had nearly crippled his hands, Jericho thought, but he knew better than to mention it. "Hardly my friends, Drew. I can't say I'm sorry for them."

"I thought that might be the way of it."

"Did you see many of the crew?"

"Most all of them."

"Was there a woman among them?"

Drew's silver brows shot up in surprise. "A woman? None that I saw. These eyes aren't what they used to be, but there was no woman on board. Is she the one you been crying out for in your sleep? Rahab, I think you called her."

"Strange, I usually call her Red."

Drew chuckled. "Hell, you must have said that more than a hundred times the first night. I thought you were calling out a sailor's warning. Never thought it was a woman."

"I have to find her, Drew." Jericho pushed the bowl away from him. "She's in danger. I left her on the ship because I couldn't take her with me, but now I don't know what's happened to her."

"They made a thorough search. They were customs men, and there aren't many hiding places they don't know. She definitely was not aboard when they towed that vessel out of the cove. I'd like to know how the customs men happened upon that place. There's many a smuggler around here asking himself the same question. Not much happens in these parts that they don't know about."

Jericho imagined Drew had been a fair smuggler in his own right at one time. He probably still kept his hand in, scouting the area for a small share of the prizes. He said as much.

"Aye, I watch out for my friends. Good lads, all of them. And they take care of old Drew, now that I can't sail anymore. I'm not ashamed of my work."

"I'm glad you still have a sharp eye, Drew, else you wouldn't have seen me floundering in the water."

"You were a sight!" Drew said, not unkindly. "Thrashing about like a windmill with one arm and holding on to those breeches for all you were worth with the other."

"Those breeches kept me afloat for quite a while. Red taught me that trick."

"Well, she should have taught you to take off your boots. They nearly pulled you under."

"I don't imagine she thought I would be stupid enough to wear them." His fingers threaded through his yellow hair absently. "I wonder what has become of her." He refused to allow himself to imagine the worst, so even to his own ears he sounded unworried. The tension was in the long line of his legs stretched beneath the table. "I suppose I shall have to start at Linfield."

Drew Goodfellow stopped rolling his cane. "Linfield? Why there?"

"It's a complicated tale."

"Do you think I can't ken it?"

Jericho laughed, making his decision to trust the old man. There was nothing to be lost, and perhaps something to be gained by sharing the story. Drew's face was thoughtful as Jericho unraveled the threads of his life and intertwined them with Rae's, but beyond a grunt every now and again to show he was listening, Drew gave nothing away. Twice during Jericho's recital he poured them tea laced liberally with some fine French spirits, courtesy of his smuggler friends. When Jericho finished, Drew swallowed the last of his brew and set his cup down firmly.

"Seems to me you're starting off in the wrong direction, son," he said at last.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not Linfield, but Stanhope that should be your destination."

"Stanhope? But why? Rahab isn't there."

"No. But your inheritance is, and with it your entry into the duke's circle. How else will you see Rahab?"

"There must be some way."

"You say that because you've never been to Linfield. If the duke is holding her against her will as you suspect, then you won't be able to reach her. Even as one of the duke's guests it will be difficult for you to find her. The house is a labyrinth of rooms."

"You are familiar with Linfield?"

"I've made deliveries there twice, years ago. Most of us around here have had dealings with the duke, but he's a bad 'un. Plays both ends against the middle. Turned us in to the customs men once when he thought he wasn't getting his share of the bounty. I couldn't prove it, of course, but I know it was him. He was hailed as a hero among his peers, and we near starved that winter. As I said, that was years ago. He's out of smuggling now, and good riddance, I say." Drew looked at Jericho sharply. "If you want to find out if your lady's safe, mayhap my associates can make inquiries."

"I want to go along," Jericho said stubbornly.

"I think you're being a mite foolish, but have it your way," Drew shrugged. "I still think you should be considering Stanhope."

Jericho gave Goodfellow one of his easy smiles. "Oh, I'm not putting that aside. There is something appealing about going to Stanhope."

