A warm summer breeze trailed in through the open door and swirled about the room. Upon seeing Rose and her aunt, Mr. Markham dragged off his hat. “Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Drummond, Miss McGuire, but there’s trouble down at the church.”
“Calm down, man. What sort of trouble?” Uncle Forbes squinted at Mr. Markham and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Some men in town caught a redcoat, sir. And they’re threatening to string ‘im up.” He fumbled with his hat and cast an anxious gaze out the open door. “He’s hurt pretty bad too.” He glanced at Rose’s aunt.
“Oh my.” Lifting her skirts, Aunt Muira headed upstairs only to descend within seconds, medical satchel in one hand and a pair of spectacles in the other. “We should alert Dr. Wilson just in case the man’s injuries are beyond my abilities.”
Grabbing his overcoat from the hook by the door, Rose’s uncle swept it over his shoulders.
“A lynching?” Cora entered the room, fear pinching the features of her face.
“Never you mind, Cora. Keep an eye on Rose and we’ll be back soon,” Aunt Muira ordered.
“Can’t I come with you?” Rose said as the familiar fear clenched her gut once again. “I don’t feel safe here without Samuel.” She glanced at Cora.
“Don’t be blamin’ me for him runnin’ off.” Cora wagged her finger. “He was nothin’ but trouble, that one.”
“You’re safer here than in town,” her uncle said. “Mr. Markham will stay with you, won’t you, sir?”
The gentleman nodded, seemingly relieved he did not have to return to the mayhem in town. “Indeed, I will.”
Uncle Forbes patted his pockets and scanned the room. “My spectacles. Where are my spectacles?”
“I have them, dearest.” Aunt Muira handed them to him, then faced Rose. “Promise me you won’t leave the house.”
Rose swallowed. With the British afoot and the crazed mob in town, her aunt and uncle were venturing straight into danger. “I promise, but please be safe.”
Without so much as a glance back, they sped out the door and slammed it behind them. The thud echoed through the lonely house. Oh God, I cannot lose my family. Not again.
Alexander Reed trudged through the thick mud. A leafy branch struck his face. Shoving it aside, he continued onward. All around him the chirp of crickets and croak of frogs joined other night sounds in an eerie cacophony. An insect stung his neck, and he slapped the offending pest. Behind him eight men slogged through the woods as silently as the squish of mud would allow, and before him, at their lead, marched Mr. Garrick, first lieutenant of the HMS Undefeatable.
The troops of men from various British warships blockading the Chesapeake had barely hauled their cockboats up on the land when darkness had descended. Alex huffed under his breath. This was a job for marines and soldiers, not sailors. Why Admiral Cockburn insisted that naval officers go ashore on these raids eluded Alex. He’d rather be back in the wardroom aboard the HMS Undefeatable sipping a glass of port than stomping through the backwoods of this primitive country.
Alex tried to shake the visions of senseless destruction, rape, and murder of civilians ordered by Admiral Cockburn and carried out by his small group that night, but they haunted him with each step. His stomach turned in revulsion. At least he’d been able to slip into the shadows during the worst of it and avoid forever scarring his conscience. Yet he didn’t know how much more he could endure. As horrendous as war was, true gentlemen fought with honor and integrity, not by assaulting innocent farmers and their families. When he joined His Majesty’s Navy, he had not signed up for this madness. He wanted to make an honorable name in battle and perhaps gain some prize money that would go a long way to erase the stain he’d made upon his family’s name. Then maybe his father would welcome him home again.
Home. Alex had been without one for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to have a place to call his own. And a family who loved him. Yet these raids brought him anything but honor. To defy orders, however, would bring court-martial upon him and most likely a sentence of death or worse—cashiering, a dishonorable discharge from the navy.
Garrick slowed and slipped beside Alex. Doffing his bicorn, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his bloodstained sleeve. “Easy prey, these ruffians, eh, Reed?”
“They are but farmers. I would not allow your pride to swell overmuch.”
“Egad man.” Garrick snorted. “You always were a sour pot.”
