Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

Yet James did not seem so convinced as his lips twisted in a snarl.

  Aunt Muira removed medicine and bandages from her satchel and began rubbing something over Elaine’s face.

  “What happened?” Rose asked James in a low voice.

  Anguish darkened his face. “British raiders.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I was in town when the warning sounded. I got here as fast as I could.” His jaw tightened. “We caught the bloody wretches in the act before they could burn down the entire house. But not before …” He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Rose’s legs wobbled. Mr. Reed grabbed her elbow and steadied her. The air seemed to retreat from the room. She could hear her aunt whispering words of comfort to Elaine. But Rose knew full well that no kind words, no amount of medicine or herbal tinctures or thoughtful attentiveness, would ever heal the wound Elaine would carry for the rest of her life.

  “Thank you, Mr. Reed.” She gave him a nod, and he released her arm with a frown.

  James stared benumbed at his wife. His jaw trembled. Rose lowered her chin. How could she help this man? How could she help Elaine when she couldn’t even help herself? She clasped her hands together and inhaled a shuddering breath. She must be strong.

  “I saw your man digging graves,” she said to draw James’s mind off his wife for a moment, although even as she said the words she realized the new topic would bring no comfort.

  James swiped at his moist cheeks and gazed out the window. “When we fought them off Joseph and Willie were killed.”

  Rose gasped. James’s stableboys were but fifteen and twenty—orphans whom he had taken in to help out around the farm.

  “And your wound?” Rose pointed to his bloody forehead.

  “They knocked me in the head pretty good.” James dabbed at it.

  She grasped his hands again. “Allow my aunt to tend to you as soon as she’s done with Elaine.”

  Nodding, he sank into a chair. “They took everything from us. Everything of value.” He dropped his head into his hands.

  Rose knelt before him. “Thank G—” she started, quickly amending, “but you are alive. You and Elaine.” She would not give thanks to God, for there was no sign of Him anywhere.

  “Rose.” Elaine’s weak voice tugged at Rose.

  God, if You’re there, please give me strength. Rose struggled to rise. Her head grew light, and she lifted a hand to steady herself. Mr. Reed’s firm grip on her elbow once again saved her from embarrassment.

  She wanted to thank him for his support, for his kindness, but under the circumstances it seemed highly inappropriate. His people had done this. He carried their guilt by association. She must remember that. Tugging from his grip, she made her way to the sofa. Aunt Muira stood and snapped her satchel shut. She gave Rose an encouraging nod and pressed her hand on Rose’s arm.

  “I’ve done all I can. Now she needs a friend.” Then facing Amelia, Aunt Muira ordered her out of the room. “Mr. Reed,” she added as she passed him at the door. “Fetch some water from the pond, if you please. Come, James. Let me tend to that wound.”

  Rose watched as they ambled out the door, leaving her alone with Elaine.

  Lowering herself onto the chair her aunt had vacated, Rose finally glanced down at her friend. Red and purple marks swelled on her cheeks and neck, and her once crisp blue eyes melted in a sea of red, puffy skin. Fresh bandages wrapped around her right arm and forehead. She held out her hand. Rose took it and brought it to her lips.

  Nausea churned in her belly.

  She brushed the tangled hair from Elaine’s face and closed her eyes. She could do this. She must do this.

  Thunder bellowed overhead, rumbling across the sky and mimicking Alex’s mood. With a snap of the reins, he urged Douglas into a trot and headed back toward the Drummond farm. A horde of emotions battled in his gut. Fury, disgust, and shame appeared to be winning. He knew this kind of thing happened in war. He had seen such atrocities from a distance the night he’d saved Miss McGuire from Lieutenant Garrick. But not until today had he ventured into the broken-down, charred home of a family who’d suffered under war’s cruelty and looked into the tortured eyes of its victims. Real people who lived simple, happy lives. Innocents.

  The hatred pouring from James’s eyes when he’d heard Alex’s accent had nearly shoved Alex to the ground. But how could he blame the man?

  Worse than that was the loathsome glare Miss McGuire had given him when she’d emerged from the house. With pale face and trembling lips, she had not even taken his proffered hand when she’d climbed into the coach. From his conversation earlier with Mr. Drummond and the way Miss McGuire trembled throughout her meeting with Elaine, Alex surmised that some horrible event haunted her past. Whether it was also at the hands of his countrymen, he couldn’t know.

  He didn’t want to know.

  Her rejection stung him like a slap in the face. A slap he deserved and one that woke him up from the dream he’d been living these past ten days. His stomach soured as tiny drops of rain tapped upon his shoulders. Blast his senseless honor. He was a fool—a fool to stay with this rebel family in the hopes of protecting them while he enjoyed a brief reprieve from the rigid life of a British naval officer. He should return to his ship. It was obvious to him now that his presence caused Miss McGuire pain. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  A gust of wind marched around him, whipping his hair and sending a chill down his back. He wished it would blow away the smell of burnt wood that lingered in his nose, but he had a feeling that the charred scent of death would remain with him for a long while.

  Like the look on Miss McGuire’s face. She hated him.

  The realization made his heart shrink. And if her aunt and uncle knew his true identity, they’d no doubt hate him too. Trouble was, he couldn’t blame them. Everything he believed about his country—its honor, might, and superiority—seemed to splatter like the rain landing on his breeches in light of what he’d seen. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. Was it right for him to pursue his goals of wealth and honor in a navy that afflicted such horrors upon the innocent? Yet how else was he to erase the stains he’d made upon his family’s name and prompt his father to open the doors of their home to Alex once again? He shook his head and watched the raindrops plop onto the muddy road and the breeze thread through the dark leaves of the elm trees lining the pathway.

  Lightning spiked across a darkening sky, coating the moist foliage in a sheen of eerie gray. Alex pushed his cocked hat farther down on his head. A gust of wind tainted with the scent of the sea tore over him, flapping the lapels of his coat. He snapped the reins. Thunder pounded the sky like an angry fist. As if Miss McGuire’s scorn for him wasn’t enough impetus to leave soon, Alex’s near encounter with Mr. Brenin, Mr. Heaton, and Blackthorn in town today proved that Alex had no business being here. He didn’t wish to endanger Miss McGuire or her family by his presence. Truth be told, he didn’t wish to endanger his heart.

  CHAPTER 13

  Rose crept over the sandy soil. A thick mist pressed in on her, hovering around her like a multitude of ghosts. She waved her hands through the air to swat it away, but it remained, enclosing her in a white shroud. A light appeared, its glow blossoming through the haze, forcing back the fog. Elaine emerged from the mist. She held a single candle. Her blue eyes were vacant and cold. One bruise remained on her neck. “They’re coming.” She swept a look over her shoulder then grabbed Rose’s hand and dragged her forward. Rose followed her friend. Her heart cinched. But then the cloud swallowed Elaine up, and she disappeared. Rose’s hand fell to her side.

  “Elaine!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the chilled mist.

  Trees formed at the edges of the haze. Rose glanced down at her torn red dress. Something cold and heavy filled her hand. A pistol. Gazing at it curiously, she lifted it. Smoke curled from the barrel. A man lay on the ground before her. Blood swelled on his waistcoat. Lifeless eyes stared up at a dark sky.

  Rose dropped the gun. I
t fell slowly to the ground as if it sank through molasses. Then it landed with a hollow thud. Her hand burned.

  She opened her mouth to scream “No!” but she could not hear her voice.

  Slumping to the dirt, Rose curled in a ball and squeezed her eyes shut. “No, God, no. Please.”

  Light flooded all around her as if someone had opened a door. Soothing warmth swept away the chill. Something or someone lifted her chin upward. An ominous figure dressed in glowing white stood before her. The mist retreated before the light, revealing a gentle forest in its wake. Her heart took up a rapid beat. She scrambled to get away from the terrifying man when he opened his mouth and a voice emerged that sounded like the purl of a deep river. “Fear not, beloved one.”

  Rose halted. Beloved one. She gazed up at the man but the glow that emanated from him forbade her to see his face. “Fear not, for you have been chosen by God.”

  “Chosen? For what?” Rose mouthed, but again she could not hear her voice.

  “Fear not.”

  Rose sprang up in bed, gasping for air. Heart crashing against her ribs, she scanned her chamber. The first rays of dawn filtered through her window, forcing the shadows of her room into the corners. Only a dream. Hadn’t she wondered if they would return after she’d visited Elaine?

  But what an odd dream. Fear not, beloved one. The words danced over her ears. Who was the glowing man? An angel? You have been chosen. The statement spoken with such authority and serenity tugged on something deep within Rose, something that brought tears to her eyes. She shook off the sentiment. Nothing but a nightmare—like all the others.

  Swinging her legs over her bed, she plucked a handkerchief from her bed stand and dabbed the perspiration beading on her forehead and neck. Her breathing returned to normal, and she hung her head. It had been months since she’d had a nightmare. But she would gladly endure another bout of terrifying visions if she had brought Elaine a mite of comfort yesterday. They had exchanged no words. Rose had simply held her friend in her arms, and they had sobbed together. Perhaps that alone, plus the knowledge that someone understood exactly what Elaine had suffered, was enough for now.

  Slipping the halter over Valor’s head, Rose tightened the buckle and led the filly from the barn. Though the sun dipped low in the western sky, Rose needed to ride, needed to get away from everything and everyone. After the distressing events of yesterday and the disturbing nightmare that had woken her from her sleep that morning, she’d remained in her chamber most of the day, reading. While successfully avoiding Mr. Reed. For she couldn’t be sure how she would react to him. One minute she hated him for what his people had done to her parents, her country—Elaine. The next minute, his kindness, honor, and the favorable words her friends had spoken of him, swung her emotional pendulum back to admiration. And if Rose were honest, a sentiment that went beyond admiration. But she didn’t want to be honest.

  She tied Valor to a post and eased a brush over the horse’s back and down her sides. Despite Rose’s treatment of Mr. Reed in town, her ploy to belittle him had backfired. Instead Mr. Reed had been naught but gracious as he sauntered about town—in that worn and tattered and altogether too tight livery—with the hauteur of a nobleman and the confidence of a leader of men. Any fool who looked at him twice could see he was no servant.

  Even now, the mere thought of how close Mr. Reed had come to being thrown in jail—not to mention her family tried for treason—sent her chest heaving. Setting down the brush, Rose swung a blanket over Valor’s back, then lifted a saddle on top of it and tightened the girth. Douglas, her uncle’s steed, looked up from the field where he was grazing.

  Mr. Reed had more than proven himself to be an honorable man these past days, and now with the testimony of her friends, Rose could no longer deny that he was also a good man—a kind man.

  Grabbing the bridle, she ran her fingers over Valor’s cheek and then kissed the filly’s nose. The horse leaned against her and snorted. A humid breeze stirred the curls dangling about Rose’s neck and brought the woodsy smell of horseflesh to her nose. Overhead, a billowing jumble of clouds darkened the afternoon sky even as the sun spread its golden rays over the farm from its position atop the tree line. At least two hours before sunset. Two hours to run wild through the forest and clear the confusion that kept her mind awhirl.

  Clear her mind from thoughts of Mr. Reed. It was for the best. He would be gone soon. Perhaps even tonight.

  She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t say good-bye.

  Didn’t want to say good-bye.

  Which was all part of her confusion.

  For if she bade him farewell, she knew he would see right through her facade. And she couldn’t bear to let him know how deep her feelings for him ran.

  “What are you doing, Miss McGuire?” Alex’s voice drew Rose’s startled gaze to him. Leaning against the doorframe, he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her with suspicion. He’d been searching for her all day. After yesterday’s events, he had to make sure she was all right before he left. He had to see her one last time, gaze into those turquoise eyes one last time—even if they were filled with hate.

  Oddly, her face reddened. She turned away and slipped the bridle over Valor’s head and adjusted the bit in the horse’s mouth. “As you can plainly see, I am going for a ride.”

  Alex glanced at the dark clouds overhead as a blast of wind swirled the sting of rain beneath his nose. “Alone?”

