The Scarlet Coat

by Angela Couch

  Andrew was probably furious—though he had draped his blankets over her. But that was probably because he was a good man.

  What a fool she’d made of herself. How could she face either him or Joseph again?

  The door to the cabin slapped closed, and Rachel moaned. Her brother would not let this go. Taking deliberate breaths, she rolled to her feet and began to dress.

  Joseph passed in front of the fireplace, his footsteps sounding out his path.

  The size of the bedroom window was unfortunate—there was no way out except past him.

  As soon as she opened the door, their gazes met.

  His face was rigid, expressionless.

  Rachel cleared her voice. “I told you, Joseph. I wasn’t doing anything out there, but getting some air. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe if I walked for a few minutes...” She moved to the table to pour a drink. “I ended up in the barn and fell asleep there.”

  “Where exactly?”

  Her hands hovered over the pitcher. “I won’t lie to you. I was sitting on that chair you put in the room.”

  “You were what? It’s been weeks since he’s needed someone to watch over him while he slept. What possessed you? What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know.” Rachel turned away and crumpled into a chair. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe we did this all wrong.” Joseph paced. “It’s past time for him to leave.”

  “No. You won’t send him away. Not yet. And, for goodness sake, not because of me!” She looked up, her eyes burning. Now wasn’t the time to cry. “Daniel proposed marriage to me yesterday. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  He stopped and faced her. “Yes. Because I thought it would make you happy.”

  “It doesn’t. It makes me confused.”

  “What is there to be confused about? He’s a good man.”

  “Yes. A good man, a handsome man, a man well set for the future and even the present.” Her voice broke. “What more could I desire?”

  “Rachel, you must—”

  “Not right now, Joseph. I know what you would say. I know what I need to understand. I know it just as well as you, if not better. I simply don’t want to force love. I don’t want to become a wife, for that purpose alone. Why must that be so wrong?” She drew her hands across her eyes, clearing them. “I’ll be well enough. But I need time to think.”

  “Rachel...”

  The room lapsed into silence.

  Then Joseph’s hard soles announced his departure. The door closed.

  With a deep breath, Rachel stood and straightened her skirts. There was work to do and breakfast to prepare.

  28

  “Good morning.” Andrew found his place at the table.

  Their eyes met and her cheeks flamed. What must he think of her? She dropped her gaze to the steaming corn biscuits she was conveying to a plate. “Morning.” It clung to the back of her throat. How was she supposed to sit across from him, or Joseph, and still stomach any breakfast? Maybe she could tell them she was feeling unwell and excuse herself. No. Too obvious.

  The door creaked open again and Joseph moved to them, dropping into his chair.

  Rachel passed him a plate. I’ll just focus on him and keep the conversation going. She kept her eyes from Andrew, but with him in her thoughts, there seemed little to converse about.

  Joseph was still out of sorts. Within minutes, the room again conceded to uncomfortable, apprehensive silence.

  Finally, the men left and her muscles began to relax. Her back ached after half the night spent in a hard chair. Despite the list of things she had to accomplish, Rachel left the dishes on the table and started for the door. She needed to clear her mind and stretch her spine. It was time to do some more damage on the stump. She slipped behind the house, but the ax wasn’t near the woodpile, and she couldn’t find it in the barn.

  Was Joseph using it for something, or had she forgotten it in the garden? She took the spade. There was always more dirt to clear away.

  The echo of the ax cracked against wood. A tall form stood near the stump, the ax brought high over his head. Daniel? No, he would have come to the cabin first, and his build was a little heavier, taller.

  Andrew.

  Though not visible from the road, how dare he risk it?

  Besides, she hadn’t asked for help. And she didn’t need it. That was her stump. Bracing herself, Rachel shouldered the spade and jogged across the yard. She only made it half way before she slowed.

  Andrew’s reddish-brown waves were tied at the nape of his neck. His homespun shirt waved in the breeze, already beginning to show signs of perspiration. With his right leg in the hole, and the other braced against the stump—probably to release the pressure on the first—he brought the ax down. The crack was followed by the muffling of dirt. He’d broken through the root. Andrew shifted and took aim at the same root, several feet from the base. He was hardly the half-dead captain they’d brought home. In the past almost two months he’d gained back most of his weight and, though his complexion was still fair, it was not the ashy-white it had once been. He was vibrant, and alive, and sweaty....

  And everything she wanted. Oh, how she wanted him.

  He took several swings before moving for a different angle. His sleeve wiped across his brow, and he stretched his back. Then he halted, his gaze on her. “How long have you been there?”

  “Not long.” Rachel came within several feet, and then pushed the spade into the dark soil. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  “I had been keeping a close eye on the road for any more guests, but I am afraid I became a little lost in thought.” He snatched his coat from the stump and thrust his arm into it. “I am surprised I did not see you there, or hear you.”

  “Out here it’s not necessary to be seen in a coat. Sometimes it’s not very practical.”

  His second arm slid into place and he smoothed the front, but left it hanging open. “I suppose you are correct, yet my upbringing remains deeply engrained.”

