Love's Courage

by Elizabeth Meyette

  Gordon tucked the paper into his cloak, tipped his black cocked hat, and opened the back door, a murky shadow slipping into a velvet night.

  Mother grasped the letter and took Jenny’s hand, leading her into the small office across from the parlor. A desk sat diagonally in one corner, positioned to catch the morning sun from windows on either wall. This was the room from which Mother ran the household. Stores of dry goods and spices lined the shelves that ran to the height of the high ceiling. She pulled over a stool, climbed on it, and reached for a leather box tucked into the highest shelf. Placing it on the desk, she drew out a key ring from the petticoat pocket hidden beneath her skirt. With a small brass key, she unlocked the box and revealed jars containing the most expensive spices used for cooking their meals.

  Jenny inhaled the blended aromas that transported her back to the apothecary shop. Then she recalled applying salve to the ugly wound that took Father’s life. She took a ragged breath. Mother’s touch brought her back to the present.

  “This is what we need,” Mother said softly as she lifted out a small glass bottle. Laying the parchment on a metal tray, she tipped the bottle over it, letting a few drops spill onto the paper.

  Neatly written words emerged as the liquid spread over the once-blank paper.

  Mother pursed her lips as she studied the message. “This is most urgent. I must get this to Laurence immediately.”

  Jenny peered over Mother’s shoulder, reading the text. It made no sense. It was a combination of numbers and letters that appeared to be a recipe for a curative.

  Mother glanced at the darkened windows, shutters pulled tight. “I must go out tonight.”

  “Mother, you cannot leave at this hour. It is much too hazardous.”

  “Jennifer, we must put fear of our own safety aside. Powers are at work here that will decide the future of our nation.”

  “You sound like Uncle Jonathon.”

  “This is what your father sacrificed his life for.”

  Jenny’s face flamed, heat spread through her. “I will go.”

  “No.” Mother shook her head, a lock of hair escaping from her cap. She grabbed Jenny’s arms.

  “As Father’s wife, you are already suspect. I am newly arrived and fairly unknown. Please let me run this errand. Let me do it for Father.”

  Mother was silent.

  “Do I take this to Mr. Montclair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I have a perfect excuse. You are in desperate need of more elixir. If I am questioned, I am the frantic daughter of an ill mother. What reason would you have for being out at this time of night?”

  Mother nodded, still holding her arms. She lessened her grip and her hands fell away. “You are right.” She inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh. “Yes, it must be you.” She rolled the paper up and placed it in the amber bottle. “You must keep this safe. The message is revealed now.” Handing the vial to Jenny, she smiled. “You are fiery and spirited, like your father.”

  “And my mother.” Jenny kissed her cheek.

  Andrew jumped when the shutter opened slightly in the front window across the road. A glimpse. Just a glimpse of ebony hair. Jenny. His pulse quickened. He mustered all his restraint to keep from sprinting to the house. She was a matter of yards from where he stood, yet she might as well have been an ocean away.

  Though Montclair had directed him to stay away, he had to see for himself that Jenny was safe. But he couldn’t put her in peril. If Jenny were caught, like her father, she, too, would die. He squeezed his eyes, shut trying to block the image of Jenny in gaol, or worse, hanging from gallows. Digging his fists into his eyes to banish the thought, he backed into the shelter of an ancient oak.

  He scanned the windows, hoping for another glimpse, another reassurance that Jenny was inside and safe. Hearing someone approach, he ducked behind the tree. Two British officers walked along the other side of the road. He couldn’t hear their conversation until they were in front of the lantern that lit Jenny’s front door.

  “This is the one that bears watching, Lieutenant Ashby,” said the shorter man.

  “Yes, sir.” The younger officer studied the house. He was taller than Andrew, slender, with erect posture, as if constantly standing at attention. He looked familiar. Of course—he had escorted Jenny from the apothecary shop that afternoon. How unfair that this cur could walk with Jenny out in public and he had to stay away from her.

