by Joan Hohl
Lettie assisted her in the nightly ritual of making ready for bed, but the moment Lettie quietly closed the bedroom door, Alycia jumped out of bed and began to pace the room in nervous agitation.
Patrick was leaving to rejoin his command at the Brandywine. The same Patrick who had looked at her in the hall with desire firing his eyes. The same Patrick who had flirted with her discreetly over the dinner table. The same Patrick who looked exactly like Sean. That same Patrick was headed into battle!
Alycia knew the outcome of the battle at the Brandywine, knew that on September 11, Washington would lose not only the battle but seven hundred men as well. She couldn’t let Patrick go! She had to stop him! Alycia ran to the door, then stopped as her fingers curled around the knob.
Did she dare? Alycia asked herself, raking her intelligence and her conscience. Because she knew the future, did she have the right to attempt to alter the natural course of events? Could she alter the natural course of events?
He is only one man, Alycia told herself. How could altering the course of one man’s life upset the course of history? The answers to her silent cry came in rapid succession.
Washington.
Jefferson.
Lincoln.
Would the course of history have been upset if the actions of any one of those men had been altered?
Alycia’s hand fell limply from the doorknob. Shoulders drooping, she resumed pacing the floor. There was nothing she could do, and she knew it. Patrick would leave at the end of the week, and if he in any way indicated that he wished it, she would wait for him to return. The course of history could not be altered. Alycia had finally accepted that what did happen would happen.
It was a sultry night, and by the time Alycia had walked herself into a state of near exhaustion, her nightgown clung to her perspiration-damp body. Beyond the window at the foot of the terraces, the river beckoned. It was late. The house had been quiet for hours. Alycia didn’t hesitate. After tugging the gown from her heated skin, she wrapped herself in the folds of the robe-like garment called a banian, which was worn by both men and women. Silent as a wraith, she slipped out of the house. Though the night was black, the sky was clear. Myriad stars added their glow to the silver swath of moonlight illuminating the broad pebbled path that led from the house to the river.
Eager to feel the cool water caress her skin, Alycia was slipping the robe from her shoulders as she approached the bank. Tossing the garment aside, she ran into the water, careless of her artfully constructed coiffure. Her head burned and itched from having her hair tugged and pulled into the elaborate style, and she raked her fingers through her hair, scattering pins and the horsehair rolls Lettie had used to create the fashionable look. When her hair was at last free, she plunged headfirst into the water and scrubbed her scalp and hair of a week’s worth of accumulated sweat and dust.
Feeling much better, physically if not emotionally, Alycia walked from the water, arms raised as she combed her fingers through her hair. The night air felt wonderful and not in the least cool. Yet a feathering chill trickled down her spine at the low, drawling sound of a man’s voice.
“Beautiful.”
Startled, Alycia froze. Then, as the sound of the voice registered on her shocked mind, she turned slowly toward a large weeping willow tree, and the man leaning indolently against the huge trunk.
“Patrick?”
“Yes.”
Every modest cell in Alycia’s body demanded she scoop up the robe and conceal her nakedness from his eyes. Every female hormone in Alycia’s body urged her to run across the grass separating them and fling herself into his arms. Alycia obeyed neither cell nor hormone. Standing still, she raised her head and faced him with all the pride of a liberated twentieth-century woman. Her phrasing was straight out of the twentieth century, too.
“Do you get your kicks by hiding in the shadows and watching women skinny-dipping?”
“Kicks?” Patrick queried politely.
“Excitement,” Alycia explained.
“Ah, yes. I understand. Very descriptive. Skinny-dipping?”
“Swimming naked,” Alycia replied, hard put not to laugh, even considering the awkwardness of her present situation.
“Umm.” With the low murmur, Patrick pushed himself away from the tree and strolled out of the shadows. He had removed the buckskin jacket, and his white shirt gleamed in the moonlight. As he drew near, Alycia could see that he’d dispensed with his neck cloth. The chill in her spine intensified as her gaze was drawn to where the shirt gaped open at his throat.
