Garner was stunned... the President. Washington could pardon Black! "Wait!" He yelled and turned, fighting his way back through the crowd and past the bailiffs to reach Black. He just managed to grab the purple patch of cloth pinned to Black's chest before the bailiffs dragged him away and shoved him back through the railing gate.

Once in the comparative calm of the corridor, Byron ordered Charlie to escort the women home, and turned to Garner. The two set off through the crowd.

They strode along the streets, shoulders braced, booted legs covering ground, hearts pounding furiously.

"What are we going to do?" Garner rasped.

"Damned if I know," Byron growled. "Probably make him a deal of some kind- "

Chapter Twenty-Five.

A deal. The words beat in Garner's brain. A bargain. God. Dear God, help them. They were going to try to bargain the President of the United States into issuing a pardon to a convicted traitor. Garner's stomach pulled into a tight knot at the thought. It was a desperate move in a desperate cause. And somehow they'd have to do it- Black's life and his life with Whitney both depended on it.

President Washington had left his offices for the day, they were informed, and they trailed him to his residence, where soldiers and secretaries and servants blocked the way in successive waves. Byron's Townsend arrogance and almost invective use of "Townsend" and other powerful names badgered, bullied and intimidated them through each ring of obstacles. And as they strode into Washington's study, Byron muttered to his son, "I got you here, it's up to you, now."

Garner swallowed, staring at the large-boned man with the thinning white-streaked hair who sat behind the littered writing desk. The man was no smaller than the legend. And the eyes were no less piercing as they lifted from behind tin-rimmed spectacles. They fixed on Garner as he came forward, introducing himself and his father. And the President's lined and fleshy face registered a spark of recognition. "Townsend, I know the name. Boston, and the militia. What is this news you bear?"

"Urgent news, sir," Garner came to the point and to the edge of the table. "The trial of Blackstone Daniels has just ended, in a verdict of guilty. It is a grave and terrible miscarriage of justice, sir, and we have come to appeal to you to do everything in your power to see the error is not compounded by the hanging of an innocent man."

"The whiskey trial?" Washington's eyes narrowed. "And what have you to do with such an undertaking?" But the light of understanding dawned as Garner explained his bizarre connections to the Black Daniels case and proceeded to explain in vivid terms how such connections came about. The President's jaw loosened and his spectacles were shed as he heard of a longing that became a bedding that became a forced wedding... and the capture of a major distiller. It was a remarkable story, a shocking disgrace that had ripened into both a true marriage and a family tragedy.

Garner paused for breath, realizing he'd rattled on for a quarter of an hour, nonstop. He read what Washington was about to say in his grave expression before he even spoke.

"It is a tale, indeed, Major Townsend; one which taxes both the heart and the mind. But it is one in which I have no part. The man is duly tried and condemned by a jury of his peers."

"Only with the most biased and unreasonable conduct of a federal judge," Byron interjected. "This was not justice, sir, but a fierce mockery of it!"

"The man is duly convicted." Washington rose and turned away toward the window. "Have you any idea how many forces are at work to tear down this fragile patchwork of order and government? The man is a confessed tax resister-"

Garner's hands clenched in frustration at his sides as he felt the tide turning, slipping away from him. That involuntary motion reminded him of a desperate bit of evidence. He raised and opened his hand to stare at the purple, heart-shaped patch that was mute testimony to Black Daniels's bravery and loyalty. He thrust it out to Washington, his eyes catching fire.

"And a patriot," Garner declared hoarsely.

In the prickling silence, Washington turned back with a furrowed brow. He took a step toward Garner, his eyes riveted on the purple heart. Then he took another step, and another. His voice lowered. "Where did you get that?"

"From the man you awarded it to... Blackstone Daniels." His voice carried the urgency of his pounding blood and racing heart. "He spent the winter with you at Valley Forge. And the following year took a double wound while saving a group of his fellow soldiers from certain death."

Washington's ruddy face seemed to gray. "If what you say is true... the faces of that bitter winter are etched in my soul. Who is this man-what is he like?"

