A Testing of Pride, Class, and Past by Heidi

"So farewell to the little good you bear me." - William Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act III, scene ii.

"...My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!" - William Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act III, scene ii.

Part One

"Stupid la-de-dah Larabee," Vin Tanner muttered while working. He scraped chunks of mud from the hooves of the prized horse Seagold Chris rode in the steeplechase. Horses this fine did not sit in their stalls covered in splattered mud, especially with it hardening around the hooves. "Tryin' ta make work fer me, not that I don't have enough ta do."

Seagold swung his head around and tried to bite him.

Fast reflexes and familiarity with this particular horse kept him from suffering another insult. Vin grabbed the bridle and yanked the head around until the equine eyes met his. "Ya keep yer teeth in yer head and yer mouth shut, Seagold, else I'll leave ya filthy like Larabee did."

Seagold visibly calmed.

"That's better. I ain't no la-de-dah, and I ain't gonna put up with yer attitude. That might be just fine fer his Mightiness, but it ain't fer me."

More mud flicked away from the hoof. Vin's steady hands finished the scraping, following with a gentle rinse, ending with a pat-dry. As the horse trainer carried on with the mundane cleaning, he let his mind wander. He thought about his friend and this gathering. For the thirteen Colonies full of people wanting to separate themselves from their former countrymen, some because of the class system that held them so downtrodden, they sure seemed to hang onto the high- class, elitist way of life. Seems all anyone could think of around here was holding a party or a social event, just to show how well off they were. Vin felt sorry for the forgotten ones who really paid the price for these events, the servants both indentured and freemen and the increasing number of slaves appearing among the landowners, especially here in the southern Colonies. Little thought was given to the extra workload these people bore so someone supposedly better than them, and much more selfish, could look good for people they truly did not need to impress.

Vin snorted; it all seemed worthless to him. There were more important things they should be doing. He knew Larabee's appearances at these functions was more than showing off. The man loved his horses and enjoyed displaying and selling them; that was his business, but there was another side of him that only a few knew about. For that hidden business, these events also served as a vital source of information. A valuable tool used by all the members of the privateer ship Vengeance who traveled with him, or attended other gatherings. Everyone kept their eyes and ears open to anything that would help their cause.

He shifted to the second back leg, beginning with rinsing and scrubbing it off. "Reckon there ain't a mud puddle within a mile that he didn't hit, and ya loved every minute of it." The wide, flat end of the tool pulled chunks out from the indentation in the hoof, his wrist flicking it off to the side.

"Hisself gets dirt on him, he's gotta change. Ain't proper fer a gentleman ta be seen dirty. Not like Hisself don't stink."

Seagold snorted.

"Ya know he stinks, too. That's some statement ya think he smells, considering how foul ya came in here."

The horse shifted.

"Don't even," Vin warned.

Seagold stilled.

"That's better. Ya know ya have ta listen ta me." Flick, flick. "I'm the one that takes care of ya, cleans ya up. Hisself just drops yer reins in my hands with ya all lathered up and filthy, has the nerve ta say, 'Tanner, clean him up. He did well', as if I weren't watching him risk his fool neck and yer precious life."

Tanner's reflections turned more to his employer and friend and the different personalities he'd seen the man exhibit since he'd come to know him. Most of the time, Chris Larabee was unassuming and easygoing, treating all those he employed fairly and did not hold with owning slaves. Most of the workers considered by Society to be "slaves" on the horsefarm were freemen and freewomen, knowing they received an honest wage for honest work. They, Chris, and Vin let others have their misconceptions because the truth was, employment for freemen and freewomen was scarce with all the indentured folk and the ready availability of slaves.

In fact, Larabee worked just as hard as anyone on his farm and didn't care about appearances. Yet, Vin knew very few truly saw the other half of the man as the steel-eyed, justice driven captain of the privateer ship Vengeance. The schooner's captain would defiantly scare most of the faint-hearted, weak-spined souls at this gathering. It was the persona at these fetes that Vin wished he didn't have to see. Larabee wasn't the worse of them, but he acted the fop with the best in the trainer's opinion. Sometimes, it seemed Chris believed his act too well, like someone else he knew.

Sadly but fondly, Vin remembered his old mentor and friend's views on the so-called elite of the Colonies. After watching him deal with his own brother and his obsession with becoming a prominent member of peerage, none of his opinions flattered or were well thought of in higher circles, his friend gaining enemies with each proclamation and telling. As Vin absently rubbed his-kerchief covered neck, his own opinions were of the same line if not worse. It was his mentor's impersonations and his reference to those trying to act better than they were as `la-de-dahs' that he remembered now. Sorrowfully, Vin reminisced that it was because of Jess Kincaid he was even here; if it hadn't been for him, he might never have met Larabee or gotten involved in this cause.

Of course no matter how much he liked Chris, or what Larabee accomplished to right wrongs, didn't mean he couldn't be a little put out with him from time to time. Like now. . . flick, flick.

He finished getting the muck out, rinsed the hoof, and moved on to the front left. The process repeated with more complaints until he reached the scraping.

"I'm gettin' mighty tired of this. Hisself ain't here." Flick. "Hisself couldn't even call me by my name." Flick. "Name's Vin, not just Tanner like these indentured folk. I could be actin' all la-de-dah too, but I ain't putting on airs."

Flick.

"I Beg Your Pardon!"

The yelp, loudly spoken in most offended, over-emphasized tones, interrupted his diatribe. He looked up to see two pairs of well- polished boots, his blue eyes traveling up to the mud-splattered pants of two men. Recognition came immediately, causing a smirk. "Well, if it ain't Hisself and Gentleman Standish. Seems like ya got a little mud on ya." He flicked again, enjoying them dodging the mess sent in their direction.

"Mr. Larabee, I thought you taught your horse trainer refinement. Or did you demote him to stable boy?"

"I ain't no stable boy, ya pompous windbag," Vin started, straighening from his crouch to glare at the merchant. "Ouch!" He turned on Seagold. "Ya won't do that again. That'll cost ya oats."

Chris Larabee talked over his trainer. "I apologize, Mr. Standish. It appears the lessons did not take. Apparently he seems to believe that we are required to be covered in mud like him. I will, of course, reimburse you in the event those trousers are ruined. From his pay."

"What a bunch of -"

Ezra Standish, merchant and illegal gambling hall owner, spoke louder than the trainer. "I would not expect anything less from a Gentleman such as yourself."

"I appreciate your understanding," Chris gave Ezra a friendly pat on the back.

Having had enough, Vin shifted until he lined up his shot, sending a large clump of loose muck at the two men, nailing them both in the face. "Reckon that'll cost me in soap." He smirked. "Worth it."

"How dare you, Mr. Tanner!" Ezra sputtered, ineffectively attempting to blot the mud off him. "I must change."

"Ya can't change yer stripes," Vin joked. He pointed to the pinstriped vest. "But I can change yer appearance." He threatened another flick of mud.

"You, sir, are no gentleman."

Vin grinned broadly. "I never claimed ta be."

"I think I'll join you in changing, Ezra. It seems we cannot go to dinner wearing stable mud."

"Ya went through it, ya can wear it too. Seagold did nothin' ta end up this dirty." Vin finished with the third hoof. Tossing the third bucket of water onto the hoof, he released some of his frustration over some of the last few days by allowing it to splatter toward Chris and Ezra.

"If you chose to act like a gentleman, you would be able to join us for dinner." Larabee easily dodged, stroking the horse's neck with obvious affection.

"With them la-de-dahs? I ain't in the mood, Chris."

"We are in Loyalist country," Ezra pointed out. "Being such fine, upstanding Loyalists ourselves," the sarcasm dripped from every syllable, "Mr. Tanner here should not call too much attention to himself. The Loyalists still value the class system. Even my esteemed presence, being a mere businessman, is pressing the limit with some of the true elite."

Both Chris and Vin snorted at the truly affronted expression on Standish's face.

"Irritates ya, don't it?" Vin snickered.

"Of course," Ezra said surprised by the obvious. "To be shunned even when some have more class than those who claim they are born to it."

"Like they don't use the privy the same way," Vin griped.

Chris smirked. "He might be right, Vin. Much as I want you there, staying here might be best."

"Won't hurt my feelings." Vin snorted. "I ain't one fer airs."

"Yes, you have made that very apparent." Ezra wiped ineffectually at the mud, only smearing it and getting it on his hands.

"Saw some British soldiers before we came in here," Chris warned.

"Probably after a free meal." Vin scowled, continuing his work on Seagold.

"No doubt." Ezra sighed, his hands falling away from his shirt.

"You have someplace to go? Someone brining you meals?" All kidding aside, the blond showed his concern, blatantly not liking the situation himself.

"With the rest of the visitin' servants and slaves. Ya get any offers on my horses yet?" Vin knew he could stay in the main house as a guest, but he preferred being with the honest folk who worked for their livings.

Chris smiled, a twist of his lips that could only be described as predatory and satisfied. "Five, and a wager."

His head lifted at the word wager, shooting a look at the merchant. The trainer saw Ezra's eyes dance, causing him to stare until the blond explained.

"Two Gentlemen want Hermes. Since they tried to outbid each other standing there -"

Ezra picked up the narrative, "Which was rather rude, so I interceded. They will compete in three events, best out of five. Winner will win the privilege of buying the horse, yet the loser has the option of scheduling stud service prior to the completion of the sale."

"What's yer cut? We win regardless, but what about yer take?" Vin straightened, giving Seagold a warning look before turning his attention back to Ezra.

"A small fee." Standish held his fingers a tiny bit apart.

"How small?" Tanner tilted his head.

"A Gentleman's fee for arranging and officiating," Ezra explained. "Since our host felt five events would significantly add to the success of this weekend sojourn, he was rather excited about the prospects. Mr. Larabee will provide half, the host the other."

"And?"

"He gets a portion of my next share, since it took so much whispered negotiation between them." Chris shook his head. "Why talking business is considered rude I will never understand."

"Another reason you are considered a Gentleman, but not of the First Water," Ezra told him. "As I pointed out before, I am a Gentleman only because I am needed. If I were no longer able to provide the services I do, I would be shunned."

"Nah. They like pompous windbags," Vin teased.

"Not of the First Water? I do believe I was insulted," Chris said softly. "Did you insult me?"

"Of course I did. How perceptive of you to notice," Ezra retorted. "Perhaps I should increase my portion."

The horse trainer chuckled. "Fair enough."

"Hey!" Larabee protested. "No, he's getting enough already."

"That, dear sir, is open for debate."

"He'll take care of ya," Vin said. He figured Chris would never let Ezra rip him off, and he could guess what it took the merchant to arrange such a profitable endeavor for them all. The fee would be small by Society's customs, which he knew Chris would feel was not enough. Giving Ezra a portion of the Vengeance take from their next sail should make up the difference.

"I am so pleased you agree," Ezra said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Chris knows he ain't supposed ta make deals without me." Vin smirked at his boss.

Larabee rolled his eyes.

"On that topic, I will take my leave to change." Ezra inclined his head, leaving thereafter.

Vin finished the last leg and hoof. He cleaned up the supplies, putting them in their appropriate places. With an affectionate pat, he led Seagold back to the stall assigned to him near the rest of the Larabee horses brought for sale and show. He felt someone staring at him, turning to find Chris giving him an intense look. "What?"

"You know?" Chris trailed off after those two words.

He saw the concern in the other man's eyes. His friend worried the attitude they needed to display of employer-employee for Society's sake at these events would be taken as an insult by Vin, especially considering their equality when at their home. Seeing the blond continuing to stare, he nodded once.

Silent understanding passed between them.

Chris relaxed his stiff posture.

Vin grinned. "Go be a la-de-dah, Hisself. Change first, because ya have mud on ya, and that ain't allowed."

"I wonder where it came from," Chris dryly replied.

"Spendin' too much time in the stable."

The blond laughed.

Vin walked toward the quarters assigned to him along the path beside and leading around the main house. Groups of guests milled about, most around the lighted terrace doors, and some disappeared into the gardens or the thick trees lining the paths and property. It was none of his business what Society did, or what scandals they generated. Good, wholesome food filled his stomach, and sleepiness started to take hold. It had been a long day, he reflected, considering he settled ten prize horses, their grooms, and supervised getting quarters and meals for all of their entourage. Then he chose to take on a good part of their chores for himself.

The steeplechase had kept everyone busy, the grooms required to be with the horses when Chris ran them, or showing them off. He chose to clean Seagold after his race because the horse had a bad temperament. Besides, it helped that Seagold's groom could help with Hermes. The large stallion was a crowd favorite, and two handlers worked better to keep the spirited horse calm and the eager spectators back. The solitude did him wonders, away from the press of too many bodies and busybodies. If he fended off one more pinch to his bottom, that woman of so-called better Quality than him would find herself humiliated publicly. He did not care one whit about his reputation, but the bad reflection on Chris might hurt their business, and Larabee's stature among the Colonies.

A footstep sounded a short distance ahead of him, breaking him from his musings to stare ahead. He saw the man waiting along the path for him.

"Mr. Tanner, a word?"

He was stuck. The trainer knew what the man wanted; it was always the same, and always a source of friction between them. Even if they knew each other publicly in passing, the man took a risk speaking to him. They could cover under the guise of discussing one of the horses, but this man could easily visit the Larabee place since he lived so close. Some attending here might consider the gentleman should be speaking with the owner anyway, not bothering with the help. Vin grabbed the man's shoulders and yanked him further into the nearby forest's edge. "Speak quickly," he whispered. "We have little time."

"Tell me where she is."

Frustration filled the horse trainer. The same questions, with no answer to be given. It was not his answer to share. He said nothing.

"You know where to find my sister. I want to see Claire," Rafe Mosely demanded.

"Ain't possible." He had given his word never to reveal the location of the village, especially to Rafe or his father. The colonists would trade with the tribes, but if given the chance, there is no telling what a group might do if they were enticed to seek their camps out. Vin would abide by his word to keep his friends safe. In his opinion, Claire was better off where she was than under the stern hand of her father.

Rafe grabbed Vin by the shoulders.

Even prepared for it, Vin still felt the impact when Mosely pushed him back into a tree.

"You help hide her with savages. Lord knows what has been done to her." Rafe pounded him back against the tree again.

He allowed Rafe his anger. They were shipmates on Vengeance, the only reason Rafe was still unharmed. Vin could understand his worry and anger, and the younger Mosely never learned the full truth from his father. If all he knew was that he had a sister who disappeared, and someone else refused to speak the truth, he would probably be inclined to beat them until they talked too. However, Rafe needed to understand Vin was not talking, never would, and Mosely's worry allowed him only so much leeway. Vin tried words again, even though he knew it was futile. "I ain't hidin' her. She's happy. Ya need ta accept that. Quit tryin' ta drag her back. This ain't her life anymore."

"If all is as you say, let me see for myself."

"No." It hurt him to deny the request. His own efforts with Chanu to arrange the meeting fell on deaf ears; with Claire expecting, Chanu refused to let anyone upset his wife. Tanner understood the emotional pain Claire would suffer from seeing her brother. Rafe would try to convince her to return, forcing her into a choice between her husband and her brother. Rafe would lose, and he was too unpredictable to chance the village's safety on. It was one area in which he was much like his father, though Rafe was loathe to admit it, but he was quick to anger. His temper could cause more harm.

Rafe pulled back enough to punch Vin in the stomach. "How dare you," he hissed, swinging again.

Vin dodged, choosing not to strike back. He anticipated the strikes, missing some, but catching enough that his own temper began to rise. Rafe was not going to calm down anytime soon. Vin was certain it had a bit to do with the liquor he smelt on Rafe's breath. Well, being in a constant battle with Rafe was a price he paid for keeping his word and being caught in the middle, but accepting the fact did not mean he had to take it. His hands curled into fists. Maybe it was time Rafe realized that attacking Vin only brought animosity between them, not the results the other man wanted.

"You're half-savage yourself. Did you hurt her too? You won't let me see her because she'll tell me what you did?"

The thin control Vin held over his temper snapped. He tackled Rafe, took him to the ground, straddled, and pinned him. "I ain't touched yer sister. Ya should believe that unquestioned."

Running footsteps reached his ears, his body acting on instinct. Sensing arms reaching for him as the intruder neared he braced for an attack, his leg automatically swept back to try and trip the newcomer. His periphery vision caught the results of his attempt, the body just on the edge of his sight, trying to sidestep the attack, stumbling among the woodfall and into the brush, striking his head upon a log as he fell. The figure lay where he landed, not moving, hat fluttering to a landing beside him, dark hair spilled over the still face.

"JD," he called, letting Rafe go. He needed to see if the kid was okay; he was not part of this fight. Damn his temper; he knew better than to unleash it. He crawled over to the still form. Their ship's pilot for this trip did not deserve this; he probably wanted to stop the fight before anyone else saw it.

"Is he well?" Rafe hissed, circling around to the other side of JD.

"You there! Unhand him!"

Vin heard too many voices like that to not know the British soldiers arrived. He groaned, rolling back into a squat and was roughly yanked to his feet. He tried to shake free, but the red-coated arms held him still. His count was six of them, one of him. JD was still unconscious, and Rafe could not be counted on.

"What's going on?" A man wearing sergeant's insignia inserted himself between Vin, JD, and Rafe.

"A private matter," Rafe tried to explain, his voice full of years' worth of haughtiness instilled into him. "Thank you for your assistance, but the matter has been settled."

"No, sir, it has not. Your name?" He lifted the lantern in his hand to Rafe's face, casting it in firelit shadows.

"Rafe Mosely."

"I've heard of your father," the sergeant remarked. "How's the boy?" he asked his man down by the still form.

"Just a knot, sir. He be comin' around shortly," the soldier answered.

"And you. Who are you?" The lantern rose to brighten Vin's features.

Patience, Vin instructed himself, have patience. These soldiers do not know. Cold fingers of dread flowed through Vin as he was held tightly between the two soldiers. The instinct to run nearly overpowered him, but the knowledge the soldiers would shoot him for running kept him in place. He had a chance if he played cooperative.

"Name's Vin. . ."

"He's Mr. Larabee's horse trainer," Rafe jumped in before Vin could continue. "They are honored guests of our host. We were just having a gentleman's disagreement about the purchase of one of the horses. I assure you the matter has been resolved."

The sergeant looked hard between the two men.

"I saw this one attack the Gentleman, sir," one of the soldiers spoke up. "Then he knocked this one out when he tried to pull him off Mr. Mosely."

"Sergeant, I already stated . . . "

The sergeant held up his hand to stop Rafe from speaking further. "Please, Mr. Mosely, I'm sure Mr. Larabee will not dishonor any contract with you. In fact, once his employee's misdeeds are brought to his attention, you might receive a better bargain."

"I attempted to explain our disagreement was a private matter," Rafe interjected, "one already handled."

"It is our duty to keep order in the Colonies, Mr. Mosely." The sergeant motioned his men to bind Vin's hands. "We cannot allow such miscreants to roam among our good folk. You've no fear sir, we will be sure this one causes you no further harm."

Vin stayed silent, knowing any attempt by him to state his case would only make matters worse, if they could get that way. This sergeant was out to make himself look good among the local peerage. He would just have to wait and see what was to happen next. He could not wait until the sergeant made Chris Larabee's less than happy acquaintance. Still, he prayed the soldiers didn't find other reasons to hold him. As the two soldiers holding him began to pull him roughly away, he sent a final feral glare in Rafe's direction. He could tell by the look on Mosely's face that he was well aware of what kind of trouble his misguided persistence had gotten them into. This could very well put them all in danger, not to mention the mission of Vengeance.

JD came around slowly, his head aching. Pushing himself up, he felt strong hands lifting him to a standing position. His eyes blurred, bringing his hand to wipe the wetness from them. He remembered seeing Rafe and Vin fighting, and running to stop them.

"I tripped over something," he said, feeling the stares of the onlookers.

"You were assaulted by a miscreant," a rough voice beside him growled.

He blinked in confusion and trying to bring his blurry vision into focus as he looked around him. Finally he focused on the sight of Vin being roughly dragged away between two soldiers. "What's going on?" He was still confused.

"You were wounded trying save young Mr. Mosely," the one seemingly in charge explained.

JD took in the sergeant's insignia, along with the finality of the man's words. In their mind, Vin was guilty of attacking a Gentleman of Quality, and him another Gentleman's ship's pilot. "No. You do not understand."

"Don't worry, son." The sergeant patted JD lightly on the shoulder. "Your bravery will be duly noted in my report. We will be sure the ruffian does not harm any more guests."

"No, this isn't right. What is going on?" JD turned to Rafe. "Mr. Mosely? You know this isn't right. Tell them it was a misunderstanding."

Rafe shook his head. "I tried, JD," he said softly. "There's nothing I can do."

JD's eyes grew wide in fear and disbelief. He didn't know the whole of the argument between them, but he knew his two crewmates often butted heads over the least little things. "Can't or won't. You want them to take Vin."

