The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale

by Regina Kammer

  Sam kissed her forehead. “Sweet, this may feel, well, perhaps a bit uncomfortable at first. It might even hurt.”

  She pressed two fingers against his lips. “But if you stroke the nub of my pleasure, it will be the most wondrous ecstasy a woman may enjoy.”

  His mouth fell open. “You’ve done this before.”

  She nodded.

  “With Bridgers.”

  She nodded and bit her lower lip.

  “Ah,” Sam murmured. “Then, I’m sure you’ll indulge me this as well.” He snatched her hands and the cravat and swung the length of cloth around her wrists, wrapping them together above her head. He grabbed hold of her bent knees and pressed gently, lifting her, as he aimed his prick. He pushed in slowly, groaning at the taut but lubricated entrance, then stopped when she flinched with a little protest. The first ring of muscles.

  He licked his thumb and massaged her clitoris. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open as bliss infused her body, melting her resistance. He pushed through, the passage coaxing him, drawing him to the second ring of muscles. He pulled out slowly, building to a rhythmic thrusting, never letting go of her clit. She closed her eyes, lost in the dissolute rapture of pleasure mixed with pain. Her first orgasm swallowed him. She was so tight, her expression so alluringly wanton, he could barely hold on. He delved deeper, battering the second barrier until another orgasm loosened her muscles and he was all the way inside her. Conquered and bound, for this brief moment, she was utterly his.

  She thrust her hips up, encouraging him, taking him once more to the brink. She moaned and writhed in her abandon, struggling against her bindings, squeezing him. Her cries grew louder, too loud perhaps. He placed his free hand on her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around his fingers, sucking them in. She held his eyes as she bucked up against his other hand demanding he take her over the edge. He was more than happy to. The strength of her contraction, her orgiastic roar hot on his fingers, were his undoing.

  He pulled out and slammed into her cunt, driving deeply, forcefully, until he came inside her. She climaxed again, gripping his prick, milking every last drop of his seed.

  He slumped over and she slung her bound arms around his back, hugging him. Their chests rose and fell in the same panting satisfied rhythm, their hearts pounded in unison.

  “Clara,” he murmured, kissing her cheeks. “I’ll find you. Trust me. Wait for me. Whatever happens, just wait for me. We’ll find a way to be together.”

  Tears dribbled down to wet his kisses. He held her face in his hands and looked her in the eyes.

  “I love you. Be secure in that.” He wiped her tears with his thumbs. “And I know you love me.”

  “Yes,” she said with a quiet sob. “I do. I love you, Captain Samuel Taylor.”

  Sam kissed her mouth softly before sliding out from under her arms. He freed her wrists, then pulled her to his side. “Let’s try to get some sleep, love. We have a long day ahead of us.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, hoping his closeness would calm her. He did not fall asleep until the shaking of her sobs had stilled.

  * * * * *

  Patrick was surprised to find Sam’s door unbolted. No one had answered his usual early morning rapping and only a whim made him actually try the latch. He slipped into the bedroom cautiously, glancing around warily, before realizing Sam was still asleep.

  Clara clung to him in their bed, one arm gripping his bare shoulder and, under the quilt, one leg twined around his. A pang of emotion pulsed through Pat. The two lovers belonged together, yet today was the day they were to be separated. Possibly forever.

  Sam’s eyes blinked open and met his. Pat only nodded.

  “Clara, love,” Sam said, stroking her hair lightly. “It’s time.”

  She roused sleepily, then bolted upright when she saw Pat. “No, no,” she whimpered. She fell back onto the bed and burrowed her head into Sam’s chest.

  He pushed her away gently and scrambled out from under her. “No long goodbyes, sweet. The men are waiting.”

  She took her time climbing out of the shelter of the down covers. She was clad in Sam’s shirt, a defense against November’s cold or a reminder of her lover. Probably both. The morning air was still bracing and enlivened her skin under the linen. Her erect nipples tented the fabric, provoking Pat’s memory of her naked and under him. She met his gaze and wet her lower lip, then went to him and put her arms around his neck. Panicked, Pat glanced at Sam. The captain sat on the edge of the bed, naked, slumped over, running his fingers through his hair, brooding.

