e-mail:
Heidi
Type: Gen Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Vin, Chris, Seven
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Will be high in physical pain and
angst.
Author's Notes: This is a standalone story
in the Vengeance AU, but provides information on
some of the character's backgrounds. One of the
questions we get often is about Vin's past, and
maybe we'll drop a few clues throughout this one.
I tried to be historically accurate throughout,
but any mistakes or creative licenses are my own.
Many, many thanks to Cin who took the rough
formed clay this was made of and shaped it into a
story worth reading. Enjoy!
"So farewell to the little good you
bear me."
William Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act III, scene
ii.
"...My high-blown pride At length
broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the
mercy
Of a rude stream that must for ever
hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world,
I hate ye!"
William Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act III, scene
ii.
Part
One
"Stupid la-de-dah Larabee," Vin Tanner muttered
while working. He
scraped chunks of mud from the hooves of the
prized horse Seagold
Chris rode in the steeplechase. Horses this fine
did not sit in
their stalls covered in splattered mud, especially
with it hardening
around the hooves. "Tryin' ta make work fer me,
not that I don't
have enough ta do."
Seagold swung his head around and tried to bite
him.
Fast reflexes and familiarity with this particular
horse kept him
from suffering another insult. Vin grabbed the
bridle and yanked the
head around until the equine eyes met his. "Ya
keep yer teeth in yer
head and yer mouth shut, Seagold, else I'll leave
ya filthy like
Larabee did."
Seagold visibly calmed.
"That's better. I ain't no la-de-dah, and I ain't
gonna put up with
yer attitude. That might be just fine fer his
Mightiness, but it
ain't fer me."
More mud flicked away from the hoof. Vin's steady
hands finished the
scraping, following with a gentle rinse, ending
with a pat-dry. As
the horse trainer carried on with the mundane
cleaning, he let his
mind wander. He thought about his friend and this
gathering. For
the thirteen Colonies full of people wanting to
separate themselves
from their former countrymen, some because of the
class system that
held them so downtrodden, they sure seemed to hang
onto the high-
class, elitist way of life. Seems all anyone could
think of around
here was holding a party or a social event, just
to show how well off
they were. Vin felt sorry for the forgotten ones
who really paid the
price for these events, the servants both
indentured and freemen and
the increasing number of slaves appearing among
the landowners,
especially here in the southern Colonies. Little
thought was given
to the extra workload these people bore so someone
supposedly better
than them, and much more selfish, could look good
for people they
truly did not need to impress.
Vin snorted; it all seemed worthless to him. There
were more
important things they should be doing. He knew
Larabee's appearances
at these functions was more than showing off. The
man loved his
horses and enjoyed displaying and selling them;
that was his
business, but there was another side of him that
only a few knew
about. For that hidden business, these events also
served as a vital
source of information. A valuable tool used by all
the members of
the privateer ship Vengeance who traveled with
him, or attended other
gatherings. Everyone kept their eyes and ears open
to anything that
would help their cause.
He shifted to the second back leg, beginning with
rinsing and
scrubbing it off. "Reckon there ain't a mud puddle
within a mile
that he didn't hit, and ya loved every minute of
it." The wide, flat
end of the tool pulled chunks out from the
indentation in the hoof,
his wrist flicking it off to the side.
"Hisself gets dirt on him, he's gotta change.
Ain't proper fer a
gentleman ta be seen dirty. Not like Hisself don't
stink."
Seagold snorted.
"Ya know he stinks, too. That's some statement ya
think he smells,
considering how foul ya came in here."
The horse shifted.
"Don't even," Vin warned.
Seagold stilled.
"That's better. Ya know ya have ta listen ta me."
Flick,
flick. "I'm the one that takes care of ya, cleans
ya up. Hisself
just drops yer reins in my hands with ya all
lathered up and filthy,
has the nerve ta say, 'Tanner, clean him up. He
did well', as if I
weren't watching him risk his fool neck and yer
precious life."
Tanner's reflections turned more to his employer
and friend and the
different personalities he'd seen the man exhibit
since he'd come to
know him. Most of the time, Chris Larabee was
unassuming and
easygoing, treating all those he employed fairly
and did not hold
with owning slaves. Most of the workers considered
by Society to
be "slaves" on the horsefarm were freemen and
freewomen, knowing they
received an honest wage for honest work. They,
Chris, and Vin let
others have their misconceptions because the truth
was, employment
for freemen and freewomen was scarce with all the
indentured folk and
the ready availability of slaves.
In fact, Larabee worked just as hard as anyone on
his farm and didn't
care about appearances. Yet, Vin knew very few
truly saw the other
half of the man as the steel-eyed, justice driven
captain of the
privateer ship Vengeance. The schooner's captain
would defiantly
scare most of the faint-hearted, weak-spined souls
at this
gathering. It was the persona at these fetes that
Vin wished he
didn't have to see. Larabee wasn't the worse of
them, but he acted
the fop with the best in the trainer's opinion.
Sometimes, it seemed
Chris believed his act too well, like someone else
he knew.
Sadly but fondly, Vin remembered his old mentor
and friend's views on
the so-called elite of the Colonies. After
watching him deal with
his own brother and his obsession with becoming a
prominent member of
peerage, none of his opinions flattered or were
well thought of in
higher circles, his friend gaining enemies with
each proclamation and
telling. As Vin absently rubbed his-kerchief
covered neck, his own
opinions were of the same line if not worse. It
was his mentor's
impersonations and his reference to those trying
to act better than
they were as `la-de-dahs' that he remembered now.
Sorrowfully, Vin
reminisced that it was because of Jess Kincaid he
was even here; if
it hadn't been for him, he might never have met
Larabee or gotten
involved in this cause.
Of course no matter how much he liked Chris, or
what Larabee
accomplished to right wrongs, didn't mean he
couldn't be a little put
out with him from time to time. Like now. . .
flick, flick.
He finished getting the muck out, rinsed the hoof,
and moved on to
the front left. The process repeated with more
complaints until he
reached the scraping.
"I'm gettin' mighty tired of this. Hisself ain't
here."
Flick. "Hisself couldn't even call me by my name."
Flick. "Name's
Vin, not just Tanner like these indentured folk. I
could be actin'
all la-de-dah too, but I ain't putting on airs."
Flick.
"I Beg Your Pardon!"
The yelp, loudly spoken in most offended,
over-emphasized tones,
interrupted his diatribe. He looked up to see two
pairs of well-
polished boots, his blue eyes traveling up to the
mud-splattered
pants of two men. Recognition came immediately,
causing a
smirk. "Well, if it ain't Hisself and Gentleman
Standish. Seems
like ya got a little mud on ya." He flicked again,
enjoying them
dodging the mess sent in their direction.
"Mr. Larabee, I thought you taught your horse
trainer refinement. Or
did you demote him to stable boy?"
"I ain't no stable boy, ya pompous windbag," Vin
started,
straighening from his crouch to glare at the
merchant. "Ouch!" He
turned on Seagold. "Ya won't do that again.
That'll cost ya oats."
Chris Larabee talked over his trainer. "I
apologize, Mr. Standish.
It appears the lessons did not take. Apparently he
seems to believe
that we are required to be covered in mud like
him. I will, of
course, reimburse you in the event those trousers
are ruined. From
his pay."
"What a bunch of -"
Ezra Standish, merchant and illegal gambling hall
owner, spoke louder
than the trainer. "I would not expect anything
less from a Gentleman
such as yourself."
"I appreciate your understanding," Chris gave Ezra
a friendly pat on
the back.
Having had enough, Vin shifted until he lined up
his shot, sending a
large clump of loose muck at the two men, nailing
them both in the
face. "Reckon that'll cost me in soap." He
smirked. "Worth it."
"How dare you, Mr. Tanner!" Ezra sputtered,
ineffectively attempting
to blot the mud off him. "I must change."
"Ya can't change yer stripes," Vin joked. He
pointed to the
pinstriped vest. "But I can change yer
appearance." He threatened
another flick of mud.
"You, sir, are no gentleman."
Vin grinned broadly. "I never claimed ta be."
"I think I'll join you in changing, Ezra. It seems
we cannot go to
dinner wearing stable mud."
"Ya went through it, ya can wear it too. Seagold
did nothin' ta end
up this dirty." Vin finished with the third hoof.
Tossing the third
bucket of water onto the hoof, he released some of
his frustration
over some of the last few days by allowing it to
splatter toward
Chris and Ezra.
"If you chose to act like a gentleman, you would
be able to join us
for dinner." Larabee easily dodged, stroking the
horse's neck with
obvious affection.
"With them la-de-dahs? I ain't in the mood,
Chris."
"We are in Loyalist country," Ezra pointed out.
"Being such fine,
upstanding Loyalists ourselves," the sarcasm
dripped from every
syllable, "Mr. Tanner here should not call too
much attention to
himself. The Loyalists still value the class
system. Even my
esteemed presence, being a mere businessman, is
pressing the limit
with some of the true elite."
Both Chris and Vin snorted at the truly affronted
expression on
Standish's face.
"Irritates ya, don't it?" Vin snickered.
"Of course," Ezra said surprised by the obvious.
"To be shunned even
when some have more class than those who claim
they are born to it."
"Like they don't use the privy the same way," Vin
griped.
Chris smirked. "He might be right, Vin. Much as I
want you there,
staying here might be best."
"Won't hurt my feelings." Vin snorted. "I ain't
one fer airs."
"Yes, you have made that very apparent." Ezra
wiped ineffectually at
the mud, only smearing it and getting it on his
hands.
"Saw some British soldiers before we came in
here," Chris warned.
"Probably after a free meal." Vin scowled,
continuing his work on
Seagold.
"No doubt." Ezra sighed, his hands falling away
from his shirt.
"You have someplace to go? Someone brining you
meals?" All kidding
aside, the blond showed his concern, blatantly not
liking the
situation himself.
"With the rest of the visitin' servants and
slaves. Ya get any
offers on my horses yet?" Vin knew he could stay
in the main house
as a guest, but he preferred being with the honest
folk who worked
for their livings.
Chris smiled, a twist of his lips that could only
be described as
predatory and satisfied. "Five, and a wager."
His head lifted at the word wager, shooting a look
at the merchant.
The trainer saw Ezra's eyes dance, causing him to
stare until the
blond explained.
"Two Gentlemen want Hermes. Since they tried to
outbid each other
standing there -"
Ezra picked up the narrative, "Which was rather
rude, so I
interceded. They will compete in three events,
best out of five.
Winner will win the privilege of buying the horse,
yet the loser has
the option of scheduling stud service prior to the
completion of the
sale."
"What's yer cut? We win regardless, but what about
yer take?" Vin
straightened, giving Seagold a warning look before
turning his
attention back to Ezra.
"A small fee." Standish held his fingers a tiny
bit apart.
"How small?" Tanner tilted his head.
