So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  “Oh, of course.” Moving to the desk in the corner, Hannah sat, retrieving the quill from the inkwell. Her fingers began to quiver, but a slow inhale helped ease the spike of anxiety. “I am ready to begin.”

  “How eager you are.” He came forward until he stood directly behind her chair, the warmth of his body radiating far too near.

  She peeked behind, swallowing away the disgust at the interest she was forced to feign. “Eager indeed to be of help to one so generous.”

  “Generous?” The compliment straightened his shoulders.

  “Aye, sir. You have been more than generous with me and with Joseph, and ’tis the least I can do.”

  Almost lecherous, his eyes coursed over her. “Is that your only motivation?”

  Unsure of his full meaning, Hannah decided on a half smile and turned away. “That and working forward in the cause of unity for England.”

  “Of course.” Was that disappointment in his voice, or did she imagine it? “Are you ready?”

  “Aye.” She dipped the quill in the iron-gall ink.

  “If I speak too quickly, you need only tell me.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Stockton took a long sip of his drink before resting the cup on the table. “General Howe.” Stockton strode around the room as if the tiny room were a grand hall. “Our men are to remain stationed here to keep watch over the Patriot activity in the small towns skirting the coast. I have just had word that more troops are expected to arrive by week’s end. I can only hope that is true.” He stopped and once more came behind her.

  Hannah frantically finished writing the last. “Is that—oh!” She turned and jumped at his nearness, laughing away her surprise before motioning to what she’d written. “Forgive me, Major. Is that all right?”

  “Perfect,” he answered, his eyes on her, not the paper.

  Her cheeks were no doubt a shade of scarlet dark enough to rival his coat. She turned back toward the paper. “Do you wish me to do anything different, sir?”

  “I wish you not to change anything at all.”

  Her stomach churned, and her palms began to sweat. “Shall we continue?”

  He spun away, taking the stale scent of tobacco with him. “Pitman informs me that the troops in Boston are in dire need, with only five thousand fit for duty. It is my recommendation that we quit the city and make for New York. But if you insist we move ahead with our previous designs, I need only your word to do so.”

  What designs? Where will your men engage? A billowing quiet careened against her back, and she gripped the quill so hard she feared it would snap. Hannah finished scrawling the last words, hanging on, praying he would speak the very words she needed. But he did not.

  “Miss Young.”

  Forcing her back straight, she pivoted in her chair. “Aye?”

  Hands behind his back, Stockton peered at her from his place beside Ensign’s favorite chair. He lowered his chin, as if gathering his thoughts. When he looked up, ’twas no more the face of a man but more of a youth, whose wide eyes and expression was bathed in unabashed infatuation. “Forgive me. I should not like to seem overly bold, nor cause you any discomfort.”

  “Nay, of course not.” A cliff above a rocky sea would have been more welcome than enduring whatever he was about to say. But she must invite it. She inclined her head with a shy grin at her mouth. “I should like to hear what you have to say.”

  Her reply must have surprised him, for the softness in his features grew ever more wanting. “You…are you sincere in your wish to attend the ball? I had feared lest our guest forced the idea upon you.”

  Dottie had indeed done exactly that, but there had been no way to decline. Hannah squirmed behind a calm exterior. This was not how this interlude must go. Lord in heaven, how could she once again bring the conversation around? Only a few more words and she would have what information they needed.

  Acting the demure woman, Hannah knitted her hands in her lap and tossed him a half smile. “You are most gracious, Major. I hardly know what to say?”

  “Say you will come with me.” He inched nearer. “I would be the happiest of men to have a woman of such beauty at my side.”

  The way he seemed to peer into places he shouldn’t made her squirm.

  “You are most kind, Major. I am humbled that a man of your station would take interest in me. The only impediment is that I fear I haven’t anything fine enough to wear to such an occasion.”

  “Nonsense, my dear.” Closing the remaining distance between them, he loomed over her chair. “I am sure you have something suitable. It need not be so fine. For truly, you have a way of making anything appear—”

  “I shall see what I have.” She cut off his words before their sickening nature made her physically ill. Tossing a last look, she turned back to the paper. “I am almost so overcome I don’t know what to say.”

  He shuffled back a step. “Your humility is one of your brightest qualities.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to do anything but stare at the paper as his voice continued to scroll on behind her. “We shall ride to Duxbury at four o’clock and I daresay return just before the sun rises.”

  “Oh my.” Hannah’s hands began to sweat again, as they always did when she was faced with a detestable situation. She pressed them on her skirt. “Well, I have no doubt ’twill be a…a remarkable evening.”

  “You do not feel you are being unfaithful to your seaman?”

  Hannah stared at her hands atop her knees. This could be a way out. Then again, if she were to refuse, she might lose the opportunity to gain the additional intelligence that would aid the cause. Gripping to the standard of courage, she lifted it high.

  “Not at all, sir. In truth, I believe he would want me to go, to enjoy myself in his absence.”

  “As well you should.”

  Hand extended, mouth open to speak more, Stockton jolted as the door burst open.

  A soldier burst in, his face flush with embarrassment. “Excuse me, sir.”

