by Cat Lindler
Aidan smoothed his palms up the sides of Willa’s legs and gathered up the lawn night rail. She sat astride him in the chair, legs draped over his thighs, arms clutching him, face hidden in the crook of his neck. His heartbeat, so strong against her own, set the pace, like a drummer keeping time. When the tempo of the beat increased, Willa’s heart matched it. Not following behind like a servant, but stepping alongside … like a partner.
He moved his hand around to dip between her nether lips. “You make me insane, wildcat,” he whispered. When her honey flowed and coated his fingers, a gravelly noise came from the back of his throat, and he brought up his other hand to catch roughly in her hair.
Willa soared, and blood sang in her veins.
As he spread apart his legs, he widened her. She was open, wet, and hot. A red tide of need engulfed her, and a greedy ripple stirred her vagina. His manhood was bold and hard beneath her. When she pushed down and rocked her hips, he caught his breath with a gasp.
“Any more of that and you’ll be obliged to mop me up off the floor,” he panted as he slid her backward onto his knees to release the buttoned placket of his breeches.
His shaft sprang free, large and erect. She allowed her eyes to dwell on it, and it grew. Its length lay against her belly, hot against her skin, its blunt head as red as the coals in the fireplace. Her tongue stole out to touch her upper lip as she clasped the organ’s breadth between her hands and squeezed. With a stifled shout, Aidan dropped his head back to rest on the top of the chair. Dark lashes swept down and veiled his eyes. Muscles in his throat strained, and he dug his fingers into the flesh of her hips.
She stroked up and down his velvet flesh, marveling at its combination of strength and softness. A pearl of wetness seeped from the cleft head and captivated her. Willa scooted farther back, dipped her head, and flicked up the salty-tasting drop with a glide of her tongue.
Aidan jerked his head forward. His eyes opened and raked her with a look that sent wanting lapping through her, set her thighs to quivering. Moving his hands up to settle around her waist, he lifted her and brought her forward. When she gazed into his eyes, they were fiery mercury pools that poured their heat into her skin. Then he lowered her, one inch at a time.
She trembled when his blunt hardness pierced and separated her. Her damp, dissolving center took him in eagerly, beckoned him with the silken essence of her desire. She accepted his length until he nudged up against her womb. Now he was deeper than she had thought possible, his girth stretching her passage with exquisite fullness.
When Aidan could plumb her depths no deeper, he rocked her toward him and scraped her sensitive bud against the hardness of his pubic bone. The breath left her in a rush, and a shiver careened up her spine. As he flexed his hips in short, deep thrusts, she liquefied around him. Her limbs quaked at the drag against her flesh and the pressure in her body’s core.
Willa leaned back, locked her elbows, and braced her hands on his knees. Her hair, now grown to her shoulders, tangled in his fingers when he cupped one hand against her spine. The fingertips of his other hand pressed downward on her mound so his shaft bumped up against the roof of her passage. Convulsions seized her sheath, and she swallowed her cries as she flung her arms outward, balanced on his lap only by virtue of his hand at her back and the impalement of his phallus. Spinning out into space, she sailed through the stars to that place where pleasure was all and pain nonexistent. Where her father was whole and healthy. Where war was only a word and not a reality. Where Aidan loved her.
Aidan tugged her forward, then got to his feet and wrapped her legs around his waist as he supported her bottom in his hands. He carried her to the bedchamber wall, backed her against the flat surface, and began to drive hard. His breath bathed her in moist heat. Willa tightened her legs and clenched the muscles of her canal. When he flexed his hips to pump harder, faster, deeper, she vowed she could taste him in her throat. Fire curled deep inside her again. With a loud groan, his essence poured into her, pulsing and white-hot. She throbbed around him and buried her teeth in his shoulder to keep from screaming. The world burst asunder in an explosion of multicolored light. Then nothing other than warm, melting darkness.
