The wind picked up, blowing her hood back, but she stood thus, staring at the body hanging out for all to see.
* * * *
The last few days had gone well. Colonel Marcus Durham set foot again in New York, now back under control of the British. A beginning at least on settling this rebellion. Pressure had mounted on him from Britain. King George wanted a quick settlement, not willing to compromise in the least.
Marcus could foresee issues that would arise. He had lived among these people and understood their steadfastness. Over the last few years he had spent more time in the colonies than in his homeland away from family and friends. He had no doubt the British would eventually Be successful, but this matter would take time and lives. But this was also war. The worst kind. A war against their own.
Chaos ensued after the initial invasion, which now had begun to dissipate. Sleep hadn't come for the last thirty-eight hours and he didn't expect any in the foreseeable future. The latest briefing had gone well, though. The Americans were on the run. Marcus only hesitated because General Howe seemed reluctant to go after the Continental army. He expressed his opinion, which differed from Howe's and he had only the rank of Colonel.
He stepped out of the Beekman mansion, which served as British headquarters. A gray haze greeted him. One young officer bumped into him as he crossed the yard for his horse.
“Sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going. My attention turned,” the young officer apologized.
“Quite all right, Lieutenant,” Marcus nodded as he continued on his path. He gave pause when he heard the two's conversation.
The other laughed. “Simon, you should have been honest and said your attention was upon a young woman.”
“I'm telling you, she's Clay's granddaughter. I met her this morning. He told her quite plainly to stay within the house. She must not have listened,” he said. “I need to escort her back. I don't believe the old man will be happy with her.”
“Not because she's a beauty. Not here twenty-four hours and you have already made eyes at a woman.”
Marcus turned to the two officers. “Hold there. Of which do you speak? Alexander Clay? His granddaughter is down here?”
“Do you know of him, sir? I was over to secure his home this morning. The General gave orders to take care of our Tory families. The girl,” he pointed toward the crowd. “Wanted to go out. He refused. But I can swear I just saw her at the hanging spy.”
“I'll look into it,” Marcus dismissed the two. The Lieutenant hesitated. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant....”
“Fletcher, sir. No, sir, but I would be happy—”
“You're dismissed, Lieutenant,” Marcus interrupted the young officer, who sighed and walked reluctantly away.
Marcus strolled over to the crowd doubtful he would find her. The notion it would be Hannah seemed distant, but he rounded the bend a lone figure came into view. She stood in the haze.
He walked up behind her. “Hannah?”
She turned around. Her face drained of all color. She had never seen him in his finely cut uniform and white powdered wig, a moment necessitated before he saw the recognition flood through her.
She shook her head. Tears she had held back flooded her face. She tried to turn from him, but he held tight. He could feel her shiver and her legs giving way. He drew her into his arms and she cried.
He led her from the display, back into the gardens. She broke from his embrace and wiped her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”
“You should have never seen such,” he said, holding back the words he wanted to ask, such as why she was here. Instead, he tried to soothe away the remembered horror. “It was understandable.”
He brushed back her hair that had fallen onto her face. A sadness lived within her once bright eyes; she had lost weight. He was puzzled, though. He hadn't thought she would have still been within New York.
“Marcus,” she said softly. “The poor soul that hung. I heard...” She swallowed. “He didn’t know what he was doing?”
“I don't believe so,” Marcus stated. His eyes studied her intently. “It didn't seem he was prepared for what he intended.”
“But he was brave, the officers said. They said they were impressed by his gallantry.”
Marcus nodded acknowledgement of the fact. She faced him. “Was my father? What of William? Tell me. Did they leave letters? Were they scared?” The questions rolled off her lips, but her tone waned with each question into almost a whisper.
Tears swelled back within her eyes with an almost infantile quality. His hand instinctively pulled her back into his shoulder and stroked her hair. “Hannah, I wasn't there. I'm telling you in truth I wanted neither to have endured that punishment, but I heard they both meet their fate honorably. I don't believe anyone could've questioned their bravery or honor.”
