Scarlet RIbbons

by Judith E. French

  "I told you it wouldn't be easy," Sarah reminded him. "Isaac's received a lot of English gold to build and maintain this fort."

  "Aye, and some of that gold has gone to silence the local farmers. We've been looking for this place for a long time."

  "You didn't ask the right person," Sarah said. "I've known where it is for two years."

  "I did ask you, if I remember right," he reminded her, "but you wouldn't tell me." He reached out and touched her cheek with his thumb, tracing an invisible line to the corner of her lower lip. "God, but you're beautiful, woman," he whispered.

  A rill of fire ran through her at his touch. How could he think her beautiful here in the rain? She was wet, cold, and miserable. Forest leaned closer until she could feel his breath on her face. Her heartbeat quickened. "I didn't want you to get your head blown off," she managed to say between chattering teeth.

  "And now?"

  Now? Now she was scared to death . . . not for herself, but for Forest. What if she lost him? She forced a shrug, denying her fear, and fumbled for a light answer. "Maybe we'll both get our heads blown off."

  William Comegys, the young Delaware lieutenant, crept close to them. "Four more Tories approaching from the north," he whispered. He lowered his musket and leaned it against the cedar tree, taking care to keep the barrel covered with a piece of canvas. "Nice weather ye brought us into, ma'am," he said wryly. He uncorked a canteen and passed it to Sarah.

  She sniffed the contents and took a swig of the clear corn whiskey. The fiery liquid burned a trail down her throat, warming her insides. She took a deep breath, nodded thanks, and handed the canteen to Forest. "This is Kent County, Delaware, isn't it?" she asked the lieutenant.

  "Near as I can figure, ma'am."

  "Then it's your weather, sir. The sun's shining at home in Maryland."

  The lieutenant grinned at her joke. "If you say so, ma'am. Who am I to argue with a lady?" He took the canteen back from Forest and drank deeply. "Fine stuff, isn't it? My grandsir says there's nothin' like it for a cold winter evening."

  "My compliments to your grandfather if he made it," Forest said. "It's prime. Two months old, if it's a day." He stared back at the fort. "I'd feel better if I knew for certain Isaac Turner was in there. If he's not, and he rides in after we start this frolic, we could be in a lot of trouble—fast."

  Sarah pulled her sodden cloak closer around her shoulders. Her feet felt like blocks of ice, and her fingers had pins and needles in them. "Isaac's in there," she said. "You can count on it. He hates rain. If I know Isaac, he's lying up in his cabin with a jug of good rum and a bad woman."

  "She may be right," Comegys agreed. "Who in his right mind would be out in this rain tonight?"

  "I've said it all along," Sarah murmured. "You Patriots are not in your right minds. You're all as mad as hatters." She grimaced. "And I suppose I'm as touched as the rest of you."

  Minutes passed. The four Tories that Comegys' scouts had seen rode up to the fort, called out their names, and were admitted. The massive gate swung open just wide enough to allow the men leading their horses to enter, then slammed shut. The sound of the huge bar falling into place echoed through the trees.

  "That fort is locked as tight as a virgin's—" Comegys broke off. "Pardon me, ma'am. I meant to say—"

  "You meant to say we can't get in with muscle," Forest said. "Do you think you can find that west doorway in the dark, Sarah?"

  She nodded. "Even you wouldn't have any trouble finding it. It's about ten feet from the corner where the north wall meets the west. The logs are well fitted together; the cracks were smeared with mud the day I saw it. But you can't open it from the outside, and you couldn't force it open without alarming the guards."

  "Just the same, I think I'll take a look. Watch after her, lieutenant," he said. Taking his musket, Forest dropped to a crouch and disappeared among the trees.

  "It won't work," Sarah said after a few minutes. "I've seen Isaac's rat hole—from both sides. Forest won't be able to get in that way."

  "How did you happen to see the secret way out of this fort, if you don't mind me askin'?"

  She couldn't make out the young lieutenant's face in the darkness, but she felt him staring at her. "My late husband showed me the doorway," she explained. "You know Obediah Turner was Isaac's brother and an ardent Loyalist. We came here when Isaac was building the fort. Isaac bragged to Obediah that it was his escape hatch in case someone tried to burn them out. Obediah argued with him and then nearly broke his shoulder trying to force the door open from the outside to prove Isaac wrong."

