Startled, Sophia lifted her head at the gentleness of his voice, trying to decide if he were being sincere or merely pretending to be concerned. As usual, his bronze face appeared indifferent and his eyes showed no hint of emotion. Although it had been the longest and most unpleasant night of her life, she simply shrugged and mumbled, “It was of my own accord. I have no cause to complain of any grievances here.”
Morgan walked back to his desk and sipped at his tea while seeming to deliberate. “Well?” He turned at last and eyed her with a gaze that was as direct as it was intense.
Sophia stared at him confusedly, not sure of his meaning.
“Which one of these men do you believe is the culprit?”
Sophia took a deep breath as she pondered his question, realizing for the first time he had called his men in so she could scrutinize them—not the other way around as she had imagined.
“They treated me with obvious disdain—”
“I apologize,” he said, coming to his feet. “You must understand, they—”
Sophia held up her hand. “As well they should, believing I am a spy.”
The colonel sat down and remained silent, as if replaying the proceedings in his mind and assessing each man’s behavior.
“There was but one who treated me with courtesy and seemed sympathetic to my plight.”
Colonel Morgan burst out in laughter. “You cannot believe Captain Lawrence Tate is the traitor! A flirt perhaps—but a spy, never!”
Sophia shrugged. “I don’t understand how you can be so sure.”
“Because I am acquainted with him—that is how.” Morgan laughed again, and walked around to sit in his chair. “I’ve known him most of my life. He is like a brother to me. Absolutely incapable of such treachery.”
“But he is aware of your movements?”
He glanced up at her sharply. “Of course.”
Sophia should have held her tongue rather than elaborate when she beheld the intensity of Morgan’s gaze, but she did not. “You should not discard him so easily as the culprit,” she said. “The informant must be very close to you.”
Morgan stood and appeared to reach her in one stride, so quickly was he standing in front of her. “I would be more inclined to think you are a spy than Lawrence,” he said pointing a finger in her face. “I value his friendship and beg you not to be the cause for forfeiting it.”
Sophia took a step back at the sign of his hasty temper and the sheer physical force of the man. She stood perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to look away, and almost afraid to breathe.
Morgan let his breath out slowly as if to regain his composure and returned to his desk. “Be that as it may,” he said, staring at a pile of papers, “we now have the task of figuring out what to do with you. I’ve received no less than three communications from the British demanding your release.”
He turned to face her. “You seem to be held in quite high esteem by the Redcoats with whom you socialize.”
Sophia felt the color rising in her cheeks, but said nothing, though she had to bite her tongue to accomplish it.
Morgan began flipping through some papers. “Yes, this one is especially interesting... from a Major Briggs.” His flicked his gaze over the paper and then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Malcolm Briggs. A special acquaintance of yours?”
“I know him, yes.” Sophia stared straight ahead, unable and unwilling to look into his piercing, searching eyes.
“I see,” he said, expressively and with a hint of ridicule. “It says here he demands your release, or he will... let’s see now, yes, here it is—wipe every last dirty ragtag Rebel off the face of the earth.” He looked up with an inquisitive expression. “Quite elegant for an Englishman, don’t you think?”
Sophia turned toward the fire and warmed her hands so he could not see her expression and try to read something from it. “I suppose he fancies me a damsel in distress. Englishmen are like that, you know.”
When next Morgan spoke, he was standing directly behind her again, though she did not know how he accomplished it with such speed and stealth. “And what about Patriots?” His voice fell upon her ears soft and smooth. “Are we incapable of rescuing damsels in distress?”
Sophia turned around abruptly, and took a step back, even closer to the fire, due to his close proximity. “T-That’s not what I meant,” she stammered. When she looked up into his steady unnerving gaze, she could not conceive why this man had such an effect on her. Her presence seemed to be a matter of supreme indifference to him, yet here she was quaking beneath his scrutiny. “I meant that the British are adept at bluster—not necessarily action.”
“Oh, I see.” He smiled at her in a thoughtful, absorbed way—and she almost reached out for the back of a nearby chair to steady herself. The endearing, magnetic smile made his handsome face appear warm and comforting, no longer the restless warrior or intimidating officer he had resembled before.
But the smile did not last long. He took her arm and pulled her none too gently away from the fire. “You’ll catch ablaze standing that close.”
He walked back to his desk, sat, and became all business again. “I am sending you back through the lines under a flag of truce as requested by your...acquaintances.” He paused and looked up as he said the last word as if for added effect, then returned to writing. “I am making it clear we do not hold prisoners based on hearsay, unlike our enemy. It appears I have no other recourse since no evidence has been presented against you.”
“Very well.” Sophia turned to the fire once again to warm her hands.
“And there is one more thing.”
Sophia glanced over her shoulder and waited for him to finish. He had stopped writing and sat staring at her as if trying to read her very thoughts.
“The things you’ve seen here are not to be spoken of.” He leaned forward to emphasize his point. “Do you honor me with that request?”
