Her Vanquished Land

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “He has much on his mind, Señora.” Rowena appreciated this woman’s continued kindness. “You should bring one of your specialty dishes out to the cottage for him.”

  “Ah, I will do so.” She thrust up her hands, her rouged smile delighted. “Men need to be chased down sometimes, no?”

  “They do for certain.” Rowena grinned up at her husband. “Evening is hours away. Let me show you St. Augustine.”

  “As long as you don’t tire yourself.” He winked, his smile sly. “We’ll have a busy night. Or am I speaking too bold, cariad?” His whisper curled through her.

  Then her cheeks burned. “You are terribly bold, but…I’ll count on that.” Her aunt had told her little of the duties of a wife, so most of such intimacy remained a mystery. Except for the way animals mated. She fought a cringe. For humans it had to be…gentler.

  James stalked in and approached them, brows lowered. “I still disapprove, Pritchard. If I hear you haven’t treated her well. You’ll have me to deal with.”

  “I assure ye, she’ll be well taken care of an’ well loved.” Derec bent close to James, gaze steady. Her cousin stormed past them toward the food table.

  “I’m sorry he insists on being so…disruptive.” Rowena coaxed her new husband out the guest house door. “You two need to have a serious discussion.”

  “We have, he won’t listen. He’ll calm down, I daresay.” Derec didn’t sound convinced of James ever calming. “Show me the city, my love.”

  Hand in hand, they walked to the large, grassy park central to St. Augustine, the Plaza de la Constitución. “This park was built in the sixteenth century by the Spanish. That’s the old Government House over there.” She pointed to a narrow, stone building with a red, peaked roof. “I hear they plan to construct a church that faces the park.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “They might need more ramparts than churches. If the battles keep moving south.”

  “We always fear the rebels will oust the British from Florida.” She wondered where they’d go next. Into the wilds of the west where numerous tribes of Indians roamed, and few white settlers dared to venture? She wished James would return to Cornwallis and find word on her brothers, instead of being a thorn in her side.

  “Or Spain will take the territory back. Especially after the capture of Mobile last year.”

  “I have thought of that possibility.” She felt hemmed in on all sides, the Loyalists constantly on a cliff edge. “I’d hoped the mutiny of rebel soldiers in Pennsylvania would turn the tide for us.” Over a thousand soldiers had risen up a few weeks back, killed their officers, and marched away, declaring their enlistment was up.

  “As did I. General Clinton offered them pardon and pay if they joined the British, but they returned to the Continental Army.” Derec looped her arm through his. “I apologize. We should not speak of these things on our special day.”

  “We do deserve a little peace.” She strolled with him over the coquina stones toward a square-shaped public well, anxious to talk of something not related to war. “The well has been here since the previous century.”

  Derec put his hands on both her shoulders from behind, his clasp warm. “’Tis a beautiful place; a brief sanctuary, this plaza.”

  She quivered with expectancy at their growing intimacy. “The effigies of Sam Adams and John Hancock were burned in this plaza. Oh, dear; I talk of the war again.”

  “’Tis difficult to ignore, with conflict all around us.”

  A breeze salted with brine swept by them. “You’ve seen Matanzas Bay and the wharves on our left, where ships bring cargo.” She’d changed the subject. “That’s where the market place sets up. It’s a long-standing custom according to Mrs. Torres-Navarro.”

  He turned her around and gently kissed her. “Dwi'n dy garu di yn wastad ac am byth. I love you always and forever.”

  “How sweet, sir. And I love you the same.” She breathed him in, a heat rising through her, thrilled by the depth of his love. She almost circled her arms around his neck—but that would be inappropriate. “Do…you wish to see the old wooden schoolhouse?”

  He laughed, his black eyes shining. “I am being too impulsive, given the time of day. Show me the schoolhouse, Mrs. Pritchard.”

  She beamed at his use of her married name, then led him down St. George Street, her thoughts spinning after his kiss. The sun needed to hurry up and set. “It’s one of the few wooden structures left in the city.” They stood before the small building constructed of bald cypress and red cedar. “The schoolmaster lives on the second floor. And there’s a plan to educate both boys and girls, together, here.”