  Andrew wasn’t sure he could disarm both men and prevent them from entering Jenny’s house, but he was willing to try if necessary. He raised his rifle. If he fired at them, other soldiers would apprehend him. That would also draw attention to Jenny’s house. He lowered his rifle and his hand slid to the knife tucked in his boot.

  “Sutton was a rebel sympathizer. We have reason to believe his wife will carry on with his seditious dealings.”

  Ashby shifted from foot to foot. He glanced around, then back at the house.

  “Don’t be nervous, Lieutenant. We keep a watchful guard on those who oppose us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They continued walking. Lieutenant Ashby looked back at the house. Soon they were out of sight.

  Andrew paced as bile churned in his gut. He returned the knife to his boot. The British were watching her mother’s every move. Soon, they would suspect Jenny of possible treason as well. He had to get her away from here. Quickly.

  He leaned against the enormous trunk and prepared to spend the night guarding the house. He pushed off the tree at the sound of a soft neigh, then a whispered, “Shhh.” Someone leading a horse was skulking along the side of Jenny’s house. Andrew crept along the roadside until he was directly across the road from the horseman.

  His heart stopped.

  Chapter 11

  The August night shrouded Jenny with a dark, sultry coolness. Her heart slammed in her chest as she led the mare through the yard and into the road. Here she was, living another lie, pretending to be something she was not. How could this end well?

  Just a few lanterns lit the street. Since most of them flickered near the front doors of the houses lining the road, she led the horse to its center where shadows held the rutted ground in darkness.

  She tucked a lock of hair up under the slouch hat Sarie had given her and tugged its sloping brim down over her brow. Isaac’s trousers fit her waist but were snug about her hips and too short to stay tucked into her boots. Father’s jacket drooped at the shoulders and was folded twice at the cuffs. Anyone seeing her would think she was a servant running an errand.

  Perspiration ran in rivulets along her neck and dampened her shift as she walked the horse toward the busier road a quarter-mile ahead where she would mount and hurry to the apothecary shop. The sound of a racing horse’s hooves along this quiet street at night might draw curious observers to the windows, and if she were discovered … Her trial for treason would be brief, the hanging briefer.

  Well, then I must not be discovered.

  “Come along,” she quietly urged Aggie, the mare that had been comfortably settled for the night and was not inclined to travel now. “Gee up,” she whispered, pulling on the bridle.

  A hand clamped her mouth, an arm encircled her waist, lifting her off the ground. In panic, her feet kicked out, and she swung her arms trying to escape. She didn’t scream. That would mean discovery. She at least had enough wits about her to realize that. She fought her attacker the best she could.

  “Jenny. Jenny, it’s me. Andrew,” a familiar voice whispered.

  Her limbs went weak as she slumped against him.

  He released her and stepped back.

  “Andrew,” she cried. Turning, she leapt into his arms. Her pants allowed her to wrap her legs around him, and he laughed aloud. She silenced him with a kiss fierce with desire, and he answered in kind. Their lips were desperate to taste; their tongues danced a passion of joyful reunion.

  Then she pulled back, studying the face she had seen every night in her dreams. But his face had chang
ed. His soft features had more of an edge, his cheeks ruddy, his jawline firmer. His azure eyes glowed softly but held a seriousness that had never been evident before. His smile didn’t come instantly as usual, but as she beheld him, slowly, his lips broke into a broad grin. When a strand of his tawny hair blew gently in the night breeze, she reached up to brush it back. Hot tears burned her cheeks as laughter bubbled up. “Andrew.” Her face grew warm, her smile her widest ever.

  With her legs still wrapped around him, she felt his desire, and she moaned. She slid down, standing before him. Andrew bent his head to hers, his lips brushing hers softly, then with an urgency that matched her own. His tongue probed her mouth, and she gave in to the request, deepening the kiss, clinging to him. Finally, she pulled back.

  “It’s not safe for you here,” she whispered.

  “Nor for you.” He pulled her into the shadow of a tree. Aggie moseyed behind them.

