She eyed him warily while putting his letter in her pocket.
"I must go now," he whispered. "I know that you would not accept this for yourself, so let us call it a get-well message for Azalea."
To her total astonishment, his gloved hands reached out and pulled her against the length of his body. Warm, determined lips came down over her own, forcing a response that she could not conceal. Her hands fluttered, then caressed the hard strength of his arms until he shifted to hold her nearer. She spun in a dizzying whirlpool, her body hot and trembling against his. She wished his kiss would never end, but of course it did. She stared at him as though mesmerized, one hand reaching up to touch his close-cropped beard.
"I can see you are a true friend to Azalea," Jay murmured ironically. "You knew exactly what she would need to aid in her recovery."
* * *
Azalea breathed softly in the darkness, while Devon rolled from side to side, trying to find a comfortable position. It must be the middle of the night, she thought despairingly. This is awful, terrible. I must get to sleep!
Endlessly, her mind replayed the few moments when Jay had kissed her and she had been trapped in a web of magic not unlike Raveneau's own. Part of her was shocked that she should be so undone by physical desire, particularly for a man whom she barely knew.
Yet Devon found herself mulling over the inescapable conclusion that she could respond to a man other than Andre. She had believed that he alone had the power to make her hungry for a man's touch, kiss, and even that complete union. Knowing that a future with him was impossible, Devon had feared that she would go through life deprived, remembering the fire he had lit in her body. But now, after Jay, she hoped that she might find that magic a third time. Morgan might hold the key to her future after all.
* * *
"I think that I will be able to go tomorrow night," Azalea decided.
Startled, Devon looked up from her sewing. The two girls had been sitting quietly all morning on the sofa. Azalea was reading a romantic novel, while Devon worked on one of the two dresses for which her friend had given her material.
"Well, Devon, you needn't look so shocked! My ankle is fine. I scarcely limp at all. Besides, why should you have all the fun? This will probably be the last message. The battle is bound to begin soon, and when it's over, winter will have set in and I'll be bored, bored, bored. You'll have gone off with that fiancé of yours, and I'll be left with Mama and Pa. I just can't miss tomorrow night!"
Devon's heart sank. If Azalea went, she would probably never see Jay again. She would have nothing to look forward to, nothing to dream about.
But what of Azalea? Didn't she deserve a taste of adventure as well? Devon had discovered so many hints of her own selfishness lately that she was beginning to feel like a stranger to herself. Maybe the time had come to make a decision, rather than allowing life to just sweep her helplessly along.
"If you are certain that your ankle is strong enough, then I agree that you should go. You and this Jay seem to be such close friends after all."
Azalea's eyes were twinkling with mischievous curiosity. "Why, Devon, are you jealous? For all your declarations of faithful love for your Morgan, I'll wager you're not immune to a man like Jay." She leaned closer, whispering suggestively, "Tell the truth. Don't you think he's delicious?"
Devon found herself blushing. Hastily she threw up a barrier of outrage. "You are truly terrible! I think it's a mistake for you to marry at all, Azalea. What will happen when you have to live every day with one man? Does Isaac know how fickle you are?"
Azalea laughed, running a hand through her gleaming curls. "Isaac is a quieter sort. I suppose we complement each other. He'd never admit it, but the wild streak in me excites him. Besides, I have to think of the years ahead. I want children and I love this land and the challenge of rebuilding the farm. There won't be many men like Jay roaming about... he'll be gone forever once the war's over. And Andre, too." She sighed, her doe eyes wistful. "Besides, Isaac worships me, and I need that from a man if it's going to last. Men like Jay and Andre could never give me that. They live only for the moment, then it's on to the next breathless female. Why should they marry? They've got the whole world at their feet."
Devon pricked herself with the needle. She watched a crimson drop of blood form at the tip of her finger and nodded. "You're right... of course." Her eyes lifted to meet Azalea's gaze. "I'm glad I didn't get involved. I couldn't take it all in the same spirit you do. It would be hard to go to Morgan after a man like Jay, or Raveneau... I'm afraid I'd never stop comparing."