  “’Tis a shocking idea. How would the boys keep their minds on studies with lovely maidens about?” He swung their hands between them, then raised hers and kissed her knuckles.

  She sighed. “You must behave for a few more hours.”

  They whiled away the day, visiting the fort for the view, ate at a café, and then returned to the guest house as night descended. The entire time, their lingering glances and subtle touches spoke of their true desires.

  In the upstairs room, she poured water into a basin and washed her hands and throat with lavender-scented soap. “Oh, I guess I’m supposed to allow you the privilege of washing first. I’m already an uncompliant wife.”

  “Doesn’t matter, love. I like my lady of the mist the way she is.” Derec pulled her against him and kissed her until her lips tingled. She melted into him. He tasted tartly-sweet, like the Sangria wine with chopped fruit they’d drank at the café.

  He stepped back, scrubbed his face and hands in the basin, then smiled at her. “Shall I leave the room while ye…prepare?”

  “Prepare?” She fingered the neckline of her bodice. “Do you mean undress?”

  “Aye, my love.” He put his hands on his hips, his head cocked. “Or will ye give me the privilege of undressing my bride?”

  She breathed deep, then turned her back to him. He unpinned her gown, unlaced her stays, and ran his hands over her body, through her shift. Eyes closed, she trembled.

  When he tugged off her shift, she flushed, arms crossed over her breasts. He lifted the sheet and she slipped in bed. He undressed as she averted her gaze. Soon they were both naked between the cool sheets, bodies warm, silky flesh brushing together, their limbs entwined. He kissed and caressed her until she writhed with yearning. Then he gently stroked his finger in her private place. She gasped, her heart and lower region throbbing. He slowly licked and teased her nipples. She moaned, her fingers kneading the strong muscles in his back. When he slowly entered, then pushed inside her, she cried out in pain. After the stinging thrusts, she shuddered when the friction turned to pleasure.

  Later, they snuggled close. He stroked her naked back and she nearly purred with contentment.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The late April sun shone bright in the cottage similar to Rowena’s father’s: a parlor, kitchen, and one bedroom. Well established in her own home, she was delighted she now shared a bed with her husband and not her aunt. And thankful this place had needed less work.

  She polished a sideboard in the main room with linseed oil, happy to have her own things again. She and Aunt Elizabeth had refinished the once-scratched piece.

  Arranging a pottery vase full of scarlet canna lily, Rowena placed that on the sideboard. She inhaled the light flowery fragrance mixed with the oily smell of linseed.

  “Oh, damme…ooops, sorry, Miss.” Daphne swatted at a black widow spider in the kitchen with the broom. “Hate these killers.”

  “You be careful, they are deadly.” Rowena watched in concern, about to join her.

  “I have them in retreat.” Daphne quickly smashed the creature then dashed a line of stinging fire ants out the rear door.

  “Even the insects are on the offensive,” Rowena said at this never-ending chore.

  More scents drifted in through the open front window with the abundance of blooming flowers. Florida did mean ‘land of flowers
.’ Orange milkweed, purple coneflower, the canna lily, and yellow tickseed, provided a riot of color—a screen to the escalating turmoil of war.

  “At least our garden looks lovely.” Rowena polished on the sideboard’s front carvings.

  “An’ we’ll have vegetables soon, too, Miss. Mary were a big help with that.” Daphne leaned on the broom; at sixteen she’d sprouted into a beautiful girl. Her blooming figure, blue eyes and pale blonde hair had caused many men in the vicinity to take notice. The two women risked their safety if they went near the fort’s lascivious soldiers.

  Rowena bunched her oily cloth in her fingers. “Hopefully we’ll have enough vegetables and flowers to sell at the market. We’ll crush more shells to fill in the pathways through the garden.” If only life were so simple, without the war heating up to the north. From what she’d read, or Derec and her father had gleaned from the cafes, since February both armies fought through the Carolina swamps, burning the few bridges that spanned the numerous rivers.

