Morgan’s eyes drifted back to Sophia, and he stared at her for some seconds that seemed more like hours. “Does he speak the truth?” His tone turned low and grave. He looked and acted as if he had been struck with a bullet.
Briggs walked behind her and put his hand on her shoulder as if to remind her of his threat. Seeing no escape from the impending doom, Sophia nerved herself to the ordeal, but it took everything within her not to cringe or step away.
“Oh, I believe I’ve gone and spoiled the surprise.” Briggs squeezed her shoulder with a firm grasp. “Tell him, darling.”
Sophia could not bear to look into Colonel Morgan’s eyes and so she stared at the flame and nodded. After a silence that seemed to last an eternity, she murmured. “It is true.”
After saying the words, Sophia felt a finality that she was not ready to admit—or willing to accept. When she found the courage to look at Colonel Morgan again, he appeared speechless, seeming to doubt the evidence of his own eyes. Yet a strange gravity had settled upon his face, unlike any look she had ever seen.
Turning her attention back to the candle flame, Sophia stood in an agony of contending emotions. He was staring at her, she could tell. She felt her chin tremble, but she did not allow her eyes to waver or show any sign of the grief that consumed her. Wild thoughts ran through her head and a scream trembled on her lips, but he must never know what she did to set him free.
At last Colonel Morgan spoke. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said with cold and unemotional authority, “but there is some confusion. Was I not summoned here?” His tone was harsh, utterly unlike what she was accustomed to hearing.
Briggs stepped forward. “It is a wish that I granted my bride.” He turned his head to take in Sophia’s expression, and then turned back to Morgan. “I do not question her motives, but I believe she wished to tell you the news herself. I apologize for ruining her announcement.”
“I see.” Morgan eyed her noncommittally, but a flicker of pain crossed his face before he mastered it. “Then allow me to be the first to congratulate you.”
In the span of a heartbeat he had effortlessly regained control again, sounding so calm and unmoved that his words produced a twinge in her, not unlike hurt. Sophia had been willing to make this sacrifice because she esteemed this man, but it hit her like a violent wave that she also loved him. It had happened slowly, and yet inevitably, this yielding of her spirit to his. And now, to observe the aversion in his eyes as he gazed upon her was almost more than she could bear.
Sophia stood silently, staring at the dimly lit cobwebs hanging over the mantel, wondering if God would help her keep this horrible secret or if the pain in her heart would divest her of self-control and force her to divulge it all—though it would mean death to them both.
The feelings that had blossomed for Colonel Morgan during their dangerous interludes brought the most agony, because this lie and his acceptance of it could never be reconciled. The man who stared at her with such cold indifference, the voice that carried disdain in its tone of congratulation would reverberate in her heart and mind forever.
It now became so silent that one would have fancied the room was empty. Although she could feel tears rebelling insolently against her will, Sophia dared not shed them—not with the life at stake. In a few minutes it would all be over, if she could only keep her thoughts and desires concealed from him. She eased her gaze over to him, trying to memorize every line and feature of his strong face, even as he stared at her with cold, ice-blue eyes.
The sound of a horse and carriage arriving in front of the building interrupted her thoughts.
Briggs pulled out a timepiece, consulted it, and clapped his hands together. “Being a considerate and thoughtful groom, I’ve arranged a ride back to Kensington Hall for you.” He grinned maliciously. “I’ll walk you out.” He turned toward Morgan and nodded, terminating any further conversation. “Excuse us, please.”
Sophia felt dazed and somewhat unsteady as she pictured the final grains of sand trickle through the hourglass of her life. She was just about to turn and follow Briggs when Morgan stepped forward and took her hand, grasping it with more pressure than was either wise or polite.
"Did you think I’d rest content without a farewell?” His expression may have been carved from stone and his eyes were as inscrutable as ever, yet Sophia felt he was trying to tell her something.
Without warning Sophia noticed two British soldiers enter the room from a door behind Morgan. When she opened her mouth to say something, Briggs took her by the arm. “Shall we go?” It was posed politely as a question, but the firm hand told her otherwise. She tried to look over Morgan’s shoulder to see what was happening, but someone from within closed the door behind her.
Chapter 12
Nothing is so strong as gentleness: nothing so gentle as real strength.
— St. Francis de Sales
The man driving the carriage appeared to take no notice of Sophia, but nodded at Briggs as helped her into her seat. “Have a safe journey, my love. I'll see you soon.” Major Briggs smiled mockingly as he began to close the door, but Sophia stopped him. “You will not harm him,” she said as unemotionally as she could. “You gave your word you would release him.”
“Of course my dear.” The grin he shot her made her cringe. “He will be released once we are wed. Now hurry on to Kensington and prepare for me. I’ll be along shortly.”
He started to close the door, but she grabbed his hand. “You realize I am asking a polite favor,” she said, forcing a smile, “not making a demand.”
Briggs seemed surprised at her sudden kindness and patted her hand as if she were a child. “No need to worry, darling.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, the driver rapped the reins on the horses’ backs and they were off. Sophia sat back in the seat and closed her eyes, but could not relax. Never had twenty-four hours stretched out before her in a span that seemed so immeasurable and unending.
