Down the hardwood hall Cassie ran, her starched cap falling off her head, her hair tumbling from beneath it. She ignored Judith's protests and pushed the study door open without a knock. "Devon Marsh." she shouted. "I want to speak to you this instant." Her green eyes were wide with fury.
"Cassie!" Devon's voice was sharp. "This is a private meeting." He held out a hand to his father and another gentleman reclining in wing-back chairs. "It can wait." He stood with his hands on his narrow hips, his face stony with anger.
"It will not wait!" she dared. "Do ye wish to discuss it with or without the gentlemen?" She stood her ground, her bright hair falling about her shoulders in disarray.
Devon glanced at the men. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be but a moment." His voice was razor sharp. "It seems this can't wait." Coming from his desk, he caught Cassie by the arm and propelled her forward.
"Let go of my arm." she hissed. "You're going to break it clear off." She hurried beside him, trying to keep up with his long stride.
"You're going to wish that's all I'd done." he murmured beneath his breath, giving her a shove into the winter kitchen. Slamming the hand-hewn door behind him, he marched to close the door that led outside. "Now what is so blasted important"—he spun around to face her in fury—"that it can't wait until I have finished my business with a very important client?" He went on without giving her a chance to speak. "I have had enough, Cassie. Do you understand me? It's time you settled down and started behaving like a proper wife. You think I don't know your tricks?" He glared with dark eyes. "You seem to be able to conduct yourself just fine when you wish it, and then you fall back into the role of barmaid, cursing and slamming things around." He banged his fist on the table, sending a bowl of peaches rolling to the floor. "Now what the hell do you want?" His last words were deafening.
Cassie was undaunted by his tirade. What did she care if he hollered and carried on? She could shout with the best of them. "Coward!" she accused. "You didn't tell me I wasn't going! Left it to your sniveling sister, you did!"
"Go, go where?" Devon tightened his fists at his sides, trying to gain control of his anger. Too many things were happening at once. He had too much to be concerned with right now—his transfer, Marshview, his clients, gaining support and monies for the army for the coming winter. Suddenly it was all crashing down on him.
"You know what I'm talking about." She ran to him, shaking a fist in his face. "You're leaving for New Jersey and you're not taking me with you."
His brow creased in confusion. "Take you to New Jersey, hell no, you're not going to New Jersey. Where did you get such an idea? You're going to stay right here where you're safe."
"I'll not do it. I'm coming with you. I'll not stay where I'm not wanted."
Devon stared at his wife in total bewilderment. "We're not going to have this conversation, Cassie. You're not going with the army. You never were. Why in God's name would you think you'd be going with me?"
Cassie dropped her hands to her hips, her eyes locked on her husband's. "I just assumed it. What good am I to you here? At your side I can load your rifle, cook, tend your wounds. I can fire cannon, if need be. What kind of wife would I be if I wasn't willing to do it?" She put out a hand beseechingly. "I'd never let you go alone."
She was beginning to get a sinking feeling in her stomach. He was going to leave her. He was going to go off to war and be killed and she'd never see him again. Worse yet, he'd return years later when the war had finally ended and then they'd be strangers.
"Cassie." Devon let out an exasperated sigh as he ran his hand over his head and fumbled with the queue tied neatly at the back. How could she be so damned irrational? He'd thought Cassie had more sense. "No one is taking their wife along to fight the British." He forced himself to sound patient. "This is a man's war." He took her by the shoulders. The anger in her deep green eyes hit him like a blast of icy water. Her fury was so tangible he could taste it. "Now, listen to me."
"You bastard! Let go of me!" She struggled against his grasp. "You mean to desert me!" She glared contemptuously. "This war is going to last for years, win or lose. You mean to sweep me beneath your fancy wool carpet to gather dust while you play your war games. You want me to sit here and wait for word of your untimely death." Her voice dropped to a threatening hush.
"This conversation has come to an end." he told her sternly. "You are my wife. You will stay here as I bid you." His fingers cut into her shoulders cruelly. "If I'm gone a hundred years, you're going to stay here and wait." He drew her up against his broad chest, ignoring her violent struggles. "Do you understand, Cassie? You will stay here where you're safe if I have to tie you to the bedpost!" He scowled at her with steely dark eyes, and a set jaw. This time she'd not have her way.