Rafe blanched. "No, JD…"

"Then do something."

Looking after the group of soldiers taking Vin away and the two still standing by them, he shook his head. "I can't."

"Come on lad." One soldier pulled on JD's arm. "Let's see if Mr. Vermenton's doctor can tend your wound."

JD shook the supporting arm off, glaring at Rafe the entire time. He couldn't believe this was happening. "I'm okay."

"JD you need to be tended," Rafe insisted.

"Maybe, but I certainly don't need no help from you," he turned angrily from Rafe and began walking up the path to the house.

Rafe stood uncertain which path to take. He needed to make sure Larabee heard what had happened, but he wanted to make sure Vin was okay. This was a big mess and it was his fault. He was scared of how bad it might turn out for all of them.

Vin was pushed into the barren room, with his hands still tightly bound behind him, his balance was off and tumbled to the ground. One of the soldiers kicked him hard in the side, driving a sharp pain through his body robbing him of his breath.

"You'll learn not to accost your betters, boy," the soldier sneered.

He was yanked to a standing position and shoved face first into the wall. There he was roughly held against the hard surface while his bindings were removed. He was then turned and slammed against the same hard surface. His arms were jerked up and attached to the chains and manacles secured to the wall for holding prisoners.

From his past experience with the British in the Colonies, he knew those accused of crimes were treated as bad and sometimes worse than those already found guilty of their crimes. He expected nothing better here. And he knew he couldn't expect help from his friends. They couldn't risk themselves or their greater cause, at least he hoped they wouldn't. He would have to find his own way out of this. He only hoped they didn't find out about his past and he lived long enough to get the chance to get away.

Part Two

"How are your accommodations? Better than you deserve."

Vin heard the voice coming from the front of his cell, but did not acknowledge the speaker. He kept his head down, thinking the less they looked into his face, the better his chances. In his experience, they would read the defiance there, especially in his eyes and it would be all the excuse they needed to deliver a horrific beating. He saw many a man die from such punishment, all in the name of their justice for a perceived wrong. Wanting to survive this, he intended to do nothing to incite his captors, but they would be able to read his true feelings easily on his face.

When he heard the key in the lock, he braced himself. Even he, a man who walked the fine line between three separate worlds, knew his fight with Rafe, a man purportedly his better, drew consequences. Bitterness filled him; the village where Claire lived with Chanu deserved protecting. It was worthy of a fight to keep it safe, but receiving a thrashing from a soldier acting on Rafe's behalf did not settle well with him. He longed for the Indian village, all the trappings of class stripped away, reverting to living off the land and enjoyable companionship. Or back at Larabee's farm, where he received equal treatment from all.

"You, a stable rat, think you have the right to touch a Gentleman, do you?"

The man's horrid breath nearly brought up Vin's stomach contents. He was sure that would bring only more misery on him, so he did his best to hold fast, and not breathe in too deep of the added body odor he now smelled. Keeping his head down, he was afraid to see what the owner of such rancidness looked like.

"You are nothing. You have no worth."

Vin swallowed hard and remained silent.

"What's the matter, boy? Can't talk?"

Tanner closed his eyes and wished the foul-smelling soldier would leave. His next thoughts, as well as all the air in his lungs, fled as the soldier rammed the blunt end of the baton he held into his stomach.

"You scum need manners, learn to address your betters proper-like. Now do you think you're better than me?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Vin willed himself to hold his tongue. This time the pain was like a thousand knives plunging through him as the baton lashed against his side.

"You will answer when asked a question. Now do you think you're a Gentleman?"

Vin could answer this question. "No," he replied softly.

His head was jerked painfully back and putrid breath sneered, "That's no, sir, ta ya, and yer right ya ain't no gentleman, yet ya felt ya could attack a gentleman and get no punishment." The soldier pulled Vin's head back and ran the baton menacingly under his chin. "You'll know your place when we're through with ya." He released Vin's hair, roughly shoving his head against the wall as he did so. "Your owner should have trained ya better."

"Ain't owned by no one, I'm a free man," Vin glared at the red coat, sincerely hoping he was right and these soldiers did not look too far into his past. He heard the proper diction slipping in the man's voice, knowing the soldier was putting on airs he was better than his peers, and hoping to play off the man's anger to his benefit.

The backhand cut swiftly across his face and with enough force to snap his head back against the wall again.

"Jest like you Colonists, thinkin' you're more than what ya are," the soldier sneered. "Iffen ya had any sense to ya, you would've done like me and take a job that Gentleman or gutter snipe respects. But ya will never be more than what ya are, ya son of a whore. Ya ain't worthy of cleaning my boots."

Vin's temper got the better of him; he could take the insults but cringed at the thought of someone disparaging his mother. He spat on the man's polished boots. "Ya missed a spot."

Even expected, the blow caught the side of his face, twisting his neck, brushing his cheek against his shoulder. He felt rather than saw the soldier's boot brush against his pants, wiping the spittle off. Satisfaction filled him, knowing he infuriated the soldier.

Blue eyes watched the booted feet back up two paces, unable to block the kick to his midsection. His twist only made things worse; instead of striking his stomach, the heel caught him where it counted. Eyelids slammed closed, a groan escaping him.

"Serves you right, stable rat. There's more where that came from." The soldier proceeded to kick and hit him repeatedly.

Vin forced himself to clench his legs tight together to prevent another boot heel landing where he preferred it not to be, still trying to recover from the first painful strike. When the pain receded enough, he timed his movements. One fast sweep from left to right knocked the soldier onto the ground. Yes, he would pay for that, and probably in his blood, but it felt good to see his tormentor lying in the straw.

"Ya ain't better than me, soldier," Vin said with meaning. "Ya just have the advantage now. Makes ya feel good, don't it, ta beat a man who can't fight back?"

"I am soldier in His Majesty's service. What are you?" The man picked himself up, dusting off his uniform on Vin. "A captured man facing discipline for attacking a Gentleman, and now a soldier. An unprovoked attack, since I brought you food and water as ordered."

"Ya gonna tell yer sergeant I attacked ya?" Vin laughed at him, still not looking him in the eye. "Tell him I got the better of ya, dumped ya in the straw with my hands and arms chained ta the wall?" Though it hurt, he chuckled, knowing this guard would be easy to provoke.

"Don't you sass me!"

"I'm speakin' plain truth. Now, if ya let me go and we went one-on- one, maybe ya might win." He hoped to incite the guard enough to let him go to make it a "fair" fight, overpower him, and escape. He realized his chances to survive were slim; men hung for lesser offenses in the name of the Crown and their attempt to control the rebel colonists. They only knew his first name here; he needed to get away before they found out more, or his circumstances put the others in danger. He had hidden out before; he could do it again. There would be few regrets, leaving Chris and the opportunity to work as a horse trainer among them. Although it might be possible to stay on Vengeance, he could at least continue his work there.

"Leverson!" The soldier yelled. "He needs to learn some manners."

Aw, hell, he thought, realizing his gamble failed. The soldier called for backup, meaning he planned to have his friend help attack him, the chained prisoner. His suspicions received confirmation when the cell opened again. Unable to help himself, he used his periphery vision to look at the new arrival. Tall, broad, and all muscle, Vin knew he was in for it now.

"Charges?" the big man half-spoke, half-grunted.

"Assaulting a Gentleman."

Vin almost allowed himself a grin at the soldier's intentional concealment of being dumped into the straw.

"His position?"

"Horse trainer or something."

"Indentured?"

"Claims ta be free. Overpaid groom, if you ask me."

"You have a name?" The giant stepped into Vin's face, a fat fist lifting his chin, forcing him to stare up into the coldest brown eyes he ever saw, made darker by the flickering torchlight.

"Misunderstood," Vin replied, attempting to shake off the hand.

"Smart mouth on you, boy. We have remedies for that." The meaty fingers held his chin in place, a strong uppercut knocking into the side of his temple.

The world spun, bright flashes filled his vision, and he tasted blood. "Your name?"

He had enough. This was not the first time he found himself in a position where no matter what he did, he could not win. He didn't believe the others could help him, not and maintain the fine line they walked among British Loyalists. It was better they stayed out of it; might as well make the most of it, if this was going to be his final stand against his oppressors. He spat blood onto his tormentor. "Bloody Mary."

Hit number two felt no gentler than the first. The dizziness and nausea battled with his pain receptors to see who could scream in protest the loudest. The headache forming with excruciating tendrils of agony centered around the side of his head, seemingly meeting with the aches in his stomach and side so he wasn't sure where the worst hurts came from, much less how to stop them chained and manacled. His determination to not give in and have them believe they had beaten him down gave way under the assaults. The battle to remain conscious fell by the wayside. It did not seem important anymore, the fight, whatever it had been. Darkness called to him and its beckoning warmth comforted him. It was after all a means of escape. Finally, he gave in to its call and sank into its gentle embrace.

JD continued his hunt. He could not find Chris or Ezra anywhere, no matter whom he asked. Not even the servant's grapevine could give him a location. Wishing he could just search the house and ballroom himself, he used stealth to climb the terrace railing for the second time, hiding in the shadows. His status as a ship's pilot did not qualify him as a Gentleman, denying him entry into the ballroom. He peered in the oversized windows of the terrace doors, noting the whirling colors of rich men and women gorging themselves in excess. Some of these people wore jewels worth more than he would make in ten lifetimes, and clothes equaling a year's wages. Yet, there they were, dancing, drinking, eating - all in excess - some women openly fondled by intoxicated men in the darkened corners of the room, not counting the couples he passed having encounters under the cover of the trees. This was polite Society, and he wanted no parts of it. These people were supposedly his betters, yet they acted worse than the wharf rats in Boston. At least with the wharf rats you knew they were skulking about in the darkness intent to rob, kill, or help sell the unlucky into impressments; it was what they did to survive. Here, these people hid behind their fancy clothes and status, pretending to like you and need you, when all they wanted was what could help them with more status, money or prestige. If they had to stab you in the back to get what they wanted, they would do it with a smile. He just needed to find Chris and Ezra and rescue Vin. Hopefully, before his aching, miserable head rolled off his shoulders, the pain a constant reminder of the troubles.

Not spotting him in the ballroom, JD climbed down to the ground level, walking around the side of the house toward the rooms with windows. Perhaps he might spot Chris or Ezra in one of the private rooms. While he searched, he saw Rafe in the front drive talking to the sergeant. Maybe Rafe was trying to get Vin released, or had word of their friends. He quickened his pace along the darkened side of the house, attributing his lack of balance and weaving to his worry. His body craved rest, but he could not allow it until Chris or Ezra learned about Vin.

Hope died quickly when he watched Rafe look from side to side; making sure no one saw him, before passing what looked like money to the sergeant. The Gentleman and the soldier shook hands, parting ways.

He was a fool. Here he was sneaking around, making a fool of himself pestering people, trying to gain access to places he normally would not go because he was not a Gentleman to find Chris and Ezra. Then here was one man he was suppose to trust, a friend and compatriot, and the one man able to walk those prohibited hallways, yet who betrayed them all. His assumption Rafe also searched for a way out for Vin proved the adage about assumptions right. He thought Rafe was helping, since he was the cause of all this mess, and would be trying to secure Vin's freedom as soon as he could. But with his own eyes he was watching the man contribute to Vin's certain fate. Didn't Rafe see what this meant to all of them? Not just Vin personally, but to Vengeance?

Fury filled him at the supposed Gentleman and friend's behavior. When he saw the sergeant leave, he stomped over to Rafe, yanking the man's arm hard, spinning Mosely to face him. "How dare you! You set Vin up!"

Rafe shook him off. "Lower your voice. It's not what you think, JD."

"You just gave him money! Was that the payoff for having Vin arrested?"

"No! I'm trying to help him." Rafe's face showed indignation that JD would think such a thing of him.

"So, you were paying him to get Vin released?" JD didn't care about Rafe's wounded pride; Rafe started this, so he needed to take care of getting Vin out of the mess.

"I can't get Vin released," Rafe explained softly, visibly upset that he could not secure the trainer's release so easily.

"Or don't want to," JD hissed.

"That's not true," Rafe insisted.

"What am I supposed to think?" JD continued, "It's because of you he's imprisoned!"

"Stop yelling, you're attracting attention. If you touch me again, you will be joining Vin in jail."

"That's what you'd like. So I can't tell what you did."

"It's not," Rafe hissed. "It's what they'll see and perceive. Is that what is best for all of us?" He tugged on JD's arm, leading him further into the darkness, away from the well-lit front drive. "We can't afford a scene."

If it wasn't a payoff what else was it for? Words spewed from his mouth with speed, flying out before his brain could stop or control them. What was wrong with him?

"A scene? Vin's in jail because of you, and you're worried about a scene? I saw you passing money to the sergeant. If it wasn't a payoff, what else was it for? I knew you and Vin had differences, but this is low, even for you. You know what gets me? You're supposed to be the Gentleman. If being a Gentleman means acting the way you do, I don't want to be one." He shook off Rafe's hand and jogged away. Intentionally, he ignored the man's hissed whispers to return.

Where were Chris and Ezra? Part of him almost stopped and turned around to make Rafe find them, but the seed of mistrust flowed through him, making him wonder what other treachery his crewmate planned.

Sergeant Daniel McComassey rode to the compound of buildings, appropriated by the Crown to house the soldiers in this colony. It did not matter that several families were displaced; it was their duty to provide for His Majesty's forces so they could maintain order. Going to the slave quarters, which served to house their prisoners, he tied the reins of his big bay to the post outside, and entered. The unmistakable sound of soldiers cheering reached his ears. He hustled to the cells in the back of the building, his eyes widening in horror at the beating his prisoner received from Leverson.

"Stop it this instant!" His strong voice rang out over the yells and cheers of the others crowded into the small rooms, bringing order to chaos. Strong strides carried him past his men to the open door of the cell, pointed glares lowering heads to inspect the floor and boot tips.

"Why?"

McComassey recognized that voice; it belonged to one of the ugliest men he had the misfortune to meet, much less command. Because of his hideous looks, bad teeth, and even worse breath, the soldier abused the limited power provided him. Using the might and the power provided by his uniform to demoralize and literally beat down those who he felt would do the same to him otherwise, because of their greater class or appearance. Usually, the sergeant kept him in check, assigning him to provide water and food to the prisoners. Most of the time they limited themselves and only dished out verbal abuse he could apologize for later if the situation warranted it. Their occasional lapses were usually against such low life that it did not matter, and so far was fortunate to cover their misdeeds. Unfortunately, Hannon and Leverson designated themselves dispensers of justice, and this prisoner suffered under their care.

"I have already spoken on this before," McComassey said with authority. "Prisoners are not to be mistreated. Leverson, Hannon, step out of the cell and stand guard outside the building."

The two men went, both openly displeased with the orders.

McComassey knew it was imperative to keep command and order among his soldiers, many of who could turn on him easily. "Listen up. All prisoners are to be treated equally and with professionalism. We must keep order and keep these colonists on our side. There has been too much mistreatment lately, causing unrest among the locals."

"Seems to me the rabble get what they deserve, sir," one of the older soldiers spoke up. "Wasn't this one attacking a guest? Seems the gentry would be grateful we're around to provide punishment."

McComassey nodded in acknowledgement of what should be the truth. However, he realized other factors were coming into play here, that could mean trouble for his garrison. One the locals, gentry included, were becoming more vocal and showing unrest because of the soldier's presence and their conduct. Second, he was not happy with what he found out about their prisoner; he was not an indentured servant or slave as he first believed, but the respected employee of one of the influential guest of the plantation owner. This might bring trouble from beyond their colony, attention he could not afford.

"Are you aware this prisoner works for Chris Larabee, the noted horse breeder, who currently is an honored guest of Mr. Vermenton? We must handle this delicately; especially considering Mr. Vermenton makes considerable donations of materials to our barracks and our stomachs." He gave looked each of them in the eye. "Not to mention his influence in keeping the rest of the locals appeased of our presence, and gives us glowing reports to the Governor. Allows us to keep our position here. I care not to anger him, else we find our situation greatly changed." Seeing they properly understood the implications, he broke eye contact with them to stare at the prisoner.

It was worse than he thought, and he swore he could feel his stomach drop. At the very least, he knew if he did not find a way to correct this situation, his position, nay, his very life might be in jeopardy. Gentleman Mosely paid him a significant amount to keep this prisoner in good condition, well fed, and in a cell free of pestilence. The beating would be impossible to conceal. Long, damp hair veiled the man's face from his eyes, but the blood matting the strands and splattered across his tattered shirt spoke volumes. Only his manacled arms kept him aloft; his body hanging limply from the chains like a broken marionette.

"This cannot be concealed," McComassey announced. He quickly thought of options and made a decision that he hoped would save them all. "We will move him tonight to the jail for the Magistrate. Efferty."

"Yes, sir!" Efferty, one of his youngest soldiers, snapped to attention in front of him awaiting his orders.

"Prepare a wagon for transport; we dare not put him on a horse in this condition. Make sure to get a tarp to conceal him."

"Yes, sir!" Efferty saluted and hustled out to do his bidding.

"Won't his employer come lookin' for him, sir," another soldier asked.

"Yes, he will," McComassey paced in front of the unaware prisoner, deep in thought. "We must do something to delay him finding his condition, and perhaps give him something else to be concerned with." An idea came to the sergeant that would surely solve all of his problems. "Kipney, go through our dispatches. Find a warrant that matches this man's description."

"Yes, sir," Kipney saluted and turned to carry out the order. Hesitating, he turned back to the sergeant. "But sir, what there is no matching warrant?"

McComassey smiled icily. "I'm sure we will come up with something."

"Of course, sir, sure, sir." Kipney agreed and left to find a warrant, understanding he would find one, whether it was real or not.

The sergeant turned back to his remaining men. Walking over to the prisoner, using one finger he tilted the head up a bit to look at the lax features. "Mr. Larabee should take care, some might consider his carelessness in hiring such riff raff an example of how he handles all his affairs."

Letting the head drop back down, he motioned to two more of the guards. "Davis, Monroe, lower him to the ground and prepare him for transport."

Vin felt the pressure release. He gasped for air, the weight and force of his arms holding his body up driving precious breath from him abate. Survival outweighed the need to escape; each sweet lungful of oxygen returned strength to him. His legs and arms felt made of lead, even though he sensed someone moving him onto the floor. His eyes refused to work, leaving him in darkness. He heard voices, most telling him to be still and not to cause any trouble. If most of his body did not hurt, he might have laughed.

"Sir! I found one!" Kipney announced as he re-entered the room.

"Good work, Kipney," the sergeant praised.

"Thank you, sir," Kipney beamed.

"All right men, let's move him, and keep that warrant with him! If anyone inquires, we will say that we once we found the warrant he resisted and made to escape."

Vin's heart sank. Even in this weakened condition, his past haunted him, giving him no peace. They found the warrant on him, the one about his mentor and friend Jess Kincaid. The one that accused him of killing the man who like family to him. He had a good start at rebuilding his life, but now there was nothing left. He would face the justice the British felt he deserved without protest. In his mind, he was just as much to blame for his friend's death. Even the soreness from the beating receded in the wake of the numbness left behind from the discovery of the warrant. He allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness, a blessed reprieve from the harsh realities he had not the strength to fight now.

Chris Larabee sipped his brandy, absently appreciating the taste. The expensive cigars smoked easily, their flavor a perfect compliment to the brandy. Ezra's own stock, shared with Buck's private stores, was better, yet this neared Standish's in quality. He leaned back in his chair, crossing a booted leg negligently at the knee. His examination of his cards showed he would probably win this hand, unless Ezra came up with a miracle. Knowing Ezra, anything was possible.

Locked in the rich, private study of Mr. Phineas Vermenton, the host for this evening, Chris allowed himself a moment of enjoyment. Opulence surrounded him, from the rich wainscoting, crown molding, and ornate furniture, to the well-appointed upholstery on the chairs and settees, accompanied by the liveried footmen bearing trays of sumptuous refreshments. Even better, no women cluttered the room, giving him an escape from the amorous widow Williamston. Although the company of women challenged him, dodging the widow's advances while not bringing a Scandal to his name - he already had more than enough to qualify him as Dangerous and Brooding - caused significant expenditures of energy. He preferred his women with teeth more the color of white linen and not darker than the hay and wheat fields.

His hand won this round, leaving enough to ante up for the next hand. Ears remained open for gossip and information in this company, where the men were free to discuss their business without "boring" the women. Since most of these men relied on shipping interests to provide or supplement their income - run by paid business managers and not themselves - they boasted often of the ships bringing them the wealth from the Mother Country, or the Islands where they traded with the soldiers and British Merchants there. The British East India Company held the lion's share of the market, to which these men raised and sold their crops.

