Rapture's Betrayal

by McCarthy, Candace

  She couldn’t find it. “I can’t feel it,” she said. “This will never work!”

  “Wait,” Richard bade her. “And keep your voice down! I’ll wager our gentleman guard is not far off.”

  They both kept silent, their ears alert for any foreign sounds outside the smokehouse. After a time of quiet, Kirsten said, “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Keep your voice low anyway,” he urged. “He may be sleeping.”

  She nodded and then realized that he couldn’t see her in the dark. “All right,” she whispered.

  They struggled against each other for what seemed like hours, but in actuality it went on for only about a half-hour.

  “I give up,” Kirsten said. “It was a dumb idea anyway. ”

  “No, I think it’s loosening. I can move my hands more. Try again.”

  Kirsten was disgusted. “One last time. And if it works, you—”

  “What?” Richard’s voice turned husky. “Owe you something? My life perhaps? My arms? A kiss?”

  She swallowed. The air between them had become fraught with sexual tension, and she didn’t know what to make of this sudden shift of feeling. She was afraid to believe him . . . to trust in him. He had saved her father’s life, but could she trust him with her heart?

  Gritting her teeth, Kirsten attempted to free Richard of his wrist bonds. She leaned against him, her muscles straining as she groped for Richard’s rope. With a cry of gladness, she found the knot and was able to insert the tip of her middle finger in it.

  “I think I’ve got it!” she breathed. She was afraid to say it too loudly, for fear that doing so would somehow jinx her ability to undo his bands.

  The piece of hemp started to slip beneath her fingertip. Soon, she was able to place her entire finger in the opening. She fit two fingers in next, but she grew dismayed when she found she had no leverage. There was not enough room to pull.

  “I can’t free it!” she wailed. “I can’t move enough to tug it!” Frustrated, she relaxed her efforts. To have come so close!

  “Hold on, love,” Richard said. “I’ll help you. Perhaps if I move in the opposite direction from you. Between the two of us, we should be able to manage it.”

  Richard jerked his body forward while Kirsten did the same. Finally, the knot came undone, and Richard’s hands were free.

  “Good girl!” he exclaimed. And he bent to untie his feet.

  “Now me,” she said. She felt him hesitate. “Richard?”

  He chuckled as if the hesitation had been a joke, and soon she felt him undoing the ropes at her wrists. Kirsten flinched as he worked at the knot. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “A little. But it’s all right, keep trying.”

  It was difficult for him. Her movements as she attempted to free him had tightened her bindings, and it was too dark to see.

  Finally, Kirsten’s hands were free and she bent to undo her feet. The knot wasn’t as tight at her ankles.

  “Richard? What shall we do now?” Freedom from the ropes added some hope to what had seemed an impossible situation. But Kirsten was suddenly and distractingly reminded of the old mill and the night they’d spent hiding from the British soldiers, waiting for them to leave.

  Richard didn’t immediately answer her. She heard him shift in the dark and then heard a noise along the inside wall. She thought he had risen to his knees. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m searching for loose boards . . . for any way we can get us out of here.”

  “It won’t help,” she said with dejection. “This building is too new. Uncle William is meticulous in his upkeep.”

  He cursed and the noise stopped. “Locked up tight,” he agreed. “Why in hell would Randolph secure a smoke house?”

  Kirsten’s reply was dry. “There’s a war on, haven’t you heard? There are always soldiers about looking for food. Uncle William might be willing to share his grain but not his meat.”

  “I wish there was meat here now.”

  “You’re always hungry,” Kirsten said without thought.

  The mood changed from one of light bantering and became emotionally charged.

  “Kirsten, come here.” His voice was low, seductive.

  She tried to recapture the lightness of moments before. “I’m right here, Richard. This room is hardly large enough to travel far.”

  His low, husky laughter filled the smokehouse, rippling along Kirsten’s spine. She hugged herself and felt gooseflesh rise on her skin.

  “Tell me again why you came to our camp,” he said.

  She refused to answer, for fear she’d reveal her love for him.