* * *

Rae adjusted the mobcap on her head and tucked a few loose strands of hair beneath it. She bent over the hearth in the dining room and poked at the fire until it flared again before she added a few pieces of wood. Servants were setting covered dishes on the sideboard and the fragrant smell of warm food made Rae's mouth water and her stomach growl. She had been up nearly four hours and hadn't yet had her own breakfast. She glanced at the feast that was being laid out and wondered what the penalty would be for stealing a hot roll or a bit of bacon. Imagining that the duke would cut off her hands quelled her appetite for the moment, and she hurried from the room just as Nigel and his three guests were entering. Feeling faint from lack of food and the thought that the duke might recognize her as the girl he had seen in the woods, Rae braced herself against the doorjamb, head lowered, and waited for them to pass.

She thought she had escaped as beneath their notice and was ready to flee down the hall when the last man through the door stopped beside her and picked up her chin, forcing her to lift her face. She stared at him without expression in her eyes, not daring to pull away or show insolence as he inspected her with careless regard. His nostrils flared slightly as his eyes fell to the level of Rae's thumping heart and the rise and fall of her breasts. He dropped her chin and sauntered into the room.

Rae quickly shut the door to the dining room with herself safely in the hallway. For a moment she could not move, and from inside the room she could hear the man who had held her say, "Really, Nigel, you have some of the comeliest wenches in the Isles serving you. Why is it that you never have them warming your bed?"

"I always thought your tastes were rather plebian, Newbrough," Nigel said, dismissing the subject.

Rahab pushed away from the door and for a moment she found it difficult to breathe. Newbrough! It did not seem possible! Could it really be Jericho's cousin inside that room? Rae shivered when she thought of the way he had held her, looking down his hawkish nose at her, and the spark of interest she had seen in his face, particularly in his wide-set eyes. She would do well to stay out of his way. While the duke saw his female help as only that, at least one of his guests thought them no better than warm bricks in a cold bed.

"We do not listen at doors here at Linfield," a disapproving voice said in Rahab's ear.

Her hand flew to her throat but did not cover her surprised gasp in time. The man towering over her had to be Stephens, and there was nothing for it but that she apologize. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, bobbing slightly. "I wasn't really listening, not intentionally anyway, but one of the duke's guests frightened me and—"

"Your regrets would have been sufficient," Stephens said dryly. "Come away from the door, girl, unless you want everyone to know your business."

Rae stepped further into the hall and mumbled another apology that was nearly drowned out by the rumbling in her stomach.

"Now what is this about one of the duke's guests?" Stephens felt it incumbent upon his position to protect his staff from the unwanted attentions of the quality, if indeed, they were unwanted.

"He touched me," Rae said, flushing. It sounded inadequate to her own ears. Stephens would think her a fool.

"How?"

"He made me lift my face for his inspection. I thought he would check my teeth as if I were a mare at auction."

"That will be quite enough," Stephens snapped. "You may go to the kitchen now and have your breakfast. There are some matters you and I will discuss concerning your employment later today."

Realizing she was being dismissed, Rae gave Stephens a quick curtsy and hurried toward the kitchen. Behind her, Stephens stared at her retreating form thoughtfully, wondering what it was about this chit that should remind him of a certain colonial sea captain who had come to Linfield years ago. In the end, he dismissed it from his mind putting it down to her regrettable accent.

After eating breakfast under the sharp eye of Mrs. Timms, Rae followed Nancy about the house and learned more about her position. She gave Nancy's chattering half her attention while she thought of her upcoming meeting with Stephens. In her mind she formed the sort of questions she expected him to ask of her and tried to think of answers that would placate him.

She already knew she did not want to be dismissed from Linfield. Rae was confident she could leave anytime she wanted, but if she went away now she did not know how Jericho would find her. Even as she thought his name, she resolutely pushed it aside. She was dangerously close to weeping each time she recalled him escaping the ship and risking his life to bring help. She felt she owed it to him to stay in one place, rather than striking out on her own.

As long as the duke did not know her identity, she believed she was safer at Linfield than she would be anywhere else. It occurred to her that if she was careful she might even discover Nigel's next move against Ashley. That would be the time to leave, and not one moment before.

Stephens cornered her in the late afternoon when she was dusting the library shelves. The duke and his companions were out riding, and Rae was humming to herself as she went about her work, knowing for the present she was out of harm's way.

