The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale

by Regina Kammer

  “Hey—” Her palms slapped against the limestone wall as she fell forward.

  Pat covered her mouth with his hand, forcing her to stumble backwards against him in the dark. “Lady Strathmore, I would appreciate it if you would refer to the captain and myself by our military titles when we are in public.”

  She nodded and he released his hold on her mouth. “Yes, lieutenant,” she murmured obediently.

  He encircled her waist with one arm and her shoulders with the other and pulled her close, restraining her. “Strathmore’s got his troops all over the bloody place,” he growled. “What say you, my lady? Is all this for you?”

  She tensed. “No, no, it couldn’t be. He’s planning something,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Planning what? Planning to attack us? Was your kidnapping merely a ruse to get you into Fort Revolution? I think you’re working for your husband.”

  She twisted around in his arms. “No!” she hissed in his face.

  In a flash, Pat had her up against the back wall of the small closet, his hips weighing into hers, his hand crushing hers against the cold stone above her head. “Then, pray enlighten me, my lady. What is it you think your husband is planning?”

  Her panting breaths were hot on his lips. “Where are his troops? Is there a river or stream, something to bathe or swim in nearby?”

  Arousal sparked in his groin. “I believe so.” Her body grew warm under his. It took every ounce of control to not rock against her.

  “And a house, a bawdy house. Is there one nearby?”

  “Only Bridgers’s and it was burned down.” He breathed her in. She smelled like Sam, his soap, his sweat. His cock throbbed.

  “All the buildings, lieutenant? Some of the buildings are of brick and stone and built to purposely withstand fire. I know Paul used those for his clients, as well.”

  Pat swallowed hard, unable to erase the image of Constance being brutally flogged in the blacksmith’s shop. “Go on.”

  She squirmed, then emitted a quiet groan of despair when he merely pushed into her harder. “Before a battle General Strathmore gives his men time for relaxation. He believes it helps them fight better. They spend a few days resting and training. He may have also procured prostitutes, or even pressed some village girls into such service.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “Dinner conversations when other officers joined us. The general would never speak to me directly about military strategy.”

  She once again shifted under him, unwittingly rubbing against his erection. He pressed into her harshly to assuage his needy cock, the heat and scent of her body goading him to explore.

  He drew his hand along her waist to her hip. “What about a Lieutenant Sebastian Hawkins? Do you know him?”

  “Yes. Not well.” A breathy tremor infused her voice. “He’s General Strathmore’s aide-de-camp.”

  “Do you trust him?” Pat released Clara’s arms and hips from under his weight to allow both his hands to follow the curves and contours of her body.

  “Paul wrote me a note saying I could trust Hawkins.” She sighed imperceptibly.

  He brushed his lips against her neck as he untied her top. “Do you still have the note?”

  “Yes.” She stretched, giving him more access. “It’s the only thing of Paul’s I have left.”

  She did not resist his touch. Instead, she moved as if inviting more intimacy.

  He slid his hands under her top to cup her breasts through the stiff stays, and ran his thumbs over her bared cleavage, his mouth a hair’s breadth from hers. “Sam’s in love with you.”

  She leaned in a little. “And I with him.” Her lips touched his.

  Pat hovered for only a second before he took her in a violent kiss, his tongue plunging viciously, demanding the satisfaction his mind and body craved. He scrunched up her skirts and shift, tickled the bare skin of her thighs, and slid a finger through her silky slit. “You’re wet,” he breathed against her neck, thrusting two fingers inside her.

  “Yes,” she whispered, moving her hips in rhythm with his probing touch.

  Pat unbuttoned the fall of his breeches with his free hand. “You’re ready for me. You want me.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Clara found his stiff cock in the dark and guided it to her entrance as he bent his knees and lifted her leg for better access. She was wondrously warm and tight and climaxed instantly around him, stifling a sigh against his shoulder. She grabbed his buttocks and pulled him to her, encouraging his thrusts.

  She was as skilled as a whore and as passionate as a randy maid. Her unceasing orgasms clenched him, gripping forcefully as if not wanting him to leave her body at all.