Azalea shrugged. "I don't have that problem. I hoard my memories. They'll keep me warm when I'm old like Mama."
* * *
Nights on the farm were friendly and peaceful. The darkness draped the house like a velvet cover and night birds called from the woods.
Devon lay alone in the attic bed, dreaming of old age with Morgan. He was pale and thin and feeble, with tears in his eyes. In her dream he sat alone in the drug shop, too frail to clear away the dust and cobwebs that filled the room and repelled customers. Devon saw herself, solitary and shriveled, in a room upstairs, identical to the living quarters above the Linen and Pewter Shop. Portraits of faceless children and grandchildren lined the walls; she was sitting by the window, watching the people pass below.
Devon awoke repeatedly, but the loathsome dream returned whenever she dozed off again. It filled her with sickening dread. Finally she got out of bed and crossed the floor to look outside, hoping to see Azalea. Part of her was worried; the same evening errand had brought her back to the house at least an hour earlier. Could Azalea have hurt herself again?
Devon's instincts suggested that the delay was not due to any accident. The odds were that Azalea was out there hoarding memories with the Blue Jay...
A scolding cry pierced the night and Devon straightened her back, alert. It couldn't be! she told herself in an effort to still her racing pulse. She tried to remember if she had ever heard a blue jay call at night. Perhaps it was some other bird. Then she spotted Azalea creeping out of the trees, clad in her brother's breeches. She hadn't wanted to wear them, but Devon, worried about her ankle, had insisted.
There was a trellis that reached to their bedroom window. Devon watched anxiously as her friend climbed up, then crawled over to Devon's outstretched arms.
"Are you all right? Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"
Azalea's face was radiant. "That was wonderful. I'd forgotten what such excitement is like!"
"I'm so glad it was worthwhile for you!" Devon heard the brittle tone of her voice and flushed when Azalea stared at her in surprise. "It's fortunate that you didn't reinjure your ankle. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to nurse you back to health a second time!"
"Then we are both happy," Azalea remarked coolly. "If you are done being mean-spirited, I think you should get out of that bedgown and into some clothes. Jay brought me back to the farm to be sure I didn't fall again. He wants to see you."
"He does? Me?" A wave of elation washed over Devon, sweeping away all the lonely, bad feelings. "I wonder what he wants."
* * *
Jay stood in shadow, surrounded by hickory trees. As Devon approached, she could see that his disguise was intact, from tricorn hat and mask to his gloved hands and midnight-blue cape. Only the gleam of white teeth betrayed his mood.
"I am glad you could make it," he murmured in the husky voice she had tried to re-create in her daydreams. "I like the gown. I wish I could have helped you down from the roof."
"You are a wicked person." Devon smiled. She wanted to laugh out loud, to dance and clap her hands.
"That doesn't seem to bother you."
"I can see why you are so pleased with yourself, with both Azalea and me sneaking off into the woods to see you."
"Well, Azalea was serving her country." His grin was irreverent.
"And what am I doing?"
"Saying goodbye." One gloved hand caught hers and
Devon swayed as his fingers tightened. "I wanted to express my gratitude. You took risks for an important cause."
Devon flushed guiltily, knowing that she had only craved adventure. "Well..."
"Is there anything I can do for you? I won't be back again, but I will be going to Yorktown. Can I carry a message for you this time?"
Devon thought of Andre Raveneau, and hated herself for it. It was Morgan she was supposed to want! In the inky darkness she tried to read Jay's shadowed eyes. What was he thinking? "No," she said. "When the battle is over, I shall have to carry my own messages. But if you should happen to meet..."
"Yes?" His voice chilled.
"Never mind."
Slowly he drew her closer, looking down at her delicate, expressive face. His other hand reached out to smooth her shining curls. "You are an enchanting girl, Devon." Gently, he lifted her off the ground, kissing her mouth, tasting its hesitant, quavering response. Her arms went around his neck and she could feel the heavy wool of his cape through her thin bodice. It seemed that her heart would shatter, so frenzied was its pounding. Jay's steely arms held her prisoner, and she trembled with a thousand conflicting emotions, both physical and mental.