"Come down from there, girl," Stephens said, pointing to Rae's position on the ladder.

Rae hurried down and fidgeted with her feather duster as she stood before Stephens. "You wanted to see me?"

"I can see you well enough. I want to talk to you."

"That's what I meant."

"Then say what you mean, girl. No, don't start apologizing, else this interview will never be at a close. Now tell me how you came to be with those men who claimed to have Miss Ashley. And tell me truly. I will not suffer liars among my staff."

Rae chose her words carefully. "I was abducted from my home nearly eight weeks ago. Those men thought I was Miss Ashley."

"Why would they think that?"

"I told them I was, you see."

"I am afraid I do not see. Explain yourself more clearly."

"I live at McClellan's Landing, sir. I've worked there nearly all my life. Miss Ashley lives there, too, with her husband. When some strangers came to the plantation and began asking about her, I feared for her, because once before someone had tried to take her away. She has always been kindness itself to me, sir, so I didn't want any harm to come to her. She loves living at the landing, and she even confided in me that she never wanted to return here. Her confidence was dear to me, so I told them I was she—and here I am." Rae was certain Stephens could detect no lie, because she had told none. "What's to become of me, sir?"

Stephens's mouth softened a bit. He could not find fault with Rae's story, and he admired her for her loyalty to her employer. "That is entirely up to you. What sort of position did you have in the colonies?"

"I was Miss Ashley's personal maid."

"Really?" An eyebrow arched in disbelief. The chit was giving herself airs.

Rae blushed. "Well, not her maid precisely."

"Pray, then. What precisely were your duties?"

"I did much the same as I'm doing here. Dusting, laying the fires, polishing. I looked after her children, made candles and butter, dressed hair. A little of everything, I suppose."

"Indeed. The Americans have no sense of station, do they?"

Rae bit her lip to keep from laughing at the butler's offended sense of what was correct. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. Though I admit things seem a bit different here."

"I hope so," Stephens said dryly. "Regarding what is to become of you, you may have employment here as long as you prove satisfactory. The circumstances of your birth and your arrival cannot be helped. You will conduct yourself in such a fashion as befitting one of Mrs. Ritchie's staff. You will not be making candles, dressing hair, or, God forbid, playing nanny to any children. Your wages will be six pounds per annum, and you will have one Saturday and one Sunday off per month, though not in the same week. You will keep yourself out of his grace's path, for he cannot help but be offended by your speech. If you value your employment here, you will not mention your association with Miss Ashley to anyone. The duke forbids anyone to speak of her."

"But she's such a fine lady," Rae protested, thinking Stephens would find it strange if she did not.

"It is no lady that would take flight with a Yankee trader. And that is my final word on the subject."

"But—"

"My final word. I will not make allowances for your pert tongue again." Stephens turned his back on the astonished Rae and left the room.

Later that night Rae slipped beneath the cool sheets of her bed, her body in a limp state of exhaustion, but her mind spinning restlessly. Jericho was in her every thought, and she lacked the strength as well as the desire to erase his image from behind her closed lids. She wished she had not been so drugged that she could not even assure herself that he had made it safely to shore. She smiled weakly, remembering his whispered talk about a swimming lesson in a sylvan setting. How she wished they were in that spot now.

The little boy in him that demanded that everything should be counted would number each tiny freckle on her sun-drenched skin with his mouth. He would start at her forehead, brush her nose and cheeks, pay particular attention to the gentle slope of shoulders. His lips would pay homage to her breasts and slide past the taut plane of her abdomen. He was a thorough rogue, for he would inspect her navel, kissing it just to make sure nothing had escaped his notice. Then he would tease her by going to her ankles, knowing all the while that she desired his mouth elsewhere, and he would turn her slender calves in his hands, stroking them with his palms and getting a sense of their fine curves. His lips would touch her knees, and he would probably ask her a series of silly questions about the tiny scars there. She would have to concentrate on her answers; it was so difficult to talk when he kept kissing the soft inner flesh of her thighs. But if she did not answer him he would stop, and that was worse than anything she could imagine.