  “Christ! You’re so damned tight,” he groaned. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He tried to pull out as far as possible to make longer strokes, only succeeding with two complete thrusts. As he drew back for the third, his prick popped out, jetting his emission over the inside of her petticoat. For several minutes, they held each other, panting.

  And then reality descended. “Christ, what have I done?” He relaxed his hold on her.

  “Please, Patrick, don’t send me back,” she pleaded. “You saw what he did to Constance. I can’t go back to such a monster. I want to stay here with you and Sam.”

  “Clara, that’s impossible.” Pat pulled away to button his fly. “You know that.”

  “I will do anything, please. If I can help with strategy, I will.” She reached for his hand. “You want me to be with you, don’t you?”

  “You belong with Sam.” He was thankful she could not see the shame on his face for betraying his best friend.

  “Please say you will try to make that so.”

  He touched her face, her cheeks wet from crying. “Yes, Clara, I will see what I can do.” He felt around in his jacket for a handkerchief. “Now please, wipe your tears. I’ll take you to meet Colonel Axford. He’ll be interested in your information. Only, don’t mention anything about, uh, you know.”

  “Coition with you and the captain?” she offered.

  He knew she was smiling. “I see why Sam loves you.” He opened the door cautiously, looked both ways and, seeing no one about, gave her butt a gentle swat. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  The captain’s war room was two doors down along the same passageway as the broom closet. As if she would escape, Patrick held Clara’s arm at the elbow while he walked her there and knocked on the door.

  “Yes?” came Sam’s voice from the other side.

  “Lieutenant Hamilton, sir.”

  “Come.”

  The color drained from Sam’s face the second she walked into the room. He gave Pat a chiding look, then shuffled about for a moment, clearly getting his thoughts in order.

  “Lieutenant Hamilton, I see you have brought the fort’s guest with you. Is there any particular reason?” he said acerbically.

  “Yes, captain,” Pat nodded. “Colonel Axford, this is Lady Clara Strathmore. I have just had a discussion with her about a few points of interest. I think she should tell you herself.”

  Clara stared at the portly, bewigged, middle-aged man, dressed in a fine blue uniform, whom Pat had just addressed. He looked rather jolly and pleasant, with kind eyes. He probably was not much older than her husband, or her father. Maybe the colonel would listen to her, take pity on her, and not send her back to the general.

  “This beautiful young creature is the wife in question?” Colonel Axford grinned broadly. “I now see why General Strathmore has complied with our demands so readily.” He approached her and bowed slightly. Instinctively, Clara held out her hand and he politely kissed it. “He is a very lucky man.”

  She wanted to scream that she hated him, did not want to go back to him. She wanted to throw herself on the ground at the mercy of this American colonel. She glanced up at Sam and saw the apprehension in his eyes.

  “And why would you want to help us, my lady?” the colonel said with a touch of
distrust.

  “Honestly, sir, I do not love my husband and do not wish to go back to him. These young men have been very kind to me. If at all possible I would like to stay here in the fort.”

  “Nonsense,” Colonel Axford said unequivocally. “You are worth at least twenty American prisoners and two cart loads of needed supplies, plus the horses and wagons the supplies come in on.”

  Clara had to suppress a gasp. She had no idea she had been valued at so high a price.

  “You will go back to your husband and you will raise that child of yours.” The colonel’s tone was vaguely paternal. “Now, young lady, what is it that you wish to tell us?”

  Her heart sank, yet she clung to a shred of hope. “Lieutenant Hamilton asked why General Strathmore has his troops nearby. I believe he is planning to attack. I suspect he is planning to engage in battle during the prisoner exchange rather than make an assault upon the fort.”

  “Ah, I see. Then why are they not amassed at one site?”

  “My husband likes to give his men rest and relaxation before they fight, as well as review military exercises. From my discussion with Lieutenant Hamilton, it sounds like the British are located at points that contain swimming and bathing spots, a brothel, and fields for exercises?”