From his perspective, anything destined for the use of British soldiers was fair game in the murky rules of privateering. He already heard a few men talking about joining their goods with those of Stewart James, paying James a small fee to ship and sell their goods in the Islands. Anyone who did business with the crook Stewart James could afford to lose goods, having them rerouted via the Vengeance crew to those more in need of the goods right here in the Colonies. He needed to be careful so his source of information should never become compromised, or allowing information he acted on be traced back to them. Fortunately, his business as a horse breeder allowed him access to almost all of Society's cliques through one form of invitation or another, not to mention freedom of travel on the pretense of looking for new stock or selling what he had. It also allowed for meeting a range of people, of all classes, and rarely did he see the same people repeatedly.

He lost this hand, deciding to stop while he still had sense in his head and money in his pockets. Yes, he won more than he lost, but he preferred not to press his luck. He did that often enough with his secret life as Captain Vengeance. Shaking hands with the others at the table, he strolled to the fireplace, staring into the flames.

"Mr. Larabee."

He recognized the voice; his host, Phineas Vermenton, speaking from beside his shoulder. "Mr. Vermenton."

"May I have a private word?"

"Of course." He figured Vermenton planned to offer for stud service from two of his horses, waiting until the proper moment to discuss it. Chris followed the man through a nearly concealed door into a smaller study, this one more private and secluded than the large one.

"Please, have a seat." Vermenton motioned Chris to one of the overstuffed leather chairs on one side of the desk.

Chris complied.

"I am sure you know your invitation was partially due to my interest in your horses."

Chris nodded, not saying anything yet.

"It has come to my attention that one of your grooms, how can I put this? May I be blunt?"

"Yes." Chris leaned forward in his chair, wondering who did what to whom to encourage this meeting.

"One of your grooms accosted one of my esteemed guests, and also another member of your entourage. Apparently the offender was taken by the soldiers to their holding cells."

His heart rate spiked, yet outwardly he remained calm; everyone knew there was too much at stake to raise another Scandal or draw attention to them. "I apologize in advance, Mr. Vermenton."

"Phineas, please."

"Phineas. Please call me Chris, then."

"Chris. I have managed to keep this discreet. Luckily, there were few witnesses and those were given a reasonable story and sworn to secrecy. We both are aware what that means. I would hate that malicious gossip put a black mark upon someone of such strong Loyalist standings such as yourself. You know what troubled times we live in. "

Larabee allowed a small nod. He knew that piece of gossip would keep the guests titillated for days, each person supposedly in the "know" telling someone else. Even the truth would be twisted until it grew out of all proportions. His stomach churned at the words "strong Loyalist standing", only because he was the opposite of them, yet no one would ever know that. Mostly his friendship with Magistrate Travis, who held the ear of Governor Josiah Martin, kept his name among the Loyalist leaders.

"According to the sergeant, your senior groom and Mister Rafe Mosely tussled off one of the paths behind the house. Your ship's pilot attempted to stop it, with your trainer assaulting him as well. I arranged for my doctor to check over your pilot; he should be resting comfortably in his quarters. The amount of laudanum given will allow him a good night's rest."

"How long ago did this occur?" Chris had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Rafe would have no quarrel with any of his grooms, but he knew he carried a lot of animosity toward Vin, and was afraid his friend was now in the hands of their enemy.

"Some time ago. I instructed my people to insure the rumors were cut short before informing you. I would appreciate your cooperation in keeping this quiet. We cannot afford any disfavor with the Crown."

Chris forced a half-smile. Phineas Vermenton did not want to anger Chris, and by extension his friends, by bringing a public Scandal of this magnitude on them both. However, he knew the man's real purpose was to insure his standing with the British was not in question. He wanted to thrash the host for not informing him earlier; JD was probably sick as a dog, because he did not take laudanum well. The possibility that Vin was in the custody of British soldiers did not bode well for anyone. "I appreciate your discretion."

"I've arranged for my carriage to be brought around for your use. It will take you to the holding cells if you would like to check on the matter."

"Excellent. Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Mosely so I might speak to him?" Chris knew exactly what this was about, intending to thrash Rafe for his stupidity. One good placed fist might knock some sense into the man's head.

"Mr. Mosely awaits you in the carriage. He felt you would want to speak with him about the situation."

"Good."

"Mr. Standish will need to stay here, of course. His absence will be noted and remarked on, especially considering his reputation of retiring at the dawn."

"I understand. Again, Phineas, your discretion has been most admirable, as is your hospitality." Much as he wanted to deck the man for keeping him in the dark, allowing him to have a cover story protected his interests better. No matter how much he hated it, he owed this man a debt, one he expected to be called in the future.

"Please let me know if there is anything further I can do," Phineas said. "I will explain the situation to Mr. Standish during a break. If you will come with me, this corridor will take you out to the drive without being seen by the other guests."

Chris followed, exiting a hidden door to come out on the side of the house. A narrow pathway led to the front drive, where a groom directed him to the end. He felt someone coming from the trees more than saw him. His hand slipped to the weapon he kept hidden until he recognized the form. JD. Blocking the groom from preventing contact, Chris grabbed hold of the wobbling man and tugged him along.

"Chris!"

"Don't speak, JD," Chris instructed harshly. "Just walk with me." Even in the near complete darkness, the white bandage stood out in stark contrast. His arm tightened to hold the younger man upright, sensing the lack of balance from the weakness in the limbs.

They entered the carriage, Chris nodding once to Rafe.

"What's he doing here?" JD sneered.

"Be quiet," Chris hissed. He checked the door was closed securely, the curtains drawn, rapping twice on the roof to get them moving. "How's your head, JD?"

"It hurts like hell, and he's at fault." JD had not stopped glaring at Rafe since entering the conveyance.

"Rafe, you better have a damn good explanation for this." Chris used the interior's single lantern's light to glare into the other man's eyes. "Now."

"You know what happened. I lost my temper, demanding Vin tell me where to find my sister."

"I thought your sister was dead." JD said in a shocked tone of voice. Both men ignored his outburst.

"Again, he refused," Chris said in a flat tone of voice. "You attacked him."

"Yes. He let me beat on him, probably hoping I would regain my sense."

"You didn't."

"No, Mr. Larabee." Rafe's head lowered. "I did not. I insulted him, and he took exception. I don't blame him, I pushed too far. When I went down, I realized my mistake. By then, JD ran up to help me, and Vin tripped him."

"Vin tripped me? I thought the soldiers lied about that."

"I don't think he knew who you were; I didn't," Rafe admitted. "Until after. I'm sure he just thought you were someone else try to attack him. The soldiers saw it. I could not convince them it was all a private matter, settled between us."

"What did you expect?" Chris yelled, enjoying Rafe's flinch. "A man dressed and smelling like a stable attacking a supposed Gentleman! They hang people for that, or have you forgotten?" The blond did not forget; he remembered Vin's story about his own near hanging, the scars the reason he wore the kerchief around his neck.

"I apologize."

"You will do damn more than apologize." Chris growled. He did manage to lower his voice as he continued to berate the young man before him. "I thought we had this settled. I can understand your concern for your sister. I thought you accepted the fact that she is safe and Vin is only doing as she wishes and is trying to protect her too."

"But I'm her brother. . ."

Chris held up his hand before he could go further. "You don't know the whole story, Rafe, and until your sister is ready to talk to you, you are going to have to accept the situation as it is. I trust Vin and believed him when he said she is safe. I thought you did too. I warned you we cannot afford your outbursts; you'll put us all in jeopardy. You promised me you could accept it, but apparently I can't trust you."

"You can't, Chris," JD agreed excitedly. "He paid the soldiers," JD continued. "I watched them. He paid them to take Vin."

"No," Rafe shook his head adamantly, obviously afraid of what Chris would think. "No, honest, that is not what happen. I tried to tell you, JD, but you wouldn't listen. Yes, I paid the sergeant, but I wanted to insure Vin would be treated well. I tried to gain his release, but I did not have enough."

Chris sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "And was that wise, bringing more attention to yourself that you would try to buy a simple stable man's freedom?"

Rafe paled. "I didn't think. . ."

"No you didn't," Chris agreed, "And you have not been thinking. This is not over Rafe, but right now my concern is with Vin. We must fix this disaster of your making. The only reason we are not facing a Scandal of monumental proportions is because our host protected our reputations."

"Mr. Larabee, I am truly sorry. I'll do all I can to free Vin and you have all the resources I can muster at your disposal," Rafe promised.

"We'll probably need all of them. Just hope your money kept Vin healthy; any other condition will be unacceptable. You are fully accountable, Rafe."

"I accept responsibility."

"Damn right you should." JD crossed his arms across his chest. "They say I'm the immature one; you just outdid me there."

"Stop it!" Chris ordered, seeing Rafe's mouth about to open. "I think we need to focus; Vin is the priority, followed by escaping this with as little Scandal as possible. That means cooperation and discretion, starting now." He gave both of them glares to show the gravity of the situation. "No more fighting amongst ourselves. Rafe, we will settle the situation between you and Vin in some manner once we have his release. You have my word. JD, Rafe made a mistake and he accepts responsibility. Let him be. For all our sakes, I hope we can resolve this quickly and quietly." Chris figured his winnings tonight, along with the name dropping of his acquaintances would buy Vin's freedom, returning them to the Vermenton estate before morning. It should not be more complicated than that.

Part Three

It felt like he was floating, but it was not a peaceful or pleasant feeling like he experienced when he swam. This was excruciating; his entire body ached, from head to toe. Vin fought his way out of the haze, fought the nausea and the pain that threatened to send him into darkness again. He wanted to give in, to quit feeling, but somehow he knew this might be his only chance at survival, he had to prepare. The two soldiers carrying him none too gently, haphazardly loaded him into the back of a wagon. It was little more than a farmer's cart, a short bed cart on two wheels with high wooden sides but no tailgate in the rear. A thin layer of hay served as his cushion, the soldiers not even making sure he was completely in before they covered him with a tarp. He painfully pulled up his legs so they did not dangle over the end of the wagon, and curled up on his side trying to find some relief from the pain the trip from his cell reignited. As he took slow even breaths, an idea for escape began to form in his mind.

The tarp stretched over the top of the wagon, fastened at the corners, but not around him. Since the cart was so deep, and the tarp did not touch him; he was sure his body was unnoticeable beneath. His fuzzy mind noted in relief that while his wrists were secured, his legs were free. He was sure they felt him too injured to be a problem. They might be right, but he had to put his pain aside if this was his last chance to get free. He now hoped now he would get the opportunity because he believed if he stayed low enough, if an opportunity presented itself along their route, he could roll out the back and maybe not be noticed. He continued to give them the impression he passed out and would be no problem for them, while in fact he gathered his strength.

Peering out from under the cover, he peeked through mostly swollen eyes at the rear rider, a soldier too interested in complaining about his duty and arguing with the wagon driver. He did not need to see the man; he could hear his every move, the man was loud enough in his complaints it made him easy to track. The man's pattern varied little; he yelled, rode up on the left side to bicker, then fell back behind the wagon, continuing to grumble about forgoing a night in a warm bed with a willing female to escort a half dead settler.

He was not sure how long they had been traveling, but he did know timing meant everything. He heard the sound of the ground change to the pounding of wood, guessing they were moving over a bridge. Vin realized if he wanted to escape, this might be the best time to go. Having no idea how high the bridge was, he only hoped it was over water. Hopefully his luck would hold. If he could get off the cart without being detected though the water might be his best chance at staying that way. If his flight did not go unnoticed perhaps the water might deter his guards from following him, or if he could stay hidden long enough, they might think him drowned. It offered him more of a chance than an attempt into the unknown brush territory they had been passing through, and his guards could not easily follow. Whether, it was to be a long fall off the bridge, or a hard landing, it was time to go.

Vin counted to three, waiting until the wheels echoed the loudest, along with a quick peek to verify the rear rider was in front of the wagon instead of behind it where he should be. Their loss. Taking a deep breath, he rolled out the back, thumped hard off the wood, and continued off the bridge.

Cold water rushed over him, encasing him from head to foot. He gave thanks again; they neglected the chains or manacles because of his injuries. Having the freedom to move his legs allowed him to get his feet under him, kicking for the surface of the water. Breaking into the night air from beneath the water's depths, he took a quick breath, and quickly tried to get his bearings. His eyes were still swollen, his sight still too blurry to see clearly, but he heard no shouts coming from above; just the continued clacking of the wheels over the wooden bridge and the loud complaining of the less than attentive guard. As the procession continued without him, the man's cursing carried through the night air.

Even though his hands were bound, Vin was a strong enough swimmer that he treaded the water easily. Slowly, keeping his attention to the sounds above him, he moved toward what he hoped was the bank. It was not long before he felt the bottom of the stream beneath him. Vin remained still, listening. After what seemed like hours, the procession left his hearing. Forcing himself, Vin waited a bit longer to be sure he was in the clear. As the rush of the escape left him, he began to shiver in the cool water, which brought the pain back with a vengeance. Only then did he move. Reaching the side of the stream, he did not have the strength to stand. He used his bound hands to grip whatever purchase he could, half-crawling up the side of the stream, dragging himself by sheer willpower onto the bank.

Feeling solid ground beneath him, he knew he should move to shelter. Pushing himself up he managed to crawl a bit further until he felt hidden in the bushes. He groaned, unable to move any more, he gave into the pain and slipped into darkness.

"I'm here about the prisoner," Chris announced, entering the garrison's quarters. His voice brooked no argument; his demeanor challenged the sergeant.

"Which prisoner? We have two drunken men scraped from the taverns, and a man awaiting trial for horse thieving." The sergeant stared calmly back.

Chris straightened to his full height, his eyes boring into the soldier's. "Perhaps I was unclear. The prisoner brought here under your orders from the Vermenton estate. The man in my employ, a horse trainer by trade. His supposed victim stands with me not wishing to file a complaint."

Rafe, who'd entered with Chris to do his part to free Vin, remained silent yet nodded his head.

"Your name?"

"Chris Larabee."

"Mister Larabee, may we speak privately?" The sergeant motioned to a private office off to the side.

"Whatever you have to say, say it now. I have no patience for games."

"Fine, then." The sergeant squared his shoulders, preparing to deliver a telling blow. "Perhaps you should take greater care in who you employ."

The blond's green eyes narrowed, only knowing he would not help Vin's cause by getting himself into further trouble with the British kept him from strangling the man before him. "There has been a misunderstanding, perpetrated by your men. You will keep your opinions of those I hire to yourself. It is none of your business." His tone held all the haughtiness of the Gentleman Society told him he was, including a cutting edge to each word.

The sergeant refused to be intimidated. Any guilt he felt previously over his prisoner's condition vanished. He was going to enjoy taking this man down a peg. "I'd have a care, sir," the sergeant huffed. "You clearly do not know the man we speak of." Nodding towards Rafe standing quietly by Larabee's side he continued, "The young gentleman here is lucky to be alive."

Chris placed a hand on Rafe's arm to stop him from speaking, holding in his own rage. "Mr. Mosley described the situation to me; he was never in any danger. Explain yourself."

"Your trainer," the sergeant sneered, "was a wanted man. We discovered a warrant on him, dating from a few years ago."

It was all he could do to hold himself passive and keep his breathing normal while he continued to confront the man before him. "I find that exceptionally hard to believe."

"I have heard you are an astute businessman, Mr. Larabee. I am sure you do find it hard to believe a ruffian took you in, made a fool of you. But, there is no mistake; he might have tried to hide by changing his names, but the description and etching match precisely."

"And what was his purported crime?" Chris was still struggling with the fact that after all this time, Vin's past might have caught up with him. He still felt something was wrong; he did not want to believe it.

"Murder," the sergeant resisted the urge to smile as he studied Larabee's face. "Am I correct to assume you were unaware that your horse trainer was wanted for murder?"

Chris intentionally flinched. "No, I was not aware." He was, but he could not allow this man to see he knew about the outstanding murder warrant on Vin. Harboring a wanted man carried stiff penalties. What he could not believe was that he allowed his friend's capture on it in this small backwater of a burg. There was no hint that the so- called warrant ever circulated among the thirteen Colonies and outside the town issuing it; he knew because he checked discreetly.

The sharp, indrawn breath to Chris's right caused a wince, one not feigned. Though the men who served on Vengeance worked close on and off the ship, little was really known about each other's past, and no one save Chris and Nathan knew anything of Vin's, especially the personal vendetta against him which resulted in a warrant for murder being drawn. Rafe finding out like this did not bode well for Vin. It also undermined the tenuous control he kept over the younger hothead.

"Once we verified the warrant matched the subject, I felt it best the prisoner be transferred immediately. Justice has waited too long to be satisfied. He is under escort to the county seat to see the Magistrate about this matter. Then he awaits a transfer back to the jurisdiction with the warrant."

"I understand," Chris said, trying to remain calm and think of a plan; matters were definitely worse now. He always feared this day would come; now that it was here, he knew what he had to do. There was nothing on the earth that could make him like it, but his defense of Vin must be carefully crafted and executed.

If this was the true warrant they feared, Chris knew there would be no fair trial. Especially if Vin was taken before his accuser because he would be executed on sight. As Chris studied the sergeant though, something in his gut told him he was being lied to; a good lie, but a falsehood nonetheless. Too many men tried lying to Captain Vengeance; experience gave him the advantage of sorting truth from fiction through body language, not only from years of doing business, but from facing men in fear of death. He sensed this man's emotions go from fear to almost seeming to gloat in his actions, and things seemed too pat for his liking.

"May I ask a question?" He stopped Rafe from speaking again. Part of him gave thanks JD passed out in the carriage. The young man could not keep his mouth shut, and hearing these surprising revelations about Vin would make his pilot say something damaging.

"Certainly."

"What name was on the warrant?"

"Vincent Livingstone. Wanted for murder and robbery out of Charlestown."

Chris allowed a frown to show, but held the sigh of relief. Yes, there was something wrong here. He refused to apologize to a man he knew deep in his gut lied to him, but it had to appear he acquiesced none too gracefully. "I hope you understand I am very disturbed about this information."

"Of course." The sergeant relaxed and smiled. "I am sure it is very disturbing news to find you were so deceived."

Chris wanted to punch the smiling man's teeth down his throat. He congratulated himself on holding his control. "Yes, very. I would like to confront my trainer personally to find out if there are other matters where I might have been deceived. If you would provide me directions to the county seat, I will take my leave."

"Of course." The sergeant was pleased his plan worked so well. It appeared Larabee could care less about his former employee now, nor would he be able to say for sure where he accrued his injuries. That is if the man was still alive when he caught up to him. He provided the man with directions, writing slowly, taking his time to make sure that they were clear and easy to follow.

Chris remained silent and kept Rafe silent by a single glare. Personally not wishing to, but for the sake of appearances, Larabee thanked the sergeant for his time and understanding and left the jail. Returning to their carriage, Chris still had not said a word, and Rafe acted unsure and nervous about how to bring the obvious questions up. The matter went out of his hands once they were underway and JD finally roused enough to blink wide-eyed at Larabee.

"Where's Vin?" asked the younger man. "Did they release him? You told them it was a mistake, right?" JD glared at Rafe as he asked the question.

"They have a warrant, JD." Rafe explained still in disbelief himself. "I may have had differences with Tanner, but I never thought the man a murderer. The warrant's for murder and robbery."

"What?" JD was aghast. "How? Why? Didn't they understand it was a mistake?"

"Chris?" Rafe could not answer all of JD's questions.

Chris frowned, not sure he could or should explain anything right now. "They think it's Vin, and the first name matches, along with the drawing."

"That can't be true," JD slumped back in his seat in disbelief.

"It's not."

"Are you sure?" Rafe dared asked.

"Yes," Chris glared at him. "On this one I'm sure, something is not right. Anything else we will deal with later. Lord knows the last thing we need is scrutiny, especially considering our frequent absences."

Rafe and JD stayed silent though they exchanged nervous glances knowing there was more to the story. They wanted to know more, concerned that if they did how it would affect them.

Chris broke through their individual musings. "Here's what I plan."

The shivering woke the pain, which in turn woke him. He began moving, trying to find shelter and at least get out of easy sight of any searchers coming for him. Ten minutes with a sharp rock released the bonds, making his wrists even more painfully raw than they were before. His journey was slow, painful going. Vin was so cold. Even without it very chilly out, his wet wool clothing pressed against his skin, leeching away the heat. Knowing from his time at Kojay's village men perished from being too cold, he forced himself to keep moving. All too soon, his legs gave out, his knees skinned from crawling, and he left a trail any person with tracking experience could follow.

He knew that when the soldiers realized he no longer enjoyed their hospitality, a search party immediately would roam the countryside. They would backtrack and hunt every square inch of their route of travel until they figured out where he got out without them noticing. Their backtrack will bring them to the bridge at some point, and his tracks led off from there.

Frustrated at his stupidity for not covering his tracks, he debated on going back and trying to disguise them. Yet going back put him closer to them, and wasted the valuable time he was free.