  Pat wanted nothing more than to continue to hold Clara in his arms, but this was Sam’s farewell. He reached up to untangle himself from her embrace.

  “Enjoy her while you can, Pat,” said Sam, rising from his perch.

  Clara stood on her toes and kissed him. Pat flinched, startled. When she continued to press her lips to his, he gave in and kissed her back, deeply, passionately, his arms encircling her waist to pull her to him, his hands roving over her swells and curves.

  “I’ll miss you too, lieutenant,” Clara said softly, lowering herself back onto her heels.

  Sam came up behind her, huddling close. He raised the hem of the shirt to uncover her buttocks, then slid his morning arousal in the furrow of her cheeks. He pressed into her, pushing her into Pat. Pat pressed back, grasping Sam’s waist, trapping her between them. The heat of their bodies rose to challenge the chilly air.

  “It’s too bad we have to leave now,” Sam said, trailing kisses along her neck and shoulder. “I had hoped we could both enjoy you at once. Pat in front, and me behind.” Sam bent his knees a little, then thrust up.

  Clara gasped, her expression cast in pure ecstasy.

  You bloody bugger. Pat’s erection strained against his breeches, nudging Clara’s belly.

  Sam rocked his hips slowly, then bit the nape of her neck, jerking Clara forward. Pat held her steady and gawked while Sam continued his sensual assault, holding on to every shred of control his mind could muster.

  Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged, her body gently undulating. She was no doubt dripping wet. “I think I would like that very much,” she purred.

  Pat’s cock ached with need.

  She flicked her eyes open to meet his. “But with the little time we have, I think I would merely like to see the two of you kiss.”

  Pat gaped as Sam chuckled.

  “What say you, lieutenant?” He leaned in. “Shall we accede to the lady’s wish?”

  “Damn you, Captain Taylor, damn you.”

  Pat laid his hands on either side of Sam’s head and delved in with an open-mouth kiss, grinding his bedeviled cock against Clara. She squealed in delight, twisting between them, reaching Pat’s cheek with her lips, trailing pecks and licks along his jaw until she reached Sam’s, he responding by tormenting Pat’s mouth with a thrust of his tongue punctuated with a dig of his hips.

  If it continued any longer they’d be late for the battle.

  Pat jolted back, freeing himself from the seductive embrace, and Clara from Sam’s intimate connection. He met Sam’s eyes with an admonishing look. “You are cruel, captain, for tempting us.” He kissed Clara’s forehead, then went to the desk chair and sat down, adjusting the bulge in his crotch before he crossed his legs. From his position he would have a nice view of his lovers as they dressed. “But I must request the two of you make haste.”

  “Yes, of course,” Clara assented, suddenly sullen.

  “Madam,” Sam said, glancing at his shirt that she still wore. He pulled it off her, revealing her lovely nude body.

  Pat had never seen her in the light of day. With her round breasts just big enough to fit in his palms, her firm backside needing a spank or two, and her slim yet shapely form, she was truly a prize. She would be well worth winning back when the time was right.

  And there was only one way to secure her return.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The chill of the mid-November morning still linger
ed when the Americans and British met in the appointed clearing, melted frost still sparkling on the tenacious weeds carpeting the ground. Sam reviewed his men from astride his horse. He was grateful Colonel Axford had been able to send him some backup soldiers, knowing full well the Continental Army could ill afford the temporary loss. Compared to the British regiment, his troops looked like the hastily assembled ragtag group they really were, but at least the two armies matched in numbers. In total, there were several hundred men on the field, all standing in uneasy silence.

  Sam knew General Strathmore instantly, and not just by his officer’s uniform. He had the bearing of an arrogant, cruel man who maltreated everyone he met, not just his own wife. As Strathmore’s horse approached, Sam was taken aback by how strikingly handsome he was, although Clara had to have been seduced by something initially.

  “You are Captain Taylor, I presume?” General Strathmore’s voice dripped with disdain as his eyes surveyed Sam with disbelief. He raised an eyebrow in disgust.