Somewhat confused, Sophia shrugged. “But what shall I tell them?”
The colonel cocked his head and looked at her sharply. “About what?”
Sophia walked over to his desk, sat, and leaned toward him. “About your numbers, weapons, and fortifications. They will ask me, of course.”
Morgan’s eyes turned a brilliant blue as he studied her with outraged scrutiny. “What are you suggesting? That I provide you with false intelligence?”
“It would seem strange if I returned having seen nothing, would it not? Your men blindfolded me to bring me here through the swamp, but the walk to the cellar where I was held revealed—”
“Revealed what?” Morgan’s voice rose with anger. “What is the game you are playing?”
Sophia sat before him calm and indifferent. “I saw the condition of what horses you possess and the fitness of your men for duty.”
“And?” Morgan’s dark eyes turned from blue to the color of a depthless stormy sea.
“Both appeared capable and battle ready.” Sophia shrugged, though she was keenly aware of his intense appraisal. “So I would prefer that you tell me what you believe I should tell them.”
Morgan put his palms on his desk and stood, leaning forward as he did so. “What I think is that you've have gone too far.” He straightened up and turned away. “Never would I agree to place such a burden on the shoulders of one so young and inexperienced.”
He began to pace, his eyes on the floor as Sophia listened to the soft thud of his boots.
“They will be eager to hear what I have to say, and take value in whatever I give them.” She kept her voice calm as she tried to reason with him.
Morgan stopped and whirled around to face her. “I do not believe for an instant that you understand the danger of such an enterprise.” He started pacing again as if not expecting a reply, but when she remained silent, he erupted. “Did you hear me?”
“Certainly I heard you. Your voice is sufficiently distinct.” Sophia tried to meet his gaze, but could not stare long into his probing eyes. “To answer your quest
ion, I understand well the danger and the necessity.”
“Well, tell me,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her again and standing with his hands on his hips. “Just how much do you know about military affairs?”
This time she did not turn away. “Not so much as you perhaps, but not so little as you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have come a long way and at great peril to stand before you. Yet all I have done is nothing to the service I now have the power to render.”
“You cannot be suggesting what I think you are suggesting!” Morgan turned and strode to the fireplace where he leaned his hands on the mantel. Though tall in stature, he always seemed to move with dignity and ease. “This is not a game,” he said, staring into the flames as he leaned forward. “These men are cunning.”
“And you believe me incapable of such cunning?”
He sighed in exasperation, and looked over his shoulder at her. “That you are capable of cunning is becoming more apparent each minute, Miss Adair. It’s your judgment I question.”
Sophia shrugged and looked again out the window. “I see no harm. The opportunity to mislead is evident. I think you are overly cautious.”
Once again he turned his head to gaze at her, but this time he remained silent a moment. “If you think so, you little know me,” he said at last.
The voice that fell upon Sophia’s ears was solemn and serious. She watched a shadow cross his face before he turned back to the fireplace. Lifting his foot, he rolled one of the flaming logs which was tumbling forward back into the fire pit. His indifference to the danger was sufficiently surprising to her, but when the log broke under the weight of his boot still upon it, she took a startled step back.
Sophia knew she had misspoken about his cautiousness. She had often heard the British say that among the Patriots, there was not a single man of greater military grasp or one of more bold and audacious character. They talked of him as being a tireless, indomitable soldier, willing to take chances and always heedless of danger.
His reputation for never backing down from a fight was amplified by the evidence that he often went out of his way to seek one.
Sophia had to admire him for the simple reason that the enemy, composed of trained and experienced soldiers, viewed him as a dangerous and talented rival, mistaking his fearlessness for ferocity and his audacity for impudence.
“Just whom do you suppose they will blame when they discover your information is incorrect, Miss Adair?” His voice sounded angry, yet it was mixed with odd respect.
She scoffed at him. “Certainly they will think I was either naively mistaken or tricked by scheming Patriots. If you reveal none of your plans to your men, it is entirely possible the traitor in your ranks will corroborate anything I tell them.”
Morgan sat and tapped his fingers on the desk violently as he studied her. Every glance from his inscrutable eyes now seemed driven forth as if on a special mission. “You seem to have this all worked out.”
“I had a great deal of time to think about it last night,” she responded curtly.
Sophia watched his eyes cloud over with skepticism and doubt, but could not determine if it was she he distrusted, or his own opinion. “I cannot ask you to do this,” he finally said, shaking his head, leading her to believe it was the latter.
“You need not ask me,” Sophia said firmly. “Just let me.”
When he continued to stare at her with those deep, remorseless eyes, she began to expand on her plan. “What would the British do if I were to tell them it appeared you were preparing for a large move? And that I overheard someone mention an attack on the Tories at Woodsboro in a fortnight?”
He cocked his head as if analyzing her statement. “They would gather their forces and congregate at Woodsboro.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “But they have no large force near to congregate there save those in Gladstone guarding the supply warehouses.”
