Kiss of a Traitor

by Cat Lindler

  Willa bit her lip and sank into a chair beside the fireplace. She had hoped her pregnancy would remain hidden for a while longer. Marlene and Digby still posed a threat, though Digby had moved back to his quarters in Georgetown. The house now belonged to Willa, and she was disinclined to tolerate his constant presence. She sent him packing on the day after meeting with the solicitors. Should Digby or Marlene become aware of her pregnancy, it might be the final straw that would goad them into a hasty act.

  “Don’ you be worryin’ none,” Jwana said with a knowing look. “Dem polecats, dey don’ know not’in'. But you not gonna hide dat belly much longer.” She pulled out a rag from her apron pocket, moved to the dressing table, and swiped at the dust.

  “Indeed,” Willa conceded with a sigh, “and I fear they may try to harm the child once they know. They will see it as a threat to their gaining control of Papa’s money.”

  Jwana gestured with the rag. “Ain’t nobody hurtin’ you an’ Cap’ain Ford’s baby. Not while I still got breath.”

  Warmth seeped into Willa’s face at the mention of Brendan Ford. She drew up her legs into the chair, hugged them to her chest, and gazed into the flames on the hearth. She had refrained from dwelling on Brendan and the circumstances under which she last saw him. Yet he invaded her thoughts at the oddest times, causing her to lose track of time and place. And at night she tossed in her bed, bedeviled by the remembrance of his touch, her body heating as though he lay next to her. Was he alive? She would sense it in her soul were he not. She had heard nothing from Plato but expected this lack of communication. They were far away. In North Carolina. If truth be told, in her weakest moments she convinced herself they were not so very far—merely a two day’s ride. Were it not for the child beneath her heart, she would be tempted to jump on Cherokee and race to Brendan’s side. But another motive kept her from following that urge. Brendan had no earthly desire to see her again.

  “He be comin’ back,” Jwana said as she worked her way to the bed and straightened the covers.

  Willa blinked. “Who? Plato? Indeed, I expect he will return as soon as he is able.” After Brendan recovers or when he dies.

  Jwana shook her head. “No. Cap’ain Ford. He be comin’ back ta claim you an’ de li’l one.”

  A small laugh escaped Willa, more a sound of sorrow than one of humor. She slipped from the chair and moved to the window to look out on the winter garden. The camellias were losing their petals, which carpeted the ground like creamy snowflakes. “Captain Ford will not return to me. He despises me for betraying him to the British. However, I suspect he takes more offense from my audacity in attempting to catch Francis Marion. Captain Ford worships the Swamp Fox. The notion that I would carry out so horrific a scheme as to lay a trap for his hero is the one deed he will not forgive. By now I have resigned myself to my fate. I shall never again see Brendan Ford. And perhaps that is best for us both.”

  With Jwana home again and Digby restricted to the occasional visit, Willa pursued her next goal: to make amends to Emma Richardson and her family. She felt the loss of her friend most keenly when she needed a kind heart. She longed to discuss her growing child and the hopelessness of her relationship with Brendan. Though Jwana was a friend and confidant, the maid was nearly twenty years older than she. They had a strong and loving bond but poles apart from the one Willa had enjoyed with Emma for so many years. The two girls shared a common race, background, and upbringing.

  Willa began her campaign by sending messages around to the Richardson house and waiting impatiently for days, but she received no reply. She understood her task would prove more daunting than simply inviting Emma to tea. Still, she’d not considered her friend would completely ignore her pleas. With determination, she set her mind to how she could go about throwing herself into Emma’s path—not in public where others could witness their reunion, as strained as it might become … but in a private location.

  While living at Gray Oaks, Emma developed a passion for riding each morning at sunrise. Had her friend resumed her early rides after the move to Georgetown? With the Richardsons’ finances so reduced, Willa had no knowledge of whether the family even retained a saddle horse, but the possibility was worth exploring. She sought out Joshua, one of the stable boys, that very evening and sent him to Georgetown with instructions to watch the Richardsons’ town house and observe whether Miss Emma left to ride in the morning. If she did, Joshua had directions to follow Emma at a discreet distance, note her route and destination, and report back to Willa.