  Sam looked down briefly at his own faded uniform, only then realizing he was wearing the jacket Clara had mended for him. He hoped the pang of regret did not register on his face. “I am indeed Captain Taylor. You are General Strathmore, I presume?”

  The general shook his head in incredulity. “The Americans are so desperate for rebels to join their cause that they promote mere boys to their ranks of officers,” he drawled. “I wonder your men obey you at all.”

  “Enough so, general, that they were able to keep your wife’s whereabouts a secret until I deemed it appropriate to contact the enemy. Despite your spies.”

  “My wife, though, is easy to subdue and keep hidden. She is rather compliant.” He looked around at the American troops. “Where is the girl?”

  “You mean Lady Strathmore? She’s here. Where are our requested supplies and men?”

  Strathmore waved to a soldier in the distance who drew back the canvas coverings of two carts to reveal several crates. Two more carts carrying a couple dozen ill-looking men drove up alongside. Sam nodded to Corporal Ross, who immediately rode to the wagons and inspected them, his prolonged, meticulous attention to the matter heightening the tension on the field. Assured of the British compliance with the terms of their agreement, the corporal waved to Sam.

  “Corporal Mercer,” Sam said to the soldier behind him. “Our guest, please.”

  Strathmore snorted.

  Mercer ran back through the ranks of the Americans. From the mob of cadets Clara emerged, the American soldiers parting as she walked through their lines. She clutched her cloak around her not just against the cold. They had decided it was the best way to conceal her childless body. Patrick walked with her, his fingers gripping her elbow, steadying her. Once they reached the captain’s horse, Pat left her in the capable hands of Corporal Bowman and returned to his place among the ranks.

  “Lady Strathmore,” Sam began, “can you identify this man as your husband?”

  He had warned her about her role as only she knew for certain what her husband looked like. She had protested at first, but relented under Sam and Pat’s gentle persuasion. Sam’s gut wrenched watching her now, her hands trembling, her face twisted in distress, her lashes damp.

  “Yes, that is my husband,” she said hoarsely, barely looking at the man.

  Strathmore raised a brow in amusement, then narrowed his eyes at Sam. “You’re a fine looking fellow, my boy.” He turned his attention to Clara. “Did you fuck my wife? That’s really all she’s good for.”

  It took every shred of self-control to not pull the villain off his horse and thrash him. Clara blanched in horror then quickly looked away.

  “Hawkins!” Strathmore bellowed.

  A man fitting Pat’s description of the lieutenant appeared immediately. “Sir,” he saluted. As Clara had said, Hawkins did look a bit like himself.

  “Please escort the lady off the field. This is no place for a woman.”

  Lieutenant Hawkins offered Clara a weak smile along with his arm and led her through the ranks of British soldiers. Behind the redcoats waited a conspicuously elegant coach emblazoned with a heraldic crest.

  Clara did not look behind her as she walked away. With every step she took, Sam’s heart broke a little more.

  * * * * *

  Sebastian had to practically drag Lady Strathmore through the ranks of British soldiers. Her steps were maddeningly unhurried, and slowed even more the closer they got to the coach. She inhaled sharply when they reached the door.

  Sebastian opened the door and offered his hand. She hesitated.

  “I don’t blame you for not wanting to go back to him, my lady,” he said below his breath, “but I really must ask you to step into the carriage.”

  She blushed. “Yes, of course.” She took his hand and climbed inside.

  He closed the door behind her. He had only a few minutes.

  The carriage rocked as she settled herself, and as long as there was movement inside the driver would not dare depart. Sebastian went around and quickly entered through the other door.

  Lady Strathmore looked at him, perplexed. She pulled the wool blanket up over her shoulders. “Lieutenant? Are you to accompany me?”

  “Stay quiet and move along the seat,” he growled, indicating the side farthest away from the door she entered.

  She slid across the bench instantly. He moved to the door, then knelt down and pushed aside the curtain just enough to look out the window.

  “You hate him, don’t you Clara?” he asked.