She would be married within a day to a man she despised. Her life would never be the same. And yet she could take some consolation in the fact that no matter what became of her, she had spared the life of Colonel Grant Morgan.
Sophia breathed slowly and not very deeply against the pressing ache in her chest. When her hand grew numb to the fingertips, she realized she was gripping the side of the carriage as it lurched over the rutty road. She heard the faint sound of a dog barking nearby, but it soon faded away, leaving nothing but the clatter of the horses as they trotted methodically down the rough and uneven road.
It seemed they had only just begun their journey when the carriage slowed down and then came to a complete stop. Knowing they could not possibly be at their destination, Sophia opened the door and saw the faint outline of people milling about. A murmuring of many voices, sounding to her like a beehive, arose from the darkness. Along a row of trees stood the dark shadows of dozens of men and horses.
“Why have we stopped?” she demanded of the driver.
“I’m resting the horses,” he answered gruffly.
Sophia’s heart dropped. “But we are not yet at Kensington Hall!” She sounded anxious and shrill even to her own ears. “We must keep going!” Her only thought was what the delay might mean for Colonel Morgan.
“I’m just following orders, miss.” The man seemed completely indifferent to her concern as he casually tied off the reins.
“Whose orders?” she screamed as pure terror and panic seized her.
“My orders, Miss Adair.”
Sophia whirled around and watched Colonel Morgan striding toward her with the calm, confident look of a steadfast soldier. Walking tall and erect with martial bearing, he had a monstrous-looking long rifle in each hand, a hatchet dangling from a belt on his waist, and a grim smile upon his face. She had never laid eyes upon a more physically imposing man, and found herself revering and fearing him in equal measure.
“My apologies for the lack of ceremony,” he said, stopping in front of her. �
�I’ve not had a lot of practice rescuing damsels in distress.” He paused and studied her a moment. “Remember?”
He seemed to be trying to make a joke about a conversation they had upon their first meeting, but Sophia stood trying to decide if she were asleep or awake, dead or alive. She looked back over her shoulder from where they had come, toward where she had last seen him, and then back again, thinking he would surely disappear in that space of time. Yet he still stood there, staring at her now with a look of impatient concern. “But how—”
“I took a shortcut,” he said matter-of-factly now. “I’ll explain later.”
The commanding attitude assumed by Morgan and the authoritative tone of his voice, did not fail in their effect on Sophia. She removed her gaze from him and began to take in her surroundings. A few candles cast a dim light from what appeared to be a small, stone church, but outside all was dark. Moonlight revealed only the dusky moving forms of men hard at work, their stern faces and rifle barrels gleaming eerily in the subdued light. From the corner of her eye she saw the driver of the carriage taking off the red coat he wore and dashing it to the ground as if it were repugnant to him.
“We’re going to make a stand here if they come.” Colonel Morgan’s voice fell again upon her ears, sounding as reassuring and calm as if he were telling her the menu for dinner. She stared incredulously as she beheld the potent aura of the man—a vibrant power that captivated her as much as overwhelmed her. It seemed that whether in repose or in action, his eyes were lit with fire, his bearing always personifying a man carried away by duty.
“If they come?” Sophia felt like she was in a trance, unable to speak or think, but merely repeat his words. How could he stand there so solitary and strong in the midst of all this chaos?
“When they come,” he said, correcting himself while gazing at her with a look of calm authority. He raised his eyes to stare musingly at the road behind her. “I fear we shall not long be idle here.”
“But... you can’t. I mean, they’re after me.” Sophia knew Morgan did not have enough men to defend against what the British could bring to fight him. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized he probably had very little time to regroup and certainly no place to hide. To advance was unthinkable, to attempt to retrace their steps without encountering their foe, impossible. Disaster was approaching, inevitably and soon.
Her gaze drifted back to the church, to the men hard at work fortifying their positions. They toiled steadily, and by no means leisurely, in preparation for what was to come. When she returned her attention to Morgan and studied his face, it seemed to say what words could not. There would be no quarter for either of them—or any of them. They wouldn’t be fighting to hold ground, but to survive. Safety lay in victory alone.
“They’ll have to walk over my dead body to touch you.” He no longer sounded jovial, yet neither did he sound troubled. He seemed calm and collected, as if facing death was nothing out of the ordinary for him.
She knew he had every reason to be exhausted, yet he did not appear conscious of the slightest need for rest. She recognized within him a steadiness, a shielding comfort, and the imposing force of command.
Something inside Sophia thumped violently, nearly choking her, as if a lighted match that had lain dormant in her heart had at last sparked something in her soul. It flickered and flared, leaving in its wake a reassuring feeling of peaceful certainty.
“Can you shoot one of these?” Morgan said in his next breath, holding up one of the guns. “Or load one? I’ll teach you.”
Such a question, following after such things as she had endured, was too much for Sophia’s nerves. Morgan took another step toward her, but his figure began to dissolve before her eyes, appearing like a vapor with no beginning and no end.
“Sophia, look at me,” he ordered, his voice no longer calm. She saw him drop the guns and reach for her, and was surprised and comforted by both his strength and speed. “Don’t—”
That was the last thing Sophia remembered before a huge wave of disbelief—and relief—washed over her and swept her away.