  She cleared her throat, the awkwardness building as she motioned to the stump. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I felt I should do something to repay you before I left. You should not have to do it by yourself.” He glanced at the ax, taking it up again. “Why has Joseph not helped?”

  “How are you so certain he hasn’t?”

  Andrew’s lips pressed into a smile as he motioned to the loft door. “I have been watching.”

  Warmth touched Rachel’s face. “Joseph doesn’t have time for this. My pa was going to remove it, but he’s not here anymore. So I’m doing it myself.”

  His eyes were soft and deep as his fingers brushed her sleeve. “That is no longer necessary. Let me help while I can.”

  A deep crater and severed roots marked the hours she had slaved and wept here. She’d made it her task, but now she didn’t want it—not without him. “All right.”

  A wry smile played on Andrew’s mouth as he turned back to the root and raised the ax. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  Rachel fiddled with the edge her apron. “I wanted...I wanted to apologize for intruding. I’d been out walking and...and I...” What could she say? I’m in love with you, and the thought of marrying another man is driving me insane. I miss watching you sleep.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.” He brought the ax down, and she jumped back. “I suppose you were simply concerned I might attempt to burn your house down and make off with the horses while you slept.”

  “You heard that?”

  He nodded.

  “I’d be more ashamed if you believed that than the true reason. But if you heard Fannie, then you must have also heard my reply. I would trust you with my life.”

  His face remained passive. “Are you certain?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why were you there?”

  This time Rachel did not look away from his intense gaze. “I wanted to apologize.”

  �
�For what wrong?”

  “For the evening I stood on the stairs, listening as a man poured out his soul to his God.”

  Andrew turned away.

  She grabbed his arm. “I’ve been haunted these past weeks by the words you spoke that night. I don’t want you to hate me any longer. I don’t want you to think of me in that way. That was never my intention. I didn’t mean to intrude or offend you.”

  “I know. It is I who should apologize. Besides, you have reason for any judgment against me.”

  “This?” Rachel withdrew the bit of red fabric from her pocket and held it out.

  “What is this?” He took it.

  “It’s from your uniform. I’ve carried it with me as a constant reminder of who you are.”

  Andrew’s gaze moved from the scrap of scarlet to her eyes, his own hardening. “I see. But was it really needed? I mean, how did you put it before? You have the way I speak—my wonderfully English accent—to remind you of exactly who I am. Was the pile of hay in the barn too far away for the color of my uniform to reside? Did you ever truly risk forgetting who I am?”

  “You don’t...I didn’t...” Rachel shook her head, tangled in a disjointed knot of thoughts—and feelings. “I mean, I don’t see you like that.”

  “But it is what I am, is it not? Even I remember that well enough now. I am a captain in His Majesty’s armies, sent to squelch a rebellion. I was there to fight against your neighbors and even your brother and father.” His lips thinned. “I fought against that man you love so well.”

  “What man?”

  His brows rose as did a chuckle in his throat, the swatch from his coat still clenched in his hand. His knuckles showed white.

  “Daniel Reid?”

  Andrew laughed out loud, bitterness making it sharp. “Have you not made plans to marry him?”

  Her heart leapt with understanding. “You jealous fool.”

  Andrew’s face flushed either out of embarrassment or anger, but he held her gaze, his jaw working. He shoved the red fabric back in her hand and lifted the ax. More of a confession than a denial.

  “You are jealous, aren’t you?”

  “Why would I be jealous?” He raised the ax to swing into the root, but then twisted, planting the blade deep into the top of the stump. Andrew released the handle. “But what if I am?”

  29

  Rachel forgot to breathe.

  Andrew’s back straightened. He turned to face her. “What if I think you are the most beautiful creature of my acquaintance? What if I miss being in the cabin with you—to hear the sound of your voice in the morning, or the tapping of your feet as music rehearses in your mind? What if...” He let the sentence die.

  “What if what?”

  Andrew shook his head. “I need to go. I must not delay any longer.”

  “But...”

  He started toward the barn, but seemed to limp more than usual.

  Rachel ran after him, seizing his arm. “Wait. What about my what-ifs?”

  “What?”

  Rachel swallowed back all uncertainty. “Exactly. What if I love the way your cheek creases when you smile and sometimes when you speak?” She ran her thumb along his face. “What if I crave the sound of your voice, and your accent—and can’t wait to hear what you’ll say next. What if I find it amazing the way you can find traces of humor in even the most distressing of circumstances?”

  The dimple in one cheek deepened as his mouth formed a flat line. “I am not doing so well right now.”

  She held a finger to his lips. “You can’t talk yet. I have at least one more.”

  “My apologies.”

  “What if I—make that two—what if I never want you to leave?” Rachel faltered. Dared she say everything in her heart?

  Andrew pulled her hand away from his mouth, his fingers encircling hers. “What if I love you, Miss Garnet?”

  A sob mingled with a laugh as she touched his face with her free hand. “Then you should stop surrendering everything to the Continentals. Colonies, countries, and war victories are fine, but don’t let me go.”

  Andrew drew her into his arms. His heart pounded in her ear as her arms encircled his torso. The warmth of his mouth pressed against the top of her head.