"A man of medium height with dark hair and fiery, hazel eyes and an odd dent in the tip of his nose. He's a born trader and leader and he talks-they say he can talk a dog down off a meat wagon!"

Washington raised a thick hand to halt Garner, and his eyes closed. In his mind, vivid images of ragged, frozen soldiers roiled up in him, as in the dreams that sometimes plagued him. And a face, hazy, but flashing an indomitable grin, a peculiar dent at the end of his nose seemed to come to him. And the fleeting impression of a bloody, barefoot swagger... in the snow...

"I would sell my soul for those men who suffered that winter with me." Washington's voice was choked. "But I cannot sell my country's. We must quell treason wherever it starts."

"But it was not treason!" Garner groaned with angry frustration at how close they'd come. "I arrested him for tax evasion-not treason! They've trumped-up these charges against him and threatened me with the same if I refused to testify!" He began to quiver with desperation. Damn! What did a man like Washington want?!What would it take to bargain him? And that desperate half-prayer was answered from the old general's lips themselves.

"History must not record that we struggled to birth this nation only to let it die in infancy. And if I have a place in this history, it must be that I defended..."

History-a place in history! Washington was a man who had no desire unfilled in life, except the desire to be remembered, credited to future generations. To leave a noble legacy was what he wanted! It was a desperate gamble; and if it worked, a paradise bargain.

"And how will history record a government so rattled and uncertain, so frightened of its own shadow, that it rushes to convict and to hang innocent men, its own patriot sons, for speaking out as is their right under the constitution? How long will this country last, when judges deny lawful defense in the courts, and direct verdicts to suit political winds? How will the generations judge a President who allows such a blatant miscarriage of justice to go forward?"

Garner saw the clouding of Washington's eyes, and knew with shocking insight that he was teetering on the edge. "And how will you sleep at night with Black Daniels's fate on your conscience? Will you be the first President to hang a man for treason, an innocent man, an old campaigner of yours?"

Garner moved around the desk and thrust the scrap of precious purple cloth into Washington's hand. They were of a height... eye to eye, searching for the future in each other's faces. "You are the first President. God willing, there will be many after you in this office. But let there be no one in years to come who is more dedicated to the principles of justice and truth than you. It can be your legacy, and yours alone. Your honesty told and retold for years to come. And it can start tomorrow, in the papers, then on people's lips and in their hearts. Proof of his loyalty lies in the palm of your hand, General. Blackstone Daniels deserves more from the country he fought to create. He deserves the justice and the liberty he shed his blood for... in your service." Washington looked down at the faded badge of honor in his hand, its ripped ribbon, its worn gold embroidery. When his head raised there were prisms of moisture in his aging eyes. And there was a pardon in his heart.

Garner and Byron blew through the door of their lodgings, faces burnished with triumph. Kate and Madeline and Charlie came running from the parlor to meet them and were engulfed in delirious hugs.

"He's being pardoned!" Byron bellowed, scooping up Kate and swinging her around, "Garner's bargained Black a pardon!"

"Where's Whitney?" Garner boisterously grasped Charlie's shoulders and then Madeline's, craning his neck around them. "I want to be the one to-"

"She's gone, Garner," Madeline recovered enough to grasp his sleeve. "She fled the courthouse-we thought she might have come here, but no one's seen her since."

Gone. It took a minute to register through the blood pounding in his head. The sight of her face when the verdict was read suddenly flooded his senses and his head snapped toward the half-opened front doors. She was out there, somewhere, wandering.

Minutes later he was on horseback racing through the busy, cobbled streets of Philadelphia, searching for her. She knew almost nothing about the city-where would she go?! Vivid scenes of her, devastated and defenseless as she drifted the rough city streets, spurred him hard. He should have reached her at the courthouse, asked her to trus- Trust him?!

What reason would she have had to trust him, with her heart in pieces and her father bound for the noose? The thought rode him hard as he wove through the streets. But, where would she go? He tried thinking like a Whitney Daniels, who loved whiskey and bargains... Bargains! It burst in his brain like a rocket, and he spurred his horse, heading for the central market. She loved Boston's bawdy, bustling market. Perhaps the raucous sounds of the bargaining had drawn her the same way, here.