  The boy returned to Willowbend in a cloud of dust the following day at midmorning. He reported his news with a wide smile on his dark face. Emma had, indeed, ridden out on a hack at daybreak, guided it through the streets to a park at the edge of town, and galloped through the pathways for over an hour before returning home. Willa hugged Joshua and gave him a halfpenny for his effort. She received a toothy grin in return.

  Fog drifted through the park the next morning, curling over the frost-rimed grass and twining around the bare limbs of live oaks and sweet gums. Willa pulled down her wool hat to cover her ears and waited for Emma to appear.

  The fog parted, and a strawberry roan emerged from its cover as it cantered along the well-worn bridle path. Willa sucked in a breath and anticipated the moment when Emma would notice her. Her stomach twisted as tightly as her hands on the reins. She would refrain from chasing down her friend like a fox pursuing a rabbit and merely grant Emma the opportunity to confront her with only trees and winter birds as spectators. Should Emma choose not to do so, then Willa would know their friendship was truly over.

  Emma glanced to the side, as though sensing Willa’s presence, and pulled up on the reins, causing the roan to break its gait. Stopping twenty yards away, she seemed to hesitate. Then she kicked the hack in the flanks and headed straight for Willa.

  The roan drew up in front of Cherokee and slowed to a trot. White breath blew from its nostrils. Fog settled around its hooves. The pain and melancholy in Emma’s eyes wrenched Willa’s heart.

  “Hello, Willa,” Emma said softly, lowering her eyes to her gloved hands, which held the roan’s reins and rested on the saddle pommel. “I did not expect to encounter you here.”

  Willa’s heart slid into her throat. “I know you did not,” she replied, her voice catching. “I wished to speak with you. And since you declined to return my messages or receive me, I felt this was my only resort.”

  Emma lifted her head with a snap. Anger and bewilderment simmered in her expression. Her agitation transferred itself to the hack, and he shook his head. “What messages? What visits? I have heard naught from you since you used me in your plot to trap Francis Marion.”

  Willa’s eyes rounded, and she frowned. Urging Cherokee up beside Emma’s horse, she reached over, placed a hand atop Emma’s where they sat on the saddle rise, and searched her friend’s pale face. “I called on you several weeks ago, before my father’s death. Your butler sent me away. I wrote you three times and received no reply. Did you not know?”

  Emma gave Willa an odd look; her hands tightened under Willa’s palm. “Indeed not. I had no knowledge of your seeking to contact me. I suspect this is Richard’s doing. He began riding again with the patriot militia. You already know that, as I remember telling you during your last visit. He returned wounded last month. Richard was ever a reckless fool, taking unnecessary risks. While he resided with us, he maintained his friendship with the partisans. After you asked me to relay your message to General Marion and Captain Ford was captured as a result, Richard forbade me to have contact with you. We got into an exceedingly dreadful row over the subject. I informed him that should you call, he could not prevent me from seeing you. He must have turned right around and dispensed orders to the servants to refuse your visits. It appears he also intercepted my mail. I shall murder him.”

  Then a question formed on Emma’s face. “Was the message you wrote to General Marion truly a ruse to trap him? I fancied we were friends and told R
ichard you would not use me to betray the general. Pray declare what Richard said was untrue.”

  Willa slid her hand off Emma’s and gave a shake of her head. “What I tell you now may end our friendship forever. I cannot say what you long to hear. Richard is right. I did set a trap for General Marion. My only defense is that Major Digby forced me to do so. He threatened to have my father executed as a traitor and accuse your family of complicity unless I followed his instructions. He also informed me he had apprehended Brendan—”

  “Brendan?” Emma interrupted.

  Emma seemed to have no understanding that Aidan Sinclair and Captain Ford were the same man. Of course she did not. Willa had never revealed that information, and apparently neither had Emma’s brother. But Willa had no desire to enlighten her friend at this time. She glanced down as Cherokee sidled away from the other horse, and she stroked his neck to calm him. “I mean to say my betrothed,” she recanted. “Digby notified me he arrested Aidan for treason, and my compliance meant the difference between Aidan’s facing the hangman or being drawn and quartered.”