"A Gentleman's fee for arranging and officiating,"
Ezra
explained. "Since our host felt five events would
significantly add
to the success of this weekend sojourn, he was
rather excited about
the prospects. Mr. Larabee will provide half, the
host the other."
"And?"
"He gets a portion of my next share, since it took
so much whispered
negotiation between them." Chris shook his head.
"Why talking
business is considered rude I will never
understand."
"Another reason you are considered a Gentleman,
but not of the First
Water," Ezra told him. "As I pointed out before, I
am a Gentleman
only because I am needed. If I were no longer able
to provide the
services I do, I would be shunned."
"Nah. They like pompous windbags," Vin teased.
"Not of the First Water? I do believe I was
insulted," Chris said
softly. "Did you insult me?"
"Of course I did. How perceptive of you to
notice," Ezra
retorted. "Perhaps I should increase my portion."
The horse trainer chuckled. "Fair enough."
"Hey!" Larabee protested. "No, he's getting enough
already."
"That, dear sir, is open for debate."
"He'll take care of ya," Vin said. He figured
Chris would never let
Ezra rip him off, and he could guess what it took
the merchant to
arrange such a profitable endeavor for them all.
The fee would be
small by Society's customs, which he knew Chris
would feel was not
enough. Giving Ezra a portion of the Vengeance
take from their next
sail should make up the difference.
"I am so pleased you agree," Ezra said, his voice
dripping sarcasm.
"Chris knows he ain't supposed ta make deals
without me." Vin
smirked at his boss.
Larabee rolled his eyes.
"On that topic, I will take my leave to change."
Ezra inclined his
head, leaving thereafter.
Vin finished the last leg and hoof. He cleaned up
the supplies,
putting them in their appropriate places. With an
affectionate pat,
he led Seagold back to the stall assigned to him
near the rest of the
Larabee horses brought for sale and show. He felt
someone staring at
him, turning to find Chris giving him an intense
look. "What?"
"You know?" Chris trailed off after those two
words.
He saw the concern in the other man's eyes. His
friend worried the
attitude they needed to display of
employer-employee for Society's
sake at these events would be taken as an insult
by Vin, especially
considering their equality when at their home.
Seeing the blond
continuing to stare, he nodded once.
Silent understanding passed between them.
Chris relaxed his stiff posture.
Vin grinned. "Go be a la-de-dah, Hisself. Change
first, because ya
have mud on ya, and that ain't allowed."
"I wonder where it came from," Chris dryly
replied.
"Spendin' too much time in the stable."
The blond laughed.
Vin walked toward the quarters assigned to him
along the path beside
and leading around the main house. Groups of
guests milled about,
most around the lighted terrace doors, and some
disappeared into the
gardens or the thick trees lining the paths and
property. It was
none of his business what Society did, or what
scandals they
generated. Good, wholesome food filled his
stomach, and sleepiness
started to take hold. It had been a long day, he
reflected,
considering he settled ten prize horses, their
grooms, and supervised
getting quarters and meals for all of their
entourage. Then he chose
to take on a good part of their chores for
himself.
The steeplechase had kept everyone busy, the
grooms required to be
with the horses when Chris ran them, or showing
them off. He chose
to clean Seagold after his race because the horse
had a bad
temperament. Besides, it helped that Seagold's
groom could help with
Hermes. The large stallion was a crowd favorite,
and two handlers
worked better to keep the spirited horse calm and
the eager
spectators back. The solitude did him wonders,
away from the press
of too many bodies and busybodies. If he fended
off one more pinch
to his bottom, that woman of so-called better
Quality than him would
find herself humiliated publicly. He did not care
one whit about his
reputation, but the bad reflection on Chris might
hurt their
business, and Larabee's stature among the
Colonies.
A footstep sounded a short distance ahead of him,
breaking him from
his musings to stare ahead. He saw the man waiting
along the path
for him.
"Mr. Tanner, a word?"
He was stuck. The trainer knew what the man
wanted; it was always
the same, and always a source of friction between
them. Even if they
knew each other publicly in passing, the man took
a risk speaking to
him. They could cover under the guise of
discussing one of the
horses, but this man could easily visit the
Larabee place since he
lived so close. Some attending here might consider
the gentleman
should be speaking with the owner anyway, not
bothering with the
help. Vin grabbed the man's shoulders and yanked
him further into
the nearby forest's edge. "Speak quickly," he
whispered. "We have
little time."
"Tell me where she is."
Frustration filled the horse trainer. The same
questions, with no
answer to be given. It was not his answer to
share. He said nothing.
"You know where to find my sister. I want to see
Claire," Rafe
Mosely demanded.
"Ain't possible." He had given his word never to
reveal the location
of the village, especially to Rafe or his father.
The colonists would
trade with the tribes, but if given the chance,
there is no telling
what a group might do if they were enticed to seek
their camps out.
Vin would abide by his word to keep his friends
safe. In his
opinion, Claire was better off where she was than
under the stern
hand of her father.
Rafe grabbed Vin by the shoulders.
Even prepared for it, Vin still felt the impact
when Mosely pushed
him back into a tree.
"You help hide her with savages. Lord knows what
has been done to
her." Rafe pounded him back against the tree
again.
He allowed Rafe his anger. They were shipmates on
Vengeance, the
only reason Rafe was still unharmed. Vin could
understand his worry
and anger, and the younger Mosely never learned
the full truth from
his father. If all he knew was that he had a
sister who disappeared,
and someone else refused to speak the truth, he
would probably be
inclined to beat them until they talked too.
However, Rafe needed to
understand Vin was not talking, never would, and
Mosely's worry
allowed him only so much leeway. Vin tried words
again, even though
he knew it was futile. "I ain't hidin' her. She's
happy. Ya need
ta accept that. Quit tryin' ta drag her back. This
ain't her life
anymore."
"If all is as you say, let me see for myself."
"No." It hurt him to deny the request. His own
efforts with Chanu
to arrange the meeting fell on deaf ears; with
Claire expecting,
Chanu refused to let anyone upset his wife. Tanner
understood the
emotional pain Claire would suffer from seeing her
brother. Rafe
would try to convince her to return, forcing her
into a choice
between her husband and her brother. Rafe would
lose, and he was too
unpredictable to chance the village's safety on.
It was one area in
which he was much like his father, though Rafe was
loathe to admit
it, but he was quick to anger. His temper could
cause more harm.
Rafe pulled back enough to punch Vin in the
stomach. "How dare you,"
he hissed, swinging again.
Vin dodged, choosing not to strike back. He
anticipated the strikes,
missing some, but catching enough that his own
temper began to rise.
Rafe was not going to calm down anytime soon. Vin
was certain it had
a bit to do with the liquor he smelt on Rafe's
breath. Well, being
in a constant battle with Rafe was a price he paid
for keeping his
word and being caught in the middle, but accepting
the fact did not
mean he had to take it. His hands curled into
fists. Maybe it was
time Rafe realized that attacking Vin only brought
animosity between
them, not the results the other man wanted.
"You're half-savage yourself. Did you hurt her
too? You won't let
me see her because she'll tell me what you did?"
The thin control Vin held over his temper snapped.
He tackled Rafe,
took him to the ground, straddled, and pinned him.
"I ain't touched
yer sister. Ya should believe that unquestioned."
Running footsteps reached his ears, his body
acting on instinct.
Sensing arms reaching for him as the intruder
neared he braced for an
attack, his leg automatically swept back to try
and trip the
newcomer. His periphery vision caught the results
of his attempt,
the body just on the edge of his sight, trying to
sidestep the
attack, stumbling among the woodfall and into the
brush, striking his
head upon a log as he fell. The figure lay where
he landed, not
moving, hat fluttering to a landing beside him,
dark hair spilled
over the still face.
"JD," he called, letting Rafe go. He needed to see
if the kid was
okay; he was not part of this fight. Damn his
temper; he knew better
than to unleash it. He crawled over to the still
form. Their ship's
pilot for this trip did not deserve this; he
probably wanted to stop
the fight before anyone else saw it.
"Is he well?" Rafe hissed, circling around to the
other side of JD.
"You there! Unhand him!"
Vin heard too many voices like that to not know
the British soldiers
arrived. He groaned, rolling back into a squat and
was roughly
yanked to his feet. He tried to shake free, but
the red-coated arms
held him still. His count was six of them, one of
him. JD was still
unconscious, and Rafe could not be counted on.
"What's going on?" A man wearing sergeant's
insignia inserted
himself between Vin, JD, and Rafe.
"A private matter," Rafe tried to explain, his
voice full of years'
worth of haughtiness instilled into him. "Thank
you for your
assistance, but the matter has been settled."
"No, sir, it has not. Your name?" He lifted the
lantern in his hand
to Rafe's face, casting it in firelit shadows.
"Rafe Mosely."
"I've heard of your father," the sergeant
remarked. "How's the boy?"
he asked his man down by the still form.
"Just a knot, sir. He be comin' around shortly,"
the soldier
answered.
"And you. Who are you?" The lantern rose to
brighten Vin's features.
Patience, Vin instructed himself, have patience.
These soldiers do
not know. Cold fingers of dread flowed through Vin
as he was held
tightly between the two soldiers. The instinct to
run nearly
overpowered him, but the knowledge the soldiers
would shoot him for
running kept him in place. He had a chance if he
played
cooperative.
"Name's Vin. . ."
"He's Mr. Larabee's horse trainer," Rafe jumped in
before Vin could
continue. "They are honored guests of our host. We
were just having
a gentleman's disagreement about the purchase of
one of the horses.
I assure you the matter has been resolved."
The sergeant looked hard between the two men.
"I saw this one attack the Gentleman, sir," one of
the soldiers spoke
up. "Then he knocked this one out when he tried to
pull him off Mr.
Mosely."
"Sergeant, I already stated . . . "
The sergeant held up his hand to stop Rafe from
speaking
further. "Please, Mr. Mosely, I'm sure Mr. Larabee
will not dishonor
any contract with you. In fact, once his
employee's misdeeds are
brought to his attention, you might receive a
better bargain."
"I attempted to explain our disagreement was a
private matter," Rafe
interjected, "one already handled."
"It is our duty to keep order in the Colonies, Mr.
Mosely." The
sergeant motioned his men to bind Vin's hands. "We
cannot allow such
miscreants to roam among our good folk. You've no
fear sir, we will
be sure this one causes you no further harm."
Vin stayed silent, knowing any attempt by him to
state his case would
only make matters worse, if they could get that
way. This sergeant
was out to make himself look good among the local
peerage. He would
just have to wait and see what was to happen next.
He could not wait
until the sergeant made Chris Larabee's less than
happy
acquaintance. Still, he prayed the soldiers didn't
find other
reasons to hold him. As the two soldiers holding
him began to pull
him roughly away, he sent a final feral glare in
Rafe's direction.