Marcus didn't move, but held her such. A light breeze picked up along the river's edge. He had much work still tobe done, and this young woman wasn't supposed to be his concern. But he was content at the moment and admitted to himself that he was glad to have found her thus.
KISS OF DECEIT by Jerri Hines
Book Three, Winds of Betrayal Series
Previously Published as Ruse of Love
The tides of war have shifted. When all eyes turn south, Doctor Jonathan Corbett finds himself once more thrust into the war’s turmoil. On assignment from General Washington, the dashing doctor discovers his mission has taken him straight into a conflict where the British are not the only ones to be feared.
Rebekah Morse has no time to contemplate the exploding war around her. Caught up as a pawn in a deadly conspiracy, she finds her only hope lies with her old friend, but things have changed since they last saw each other.
Yet destiny has not intervened in their lives without cause. Rebekah’s strength, courage, and breathtaking sensuality sets within Jonathan a desire he swore never to feel again. When Rebekah’s life is threatened, Jonathan is determined to save the stubborn woman whether she wants to be saved or not. Now Jonathan and Rebekah must face the perilous threat together—only to discover a passion they never imagined...
Excerpt
The rain began again. The storm brewing on the horizon burst forth on the streets of Charles Town. Rebekah was getting soaked standing outside the Meeting Street Inn. The choice seemed so simple a short while ago. She made it without a second thought: a very practical solution to a number of issues.
Nervousness swept over her, a sense that there would be no coming back from this step across the threshold. Try as she might, she couldn’t get Katy’s pleas out of her head.
“You can’t seriously be considering this. Rebekah, he’s a madman. He kidnapped you and…and…” Katy’s hand waved toward her stomach. “I don’t mean to be so brutal, but Rebekah, my dearest friend, he’s a murderer! He…he will kill you this time.”
“You don’t understand, Katy. He’ll do me no harm. I’m not sure he will go. I’m not sure of anything except I have to leave. I have to protect everyone. Over in France, I will have a chance to live a life without fear. If he gives up his life here…if Rory wants a hope of a life again with his child away from the killing and loss…then I will consider it once I get to my destination. I have to get away.”
“We have only just met this Mademoiselle Fontaine, Rebekah. I beg you…Go to this friend of yours. Dr. Corbett, please. He will help you. I know, Ernie says…”
Rebekah took her friend’s hand in hers. “I can’t do this to him or anyone. I wish everything was different, but it’s not.”
She cast one last troubled glance at her dearest friend and turned back toward the door. She couldn’t explain to Katy what she herself couldn’t understand. One note from Rory called her away from the people who loved her, but it was for that reason she had to leave. She put all in danger. She felt it.
If she could only leave and go away from anyone who knew her, she could raise her child safe away from this madness. Rebekah thought back to the casual meeting wi
th Mademoiselle Fontaine at Katy’s home, a friend of Randa. Rebekah found Mademoiselle Fontaine the most interesting of women, elegant and refined. The woman talked of the court of King Louis and the world allowed in France. To Rebekah it seemed she was heaven sent.
Had she not begged Rory to go away with her and start anew? Was not France the perfect place for this? She decided well before the arrival of this woman to leave. She had no choice, especially with Jonathan’s appearance. Oh, why had they seemed fit to play on Jonathan’s sense of honor? Jonathan of all people! She could not face him.
Rebekah didn’t remember how the subject arose, but in honesty when Mademoiselle Fontaine talked of a new life, Rebekah wasn’t surprised to hear her say that Rory sent her to deliver a message, a message only Rory would have known to send.
The hurt of his betrayal stung deep, but in her mind, she had little choice. She needed to leave, immediately…without delay…for everyone’s sake. She reasoned she would start her new life away from all the danger, betrayal, and lies. She would have her child. If Rory chose to follow, she would forgive him. For no matter his actions, no matter the words uttered about him, she refused to believe he meant her or his own child harm. She loved him. Didn’t she? She had given herself to him so freely and now they had a child set to come into this world.