Cassie tore her gaze from his. She had to get away from here. Somewhere to think. The man she loved was becoming a stranger. Did he think she was a sheep to be told when to come and go? "Mark my words, Devon Marsh." she whispered harshly." you've not heard the last o' this." Wrenching free, she spun around and ran out the door, slamming it behind her.
Devon sank into a straight-back chair, running a palm over his suntanned face. He stared at the cold fireplace, still in awe. What could ever have made her think he would even consider taking her to Amboy with him? He was flabbergasted. What kind of husband did she think he was that he would risk her life? Even if he didn't love her, he'd have a duty to protect her!
He swore foully. If she wasn't shot or run through with a bayonet, she'd die of the smallpox! He exhaled sharply, rising to his feet. She should have known that.
He walked to the window to stare absently out at the lush fields. Men and women walked the long rows of tobacco, plucking the flower buds from the tops of the still-green plants. He'd not be here to help with the harvest, but he'd sow it all in wheat and corn next spring. "If I live to see another planting." he murmured.
War is a sordid thing, he thought blackly. Of course, Cassie knew that. He laughed wryly. Truth was, she knew more of the ravages of war than he did. "But it doesn't matter." he said with new resolution. "She's my wife and she will do as I say. She's going to wait here for me, here at Marshview where she belongs."
Cassie yanked up the skirts of her lutestring gown, taking the steps of the front staircase two at a time. She cursed under her breath. How could Devon do this to her? How could he even think of leaving her behind? He had made her his wife. He had sworn his love for her—now he said her place was on a farm, not at his side. "Colonial bastard!" she yelled down the steps.
Down the hall she stomped and into their bedchamber. "Have to get out of here." she murmured to herself. "I can't breathe in here, I can't think." she screamed at the empty room. Sweeping off the table all the coins that Devon had left for her to pay the dressmaker with, she hurried back down the steps and out the front door.
In the barn Cassie saddled her own horse, ignoring the ogling stares of the stable boys, and mounted with ease. Out of the barn and down the long wooded drive she raced, with the wind at her back.
By the time Cassie reached The Patriot, the public room was already brimming with late afternoon customers. Slipping in the door, she made her way to a table and took a chair. It felt good to be in familiar surroundings again. She rested her head in her arms on the table. The sound of laughter and deep male voices filled her ears, and her eyes drifted shut. Was this where she belonged? Had she been a fool to think she and Devon could ever have a life together?
Tears threatened to spill and she squeezed her eyes tight, a lump building in her throat. It hurt so much! All she wanted was to be with him, to care for him. She would never fit in at Marshview, but on the battlefield she would be in her own element. There she could prove herself, make herself worthy of his love . . . .
"Cassie O'Flynn! Well, I'll be hanged!"
Cassie's eyes flew open to meet Molly's clear blue eyes.
"What in the blue blazes brings you rich folk to this crummy taproom?" Molly grinned, dropping her
tray on the table with a bang. "You all right?" Her brows creased as she scrutinized her friend.
Cassie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "What business is it of yours?" she snapped. "Get me a drink, and not ale." She extracted a gold coin from the bodice of her dusty gown. "Better yet, get me two, and none of that rotgut. I'll have whiskey from the bottle beneath the counter."
Molly's eyes grew wide, a frown appearing on her face. "What's the matter? Your prince done thrown you from his house already?"
Cassie eyed her coldly. "The drink, Molly. If I wanted to tell you my business, I would." She pushed the tray in the barmaid's direction, dismissing her.
Molly gave a grunt and then snatched up the tray, hustling it away.
Devon pushed through the door of The Patriot with such force that heads turned to see who had entered. He stood with his fists balled tightly at his sides, the anger rising in him in great waves. His steely gaze moved from table to table as he searched for his wife. When he spotted Cassie, with her back to him at the corner table, he walked directly to her, his stride long and determined. "Cassie!" He gripped her shoulder.
She turned until his eyes rested on a sea of green.
