The Officer's Desire

  Stepping back over Maddie's body, Cassie reached into her own bag and pulled out a few coins. Dropping them into the basket with the rouge, she added a pouch of tobacco and a small flask of good whiskey. "I'd leave ye my skirts, but they're warmer than this." She tugged at the calico dress she wore. "If I have time, I'll try to bring them back. Now, I must be going with the other girls." She tugged at the stockings that held Maddie prisoner, to be sure they were tight. "I'm going to fasten you to the frame of the wagon so ye don't roll yourself out and make a commotion. Wouldn't ye like me to put you into your bed?" She pointed to the makeshift cot along the length of the covered wagon. When the whore gave no response except to roll her eyes, Cassie shrugged. "Suit yourself, ma'am."

  Rooting through a pile of belongings in the corner, Cassie found a bit of rope and looped it through Maddie's arms and tethered her to the side of the wagon. Then she pulled a blanket off the cot and laid it gently over her prisoner's body. Slipping on her own cloak and taking her bag, Cassie leaned to blow out the wagon's lantern. "Wouldn't want ye to knock it over and start a fire." she said in the darkness.

  The whore made a muffled, growling sound. Cassie slipped out the back of the wagon and started up the hill toward the streets of British-occupied Trenton.

  Deep, booming laughter laced with feminine squeals billowed from the small frame house on King Street. Lanterns burned brightly in every window upstairs and down and the sound of shattering glass could be heard from the back. By the time Cassie reached the house, the party had already begun. The smell of roast pork and beef wafted from the chimney and the front door swung open long enough for a red-coated soldier to be tossed out on his ear.

  Cassie shrank into the shadows of the clapboard house, watching the enlisted soldier pick himself up from the snow-covered ground and head down the street. This was a respectable party, or so Lucy had said. Cassie had met Lucy on the way up the hill, another woman "invited" to the party. Cassie had talked to her for several minutes, pumping her for information with friendly inquisitiveness, saying she'd just arrived in town. Then Cassie had excused herself, saying she had business to attend to but that she'd see Lucy at the house on King Street. Lucy had not questioned her on her business. With the redcoats in town, every girl with a lick of sense had some sort of "business" going.

  Moistening her dry lips, Cassie stuffed her bag into the bushes at the side of the house. Reluctantly, she left her pistol in the bag with her water tin and skirts. With the mauling she was bound to get with this bunch, she knew it wouldn't be safe to carry a weapon. Whores didn't carry flintlock pistols, unless they were up to no good.

  Cassie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to marshal her thoughts. She was scared; there was no doubt about it. This wasn't one of Paddie O'Flynn's foolish larks. This was a serious matter, this spying, and it frightened her. An image of Devon's handsome, grinning face flashed through her mind and she ground her teeth with resolution. She had said she could do this. She'd not let him down. Hesitantly, she stepped up to the door and turned the knob.

  Finding her way to the kitchen, Cassie rubbed her posterior gingerly. She'd been in the house two minutes and she'd already been pinched, kissed, and slapped hard on the rear. Gritting her teeth, she dumped her cloak on the floor with the pile of others and got in line behind the other women to grab a tray of pewter tankards filled with dark ale and blood red wine.

  Making her way into the larger of the two rooms on the bottom floor, Cassie began to mingle, serving mugs of ale and delivering slabs of roasted pork and beef. The men laughed and called out to her as she swung past, the sway of her hips enticing them.

  "Vhat's your name, Red?" An officer in the blue-and-red garb of the German Brunswick Infantry tugged on the skirting of Cassie's gown.

  "Does it matter, soldier?" Her tongue darted out to touch her upper lip suggestively.

  He gave a snort, tapping his knee. "Nein." He laughed. "A smart fraulein, you are."

  The wheels of Cassie's mind churned rapidly. Captain George Von Blitzen, a fortyish, round-bellied man, graying at the temples. Oukel George, they called him. Uncle George, of the Regiment Von Specht. She smiled, showing off her even white teeth. "Uncle George?"

  The big-bellied soldier's icy blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You know me, schöne fraulein?"

