"Cassie, Cassie." he groaned, rolling her onto her back so he could press his mouth to the valley between her breasts. "You shoudn't have come, sweet. Shouldn't have come."
Cassie ignored his protests, arching her back, guiding his mouth to the tip of a rosy nipple. She exhaled sharply, raising her hips to mold them against his as he took the hardened nub between his teeth, rolling it, teasing it, taunting her until she cried out with pleasure. "Please." she murmured huskily. "Someone will hear." A blush crept across her cheeks as she ran her hands across his back, peeling his shirt over his head.
Devon's hard chest pressed against her love-swollen breasts, sending ripples of pleasure to her limbs. The dark, curly mat of hair on his chest tickled her as he raised his head above hers to take her soft, sulky mouth again. Cassie's tongue darted out to taste the familiar cavern of his mouth and she moved beneath him, straining against his hard male form.
Devon sat up to draw down his breeches and she sat up with him, catching his nipple with the tip of her tongue. He groaned in response, struggling to remove the cloth that separated them. Getting to her knees to help him strip off the breeches, Cassie snaked her arms around his neck, pressing hot fervent kisses across his bare chest and broad shoulders. Her hands roamed over his battle-weary body, exploring every muscle, every tendon, smoothing away the aches and sore spots.
Devon kneaded the rounded flesh of her buttocks, pulling her against him, needing to feel her damp flesh against his. Finally, his head spinning with mounting desire for her, he eased her to the ground, cradling her head. His hands wove a pattern of burning want over her flesh, and she cried out until he leaned to muffle her moans of pleasure with his mouth. His fingers brushed over her flat belly, leaving a trail of liquid fire as he moved to thread his fingers through the bright curls nestled below.
Cassie sighed, lifting her hips to meet the stroke of his hand. Catching both hands, she tugged. "Here." she murmured. "Here where I can see you." Guiding his firm body over hers, she parted her legs to welcome his thrust. Her fingers trembling, she ran them through his raven hair, moaning softly as he moved above her.
Guided by his hard, undulating hips, Cassie strained against him, caught up in the rhythm of an ancient love rite. Higher and higher they soared, moving faster and faster until finally she cried out, stiffening and then relaxing beneath him. A thousand streaks of bright light shattered within her as she raised her hips to meet his final, driving thrust. Together, they floated back to earth until they were in the tent again and the sounds of the retiring camp filled their thoughts.
Devon kissed her again and again, brushing her damp hair from her forehead, stroking her silken flesh. "I'm so glad you're here." he whispered. "I don't want you here. You shouldn't have come, but I'm glad you're here, now at this moment. Of course, we have to figure out a way to get you back to Marshview."
"Shshsh," Cassie hushed, brushing her fingers across his lips. She moved from beneath him, resting his head on her breast. "Not tonight." she murmured sleepily. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."
Devon curled his arm around her waist, nestling his head. He pressed a single kiss to her breast, his eyes drifting shut. The sound of Cassie's light, even breath filled the tent as her chest rose and fell steadily. She was already asleep.
Cassie yanked her dirty linen shirt over her head, stuffing it into the waistline of her skirt. "Don't talk to me." she shouted at Devon. "I don't want to hear it!" She grabbed her boots and stockings and crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees.
"Cassie!" he called after her. "Get back in here before I—I—" He stuck his head out of the tent. The camp was already up and about; men were milling around, some taking interest in the only female in camp.
"You'll what? What are you going to do?" She stood on one foot, ignoring the stares as she hopped up and down, trying to roll up her stocking. "I told you, I'm not going."
Devon came out of the tent, barefooted, pulling his shirt over his head. "The hell you're not. This is no place for you. You're going home where you belong." He took her elbow but she swatted at him, knocking his hand from her.
"That's not my home. That's your home and I'm not going back!" Her stocking up, she stuffed her foot in a riding boot. "How're ye gonna make me?"