So she would tell him that once she had fallen from the top of the apple tree that Salem had dared her to climb, and he would press a smile to the crescent-moon scar. Then he would touch another, and she would say that was from tripping over her own feet as she ran to keep up with her older brothers when they were doing their very best to be rid of her. That would make him laugh, and the sound of it would ripple through her like a warm breeze through her hair. She would be so encouraged that she would offer to show him the barely discernible mark on her hip. It had been made when her horse had failed to clear a fence and she fell on a loose stone. Jericho would have to look closely to see, and mayhap his kisses would cover a lot of territory so he could not fail to miss it.

He would nip her gently on her hip, teasing her with his teeth and tongue, and then his mouth would draw ever nearer to the little bud of sensation at the apex of her thighs, moist with her body's musky honey.

A sob of pure longing shook Rahab and she clutched her pillow to her breast.

"Rahab?" Nancy called her name softly from the other bed. "What is it? Are you ill?"

Rae sobbed into the pillow, unable to answer, and after a moment she heard Nancy slide out of her bed, then felt her gentle hand on her shoulder. "Rahab? Please tell me what is the matter."

"I—I miss my f—family. And J—Jericho."

"Aah," Nancy said wisely. "Of course you do. You're sick at heart for your home." She continued to pat Rae's back. "Tell me about Jericho. Is it as grand a place as Linfield?"

Rae gave her a watery giggle and sniffled loudly. "It's not a place. Jericho is the name of the man I love."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"You couldn't know."

"No, I mean I'm sorry you've been separated from him. How you must hurt! I don't know what I'd do if I was to be taken from my Jack. Like as not I'd drown in my own tears, just as you're doing. Go on, have a good cry."

Rae did. Several minutes went by before Nancy gave her a handkerchief and she blew noisily into it. "Thank you. I feel better now—I think."

"A cry always helps a bit. Does your man know what's happened to you—about the pirates and all?"

"Yes. He knows, and I'm certain he's doing everything he can to find me, but I miss him so."

"Listen, I have an idea! When we next get a day off together, we'll go to the village and post a letter with a ship bound for the colonies," Nancy assumed Jericho was still overseas, and Rae did nothing to right the record, but there was something she had to straighten out.

"It's the United States of America."

"What? Oh, you mean the colonies. Yes, well I'm certain the letter will find him no matter how we address it."

Rae was so astonished by Nancy's response that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Seven years of fighting and none of it had ever touched this girl. Rae bit back a stinging reply, realizing it was hardly Nancy's fault she knew so little of what had touched nearly one-third of Rae's life. "I could write my family," she said after a little thought. "Perhaps they could arrange passage."

"That's very expensive," Nancy said gently, trying not to stab at Rae's hopes.

Rae nodded without further comment. She sat up and made a place beside her for Nancy. "May I confide in you?"

"Of course you can. We'll be fast friends, you and I. And don't worry that I gossip. I can't abide it."

Rae hoped Nancy could not see her smile in the darkness. She imagined this was going straight from her mouth to Jack's ear, but she needed to speak to someone more sympathetic than the butler, even if she could only talk in partial truths. Quietly she related the same story she had told Stephens that afternoon, while Nancy listened raptly. "Tell me why the duke forbids anyone to speak of Miss Ashley," she said when she finished.

"She disobeyed him," Nancy explained simply. "He arranged a most enviable marriage for her. She would have had position and title and wealth nearly the equal of the duke's, and she refused to wed Lord Bosworth. She shamed the duke. I know you think Miss Ashley is a fine lady, but she is naught but a by-blow. She was fortunate to have the duke as her guardian."

Rae sighed. Nancy was nothing if not loyal. Poor Ashley. No one understood what her life here had been like. "Do all the servants feel as you do?"

"Why yes." Nancy's voice lowered confidentially. "That is to say, there are some who think the duke is something of a libertine, and not all approve of his licentious behavior, but regarding his ward, he acted as a saint. No one will fault him there."

Rae held her tongue. Surely there was no more certain way to lose her position than to speak ill of the duke. She would not forget that. Carefully she said, "Do you not think it odd that the duke would want to take her away from her husband and her children and the new life she has made for herself?"

