Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

  Alex released a sigh of resignation. Regardless of the lady’s allure and the peace of this land, he should leave tomorrow night. The longer he stayed, the more danger he placed on her and her family. Alex would rejoin his ship and secure his future as an honored British naval officer. No one need know what had happened with Garrick. Alex had taken the only action available to him in the defense of an innocent woman. It mattered not that she was an American. He had done the honorable thing. And if he continued doing the honorable thing on board the HMS Undefeatable, this war would not only bring him the prize money he needed, but the accolades he required to earn the forgiveness of his brother and respect of his father. And maybe even a welcome home.

  The clomp of horses’ hooves and the grating of carriage wheels filled the air. He glanced toward the road leading to the house. The family returned. But it wasn’t the same landau that left that morning. Alex froze. Behind the carriage, a band of horses trotted. He squinted at the sight. Men, armed with muskets and swords, some in blue-and-white uniforms, spread like a stormy wake behind the landau.

  So, Miss McGuire had alerted the authorities after all. Alex’s heart raced as his mind sped, searching a course of action. There was no way he could outrun them in his condition.

  Ignoring Mr. Snyder’s outstretched hand, Rose leaped from the carriage, trying to contain her fear behind a polite mask of composure.

  “By the by, Miss McGuire,” Mr. Snyder said as he assisted Amelia behind her. “You seem flustered.” His eyes gleamed as if he knew something.

  As if he knew she was about to be accused of treason.

  “Not flustered, sir.” She offered him a tight smile. “Simply tired after my long day in town and anxious to rest.”

  “Of course.” He nodded, then searched the area—no doubt for a groomsman to take his horse—before he tied the reins to a post with a huff. “Someday I shall be able to afford a coachman.” He grumbled under his breath. “And you a footman, perhaps?”

  Rose frowned. A ridiculous comment in the midst of wartime.

  Amelia brushed past Rose and entered the house, terror screaming from her eyes. The thunder of horse hooves pounded the air and shook the ground as a dozen men, both regular army and militia stormed toward them.

  Rose struggled to breathe. In the western sky, the setting sun barely grazed the tops of the trees, sending spindly bright fingers across the farm, poking and prying into every dark corner. Her gaze shot unbidden to the icehouse in the distance. The door was shut. Was Mr. Reed inside or outside? If inside, he’d never be able to leave unnoticed.

  Cora came running through the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is happenin’, child? Why are these men here?”

  “Never fear, Cora.” Rose took her arm in hers and led her back inside. The spicy smell of roast rabbit and wood smoke filled her nose. Normally Rose found them to be comforting aromas, but under the circumstances, they only enhanced her fear of losing everything that was dear to her—family, home, and freedom. She faced the cook. “They are here to protect us.”

  Or arrest us as traitors.

  The cook’s chubby cheeks quivered as her dark eyes skittered toward the door. “Then why are you shakin’, miss?”

  Rose snatched her arm back. “I’m just tired.” She glanced up the stairs, wondering where Amelia had gone. “Now please run along and finish preparing the meal. Aunt Muira and Uncle Forbes will be here shortly.”

  With a frown, Cora turned and waddled toward the kitchen, muttering something about soldiers having no business searching the farm.

  Taking a deep breath, Rose faced General Smith and Mr. Snyder as they marched through the front door. The general’s thick boots thumped over the wood, grinding Rose’s nerves to dust. He removed his bicorn and held it by his side. “Miss McGuire, we shall be no bother to you, I am sure.”

  “No trouble at all.” Rose tugged off her gloves if only to keep her hands from shaking. She tossed them onto a table lining the wall of the foyer as she took a mental inventory of any incriminating evidence lying about the farm. Mr. Reed’s coat and weapons were in a wooden chest on the top rafters of the barn. Other than that and the freshly dug dirt of Garrick’s grave, there should be no sign of any traitorous activities.

  Unless the soldiers looked in the icehouse.

  If they did, at least her aunt and uncle wouldn’t be here to witness Rose’s arrest.