Devon rested a cold, dark gaze on her defiant one. He was so angry with her that he could feel his cheeks burning red. He tightened his fists at his side. She was quite the sight this morning in her bloodstained clothes and tangled, dirty hair. But even through the grime of the previous day, a beauty radiated from within her. She glared at him with stormy green eyes, the dare plain on her face.
"How're you gonna do it?" she asked quietly, her arms folded across her chest.
He crossed the short span between them, grabbing her arm and tightening his hold until she winced with pain. "Do not embarrass me like this. I have to work with these men. I have to give them orders. I'll not have you undermining me." He gave her a shake, speaking through clenched teeth. "You make me so damned mad I could kill you, Cassie."
"Unhand me." she returned with equal force. "I believe this conversation has come to an end! I'm not going!"
Slowly, Devon loosened his grip on her. What was wrong with him? He wasn't a violent man! He'd never behaved like this with a woman in his life. But then this was no ordinary woman. Cassie was . . . she was bullheaded, she was childish, she was . . . He groaned aloud, spinning around. Without another word to her, he ducked back into the tent. The first thing he needed to do was get a clean shirt, wash, shave, and report. Then he'd think about this. Then he'd figure how the hell he was going to get that stubborn mule out of here and back to safety.
Watching Devon disappear into the tent, she heaved a sigh of relief and turned, heading for the broken wagon she'd left her supplies in. She'd go talk to Joe, wash up, and find something cleaner to wear, and then she'd locate that Colonel Haslet and make things official. Pox on Devon! She was joining the army!
Cornering a tent, Cassie heard someone call her name. Spinning around, she searched the crowd of haggard faces for someone she recognized. That's funny, she thought. She knew no one knew her here, and it wasn't Devon's voice. Hurrying along, she heard the voice again and turned around.
Through the crowd of soldiers, she spotted Mordecai Steele coming straight for her. "Cassie, Cassie." he called, a broad grin on his face. He was still carrying a musket, his scarlet-and-buff uniform torn to shreds. Dried blood clung to the side of his head. "I can't believe my eyes! A redhaired angel come from heaven to tend my wounds!"
"You! You!" Cassie shouted, stepping up to him. "This is all your fault to begin with! If you hadn't made that lousy bet, I wouldn't be in this fix!" Before she knew what she was doing, Cassie had balled up her fist and was knocking Mordecai square in the jaw.
She swung so hard she knocked the weary soldier off his feet and sent him reeling to the ground. A bewildered Mordecai sat up, nursing his chin as he watched the Irish lass disappear around a wagon. "Damnation!" he murmured. "That wench has really got an arm!"
Chapter Seventeen
"You wanted to see me, Colonel Haslet?" Devon stepped inside the door of the parlor, coming to attention. The Continental Army had set up temporary sickrooms for the wounded in an abandoned Tory house. Devon's face reddened with anger at the sight of Cassie kneeling with his commander at the bedside of a wounded soldier. What was she up to now?
"Yes." The colonel got to his feet, giving the soldier's arm a squeeze. "First I wanted to commend you for a job well done these last two days. Major Macdonough has given me a full report of your performance, and I must say, I'm proud of you."
Devon nodded, glancing uneasily at his wife. "Thank you, sir. I did no more than the others."
"Well, just the same, I wanted you to know I am aware of your actions. Now, the next matter."
Devon could feel a tightening in the pit of his stomach. Somehow he knew this had to do with Cassie. "Yes, sir?" He stiffened.
"This is a
difficult decision for me, but I want you to know I make it to benefit all of my men." He motioned to Cassie on her knees, cleansing a chest wound. "Your wife has requested that she be permitted to stay with the regiment. She's offered her services in any way I see fit."
"Sir!" Devon broke in.
The colonel held up a hand. "Now let me finish, Marsh. Mistress O'Flynn has already told me you disapprove of this, but she's adamant. And you have to admit, we could use her." He lowered his voice to a more personal tone. "Devon, she's got more experience than most of my soldiers. I'm told she can prime, load, and fire a cannon in record time. And her medical skills are badly needed. The surgeons are overworked and few of them have experience with battlefield medicine. Most of them have spent their entire careers curing the itch!"