  Emma gasped and clutched her throat with a gloved hand. “That odious man! I can empathize with your dilemma. But how could Major Digby possibly believe Lord Montford was a traitor?”

  Willa bypassed Emma’s question for the moment. “I had no intention of carrying through with the trap that night. I instructed General Marion to meet me two hours before Digby was to arrive with the soldiers. My plan was to beg him to rescue Aidan.”

  Emma’s expression was rapt. “Whatever went wrong?”

  “As you can surmise, Captain Ford attended my request in Marion’s stead. His sudden and unexpected appearance nearly gave me heart seizure as I was under the impression he was in custody in Georgetown.”

  A frown gathered between Emma’s brows. “Why would you believe that? I thought the British apprehended Lord Montford. Now you have thoroughly muddled my mind.” She reinforced her confusion with a wave of her hand.

  Willa sent her friend a wry smile, only now grasping she had let slip the very subject she was trying to avoid. “I daresay your confusion is destined to increase, because what I tell you now is quite unbelievable. Please bear with me. Lord Aidan Sinclair died last fall in a skirmish. Captain Brendan Ford is Aidan’s half brother and a spy for General Marion. They have similar features, similar enough for Brendan to successfully assume the role of Major Sinclair in order to spy on Papa and Colonel Tarleton.”

  “You mean to tell me Captain Ford was the man courting you all along, not Baron Montford?” Emma’s words came out choked.

  Willa smiled faintly. “That appears to be the case.”

  “My, my,” Emma murmured. Her gaze drifted away. “This is, indeed, becoming complicated and rather more interesting by the moment.” A red squirrel darted between the legs of her mount, causing him to sidestep. She automatically adjusted her seat and stared straight ahead, unblinking. Willa could imagine her friend’s mind spinning. Emma came about with the question Willa dreaded but suspected was coming. “Then if Captain Ford arrived two hours earlier than Major Digby, how did he fall into the major’s trap?”

  Willa’s face heated like a woodstove, even in the cold air. “Well, you see, we became involved in a … a discussion that caused us to lose track of time … and when the umm … discourse concluded, we sort of … fell asleep.”

  Emma’s eyes grew as big as saucers. Her face took on the hue of sunset to match Willa’s. “You … you mean to say that you and Captain Ford …”

  “Indeed, we did,” Willa said flatly, sparing her friend additional embarrassment.

  Emma gave an exaggerated shiver as though shaking off the shock of her unmarried friend engaging in intimate relations with a man. Gathering her composure, she turned her smile on Willa. “Richard said a rebel spy escaped from the garrison. Now I comprehend he spoke of Captain Ford. Had you involvement in his escape, as well?”

  “I fear so.”

  A romantic sigh gusted from Emma, and a dreamy look settled on her face.

  Willa tapped Emma on the knee to gain her attention. “To beg Marion’s assistance in formulating an escape plan is the very reason I made an effort to call on you again. When your butler turned me off, I learned that my two servants had contacts with the partisans. Plato escorted me to Snow Island and, with General Marion and his brigade, we rescued Brendan.” She related the story of the escape, drawing peals of laughter from Emma at the description of her disguise. But Emma’s face paled at the report of Brendan’s torture. “Plato and Marion took him to North Carolina to recover,” Willa said in finishing her story. “I have heard nothing since, not even whether Brendan still lives. If he does, I die inside to imagine how very much he must hate me for this entire affair.”

  The fog burned off as sunshine spread across the bridle path. Blue jays and redbirds fluttered from tree to tree, paying their morning calls. Emma reached over to comfort Willa. “Surely Plato or the general told Captain Ford the truth as to why you were a party to Major Digby’s scheme,” she said softly. “Knowing the circumstances, he cannot help but forgive you for the role you played in his capture.”

  Willa forced a smile. “Be that as it may, I have little expectation of his forgiveness. He cursed me with his last breath before we carried him from his prison.” She shook her head and blew out an icy breath. “It matters not now. So long as he lives, I shall be content.”

  They talked for another hour, about the death of Willa’s father and the astonishing provisions of his will. About Marlene and Digby, Jwana and Plato. Willa still had not confessed her pregnancy to Emma when it came time to part. They embraced and promised to meet the following week in the same place, then rode off toward their respective homes.