A slow smile began to spread across his face as he started to comprehend her strategy, but he quickly turned away. “So if I sent a small detachment to Woodsboro to lead them to believe your story was correct...”
“And the rest to Gladstone, you could overtake whatever small contingency they leave, and capture their stores and supplies.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if the entire enterprise would be no more complicated than an afternoon picnic. “I believe it is a risk worth taking.”
He turned back to her, but no hint of a smile remained. “I am in the habit of making my own decisions,” he said, his tone severe and unyielding. “And forgive me for not being gullible, but it all seems a little too easy—like a British trap. How do I know Gladstone is not being reinforced as we speak?”
“I do not know, Colonel Morgan.” Sophia threw her hands up in frustration. “You will just have to trust me.”
“Ah, yes, just trust you.” He studied her with a pensive stare, scrutinizing her so long she found it hard not to turn away.
But it was Colonel Morgan who finally lowered his searching gaze and turned his back. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”
Sophia tried not to let her breath escape with one long sigh of relief. “Why should you regret what you cannot control?”
He looked back over his shoulder briefly. “What I cannot control is exactly what I fear I will regret.”
She scanned his face as he spoke, but before she had time to analyze his answer, he changed the subject. “It will delay your leaving, of course.” His tone was a bit softer, though still formal, indicating he would brook no nonsense. “I need time to convey to my men that we will be moving on the Tories in Woodsboro.”
Sophia tried not to shiver at the thought of spending another night in the horrible cell.
Morgan continued talking as if he didn’t notice. “Since the men have agreed you’ve broken no laws, I will put you in a room at the Sully house.” He looked at her gravely. “Under guard, of course.”
Sophia nodded, grateful that he was gentleman enough not to make her endure another night in the cold cellar.
“Some of my men are quartered there,” he continued, “so it’s perfectly plausible you could overhear something.”
She blinked in surprise, realizing it was not so much her comfort that prompted his actions, but rather that there be concrete evidence she could overhear a conversation about his plans.
“On what shall you blame the delay of my return?”
He looked over at her at the interruption, as he appeared to be still deep in thought. “We are preparing for a major move, Miss Adair. I don’t have the time or the men to escort you back through the lines.”
He said the words in a serious tone, but she thought she saw him wink before he returned to his desk, picked up a quill and began writing, never pausing or looking up until he was finished with his thought. Sophia was amazed at how calm and self-assured he appeared, as if it did not bother him in the least that the decisions he made today and the actions he would take tomorrow, could affect the nation for years, if not generations, to come.
When he had completed his task he looked up, and for a moment his gaze lingered in a stare so steadfast, so devouring that, try as she did not to look, her eyes were drawn to his. She could almost see him trying to read her soul, and at long last he seemed satisfied with what he saw and turned away.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Adair, I need to go find someone to escort you to the Sully house.” He smiled, patting the paper on the desk twice with his hand before rising to leave.
By the time he got to the door, it seemed some doubts and trepidation had crept back into his mind. With his hand on the latch, he turned and gazed at her with his piercing eyes. “I’ll see that you keep you word, Miss Adair—or that you pay for breaking it. Do you understand?”
He did not wait for an answer, but swiftly exited, leaving Sophia standing bewildered and alone in the room. Curious about what he had written, she walked hesitantly over to his desk.
> “Will depart at dusk Monday next with the objective of making Woodsboro by midnight. Detachments will attack from the north and east, upon the preordained signal of each commanding officer. Troops are instructed to round up all known Tories, henceforth to be sent to the prison at Middletown. By His command and in His protection, and by His strength, not mine, may the gracious hand of Heaven preserve and keep us.”
Sophia smiled to herself. Despite his reservations and to diminish her risk, he had made sure she would not be lying. She could tell the British that Colonel Grant Morgan was going to attack Woodsboro—she had even seen his orders with her own two eyes.
Chapter 4
Danger and deliverance make their advances together, and it is only the last push that one or the other takes the lead.
— Thomas Paine, The Crises
Sophia walked down the stairs with one hand on the bannister, her head held high despite the pounding of her pulse in her temples. Her trip back from the American post had been arduous and exhausting, a jolting, bone-rattling ride over uneven terrain and rutted roads. After sleeping a day and half on her return to the Spangler house, she had finally roused herself and prepared for the inquisition she accepted as inevitable.
“Miss Adair, how lovely to see you—and how relieved we are at your return.”
Sophia beheld the concerned face of the British officer standing on the bottom stair, and the pounding in her temples began to resound in her throat. All she said was, “Major Briggs, you are here at an early hour,” as she watched him bow low with elaborate and taunting courtesy.
“I stayed the night, Miss Adair. You cannot think I would leave—with you in such a condition after such an ordeal.”
His words were deferential, but his eyes were not. They never were. Sophia felt her cheeks flush with anger, and then embarrassment, knowing the major would believe his advances caused the blush. She had disliked this man from the moment she’d met him, and not just because he was a British officer. Privilege and power—or the want of it—ruled his every move, far exceeding any evidence of good sense and character.
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