Devon's jaw was set, his eyes glassy with anger. "I don't want her here, sir. She's my wife and a battlefield is no place for a woman." He tried to catch her eye, but she was deliberately ignoring him, moving from one patient to the next, speaking in hushed tones, sometimes laughing out loud.
"She says she was raised on the battlefield. Her father is a mercenary in Europe." The colonel banged his three-cornered hat on his knee.
"She is my wife and I repeat, sir, I do not approve."
"I don't think this is the time to be concerned with proper etiquette. We need every hand we can get if we're to win this war—male or female. Anyway, Marsh, for now it makes little difference what any of us think. You couldn't get her out if you wanted to. I still can't for the life of me figure out how she got in here." He laughed. "I'm certainly glad she's on our side and not theirs." Colonel Haslet paused, studying Devon's stony face. "Well, son, that's all for now. I'll see you in my tent at noon for report." With that he ducked out the door, leaving Devon and Cassie in the room of patients.
For a minute Devon just stood there, still at attention, his cocked hat tucked beneath his arm. "Well?" His voice rang loud in the whitewashed room.
"Well, what?" Cassie raised an eyebrow haughtily.
"I can't believe you did this!" He shook his hat at her. "You spoke to the colonel?"
She smiled. "I've joined the army . . ."
"The bloody hell you have! You're not staying, Cassie!" he roared.
"I am staying and there's not a lick you can do about it." she taunted, getting to her feet, a washbowl in one hand.
"If you're my wife, you're going home."
"What are you saying?" Cassie was suddenly frightened. She hadn't meant to risk their fragile relationship; she'd meant to better it. What was wrong with Devon not to realize this?
Devon's face was a mask, void of emotion. "I'm saying that perhaps I made a mistake."
Cassie's jaw grew tight. Her world was crumbling around her, but she refused to be bested. She refused to let him know he was destroying her with a few mere words. Her heart pounded beneath her breast as she raised her head to reply. "Yes, I was thinking the same." She turned from him, and leaned to speak to one of the wounded soldiers. It was not until she heard the click of his boots down the hall that she allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek.
Cassie sat down beside Mordecai in the grass, drawing her knees up to rest her elbows on them. "Sorry 'bout slamming you, Mordecai." She strained to peer over the earthworks, keeping an eye out for enemy movement.
Mordecai chuckled, running a hand over the bruised point of his chin. "You probably wouldn't have knocked me into the dust if I'd known it was coming." He glanced sideways at his friend's wife. A real shiner, he thought, taking in the curves of her heart-shaped face and the hue of her fiery hair tied behind her neck. Guts, too.
"Well . . ." Cassie chewed at her bottom lip. "I am sorry, and I would have apologized sooner if Devon hadn't told me I had to." She turned to look at Mordecai. "He has no right to be ordering me about. Paddie O'Flynn taught me to know what's right and wrong. I'd have come on my own. I know none of this is your fault. I was just mad." She lifted her lashes to reveal startling green eyes.
Mordecai switched his loaded musket to his left hand and held out the right to her. "All's forgotten, Cas."
She smiled up at him, taking his warm hand to squeeze it. "I don't know what it is about that man that makes me so crazy." She released Mordecai's hand and leaned to rest her chin on her knees. "I've never done such foolish things before. I can't think straight when he's around. He makes me so mad sometimes that I'd like to take one of those cannons and blow a hole clear through that skull of his." She turned to him. "Know what I mean?"
Mordecai laughed, reaching beneath his smock to extract a pipe and a small bag of tobacco. He seemed to have recalled having the same conversation with Devon earlier in the day. He shook his head. He was sure glad he wasn't in love. "Could you take my musket for a minute, Cassie? I want to light up."
She took the weapon from him, leaning on it with both hands. The enemy was so close that she could smell their campfires. And she knew that if she got to her knees to peer over the earthworks, she would be able to catch glimpses of scarlet-and-blue uniforms. It had been almost two days since the Colonial Army had retreated to the Brooklyn Works through the marshes, and still, Howe's army hadn't flinched. The longer the rebel army waited, the more oppressive the waiting became.
