Renegade (29 page)

Mac scowled, mildly suspicious of his brother’s teasing. “You’d have found some way to send him packing. No secret you don’t love Yankees.”

Rebel
. It was the epithet that followed Holt and so many others, but he knew that his brother hated it. His scowl matched Mac’s, and he knew he’d hit home. “Still, I’m glad you’re showing some
responsibility
…”

It was an old refrain. “Shut up, Holt.” Mac stood suddenly and stalked to his brother’s liquor cabinet, spitting the cinnamon stick into the bin on the way. He remembered when this room used to be their father’s, and he was only ever called here to be lectured. The cabinet hadn’t been well-stocked in those days; Samuel Baird hadn’t touched liquor, much to his anxious-to-have-some-fun sons’ dismay. These days, Mac took perverse pleasure in drinking almost as much as Holt did when he visited. He preferred rum, but when he was in Holt’s presence, he drank only his brother’s expensive French brandy. Just to be annoying. Now, he took a healthy swallow and winced slightly at the way it mixed unpleasantly with the cinnamon aftertaste.

Propping one hip against the cabinet, he turned to Holt. His brother was already relaxing from the whiskey and the smoke, his head tilted languidly against the back of his chair. The memories must have been bothering him, for him to start so early. “Back to Creel.”

“Hmmm?” Holt turned his head slightly, so that his good ear pointed towards Mac.

“Do you really think he’s out of his jurisdiction? That he’ll stop trying to hunt me down? You sure?”

“No.” Holt sighed. “Sorry. It could be that this is his last mission or something he’s determined to see through to the end. His supervisors aren’t likely to object, after all…”

“Shit.” Another swallow. “I’d hoped…” He sighed. “We told him we were coming here, for the wedding. And now there’s been an
actual
wedding…” Thanks to Holt, because he’d been too much of a coward to see to it himself.

“Now that martial law’s on its way out, we should be able to play the part of concerned citizens asking for help from the police. I’ll send a messenger to Mayor Sales tomorrow and see if he’ll send a few officers from the upper station out here to patrol. It would be good to have witnesses, if Creel
does
show up.

“I dunno, Holt. Creel’s pretty determined.”

Mac thought he saw the corner of Holt’s mouth pull up in his approximation of a smile as he laid his head back down on the back of the chair. “You are too, McKee.” A yawn. “You are too.”

Mac let himself out of his fath—out of
Holt’s
study, closing the door quietly behind himself. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and paced down the carpeted hallway through the dark and quiet house. He reached for the handle on the door to his old room—the room Bennett always made ready for him when he visited Baird’s Cove despite the fact that it hadn’t felt like
his
in many years—but managed to stop himself.

Becks was in there. She was lying on his old bed, probably cried herself to sleep again. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit he was an asshole. Admit he didn’t have the balls to tell her how he felt about her. Admit he’d known, even before she’d invited him into her room and into her body, that he wanted her for more than just a few days. He’d wanted her forever.

And now they were married. He had what he wanted. So why did he feel so empty? So guilty?

He winced.

Because of the way she’d looked at him when he’d said they’d made a mistake. Because of how he’d felt when she’d refused him. Because she’d been honest with him from the beginning that all she wanted was a few days’ worth of passion, and when the stakes changed for Mac, he’d been too gutless to tell her.

He placed his hand against the door, wondering what she would do if he just opened it. Would she welcome him again? Or throw a hissy-fit that he’d tricked her into this? He should just step in and find out… but again, his courage failed him. He’d never considered himself a coward, until he realized that he loved Becks.

But she didn’t love him. Didn’t want to be married to him. That thought stopped him from making a fool of himself, and he dropped his hand again.

He’d have to convince her to love him. Or at least convince her that being married to him wasn’t the end of the world. He’d have to find a way to show her he
could
be a good husband, despite what he’d always thought.

Tomorrow. He turned away from the door. He’d start tomorrow.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

He never got the chance.

Mac was just coming out of the stables—he used to sleep there when he was a boy avoiding his father—when one of the field hands stopped him.

“Did Robert find ya, Master McKee?” Mac’s expression must have shown his confusion as he tried to rub hay out of his hair, because the man continued. “’Parently he’s been lookin’ for ya since dawn. A ship come in the Cove las’ night, found it anchored this mornin’.” The last part was yelled after him, because Mac was already running.

Sure enough, he rounded the corner of the big house, skidding past curious hands, to see a ketch anchored across from the
Polaris
. Her guns were pointed at his lady, and his gut froze when he realized she was under threat. The
Polaris
was his home. She was his freedom.

Then he saw the dinghy rowing towards the landing, crewed by men in matching white uniforms. And he started running again.