  “What is it, Private Sackett?” The kindness in his voice vanished.

  The soldier entered, closing the door behind him. “Major Pitman, sir.”

  “Major Pitman?” The honest surprise in his voice was both inquisitive and concerned.

  “Aye, he is here.” The soldier nodded. “He asked me to come fetch you, sir.”

  Stockton’s arms hung at his sides, fingers of one hand tapping his leg. “Very well.” He pivoted back to Hannah, posture formal but gaze at ease. “We shall finish the remaining part of the letter when I return.”

  “Of course, sir.” She grinned, unsure whether to be relieved or anxious.

  The tight smile on his mouth said far more of his frustration than the clip of his words. “I shan’t be long.” Nodding, he exited, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  * * *

  Fingers blackened, arms burning with the pleasant strain of labor, Joseph pounded his hammer against the glowing iron. The incessant clangs were a welcome tune compared to the odious silence Major Pitman flung through the room.

  Arms crossed over his chest, the man looked as if he could heat an iron rod with his eyes only. Last evening he’d seemed at least civil. Now he appeared ready to explode from a mere spark, and there were plenty of those to be had in this room of fire and heat.

  Joseph shifted the iron against the anvil and began striking again, this time harder. Pitman had arrived only moments ago, saying only that he’d come to inspect the work, but nothing more. ’Twas the benign admission that niggled, and the fact Higley had yet to make an appearance in the foundry, though he’d mentioned his interest to help several days past. Perhaps he could not be spared. The thought eased over Joseph, and he pounded one last blow to the glowing barrel before digging it back into the fire. Not having the man around was a blessing he could only hope would continue until he could at last return to the troops. The memory of Higley’s parting words still throbbed down his spine.

  How had he known h
im?

  Sackett rushed back in, Stockton at his heels. The soldier hurried back to his place beside the forge, where Deane prepared another rod, while Stockton moved beside his brother at arms.

  He bowed slightly, brows fixed. “Good day, Major Pitman. You’ve come to see our progress?”

  “Aye.” Pitman scratched beneath his jaw with his knuckles, his gaze shifting to Joseph. “You gave me such a pleasant description of your work that I wanted to come see it myself.”

  Expression light, Stockton’s mouth bowed down in a pleased, contemplative frown. He marched to the far wall, where the finished barrels were stacked. “Much has been accomplished, as you see.”

  Pitman made his way to the small grouping of prepared barrels, inspecting the lot as if he were the general and they his troops. “You shall have to work faster.”

  Joseph stopped the bellows and brought the iron back to the anvil, noting the tick beginning beneath Stockton’s eye. He no doubt disliked being spoken to thus by a man supposed to be his equal. Joseph began pounding, keeping one ear intent upon the conversation.

  Stockton neared his companion, heavy brows folded, jaw firm. “I have only three men to do the work.”

  “I find that impossible to believe. With all the men at your disposal—“

  “’Tis not a simple thing to teach a man this work, and only these two in my regiment were familiar with the trade. If you’d like to spare some of your own…”

  Pitman’s grunt could be overhead above the clanging. “What about Greene?”

  Stockton leaned back against the table, expression taut. “I have sent him to Sandwich. He attacked Miss Young in town, excusing his behavior on the fact you are searching for an informant.”

  “Attacked?” Pitman’s shock raised his brow before it lowered again. “When was this?”

  “Two days past.”

  Pitman’s typically stoic demeanor cracked. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  Stockton pushed away and held his arms at his sides. “I didn’t feel it was any of your concern. He is in my regiment.”

  This conversation was growing dangerous, like two rivals circling each other for a fight. Stockton defensive against Pitman, the dominant force.

  They could not long go like this, or it might be revealed who it was that injured the other soldier, and such a thing could not come to light. Stockton knew, but Pitman did not, and Joseph wished to keep it that way. There had to be another way to bring their escalating conversation back to the barrels.

  As Joseph lifted up on the iron and pounded the end against the anvil, a thought sparked as hot as the very orange bits that sprayed in front of him. He halted, sure such a thing was folly. Driven by his hunger, no doubt. He’d come out to work before allowing himself any food, and the lack affected his thinking.

  The men continued to speak, but of what he couldn’t say. Again the thought came, and this time with so much strength, his hammer could not have struck with such force.

  Almost as if an otherworldly power possessed him, he stilled and cleared his throat. “What about Captain Higley, sir?”

  Both men craned their necks to him, as if somehow simultaneously surprised and satisfied with the sudden interruption.

  A single brow on Pitman’s thin, weathered face lifted. He tilted his head. “How know you he is familiar with smithing?”

  “He told me, sir.”

  “Told you?” Body and face unmoving, he looked to Stockton, who raised a single shoulder.

  Resting his hammer aside, Joseph hurried the still-hot piece to Sackett, who nodded and began finishing the work. “When I was in town not two days past.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Captain Higley informed me he would speak to you of this…perhaps he decided against it.”

  Stockton spoke almost on top of his words. “I couldn’t spare him. He’s only just been made captain, and to lose him to this work…”

  His answer struck Joseph, and it strained his forehead not to furrow. Why would he not wish Higley—

  Hannah.