He could tell by the look on Mosely's face that he
was well aware of
what kind of trouble his misguided persistence had
gotten them into.
This could very well put them all in danger, not
to mention the
mission of Vengeance.
JD came around slowly, his head aching. Pushing
himself up, he felt
strong hands lifting him to a standing position.
His eyes blurred,
bringing his hand to wipe the wetness from them.
He remembered
seeing Rafe and Vin fighting, and running to stop
them.
"I tripped over something," he said, feeling the
stares of the
onlookers.
"You were assaulted by a miscreant," a rough voice
beside him growled.
He blinked in confusion and trying to bring his
blurry vision into
focus as he looked around him. Finally he focused
on the sight of
Vin being roughly dragged away between two
soldiers. "What's going
on?" He was still confused.
"You were wounded trying save young Mr. Mosely,"
the one seemingly in
charge explained.
JD took in the sergeant's insignia, along with the
finality of the
man's words. In their mind, Vin was guilty of
attacking a Gentleman
of Quality, and him another Gentleman's ship's
pilot. "No. You do
not understand."
"Don't worry, son." The sergeant patted JD lightly
on the
shoulder. "Your bravery will be duly noted in my
report. We will
be sure the ruffian does not harm any more
guests."
"No, this isn't right. What is going on?" JD
turned to Rafe. "Mr.
Mosely? You know this isn't right. Tell them it
was a
misunderstanding."
Rafe shook his head. "I tried, JD," he said
softly. "There's
nothing I can do."
JD's eyes grew wide in fear and disbelief. He
didn't know the whole
of the argument between them, but he knew his two
crewmates often
butted heads over the least little things. "Can't
or won't. You
want them to take Vin."
Rafe blanched. "No, JD…"
"Then do something."
Looking after the group of soldiers taking Vin
away and the two still
standing by them, he shook his head. "I can't."
"Come on lad." One soldier pulled on JD's arm.
"Let's see if Mr.
Vermenton's doctor can tend your wound."
JD shook the supporting arm off, glaring at Rafe
the entire time. He
couldn't believe this was happening. "I'm okay."
"JD you need to be tended," Rafe insisted.
"Maybe, but I certainly don't need no help from
you," he turned
angrily from Rafe and began walking up the path to
the house.
Rafe stood uncertain which path to take. He needed
to make sure
Larabee heard what had happened, but he wanted to
make sure Vin was
okay. This was a big mess and it was his fault. He
was scared of
how bad it might turn out for all of them.
Vin was pushed into the barren room, with his
hands still tightly
bound behind him, his balance was off and tumbled
to the ground. One
of the soldiers kicked him hard in the side,
driving a sharp pain
through his body robbing him of his breath.
"You'll learn not to accost your betters, boy,"
the soldier sneered.
He was yanked to a standing position and shoved
face first into the
wall. There he was roughly held against the hard
surface while his
bindings were removed. He was then turned and
slammed against the
same hard surface. His arms were jerked up and
attached to the
chains and manacles secured to the wall for
holding prisoners.
From his past experience with the British in the
Colonies, he knew
those accused of crimes were treated as bad and
sometimes worse than
those already found guilty of their crimes. He
expected nothing
better here. And he knew he couldn't expect help
from his friends.
They couldn't risk themselves or their greater
cause, at least he
hoped they wouldn't. He would have to find his own
way out of this.
He only hoped they didn't find out about his past
and he lived long
enough to get the chance to get away.
Part Two
"How are your accommodations? Better than you
deserve."
Vin heard the voice coming from the front of his
cell, but did not
acknowledge the speaker. He kept his head down,
thinking the less
they looked into his face, the better his chances.
In his
experience, they would read the defiance there,
especially in his
eyes and it would be all the excuse they needed to
deliver a horrific
beating. He saw many a man die from such
punishment, all in the name
of their justice for a perceived wrong. Wanting to
survive this, he
intended to do nothing to incite his captors, but
they would be able
to read his true feelings easily on his face.
When he heard the key in the lock, he braced
himself. Even he, a man
who walked the fine line between three separate
worlds, knew his
fight with Rafe, a man purportedly his better,
drew consequences.
Bitterness filled him; the village where Claire
lived with Chanu
deserved protecting. It was worthy of a fight to
keep it safe, but
receiving a thrashing from a soldier acting on
Rafe's behalf did not
settle well with him. He longed for the Indian
village, all the
trappings of class stripped away, reverting to
living off the land
and enjoyable companionship. Or back at Larabee's
farm, where he
received equal treatment from all.
"You, a stable rat, think you have the right to
touch a Gentleman, do
you?"
The man's horrid breath nearly brought up Vin's
stomach contents. He
was sure that would bring only more misery on him,
so he did his best
to hold fast, and not breathe in too deep of the
added body odor he
now smelled. Keeping his head down, he was afraid
to see what the
owner of such rancidness looked like.
"You are nothing. You have no worth."
Vin swallowed hard and remained silent.
"What's the matter, boy? Can't talk?"
Tanner closed his eyes and wished the
foul-smelling soldier would
leave. His next thoughts, as well as all the air
in his lungs, fled
as the soldier rammed the blunt end of the baton
he held into his
stomach.
"You scum need manners, learn to address your
betters proper-like.
Now do you think you're better than me?"
Biting the inside of his cheek, Vin willed himself
to hold his
tongue. This time the pain was like a thousand
knives plunging
through him as the baton lashed against his side.
"You will answer when asked a question. Now do you
think you're a
Gentleman?"
Vin could answer this question. "No," he replied
softly.
His head was jerked painfully back and putrid
breath sneered, "That's
no, sir, ta ya, and yer right ya ain't no
gentleman, yet ya felt ya
could attack a gentleman and get no punishment."
The soldier pulled
Vin's head back and ran the baton menacingly under
his chin. "You'll
know your place when we're through with ya." He
released Vin's hair,
roughly shoving his head against the wall as he
did so. "Your owner
should have trained ya better."
"Ain't owned by no one, I'm a free man," Vin
glared at the red coat,
sincerely hoping he was right and these soldiers
did not look too far
into his past. He heard the proper diction
slipping in the man's
voice, knowing the soldier was putting on airs he
was better than his
peers, and hoping to play off the man's anger to
his benefit.
The backhand cut swiftly across his face and with
enough force to
snap his head back against the wall again.
"Jest like you Colonists, thinkin' you're more
than what ya are," the
soldier sneered. "Iffen ya had any sense to ya,
you would've done
like me and take a job that Gentleman or gutter
snipe respects. But
ya will never be more than what ya are, ya son of
a whore. Ya ain't
worthy of cleaning my boots."
Vin's temper got the better of him; he could take
the insults but
cringed at the thought of someone disparaging his
mother. He spat on
the man's polished boots. "Ya missed a spot."
Even expected, the blow caught the side of his
face, twisting his
neck, brushing his cheek against his shoulder. He
felt rather than
saw the soldier's boot brush against his pants,
wiping the spittle
off. Satisfaction filled him, knowing he
infuriated the soldier.
Blue eyes watched the booted feet back up two
paces, unable to block
the kick to his midsection. His twist only made
things worse;
instead of striking his stomach, the heel caught
him where it
counted. Eyelids slammed closed, a groan escaping
him.
"Serves you right, stable rat. There's more where
that came from."
The soldier proceeded to kick and hit him
repeatedly.
Vin forced himself to clench his legs tight
together to prevent
another boot heel landing where he preferred it
not to be, still
trying to recover from the first painful strike.
When the pain
receded enough, he timed his movements. One fast
sweep from left to
right knocked the soldier onto the ground. Yes, he
would pay for
that, and probably in his blood, but it felt good
to see his
tormentor lying in the straw.
"Ya ain't better than me, soldier," Vin said with
meaning. "Ya just
have the advantage now. Makes ya feel good, don't
it, ta beat a man
who can't fight back?"
"I am soldier in His Majesty's service. What are
you?" The man
picked himself up, dusting off his uniform on Vin.
"A captured man
facing discipline for attacking a Gentleman, and
now a soldier. An
unprovoked attack, since I brought you food and
water as ordered."
"Ya gonna tell yer sergeant I attacked ya?" Vin
laughed at him,
still not looking him in the eye. "Tell him I got
the better of ya,
dumped ya in the straw with my hands and arms
chained ta the wall?"
Though it hurt, he chuckled, knowing this guard
would be easy to
provoke.
"Don't you sass me!"
"I'm speakin' plain truth. Now, if ya let me go
and we went one-on-
one, maybe ya might win." He hoped to incite the
guard enough to let
him go to make it a "fair" fight, overpower him,
and escape. He
realized his chances to survive were slim; men
hung for lesser
offenses in the name of the Crown and their
attempt to control the
rebel colonists. They only knew his first name
here; he needed to
get away before they found out more, or his
circumstances put the
others in danger. He had hidden out before; he
could do it again.
There would be few regrets, leaving Chris and the
opportunity to work
as a horse trainer among them. Although it might
be possible to stay
on Vengeance, he could at least continue his work
there.
"Leverson!" The soldier yelled. "He needs to learn
some manners."
Aw, hell, he thought, realizing his gamble failed.
The soldier
called for backup, meaning he planned to have his
friend help attack
him, the chained prisoner. His suspicions received
confirmation when
the cell opened again. Unable to help himself, he
used his periphery
vision to look at the new arrival. Tall, broad,
and all muscle, Vin
knew he was in for it now.
"Charges?" the big man half-spoke, half-grunted.
"Assaulting a Gentleman."
Vin almost allowed himself a grin at the soldier's
intentional
concealment of being dumped into the straw.
"His position?"
"Horse trainer or something."
"Indentured?"
"Claims ta be free. Overpaid groom, if you ask
me."
"You have a name?" The giant stepped into Vin's
face, a fat fist
lifting his chin, forcing him to stare up into the
coldest brown eyes
he ever saw, made darker by the flickering
torchlight.
"Misunderstood," Vin replied, attempting to shake
off the hand.
"Smart mouth on you, boy. We have remedies for
that." The meaty
fingers held his chin in place, a strong uppercut
knocking into the
side of his temple.
The world spun, bright flashes filled his vision,
and he tasted
blood. "Your name?"
He had enough. This was not the first time he
found himself in a
position where no matter what he did, he could not
win. He didn't
believe the others could help him, not and
maintain the fine line
they walked among British Loyalists. It was better
they stayed out
of it; might as well make the most of it, if this
was going to be his
final stand against his oppressors. He spat blood
onto his
tormentor. "Bloody Mary."
Hit number two felt no gentler than the first. The
dizziness and
nausea battled with his pain receptors to see who
could scream in
protest the loudest. The headache forming with
excruciating tendrils
of agony centered around the side of his head,
seemingly meeting with
the aches in his stomach and side so he wasn't
sure where the worst
hurts came from, much less how to stop them
chained and manacled.