  “Kirsten?”

  Suddenly, he was too near. She could feel his breath at her neck and ear, stirring the tiny blond hairs there. “Something about being concerned?” he said.

  She was nervous. She didn’t want to be hurt again, and since she’d met him, it seemed she’d experienced nothing but emotional turmoil—and pain.

  Richard leaned in close to the woman beside him and detected a fragrance about her that was familiar . . . and sweet. Either the smell in the smokehouse was gone, or he was getting used to it, because all he could sense now was Kirsten’s alluring scent.

  He felt her tension and was somewhat puzzled by it. They’d been lovers before. She was no shy, inexperienced virgin. And it was obvious to him that she cared for him. If it wasn’t exactly love she felt, there was at least a physical attraction. That was evident. That she couldn’t deny.

  Richard couldn’t forget the time they’d made love . . . Kirsten’s passionate responses to his touch . . . her wild cries as he thrust into her. Did she regret it? Had it been as good for her as it had been for him?

  The memories brought heat throughout his body, hardening his loins and tightening his muscles. He had the most overwhelming urge to take her sweet lips and ravage them tenderly with his mouth.

  He searched for her arm and found it, and heard her gasp as he ran his fingertips lightly over her skin. He felt the tiny bumps that had formed on it, and he couldn’t help smiling.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  There was a moment of silence. “No.”

  His sense of touch was acute in the darkness, as was his imagination; for he could envision her expression as he continued his wandering caress. He stroked the curve of her neck and imagined her eyes closing in sensual enjoyment; he fondled her nape and then slipped a hand around in front to trace the fragile column of her throat.

  She didn’t say a word, but he was encouraged, because there was no sign that she wanted him to stop.

  Richard moved closer and bent his head until his mouth grazed the warmth of her cheek. He nuzzled her there, then moved down to kiss her throat. He was rewarded when she moaned and dropped her head back.

  “Kirsten,” he gasped. His ache for her was intense, reaching new heights of desire. “Kirsten,” he begged, “kiss me.”

  He shifted toward her fully and leaned closer until he felt sure that his mouth was nearly touching hers. She didn’t kiss him, and he was mildly disappointed but not put off.

  He sought her breast and gently cupped the mound, intending to stroke it until it swelled in his hand. When the breast budded, Richard bent his head and encircled her nipple with his lips, moistening the fabric over it, nibbling the tiny nub until she cried out with pleasure.

  He withdrew his mouth to pull up her shirt. He wanted no barrier between them. He wanted to taste her bare skin, to lick and suckle her sweet breasts until she was whimpering with desire.

  Kirsten gasped as he caressed her flesh through the linen cloth. It had been so long since he’d touched her. It seemed like forever. She felt her nipple bud beneath his questing fingers. She reached out to find him, having the strongest desire to touch his warm skin . . . his hard muscles.

  She found his shirt, tugged it from his breeches, and slipped her hands beneath the hem. The heat of his chest spread to her own quivering flesh as she deligh
ted in letting her palms wander from male nipple to male nipple, then dipped her fingers to his navel and lower . . .

  Richard rejoiced in her response, his groin tightening and his manhood stiffening. “Kirsten, Kirsten, love . . . touch me. Yes, that’s it. Now, let me touch you . . . everywhere.” He raised her shirt, touched one nipple with his lips, and then the other. Emboldened by her response, he caressed her leg, running his fingers from thigh to ankle and back to thigh.

  And then he found her most private area, cupping that feminine mound, rubbing it with his fingers.

  Kirsten stiffened until Richard’s soft words of encouragement made her relax and glory in the intimate caresses through cloth. Richard encouraged her with soft loving words. He praised her beauty, the soft texture of her breasts, the wonderful, sweet taste of her. And then he was dipping his fingers inside her breeches.

  She let out a muted cry as he found her most sensitive spot. Her pleasure was intense. She wanted to share it, to be joined with Richard, to feel him deep inside her.

  “Richard,” she begged.

