"Shh," Brock soothed. "She is safe, home in her cradle right now. But they lied, sweet. They had no intentions of returning her. I'd guess she wasn't supposed to have been brought along with you. Someone put her in a small rowboat and left it to drift down the river. Three little girls found her the day after you were kidnapped. It was a ways upstream of here."
Tears formed at the corners of Keely's eyes, threatening to spill over. "I didn't know," she breathed, stricken. "They said they wouldn't hurt her if I handed her over. They swore they were returning her to you."
Brock wrapped his arms around Keely, holding her tightly against him. "It's all right. No need to cry now, she's fine," he whispered. "You did what you had to. Don't you know the spirits watch over little children like Laura?"
"Spirits?" Keely sniffed. "What spirits?"
"When I was with the Delawares across the Ohio River, my aunt told me of good spirits that protected and guided us. She said there were spirits who protected children too."
Keely snuggled closer to Brock. She was suddenly so sleepy that she could no longer keep her eyes open. "Elijah, the captain, is he still alive?" she asked groggily.
"He is." Brock kissed the top of her head.
"Are you going to turn him over to the authorities?"
"For treason. They'll hang him."
"Good." She sighed. "He deserves it if anyone does. He's the worst kind of traitor, a man with no loyalty."
"Keely!" Brock opened his eyes. "I can't believe you'd say that." He chuckled.
"And why not? A person has to take a side and stand with their decision."
"And what side do you stand on, cousin?" he asked gently.
She rested her head on Brock's chest. "I don't know," she whispered. "I was born English, it's all I've ever known. But so many of the things you've said, things Jenna told me that I never knew that I . . . I just don't know anymore," she finished quietly. "The life you seek for Laura is so idealistic. Could it ever truly exist?"
Brock pulled the comforter tighter around them, tucking it over her shoulders. "It can, love." He brushed his lips against hers. "And it will . . .
Keely lay stretched across her bed on her stomach with Laura lying beside her. Keely shook a silver rattle over the baby's head and watched the little hand reach for it. "She's so smart, Brock! I think she knows what I'm saying."
Brock looked up from the small desk he'd had brought to their bedchamber. The desk was piled high with documents and loose papers; charts littered the floor around him. "Of course she's smart, she's her papa's girl."
Keely grinned, pushing the rattle into Laura's hand. "Are you Mama's girl too?" she crooned.
It had been such a relief to arrive home two days ago and find Laura in perfect health, safe in Ruth's arms. Keely suddenly found herself so happy that she thought she would burst with joy. Everything was perfect, war or no. Her husband loved her, and she had a beautiful daughter. She was shocked and in awe of the change in her world with the simple revelation of love. Only a few months ago, she thought nothing would ever be right again and now she had more than she'd ever dreamed of. Somehow Brock's love for her had changed her life forever.
"I tracked down Lucy's soldier," Brock told her, dipping his goose quill into a pot of ink.
His words immediately tapped Keely's attention. "Did you?" She got up from the bed and came to him.
"I don't think he's our answer."
"Why not?" She rested her hands on Brock's bare shoulders and he laid down his quill.
"It seems that the young man in question, Georgie Henricks, is a habitual English deserter. He apparently just walks off, leaving his company behind, and then appears a few days later. Manessah had no trouble finding him at all . . . in an English brig in Jersey."
"Damn!" Keely muttered.
Brock chuckled, catching her around the waist. "Damn, the lady says? Damn?"
She covered her mouth with her palm. "I don't know where I've picked that up"—her eyes sparkled with laughter—"you maybe?"
Brock pulled her down onto his lap, nuzzling her neck. "I thought we should talk to Lucy, though Manessah says the boy is too stupid to be a go-between. Manessah also found out that he was in the brig for two weeks last month when we lost that shipment being carried overland from Chestertown. He couldn't have had anything to do with that."
"Doesn't sound like it, does it?"
He kissed her mouth softly. "No, but we'll ask just the same."
Keely pushed off Brock's lap. "Let go!" She tugged at the skirt of her shift. "I've got to get dressed . . ."