Threading his way through the crowded stalls and vendors' carts, he searched the hurly-burly for a patch of sea-green velvet... the coat that matched her eyes. And there she was-drifting with melancholy aimlessness among the rows of stands and carts, watching the people, absorbing the comfort of the brash spirit of bargaining all around her. Garner dismounted calling her name, but the sound was swallowed up in the din of fishmongers and butchers shouting prices, grocers haggling over spices, and tinkers hawking tinware.

"Whitney!" She heard her name faintly and her head came up, searching the faces around her for sight of him. He was bearing down on her, his face hot and glowing, his eyes burning strangely. "Whitney-" Instinctively, she backed away. She was totally unprepared to face him or to face the specter that now lay between them. Her pa... condemned to die.

"Whitney!" He watched her melt back into the crowd and hurried after her, knowing now just how much she was hurting. He gained on her with each panicky turn she made until he lunged, just managing to grasp one coat sleeve. "Blessit, Whitney, stop-I have to tell you-"

"No-" she tugged and struggled, backing as he advanced, jostling vendors and patrons aside bodily in the process. Didn't he understand that she had to be alone? That the sight of him was like a knife in her heart?

"Whitney-" He glimpsed the faces turning on them with escalating curiosity and groaned, "Come home with me. I have to tell you-"

"No-I can't go home with you. Please, let me be alone." His hold on her strengthened as he snagged her wrist itself, but she braced to resist being reeled closer.

"Listen to me, Whitney-" Determination to reach her pushed him beyond caring who else might hear him. "Black's being pardoned. Do you hear me? Pardoned!"

Whitney froze, turning a pain-filled look on him. For a long, excruciating moment, all movement, all existence came to a halt, including her resistance. "W-what?"

"I said he's being pardoned. The President is reviewing the case and has promised to grant him a full pardon!" He took advantage of her shock to grab her other wrist and the motion startled her back to her senses.

"Please, don't say that-" she crumpled, biting her lip as her luminous eyes beseeched him.

"Blessit, Whitney, it's true! Byron got us in to see Washington, and I bargained a pardon for your father out of him-I swear it!" Only then, faced with the utter disbelief on her face, did he realize how improbable it must sound... how improbable it was! Staid, proper, Boston-bred Garner Townsend, bartering and dealing the President of the United States into pardoning an acknowledged whiskey rebel, one of the very men Washington had vowed to run to ground and rid the nation of?!

That same instant, Whitney realized that upstanding, uncompromising Garner Townsend would never say it if it weren't true. In all their problems, in all their conflicts and cross-purposes, he had never lied to her. He would never lie to her! Her legs went weak as blood rushed up from her middle to burst against her skin. "You?"Rising hope choked her words. "But you're no trader-you don't know the first thing about it!"

"Well, apparently I know enough about it to save your father from hanging!"

Her jaw loosened; he was serious! "A real pardon-are you sure?'

"He'll be released as soon as the documents are drawn up, probably tomorrow." He watched the hope in her eyes being realized and was seized by the urge to take her into his arms, just as she was seized by a last spasm of doubt.

"But how could you possibly... General Washington . . . Good Lord, Garner, what did you say to him?" She braced with stiffened arms.

"She still won't believe me!" he roared to the heavens and to any and everyone present in the motley audience they were collecting. Toothless old fishwives and fat, oily butchers, barelegged tars and businessmen in silk hose and stock-wrapped collars all craned their necks to see. Garner released her wrists and ran a jerky hand back through his dark hair. His chin raised to a recognizable trading angle.

"Come home with me and I'll tell you... word for word." A wicked glint, a pure trader's light, leaped into his eyes.

"B-but-"

"You want to hear how I bargained your father a pardon? Well, you'll have to come home with me, Whitney Daniels Townsend." He began to stalk her and as she backed away, their audience shifted to move with them. "You'll have to come home with me like a proper wife and quit making a spectacle of us in front of half of Philadelphia," he declared, waving a hand at their following.

