“Have it your way.” He took a long pull of the liquid.
She watched the others. One soldier tied Andrew to a nearby oak, glanced at his comrade, then at Ashby. He made a face, and the other one snickered. So, they disliked Ashby, too. Was there any chance they would help her? Would Ashby’s cruelty drive them to mutiny? The soldier looked back at Andrew and kicked him in the side.
“Filthy traitor.” He spat on the ground next to Andrew’s hand.
Andrew glared at him, but his limbs lay motionless as exhaustion took its toll. Black circles darkened his eyes, standing out against his pale skin. But his gaze was defiant—until it met hers. Then a mix of sorrow and love softened his face.
When she finished eating, Ashby allowed her to step into the trees to relieve herself. Would he follow? Was he observing her even now? Though the thought sickened her, she had to ease this urgency. When she returned to the fire, Ashby bound her hands.
“I think you might enjoy this sort of thing, my dear.” He tugged on the rope.
She turned her head, refusing to look at him.
Clutching her jaw, he twisted her head back. “You will look at me when I speak to you.”
Andrew thrashed against the ropes.
The soldiers froze, watching their officer’s actions. They exchanged glances and one shook his head. They disliked their officer almost as much as she did. Her mouth would have twitched if Ashby’s hold hadn’t tightened on her face.
He followed her gaze. “Do you men have something to say?” He glared at them.
“No, sir,” they said in unison. They concentrated on the ground.
When Ashby suddenly released his grasp, he whipped her head sideways.
“Ow.” She bit her lip against saying anything else. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her.
Andrew struggled again, his eyes dark with rage.
“In pain, my love? I will soothe your pain soon.” He stroked her cheek. His voice softened. “Oh, Jenny, don’t you see how I love you? I will have you, and then you will love me, too.”
A shiver crept down her spine, but she sat rigid. Why was he delaying what she now knew was soon to happen? Just get it over with.
He glanced at the soldiers.
As they sat on a log near the fire, drinking from their canteens, their voices grew louder and their speech slurred. Why were they allowed to drink while on patrol?
Ashby sat off to the side watching them, keenly interested in their behavior. He smiled when one keeled over and snored. The other’s head bobbed as he tried to drink again. His eyes rolled back and he slid off the log, crumpling onto the ground.
“Ah ha. At last. They were stouter than I thought.” He turned to Jenny. “Now, my dear, we shall celebrate our wedding night.” He untied her hands, leading her to stand before Andrew. “And you will watch. And then I shall kill you.”
Jenny wriggled against his grip, but he pulled her in closer.
“Don’t be shy. I will be gentle. The first time.”
Andrew kicked out, but Ashby sidestepped and laughed.
“I have waited for this moment far too long. But, no need to rush, I shall savor every minute.” His voice was gentle with a cadence almost like a lullaby.
Ashby untied her shawl and let it fall to the ground. The cool breeze chilled her shoulders, but within, she burned with a desire to run him through with a bayonet. His fingers singed her skin through the fabric as he unbuttoned her waistcoat. His breath quickened.
He ran his fingers along her cheek. “You captured my heart the first I ever saw you. It matters not to me what you believe in. I will change that. And I will change your heart until you are mine completely.”
What would he do to her? Rape her for certain, but what other atrocities would he unleash on her? And then he would kill Andrew. Somehow, she had foolishly believed she would escape this fate. Once again, she had failed. Which would be worse: enduring his cruelty or Andrew having to witness it? She fought the trembling that started in her knees and worked its way up to possess her body.
“So, you begin to understand what is in store. You finally realize your destiny.”
Andrew fought against the ropes that trapped him. “Stop, Ashby. Stop or I’ll kill you.”
Ashby threw his head back and laughed. “I fear for my life, Wentworth. How can I ever defend myself from your superior power? Watch this, Wentworth.”
He loosened the ribbons securing her shift and opened it. She felt the cool night air against her skin. Her face flushed with humiliation, but she lifted her chin in defiance.
A sharp intake of breath. “As beautiful as I’d imagined.” His breath was hot on her face.
Her skin crawled as if infested with fleas as he inspected her body.