  He felt her tense behind him. He had never spoken in such a familiar manner to her before.

  “Yes, I do,” she whispered warily.

  He glanced back at her, drew the curtain a little farther so she could see as well, then turned to peruse the scene outside intently. He wanted to be absolutely certain the patriots had secured their supplies and prisoners of war. The carts of men and crates were moving ploddingly off the field under the direction of a small contingent of men. A hundred or so Americans still stood at attention facing their British counterparts, the faces of the rebels exhibiting both fear and determination, the redcoats looking merely vicious and bored. As he watched and waited, Sebastian very carefully and as quietly as possible opened the carriage door just an inch. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled out a flintlock pistol, then balanced it on his bent arm. He had counted the steps from General Strathmore’s horse to the coach. Fifty paces. Dueling distance.

  The carts were off the field. It was time.

  General Strathmore lifted his arm above his head, the signal to engage in battle. Sebastian took aim and fired his pistol from the coach, the crack reverberating with an eerie echo.

  Strathmore’s head exploded. His body jerked and slid off his saddle. Lady Strathmore barely suppressed a scream.

  Sebastian blinked. One bullet should not have caused the utter destruction of a man’s skull. He scoured the field, catching a glimpse of the American officer he had met several days before. Lieutenant Patrick Hamilton had not been on horseback previously that he remembered, but now was dismounting a ride and surreptitiously passing an American rifle to a waiting ensign.

  Sebastian grinned in morbid satisfaction.

  On the field, chaos reigned. Soldiers fought while others fled. In the back of the lines, redcoats stood in confounded amazement. At the front, Captain Taylor shouted orders while British troops tried to drag him off his horse.

  The time to join was now.

  “Give my love to Annabella, my lady,” Sebastian said hastily as he tore off his red coat and leapt from the carriage. Before closing the door he spied her terrified and confused expression. “Tell her I will come for her when I am able. It won’t be too long. Keep her safe.”

  He closed the door and pounded on the side of the coach signaling to the driver to depart, then fled into the melee.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  New York, May 1778

  From her perch on the second-story window seat, Clara loo
ked out onto the greening and blooming yard below and pulled her wool shawl more closely around her. Spring had been much anticipated. It meant the house was not as cold as it had been during the harsh winter. Yet, with the shortages, they still had to conserve wood. She never started a fire in the upstairs bedroom anymore, and Annabella had set up a bed downstairs in the kitchen where it was warmer. Her baby had come early and Annabella feared for his health.

  It had been a cold, long winter, made seemingly colder and longer as the Americans had not come for the two women. The British forces, having been strengthened under General Strathmore’s command, were able to beat back the patriots until the snows came. After that, there was only the occasional skirmish. The patriots, it seemed, were holed up on their side of the battle lines.

  The British had not been quite certain what to do with Clara once the general’s carriage had returned to Chesterton camp without Lieutenant Hawkins. As the general’s right-hand man in all matters administrative, the lieutenant would have known precisely what the general would have wanted for his widow. The remaining officers decided to simply establish her in the farmhouse she had once occupied until they could organize passage back home to England.

  And for the first time since arriving on the shores of the wild colony, Clara did not want to leave.

  But the redcoats quickly forgot her, as the general’s second in command decided to decamp for Fort Knyphausen. First, however, they ransacked the general’s stock of wines and spirits, as well as his pewter, silver, and plate. They even took General Strathmore’s eager young maidservant. In the scramble of looting and troop movement, a distraught, pregnant Annabella joined her mistress at the farmhouse, having been evicted from Hawkins’s former abode in the officers’ barracks.

  Left alone without army rations and with the storms of winter fast approaching, the women had to act quickly to ensure their survival. Although she did not lack for money—having her jewelry to pawn—Clara knew she would need local help in getting food and fuel during the winter. She asked the Cuyler family to return to their homestead. Despite the ill-treatment by General Strathmore, the farmer, his wife, and their four children displayed great generosity by giving Annabella and Clara one of the bedrooms. The general had been hated in Chesterton, but, Clara discovered, she and Annabella had been held in high regard.