Of course, Devon and Mordecai knew there would be no dragoons. The Americans had spies everywhere; they knew what direction the British scouting parties moved and when. According to their sources the nearest enemy at this time of day would be nearly six miles from here, and eating their evening meal near a creek. Mordecai's party had intended to cross the Delaware and search for seaworthy vessels in nearby homes.
In silence Devon waited near the clearing, crouched in a thicket of dead greenbriers. He was dressed much like Mordecai in buckskins, a brown Marylander tunic, and a coonskin hat. He had taken on the garb of his woodsman friend, realizing the bright blue and red of his Delaware uniform would be easily spotted. Wearing the soft browns of nature's winter, it would be more difficult to see him, and he had to admit he was a sight warmer.
Leaning on his musket, Devon shifted his weight in the bitter cold and caught Mordecai's eye across the way. Shrugging, Devon went back to his watch, beginning to fool ridiculous.
Then suddenly, there was movement in the woods. Mordecai heard it first, then Devon only seconds later. The brush snapped and popped as men made their way closer, the sounds of their footsteps hard on the frozen ground.
Devon's heart hammered in his chest as he watched in awe. Through the bushes and scrub pines moved two dozen English soldiers dressed in the telltale red coat with blue facings. It was a handful of the Queen's Dragoons, their white metal buttons glistening in the late sun.
In silence, Devon and Mordecai sat, watching the soldiers disappear into the woods again. Cassie had been on target, word for word right down to the commander's balding head and missing cockade and feather on his cocked hat. She had dreamed it all, and if Mordecai and his men had come through this clearing as they had intended, they would have been slaughtered.
"All right, my friend, out with it." Cassie whispered over her shoulder, crawling along the fence line.
"Out with what? What are you talking about?" Mordecai raised an eyebrow innocently.
"You know what I'm talking about." she insisted, her voice growing louder.
"All I know is that the farmer in that house up there is going to hear you and he's going to fill our hides full of lead."
Cassie spun around, knocking her head into Mordecai's. "Are you going to tell me, Mordecai Adam Steele, that you didn't cross the river last night at McKonkey's Ferry?"
"Deny it?" He tugged on his short-cropped beard. "Certainly not." His eyes twinkled with amusement.
"So what did you see? Tell me that." She swung back around and started across the barnyard on her hands and knees with Mordecai following. "Just what I said you'd see, right?"
"Right." he answered. "Where are we going, Cassie? It's freezing out here."
"Just a little further, this way." She skirted another fence and stood up. "You can get up now. We're out of view from the house."
Mordecai got to his feet and peered over the fence. "Swine!"
"Shshsh," Cassie hushed as one squealed in reply. "Someone will hear."
"What are we going to do with a pig?" Mordecai shook his head, taking a step backward. "I'm not stealing a pig." He held up his hands.
"Oh, come on. It's not really stealing. Think of it as liberating the pig. This is a Tory house. The husband of this woman is fighting against us on the other side of the river."
"How do you know?" Mordecai looked skeptical.
"I've got my ways. Now are you going to help me or not? Wouldn't some fresh meat be good for your men?" She gave him a little smile. "Come on! Is this the same man that hung the lamplighter by the seat of his breeches on a barber's sign?"
"All right, all right!" Mordecai conceded. "Just this once, but don't you dare tell anyone I helped you. I'll be the laughingstock of my regiment."
With a grin, Cassie climbed the fence and dropped down into the pen of squealing hogs.
Cassie turned the spit slowly, reaching out to catch a piece of pork with her fingers. "Ouch!" she cried out, popping the meat into her mouth. Licking her offended fingers, she ladled another cup of water over the roasting meat. The sound of crackling pork, sizzling as the fat hit the hot coals, filled the camp with a spark of energy. The smell of fresh-roasted pork wafted through the air, tantalizing the senses of the hungry men.
"We're leaving now."
Cassie looked up to find Anne. "Can't you stay just tonight?" She released the handle of the spit and came to her friend, wiping her hands on a clean rag she wore around her waist.