His determination to not give in and have them
believe they had
beaten him down gave way under the assaults. The
battle to remain
conscious fell by the wayside. It did not seem
important anymore,
the fight, whatever it had been. Darkness called
to him and its
beckoning warmth comforted him. It was after all a
means of escape.
Finally, he gave in to its call and sank into its
gentle embrace.
JD continued his hunt. He could not find Chris or
Ezra anywhere, no
matter whom he asked. Not even the servant's
grapevine could give
him a location. Wishing he could just search the
house and ballroom
himself, he used stealth to climb the terrace
railing for the second
time, hiding in the shadows. His status as a
ship's pilot did not
qualify him as a Gentleman, denying him entry into
the ballroom. He
peered in the oversized windows of the terrace
doors, noting the
whirling colors of rich men and women gorging
themselves in excess.
Some of these people wore jewels worth more than
he would make in ten
lifetimes, and clothes equaling a year's wages.
Yet, there they
were, dancing, drinking, eating - all in excess -
some women openly
fondled by intoxicated men in the darkened corners
of the room, not
counting the couples he passed having encounters
under the cover of
the trees. This was polite Society, and he wanted
no parts of it.
These people were supposedly his betters, yet they
acted worse than
the wharf rats in Boston. At least with the wharf
rats you knew they
were skulking about in the darkness intent to rob,
kill, or help sell
the unlucky into impressments; it was what they
did to survive.
Here, these people hid behind their fancy clothes
and status,
pretending to like you and need you, when all they
wanted was what
could help them with more status, money or
prestige. If they had to
stab you in the back to get what they wanted, they
would do it with a
smile. He just needed to find Chris and Ezra and
rescue Vin.
Hopefully, before his aching, miserable head
rolled off his
shoulders, the pain a constant reminder of the
troubles.
Not spotting him in the ballroom, JD climbed down
to the ground
level, walking around the side of the house toward
the rooms with
windows. Perhaps he might spot Chris or Ezra in
one of the private
rooms. While he searched, he saw Rafe in the front
drive talking to
the sergeant. Maybe Rafe was trying to get Vin
released, or had word
of their friends. He quickened his pace along the
darkened side of
the house, attributing his lack of balance and
weaving to his worry.
His body craved rest, but he could not allow it
until Chris or Ezra
learned about Vin.
Hope died quickly when he watched Rafe look from
side to side; making
sure no one saw him, before passing what looked
like money to the
sergeant. The Gentleman and the soldier shook
hands, parting ways.
He was a fool. Here he was sneaking around, making
a fool of himself
pestering people, trying to gain access to places
he normally would
not go because he was not a Gentleman to find
Chris and Ezra. Then
here was one man he was suppose to trust, a friend
and compatriot,
and the one man able to walk those prohibited
hallways, yet who
betrayed them all. His assumption Rafe also
searched for a way out
for Vin proved the adage about assumptions right.
He thought Rafe
was helping, since he was the cause of all this
mess, and would be
trying to secure Vin's freedom as soon as he
could. But with his own
eyes he was watching the man contribute to Vin's
certain fate.
Didn't Rafe see what this meant to all of them?
Not just Vin
personally, but to Vengeance?
Fury filled him at the supposed Gentleman and
friend's behavior.
When he saw the sergeant leave, he stomped over to
Rafe, yanking the
man's arm hard, spinning Mosely to face him. "How
dare you! You set
Vin up!"
Rafe shook him off. "Lower your voice. It's not
what you think, JD."
"You just gave him money! Was that the payoff for
having Vin
arrested?"
"No! I'm trying to help him." Rafe's face showed
indignation that JD
would think such a thing of him.
"So, you were paying him to get Vin released?" JD
didn't care about
Rafe's wounded pride; Rafe started this, so he
needed to take care of
getting Vin out of the mess.
"I can't get Vin released," Rafe explained softly,
visibly upset that
he could not secure the trainer's release so
easily.
"Or don't want to," JD hissed.
"That's not true," Rafe insisted.
"What am I supposed to think?" JD continued, "It's
because of you
he's imprisoned!"
"Stop yelling, you're attracting attention. If you
touch me again,
you will be joining Vin in jail."
"That's what you'd like. So I can't tell what you
did."
"It's not," Rafe hissed. "It's what they'll see
and perceive. Is
that what is best for all of us?" He tugged on
JD's arm, leading him
further into the darkness, away from the well-lit
front drive. "We
can't afford a scene."
If it wasn't a payoff what else was it for? Words
spewed from his
mouth with speed, flying out before his brain
could stop or control
them. What was wrong with him?
"A scene? Vin's in jail because of you, and you're
worried about a
scene? I saw you passing money to the sergeant. If
it wasn't a
payoff, what else was it for? I knew you and Vin
had differences,
but this is low, even for you. You know what gets
me? You're
supposed to be the Gentleman. If being a Gentleman
means acting the
way you do, I don't want to be one." He shook off
Rafe's hand and
jogged away. Intentionally, he ignored the man's
hissed whispers to
return.
Where were Chris and Ezra? Part of him almost
stopped and turned
around to make Rafe find them, but the seed of
mistrust flowed
through him, making him wonder what other
treachery his crewmate
planned.
Sergeant Daniel McComassey rode to the compound of
buildings,
appropriated by the Crown to house the soldiers in
this colony. It
did not matter that several families were
displaced; it was their
duty to provide for His Majesty's forces so they
could maintain
order. Going to the slave quarters, which served
to house their
prisoners, he tied the reins of his big bay to the
post outside, and
entered. The unmistakable sound of soldiers
cheering reached his
ears. He hustled to the cells in the back of the
building, his eyes
widening in horror at the beating his prisoner
received from
Leverson.
"Stop it this instant!" His strong voice rang out
over the yells and
cheers of the others crowded into the small rooms,
bringing order to
chaos. Strong strides carried him past his men to
the open door of
the cell, pointed glares lowering heads to inspect
the floor and boot
tips.
"Why?"
McComassey recognized that voice; it belonged to
one of the ugliest
men he had the misfortune to meet, much less
command. Because of his
hideous looks, bad teeth, and even worse breath,
the soldier abused
the limited power provided him. Using the might
and the power
provided by his uniform to demoralize and
literally beat down those
who he felt would do the same to him otherwise,
because of their
greater class or appearance. Usually, the sergeant
kept him in
check, assigning him to provide water and food to
the prisoners.
Most of the time they limited themselves and only
dished out verbal
abuse he could apologize for later if the
situation warranted it.
Their occasional lapses were usually against such
low life that it
did not matter, and so far was fortunate to cover
their misdeeds.
Unfortunately, Hannon and Leverson designated
themselves dispensers
of justice, and this prisoner suffered under their
care.
"I have already spoken on this before," McComassey
said with
authority. "Prisoners are not to be mistreated.
Leverson, Hannon,
step out of the cell and stand guard outside the
building."
The two men went, both openly displeased with the
orders.
McComassey knew it was imperative to keep command
and order among his
soldiers, many of who could turn on him easily.
"Listen up. All
prisoners are to be treated equally and with
professionalism. We
must keep order and keep these colonists on our
side. There has been
too much mistreatment lately, causing unrest among
the locals."
"Seems to me the rabble get what they deserve,
sir," one of the older
soldiers spoke up. "Wasn't this one attacking a
guest? Seems the
gentry would be grateful we're around to provide
punishment."
McComassey nodded in acknowledgement of what
should be the truth.
However, he realized other factors were coming
into play here, that
could mean trouble for his garrison. One the
locals, gentry
included, were becoming more vocal and showing
unrest because of the
soldier's presence and their conduct. Second, he
was not happy with
what he found out about their prisoner; he was not
an indentured
servant or slave as he first believed, but the
respected employee of
one of the influential guest of the plantation
owner. This might
bring trouble from beyond their colony, attention
he could not afford.
"Are you aware this prisoner works for Chris
Larabee, the noted horse
breeder, who currently is an honored guest of Mr.
Vermenton? We must
handle this delicately; especially considering Mr.
Vermenton makes
considerable donations of materials to our
barracks and our
stomachs." He gave looked each of them in the eye.
"Not to mention
his influence in keeping the rest of the locals
appeased of our
presence, and gives us glowing reports to the
Governor. Allows us to
keep our position here. I care not to anger him,
else we find our
situation greatly changed." Seeing they properly
understood the
implications, he broke eye contact with them to
stare at the prisoner.
It was worse than he thought, and he swore he
could feel his stomach
drop. At the very least, he knew if he did not
find a way to correct
this situation, his position, nay, his very life
might be in
jeopardy. Gentleman Mosely paid him a significant
amount to keep
this prisoner in good condition, well fed, and in
a cell free of
pestilence. The beating would be impossible to
conceal. Long, damp
hair veiled the man's face from his eyes, but the
blood matting the
strands and splattered across his tattered shirt
spoke volumes. Only
his manacled arms kept him aloft; his body hanging
limply from the
chains like a broken marionette.
"This cannot be concealed," McComassey announced.
He quickly thought
of options and made a decision that he hoped would
save them
all. "We will move him tonight to the jail for the
Magistrate.
Efferty."
"Yes, sir!" Efferty, one of his youngest soldiers,
snapped to
attention in front of him awaiting his orders.
"Prepare a wagon for transport; we dare not put
him on a horse in
this condition. Make sure to get a tarp to conceal
him."
"Yes, sir!" Efferty saluted and hustled out to do
his bidding.
"Won't his employer come lookin' for him, sir,"
another soldier asked.
"Yes, he will," McComassey paced in front of the
unaware prisoner,
deep in thought. "We must do something to delay
him finding his
condition, and perhaps give him something else to
be concerned
with." An idea came to the sergeant that would
surely solve all of
his problems. "Kipney, go through our dispatches.
Find a warrant
that matches this man's description."
"Yes, sir," Kipney saluted and turned to carry out
the order.
Hesitating, he turned back to the sergeant. "But
sir, what there is
no matching warrant?"
McComassey smiled icily. "I'm sure we will come up
with something."
"Of course, sir, sure, sir." Kipney agreed and
left to find a
warrant, understanding he would find one, whether
it was real or not.
The sergeant turned back to his remaining men.
Walking over to the
prisoner, using one finger he tilted the head up a
bit to look at the
lax features. "Mr. Larabee should take care, some
might consider his
carelessness in hiring such riff raff an example
of how he handles
all his affairs."
Letting the head drop back down, he motioned to
two more of the
guards. "Davis, Monroe, lower him to the ground
and prepare him for
transport."
Vin felt the pressure release. He gasped for air,
the weight and
force of his arms holding his body up driving
precious breath from
him abate. Survival outweighed the need to escape;
each sweet
lungful of oxygen returned strength to him. His
legs and arms felt
made of lead, even though he sensed someone moving
him onto the
floor. His eyes refused to work, leaving him in
darkness. He heard
voices, most telling him to be still and not to
cause any trouble.