Andrew’s thrashing increased as his voice rose. “Let her go. I swear I’ll kill you.’
Ashby’s voice was ragged. “You will determine just how gentle I’ll be with my fiancée, Wentworth. The more you protest, the more it will cost her.” He pulled her shift down roughly, exposing her breasts. Pulling her to him, he crushed her against a tree. The rough bark gouged her back, carving into her skin. Warm blood trickled along her spine. His lips covered hers, his tongue darting in and out. He bit her lip and she cried out.
“Jenny,” Andrew shouted.
She fought against him, pushing his chest with her arms. “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed.
He caught her hands and held them over her head against the rigid tree trunk. “That’s what I like. When you fight me.” He pushed his hips into hers, forcing her to feel his erection.
“I won’t just fight you. I’ll kill you.” She spat in his face.
Andrew pulled against the restraints. Suddenly, they gave way and a knife was thrust into his hand. It took him a moment to react.
“Go, boy. Go.” The slurred voice came from behind the tree.
He tried to stand but was so weak from lack of food that he stumbled. Pushing himself up, he staggered toward Ashby, who was pawing at Jenny as she fought to escape.
Ashby spotted his movement and turned. Andrew lunged, aiming for his heart. Ashby twisted, deflecting the wound to his arm. The two wrestled, and Andrew’s hatred for this man propelled new strength through his body. Ashby wrested the knife from him, but Andrew knocked the knife from his hand.
“Andrew! Be careful!” Jenny’s voice spurred him on. She loved him. She had always loved him, and he had been a fool. Had he trusted her, they might have escaped sooner. Now they both were in danger. If Ashby killed him, Jenny would be at that bastard’s mercy for the rest of her life. He could not let that happened. A surge of determination shot through him. He fought with renewed strength, jarring the knife from Ashby’s hand. When it fell at Jenny’s feet, she seized it and plunged it into Ashby’s back.
Ashby arched and twisted toward her. Reaching out, he grasped her shoulders, clutching her for support as he collapsed, sliding against her, trailing scarlet blood along her blue skirt.
She stepped back, dropped the knife, and vomited, splattering Ashby’s black leather boots. She trembled as she studied him then reeled toward Andrew.
His arms were around her, and he buried his face in her hair.
“Oh my God.” She could barely form the words.
They heard a moan. At the base of the tree, sprawled across the severed ropes was one of the soldiers. He raised his wobbling head and tried to focus on them. “He deserved it.” His voice slurred before his head slapped down on the ropes.
Underbrush rustled as someone moved through the trees. Andrew held the knife, crouching in front of Jenny.
“Good evenin’, Miss Sutton.”
Andrew turned and looked up into the face of Martin Wirth.
“We had a devil of a time findin’ ya.”
His brother Abel joined him.
“Best ya’ sit down for a minute, miss. And, uh, straighten yer, uh, clothes.”
She looked down and realized she
clutched her loose shift against her breasts. Turning away, she yanked the shift up, tied the strings and found her waistcoat. As she buttoned her jacket, she turned back to them. “How did you know about us?”
“We met Ephraim as he came into the city. He told us where you was headin’ and we took a guess as to your progress.” Abel handed her a flask of water.
She relished the cool liquid as it slid down her dry throat. As she handed it to Andrew, he smiled and held up the one Martin had shared with him.
“When we made it all the way to the farm and you weren’t there, we doubled back, searching the woods along the road,” Martin continued. “It was right nice of the Brits to light a fire to lead us here.”
He surveyed the campsite. “Not bad for an evening’s work. Two lobsterbacks unconscious and one…” He kicked Ashby’s foot and he moaned. “Almost dead. Well done.”
Chapter 26
The farmhouse was the sweetest sight Jenny had seen in two days. Smoke curled from the chimney, a gray snake coiling into the dark sky. Beckoning lantern light glowed through the front window, and the crisp smell of a wood fire promised a warm hearth within.
Her weary arms and legs were leaden, her body burned with fatigue. The way Andrew listed in the saddle confirmed that he, too, was exhausted. When Abel helped her dismount, every muscle cried in protest, stiffness thwarting her effort to walk. She shambled to the steps, each a challenge as she climbed to the porch.