  They struggled briefly to adjust their garments to make the joining possible. Then, he reached for her and shifted her to a more comfortable position, until she was lying on the wooden platform with him above her.

  He kissed and fondled her. She touched him everywhere, rejoicing in his groans. “Now,” she said.

  He impaled her with his staff, thrusting inside until Kirsten felt the earth spin and her whole body explode with pleasure. Richard cried out, signaling that they had reached the pinnacle together. Afterward, they rolled over and lay joined, side by side, enjoying the sweet aftermath of their union.

  After a time, when he began to suspect Kirsten’s discomfort, Richard pulled away to fasten his breeches. He then helped Kirsten to dress.

  Suddenly, Richard sensed a change in her. She seemed tense, afraid. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Sh-hh!” she said with a sense of urgency. “There’s someone outside!”

  He froze and listened. And he heard footsteps on the earth, the brush of a body against the outer wall of the smokehouse.

  “Hell and damnation!” he muttered. He shifted on the platform, getting into a fighting crouch.

  Chapter Twenty

  Someone was at the door to the smokehouse. Richard grabbed Kirsten by the shoulders and pulled her against him in a protective embrace. She heard his legs shift as he prepared to attack.

  Kirsten heard the sound of the iron lock. She stared at the door. Who was on the other side? Her uncle? Greene? She shuddered. Were they coming to kill them? Her uncle was capable of murder; she was sure of that now that she knew he’d frequently beat his wife and son.

  Her pulse quickened with fear. Were they coming for Richard, to torture him for information?

  She heard wood scrape against wood as the person outside raised the bar. The door squeaked and slowly swung in. Kirsten caught her breath. A lone man was silhouetted against the opening.

  Suddenly, Kirsten found herself tossed to one side as Richard lunged.

  The intruder cried out as he fell back under the force of Richard’s weight, and Kirsten scrambled from the platform, watching as the two rolled across the ground in a deadly tussle. Then she recognized the stranger.

  “Richard!” she cried. “Stop! Please! It’s Miles!”

  Richard didn’t hear her as he slammed a fist into the youth’s face. Kirsten gasped as her cousin fell back, knocked senseless.

  Richard, seeing his victim out cold, rose and, with a cocky smile of victory, turned to Kirsten. Then his smile disappeared.

  “Spitterbaard!”she exclaimed, kneeling at her cousin’s side. “I told you to stop. It’s Miles. He’s come to help us.”

  The guilty look on Richard’s face might have appeared comical to Kirsten if she’d been in a different state of mind. Richard cursed as he bent down at the boy’s other side. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realize.”

  “Obviously,” she snapped. “Tell him you’re sorry when he wakes—if he wakes up.”

  Richard scowled. “I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re implying. I didn’t even hit him that hard. ”

  Kirsten grunted with disbelief.

  Richard tried to revive the boy. He could see now that it was indeed Kirsten’s young cousin, Miles Randolph; and although the lad’s father was a Tory, Miles certainly posed no threat.

  “Come on, fella,” he urged. “Get up!” He gently patted the boy’s cheek. “Wake up!”

  Miles stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes, saw Richard, and flinched.

  “It’s all right,” Kirsten said. “He didn’t know it was you.” She sensed Richard’s gratitude for her support, but chose to pretend otherwise.

  Miles turned his head in Kirsten’s direction. “Kirsten! It was you I saw from my bedchamber window! I couldn’t believe it when they brought you in! What happened? What did you do?”

  “It’s not what she did,” Richard said, and Miles glared at him.

  “Miles,” Kirsten said gently, “he’s a friend, but don’t listen to him. It was my fault as well as his. He’s only trying to protect me. The fact is, Richard was with the Tories who were attacked this night by our local militia.”

  Her cousin blinked. “I’m aware he’s a Tory, but what are you doing with him?” He continued to regard Richard with suspicion.

  “Trust me,” Kirsten said, “he’s a friend. He’s told me so, and . . . I believe him.”