"Who can say if it is odd?" Nancy shrugged. "Quality is a source of amazement to me. I've heard Mrs. Timms say that the duke doesn't recognize Miss Ashley's marriage. I don't pretend to understand or judge. Like when I found that horrible weapon fastened to your leg. I didn't judge you harshly for that, even though I thought it the strangest thing."

"What are you talking about? What weapon?"

"The dagger. Didn't you know it was there?"

"No. Jericho must have done that."

Nancy, for all her saucy ways, had never allowed any man to see more than a bit of ankle. "Oh my."

"Where is it now?" she asked, pretending not to hear Nancy's startled accents. "You haven't thrown it away, have you?"

"No. It's under the mattress." Nancy scooted off the bed and lifted the padding enough to find the dagger. "Here it is." She gave it to Rae. "Never say you're going to wear it!"

"Jericho meant for me to have it, so of course I will."

"But there are no savages here!"

Rae laughed without humor, recalling the way Newbrough had looked at her. "Are there not?" she asked softly, running her finger along the wooden edge. "I wish I were so certain."

* * *

Rae wore the dagger in spite of the fact that Newbrough left a few days after Nancy had given it to her. She never had occasion to see him again. Lesley and Evans departed a week before Christmas for their own estates, and Rae settled into the routine of her new way of life. She was up before dawn and busy well into the evening. If she had been able to go outside more often her day would not have been much different than those she had known at the landing. The other servants warmed to her once they saw she was willing to do her share and more. Even Mrs. Timms thawed when she realized Rahab was not going to cause a stir in the household. Indeed, it seemed the duke did not know of her existence.

Christmas at Linfield was not an especially festive occasion. Rae shared a syllabub that Mrs. Timms had specially prepared with the household staff and watched the great yule log burn in the dining room fireplace while Stephens gravely thanked the employees on behalf of the duke for their splendid service. That night she cried herself to sleep, and Nancy was kind enough to pretend she hadn't heard.

Shortly after the New Year the duke left for London on business. There was nothing to indicate to Rae that his business had anything to do with Ashley, so she tried to enjoy his absence. She thought Mrs. Ritchie's particular standards would relax with the duke gone, but if anything, the housekeeper became more demanding. "She's forever afraid his grace will come back before he's due," Nancy confided in her, "so she doesn't dare let herself be open to criticism." Rae smiled ruefully and continued to polish the brass candlesticks for the third time in two weeks.

Rae was in the kitchen eating her breakfast when the striking of pots and pans beyond the door announced the tinker had come to call. He shook snow off his stooped shoulders and feet as he stood in the doorway. Mrs. Timms was already giving him the sharp edge of her tongue for tramping snow that far into her kitchen. He merely grinned, which deepened the creases about his mouth and eyes.

Rae felt sorry for him when she saw him struggle to take off his gloves and move his stiff fingers. He glanced about the kitchen with no more than a stranger's curious interest, until his eyes fell on Rae's face. It was the briefest of pauses, so that Rae thought she might have imagined the surprise in his arrested look. In the next moment he was ignoring her and sidling closer to the hearth to warm his hands.

While Mrs. Timms was pulling out the pots that needed mending and some of the other servants were gathering around the door to see the wares the tinker had in his cart outside, Rae prepared a steaming cup of tea for the man.

"Here, you must have something to warm you. You can hardly work while you're frozen through." She thrust the cup into his hands beneath the disapproving eye of the cook.

"Your smile's enough to warm any man, Red."

Rae blinked, uncertain she had heard correctly.

"Enough of your blarney, old man," Mrs. Timms scolded. "The girl doesn't need her head turned by the likes of you."

"As if I could," he snorted. "She most likely has a feller. Don't you, Red?"

Rahab nodded slowly, but before she could say his name the tinker clutched his heart. "Ahh! It's fair to breakin', it is. Crumblin' as easy as Jericho's walls."

Rae's eyes widened further, and she slipped her hands into her pockets so no one would see how they trembled.

"Go on with you, tinker," Mrs. Timms said sharply. "Have you come to work or prattle? Drink your tea and leave the girl alone. Rahab, there's no use for idle hands here."

"Mightn't I see the tinker's wares?"

Mrs. Timms softened under the appeal in Rae's face. "All right," she said gruffly. "A few minutes, no more."