Reagan looked away. He knows something, she thought numbly. Someone's tipped off the halfbreed. She turned back to him, knowing that the guiltier she was, the more innocent she had to act. "Anything else you want to see? Because if not, I'd like to get a broom and mop and get to work. You and your men have made a mess of my house."
The German officer looked at Indian John. "I sink ve are done here. I vill send two men to see outbuildings and sen ve vill go."
"I think I'll go, too," Indian John offered.
Reagan went numb with fear, and for a moment her face reflected it before she had the good sense to hide her emotions. I left the hatch open! she thought with horror. She swallowed hard and looked up at the half-breed.
He hadn't missed a thing. He broke into a grin. "You want to show us outside or you wanna just stay here?"
"I . . . I'll go with you, of course. " All's lost, she thought dizzily. They're going to find the printing press, the pamphlets. I'm going to hang. Oh, Elsa, Grayson. They'll accuse you, too.
"Vell, vhat do you vait for? Lead the vay," the German ordered.
Soldiers were already filing out of the house. Indian John lifted a hand in mockery, allowing her to go before him.
Reagan's feet felt like leaden weights as she led the men out through the lean-to and into the back garden.
"Vhat is sis?" The German officer waved a hand, telling the two green-coated soldiers to open the door.
"A shed for gardening tools. That's the privy there. A two-seater. " She lifted her dark eyelashes angrily. She had too many things left to do in her life to die now. "You want to inspect the privy, too?"
Indian John scowled. "Watch your mouth, wench. I don't like a woman with a smart mouth."
"And sis?"
"The stable. One old sway-backed horse. You took my father's gelding just before Christmas. " Reagan watched from outside as a soldier entered the small stable and came out a minute later shaking his head.
There was nothing left but the carriage house now.
Reagan walked right up to the door. She was no coward. She'd done all she could for her new country; no man could fault her. Setting her jaw, she flung open the door. A soldier marched by, followed by Indian John.
She held her breath, waiting. Seconds passed. She could hear them walking around. The wagon was rolled forward, then back.
In confusion, Reagan stuck her head in the door. To her startled relief, there was no evidence of the secret hatch. It was closed, a pile of old feedsacks thrown haphazardly over it.
Indian John gave one of the feedsacks a kick, and a billow of dust rose in the air. "Damn it to hell," he muttered, coming out of the carriage house. He pushed a dirty finger beneath Reagan's nose. "I don't know what you and that dandy captain got goin' here, but I'm gonna find out, and then ye're gonna pay. You might think this is some game, but let me tell ya, I'm gonna eat you alive."
Reagan stood ramrod straight. "Are you quite finished?"
The Hessian soldiers were already retreating through the garden, stepping on her herb seedlings, taking shortcuts through her newly cultivated vegetable beds.
The German officer waved a hand over his head. "Come," he told Indian John. "You vill report to see Major. I vill be at see Blue Boar if he vants me."
Indian John backed off. "This ain't the last you'll see of me," he warned. "I ain't a man who likes to be made a fool of. You just keep it up and I'll catch you. I'll bring you down and Thayer, too!"
A tremor of ominous fear slithered down Reagan's back as she watched the half-breed cut through the garden and leap over her front picket fence. If she hadn't made an enemy of Indian John before, she had now. She would have to cover her tracks very carefully if she was going to continue to print her essays.
"Reagan! Reagan," Nettie called. "Are you all right?" The old woman hurried dawn the path as fast as her cane would lead her.
"I'm here, Nettie. I'm fine. No harm done. " She decided not to tell Nettie about the trapdoor being closed by someone. She didn't want the old woman to worry any more than she already did. "They just poked around and went on their merry way."
"What do you think they wanted?"
Reagan led Nettie back up the path and into the kitchen. "I don't know," she answered. "Looking for something to steal, no doubt."
"That soldier didn't see anything suspicious down in the cellar?"
Reagan smiled. "Nope. Grandpapa's door in the wall is practically invisible."
Elsa came bursting in the back door behind them. "I saw the soldiers. What did they want?"