"Sorry. But we must get back. John thinks it best if we leave under the cover of darkness." She held out a gloved hand. "Take care of yourself, Cassie, and that husband of yours."
Cassie squeezed Anne's hand. "I will. And you two be careful. Keep a loaded musket beneath the wagon's seat. These are strange times. It's hard to tell friend from foe."
"When do you think you'll be home?" Anne tugged the hood of her pelisse over her head.
"I can't tell you. Devon wants to get a furlough as soon as possible, but with the regiment dwindling, he doesn't know how soon we can go. He wants to come and investigate Mary's disappearance for himself." Cassie rolled her eyes. "You already know what I think about that mess!"
Anne broke into a grin. "I must go. My husband waits. Please come and call when you return to Dover."
Cassie watched her friend move to the wagon to be handed up by John. They waved as the wagon pulled out of camp. Then Cassie returned to the pig on the spit.
An hour later Cassie sat on an old barrel, drinking from a battered pewter cup. Mordecai sat at her feet, and the Delaware and Maryland soldiers were scattered on the ground, huddling near the fire. She had had her fill of the roast pork, but the men still ate heartily as they laughed and passed around a bottle of whiskey.
Cassie sat with her legs crossed and propped on Mordecai's shoulders, her skirts billowing from the heat of the huge fire that still popped and crackled beneath the remainder of the boar's carcass. As the men laughed and talked, she watched the shadows, waiting for Devon. He had promised he would come for a slice of pork, but he'd said he had to see Colonel Haslet first.
Spotting his tall frame coming across the compound, she waved to him, smiling. Things had improved greatly between them since the night when she'd taken the letter and gloves to him. She was sleeping in his tent now, wrapped safely in his arms. But neither of them had brought up the subject of her returning to Marshview. It was such a heated issue between them that they both chose to ignore it for the time being. Cassie was so happy just to be near him again that she didn't want to mar the momentary happiness. And Devon just had too many things on his mind. Still, the issue lingered in the backs of their minds, like a teakettle set on a back burner. Sooner or later they knew they would have to deal with it.
"I thought you'd never get here." Cassie called out to Devon. "They've eaten the best of the meat. Poor devil, never had a chance. I saved you a good piece, though." She pointed at the pewter plate near the fire, heaped with roasted pork.
Devon looked from Cassie to Mordecai, the muscles in his jaw tightening. But he said nothing, going to pick up the plate near the fire. What was he going to say? Mordecai, why are you so familiar with my wife? Why are the two of you sitting there laughing, teasing each other? Cassie, why are your feet propped so comfortably on Mordecai? It was all so foolish. He knew Cassie would never be unfaithful to him. He knew Mordecai would never risk their friendship to dally with his wife. But damn it! Did they have to have so much fun together?
Cassie slipped her feet from Mordecai's shoulders and patted the barrel she sat on. "Here, Devon. Sit with us." She slid over to give him room.
Devon begrudgingly took the seat she offered, a scowl on his face. Without speaking, he picked up a slab of sizzling pork and took a bite.
"A drink?" Cassie held up her pewter cup, sliding her arm through his. "What's the matter?" She studied his face, wishing she could wipe the harsh lines away with a sweep of her hand, or a brush of her lips.
"Nothing." he return
ed gruffly. "Just tired." He dropped the half-eaten slice of pork to the plate. "And I'm worried about Mary. I can't for the life of me figure out what could have happened to her." He balanced the plate on his lap. "Sorry, I'm not too hungry."
Cassie leaned closer, whispering in his ear. "Want to go to bed?"
"I think I will. But you stay if you want."
Cassie wrinkled her nose. "If you're going, I'm going. These sots will be up all night." She took the plate from him. "I'll save it for tomorrow." Leaping off the barrel, she gave Mordecai a nudge with her knee. "Don't let them eat the bones. I'll make a stew with them."
Mordecai gave a laugh, tugging on her skirt. "All right, sweet. Good night." He looked up at Devon's dark face. "Good night to you, too, sweet"
Devon broke into a grin, knocking Mordecai's hat off his head as he passed by.