  “I saw you today … at the apoth—”

  He stifled her words with an impatient kiss. Then he held her, cradling her head against his chest, his heart wild, matching the beating of her own.

  “Where are you going? Why are you dressed like this?”

  His voice was music.

  She quickly told him about her involvement with Laurence Montclair.

  “Montclair told me that you had agreed to work with the Sons.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “But you must not. It’s too risky.”

  “My father was part of the group.”

  “I heard he died. I’m so sorry.”

  She took a deep breath. Would the pain of losing Father ever go away? “But I arrived in time to be with him for a short while.” She explained his run-in with the Ranger, the resulting wound, and the amputation. “Mother explained about the Patriot group working for General Washington. Before he died, Father insisted she do so. Our house has been a drop-off site for information. A courier arrived this evening with a message, which Mother decoded. She said it’s urgent. Since she may be under suspicion, I must deliver this message to Montclair immediately.”

  “Your house is being watched.” He related what he’d heard from the British officers. “You were with one of them this afternoon.”

  Jenny nodded. “Ashby.”

  “Yes, that’s what the older man called him.”

  Andrew peered down the street where the two British officers had walked—where she was headed. “Had you come outside a few minutes earlier, they would have met you in front of the house.”

  Jenny stared into the darkness that led to the main street. She chewed her lip, her mind churning with fear, but then the image of Father’s agonized face floated before her, enraging her. Inhaling deeply, she reached inside for strength. Determination obliterated her fear.

  “I must go. Mother depends on me to deliver this to Mr. Montclair tonight.”

  “I’ll take it. You return to the house.”

  Jenny looked up at him, giving him a half-smile. “We’ll go together, just as we did when we rescued Jonathon.”

  Andrew kissed her. Right on her dimpled cheek.

  His knees buckled at Jenny’s smile. That damned dimple reduced him to schoolboy flutterings … and desire. He kissed her cheek, then moved to her lips, tasting her sweetness. He wanted to stay there forever, but Jenny pushed him away, laughing softly. How he delighted in the lilt of her voice.

  “We must go. Now.” She pulled on his hand.

  At the end of the quiet road, they searched in both directions. To their left, one lone carriage trundled along in the opposite direction. He helped Jenny mount the horse and flushed hot when she threw her leg over the horse, straddling it as a man would. Taking a deep breath, he swung up behind her. Not wanting to draw attention, he nudged the mare to an inconspicuous trot.

  The cool air rushing over his face helped to temper his rising desire. If only he could detour into a grassy field and lie beside her, hold her and let her know the depth of his love. He shook his head. He needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to protect Jenny.

  He studied the road and scanned the side streets they passed, looking for any sign of Lieutenant Ashby and his superior. Nothing. They neared Fraunces Tavern where raucous laughter and fiddle music spilled out the front door into the night air. Andrew urged Aggie to the other side of the road as they passed in front of the pub. Most likely, at this hour, patrons would be tipsy and in good spirits, but he did not want to chance that either of them might be recognized.

  They continued, avoiding any sign of people about. Finally, they reached the apothecary shop and rode into the backyard. He dismounted and reached up to help Jenny alight. As she leaned forward, her jet-black hair tumbled from beneath the hat, cascading over his upturned face.

  “Ohhh …” He fought the passion stirring within. “How you tempt me.”

  Smiling, she pulled back her hair and tucked it up beneath the hat. “Temper your lustful desires, Mr. Wentworth. We must see our task through.”

  He reached up for her again. Just touching her was like being bucked off a wild stallion. Not that he had ever experienced that, but he imagined it was the same. Perhaps her effect was even more intense.

  One candle glowed through the window of Montclair’s office. They climbed the steps to the back door and Jenny rapped lightly. No movement came from within. She rapped harder.

  “Turn around. Slowly.”

  The click confirmed that a flintlock was pointed at his head. Raising his hands, he stepped in front of Jenny as he turned.