"I want you," he whispered, his breath harsh against her ear. "Can you give yourself to me? Or... is your heart with another man?"
His words broke the spell. Like a specter, Raveneau's chiseled, sardonic face filled her vision, and it seemed that his arms held her, rather than Jay's. It would be wrong, she thought. I cannot complicate things any further. I am betrothed to a boy and haunted by a man who has left my life forever. If I'd face up to it, I would admit that Jay is only a substitute for Raveneau.
Tears sparkled in her sapphire eyes. "I sometimes feel that I don't know myself any more," she whispered apologetically.
Jay inclined his dark head, waiting.
"I won't be able to face myself in the morning if I go with you. Please... I'm sorry, but you're right. My heart is with someone else."
"That is all I wanted to know." Jay's voice was strangely bitter. He released her and stepped back. "Good fortune to you, Devon. I hope your young man appreciates you." His gloved hand lifted hers and firm lips burned her soft palm. "Adieu, cherie."
Devon stood frozen amidst the hickory trees, watching as the Blue Jay's dark, broad-shouldered figure melted into the night. I'll never see him again, she thought, and felt tears sting her eyelids. Is it possible that he could have cared for me a little, or was that an act he has performed for dozens of girls before me? And why would he refer to my young man?
She mulled that over on her way back to the farmhouse, and even awoke Azalea to discuss the matter with her. The older girl scanned her face sleepily for a long, tense moment. "You've read too many novels, Devon," she said at last, her voice jaunty. "There's a simple explanation. I told Jay about Morgan, but I suppose he figured you were worth a try, anyway."
"Oh. I see."
"Jay never could resist a challenge." Azalea rolled over and pulled up the covers again.
"You make it sound as though you have known him so long! Do you know who Jay really is?"
"Perhaps," Azalea teased. "But I'd never tell you even if I did know. Let me go back to sleep. You just put him out of your mind, Devon. The Blue Jay is gone, and I don't think he will ever be back."
Chapter 12
***~~~***
Mid-October, 1781
A fortnight passed with agonizing slowness. Azalea and Devon found themselves starting at every noise, wondering how events were progressing at Yorktown. The town was only fifteen miles across the peninsula, and sometimes the two of them lay awake at night and made detailed plans to travel there on horseback, just to find out for themselves what was happening. They both knew this was an idle dream—neither wished to die for adventure's sake. There was no sign of either the first messenger or the Blue Jay. Devon hadn't expected a reappearance, but continued to hope for one during the long, tedious October days.
One morning in mid-October, Devon rose early and crept out for a solitary ride. After saddling the aging mare, she set off across the farm. It was cold and clear; the trees created bouquets of rust and gold, and the sight of them made Devon homesick for the brilliant autumns of Connecticut. The wind put roses in her cheeks and tangles in her curls, and she began to feel briefly like her old self again: free, impetuous, and confident.
As she approached the uncleared oak and chestnut trees on the farm's border, Devon made ready to turn the mare back. Suddenly she spied another horse emerging from the woods, the rider half slumped on its back. Devon called out and urged the mare forward. As they drew near, the man raised his head and she saw that it was Halsey Minter.
"Minter! What has happened to you?"
He was pale, his lips dry and cracked. "I was... wounded." He gestured weakly to the bandages under his coat. "I'll be fine—but the captain thought it best for me to come home."
"You look terrible. Come on, let's get you into bed." Devon desperately wanted to ask about Raveneau, but she swallowed her questions and led Halsey's horse back to the house.
The rest of the Minters were awake and eating breakfast, but even Jud interrupted his meal at the sight of his son, leaning against Devon in the doorway. The old man was on his feet before his wife could move. He almost carried Halsey upstairs to the large four-poster, where he quickly removed his boots and coat. When the boy was lying back against the pillow, Mrs. Minter undid his bandaged shoulder to inspect the wound.
"Nothing serious," Halsey protested. "It only needs to heal."
"Hmm. I'll admit it's been well cared for. ‘Tis clean."