  Five soldiers entered behind the general, two of whom Rose recognized as men from town who had joined the militia. They wore the same white trousers as the regular army but their dark blue jackets were devoid of the golden stripes and red trim that marked them as military. They both tipped their straw hats in her direction. “Miss McGuire.”

  “Mr. Cohosh. Mr. Blake.” She gave a tremulous smile.

  “My men will search your home.” General Smith’s commanding tone left no room for argument.

  Mr. Snyder stood by the door, hat and cane in hand, and a worrisome look on his face.

  Rose clenched her jaw. “General, this is pushing matters rather far. Do you think I wouldn’t know if British soldiers were in my own house?”

  “They are sneaky little devils, Miss McGuire,” the general said. “It is for your own protection.”

  With a huff, Rose gestured toward the stairway. “You are wasting your time, gentlemen. Please be advised that my lady’s maid may be in her chamber.”

  The men scrambled up the stairs, muskets in hand and swords flapping against their breeches.

  Rose took a deep breath to steel herself. Then after a moment she turned. “May I offer you some tea, General, Mr. Snyder?” She sauntered toward the parlor, hoping to act nonchalant, but stumbled over the rug.

  “No, thank you, miss. I need to direct my men.” Swinging about, General Smith plopped his hat atop his head and marched outside as quickly as he had come.

  Mr. Snyder hung his hat and cane on a coatrack by the door, then approached her. “I am here, Miss McGuire.” He dabbed his fingers on his tongue then raked them through his perfectly styled copper-colored hair. “Nothing will happen to you. I can see these military affairs cause you great distress.”

  Rose merely stared at the man, hoping he, too, would find an excuse to leave.

  “I will accept your offer of tea if you will join me,” he said. “Perhaps I can help allay your fears.” He gestured toward the parlor and a floral-printed settee that sat in the center of the small room.

  Rose’s palms grew sweaty. Her stomach bubbled. “Very well.” Using the tea as an excuse to leave the man, Rose entered the kitchen, and leaned back on the wall beside the door. Her head grew light, and she raised a hand to rub her forehead.

  Cora turned from stirring a pot over the fire. “Are you all right, child?”

  “Yes. Would you prepare a tea tray for me and Mr. Snyder?”

  The cook frowned and shook her head. “O’ course,” she sassed. “Along with makin’ dinner and cleanin’ the house and everythin’ else I do around here. Yes, I’ll serve tea to you and your gentleman caller.” Pulling a tray from a shelf, she set it on the preparation table and eyed a kettle already steaming on the Franklin stove.

  Ignoring her, Rose darted to the window above the sink and peered out through the mottled green glass. Blurred figures spread across her field like a swarm of locusts. Several men entered the barn. She could hear Prinney and the other pigs snorting accompanied by the squawk of chickens.

  “Search the icehouse!” General Smith’s command shot like an arrow through Rose’s heart. She swung about and leaned on the sink, nearly collapsing.

  Cora’s brow wrinkled and unusual concern flitted across her face.

  “Child?”

  Oh Lord, save us. The prayer rose up, unbidden. But when had God ever come through for her? When had He ever answered her pleas? Rose dragged in a breath that stuck in her throat and ignored the numbness that had taken over her body. “I believe Mr. Snyder and I will take that tea now.”

  Sla
pping a hand onto her rounded hip, Cora faced the fireplace, muttering under her breath. Her legs trembling, Rose left the kitchen.

  If she were to be arrested for treason, she would abide it with dignity. She would pay the consequences of her actions. Memories of another equally terrifying event from her past threatened to leech the last of her strength and send her tumbling to the floor. Not all involved in that fateful night had lived to see the dawn. At the time, she had wished to be among those who had not survived. But now, she longed to live. To remain on this farm with her aunt and uncle, and when she was able, to help other women who had suffered the same fate as she had.

  She gulped as she made her way to the parlor, trying to dislodge the vision. The soldiers clomped down the narrow stairs, casting smiles her way—knowing smiles. The wood creaked in laughter beneath their boots as they stormed toward the kitchen.