When Willa came to, she lay on her side in bed, Aidan behind and hot and heavy inside her. One of his arms lay across her waist, and his hand fondled her breast. The other was beneath her. His palm cradled her stomach and moved her hips against his urgent thrusting. She picked up the motion, and he grunted when she took over the rhythm. The sac of his stones slapped against her skin with each driving plunge. When the fire kindled and erupted into flames, Willa clamped down and rushed along with Aidan to paradise.
At the persistent knocking on the door, Willa bolted upright and tossed the bedcovers off and onto the floor. She pushed her hair out of her face and swiveled about to look at the space beside her. Aidan was gone. A creamy, winter-blooming camellia lay on the pillow in his place. Cupping it in her hand, she inhaled its spicy scent and turned her attention to the rest of the room. His clothes were missing and, along with the camellia’s fragrance, another odor lingered. A deep breath revealed the musk of their lovemaking.
The flower tumbled from her fingers. She flew from the bed to throw open the balcony doors and let in a blast of cold air. Bumps arose on her skin as she shivered. Only then did she realize she was as naked as a hatchling catbird.
“Miss Willa,” Jwana called out from the other side of the oak portal. “Yur door be locked.”
“I shall be right there,” Willa replied. She cast desperately around for her night rail and robe and spied them thrown across a chair by the fire. The chair. Her goose pimples fled in an inferno of heat. She rushed over to pull on her gown and slide into her robe, then checked the bed. It looked like a summer tornado had ripped through it. She snatched up the covers and threw them across the chaos of the wrinkled sheets.
At last Willa felt comfortable in walking to the door and unlocking it. Jwana bustled in with fresh linens over her arms. “God in his glory, girl,” she spouted as she flounced by with her skirts swishing. “It be cold’s a grave in here.” She deposited the linens on the chair, stalked to the balcony doors, and pushed them closed with a firm click. As she came about with her hands on her hips, her keen eyes scanned the room. When her nostrils quivered, Willa’s stomach plummeted.
Jwana sent her a hard look. “I knows what you been up ta, an’ I pray it ain’t dat son-of-a-dog Major Digby.”
Heat rose to her hairline. “Never; ‘tis Aidan.”
Jwana raised her arms and eyes to heaven. “Thank God Almighty,” she said fervently. Then lines appeared on her face. “You ain’t wid child, is you?”
Willa shook her head as she sat on the bench at her dressing table to run a brush through her tangled hair. “No. And this has no bearing on my marrying Lord Montford.”
Jwana wrestled the brush out of Willa’s hand and took over the task, her strokes firm and even. Their eyes met in the mirror. “You keep messin’ ‘round, an’ you be carryin’ his child ‘fore long. Den, want or not, you be marryin’ him. An’ I be guessin’ you ain’t bein’ too unhappy if’n you do. Since he be sharin’ yur bed, I figure you done foun’ somethin’ worthwhile hidden ‘neath all dem fancy clothes.” She winked at Willa’s reflection and put her to the blush again.
Jwana placed the brush on the vanity to walk off and about the room, stripping off the soiled sheets, bundling them into a ball, and tucking them beneath her arm. She held the camellia out in one hand. “I be puttin’ dis in water, an’ I s’pose you be needin’ a bath. Soon’s dis room be airin’ out a bit, I be sendin’ fer de tub.” The balcony doors opened again to her touch.
“Jwana.” Willa twisted around on the vanity bench. “After my bath, I wish to speak with you.”
Jwana paused at the door and turned. Her brows rose. “Sure, honey. Want me ta sen’ fer Plato an’ Quinn?”
“No. Just you, I suppose.”
Jwana gave a nod and left the room.<
br />
Was she with child? She really did not know. Her last monthly was three weeks ago. Aidan had made love to her many times since then … including last night. She supposed she could be increasing. But the specter of pregnancy had no effect on her resolve. She had told her father she would not marry without mutual love. Nothing had happened to change her position.
Once Willa bathed and Jwana returned to help her dress, they settled into chairs before the fire. Jwana crossed her legs at the ankles and rested her elbows on the chair arms. “Wot you be needin’ from me, chil'?”