"Captain Raveneau did it. When our ship's surgeon saw the wound, he said he couldn't have done neater work himself."
"A marvel of a man!" declared Jud, and his wife nodded agreement.
"’Tis not the first time he has come to our aid," she said.
Devon asked, "Where were you wounded—at Yorktown?"
"Yes. Damn, I'm thirsty."
His mother frowned at the vulgarity but brought him water, and after a few greedy swallows, Halsey continued. "The captain decided that we could do more fighting on land, since the sea battle was over. He left a skeleton crew on the Black Eagle to maintain the blockade, but the rest of us sailed for Yorktown in that same cutter you and I used, Devon."
"Andre, what about Andre?" Devon demanded, unable to stop the words.
But Halsey's eyes were drooping and Mrs. Minter shook her head, saying there was plenty of time to hear the rest of the story. He slept instantly.
Azalea and Devon, consumed by curiosity, spent the day pacing the floor, waiting for him to awaken. The aroma of glazed ham and corn bread filled the air by the time Halsey's brown eyes fluttered open. The girls rushed to his side.
"Mama's fixing your favorite supper," Azalea told him. "We've all helped. There's even apple pie."
He smiled. Devon watched him, full of real affection for this boy who had befriended her when she had felt so alone.
"It's so good to be home," he murmured. "Devon, how have you been getting along? Has it been a tedious month?"
"No, of course not. Everyone has been wonderful to me, and there's been a bit of excitement as well."
"Oh?"
"The Blue Jay has kept us busy," Azalea explained, raising first one eyebrow and then the other.
"You don't say!" Halsey exclaimed. "Was Devon involved, then?"
"I fell the first night out—stepped in a rut and twisted my ankle. Devon found me and carried on in my place."
"Well! How did you like playing spy, Devon?"
She had watched the brother-sister exchange with interest. There was something odd about the tone of their voices. "I rather enjoyed it. It was diverting," she replied carefully.
"And Jay?"
"So you know him, too?"
"By reputation," Halsey said hastily. "How did you find him?"
"Diverting," Devon repeated, striving to keep her voice disinterested. A tr
aitorous blush crept up her cheeks, prompting her to turn away and mumble something about helping Mrs. Minter with supper.
Halsey alternated between eating and sleeping through the evening, while revealing, piece by piece, the story of the Battle of Yorktown. It seemed that the siege was progressing well; there was no doubt of the outcome. The first shots had been fired on October ninth. The Americans and the French had bombarded the British works around Yorktown, working their way closer day by day, trench by trench. The night of October tenth, French gunners had sent red-hot balls into the harbor, firing the British ships, and during the next day nearly four thousand shots had fallen on the town and harbor.
The next two days had been spent storming two large British redoubts near Yorktown. Halsey fought with Alexander Hamilton and his detachment of four hundred Americans. Raveneau fought with the French, he said. He told Devon and his family how General Washington had delivered a simple speech of encouragement before the battle.
"It was dusk when we all gathered to hear him speak. I don't mind saying that I was frightened, particularly when they began passing out axes and bayonets. I thought that I'd grown used to fighting after so many sea battles, but this was different. The waiting was horrible. I looked around me while General Washington was urging us to be brave and wondered how many of those faces would be gone the next sunset."
"Nine of us died," he continued, "and I was one of the two dozen or so wounded. Those redcoats made it easy on us. They acted brave for only a moment or two, to save face, then ran like rabbits or gave themselves up. The entire conflict lasted a bare quarter-hour, and the French were nearly as quick with their mission."
Devon wanted to ask again about Raveneau, but Mrs. Minter, presenting Halsey with a piece of warm pie, saved her from that.
"And Andre? You say he fought with the French?"
"Yes." Halsey paused to savor his first bite of pie. "This is better than I remember, Mama. Let's see... Oh, yes, Captain Raveneau. Well, as I said earlier, he took care of my little bayonet wound. You all should know better than to ask after him. That man has more lives than a cat and more luck than any human. The longer I know him, the more tempted I am to believe that legend about him being the devil's son—"
Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) Page 14