Faithfully Yours

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Weeks ago, he could not have imagined hesitating to take such an assignment, which was sure to bring prestige and honors. Weeks ago, even if he had considered the idea that he might have a wife, he would have laughed at anyone who suggested he would want to remain with her rather than take this opportunity to prove to his father that his heir was worthy of the title.

  No longer.

  He had met enough of the rebels to learn that they were people of good conscience who believed they had no choice but to declare these colonies an independent state. Did Faith have any idea of the conversations he had listened to at roadside taverns where he sat, dressed in simple garb and drawing no attention to himself? He might not agree with these people, but he had to respect that, for most, the decision to side with the rebels had not been easily made.

  But far more important than any questions of politics and which side was more worthy in this war, he wanted to linger here while he savored the sweet surrender of his senses to the splendor of his wife’s touch. His name might protect her, or it might endanger her more than he could guess, but her touch intoxicated him like the finest brandy.

  He gently brushed her lips. She did not waken, but smiled at his touch. Aching for her arms around him, he whispered, “Forgive me, sweet one, for the sorrow I must bring you.”

  She murmured something in her sleep. He dared to believe that he heard his own name, but that he was in her dreams offered small comfort when he had to step out of their bed. Drawing on his breeches, he went to where a single candle burned on the deep sill of one of the windows overlooking the road leading to the house. He drew a sheaf of papers from his coat and opened them. Rereading did not change anything. His orders were simple and would take him far from Goshen for the rest of the winter.

  A rustle behind Sebastian warned that he had not been as surreptitious as he had believed. Rolling the pages closed again, he set them on the table. He heard Faith pull on her wrapper and come to where he sat by the window.

  Caressing his bare shoulder, she whispered, “What is wrong?” She bent and kissed his nape. “I thought you would wake me up with a kiss instead of with the sound of papers being undone.”

  He looked up at her, sure he had never seen anyone more beautiful than this redheaded woman who gazed at him with love. Her wrapper was closed with only a single button above the sash at her waist, and the curves of her body that thrilled him were visible, as shadows against the fabric. She cupped his cheek and smiled.

  With a groan of the desire that was roused by even a single touch, he pulled her down onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned her back against his chest. He knew he should say something, but he did not want to end this moment when only the hushed song of the wind creeping past the window broke the silence.

  “What is wrong?” she repeated.

  “Nothing I want to talk about now, sweet one, when you are in my arms.”

  “You are thinking of Rooke, aren’t you?”

  “Do not speak of him now. Not here.”

  “Yes, now and here! I thought you trusted me.”

  In an eye-blurring motion, he turned her to face him. “Do you trust me?”

  “More than I ever thought I could.”

  “That is not a yes, Faith.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chin. “Can’t we have this one night when the war is banished from our hearts and minds?”

  “I wish I could say yes.”

  Coming to her feet, she reached for his hands. “Then say yes and forget everything but that you and I are here together.”

  He stood and discovered that her mouth waited only a breath away. “How can I argue with both you and my heart, sweet one?”

  His hands were beneath her wrapper and upon her soft skin before she could answer. Her breath raced against his mouth as he claimed her lips. Edging her back toward the bed, he wondered if he could wait the few steps to get there or if he must make love to her here in the middle of the floor.

  Fists pounded on the door.

  “Go away,” he shouted, then captured her mouth again.

  The pounding got louder.

  Faith turned her head from his hungry kisses. “Sebastian, it must be important.”

  “Nothing is more important than you, sweet one.” He groaned as he reached for the sole button that was closed on her wrapper.

  “Major! I must speak with you, Major!” came the call from beyond the door.

  Sebastian’s curse rang through her head as he released her reluctantly. While he strode to the door, fury straightening his lips, she buttoned the front of her wrapper and made sure the sash was closed.

  “Why are you interrupting me on my wedding night?” Sebastian asked as he opened the door.

  Faith stared at the man, who clearly wished he could be anywhere but here. He was not one of Sebastian’s men, and she did not recognize him from the guests at the wedding. Who was he?

  “Sergeant Lindsey, sir,” the man said as if she had asked the question aloud. “I have come from the prison where the spy was being held. He is gone.”

  “Gone?” Sebastian repeated. “Impossible!”

  Lindsey shook his head. “The cell is empty.”

  “But his guards—”

  “Asleep.”

  “My brother was in charge tonight. He would not sleep on duty.”

  Sergeant Lindsey shuffled his feet against the rug. “He is asleep, too, sir. All of them. We couldn’t wake them.” He held out a bottle. “’Tis supposed to be no more than wine, sir, but there is powder in the bottom.”

  Faith gripped the footboard of the bed as Sebastian took the bottle, glanced at it, and set it on the dresser by the door. The woman in the byre had told her not to worry about the other soldiers tonight. Had Gaylord been tricked into taking the wine with the sleeping powder to the jail, or had he taken it willingly? Maybe the woman’s comrades had delivered it there. Whatever means had been used, the results had come to pass just as the rebels had hoped. The British soldiers had been senseless long enough for Tom Rooke to escape.