She shook her head. She needed to ignore the doubts swelling in her. It was too late to do anything other than to meet with Mademoiselle Fontaine as planned. Soon she would be on board ship to France. With any luck, she would be settled into the chateau well before the birth of her child in September. She sighed heavily and pulled her hood over her head.
By the harbor, the inn itself was respectable. Many passengers on board ships arriving and departing stayed in these walls. Ignoring the stares from the patrons for entering unattended, she lowered her gaze and entered. She walked straightaway for the stairs, following the instructions she memorized.
She needed only to reach Mademoiselle. She stood at the top of the stairs and hesitated. Looking back over her shoulder, she walked toward her destination. Suddenly, she heard voices before she turned the corner. The voices rose louder. She felt a faint trickling of uneasiness, but she pushed it aside. Easing ever so quietly, she pressed against the wall, glancing around the bend before turning down the hall.
Halting in her tracks, Rebekah stiffened. Tobias was there and had gripped Mademoiselle Fontaine by her arm, pushing the woman back against the wall.
“Where is the girl?” The force of his words made Rebekah shudder. “Rory ain’t gonna be happy!”
She didn’t need to hear anymore. She spun on her heels, castigating herself as an absolute idiot. Rory was after her! Oh, what a fool she had been! She backed up, knocking into the table in the hall. The vase came crashing down. Trembling uncontrollably, she edged down the wall. Hearing hurried footsteps, fear encompassed her when she saw two men running up the staircase. Rory’s men! She panicked.
Bolting in the opposite direction, she headed for the back stairs. Her hope of slipping down the stairs undetected dissipated hearing the rumblings behind her. Rebekah quickened her pace, rapidly taking each step until she hit the first floor. She hit the back door running, struck by an impelling urge to get as far from the inn as possible.
Fleeing through the rainstormed night, she tried to peer through the pouring rain. She had gone some distance when she gasped for breath. Leaning against a brick building, she hadn’t a clue where she had run. Clasping her side against the pain, she blinked away the water streaming down her face, not knowing whether it was the rain or tears.
Suddenly a hand grasped her shoulder…
“Rebekah!” Jonathan fought the wind. Doubting she could hear him, he ignored the pelleting rain and rushed forward, grabbing her arm. In one swift motion, he swirled her around to face him.
Instantly, a look of sheer terror swept across her face. Slowly, recognition flooded her. She gripped tightly to his arm. “Oh, Jonathan!”
The next moment she collapsed into his arms. He wasted no time, but carried her down the street into the waiting carriage. A large black man quickly opened the carriage door for Jonathan. “Is she…?”
“She’s fine. She has only just fainted…”
“Jasper, Dr. Corbett, Jasper,” the old man said and closed the carriage’s door, but not before Jonathan heard the servant utter, “Thank the good Lord.”
Jonathan wrapped a blanket around Rebekah while he felt the wheels of the carriage move beneath him. He drew her into his arms and instinctively, she nestled into him. He stroked her head. As much as she claimed she had changed, she still inspired love and loyalty into those around her.
The wind picked up, shaking the carriage; the rain pounded harder. He was drenched and soaked. Strange—warmth spread through him he hadn’t felt in years.
“Jasper.” Jonathan set Rebekah down in the middle of her bedroom. A young blackie girl followed, frantically crying that her mistress was dead. No, Rebekah wasn’t dead, he thought. She had wakened and she wasn’t happy. “Jasper, shut the door and keep everyone else out.”
“Oh, Mistress Esther won’t like that none,” Rebekah’s maid uttered. “No sir.”
Jonathan shot her a look that silenced the girl. Rebekah pushed back from Jonathan, stumbling. Reaching out, he caught her arm. “Be careful,” he said in a harsh voice, his patience lost.