Arm and arm, Cassie and Devon walked toward their tent. It was bitter cold tonight, but the sky was clear, a million pinpricks of bright light illuminating the heavens. The moon hung low, casting eerie shadows over the tents and wagons of the weary rebel camp.
"Beautiful." Cassie murmured, her breath frosty in the night air.
Devon looked up. "'Tis." He shook his head. "It's so hard to see beauty amidst all of this." He motioned to the camp: the tent of wounded soldiers, the hovel of British and Tory soldiers not yet transported to prison. "How are we ever going to manage this, Cassie? We're outnumbered. They've got the best food, the finest weapons. I don't want to lose Marshview." His voice was gruff, but Cassie could hear the underlying emotion.
"We're going to win for just that reason." she answered.
Devon stopped, pulling her close. "What do you mean?" he asked in a tired voice. "I seem to recall a certain redhead only a few months ago telling me the British were going to tromp us." His gaze rested on her heart-shaped face and he managed a smile.
"I was wrong."
"Oh, you were, were you?" He kissed the end of her freckled nose. "That's a first."
She stuck out her tongue, making a face. "I did think you were going to lose but that was before I saw you fight. You colonials fight with your hearts." She traced the lines of his cloak with her finger. "If we can just hold on, we can beat them. They fight for money, for the King, not for their wives and children, not for a land they love. Mark my words, if we can just hold them at bay, they'll go home."
"Oh, they will, will they?" His voice was teasing now, his dark mood lightened by her insight. "Shall I inform General Washington of our new strategy, or do you want to, General O'Flynn?"
"General Marsh to you." she quipped, sliding her hands beneath his woolen cloak. For a moment she rested her head on his broad chest, content to listen to the steady beat of his heart, then she raised her chin. "Kiss me." she whispered.
Devon lowered his mouth to hers with slow deliberation, his lips brushing against hers like the wings of a butterfly. Parting her lips, their tongues met in a slow, tantalizing ritual of give and take. Cassie's breath came faster as she strained against him, the passion of his kiss igniting her soul. Breathless, she pulled away, her eyelashes fluttering open. "I love you." she whispered.
"I love you, too." he answered, cupping her chin with his palm. "It's cold out here. Want to go inside?" He planted feather-light kisses on her cheeks, her eyelashes, her sooty brows, making it difficult for her to respond.
"Uh-huh." She exhaled sharply as he nipped at the soft flesh of her throat, resting a hand on her breast. Even through the heavy cloak, she could feel the heat of his hand. She could feel the magic of his touch coursing through her veins.
Later, by the dim light of the lantern, Cassie lay in Devon's arms, her breath coming easily again. He toyed with a lock of her hair, dropping a kiss on one creamy breast. "Why didn't you ask me?" he murmured.
Cassie's green eyes settled on his handsome face. "Ask you what?"
"The pig. You got Mordecai to go along with you. You didn't ask me."
She bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. "The pig? That's what that glum face was all about tonight?" She chuckled. "The truth is, I didn't ask you because I didn't think you'd be much good at chasing a hog around the pen." She stared at Devon, her eyes dancing merrily. "You're kind of big to be chasing pigs." She broke into a grin. "Are you mad because—" She dropped her eyelashes, suppressing another giggle. "This wouldn't be jealousy I see in those dark eyes of yours?"
"Of course not." Devon snapped. Then, catching himself, he laughed. "My head tells me it's foolishness." He took her hand, holding it against his chest. "But my heart is not always so logical."
Cassie stroked the stubble of his chin with her palm. "I love you, Devon Marsh. I love no other. I never could." She kissed his mouth. "Those are my friends out there. Only you are my husband. Remember that."
Chapter Twenty-one
"Cassie." Devon stuck his head into the tent, his voice grave. "Major Landon wants to speak with you."
Cassie looked up from the woolen sock she was mending. "Me? He wants to see me?" She was on her feet immediately, dropping her work on the crude stool. "What for?"
