Angel Rogue

Chapter 23

Softly Maxie said, 'Tell me the rest of what haunts you, Robin."

He gave a ragged sigh. "I've said too much already."

"Do you think I am too fragile to hear the truth? I am not a sheltered English innocent from the schoolroom. I have seen enough of life to understand hard choices."

"But you are also as honest as sunshine. How can you not despise what I am?" he asked despairingly.

Because I love you. The words came from deep within her, so powerful that it was difficult to keep them from her lips. But she managed, because the last thing Robin needed was unwanted declarations of love.

Instead, she replied, "I've a fondness for rogues, especially honorable ones. In the time we've been together, you've done considerable good and no harm. You saved Dafydd Jones from being trampled. You stopped me from killing Simmons, for which I was grateful as soon as my temper cooled." She kissed his temple, feeling the hard beat of his pulse. 'Tell me what you've done, Robin. Burdens are lighter for being shared."

"There were so many things," he whispered. "Endless lies. Informants I worked with who were captured and died most horribly. The French major I assassinated because he was a fine soldier who would have been able to hold a walled Spanish town against a siege indefinitely."

"Surely your informants knew the risks as well as you did. As for assassination-" she hesitated, to choose her words, "no decent person could rejoice at committing such a deed, but a siege is a dreadful thing that often ends in horrible slaughter. Did your action prevent one?"

"With their commander dead, his troops withdrew from the town without fighting. Lives were saved, which was good. But nothing can make it right to murder an honorable man who was doing his duty. I'd met him a couple of times. I liked him." Robin's misshapen hand opened and closed on the counterpane, his nails gouging the fabric. "I liked him, and I put a bullet in his back."

"Ah, Robin, Robin," she said, heart aching. "I see why you said that war would have been cleaner. For soldiers the issues are more clearly drawn, the responsibility left in higher hands. Your work was far more difficult. Often you must have had to choose between different evils, trapped in a world of grays without easy blacks and whites, never sure if you had made the right decision. A dozen years of that would be too much for anyone."

"Certainly it was too much for me."

In the distance thunder sounded, and cold rain beat harder on the glass. Feeling as if she were moving blindfolded through a marsh, where a misstep might lead to disaster, she asked, "Is that assassination the worst thing, the very worst, for which you hold yourself responsible?"

The shaking began again, but he didn't speak.. Her voice more insistent, she said, "Tell me, Robin. Perhaps the pain will fester less if you share it."

"No!" He twisted in her arms, trying to break free.

She held tight, refusing to let him escape. Again she said, 'Tell me."

He choked out, "It was in Prussia. I had obtained a copy of a treaty with grave implications for Britain."

She thought back to what she knew of the wars. "The Treaty of Tilsit, where France and Russia made a secret alliance in hopes of bringing Britain to its knees?"

He tilted his head back and looked at her. "For an American, you're well informed about European affairs."

"The subject interested my father, so we followed the news together," she explained. "You actually managed to learn what was in the secret articles of the treaty?"

"Within hours of its being signed." He gave a bitter smile. "I told you I was good at my trade. But getting the information was the easy part compared to getting it back to England. The French soon discovered what had happened, then came in pursuit. I had to get to Copenhagen, so I rode west for days, using every trick I knew to elude them. Finally I was sure I had escaped. I needed to stop and rest. My horse was half dead, and I no better. I knew a family in the area, prosperous farmers. They hated the French, and had helped me in the past."

His voice cracked. "They greeted me like a longlost son. I told them I had been pursued, but that I had escaped and there was no danger. I was so sure." A staccato pulse throbbed in his throat. "I was catastrophically wrong."

"The French found you?"

He nodded. "I slept for over twelve hours. Herr Werner woke me the next morning, when he learned that French troops were searching the neighborhood. I said I would leave immediately and went to the barn, but my horse was gone.

"Then I realized I hadn't seen Willi, their youngest son. He was sixteen, about my height and build, my coloring. He had conceived something of a hero worship for me. When I saw that my mount and saddle were gone, I had a horrible premonition that he was in danger. I ran into the forest toward the main road, trying to stop what was going to happen." His eyes spasmed shut. "I was too late."

Maxie felt his pain resonating deep within her, but knew she must force him to the end of the tale. "What happened?"

"Willi had decided to lead them away from the farm. I was on higher ground, and could see how he deliberately let a squad of French cavalry spot him. He had my horse, a coat the color of mine, and he was bareheaded, showing that damnable, identifiable blond hair. As soon as they saw him, they gave chase. He tried to outrun them. My horse was very good, and Willi might have escaped, but another squad came galloping along the road from the other direction.

"When he realized he was trapped, he bolted into the forest, but he hadn't enough of a lead. The two squads caught him quickly. They gave him no chance to surrender, just shot him down. At least a dozen musket balls bit him." Robin shuddered, a film of sweat covering his body. "Willi was a bright lad, and he managed to outwit them. A small river ran through a deep gorge in the forest, and he survived long enough to reach it. The horse screamed as it plunged over the cliff into the water."

