Moonlight Rebel Read Online Free Page A

you need to go back—"
    Back, oh yes, Krystyna thought. Take us back. Now.
    " — I come into the harbor about once every six months. We can work something out."
    Count Stefan nodded gravely. "I hope that we will be in need of your services soon." A sheepish look came to his face, and Krystyna thought that, just for a moment, he looked youthful again. "Can you tell me what day of the month this is? I'm afraid I have lost track. My brother was to be here on the twenty-seventh."
    "If he was, then he had a long wait ahead of him. We're off schedule." The captain shrugged carelessly. "It's the thirty-first"
    Krystyna saw her father's expression grow grave. She was about to slip her arm through his, then thought better of it. A more manly gesture would be to put a hand on his shoulder. Even though the trip was over, she would go on with her charade until they were alone again. One never knew.
    "We can hire a carriage," she suggested.
    Stefan turned toward her, and she saw the helpless frustration in his gray eyes. "But I'm not sure where the plantation is or how to get to it."
    "Surely someone—" Krystyna began.
    "Begging your pardon, sir, was someone to meet you?"
    The voice came from behind them. Krystyna turned abruptly, startled by the intrusion. The tall first mate stood so close to her that she felt his breath against her skin. The look in his eyes frightened her, but she thought probably everyone in this strange place would frighten her.
    Stefan was immediately suspicious of the man's offer to help. But he had to trust someone sometime, and he needed to reach Jan as soon as possible. After a moment's debate, he nodded. "My brother. But I fear that he was not able to wait for us to arrive."
    The redheaded man gave them an easy smile that lazily curled about his thin lips. "Shouldn't be any problem. I've a friend who's meeting me at the harbor. He lives just down the road and can see the ships come in. If the price is right, I'm sure he can arrange for you and your son to get to wherever it is you want to go."
    "That is very kind of you." The Count's words were measured and formal.
    The thin shoulders shrugged beneath the heavy woolen jacket that had seen better years. "Can't have new folks stranded in the middle of the night. Hard enough being strangers without being lost, too. I'll come for you before I leave." He turned and walked away.
    Stefan stared after him in silence, wondering if he had been wrong to trust the man. Lately, he was afraid to trust anyone. It was a horrid way to live. In truth, it was like living inside the hand of death, waiting for the fingers to tighten and close. It would have been trying for anyone, and at his age, it was almost impossible to bear.
    The first mate wasn't long in getting back to them. Jovial, gregarious, he kept up a steady stream of conversation as he retrieved their trunk for them and brought it down the gangplank. Krystyna felt guilty for not trusting him, yet she couldn't quite let herself be pulled in by his warm, friendly voice. He looked up at her as he set the trunk down on the dock, and his bold gaze alarmed her.
    He knows, she thought suddenly. Somehow, he knew who she was, what she was. She would wager her soul on it.
    She couldn't wait to be rid of him.
    Krystyna walked quickly behind her father. There was a great deal of hustling on the docks. The sounds and smells were completely foreign to her, and the low-hanging fog made everything wet with its mist. The scents of wet wool, wood, rotting food, and sweat were everywhere, making it hard for her to breathe. Her first taste of America was even worse than she had anticipated.
    Although he knew it was futile to hope, Stefan searched the fog-enshrouded dock area for his brother's face. He finally turned away, disappointed. Jan wasn't there, and no one had come in his place. Only sailors. What had gone wrong?
    Krystyna looked at her father as they stood on the dock. She could see that he was concerned and strongly anxious.