Jessica didn’t answer but took off running, following the masked man’s trail of dust. Abigail pulled her skirts to her knees, praying that her mother or the church deacons wouldn’t see her, then followed Jessica.
They stopped at Ben Sampson’s house. There were six British soldiers holding muskets on Ben.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben lied, and the sweat pouring off his face in spite of the cool evening air gave him away.
“Open up in the name of John Pitman, the king’s agent,” one of the soldiers said, raising his musket higher.
“Where’s the man in black?” Abigail whispered.
Jessica listened to the sounds of the town and the evening. “There,” she whispered, directing her glance toward the trees behind Ben’s house. She saw a movement then grabbed Abby’s plump arm and pulled her to the safety of the porch of the house across the street. They had just reached safety when all hell broke loose.
The masked man rode toward the soldiers, a weighted fishing net spreading behind him. The element of surprise was on his side, for the soldiers and Ben all stopped to gawk at him. The masked rider flung the net over four of the soldiers, then pulled a pistol on the other two. About the rider’s belt was an arsenal of weapons. Instinctively, the men who weren’t ensnared in the net dropped their muskets. The trapped ones still had their guns, but their hands were struggling with the net rather than with triggers.
“No man from Warbrooke has tea that hasn’t been declared,” the man on the horse said. He spoke with an odd accent, not quite English, not quite like the people whose families had been in America for generations.
Abigail looked at Jess and started to say something in protest, but Jess shook her head.
“Go back to your master and tell him that if he falsely accuses again, he’ll have to answer to the Raider.” He tossed the lead line of the net to one of the soldiers. “Take them back.”
The man who called himself the Raider rode past Ben and the soldiers, the horse’s hoofs striking very close to their legs.
As he rode past Abigail and Jessica standing on their high perch of the porch, he reined his horse sharply and looked at them.
Even with the mask covering the upper half of his face and the tricorn pulled low, he was a handsome man. Piercing black eyes were fiercely alive behind the silk mask and below it was a sensual, full mouth with finely chiseled lips. His black silk shirt, black pants and boots clung to his broad-shouldered, muscular body.
Abigail gave a heartfelt sigh and nearly swooned under the Raider’s gaze. She would have fallen if Jess hadn’t caught her beneath the arm and held her upright.
The Raider’s lips stretched into a smile, not a grin, but a smile of such sweetness and knowing that Jess had to hold onto Abby with added strength.
Still smiling, the Raider leaned forward, put his big hand behind Abby’s neck and kissed her long and sensually.
By now the soldiers and Ben had almost forgotten the reason for the Raider’s appearance. He appealed to their sense of romance and, besides, it meant nothing to the homesick soldiers whether or not they found tea in Ben Sampson’s cellar. Here was a masked man dressed in black, charging about the country and kissing the pretty girls.
They applauded when the Raider kissed Mistress Abigail, then held their breath when he turned to Mistress Jessica—the woman who’d haunted every man’s dreams but had laughed in the faces of all of them.
Jessica was astonished at the look in the eye of this man who called himself the Raider when he released Abigail. Did he think she was as
foolish as Abigail, who drooled over every man who paid her a compliment?
As the Raider leaned forward, as if he meant to kiss her also, Jessica leaned backward. She couldn’t move too far as she was still holding Abby upright. “Don’t you touch me,” she hissed at the man.
She wasn’t prepared for the change in his eyes. It was almost as if he hated her.
One minute she was standing on the porch, supporting a half-fainting Abigail, and the next she was being pulled across the Raider’s saddle. The pommel hit her in the stomach painfully just as she heard Abigail hit the floor of the porch. She also heard the deafening sound of laughter from the soldiers and Ben. Doors up and down the street began slamming as people came outside, leaving their dinner tables, to see what the commotion was.
They were greeted by the sight of a man dressed in black with a black face mask, on a black horse, riding down the street with what had to be Mistress Jessica, bottom end up, across the saddle. He was followed by a parade of four soldiers with a net half over their bodies and making no attempt to escape, their net being pulled by two more soldiers, and all of whom were laughing heartily. The soldiers were followed by Ben Sampson, who was supporting a limp-limbed Abigail Wentworth. Down the road, the townspeople saw Mrs. Sampson and her two oldest boys removing crates from their cellar.
No one had any idea what was going on, but they joined the laughter when the masked man dumped Jessica Taggert in a tub of dirty washwater that Mistress Coffin had slovenly left overnight.
Jessica looked up, blinking from the washwater in her face.
“Please apologize for me to Mistress Coffin for ruining her wash,” the Raider called over his shoulder before kicking his horse and disappearing down the street.
Jessica’s ears were ringing with the people’s laughter as she struggled to get out of the tub. She tried to keep her head up but it wasn’t easy. She was sure every person in Warbrooke was in the street now and watching her.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted herself out of the tub, knowing that her sailor’s clothes clung to her body and gave the people all around her more reason to laugh.
Out of nowhere, Nathaniel appeared and took her hand. Dear, sweet Nathaniel, she thought and regretted all the times she’d threatened to kill him for his mischief.