He held the flap of the tent open for her, watching her pull the hood of her cloak over her head. It had been so cold these last few days that even inside the tent they both wore their cloaks unless they were in bed. "I'll leave that to the major." he answered grimly.
Cassie made a face but said nothing, knowing she was going to get nowhere with him. Outside, they hustled through the camp to the major's tent and Devon lifted the flap for her.
"Aren't you coming in?" Cassie rested her hand on his chest.
He shook his head. "I've already heard what the major has to say. It's you he wants. I'll wait out here."
Sighing, Cassie stepped inside Major Landon's tent and the flap fell behind her. "Major, you wanted to speak with me?" She pushed back the hood of her green cloak.
The major came to his feet He was a short man, portly, with a sweep of yellow-blond hair the Germans were known for. "I did. Sank you for coming." he said nervously, his words tinged with the accent of his native homeland. "Vould you like to sit down?" He motioned to the barrel he had been seated on.
"I think I'll stand." she answered, her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.
The major cleared his throat. "I vant to tell you first, Cassie, sat sis is a request, not an order." His blue eyes darted back and forth, avoiding contact with hers. "Ve, of course, ve have no true jurisdiction over you, you being a voman and . . . but . . ."
Cassie stared at the major in total perplexity as he went on with his mumbling, saying nothing. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Major." she interrupted.
His head snapped up. "Ja?"
"What is it you want?" She crossed her hands over her chest.
"I . . . sat is ve, ve. . ." He swallowed hard. "I sink sis is no task for a voman, mind you, but . . ." He sighed heavily. "Ve vant you to cross the Delaware and go to Trenton on a mission. Ve vant you to spy on the British." he blurted out.
Cassie sighed unconsciously with relief. She had been afraid he was going to say she was being asked to leave, afraid . . . hell, she hadn't known what he was getting at! "You want me to spy?" An ominous shiver raced down her spine, yet deep within, a spark of excitement was ignited. They needed her! The American soldiers needed her!
"Sis vas not my idea, mind you." He was sweating profusely now, though the temperature inside his tent was barely above freezing. "I sink it's absurd—a voman!"
Cassie bit back a smile. "Why me? You have men to do that sort of thing. I have no experience."
"They vant a woman. They sink you can get into the camp unnoticed. The British are plagued vith camp followers. Whores mostly." His round face reddened.
"I'm honored that ye'd ask." She paused. "But I'll have to speak with my husband first. You understand."
He bobbed his head up and down, relieved that this conversation was coming to an end. Of course she wouldn't do it. What husband would allow his wife to do such
a thing? But then . . . what man would allow his wife to carry a musket on her shoulder and fire cannon on the battlefield? He shook his head, giving her a nod of dismissal. It was a strange land, this new country of his. "Speak vith your husband. Tomorrow is soon enough to give me your vord."
Cassie stepped outside the tent, looking to Devon. His face was a mask, void of emotion. "You can't do it." he said flatly.
She studied his dark eyes for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "You want to go for a walk?"
In silence, they walked side by side, past the prisoner's compound and away from the camp. The December wind whistled a haunting tune, blowing patches of snow through the dead grass. The dark clouds in the sky drifted, allowing them an occasional glimpse of the bleak winter sun. Cassie shivered and reached for Devon's hand.
"Devon—"
"Cassie—"
They both spoke at the same time then erupted into laughter.
"You go first." she said, smiling up at him.
"No. You first." He swung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her nearer to him.
"I was going to tell you that if you don't want me to do it"—she paused, stopping to look at him—"I won't."
"What did you tell the major?" he asked, treading carefully.
She reached to brush the back of her hand against the stubble of his cheek. "That I would have to ask my husband." Her words were followed by an impish grin.
Devon's eyes drifted shut as he shook his head in disbelief. "I'll never figure you out. Not if I live to be a hundred." He held her mitted hands in his, bringing them up to his chest.
"You'll never be bored." Her laughter rang in the cold, clear air. "Now what were you going to tell me?"
He pushed a stray tendril of red hair behind her ear. "I was going to tell you." he said softly." that if you wanted to do it, I'd not stand in your way."
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