War of Hearts, A Historical Romance

by Lynn Hubbard

  The carriage was ready so Tristan left his questions for later. He helped her into the seat and joined her as they headed off. She was grateful for his silence as they drove. It was a beautiful day but Sarah was in no mood to appreciate it.

  She was thinking about leaving; however, even if she ran Tristan would still be in danger. Men like Johnson lived for control. But more so, it would impede her plans to save the prisoners.

  No, he would hold no power over her. Randall was the one who had to go. Her mind whirled with possibilities, all of which ended up pointing to her, or even worse, Tristan. The British did not take kindly to losing officers, even if they deserved it.

  “Why so quiet? Most women would be thrilled to be dress shopping. They do have the finest fashions from London.”

  “I’m not as superficial as most women,” she retorted as she took in the new part of town. There were all kinds of shops and the smell of fresh bread drifted out of a corner bakery. Her stomach rumbled eagerly and she ignored it.

  He pulled the carriage to a stop but made no attempt to exit. In fact he turned toward her, his brow creased with concern. “I’m sorry; I never should have taken advantage of you. It was purely vanity for my part. You are a true beauty and I wanted you at any cost.”

  Sarah looked at him sadly. “’Tis not your bad manners that upsets me. However, it is getting a bit tiresome watching you and the Major locking horns. And it scares me to think he could win.”

  “I would not let him hurt you.”

  “Really?” Sarah asked, pulling back her sleeve to show him the fresh bruise on her wrist.

  “What did he do?” Tristan asked; his voice had a deadly tone.

  “He popped in this morning while I was dressing. Apparently he has a key. After being accosted, I lost my appetite.”

  “I will run him through! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “I was not planning on telling you at all. I have enough on my plate without having to rescue you. And as far as sharing your bed, you can visit me next time. I am a bit tired of sneaking half naked down the hallway.” With that, Sarah hopped out of the carriage and started toward the shop marked ‘Seamstress’.

  The strong scent of perfume assaulted her as she stepped inside. Breathing through her mouth, she looked around at the display of dresses, wigs and accessories. The walls were lined with display dresses, most of them in majestic colors. At one point in her life she would have been mesmerized by the meticulous, flowing gowns, but not now. Now they were trivial, at best.

  Tristan reached her after tethering the carriage and they were soon put-upon by the proprietor. A tall, thin man whom had diminishing brown hair, greased back to stay in place. He squinted at them through round spectacles as he greeted them warmly.

  “Such a lovely couple! Let me guess…Wedding?”

  Tristan felt Sarah tense next to him and spoke up. “Actually, we need a ball gown, and I want the best in the land.”

  “My dear sir, we only have the finest here. Of course we can’t get French silk, but we do have the very best silk from Virginia. If you ask me it is far superior to that from London. What colors were you thinking of? Green would look marvelous with your complexion.”

  “Black,” Sarah replied.

  “Black? You must be jesting,” he chuckled, looking at Tristan for affirmation.

  Tristan shrugged. “Whatever she wants; anything would look lovely on her.”

  The man pressed his lips tightly together, deep in thought. He was so still Sarah jumped when he snapped his fingers. “My dear, I do not make dresses here. I make creations and black just will not do. Might I suggest a dark, smoky gray?”

  It was Sarah’s turn to ponder; the color of black smoke, the kind that billowed out of the cannons and seeped into your lungs with every breath. A battle dress; how perfect. “I believe we are in agreement.”

  He clapped his hands happily and dragged her to the back room to measure her. An older woman greeted them with a smile. The notch in her front tooth from holding thousands of needles hinted at her skill. Sarah liked her at once.

  Tristan however, was not very happy watching the man wrapping his arms around her and measuring every inch of her body. He was even less thrilled as he kept murmuring ‘perfect’.

  “How long will it take to create this masterpiece?” he asked gruffly.

  “A couple of weeks.”

  “You have one.”