Brock smiled, getting up from the chair, the corner of her lacy shift still held tightly in his hand. "A kiss for your shift . . ." he teased.
"And if I'm not up to kissing?"
He tugged the shift. "Then I take it with me . . ."
Smiling, Keely pushed up on her toes to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek.
"Oh, no." He shook his dark head. "Insufficient payment. I want a real kiss, madam."
Lowering her dark lashes, Keely rested her hands on his muscular bare chest and pressed her lips to his. Brock released her undergarment, encircling her waist with his arms. She deepened the kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, and he accepted it greedily. It seemed that these days he could never get enough of his English wife.
Laughing, Keely pulled away. "Sufficient?" Her cheeks were flushed, her heart palpitating.
He nodded. "Almost too sufficient." He reached for his clean shirt on the bedpost.
Keely scooped Laura off the bed and pushed her into Brock's arms. "Take her to Ruth and I'll meet you in the kitchen. Lucy's supposed to be peeling apples for preserves."
Ten minutes later, Keely met Brock in the kitchen. He was perched on a stool, eating the apple peels Lucy dropped on the wooden worktable. "Where's Laura?"
Brock glanced up. "I told Ruth to take her out for a walk in the garden."
Keely nodded, fingering the nape of her neck where she had pulled her hair back to get it off her face. "How's the new man Mort working out?" she asked Lucy, who stood at the table peeling apples furiously.
"F-fine, mistress." Lucy looked up and then down at the apple she held in her hand. "He's chopped enough wood today to last us into September. I keep tellin' him he ain't got to work so hard 'round here, but he just keeps choppin'." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "He says he's grateful ya didn't have him carried off with the rest of the baddies."
Keely looked at Brock. "I told you he was harmless without Dickie. I knew he'd be a good worker."
Brock bit into another juicy apple peel. "It seems to me I remember a certain lady complaining of her uncle's habit of collecting stray servants."
Keely wrinkled her nose at him and turned to Lucy. "Lucy, we need to talk to you about something."
The servant shifted from one bare foot to the other. "I figured as much."
"We're not accusing you, Lucy, but we need to know about Georgie Henricks."
The paring knife slipped from Lucy's hand and fell to the floor with a clatter. "G-Georgie?"
"Whatever you've done for him, Lucy, you've got to tell us."
The blonde scooped the knife off the floor and dropped it on the table. "D-done for him?" she asked, seemingly confused. "Didn't do anything for him, 'cept what any woman does for a man."
Brock broke into a grin and turned away.
Color rose on Keely's face. "That . . . that's your own matter, Lucy, but what I mean is, did you repeat anything you'd heard here in the house to Georgie?"
Lucy's brow creased. "Certainly not!" she cried out indignantly. "He's an English soldier . . . some days at least. This here's a patriot household. I'd not give him a drink of water from this well, never'less tell him anything you or Mister Brock said!"
Keely sighed, coming around the table to the young servant. "You're quite sure you never said anything about where Master Brock was going, not even accidentally?"
Lucy brushed her finger across her
lips. "Never a word. I wouldn't do that to Master Brock. He's been good to me. The only reason I went with Georgie was because he was such a good—" She clamped her mouth shut, realizing whose presence she was in. "Well, you know, Mistress Keely."
Brock got off the stool and came to Lucy, resting his hand possessively on Keely's hip. "Thank you for being honest, Lucy. And watch yourself. Georgie was not a good choice for these times."
Lucy dropped a curtsy. "I give up on him two weeks back." She smiled. "Got a new man now. An apprentice to a smithy right here in Dover."
She grinned and Brock burst into laughter, steering Keely out of the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-two
One evening early in August, Keely and Brock sat in the parlor, intent on a game of chess. They had each won a match in the last week and she was determined to take the upper hand tonight.
Sir Clinton's retreat with the English forces from Philadelphia north into New Jersey and Pennsylvania made Brock's duties much easier, and he found more time to remain at home with his wife and daughter. With the British army north again, and the French sending supplies on a regular basis, the patriots on the Eastern shore had heaved a sigh of relief. Shipments of food, ammunition, and medical supplies were being transported daily and their rebel army for once was reasonably well off.
