Rebel Song Read online

  “Don’t be rash,” Donal said. “You can’t make military decisions on a hunch. Or because some hot-headed idiot drops a bomb on a city official.”

  “That’s my brother out there!” Sibby snapped. “You can’t just do nothing.”

  “Donal, I love you,” Rogan said. “But we can’t sit idly by any more. It’s time to send our message. Alec has put it in motion whether we like it or not. If we don’t show unity on this, we’re going to look weak and disjointed. We’ve passed the point of no return.” He thought about what Elyra said Pantone and Henri thought of them.

  “Let’s all calm down,” Donal said. “Let’s put our feelers out. See if we can find out what happened to Alec.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ben said. “We’re supposed to just sit back and put our feelers out? While Demos tortures Alec and plans his next attack?” Ben’s fingers dug into the wooden table.

  “If you go up in arms blind you’re as good as dead,” Donal growled. “And you’re going to have nothing but riots from the rest if you start shouting war cries. You are the leaders here. The rest are going to look to you for guidance.”

  “So what do we do then?” Sibby asked, big doe eyes wide and frightened.

  Donal rubbed at his beard.

  “Don’t go out of your way to tell anyone anything who doesn’t already know. But let’s be honest with those who do. Tell them you don’t know who set that bomb. And that’s truth. We don’t know for certain. Whatever you do, keep everyone calm and assured that we’re in control. Let’s sleep on what to do next. Give it a few days, see what happens.” Donal said.

  The group looked to each other nervously but no one spoke.

  “No,” Cable finally argued. “We’re not going to be pheasants in a barrel.”

  Donal pursed his lips and considered him.

  “Cable, when you came to me determined to reinvigorate a lost cause of resistance, I gave you my support. I gave you my loyalty and the wisdom that I’ve earned through two decades of being a soldier. But I did NOT agree to follow you blindly while you burn down the city.”

  Cable’s face tightened but he didn’t retort. Finally, he looked at Rogan.

  “Rogan, what do you think?”

  Rogan rubbed his forehead and tried to calm his racing thoughts. Donal was right. They were in charge and they had to lead the rest from danger. But inaction would get them all killed just as quickly as a blind battle. He knew better than to think the rest would sit back quietly. He had to lead them, but not into safety. He had to lead them to fight.

  “They started this war, not us. Let’s show them what we’re made of.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Rogan walked through the alleyways of vines, running his hands along the sturdy leaves, fingering the delicate, ripening grapes. As a breeze of crisp early fall air swept past, he couldn’t help but mourn the inevitable loss of everything he knew. His mind had been racing since he heard about Alec’s bomb. He wanted to believe that Alec wouldn’t do something so irresponsible—so disastrous—but he knew better. And now he was looking around every corner, expecting armed guards to haul him away like they had Benton after the protest. Frankly, he didn’t know why or how Ben got out, and Ben was staying tight-lipped about it. Rogan doubted Demos simply had a change of heart.

  In the close distance, he heard Toro’s barks rupture the silent day—yelps of defense, not from hunting rabbits or wrestling with Alfie. An arrow of intuitive fear shot through him, his neck hairs coming to attention. He turned and sped through the rows of grapes, stopping short when he saw the dark blue military truck creeping up the front drive. His guts instinctively tightened into a hard knot. There was no good reason for a military truck to be on his land. Toro was poised at the edge of the drive, barking wildly at the intruders. Before Rogan could panic he took a moment and collected himself, breathing deeply. Routine, he told himself. Probably looking for answers about the bomb. He then walked as casually as he could to join Rainer and Tigg by the mechanics’ barn.

  The two ranch hands stood nervously—memories of military raids surely still haunted them. Rogan glanced around, hoping to spot Jasper, but he was absent, probably on a delivery in the city. It would be on him to take control. It was how it should be, he reminded himself. He mustered his courage. He was a leader now and this was his land. This was his legacy.

  The truck came to a halt a few yards from the barn door. Four uniformed rangers stepped confidently out, two from the cab and two from the bed. Rogan instantly spotted the badge of a ranked officer on the passenger side ranger and his heart sank lower. Why would an officer bother with routine Valley raids?

