A soldier appeared out of the falling snow. “Major?” The soldier saluted, then held out his hand. “I was told to deliver this to you.”
Sebastian swore as he took the glove balanced on the soldier’s hand. He could not mistake the bright red stripe that was knit across the palm. Faith had made this.
“Who gave this to you?” he asked.
“A boy. He could not have been more than six years old. Face covered with freckles.”
That described Mistress Mertz’s youngest. No doubt, the older surviving Mertz son was mixed up with Rooke. He slapped the glove against his hand. When he heard a crackling sound, he turned the glove inside out. A small piece of paper fell into the snow. Picking it up, he cursed again.
“What is it?” Osborne asked.
“A note to tell me that if I do not surrender the new orders brought by Colonel Hepburn, Faith will be killed.”
“New orders?” Osborne’s eyes glittered in anticipation.
Gaylord smiled broadly. “To arrest Washington’s men, who are rumored to be near a town called Valley Forge.”
“Is that what you think we are ordered to do?” Sebastian asked.
“I heard that—and hanging Rooke—would be your orders.”
Sebastian gave his brother a smile as cool as his own. “You should know better than to heed rumors now.” Walking to where his horse waited, he said, “Wake these men up and get them ready. I shall be back within the hour.”
Riding hard back toward Sir Richard’s house, Sebastian hoped the other men would be as wrong about his orders as his brother. Instead of their marching on Washington’s encampment and bringing the traitors to justice, the battles ahead of them would be bloody and leave many dead in their wake.
He was surprised to discover Mistress Cromwell in Faith’s bedchamber. Helping her to sit, he looked across the room at the table.
“Don’t bother,” she murmured. “Your orders are not there.”
“But if Rooke has them—”
“He doesn’t.” She rubbed her forehead and winced. “I do not trust what I heard, because I am not certain how much I was awake and how much I was dreaming.”
“What do you think you heard?”
“Faith destroyed your orders.” Mistress Cromwell groaned, but waved aside his offer of something to drink. “We cannot be sure which ewers have the sleeping powder in them.”
“She destroyed them?”
“I believe that is what I heard Rooke screeching about. The man shouted loudly enough to wake even the drugged.” She gave him a weak smile. “But why do your orders matter? If you have captured him—”
“I haven’t.” He handed the note to her.
“Oh, no!” she choked out. “Sebastian, if you go, they will kill you.”
“If I don’t, Rooke will kill Faith.”
“There might be something else we can do. If you go to this barn, he will have nearly two dozen men waiting for you.”
“How do you know that?”
Instead of answering his question, she said, “You discovered the byre where Faith took supplies for Washington’s men.”
“You know of that?” He stared at Mistress Cromwell.
“Of you chancing upon the byre, or that Faith has been knitting gloves for her friends who fight with the patriots?”
“Patriots? You favor the rebels in this war?”
She put her hand on his arm. “Sebastian, this is no longer about who believes what about a war. This is about saving my daughter’s life and your life, as well. I tried to protect you by giving her sleeping powder to put in your wine tonight.”
“But she did not.”
“She worried it would make you ill as the herbs that sickened your men. Rooke gave her those. She would not risk killing you.” Mistress Cromwell looked toward the table. “Adrat! Rooke must have taken the powder. He may give it to Faith to keep her compliant.”
Sebastian swore. “If it makes her sicken—”
“Rooke isn’t interested in hurting her. If he had been, he could have slain her anytime before this. He wants to halt you and your men. If you go to the byre and …” She glanced toward the door as heavy footfalls paused there.
Sebastian rushed to assist Cromwell into the room. He had the same gray color Sebastian had seen on his men’s faces and on Mistress Cromwell’s.
Cromwell grumbled, “What has happened to everyone?”
“I don’t have time to explain.”
Mistress Cromwell said, “You must take the time, Sebastian. Faith is his daughter. He has the right to know.”
“But—”
“Please, Sebastian. He needs to know, because he may be able to help.”
He nodded. Mistress Cromwell was right. Cromwell knew this area and where any ambushes might be. But none of that would matter if Rooke became tired of waiting.
“It is clear he isn’t coming,” Muellers said as he pushed back from the door and dropped to the log beside it. He glared at the single lantern that barely pushed back the darkness. “By God’s teeth, it is cold, and the snow is coming down even faster. Why can’t we go home and wait there?”
“Maybe Kendrick married Cromwell’s daughter simply as a ruse to trick us,” said a man named Jones. He sat beside where Faith perched on the stool in the tumbledown byre. “He let you escape and is now bringing troops to arrest us all.”
Rooke swung his crutch at the man. “Be silent! He did not let me escape. He will come here for his pretty bride. He cannot be tired of her already, can he?” Pushing his face closer to Faith’s, he laughed.
Faith turned away as he tilted back the tankard he balanced on his crutch. His breath was sour with ale. Rooke had been drinking since they came to the byre—after he had arranged for a trap to be set in a barn by the creek where he had told Sebastian to meet them.
“Then why haven’t we gotten word that he has ridden into our trap?” asked Muellers.
“Because I know better than to ride into such a clumsy trap,” came the reply from the doorway.
