The Captured Bride

by Griep, Michelle;

  The warrior wheeled about.

  So did he—but in the opposite direction. He raced to the road and crouch-ran across it, keeping below the line of sight should Running Wolf change his mind and once again join with the Braggs. Speeding along the side farthest from the wagon, he swept the road with a feverish gaze. God help him. If he saw a dark-haired waif spread out on that dirt, there’d be no holding him back.

  Across the road, men’s voices raged. Another shot rang out. Rufus screamed. Elias used the noise to his advantage, rustling faster along the underbrush. Maybe Running Wolf would have only one man to bring in.

  No matter. The only thing of value now was finding Mercy—or not. The thought of seeing her body crumpled and lifeless stabbed him in the chest.

  The pouch with the poisoned weapon bounced against his back, but he did not slow until he searched well beyond the makeshift camp. No body slumped in a black shadow on the road. No Mercy. Sucking in a deep breath, he pivoted to retrace his steps back to where they had left Livvy with the horses. If Mercy was there, safe and whole, he just might kill her himself for taking such a harebrained risk. But if she wasn’t…

  His breath stuck in his throat. If she’d been hit and was losing her life’s blood, lying cold somewhere in the woods, he’d never forgive himself.

  “Livvy? Elias?” Mercy barreled into the brush, feeling her way more than seeing. Good thing they had picked the stand of white birch to hunker down in, so starkly did the trunks contrast with the night shadows.

  “Over here, Miss Mercy.”

  She worked her way toward the girl’s voice, barely spying her before she tripped over Livvy’s legs. “Is Elias here?”

  The useless question flew from her lips before she could stop it. Nor could she keep from peering around the flattened area where Livvy had stamped about—but no dark-haired man graced the small clearing. Of course it would take Elias longer to get here than her. She knew it in her head—but her heart still hoped to find him safe.

  “I thought he was with you.” There was a shiver in Livvy’s voice.

  She sank next to the girl, drinking in a lungful of damp air, trying not to tremble herself. “He is not.”

  Curling up her knees, she wrapped her arms about them and dropped her head. Had Elias gotten away? Or had one of those shots punched the life clear out of his body? And if so, how would she ever breathe again? For that was what he was now. So much a part of her she could hardly distinguish where she ended and he began.

  A warm hand patted her arm. “Don’t fret, Miss Mercy. I’ve been praying the whole time. No matter what happens, God is still sovereign.”

  The girl’s faith put her own to shame. If Elias didn’t come back, would she even have a faith at all? Her shoulders slumped with the question. It was hard to believe in a God who took as frequently as He gave. Yet not impossible, for the fingers pressing on her sleeve declared such an unyielding trust a reality. Oh, to own such a childlike confidence.

  Keep me tethered to You, Lord…no matter what.

  Her throat closed with the immensity of such a request—but she did not take it back. Not one word.

  Livvy pulled her hand away and settled down on the ground. Mercy wished for a blanket she might throw over the girl’s small form. But all she could do was scoot closer to her, sharing some of her body heat.

  She tuned her ears to listen for the slightest hint of Elias’s return. Far off, the eerie howl of coyotes sounded. Nearby, the grass rustled. A field mouse or two, most likely. The skip of a small pebble came from near the road.

  And she shot like a musket ball to her feet.

  Five steps later, she launched into Elias’s open arms and buried her face against his chest.

  The scruff of his beard tickled her brow as he bent close and whispered, “Are you hurt?”

  Unwilling to pull away, she shook her head, inhaling his scent of smoke and leather and heated flesh.

  “And you?” she murmured.

  “No.”

  Then he released her. Just like that. Taking his warmth and strength with him.

  She staggered from the sudden loss and peered up into his face. The first pale light of a lethargic moon broke free of a cloud, brushing over the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips, and a glower that would make a grown man retreat.

  “What kind of foolish deed was that? Purposely drawing fire.” He yanked off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, then slapped it back on before the growl of his voice had a chance to fade.