  “Morning rangers,” Rogan said cordially. “What brings you to Elwood Vineyards?” He stood as tall as he could muster and thrust back his shoulders the way his father had taught him to do in the face of confrontation.

  “Morning lad,” the ranked ranger said with a hint of patronizing. “Who might you be?” Rogan extended his hand, staring into the ranger’s dark, menacing eyes. Those eyes.

  “Rogan Elwood, Sir. Proprietor.”

  The ranger didn’t accept the extended hand. He gave Rogan a knowing smirk.

  “Captain Demos,” he said curtly. Rogan’s breath caught. Demos. He stared into those eyes, remembering. It had been a long time.

  “Pleasure, Sir,” Rogan forced a friendly tone. “What can I do for you?”

  “What business are you carrying out here?” Demos asked looking around at the workers covered in dirt and grease.

  “Well, today we’re pruning the canopy, cuttin’ out excess grape clusters,” he said in his best country bumpkin voice. The Captain did not look amused.

  “That’s all then? Just a little pruning?” Demos pushed condescendingly.

  Rogan could feel his heart sprinting, painful memories forcing their way in with Demos’ vile presence.

  “Yeah, that’s all. Just a typical work day around here. Is there something I can help you with?”

  The other three rangers came to the Demos’ side to form a wall of uniformed muscle.

  “I’m looking for the rebel Alec Montall,” Demos said. Rogan’s stomach kicked again and this time almost brought bile to his throat. They didn’t have him.

  “Rebel?” Rogan said with feigned surprise.

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept,” Demos stated

  “You know this Montall?” A ranger with a crooked nose said.

  “Sure, I know Alec Montall. He’s a ranch hand at Duck Farm ranch, the chicken place down on O’Farren Road. I’ve known him most of my life, just like every other Valley kid around here. Don’t know nothing about rebel ties, though.” Rogan shrugged.

  “Let me remind you, Mr. Elwood, that Alec is wanted for conspiracy against his Majesty the King and the Royal Ministry and aggravated assault on a government official. Both are treasonable offences. It would not behoove you to stand in the way of our locating him.” Demos stared hard into Rogan’s face with his murky eyes. Suddenly, he was eight years old again—trapped in the pantry—his mother crying on the floor as Demos snarled above her and rangers held his father in custody. He shook off the dark recollections.

  “Those are some pretty big charges, Captain. But I promise we’re all friends of the King in this house. I don’t knowingly consort or harbor anyone who would commit such treachery as treason.” It was a line well practiced at every Cause sanction.

  “Hmph,” Demos snorted. “You’re a smart kid, Elwood. But, in case you’ve forgotten, I know your family history well. Your father was a no good son-of-a-whore and a poor excuse for a rebel who brought shame to your whole bloodline.” Demos spat a wad of thick black tobacco beside Rogan’s boots.

  Rogan dug his nails into his palm to control his bubbling anger.

  “True, Theron was a misled soul, Sants rest him. But it was a lesson to us all about loyalty.”

  Demos narrowed his eyes at him but shook off the rhetoric.

  “Smart boy. Search the pla
ce!” He shouted.

  The accompanying rangers removed shotguns from their back straps and cocked them ready. Rainer and Tigg fell back nervously.

  “On what grounds?” Tigg grumbled. Rogan raised out his arm to the soldiers.

  “It’s all right, boys. These men have a job to do and we can certainly oblige them peacefully. We have nothing to hide, after all.” Rogan stepped back as the four rangers shoved past him into the barn.

  They rummaged through every corner of the barn, pulling boxes from the shelves, spilling tools and seeds across the floor. Rogan’s blood boiled but he remained calm with a soft look of complacency—of someone with absolutely no secrets. They opened the farm truck and plunged a dagger into the ratted seat cushion, tearing out the filling.

  “Is he in that cushion?” Rogan asked, examining his fingernails. The rangers turned and snarled at him.

  Demos looked up at Rogan as if to say, “Want to see what else I can do?” but Rogan only smiled and nodded and extended his hand to respond, “Please, continue. My pleasure.”