  "And . . . "

  "It didn't work. The door didn't budge, and Obediah was a bigger man than Forest."

  "Then your secret entrance won't be much help to us," Comegys said.

  "It will be if you'll fetch me a horse."

  "Why would you be needin' a mount, ma'am?"

  "They'll let me in the fort. I've been here before. Once I'm inside, I'll find a way to open the back door for you."

  "You expect me to trust you? How do I know you won't turn again and get us all killed?"

  "You don't."

  Comegys didn't answer. They huddled beneath the cedar in the pouring rain for several minutes; then he rose to his feet. "Drown or get shot, there's not much difference. My horse is tied back there a few hundred feet. You can have him."

  Sarah rode the borrowed horse up to the gate and demanded entrance. "Open up!" she shouted. "It's Sarah Turner. I've got to see Isaac, right away!"

  After a short delay, the gate opened and an armed man shoved a torch in her face. "You alone?"

  The horse shied at the torchlight, and Sarah nearly lost her seat. "No, you fool!" she cried as she got the animal under control. "I've got George Washington and his ragtag army out here with me."

  Cursing, the guard moved aside to let her pass. "Why are you here in the middle of the night?" he growled. "Isaac ain't gonna like it." He grabbed hold of the horse's reins as two more men closed and locked the gate.

  Sarah's heart was pounding as she slid off the horse and walked across the muddy yard in the rain toward Isaac's headquarters. Men stared at her from the doorways of the noisy, torchlit barracks, and a few called lewd invitations. Fiddle music and the sound of women's laughter filtered through the rain. She ignored them all, concentrating on reaching Isaac's cabin without falling flat on her face in the ankle-deep mud.

  She had nearly reached the porch when Isaac flung open the door. "What the hell are you doin' here?" he demanded. Shirtless, he glared at the guards behind her. "Is she alone? Did she bring the supplies?"

  "Nope," the man leading the horse answered. "She come alone on horseback."

  Sarah stepped onto the torchlit porch. "It's Obediah," she lied, keeping her eyes averted. "I had to come. He's been hurt bad."

  "Obediah? Where?" Isaac peered past her into the rain. "Tate said you come alone. Obediah's here?"

  Sarah sidled past him into the cabin and pushed the wet cloak off her shoulders. "No, not here," she said urgently. "At King's Landing. He sent me for you—he's bad off."

  She went to the hearth and held out her trembling hands to the crackling fire. If Isaac suspected anything was wrong, he'd snap her neck without thinking twice. Fear rose in her throat like a live thing, but she forced it back, turning toward him to repeat the lie. "Obediah's—"

  Isaac's blow to her cheek caught her unawares, and it knocked her to her knees.

  "Where's my wagonload of supplies, you stupid slut?" He loomed over her, like some malignant giant, his scarred mouth twisted in a sneer. "You promised me, Sary! Two days after Christmas, ye said!" He raised a meaty fist, and Sarah caught a sickening whiff of stale sweat and rum.

  "Who the hell is this?" A half-naked mulatto woman staggered against the doorway that led to Isaac's bedchamber. "Get your skinny ass out'a here, bitch!" she screamed at Sarah. The woman belched and giggled drunkenly, scratching at a sagging breast. "This bull's mine," she insisted. "Find yer own, if y
e can."

  "Get back to bed, Nancy, before I whip the skin offen yer backside." He glared sharply at the slattern with bloodshot eyes and turned back to Sarah. "Well, damn it, where's my supplies?"

  Sarah scrambled out of his reach and put a chair between them. Blood trickled from the corner of her lip where a tooth had cut the inside of her mouth. She wiped the blood away and glared defiantly at him. "You pig! It's not my fault you didn't get your damned supplies. The militia raided the inn and stole everything, including your wagon and team."

  "Liar! We got one of the horses back last week from a neighbor of yours."

  "Which neighbor? Will Green? I don't doubt it. One of his sons is with the Maryland militia. How am I supposed to know what they did with your team and wagon after they stole them from me?" Sarah edged closer to the hearth, and her hand closed around an iron poker. "Stay away from me," she warned.