Willa shuttered her gaze with a sweep of her lashes and picked at the piping on the upholstered chair arm. She pondered how to begin … or even if she should. Would her telling her secrets to Jwana endanger Aidan’s life? “Merely some advice,” she replied and looked up at Jwana. The kind expression on the maid’s face reassured her. She trusted Jwana to keep their confidences.
Jwana chuckled. “Got plenty a’dat. Jes’ ask away.”
“The story is rather tangled,” Willa began. “I encountered Lord Montford while I was searching for the Swamp Fox’s secret camp. He captured me in Sockee Swamp, bound me, and took me to Francis Marion.”
Jwana leaned forward, and her fingers dug into the chair arms. “You be knowin’ where dat rebel has his camp?”
At the strained quality in Jwana’s voice, Willa wondered whether this was a mistake. “No. Not at all. I was blindfolded on the way there and again when we left.”
Jwana remained tense. “What Lord Mon’ford doin’ at de rebel camp? You reckon he be workin’ wid dem rebels?”
“Yes … no.” Willa sighed and frowned. “There lies the crux of my dilemma. Lord Montford insists he has orders from Lord Cornwallis to infiltrate Marion’s band and spy on them. The rebels call him Captain Brendan Ford and believe him to be a farmer from Virginia. He said General Marion charged him with the task of spying on the British as Major Aidan Sinclair. So were I to accept his words as truth, he is a loyal British officer spying on the rebels while posing as a loyal Militia officer spying on the British.” She gave Jwana a wistful smile. “You see what I mean by tangled.”
“Yeah, I see. You believe him?” Jwana asked as she relaxed back against the seat.
Willa shook her head slowly. “I wish I knew. I yearn to believe him. However, some part of his explanation does not ring true. I find his account too complicated by half.”
“You love him?”
Willa laughed softly. “Oh, Jwana, I honestly have no idea. I’m terrified to admit I do. Is that so horrible? Should he be spying for the King, he is a patriot. If he is Marion’s agent, then he is a traitor. And he has no love for me. He said he would marry me only should I become with child, to satisfy his duty and salve his honor. I find myself heartily sick with men’s honor and this incessant war.”
Willa drew up her legs, hugged her knees, and dropped her chin onto them. “As I crossed the state, I saw actions that revolted me. I watched Tarleton’s troops ravish and flog Emma’s mother. I spoke with women and children who were burned out of their homes and left with no food or shelter and winter coming on. Their husbands, innocent men who took no side in this war, hung from tree limbs in their front yards. I know a small number of rebels have perpetrated despicable acts but not to the extent I observed or with such brutality as our own brave troops. And to all accounts, the rebel deeds are aimed at soldiers, not women and children. Marion’s men are fighting for their freedom. We are fighting merely for conquest and subjugation. I have to admit I begin to question our motives in this colony.”
Jwana spread her lips in a gentle smile. “Ever’one has ta make up his own mind on wot be right an’ wot be wrong. When we stan’ in front’a de Pearly Gates, we be accountable ta God fer our actions while we was alive.” She reached over and laid a brown hand on Willa’s knee. “In war, no side be better dan ‘nother. God says killin’ be wrong. But we’s stubborn an’ willful, ‘specially our menfolk. All we women kin do’s seek shelter an’ patch up dey wounds.” She took a deep breath. “Now wot advice kin I be givin’ you?”
Willa searched Jwana’s wise brown eyes. “Should I trust him?”
“Wid wot he tells you or wid yur heart?”
She sighed. “Both, either …”
Jwana withdrew and stood up. “I once tol’ you I thought dat fancy man be more’n looks an’ you might uncover somethin’ un’spected if’n you dug deep ‘nough. I kin tell you jes’ one thing. Follow yur heart. Ain’t a easy road, full’a pain an’ hardship, but when you reaches de end, I ‘spec’ you gonna fin’ yur heart ain’t led you ‘stray.”