  Cora burst through the kitchen door, tray in hand, and screeched at the sight of the men. They marched past her, nearly knocking her aside. Tossing a string of choice words over her shoulder, she entered the parlor, slammed the tray down on the rosewood serving table perched before the settee, and left.

  “Difficult to procure decent servants these days.” Mr. Snyder shook his head.

  Taking a cloth, Rose lifted the teapot and attempted to pour a cup of tea for the councilman, but her hands shook, spilling the steaming liquid onto the tray. She set the pot down with a clank and sank onto the settee.

  “They are simply soldiers ensuring your safety, miss. I’ve never seen you so distraught.” Mr. Snyder took the opportunity to sit beside her. Her trembling increased. “Why, whatever is the matter, Miss McGuire?” He took her hands in his.

  “My apologies, Mr. Snyder.” She snatched them back and stood. “I fear I am unwell.”

  General Smith barged through the front door, two armed soldiers behind him. A fierce look rode on his face.

  “Miss McGuire, we have found something most distressing.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rose’s legs wobbled, and she slumped onto the settee. She lifted her gaze to General Smith and then to the two armed soldiers behind him. The general’s face was a cold mask, devoid of emotion. A breeze drifted in from the door and stirred the golden fringe of the epaulets crowning his shoulders. The pinpricks of a thousand needles traveled up her legs, through her stomach and chest, and onto her arms. “You found something, General?” Her voice rasped.

  A British naval officer, perhaps?

  Dread enveloped her. They had come to arrest her—had probably already bound Mr. Reed and placed him on a horse to escort him to the fort.

  Mr. Snyder stood.

  The general took a step toward her. His boots pounded like a judge’s gavel over the wooden floor. Rose’s heart stopped beating.

  “Yes, miss. We discovered this bloody cloth in your icehouse.” He flapped the offending scrap through the air before her.

  Rose’s vision blurred. “In the icehouse?” Her voice cracked. Was he toying with her?

  The general studied her. “Are you all right, Miss McGuire?”

  “General, if I may.” Mr. Snyder waved a palm toward Rose. “Surely you can see the sight of blood frightens the lady.”

  “Ah, of course. My apologies, miss.” General Smith flicked the cloth over his shoulder to one of the men behind him.

  Rose laid a hand on her heaving chest and struggled for a breath. “What do you make of it, General?”

  Behind him, the kitchen door opened a crack, no doubt so Cora could listen to the proceedings.

  “It’s obvious,” the general said, causing Rose’s stomach to clamp again. “A wounded enemy soldier must have taken refuge there. Have you seen or heard anything during the past few weeks?”

  Rose searched his hard eyes for any sign of trickery. “No sir.” She wrapped her arms around her aching stomach. “We haven’t used the icehouse in years. What need would I have to go out there? I can’t believe a British soldier was so close. My word.” She clutched her throat to stop her nervous babbling.

  Mr. Snyder sat down beside her and took her hand. “It’s all right, Miss McGuire.” True concern burned in his eyes. He faced the general. “You’ve upset her. Obviously she knows nothing about this.”

  Rose slid her hand from his.

  The general studied the room with censure. “What of your aunt and uncle?”

  “I assure you, General,” Rose said. “If they spotted an enemy soldier on our land, they would have alerted you immediately.”

  The general nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Well, it seems that whoever it was has long since gone. I am sorry to have upset you, miss, but we are at war. And one cannot be too careful.”

  “Of course. I thank you for your diligence, General.” But all Rose heard was “has long since gone.” Had Mr. Reed indeed left? Without so much as a by your leave or a thank you for all she’d done for him—all she had risked? She nearly chuckled at her own foolishness. What was she thinking? Mr. Reed had saved her life. He owed her no thanks. She should be happy that he was gone.

  “I shall relieve you of my company.” The general gave her a short bow, turned, and marched from the room, his men following after him.

  Only then did Rose fully release the breath that had jammed in her throat. Only to have her lungs constrict again as Mr. Snyder caressed her bare fingers. Why did the man always have to touch her?

  Rose leaped from the settee. “I thank you for coming to my defense, Mr. Snyder.”