"I hear the wind is shifting." Cassie said, watching Mordecai tamp his pipe. "If Howe's brother gets his fleet up this far, they'll slaughter us where we sit."
Mordecai nodded, drawing on his clay pipe. "I have a feeling something's going to change here very shortly. General Washington was hoping he could still hold Long Island—that's why he brought the extra troops over. But I think it's folly." He reached for his musket, taking it from her.
"Mordecai, can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure. Ask away."
"After your watch, do you think you could come talk to one of the wounded soldiers? He's got it in his head he's a coward. I think he needs a man's talking."
"Why don't you ask Devon?" He stared straight ahead, his pipe clenched in his teeth.
Cassie gave a snort. "Master Fancy Breeches hasn't talked to me since yesterday. Got his nose out a' joint. Thinks I'll give in if he treats me like a sullen child." She shook her head. "It's not going to work though. I'll not be bullied or tricked." She got to her feet. "He thinks he can ignore me! I'll warrant you I can do the same." She brushed her hand over Mordecai's sleeve as she passed him. "Thanks for the understandin'. I need all I can get these days."
"Cassie! Cassie, wake up!" The sound of Devon's voice woke Cassie from a deep sleep. The drenching rain pounded the warped floorboards of the wagon over her head, leaking to run in rivulets down her face. Sometime in the late afternoon she'd crawled beneath the broken wagon to try and escape the elements. For a moment, just as she was waking, she thought Devon might have come to apologize, to take her in his arms and admit how silly he'd been, but the minute her eyes met his, she knew that wasn't why he was here. "Cassie, you've got to get up. We're leaving."
Cassie blinked sleepily, pulling her soggy blanket around her shoulders. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."
Devon sighed, unamused. "Then you're going to be the only one." he replied dryly. "The army's moving out. Now get up and get your bag together. I want you on the first boat that sets off the beach." His eyes rested on her face for the briefest moment, and then he was gone.
Cassie climbed from beneath the wagon, dragging her blanket with her. What did he mean, they were going? Where in the blast were they going? She stood watching the soldiers move about in an orderly fashion, the rain beating down on them as they loaded ammunition and supplies into wagons and on their backs. Then she spotted four men coming through the middle of the camp with something on their shoulders. A boat? They were carrying a boat? A water evacuation? General Washington thought he was going to be able to get his entire army across the river to Manhattan? Cassie laughed aloud.
Running through the rain, she searched for Mordecai—he would know what was going on. She found him organizing men to
roll cannon down to the wharves. "Mordecai." she cried over the din of shouting men and blinding rain. "What's going on?"
He pulled his three-cornered hat down in the front, wiping the rain from his forehead. "The general has ordered an evacuation. John Glover's Marbleheads are going to ferry us across."
Cassie raised her eyebrows, clutching the blanket tightly beneath her chin. "All of us? What of the equipment?"
"That, too." Mordecai nodded, shouting a direction to one of his men.
"Even the cannons?"
"Cannons, too! Now I want you to get your things together and be on that first boat going across, do you understand me?" He took her elbow, giving her a push in the direction of the shore.
"I hear you." she called, giving him a wave of her hand as she headed back to the wagon.
Packing her belongings was not as easy a task as Cassie had thought it would be. In the last three days she'd collected a myriad of useful objects. Paddie O'Flynn called her a scavenger, taking things men left behind, but she thought herself a pragmatist. Men were so foolish about such things. Needles might be plentiful now, but just wait, they'd be wishing they had one in a year. And she was a swapper, too. I'll give you this English tobacco I found on a dead soldier if you'll give me some of your sugar ration. This winter, they'd be needing the sugar when they were down with the ague.
As night fell, Cassie finished organizing her bags and went to find Joe, the boy from Milford. She located him down by the shore, leaning against a barrel of powder. She waved to him, running across the beach, ducking and dodging men carrying equipment and rolling cannon. "There you are, Joe!" she called out. Her voice barely carried in the driving wind. "I want you to take my things across."
The Officer's Desire Page 18