If most of his body did not hurt, he might have
laughed.
"Sir! I found one!" Kipney announced as he
re-entered the room.
"Good work, Kipney," the sergeant praised.
"Thank you, sir," Kipney beamed.
"All right men, let's move him, and keep that
warrant with him! If
anyone inquires, we will say that we once we found
the warrant he
resisted and made to escape."
Vin's heart sank. Even in this weakened condition,
his past haunted
him, giving him no peace. They found the warrant
on him, the one
about his mentor and friend Jess Kincaid. The one
that accused him
of killing the man who like family to him. He had
a good start at
rebuilding his life, but now there was nothing
left. He would face
the justice the British felt he deserved without
protest. In his
mind, he was just as much to blame for his
friend's death. Even the
soreness from the beating receded in the wake of
the numbness left
behind from the discovery of the warrant. He
allowed himself to
drift into unconsciousness, a blessed reprieve
from the harsh
realities he had not the strength to fight now.
Chris Larabee sipped his brandy, absently
appreciating the taste.
The expensive cigars smoked easily, their flavor a
perfect compliment
to the brandy. Ezra's own stock, shared with
Buck's private stores,
was better, yet this neared Standish's in quality.
He leaned back in
his chair, crossing a booted leg negligently at
the knee. His
examination of his cards showed he would probably
win this hand,
unless Ezra came up with a miracle. Knowing Ezra,
anything was
possible.
Locked in the rich, private study of Mr. Phineas
Vermenton, the host
for this evening, Chris allowed himself a moment
of enjoyment.
Opulence surrounded him, from the rich
wainscoting, crown molding,
and ornate furniture, to the well-appointed
upholstery on the chairs
and settees, accompanied by the liveried footmen
bearing trays of
sumptuous refreshments. Even better, no women
cluttered the room,
giving him an escape from the amorous widow
Williamston. Although
the company of women challenged him, dodging the
widow's advances
while not bringing a Scandal to his name - he
already had more than
enough to qualify him as Dangerous and Brooding -
caused significant
expenditures of energy. He preferred his women
with teeth more the
color of white linen and not darker than the hay
and wheat fields.
His hand won this round, leaving enough to ante up
for the next
hand. Ears remained open for gossip and
information in this company,
where the men were free to discuss their business
without "boring"
the women. Since most of these men relied on
shipping interests to
provide or supplement their income - run by paid
business managers
and not themselves - they boasted often of the
ships bringing them
the wealth from the Mother Country, or the Islands
where they traded
with the soldiers and British Merchants there. The
British East
India Company held the lion's share of the market,
to which these men
raised and sold their crops.
From his perspective, anything destined for the
use of British
soldiers was fair game in the murky rules of
privateering. He
already heard a few men talking about joining
their goods with those
of Stewart James, paying James a small fee to ship
and sell their
goods in the Islands. Anyone who did business with
the crook Stewart
James could afford to lose goods, having them
rerouted via the
Vengeance crew to those more in need of the goods
right here in the
Colonies. He needed to be careful so his source of
information
should never become compromised, or allowing
information he acted on
be traced back to them. Fortunately, his business
as a horse breeder
allowed him access to almost all of Society's
cliques through one
form of invitation or another, not to mention
freedom of travel on
the pretense of looking for new stock or selling
what he had. It
also allowed for meeting a range of people, of all
classes, and
rarely did he see the same people repeatedly.
He lost this hand, deciding to stop while he still
had sense in his
head and money in his pockets. Yes, he won more
than he lost, but he
preferred not to press his luck. He did that often
enough with his
secret life as Captain Vengeance. Shaking hands
with the others at
the table, he strolled to the fireplace, staring
into the flames.
"Mr. Larabee."
He recognized the voice; his host, Phineas
Vermenton, speaking from
beside his shoulder. "Mr. Vermenton."
"May I have a private word?"
"Of course." He figured Vermenton planned to offer
for stud service
from two of his horses, waiting until the proper
moment to discuss
it. Chris followed the man through a nearly
concealed door into a
smaller study, this one more private and secluded
than the large one.
"Please, have a seat." Vermenton motioned Chris to
one of the
overstuffed leather chairs on one side of the
desk.
Chris complied.
"I am sure you know your invitation was partially
due to my interest
in your horses."
Chris nodded, not saying anything yet.
"It has come to my attention that one of your
grooms, how can I put
this? May I be blunt?"
"Yes." Chris leaned forward in his chair,
wondering who did what to
whom to encourage this meeting.
"One of your grooms accosted one of my esteemed
guests, and also
another member of your entourage. Apparently the
offender was taken
by the soldiers to their holding cells."
His heart rate spiked, yet outwardly he remained
calm; everyone knew
there was too much at stake to raise another
Scandal or draw
attention to them. "I apologize in advance, Mr.
Vermenton."
"Phineas, please."
"Phineas. Please call me Chris, then."
"Chris. I have managed to keep this discreet.
Luckily, there were
few witnesses and those were given a reasonable
story and sworn to
secrecy. We both are aware what that means. I
would hate that
malicious gossip put a black mark upon someone of
such strong
Loyalist standings such as yourself. You know what
troubled times we
live in. "
Larabee allowed a small nod. He knew that piece of
gossip would keep
the guests titillated for days, each person
supposedly in the "know"
telling someone else. Even the truth would be
twisted until it grew
out of all proportions. His stomach churned at the
words "strong
Loyalist standing", only because he was the
opposite of them, yet no
one would ever know that. Mostly his friendship
with Magistrate
Travis, who held the ear of Governor Josiah
Martin, kept his name
among the Loyalist leaders.
"According to the sergeant, your senior groom and
Mister Rafe Mosely
tussled off one of the paths behind the house.
Your ship's pilot
attempted to stop it, with your trainer assaulting
him as well. I
arranged for my doctor to check over your pilot;
he should be resting
comfortably in his quarters. The amount of
laudanum given will allow
him a good night's rest."
"How long ago did this occur?" Chris had a sick
feeling in the pit
of his stomach. Rafe would have no quarrel with
any of his grooms,
but he knew he carried a lot of animosity toward
Vin, and was afraid
his friend was now in the hands of their enemy.
"Some time ago. I instructed my people to insure
the rumors were cut
short before informing you. I would appreciate
your cooperation in
keeping this quiet. We cannot afford any disfavor
with the Crown."
Chris forced a half-smile. Phineas Vermenton did
not want to anger
Chris, and by extension his friends, by bringing a
public Scandal of
this magnitude on them both. However, he knew the
man's real purpose
was to insure his standing with the British was
not in question. He
wanted to thrash the host for not informing him
earlier; JD was
probably sick as a dog, because he did not take
laudanum well. The
possibility that Vin was in the custody of British
soldiers did not
bode well for anyone. "I appreciate your
discretion."
"I've arranged for my carriage to be brought
around for your use. It
will take you to the holding cells if you would
like to check on the
matter."
"Excellent. Do you know the whereabouts of Mr.
Mosely so I might
speak to him?" Chris knew exactly what this was
about, intending to
thrash Rafe for his stupidity. One good placed
fist might knock some
sense into the man's head.
"Mr. Mosely awaits you in the carriage. He felt
you would want to
speak with him about the situation."
"Good."
"Mr. Standish will need to stay here, of course.
His absence will be
noted and remarked on, especially considering his
reputation of
retiring at the dawn."
"I understand. Again, Phineas, your discretion has
been most
admirable, as is your hospitality." Much as he
wanted to deck the
man for keeping him in the dark, allowing him to
have a cover story
protected his interests better. No matter how much
he hated it, he
owed this man a debt, one he expected to be called
in the future.
"Please let me know if there is anything further I
can do," Phineas
said. "I will explain the situation to Mr.
Standish during a break.
If you will come with me, this corridor will take
you out to the
drive without being seen by the other guests."
Chris followed, exiting a hidden door to come out
on the side of the
house. A narrow pathway led to the front drive,
where a groom
directed him to the end. He felt someone coming
from the trees more
than saw him. His hand slipped to the weapon he
kept hidden until he
recognized the form. JD. Blocking the groom from
preventing
contact, Chris grabbed hold of the wobbling man
and tugged him
along.
"Chris!"
"Don't speak, JD," Chris instructed harshly. "Just
walk with me."
Even in the near complete darkness, the white
bandage stood out in
stark contrast. His arm tightened to hold the
younger man upright,
sensing the lack of balance from the weakness in
the limbs.
They entered the carriage, Chris nodding once to
Rafe.
"What's he doing here?" JD sneered.
"Be quiet," Chris hissed. He checked the door was
closed securely,
the curtains drawn, rapping twice on the roof to
get them
moving. "How's your head, JD?"
"It hurts like hell, and he's at fault." JD had
not stopped glaring
at Rafe since entering the conveyance.
"Rafe, you better have a damn good explanation for
this." Chris used
the interior's single lantern's light to glare
into the other man's
eyes. "Now."
"You know what happened. I lost my temper,
demanding Vin tell me
where to find my sister."
"I thought your sister was dead." JD said in a
shocked tone of
voice. Both men ignored his outburst.
"Again, he refused," Chris said in a flat tone of
voice. "You
attacked him."
"Yes. He let me beat on him, probably hoping I
would regain my
sense."
"You didn't."
"No, Mr. Larabee." Rafe's head lowered. "I did
not. I insulted
him, and he took exception. I don't blame him, I
pushed too far.
When I went down, I realized my mistake. By then,
JD ran up to help
me, and Vin tripped him."
"Vin tripped me? I thought the soldiers lied about
that."
"I don't think he knew who you were; I didn't,"
Rafe
admitted. "Until after. I'm sure he just thought
you were someone
else try to attack him. The soldiers saw it. I
could not convince
them it was all a private matter, settled between
us."
"What did you expect?" Chris yelled, enjoying
Rafe's flinch. "A man
dressed and smelling like a stable attacking a
supposed Gentleman!
They hang people for that, or have you forgotten?"
The blond did not
forget; he remembered Vin's story about his own
near hanging, the
scars the reason he wore the kerchief around his
neck.
"I apologize."
"You will do damn more than apologize." Chris
growled. He did manage
to lower his voice as he continued to berate the
young man before
him. "I thought we had this settled. I can
understand your concern
for your sister. I thought you accepted the fact
that she is safe
and Vin is only doing as she wishes and is trying
to protect her too."
"But I'm her brother. . ."
Chris held up his hand before he could go further.
"You don't know
the whole story, Rafe, and until your sister is
ready to talk to you,
you are going to have to accept the situation as
it is. I trust Vin
and believed him when he said she is safe. I
thought you did too. I
warned you we cannot afford your outbursts; you'll
put us all in
jeopardy. You promised me you could accept it, but
apparently I
can't trust you."
"You can't, Chris," JD agreed excitedly. "He paid
the soldiers," JD
continued. "I watched them. He paid them to take
Vin."