He buried his head against Maxie, shaking with the agony of a man at the limits of his endurance. She asked no more questions, only caressed him, whispering soft words in her mother's tongue, saying that everything would be all right, that he was a valiant and honorable warrior, and that she loved him no matter what he had done-all of the things she could not say in English.

She guessed that for Robin, the boy's death had come to symbolize everything that was innocent and courageous and doomed. The Treaty of Tilsit had been signed nine years earlier, and Robin would not have been much more than a boy himself. The wonder was not that he was close to breakdown, but that he had survived, and functioned, for so long while burdened with such terrible responsibilities and guilts.

For a long time there was no sound but rain and distant thunder and grief. Gradually the echoes of anguish faded, though he still held her as if she were his one hope of heaven.

Voice stark, he continued, "The French would have liked to retrieve the documents, but the river was high. They decided the water would destroy what the bullets hadn't, and they left. I stayed and helped the Werners search until we recovered Willi's body. His parents never said one word of reproach. In some ways, that was the hardest thing of all. They even apologized because Willi had destroyed my horse and insisted I take their best mount as a replacement."

"It sounds as if Willi brought disaster on himself," Maxie said quietly. "If he hadn't intervened with his misplaced gallantry, you might have escaped cleanly with no one suffering."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Robin drew an unsteady breath. "But the fact remains that if I hadn't stopped at the Werners' farm, Willi would not have died."

"Only God can know that, Robin. Perhaps it was Willi's time to die, and he would have slipped on the stairs and broken his neck at that same moment if you had not come. Perhaps he would have gone for a soldier when he was a year older and died fighting the French. Of course you feel grief and regret, but crucifying yourself serves no good purpose." She stroked his forehead, wishing she could soothe away the pain inside.

"I always tried to do the right thing," he said bleakly. "But too often, I didn't know what the right thing was."

She sighed. "I think most of us do the best we know how. There is really nothing more we can do."

"My best wasn't good enough."

His knotted pain proved that she had not done enough, either. She looked into her own past, then said, "After my mother's death, I attended a condolence ceremony held by members of her clan. It helped me a great deal."

Praying that she could remember or improvise enough of the ritual to help Robin, she lightly covered his ears with her hands and recited, "When a man mourns, he cannot hear. Let these words remove the obstruction so that you can hear again."

After lifting her hands from his ears, she laid them over his eyes. "During your grief, you have lost the sun and fallen into darkness. I now restore the sunlight."

When she took her hands away, she saw that he was watching her gravely. Crossing her hands on the center of his chest, she intoned, "You have allowed your mind to dwell on your great grief. You must release it lest you, too, wither and die." She felt the rise and fall of his breathing beneath her palms until she lifted them away.

In your sorrow, your bed has become uncomfortable and you cannot sleep at night. Let me remove the discomfort from your resting place." She smoothed her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, then said quietly, "Willi has gone to his rest, Robin. Can't you do the same?"

His eyes closed and he pulled her down against him. At first his heart was pounding as if trying to break free of his ribs, but gradually it slowed to a more normal speed. She held tightly, feeling that some of his inner darkness had been dissolved by the light. Though it was not complete healing, it was a beginning.

He slid his hand into her hair and rested his palm on her nape. "How did you become so wise, Kanawiosta?"

"The usual way," she said wryly. "By making mistakes." She settled her head on his shoulder, so tired from the emotional storms she could scarcely stay awake.

"Whatever the reason, you have wisdom," His hand skimmed down her back, coming to rest on her hip. "Too much to consider marrying me."

His statement acted on her fatigue like a spray of ice water, shocking her to full wakefulness. For a stunned moment she replayed his words to ensure that she had heard properly. Then she sat up and stared at her companion.

Robin lay on the pillows and watched her with the patient stillness of exhaustion. The candlelight played over the stark planes of his face and bare chest, but it was too dim to read the color or expression of his shadowed eyes.

Torn between shock, amusement, and desperate longing, she asked, "Is that an offer, or merely a product of your bizarre sense of humor?"

He sighed, turning his gaze from her to the ceiling. "It wasn't intended as humor. I guess I can't quite bring myself to make a direct offer. If we did marry, the advantages would all be to me. You would be a fool to accept, and you're too intelligent not to know that."

She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or shriek. The scalding emotions of the night had forced her to admit that she loved Robin, though she wasn't sure that she understood or even wholly trusted him.

Which was not the same as saying that she distrusted him; she didn't doubt that he would be true to any commitment he made. And she understood him a good deal better now than she had an hour before. Still… "Marrying you is not without appeal, but I can't imagine what sort of life we would have. Our backgrounds are hopelessly different, and even though I've been a wanderer in the past, that isn't what I want for the future."

"No more do I.I promise you that I can keep a roof over your head." His mouth quirked satirically. "I am not quite as improvident as I look."

"Robin, look at me." When his gaze turned to her, she asked, "Why do you want to marry me? You have said nothing of love."

His eyes closed in a quick spasm of sorrow. "I can promise many things, Kanawiosta. Security, fidelity, my best efforts to make you happy. But love? I don't think I am very good at love. It is one thing I would be wiser not to promise."