"Queen to king two." Brock looked up, a smirk on his face. "And you've got one dead knight, my sweet."
Keely studied the ivory inlaid chessboard then raised her dark lashes, smiling coyly. She lifted the white queen and moved it across the board. "And then my queen's bishop takes your queen."
"Damn!" Brock murmured. "How'd you manage that?"
She laughed. "You've been too good a teacher. I think I've gotten much better, don't you?"
He pressed his elbows to the small teak table, leaning forward to stroke his chin. "I hate to lose, you know."
"I know." She sipped from her glass of claret. "Would you like to concede now?"
"Haven't you got anything better to do than harass me? Tend to children, bake bread, run my bath? You can see I'm trying to think."
Keely bit back a chuckle. "No. I've nothing to do. Patience is feeding Laura and I don't bake bread." She lowered her voice until it was husky with insinuation. "Your bath, I'll take care of later."
Patience was the wet nurse Brock had hired to care for Laura after she was returned. Although Keely tried to nurse the baby again when she got home, her milk had dried up. Keely was disappointed that she could no longer feed her baby herself, but she was pleased with Patience. Not only did the woman suckle Laura regularly, but she was at Keely's call to care for the babe whenever Keely desired.
Brock lifted his castle and then set it down in the same place. "Micah said he came by today."
"He did, but I told him I was busy." Keely toyed with the stem of her glass. "I lied."
"Oh?" Brock looked up.
"He's been acting so strangely since I was kidnapped."
"Strange how?" Brock leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I don't know. He's here a lot. He's just not his old self anymore. He always seems nervous. He follows me around like one of your hound pups."
"I can tell him he's no longer welcome when I'm gone," Brock suggested hesitantly.
"No." She shook her head. "Don't do that. I can handle him." Her eyes met her husband's. "He's still my friend."
He nodded, unsmiling. "Very well."
She squeezed his hand. This new trust between her and Brock had made all the difference in the world in their relationship. A huge burden seemed to have been lifted from both of them.
After several minutes of silence, Keely leaned forward. "So? Are you going to make your move or not," she teased.
"I—" An abrupt knock at the front door interrupted his reply.
"Who could that be?" Keely got up from her chair. "It's after nine."
"Probably another problem on the Tempest. Marty's got watch tonight. Things always go wrong when Marty's got the watch." He started to get up. "I'll answer it."
"Oh, no." Keely came around to his side of the table and laid her hand on his chest, pushing him back into the chair.
The pounding at the door came again, louder.
"I'll get it," Keely insisted, kissing him lightly. "It's still your move."
She smiled at Brock's laughter as she left the parlor and went down the hall to the front entranceway. "Yes . . ." She swung open the front door. "May I—"
English soldiers.
A shiver of ominous fear trickled down Keely's spine. Several seconds passed before she regained enough composure to speak. "May I help you?"
"Good evening, mistress." A tall soldier dressed in the red coat of the British regulars swept off his plumed hat. "Is Captain Bartholomew in?"
The man's native English accent seemed strangely foreign to Keely's ears. "May I ask what you want?" She stepped forward, pulling the door behind her a bit.
"With all due respect, ma'am, my orders are to speak to Captain Bartholomew of the Tempest."
She dropped her hands to hips, defiantly. "Well, he's not here and I don't know when he'll be back."
The uniformed officer stiffened. "Then we shall wait."
"I'm Brock Bartholomew." Brock swung open the door, coming up behind Keely. She instinctively took a step back as if somehow her presence could shield him from the soldiers.
"Brock Bartholomew . . ." The redcoat officer pushed his way into the front hall, followed by the other soldiers. "We have a warrant here for your arrest." He held up a rolled sheet of paper. "You'll have to come with us."
"On what grounds?" Keely demanded. "You have no right to break into my home like this!"