She stopped dead. "Quit making a spec-" Then the realization galvanized her; he was bargaining her... now... this very minute! Garner Townsend was bargaining her! He had bargained her pa a pardon, just like he said! Fiery joy burst inside her, raining hot sparks through her doubts and fears, consuming them. She had them both now, it rang in her heart, Garner and her pa! Tears rimmed her eyes as she met his and poured all the love and the gratitude of her extraordinary heart into them. And Garner distilled all the pride, the trust, the caring in him into the potent liquor of a whiskey-hot look. In that stunningly intimate exchange, both found the promise and the fulfillment of a life-giving love.

"I want a proper wife, wench," his voice deepened, woven richly with feeling, "but I want you even more. I've been responsible for all your heartaches, Whitney. But I swear, from now on, I'm only going to be responsible for your joys! Come home with me and be my woman. You can wear breeches and bargain the servants and work at the distillery. And if you promise not to get my grandfather too drunk, you can drink whiskey whenever you want. And if you promise not to kick too hard or fight too dirty, I'll make you a paradise bargain... to last the rest of your life."

The onlookers held their breaths to collect her reply.

"It's a deal!"

She launched herself into his arms, laughing, tears rolling, squeezing him. He plunged voraciously into the welcoming heat of her kiss, and enjoyed a foretaste of the paradise he'd just bargained.

Black Daniels was indeed pardoned and released the next day. Under the conditions of his pardon, he was never to distill liquor again within the boundaries of the United States, a condition he considered nearly as drastic as the alternative. He suggested he be allowed to speak with his old commander himself, maybe make Old General George a proposition. Garner's volcanic wrath and Charlie's bone-jarring persuasion finally convinced him the terms of the pardon were more than adequate, and he graciously agreed to abide by them. He exited the prison a free man, with a furrowed brow and a Daniels bit of calculation in eyes utterly undimmed by months of hardship. "Kaintuck," he told them on the way to the Townsends' rented house. He'd heard quite a little bit about it from his fellow prisoners, since his arrest. It was reputedly the place to be for a distiller; west of the long federal arm, good soil, good water, and next to a river for transport.

He arrived at the Townsends's rented lodgings to a joyous reunion with his daughter and sister-in-law and his new relations by marriage. Whitney hugged Black exuberantly and hugged Garner lovingly and hugged Charlie gratefully... and when she came to Byron's stiff form she paused. Her chin managed only a modest trading angle and her eyes glistened gratitude. "Thank you for all you've done." When she put out both hands to him and he took them; there was a bit of dry-sniffing and throat-clearing in the parlor around them.

Edgewater marshaled a fine feast of celebration that evening and at dinner, Black rose to propose a toast of gratitude to Garner and Byron. Garner rose next to propose a toast to Byron's generous assistance and Charlie's ungrudging help. Then he turned to Whitney and informed her that she had one more "weepy female" bargain to do... another trip to the newspapers, to reveal the president's divinely guided wisdom and unerring sense of justice. It was an inherent part of the deal, letting everybody know the extent of the old General's greatness. She smiled a very Whitney smile and agreed.

When Byron rose, everything became quiet.

"It is late, but no less heartfelt. Welcome to our family, Whitney." He stood with both his glass and his proud Townsend chin raised. And in that moment, all realized that was exactly what had happened in recent weeks. They had weathered adversity together, helped and supported each other... like a real family. Garner looked at Whitney and glimpsed her brash, unquenchable trader's spirit and the generous forgiving heart beneath it and knew she was the cause. She'd brought her vitality, her life-giving warmth to his family as she had brought it to him. And in that moment he felt like the luckiest man on earth.

"To my son's marriage." When they'd all cleared their eyes and throats and drunk to that, he continued with a gallant tilt toward Kate, "... and to our own upcoming nuptials."

The glasses were halfway to their lips before it sank in. He watched their surprise a bit smugly and clarified: "Kathryn and I will be wedded as soon as possible upon our return to Boston."