“Ah ... Major ... Patrick,” she said unevenly when it appeared his intention was to walk smack into her.
“Yes ... Mistress ... Alice?” Patrick’s tone mocked the nervous quaver in her voice. Less than two feet from her he suddenly paused and, bending quickly, scooped her robe from the ground. “You tempt a man to the edge of endurance,” he said, gently wrapping the garment around her. “I confess, I have thought of little save you since you fainted at my feet.”
“Major—”
“Patrick.”
“Patrick...”
“Yes ... Alice?”
Alycia could barely breathe. He was so close. The masculine scent of him tantalized her senses. His nearness aroused her emotions. Beginning to tremble, she gazed in mute wonder into his eyes. “I... I should not be here with you... like this.”
“Nor I with you.” He stared deep into her eyes. “And yet I cannot help but feel that I belong here, with you, more than I belong anywhere else in this world.”
“Major”—Alycia had to pause to draw in a shallow breath—”Patrick, I...” Her voice failed her.
“I’ve upset you.” Patrick exhaled harshly. “It was not my intention.”
Alycia shook her head. “No, it’s just that you remind me of someone.”
“Is my resemblance to your friend the reason you swooned at the sight of me?” Capturing her hand with his, he drew it to his lips.
The sensations created by his lips brushing her skin were the same as those she’d felt when Sean had performed the same bone-melting action on the day she met him. “Yes,” Alycia answered truthfully.
“I see.” He released her hand abruptly and stepped back.
Alycia suddenly felt cold and bereft. “Patrick, please don’t go,” she whispered when he turned toward the house.
Patrick stopped but kept his back to her. “I thought... I had hoped ...” His voice faded on a sigh.
Confused, Alycia moved to his side. “What had you thought? What had you hoped for?” She touched his arm and felt the muscles contract beneath her fingers.
Patrick’s broad shoulders rippled as he shrugged. “Perhaps I am a fool, but the moment I saw you, I thought I had found the woman I have been waiting for all my life.” Raising his free arm, he covered her hand with his. “And when you ran to greet me when I arrived here, I hoped that you experienced feelings for me.”
“But I did, I do!” Alycia cried, turning her hand to lace her fingers through his. “Patrick, won’t you please look at me?”
“I cannot.” His voice was low and strained with emotion.
“But why?”
Patrick shook his head, as if trying to clear it after receiving a blow. “Because when I look at you I lose all sense of decorum and restraint. I want to pull you into my arms and crush your mouth beneath mine.” His eyes glittered, reflecting the moonlight. “I want to take you to the ground and tuck your body beneath mine.” He brought his hand up to tangle his fingers in her hair. Alycia’s throat arched as he drew her head back to turn her face up to his. “Heed this warning, Alice,” he said harshly as he slowly lowered his head. “I will not stand in any man’s stead. And if I should find you alone like this again, I will take you and make you mine.” His mouth covered hers with his last word.
Patrick’s mouth was hard, the tongue he thrust between her lips was hard, the body he pressed against hers was hard, hard with a demand of possession.
Stunned, Alycia could do nothing but bend to his will for a moment; then her body, her senses, and her emotions ignited, flaming into a need that was all consuming. But it was too late. As she raised her arms to encircle his neck, Patrick grasped her shoulders and put her from him.
His chest rose and fell with the force of each ragged breath. His eyes pierced hers to her very soul. “Think on this, Alice,” he said tightly. Releasing her, he again stepped back. “If you want another, run from me now, for if you stay I will make you mine.”
“For tonight?” Alycia asked softly.
“For all time,” Patrick replied solemnly.
With a naturalness that seemed preordained, Alycia stepped forward, into his waiting arms. The feeling was one of homecoming. She sighed, and her parted lips trembled as Patrick slowly brought his mouth to hers. Their lips brushed, then hesitated, and then fused in hungry desperation. Life surged with wild abandon through her veins. The kiss deepened; Alycia felt it to the core of her being. Without thought or care, she arched to him at the instant Patrick grasped her hips to draw her against the heat of his hard body.