  Her heart skipped a beat. There was so much noise in the room, too much smoke and confusion. "I make it a habit to know the right gentlemen, sir." She rested a hand on her ample hip. "Your bravery is well known on the Jersey shore, Von Blitzen."

  The German captain broke into a grin, seeming to accept her explanation. "Ja, ja, I have heard other women say sis!" He laughed again. "Come, sit vis an old man." He patted the knee of his white breeches.

  Cassie shook her head saucily. "You know the rules, Uncle George. The auction will be at midnight and then you may bid for me." She slid a mug of ale in front of him and took his empty tankard, giving him a wink. "Now you save me a place on that knee of yours!"

  Wandering off into the crowd of enemy soldiers, Cassie sashayed about with a newfound confidence. This was simple enough. Not much different than working in the tavern, only before she had flattered them for tips—now it was a means of eavesdropping.

  As the evening ticked by and the bewitching hour grew closer, Cassie made the rounds, spotting most of the men she'd been told to look for. It seemed they were all here tonight, Von Blitzen and his friend Von Huelow, Major Lauren, Second Lieutenant Morrison, Colonel Rall, Major Dundoff . . . things couldn't have been easier for her if she'd made the arrangements herself.

  Just as Paddie O'Flynn had warned Cassie, the ale flowed and the soldiers began to speak of this and that. The more they drank, the more they laughed and talked among themselves. Other than to give a girl a squeeze or a well-aimed pinch, they seemed to pay no attention to the colonial whores. Cassie passed among them, laughing and teasing, leaning once to catch a remark on an ammunition shipment or the size of a regiment being shipped out.

  The nearer it got to midnight, however, the more nervous Cassie became. When that hour struck, there would be an auction, and the man that won the bid on a girl took her to his bed for the night. It was profitable both to the girls who participated and the men who had made the arrangements. They split the money fifty-fifty, each whore getting half the bid. Of course, Cassie had no intentions of staying that long. Another few minutes and she'd be on her way. All she needed to know now was whether or not the British had settled in for the winter. Did they intend to make their winter quarters here in Trenton, or were they going to move across the Delaware River in pursuit of the ragtag rebel army? An onslaught now, with enlistment down and food and ammunition so low, would surely mean the destruction of the Continental Army.

  Cassie loaded a tray of tankards and wove through the crowd of rowdy soldiers. A woman was standing on top of a blanket chest at the end of the room, stripping her clothes off to the tune of a British battle hymn. Men were beginning to make their selections for the night and sometimes sampling the women's wares. Cassie tried not to blush as she passed Lucy seated straddle-legged on the lap of an English naval officer. Her bodice had been ripped to the waist and the colonel was sucking greedily on one taut breast.

  "God a' mercy!" Cassie murmured beneath her breath as she stepped over the prone body of an unconscious major.

  "Reds, over here!" Major Dundoff called from near a window, waving a hand.

  Cassie gave a nod, pushing her way through the crowd. "Comin', love." she cried, ducking under someone's arm.

  The major wrapped his arm around Cassie's waist, pressing his wet mouth to her neck. Twisting to remove herself from his grasp, she stumbled over his shined boot and sent the tray of wine and ale sailing through the air.

  Most of the tankards and their contents fell harmlessly to the floor with a bang and a splash, but one pewter tankard went sailing through the air to knock one of the women on her head.

  "You stupid slut!" hollered a streaky blonde from acros
s the room.

  "Sorry!" Cassie held up her hands, shrugging her shoulders. "'Twas an accident."

  "Accident, my arse." returned the blonde, coming across the hardwood floor.

  Cassie took a step back. From the expression on this woman's face, she knew she was in trouble.

  "Look, I don't know who you are, you little tart, but you don't belong here."

  "Look who's callin' the milk spilt, Miss Puddle-trotter!" Cassie dropped her hands to her hips, ducking as the whore swung at her.

  "Bumpbacon!" the blonde accused.

  "Nutcracker!"

  "Harpy!"

  "Codwinker!" Cassie ducked another swing and punched the girl in the stomach.

  The whore fell back under the force of Cassie's fist, but some soldier gave her a shove, lifting her to her feet. A crowd of cheering men were gathering around them now, hooting and calling out words of encouragement.