  “Good God, Wentworth. What are you doing stealing about at this time of night? And who is that young buck with you?” Laurence Montclair released the half-cocked gun as he lowered his arm. “Come in. Come in.” He opened the door and ushered them in. Once inside, Montclair poked his head back out the door to check the yard. Closing the door, he bolted it, went into his office and closed the shutters, dropping the clasp to lock them. Then he motioned them into his office.

  “Guarding the Sutton house again, eh, son? You’re a randy young gentleman with a mind full of that beauty …”

  Jenny stepped into the glow of the candle on his desk. Montclair’s expression shifted like moonlight on a lake, from perturbed to confused to amazed.

  “Miss Sutton. Excuse me … I didn’t mean to use such vulgarity in front of a young lady.” He took in her clothing, quickly glancing away from the trousers.

  Jenny laughed. “Please do not concern yourself, Mr. Montclair.” She stepped forward. “Mother received this missive this evening. She thought it imperative you see it immediately.”

  Montclair took the letter and held it near the candle.

  “Damn. Hewlett is aware of the planned attack.” He glanced at their faces and waved the parchment. “General Samuel Parsons is planning to lead Continental troops in an attack on the British holed up in Setauket. Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hewlett is on to him. He’ll have his British troops ready and waiting for the Continentals. How in hell did they find out?” He rubbed his eyes. “Andrew, you will need to travel to Setauket at first light.”

  “But, Mr. Montclair, I’ve only just …” He looked at Jenny.

  “Confound it, Wentworth. You and Miss Sutton must not be seen together. If Mrs. Sutton is under suspicion, they will be watching Miss Sutton as well. If she is seen with you, it will confirm her involvement. You are to stay away from her. If you love her, keep her safe—safely away from you.”

  How in God’s creation could they be parted again? Andrew slammed his fist onto the desk. “I must protect her.”

  “You will have her hanged? That’s how you’ll protect her?” Montclair’s voice was hoarse with restraint. He leaned across the desk, glaring at Andrew as the clock on the wall ticked off minutes.

  All the joy of finding Jenny drained from Andrew, sapping his energy. His exhaustion from a weeks-long journey overtook him as he sank into a chair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands. It was all he could do not to break down and c
ry like a lad.

  Jenny rubbed his shoulder. She stooped beside him, taking his face in her hands, her soft skin against his cheek like a balm, restoring him. He gazed into her eyes, gentle and smiling in the candle’s glow.

  “We will be together soon, Andrew. For over a year, liberty is what you and Jonathon have been fighting for. Liberty is what my father died for. Our sacrifice is not too great.” She stroked his cheek.

  He took her hands in his, kissing her palms, and nodded. Looking up at Montclair, he nodded again. “Yes, I’ll go. Give me my instructions.”

  The breeze had picked up while they were in the apothecary shop. Jenny cherished Andrew’s embrace, for it could be their last. She held him close, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Please, God. Keep him safe. He kissed the top of her head then stepped back.

  “I must leave, Jenny.” His hoarse voice mirrored her sorrow.

  “Yes. But we will be together again, I know—”

  He swept her into his arms, his kiss desperate, ravenous. She met his lips with a passion that burned, taking his lips, hungrily. When at last they parted, hollowness replaced the passion. Her hand slipped away from his, and she turned and mounted the horse. She committed to memory every detail as she looked down at him. His face, turned up to her, smiling gently. His shoulders, strong and broad. The detail that haunted her as she rode away was the grief in his eyes.

  She reined Aggie to a walk. The horse nickered her approval. This pace would give Jenny time to regain her composure before arriving home. Leaves rustling in the trees above her covered the sound of the horse’s clomp, clomp on the cobblestones. She neared Fraunces Tavern. While lantern light still glowed in the windows, the noise had settled considerably. She decided to ride by on the road.

  As she passed, the door flung open and three men staggered out.

  “You there. Boy.”

  A fourth man rode out from beside the tavern, blocking the road.

  Keeping her head down, she pulled the mare to a halt. Perspiration prickled against her skin.