It was now Cassie's turn to stare in bewilderment. She hadn't expected this. She wasn't prepared.
"Do you think you should do it?" Devon's reposeful voice caressed her mind.
"Why would you give me your permission?" She was trying to understand this husband of hers. She'd misjudged him again.
"You don't need my permission; I'd say that's already pretty evident." He gave her a wry smile, then became more serious. "The truth is, we need you. We're losing the war, Cassie, and losing badly. We need information on troop size and movement. We've lost several good men in the last month and there isn't time to get soldiers in the camp under the cover of Tory soldiers." He ran his fingertips over her rosy lips. "I don't think we've got that long."
Cassie caught his hand, pressing her lips to it. "Are you telling me to go?"
"I don't want you to. But if you see fit—" His voice caught in his throat, husky with emotion. "I won't stand in your way." He was a man caught between his love for his wife and his love for his country. It had been a difficult decision to make.
"If I'm caught, they'll hang me." Her words hung in the air.
"Don't get caught." he whispered, bringing his mouth swiftly to hers.
Cassie snaked her arms around his neck, clinging to him, their tongues thrusting with impassioned vigor. Breathlessly, she pulled back, her tongue running the length of her lower lip. "I'm afraid. But I'll do it. I'll do anything they ask."
Devon's dark eyes rested proudly on hers, and then he turned, leading her back toward camp.
Cassie walked between Mordecai and Devon, bobbing her head up and down to one and then the other, trying to listen to both of them at the same time. Her head was reeling with instructions: who the key officers were in Trenton, what they looked like, where she would have to go to find them. She was to infiltrate the camp as one of the many women followers, and gather as much information as possible.
"If you get into trouble, find the Quaker." Mordecai caught Cassie's elbow, steering her toward the boat that waited for her. "Just ask around, he'll be with the Tory regiment. He's one of ours and he can get you out."
Devon held on tightly to her other arm. "We don't want any heroism, Cas. Just do your job and get out. You'll not do us any good getting the information and then being hanged before you can pass it on." Devon's face was strained, but his voice calm with resolution. He'd left the decision up to her. He didn't want her to go. He didn't want her to risk her life. But if he had been in the same situation, if he had been she, he would have done the same.
"Here's your boat." Mordecai nodded. "This is Samuel, out of Massachusetts, one of Isreal Hutchinson's men that got us off Long Island."
Cassie gave Samuel a nod of recognition and then turned to face Mordecai. "Thank you for everything. I'll be fine. Now go." She hesitated for a moment, then leaned to kiss his cheek. "I'll be all right." she whispered.
With flushed cheeks, Mordecai squeezed her arm and then turned back for the camp, giving a wave over his head.
Cassie faced Devon. "I've got to go." she whispered. "Once across the river, I've got a long trek into Trenton."
"Remember, you need only find the Williams' farm. There'll be a boy there to take you into the city." He clutched her hand until the pressure made her wince.
"Devon." she persisted. "I've got to go." She held him in the magic of her emerald eyes, a slight smile turning the corners of her mouth. "Believe me, I can watch my own hide. I've no intentions of swinging from my neck." She squeezed his hand. "I've got too much livin' to do with you, sweet."
Devon swallowed hard. He wasn't ready to let her go, not yet. "I'll cross the river with you." he said abruptly.
"You don't have to do that."
"No. I want to." He handed her into the boat, a crude thing, not much more than a raft. "I'll be going, too." Devon told Samuel. "If it's all the same to you."
The waterman gave a good-hearted shrug, tugging his woolen cap over his ears, and picked up the oars, pushing off the rickety dock.
In silence, they crossed the Delaware River. Cassie and Devon sat on the deck of the tiny craft, Cassie wedged between his knees, while Samuel rowed steadily, humming a tune, the words long forgotten.
Nestled in Devon's arms, Cassie was content. She knew she was doing the right thing. She was doing her part in the fight for her husband's independence from the crown, for her own independence. She was fighting for their unborn children.
