The Raider Read online

  “Perhaps I can make your decision easier for you.” He tried to keep his easy stance, tried not to let her see the energy and desire that was running through his body at the moment. “If you let other people know, even so much as your sister, your family will suffer. Now you have a roof over your head and food to eat.” He studied his fingernails. “And all those brats of yours are alive.” He looked back at her.

  Something inside him tightened when he saw that she believed his threats. Was there no one who had known him all his life who’d stand up and say, “Alexander Montgomery wouldn’t do such a thing”?

  “You…you wouldn’t.”

  He merely looked at her, not bothering to comment.

  “You make Pitman look like one of the Lord’s angels. At least some of what he is doing is for his country. For you, it’s just greed.” She turned on her heel as if to leave, then on impulse spun and slapped Alex across the face. A cloud of powder flew up from his full wig.

  Alex had seen the slap coming but he didn’t stop her. Anyone who’d heard all she had that morning had a right to slap the cause of her pain. He dug his hands into the padding on his thighs. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

  “I pity you,” she whispered. “I pity us.” She turned, her slim little body straight, and walked up the bank to the forest.

  Chapter Four

  BEN Sampson’s going to lose everything he owns. You mark my words,” Eleanor was saying. She and Jessica were in the Taggert kitchen, Jess finishing a meal, Eleanor cleaning.

  “Possibly,” Jessica said mildly. “But then again he may make a profit.” Last night she’d docked her little ship next to Ben’s big one that had just returned from a voyage to Jamaica. While she’d been welcoming Ben home, one of his crew dropped a crate. The false bottom had been full of contraband tea. “All he has to do is store it twenty-four hours, then he can sneak it down to Boston.”

  “If you saw the crate break, how many others did, too?”

  “No one.” She gripped her wooden mug in her hand. “Not even your precious Alexander saw it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? All I said was that he certainly doesn’t eat much for a fat man and that he’s extremely polite and considerate. He never causes me nor anyone else the least bit of extra work,” Eleanor said as she chopped the head off a big haddock.

  “You don’t know anything about him,” Jess said, thinking of what Nate had overheard. If Ben were caught and his property confiscated, Alexander would profit. “I just wish Adam or Kit would come home. They’d kick Pitman out of the house.”

  “Their brother-in-law? A man appointed by the king? Be realistic, Jessica. Are you going to sit there and dawdle all night? I have to get back to the Montgomerys’ and you need to take these fish to Mrs. Wentworth.”

  Jess glanced at the basket of cleaned fish. “Lazy bunch of women,” she sneered. “Mistress Abigail is afraid the men won’t like the smell of fish on her pure white hands.”

  Eleanor slammed the basket on the table. “It wouldn’t hurt you to think a little more about how you smell. Now, go on, take this and don’t start a fight with Abigail.”

  Jessica started to defend herself, but Eleanor didn’t bother to listen before leaving the little house. Reluctantly, Jess took the basket of fish and started toward the Wentworths’ big house.

  She’d delivered the fish to Mrs. Wentworth and thought she was going to escape without having to see Abigail, but her luck ran out just as she opened the back door and stepped onto the porch.

  “Jessica!” Abigail said. “How good to see you.”

  Jess knew Abigail was lying through her teeth. “Good evening. Fine clear night it’s going to be, isn’t it?”

  Abby leaned forward in conspiracy. “Did you hear about Mr. Sampson? He brought in tea today and he didn’t go through England. Do you think Mr. Pitman will find out?”

  Jessica couldn’t speak she was so astonished. If Abigail had heard of the tea, then of course Pitman had. “I have to warn Ben,” was all Jess was able to say at last. She started toward the porch stairs with Abby, who had no intention of missing out on the excitement, close on her heels, when they were nearly run down by a man dressed in black riding a big black horse.

  Both women came to a halt, Jess with her arm across Abby’s chest in a protective gesture.

  “Jess,” Abby said breathlessly, “was that man wearing a mask?”

  Jessica didn’t answer but took off running, following the masked man’s trail of dust. Abigail pulled her skirts to her knees, praying that her mother or the church deacons wouldn’t see her, then followed Jessica.

  They stopped at Ben Sampson’s house. There were six British soldiers holding muskets on Ben.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben lied, and the sweat pouring off his face in spite of the cool evening air gave him away.

  “Open up in the name of John Pitman, the king’s agent,” one of the soldiers said, raising his musket higher.

  “Where’s the man in black?” Abigail whispered.

  Jessica listened to the sounds of the town and the evening. “There,” she whispered, directing her glance toward the trees behind Ben’s house. She saw a movement then grabbed Abby’s plump arm and pulled her to the safety of the porch of the house across the street. They had just reached safety when all hell broke loose.

  The masked man rode toward the soldiers, a weighted fishing net spreading behind him. The element of surprise was on his side, for the soldiers and Ben all stopped to gawk at him. The masked rider flung the net over four of the soldiers, then pulled a pistol on the other two. About the rider’s belt was an arsenal of weapons. Instinctively, the men who weren’t ensnared in the net dropped their muskets. The trapped ones still had their guns, but their hands were struggling with the net rather than with triggers.

  “No man from Warbrooke has tea that hasn’t been declared,” the man on the horse said. He spoke with an odd accent, not quite English, not quite like the people whose families had been in America for generations.

  Abigail looked at Jess and started to say something in protest, but Jess shook her head.

  “Go back to your master and tell him that if he falsely accuses again, he’ll have to answer to the Raider.” He tossed the lead line of the net to one of the soldiers. “Take them back.”

  The man who called himself the Raider rode past Ben and the soldiers, the horse’s hoofs striking very close to their legs.

  As he rode past Abigail and Jessica standing on their high perch of the porch, he reined his horse sharply and looked at them.

  Even with the mask covering the upper half of his face and the tricorn pulled low, he was a handsome man. Piercing black eyes were fiercely alive behind the silk mask and below it was a sensual, full mouth with finely chiseled lips. His black silk shirt, black pants and boots clung to his broad-shouldered, muscular body.

  Abigail gave a heartfelt sigh and nearly swooned under the Raider’s gaze. She would have fallen if Jess hadn’t caught her beneath the arm and held her upright.

  The Raider’s lips stretched into a smile, not a grin, but a smile of such sweetness and knowing that Jess had to hold onto Abby with added strength.

  Still smiling, the Raider leaned forward, put his big hand behind Abby’s neck and kissed her long and sensually.

  By now the soldiers and Ben had almost forgotten the reason for the Raider’s appearance. He appealed to their sense of romance and, besides, it meant nothing to the homesick soldiers whether or not they found tea in Ben Sampson’s cellar. Here was a masked man dressed in black, charging about the country and kissing the pretty girls.

  They applauded when the Raider kissed Mistress Abigail, then held their breath when he turned to Mistress Jessica—the woman who’d haunted every man’s dreams but had laughed in the faces of all of them.

  Jessica was astonished at the look in the eye of this man who called himself the Raider when he released Abigail. Did he think she was as