Reagan turned to her sister, thankful she was safe. "Elsa, you mustn't be gone so long. I'm not going to let you leave on your own if you're going to stay away for hours at a time."
"I'm sorry, Sister. " Elsa tugged at the ribbons of her pale-blue calash bonnet. "I won't do it again. It was just such a pretty day and the kittens were so frisky. I just forgot to come home."
"Just as well she weren't here," Nettie offered.
Reagan sighed. "I suppose you're right. " She looked at Nettie. "I'd best go downstairs and see to the apples. I'll be right up."
"I'll make supper. " Eisa produced a cloth sack from behind her back. "I got a piece of beef."
"Beef? We can't afford beef. Where did you get it?"
Elsa bit down on her lower lip. "Don't remember."
Reagan eyed her sister suspiciously. "You don't remember?"
"Not exactly," she responded with childlike innocence. "Maybe I found it on the step."
"On the step?" Reagan echoed. "Like the flour, and the honey, and the ginger? I didn't see a sack on the front steps."
"Ummm . . . fell in the flowerbed. " Elsa broke into a smile. "Yeah. It was in the flowerbed."
"Let me see. It could have been lying there since the last time stuff was left. It's probably not any good. " Reagan took the bag and slid the piece of beef onto the table. To her surprise the excellent cut of beef was still cool.
"It's all right, isn't it?" Elsa grinned. "I can make stew if it's all right."
"Yes, it's all right. " Reagan studied her sister's angelic face. "You haven't seen that blacksmith, have you?"
"You told me not to," Elsa responded, turning to her task.
With an exasperated sigh, Reagan lit a fresh candle and went down into the cellar. Her head was spinning with all that had taken place today. Who could possibly have closed the hatch door in the carriage house? It just didn't make sense. Westley was out of the city today.
Reagan straightened the secret room, taking care to lock the latch on the door from the inside.
Grayson. It came to her like a strike of bright lightning.
She stopped in midstep, clasping her trembling hands. Grayson wasn't who he said he was! Her heart swelled and a smile turned up her rosy lips. It had to be Grayson who had closed the hatch! That's why he acted so differently among his fellow officers from the way he did with her. Months ago when she'd nearly gotten caught with the wagon of pamphlets, he had saved her as much as the mysterious man, only he hadn't known who he was saving. The song, the Liberty Song, that's why he knew it so well. That's why he had told her she must warn the penman. Grayson Thayer was a patriot spy!
Chapter Twenty
Thick, suffocating smoke filled the crude log prison cell as Grayson Thayer worked the iron bars of the window back and forth. Timbers crumbled above as the fire spread rapidly, fed by the dry bark left attached to the log walls. A bone-chilling war whoop sounded somewhere in the fort as one of the Mohawk Indians took his first kill.
Just before dawn the British soldiers and their Iroquois accomplices had attacked the fort that lay somewhere in the wilderness of New York. An occasional cannon ball thundered as Grayson worked faster. His eyes stung from the acrid smoke, and cinders floated through the air, burning his exposed limbs. If he didn't free this last bar soon, he would die before anyone found him.
Choking, he thrust his head out the window, sucking in great gulps of the cool morning air. The s
un was just beginning to rise on the horizon. He could see the bursts of orange and gold over the battlement of the log fort. He brought his head back in, releasing the bar. It was too hot to touch anymore; blisters were rising on his palms.
"By the king's cod," Grayson muttered. "I can't believe I've survived all these months in this hellhole to be fried now!" He tore a strip from his tattered shirt and tied it around the bar to make a good hand-hold.
Spitting on his hands, he grasped the bar and threw the weight of his body against it. To his relief, the wood splintered and gave way and the bar came free.
"Saints in hell!" he chuckled, heaving himself up and out of the window. It was a tight squeeze but he managed to get himself through.
Falling onto the hard ground, Grayson picked himself up and dusted himself off, taking in the melee around him. The Iroquois had scaled the fort walls and were fighting in hand-to-hand combat with the patriot soldiers. Horses screamed and men moaned in the final throes of death. The fort's doors strained under the impact as the British rammed it from the outside. From the look of the fighting, the British, or rather the Indians, were winning by a long shot.