As Jwana quietly departed, Willa sat in the chair and stared into the fire. The logs settled and popped, sending up new flames. She chewed on her lower lip and turned Jwana’s words over in her head. Follow her heart? How could she do that when she was incapable of deciphering the message from that fickle organ? Save for her obsession with Marion’s capture, she considered herself a practical woman. Her head invariably ruled her heart. Except for now, when her common sense warred with the softness she had discovered inside herself. Could she believe that, should she allow herself to love Aidan, he would someday return that love? And if he was a traitor, had he merely been using her to get close to her father? Were his smooth words and melting eyes simply a ploy?
Jwana stepped into the hallway and closed the door. A noise drew her eyes. She looked up in time to see a bronze skirt hem disappear around the hallway corner. “Lord’a mercy,” she said on an exhaled breath.
Plato charged out of the stables ten minutes later on Colonel Bellingham’s best chestnut stallion. His whip worked furiously as he turned the horse toward Georgetown.
An hour after Plato’s departure, a man in the crimson uniform of the British cavalry rode out the same drive and headed for Cornwallis’s camp.
Chapter 24
With leadership slack and disorganized at the Georgetown garrison, Ford left town to trek out to Snow Island, where he planned to pay his respects to Dancer and report to the general. No one in Georgetown, the garrison commander least of all, monitored the officers’ activities. That being the case, Ford came and went as he pleased without explanation.
Marion had sent him a message that Lieutenant Colonel Henry Lee, known as Light Horse Harry Lee, had joined the brigade, and the two were organizing another raid on Georgetown.
The port city continued to bedevil Marion. In spite of his victories, his hometown remained under British rule. Ford had passed on intelligence that the commander habitually maintained the town’s security in a slipshod manner, and Marion and Lee should meet with little or no resistance in a surprise attack. The fort itself fell into a different category. Ford had written of his concern for the militia’s lack of battering rams and scaling ladders and expressed his reservations regarding Marion’s ability to take the fort without the proper siege equipment.
But Ford’s warning fell on deaf ears. Marion’s mind set on liberating Georgetown, he went forward with the attack. He soon discovered the captain’s words of caution to be based on fact. Marion and Lee withdrew and continued raiding along the Santee until Lee received orders to join General Greene’s troops at Kingstree. Marion dismissed all but the core of his militia and made plans to return to Snow Island to await further orders from Greene.
When Marion arrived at the island, he sought out Ford, who was plying a brush on the black hide of his horse. He approached the captain with a determined step in his stride and a scowl on his face.
Ford heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder. What he saw in Marion’s expression twisted his gut. He patted Dancer on the flank, came about, and saluted.
“We must talk,” Marion said.
Ford raised a brow. “Here?”
Marion gestured toward his lean-to. “I believe it would be best if we discussed this in private.”
Ford followed Marion into the lean-to and stood at attention while the general took a seat behind his battered desk. Marion mo
tioned to a wooden armchair his men had confiscated from the island’s manor house. “Please, Captain, be at your ease.”
Ford relaxed as he sank into the chair. “How did you fare in Georgetown?”
Marion doffed his hat, shook the mud from it, and reached for a flask on the desk. He uncapped it and poured a measure of vinegar water into two glasses, then extended an arm and passed one to Ford, who set the distasteful concoction aside. The general drank vinegar water on a daily basis, but Ford had never acquired a taste for it.
“'Twas as you counseled,” Marion said. “The fort is too secure to take without siege equipment. I dared not storm it and risk my men in a useless effort. I have so few as it is, and the Grand Army promised me is not yet in sight.” A smile crept across his features. “We did manage to surprise Colonel Campbell, your garrison commander, still in his bedclothes. Alas, I was forced to parole him as I have no adequate accommodations for prisoners of his rank. Detaining him would bring Cornwallis’s full army down upon us.”
“You will find another chance to rescue Georgetown,” Ford replied. “I can feel it in my bones. The redcoats are at their wits’ end and will soon take their last gasp, preferably one full of the saltwater in Charles Town Harbor.”
Marion shook his head as he sipped from his glass and wrinkled his nose at the strong taste. “Not yet, Captain, not yet. We still face heavy fighting. Though I’m convinced we shall prevail, I fear we shall lose many more brave men before this war is finished. But a fox, as Cornwallis has learned, is more dangerous and desperate when cornered.”