The water lapped at the wooden boat as it skimmed the water, nearing the other side. It was a balmy day for mid-December. The sky was cloudless and the sun shone down on them, warming their faces.
Devon slipped his hands into Cassie's cloak, holding her against him. She felt her heart flutter as he tightened his hands around her waist and her eyes drifted shut as the heady scent of his masculinity enveloped her. He nuzzled her neck, whispering in her ear. "I have something for you."
She arched her neck to look at him. "For me?"
"It was for Christmas. Not much but—" He searched for the right words. "If circumstances were different, I could have bought you jewels, a fur cloak." His dark eyes sparkled with sentimentality.
"If circumstances were different, you might not have married that girl in the tavern. She might never have been this happy."
Devon slipped something hard and cold into her hand and she opened it, holding her breath. In her palm lay a simple gold wedding band. "It's beautiful." she sighed, staring at it in awe.
"You said every girl needed a wedding band, I'm just sorry it isn't more." He kissed the soft flesh behind her ear.
"Where did you get such a thing, Devon Marsh?" She turned it in the sunshine then squealed. "It's engraved." she exclaimed, squinting to read the initials. "To L.R.—Love, E.E.K." she read aloud. Her head snapped up. "Who in the blue devil is L.R. ? Your initials aren't E.E.K. !"
Devon gave her a sheepish grin. "Where would you expect me to get a gold band engraved out here?" His hands swept the narrow river. "I'm afraid you have to take what you can get, madam." He took the ring from her and slipped it onto her middle finger.
"She must have been a good-sized woman, this L.R." Cassie giggled, sliding the ring up and down her finger. "Any looser and I'd have to wear it on my thumb." She laughed, turning to throw her arms around Devon. "Thank you." She kissed him soundly on the lips. "Does this mean you still wish to be married to me?"
He held her hand, turning it to watch the gold sparkle in the sunlight. "It means I call a truce for the time being. It means I don't think you ought to be here, but I'm at a damned loss as to what to do about it." He kissed her fingers one by one. "It means I love you, but just remember, you haven't won. I still say the battlefield is no place for a woman and I still intend to get you back to Marshview."
Cassie beamed. She didn't care that he still intended to send her home. What mattered was that he loved her. Just let him try to get rid of her now!
When the bow of the boat hit bottom on the far shore, Devon leaped out, swinging Cassie into his arms so she wouldn't have to wade through the shallow water to land. "I'll be right back." he called over his shoulder to Samuel. The man gave a nod, turning politely to give them privacy.
When Devon's feet hit the grassy shore, he hesitated before putting her down. He held her tightly against him, her arms looped around his neck.
"Put me down." she murmured." before you drop me, you big oaf!" Her laughter echoed on the quiet shore, ringing in the trees.
Reluctantly, he eased her feet to the ground. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to." he said fiercely.
"I'll do it and I'll be back to tell the tale. Now kiss me and go before we're both bawlin' like babes."
A strangled sob escaped Devon's throat as he pulled her to him roughly, forcing his mouth down hard on hers. Lifting his head, he bathed in her smoldering gaze. Dear God, they'd come so far, could he live if he lost her now? Still, he couldn't stop her. The army was too desperate. Just as she sacrificed, so must he.
Devon stood with his hands clenched at his sides, listening to the sounds of her movement as she got farther away. He was half tempted to go after her, to forbid this foolish folly, but he knew he mustn't. This was no ordinary woman and theirs was no ordinary marriage. No, if he hoped for any life with Cassie, any happiness, he knew he must allow her to do this.
Brooding, Devon turned back to the boat and waded out through the shallow water. There was nothing he could do for Cassie now, nothing but pray for her safe return and wait.
Cassie kept her eye on the hard-packed road, swaying in her seat with the motion of the old wagon. The young, towheaded boy beside her kept to himself, saying nothing unless she asked him a direct question.
Hugging her cloak to her chilled body, Cassie couldn't help wondering if she'd made the right decision. What was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere spying on the British? She had a wealthy, handsome husband back on the other side of the river who said he loved her. Why was she out here risking her neck?