Grayson looked down at his clothing, brushing back a singed lock of golden-blond hair. "They're liable to take me for a Colonial," he murmured, hurrying along the edge of the wall. "Best I get myself out of here before they lift my scalp!"
Running in a crouched position, Grayson made it around the back of the log prison building and then began to scale the outer wall of the fort. Once he was on the other side, he knew he'd be safe. All he thought of as he clambered up the wall was Sterling and the look of shock that would be on his face when he found him. All of these months Grayson had spent in confinement he had imagined the revenge he would wreak. The thought was so sweet that he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.
Grayson's hands turned bloody as splinters embedded in his palms, but he kept climbing. He laughed as he reached the top and hurled himself over the wall, falling the twelve feet to the ground. Freedom! It burned in his lungs.
Sprinting through the dense forest, he spotted horses tied to trees. Seeing no one in sight, he untied the best of the lot and swung into the saddle. He sank his heels into the horse's sides and rode away—bound for Philadelphia.
"Grayson."
"Hmm?" Sterling turned his head and his voice was lost in the folds of Reagan's quilted blue petticoats.
She sat on the floor, mending a pair of his silk clock stockings while he lay stretched out, his head resting comfortably in her lap.
"Where did you go yesterday?"
"The Boar. I told you I had a card game with Warrington and some friends of his."
"You were there the whole time?"
"What is this with the interrogation?" He moved his head, finding a more comfortable position. "You're getting awfully nosy these days. I told you I've steered clear of the whorehouses. " Reagan had been digging for information these last few weeks, and it concerned Sterling. Why was she suddenly so interested in the goings-on of the British Army? She wanted to know what was said at meetings, who said it, and what the higher ranked officers had replied. She was careful with her prodding. She caught him off guard with seemingly innocent questions, and he found himself answering truthfully before he realized what he was saying.
The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became of her. She had changed since the night they'd made love the month following her father's death. She seemed spirited by some unknown force. There was a twinkle in her eyes that bore evidence of a secret she kept from him. She was fueled by some event or information he wasn't privy to and it frightened him. If Reagan was involved in some patriot plot, he wasn't certain he could save her if she got into trouble.
Reagan laid aside her sewing. She was tempted just to blurt out that she knew who he was, and to confess that she was the penman he sought. But she held her tongue. Prudence told her to wait just a little longer. There had to be reasons why he was keeping his true identity a secret. Still, the thought that they weren't enemies thrilled her. Suddenly there seemed to be possibilities in her life. The war couldn't last forever.
"You tell me you're not whoring, but there are still rumors at the market. " She stroked his head absently. Firelight from the oil lamp on the table played against the highlights in his hair, turning it to spun gold beneath her fingertips.
"There are also rumors that the king himself has come to oversee General Clinton take command of the Army. Do you believe that, too, wench?"
She giggled. She'd heard the same rumor only last week and it was utterly ridiculous. She leaned and kissed his soft, clean hair. "I was just asking."
The tall case clock struck the hour and Sterling pushed up on his elbow. "Give us a kiss. I have to be going."
"Going? Going where?"
His blue eyes met hers. "I told you," he said seriously, "you ask too many questions. You're going to get us both into trouble."
She pressed her mouth to his, but he pushed her away. He was suddenly in no mood for play. He was afraid for her. "Reagan, this is no jest. " He stood, putting his hand out to help her to her feet. "I don't know what you're keeping from me, but I'll find out."
"I don't know what you're talking about. " She giggled. She was so happy. Grayson loved her and he wasn't a stinking redcoat.
He strode out of the room and down the hall to retrieve his cloak. She met him in the front hall.
"You've a meeting, I suppose? Dressed like that? Who are you seeing?"