  Then he too had noticed the man’s attentions. Joseph’s insides knotted. Stockton was becoming far too familiar, too possessive. The sooner this charade was ended, the better. The farther Hannah was from this place…

  “Perhaps you could have a word with him, sir.” The words were out before Joseph could weigh their prudence.

  Pitman turned, his head cocked at the unsolicited suggestion. “You are in that great of need?”

  “Aye.” He motioned to Sackett and Deane, still faithful in their duties but surely no less interested in the conversation. “We work hard, but we can only work so fast. If we had another able man, it would make the work—”

  “Nay, Major, nay. Our lack is not so dire.” That tick beneath Stockton’s eye tapped harder, and Joseph’s muscles thickened. There was an unmasked threat in his stare. Did Hannah have any knowledge of how dangerous this man truly was? All his pretended politeness was like an undetectable poison.

  While again the men sparred with their words, Joseph’s mind caught him in a vortex. He must get her away. He must try and dissuade her from going with Stockton to the ball—she could pretend herself ill if need be. The more Joseph knew of the dangers that surrounded them, the stronger the need became to keep her as far from them as possible.

  As if an answer to an unspoken prayer, an idea, much like the first, lit his mind, and he spoke before he even had a chance to make out the full shape of it. “Sirs, if you are not opposed, I should like to travel to Duxbury.”

  Stockton’s disapproval was instant. “Whatever for?”

  “Forgive me, Major.” He cleared his throat, praying Providence would soften his enemy’s heart. “I’ve made these barrels, but I wish for them to be inspected before the rest are completed. If somehow they are not true, ’tis easier to make alterations now.”

  Pitman glanced back to the stack, his mind clearly working as he studied them in silence. Stockton shifted his stance, crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. ’Twas difficult to find fault with such an argument, though clearly the man sought frantically for one.

  “He’s made a clear point, Ezra.” Pitman spoke in a tone more personal than he had even with his wife.

  Shaking his head, the tick at Stockton’s eye refused to abate. “I have orders to complete these, and our timing is—”

  “You must let him go,” Pitman interrupted. “’Twill take only a day. If you let him leave now, he will return before sunset.”

  Like ice being slowly chipped at, Stockton’s features shifted to varying forms of frustration. Finally, after a long breath that could have been heard all the way to the house, he dropped his arms at his sides and turned to the door. “I shall want a full report upon your return.”

  “One more thing,” Joseph called, his insistence as wise as throwing rocks at a bear.

  Stockton’s abrupt halt at the door made dirt spray around his boots.

  “I shall take my cousin with me.”

  Stockton’s sudden scowl was intended, no doubt, as a visual punch in the gut, but Joseph continued. “She will want to see if any gown or fabric can be had in preparation for the ball.”

  Frustration eased from Stockton’s shoulders at the logical nature of such a request, and after a nod to both Joseph and Pitman, Stockton strode out.

  Pitman looked after him for a breath before facing Joseph, that familiar lack of expression in his thin face. “I shall send a courier ahead and tell our man to await you.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I do believe I shall have a word with Captain Higley…then see if I cannot get Major Stockton to acquiesce.”

  A slight lift of his mouth almost had the appearance of a smile as he too left the foundry.

  Joseph filled his lungs as one filled a powder horn, careful and full, praying that God would grant the future to not carry more dangers than it already did.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ten miles of pitted road might seem a burden on any other day, bu
t not today. Hannah glanced down at her gloved hands, mentally flicking away the budding melancholy that their little journey was nearly half over. The ride to Duxbury had gone far too quickly, their conversation so easy and familiar Hannah ashamedly wished it could have gone on for ten more bumpy miles.

  Joseph pulled the horses to a halt in front of a shop, and she glanced to him. He’d not specified to her why he’d brought her along, and though she figured he must have a purpose, she nurtured a hope that perhaps he had simply wished to be with her.

  Silent, Hannah prepared to step from the wagon, but Joseph hopped down and hurried around, helping her to the ground. His large hands spanned nearly her entire waist, and foolishly, she wished them to linger, if only a second more.

  His grin did funny things to her middle. He motioned to the horses. “Stay here a moment while I inquire as to where this Willis Plains fellow lives.”

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  He shook his head as he secured the horses. “Nay. Admittedly, I wanted to leave quickly. With so much road to cover, and so little time…” He shrugged away the rest and motioned to her with a single finger. “I’ll not be long.”

  Sighing, she turned away, though feminine curiosity wished to keep her vision on him—to linger over the way his strong arms swung as he walked, his long stride powerful and determined.

  This town was not unlike the others she knew—both Sandwich and Plymouth were sea towns such as this—small but fair enough to claim the necessities of life. The scent of salt sat so heavy in the misty air, it seemed you could almost taste it.

  Across the street was the mantua-maker, several gowns displayed in the large window. She turned at the waist to glance behind, but Joseph was not to be seen, so she darted across the road after a carriage passed and stood at the window, admiring the subtle beauty of the foremost gown. The elegant polonaise, with its simple lines and soft colors—cream with pink and green embroidered flowers at the edges—was perfectly tucked in back to reveal the pink silk petticoat beneath.