Slowly, inexorably, they sank as one to the cushion of grass. Lying beside her, murmuring her name, Patrick smoothly opened her robe. Pressing her lips to the moist skin at the base of his throat, Alycia shivered responsively to the new, yet familiar feel of his hands caressing her trembling body.
“I know I should not.” Even as he groaned the self-imprecation, Patrick was tugging at the waist cord on his breeches.
“I know.” Even as she agreed, Alycia slid her palm over the taut, naked skin covering his hips.
“But I must.” The conviction of his raw tone was as hard as the thighs that brushed against her own.
“I know.”
There was a moment’s pause, a breathless moment of shimmering anticipation. Arched over her, Patrick stared into her face. “I know not why,” he said starkly. “I know not how. I only know that I love you. I feel, strangely, that I have loved you forever. I must be one with you, make you mine, for all time.”
Alycia’s emotions shattered. She had heard similar words before. The love she had lost was found again. Tears of joy ran unchecked from her eyes. She smiled as he slowly lowered his head.
“And I am yours,” she whispered as his mouth touched hers. “For all time.”
Her pledge appeared to electrify Patrick. Shuddering, he crushed her lips with his and, as his tongue tentatively tasted her mouth, his body leaned into hers.
Alycia gave a muffled cry and went still. The sensation was unbelievable, like the very first time! Murmuring soothing words, Patrick waited, giving her body time to adjust to his. He began to move as he felt the tension ease from her body. It was heaven. New, yet somehow the same.
Within her mind, her embrace, Patrick blended into another, forming one entity. Patrick and Sean were one, her own love. Weeping softly, Alycia gave herself freely, joyously, to her love.
* * * *
The days that followed Alycia’s commitment to Patrick were both happy and bittersweet. They laughed together, they talked together, and late at night, when the house was quiet and hushed, they lay on the grassy bank of the river and made glorious love.
But their days together were numbered, and they both knew it. On Patrick’s last day they communicated with each other with long soul-searching looks from eyes already shadowed by the longing and pain of separation.
As darkness slowly shrouded the land on the evening of Patrick’s departure, Alycia was in a fever of impatience to be with him. Pulling the robe over her nightgown, she crept from the house and ran down the moonlit path to the river. He was waiting for her. When Alycia would have dashed directly into his arms, Patrick held her back.
“I will have you for my wife before I leave.” Though soft, his tone was firm with determination.
Alycia felt like weeping with frustration. “Oh, my love, I want to be your wife more than I need to breathe, but there’s no time ... no—
“There is a way,” he said, his voice drowning hers. “Come.” He held out his hand.
Without doubt, without questions, Alycia placed her hand in his and followed him down to the ground as he dropped to his knees. Her gaze trailed his as he tilted his head back, facing the sky. When he spoke, his voice was clear, his words succinct.
“As God is my witness, I, Patrick Sean Halloran, take thee...”
Patrick’s voice faded as Alycia’s mind whirled crazily. Patrick Sean Halloran!
Alycia came to her senses as Patrick’s hand tightened around hers. His voice reached her just as he ended his vow.
“Till death us do part.”
Later, as Patrick moved his body into the cradle of her thighs, he reaffirmed a portion of the vows of marriage.
“With my body I thee worship.”
Their union came as close to perfection as mortals were allowed to experience. With the ground for a bed and the sky for a ceiling, Alycia slept within the protective warmth of Patrick’s embrace. She awoke before dawn to the sweet stirring of passion aroused by Patrick’s lips and mouth making love to her. This time their union had the straining urgency born of desperation.
As the approaching dawn tinged the horizon a pale pink, they rose and walked in silence back to the house. Less than an hour later, attired in his uniform of buckskins, Patrick drew her into his arms for a farewell kiss.
“Forever, my love,” he whispered, skimming his fingertips over her face as he backed down the fan-shaped steps to his horse.
“Forever, my love,” Alycia responded, blinking the mist from her eyes as he vaulted into the saddle.