A marine chuckled from behind Alex. “Did you see the look on that woman’s face when we burst into her home?”
The purl of rushing water caressed Alex’s ears, and he longed for it to drown out the men’s malicious commentary.
“This silver tea platter will please my wife back home,” another man whispered.
Alex’s anger rose. “The silver is not yours, Grayson.”
“Aye it is, Mr. Reed. A prize of war.”
“Don’t mind him lads,” Garrick shot over his shoulder. “Reed’s always been a stuffed shirt. His father’s a viscount. Lord Cranleigh.” He mimicked the haughty tone of the London aristocrats then snapped venomous eyes Reed’s way. “Perhaps you believe this type of work beneath you, Reed? Don’t like to get your hands dirty, eh?”
Ignoring him, Alex trudged forward. Sweat streamed down his back beneath his waistcoat.
Thankfully, a light ahead drew Garrick’s attention away from him. “A farmhouse, gentlemen.” Excitement heightened his voice.
Reed peered through the darkness. A small house with light streaming from its windows and smoke curling from three chimneys perched in the middle of a patch of cleared land. A barn nearly as big as the house stood off to the right, and a smaller one sat in the shadows to the left.
“Upon my honor, Garrick. It’s just one farm. Leave them be,” Reed said. “Captain Milford instructed us to strike towns, not single farms.”
Garrick gazed up at the black sky, then turned to face Alex. His expression was lost in the darkness but his tone indicated nothing but sinister glee. “It grows late. You take the men and circle around back toward the ship. I’ll meet you on board.”
Alex released a heavy sigh and watched as Garrick turned, gripped his pistol, leaped over the short fence, and crept toward the unsuspecting farmhouse. If Alex were a praying man, he’d say a prayer for the poor souls within.
But he wasn’t a praying man.
Rose hooked the lantern on a nail by Valor’s stall. The bells and musket shots had ceased, giving her the courage to venture forth from the protection of the house and finish her chores. Although Amelia had returned, she and Cora had long since retired to their beds. How they could sleep at a time like this baffled Rose. Neither Mr. Markham’s snores from the sofa in the parlor nor his meek demeanor when he was awake provided Rose with enough security to risk slumber.
Leaning her cheek against the warm horse’s face, Rose drew a breath of the musky scent of horseflesh. “I’m sorry to have forgotten you, precious one.” She pulled away and ran her fingers through Valor’s mane.
Something moved in the reflection of the horse’s eye. Something or someone.
Rose froze.
“Well, I daresay, what do we have here?” The male voice struck her like a sword in the back. Heart in her throat, she jumped and swung about. A man in a British naval uniform, dark blue coat and stained white breeches, glared at her with the eyes of a predator. A slow smile crept over his lips. His dark eyes scoured the barn and then returned to her. He took a step forward. Valor neighed.
Rose’s legs wobbled. “I insist you leave at once, sir. This is a civilian home, and my uncle is within shouting distance,” she lied, wishing her uncle hadn’t left for town.
Wishing she’d kept her promise to stay in the house.
“Indeed?” He cocked a malicious brow and took another step. Blood stains marred his white shirt.
“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
“Please sir, I am not at war with you. As is no one in my fami
ly.” Rose’s pulse raced. Her vision blurred.
“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, miss. All Yankee rebels are at war with Britain, the mother country.” He grinned and rubbed the whiskers lining his jaw. “And what does a parent do with a rebellious child? Why, he gives the brat a spanking.”
Rose’s breath crushed against her chest. She darted a quick glance toward the open barn door behind her.
“You will give me what I want,” the man continued. “Or”—he sighed and flattened his lips—“I’d hate to see this barn and all your animals go up in flames.”
Liverpool mooed in protest.
Rose’s head grew light. The barn began to spin around her. She could not endure this. Not again. “Please sir, I beg you.” Her voice squeaked. “If you have any decency, leave me and my family be.”
“Ah, there’s the rub, miss. In truth, I have no decency.”