"No," Rafe shook his head adamantly, obviously
afraid of what Chris
would think. "No, honest, that is not what happen.
I tried to tell
you, JD, but you wouldn't listen. Yes, I paid the
sergeant, but I
wanted to insure Vin would be treated well. I
tried to gain his
release, but I did not have enough."
Chris sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.
"And was that wise,
bringing more attention to yourself that you would
try to buy a
simple stable man's freedom?"
Rafe paled. "I didn't think. . ."
"No you didn't," Chris agreed, "And you have not
been thinking. This
is not over Rafe, but right now my concern is with
Vin. We must fix
this disaster of your making. The only reason we
are not facing a
Scandal of monumental proportions is because our
host protected our
reputations."
"Mr. Larabee, I am truly sorry. I'll do all I can
to free Vin and
you have all the resources I can muster at your
disposal," Rafe
promised.
"We'll probably need all of them. Just hope your
money kept Vin
healthy; any other condition will be unacceptable.
You are fully
accountable, Rafe."
"I accept responsibility."
"Damn right you should." JD crossed his arms
across his
chest. "They say I'm the immature one; you just
outdid me there."
"Stop it!" Chris ordered, seeing Rafe's mouth
about to open. "I
think we need to focus; Vin is the priority,
followed by escaping
this with as little Scandal as possible. That
means cooperation and
discretion, starting now." He gave both of them
glares to show the
gravity of the situation. "No more fighting
amongst ourselves.
Rafe, we will settle the situation between you and
Vin in some manner
once we have his release. You have my word. JD,
Rafe made a mistake
and he accepts responsibility. Let him be. For all
our sakes, I
hope we can resolve this quickly and quietly."
Chris figured his
winnings tonight, along with the name dropping of
his acquaintances
would buy Vin's freedom, returning them to the
Vermenton estate
before morning. It should not be more complicated
than that.
Part Three
It felt like he was floating, but it was not a
peaceful or pleasant
feeling like he experienced when he swam. This was
excruciating; his
entire body ached, from head to toe. Vin fought
his way out of the
haze, fought the nausea and the pain that
threatened to send him into
darkness again. He wanted to give in, to quit
feeling, but somehow
he knew this might be his only chance at survival,
he had to
prepare. The two soldiers carrying him none too
gently, haphazardly
loaded him into the back of a wagon. It was little
more than a
farmer's cart, a short bed cart on two wheels with
high wooden sides
but no tailgate in the rear. A thin layer of hay
served as his
cushion, the soldiers not even making sure he was
completely in
before they covered him with a tarp. He painfully
pulled up his legs
so they did not dangle over the end of the wagon,
and curled up on
his side trying to find some relief from the pain
the trip from his
cell reignited. As he took slow even breaths, an
idea for escape
began to form in his mind.
The tarp stretched over the top of the wagon,
fastened at the
corners, but not around him. Since the cart was so
deep, and the
tarp did not touch him; he was sure his body was
unnoticeable
beneath. His fuzzy mind noted in relief that while
his wrists were
secured, his legs were free. He was sure they felt
him too injured
to be a problem. They might be right, but he had
to put his pain
aside if this was his last chance to get free. He
now hoped now he
would get the opportunity because he believed if
he stayed low
enough, if an opportunity presented itself along
their route, he
could roll out the back and maybe not be noticed.
He continued to
give them the impression he passed out and would
be no problem for
them, while in fact he gathered his strength.
Peering out from under the cover, he peeked
through mostly swollen
eyes at the rear rider, a soldier too interested
in complaining about
his duty and arguing with the wagon driver. He did
not need to see
the man; he could hear his every move, the man was
loud enough in his
complaints it made him easy to track. The man's
pattern varied
little; he yelled, rode up on the left side to
bicker, then fell back
behind the wagon, continuing to grumble about
forgoing a night in a
warm bed with a willing female to escort a half
dead settler.
He was not sure how long they had been traveling,
but he did know
timing meant everything. He heard the sound of the
ground change to
the pounding of wood, guessing they were moving
over a bridge. Vin
realized if he wanted to escape, this might be the
best time to go.
Having no idea how high the bridge was, he only
hoped it was over
water. Hopefully his luck would hold. If he could
get off the cart
without being detected though the water might be
his best chance at
staying that way. If his flight did not go
unnoticed perhaps the
water might deter his guards from following him,
or if he could stay
hidden long enough, they might think him drowned.
It offered him
more of a chance than an attempt into the unknown
brush territory
they had been passing through, and his guards
could not easily
follow. Whether, it was to be a long fall off the
bridge, or a hard
landing, it was time to go.
Vin counted to three, waiting until the wheels
echoed the loudest,
along with a quick peek to verify the rear rider
was in front of the
wagon instead of behind it where he should be.
Their loss. Taking a
deep breath, he rolled out the back, thumped hard
off the wood, and
continued off the bridge.
Cold water rushed over him, encasing him from head
to foot. He gave
thanks again; they neglected the chains or
manacles because of his
injuries. Having the freedom to move his legs
allowed him to get his
feet under him, kicking for the surface of the
water. Breaking into
the night air from beneath the water's depths, he
took a quick
breath, and quickly tried to get his bearings. His
eyes were still
swollen, his sight still too blurry to see
clearly, but he heard no
shouts coming from above; just the continued
clacking of the wheels
over the wooden bridge and the loud complaining of
the less than
attentive guard. As the procession continued
without him, the man's
cursing carried through the night air.
Even though his hands were bound, Vin was a strong
enough swimmer
that he treaded the water easily. Slowly, keeping
his attention to
the sounds above him, he moved toward what he
hoped was the bank. It
was not long before he felt the bottom of the
stream beneath him.
Vin remained still, listening. After what seemed
like hours, the
procession left his hearing. Forcing himself, Vin
waited a bit
longer to be sure he was in the clear. As the rush
of the escape
left him, he began to shiver in the cool water,
which brought the
pain back with a vengeance. Only then did he move.
Reaching the
side of the stream, he did not have the strength
to stand. He used
his bound hands to grip whatever purchase he
could, half-crawling up
the side of the stream, dragging himself by sheer
willpower onto the
bank.
Feeling solid ground beneath him, he knew he
should move to shelter.
Pushing himself up he managed to crawl a bit
further until he felt
hidden in the bushes. He groaned, unable to move
any more, he gave
into the pain and slipped into darkness.
"I'm here about the prisoner," Chris announced,
entering the
garrison's quarters. His voice brooked no
argument; his demeanor
challenged the sergeant.
"Which prisoner? We have two drunken men scraped
from the taverns,
and a man awaiting trial for horse thieving." The
sergeant stared
calmly back.
Chris straightened to his full height, his eyes
boring into the
soldier's. "Perhaps I was unclear. The prisoner
brought here under
your orders from the Vermenton estate. The man in
my employ, a horse
trainer by trade. His supposed victim stands with
me not wishing to
file a complaint."
Rafe, who'd entered with Chris to do his part to
free Vin, remained
silent yet nodded his head.
"Your name?"
"Chris Larabee."
"Mister Larabee, may we speak privately?" The
sergeant motioned to a
private office off to the side.
"Whatever you have to say, say it now. I have no
patience for games."
"Fine, then." The sergeant squared his shoulders,
preparing to
deliver a telling blow. "Perhaps you should take
greater care in who
you employ."
The blond's green eyes narrowed, only knowing he
would not help Vin's
cause by getting himself into further trouble with
the British kept
him from strangling the man before him. "There has
been a
misunderstanding, perpetrated by your men. You
will keep your
opinions of those I hire to yourself. It is none
of your business."
His tone held all the haughtiness of the Gentleman
Society told him
he was, including a cutting edge to each word.
The sergeant refused to be intimidated. Any guilt
he felt previously
over his prisoner's condition vanished. He was
going to enjoy taking
this man down a peg. "I'd have a care, sir," the
sergeant
huffed. "You clearly do not know the man we speak
of." Nodding
towards Rafe standing quietly by Larabee's side he
continued, "The
young gentleman here is lucky to be alive."
Chris placed a hand on Rafe's arm to stop him from
speaking, holding
in his own rage. "Mr. Mosley described the
situation to me; he was
never in any danger. Explain yourself."
"Your trainer," the sergeant sneered, "was a
wanted man. We
discovered a warrant on him, dating from a few
years ago."
It was all he could do to hold himself passive and
keep his breathing
normal while he continued to confront the man
before him. "I find
that exceptionally hard to believe."
"I have heard you are an astute businessman, Mr.
Larabee. I am sure
you do find it hard to believe a ruffian took you
in, made a fool of
you. But, there is no mistake; he might have tried
to hide by
changing his names, but the description and
etching match precisely."
"And what was his purported crime?" Chris was
still struggling with
the fact that after all this time, Vin's past
might have caught up
with him. He still felt something was wrong; he
did not want to
believe it.
"Murder," the sergeant resisted the urge to smile
as he studied
Larabee's face. "Am I correct to assume you were
unaware that your
horse trainer was wanted for murder?"
Chris intentionally flinched. "No, I was not
aware." He was, but he
could not allow this man to see he knew about the
outstanding murder
warrant on Vin. Harboring a wanted man carried
stiff penalties.
What he could not believe was that he allowed his
friend's capture on
it in this small backwater of a burg. There was no
hint that the so-
called warrant ever circulated among the thirteen
Colonies and
outside the town issuing it; he knew because he
checked discreetly.
The sharp, indrawn breath to Chris's right caused
a wince, one not
feigned. Though the men who served on Vengeance
worked close on and
off the ship, little was really known about each
other's past, and no
one save Chris and Nathan knew anything of Vin's,
especially the
personal vendetta against him which resulted in a
warrant for murder
being drawn. Rafe finding out like this did not
bode well for Vin.
It also undermined the tenuous control he kept
over the younger
hothead.
"Once we verified the warrant matched the subject,
I felt it best the
prisoner be transferred immediately. Justice has
waited too long to
be satisfied. He is under escort to the county
seat to see the
Magistrate about this matter. Then he awaits a
transfer back to the
jurisdiction with the warrant."
"I understand," Chris said, trying to remain calm
and think of a
plan; matters were definitely worse now. He always
feared this day
would come; now that it was here, he knew what he
had to do. There
was nothing on the earth that could make him like
it, but his defense
of Vin must be carefully crafted and executed.
If this was the true warrant they feared, Chris
knew there would be
no fair trial. Especially if Vin was taken before
his accuser
because he would be executed on sight. As Chris
studied the sergeant
though, something in his gut told him he was being
lied to; a good
lie, but a falsehood nonetheless. Too many men
tried lying to
Captain Vengeance; experience gave him the
advantage of sorting truth
from fiction through body language, not only from
years of doing
business, but from facing men in fear of death. He
sensed this man's
emotions go from fear to almost seeming to gloat
in his actions, and
things seemed too pat for his liking.