Patrick smiled and raised his hand in salute and goodbye. Tears washing her face, Alycia hugged her trembling body, her gaze fastened on his back until he rode his horse through the entrance gates and set the animal into a gallop. And then her husband before God was gone.
* * * *
The days that followed Patrick’s departure were long and empty for Alycia. In an effort to appear at least partially normal she engaged in any and every triviality Caroline suggested. September 11 came and went without incident. Only Alycia knew and grieved for the battle waged and lost at the Brandywine Creek.
After four days of hearing nothing, of seeing no courier, Alycia began to have tentative hope for Patrick’s safety. As she was preparing for the evening meal on the fifth day, Lettie informed her there would be a guest for dinner, an old family friend recently arrived from Richmond. Hardly in the mood to entertain company, Alycia delayed leaving her room until Lettie looked at her askance.
As she descended the stairs, Alycia could hear voices from the drawing room. Crossing the hall, she paused in the doorway. A gentleman was standing near the wide fireplace, reading aloud from the paper he held in his hand.
“ ‘We have lost seven hundred men, dead and injured. The gallant young Lafayette, though wounded in the leg, fought bravely on, his blood filling and then overflowing his boot, to no avail. The army is in retreat. Howe is moving to occupy Philadelphia. ‘Tis a sorry time for our brave soldiers, and ‘tis my sad duty to inform you of the death of one of Williamsburg’s finest young men. Major Patrick Halloran was felled while defending his position, less than three feet from his commander’s side.’“
“No.” Alycia backed away from the room, her head slowly moving from side to side. “No.” Her eyes were wide with horror, staring, staring into a future of nothingness. Then her voice rose to a keening wail.
“No!”
* * *
Chapter 10
Alycia woke to the blackness of midnight and a depression that was blacker still. Her mind was a peaceful blank for a few precious seconds, and then the rush of memory brought a flood of agony and grief.
First Sean. Now Patrick.
Alycia raised her hand to her lips to stifle a scream of protest against a fate cruel enough to rob her of her love, not once, but twice.
“Patrick. Patrick.” Alycia repeated his name like a prayer, and
as if in answer, an idea swirled, then began to take form in her mind. She had had no recourse when she’d lost Sean, nowhere to turn, nowhere to go. But she knew where Brandywine was, knew how to get there.
Alycia lay perfectly quiet for a moment, and then, with a burst of energy generated by desperation, she leaped from the bed. Moving swiftly, silently, she lit her bedside candle, left her room, and went to the storage room on the third floor. The room was dark and dusty. Alycia didn’t care. Crossing the room, she set the candle beside her on the floor, then raised the lid on a large trunk Lettie had pointed out to her when they’d toured the house soon after Alycia’s arrival.
The trunk contained the clothes and belongings of Caroline’s beloved son. Sending up a silent plea for forgiveness to the deceased Robert, Alycia rummaged through the assorted articles until she’d collected what she needed. After closing the trunk, she picked up the candle and hurried back to her bedchamber.
Some fifteen minutes later, dressed in a full-sleeved white shirt, buff-colored, drawstring breeches, and knee-high black boots, Alycia tied her hair back with a neckerchief and tiptoed from her room and from the house. She began running toward the stables the minute she was outside. She needed a horse. She was going to find Patrick, or his grave.
Alycia had only been on a horse four times in her life, and she was in no way expert. But expediency gave quickness to her fingers as she saddled the animal. She walked the horse out of the stable. Mounting was difficult, but finally she was up and off, trotting down the driveway. It was very dark, with only the moonlight and stars to light her way.
Handling the reins as she had been instructed, Alycia kept the animal’s pace at a trot until she found the rutted highway. Then she gave him his head. Rested and in need of a run, the horse stretched out his legs in a full gallop.
Alycia was beginning to hurt all over. After the initial burst of speed, the horse had settled into a steady ground-eating pace. Alycia lost track of time, but judged she had been riding for some four hours when she noticed the cloud cover blocking the light from the moon. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It began to rain, a gentle shower that soon turned into a heavy downpour. She was tired and soaking wet, but had no idea where to stop to rest.