  Isaac's mouth gaped open for an instant, and he roared with laughter. "Same old Sary," he taunted. "Jest like a little firebrand! No wonder Obediah puts up with yer foul mouth." He took a step toward her and leered. "Do ye heat my brother's bed with that fire, girl?" He licked his bottom lip with a thick tongue. "Would ye burn mine?"

  Sarah raised the poker. "Don't say it," she warned softly. "Don't even think it." She backed into a corner, keeping the heavy poker poised and ready to strike. "Obediah will kill you if you touch me. You know he will."

  "Will he, Sary?" Isaac laughed harshly. "Or will he kill you when he finds out ye been cheatin' on him with that hired hand of yours?"

  "Isaac . . ." Nancy pleaded. "I'm gettin' cold."

  He folded his bulging arms over his hairy chest and fixed Sarah with a hard gaze. "Obediah's hurt, is he? Hurt how?"

  "Shot. He took a rifle ball in his thigh, and it got infected. I'm afraid he'll lose the leg," Sarah said. "He wants you to come right away."

  "When was he shot?"

  "Two weeks ago, in Pennsylvania."

  "If Obediah ain't died by now, he ain't gonna die tonight," Isaac pronounced. "Nancy, find a blanket fer my brother's wife." He leered again. "You can bed down by the fire here, unless you want to join me and Nance," he said to Sarah. "We'll go to King's Landing in the morning . . . if it's quit rainin'." He wiped his wet mouth. "I hate the rain."

  ~~~

  Sarah lay before the fireplace wrapped in a stinking blanket and waited until the last lusty cries and grunts had faded from Isaac's bedchamber. She didn't move until two sets of snores had begun to filter through the closed door, and then it was only to rise to her knees. Cautiously, she stretched away the kinks that knotted her muscles and made her feel as stiff as an old woman.

  Her fear made her light-headed. She lowered her head between her knees and counted slowly to one hundred.

  Somehow, she had to make her way to the secret door at the back of the compound and open it for Forest and the Patriot forces. If the Delaware militia could surprise Isaac's men, they'd stand a good chance of overpowering them. If she were caught before she got the door open, it would mean a death sentence. Only the knowledge that Forest was in terrible danger gave her the strength to go on with her plan.

  Sarah felt no guilt at betraying Isaac and his Tories. Men who murdered and robbed civilians in wartime did so for their own pleasure, not out of loyalty to a cause. If she wavered, she had only to think of Martha's ruined plantation. Isaac is no better than a rat, Sarah thought. If I could poison him, I'd do it without losing a night's sleep!

  Rain still fell heavily; Sarah could hear it drumming against the shake roof. It will muffle any sound I make, she thought as she took a candle and tiptoed toward the back room.

  The armory floor was dirt, the ceiling low overhead. She glanced around the room at the stacks of muskets and the kegs labeled "powder," and hesitated. It would be a simple matter to set a fire that would blow this cabin sky-high. That would settle Isaac and rob the British of powder, shot, and weapons. But it would mean murdering Isaac's whore in her sleep, as well as Isaac, and it would keep the Delaware militia from getting its hands on the much needed supplies.

  Sadly, Sarah shook her head. Betraying Isaac was one thing, murder was another. She could not blow Isaac up any more than she could poison him. If the Delaware soldiers fired the armory, the crime wouldn't be on her conscience. She went to the back door and slid the iron bolts, then blew out the candle.

  A gust of wind hit her in the face, the rain drenching her in seconds. Shutting the heavy door behind her, Sarah set off toward the spot where the horses were tethered. Between the darkness and the rain, she could hardly see her hand in front of her face.

  The distance across the compound seemed farther than she remembered. Once, she stepped into a hole and sank to her knees in icy water. Teeth chattering, she scrambled up and continued on.

  Her hand touched something solid, and she stepped out of the wind and rain into a shed. She stopped, knowing the structure hadn't been there before. She heard movement and caught the heavy scent of horses. Taking a few steps into the blackness, hands outstretched before her, she stifled a cry as her hand struck something alive.

  A horse snorted, and she froze, letting her fingers trace the curve of the animal's rump.

  "Who's there?" A man's voice cut the air.

  Sarah moved around the horse and crouched between it and the next animal in the row.

  "Who is it?"