"Think, Tanner, think." He closed his eyes briefly. Maybe...an idea formed slowly, taking shape in his mind. Hobbling back the way he came, he used most of his reserve energy to set three false trails. The fourth he walked without leaving many marks until he found a toppled tree. Crawling under it, he took refuge, allowing himself to rest. Only for a little while, he promised himself. He was not far enough away, but in truth he knew on foot and injured, he was not going to get far regardless.

Chris Larabee secured a private meeting with Phineas Vermenton first thing in the morning.

"Phineas, I need your assistance."

"Of course," the man replied.

"The matter with my trainer requires my immediate attention. I must travel to meet with the Magistrate, yet I do not wish to create uproar by leaving abruptly."

"Ah, yes." Vermenton tsked. "An unfortunate incident. I hope it does not bode too dire for your reputation."

"I know the quarrel with Mr. Mosley was a misunderstanding; the soldiers overreacted."

"Reverend Mosley frequently is my guest. I am not as well acquainted with the son, although his father has stated he has had to take a firm hand. Youth today are so rebellious and quick to anger, but he seems an agreeable young man. I am sure as you say it was a misunderstanding, an indiscretion of youth."

"Yes, it was an unfortunate incident and I'm sure the matter will be cleared up quickly." Larabee was not certain if the landowner heard about the warrant yet. Regardless, he knew the man would do anything to protect his own reputation, with any concern for his or Rafe's character only a cover for his own continued standing in Society.

"Yes, I am sure. Anything I can do to help?"

"Will you keep watch with my grooms over my horses?"

"I am honored with your trust."

Trust, hell, Chris thought. He figured Phineas would be motivated enough to make sure the horses would be well treated. He knew he would be looking at all the angles and anticipating what he could gain. If all turned out well, he wanted to stay in Larabee's favor. If not, compensation would go to Phineas for the Scandal with Chris's property as forfeit. The blond could almost see the wheels turning in the man's head. He would play his own part in the game. To secure that cooperation, he needed to "sweeten the pot," as Ezra often said.

"I noticed your interest in Seagold."

"Such a fine horse," Phineas agreed. "I have a mare, well," he paused. "This is not the proper time for that."

"Mayhap on my return we can discuss in length your mare and my stallion." Chris let the suggestion hang in the air, not adding any more than necessary so he did not lose face, nor make it appear a bribe. Seagold might be the sacrifice Chris paid if things ended in Scandal.

"I look forward to it."

As expected, Chris judged Phineas very interested in the potential arrangement. "If you will excuse me, I need to speak with Mr. Standish before leaving."

"I anticipated your request; he awaits your pleasure in the stables."

Chris paused for a moment, almost certain now Vermenton was obviously more knowledgeable about his problems than he let on. "Thank you," he finally responded and took his leave.

Walking quickly toward the stables his thoughts went over the plans the small group had hastily made upon their return to the plantation late last night. None of them had gotten much, if any sleep. Part of him wanted to groan as he thought of meeting Ezra. Standish up early was never a pretty thing. Lack of sleep, and making him smell stable first thing in the morning did not bode well for anyone. He was thankful for the businessman's input last night though and hoped their plans succeeded.

"Good morning," he called to his impeccably turned out friend, the only mar being the black circles under Standish's eyes.

"I find it very disagreeable to be up at this early hour, yet the circumstances require my participation. Young Mr. Dunne caught the tide around four this morning; Lady Luck willing, he arrives by tomorrow at the latest."

"Knowing JD, he'll be there by tonight."

"True enough. I took the liberty of signaling." Ezra ran a thumb down the side of his cheek.

"Good. Rafe?"

"Mr. Mosely followed your instructions."

"Thanks, Ezra."

"Get Mr. Tanner back. He still owes me for ruining my clothes with mud."

"I will do my best."

"And Mr. Larabee. . ."

"I know, I know. I will watch my temper."

Ezra smirked. "Please do, this is enough trouble."

Chris managed a weak smile. "You'll keep them entertained?"

"You won't be missed. It is not very difficult, especially considering your deplorable social skills. Go before I forget my good intentions and return to my bed."

Larabee clapped him on the shoulder, accepting the reins to one of the riding stallions he brought. This one built for endurance, not speed, allowing him to cross any distance with little effort. He mounted, heading off Vermenton's property, and hopefully towards gaining Vin's release.

Rafe Mosely knew he needed redemption. The trouble they found themselves in he recognized as largely his fault. He allowed his blasted temper to get in the way again. Drinking so many brandies did not help him. It never did. He made a promise to himself to ease off on the alcohol. His impaired mind then made him forget all caution; he brought a very volatile personal matter out in public causing the incarceration of a friend. Since they would never forfeit one of their own, this led to danger for all of them.

If it ever came out that he was part of the Vengeance crew, his life was forfeit. Not counting all the other people involved - those who served on the ship and those that backed them in their own way among the Colonies. Too much damage threatened to overwhelm the good they did. Chris was right to berate him about his behavior; if there was one person he respected, it was Chris Larabee. Because of Travis and Larabee's help, he was able to escape the restrictive confines of his father's house. They also understood his father's politics were not his own. Knowing it was dangerous for themselves to allow someone into their ranks with relatives so close to the Crown, they still did. He believed in the Colonists' cause, in his own mind and his own heart, and his actions were more of another rebellion against his father than zealousness to the cause. Too late, he realized his sister had found her own rebellion, and was probably the safer and happier for it.

This was entirely his fault. Being called to account for his own refusal to accept things the way they were, resulting in putting the entire cause in danger, damaging their reputations, and responsible for the near certain hanging of one of their crew did not sit well on his conscience. He had to make things right.

He would do as Chris bid . . . later. Like their leader, he had a bad feeling about this. He paid good money to keep Vin safe until he could get a fair hearing. Somehow, he thought he made that payment in vain. Now he wanted to get to where they were holding Vin to make sure they treated him properly. He also worried about Larabee traveling to meet Vin on his own. He knew he had a bad temper, but it was nothing on Larabee. If his presence directed that ire away from the redcoats, he would do what he could.

Rafe had mixed feelings about the warrant. Chris assured them Vin was being held falsely, but there was something more, he was sure another warrant they kept secret. Regardless of their differences, he served with the man and believed him to be honorable. Yes, he realized that no matter his feelings, that Vin deserved a fair hearing. It was true, Vin protected his sister from him, but when he forced himself to look at his own actions he thought that might be a good thing. In addition, Chris made him realize that there was more at stake than his family.

Although this went against his family comes first beliefs, if Claire did not want to see him, he needed to accept her feelings. Forcing himself on her might cause her to disappear forever, severing her ties with him. She was all he had left; he could not handle losing her too. Maybe just knowing Vin could reach her gave him some peace; there was still hope to see her. She was not dead, which meant there was always a chance at redemption or contact. Moreover, Vin insisted she was happy, that had to count for something.

Rafe decided while he still had light to cut through the woods to save time. While still under his father's tutelage, he traveled in this area with him extensively. He knew the roads meandered around the dense foliage and sporadic farms, more than traveling a straight path. He would save time making his own way. As he carefully watched the dense path ahead to guide his horse over any obstacles, he was unprepared for branch suddenly flying his way, startling him and his horse. He tried to duck, yet still caught a glancing blow. His horse reared in fright, easily unseating him. Breath flew out of his body, as he impacted against the hard ground leaving him lying still and gathering his scattered wits. Surprised eyes recognized the clothing of his assaulter, battered but now looming over him.

"Vin!" he whispered.

Startled, it stopped the man's attempt to finish the assault with the rock he held in a shaky hand. "Rafe? Aw, hell." The strength in Vin's reserve left him at that moment and he sank down on his knees beside the fallen man. "What are you doing here?''

"Going after you," Rafe stated what he thought was the obvious answer. "What happened?" He started to reach up and push some of the blood-matted hair away from Vin's face but a weak grip on his wrist stopped him.

"British justice," Vin stated tiredly. "Where is Chris?"

"By now on his way to the county seat to see about your release."

Vin nodded.

Rafe stared at the battered continence before him, not showing revulsion at the disfigured features, but more like remorse. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Vin didn't want to argue; he was too tired, but he couldn't help it. "Wasn't it?"

"No!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to the county seat, to see you. And to be sure the Magistrate knew I would not be filing charges."

Vin could manage no more than a weak snort and a shake of his head in disbelief.

"Look, we can settle our differences later." Rafe got to feet. "We need to hide you before the soldiers come back to search for you. We haven't much time to spare."

"What's with the we?"

"I deserve your contempt. I am twice the fool for causing this, but if we don't leave the area quickly, both our lives are in danger."

"Why are ya helpin'?"

"Because I owe you a debt."

Vin eyed him suspiciously. "Still not givin' ya Claire."

"We can discuss my foolishness later. Come on, we need to get out of here." Rafe gently helped Vin to his feet, but the horse trainer pulled away from his grasp as soon as he was upright.

Rafe noticed Vin wobbled on his feet, grimacing every few seconds.

"I paid a large sum of money to keep you healthy. I must remember to ask for a refund."

Vin snorted, winced, finally lifting one hand to gently rub his battered nose. "Still waitin' on a reason."

"You stubborn mule, I want to help. I need to help fix the problems I have caused. Don't you believe in second chances, or a chance to clear my name?"

Realizing his own problems, Vin gave in. "Good reason."

"Get on the horse. We'll ride double for a time."

"Ain't gonna be easy. Busted ribs."

Rafe led his horse to a fallen log. He provided a counterbalance, allowing Vin to push up off the log and him onto the horse without having to pull his weight as much.

After Rafe settled behind him, Vin took control of the reins. "Kinda know...area. Need ta hole up. Have an idea where to go."

"All right." Rafe agreed, not wanting to fight with the injured man. He understood the strain getting on the horse caused Tanner's already abused system, yet the man refused to show it. He would be there though, ready to catch him if the other man started to fall from the horse. Tanner flicked the reins. He led them through the woods in the direction Mosely wanted at a pace Rafe found less than sedate. The reverend's son watched the muscles remain tense in the body before him, yet he also noticed the occasional sway in the saddle from the usually competent horseman. He knew Vin wanted him to keep his distance; he could not trust him completely. Mosely did not blame him. Yet Rafe knew he was going to redeem himself. He would wait and watch and be there Vin needed him. Until then, he said nothing.

Vin wondered what the hell Rafe's game was, damn the confusing man. Here he could barely walk, much less defend himself, a situation Rafe would usually find to his liking. On top of it, he set a trap intending on stealing the man's horse, though at the time he did not know who would fall into his hastily planned plot. Now, here the man was, saying he wanted to help, even giving him control to lead them out of here. Rafe was confusing him, they barely gave each other the time of day. Yet it was his fault they were in this mess anyway . . . and what was all that about paying to make sure he was treated well? Only the rich paid for prisoners to receive benefits; he sure wasn't a Gentleman, or a relative to get a boon like that.

The little strength he garnered to pull off, what he felt sure now would have been an ill-fated attempt at surprising an unexpected traveler, faded fast. Feeling the nausea he had been fighting since he woke a few hours before finally overwhelm his system, he stopped the horse, leaned over, and vomited. It hurt like hell, his midsection screaming in agony as the dry heaves took over.

He sensed the hands before they touched, easing him back into the saddle. "Let me lead for now. I have a place we can hide, at least until you're able to ride."

Much as it pained him to hand over control, he let Rafe have the reins. He concentrated on remaining alert, still wary of any tricks waiting the relaxing of his guard. He gave Mosely credit; their pace remained steady well into the afternoon. The even gait of the horse allowed him to force the nausea back to manageable levels. When he stopped the horse for a rest and water, Mosely helped him off, then lifted him back on when they continued. In fact, Vin thought he dozed for a bit, but he did not want to admit it.

The horse's stop brought him back to awareness. Tanner looked around the woods, realizing the trees were still thick, providing significant cover. He did not recognize any of the landmarks.

"Where are we?"

"Where we won't be found." Rafe assured as he dismounted, holding a hand up to the other man to help him down.

Vin accepted it gratefully; part of him worried about falling on his face when he climbed down from legs feeling to weak to hold him.

"Come." Putting one hand on Vin's shoulder, but not applying pressure, Rafe silently requested he walk with him.

Vin went along with it, finally spotting the outline of the cabin hidden between layers of moss and vines. Even knowing it was there and their destination, he questioned his poor eyesight, thinking it was not real.

"My father owns various properties throughout the Colonies. We're now at the cabin he uses for his 'Biblical' retreats." Rafe scoffed, opening the front door, lighting a lantern once inside. He held it up, nodding to himself. "Come on, I want you to lie down."

"I ain't gonna fight ya," Vin agreed wearily, hating to admit he was ready to give in. He stepped into the cabin, taking in the almost cozy feel. A large bed dominated one quarter, with the woodstove in the opposite, along with a counter space with cabinets to the left of the woodstove. "Biblical retreats?"

"He meets his women here." Rafe stated simply. "Being a traveling reverend on occasion makes that rather simple for him. The Right Reverend Mosely leads them to calling for the Lord." Sarcasm dripped from every word.

Vin groaned.

"Lie down, Vin. I won't be party to you hurting yourself from a fall when your legs give out on you."

"Reckon the bed looks invitin' enough."

"Only snake in it was my father," Rafe replied. "Just rest. I'll be riding out later tonight to find out what happened today."

Vin stretched out on the bed, groaning from the relief he felt. "Why haven't ya asked?"

"Asked what?" Mosely looked up from the woodstove he just lit.

"'Bout the warrant."

"Chris said it was a fake."

"I got a warrant on me."

"Murder and robbery."

"Don't know nothin' 'bout the robbery, but there's one for murder."

"That's comforting to know," Rafe said sarcastically as he put on a kettle of water to heat on the now lit stove.

"Didn't do it."

"I wish I could say it doesn't matter to me, but it does. Yet your continued safety has become paramount to the protection of all of us on Vengeance. Add to that you are my only link to Claire. I love my sister very much, and I want to see her again. If not see her, get her a letter."

"Ya never asked that 'fore," Vin's words slurred. "Can try that . . .easier than a meetin'."

"Then we must get you through this."

"Think . . . need ta . . . sleep." Vin's voice faded as his strength finally gave way and he fell unconscious.

"Go ahead," Rafe reassured the unaware man. "I give you my word nothing will befall you here."

JD reached Portsmouth Village near midnight. Having caught a tailwind pushing his sails, and taking risks that he would not normally do with anyone else aboard, the young pilot arrived in record time. Due to the lateness of the hour, he veered toward Josiah's anchorage for the Aesthetic, not surprised to find the older man waiting for him.

"Welcome, John Dunne," Josiah called down.

"I should be with Vengeance, guiding her out of the Sound into the Atlantic."

"Brewster knows what he's about."

JD winced. He forgot about Vin's second in command, serving as a pilot on Vengeance, operating out of New Berne to the Atlantic Ocean versus out of Ocracoke like JD. "I know that. I just forgot. Permission to come aboard?" When Josiah nodded, the young man secured his anchors between the two boats, jumping onto the Aesthetic's deck.

"What happened?" They continued off the Aesthetic onto the long dock, Sanchez leading the way with a hand on JD's shoulder.

"Vin got arrested on a warrant for someone else named Vincent Livingstone. We need to find the real Vincent Livingstone before the British hang Vin."

Josiah's expression darkened, motioning with a hand for JD to explain further.

"Rafe and Vin got into it, which is why Vin got arrested in the first place."

"What?" Josiah frowned. "JD, I think you should start at the beginning."

"Vin got arrested because he assaulted Rafe, a supposed Gentleman. What makes Rafe a Gentleman, and people like us not?"

"Because Rafe's father is a wealthy political power in North Carolina, with followers all over the Southern Colonies. His standing as brother-in-law to Virginia's governor, plus having the missionary ministry gives him standing. By extension, Rafe receives the benefits of his father's position in the social elite."

"It's not right."

"There's plenty of wrongs in the world we can fix, JD, and many we can't. We just have to pick the right wrong to right."

Chris arrived in the county seat, heading straight for the jail. What he found caused him considerable concern; there was no Vin, and a manhunt about to begin. No one would speak to him, other than to ask him to give up Vin's whereabouts. At least it was easy to convince them he had no knowledge, else why would he be here inquiring about him?

Where was Rafe? Why didn't he arrived first?

All he could do was wait for the rest of his plan to fall into place.

He hated waiting.

Part Four

Vengeance and Josiah's Aesthetic anchored in a secluded cove, one they scouted out during their many forays up and down the coast. Learning where to hide along with knowledge of the waters often proved invaluable when and if the British got close enough to chase them. JD rowed to shore, disguised in his masks, meeting up with one of their covert sympathizers, keeper of one of the many signal lanterns up and down the coast.

The schooner needed to know when to sail. It took too long for one courier to carry the information they needed, or to alert all the crew. Therefore, they implemented a relay system, putting a series of trusted persons along the ocean's edge with a prearranged system of codes. If the privateers needed alerting to something, the tenders would then light fires or wave lanterns to signal the next point until the signal reached the Vengeance in North Carolina. In order to keep the schooner's location hidden, the signals always went all the way up and down the line, well past her actual berth, keeping the signalers unaware of the ship's actual whereabouts.

"I have a horse waiting," the cloaked figure announced, hiding JD's small rowboat in the thick dune grasses growing along the shore.

"Many thanks," he replied, intentionally deepening his voice to disguise it. He mounted, taking off toward the county seat. Once he felt sure he was out of sight, he changed out of his Vengeance black and into the more familiar everyday wear of a ship's pilot. Using his training, he made good time with the sturdy horse provided him. Upon arrival, a few discreet questions located Chris in one of the inns.

His quick knock on the door caused the door nearly to fly open; he almost stepped back from the ferocious glare aimed at him. "It's me, Chr. . . err . . . uh, Mr. Larabee."

"Get in here." Chris grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him into the room and closing the door. "What news?"

"The crew's not too far away. They await your orders."

"I obtained a copy of the warrant. Find Vincent Livingstone." Chris passed the paper to JD. "You are our messenger. Vin never arrived, meaning he escaped somewhere between Vermenton's and here. Rafe never arrived either. Ezra's staying at Vermenton's. At the end of the weekend, he will be moving here as our point of contact."

"Yes, sir." JD knew Chris slipped into Captain Vengeance mode, one where he expected acknowledgements to his orders without question.

"Report back here once you drop off the warrant."

"Aye, aye." Dunne left as quickly as he arrived. His mind reeled with the news of both Vin and Rafe missing. His ride back to the cove, stopping only for a quick change back into Vengeance black clothing, went smoothly. So far, he counted himself lucky that he had encountered no patrols and fewer travelers along his journey. He never felt confident in making stories to cover his true purpose, and he had no desire to try to face a British patrol at this time. Arriving back at the cove, he ground tied the horse, rowing silently out to the schooner Vengeance.

"Permission to come aboard," JD called. He knew they were aware he was there; they waited until he got close enough for identification.

"Get up here, Rascal, 'fore I swing you from the mast." Rakehell, aka Buck Wilmington in his real life, yelled to the boatswain JD.

"Aye, aye." JD climbed quick and swift, his hands sure on the ropes bringing him aboard. A conference quickly formed in Chris's cabin, the largest spot on the schooner that afforded some privacy.

"Out with it," Rakehell ordered. "But keep your voice low. We need not have the rumors abound aboard."

"Cap'n Vengeance wants us to find this Vincent Livingstone." From inside his vest, he pulled out the wanted flyer. "Seems the Brits think that our Vin is this Vincent."

"Livingstone?" Raphael, aka Caballero on board, rubbed the back of his neck, his face hidden by the mask. "I know of a Vernon Livingston living in the Islands."

"There was a Livingstone in Georgia," Raven added. "It was one of the estates we checked when looking for my father." The ex-slave frowned as he tried to remember the exact location of the holding.

"Great," Rakehell swore. "That will take time."

"It will take at least a couple weeks to sail to the Islands and back," Josiah, aka Barrel, said to the assembled officers.

"We might have time," Rascal added. "It appears Vin escaped when they tried to transfer him to the county seat."

"That's our boy!" Rakehell whooped, though there was no cheer from the others as they thought of the consequences.

"There are search parties looking for Vin now," JD continued.

"If we could search both places we could save some time," Josiah noted. "Where's Rafe?"

"We don't know." JD paused noting the shocked faces of those around him. "He was supposed to meet Chris at the county seat. He was going to petition the Magistrate to drop the charges."

"The boy better not have taken off," Rakehell growled.

"He did not," Barrel was quick to defend Rafe. He knew the boy to be a hot head but he had a good heart. "Perhaps you should tell us the rest, Rascal."

"Yes, Rascal, but where's Morgan through all this?" Raven asked the younger man. "He should be helping."

"Cap'n has him staying at the Vermenton estate. He is staying with the horses, and covering for Chris Larabee's sudden departure. Also trying to stop any rumors and spread a few of our own, to cover Vin and Rafe once the charges are dropped."