  Everything they’d feared, and the feelings they’d buried deep in resolve seemed to erupt, giving strength to the embrace.

  “Don’t ever leave me.”

  He only held her tighter.

  “Promise me you’ll never leave.”

  Andrew’s arms seemed to weaken.

  Rachel glanced at his face.

  His eyes glistened. “Please believe me—I do not wish to. If I had the choice, I would stay here forever. Please believe that I would.”

  “If you have to go, take me with you. I’ll go with you anywhere, even back to England, if that’s what you want.”

  “If I were free, Rachel...”

  “But you are free, don’t you see that?”

  He shook his head, gritting his teeth. “No. I am not. I have duties to my family. I must find my brother and return home. I gave my word. My family’s honor and future rests upon me.”

  “It still doesn’t answer why I can’t come with you.” Her eyebrows pinched together. “Is it because your family would disapprove? Because I’m only a farmer’s daughter, and a colonist.”

  “That would mean nothing to me. Not anymore.”

  “Then why—?”

  “I am engaged.”

  She stared at him, her hands pressing against his chest, hardly aware of the coolness of his damp shirt. “Engaged? To whom?”

  “Miss Lillian Grenville.”

  Hot moisture singed the back of Rachel’s eyes as it sought release. “You loved her?” She couldn’t put it in present tense.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She wanted to throw her hands into the air. “Then why?”

  “My father gambled away our fortune, and then took ill from the distresses of it all. He died when I was fifteen. It became my duty to restore our family’s name and wealth. I was given the option of choosing a profession of prominence—preferably in politics—or marrying a woman of fortune.” He looked into Rachel’s eyes, his own pleading. “I felt myself drawn to God’s labor—that was my love—and I had never met a woman whom I felt anything but indifference toward, so it seemed all I needed to do to secure my desires was to find a woman of substance and convince her the occupation of a clergy would be an acceptable one for her husband.” Andrew swallowed. “I was successful.”

  “But if you were to join the clergy, why are you here?”

  “My brother.”

  Every piece of his life fell into place. Everything he did was because of the obligations he felt toward others. Following his brother to a war on another continent, pursuing a woman he didn’t love, and even becoming a clergy because of the duty he felt to God. “But what if you were free? What would you choose?”

  “I would stay with you.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Joseph said there was no church in the area. I would build one.”

  Still God remained. If only He would work with her for once, and not against her. “Then stay. I love you.”

  ~*~

  Rachel’s words seeped into his soul, filling it with longing. Andrew wrapped his arms around her, nestling her head under his chin. He stroked her hair. “And I you. I love you more than I ever considered possible.” If he had only known such a feeling was possible. He would have never settled for a marriage of convenience, no matter how great the fortune attached, or what his mother said. How could he do so now? He couldn’t.

  To return to England—to spend his life with a woman he felt nothing toward? Would it be possible to pretend nothing had ever happened? Could he cherish his wife before God, and not dream about Rachel? Inconceivable.

  Andrew peered down at the woman in his arms and slid a finger down her cheek, tipping her chin upwards. “You are correct. I could never leave you.” His mouth lowered over hers.<
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  “Get away from her!” Daniel’s voice cut across the yard, mingled with the beating of hooves against the ground.

  Andrew released Rachel and stepped back as the horse slid to a halt only feet away.

  A cloud of dust drifted as Daniel vaulted from the saddle. He grabbed Rachel’s arm, yanking her back. “You British dog!” He threw himself at Andrew.

  Being braced for the attack was not enough. He’d not thought to position his legs with the stronger behind him, and the weight of the other man slammed him to the ground.

  “Daniel!” Rachel screamed. “Leave him alone.”

  Her cries seemed only to aggravate the man further as he attempted to pin Andrew in place, while throwing fists in the direction of his face.

  The first one met its target with a flash of light and jolt of pain under his left eye, but Andrew was not about to allow a repeat. He jerked his head out of the way, seized his assailant’s arm, and rolled sideways, whipping the back of his fist across Daniel’s face. The man reeled and tumbled onto his side, giving Andrew a moment to grasp Daniel’s left shoulder with his left hand. He leaned his arm across Daniel’s throat and thrust him onto his back. Andrew balled his other hand and cocked it by his ear. “I have no wish to fight you,” he panted. “Please. End this now.”

  Daniel’s nostrils flared as he stared up at him, rage like glowing embers in his dark eyes. Finally, he made a nod in surrender.

  Andrew released his grip. When the other man did not move to attack him again, he stood, grunting as he maneuvered his right leg. Though no longer an open sore, his wound throbbed.

  “What happened here?” Joseph demanded, running from the barn.

  Daniel spun to him. “I accepted that you wouldn’t let him die, but to allow him to touch your sister is more than I’m ready to accept. You should’ve turned him over to the army or shot him before this.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know how much you already know, or how long this has been going on, but if I had my gun, I would have shot that Redcoat pig for kissing one of our women.” He turned back to Andrew and shoved him aside. “This isn’t over.” Daniel took the several steps to where his horse had wandered, grabbed its reins and swung into the saddle. Hooves sounded out his departure as they stirred more dust into the air.