  Richard touched her arm, squeezing it lightly. You must get home,” he told her. “The militia—I must speak with them. There’ll be others coming. Tories . . . British troops. Smugglers transporting goods to the King’s men to the south.”

  “From New York?” she guessed.

  He nodded.

  Kirsten glanced at her cousin. Miles lay on the ground, looking better. His color was good, and he seemed none the worse for Richard’s fists. “Your mother . . . ?”

  “She’s all right. She’s sleeping.”

  She sighed with relief. “I was planning to come for her, to take her to join the others at the Van Voorhees’.”

  “Your family is at this farm?” Richard asked with raised eyebrows.

  She inclined her head, studying his handsome features.

  “Go there then,” he said, “where you’ll be safe. I’ll be back to see you again.” His voice deepened. “I promise.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “There are many I must talk with. Now that Greene and the others realize I’m not one of them, I must work quickly to complete my mission. I suspect that Greene and your uncle are somehow involved with Biv—and perhaps someone in Washington’s command.” He scowled. “If only I had more time!”

  “Richard, don’t go,” Kirsten pleaded, rising to her feet. “Or, at least, let me go with you. What if the militia won’t believe you’re one of us? What if they take you prisoner?”

  “Then, I’ll send for you.” Richard stood.

  “And if they won’t wait? Won’t listen?”

  “It’s a chance I must take.” He grinned. “If that happens, I’m sure you’ll hear about it. I’ll expect you to rescue me.”

  Afraid for him, Kirsten shook her head. “Please, Richard, no.” Her eyes filled with tears as she memorized his beloved features. She had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to him, but when he was so determined to go, how could she convince him to stay?

  Miles cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the two lovers. “You’d best go,” he said as he scrambled to his feet. “Before Father or one of the others hear and come.” He brushed the dirt from the seat of his breeches.

  Kirsten eyed her cousin with concern. “You will be all right? Your father must not learn of this.”

  “I’ll be fine. My father doesn’t know I’m aware of your presence here. He’ll not guess I was involved.”

  She nodded. “He’ll blame one of the others.” She patted his cheek lightly. “Thanks, cousi
n, for the rescue.”

  Miles’s gaze held affection. “I should let you free and lock him up.” He jerked his head in Richard’s direction.

  “But then Uncle William will know.”

  The youth sighed. “Go then—the both of you—and hurry. The morning sun will be up before you know it, and you’ll be caught before you’ve had a chance to flee.”

  Kirsten kissed his cheek. “If ever you need me . . .”

  He smiled at her. “I know.”

  “Be careful,” she whispered. She hoped Miles was right in that his father wouldn’t learn he’d helped her escape. She couldn’t bear it if Miles was punished by William Randolph.

  Miles nodded as he turned away. “Go.”

  And the two lovers fled into the dark night.

  They traveled to the Van Atta farm first. Richard thought to check there, because it was closer than the Van Voorhees’ place, and there was a good chance that with the time they’d spent in the smokehouse, Kirsten’s family might have returned home.

  He was wrong, however. When they arrived, the house was dark. Despite the hour, Richard could tell that there was no one home. There was no sign of a return, not a wheel track in the yard or a footprint in the soft dirt. Nothing.

  Kirsten went to the barn to see if the animals were still there. Their cow was, but someone had come back for the horses. Pieter must have returned to take the animals away for safekeeping, or else the horses had been stolen by fleeing Tory soldiers.

  Richard wouldn’t allow Kirsten to go to the Van Voorhees’ farm by herself. And so, despite the added risk he was running, he escorted her to the Patriot shelter. With Greene and the Tories free, there was a chance she might be apprehended along the way, and if that happened, he feared Kirsten would suffer because of the men’s anger at “Canfield.”

  He stopped in view of the Van Voorhees’ house, but out of sight of those who hid there. It was time to part, the moment Kirsten had been most dreading.

  “Richard.” A painful lump clogged her throat. “You’ll be careful?”

  He looked at her, and she could see well enough to glimpse the tenderness of his expression, the glow of his russet eyes.