"It gets so damn confusing with all the names," Rakehell muttered.

"You are only jealous because I do more honor to my name," Raphael pointed out.

"I live up to my name," Buck retorted.

Barrel interrupted what appeared to be a replay of a frequent argument. "If you both want to live to have a name, we best set sail."

"Do we go to Georgia first then the Islands?" Caballero asked.

"We should split up to save time," Barrel argued. "I can sail my Aesthetic for Georgia while you make haste to the Islands."

"Alone?" Rakehell blurted.

Barrel straightened to his full height and crossed his arms, shoulders squaring. "You think me unable to take care of myself?"

Rakehell shook his hands in front of him. "Never. But the warrant's for murder, not something stupid like disturbing the public peace."

The marine nodded. "I will take a few Marines with me. You will be in greater danger on the crossing."

"Best wind to us all," Raven murmured.

"Aye," Rakehell agreed. "Rascal, tell the captain our plans. Good luck says we will be back in two weeks time, he must stall if needed."

The young messenger nodded. "Tides are well enough you can leave now," he told them.

"I hadn't noticed," Rakehell dryly replied, cuffing Rascal on the side of the head. "We're only waiting for your lollygagging to finish."

"I'm off."

JD left the Vengeance, a part of his heart saddened he could not make the trip to the Caribbean with them.

Vin ached. Every part of his body screamed in agony. Trying to open his eyes, he found the task impossible. They felt heavy and swollen. What progress he gained, the small amount of light brought a wave of fresh pain, reminding him of bolts of lightening striking his eye directly into his brain. He closed the aching orbs, not wanting to aggravate them further. Darkness beckoned, but hazy shapes took form within his mind.

"Get up, you lazy lieabout," a familiar voice called to him.

"Jess?" Opening his eyes, he found himself back at the place where his life changed. But Jess was dead, wasn't he?

"You think you are a la-de-dah now? Wake with the sun's rise, not the hangabout at noon."

"Jess, you should not be here, it's not safe."

"I go where I wish," Jess interrupted. "'Tis you should be gone. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"But," Vin protested.

"Off with you, or 'tis trouble that redcoat will give ya. 'Tis me he wants; do not get in his way again."

"No." Vin shook his head. "But -"

"Go now!" Jess pushed him. "My lookout signals he comes."

"Be careful." Vin disappeared into the trees. He would do as his friend asked, but he would stay close. Fearing for his friend's safety, he had vowed to protect him.

He ran to gain a little distance, trying to stay away from those who hunted him. He was tired though and through, finally dropping to rest. A faint noise snapped him awake, to find himself in the middle of a nightmare. His enemy had found him.

"You cannot protect him; he will go where I say. You will not bother me again."

He could only blink in confusion and stare at the muzzle pointed between his eyes. He thought he blinked; he was not sure. All he knew is he was on the ground and his friend's body was covering him.

"NO!" he screamed.

A hand held him. He struggled and screamed again.

Rafe fought to hold the struggling man down, to prevent him from doing further damage to himself. "Vin . . . Vin . . . wake up."

The ill man finally ceased his struggles. Rafe could tell he was trying to open his swollen eyes, but he was not sure how aware Vin was of his surroundings. He spoke softly to reassure him, "T'was but a nightmare," Rafe comforted. "I swear you are safe here."

The pain was unrelenting, it would not allow him to catch his breath and make sense of what was happening. Where was Jess? He shook his head, seeing the flash of the nightmare in the darkness that called to him. "No."

"Vin, calm down," Rafe noted the man's breathing began to quicken, and the muscles tense as if to fight again.

"No," Vin sighed in despair. "No." He slumped on the bed. "No. . .he's dead. . .I killed him." The whispered words were barely mutterings, mostly to himself.

"What?"

He could not stop the words. "I killed him." Just admitting it drove the strength from his body; he allowed the darkness to take him back into its comforting, forgetting embrace.

Rafe stared at Vin Tanner half in shock. He knew the man ran a fever, illness setting in. Their differences aside, they worked together and he thought he knew the man, he did not believe the warrant to be true, but to hear the confession in the man's own words truly shocked him. No, Rafe berated himself. The man was ill, confused, and possibly recalling one of the sea battles they fought. Both of them killed during their duties aboard the Vengeance. He would be just as guilty. Much as he wanted to believe the worst, he refrained. He knew what it was like to be judged solely on half- truths; perhaps he could learn a little discretion instead of assuming the worst. What had assuming the worst gotten him so far? Trouble, that's what. His friend lay ill and confused, and he lost the respect of Chris Larabee and his other friends as well.

Rafe mentally slapped himself. He would not do this. He would make amends. To that end was caring for Vin's injuries. Looking down at the hurt man, he winced and wondered not for the first time how Vin escaped in this condition. The man's iron will, his strength of character, must have something to do with it. Rafe wished he had that strength of character. Nevertheless, he recognized that instead he often let his temper guide him, putting him in bad situations. Like now.

He tried to remove Vin's clothing to clean and check his injuries, but his ministrations only irritated Tanner, embroiling him in a constant battle to keep him calm. Feeling he was doing more harm and he might cause Vin to aggravate his injuries more, he stopped, settling for cleaning the wounds he could get to and trying to manage the fever by keeping cool clothes on Vin's forehead.

Rafe knew his administrations were futile; he was not a healer and Vin fought his care. He would not give up, but he did not see how he could make things better without help.

Chris paced his small room at the inn. He tried sitting at the pub or in the dining hall below stairs, but found it impossible to remain seemingly uncaring. It did not set well with him, not being in control. He acted his part with the Magistrate and the soldiers, showing only shock and disbelief at the warrant and their charges against his employee. Showing his outrage about delayed justice because of their ineptitude. Inside he did rage, and did find them inept. None of this should have happened, and with Vin's disappearance his fear grew. He felt things were worse than he knew deep in his bones.

The soldiers played their part too. Not totally believing his interest in seeing justice done, or wanting to show him they were still in charge despite his threats, they continued to harass him. Almost hourly, one of the British beat on his door and searched his room for any trace of Vin. As a Gentleman, this was not supposed to happen; but with the new laws passed by the Crown, along with the suspicion cast on him for hiring Vin, he had to endure these indignities.

So now, hidden from the ever-watchful eyes, he paced . . . and worried.

Ezra felt each hour pass with alarming speed. All too soon, this weekend would end, leaving him trying to salvage their reputations. The irony was his status as a merchant barely put him into the Gentleman category; yet it was up to him to save their good names and protect their covers. It was time for him to go to work. Standish went to stand and stretch from his chair in the veranda. He heard voices, causing him to still and sink deeper into the evening shadows.

Phineas Vermenton walked by talking to a man Ezra knew Vermenton competed with constantly.

"I am telling you, Bartholomew, Seagold will be a fine addition to my stables."

"That's Larabee's horse. You must have paid well for him."

"A pittance. The man's a fool."

Ezra's eyes narrowed. Vermenton got what he wanted, Seagold, and now he badmouthed the man who made it possible. Something must change. The merchant waited until the other men were gone until he stood. His canny mind made plans, while his heart continued to beat furiously with worry. He would never admit it to anyone else, not even himself, but he knew he had more to lose here than his good name. He could not let emotion deter him though; he had to stay alert. He did not acknowledge that what he did protected his own heart and mind from the thought he kept buried . . . that he might lose a friend.

Part Five

JD arrived back at Larabee's room, yanked inside almost as soon as he knocked. "They need you to stall," he reported without preamble, "because they must sail to the Islands."

"As long as Vin remains missing, stalling will not be hard," Chris remarked irritably.

"I hope we find him before the British," JD commented without thinking then cringed. He glanced at Chris and noted he did not seem to hear, just stood staring off at nothing. JD could only imagine what thoughts were running through the captain's mind.

Chris stared at the flickering shadows on the wall. "Why the Islands?"

"Raphael knows of a Livingstone living there," JD explained. "Josiah is sailing to Georgia. Nathan remembered the name from when he looked for his father."

"It still may be for naught," Chris sighed.

"Any word, sir? About Vin."

Chris shook his head.

"I could go look myself," JD suggested eagerly. "I will not have to check back at the rendezvous for five days yet. Vin was teaching me to track some; I might find some sign."

Smiling fondly at JD's eager face, Chris reluctantly shook his head. "No, JD. If I thought it would help, I would be out there myself. We cannot risk any more of us under British scrutiny."

"Yes, sir," JD agreed reluctantly. "I just need to do something."

Chris could well understand the youth's feelings, having spent the last day dampening his own urges to react. He reached out and squeezed JD's shoulder in support, "Ezra must be told."

"I'll ride now," JD said eagerly. "Any other orders, sir?"

"No. If Vermenton will put you up, stay there. If you hear nothing before then, meet me back here in three days; then you can check for the men from here. Now, we will get you a meal and decide on a spot I can leave you a message if I am not available."

Chris led JD out of his room, neither speaking more of the dangers and challenges still before them.

After a filling meal and ascertaining the message drop, JD took his leave, riding again through the night. He could tell the hour grew late by the positioning of the stars; but he doubted Ezra was in bed yet. It would be a matter of finding him quietly without raising a stir or give the entire estate more gossip. They could not help the servants talking; all he could do was minimizing what they learned.

Vermenton's estate beckoned him, the stillness of the night broken by the steady gait of his horse. He realized it would be a good idea to remain here for a few days. The poor loaned horse would not make another trip. JD chose to ride on the grass for discretion to the stable, nodding to the sleepy groom who staggered over on his arrival.

"You're back late," the boy muttered. "Larabee's party, right?"

"Yes," JD answered. "I'll tend my horse; find your bed."

"Many thanks. You'll find the Standish fellow playin' cards in the master's study. I can get my sister to run a message to him. She's married to the master's head butler."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"We haven't had this much excitement since two years ago," the boy answered with a grin. "Tend your horse; I'll have the Gentleman notified you're here."

"My thanks." JD led his horse to one of the empty stalls near the Larabee horses, waving the grooms sleeping outside the stalls back to sleep. He took care of his trusty companion, giving him extra oats for all the hard work. This was someone's everyday transportation, and he would take good care of him while he was in his care. Sailing he knew almost from instinct, and it earned his respect and place with the crew, but his association with Larabee also taught him about horses. His growing knowledge he welcomed and made use of daily. This horse was sound and sturdy enough to handle the numerous trips he might be forced to make, without being so flashy to draw attention. If he needed speed, he could readily take one of Larabee's stallions.

A voice startled him from his thoughts.

"You're supposed to come with me," the groom said.

Grabbing his saddlebag, he slung it over his shoulder and followed. "What's your name?"

"Silas."

"JD."

"Nice to meet someone that knows what he's doing with horses. You are to wait for Mr. Standish in his room. He said he would arrange a spot for you to sleep there for the night. He will join you once the game's finished, but it'll be late. It has been most these nights."

"I figured as much. Appreciate the help."

Silas waved him off, passing him to a butler once they reached the back of the house.

"If you'll follow me?" The butler led him up the back stairs to a well-apportioned room, much better than JD expected.

He settled on the pallet arranged for him, gratefully stretching out. Even though he willed himself to stay awake, he fell asleep quickly from his long day.

Rafe worried. Vin's fever grew stronger, burning the man up from the inside out. His skin heated the cool cloths faster than Rafe could replace them. Even worse, delirium set in.

The ramblings unsettled Rafe. He could not make a lot of sense of the disjointed remarks made by the fevered man, but what he heard disturbed him. Vin's first admission of possibly murdering a man was frightening enough to learn about, especially when he thought Tanner a peaceful soul. The later entreaties, thought, mixed with what sounded like pleas, pleas for someone to stop hurting him.

He always wondered about Vin's life. A man who could move freely among many of the tribes in the area, someone both at ease on land and at sea, yet filling the role of a quasi-Gentleman with little effort. Tanner cared not for class, treated everyone almost the same, and those deserving with a great deal of respect. If the cries he was hearing were true memories of the man's past, he wondered how Vin managed to survive so much.

"No. . . Stop . . . no more . . . please."

The painful cry made Rafe cringe. He knew the strong man before him had a lot of pride and fortitude. To think that he was once driven to plead in such a heartfelt manner drove a knife in Rafe's soul. His guilt now multiplied because not only had he brought new pain, he was the cause of the painful memories the man apparently relived.

Rafe tried to place another cool cloth across the much too warm forehead. Even weak with fever, the man fought even the barest touch. "No. . .leave me."

This was no good. He was doing all he could, yet he was fought on even his meager attempts to ease his pain. When he was able, Rafe checked the cabin and realized it had been some time since his father visited the area. The water supply was no problem, with a clear running creek behind the cabin. Firewood was in short supply though, and Rafe had only a bit of trail rations in his saddlebag. He would need so much more if he were to make sure Vin lived. He would need help.

It was time to fetch Chris. Rafe worried about leaving the ill man alone, but after a lengthy argument with himself, knew he had no choice. They were well off the beaten path, and if they weren't, Vin would only be helped into a jail cell and more than likely an early death. Finally assured he was doing what was best, Rafe moved quickly.

Wrapping Vin completely in damp, cold sheets, binding him to the bed, Rafe saddled his horse in record time. He rode hard and fast for town, only slowing when he knew he would encounter patrols. Thinking about where to find Chris, there was one logical place to start - the tavern; Larabee frequented them often enough. With Vin missing, there was no point to the blond loitering around the garrison or the courthouse. He only hoped Larabee was still in town and had not chosen to go back to the Vermenton estate. The one thing Rafe did not allow was to think of the reception he would receive from the Captain when he did find him.

Ezra stepped lightly over the sleeping body. His entire body ached from holding the same position at the card table. It took almost until the dawn to achieve his goal - the hand to end all hands. Lady Luck with her whimsy laid it on the line until the very last hand, the very last card, the very last bet. It exhausted him just thinking about it.

Another hour after the end of the hand, while the remainder of the male guests crawled to their beds, negotiations continued with ferocity, both parties leaving the table tired and drained.

Shaking off the memories, Standish sat heavily on the bed. "JD," Ezra said softly, stripping off his jacket.

"What huh?" Muffled by the pillow firmly planted over his head, pressing down on his nose, JD's voice sounded nasal and stuffed.

"Wake up."

"Don't wanna."

Since he could not fall asleep until he knew the latest updates on Vin, his tolerance for JD's grumbling stayed low. Taking a handful of water from his basin with his right hand, he lifted the pillow with his left and let fly. "I said wake up."

"Geez!" JD shot to his feet, falling over his pallet, his body crashing back to the ground. "You didn't need to do that."

"Orders from he whom I slave for?" Ezra pulled off his boots, wiggling his sock-covered toes in pleasure of the freedom. "And please, lower your voice, lest the roosters hear you and begin the day loudly."

"You mean Chris?" JD straightened himself out still trying to shake himself from sleep. "Vin's missing. . ."

"What?" Ezra had to fight to keep his own voice down after the startling news.

JD blinked for a minute before he realized Ezra was hearing the news for the first time. "Oh . . . Vin escaped on the way to the county seat. Embarrassed his majesties dragoons," JD allowed a smile. "They have search parties out, but there has been no sign of him."

"There wouldn't be," Ezra said, astonishment at the turn of events in his voice. "Mr. Tanner has always proved most resourceful. And our leader, how does he fare?"

"Like a caged wild animal." JD snorted. "Rafe never showed."

"What?" Again, Standish gaped at the unexpected news.

JD shook his head. "No word from him."

"Can we hope they are together?"

JD shrugged. "It bought us time. Chris obtained a copy of the warrant they claim is Vin. The others have sailed to search for the true culprit."

Ezra frowned. "A Herculean task I am sure. Any clues?"

"Most of the crew sailed for the Islands. Josiah is on his way to Georgia. It will take time."

"That we may be short of," Ezra was thoughtful. "Two. . .three weeks." His eyes closed, the events of the night playing behind his eyes. Could they stay here that long? Should they? Perhaps for a day or two they could remain here. "What did our captain suggest we do?"

"Hold here for now, if Vermenton is agreeable," JD relayed Chris's plans. "In case Vin makes his way back here, or Rafe. If we hear nothing, I will go back to check with Chris. He is counting on your magic to do what you can here about the gossip."

"As I have been," Ezra assured him. "Well, may I count on your assistance for the next few days? We will need to delay our departure with our host."

"I think the horse I rode will need a rest," JD said slowly. "He's sturdy, but not that sturdy for all the riding I did today."

"Of course," Ezra nodded in satisfaction, giving a broad yawn. "And for now I suggest we retire and discuss our plans further at a decent hour."

"A decent hour to you is late afternoon." JD smirked.

"Precisely. Now get some rest."

Chris sat in the inn's common room eating his midday meal, all the while ignoring the glares and suspicious glances of the redcoats. They searched his room again at seven this morning, with another visit at ten just to make sure he did not sleep well. It was not his fault they lost their prisoner, looking incompetent in the process. Everyone else gave him a wide berth suiting him just fine.

Checking the door each time it opened, this time his diligence received a reward in the form of Rafe Mosely. The young man ignored Chris, walking directly to the bar. Once he drank a glass of ale, he paid and left.

Curious, Chris finished his meal, waited for what he felt an appropriate amount of time, paid, and exited. He paused outside the inn, glancing up and down the street. Walking slowly toward the stables, he passed through the market when he spotted the familiar figure bartering at one of the stalls.

"Mr. Mosley, quite a surprise to see you here."

Rafe smiled as he turned to Chris and played up their chance meeting. "Mr. Larabee, how are you sir?"

"Fine. I thought you would be back in New Berne by this time."

Accepting the parcel of goods from the merchant and passing him a few coins, the young man turned to face Larabee. Although for the nearby public and those listening, the two were carrying on a polite and unexpected greeting, Rafe could read the hidden anger in the Captain's eyes. "I wish that I could," Rafe had no trouble speaking that truth, but his continence remained serious. "My father has been unable to travel of late, and asked that I check with some of his constituents. I found one family ill and in need of assistance. I am attempting to do as my father might wish to help all I can."

"As a dutiful son should do." The steel glare in Chris's eyes never wavered, knowing Rafe read it easily.

"I fear it may not be enough, or I may be too late." Rafe tried to relate his own message to Chris. "And you sir, have you settled your business and are you on your way home?"

"There are still some matters left to close." Chris looked around to see who might be listening. "I must travel back to Vermenton to complete my transactions there."

"May you conclude your business satisfactorily then, sir," Rafe tipped his hat and prepared to take his leave. "It was such a peaceful ride from the country. I found an especially restful spot with a thick grove of trees with a sizeable pond. I might have to travel back and invest in some property around here."

"Always a wise choice," Chris agreed. "Safe journey, and I hope we meet again soon."

"It would be my pleasure. Good day." Rafe turned and continued on his way, stopping at a few more vendors as he made his way back to the stables.

Chris turned and slowly made his way in the opposite direction, although inside he wanted to run and leave with Rafe in utmost haste. He had no doubt that Rafe knew Vin's whereabouts and that he was in trouble, as he feared. Instead, he remained calm and thought of a plan to keep the suspicious soldiers from following.

Making his way to the constabulary, he entered and found the sergeant.

"Sergeant," Chris greeted him tersely as they met.

"Mr. Larabee, do you bring news of your trainer?"

"No, I was about to ask if you had news," Chris lied.

"I assure you once the man is apprehended, I will summon you."

"Thank you," Chris acknowledged. "I cannot stay here any longer, however. I must conclude my affairs with Mr. Vermenton. I wanted to advise you to send a messenger there when you have news."

"Of course, sir," the sergeant agreed. "I might I remind you, sir, that it would be in your best interest if you encounter the man, to alert the authorities immediately."

"Certainly, I will do so." The lie fell easily off his lips as he imagined what he would really like to do to the offending British soldier.

Leaving the constable's office, he made sure to keep his walk leisurely back to his room. Along the way, he stopped at a few specialty shops to make some purchases he felt he might need. Once back at his room, he quickly packed his saddlebags and prepared a note to leave for JD at their prearranged spot. In the meantime, he relied on Standish's cunning to be able to cover for him at Vermenton's should someone be sent to check on him before he could relay the latest news. He settled his account with the innkeeper and hinted that he would be back a few days time and require the same lodgings.

As he made his way toward the stables, like Rafe, he took advantage of the market, making several more small purchases along the way. He figured gathering supplies for his trip would be expected, a cover for his true purpose. As he moved among the vendors, he thought more on young Mosley, and the arrogance he portrayed as he conducted his business earlier. His entire demeanor screamed Quality and not to stop him, allowing him to pass through the town without one redcoat questioning him.

He would give the kid respect for the way he handled himself, even though he caused this entire mess. Performing as he did, and keeping his cool, avoiding British scrutiny. At least it showed the young hothead did not always think with his temper first. If only he learned to control it more often, messes like this would not happen. Perhaps a good scrubbing with rags, no brushes, of Vengeance's decks might help knock some of the arrogance out of the whelp. He should let the old salts watch and give Mosely pointers.