  Sending the sergeant to get his horse, Sebastian threw open a cupboard door and reached for his uniform coat. Although Faith bit her lip, some small sound must have emerged because he walked toward her as he pulled on his coat. He put his hands on her shoulders and whispered, “I must go and halt this.”

  “Let your men handle it.”

  “I am their leader. We must find these rebels and retrieve our prisoner.” His jaw was taut with fury.

  “No, Sebastian. If you chase the rebels through these hills they know so well, you could be killed.”

  “I wish I could believe that the fear in your eyes is all for me.”

  She closed her eyes. “I have told you that I love you, but you do not believe me.”

  “Nay, I believe that you love me.” He cupped her chin and tipped her face back. “I also believe that you do not trust me. You believe, even now, that I will set upon your innocent neighbors like a beast upon its prey.”

  Softly she said, “And I fear the ones who released Tom Rooke will be waiting in ambush for you.”

  “I know a trick or two.” He brushed her hair back and kissed her gently. “Tricks I have kept in reserve for a time like this.”

  “When you can become a hero?” She could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “This has nothing to do with being a hero. I must do what I swore to do when I assumed my duties.”

  “I know.” Arguing about this when he was riding off into the night was silly. “Please stay safe.”

  “I intend to. I want to come back and be in your arms again, sweet one.”

  This kiss was deep, but far too brief. When Sebastian released her and went out of the room, Faith blinked back tears. There should have been a way to keep him here, to keep him safe. Not even an attempted rescue of Tom Rooke would have been enough to wake him.

  Turning, slowly, she looked at her bag on the chair. She opened it and to
ok out the packet of powder. If she had put it in his wine, he would be sleeping now. He would be safe, but he would never have forgiven her for such perfidy. Nor could she have forgiven herself for tricking him. She loved the man he was—strong and handsome and honorable.

  She tossed the packet onto the table. When it struck some rolled papers, she picked them up. These were Sebastian’s orders—orders to execute Tom Rooke and orders that would determine where he and his men went next. If she knew what the British generals planned, she could … No, she would not spy against her husband. Her small part in helping the rebels had not been aimed at stopping the British army, but at stopping the suffering and dying.

  A knock on the door froze Faith where she was standing. She dropped the papers on the chest at the foot of the bed, then tossed her clothes on top of them. Going to the door, she swung it open.

  “Mother!”

  Mistress Cromwell rushed in, her cap askew and her eyes filled with dismay. “I wish you had heeded me, Faith.”

  “Heeded you about what?”

  “This.” Her mother picked up the packet from the table and sighed. “I had hoped you would comprehend that I was giving this to you for Sebastian’s own good.”

  “You gave this to me?” Her knees folded, and she sat on the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were the one in the byre?”

  “I was not certain you would be able to keep that truth to yourself. You have been torn apart by lying to your father. I have seen how you do not wish to be disrespectful to him, even though you cannot respect his beliefs when your friends are dying in this war.” She smiled sadly. “And, to be honest, I was sure you would guess as soon as your mind could focus on something other than your wedding. After all the many times I have told you and your sisters such silly stories in such silly voices, I had guessed you would recognize me.”

  “I never thought you would be there.”

  “I learned long ago that it is all right for a husband and a wife to not always agree.” Her mother yawned as she sat in a chair by the hearth. “You will learn, too.”

  “If possible.”

  “You must have faith, my daughter.” She smiled. “You were very young when your father fought against the French in western Pennsylvania, so you do not recall how many nights I waited alone, fearing that he would not return. But he did.”

  Faith sighed as her mother tossed the packet back onto the table. “I hope Sebastian will.”

  “You love him deeply.”

  “With all my heart.”

  “I saw the truth, Faith, soon after he arrived in our home. I knew you were falling in love with Sebastian. I was so pleased for you, but others saw your love for a British soldier very differently.”

  “They no longer trusted me?”

  Her mother’s laugh sounded tired. “My dear child, no one trusts anyone now. For you to remain loyal to the crown and still provide food and clothing to the rebels was becoming too dangerous for you. You had to choose one side or the other. The time was past when you could look upon making your gloves and stockings only as helping your neighbors.”

  “But you arranged for me to marry Sebastian when you were helping …” She pressed her lips closed. Her mother was right. She could not trust anyone now. Someone might be listening on the far side of the door.

  “He has told your father that he will not be in Goshen much longer. When he returns to Philadelphia, he will take you with him. There, you will be safe.” She put her hand over her mouth and yawned again. “Adrat! I think I danced too much at your wedding, Faith. I am exhausted.”

  Faith smiled gently. “You have been living a double life and preparing for my wedding. I think—Mother!” She jumped to her feet as her mother sagged in the chair.

  Mistress Cromwell slid from the chair to collapse on the carpet. Faith tried to prop her head up, but it was impossible. It lolled like a rag doll’s. Bending, she lifted her mother’s hand. The beat of her heart was slow, but it was even. She must have been drugged. But with which powder? The one she had given Faith to put in Sebastian’s wine, or the one that had made his men ill? Had her mother accidentally swallowed the powder? No, that made no sense. Someone had drugged her. Someone who did not trust her … or Faith.