"You want something?"
Devon eyed the four drained glasses that littered the table. The smell of whiskey was heavy on her breath. "I want you to get up from here and come with me." he ordered through clenched teeth. "This minute, Cassie. I'll not have you making a spectacle of yourself."
"Who's making a spectacle of himself?" She raised an eyebrow and he glanced about the room to see several people staring in interest.
Devon exhaled with a huff and slid into the chair across from her. Cassie sat slumped in the chair, her heeled slippers resting on the chair beside her. Her new gown was dusty and the lace was missing off one sleeve. Her windblown hair had tumbled from her hairpins to frame her face in a mass of fiery waves. "What do you think you're doing here?" He leaned across the table, his voice hushed.
"Gettin' drunk. What do you think I'm doing here?" She signaled to Molly across the room, ordering another drink.
"I think you've had enough, Cassie. You'd better come home now." He touched her elbow, but she jerked back her arm as if she'd been burned.
"Home?" Her eyes narrowed. "And where is my home, husband? My home is with you, yet you refuse me." Slowly she slid her feet off the chair until they hit the planked floor.
"You're not being reasonable. I never led you to believe you could go with me. It's not safe." He tugged at his stock, loosening it. "Hot in here." he murmured, glancing up at Molly approaching the table.
"'Evening, sir." The maid swung her skirt in a light curtsy. She kept her eyes on Devon as she slid Cassie her drink. "Nice ta see you again, Master Marsh." She gave him a wink.
Devon's hand shot across the table to take Cassie's drink. "That'll be all, Molly." he ordered, flipping her a coin. "There'll be no more drinks for the mistress." His eyes locked on Cassie's as he raised her drink to his lips.
Molly rolled her eyes. "Good Lordy." she muttered, heading for another table. "If looks could hang!"
"That was my drink!" Cassie snapped, leaning on the table to rest her chin in her hands. She stared at him boldly from across the table. "If you leave me, it'll never be right."
"Nonsense." Devon downed the last swallow of the amber liquid. The whiskey felt good going down. "I don't have to serve through the entire war. I'll be back and then we'll pick up where we left off." He slid the empty glass across the table. "Another, Molly." he called out.
"You leave me and we won't know each other when you get back." She pushed the mass of heavy hair off her shoulder. "It'll take too much effort to make it work." She slid a hand across the table. "Don't you understand?" she beseeched. I'm going to lose him, she thought, searching his handsome chiseled face. He's going to go and I'm going to lose him whether he comes back or not.
Devon took the hand she offered, turning it to stroke her palm. "I can't do it, Cassie. No matter what you do or say, I can't agree to it." He looked up at her. "You don't understand. I couldn't live with myself if I thought I was risking your life."
"And what, might I ask, is going to keep King George's men from marching through the front hall of Marshview? You think I'll be safe then?"
He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. "It won't happen. This war won't last long. We're going to drive them out or kill them."
"Oh, horseshit!" Cassie spat. "You don't know what you're saying. You don't know how it is."
"Cassie!" Devon's voice ran sharp. "I'm the soldier. Don't tell me my business!"
She jerked her hand from his and stumbled to her feet. "You leave me here"—she stuck out a finger accusingly—"and you'll lose me. War rips people apart if they don't stick together. It'll take time." She swung around, heading for the door. "It'll take time, but Someday, I'll warrant you, you'll not give me the time a' day."
Devon sat in the chair and watched the door slam behind her. "Damn it!" He slammed his fist on the table.
"'Ere's your drink, Master Marsh." Molly said sweetly. "Be needin' anything else?" She glanced about the busy public room. "Where's Cassie?"
"Gone." He tipped the glass and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp. "Another."
"Gone?" Molly retrieved the glass. "She tipped a few. You gonna let her go home alone in that state?" She planted a hand on an ample hip. "These is strange times, not safe for a girl to be alone on the street"
Devon grunted. "Her? Hell, she's safer out there than I am. She doesn't need me. She doesn't need anyone." He stared into the room, focusing on nothing.
"Think you're wrong about that, sir," Molly replied, walking away. "Think you're dead wrong."