Even when her father had died, Maxie had not ached like this. Robin's painful, despairing honesty made her want to weep. Instead she lifted his damaged left hand and kissed it, then pressed it against her cheek. "Do you want me because I am here and Maggie is not?"

"No." His eyes opened and his fingers tightened around hers. "What I feel for you has nothing to do with Maggie. I did, and do, care for her deeply. I always will, but I don't want you as a substitute for her." Amusement flickered across his handsome, rogue angel face. "You are far too much yourself ever to be mistaken for anyone else."

She felt adrift, uncertain how to react. "Caring and loyalty are valuable, even vital. But is that enough?"

"Don't forget passion." He tugged her hand to bring her down next to him. "I haven't for one minute since I met you."

He rolled over and embraced her. Their lips met, and she thought she would dissolve in liquid fire. There had been kisses and caresses before, but always they had been shadowed by doubt. This time was utterly different. Robin's formidable skill and concentration were for her, and her alone.

She responded with all her wistful yearning. The drama of the night had scoured away normal defenses, and their emotions twined as intimately as their bodies. For a wild, sweet interval, there were no questions, only taste and touch and discovery. No matter how tortured Robin's past, despairing his present, and uncertain his future, she loved him.

He trailed kisses down her throat, then slid her shift off her shoulders to bare her breasts. Cupping them together, he murmured, "Lovely. So perfect and lovely."

As he rubbed his face in the shadowed cleft he created, she was struck by the contrast between her brown skin and his fairness. Then he lapped her nipple with his tongue and she forgot the contrast, forgot her doubts, forgot everything but the pure flame of desire.

Her hands skimmed over his back, tracing the faint ridges of scar tissue from that long ago whipping. Someday she would have to ask him about that, and the bullet wound, and his misshapen hand-about every perilous incident that might have ended his life before they had a chance to meet. But not tonight. Ah, God, not tonight.

Abruptly he pulled away and buried his face in the pillow, his shoulders heaving. "Passion is too easy." His voice was ragged. "Neither of us, I think, is in a state to make decisions."

She was left gasping. Her hands clenched the counterpane as she stared at the ceiling and tried to collect her scattered wits. Why the devil couldn't she have gotten involved with a selfish man who was interested only in his own pleasure?

Because she could not have loved such a man. Speaking with great care, she said, "I gather this means you are undergoing another crisis of conscience."

He emerged from the pillow with a twisted, self mocking smile. "Exactly so."

Gently he pulled her shift up over her shoulders again. His hand lingered for a moment on her breast. Then he moved his arm away, his fingers knotting into a fist. "You're remarkable. After all I've put you through tonight, you should be having shrieking hysterics."

"Believe me, I'm tempted." Limbs still trembling with reaction, she rolled over and propped her head on one hand so she could see his face. "How serious are you about marriage?"

"Completely," he said, his eyes lambent with passion.

She closed her eyes for a moment to marshal her thoughts before speaking. She wanted to say that she loved him, but didn't dare, not after his painful doubts about his ability to love. Neither did she want to give him a new source of guilt if the morning light made him change his mind about his proposal.

Was marriage to Robin why she had been unable to sense her future course? She thought about London, and immediately veered away, shaken by that horrible, black anxiety. But the fleeting contact reinforced her belief that her anxiety had nothing to do with Robin; it was more like a wall of fire that she must pass through in order to have a future.

Trying to suppress an involuntary shiver, she said, "You are right that this is not the time to make decisions. I must learn what happened to my father, and you have a great deal of sorting out to do."

He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. "I'll sort as fast as I can. In the meantime, at least you aren't saying no." He twined a lock of her dark hair around his forefinger. "I may be acting like the next thing to a lunatic, but I don't think I've ever felt happier in my life than these last days with you. I've been wishing this journey would never end. Now, since there will be no final answers until it does, I want to get to London as soon as possible. It's just that…"

She waited patiently for him to continue.

His eyes slid away and his hand stilled. "I don't know if it is wise to marry a woman because I need her so much. I think that might not be good for either of us."

She studied his expression. The detachment that he had worn like a cloak was gone, and she savored the feeling of closeness. But it was difficult to think clearly when her blood was drumming in her veins. On a deeper level, she still felt the majestic, pulsing energies of passion and creation, the belief that together they would find a measure of wholeness.

With sudden dismay, she realized that she had been behaving like her demure Collins cousins. Since meeting Robin, she had been defending her virtue, worrying about the future instead of living in the present, protecting her heart from possible hurt.

But acting like a respectable Englishwoman would not save her from pain; it would only deny her the deepest desire of her heart. It was time to dispense with European reason in favor of Iroquois wisdom. She wanted Robin. She wanted to give and receive, to be the kind of whole, wise, passionate woman her mother had been, even if it was only for an hour. She wanted to live in this moment as freely as the wind and the rain. And in her bones, she knew that doing so was right.

She gave him a smile filled with love. "Your problem, Lord Robert, is that you think too much."

Then she leaned forward and kissed him.