“Leave,” she answered his behavior. “You have done your duty.”
“Duty?” Jonathan’s voice rose. “Duty? You call looking for you in the midst of a torrential storm duty? Where was your head, Rebekah?”
“You would not understand,” she said. Her eyes flamed at him, but her hand reached down for her midriff; her hand trembled.
Immediately, he swept her back into his arms and carried her to the side of her bed. He motioned for the maid to step forward. “Get her dry clothes! She is to be put to bed.”
“Sully,” Rebekah said. “It is fine. I need only to get out of these wet clothes.”
Sully nodded, but fear shone in her eyes at Jonathan. She skirted to the wardrobe and withdrew a nightgown. Turning, she waited for Jonathan to leave, but he made no movement.
“If you don’t get her out of these wet clothes, I will.”
The young maid looked at Rebekah inquiringly, reluctant to begin undressing her mistress in front of a man.
“It is fine, Sully,” Rebekah said as she slung off her cloak. “Obviously, Dr. Corbett feels it is his duty.”
“I do.” Jonathan walked to the door. “I will be right outside. This is not over, Rebekah.”
He slammed the door behind him, shaking the wall. He found Jasper in the hall with a set of dry clothes for him. “Mistress Esther left these for you. You can change in the room down the corridor. I’ll take your boots to dry. It was some of Mistress Esther’s husband’s. Master Ian’s would be too small. She sent word to the others that Rebekah’s been found. I’ll stay here and make sure no one enters.”
“And Mistress Esther?” Jonathan asked.
“Said you can deal with Miss Rebekah.”
Coming 2014
THE HEAVENS SHALL FALL,
Book Four Winds of Betrayal
ANOTHER NIGHT FALLS by Jerri Hines
Book Three, Tides of Charleston Series- Whiskey Creek Press
Sumner Meador walked in a world of wealth and privilege as part of Charles Town’s elite, but that was years ago. Now he fights in the Southern backwoods driven by the passion he holds for the Patriot cause, shadowed by his past. Reeling from a devastating defeat at the hands of the British, Sumner seeks haven at his farm, only to find an interloper—an unwelcome and unwanted distraction. He has no time for the young woman or the complications she brings with her, but soon discovers he has no option but to give aid to the stubborn, courageous beauty whether she wants it or not.
A widower, Sumner has been haunted by the death of his wife and is consumed with a desire for revenge. Jane Kilmer has been violently thrust in
to the midst of the civil war ensuing in the backwoods. Hiding from one of the most dangerous vigilantes, Jane trusts no one. Suddenly, she has no choice but to put her life in Sumner’s hands. Both desire revenge, but neither wants what happens—to fall completely, undeniably in love with each other—so much so, that both are willing to die for the other. And they might have to.
Excerpt
Jane Kilmer stood by the window, looking out over the moonlit landscape. The full moon hung low upon this hot night. Not a breeze to ease the sweltering heat to give her sleep. Shadows from the weeping willow hung over the path that led to the house. She broke her gaze thankful she wasn’t prone to being scared. Her brother, Troy, would have laughed at her if she fended fear.
“Ain’t nothin’ I can think of that would scare you, Jane,” he taunted her as children. In that he hadn’t known her well enough for she did have fear. She had faced her fear several times over the last few months of her life. Now she had nothing left to fear.
Could death become an acquaintance, she wondered? For she had seen it many times, too many times in her twenty years. Jane caught herself. She didn’t want to wonder anything. She wanted only to exist, not to think or to feel. They said that time healed everything. What did anyone know of time?
She daubed the perspiration from her body with a wet handkerchief. Even with the translucent gown she wore the heat seemed oppressive. She looked down upon the gown. She found it within the wardrobe upon her arrival. She had known of Beltcher and knew he had had no wife. Even at the time she thought it strange to have found such.
Broken Legacy (Secret Lives Series) Page 24