  After the team had thoroughly pillaged the mechanics barn and found nothing of interest, save a jug of private label Old Vine red to which they sloppily helped themselves, Demos motioned that they should search the chicken coop and livestock barn. Rogan could hear the chicken’s squawks and they were kicked aside by heavy boots.

  “What’s this all about?” Rainer said quietly as they watched the farm being torn apart by royal rangers. Rogan turned to his men.

  “Don’t know. Alec’s done something that’s gotten him in serious trouble, but it’s none of our business.” He stared them both hard in the eyes. “And we know nothing.”

  Rainer’s eyes were doubtful but he nodded.

  The rangers plundered the barns then moved toward the main house, to which Rogan finally protested. Toro started to bark and snarl, his thick black tail whipping back and forth.

  “Is that really necessary?” Rogan asked, scrambling toward the house and standing in front of them. The fat ranger glared at him with beady eyes. He ran his tongue over dry lips then spat a wad of thick, tarry tobacco onto Rogan’s boot.

  “You have a problem with us doin’ our job?” He snarled.

  “Of course not,” Rogan said calmly. “But this is a private home where women and children live. Do you really have to barge in?”

  “You afraid we’ll break all yer nice, expensive things?” The other ranger taunted to his companions’ amusement.

  “We wouldn’t want to get finger prints on the fine crystal,” the crooked-nosed one smirked. Rogan made a fist and dug his nails into his palms deeper.

  “Maybe he’s hiding something a little more valuable than crystal,” Demos said coolly. He sauntered up to Rogan and stared him hard in the eyes. He studied him with a stare of inquisition. “A missing rebel perhaps.”

  Toro ran to Rogan’s side and snarled at Demos.

  “I’m hiding nothing,” Rogan protested. “But as the owner of this house I’m not giving you permission to enter my private residence. I’m going to ask you to leave now. That’s my right.” He mustered insolence although his better judgment begged him not to.

  “Move boy. Don’t stand in my way.” Rogan didn’t back down. Toro barked again. “And shut that damn dog up.”

  “I told you to leave, Demos. This is my land and you’re trespassing.”

  “What is it about you rebels that makes you love pain so very much?”

  When the rifle butt made contact with his ribs, Rogan thought he might pass out. He could feel the tiny splinters of bone rupture as he keeled over and clutched at his side. He gritted his teeth through the pain and raised his eyes to Demos’. Toro ran to his side and licked his face, then turned to offer a vicious, drooling growl to Demos. Demos stared at the dog with contempt for a moment before raising his pistol and firing.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Rogan screamed out and lunged, despite the searing pain in his ribs. Two of the rangers grabbed him and restrained his arms. “You think you’ll get away with all this, but you won’t. None of you will,” he snarled.

  Demos smiled placidly and cracked his knuckle.

  “Oh, my boy. We already have.” Demos brought his baton down on the side of Rogan’s head.

  CHAPTER 23

  Fire and ice warred inside him as he lay trapped in a nightmare. Flames climbed up his arms but he was shivering. With a jolt, he woke in a fit of fever, drowning in sweat and pain. He forced his eyes open but the light wouldn’t come. He saw only shadows, slithering and hissing in the darkness.

  “Rogan!” He heard the voice, soft and liquid. “He’s awake.” Leave me. Let me burn and let the ashes blow away.

  “Rog,” he felt his shoulder shaking. “Rog, can you hear me?”

  Slowly the shadows faded into the light and shapes took their place. He blinked a few times and could finally make out familiar faces.

  “What the hell happened?” He groaned, his side screaming as he tried to sit up.

  “That prick Demos paid you a visit,” Ben said.

  “Don’t move,” Iris said. “You’ve got a couple of busted ribs. And one nasty bash to the head. And you’ve got a fever.”

  Rogan reached back and fingered the head wound.

  “Bastards,” Rogan muttered, the events replaying. He fell back against the pillow and winced.

  “Rainer called me after Demos and his goons left,” Benton said.

  “Toro?” Rogan asked, the image of his wide eyes and wagging tail clouding his mind. Ben’s eyes saddened and he shook his head.