The only one in the room who was in the least bit surprised was Garner; he was the only one in the household who hadn't caught Kate and Byron in a blatantly compromising position at one time or other. Well, actually, there were two surprised responses. Kate herself stared at him in shock. Byron, with his usual Townsend finesse in such matters, had assumed Kate would be overwhelmed and delighted by the dramatic announcement. She was. And she wasn't.

Crimson-faced and copper-eyed, she rose to her feet staring, then glaring at him. "How dare you make such assumptions, Byron Townsend! Without even speaking to me-marry you-ooohhh!" She whirled and exited in a blaze of feminine fury. Byron stared after her, then at the other men present, in genuine shock.

"Don't know much about females, do you?" Black cocked an appraising eye at Byron, then broke into a wicked laugh. "You sure picked a tough one to learn on."

Byron looked for all the world like he was regretting his recent part in freeing Black Daniels and, as he turned on his heel, he found little Madeline standing in his way, her arms crossed and her hazel eyes flashing.

"You'd better not botch this, Uncle Byron. I've got a chance for an Aunt Kate and you'd better come through." Her eyes narrowed determinedly, "Or my ten percent goes to Cousin Garner."

Thus when Byron wheeled and went charging upstairs to Kate's room, it was with his love, his manly pride, and his business future all on the line. As the muffled sounds of a heated exchange wafted down the stairs, Black rose with a wicked grin and rubbed his barrel chest, declaring he might have a walk after supper. Whitney and Charlie both offered to go with him, but he declined. He just wanted to savor the freedom, he said, and to think a bit.

Garner yawned broadly, mentioning what a full day it had been with a meaningful glance at Whitney, and soon they were climbing the stairs, arm in arm. The sounds of contention from Kate's room had subsided, but below them in the hallway, they heard little Madeline's most "Iron Townsend" sneer.

"Try that again and I swear-I'll bite!"

And they heard Charlie Dunbar laugh.

The fifth of May, exactly a month after Black Daniels's pardon, Kathryn Morrison and Byron Townsend were married in Boston, before a select group of Boston's political and financial elite. At the wedding party which followed, Byron announced that his son, Garner, would be assuming the reins of Townsend Companies, and that after a suitably long honeymoon, he intended to run for the Congress. At his side, Kate glowed with pride and love. And down the table from him, his son and daughter-in-law beamed, and old Ezra Townsend nodded moist-eyed approval.

Throughout the festive evening that followed, Black and Ezra argued the merits of various distilling methods and spirits, as had been their wont in recent days, and Madeline heatedly ignored Charlie Dunbar, who took it in stride and managed to console himself with the admiration of the other young ladies present. It was just as well, Charlie thought, watching little Madeline's seductive sway at the side of the handsome and very "Boston" Carter Melton. He would just have had to break her heart when he and Black took off for "the Kaintuck" soon, anyway.

Later that evening, when the guests had left and the house was quiet, Garner and Whitney mounted the stairs to their room, opened by the day's heightened feeling and very aware of each other physically. The knowledge of Kate and Byron's wedding night in progress nearby piqued their own desires. Whitney had Garner undo her laces and stood in the midst of the rug before the cold fireplace, peeling her elegant watered silk... very slowly.

Garner's throat tightened as he watched the delectable, dark-tipped mounds of her breasts emerge, nestled above a snug and frilly corset. He latched the door and stood watching her deliberately provocative movements as she shed her petticoats, letting his eyes collect some of the heat radiating from her voluptuous little body. His gait became an animal prowl as he approached and slowed, inching closer... closer... touching her with hot eyes.

When their bodies were a breath apart, he still hadn't touched her. Whitney's heart was thudding, her body was warm and tingly with expectation as his hands raised and hovered over her bare shoulders, so close that she could feel their heat. Then that almost-touch began to glide over her, and she closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his hands sliding down over her bare arms, her half-bare breasts, and up over her throat and face. Stimulation and perception merged and she couldn't tell if he was touching her or if she imagined it... and knew it didn't really matter. She raised onto her toes, her mouth parting, seeking.

She opened her eyes, kissless, to find him moving back a pace, then another and another. Frowning, she swallowed against the desire gripping her throat and she watched him sit down in a nearby wing chair and throw one long, muscular leg casually over the arm.