Realizing he dawdled, he finished his purchases and made for the stables. His green eyes never missed the soldier escort he had, nor did he acknowledge he knew they followed him. He kept his pace leisurely and seemingly without hurried purpose.

At the stables he took his time preparing is mount, giving the black a quick brushing before placing his own gear, upon his back. Saddling Hades, he felt a surge of excitement. Again, he casually exchanged pleasantries with the stable master as he settled his bill with man. He also alerted him that he would return in a few days, possible with his full string of horses to board. Chris had no doubt the man would be questioned as soon as he departed. Leading the horse out to the main street, he mounted. He did not go through his usual routine of showing Hades he was boss. Once his weight landed on the black's back, Hades showed he earned his name.

Hades was not one to go without exercise, and was more than ready to make up for lost time. Even expecting the fight, the first rear nearly unseated him. For a half-second, Chris thought Hades allowed his rump to touch the ground to get that vertical. When the stallion went back on all fours with a bone-rattling thump, the back legs shot out, nearly spilling Chris off the front end. Allowing a brief show for those who watched, he uttered a few curses and mentioned a hard run was needed to settle the devil down.

He continued the show through town, noting the grinning soldiers and civilians that wisely chose to stay out of the eager horse's way. He kept appearances up as he cleared the town, making sure no soldiers meant to follow. Then with a verbal declaration, in case there were any spying unseen ears nearby, he gave the horse his head.

"All right boy, I will work the idleness out of you," Chris urged Hades into a fast gallop to the pond Rafe mentioned.

They met up under the shadows of canopy trees, Chris allowing Hades to rest and drink deeply.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"They beat him badly. His ribs, his face; much I could not see. A fever has developed and delirium set in. I did what I could, but I am not a healer. You have more experience than I in tending the injured from your sailing days, and I knew you wanted to see him. I did not want to leave him, but I did not see a choice."

"You did right. We must go before my watchers decide to check."

Rafe pointed the almost indiscernible path through the thickest part of the trees. "Follow the path straight until it forks. Take the right fork; go straight to the rock formation. Make no sound, for I will be behind you disguising our trail."

"You have experience?"

"More than I care to; my father forbade me socializing with the boys in the Indian villages. In order to learn how to take care of myself, I snuck away with the boys, learning everything they were willing to teach me." In the telling, Rafe realized it was another area of contention with Vin. While he had spent a great deal of time with the local tribes as his father conducted his missionary work, he thought he built his own rapport with them, yet he still received suspicion when with them. Whereas Tanner was often treated as a long lost brother, not receiving the same wary looks. He shook himself from dwelling on his jealousies, sadly knowing that this was possibly the root of his behavior toward Vin and not truly his sister's best interest as he often boasted. It made him feel more shameful and reinforced his guilt. He had much to make up for, and a limited opportunity in which to complete his reparation. Rafe looked to Chris for his reaction.

Chris accepted the explanation, nodding once before leading Hades down the path. He continued even though he did not hear Rafe behind him. At the rock formation, he turned to find Mosely carefully concealing their passage. Larabee found himself impressed despite his desire to hold his anger with the young man.

"Which way now?"

"We will make one wide loop around the cabin to be sure it has not been approached, then we will go in."

Much as he hated the waiting, it was necessary to be sure they did not lead the British right to the hiding place. "Where are we going?" Chris asked.

"My father's house of sin," Mosely retorted, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "He was in a bad way; I fear it will take some time for him to recover."

"The others are on their way to the Islands to find the true name on the warrant. They will need all the time we can give them."

Rafe looked away from Chris. "I apologize. Again."

"Get me to Vin, and we'll go from there."

It took a couple hours, Rafe exceptionally careful about making sure they left no trail to follow, but Chris followed without complaint. Upon their arrival at the cabin, Rafe took charge of the horses.

Handing his saddlebag to Chris, he declared, "Go on in, I will hide and tend the horses."

One look took the breath from him. Twisted and tangled in the sheet, the bruised and battered man did not resemble the friend Chris saw too few short days ago. His skin held a clammy, sheen under the window's meager light, his eyes deep purple and angry red where the skin split. His lips looked chapped and cracked. His hair hung in greasy strings. Just the heat in the room told Chris the fever was bad.

"Vin," he whispered.

His friend did not move.

Rafe entered. "How bad since I left him?"

Larabee's temper snapped. How dare Rafe ask how bad Vin was; it was obvious his friend was deathly ill. He wheeled on Mosely, forcibly picking him up and pressing him into the wall. "Bad enough I should thrash you into his condition for causing this mess. If you could have controlled your temper, you would have prevented this from happening."

"I know, I warned you," Rafe replied. "If it makes you feel better to beat me, go ahead."

Chris heard a moan behind him. Disgusted with himself for losing his temper and lecturing Rafe about controlling his, he let go of the other man, turning his back on him. "Fetch cold water."

Mosely left without another word.

The Aesthetic sailed better than the Vengeance marines believed possible by her appearance, all by not leaking, taking on water, or letting her lines tangling throughout the journey to Georgia. None of those on board wore masks, the Aesthetic still not connected with the Vengeance.

Josiah donned clothing he once gave up, dressing as a monk in order to gain cooperation from the locals. He planned to say that he had word of a distant relative and the Livingstone family members requested him to contact their kin before the patriarch passed away. Dressing as a monk gave him a certain credibility, along with a modicum of respect from all classes of society. More respect than a crazy sailor would get, and more Society doors should open for him in this guise.

It irritated Josiah in a way that he should have to go through such guises, especially in this Colony. Of all of the settlements, Georgia consisted of those who were not members of peerage in the home world, or publicly disgraced members of the ton and exiled for their missteps. Aside from the governor and a few in authority, the settlers came from the lower classes and those that would be considered the dregs of society, along with a larger military presence, as the Crown used the settlement of Georgia as its defense against Spanish invasion from the South. Josiah knew that even his disguise would not bode him well in all sectors, as the religious here were treated with suspicion and disdain, since many fled the persecution of their churches.

So it was here among those who one would think should be most tolerant for those without social standing that the opposite was true. Those given their second chance at life took and made their own rules for their version of society. As they progressed fast in building their new world, those truly successful in gaining property and wealth set out to prove that they were just as good if not better than those who had lorded it over them in their old world. It disheartened Josiah that this colony, though one of the smallest, held the most slaves. Part of him rejoiced Nathan rescued his own father from its clutches, leaving him bittersweet about the entire colony, and despairing about their future.

Following Nathan's general directions, they arrived in the county where he remembered hearing about the Livingstone family. A few discreet inquiries netted the location of the Livingstone Manor, a far distance away. Renting sturdy horses, he and the two marines he chose to accompany him rode the two days' journey for the Manor. They needed answers. Hopefully, they would obtain them.

Part Six

"Vin?" Chris called out first, armed with the experience of knowing to touch Vin without warning resulted in a swing, no matter how sick.

His friend moaned.

"Vin." He spoke up.

The entreaty only garnered another moan. Chris did not need to touch the ill man to feel the heat radiating off Tanner's body. His nose wrinkled as the stench of sweat and bodily waste generated from the bed. With gentle care that would surprise many who saw it, Chris began trying to check the various injuries. When he attempted to lift his friend's body to remove his shirt, it elicited another aching groan from the man. The pain the movement caused apparently brought Vin around as he began to writhe on the bed and absently bat away the hands that touched him.

"Vin?" Chris again tried to gage the man's awareness.

"No….leave me alone…..Jess?"

Chris felt his stomach lurch as realized the fever truly held his friend in its grasp and he was not aware of his surroundings. "Sh-h- h, Vin, it is Chris. I am here to help, let me check your injuries."

"No. . .leave." Even weak, Tanner put up a strong resistance.

As he continued to struggle, Vin suddenly gasped and started to cough. Soon he was gasping as if he could not get his breath, followed by the dry heaves. Larabee briefly despaired there was not much he could do, yet determined to do all he can for his friend's recovery. He gently rolled Vin to his side as the dry heaves continued, lightly rubbing his back and talking quietly in an effort to calm him down. He heard the rattle in Vin's chest from the congestion. Finally, Vin settled, or as Chris thought, more likely passed out from pain and exhaustion. Angry at this unnecessary illness, he threw the thin covering off and set about stripping off Vin's soiled layers of clothing.

Mosely reentered with two full buckets of water, setting them near Chris. Larabee took his anger and frustration out on the young man again to snap, "You didn't take his clothes off? Did you even check his injuries? He's burning up."

"He did not allow it," Rafe replied in a measured, factual tone of voice. "I feared hurting him further if he continued to fight me."

"Did he say anything when you found him?" Larabee was desperate to know how Tanner got in this condition. He concentrated on tending the wounded man, but in the back of his mind he wanted find those responsible and dispense some of his medicine, mostly with his fists.

Rafe shook his head as he tentatively moved up, began helping Larabee remove the torn, dirty clothing, and soiled bedding. "Not much. Just that he got out of the wagon over a bridge and hid from the soldiers in a creek until he felt safe to get away."

"Wonderful," Chris exclaimed, now knowing the congestion was not from any injury, but the after effects from being in chilled water for a length of time.

"Since we got here, he mostly called for someone named Jess, asking not to be hurt again."

Chris kept his face averted. He did not want to see the questions in Rafe's eyes, nor did he want to try to provide answers. He was afraid he did not know them all himself. "We will need fresh bedding. Do you have more?"

"Yes," Rafe said simply, instinctively knowing he must wait to satisfy his curiosity. He moved to the long, low chest at the end of the bed. Lifting the lid, he reached in and pulled out several more sheets, a blanket, and one of his father's nightshirts. He returned to the side of the bed just as Larabee finished removing the last of Vin's clothing, including the ever present kerchief. Rafe gasped at the evidence of a scar around the trainer's neck. It was faded, but one side was obviously worse, a glaring reminder of some hell the injured man had been through.

"Look hard, Rafe, at British street justice," Chris said without turning around as he continued to try to clean the fevered body as quickly as possible. "Soldiers tried to hang him."

"Related to the warrant?"

"No," Chris hissed in his Captain Vengeance voice. Chris briefly thought back to their first meeting. He knew if he had not already hated the British with a passion, he would have after the stories he heard. "We will speak of this later, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Rafe responded immediately, placing the sheets to the side as he moved to help Larabee.

Using cold water and torn cloths, Chris bathed Vin's body. His fingers gentled around the ribs, along the knotted bruises on the thighs, and blotted the swollen flesh on Vin's face.

"What more can I do?" asked Rafe.

"Fetch more water."

"Yes, sir."

"Hold."

Rafe turned back to Chris.

"How far to the stream?"

"A few steps," Rafe replied.

"We'll submerge him. The fever's too high. Help me." The two men hefted Vin, carrying him out the door and to the stream. Setting the fevered man beside the stream, Chris stripped off his boots and down to his long underwear. He eased into the cool water. "Help me get him in the water." Chris directed. Mosely carefully helped Larabee ease Tanner into the water, then assisted him in helping hold Vin until they were sitting securely on the bottom.

Vin moaned and thrashed a bit as he was immersed into the cold water, but he stilled as Chris squeezed tight and whispered a few quiet words.

After seeing the two men secure, Rafe backed out of the water, seemingly unaware of his own soaked clothing. "What else can I do?"

Chris wanted to ask if Rafe did not believe he had done enough, but the blond stopped himself. He wanted to flay Rafe, either verbally or physically, for causing this entire problem, but too many people already lost their tempers to unfortunate results. Yelling at Rafe reminded him of kicking a puppy; the younger man tried to correct his mistakes, paid for good care for Vin which fell through, finally bringing Vin here to hide out from the search parties. All Chris could do was let Rafe continue his efforts to redeem himself and give him a second chance.

"The bedding will need to be changed before we move him back in," Chris stated, securing his grasp again as Vin started to thrash again.

Rafe nodded and started to move back toward the cabin.

"Rafe."

Rafe turned back toward the captain.

"If you have dry clothes, you might wish to change." Chris smothered a smile as saw the younger man's expression when he noticed his sodden attire. More seriously, he warned, "I don't need you coming down with a chill, too."

"Yes, sir." Mosely moved quickly to do his Captain's bidding.

Cold seeped into his body. He craved warmth, yet something held him. Vin struggled, trying his best to get free, yet he could not.

"Vin, stop it. We're trying to break the fever."

He knew that voice - that familiar voice - it belonged to a friend. He stopped fighting for a moment. Awareness came slowly. "Chris?" he asked weakly.

"That's right, Vin." Larabee breathed a sigh of relief, realizing the fever was losing its grip. "Just stay calm; let us take care of you."

Just hearing that voice allowed him to quit resisting. He was safe, just like the last time. Chris would take care of him. A stray thought crossed his mind before he allowed the warmth of darkness to embrace him again - Chris was an insufferable nurse.

After Rafe had turned the bedding and remade it with fresh sheets, he returned to the creek and helped Larabee carry the ill man back to the cabin. Rafe held Vin up while Larabee bound his ribs. They rubbed liniment into the deeper bruises, cleaned the various cuts, and bandaged the more serious wounds, including the one on the side of his head, just inside his hairline. Finally, they left him resting, lying slightly raised on the pillow to aid his breathing.

Chris took some of the water near the fire and cleaned himself as he changed his own clothes. Rafe brought in more firewood, stoked the fire, and made them a meager supper as they settled in to watch over their friend.

Afternoon turned into evening, which turned into night. Vin slumbered on, his fever still causing him to thrash in his sleep, and call out in his confused state of mind.

Tired green eyes watched every movement with worry. "Rafe."

"Yes, sir?"

"Tomorrow morning, first light, you need to ride to Vermenton's. Change in plans." Chris outlined what he wanted Rafe to do.

Morning broke and Rafe wasted no time riding to Vermenton's estate. He found Ezra still a guest. "Mr. Standish," he greeted. "Mr. Vermenton."

"Mr. Mosely. Have they apprehended Mr. Larabee's trainer yet?" Vermenton asked, passing the younger man tea.

"They still search."

"Do you believe he will return here?"

"I assured Mr. Vermenton that would not happen," Ezra said dryly.

"I am very confident Mr. Tanner will find refuge elsewhere. I am surprised, Mr. Standish, to find you still enjoying Mr. Vermenton's gracious hospitality. I have never known you to forgo your business for such a length of time."

"Ah but I am on business." Standish grinned broadly, completely in his element. "Mr. Vermenton has an interest in Mr. Larabee's horses, specifically a mare requiring services. Since Mr. Larabee also provided me with negotiation rights, I will be staying here until the completion of the transaction. Perhaps a week or two."

"More like three," Phineas said. "I welcome the entertainment. Mr. Mosely, you are more than welcome also."

"Mr. Larabee asked me a personal favor of relaying messages from yourself and Mr. Standish to him in the county seat," Rafe replied. "If that will not be a problem?"

"Absolutely not." Phineas smiled. "What about Mr. Larabee's pilot? Has he not been performing this duty?"

"Yes, sir, he has. However, Mr. Larabee now feels it might be best to send Master Dunne to contact Magistrate Travis. He wants to protect his interests. I'm sure you understand." Mosely used some of his natural arrogance to convey his message.

"Absolutely. I would do the same if I were him."

"That said, Mr. Larabee requested I pass on instructions to his pilot in the event that you proved to be an understanding host. He said he would be more than willing to compensate you for your trouble, and thanks you for your graciousness." Mosely nearly choked on the words, but if Vermenton let Ezra and the horses stay, their plan might work.

"I appreciate Mr. Larabee's concern."

It was not until almost an hour later that Rafe and Ezra got a moment alone, speaking quickly and quietly. JD was found and sent on his way.

Throughout the day, Chris continued to bathe Vin with cold cloths, praying for the fever to either stop climbing or break. He listened to the raspy breathing and the painful coughs, finally doing something he rarely saw fit to do, something he abstained from since the tragedy tearing his life to shreds. He prayed.

Every so often Vin would cry out. Like Rafe, Chris cringed when he listened to the man's desperate pleas, frustrated his comfort at times was not enough to shake Vin from his delirium. It saddened him to think that the friend he knew with so much pride in himself was forced so low. During the worst moments, Chris could do nothing but try to soothe him as best he could. He would freshen the cool clothes, speak softly and thankfully, Vin would settle down.

Toward evening, Vin seemed to be resting easier. Chris managed getting a few sips of water into him. Larabee thought his tired mind might be playing tricks on him, but the man felt cooler; he fervently hoped so.

As Chris sat watching his patient and thinking over his plans, he felt his own eyes grow heavy. He finally gave up and fell asleep.

Josiah and his marines found the Livingstone estate with little trouble, and by pushing, reached it faster than predicted. The holding was of a modest size and though Sanchez noted the buildings were sturdy, many were in need of repair. The disappointment came when he found he would be unable to find answers right away.

The overseer of the property was a stern faced man, as tall as he and almost as broad. He advised Josiah that the owners were not in residence, and he could not or would not elaborate further. He saw to the upkeep of the property and kept the field hands in line, just what he was paid to do. Any answers Sanchez sought would have to be handled through the family's attorney, the lawyer located in Savannah on the coast.

Josiah cursed their luck that they wasted the trip inland for naught. After resting their horses and receiving a modest meal from the overseer in a reluctant gesture of hospitality, they prepared to leave.

Sanchez walked to the outhouse. His mind enjoyed the long path snaking through the woods, but not the smell when he neared, he heard a voice.

"Mista."

He stopped, finding a young man concealed all but his eyes behind a large tree. "Yes, my son?" His hands clasped and disappeared within the folds of his robe, giving him what he believed a less threatening appearance.

"They say you lookin' fer the massa."

"Yes, I am. Can you help me?" He looked the man directly in the eye, giving him respect, no matter the man's obvious status as a slave.

"Me and my family, we're lookin' ta get outta here. Overseer's a cruel man, beats us, takes our women."

Josiah lowered his eyes. "May God have mercy on his soul, for His final reckoning will be fierce."

"Praise be to God, but I'm lookin' fer somethin' a little quicker. If yer lookin' fer the boys, find the younger one - Massa Vincent."

"There are two boys?" Josiah tilted his head in confusion, keeping his voice low and non-threatening.

"Aye, Massa Vincent and Massa Vernon. Massa Vincent's the good boy, always did right by his mother, God rest her soul."

Josiah's mind reeled; they thought the name on the warrant was fictitious and now he learned there was actually a Vincent Livingstone. "I thought there is a warrant on Vincent, not Vernon."

The slave scoffed. "A mistake. Lemme tell ya, Mista, the whole truth about Massa Vernon and Massa Vincent."

After spending ten minutes listening and asking questions, Josiah headed for Savannah with a lighter heart. He also made a promise to himself to do what he could for Ezekiah and his family, seeing if they could be rescued from the Livingstone estate.

Vengeance caught a tail wind, sending her sails flying to the Islands. A sense of purpose kept the ship sailing even when they should have anchored and hid. They passed two British man o'wars at a distance, a confiscated Stewart James merchant flag hiding their identity. Their flying jib remained concealed.

Reaching the Islands in record time, they set about finding one Vernon Livingstone. Sending members of the crew ashore, they discreetly learned where to locate him.

In the dead of night, men dressed in black, armed to the teeth, the Marines minus their leader, but not his ever-constant training, stealthily stormed the estate. They snatched Vernon Livingstone from his bed, carrying him gagged and knocked unconscious to the ship. They were under way before the light of dawn crossed the horizon.

"He awake yet?" Rakehell called.

"Getting there, Senor," Caballero answered. "Unless he is accustomed to the lack of blood to his brain."

"With a sissy name like Vernon Livingstone, I have no doubt brainless and stupid qualifies." Rakehell walked over to the man hanging upside down from one of the spars, dangling three feet from the deck on a long rope. He reached over and spun the man in a hard circle.

"Ooohhhhhh," the captive cried. "What?" He waved his arms, sending him into a hard spiral. His feet, anchoring him by the thick ropes binding his legs together, did not move, but the rest of his body twisted in crazy loops. "God help me! Bring me a priest!"

"He's awake," Caballero announced. The Spaniard put out a hand to stop the swaying, but not the twisting. "We have no padre, senor, I will however, be happy to hear you repent your sins."

"I have done no crimes! I will pay you to leg me go! Release me, and you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams!"

"The perro Rake begs better when sniffing a woman's skirts than this fool," Caballero said, disgust lining his tone. He laughed when the other man in black, a mask covering his face, punched his shoulder.

"Let me go!"

"You know a Vincent Livingstone?" Rake asked.

"No!"

"He's lying." A man in the deepest, darkest black - Raven to his shipmates - held a dangerously long dagger aloft, all while staring into the man's eyes. "Let me cut him. He will speak the truth then."

"Hell, I just wanted to beat him," Rakehell muttered to Caballero.

"Vincent Livingstone." Raven ran the knife along the man's leg. "Truth or cut, you decide."