  Suddenly she was a little girl again, facing her father’s wrath for joining the men on a hunt. She swallowed, weak in the knees. Elias was right of course. It had been a dangerous idea.

  “You might have been killed!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved his face into hers. “You hear me? Those men were aiming for you. You, Mercy! You could have been shot.”

  “So could you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it.” She still couldn’t. A tremor jittered across her shoulders, and she breathed out low, “How am I to live in a world without you?”

  Elias deflated, pressing his forehead against hers. “Woman, I swear you are going to be the death of me. Please, do not ever do that again.”

  She matched her breathing to his. A small thing, but one that linked her to him. “Will there be a need? Are we finished with the Braggs?”

  “Aye.” He pulled back his head, his teeth bright against his dark beard. “Justice will be served, and by the hand of a Wyandot no less.”

  Her jaw dropped. By all that was holy, how had he managed that? “What did you do?”

  “Let’s just say that it is a good thing I speak the language.”

  She couldn’t help but smile back. “You never stop surprising me.”

  “I should hope not.” His hands slid from her shoulders to her back, drawing her next to his body. His mouth came down sweet and slow, lingering on hers so long, a warm ache pulsed through her.

  “Promise me one thing?” he whispered against her lips.

  “Hmm?” she murmured.

  “That you will never stop surprising me.”

  Elias stood at attention, every muscle squalling to have given in to Mercy’s suggestion to board for the night and visit the major’s office first thing in the morning. But the sooner this weapon was delivered, the sooner he’d breathe freely. Tonight might be the first time in a year he’d sleep with both eyes closed.

  He slid a glance to the mantel clock. If he did not miss his mark, Major Clement would enter before the second hand swept a full circle. A blessing, the man’s punctuality, for it would mean less time Mercy and Livvy would remain sequestered in the small foyer with the large private.

  Just before the tick of another minute, a door on the other side of the room opened, and in stepped a sprite of a man. The dainty, slim-boned major was the stuff of fairy tales, hardly more than a puff of wind. Elfish ears stuck out from his head. Almond-shaped eyes, brown as a cup of coffee, sat deep above the curve of high cheekbones. His step was light, his complexion even lighter. Most people gave the man nary a second look, so innocuous his appearance…and therein lay the irony. There wasn’t a more powerful man in all of Boston—not since Elias’s grandfather had died several years ago.

  The major stretched out a hand, clasping Elias’s with a strong shake. “So, the prodigal has returned.” Releasing him, the man clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to have you back.”

  Elias resumed his crisp stance. “It is good to be back, sir.”

  “By all means, at ease, man! Better yet, sit. You look as if you could use a stout chair and an even stouter drink.”

  Major Clement strode to a side table and reached for a green bottle.

  “Thank you, but none for me, Major.” He slung off his pack and set it on Clement’s big desk, then sank into one of the leather chairs opposite it. After a month of sitting on naught but a wagon bench, a horse’s back, felled trees, or rocks, the cushion beneath him was a cloud. He stifled a sigh. Barely.


  “As you wish.” The major crossed to his seat behind the desk, a single drink in hand. He tossed back a swallow, then set the glass down—yet did not release it. His finger ran the curve of the rim, round and round, while his gaze studied the sack Elias had placed on his desk. At length, he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Seems you have brought me a little gift. Care to tell me about it?”

  Elias nodded. “As you know, I infiltrated with the Second Battalion of the Guyenne Regiment. A brutal lot, nearly as rough edged as my father’s voyageur ilk.”

  “Uncivilized beasts, I imagine.”

  “Worse. Killers, all.” His hands curled into fists. For a moment, he saw red—the lacerations of English prisoners hit full in the face by bits of sharpened metal. Then the blood they’d heaved up afterward, bodies convulsing in a torturous death. He drew in a steadying breath. “Brigadier Nicolette’s plan is to march on Fort Stanwix, though I am afraid I arrived here too late for you to pull together an ambush. A failure I truly regret.”