Robert was already on the landing and looked relieved to see him. Mac wasn’t surprised; if he’d been a black man in Robert’s shoes, he wouldn’t have wanted to deal with Creel alone either. Because there was no doubt this was Creel’s force; he could even see the slimy Major perched in the bow like a proud Napoleon.

“Looks like he kept his word.” Robert’s words were pitched for Mac’s ears alone.

“Yeah, and he can’t be happy that he had to chase us clear up the Ashley, either.”

That earned one of Robert’s rare smiles. “You gunna let him on the
Polaris
?”

The thought rankled, but Mac squared his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do we? If we want to prove we’ve got nothing to hide, he’s welcome to go over her with a fine-toothed comb.” The customs officials had already, after all. It was why they dropped the lace off south of the city.

And then the dinghy was bumping against the landing, and Mac stepped forward to grab the painter thrown by one of the sailors at the oars. Creel didn’t bother to wait, but stepped nimbly off the boat onto the landing, looking like he owned it. Mac found himself hoping the older man would overestimate and land in the drink, but Creel had better balance than expected. Vaguely disappointed, Mac squatted down to loop the line around a cleat.

As much fun as he’d had the other night at dinner, stringing Creel along until he finally snapped, Mac decided to get right to the point. But his grin was predatory from where he crouched by the dinghy, helping to tie it off. “Major, I’m surprised to see you so soon. Did you come to congratulate me on my marriage to Becks?”

The older man scoffed. “I’ve had time to think on the matter, Baird, and I’ve decided that Beckett Plantation was your drop-off point all along.” Mac’s stomach tightened, and he slowly stood, wiping his palms on the trousers he’d been wearing since docking in Charleston yesterday morning. “In fact, I’m sure that Becks and her mother—and probably that Negress—were in on this all along. You are all in cahoots, and claiming to marry her was a convenient ploy to get you and your—” He sneered at Robert, “
friend
out of my scrutiny.”

“Creel—” Mac’s voice was a low growl. “I’ve put up with the way you disparage myself and my business partner. But I’ll be
damned
if I let you talk about my wife and in-laws that way.”

The older man’s brow rose mockingly. “Then you did marry the girl?” He shrugged. “Rarely have I been such a poor judge of character. I thought she was a prime candidate for Mrs. Creel, but I can see now that she’s little more than a slut—”

He broke off with a yelp when Mac lunged for him, thinking only to bruise Creel the way the Major was blackening Becks’ name. But Robert grabbed him, wrapping strong arms around his chest and nearly lifting him off the ground when he continued to struggle.

“Easy.” Robert’s mutter reminded him of the many fights they’d gotten in together due to Mac’s quick temper. He’d start something, and Robert would wade into the fray, always willing to risk his neck for his friend. And if that happened today, it wouldn’t end well. Creel was a representative of the United States government, here with other officers and an armed ship
.
Mac—and Robert—couldn’t afford to bloody Creel, no matter how much the sunnavabitch deserved it.

Three deep breaths later, Mac managed to contain his fury. His best friend, understanding him as always, slowly released him without saying another word. Creel, meanwhile, had stepped backwards and been saved from stepping off the landing by a young man in a lieutenant’s uniform, who was now whispering furiously to the Major.

Seeing Mac staring daggers at him, Creel drew himself up, tugging the hems of his jacket down and clearing his throat. “Only a man trying to hide something would try so desperate a move.” That wasn’t worth a response, and Mac saw the lieutenant’s lip curl in a scowl, as if he’d tasted something rancid.

Creel gestured vaguely to the man beside him. “This is Lieutenant Jorgensen.” The lieutenant snapped to attention, and offered Mac and Robert each crisp nods. Mac’s estimation of the young man went up a few notches. “He’ll be staying here with you and two men.” Creel gestured, and two of the sailors scrambled up onto the landing. “He’s tasked with keeping you from running like the yellow-bellied cowards you surely are.” Mac clenched his fists, wondering if Creel counted that insult greater or lesser than what he’d said about Becks. “And tracking down the rest of your crew, so you can all be carted off to prison together.”

Mac didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond, because there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make things worse. Creel continued. “I’ll be taking the rest of these men back over to that worm-ridden hulk you call a ship—” Mac heard Robert inhale sharply, but that was the only reaction either man made. “—to find proof of your smuggling.”

Mac struggled to keep his emotions from showing on his face. When Creel didn’t find anything on the
Polaris
, would he search Baird’s Cove? Would he think to look in the false loft of the smallest barn? Would he ask the hands what they knew or would talking to “nigras” be beneath him?