Martin scooped her up as if she were a rag doll and carried her to the door. In answer to his knock, the door swung open and her heart leapt with joy as Mother rushed to embrace her.
“Jennifer.” Mother’s voice broke as tears streamed down her face. “My sweet child. I’ve been so worried.”
“Mother. You’re safe. Andrew is here.” She tried to peer over Martin’s shoulder, but it was like trying to see around a mountain.
“Yes. You both are here. Now we are all safe.”
Tears ran unchecked down Jenny’s cheeks. Andrew stood beside her, smiling, but his lids were heavy, and he swayed a bit. Abel propped him up.
Then Sarie and Isaac appeared. “Miss Jenny!” Sarie made no pretense; she bawled like a newborn. Isaac’s grin beamed white teeth against his ebony skin. “We got food for you. Come in and set down.”
Martin placed her on a chair at the kitchen table. Andrew plopped beside her. Mother set bowls of steaming soup before them. Isaac delivered two pewter tankards, cool with freshly pressed cider, and Andrew patted his shoulder in thanks. Sarie sliced a loaf of warm rye bread and slathered two pieces with creamy butter. Jenny inhaled the yeasty aroma, watching the steam rise.
Mother hugged Martin and Abel. “Thank you both from the bottom of my heart.” She sniffed into her handkerchief.
The farmer’s wife stepped forward, gesturing to the brothers. “Please, have some soup and ale. You must be starving.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. We have three lobsterbacks to deliver to an encampment of Continentals just north of here. With the shape the lieutenant is in, we’d best hurry.”
“Take our wagon to transport the wounded man, else he may die in your hands.”
“Thank you kindly. That would be a help. We’ll return it on our way back through.” Martin patted Andrew’s shoulder. “Never met a more courageous young man.” He looked at Jenny. “Or young woman.” He winked.
Jenny swayed when she tried to stand. He eased her back down. “You just git some victuals in ya’, missy.” She pulled his lapel and he leaned forward. She kissed his cheek. Abel hurried to her, leaning in. Laughing, she kissed him, too.
Martin cleared his throat. “Well then. We’ll be on our way.”
The farmer led them out, closing the door behind them.
Jenny sat back and sighed after finishing the soup, two slabs of bread, and a mug of ale. She caught Andrew’s gaze, and, in the candlelight, desire reflected in his eyes. A warm tickle started in her belly and spread through her body. She smiled, and given the way he shifted in his chair, her dimple had not lost its effect.
Andrew lay in the stillness of the night. He had recovered remarkably after, what seemed to him, a feast. Though exhaustion drained every ounce of his energy, he could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the idea of Ashby assaulting Jenny invaded his thoughts. She had defied Ashby and his threats, never showing fear. Even the risk she’d taken to help him flee from the gaol showed more bravery than most men had.
God, how he loved her. How he longed to wrap her in his arms, protect her, make love to her.
The candle flame fluttered as the door opened, and Jenny stood there, her gaze alight with passion. Her linen shift draped her figure, highlighting delicious swells over her breasts and hips. She pressed her finger to her lips. “Shhh.” Then she smiled tantalizingly, and he thought he would perish in a swirl of pleasure and pain.
She padded over the wood floor, sauntering to his bed. Holding his gaze, she loosened the strings of her shift, bringing the neckline to her shoulders. Heat spread through him like a forest on fire. She smiled as movement beneath the blanket revealed his desire when she pulled one side of her shift from her shoulder, exposing the swell of her breast.
“Oh, Jenny,” he breathed. They had spent many nights snuggled in front of the hearth at Brentwood Manor, but they had always been clothed. They had explored each other’s bodies, but through layers of linen, cotton, or brocade. He had never seen Jenny completely naked.
With a graze of her finger, she brushed the fabric from her other shoulder, and her shift dropped to the floor. As did Andrew’s heart. Candlelight flickered off her alabaster skin. Her rosy nipples were taut with her longing. He reached out, running his hand along her thigh.
She trembled.
