Love Not a Rebel Read Online Free

still beautiful. More beautiful than ever. She was flush against the wall, cornered, yet still defiant. She was a perfect picture of femininity, of grace. So delicate and glorious as she stood, her breasts rising from her bodice with each breath, her flesh pale, as perfect as marble. She wore green silk with an overskirt and bodice of golden brocade. Her throat and shoulders were bare, and her hair was worn in soft ringlets that curled just over her shoulders. She was as cool and smooth as alabaster as she returned his stare, her eyes as green as the gown, her hair a startling and beautiful contrast with the shades of the silk and brocade. It was deep, deep red, sometimes sable, sometimes the color of the sunset, depending on the light.
    He wanted to wrench her hair from the pins, he wanted to see it tumble down. He did not want to see her so silent, so beautiful, so still, so regal. Damn her. Her eyes defying him, even now.
    “Aye,” he said quietly. “It was easy for her to play men falsely.”
    “I wonder if they will hang her,” the soldier said. “Would we hang a woman, General?”
    Amanda felt a chill of fear sweep over her, and she swallowed hard to keep tears from rising to her eyes. She could see it. She would hear the drums beat. Hanging. It was a just punishment for treason. They would lead her along. They would set the rope around her neck, and she would feel the bristle of the hemp against her flesh.
    Dunmore had sworn that he would have Eric hanged, were he ever to get his hands upon him. But Eric had never cared. Amanda wondered what fever it was that could fill a man with such haunting loyalty to a desperate cause. It was a passion that made him turn his back on his estates in England, risk his wealth and title and prestige and even his life. He had everything, and he was willing to cast it aside for this rebel cause of his.
    She had risked her life upon occasion for her cause. Indeed, her very life might well stand on the line now.
    The young officer stared at her still. He sighed softly again. “Milord, surely you
cannot
have her hanged!”
    “Nay, I cannot,” Eric agreed ironically, the silver and steel of his eyes upon her, “for she is, you see, my wife.”
    The man gasped. Eric turned to him impatiently. “Tell Daniel to set a course for Cameron Hall. Have someone come for this lieutenant. The Brits must be buried at sea; our own will find rest at home.” He turned back to Amanda. “My love, I shall see you later.” He bowed deeply to her, and then he was gone, the young officer on his heels. Two men quickly appeared, nodding her way in silence, and carefully picked up the body of the slain Highland lieutenant.
    Then the door closed. Sharply.
    He was gone. Eric was gone. The tempest had left the room, and still she was trembling, still she was in fear, and still she didn’t know whether to thank God or to damn him. They had been apart so long, and now the war had come to them, and the battle was raging in her very soul.
    Amanda cast herself upon the captain’s bunk, her heartracing. Through the sloop’s handsome draperies and the fine paned windows she could see the distant shore, the land they approached.
    Cameron Hall. Rising white and beautiful upon the hill, the elegant manor house itself seemed to reproach her. It looked so very peaceful! The British had set their fires, but Robert had spoken the truth about the blazes. Obviously those fires had been put out with very little difficulty.
    No dark billow of smoke marred the house or the outbuildings. Only the warehouses on the dock seemed to have burned with a vengeance. They were not so important. It was the house that mattered, she thought. She loved the house, more than Eric himself did, perhaps. It had been her haven in need. And in the turbulent months that had passed, she had strode the portrait gallery, and she had imagined the lives of those women who had come before her. She had seen to the polishing of their silver, she had