He swallowed, and folded his arms in front of his chest. He hoped he appeared nonchalant, but it was all he could do to keep from strangling Creel. “Major, when you get done going over my ship—
my home
—and come back here to tell me that you couldn’t find anything to support these outrageous accusations, I expect you to apologize for the insults you’ve given the
Polaris,
my business partner—” He nodded towards Robert. “And my wife. And then I’ll thank you kindly to remove yourself from my brother’s land, so we can all get on with celebrating my wedding.”

Creel didn’t respond, but his glare left little doubt what he was thinking. Without a word, he gestured to the sailors to shove off and then stepped back into the dinghy.

Only when he was halfway across the cove, halfway to
Polaris
, did Mac risk a glance in Robert’s direction. As always, the man’s expression was taciturn, but Mac could see the small tick in his friend’s jaw that told him he was as worried as Mac. Both men looked towards the lieutenant, who hadn’t said a word, and back out towards their ship.

She’d woken up alone. Becks had to remind herself that she’d woken up alone every morning of her life except the last two, and there was no reason to feel so hollow, but she did. There was no way around it; she missed Mac.

But she’d locked her door last night; she hadn’t wanted him or anyone else to bother her. She’d been angry and hurt and sick to her stomach at the thought of what the future would bring, so she’d locked him out. And apparently it hadn’t mattered at all, because he hadn’t bothered to try to see her. He’d probably left Baird’s Cove altogether.

In the daylight, she could see that this was a masculine room, all dark wood and heavy furnishings and a particularly large bed. She wouldn’t put it past Holt to have placed her in Mac’s actual room… and then she’d locked her husband out of it.

Oh Lord
, she was married. Becks sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering if her tears were spent. She was married to a man she loved, who had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to be married at all. He had to be forced into it, for God’s sakes! And at this point, the best she could hope for was that he’d occasionally stop by Beckett to visit.

With a sigh that did nothing to fill the emptiness inside her, she found her valise and dressed for breakfast.

The meal was painful. Eugenia recounted Creel’s threats, and Holt explained that he was expecting some police officers to arrive that afternoon to protect them from the Major’s over-zealousness. Pearl sat beside Becks to offer her quiet support, but Becks couldn’t bring herself to do anything more than listlessly pick at the fluffy eggs and sip her tea and wonder if Mac was halfway to Nassau by now.

There was a commotion out in the foyer, and the heavy-set man who’d met them yesterday—Timothy?—burst into the dining room. Bennett attempted to cut him off, but his frantic gaze fell on Holt. “Pardon, Massa Holton, but you seen Massa McKee? Robert’s lookin’ for ‘im.”

Something in his tone—the frantic way he panted out the question—settled a cold knot in Becks’ stomach. She clutched the tea cup, unheeding of the liquid sloshing over the rim. “Why?” Her shrill question beat out Holt’s, and both men turned to look at her.

“There’s a boat—a big ‘un—in the cove. Soon as he seen it, Robert started lookin’ for Massa McKee.”

Becks heard her sister whisper, “Creel!” The two stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide with concern, and then they both stood together. Without excusing themselves, they brushed past the table and Timothy, headed for the front door. On the veranda, they could see that there was, indeed, another ship in the cove, with cannon aimed towards the
Polaris
. And on the landing, beside two unmoving figures, stood three men in unsettling familiar uniforms.

He was still here. He hadn’t left her.

He hadn’t left her, and now Creel had caught up with him and would know they’d all been lying, and he’d take Mac away. Or more likely, Mac would do something rash and violent and be killed before he could be imprisoned. Creel was the law!

The two women hurried down the stairs, but once her feet touched grass, Becks kicked off her shoes, hiked up her skirt, and began to run. She quickly outpaced her sister, fueled by the dread that had settled in her stomach.

Mac heard her coming and turned to catch her when she tumbled into him. She hadn’t meant to; she’d just been going so fast that she might’ve gone off the landing if he hadn’t stepped into her path. His arms went around her, and she looked up at his tight jaw, and didn’t see anything of the man she loved. This stranger, this renegade, was cold and hard and she wasn’t sure if she liked him very much.

But she plastered on a smile and turned to the man—not much older than Jeff—in the lieutenant’s uniform. Breathing heavily, she pretended mere interest when she curtsied. “Welcome to Baird’s Cove, Lieutenant…?”

“Jorgensen, ma’am.” He bowed and pinked slightly. Becks didn’t have time to wonder about that.

“Lieutenant Jorgensen’s here with Major Creel.” Mac’s clipped words matched the way he nodded towards his ship. “He’s been looking for smuggled goods on the
Polaris
.”

Becks’ smile felt brittle, but she pretended amusement. “Why, that’s ridiculous.”