  She held her breath. A furry animal brushed against her leg, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming in terror. A long tail coiled around her wrist and she recognized the creature for what it was. Tentatively, she reached out with shaking hands for the cat, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck, and threw it over the horse's head.

  "Merrowl!" the cat howled. It landed on four feet and scampered for safety.

  "Damned cat!" the man swore.

  Sarah exhaled a sigh of relief as she heard the guard's footsteps trail away down the row of horses. The only sound was that of the animals as they tossed their heads and shifted from side to side. Slowly, she stood up and crept under the first horse's neck. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could make out solid objects in the shed.

  Step by step, she made her way to the back of the shelter. It was too dark to see, but her fingers told her that the roof had been fastened directly against the upright logs that formed the west wall. Starting from the corner, she worked her way quietly down the wall, feeling for the secret doorway.

  The back of the shed was an obstacle course of saddles, blankets, rope, and harnesses, making it difficult for her to measure the distance along the wall. She had already passed the spot where she expected to find the doorway when her hand struck the side of a barrel. She crouched beside it and slid her hand between the barrel and the wall. To her relief, her hand closed around an iron bar.

  The barrel was full of grain, and it took all her strength to slide the heavy cask an inch at a time away from the wall. She took hold of the top bar to raise it when, without warning, a man's hand clamped over her mouth.

  Instinctively, she slammed her assailant in the ribs with her elbow and drove a heel into his shin. His arms crushed her against him, and they tumbled backward over a saddle and rolled onto the dirt floor. She fought wildly, trying to struggle free, but the man threw his weight on top of her, pinning her to floor.

  "Sarah! It's me!" Forest whispered harshly. "Don't scream, it's me."

  She went limp.

  "I'll take away my hand if you promise not to make a sound."

  She emitted a muffled squeak, and he removed the pressure from her mouth.

  "Are you all right?" he whispered.

  "There's a guard at the far end of the shed."

  "Not anymore."

  She drew in a deep breath. "How did you get in here?"

  "It's a long story." He stood up and pulled her to her feet. "I'm going to open the hatch. I want you out of here. Do you understand? The dapple-gray's between the crossed logs and the main wall. Once the fighting starts, I w
ant you to lead him out at the opening beside the main gate and get the hell away from here."

  "How did you get him inside the outer barricade?" Sarah demanded.

  "We jumped it."

  "You jumped those spiked logs in the dark?"

  "How the hell did you expect me to get in?" Forest slid aside the top bar and fumbled for the lower one.

  "I could have opened the door for you," she insisted.

  "The guard would have cut your throat. He had his knife in his hand when I interrupted."

  "How did you get over the main wall?"

  "Not now, Sarah." Forest threw his weight against the lower bar.

  "But it's fifteen feet high. How did—"

  "Not when I stood on the dapple's back." The iron moved. "Stop talking and give me a hand with this," he ordered.

  Sarah added her strength to his, and together they raised the rusty bar. "Now you have to feel for a—There, there it is! Feel that." She guided his fingers to the catch. "Now pull."

  With a groan, the door came open. Forest ducked through and yanked her after him, pushing her back against the outside wall. He whistled once, and several dark forms materialized through the falling rain.

  "Captain?"

  Sarah recognized Lieutenant Comegys' voice.

  "This way," Forest ordered. "Quick. There are three guards on the wall. There was one in the horse shed, but he's dead. By the number of horses, I'd guess there are between sixty and eighty men in the fort."

  "Isaac and a woman are in the small room in the cabin," Sarah said. "There are other women in the fort. I heard their voices earlier."

  "They'll have to take their chances," Comegys muttered. He waved to the men behind him. "Hurry, boys, or you'll miss the party."

  Forest turned to Sarah. "You stay here. Don't move, and don't make a sound until we get the main gate open and the rest of our troops inside. Then you take the dapple-gray and ride into the woods and hide."

  More than a dozen men crawled in through the hatchway, followed by the lieutenant.

  "Be careful, Forest," Sarah warned. "Isaac's storehouse is full of powder. He won't hesitate to blow it up if he thinks he's lost."