  He shrugged. “It was my pleasure to shield you from the general’s harsh demeanor. You know how these military sorts are.” He waved a lacy cuff through the air as the last rays of the setting sun glinted off the jewel on his finger.

  Shadows blossomed like hovering specters throughout the parlor, adding to her unease. Rose lit a lantern from the embers in the fireplace. When she turned back around, Mr. Snyder stared at her with the most peculiar look. The realization struck her that she was inappropriately alone with him. She could not hear Cora rumbling about in the kitchen. Perhaps the cook had gone out to the privy. And where was Amelia when Rose needed her?

  Rising to his feet, Mr. Snyder sauntered toward her, a gentle smile on his lips. “Never fear, you are safe now, Miss McGuire. I shan’t allow any harm to come to you.”

  Then why did Rose feel so uneasy? “We should not be alone without benefit of an escort, sir.” She snapped her gaze to the door. “I must ask you to leave.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me.” His forehead wrinkled. “I simply wish to discuss our future.”

  “I am unaware that we have one.” She tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her path. Clenching her fists at her side, she stood her ground. Though the man was annoying, Rose doubted he would do her any real harm. Not with his reputation as city councilman at risk.

  “But that is what I wish to discuss, my dear.” He loosened his cravat. One golden brow rose above a pair of pleading eyes.

  “Mr. Snyder, you overstep your bounds. I am most certainly not your dear.” Rose started for the door, but he stepped in front of her yet again. The bergamot cologne he doused himself with stung her nose.

  “Rose, I beg you.” He took her hand and placed a wet kiss upon it. “Do not deny the affection I see in your eyes. Accept my courtship. I’m sure your uncle would find the match agreeable.” He offered her a timid smile. “I cannot bear to live without you.”

  Tugging her hand from his—yet again—Rose took a step back, a battle of mind and heart waging a war within her. She should accept his offer. He had everything to recommend him and she had nothing, save this piece of land. But something in her heart forbade her—she did not love him. Could barely tolerate his presence. But perhaps she could learn. Couldn’t she? To ensure herself a future? “I need more time.”

  He frowned and lowered his chin.

  Rose pursed her lips. “I fear my feelings for you do not go beyond friendship.”

  He seemed to shrink in stature. “I se
e. Yet, surely after we are married, your love for me will grow?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Consider the prestige you will acquire from being a councilman’s wife.”

  “And what will you acquire from the match?”

  “A beautiful wife.” His mouth remained open as if he intended to say something else.

  “And my land.” Rose snapped, leveling an incriminating gaze upon him.

  His eyes widened, then he shrugged. “I daresay it is not so uncommon to covet such a sweet dowry. Any suitor would feel the same.”

  Rose knew he was right. Most marriage contracts revolved around money and land. And this man seemed to admire and love her as well. Could she hope for any more? “Mr. Snyder, though I am flattered by your offer, I ask you to wait a little while longer.”

  Disappointment rolled over his angular face.

  “Now, if you please.” Rose softened her tone. “For propriety’s sake, I must ask you to leave.”

  He did not move. Fury chased the kindness from his face. “I will not wait forever for you. And I doubt you’ll get a better offer.”

  The truth of his words sliced through her like a hot blade. “Perhaps not. Still, I insist you leave at once.”

  A cool breeze blew over them. The ominous thud of a boot step.

  “I believe the lady asked you to leave.” A deep voice that rang with a British lilt floated in on the wind.

  Leaning on a crutch, Mr. Reed’s body consumed the open space of the doorway. His dark eyes shifted from her to Mr. Snyder.

  The councilman spun around at the intrusion. “Of all the … who the devil are you?”

  “Forgive me, Miss McGuire.” Mr. Reed nodded in her direction. “The door was slightly ajar, and I thought it best to ensure you were safe.”

  Rose tried to form the words “thank you,” but nothing came out of her mouth. The kitchen door opened, and Amelia entered, a look of shock pinching her features.

  Rose swept her gaze back to Mr. Reed, her mind trying to process what the daft man was doing.