  Colonel Axford studied the map. He looked up at Sam. “A brothel?”

  “The house that burned down here,” Sam explained, pointing to the map, “was a brothel, but there are other buildings on the property that could be used as such.”

  “Very good, very good,” mused the colonel. “Is that all?” he asked Clara.

  Patrick leaned in to her. “Hawkins,” he said quietly.

  “No, sir. I understand you need to know about Lieutenant Sebastian Hawkins? He is a very trustworthy man. Even Paul Bridgers always thought so.”

  “Bridgers?” Colonel Axford queried with curiosity.

  Sam cleared his throat and she discreetly glanced in his direction. He gave her a warning look and mouthed the word “supply.”

  “Mr. Bridgers worked with my husband to acquire goods beyond what the military supplied. Or rather, Mr. Bridgers worked with Lieutenant Hawkins. I used to see Mr. Bridgers in town and would chat. He commented once to me that the lieutenant was an honorable man, honest and incorruptible.” Clara flushed slightly at her little white lie. She looked at Sam, who appeared somewhat pleased with the tale.

  “And you can describe this Hawkins fellow to Lieutenant Hamilton, enough so he will know he is dealing with the right man?”

  “Yes sir,” she said. “In fact, Lieutenant Hawkins looks a bit like Captain Taylor.”

  “Thank you, Lady Strathmore. I do appreciate your willingness to disclose your knowledge openly,” Colonel Axford said with a genuine air. “Now, lieutenant, if you will please escort the young lady out, the captain and myself have a few items to discuss.”

  Pat placed his hand at the small of her back, warming the chill that prickled her flesh. The shred of hope had flashed and burned.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Patrick directed his small squad of soldiers to hang back among the trees while he rode forward. He stopped on a knoll to look down on the meadow where in a few days Lady Clara Strathmore was to be exchanged for goods and men. In the clearing, a British soldier stood next to a horse, his musket topped with a scrap of white fabric indicating the present truce. The redcoat kicked the ground with his foot, turned his gun upside down to scratch the frozen earth with the blade of his bayonet, then knelt and picked up a handful of the cold dirt, weighing and sifting it in his palm. The man looked up and around, his breath hanging momentarily in a cloud, nodding his head as if some thought were agreeable to him.

  Pat rode down the hill and pulled his horse to a slow walk as he reached the British soldier.

  “Hullo there,” he called out.

  The man looked up and took hold of his horse’s reins. “Hello. First Lieutenant Patrick Hamilton, I presume?”

  His voice held a twinge of excitement beneath the British accent. Pat decided to meet the man on his terms, so he dismounted and walked to the center of the clearing. “Yes,” he said once he stood before the redcoat. “And you are Lieutenant Sebastian Hawkins?”

  “Correct.”

  They shook hands.

  “Right,” Patrick began. “I’ve a list here of the agreed-upon supplies which we should go over.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  “Yes, of course.” Hawkins pulled out a similar document as he inhaled the chilly air. “Beautiful country you’re defending, lieutenant. Rich soil. A man could farm quite profitably here. Create a good life for himself.”

  Patrick did not feel the romance of tilling the land, but he did understand that it was a powerful draw. “You’re a farmer then, lieutenant? When you’re not at war, I mean.”

  “I come from a long line of farmers. The Hawkinses are a landowning family, yes.” Hawkins looked up at him. “And you?”

  “I’m from a military family myself.”

  “Ah. Then you understand this business of war better than I.”

  “Frankly, I think no one understands war. We just do it. Like you said, we’re defending what we feel is rightfully ours.”

  “Yes,” said Hawkins, almost with a sigh.

  Pat began listing the desired supplies. “…candles, salt, gunpowder—”

  “No,” interrupted Hawkins. “We’ll not supply gunpowder, lieutenant. However, in its stead we are willing to supply saltpeter and brimstone. You’ll have to make your own gunpowder,” he said with a wink. “You understand, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, of course,” Patrick responded with a little amusement.

  They began to review the specifics of the exchange. While they were in the thick of it, Hawkins abruptly changed the subject.