  According to Father, James, who’d left shortly after the wedding breakfast, was in Virginia, spying for General Benedict Arnold. Arnold had captured Richmond and now commanded raids throughout the colony.

  She’d heartened at that news. However, Father said that the rebel General Greene played cat and mouse with Lord Cornwallis in the treacherous Carolina marshes, luring the King’s men farther from their supplies.

  In March, Greene lost the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, and they’d rejoiced as Derec read the broadsheet. But the general had pushed Cornwallis and his army to Wilmington, North Carolina.

  Each day she was leery that the rebels might creep across Georgia and attack Florida, in anger over the loyalists here who’d helped the King’s army. Rumors galloped like runaway horses.

  She stared again out the window and thought she saw a dark-clothed figure in the distance.

  “You seem much distracted, Miss.” Daphne banged the broom on the outside wall to make sure no critters clung to its bristles. “Ain’t no Spanish soldiers out there?”

  “No, thank goodness.” Rowena sighed at their increasingly precarious situation. Spain had harassed the British in February. A General Galvez attacked Fort George near Pensacola, the capitol of West Florida. As an ally of France, Spain fought anything British. “Spain demands Florida’s return, but I’m relieved Pensacola is four hundred miles away, and their General Galvez failed and fled to Havana.”

  “Aye, on that island not so far from us. The Cuba place.” Daphne swept the tabby floor in long strokes. Then she dampened a rag, kneeled, and began to mop the stone surface. “Can’t imagine livin’ on an island.”

  “We may need one. We’re always under siege, it seems.” Rowena shut her eyes. Sometimes she dreamt she’d donned breeches again and ridden her horse into battle—like Joan of Arc. But no angels directed her. She didn’t tell her maid that Derec had warned of more Spanish ships arriving up the bay, near Pensacola, earlier this month.

  Rowena glanced out the window again, but the figure was gone.

  “Soon you’ll have babes to fuss over, too.” The girl winked.

  “Yes...” Rowena crouched and polished the sideboard’s legs. Derec was reluctant to get her with child while the war raged on. He pulled out of her each time before it was too late. Part of her understood, yet part of her longed to be a mother.

  The door creaked open. Both women froze. Rowena opened the sideboard drawer where she kept a pistol.

  Derec strode in, his smile warm. He must have been the man in dark clothes she’d glimpsed. His carried toolbox rattled with a small saw, hammer, and other gear. He looked down at the girl. “Oh, Daphne, sorry that I dirtied yer floor.”

  “’Tis fine, sir.” She hopped up. “I need to prepare dinner, anyway.”

  “Did you finish that house today?” Rowena closed the drawer. Her pulse danced at seeing her beloved husband. She went to him and breathed in his aroma of new wood.

  “We did, and I have a commission for a dairy next.” Derec bent to kiss her cheek. His carpentry work for the burgeoning loyalist population brought in needed funds. “The English want taller homes with large windows, rather than the squat coquina dwellings. Then they realize the Spanish design deters the mosquitoes.”

  “The English did bring in the glass for those larger windows.” Rowena smiled at the irony. “Did you bring news about the end of the war?”

  “Not yet, sadly, Mrs. Pritchard.” His expression turned serious. “I did hear that Lord Cornwallis has joined General Arnold in Virginia. Cornwallis insists if he takes Virginia, ’twill cut off the rebel’s Southern Army from the Northern, weaken both, and return the colonies to the Crown.”

  Rowena folded the oil cloth and rinsed her hands in a bowl of water with a swipe of lavender soap. “Father said dozens of militias have joined with Greene, increasing the size of his rebel army.” She poured fresh water for him to wash.

  “’Tis true. But Cornwallis has more seasoned troops and better artillery.” Derec didn’t sound as sure anymore. He set his toolbox on the rough-hewn kitchen table. He took the soap ball and dipped a fresh cloth in the water to scrub his hands and face.

  “I pray hostilities cease before more men lose their lives.” How many times had she hoped for this? She walked close to him again. Apprehension gnawed at her that Derec might decide he was needed in the fight, or secret services, and rush up to the middle colonies.