  “He’s gone, poor pup,” Ben said. Rogan closed his eyes and bit back the burning sensation in his eyes. He found strength and nodded. Toro was such a good dog.

  “Did they do anything else?” Rogan asked. Everyone was quiet and nervous. “What?”

  “No one else is hurt,” Ben continued. “But they ransacked the house pretty badly. It’s kind of a disaster.”

  Rogan fumed. He forced himself up, cringing from the pain. He looked around his bedroom and he could already see the damage. His dresser had been emptied, his books and desk papers thrown on the floor, the framed photo of his parents shattered.

  “I guess I’d better assess the damage,” he sighed. He wobbled to his feet.

  “You shouldn’t be up,” Iris said, coming to his side.

  “I’m not an invalid,” Rogan snapped back, pretending daggers weren’t protruding from his side.

  “Well then, let me help you at least,” she said, taking his arm.

  “You know last I checked you had a bullet through your side.” Iris shrugged.

  “A flesh wound,” she said with a wink. Iris steadied him and with her arm as a crutch, they walked out to the living room, noting the smashed picture frames littering the hallway. The main room was worse than he had imagined. The windows were smashed in, dishes were broken and the furniture was on its side. Rogan ground his teeth together and cracked his neck.

  “Has Jasper been home yet?” Rogan asked, recalling his words: Promise me you’ll keep it out of the house.

  “No, haven’t seen him,” Ben said.

  “They can’t get away with this. Who do they think they are?”

  “The men in charge,” Ben said dryly. Rogan shook his head.

  “Not for long,” Rogan promised.

  CHAPTER 24

  It had taken Elyra two weeks of pleading to get him to agree to meet with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of dragging her any further into this mess, but her stubbornness wouldn’t relent. And he couldn’t deny that he was desperate for her kiss. It was the first time she had been to his place—normally an unthinkable risk. But, with the city crawling with rangers sniffing out reformists, he didn’t dare meet her anywhere public. After the ranger raid, Lorena and Jasper had taken Ari to Jasper’s brother’s place thirty miles south with clear instructions that he’d “better clean up whatever mess he had made.” With the vineyard crew off on Sundays, it seemed like the only place i
n the world where they could be alone—the only place they would be safe.

  She pulled the unpretentious black coupe into the dirt driveway then around the back to the barn as he had instructed her, parking between a tractor and a stack of yellow hay bales. He was still peering out the front window impatiently when she stepped into the house, illuminating the room like a roaring flame.

  “You came,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  He shrugged. She was wearing a pale yellow dress that stopped just before her knees and hugged her tiny waist. He walked to her slowly, willing his arms not to engulf her. With a gentle touch he cupped her chin and kissed her forehead softly.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a laugh. “It must look a little ridiculous compared to yours.”

  “It’s great,” she said sincerely.

  Rogan smirked.

  “Oh c’mon. Your gardeners probably have bigger houses.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she smiled. Then confusion twisted her expression. “But, um, I do have to ask why you have holes through the walls.”

  Rogan looked around the room at the leftovers of Demos’ handy work, scratching his head. He’d managed to replace the front windows, but hadn’t yet gotten around to patching the walls.

  “Um…it’s a long story. C’mon.” He took her hand. “It’s too nice a day to be locked in this stuffy place. I know a place we could go.”

  He led her out the side door into the sunshine, out into the vineyards a few yards until the house was just slightly hidden by lush vines and flamboyant orange trees. He led her through the maze of foliage until they reached a gazebo with vibrant green vines crawling up the wooden lattice standing in a small clearing with a perfect view of the towering mountains in the distance.

  “It’s beautiful,” she gasped, green eyes wide and shimmering like giant emeralds.

  “My father built it. A long time ago. It was my mom’s favorite spot on the ranch. She loved the view.” He half smiled at the memory as he scanned the panorama. “Here.” He led her inside the gazebo where he had laid out a soft blanket over the grass floor. “I’ve pulled out one of our better years. It’s not every day we see royalty around here,” he joked, revealing a bottle of pale white wine.