  “Stanwix?” The major grunted, then unlaced his fingers. He pulled open a top drawer, rummaged a bit, then retrieved a slip of paper. “Your apology may be a bit premature. Take a look at this.”

  Clement held out the scrap, and Elias took it. The edges were ripped and a reddish-brown stain marred one side. Whoever had carried this intelligence had surely paid a price. Charcoal lines scrawled across it, connecting to others. An X crossed through one of them. The rendering looked like nothing more than a child’s squiggles.

  “Turn it the other way,” the major suggested.

  He did. Still…nothing.

  “Now imagine that scrap were bigger, with Fort Le Boeuf down in the left corner.”

  A smile slowly lifted his lips. Those squiggles were a network of rivers—the waterway leading to the fort slated for destruction.

  “Let me guess.” He handed back the paper. “That X indicates the bridge, or shall I say, what was the bridge over Mud Creek?”

  “Thank God for a cursed damp spring, eh? That ought to keep your Brigadier Nicolette at bay for a while.”

  Elias grinned. “I never thought to be thankful for a swollen river.”

  The major shoved the paper back into the drawer, lifting his glass for another drink on the upsweep. “How many are on the march?”

  “Three squads, including the Seventy-Second.”

  Clement choked, setting the glass down with a clatter. “So little?”

  “They won’t need any more if they deploy this.” Leaning forward once again, Elias pushed the pouch with one finger toward the major. “Take care. The contents are deadly.”

  The major quirked a brow. “Then by all means, I shall give you the honor of presenting them.”

  Elias rose from his seat and opened the sack’s flap. He reached for the major’s silver-handled letter opener, then, using the tip, fished out the thin leather packet. A single piece of twine yet remained knotted around the thing, and he carefully worked it loose. Using precise movements, he wedged out a single, pointed bit of jagged metal, not much bigger than a musket ball.

  Major Clement bent, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

  “That is what I am hoping your resources can find out. The metal is coated with some kind of poison. What, exactly, is beyond me. All I know is one scratch will bring down a man within hours.”

  A muscle stood out like a cord on the major’s neck. Lantern light slid along his clenched jaw like a knife blade. And Elias did not blame him. He’d had the same knotted-up reaction when he first discovered the vile thing.

  Clement’s gaze lifted to his. “How is it deployed?”

  “The pieces are loaded into a glass bombshell, and grenadiers shoot them from a mortar.”

  The major huffed out a breath. “Surely the glass breaks when the mortar goes off.”

  “No.” Elias shook his head. Had he not seen the thing in action, he’d not have believed it either. “It does not, sir. I suspect it is more than simply glass, but I was not able to secret one of those shells away. By faith, I barely got out of there alive with those snippets of metal. Yet if we—if you and your resources—can figure out what the poison is, then perhaps an antidote could be stocked.”

  “That will take time, Dubois.” The major slammed his fist onto the desk, rattling his glass and the metal. “Time we don’t have!”

  “True, not for the first test load that is even now on the way to Stanwix. May God have mercy.” He coaxed the bit of metal back into the leather with the letter opener, adding at least a small measure of safety should the major buffet the desk once again. Then he pushed the whole thing back into the pouch and closed the flap.

  “Your words to God’s ears, Dubois.”

  He retraced his steps to his seat and sank into it. “But all is not lost, Major. If we take out the storehouse of both glass and poison, that should buy us the time we need.”

  Clement’s ears twitched as a smile replaced his scowl. “Location?”

  “Louisbourg.”

  A low whistle circled the room. “That will be a hair-raising mission.” The major cocked his head. “I don’t suppose you are volunteering?”

  Years ago he’d have jumped at the offer of adventure and glory. But now? He shifted on the cushion, wincing from scars and aches and too many bad memories. “No, sir. When I said this would be my last operation, I meant it.”

  “Never hurts to ask, eh?” The major shoved back his chair, then stood and rounded the desk, once again offering his hand. “You have done a fine job, Elias.”