Chapter Ten
Cassie stepped out onto the walk in front of The Patriot and stumbled, catching the toe of her heeled slipper on an uneven brick. "Hell's bells!" she mumbled, planting her hands on her hips. "Let him sit and drink himself into a stupor. I'm going home to that fancy bed of mine." She licked her dry lips, trying to focus. It hadn't been until she'd stood up to leave that she realized she might have had one drink too many. Her father had always said she held her liquor well, but still, maybe five whiskeys had been an overindulgence.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, Cassie made her way to the rails, where there were several horses tied up, their masters inside quenching their thirsts. There was Devon's black. . . . "I God!" she groaned, eyeing the horses in the dim light of early evening. "Where's me the next, trying to recall if she'd taken a bay or a chestnut from the bar at Marshview. She'd been in such a fury when she'd left that she just hadn't taken notice—either that or the drink had faded her memory.
"Must be you." she said, giving a chestnut's velvety nose a pat as she hiked up her skirts to vault over the hitching rail. She made it over but her petticoat caught and she had to give it a yank, tearing the delicate material to free herself.
"Indeed, must be you," she murmured in the horse's ear. Taking a firm hold on the saddle, she went to swing up when she noticed the bags tied to the rear of the horse. She wrinkled her nose. That was funny, she didn't remember bringing saddlebags! She turned to scratch the chestnut's haunches. "Tell the truth, beasty. Are ye or aren't ye my horse? Do ye belong to those rich gents, the Marshes, just west of here?" The horse gave a snort in reply.
"Now don't just be telling me that to get me to take you home with me. I'm no horse thief!" She reached for one of the bags, untying a flap. One way to tell, she thought. . . .
"Nope." She shook her head, stuffing the obstetrical instruments back in the bag hurriedly. "You must be Old Doc Marker's horse. Why would you lie to me like that? Ought to be ashamed of yourself!" She gave a giggle, moving onto the next likely candidate. Been too long since I got myself soused, she thought, eyeing one horse and then the next. "Ought to do this more often!"
"Hey there, missy." a voice called from behind.
Cassie spun around to see who was coming between the row of horses. "
This . . . this your bay?" She giggled again. "Seem to have lost my horse." She faced the man, dropping her hands on her hips.
The sailor in the canvas breeches and tarred pigtail tipped back his head to laugh. "Your horse, huh?" He took a step forward, taking in her tattered gown and tangled hair. "Hear that, Sags? Says she's lookin' fer her horse!"
A man in a red wool cap popped up beside the other man from beneath a horse's belly, and Cassie took a step back, the careless smile falling from her face. A shiver ran down her spine as she glanced uneasily from one ruffian to the other. "Perhaps I ought to get my husband from inside to spot her for me." She took another step backward and felt the hitching rail press into her back.
"You ain't no more got a husband than you got a horse, missy." the first man taunted, moving slowly forward. "Now how 'bout a little tumble for two men who's long overdue for it?"
Cassie glanced from one man to the next in sudden panic and whipped around to leap over the hitching rail. As one of her feet hit the ground, the second man caught the other foot before it cleared the rail. "Nooo!" she screamed, clawing at the rail as the two of them hauled her back over. "Let go of me, you bastards." she spit as one swung and knocked her in the mouth.
"Shut up, bitch!" the pigtailed man ordered, shoving a long hand-honed knife beneath her chin. "You holler again and those'll be the last words that come from that filthy mouth of yours!" He grabbed a handful of bright hair and snapped her head with a jerk.
Cassie winced, her eyes flying shut, as a sob escaped from her throat. She could feel a trickle of blood oozing from her split lip. The effect of the alcohol was suddenly wiped clean by the icy terror that surged through her veins. The fog from her mind had lifted and the reality of the situation was all too plain. Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to stifle the primal fear. They really are going to kill me, she thought numbly.
The man in the red cap leaned closer, his foul breath hot on her face. "Now you come with us, missy, and you do as yer told, and you might live to wrap those creamy thighs I'm guessin' you got around that man of yours again." He touched the cold blade to her chin.
The Officer's Desire Page 10