"Keely," Brock said sharply. He took her arm. "It's best I go with them. They have no viable proof I've committed any wrongdoing."
Keely sunk her fingernails into the flesh of his arm. "You can't just let them take you away!"
"I'll talk to them. I'll be home by morning," he assured her.
"Come along, sir." The officer tucked the warrant into the sleeve of his sharp red uniform.
"Get my coat," Brock told Keely, "and bring down Laura." His dark eyes were grave. "Hurry!"
Keely turned and ran up the grand staircase. Running down the hall to the second wing, she grabbed Brock's azure coat off the bed and lifted a pile of coins from the table near the door. Dropping them into the inside pocket she'd sewn in the lining, she burst into the nursery. "Patience! Give me Laura!"
"She hasn't had her fill yet, mistress." The girl switched Laura from one breast to the other. "I can bring her down when she's done."
"Patience!" Keely's voice trembled. "Please give her to me. I'll bring her back up in a minute."
The wet nurse stood up. "What is it?" She wiped Laura's little rosebud mouth, handing the whimpering child to her mother.
"English soldiers," Keely muttered. "They've arrested Master Brock." Her voice rose in pitch. "They're taking him away."
Patience followed Keely down the hall. "God damn King George! Damn 'im straight to hell!"
"Go down to the kitchen and find Blackie. Tell him to saddle a horse for me. I'll be out as soon as they leave."
"Yes, mistress." Patience hurried for the back staircase and Keely went down to her husband.
"Here's your coat," Keely murmured shakily, handing it to him. "There's coin in the inside pocket," she whispered.
Brock nodded ever so slightly. "Good girl." He put out his arms. "Give Papa a kiss and I'll see you tomorrow, Laura." He took the babe from Keely's arms, holding her tightly to his chest. He brushed his lips over her small head and she puckered her mouth, swinging her tiny hands excitedly.
The British officer cleared his throat. "I have to insist we go, sir."
Gently, Keely took Laura from Brock. "I can't believe they're going to take you this way," she said, trying not to become hysterical.
Brock grasped her shoulders. "I'll be all right." He pressed his lips to h
ers and she clung to him. He pulled back. "I love you," he whispered.
Before Keely could answer, Brock stepped forward, lifting his wrists. "Intend to chain me?" he asked the redcoat officer, his voice thick with sarcasm.
"Only if need be," the man answered. He took Brock by the arm. "Now come along."
"Where are you taking him?" Keely demanded. She pushed Laura into Patience's hands as the servant passed them in the hall and then Keely followed the soldiers outside. "Where are you going?"
"You'll be notified," one of the redcoats answered.
"Notified, hell!" Keely yanked the soldier's arm and he stopped short, snapping his arm from her grasp.
"Unless you wish to be arrested as an accomplice, ma'am, I suggest you take your leave."
"Keely!" Brock called. "Go inside!"
She stood on the brick walk watching the soldiers load Brock into a wagon. The minute the vehicle started down the street, she ran back up the steps and into the house.
"Lucy! Patience! Somebody get me my cloak!"
Patience came running from the kitchen. "Yes, mistress." She started straight up the steps. Hurrying into the kitchen, Keely found Ruth holding Laura.
"Has Blackie saddled a horse for me?"
Ruth gave a nod. "He has, but it ain't safe fer ya to be goin' out alone, Miss Keely. Not after what just happened here."
"I've got to go notify someone in the committee. Who knows who else they'll be picking up."
"Here it is, mistress." Patience came running into the kitchen and dropped the light wool cloak over Keely's shoulders. "You sure you gonna be all right? Blackie says the streets are crawlin' with redcoats."
Keely kissed Laura's cheek. "Keep the doors locked and open them for no one but me."
Out in the back courtyard, Keely made out the silhouette of Blackie standing beside a saddled horse. "Thanks, Blackie."
Blackie put out his hands to help her mount, and just as she was seated, another rider came out of the barn.
"I'm comin' with ya," Mort called out of the darkness. "It ain't safe fer a lady like you to be travelin' on a night like this."
The Ruffian and the Rose Page 24