  He rose, meeting Clement’s firm grip. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Your service has been exemplary.” The major’s dark eyes twinkled with a hint of hidden knowledge. “You shall have your reward as promised…and then some.”

  “To be honest, sir, I did not do this alone. Would you like to meet my team?”

  “Team?” Both the major’s brows rose. “By all means.”

  Elias strode to the door, peeked out at Mercy with a nod, then held the door wide for her and Livvy to enter. He stood at attention as they passed. “Allow me to introduce—”

  Before he could finish, the major rushed over to Livvy, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. “Deliverance Hunter? Is that you? I can hardly believe it!”

  Mercy shot Elias a glance—one he returned with as much fervor. What on earth?

  “It is, sir.” Livvy smiled as if they were old friends. “Won’t my papa be surprised?”

  “He’ll be more than that.” Major Clement looked past the girl to Elias. “Well, well, Dubois. You shall be greatly rewarded indeed.”

  Wall sconces shed ample light on the frail-looking man who smiled down at Livvy, but even so Mercy blinked, unsure of what she saw.

  Next to her, Elias pulled the door shut, then angled his head toward the man. “Sir?”

  The confusion in his tone was a comfort. At least she wasn’t the only one to wonder at the odd reunion.

  “Ah, yes.” The man released his grip of the girl and faced Elias. “You have been out in the field so long, I suppose you missed the arrival of the illustrious General George Hunter, recently in with reinforcements from Bristol. The man’s been quite out of his mind with worry ever since the girl’s abduction—and been sparing no expense to find her. How the deuce did you manage to locate her?”

  “In all truth, sir, it was providence, for I was not in search of the girl.” Elias’s eyes sought Mercy’s, and he stepped closer to her, the sweep of his fingers resting on the small of her back. A simple gesture, but one that flushed her cheeks. How could this rugged man make her feel so precious by such a mundane act of chivalry?

  “Major, allow me to introduce Miss Mercy Lytton. She is the one who found Livvy.” Elias turned his face to her—a face she’d never tire of gazing upon, despite the scruff of a beard and layer of travel grime. “Mercy, meet Major Nathaniel Clement.”

  Leaving Livvy behind, the major settled in front of her and
reached for her hand, then bowed over it. “My pleasure, Miss…”

  Slowly, he released her fingers and straightened. His gaze roamed her face, an inscrutable flicker in his eyes. She stood still as a doe scenting danger. Oh, to own a beaver pelt for each time men measured her so, trying to add up the mixed heritage evident in her features. She’d be a wealthy, wealthy woman.

  “Lytton?” The major, slight as he was, stood head to head with her, staring straight into her eyes. “Are you the famed woman scout working with Captain Matthew Prinn?”

  Her heart twisted. The slow bleed of sorrow inside her yet continued to drip, and she was more grateful than ever for Elias’s warm touch that steadied her.

  She lifted her chin. “I am, sir…or, I was. I regret to inform you that Captain Prinn is no longer alive.”

  A groan rumbled in the major’s throat. “A shame. The man was the brightest—and I daresay best—of what the rangers have to offer.”

  A heavy silence fell. The tick of the clock and crackle of the fire in the hearth descended on them all until the major cleared his throat. “But pardon my manners. Please, have a seat, ladies.” His brown eyes pierced Elias with a stare. “Unless you have any more surprise guests up your sleeve, Dubois?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Very good.” The man pivoted and strode toward an enormous desk. Livvy followed, taking up a chair in front of the thing.

  Mercy took the opportunity to lean sideways to whisper to Elias. “How does he know who I am?”

  He leaned close, smelling of smoke and horses, a bittersweet reminder they were at their journey’s end. “There is none better than the major when it comes to military intelligence.”

  She took the seat next to Livvy, and Elias remained standing directly behind them.

  “I won’t keep you long, for the three of you look travel worn and in need of a hearty meal. Now then, Miss Hunter.” The major smiled at Livvy. “I shall send a runner straightaway to inform your father of your safe return. I will also arrange for your passage to Virginia as soon as possible, where he has been reassigned. How does that sound?”