~*~
Seeing the redcoat army drill in earnest was startling. At the beginning of every semester, Erva discussed the myths of the American Revolution. One was that the British Army lacked backbone, another was that they didn’t have sense enough to fight guerilla-style combat. Watching the redcoats take turn after turn bayonetting straw decoys and fire at pretend Continental soldiers was, well, frightening. They were formidable, well trained, and if Erva had been a Continental soldier she would have run if faced with the likes of the eighteenth-century Royal British Army.
All right, run might not be accurate, because she had been trained to handle combat. But her training had been with automatic weapons and grenades, something she felt might be the only thing to stop the redcoats. As much as she took pride in America’s first army, one of the reasons they won independence was that they outnumbered the British when the French and then Spain and even the Dutch joined the war. Until then, the redcoats were supreme in the battlefield with very few exceptions.
Today’s drills took on an air of determination too, because Erva knew that in two days’ time they would attack Manhattan. The thought made her queasy. Again, she realized reading about past events was one thing. Living through them...she didn’t know if she could. The battle that would commence in two days was badly handled by the Americans. There would be many casualties. And even more prisoners of war, who would rot in a prison boat docked off the Hudson Bay.
Maybe she could do something about that. She blinked while she sat on a cushioned wicker chair that had been given to her. Inspiration set in. She’d talk to Will. He wouldn’t stand for anybody, not even his enemy, sitting in terrible prisons, dying horrible deaths from starvation, influenza, and smallpox. Yes, she’d talk to him about...
Two thoughts crashed into Erva’s mind then that made her clutch at her heart. The first was that she was Will’s enemy. She was as American as they got. For this war, she sided with the men the redcoats were targeting, the men Will had and would bring to their knees. He would kill so many of them in a couple days.
The second more earth shattering thought was how much she’d grown to care for her enemy, Will. She watched him talk to a small group of privates as he demonstrated how to run with a bayonet. He said something to the dozen boys, and they laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Will did that for them. By training the men, becoming so close to them, he’d ensure that the troops under him would thrive during war. Erva took in a shaky breath, realizing she still held her hand over her heart.
Will glanced at her. His smile faded when he caught her eyes. Saying something to his boys, he strode toward her. He was so big, so tall, so powerful. His black boots were spotted with mud, and much of his uniform was too, but he seemed his most content dirty, maybe even his most handsome.
Erva’s body stirred with every step Will took towards her. God, why was she so attracted to him? Okay, he was nice on the eyes, but she’d seen and hung out with several good-looking men. None of them had this effect on her. He was intelligent. This she knew from everything she’d read and from spending the brief amount of time with him. Thoroughly steeped in Enlightenment philosophy, he’d related his beliefs about world-wide revolution and rights for everyone, as if that wasn’t sexy enough to make her think of getting her hands on him. And although being brilliant and considerate was such a turn on, again, she’d known other smart, innovative men. So why did her breasts feel too heavy as he neared, the apex of her legs felt like liquid gold?
“Are you well, Erva?” he asked when he was close, then immediately dropped to one knee so she didn’t have to crane her head back to look at him.
He was incredibly thoughtful. Erva knew that this was one reason why she wanted him so bad. But the other...
“Erva, my—” He cut himself off.
She suspected he was going to call her a name of endearment. She’d thought of doing the same too many times herself.
“My knee...” she could only whisper. Although the morning’s ibuprofen was wearing off, which was making her a wee bit uncomfortable, that was not at all the reason she wanted to leave.
“Shall we go back home to ice it? I have that dreaded banquet to attend this evening, but shall we cancel?”
He’d said “we” as if they were already a unit. God, she felt like it too. How could that have happened? She’d known the man for little more than a day. But then again, they’d been spending almost every waking moment together. And that was the way she liked it.
She couldn’t stand the thought that soon battle would commence, soon men would suffer, soon reality would come to fruition, and Will would die.
He carefully settled an ungloved hand on hers. It was dirty and had black smudges of gunpowder on it.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, trying to pull away from her.
She guessed it was because he was stained, but she didn’t care. Grasping at his hand, even holding it on her lap, she tried desperately to think of the words she wanted so much to tell him. Only, out of her mouth came, “I think we should attend the banquet, but if we could slip away to ice my knee now, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course. Shall I call a carriage to escort us—”
“The horse is fine.”
It was more than fine. It had been exquisite feeling him at her back, especially as he nipped at her neck.
She was supposed to be professional, aloof, distant, she reminded herself.
Will lifted her hand to his mouth where he kissed two of her knuckles, reminding her why professionalism just might be overrated.
“Of course, darling.” He blinked, then winced slightly, as if waiting to be reprimanded.
The word darling had always sounded so...snotty and superficial to her. She’d thought of a stiff, old Brit couple that’d never meant the word, or worse, of women calling each other darling, in that bitchy, not at all endearing way.
But the way he’d said it, the way his voice hadn’t tripped over the word, but more like he’d been wanting to say it all along, yet had somehow restrained himself until this very moment...well, she was a convert. She loved it, loved being called darling, as long as Will was the one doing the calling.
She grinned, not trusting her voice or her brain for much use after that.
Enemy of Mine Page 16