Cassie's hand went to her throat involuntarily and she shuddered. If they caught her, they'd hang her before she could say Jack Snap. There'd be no trading her for British prisoners as they often did with officers captured on the battlefield. No, the Crown had no patience with spies. General Howe had hanged Nathan Hale without so much as a trial. He could have been as innocent as the Queen Mother, but it made no difference. King George and his Parliament had lost their sense of humor months ago. It seemed that they were beginning to see these rebel colonials as a genuine threat.
Sighing heavily, Cassie eyed the boy beside her. He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen. He was dressed in a threadbare cloak two times his size and a pair of knee-high moccasins. "You know what's afoot?" she asked abruptly. Anything was better than this lonely silence.
The towheaded boy glanced over at her. "I do. You're not the first I've carried into enemy lines, nor will you be the last."
"Why do you do it? They'll kill you if you're caught. Where are your parents? Do they know what you're doing?" Cassie studied the clear blue eyes.
"Got nothin' to lose, ma'am. Black-hearted bastards! The British soldiers raided our farm some time ago. They stole our livestock, set fire to our granary, and raped and killed my mother." He spit over the side of the wagon, his face void of emotion. "My father's been a runner for General Washington since then. Carries messages back and forth and the like." He looked away. "When this all started, my father meant to stay out of it He wanted no part of the killing."
"Sometimes they don't give you a choice, do they?" Cassie's voice was without pity. The boy had survived the ordeal, and that was all that mattered. Apologies and condolences would be of no help now; it would only undermine his strength.
"Nope." he answered. "Sometimes they don't."
Cassie contemplated his words as they neared the edge of town. If there had been any doubts before, they were long gone. She knew she was doing the right thing. She was fighting for something she believed in. She was thinking of someone other than herself, something greater than herself and her own troubles.
Chapter Twenty-two
Cassie perched motionless in the withered spruce tree, watching the myriad activities in the makeshift camp attached to the British encampment. These were the camp followers and she knew them well. She had once been one of them. In Europe, camp followers had often been the wives and children of soldiers, but here in the Colonies, far from their homeland, the only constituency the English seemed to attract were the whores and thieves of the land.
Cassie shifted in the tree, trying to drive away the aching pins and needles that shot through her legs. She had been here nearly two hours, watching, casting to memory the nature of the women that milled about. They tended their fires, drank raw whiskey, and brawled over the theft of tattered blankets or imagined slights. These women were a loud, raucous assemblage, women you didn't turn your back on for fear of a blade between your shoulders.
Sighing, Cassie leaned back, letting the branches of the ancient tree fall into place. Taking a sip of water from the tin she carried around her neck, she rested her head against the trunk of the tree. The O'Flynn luck was with her. She stuck her gloved hands beneath her cloak to warm them. From the women's conversations, she had gathered that there was going to be a party tonight for the officers. Select women had been chosen to serve at the meal, and then supply the entertainment. Cassie grinned wryly.
It was perfect; now all she had to do was to find some appropriate clothing and get into the party with the rest of the whores. It would be simple enough to get the necessary information once she was among the officers. It was like Paddie had always said: "A man with whiskey in his belly and a wench on his knee is a man with a loose tongue." Cassie took another sip from the water can and wiped her mouth. This was going to be easier than she'd expected. By tomorrow night she'd be in Devon's arms again . . . as long as she made no mistakes. If she got caught, she'd be hanging by a noose.
Slinking through the shadows of the setting sun, Cassie flattened her body against the side of a one-wheeled wagon. Ahead, she spotted her victim. It had taken her more than an hour to choose the right woman. Not only did she have to be Cassie's size, but her gown had to be in good condition. If she was going to attract the attention of every key officer at that party tonight, she was going to have to look better than the rest. The gown the woman wore suited her. It was a freshly washed sprigged calico with a low-cut bodice and matching petticoat. It was a working girl's dress, but what man on the hill would be expecting a lady?
Gathering her wits, Cassie murmured a prayer and stepped out of the shadows. "Psst! Psst!" she called, trying to catch the dark-haired woman's attention.