“Sebastian!” Faith cried, then realized he was not alone.
“What are you doing here, Mistress Cromwell?” asked Rooke, pushing himself up to stand.
“Using my daughter as a hostage was not part of what I agreed to,” her mother replied. “You may have been unable to catch anything in your trap, but I was much more successful.”
Faith stared in disbelief when she saw that her mother held a gun pointed at Sebastian, whose hands were bound behind his back. Leaping up, she took one step before Muellers caught her and shoved her back onto the stool.
Rooke chuckled. Taking a deep drink, he said, “Mistress Cromwell, I should have guessed you would be a worthy ally.”
“She is a traitor twice over,” Sebastian replied with a vicious curse. “She will hang beside you, Rooke.”
“No,” moaned Faith. She doubted if anyone had heard, because Rooke ordered Muellers to go and get the others.
“They will enjoy seeing you die, redcoat,” he added, sneering.
“You have what you want,” her mother said. “Now release Faith.”
He took another drink. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he called, “Jones, go and get that rope from the wagon. It should be strong enough to hold this redcoat by the neck.”
Jones did not reply.
Rooke poked him with his crutch, and Jones toppled to the ground and did not move. His mug fell, sending ale streaming across the frozen earth. With a curse, Rooke spewed the ale that was in his mouth. He flung his mug at the wall.
“The sleeping potion!” he cried, glaring at Faith. “You put it in my ale!” He raised his hand.
Faith cowered, unable to lift her bound arms to protect herself. He did not strike her, and she stared at him. He seemed frozen like the trees in the ice storm. When she looked past him, she wondered if she had drunk the powder and was dreaming.
With a loop of rope over his wrist, Sebastian held a pistol against Rooke’s ear and said, “I hope yo
u do not mind that I set a trap of my own, Rooke.” In a low growl, he added, “Mistress Cromwell, help my wife.”
“Mistress Cromwell,” Rooke cried, trying to take a step to halt her, but wobbling on his crutch, “obey, and you will be hunted by every rebel for betraying us. If—”
He stiffened when Sebastian ordered, “Silence! Mistress Cromwell, I told you to help my wife get free.”
“Sebastian,” Faith said with a gasp, “there is no need to speak so to my mother.”
“Faith, say nothing,” Mother murmured as she untied Faith.
Throwing her arms around her mother, Faith heard a thump. She whirled to see Rooke on the floor.
Sebastian chuckled as he made the pistol disappear under his coat. “Do not look at me aghast, Faith. I did not do that to him. I suspect you did.”
With a soft sob, she ran and was enveloped by his arms. She delighted in kisses that she had feared she would never savor again.
She pulled back and said, “Sebastian, my mother—”
“Helped me rescue you, although it seems you might have managed on your own. When did you put the sleeping powder in Rooke’s ale?”
“I took the packet I was given to drug you, and I slipped it into his ale before they tied me up here.” She smiled quickly. “He left the bottle open while he was pouring for himself and the others. I put what had not spilled out into the ale. Sebastian, about my mother and—”
He looked past her. “Mistress Cromwell, I trust you will forgive me for being so concerned about my wife that I leave you here now.”
“I will see to Rooke.” Her mother smiled and put her hand on Faith’s cheek. “My dear child, do not look so startled. Sebastian, your father, and I all worked to save you.”
“Father? Where is he?”
“Trying to wake enough soldiers to go after the rebels.” Her mother laughed. “I suspect you will be safely home before he succeeds.” Looking past Faith, she added, “I believe you said a day’s head start, Sebastian.”
“One day.” He looked down at Rooke. “I will hang him when he is recaptured.”
“If.” Her mother laughed.
“When. I trust you will keep your vow not to be involved with the rebels any longer.”
“I will not change my opinions, but I will not do anything more that might endanger my family.” She touched Faith’s cheek again. “Nothing is more important than those we love.”
“I agree.” Taking Faith’s hand, Sebastian led her out into the snowy night.
“You are letting him go?” Faith asked, sure she was misunderstanding all of this.
“For now.”
“But if you were to bring him to your colonel, you would be as heroic as your father wishes you to be.”
Sebastian put his hands on either side of her face. “What good would that do if I was not your hero?”
“So you cannot resist being my hero?”
He smiled. “I cannot resist anything about you.” He claimed her lips, which she wanted to share with only him.
As her fingers sifted through his hair, which was damp with melted snow, she whispered, “Sebastian, I must speak the truth. I have not told you—”
“All you need to tell me is that you love me, sweet one.”
“And that I trust you with every secret in my soul.”
“I do not want your soul.” He tilted her face back and smiled. “I want your heart.”
“Only my heart?” She drew his hand to her breast. “Or do you want it, and what covers it?”
“You know I want you, sweet one. I love you. So tell me that you love me, too.”
“I do love you. Do you remember what you promised me when you asked me to be your wife?”
“That I would be faithfully yours. Will you be faithfully mine?”
“Forever.”
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2000 by Jo Ann Ferguson
Cover design by Neil Alexander Heacox
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0901-0
Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Faithfully Yours Page 20