"I know him. He killed my mother and father!"

"LIAR!" Caballero roared. "Drop him."

On command, the rope dropped, Vernon Livingstone stopping only scant inches from the hard deck planking.

Vernon screamed. "I'll tell you nothing!"

"Sissy wet himself," Rakehell complained. "We're gonna have to scrub the decks because of him."

"Pull him up," Caballero ordered.

Vernon shot up again, this time stopping with his head four feet from the deck.

"He's gettin' heavy, sir!" one of the sailors yelled. "Might we ask for assistance, mayhap a break?"

Raven motioned with his hand.

Vernon plunged to the deck again, his scream echoing on the water. He gasped. "If this is about the warrant, the authorities won't come to the Islands for me. They have no proof I did it!"

"Hello, Vincent," Rakehell said. His masked mouth showed teeth pulled into a grin.

"I am not Vincent! You have no charges on me," Vernon continued to scream.

Caballero crouched beside Livingstone. "We are not the authorities. You are aboard the Vengeance, not a navy ship."

"Vengeance, the pirate ship? What do pirates want with me? Money? I can give it to you by the bucket. Property? I have estates all over the Colonies."

Caballero slapped him once across the face.

"Since you offer so nicely, we will take your money. I am sure you have much to pay recompense. You will go to the authorities…when we're done with you."

"Tell me, young Ver-non," Rake drawled the name out as he leaned in close to the prisoner and whispered evilly, "Do you believe in hell?"

Josiah arrived in Savannah, once again he and his marines pushing their horses for speed. His arrival at the law offices of Nagle & Sons brought a raised eyebrow from the clerk. A few moments in the posh waiting room, and Sanchez received an escort into a large ornate office.

Balding and portly, the attorney pushed his glasses up his nose and stood. "Hello, Brother Josiah. I am Sampson Nagle."

"May the Lord bless you," Josiah replied. "Thank you for taking the time to see me."

"Please, be seated." Nagle waved him to a chair.

"My thanks." Sanchez lowered himself into the seat with the ease of long practice, his robes not interfering in the least.

"What can I do for you? My clerk told me of your interest in the Livingstone estate."

Taking a long, hard look at the attorney, Josiah decided to trust him with the truth. "Yes. I have received word from one of those I provide spiritual counseling for, that one of the Livingstone family has been arrested." He did not mention that Chris, aka Captain Vengeance, was the one that asked him to find the real Vincent Livingstone, or that he did, upon rare occasion, provide counsel for Larabee.

"Oh, no! Not Vernon." Nagle's hand reached for his handkerchief, cleaning his glasses.

"Vernon? No, Vincent Livingstone."

"Vincent? There is no Vincent Livingstone. There was a Vincent Tanner. He never used the last name of Livingstone. Are you familiar with Mr. Tanner? I have been searching for him."

"As I said, I only received word through the man I counsel. I hesitate to break his confidence, but he considers Mr. Tanner a friend. Apparently the authorities believe Mr. Tanner to be this Vincent Livingstone."

"Where?"

"Some distance away," Josiah hedged. He wanted to be honest, or appear so, hoping to gain helpful information, but he did not want to put Vin in more danger should Nagle prove false.

"Brother Josiah, let us not mince words." Nagle clasped his hands in front of him atop his desk. "Vincent Livingstone, or Vincent Tanner, stands accused of a horrible crime. The Livingstone family, in order to protect their interests, retained me and I must hold this resolve. There are those who consider my profession corrupt and look unkindly upon it, but I believe in the laws. We need them to maintain order in a civilized society; I do my part in that process, honestly I might add. However, personally, I feel the warrant issued was in error, but I cannot prove any different, no matter how much I wish. Though there are some that may be bought, the Magistrate here is fair-minded, and judges only on the facts as they are presented."

"What can you tell me about the warrant?" Josiah leaned forward a bit, inviting confidences. He kept his voice warm and welcoming, a voice that served him well.

"Only what the oldest son, Vernon, was able to tell us. He blames everything on his younger brother, Vincent. Said that his father and brother were fighting, it was a common occurrence, but apparently, this one became violent. There was no one available to confirm the story but Vernon, and he could not, or said he could not remember what happened. He had a head wound, you understand, said he fell down the stairs, or was pushed. The next morning the servants found Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone murdered, Vernon unconscious and many items in the house missing as well as Vincent. The local authorities could never locate Vincent. Therefore, Vernon's less than clear accountings of the occurrences of that night are all we have to go by, as well as the possibly guilty disappearance of Vincent."

"You sound unsure."

Nagle sighed, obviously uncomfortable discussing the matter. In his mind though, this man was a priest and he felt by unloading some of his thoughts on matter it would lighten the burden he had carried all this time. He was ashamed of himself that he had not done more to find Vincent. Nor did he protest enough when the warrant was signed when in his heart he felt it was for the wrong brother.

"I do not know what became of Vincent, but I can not believe him capable of killing, not in cold blood," Nagle finally blurted. "The boy did fight his father, tis true. Much of that was personal and of matters he did not understand. I begged John Livingstone to tell all to him but he refused, based on a promise. Vernon, however, I never knew a more evil soul. Probably Elaine's doing; she was a vain and selfish soul. Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but it was true. Much of Vernon's greed and mistreatment of the servants he learned by her hand; otherwise you would never believe the two were sired from the same loins. Elaine ignored Vincent unless it was for punishment."

"But you need proof?"

Nagle nodded. "Yes, I am afraid that is all that will allow justice to be served."

"Would it interest you to know that some of the slaves know what happened? That they were threatened with grievous physical harm if they talked?"

"It would indeed. Who threatened them?"

"Another witness who did not want to come forward in fear of losing his own job, or his life. The overseer."

"We must get the sheriff!" Nagle leapt from his seat, straightening his coat and crossing the room in brisk steps. "Please come, Brother Josiah. I have control of the estate in Vernon Livingstone's absence, and I will not be put off any longer. This matter will finally be put right."

"After you," Josiah motioned.

Over two weeks passed in the cabin. For Chris, it was days of worry and fatigue. As he directed the others to various duties as they worked to find information that would clear Vin of any charges, he struggled to fight for Vin's life. For the first week, it was a fierce battle to control the fever. It was a fight to get the man to take any liquids, either water or the teas he tried in an effort to clear his congestion and lower his temperature. Finally, the stubborn fever did break. It turned into a struggle to listen to his friend's harsh coughing as Vin cleared his lungs in nature's way. Chris was in a constant conflict with his own emotions as he watched the once strong man, fall as week as a newborn lamb. He knew if Vin was fully aware, that it would eat at Tanner's pride to know how weak and dependant he was for even his bodily functions. Now, after two long weeks, Vin rested more, taking more nourishment, and slowly growing stronger every day.

Chris smirked as he heard the man move, and Larabee mumbled under his breath, "and twice as ornery, too."

"I wanna get up, Larabee." Vin's raspy, weak voice broke through the near-silence of the cabin.

"Tough."

"Ya ain't stoppin' me."

"If you can stand without wobbling for ten seconds, I will walk you to the horses and back."

"I ain't yer dog." Vin pushed himself to his feet. He stayed on them, albeit wobbly, leaning his calves against the bed for support. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five."

"You can count."

"Six. Seven. Aw, hell." Vin fell back onto the bed, his legs giving out on him.

"We're here for at least another two weeks. Get used to it."

"Go t'hell, Larabee."

"Already there. Nice of you to join me."

The next week was more unpleasant; the thrice weekly visits from JD and Rafe to bring supplies and news the only break in each other's company. In addition to the weakness left by the fever, the pain of the broken ribs, aggravated with every cough or move, Vin also suffered from the blows to his head. He endured bouts of confusion, not remembering things told to him minutes, hours, or days earlier, and with the bouts, fierce headaches usually followed. It grew frustrating for all involved.

"What did you say the name on that warrant was?" Vin asked.

"Vincent Livingstone," Chris answered for what he was sure the fifth time.

"I ain't no Livingstone," Tanner replied; he could never understand why people kept trying to make him one.

"I know."

"Lived with 'em for awhile."

"What?" This was new; Chris almost dumped himself out of the chair.

"Back when my ma was indentured. See, my ma and pa sold themselves as indentured servants to earn their passage over. Pa died on the way to the Colonies, leaving Ma ta raise me alone and work off the contract. Livingstone bought the contract. Worked for 'em when Ma died ta pay off the rest."

"You never told me any of this."

"Ya never asked." Vin leaned back in the bed. "I think I best rest now."

Chris wanted to either throttle or beat Vin. Either would give him great pleasure. The two men were friends, but in truth, Chris knew very little about Tanner's past. Over the last year or so, he learned a bit more, but only in the small amounts was willing to feed him. Since his illness, Tanner picked up the habit of giving a tidbit of information about his past, then falling asleep. When asked later, he forgot what he said or did not remember the conversation. Larabee thought it was just Tanner's way irritating him as payback for what he considered - and loudly pronounced - as insufferable nursing skills.

Sheriff Terryson led the way to the Livingstone estate. He cornered the overseer, Daniel Smith, in his quarters on the property. Sampson Nagle and Josiah stood off to the side.

"You want to tell me what happened that night?" Terryson asked.

"Which night, Sheriff?"

"The night of the killings, Mr. Smith."

"I didn't see nothin', I told you that," he replied.

"Brother, I feel that you are burdened with falsehoods. They press down upon your soul, each day growing heavier and heavier. The promotion you received tastes sour in your mouth." Josiah stepped forward, holding his hands out in supplication. "Lord, grant this man your wisdom, grant him the strength to break his bonds of silence, to lift this weight from his shoulders. Do not smite him for hiding from justice, do not cast the plague upon him for holding his tongue -"

"Stop!" Daniel Smith yelled. "Enough! Vernon killed his parents. I sent Vincent away that night because Vernon tried to kill him. I found Vernon cuttin' Vincent's cinch before the younger's nightly ride. Vernon saw me and sliced the horse instead. He ran ta the house, leaving me tending the horse."

"You said nothing of this to me before," the sheriff said. "Why now?"

"Because I never had a job such as this, and. . . Well . . . Vernon threatened to kill me if I told. He's held it over me ever since. But no matter what, my mother, God rest her soul, was born, raised, and died a Catholic. I'm dishonorin' her memory if I lie in front of a man devoted to God." Tears glistened in Smith's eyes. "Let me finish the telling, Sheriff. Mr. Nagle, you do what you must when I'm done."

They nodded.

"When I finished tendin' the horse, Vincent came in the stable. He'd been fightin' with Vernon, been beaten again. Vernon was always beating up on Vincent, 'specially since he was littler. Boys weren't more than a couple years apart, but Vincent was the smaller of the two, and did not seem too keen on hurtin' others." Smith wiped his brow with his handkerchief. "He came in carryin' a bag, said he were leavin' fer good, didn't care what Mr. Livingstone wanted. I said nothin', just gave him a horse. Knew that boy might get hurt more iffen he stayed."

"Where did he go?" Sheriff Terryson asked.

"I did not know, and I did not care," Smith answered. "When I went up to the house to tell Mr. Livingstone what I caught Vernon doing, I heard yellin'. Got a little closer," Smith closed his eyes at the memory, "I'll never forget what I saw."

"What does he know?" Rakehell asked as the meeting gathered in the Captain's cabin, attended by Rakehell, Raven, and Caballero. "I'm sick of looking at charts wondering what's happening above decks."

"Ah, but not having you there gave us leverage," Caballero reminded him. "He did not know what you could or would do."'

Rakehell threw down the map case in frustration.

"I learned he screams like a girl," Raven replied. "Never saw a man so scared of a knife when it's put on his skin."

"I ain't talking about his sissy habits, or his vapors. Is he or is he not the man named on that warrant?"

"He is," Caballero confirmed. "They were his parents; his father was about to disinherit him."

"Money." Rakehell shook his head. "So he did the robbery, too."

"Aye," Raven answered. "To cast suspicion on his brother, Vincent," he paused anticipating the effect his next words would have, "Tanner Livingstone."

"Hell's bells!" Rakehell yelled.

"I reacted the same," Raven added. "But it's true, and Vin does not know it."

"Did you get a confession?"

"We will," Raven promised. "Once we're through with him, he will wish to be in British custody."

"Just leave enough to tell the Magistrate the truth."

"Aye, and he will forget about us," Caballero grinned, "lest he truly meet with our vengeance."

Vengeance anchored off shore, well hidden in a sheltered cove. A group of anxious men rowed their subdued prisoner ashore, meeting up with Rafe/Peacock, Ezra/Morgan, and JD/Rascal, who received notification through the signalmen and reached at the Vermenton estate.

"This him?" asked Rascal, taking in the cowering, blindfolded man before him.

"Yup," Rakehell answered. He reached down, pulled the prisoner up, giving him a punch for good measure. "He'll be quiet for you now. Tanner?"

"Officially still among the missing," Morgan offered. "Did you learn anything?"

"Plenty."

The men secured their prisoner, moving off to make their plans. They needed to get Vernon to the Magistrate without knowledge of their involvement. JD voiced some concern that Vernon would not confess once free of their control. Those aboard the schooner during the return trip with the man assured their associates that Livingstone was correct in believing - and strongly encouraged to continue thinking - he was safer among the British than meeting Vengeance should he cross them. Satisfied, they continued discussing their options. Feeling they covered all problems, Standish set off to make his contacts.

Ezra, Rafe, and JD presented themselves at the county seat jail, a few days later. The three, accustomed to unusual situations, managed to mask their surprise as Josiah, dressed fully in his monk's robes, accompanied by a man they were unfamiliar with, receive friendly escort from the Magistrate's office while they waited for an audience.

As the Magistrate shook hands with the men when saw them out the door, he turned to the three. "I understand you men wish to see me on a matter of some importance?"

"Yes, sir," Ezra bowed slightly in greeting to the judge. "If we may impose, we believe it truly is a matter of someone's life or death."

"Well then, join me." The Magistrate waved them toward his recently vacated office. Once inside, he closed the door and moved around to sit behind his expansive desk. "Now Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"I understand your soldiers located Vincent Livingstone?" Ezra prompted.

A brief hint of surprise flashed across the judge's face before it closed to a look of question. "A popular prisoner to be sure; those two men were just here also for Mr. Livingstone. We do have a man in custody, which does not resemble the description on the warrant, but claims to be the perpetrator."

"Then we may have some more news," Ezra began, but Rafe cut him off.

"Magistrate," Rafe spoke up anxiously. "My name is Rafe Mosely. We met at the debutante ball a month ago?"

"I remember. We discussed the harsh penalties of the law for some time. In truth, our talk was the main reason I chose to see you." Magistrate Tyler clasped his hands on his ample stomach, leaning back in his chair.

"I wish to clear up an unfortunate matter."

"This would be in regards to the prisoner?"

Rafe looked embarrassed. "Not quite sir, but some relation to the circumstances. It seems I caused an innocent man to be arrested and subsequently it was believed he was the man on the warrant."

"Ah," the Magistrate leaned forward and shuffled through the papers before him. "This would be the horse trainer . . . a Vin Tanner?

Mosely nodded, "Yes, sir. May I ask that charges be dropped?"

"May I ask why?"

Rafe looked even more embarrassed and shuffled his feet as he looked down, hesitating a moment before answering. "It seems, sir, I was the cause of a gross misunderstanding. I am acquainted with Mr. Tanner and have had a long-standing difference of opinion . . . of a friendly nature," Rafe was quick to assure the judge. "I'm afraid that night, I was a bit into my cups and. . . Well . . . I behaved most ungentlemanly. It pains me to admit it, but I confronted him, provoked him. It was I who attacked him; all he did was to defend himself against my drunkenness."

"I see." The Magistrate frowned in thought. "The report says you were on the ground and Tanner was standing over you, beating you."

"No!" Rafe fairly shouted, then quieted. "I am sorry, sir. With respect, I do not believe that is true." Rafe hung his head as in regret. "As I said, I believe it was I who tried to strike Mr. Tanner. In doing so, I lost my balance and he tried to support me, but I pulled him down. What your soldier's saw was not Mr. Tanner trying to hurt me, but allowing me the chance to recover my control. It was unfortunate that Mr. Dunne here charged over, startling him, causing him to react. I truly do not wish to press charges against the man."

"Nor do I," JD piped up.

"Interesting," the Magistrate sat back and studied the three.

In the tense silence, Ezra spoke up, "Sir, I have also come across some information which may help clear up the matter of the warrant. Vin Tanner is not the one named."

"Yes, yes," the judge waved his hand. "That matter has already been cleared. As I said, the man in custody has confessed and those two men provided supporting evidence in the matter. Very tragic, but it cleared up many untruths."

The three men managed to hold their surprise and delight, working hard at not showing their smiles.

"Well, then," Standish smiled. "May we hope you will find favor with Mr. Mosely's request?"

"I know his employer; Mr. Larabee is a respected member of the Colonies, as are you. I also feel he would not employ a wanton miscreant. I feel no good would be served by taking action against a man who only did what you or I would do in the same situation. However, as for the escape from custody, I cannot turn a blind eye."

Ezra spoke up. "Sir, I have received information that Mr. Larabee's horse trainer suffered a beating while in custody."

"So you know his whereabouts then?"

It was Ezra's turn to look shamefaced but stared back at the Magistrate with confidence. "Yes, sir. I do. He is prepared to turn himself in to the mercy of the court; however, before he did so I believed it was in his best interest . . . and yours . . . that these extenuating circumstances come forward first. We live in troubled times, Magistrate. Our working class citizens already show signs of unrest. How much more would it cause and how much more faith would they lose in British justice if they discovered that a false arrest resulted in prisoner abuse? Why, I would not find it hard to believe that the horse trainer escaped to survive, especially in light of the statement I have from the sergeant who witnessed the aftereffects of such a beating."

Magistrate Tyler considered. He stared hard at Ezra as he thought about the situation. This altercation that was not truly an altercation, more of a series of errors, was such a small matter to trifle with; the capture of the fugitive for robbery and murder, especially with holdings all over the Colonies, was a lucrative bonus for his career. He smiled. "I will need to speak with this horse trainer and the sergeant. If such a beating occurred, and I have no doubt that it did, then the escape would be considered self- preservation. I could excuse that as well."

"Thank you sir," Ezra bowed again. "Your consideration will be noted. I must say when word of your fairness and the news of the capture of a murderer and robber, removed from polite Society spreads . . . you and your soldiers will look quite good to the local residents. They will be proud they are so well protected by such capable lawmen."

JD held in a snicker and Rafe managed not to roll his eyes, as Ezra stood before the Magistrate smiling broadly.

The Magistrate smiled knowingly at the businessman before him. "I see your point, Mr. Standish. And may I say, you have more than earned your reputation as a wise negotiator."

"Thank you sir," Standish saluted the man with two fingers.

"The sergeant's outside," Rafe offered. "We hoped for your immediate attention to this matter."

Shaking his head the Magistrate held in a laugh, "Bring him in, we will indeed get this matter over with."

It took two more weeks before Vin was well enough to travel to make his own appearance before Magistrate Tyler. It was long enough for the astounding rumors to spread. Once he heard he was a free man again - at least in this area - he showed up at the garrison to receive his official apology from the sergeant.

His next visit was to see Vernon Livingstone, who refused to allow him to visit. Leaving the garrison, he still held a number of questions. Since he was still suffering from some confusion and headaches, although it was with less frequency, none of his friends would tell him the full story of how they won his freedom. They found Ezra and Josiah at the local inn, quickly joining them to share some ale. Josiah enjoyed the full plate of food sitting before him.

"Welcome to the sweet air of freedom," Ezra remarked. "And back to the roster of honored company. Or should I say infamous?" A single eyebrow quirked.

"Shut up, Ezra," Vin snapped, a slight quirk to his lips to show his humor at the situation.

"He will be included on the must-invite lists back home," Ezra said to Josiah.

"Of course he will," Josiah replied.

"I ain't no Gentleman," Vin retorted.

The others shared knowing glances that Tanner did not notice.

Tanner looked around the room. "Where's JD?"

"Back on the ship with the horses. We're going to depart for home soon," Chris said. "We've both had enough of each other, and they need their own stables to unwind."

"And you, Josiah?" asked Vin. "What are your plans?"

"I intend to stay around and be available if needed."

"You're welcome at my place," Chris offered.

"I just might take you up on that." He gave speculative looks at both Chris and Vin.

"Mr. Tanner, might I inquire something of you?"

"What?" Vin looked at Ezra.

"Why did you hide after leaving Livingstone's estate? You knew nothing of the warrant on you."

"Weren't hidin'; just left." Vin shrugged.

"And how did you come to live with the Livingstones?" Ezra asked as Chris glared at him. Secretly, Larabee admitted he wanted to hear the story from Vin's point of view, but knew if pushed too hard, the trainer would not respond. He was astounded by the facts the crew presented to him though, and could not believe Vin had kept it all a secret.

