The Raider (Montgomery/Taggert 9)

avily in a chair. “That woman got me up before daylight and had me cutting wood,” he said morosely and with some wonder in his voice. “It was due only to my keen observation of my own workers that I had any idea of what to do. That woman is not very tolerant of even the slightest hesitation, though.”

“Jessica?” Alexander questioned, his voice little more than a sneer. Just the thought of that woman made his hands ache to put them around her pretty white throat.

“The other one. Eleanor.” Nick hung his head in his hands.

Alex had seen examples of Nick’s moods before and he knew that the best thing was to not allow him to continue feeling sorry for himself. He managed to sit up in bed, the sheet falling away from his strong broad shoulders, exposing the bandage.

“I don’t think I should let anyone know that I’m not as I appear,” Alex began. “I think I’ll remain in my peacock clothes until my shoulder has healed and until the interest in the Raider has died down. Could you spare me a servant? Someone discreet who isn’t afraid of a little danger?”

Nick’s head came up sharply. “All my men are Russians and no Russian is afraid of anything. Are you planning to be the Raider again?”

“Possibly.” The only thought he had in his head right now was of paying Jessica back for laughing at him. He had a vision of being dressed in black and climbing in her bedroom window and tying her lovely white hands to the bedposts and…

“Are you listening to me?” Nick demanded. “Never have I found a more insolent people than you Americans. I should sail for my homeland now, before I meet another one of you. But this Raider appeals to me. I will send my ship south to fetch more of my cousin’s clothing and a new wig.”

“And leave me one of those servants you abuse, I hope.”

“No,” Nick said thoughtfully. “This game amuses me. I will stay here and continue to pose as your bondsman. I will keep the secret of what you are.” His eyes narrowed. “And I will make this Eleanor Taggert sorry she said such things about me as she did this morning.”

“It’s a bargain then,” Alex said. “We’ll stay together. I shall be the most delicate example of young manhood in America. And you will show us Americans how to work.”

Nick frowned at that. “If someone sends me to the fields, I will quit. Ah, but I will have some tales to tell my family.”

“I hope your family believes you more than mine does. Shall we start getting me dressed? I’m already beginning to hate that wig.”

Chapter Three

ALEXANDER allowed himself plenty of time to dress. After checking his wound, he and Nick began carefully padding his thighs until they filled the satin breeches, wrapping layers around his mid section until his belly stuck out almost a foot, then setting the heavy powdered wig on over his black hair. When they were through, he was so bundled that sweat was already beginning to form on his brow.

“I don’t know if they’re worth this,” Alex said bitterly.

“They are your people.” Nicholas shrugged.

“Who have turned against me.” Alex had a vision of Jessica Taggert as she laughed at him on the dock. If she hadn’t been there, would the townspeople have believed his disguise?

It was eleven o’clock when he waddled into the common room of the Montgomery house, and many people were waiting there for him. They pretended that they had genuine business with the Montgomery household, but Alex could see by their eyes that they were waiting for him. For just a moment, he held his breath, sure that someone would laugh and tell him to abandon his disguise now that he was home and among friends.

But, one by one, they looked back at the drinks they were nursing.

Alex glanced at Eleanor as she directed two women in cooking over the open fireplace. The common room was a combination kitchen, parlor and meeting room. Since the Montgomery family owned most of Warbrooke, they did the most business, and during the day nearly everyone in town came through this room for one reason or another. Sayer Montgomery had always seen that drink and food were waiting for those who came to his house.

Two men in a corner of the room, sitting at the end of one of the two tables, began to speak quite loudly.

“My son-in-law grew that wheat himself but before I could take it to Spain, I had to stop in England and unload it for them to inspect.”

“And I had to take cocoa from Brazil to England to be inspected before I could bring it to Boston.”

The men looked over their drinks to Alexander, but he was pretending not to hear them. They weren’t bothering to pay him the courtesy of speaking to him directly, so why should he show them his concern? And what did they expect him to do about English law? It was as if they still believed these were the days of medieval law and he was the lord who could go to the king personally and complain.

“And I lost my ship because of sixty pounds,” Josiah Greene said.

Alexander looked at the enormous plate of food that Eleanor set before him. He felt as if he were the only person in the audience of a play he’d already seen. As he ate, he listened to Josiah’s tale. No doubt he’d told it a thousand times, but the men here were replaying it for Alexander’s benefit.

They told how Josiah had had a beautiful ship, one he’d been very proud of—but he’d angered John Pitman. Something about a piece of land Josiah owned and wouldn’t sell. Pitman said that he was sure Josiah had a hold full of green paint—a contraband article. Pitman seized Josiah’s ship but found no paint, so he brought a dozen soldiers and searched Josiah’s house in the middle of the night. In the course of the “search” a cellar full of food was destroyed, linens were ripped apart, furniture broken and his daughters terrorized. Josiah tried to get his ship back, but he was told that he’d have to put up a bond of sixty pounds. Since all his money was invested in the bond he had to give Pitman each time he sailed out of Warbrooke, he couldn’t afford another sixty pounds. His friends collected the money for him, but the burden of the proof of innocence was on Josiah’s shoulders. Pitman said there had been green paint on board; Josiah said there never had been. They stated their cases before the Colonial Admiralty Court—a judge, no jury—and the ship was given to Pitman and his officers since Josiah could not prove that he’d never had green paint aboard his ship.

Alexander soon forgot his own misery as he glanced at Josiah, a man broken, all quite legally, by a greedy Englishman. Pitman wanted land Josiah owned and had not only gotten the land but had come to own everything else that had belonged to the Greene family.

Alex kept his head bent over his food because he didn’t want them to see the anger that was boiling in him. If he was to keep his disguise, he could not allow them to see how their words affected him. He felt their eyes on him, watching him and waiting to see if he was the man they thought he was. They were like children who thought someone with the Montgomery name could fix their problems and make everything right once again.