  “Lieutenant Hamilton, you are aware that you are being watched, are you not?”

  “As are you, Lieutenant Hawkins,” Pat chuckled.

  “Well done. I am going to tell you something but I respectfully request you not react in too broad a manner. Understood?”

  Patrick was intrigued. “Yes.”

  “I have promised someone—someone who cares very much for her ladyship—that I would see this exchange through, that I would see Lady Strathmore safely ensconced at the house near Chesterton.” Hawkins pretended to glance at the list and look up as if they were still in the midst of negotiations. “After that, I will become a deserter from the British army. I would like to seek asylum at your Fort Revolution, for myself, my common-law wife, and her unborn child.”

  Pat covered his surprise by perusing his own list. “Is your wife American? I mean, besides yourself, can we expect any trouble from the British?”

  “She is American, in fact she is the former personal maid to Lady Strathmore. Her name is Annabella. The child she carries is not mine, but that of her betrothed who died recently at your fort. His name was Redmond Moncrief. He was working with Paul Bridgers.”

  Pat inhaled deeply to maintain his composure. “And Lady Strathmore, she should not know of any of this, right?”

  “Correct.” Hawkins sighed. “I feel for her ladyship. She is an innocent who should not be with Strathmore. He is a brute and a blackguard. If there were a way for her to be free of the man, I would wholeheartedly support it. Unfortunately, she is tied to him for life.” The lieutenant casually folded his list in half. “For the duration of his life, at least.”

  Such an astute soldier would be a valuable asset to the patriot cause. “Lady Strathmore does indeed find herself in a grievous marriage.” Patrick folded his list and met the lieutenant’s gaze. “Hawkins, is there anything else we need to discuss? Any surprises?”

  Hawkins grinned. “No. Except that Strathmore plans to slaughter the lot of you. But, of course, you already know that and are well-prepared.”

  “Yes, we do know that.”

  “And I intend to delay the attack, for my own personal safety,” admitted Ha
wkins. “That would be the only surprise. You might want to bear that in mind when considering your own course of action.”

  Patrick saluted his colleague. “Thank you, lieutenant. I will see you on the battlefield.”

  * * * * *

  Colonel Axford was absolutely brimming with war stories and eager to regale Sam and the other officers. But, despite the diverting, almost theatrical, way in which he told his tales, the man was simply no substitute for passing a quiet evening alone with Clara.

  The colonel remained at the fort until Patrick had returned and reported on his meeting with Lieutenant Hawkins. Axford was pleased with, but not entirely surprised by, Hawkins’s impending desertion. “Strathmore is a brutal lunatic, if you ask me,” the colonel said and proceeded to relate relevant anecdotes from the Seven Years’ War. Then, after discussions and plans were finished and a letter for Major General Josiah Hamilton was in his jacket pocket, Axford left to retrieve troops for backup during the exchange.

  While the colonel was at the fort, Sam felt it politic to send Clara back to the women’s dormitory and place Corporal Bowman on night watch duty there. Day by day, the truth of the situation had slowly crept up on him, but now bald realization fully engulfed him. Clara was no longer to be a part of his life. Worse, she was to face an uncertain future with a man she loathed. All of this because Captain Samuel Taylor, soldier and patriot, had done his duty far too efficiently. He missed her terribly, imagined her under him every night as he lay in his bed stroking himself. He wished she would disobey his orders and come to him, and to that hope he never bothered to bolt his door. But his bed remained cold and desolate. After Axford had departed, he could have had Clara back, but propriety and duty demanded that he leave her where she was. During the day he sought her out to exchange pleasantries, but there was never the opportunity to reestablish their previous intimacy as friends, confidants, and lovers.

  He cursed the war, cursed himself, and cursed society’s choking dictates.

  Pat had warned him against getting involved with the wife of the enemy. It was stupid to have ignored him. Sam’s only sustaining pleasure was that perhaps she was carrying his child. His lips curled in a smug smile when he envisioned his son raised in privilege, inheriting a title, and, ironically, living not too far from his true family.