  “One!? Impossible.”

  “Make it possible and I shall pay you double.”

  “One week is plenty of time!” he said, forcing a smile as he murmured under his breath ‘if I don’t sleep.’

  The measuring took longer than Sarah expected; she was growing tired of standing still and scowled at Tristan. She gasped as the man measured her inseam. However, the dark look on Tristan’s face caused her to smile. A couple measurements later, she was done.

  Tristan paid the man an enormous amount of money and then guided her back outside.

  “Black? Always the rebel.”

  “My heart mourns.”

  “I would like to fill the gaps.”

  She turned to him. “You do.” They were only a breath away and before she realized what she was doing, she had stepped forward and brushed her lips with his.

  Tristan’s heart pounded in his ears; it was a simple gesture. However, it was the first time she had instigated any romantic contact between them. He wished that the lane was not milling with passersby; he wanted to do so much more.

  “I need to get you back; I have a meeting with Gabriel.”

  “Don’t you mean we have a meeting with Gabriel?”

  “It is too dangerous, I have a reason to visit my own ship, and you do not. You will be safer at my home.”

  “Like I was this morning?” she replied with a slight tremble.

  She hated the fact that Randall scared her; she had seen so much of war and violence, you would think she would be immune to it all. The thought of being away from Tristan scared her even more. When had she developed this debilitating connection?

  Perhaps it was because she felt safe in his arms. That he would protect her from all the demons, real and imagined. Her heart sank as he again shook his head. “He is on patrol, it is doubtful you will see him at all today.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement as her mind whirled, searching for solutions. She was quiet on the trip back; she wordlessly climbed out of the carriage and entered the house. She refused to watch him ride away without her.

  Chapter 19 Tavern After Dark

  Sarah stopped in the kitchen, listening for voices; she heard none and relaxed a bit. She spotted some fresh cherry scones on the stove and grabbed one to eat. She nibbled on it as she thought of her next move. A glint of silver caught her eye and she turned to look at the silverware that had just been freshly polished lying on the small table.

  Sarah picked up a gleaming knife and studied it silently. It was a butter knife, but was sturdy with a sharp tip.

  “Pardon me, Miss,” Cecilia spoke up, stepping into the room. Sarah jumped at her voice and laid the knife down with a clank. Her eyes looked up to meet the maid’s, she was shocked by Cecilia’s blackened eye and swollen face.

  Wordlessly, Cecilia turned to the hutch behind her and pulled out a drawer. She reached in and drew out a wicked looking knife. “Every woman needs a good boning knife. This one can cut through a pig with little effort.”

  Their eyes met with understanding as Sarah wordlessly took the knife and headed back outside to formulate her plan. She saddled Molly and was on her way in minutes. She wasn’t sure of her exact destination as she headed down the road, but she had a fair idea where to find it. Four blocks later, she stared up at the Youngblood tavern.

  ***

  Tristan rowed out to the Sea Maiden; he was easily spotted and the ladder was tossed down to him. Gabriel greeted him at the top with a handclasp. After acknowledging the crew, they headed down to the captain’s quarters for privacy.

&nbs
p; “What’s up?” Gabriel asked, in reference to the surprise visit.

  “I know about your plan, and I’ve agreed to help.”

  “Have you changed allegiance?”

  “I never had any allegiance to the Brits, only cash.”

  “So what is more important than money?” Gabriel asked with a knowing look.

  “Miss Smith is very convincing.”

  “Very?”

  “Very,” Tristan reaffirmed with a slight blush.

  Gabe laughed heartily, “Well then, we have lots of work to do.”

  ***

  Sarah tethered Molly two shops down. Covering her hair with a heavy scarf, she made her way to the tavern. This street was run down, and her heart quickened as she felt eyes upon her. She bravely opened the door and stepped inside. The stench of body odor and stale smoke greeted her as she looked around the room, trying to gain her bearings.