  “General Washington also wants to take Virginia and capture Arnold to court-martial for his traitorous activities.” Derec embraced her, his arms tightening. “But we may have other problems.”

  “I don’t know if I can manage any more trouble.” She pressed against him, straining to keep her tone glib.

  Her husband’s heartbeat quickened against her cheek. “’Tis as I expected, unfortunately. Spain’s General Galvez is attacking West Florida again.”

  Forty minutes later, Daphne set plates of redfish and potatoes, along with a green salad, before them at the table. Derec had gone to the barn and brought Sam in to join them. Father had insisted that Sam move with her when she and Derec transferred to their own cottage.

  The lad’s presence, and uneasy shifting, further raised Rowena’s suspicions that her husband had dire news to divulge.

  “Now tell me about the attack on West Florida.” Rowena’s anxiety grew like a storm rumbling over a ridge. “I assume East Florida is in danger?”

  “The Spanish have built redoubts, trenches, and bunkers, readying for their attack on the Gulf coast.” Derec took a bite of food. “The Choctaw who sided with us fought them but were driven back. Even soldiers from the Queens Redoubt couldn’t stop the invading Spanish. Ships from Havana have unloaded thousands of men to aid the siege. Pensacola is their target.”

  “What will the British do?” Rowena’s words like shards in her mouth, she ate the mild, almost sweet fish, pretending to be calm. She wondered what she could do to keep Derec home. “Do they have enough men to fight?”

  “They’re terribly outnumbered.” Derec continued eating, his gaze now averted.

  Rowena’s sinking feeling sank deeper. “Reinforcements will come, won’t they?”

  “What should we do here, sir?” Sam asked. “Dig our own ramparts?” He ate standing near the hearth. Beside him, his sister picked at her own food, her eyes glued on Derec.

  Derec nodded to Sam. “Make certain the blunderbuss is in good order. I’ll try to purchase a rifle.” Then he met Rowena’s gaze. “I’ve joined the local militia.”

  Rowena drank from the cup of tea, though almost choked. She managed a slow breath. “And this militia is doing what? Are you—”

  “I’ve thought it over, and I must go west.” He set down his fork and clasped her free hand. “I’m sorry, but I have to get more involved, Cariad.”

  “No—please. Can I talk you out of it?” She clacked down her cup and knew her pleas were futile, but she had to try. Anger tangled with the apprehension he might be killed. Another idea
came to her, foolish as it was. “You could take me with you.”

  “Not this time. Afterwards, I might take ye to Virginia, to see how Cornwallis does. If he hasn’t already won.” He obviously said this for consolation.

  She suspected he’d continued to spy since their marriage, working for Fort St. Mark, though he revealed nothing.

  “Derec, I won’t lie and say I’m happy about this.” She pulled back her hand, refusing to cry. The room seemed to tilt. “I’d like to throw the kettle at you.”

  “I will certainly duck.” He picked up his utensil, forked in fish and potatoes, and swallowed. “I’ll leave day after tomorrow.”

  Rowena pressed her back to the chair as fear ripped through her. “So soon? I know, I know… I was once the girl who craved adventure. Sometimes I still do.” Her voice thickened. “But I refuse to lose you.”

  “I’ll look out for her, sir.” Sam stood tall; at nearly fifteen he’d gained muscle and height.

  “I count on that, Sam,” Derec said, his gaze still on her.

  Rowena surmised her husband had brought the boy in so she wouldn’t throw kettles.

  Daphne hovered closer with the tea pot. “We’ll be ever so scared, sir.” She poured more tea in their cups without asking.

  “I’ll be as careful as I can, but we must defend our home. Our options are shrinking.” He reached across the small table and stroked Rowena’s cheek. He traced a finger along her jaw. “Ye are brave, and Sam is here, yer father only a half mile away. Keep the pistols in order.”

  She gripped his hand, feeling the sinews and bones. She didn’t dare express the trepidation that burned inside her. They all had to sacrifice. Moisture gathered behind her eyes. “I can protect myself. But you are my heart. And I hate that you must go.”

  * * *