Sterling looked down at his simple civilian garb. He was wearing a pair of tan breeches, a muslin shirt, and a long blue vest with pewter buttons. "You stay inside tonight, do you understand me? I hear you sneaking around at night. I hear doors closing. You think I don't realize that Westley is dodging in and out day and night?" He pointed a finger at her, and she bit down on it gently. He pulled back, flinging his cloak over his shoulders. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were dallying with him."
She laughed. Nothing Grayson could say would dampen her spirits tonight. He knew damned well he was the only man she had ever made love with. "Good night. Wake me when you come in and I'll warm your chilled bones," she told him, a saucy smile on her lips.
Sterling frowned, leaning to peck her on the cheek. "Good night."
"Godspeed," she called after him as he went into the night.
Elsa stood at the end of the brick walk leading to Ethan's house. Light from the streetlamp illuminated her hair. She clasped Ethan's hand, staring up at his beefy red face.
"I have to go, Ethan," she whispered. "Sister will be angry if she knows I went out the window and shimmied down the drainpipe."
Ethan chuckled low in his throat. When he had never thought he would know laughter again, Elsa had come into his life. They had met in church just before the occupation of the city. They had taken an immediate liking to each other, and Elsa had soon begun to appear at his doorstep offering to help with the children, mend a shirt, or bake a few loaves of bread. Their friendship had begun as a bud of hope in Ethan's life and had blossomed into love.
"I told you, Elsa, you shouldn't climb over that roof. " He caressed her tiny hand. "You'll break yer pretty neck and then where will the children and I be?"
Elsa smiled shyly. "I don't want to go home but I have to."
He pulled his pocketwatch from beneath his leather vest. "Let's see what time it is."
"No, let me. " She took the watch from him, lifting it so that the light struck its face. She pursed her lips with great concentration. "It's . . . it's ten minutes after ten o'clock in the night!"
Ethan pulled her into his massive arms. "You did it again! I told you I could teach you!"
Elsa squealed with delight. "You told me I could do it! Sister wouldn't teach me because she said it would only upset me, but I can do it, can't I, Ethan?"
The blacksmith smoothed her cap of dark hair, closing his eyes as he rested his chin against her forehead. "Oh, my Elsa, what are we going to do
? How will we ever be able to be together?"
She looked up at him. "I'm going to marry you, of course," she answered innocently.
"Marry me? You would marry a big, ugly blacksmith, Elsa?"
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his round middle, the watch still clutched in her hands. "I love you and we're going to get married."
"What about your sister?"
"She'll change her mind. She always does. She said I couldn't have a kitten because I'd forget to feed it, but then she got Westley to get me one for Christmas, only she told Westley to tell me it was from him."
"Elsa, I'm not a cat."
"It's the same thing. She didn't think I could take care of my kitty, but I do. She doesn't want me to get married because she thinks I'll be sad if I can't be a good wife."
Ethan took her by the arms, looking into her blue eyes. "All the children and I want is your love. All I ask of you as my wife is to love me and my children."
She nodded her head, smiling. "I can do that, Ethan. But I can take care of your house, too. I'm gonna make a good wife for you."
"Marry me now, then. We'll just do it. We won't tell Reagan until it's too late for her to stop us."
Elsa shook her head. "That wouldn't be right. I have to get her permission. I would ask Papa, but he's dead."
"She'll never give you permission to marry me, buttercup. She's forbid you to see me."
"Sister's got a lot on her mind. These redcoats are gonna go soon and then things will be better. We just have to wait until she's thinkin' clear."
Ethan sighed. Elsa's outlook on life was so beautifully naive, so unscarred by the destruction and hate around her. "All right, we'll wait a little longer, but you just tell me and we'll get married."
"I'll still come to see you and the children. Reagan's so busy with things that she doesn't know what I do. " Elsa reached out to stroke Ethan's wiry beard. "I have to go, Ethan, or she'll catch me."
He released her and leaned over the picket fence. Out of the darkness he came up with a sprig of yellow jasmine. He pressed it into her hand and then kissed her rosy lips ever so gently. Elsa laid her hands on his broad shoulders and the kiss deepened.
Temptation’s Tender Kiss Page 21