  She received several looks from men before making her way to the bar. She was surprised to find that the bartender was a woman. The heavyset lady did not give her a second glance as she leaned her arm on the sticky bar front.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Actually, Ma’am, I’m looking for my husband. He hasn’t been home in two days.” She wrung her hands in worry.

  “Just what you see, unless you want to check the rooms above. They are rented by the night.”

  She thanked the woman and with determination, marched up the rather rickety stairway. She silently noticed the room numbers and stared at one in the middle. Hesitating for a second, she knocked. When she received no answer she moved on to the next.

  This time she got a reply; the door was opened by a sleepy headed girl, even though it was in the afternoon.

  “Whatcha want?” she asked, surprised to see the unfamiliar woman.

  “I was looking for my husband.”

  “He ain’t here,” she replied trying to close the door.

  “Do you mind if I look around?”

  She shrugged as she made her way back to the filthy bed and collapsed on top of it. Sarah took in the small room consisting of a bed and trunk. She was drawn to the open window and peeked out, gaging the distance to the ground below. ‘Perfect’ she thought, turning and making her way back to the bar.

  “Find him?”

  “Not yet, but I will,” she added with resolve as she swept out of the room and into the street.

  She returned to the manor and hurried upstairs to finalize her plan. Turning the corner in haste she gasped as she ran into the Major full force. She was rewarded by a small grunt as the air left his lungs. Recovering quickly, his arms snaked around her, effectively holding her in place.

  “Eager?” he whispered into her ear.

  She let out an involuntary laugh. You have no idea, she thought to herself as her mind thought of escape plans.

  Instead of answering, she grabbed his hair and pulled his face down to hers. She met his lips with hers and tried not to gag as he forced his tongue into her mouth. She counted to ten in her head before trying to push him away. “Please, not here…”

  Randall growled in his throat as she turned her head. “Why not?”

  “Because, Tristan will know. Meet me somewhere…tonight,” she whispered before leaving the stunned Major alone in the hallway.

  She escaped to her room and sunk to her knees next to the wooden chest on the floor. Opening it with a creek she dug to the bottom, pulling out an old powdered wig and a rose-colored day dress. She found a drawstring bag and shoved the wig inside, along with the knife. Putting on the dress she headed downstairs to the library. She searched the desk for ink and paper. Sitting down, she scribbled out a note for Randall giving directions where to meet. Sealing it shut with wax, she wrote his name on the front and slipped it into her pocket.

  The dinner bell rang and she headed to take her seat. She met Randall’s eyes across from the table and looked away quickly as he met them. The Colonel was going over in great detail the food that would be served for the ball and Sarah pushed her food around on her plate. Her stomach was clenched with fear. Her fork clattered against her plate as she went for a bite of meat. Forcing herself to swallow, she wiped her mouth and took a deep breath as she pushed away from the table.

  “I’m sorry; I’m just not feeling well. Please excuse me.” She stood and swept out of the room, swaying just a bit as her hand went to her forehead. Concerned, Tristan followed her. He did not want her toppling down the stairs in her unsteady state.

  She turned to stop him. “No, Tristan, I’m fine. Just a silly headache, I just need some rest tonight,” she pouted apologetically.

  “I’ll check on you later.” She smiled her thanks as he turned and headed back to the table.

  She slowly ascended the stairs clinging to wooden railing for support. She stopped outside of Randall’s door and slipped the note underneath. Heading to her room she laid down for some much needed sleep.

  Tristan came in a short while later. Finding her asleep he felt her forehead, thankful to find it cool. Slipping her shoes off, he tucked her in under the covers and kissed her cheek. Reluctantly he left, locking the door behind him.

  ***

  Sarah awoke sometime later. She sat up with a start, her heart pounding as she noticed the dark sky. What time was it? Was she late? Hopping out of bed, she lit a candle and held it to the clock on the mantle. Eight o’clock, she still had two hours. