Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

  Alex felt a trail of warm fluid slide down his cheek. He raised his hand to wipe it away, but she knelt and dabbed the cloth on his face before he could.

  “I told you not to follow me,” she scolded.

  Pain etched across his forehead. He lifted his hand to his wound again, but she batted it away. “I could not in good conscience allow you to put yourself in further danger, miss.”

  “Mr. Reed.” She sat back. “I know these woods better than you know your ship. I simply wished to be alone.” She glanced down.

  But not before Alex saw her red nose and puffy eyes. “You’ve been crying.”

  Tossing the cloth into his hand, she leaped to her feet and turned her back to him, adding to his confusion.

  “I hope I am not the cause of your distress.” Alex pressed the cloth to his forehead. Pain burned across his skin.

  Dark clouds stole the remaining light of the sun and lured shadows out from hiding.

  “You must leave.” Her shoulders slumped. “There is no other recourse.”

  A breeze danced among the loose curls hanging to her waist. Alex shook his head. Was she upset about him leaving? Absurd. “I fear you mistook me. I meant, are you upset because I followed you?”

  She swung around, a horrified look on her face. “Of course, I understood you perfectly.” She swiped her cheeks and drew a deep breath. “It is this war, meeting my friends in town yesterday, Elaine.” She took up a pace across the leaf-strewn ground as thunder growled in the distance.

  Alex’s eyes followed her as she stormed back and forth across the clearing. The sway of her silky hair, the gentle curve of her cheeks and chin, her delicate nose, her eyes the color of the Caribbean sea, and her moist lips in constant motion as she expounded on the day’s events. He swallowed. How lovely she was—this backwoods, rustic farm girl.

  He longed to pull her into his arms.

  What the deuces was wrong with him?

  “And I miss my mother and father more than I can say,” she continued, her eyes misting again.

  Alex wondered if he should inquire. Would she only hate him more for asking? She ceased her pacing and dropped beside him. Taking the cloth from his hand, she dabbed it over his wound again. “It’s just a scratch. You’ll live.”

  “Again you tend to my wounds, Miss McGuire. This could become a habit.” He smiled, hoping to lighten her mood, but his words only deepened her frown.

  He drew himself up onto a fallen log and pulled her up beside him, glad when she didn’t resist him.

  Perhaps it had only been thoughts of her mother and father that had prompted the tears he thought were for him. Yet her tenderness toward her parents created an ache in his own heart. Alex had been nothing but a disappointment to his father—to his entire family. But never had they expressed such affection for him or for one another in life as this woman had for her parents in death.

  Seconds passed in silence as the warble of birds faded with the encroaching night.

  “May I ask what happened to your parents?” He caressed her hand, warm and soft.

  She swallowed. Slipping her hand from his, she glanced toward the creek frolicking over rocks and pebbles and sending creamy foam onto the banks. A gust of rain-spiced wind toyed with her golden curls. “My father obtained a commission aboard one of our naval ships, the USS Chesapeake. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  Alex flinched as if he’d been struck. The USS Chesapeake? He stared down at the mud at his feet. Thunder announced his doom. He felt as though a thousand needles stabbed his heart. “Yes.” He didn’t want to hear anymore. He knew exactly what she would say.

  “Your HMS Leopard fired upon her when Captain Barron refused to allow a boarding party to search for British deserters.” Though her voice wobbled, it retained the sting of anger.

  Alex nodded and lowered her handkerchief. He stared at his own blood staining the white cloth and suddenly felt as though he deserved the wound and so much more.

  “Three men were killed that day. Eighteen wounded. One of them my father.”

  Hope taunted him for a moment. Wounded only? Perhaps he had not been killed by the British after all.

  “He died at the Marine Hospital at Washington Point,” she continued, crushing his hopes. A few raindrops splattered on the nearby leaves, mimicking the tear that spilled from her lashes. “At least four thousand citizens stood along both sides of Market Square while his coffin was carried in a long procession. Artillery fired minute guns from onshore, and all the American vessels in the harbor displayed their colors at half mast.” She sniffed and ran the back of her hand over her moist face.

  Alex clasped his hands together if only to keep from holding her as he longed to do. “He must have been quite a gallant officer and well loved.” He could think of nothing else to say.

  Her jaw tightened. Another tear slid down her cheek. “He was but a simple boatswain, not an officer. But he was well loved. And we were not at war, Mr. Reed. The Chesapeake was unprepared to defend herself. Her guns were not primed for action. Why would they be?” She stood and stepped away, as if being close to him disgusted her.

  Alex struggled to his feet and moved behind her, longing to take away her pain.

  Lightning flashed, glinting everything in gray.

  “My mother died a week later of a broken heart.” Her voice cracked as she hugged herself. “And I became an orphan at age fifteen.”

  Alex’s heart sank to the dirt. No wonder she hated the British. No wonder she hated him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she moved from beneath it.

  “Your British navy stole everything from me.”

  Alex swallowed. “My association causes me great shame.”

  “You do not know all that I have been through.”

  Heavy rain drops tapped like war drums on the leaves overhead.

  “No, I do not.” Alex sighed. “But I will listen if you wish to tell me.”

  At the sound of sincerity in Mr. Reed’s voice, Rose turned around. Hazel eyes, as deep and fathomless as the sea he sailed upon, gazed back at her with concern. And something else … an affection that sent her heart fluttering. She would prefer hatred, animosity, even excuses. Those she knew how to react to, what to say. But not this.

  “You were fifteen.” He shoved a wayward strand of his hair behind his ear. “Yet your aunt said you’ve only been here five years.”

  The care pouring from his eyes wrapped around her wounded heart and lured her to tell him her sad tale. She tore her gaze away. “Why do you wish to know?”

  He rubbed his stubbled jaw and his gaze softened. “Because I care.”

  Rose narrowed her eyes. The rap, rap of rain on the canopy filled the air like steady musket fire. Water misted over her, and she collected her hair over her shoulder. He cared, indeed. She would not believe him—could not believe him. She took a step back and lowered her gaze. “If it helps appease your guilt, it was not your countrymen who …” Her throat closed. “Who caused me further pain.”

  His warm finger touched her chin, bringing her gaze back up to his. “My guilt is not the issue here. I only wish to ease the pain I see in your eyes.”

  Thunder bellowed and Rose turned her back to him and moved farther away—away from his touch that sent an odd tremble through her, not a fearful one, but one that felt like a thousand fireflies swirling in her stomach. “A dear friend of my father’s took me in after my parents died. I didn’t know of my aunt’s and uncle’s existence at the time because of their estrangement from the family.”

  She heard the crunch of pine needles behind her as he moved closer. She gazed at the creek, the sturdy brown tree trunks, the leaves swaying in the wind. Anything to tether her to reality and keep her from spilling her heart to this man. Yet her words poured from her mouth as unstoppable as the water dashing in the brook.

  “What I thought was concern for me and love for my father was merely an interest in the fortune left to me by my parents.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Mr. Reed slip beside her.

  “He made me a servant in his home, treated me with indifference and cruelty. All the while he proceeded to spend my inheritance as if it were his own.” She glanced at Mr. Reed, but his expression remained stoic as he gazed at the creek.

  “Nearly two years later, I was cleaning the desk in his study and came across a letter my mother had written on her deathbed explaining the existence of my aunt and uncle in Baltimore and asking him to ensure that I was placed in their care.”

  Mr. Reed’s jaw bunched.

  “I took what was left of my inheritance and ran away. I procured passage on a merchant vessel traveling to Baltimore.”

  “Alone?” Even now, fear sparked in his eyes.

  “I had no choice, Mr. Reed.” She would not tell him what happened on that fateful voyage. She could not.

  Stooping, she picked up a stick and fingered its rough bark. Her resolve threatened to break beneath the memories filling her mind, but she shoved them back behind the thick door of forbidden thoughts.

  Mr. Reed approached, anguish twisting his handsome features. Rain slid down his face. His wet shirt clung to his firm torso, accentuating his muscles beneath. Rose blinked the water from her lashes, realizing for the first time that she was alone with a man in the forest. Where no one would hear her scream. Yet, she found not an ounce of fear within her. Instead, the strangest feeling came over her. She felt safe. Completely and utterly safe. As if nothing could happen to her as long as she was with him. She’d never felt that way before, at least not since she’d been a little girl. The sensation made her giddy and sad at the same time.

  He halted before her, peering down at her with such sorrow and longing that Rose nearly melted into him. She wanted him to hold her, wanted him to touch her.

  He reached for her and tried to pull her close.

  But she couldn’t allow that. He was British. He was leaving. It might be already too late for her heart, but she would not endanger herself further. Jerking from his grasp, Rose backed away. “Forgive me, Mr. Reed. I shouldn’t have disclosed such personal details.”

  “No apologies necessary, Miss McGuire.” His brow wrinkled. “I’m glad you trusted me with the tale.”

  “What does it matter?” Rose waved a hand through the air and forced a lighter tone into her voice. “You will be gone soon. Killing more of my countrymen.”

  “I’m truly sorry our countries are at war.”

  Lightning flashed. Rain dripped from the tips of his dark hair onto his collar. He shifted his boots in the puddles forming at their feet and cocked his head. Then lifting his hand, he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  Warmth sped through Rose. Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she leaned into his hand. Just for a second. For one glorious second. That was all she would allow herself.

  Before she stepped back and forced indifference into her tone. “Leave me be, Mr. Reed. Return to the house.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes. He fisted his hands at his waist and scanned the foliage. “I cannot allow you to wander about without protection. It is too dangerous.”

  Anger rolled all sentiments away. “I am not a crew member aboard your ship, Mr. Reed, that you can order me about.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Go then, ride wherever you wish. But I will follow you.”

  Thunder boomed above them.

  “I will simply wait until you fall again.” Rose smirked. “Only this time I will not return.”

  He leaned toward her, a sultry smile on his lips. “Why did you come back?”

  “I see now it was a mistake.” Rose started to leave.

  Mr. Reed gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “Your uncle grants you too much liberty.”

  “We are in America, sir, where freedom is a way of life. Something I wouldn’t expect you British to understand.”

  Mr. Reed smiled. “You have dirt on your face.”

  Rose grimaced and ran the back of her hand over her cheek. Reaching down, she grabbed a clump of mud and eyed him with mischief, fingering its cool grainy texture. Then before he could grab her hand, she rubbed it on his jaw. “So do you.” She grinned.

  A look of incredulity overtook his stiff features, as if he couldn’t fathom that she would do such a thing. He wiped the dirt and gazed at it as it slid between his fingers. Then one imperious brow lifted, and he spread the mud on her other cheek. “You seem to enjoy it more than I.” He grinned.

  Rose’s blood boiled. Stooping, she gathered a larger blob, then tossed it at him. It splattered over his white shirt. “It suits you as well.”

  He chuckled and caught the mud before it fell from his shirt. He held it up as if he would throw it at her.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Rose backed away.

  “Wouldn’t I?” And for the first time, a mischievous glint took residence in his otherwise austere eyes. Rose chuckled and Mr. Reed joined her.

  As their laughter faded, the sound of a gun cocking sped through the clearing. Mr. Reed froze and shot a worried gaze her way. Before Rose could react, he dropped the mud, clutched her arm, and dove into a bush.

  CHAPTER 14

  Rose curled up against Mr. Reed’s firm chest and tried to still her rapid breathing. He reached for his hip as if searching for a sword. But when his hand came up empty, he swallowed her up in his thick arms and motioned her to silence. Leaves tickled her face and a branch jabbed her side, but she remained still. A twig snapped, and the sound of a footfall echoed their doom through the forest. A trapper? But Rose had never come across any trappers this close to town. It had to be a British raiding party. And if one of them recognized Mr. Reed, they would assume he’d deserted his ship and haul him away for trial—or whatever they did in the British navy.

  She didn’t want to consider what they might do to her.

  Rain splattered over the leaves, the soft sound blending in with the increased sound of footfalls heading their way.

  A tremble coursed through her. Mr. Reed tightened his embrace. The strength and assurance in his arms eased across her nerves. Their breath intermingled as he pressed her head gently against his chest and held it there, stroking her wet hair.

  Rose had not allowed any other man to touch her in years. My word, why did she feel so safe in the arms of this British officer—even in the midst of danger? The scent of wet linen and Mr. Reed filled her nostrils and eased into her lungs like a soothing elixir. She wished more than anything that the world would disappear around them and she could stay in his embrace forever.

  But that was not to be.

  Another twig snapped, and a pair of brown buckled shoes halted before the bush they hid behind.

  Thunder shook the sky. The horses neighed.

  The dark gaping eye of a musket plunged through the leaves toward them, pushing aside branches. Rose stiffened.

  “Whoever is in there, I demand you toss your weapons on the ground and come out!”

  Rose jerked. She’d know that voice anywhere. “Mr. Snyder?” She tried to free herself from Mr. Reed’s grasp, but his arms refused to release her.

  The musket pushed in farther, spreading the foliage apart until Rose gazed up into the angular face of the councilman. The fear braiding his features fell into a confused frown.

  “Egad, what mischief is this?” he barked, his eyes flashing.

  Mr. Reed released her, and Rose scrambled to her feet. Swatting leaves and branches aside, she made her way out of the bush. Mr. Reed crawled out behind her and unfolded to his normal towering height.

  “No mischief, I assure you, Mr. Snyder.” Rose glanced down at her muddy dress and tried to brush off the dirt but only succeeded in smearing it over the blue fabric. With a huff, she lifted her gaze to his.

  The muscles in his cheeks bunched and released. His slit-like eyes swept from her to Mr. Reed. He raised his musket toward Alex. “Explain yourself, sir, or I shall be forced to shoot you where you stand.”

  Mr. Reed’s right brow lifted as
a smirk played upon his mouth.

  “Mr. Snyder.” Rose approached him, more angry than frightened. Angry that this buffoon had given them such a scare. Angry most of all that he had interrupted her time with Mr. Reed. “It is not as it appears. What—”

  “What it appears, Miss McGuire, would be too scandalous to voice.” He gestured with his musket toward Mr. Reed. “Did this man accost you? If so, I’ll deal with him here and now.”

  Rose lifted a hand to her forehead where a headache formed. She gazed up at the canopy. Between the treetops, white lightning flashed across a gray sky. A drop of rain struck her eye, and she blinked.

  Mr. Reed folded his arms over his chest as if there were no musket pointed at his heart. Rose stepped toward Mr. Snyder. She must force him to lower the gun trembling in his grip. Just the sight of the vile weapon sent a chill through her. “I assure you, Mr. Snyder, Mr. Reed has done me no harm. We heard your gun cock and thought perhaps the British were afoot given the recent alarms.” She raised a quivering hand to the barrel of the musket. Cold, slick steel sent an icy shard through her fingers and up her arm. She forced the weapon down, snapping back her hand as soon as it was lowered. “So, you see, the situation is completely innocent.”

  Mr. Snyder’s lips drew into a tight line. Rain dropped from the trees above and splashed onto his cocked hat before trickling off the sides. “What were you doing out here in the first place alone with this man?”

  A tight band stretched across Rose’s shoulders at the man’s impertinent questions. “He is my servant, sir. In truth, he followed me to ensure my safety.”

  Mr. Snyder laid the musket across his arms and shifted his stance. “Yet who is to protect you from him?”

  Mr. Reed finally spoke, his voice deep and confident. “I would never harm Miss McGuire, and I resent the implication, sir.”

  “Do you?” Mr. Snyder snapped. “We shall see about that.” He faced Rose, his blue eyes stark against the shadows of the forest. “By the by, your aunt and uncle may have a different opinion when they hear of this.”