Lifting the blanket, she nestled beside him. “You seem to be overdressed, sir.” She tugged his shirt and pulled it up.
He scrambled out of it, tossing it on the floor. Wrapping her in his arms, he was amazed at how each of her curves fit neatly against his body. She raised her face to his, and he captured her lips, moving, exploring, delving into her sweetness. She moaned, deep in her throat. He thought he would explode.
Her silky skin urged his touch. She writhed as his hands explored her body. Every movement, every sound, proclaimed her delight in his exploration. His earlier exhaustion gave way to renewed energy, emboldened by her response, her touch.
She slid beneath him, pulling him atop her. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she smiled, her dimple destroying any resistance he might have entertained. He joined their bodies, her breath hot on his neck as they soared to the explosion of pleasure and release.
Jenny heard the rooster out in the yard. Andrew slept curled around her, their legs intertwined. How she wanted to remain, warm and sated, in his arms. But the family had probably already arisen to begin work on the farm. Her escape back to the room she was sharing with Mother would be precarious.
Slowly easing from Andrew’s embrace, she tried to slip out of the bed. His arms encircled her, drawing her back in, scooping her beside him.
“Andrew, I must return to my room,” she whispered.
“Stay, love.” His sleep-filled voice was husky, breaking down her resistance.
“Mother will awaken soon. She’ll see I’m gone.”
“Mmm hmm.” He traced lazy circles on her stomach.
“I must leave you now.”
“Never leave me again, Jenny.” His hand moved to her breast. Desire flamed, heat spread through her body. He moved against her.
“Andrew…”
She remained.
Mother was already in the kitchen helping to prepare breakfast. She raised a brow at Jenny when she entered, but a half smile played at her lips.
“I’m pleased to see you slept in, Jennifer. You needed the extra rest.” She exchanged glances with Sarie, who turned to busy herself at the hearth. But not before Jenny saw her grin. “Be of some use, daughter. Set the table.”
Jenny busied hersel
f with the task, snatching glances at the stairs. As she passed, Mother pulled her in, planting a kiss on her forehead. She held her close for a moment, kissed her again, then released her. “Get that table set. Breakfast is ready.” She brushed away a tear.
Andrew appeared, shrugging into his coat. “Good day, Mrs. Sutton. Sarie.” His voice softened. “Jenny.”
Mother strode between them, hefting a pot of porridge onto the table. “Good morning, Andrew. You must be starving.” She glanced at Jenny.
“I am indeed.” He winked at Jenny and sat down.
“No wonder,” Mother mumbled. She patted his shoulder.
He winked again as he took his place beside Jenny.
A commotion broke out on the porch. She went weak with fear. Mother ran to her as Andrew knocked over the chair, lunging for the rifle propped beside the door. It was as if time stood still. Had the British found them? Would they face the gallows after all?
The door burst open, and Andrew aimed the gun at the head of the intruder.
“Is this any kind of welcome for your brother-in-law?” Jonathon Brentwood’s voice boomed.
“Uncle Jonathon!” Jenny jumped up and ran into his arms.
Andrew set the gun down and clapped him on the back.
“Rumors abound about the two of you taking out a troop of British soldiers.” His eyes sparkled, his grin spread over his face.
“You’ve been talking to the Wirth brothers.” Andrew handed him a mug of cider.
“Indeed, I have. They speak of the two of you in glowing terms. Something about taking out four soldiers with only two guns. They bandied about terms like ‘courage’ and ‘bravery’ and ‘unstoppable.’ Sounded like a bit of hyperbole to me.” He laughed.
Mr. Gates entered with two other crewmen. Mother bustled about filling pewter mugs while Sarie dished up more porridge.
“Good day, everyone.” Gates removed his wool cap. “So good to see you again safe and well, Miss Sutton.”
Jenny rose and took his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Gates. I’m so pleased to see you again. But I thought you wished to avoid landing in New York, Uncle Jonathon.”
He frowned. “So I did. But we encountered a British frigate that engaged us. Let’s just say, she limped off with the worst of it.” He sighed. “But the Destiny took some serious damage. She is in a nearby port for repairs.”
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