  "Come on!" the whore taunted, raising her fists. "Tell us who you are, Miss Spreadeagle. I seen you snoopin' around, asking questions . . ."

  Cassie's pulse quickened. She could feel her cheeks reddening and the perspiration on her brow rising. The crowd was quieting now, the smiles gone from their faces. They didn't like the tone of the blonde whore's voice and their eyes began to move to the fiery-headed wench.

  "Don't no common whore ask questions like you been askin'." She reached out with one hand and gave Cassie's hair a vicious tug. "I seen you swayin' your hips and talkin' sweet to them important men." The blonde's head bobbed up. "Seems there's a rat amongst us, gentlemen."

  Cassie took a step backward, looking up at the crowd of drunken officers pressing toward her. The cold, metallic taste of fear numbed her mouth as she put up her hands in her own defense. "You gonna listen to that jealous chippie? She's just mad because you all've takin' a liking to me." She raised a finger. "She just can't stand havin' a new girl in town."

  Major Dundoff stepped between the two women. "All right, all right, that's enough, wenches." He gave the blonde a shove. "Now get back to servin' before I boot you out, and yo u. . ." He spun around to catch Cassie's arm. "You come with me. You've got some explaining to do."

  The major's hand clamped down on her arm until Cassie thought her bone would snap. "Let go of me. I've done no wrong."

  "You can just explain that to my colonel, wench." He dragged her through the room full of soldiers. "Spying is a serious accusation."

  "Since when are you listenin' to addlepated whores?" she spit desperately. "Do I look like a spy? I'm as loyal as the King's pups. I was just trying to be friendly. A workin' girl tryin' to make a few pence." The desperate words tumbled from her mouth as she struggled to escape his iron grip.

  "Enough. If you be no traitor, then you have nothin' to worry about, do you?"

  "Nothin' except losin' a good night's wages, sir!" She came to an abrupt stop and he almost pulled her over. "At least let me fetch me cloak. 'Tis cold as a horse's rear out there!" She tried to keep the trembling from her voice, to sound nonchalant. She tried to play the part of the offended whore.

  "Hush your filthy mouth before I cuff you. Now get your cloak and come on!" He loosened the grip on her arm but refused to let her go. He'd thought she was suspicious-looking from the start. She was too clean, too fresh-looking to be one of the camp whores. She sounded and acted like one of them, but he wasn't going to take a chance on her. A little interrogation, a few broken bones, and he'd know for sure she was no threat.

  Cassie led the way to the back kitchen and picked up her cloak from the pile. Her hand trembled as she slid into it and buttoned up. "Ready, love." she told Major Dundoff. As they stepped out the door, she spoke again. "Major, sir, would ye mind stoppin'for a minute so's I can get my bag from the bushes?"

  He stopped short, turning his clear blue eyes on her. "In the bushes? What are your things doing in the bushes?" he barked.

  Cassie dropped a hand on her hip, wrenching her wrist free from his grasp. "Would you carry your only belongings into that house and leave them sit among that bunch of thievin' whores?"

  The major gave a snort and then burst into laughter. He reached to take her chin with his hand and it was all Cassie could do to keep from flinching. "Pretty wench, you are." he told her. "Smart, too. If all turns out well with you, perhaps you'd like to stay a night or two with me." He leaned to take her mouth with his but she stepped back.

  "I haven't seen your coin yet, Major." she told him coyly, fumbling in the bushes for her bag.

  By the light of the lamp, he watched her slim form, chuckling deep in his throat Perhaps they'd make a brief stop at his room before he took her for interrogation. He leaned to cup one of the cheeks of her bottom as she bent to retrieve her canvas bag.

  When Cassie turned around, she held the flintlock dead on him. Her only mistake was that she hesitated just an instant before she pulled the trigger.

  Like lightning the major raised his arm to knock the pistol from her hand and it went off, the leaden ball shooting off aimlessly.

  "You stupid bitch." he whined as he knocked her in the jaw with his fist.

  Cassie went down under the brunt of his blow, but immediately scrambled to her feet. She kicked and bit, swinging blindly, but refused to call out as he pummeled her face and chest, knocking her to the ground. If someone heard her, she'd be dead for sure!