  Chapter 31

  April soared in on the wings of millions of waterfowl descending in milky clouds on the swamps and creeks along the coast. Bright warblers garbed in spring feathers of yellow, orange, and blue flitted among green-budding oaks and willows. Birdsong rang through forests and orchards, attended by the ever-present honking of ducks and geese. Sweet odors of blooming dogwood, redbud, and crab apple beguiled the senses and led to the illusion that all was well and as peaceful in South Carolina as it had been for hundreds of years.

  April also ushered in the end of Willa’s secret. Her waistline blossomed along with the trees, and she could no longer disguise her burgeoning belly. The first time Marlene crossed Willa’s path and noticed her condition, the woman gasped. Her face blotchy with anger, her mouth opened and closed like a fish on a line. “Slut,” she hissed like a scalded cat as she surged forward and snatched at Willa’s hair. Willa caught her stepmother’s wrist in midair and squeezed it as hard as she could until Marlene winced with pain.

  “I should not toss about names,” Willa said tightly, “unless I were sure my own was not the same. And should you presume to touch me again, I shall remove your bedchamber to the cellars.”

  Marlene twisted about until she forced Willa to release her grip. “I shall not have a bastard in my house!” At that moment, Marlene appeared much older than her twenty-two years. Lines of strain creased her forehead and carved a furrow between her eyes. Her skin more resembled crepe than silk. Hate sat harshly on her delicate features.

  Willa folded her arms under her breasts, and her eyes burned into Marlene. “How fortunate for you. Then I daresay you consider it a blessing this is not your house.”

  Marlene stomped away with a flounce of her skirts and a shake of her blond head, her high heels racketing on the bare floor.

  Plato rode into Willowbend two days later on a balmy April breeze. His horse’s shuffling feet kicked up the scents of hay and molasses feed when he led it into the stable. Cracks between the wooden boards admitted sunshine threads, and dust motes by the millions spun in the light.

  From the stall where she curried Cherokee, Willa lifted her head at the disturbance in the outer aisle, peered over the side of the wooden boards, and saw Plato’s close-cr
opped cap of wiry hair. She dropped the brush and ran to him, throwing her arms about his tall body and hugging him. Raising her head, she gave him a questioning look.

  A smile split his face. “Cap’ain Ford be fine. Took a might’a nursin’ though. He be a mighty stubborn man. Had ta tie him ta de bed so he be restin’ an’ healin'. Gonna be some bad scars on his back an’ shoulders. He be itchin’ ta join up wid de Swamp Fox ‘gain when I left. Reckon he be wid de partisans by now.”

  A lump rose in her throat. She backed away, wrapped her arms around her waist, and gazed at the sawdust beneath her feet. Her heart rejoiced at Brendan’s recovery. Nonetheless, its core was heavy and scarred with the wounds of old hurts. She glanced up, fearing to ask the question but compelled to. “Did he send word for me?”

  Plato’s eyes riveted on her rounded belly. “No message,” he said in a slow drawl, “but I be seein’ he done lef’ you a present.”

  Heat crept into her face. “Indeed, he did.” She reached out and retrieved his mount’s reins. “Now hand over that horse. I shall care for it while you find Jwana. She has a great deal of news for you.”

  Plato’s eyes lit like candles. “She be back?”

  She threw a smile over her shoulder as she led the horse away. “Take yourself off. I know she wishes to see you as much as you want to see her, even should she pretend indifference.”

  Plato spun about and left the stable, an extra spring in his step. Willa heard him whistling a tune as he emerged into the spring day.

  April sunshine warmed his shoulders as Ford galloped out of the Great White Swamp to catch up with the general. Marion and eighty men had joined forces with Light Horse Harry Lee’s Legion at Black River to take Fort Watson. Harry Lee was a Continental army officer from Virginia with a superb education, polished manners, and well-trained men, yet he placed his legion under Marion’s command, and the two patriot commanders immediately made plans to besiege the fort. Fort Watson was a vital link in British communications from Charles Town, which lay sixty miles to the southeast. Situated on an Indian mound at the edge of Scott’s Lake, the fort was well protected from assault.