"May I ask a question?" He stopped Rafe from
speaking again. Part
of him gave thanks JD passed out in the carriage.
The young man
could not keep his mouth shut, and hearing these
surprising
revelations about Vin would make his pilot say
something damaging.
"Certainly."
"What name was on the warrant?"
"Vincent Livingstone. Wanted for murder and
robbery out of
Charlestown."
Chris allowed a frown to show, but held the sigh
of relief. Yes,
there was something wrong here. He refused to
apologize to a man he
knew deep in his gut lied to him, but it had to
appear he acquiesced
none too gracefully. "I hope you understand I am
very disturbed
about this information."
"Of course." The sergeant relaxed and smiled. "I
am sure it is very
disturbing news to find you were so deceived."
Chris wanted to punch the smiling man's teeth down
his throat. He
congratulated himself on holding his control.
"Yes, very. I would
like to confront my trainer personally to find out
if there are other
matters where I might have been deceived. If you
would provide me
directions to the county seat, I will take my
leave."
"Of course." The sergeant was pleased his plan
worked so well. It
appeared Larabee could care less about his former
employee now, nor
would he be able to say for sure where he accrued
his injuries. That
is if the man was still alive when he caught up to
him. He provided
the man with directions, writing slowly, taking
his time to make sure
that they were clear and easy to follow.
Chris remained silent and kept Rafe silent by a
single glare.
Personally not wishing to, but for the sake of
appearances, Larabee
thanked the sergeant for his time and
understanding and left the
jail. Returning to their carriage, Chris still had
not said a word,
and Rafe acted unsure and nervous about how to
bring the obvious
questions up. The matter went out of his hands
once they were
underway and JD finally roused enough to blink
wide-eyed at Larabee.
"Where's Vin?" asked the younger man. "Did they
release him? You
told them it was a mistake, right?" JD glared at
Rafe as he asked
the question.
"They have a warrant, JD." Rafe explained still in
disbelief
himself. "I may have had differences with Tanner,
but I never
thought the man a murderer. The warrant's for
murder and robbery."
"What?" JD was aghast. "How? Why? Didn't they
understand it was a
mistake?"
"Chris?" Rafe could not answer all of JD's
questions.
Chris frowned, not sure he could or should explain
anything right
now. "They think it's Vin, and the first name
matches, along with
the drawing."
"That can't be true," JD slumped back in his seat
in disbelief.
"It's not."
"Are you sure?" Rafe dared asked.
"Yes," Chris glared at him. "On this one I'm sure,
something is not
right. Anything else we will deal with later. Lord
knows the last
thing we need is scrutiny, especially considering
our frequent
absences."
Rafe and JD stayed silent though they exchanged
nervous glances
knowing there was more to the story. They wanted
to know more,
concerned that if they did how it would affect
them.
Chris broke through their individual musings.
"Here's what I plan."
The shivering woke the pain, which in turn woke
him. He began
moving, trying to find shelter and at least get
out of easy sight of
any searchers coming for him. Ten minutes with a
sharp rock released
the bonds, making his wrists even more painfully
raw than they were
before. His journey was slow, painful going. Vin
was so cold. Even
without it very chilly out, his wet wool clothing
pressed against his
skin, leeching away the heat. Knowing from his
time at Kojay's
village men perished from being too cold, he
forced himself to keep
moving. All too soon, his legs gave out, his knees
skinned from
crawling, and he left a trail any person with
tracking experience
could follow.
He knew that when the soldiers realized he no
longer enjoyed their
hospitality, a search party immediately would roam
the countryside.
They would backtrack and hunt every square inch of
their route of
travel until they figured out where he got out
without them
noticing. Their backtrack will bring them to the
bridge at some
point, and his tracks led off from there.
Frustrated at his stupidity for not covering his
tracks, he debated
on going back and trying to disguise them. Yet
going back put him
closer to them, and wasted the valuable time he
was free.
"Think, Tanner, think." He closed his eyes
briefly. Maybe...an idea
formed slowly, taking shape in his mind. Hobbling
back the way he
came, he used most of his reserve energy to set
three false trails.
The fourth he walked without leaving many marks
until he found a
toppled tree. Crawling under it, he took refuge,
allowing himself to
rest. Only for a little while, he promised
himself. He was not far
enough away, but in truth he knew on foot and
injured, he was not
going to get far regardless.
Chris Larabee secured a private meeting with
Phineas Vermenton first
thing in the morning.
"Phineas, I need your assistance."
"Of course," the man replied.
"The matter with my trainer requires my immediate
attention. I must
travel to meet with the Magistrate, yet I do not
wish to create
uproar by leaving abruptly."
"Ah, yes." Vermenton tsked. "An unfortunate
incident. I hope it
does not bode too dire for your reputation."
"I know the quarrel with Mr. Mosley was a
misunderstanding; the
soldiers overreacted."
"Reverend Mosley frequently is my guest. I am not
as well acquainted
with the son, although his father has stated he
has had to take a
firm hand. Youth today are so rebellious and quick
to anger, but he
seems an agreeable young man. I am sure as you say
it was a
misunderstanding, an indiscretion of youth."
"Yes, it was an unfortunate incident and I'm sure
the matter will be
cleared up quickly." Larabee was not certain if
the landowner heard
about the warrant yet. Regardless, he knew the man
would do anything
to protect his own reputation, with any concern
for his or Rafe's
character only a cover for his own continued
standing in Society.
"Yes, I am sure. Anything I can do to help?"
"Will you keep watch with my grooms over my
horses?"
"I am honored with your trust."
Trust, hell, Chris thought. He figured Phineas
would be motivated
enough to make sure the horses would be well
treated. He knew he
would be looking at all the angles and
anticipating what he could
gain. If all turned out well, he wanted to stay in
Larabee's favor.
If not, compensation would go to Phineas for the
Scandal with Chris's
property as forfeit. The blond could almost see
the wheels turning
in the man's head. He would play his own part in
the game. To
secure that cooperation, he needed to "sweeten the
pot," as Ezra
often said.
"I noticed your interest in Seagold."
"Such a fine horse," Phineas agreed. "I have a
mare, well," he
paused. "This is not the proper time for that."
"Mayhap on my return we can discuss in length your
mare and my
stallion." Chris let the suggestion hang in the
air, not adding any
more than necessary so he did not lose face, nor
make it appear a
bribe. Seagold might be the sacrifice Chris paid
if things ended in
Scandal.
"I look forward to it."
As expected, Chris judged Phineas very interested
in the potential
arrangement. "If you will excuse me, I need to
speak with Mr.
Standish before leaving."
"I anticipated your request; he awaits your
pleasure in the stables."
Chris paused for a moment, almost certain now
Vermenton was obviously
more knowledgeable about his problems than he let
on. "Thank you,"
he finally responded and took his leave.
Walking quickly toward the stables his thoughts
went over the plans
the small group had hastily made upon their return
to the plantation
late last night. None of them had gotten much, if
any sleep. Part
of him wanted to groan as he thought of meeting
Ezra. Standish up
early was never a pretty thing. Lack of sleep, and
making him smell
stable first thing in the morning did not bode
well for anyone. He
was thankful for the businessman's input last
night though and hoped
their plans succeeded.
"Good morning," he called to his impeccably turned
out friend, the
only mar being the black circles under Standish's
eyes.
"I find it very disagreeable to be up at this
early hour, yet the
circumstances require my participation. Young Mr.
Dunne caught the
tide around four this morning; Lady Luck willing,
he arrives by
tomorrow at the latest."
"Knowing JD, he'll be there by tonight."
"True enough. I took the liberty of signaling."
Ezra ran a thumb
down the side of his cheek.
"Good. Rafe?"
"Mr. Mosely followed your instructions."
"Thanks, Ezra."
"Get Mr. Tanner back. He still owes me for ruining
my clothes with
mud."
"I will do my best."
"And Mr. Larabee. . ."
"I know, I know. I will watch my temper."
Ezra smirked. "Please do, this is enough trouble."
Chris managed a weak smile. "You'll keep them
entertained?"
"You won't be missed. It is not very difficult,
especially
considering your deplorable social skills. Go
before I forget my
good intentions and return to my bed."
Larabee clapped him on the shoulder, accepting the
reins to one of
the riding stallions he brought. This one built
for endurance, not
speed, allowing him to cross any distance with
little effort. He
mounted, heading off Vermenton's property, and
hopefully towards
gaining Vin's release.
Rafe Mosely knew he needed redemption. The trouble
they found
themselves in he recognized as largely his fault.
He allowed his
blasted temper to get in the way again. Drinking
so many brandies
did not help him. It never did. He made a promise
to himself to
ease off on the alcohol. His impaired mind then
made him forget all
caution; he brought a very volatile personal
matter out in public
causing the incarceration of a friend. Since they
would never
forfeit one of their own, this led to danger for
all of them.
If it ever came out that he was part of the
Vengeance crew, his life
was forfeit. Not counting all the other people
involved - those who
served on the ship and those that backed them in
their own way among
the Colonies. Too much damage threatened to
overwhelm the good they
did. Chris was right to berate him about his
behavior; if there was
one person he respected, it was Chris Larabee.
Because of Travis and
Larabee's help, he was able to escape the
restrictive confines of his
father's house. They also understood his father's
politics were not
his own. Knowing it was dangerous for themselves
to allow someone
into their ranks with relatives so close to the
Crown, they still
did. He believed in the Colonists' cause, in his
own mind and his
own heart, and his actions were more of another
rebellion against his
father than zealousness to the cause. Too late, he
realized his
sister had found her own rebellion, and was
probably the safer and
happier for it.
This was entirely his fault. Being called to
account for his own
refusal to accept things the way they were,
resulting in putting the
entire cause in danger, damaging their
reputations, and responsible
for the near certain hanging of one of their crew
did not sit well on
his conscience. He had to make things right.
He would do as Chris bid . . . later. Like their
leader, he had a
bad feeling about this. He paid good money to keep
Vin safe until he
could get a fair hearing. Somehow, he thought he
made that payment
in vain. Now he wanted to get to where they were
holding Vin to make
sure they treated him properly. He also worried
about Larabee
traveling to meet Vin on his own. He knew he had a
bad temper, but
it was nothing on Larabee. If his presence
directed that ire away
from the redcoats, he would do what he could.
Rafe had mixed feelings about the warrant. Chris
assured them Vin
was being held falsely, but there was something
more, he was sure
another warrant they kept secret. Regardless of
their differences,
he served with the man and believed him to be
honorable. Yes, he
realized that no matter his feelings, that Vin
deserved a fair
hearing. It was true, Vin protected his sister
from him, but when he
forced himself to look at his own actions he
thought that might be a
good thing. In addition, Chris made him realize
that there was more
at stake than his family.