  Leaning her mother back against the chair, Faith rushed across the room and tugged on the bellpull that would ring in the kitchen in the cellar. Someone in the kitchen might know of an antidote to whatever was causing her mother to sleep.

  The door opened.

  “Come quickly,” she cried. “Mother is—”

  “Just sleeping.”

  Hearing a familiar voice she had not expected, Faith spun around to stare at Tom Rooke. He was leaning on a crutch, but she did not look at that. Her gaze was riveted on the gun in the hand of the man standing behind him. That man was a stranger.

  “What are you doing here?” she gasped. “You should flee before the British find you again.”

  “It is my plan that the British do find me again. Otherwise, how will I obtain the information I need to give to General Washington?”

  “You are insane!”

  “No, I am sane.” The crutch thumped against the floor as he hobbled toward her. Why didn’t someone hear it and come?

  With a pulse of fear, Faith wondered if everyone else in the house was asleep.

  “Where is your husband?” He spat the word as if it were a curse.

  “Looking for you.”

  He scowled. “You were given herbs to make him sleep.”

  Raising her chin, she regarded him steadily. It was as if she had never seen before how pinched his mouth was—and how the greed for power glowed in his eyes. “This is my wedding night, Tom Rooke. Do you think I wished my husband to sleep that away?”

  Rooke shot a scowl at the other man, who chuckled. “Silence, Muellers. If she had done as she was instructed, this would be so much simpler.”

  “For you to kill Sebastian here?” She shook her head. “I would not have allowed you to do that.”

  “You?” He gestured with his head, and Muellers stepped forward to point the pistol at Faith. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  “I will not leave here and help you murder my husband.”

  Rooke growled, “You have the choice. Get dressed and come with us now, or—” He grabbed Muellers’s arm, aiming the gun at her mother. “I don’t want to have her killed—because she has been a good ally—but I will order her dead if you do not do as I tell you.”

  Faith swallowed. Hard. “All right,” she whispered. “I will do as you ask.”

  “Get dressed.”

  She reached for her clothes, which were lying on the chest. When her fingers touched the sheaf of papers hidden beside them, she pushed the pages beneath her stiff petticoat. She frowned again at Rooke as she took her clothes to a screen that was set not far from the hearth.

  “Hurry,” Rooke snarled when she disappeared behind it.

  Faith wanted to tell him that she would hurry—she would hurry to get rid of the orders Colonel Hepburn had brought to Sebastian. Her mother had been wrong. Faith could not change her need to protect those she loved from the war. She must protect Sebastian now.

  Crinkling her starched petticoat with one hand, she tossed the pages onto the near corner of the fire, which the men could not see from where they stood. She hooked her gown into place and tossed her cloak over her shoulders. Buttoning it, she stepped out from behind the screen.

  “What are you doing?” Faith cried, although she knew what Rooke’s companion was looking for as he opened drawers and doors and pulled out everything in them.

  “Where did your husband put his orders?” Rooke demanded.

  “The last time I saw him with them was when his colonel gave them to him downstairs.” She was surprised that was the truth.

  Muellers cursed.

  “Where are they?” Rooke shrieked.

  Faith recoiled, backing into the table. As everything on it scattered around her, she replied,
“I told you the truth. Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “Because you are lying.” Muellers held out a piece of paper that was charred on the edge. As Faith gasped, he said, “The rest of them are too blackened to read, but this page has the colonel’s signature on it. She must have destroyed Kendrick’s orders.”

  Rooke motioned with his head again, and Muellers seized her arm. “No matter,” Rooke said with a sudden smile. “Major Kendrick will tell us himself what his orders are when he comes for you, Faith, and you will have done your duty by luring him into a trap.”

  “I will not help you.” She grasped the edge of the table and tried to pull away, but halted when Muellers jabbed her side with his pistol. “Don’t ask me to help you. He is my husband.”

  “Not much longer.” He laughed. “You can thank me later for making you a widow.”

  Eighteen

  “Did you at least note in which direction they went?”

  Sebastian listened to Osborne interrogating the guards who had been watching over Rooke. Coming to his feet from where his brother was still groggy and fighting sleep in the snow, Sebastian said, “It does not matter how many times you ask that question, Osborne. They have told you in every possible way that they saw nothing.” He picked up a pewter mug and sniffed it. “I would say they were unable to take note of anything once they were drugged.”

  Weaving as he struggled to keep from falling, Osborne said, “The rebels must have done this.”

  “I think that is obvious.”

  Gaylord pushed himself to his feet. “Give us a chance to make our brains work again, Sebastian. If you had swallowed this potion …” His eyes narrowed. “Why were you excluded? I can think of no reason but that your wife is mixed up in this.”

  “Do not accuse Faith unless you have proof.” When his brother started to remonstrate with him, Sebastian went on. “We will have time later to find out how this was done so effectively. Now, we have to find Rooke and stop him and his allies from doing whatever they have planned.”