The woman's head popped up and her hand froze on the wool stocking she was rolling up her leg. "Me? You be wantin' me?" She was a woman well into her thirties, her face beginning to wrinkle at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She had probably once been beautiful with her chestnut hair and gold-brown eyes, but that had been many soldiers ago, many years long passed.
"I, you!" Cassie kept her voice hushed, not wanting to catch anyone else's attention. She had purposely waited until the woman had moved away from the others. "C'mere."
"The bloody hell! What you want with an ole whore like Maddie?" The woman leaned back to roll up her stocking. "I told you girls, I had nothin' to do with the choosin'. The Lieutenant Murphy done it all. He said he wanted clean, respectable women." She lifted an eyebrow, wondering why the wench hadn't been picked to serve at the party tonight. She was young, clean, and straight-teethed, and her face was without a blemish. Probably has the running clap, she thought, giving her garter a snap.
Cassie let out a sigh, feeling inadequate. How was she going to get Maddie's clothing if she couldn't even get the woman to come to her? "No, I . . . I've got a message for you . . . from the lieutenant."
"So? What's the message?" Maddie splashed icy water over her face and swelling breasts, dampening the bodice of her gown.
"He . . . he said it was to be private-like." She hooked her thumb in the direction of the other women. "On account of the others."
Maddie broke into a grin. Maybe she'd already been chosen for a late-night party, after the auctioning. Maybe she wouldn't have to put herself up to the bid and be pawed at. "That right?" She came toward Cassie, tightening her red cloak around her shoulders. "A private message, is it?"
Cassie gave a nod, stepping into the shadows of the wagon again. When the whore walked behind the wagon, Cassie brought the butt of her pistol down and knocked her in the back of the head. Cassie winced at the sound of the thud as the hard wood hit the woman's skull and watched as she slumped to the ground. Looking both ways, to be sure no one had seen her, Cassie leaned to lift her up and half dragged, half ca
rried her to the end of the wagon and let her slump over the tailboard.
Jumping into the wagon and pushing aside the blanket that hung over the opening, Cassie pulled the dead weight through the opening, grunting as she heaved. When she finally got the woman completely inside, Cassie collapsed, panting to get her breath. Then she crawled over the unconscious woman to stick her head out of the wagon, to be sure no one had spotted them. She could hear the other women chattering as they prepared to start up the hill, but she couldn't see them. Luckily this one seemed to be a loner.
Not even pausing to catch her breath, Cassie started to pull off the woman's clothing. The wagon reeked of homemade spirits, unclean skin, and moldy canvas, making her senses reel. She could feel her heart pounding beneath her breast as she struggled with the buttons that ran the length of the calico dress at the back.
When the whore began to groan, Cassie gave a relieved sigh, yanking off the woman's stocking to tie it around her mouth. She'd been afraid she'd killed her, her breathing had been so shallow. Rolling her onto her side, Cassie then used the other stocking to hog-tie her wrists and ankles together. She could take no chances of this woman getting loose.
By the time Maddie's eyes flew open, Cassie was already stripping off her own clothes. Maddie struggled against her bindings, trying to call out, but the only sounds that escaped the tightly tied woolen stocking around her mouth were a few muffled groans.
"I'm real sorry about this." Cassie apologized, wholeheartedly. "Believe me, if there was another way, I'd have done it."
Maddie bucked, trying to roll over, her eyes glazed with terror.
"I'm not going to hurt ye." Cassie pulled the calico over her head and reached behind to work the buttons. "I'll leave ye coin for the dress." She stepped over Maddie's prone body to turn up the lamp that rested on a wooden crate.
"Got any paint?" She bit her bottom lip. "Guess that's a silly question, huh?" Rooting through a basket, she picked up a small tin of rouge and applied it liberally to her lips and cheeks. "How do I look?" When the tart only grunted, beginning her struggle in earnest again, Cassie wrinkled her nose. "No need to be sore 'bout this. I'll pay you well and you'll get to sleep early tonight."
The Officer's Desire Page 23