Although this went against his family comes first
beliefs, if Claire
did not want to see him, he needed to accept her
feelings. Forcing
himself on her might cause her to disappear
forever, severing her
ties with him. She was all he had left; he could
not handle losing
her too. Maybe just knowing Vin could reach her
gave him some peace;
there was still hope to see her. She was not dead,
which meant there
was always a chance at redemption or contact.
Moreover, Vin insisted
she was happy, that had to count for something.
Rafe decided while he still had light to cut
through the woods to
save time. While still under his father's
tutelage, he traveled in
this area with him extensively. He knew the roads
meandered around
the dense foliage and sporadic farms, more than
traveling a straight
path. He would save time making his own way. As he
carefully
watched the dense path ahead to guide his horse
over any obstacles,
he was unprepared for branch suddenly flying his
way, startling him
and his horse. He tried to duck, yet still caught
a glancing blow.
His horse reared in fright, easily unseating him.
Breath flew out of
his body, as he impacted against the hard ground
leaving him lying
still and gathering his scattered wits. Surprised
eyes recognized
the clothing of his assaulter, battered but now
looming over him.
"Vin!" he whispered.
Startled, it stopped the man's attempt to finish
the assault with the
rock he held in a shaky hand. "Rafe? Aw, hell."
The strength in
Vin's reserve left him at that moment and he sank
down on his knees
beside the fallen man. "What are you doing here?''
"Going after you," Rafe stated what he thought was
the obvious
answer. "What happened?" He started to reach up
and push some of
the blood-matted hair away from Vin's face but a
weak grip on his
wrist stopped him.
"British justice," Vin stated tiredly. "Where is
Chris?"
"By now on his way to the county seat to see about
your release."
Vin nodded.
Rafe stared at the battered continence before him,
not showing
revulsion at the disfigured features, but more
like remorse. "This
wasn't supposed to happen."
Vin didn't want to argue; he was too tired, but he
couldn't help
it. "Wasn't it?"
"No!"
"What are you doing here?"
"I was on my way to the county seat, to see you.
And to be sure the
Magistrate knew I would not be filing charges."
Vin could manage no more than a weak snort and a
shake of his head in
disbelief.
"Look, we can settle our differences later." Rafe
got to feet. "We
need to hide you before the soldiers come back to
search for you. We
haven't much time to spare."
"What's with the we?"
"I deserve your contempt. I am twice the fool for
causing this, but
if we don't leave the area quickly, both our lives
are in danger."
"Why are ya helpin'?"
"Because I owe you a debt."
Vin eyed him suspiciously. "Still not givin' ya
Claire."
"We can discuss my foolishness later. Come on, we
need to get out of
here." Rafe gently helped Vin to his feet, but the
horse trainer
pulled away from his grasp as soon as he was
upright.
Rafe noticed Vin wobbled on his feet, grimacing
every few seconds.
"I paid a large sum of money to keep you healthy.
I must remember to
ask for a refund."
Vin snorted, winced, finally lifting one hand to
gently rub his
battered nose. "Still waitin' on a reason."
"You stubborn mule, I want to help. I need to help
fix the problems
I have caused. Don't you believe in second
chances, or a chance to
clear my name?"
Realizing his own problems, Vin gave in. "Good
reason."
"Get on the horse. We'll ride double for a time."
"Ain't gonna be easy. Busted ribs."
Rafe led his horse to a fallen log. He provided a
counterbalance,
allowing Vin to push up off the log and him onto
the horse without
having to pull his weight as much.
After Rafe settled behind him, Vin took control of
the reins. "Kinda
know...area. Need ta hole up. Have an idea where
to go."
"All right." Rafe agreed, not wanting to fight
with the injured
man. He understood the strain getting on the horse
caused Tanner's
already abused system, yet the man refused to show
it. He would be
there though, ready to catch him if the other man
started to fall
from the horse. Tanner flicked the reins. He led
them through the
woods in the direction Mosely wanted at a pace
Rafe found less than
sedate. The reverend's son watched the muscles
remain tense in the
body before him, yet he also noticed the
occasional sway in the
saddle from the usually competent horseman. He
knew Vin wanted him
to keep his distance; he could not trust him
completely. Mosely did
not blame him. Yet Rafe knew he was going to
redeem himself. He
would wait and watch and be there Vin needed him.
Until then, he
said nothing.
Vin wondered what the hell Rafe's game was, damn
the confusing man.
Here he could barely walk, much less defend
himself, a situation Rafe
would usually find to his liking. On top of it, he
set a trap
intending on stealing the man's horse, though at
the time he did not
know who would fall into his hastily planned plot.
Now, here the man
was, saying he wanted to help, even giving him
control to lead them
out of here. Rafe was confusing him, they barely
gave each other the
time of day. Yet it was his fault they were in
this mess
anyway . . . and what was all that about paying to
make sure he was
treated well? Only the rich paid for prisoners to
receive benefits;
he sure wasn't a Gentleman, or a relative to get a
boon like that.
The little strength he garnered to pull off, what
he felt sure now
would have been an ill-fated attempt at surprising
an unexpected
traveler, faded fast. Feeling the nausea he had
been fighting since
he woke a few hours before finally overwhelm his
system, he stopped
the horse, leaned over, and vomited. It hurt like
hell, his
midsection screaming in agony as the dry heaves
took over.
He sensed the hands before they touched, easing
him back into the
saddle. "Let me lead for now. I have a place we
can hide, at least
until you're able to ride."
Much as it pained him to hand over control, he let
Rafe have the
reins. He concentrated on remaining alert, still
wary of any tricks
waiting the relaxing of his guard. He gave Mosely
credit; their pace
remained steady well into the afternoon. The even
gait of the horse
allowed him to force the nausea back to manageable
levels. When he
stopped the horse for a rest and water, Mosely
helped him off, then
lifted him back on when they continued. In fact,
Vin thought he
dozed for a bit, but he did not want to admit it.
The horse's stop brought him back to awareness.
Tanner looked around
the woods, realizing the trees were still thick,
providing
significant cover. He did not recognize any of the
landmarks.
"Where are we?"
"Where we won't be found." Rafe assured as he
dismounted, holding a
hand up to the other man to help him down.
Vin accepted it gratefully; part of him worried
about falling on his
face when he climbed down from legs feeling to
weak to hold him.
"Come." Putting one hand on Vin's shoulder, but
not applying
pressure, Rafe silently requested he walk with
him.
Vin went along with it, finally spotting the
outline of the cabin
hidden between layers of moss and vines. Even
knowing it was there
and their destination, he questioned his poor
eyesight, thinking it
was not real.
"My father owns various properties throughout the
Colonies. We're
now at the cabin he uses for his 'Biblical'
retreats." Rafe scoffed,
opening the front door, lighting a lantern once
inside. He held it
up, nodding to himself. "Come on, I want you to
lie down."
"I ain't gonna fight ya," Vin agreed wearily,
hating to admit he was
ready to give in. He stepped into the cabin,
taking in the almost
cozy feel. A large bed dominated one quarter, with
the woodstove in
the opposite, along with a counter space with
cabinets to the left of
the woodstove. "Biblical retreats?"
"He meets his women here." Rafe stated simply.
"Being a traveling
reverend on occasion makes that rather simple for
him. The Right
Reverend Mosely leads them to calling for the
Lord." Sarcasm dripped
from every word.
Vin groaned.
"Lie down, Vin. I won't be party to you hurting
yourself from a fall
when your legs give out on you."
"Reckon the bed looks invitin' enough."
"Only snake in it was my father," Rafe replied.
"Just rest. I'll be
riding out later tonight to find out what happened
today."
Vin stretched out on the bed, groaning from the
relief he felt. "Why
haven't ya asked?"
"Asked what?" Mosely looked up from the woodstove
he just lit.
"'Bout the warrant."
"Chris said it was a fake."
"I got a warrant on me."
"Murder and robbery."
"Don't know nothin' 'bout the robbery, but there's
one for murder."
"That's comforting to know," Rafe said
sarcastically as he put on a
kettle of water to heat on the now lit stove.
"Didn't do it."
"I wish I could say it doesn't matter to me, but
it does. Yet your
continued safety has become paramount to the
protection of all of us
on Vengeance. Add to that you are my only link to
Claire. I love my
sister very much, and I want to see her again. If
not see her, get
her a letter."
"Ya never asked that 'fore," Vin's words slurred.
"Can try
that . . .easier than a meetin'."
"Then we must get you through this."
"Think . . . need ta . . . sleep." Vin's voice
faded as his strength
finally gave way and he fell unconscious.
"Go ahead," Rafe reassured the unaware man. "I
give you my word
nothing will befall you here."
JD reached Portsmouth Village near midnight.
Having caught a
tailwind pushing his sails, and taking risks that
he would not
normally do with anyone else aboard, the young
pilot arrived in
record time. Due to the lateness of the hour, he
veered toward
Josiah's anchorage for the Aesthetic, not
surprised to find the older
man waiting for him.
"Welcome, John Dunne," Josiah called down.
"I should be with Vengeance, guiding her out of
the Sound into the
Atlantic."
"Brewster knows what he's about."
JD winced. He forgot about Vin's second in
command, serving as a
pilot on Vengeance, operating out of New Berne to
the Atlantic Ocean
versus out of Ocracoke like JD. "I know that. I
just forgot.
Permission to come aboard?" When Josiah nodded,
the young man
secured his anchors between the two boats, jumping
onto the
Aesthetic's deck.
"What happened?" They continued off the Aesthetic
onto the long
dock, Sanchez leading the way with a hand on JD's
shoulder.
"Vin got arrested on a warrant for someone else
named Vincent
Livingstone. We need to find the real Vincent
Livingstone before the
British hang Vin."
Josiah's expression darkened, motioning with a
hand for JD to explain
further.
"Rafe and Vin got into it, which is why Vin got
arrested in the first
place."
"What?" Josiah frowned. "JD, I think you should
start at the
beginning."
"Vin got arrested because he assaulted Rafe, a
supposed Gentleman.
What makes Rafe a Gentleman, and people like us
not?"
"Because Rafe's father is a wealthy political
power in North
Carolina, with followers all over the Southern
Colonies. His
standing as brother-in-law to Virginia's governor,
plus having the
missionary ministry gives him standing. By
extension, Rafe receives
the benefits of his father's position in the
social elite."
"It's not right."
"There's plenty of wrongs in the world we can fix,
JD, and many we
can't. We just have to pick the right wrong to
right."
Chris arrived in the county seat, heading straight
for the jail.
What he found caused him considerable concern;
there was no Vin, and
a manhunt about to begin. No one would speak to
him, other than to
ask him to give up Vin's whereabouts. At least it
was easy to
convince them he had no knowledge, else why would
he be here
inquiring about him?
Where was Rafe? Why didn't he arrived first?
All he could do was wait for the rest of his plan
to fall into
place.
He hated waiting.