Clutching her skirts, Rose made a dash for the door. Meaty hands gripped her shoulders and tossed her to the ground. Pain shot up her arms and onto her back. She screamed. Hay flew into her face. Valor neighed and stomped his foot. The frenzied squawk of chickens filled her ears.
The man shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside. Never removing his eyes from her, he slowly drew his sword and pistol and laid them on the ground.
Terror seized her. She scrambled on her knees to get away. He grabbed her legs, flipped her over, and fell on top of her. His heavy weight nearly crushed her.
Rose closed her eyes and prayed for a rapid death.
CHAPTER 2
A woman’s scream pierced the air. Alex dashed across the open field. Blasted Garrick, he swore under his breath. He halted midway and listened. Barn or house? Another scream, followed by the distraught whinny of a horse. The barn. Alex darted in that direction, glad he’d stayed behind to see what mischief Garrick was about, instead of heading back to the ship with the other men.
Chest heaving, he barreled through the barn’s open doors. Squinting in the glare of lantern light, his eyes latched on Lieutenant Garrick lying atop a struggling woman. Fury consumed Alex. He charged toward his superior, laid a muddy boot on his side and kicked him off the lady. Garrick moaned and tumbled over the dirt and hay. He snapped to his knees, raking the barn with his gaze. A pair of searing brown eyes met Alex’s. The look of shock on Garrick’s face faded beneath an eruption of rage.
“What is the meaning of this, Reed?” He leaped to his feet and brushed the hay from his shirt.
Alex dared a quick glance at the woman. Disheveled golden hair, a muddied gown, and crystal blue eyes that screamed in terror stared back at him.
“The meaning of this, sir”—he swung his gaze back to Garrick—“is that I tire of your cruel treatment of innocent ladies.”
“I care not a whit what you tire of.” Garrick scowled. “She is rebel trash and therefore no lady.”
Alex forced down his anger. He wanted nothing more than to pummel this nincompoop into the ground. “You disguise your licentious appetites behind the shield of war. It is beneath you, sir, as an officer in His Majesty’s Navy.” Yet even as he said the words, he wondered if anything was beneath a man like Garrick.
“Captain Milford will have you court-martialed for assaulting me.” Garrick spit hay from his mouth. “Return to the ship at once.” His tone held no possibility of defiance on Alex’s part. “Now!” he added with a spiteful gleam in his eye.
Alex remained in place.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Garrick’s expression. “Go now, and I’ll forget this moment of insanity.” His tone softened.
“Please help me, sir,” the woman managed to squeak out, shifting pleading eyes toward Alex.
He drew a deep breath of the muggy, manure-scented air. Seconds passed, affording him a moment of clarity. He could return to the ship and continue with his plan to gain honor and fortune in the navy, or he could defy his superior officer, defend this woman, and lose everything. Why did he care if one more American woman was ravished on a night when dozens had already suffered the same fate?
“Be gone! What is one rebel woman to you?” Garrick chuckled as if reading Alex’s thoughts. He wiped the spit from his lips, then leaned over the lady with such lustful disdain it sickened Alex.
Whimpering, she clambered backward.
Alex clenched his fists, silently cursing his infernal conscience. “Upon my honor, I fear I cannot do that.”
Garrick flinched and cast an incredulous gaze at Alex. “What did you say?” He lengthened his stance. His narrowed eyes shot to his sword and pistol lying atop his coat on the ground, but then he shook his head and grinned. “Ah, you want the woman, too. By all means, Mr. Reed, you may have her when I’m done.” He waved a hand through the air.
“You misunderstand me, sir.” Alex forced the anger from his tone. “I’m ordering you to leave the woman alone and return to the ship with me.”
“You are ordering?” Garrick’s incredulous tone was ripe with spite. Anger flared in his otherwise lifeless eyes. He inched closer to his weapons.
“I would not attempt that if I were you, Garrick.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” In one fluid motion, Garrick leaped for his sword, grabbed it, and swept it out before him. “But I would.” He grinned. “In fact, there are many things I would do that you would not, which is the great difference between us.”