  Tears streamed down her bloody face as she lashed out at the British officer, raking his face with her fingernails. Slipping beneath him and rolling over in the snow, Cassie was on her feet, racing down the street. It all seemed like a dream, a terrible nightmare . . . the sound of his pounding feet, the eerie shadows cast from the street lamps. She seemed to gain no distance, yet she could hear the beating of her own boots on the snow-covered walk.

  Then suddenly there was a blinding, tearing, all-consuming flash of pain, and everything dissolved into blackness as Major Dundoff's pistol echoed in the night.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  As Cassie struggled to gain consciousness, images flashed through her mind . . . Devon slipping the ring on her finger, the rotund, leering face of George Von Blitzen, Devon standing alone on the shore of the Delaware River, the evil smirk on Dundoff's face . . . .

  Cassie tried to move, she tried to call out, but her body refused to cooperate. Where was she? Was that the smell of fresh bacon frying? Slowly, she lifted her heavy eyelids, forcing the cobwebs from her mind.

  "'Morning, sweet." Devon leaned to brush his lips against Cassie's.

  She blinked. "Devon?" It was barely a whisper, more like a squeak. Was she dreaming? Was she dead? The last thing she remembered was the crunch of the snow as she fell. She knew she'd been hit by Dundoff's musket. "Devon." she repeated in disbelief.

  "I'm here, Cassie. Don't talk. It's all right, love." he crooned. "You're safe here." There was a smile on Devon's face, his voice smooth and comforting, but inside he was raging. How could anyone have done this to her? The musket wound had been shallow, a clean hit in the thigh, but her face and chest, they would be weeks healing. The major had beaten her to a bloody pulp. Her face was a mass of purple and green bruises. Her lower lip was split and one eye was almost swollen shut. When Devon had stripped the whore's dress off Cassie to slip the clean cotton gown over her head, he'd found the same purpling bruises over her breasts and stomach.

  "I hurt." Cassie managed, trying to get her left eye open. They were in a tiny bedchamber somewhere. The walls were whitewashed and the only furniture in the room was the bed she lay in, a table with a basin, and one straight-back chair. She licked her parched lips. "Could I have some water?"

  In an instant, Devon was down on his knees, cradling her head while he held the pewter mug to her bruised lips. When her thirst was quenched, he eased her head back onto the goose-tick pillow and brushed away the hair that had fallen across her face. His eyes grew moist as he caressed her swollen cheek and his throat tightened. He wished the Quaker hadn't killed Major Dundoff; he would have liked to have done it hi
mself. "You did it, Cassie." Devon whispered, lost in the depths of her emerald eyes.

  She smiled, wincing with pain. "I did, didn't I, love." She took a deep breath, reaching to take his hand in hers. Her entire body ached. Her lip and eye stung and there was a throbbing in her thigh where she supposed she'd been hit. But deep inside she felt good. She felt wonderful! The mission had been a success, and she was safe in Devon's arms again.

  "Was there any doubt that you would do it?" Devon forced that lazy schoolboy grin she loved so well.

  Her eyes came to rest on his. He had the darkest, most haunting brown eyes she'd ever seen. "Hold me." she murmured. "Just for a minute."

  Devon slid into the narrow bed beside Cassie, lifting her to cradle her against his chest. For several minutes she lay there in silence, clinging to him, listening to the sound of his beating heart as his chest rose and fell. She inhaled deeply. He smelled so good, like spring rain, or the forest at dawn. It was an eerie male scent forever embedded in her mind.

  Devon toyed with a lock of orange-red hair, holding her tightly in his arms. Anguish washed over his face as he silently berated himself for ever letting this happen. It was his own fault. What kind of man allowed his wife, the woman he loved, to infiltrate an enemy camp dressed as a whore to spy? He should have forced her to go home to Marshview long ago. He shouldn't have been so weak. He should have taken action rather than battling with words.

  "Where are we, Devon?" Cassie's voice seemed to come from far in the distance.

  "At a farmhouse. The boy that carried you to Trenton lives here with his father, the man we call the Quaker." He kissed her forehead.

  "How did I get here? How did you get here?" Her voice was getting stronger now. Devon's healing touch gave her strength. "The last thing I remember was running down the street and Dundoff firing at me."