Tanner leaned back in his chair and sighed. "My pa wanted a better life. The only way he could see to get it, was here in the Colonies and they only way ta get here was to sell themselves them into indenture fer a few years. He only did what he thought was his only choice." Vin shook his head. "My pa died on the voyage over, leavin' my ma pregnant with me. When they landed in the Colonies the cap'n told her she still owed passage fer both her and my pa, even though he died. Cap'n sold her papers, and ended up charging for me, too."

"A deplorable business practice," Ezra said.

"Strong statement for you," Chris remarked.

"A woman cannot help her indelicate state, nor should she be penalized during the long journey because of it. Even I have my limits," Ezra sniffed. "Getting back to you, Mr. Tanner, will you continue your tale?"

"Reckon there's not much more to it. Ma, worked at the Livingstones' different places all over the Georgia and Virginia Colonies, movin' every couple of years. Mr. Livingstone took a shine ta me, I remember when I was little he would bring me things, but Ma didn't like him being around me much."

"And what happened to your mother?" Josiah asked.

Vin shrugged, "Guess I was 'bout six or so. She took a real bad fever." Vin's voice dropped off and he sat looking sadly into his ale.

"Who cared for you then?" Ezra asked.

Vin frowned in thought. "Mr. Livingstone. He took me in said bein' little I could work in the house."

"He kept you as a slave?" Ezra was astounded. He was aware Vin had never been told of his circumstances, but still found it hard to believe he was treated so unjustly.

Vin shrugged and answered matter of factly, "Still owed on the contract."

"But that was a lot to put on the shoulders of a child," Josiah commented.

"Weren't bad," Vin continued. "Mr. Livingstone was nice enough. Like I said he treated me kind, better than his son. That was the trouble. Mrs. Livingstone did not hold much with me and Vernon, hated kids I guess, always pickin' fights and sayin' I didn't belong there."

"What happened to make you leave?" Chris asked, his eyes imploring Vin to continue his story.

"Just got tired of it." Vin did not want to comment on the treatment he received at the hands of the mistress of the house and her son. It was in the past; as far as he was concerned, forgotten. His friends' knowing now would not help him and in his opinion, only make them pity him, which he would not allow. "They were all fightin' with Mr. Livingstone 'cause he wanted to send me for schoolin'. It caused even more problems with Vernon. We had a big fight one night and I decided that was enough." Vin stopped and thought a moment. "Guess if I stayed I could have stopped him."

"I don't think so son," a new voice said from behind them.

"Brother Sampson, welcome." Josiah stood, bringing over a chair. "Please, join us. Have you met Mr. Larabee and Mr. Standish? Mr. Tanner?"

"A pleasure to meet you," Ezra said.

Chris inclined his head.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Nagle nodded his head in greeting and turned to Vin who was staring at him hard. "Vincent, do you remember me?"

Vin frowned, "Weren't ya the attorney fer the Livingstone family?" Vin shifted back in his seat.

"Yes, that is correct and I have been looking for you. There are some matters we need to clear up." Nagle sat down in the chair offered.

"You goin' to take me back?" Apprehension filled Vin at the appearance of the new arrival.

"What?" Nagle asked confused.

"The contract," Vin stated, "About the time I still owe."

Nagle looked at the other three men, confused for a moment, before he realized that Vin was still not aware of the truth about his past.

"No; that is one of the matters we must clear up."

"Ain't sure it matters much to me." Vin stated and started to rise until he felt the firm pressure of Larabee's hand on his arm to hold him in his seat.

"You need to hear what he has to say, Vin."

Vin looked around the table at his friends. He realized then that there was something they knew he did not, and it had something to do with this man.

"Please, I have wanted to settle this for some time. Please allow me this opportunity."

"Get ta it," Vin warned. Again, he felt Chris shifting into protective mode, one he recognized all too well from his enforced closeness during his illness.

"With these revelations, once the accuracy of the facts is established, you will be the sole heir of the Livingstone holdings, Mr. Tanner. Mr. Livingstone recognized you as his heir before his premature death, and I drew up the will and papers stating such. Unfortunately, I left the country soon after that transaction. Upon his death, the old will, which was produced by Vernon, was the one filed, since no one knew about the new will. With the warrant outstanding, until I could prove otherwise, I could not in good conscience come forward with the new will. Now I can. You are a Gentleman, sir, and a wealthy one at that."

"That's a lot of hot air yer blowin', Mr. Nagle."

"Truth, Mr. Tanner, all truth. It will take a couple months for this situation to be resolved. Until then, may I contact you at Mr. Larabee's?"

"Of course," Chris said before Vin answered. "Please keep us informed."

"You will have a choice, Mr. Tanner, whether or not to accept the status according you. My instructions were clear - your father felt you deserved the choice, and that the wealth would always be available for you regardless of your decision."

"My father?"

Nagle realized his mistake.

It was not a mistake as such, but again the young man was still in the dark about the truth.

He softened his voice. "I am sorry; it was not meant for you to find out in such an abrupt manner."

"You talkin' crazy," Vin snarled. "My father died before I was born. I'm leavin' so I don't have ta hear this."

Chris held tight. "Sit."

"I ain't that sick, Larabee."

"You don't know everything yet," the blond told him. "Are you willing to be a coward and walk out, or will you be a man and listen?" Chris let go.

"Go t'hell."

"Your choice. Your pride so big you can't hear something you may not like?"

Furious, Vin sat back down. "I ain't a coward. I'll listen."

Nagle looked to the other men for some support. They too were at a loss at how to help Vin assimilate the astounding news. "I am afraid your mother told you your father died to protect you."

Vin stared at the man, wanting him to take the words back. Then he looked around the table at his friends and realized they knew too. He stared at Chris, confused, feeling hurt and angry.

"You knew," Vin accused. His fury had a target - the insufferable nurse, a man who was supposed to be his friend, yet he knew something so important about his life and did not tell him. How could someone claim to be a friend and keep that friend in the dark? It was like lying. "You didn't say a word, just pretended bein' my friend."

"We just found out ourselves," Chris explained.

"It is the truth, Vin," Josiah confirmed. "God strike me dead if we are lying. We all just found out within weeks of each other."

Vin looked back to the lawyer. "My mother would not lie to me."

Nagle winced. "There is much honor in a mother protecting her child. Your mother did so, and I respect her for that. I will not dishonor her memory, I give you my word. Will you hear me out?" The lawyer asked, seeing the ever-present desire to run in the trainer's eyes.

Vin looked warily at the man but nodded in agreement, unsure if his legs were sturdy enough to carry him far anyway.

"It is true, your mother was sold to John Livingstone to pay off a created massive debt. Unfair to say the least," Nagle commented on the circumstances. "John Livingstone never meant to mistreat your mother: however, he was quiet taken with her as she was quite beautiful. Eventually he offered her a choice - either submit to him and minus the debt for the man you considered your father, or she would owe for all three, and be sold that way to someone more cruel than him."

Vin felt his anger rise; Nagle, upon seeing it hastened, to explain.

"It was a false threat, your fath…John…would not have carried it out. As I stated, he adored your mother. And I believe she soon learned how much he cared for her, she used it to her advantage."

Vin started to rise with clenched fists, perceiving the man was insulting his mother. "How could a man that claimed ta adore my ma threaten ta sell her?"

Nagle waved his hand. "I mean no offense. She was a very strong woman, and knew how to survive. She did what she had to and to protect you."

Tanner settled for the moment, but was still unsure if he liked what he was hearing. "How can a man ya say adored my ma threaten her like that?"

"He threatened her to hold onto her. You remember Elaine Livingstone; theirs was a loveless, arranged marriage. He wanted his happiness, and thought he could give her joy."

"Why'd she put up with it?"

"He never mistreated her. John threatened her, but he never followed through once she agreed. He romanced her the best way he could, but she refused to allow him to put her up as his mistress. She received the lightest duties in the house, decent pay, good quarters, and favored status. "It was not long before she found herself pregnant," the lawyer continued.

"With me?" Vin asked, shocked at the negative shake of Nagle's head.

"No, with Vernon."

Vin thought he was ill again. He definitely felt sick and found it hard to breathe; the shock was so great. Absently, he felt the supportive hand on his shoulder and knew that Larabee was offering his help.

"That ain't right," Vin declared, not wanting to believe the story being woven. "Ma told me she was pregnant with me when she arrived at the Colonies and my pa died on the voyage over."

Nagle looked sad. "I cannot speak of her reasoning for the stories she told." He held up a hand, sensing the angry man before him was ready to pounce. "Except as I stated her desire to protect you. Perhaps she wished to protect herself, a bit of the dream she and your father carried with them when they took the voyage to this unknown world. She was pregnant when she arrived here."

There were several indrawn breaths of shock among the four men sitting around the table.

"What hap. . .," Vin stammered but could not get the words out.

"I did not know her then, but John told me she lost the baby. It was not long after he acquired her contract. I know he felt guilty at first, but I think the spirit, the strength she showed is also a part of what drew him to her."

"So she lies with a man who threatens her," Vin spat, the world he knew spinning in turmoil.

"Vin." Josiah was afraid where Tanner's thoughts were taking him.

"No." Vin shook off the comforting hand. "If Vernon was my brother, why did I not know? Why did he not live with us?" Vin was sure he would catch the lawyer in a lie.

Nagle was almost apologetic. "It is not uncommon for the social elite to claim the children of their mistresses."

The lawyer did not mean to be unkind; he was only stating the facts as he saw them, but it was still a slap in the face to here him speak of his mother in such a way. "How…wh…" Vin wasn't sure what to say.

"John was very happy. You see, it was a well-known fact Elaine could not have children. They tried for years. Moreover, when a son was born, it did not take much persuasion to get Elaine to accept the child and raise it as her own, removing the stigma from her own name. Your mother agreed, albeit reluctantly, and in truth what choice did she have? Any other man, in similar circumstances, has the right to do with his children as he wishes; the woman has no voice. At least she felt with John her son would have the life her husband and she dreamed of for their children."

"And Mr. Tanner?" Ezra asked. All the men hung on every word of the story.

"After Vernon's birth, Elaine demanded that John sell your mother away and have nothing more to do with her; she recognized the threat she posed. Of course, he could not do it, for he was in love with your mother. He would never go through the scandal of a divorce, especially not to marry an indentured servant. She refused the public mantle of mistress."

"Yes," Ezra drawled, "Appearances are everything."

Nagle chuckled but continued. "Instead John moved your mother to a remote property he owned and made her in charge of her own home, a quiet place where the world could not judge her, giving her the privacy she craved. She was quite happy there, but soon found herself expecting you. By this time, she realized her power over John and used it to her full advantage. I also believe she developed a certain fondness for John, as he did her. She demanded that Elaine was not to acknowledge you in anyway. She gave up one son and would not do so to another. John enjoyed seeing her happy, so gave into her wishes, allowing her to give you the name of her husband. It did not keep him from continuing to visit her or seeing you and bringing you gifts."

Vin realized all his youthful memories now made sense to his adult mind. But he still had trouble taking it all in. "I can not believe you."

"It is true, Vin," Josiah stated.

Vin turned startled eyes in Sanchez's direction.

"I was sent to the Livingstone estate to find information to help free you," Josiah reminded him. "I have heard stories from the overseer and some of the older slaves that back up Mr. Nagle's account. And we found the birth certificates still at the estate."

"So I am a bastard," Vin muttered. His mind reeled with the revelations.

"A rich, recognized bastard, accorded the status of Gentleman," Ezra corrected.

"I can't listen ta no more," he said. "Need some air." Vin walked out of the tavern without looking back. He felt Larabee behind him. "Get away, Chris. Thanks fer all yer help. I'm fine, I ain't weak, just need ta be alone."

"You also need to be careful," Chris said in a low voice. "There's still the other matter."

"That is hell, ain't it," Vin snorted. "Seem to have a problem with families. My friend Jess gets killed by his own brother and he framed me for it; now I find out I have a brother….who just happened to kill my father and framed me for it. What does that say fer me?"

"Vin," Chris reached out, but the trainer batted the hand away.

"I will be okay Chris, just need time." And Vin walked off leaving a very frustrated Larabee behind.

Vin wandered around for awhile, avoiding as many people as he could. His mind whirled with then newfound revelations. In his heart, he did not want to believe any of it, but as he tried to piece together what he was told and his fragmented childhood memories, he saw the truth. There was one thing he needed to do before he allowed himself to truly accept it though.

He made his way to the garrison. Where before he dreaded entering the place, afraid he might not leave alive, now he faced it with determination, filled with hope he might put pieces of his heart and soul back together. He knew Vernon would refuse to see him again, but the Magistrate, knowing the sordid details now, understood Vin's necessity.

It wasn't long before he was led back to the cell and left alone with the prisoner. He stood staring at the man now standing, his glare heated and aimed squarely into his eyes. Now that Vin knew the truth, he could see the slight resemblance though the man in the cell was several inches taller then he. There were the other points that various people had pointed out before when he was younger and did not understand the significance. Now, Vernon Livingstone no longer wore the finery, nor the clean scent of freedom. Jail stench took over, itchy wool garments his clothing now.

"Vernon," Vin greeted.

"So you think you won now, whelp," Vernon sneered.

Vin's brow crinkled. "I never knew there was a contest."

"He liked you better," the man snarled, spittle flying from his lips. "He never stayed around after you were born, always gone with her. When he was there, nothing I did was ever good enough."

"I weren't good enough either," Vin reasoned. "He did not bring me ta live with him 'til Ma died."

"You were the lucky one," Vernon stated. When Vin did not answer Vernon laughed. "You lived with Elaine, do you think she played the doting mother on me? She put up with me because he bade her. You knew how adept she was at punishing without leaving marks where he could see."

"So you killed them."

"Yes, I - killed - them," Vernon emphasized. "They made my life hell. My so-called mother did not know what to do. First she would smother me, give me anything I wanted. Thought it was because she loved me; she did not know the word. It was for me to do her bidding. When she had no use of me . . . well, you remember. And 'our' father. He could not bear to be with her, so he could not stand to be near me, nor could he see fit to take me with him. All I wanted was for him to acknowledge me, call me his son with pride. He never could, and then to end it all he left you everything. A favorite son." Vernon laughed. "A favorite bastard."

"Why was I never told?" Vin wasn't really asking Vernon, figuring the man would not answer. He was just voicing his own thoughts allowed, wondering why he had been kept in the dark for so long.

"It was worse after he brought you to live with us. You were so pathetic," Vernon could not resist taking a jab at the younger man. "Whining for your mother." He stepped up the bars and gripped them as he continued. "Mother did not know about you either. She was hysterical with anger. I am surprised the whole county did not hear her diatribe that night. Your mother . . . the whore . . . made him promise she could keep you."

"Do not call her that," Vin growled.

"Why not?" Vernon challenged. "It is what she was. Instead of money to get what she wanted, she used her sons."

Rage fueled Vin, making him grab for the man between the bars, but Vernon stepped back out of the way.

Vernon laughed. "Tell me, bro-ther, you had to know the old man was your father. Especially after he brought you to the house. All he gave you. He was sending you to school; if we had been in England you would have been sent into the service. The adored, the prodigal son."

"I was told I there to finish workin', ta pay off Ma's passage."

Vernon laughed even harder. "You fool. He only told you that to hold you there."

"I was seven when he explained that ta me. A kid don't know better."

"I am surprised." Vernon looked Vin up and down with distain. "You outshined me in everything from the day he brought you home. If I hoped to gain his favor, it was futile after that black day. That last night, he told me I was out of the will. He was going to recognize you as his heir. Said I was not worth the Livingstone name or the estates."

"And you were not," Vin stated. "You killed them."

"Yes," Vernon hissed and stepped up at to bars and glared with hatred at Vin. "And you want to know something lit-tle bro-ther. If our whore of a mother would have been alive, or I found you, I would have killed her and you too."

Vin matched his brother's glare with one of his own, fury facing fury, hate with hate. He wanted to feel the life leave Vernon as he choked the breath out of him. He wanted to give him a murder worthy of a killer, a man without morals, scruples, or a reason to keep breathing. The emotions rolled through him, along with the surprise he could control himself, not attack him. Further thought made him believe he was numb, and really did not know how he should feel. Too much information, too much news at one time, he needed to get away from here. It dawned on him he was not numb, that Vernon was not worth his time; his life now too far removed from that old one to hurt him any more.

"Short trip down the rope, brother." Vin turned and stormed out of the jail.

Vin stood at the rail and tried to let the usual calmness he felt when sailing settle over him. This day, though, the ocean offered no help for his tangled emotions. The gentle roll of the waves, nor the call of the sea birds, nor the brilliant array of colors splashed across the sky as the sunset could find him peace.

At the forefront of his thoughts was his mother, the thought that she had lied to him. In his mind, all he could hear was her voice, 'Remember you are a Tanner'. He scoffed. What did that mean? Now he knew he had no claim to the name other than her wish.

There was the matter of the property he was supposed to inherit, property that included slaves, a practice he abhorred. At least he thought he could free them. With a gleeful thought, he imagined setting the holding on fire to clear them of their stench, hoping it would perhaps settle the fires unsettling his own soul. He laughed, thinking of the horrified expression that would leave on Standish's face. How could he be a Livingstone? Why would he want to be?

As the breeze rustled through his hair, he went over his last questions again. His mother's voice came back to him again, 'Remember you are a Tanner'. It suddenly dawned on him. Perhaps that is what she was trying to tell him. Maybe he was better than a Livingstone. Or at least she wanted him to be. He knew it was going to take a great deal more pondering before he was satisfied with his answers, and then he wondered if he would ever find peace again.

"You all right?"

Vin turned to the tall blond man beside him and gave him a small half smile. "Should I be?"

"It is plenty to take in."

Vin nodded. "Master of the obvious, Larabee."

"You're a Gentleman. Should I kiss your feet?" Larabee joked.

"Bite me, ya la-de-dah."

"Says the man in the mirror," Chris retorted. "You're in for some teasing," he warned, pleased to see some of Vin's humor return. "Knowing that you're now a Gentlemen like myself, Rafe, and Ezra…" Chris trailed off.

"Aw, hell. Shoot me now."

"Nope. I worked too hard to save your butt. Will you accept your inheritance and take a place in Society?"

"I have ta think about it. I ain't gonna rush."

"I guess it will really test your pride, past, and class to change so much."

"Reckon so. Like I ain't been through enough yet. Ya never did tell me if I said anythin' while I was fevered."

Chris looked and Vin and smiled, then he turned a walked back toward the foredeck, totally ignoring the calls behind him.

"Larabee?. . .Larabee, ya do not play fair."

Rafe accepted the envelope with equal parts dread and glee. He looked up at Vin and smiled hesitantly. Over the few weeks they had returned to New Berne, they had held several talks. Rafe continued to apologize and told Vin he knew he had a lot to learn, especially about controlling his temper. They talked about Claire, the Indians' acceptance, the suspicion, and the warrant. Rafe was surprised and pleased that Vin trusted him with the information; or at least it was a sign of his forgiveness as was the envelope he now held. It still rankled that Tanner refused to take him to Claire, but he would be satisfied with the letter the horse trainer relayed, for a time. Now, he held the response in his hands and perhaps some answers of his own.

Shaking fingers opened the missive, his sister's feminine swirled script familiar to him and bringing tears to his eyes.

My dearest brother,

I know this has been difficult on you. It was a difficult transition for me, but now I am happier beyond my wildest imaginings. I have a husband, Chanu, whom you should remember meeting. He thinks well of you for trying to protect me so fiercely, but believes that is his job now as my husband. His hope is for you to learn to put aside the anger, the temper you received as your birthright from Father in order to bring harmony back to your life, and eventually back into ours.

I have grown so much here that I am finally my own person, not the little church mouse I once was. I can never go back to that life, to Father, and I hope you understand that. I need you too, because I want to have you in my life again, even if we can only correspond. Please trust Vin to know how to contact me; he believes my safety is as important as you do.

Hoping to hear from you soon, With All My Love,

Claire

Ezra handed Seagold's reins to Chris when they unloaded the ship, having hidden the stallion from Larabee's eyes to spring this surprise.

"I thought he was forfeit," Chris said, rubbing the horse's nose in greeting, ducking the bite out of long practice.

"Mr. Vermenton needs to learn how to play cards. In exchange for lessons, he returned Seagold after using him for stud service. I figured you would prefer a horse that performed than no horse at all."

"You thought right." Chris clapped his friend on the back, giving an extra squeeze on the shoulder. "I owe you."

"Please, Mr. Larabee, do not make a scene. We are of different classes, not to mention the fee I will charge you."

"Like class or money matters."

"I hoped you would say that. Let me share my ideas."

Chris groaned while Vin laughed, the trainer removing Seagold to allow the two "Gentlemen" to talk business privately. He had a feeling it would be a long talk. Not everything about being a Gentleman was pleasant.

END