  Ignoring him, Miss McGuire fastened the bridle under Valor’s chin then flung the reins over her neck. “You are no longer my servant or my guardian, Mr. Reed.” She stepped onto a stool, put her booted foot in the stirrup, and leaped onto the back of the horse with more finesse than he expected. Straddling the beast like a man, she spread her full skirts out around her legs then grabbed the reins, and lifted her pert nose as if pleased that she shocked him with her unladylike behavior. “Besides, I often ride in the forest alone. It is far safer than town.”

  Alex lifted one brow. “There may be British afoot.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Reed, there are British afoot.” Her pointed gaze made him wince. “Which is why I feel the need to leave.” Giving Valor a nudge, she snapped the reins and sped off in a flurry of blue muslin and golden curls.

  “What the deuces,” Reed cursed then marched to the steed grazing in the field. He hoped he remembered how to ride. It had been several years since he’d ridden his father’s horses across their estate. And never without benefit of saddle and reins. But there was no time for that. He glanced toward the web of greenery bordering the farm and caught one final glimpse of Miss McGuire’s blue gown as the forest swallowed her up. Foolish woman.

  Taking a running start, he leaped onto the horse’s back and grabbed a handful of mane to stop himself from slipping off the other side. A shard of pain lanced his thigh. The horse snorted and stomped his foot into the dirt. Thunder grumbled in the distance. “Come on, boy, we’ve a lady to rescue.” With a squeeze of his legs, he urged the beast forward. Nothing. “Forward!” he ordered. The steed shook his head. One large brown eye stared at him as if he were an annoying insect, and Alex fully expected the horse’s tail to swat him from his back.

  Infernal beast. Fury tightened Alex’s jaw. “I said go!” He kicked the horse’s sides. Much to his dismay, the horse lurched into a gallop. Catching his balance before he tumbled off the back end, Alex tightened his grip on the mane and leaned forward. Hot wind whipped through his hair, freeing it from its queue. The crazed pound of his heart matched the thump of the horse’s hooves over the grassy, moist ground. Alex’s body rose and fell against the steed’s muscular back. Not until he charged into the forest did the horse slow to a trot. Up ahead, Miss McGuire made her way along a narrow winding trail.

  “Miss McGuire!”

  She shot a spiteful glance over her shoulder. “Go back to your ship, Mr. Reed. Leave me be.”

  “I cannot. Your uncle has charged me with your care.”

  “Well, I discharge you, sir.�
�� She urged her horse into a trot.

  Ducking beneath a low-hanging branch, Alex followed her into the thick brush, his steed trotting over a soft bed of moss and pine needles. Leaves in every shade of green fluttered in the breeze around him. Tree trunks thrust into the gray sky like ship masts. Insects buzzed. Birds chirped, and Alex drew in a deep breath of earth and life tainted with the fragrance of wildflowers and fresh rain.

  Lightning flashed above the canopy, transforming the greens into sparkling silver.

  He urged his horse onward. “Miss McGuire, if you please.”

  “Go away!” she shouted before the foliage swallowed her up once again.

  A clearing up ahead afforded Alex a view of her as her horse leaped over a small creek. But after casting one glance over her shoulder, she galloped out of sight.

  Coaxing his horse into a sprint, Alex hoped the steed would clear the brook with the same skill. He leaned forward, feeling the beast’s muscles tense and stretch beneath him. The horse thrust his hooves into the wind. They flew through the air for one brief, glorious second before they struck the dirt on the opposite bank. The horse bucked. Alex lost his grip. He slid off the steed’s back and thumped to the ground. Pain speared up his spine and something sharp struck his head.

  “Blast it all,” he moaned as he toppled over onto a pile of leaves.

  Seconds later, golden curls and glistening blue eyes appeared in his blurry vision. “Mr. Reed, are you all right?” Her fresh feminine scent filled the air between them, luring him from his daze.

  Alex shook his head and attempted to rise. Gentle hands gripped his arms and pulled him up.

  How mortifying. Shame heated his face, and he closed his eyes.

  “Are you injured?” she asked.

  “I don’t believe so.” He glanced over the clearing where their two horses grazed happily on a patch of moss.

  “Oh my word.” Her eyes sharpened. “You are bleeding.” Yanking a handkerchief from her sleeve, she scrambled to the brook and dipped the cloth in the water.