Anguish brewed within Alex as he watched his glorious naval career scuttled. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he slowly drew it from its sheath. “To be different from you, sir, has been my greatest aspiration.” Alex gave a mock bow. Why couldn’t the libertine relinquish this one lady? Why had he forced Alex’s hand? Visions of his own body swinging from a hanging post at Portsmouth flashed before his eyes. But he couldn’t think of that now.
“I’ve been looking forward to gutting you with my blade for a long time, Reed.” Garrick sneered.
Alex raised a brow. “Then let us delay your attempt no longer.”
Heart cinched in her chest, Rose eyed the two men. When her rescuer knocked the hideous man off of her, terror had given way to hope. But now as the two sailors lunged toward each other, swords in hand, her fears returned in full force.
Clang! Steel struck steel as their blades crossed. The man called Garrick forced her rescuer back beneath the blow. Or was he her rescuer? She could not be sure that this Reed, as Garrick had addressed him, didn’t harbor the same plans for her as her assailant. He was British, after all.
Reed shoved Garrick back then narrowed his eyes upon him. He leveled the tip of his sword at Garrick’s chest. A confident grin played upon his lips.
Garrick’s face reddened and a sweat broke out on his brow. “You’ll hang for this, Reed.”
“We shall see.”
Fear clogged Rose’s throat. Her gaze landed on Garrick’s pistol lying atop his coat. Pressing her palms against the dirt, she struggled to push herself up, but her legs turned to jelly. She plopped down again and began to hum her father’s song in an attempt to calm her nerves and give strength to her limbs.
Sword raised, Reed charged Garrick, and the two parried back and forth. The chime of steel on steel echoed through the barn. Liverpool mooed.
Tears stung Rose’s eyes. She gasped for breath as she tried once again to rise.
Garrick dipped to the left and thrust his sword at Reed’s side, but the taller man leaped out of reach, then swung about and brandished his blade across Garrick’s chest. A line of red blossomed on the man’s shirt. Garrick stared at it as if he hadn’t realized up to that point that he could bleed.
Valor snorted and stomped her hoof against the wooden rail. Rose struggled to her knees and began to inch toward the pistol.
Garrick’s face grew puffy and red. Fear clouded his brow. “Enough of this!” He spat and lunged toward his opponent. Reed jerked backward then veered to the right and brought the hilt of his sword down on Garrick’s hand. Garrick’s blade flew from his grip and landed in the dirt.
&nb
sp; A chicken squawked.
His chest heaving, Garrick gaped at his sword lying in the mud. He raised seething eyes to his opponent.
Reed kicked Garrick’s sword aside then lowered his blade. He ran a sleeve across his forehead. His features twisted in a mixture of anger and regret. “Let us put this behind us, Garrick. We are in the midst of war. Tempers are high. Forget the girl, forget this incident, and let’s return to the ship.”
Yes, indeed, forget about me. Rose shuddered. Almost within her reach, the pistol gleamed in the lantern light, taunting her, daring her to pick it up. To shoot it as she had those many years ago. She could still feel the unyielding wood of the pistol’s handle in her grip, could still smell the sting of gunpowder. She had no idea if she could even touch it, but she had to try. Inching forward, her legs became hopelessly tangled in the folds of her gown.
Garrick’s vile chuckle bounced off the walls of the barn. “Are those your terms, Reed?” She heard his boots thudding toward her.
She reached for the pistol.
“Fair terms, to be sure, considering I won our little contest.” Reed’s voice carried a hint of distrust, of hopelessness, which did not bode well for Rose’s future.
“Well, stab me, Reed. I didn’t take you for such a ninny.” Garrick’s black boot stepped in her view. He grabbed her wrist and tossed her arm aside. The pistol disappeared.
The cock of a gun sounded. Rose felt the hard press of a barrel against her forehead. She slowly lifted her chin to gaze into Garrick’s face, twisted in fury and bloodlust. His eyes sparked like a madman’s. Rose’s blood grew cold.
“Leave, Reed, or I’ll kill your precious rebel,” Garrick said.
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