Chapter 13
The consciousness of having discharged that duty which we owe to our country is superior to all other considerations.
— George Washington
“She’s coming around now, Colonel.”
Sophia recognized the voice: it belonged to the man who had driven the carriage. Her mind began swirling again with images and scenes she could scarcely believe were real. Had she really been rescued from a fate worse than death? Been caught in strong arms before falling? Had it been mere minutes ago? Or days? She could not account for time or distinguish whether it was night or day. But she remembered hands that were blessedly gentle, and a voice that brought soothing relief.
“Open your eyes, Sophia.” She heard the voice again, commanding yet kind. The sound of it coming through the darkness reassured her somewhat, and with great effort, she obeyed the order.
Colonel Morgan’s figure loomed above her, a dark, shielding presence that cast a shadow over the pew on which she lay. His face began to come into focus as he knelt down beside her, a look of concern radiating from his eyes.
“Sophia,” is all he said, but her name on his lips, spoken so softly and tenderly, felt like a reverent caress.
Sophia studied his careworn countenance, at the worry reflected in his tightly knit brow, and then reached up and touched one of the black powder smudges that creased his face. “They came?”
“Yes, they came.” He seemed determined to appear strong, to put force in his voice, but exhaustion and concern somewhat impeded his words. “It’s... over.”
She closed her eyes tight for a moment. “Major Briggs?”
“He won’t bother you anymore.”
She asked him no questions for his face told her everything. As she took a deep breath of relief, her gaze came to rest on a blood-soaked rag tied around his arm. Her eyes darted back up to his. “You are wounded.”
Morgan glanced down at the bandage indifferently as if the injury had already been forgotten. “Only slightly.”
Sophia did not bother to offer the sympathy she knew he would detest, but wished she could read in his expression if the battle’s outcome had been decisive or unclear. He seemed always the same in victory or defeat—composed, self-assured, and stoic. She closed her eyes again, trying to account for the loss of time and to come to terms with all that had transpired. “What time is it?”
Morgan shrugged. “Around eight.”
Sophia blinked. “In the morning?”
“Yes, in the morning. The fight has been over for hours now.”
“And your men?” She raised her head and looked around. “How did they fare?”
Morgan’s jaw tightened. “They fought bravely, as always.” His eyes got that faraway look again. “Most are headed back to safer territory. The worst of the wounded have been taken to nearby homes.”
Sophia struggled to sit up when she realized she was probably the sole reason why he remained behind.
“You need to rest.”
Morgan’s voice touched her with its alarm, as he tried to stop her.
“I’m fine now. You need to get back to your men.”
“It can wait.” He seemed not to notice that her clothes were dirty and her hair a mess. He stared at her as if she were a china doll that was fragile and would break at the slightest movement.
“Please, Colonel Morgan. I am fine.”
A flash of pain crossed his face as he leaned still closer and studied her intently. With his face only inches from hers, Sophia noticed for the first time the raw agony in his eyes, the look of anguish and torment in his expression. Time seemed to stop, and all movement was suspended as she waited for him to speak.
“My name is Grant,” he said at last.
He said nothing more, but clasped her hand in a way that said what words could not. As he helped her sit upright, Sophia stole a look at his eyes, but could read nothing from the
m now. He revealed only a resolute, determined look, as if he were fighting to control himself, to deny the outward display of any weakness or feelings.
Sophia swallowed hard and gazed at him again. “I would like to know what happened... Grant.”
As he sat back in the pew and exhaled, Sophia sensed that he was drained from the weight of responsibility and was exhausted from the fight. Yet with his hand still in hers, she perceived a potent strength, a vibrant force flow into her.
“Very well.” He sounded indifferent and calm. “As you learned, I received a communication to meet you at a designated time and place.
“Yes,” Sophia said, earnestly. “And I received the same from you.”
Grant paused and looked down into her eyes. “Yes. Except I knew it was not from you.”
Sophia blinked in surprise. “Why? How?”
He smiled, his eyes glistening strangely in the morning light. “I told you to never write anything down, Sophia. I knew you wouldn’t.”
Sophia closed her eyes and nodded, thinking how plain and simple it all appeared now. Grant had planned for a grand deception, while she had done exactly what Briggs had intended, walking blindly into his trap. When she gazed back up at him, his expression spoke volumes even in its silence, implying that the topic need not be discussed.
“Go on,” she instructed.
“I arrived at the house at about the same time you did, but from the opposite direction. Briggs had posted four sentries outside so it was impossible to stop you.”
“I did not see them,” Sophia said almost to herself.
Grant looked at her with pitying tenderness. “My men took care of them while I crept up to the window to assess what was happening inside.”
“You heard my conversation with Briggs?” Sophia twisted in the pew so she could view his face more clearly.
“Yes, most of it.” Grant spoke now as if to the morning light, without looking at her directly. She might have expected him to gaze warmly into her eyes or at least press her hand a little harder, but he did neither. Sophia’s heart plummeted as she came to the conclusion that he perhaps thought her reckless instead of brave.
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