"You know, I've been thinking." The huskiness of his voice betrayed arousal, but there was a very disciplined gleam in his eye that said it was mastered. "I'm a very lucky man. I've a beauty of a wife who's deliciously eager to please me in all respects... but one." He let that sink in a moment and relished the becoming flush of con fusion in her face and breasts. His expression became doleful indeed. "I'm a man whose wife won't spend his money, won't spend proper money at all." Whitney's jaw dropped and his expression became pure martyrdom. "It's a painful disgrace, shames me right down to the roots of my eastern business magnate's soul. So, I've decided to take the matter in hand, starting tonight."

Whitney turned to him fully, bemused by his gambit and feeling the smoke of frustration curling through her well-primed body. Her eyes widened as he pulled a leather pouch from his coat pocket and let its contents jingle and glide across his lean fingers. Coins; they tinkled in the silence.

"I'm going to teach you to spend money, wench, in the most pleasant and memorable way possible. Tonight, if you want pleasures, you'll have to buy them."

Whitney gasped and her jaw worked for a moment before the words issued forth: "Don't be... absurd."

Garner's grin was borrowed from the Daniels repertoire of wicked determination. "It's not absurd, it's only fair. I had to learn to bargain, you have to learn to spend money. It's really very simple; you tell me what you want and I tell you the price. You give me the money... and I give you... whatever you want." His long leg slid insolently from the chair arm and he rose with seductive grace, savoring the way her eyes slid helplessly over his bulging breeches, "Don't be ridiculous, Garner." She gave him a scorchingly seductive look and brushed pointedly against his front. But when his hands closed on her arms, he set her back firmly and thrust the bag of coins into her hands. She stared at it, then at him. He was serious! Stung, she plunked the bag down firmly on the table and paced as far from him as the room allowed. How dare he!

He sank back into the chair with a very determined look and watched her pace and fume for a bit, wondering if he should have warmed her up a bit more before introducing the "lesson." She paused to glare at him and he shrugged. "Of course, if you can't..."

"There's nothing to spending money, Garner Town-send. Every half-wit and lowlife in Boston does it!" she snapped, unaware she was abetting his logic. She stiffened as his taunting grin struck home. Every lowlife and half-wit did it... but she couldn't, that grin said. It was like waving a red shirt in front of a bull. She stalked to the table and snatched up the bag of coins with a growl, opening it with a jerk. Gold winked back at her in the dim light, gold coins of different sizes, marked with different denominations. She swallowed hard, feeling a strange tightness in her throat and a cottony feeling in her head.

She took a deep breath and pulled a large, mint-bright coin out, raising both it and her chin to his twinkling gaze. Her voice was a dry rasp. "I want a kiss."

Garner was on his feet in a flash, coming toward her. "A fifty dollar kiss? Wouldn't you rather start with something smaller?"

She huffed angrily and, with a black look at the twitching of his mouth, she delved into the pouch for something smaller. She came out with a smaller coin stamped with a "20" in the middle and demanded irritably, "Will this do? Twenty dollars, is it?"

"We'll have to work on your spendthrift ways after you've mastered the basics," he taunted tenderly, coming very close, nudging against her.

"Well, then, make it worth twenty dollars," she challenged, feeling a strange rush of excitement in her that felt like power of some sort. And a heartbeat later, as he took her in his arms, she realized she knew this feeling. It was the same feeling she got the instant she struck a bargain!

Garner's mouth closed over hers; his tongue tantalized her lips in erotic circles, then slipped inside to stroke the sleek velvet walls of her mouth and the polished hardness of her teeth. She opened to him, sagging against his hardening body, feeling the familiar warming in her loins and the hunger of wanting in her stomach.

Then he straightened and backed a step, his eyes silver, his features sharpened with desire. His arms twitched to enfold her, his body burned wherever she had touched it. But he knew the outcome would be even sweeter if his Townsend determination held sway over his desires. And the ire that flamed briefly in her eyes tested his resolve sorely.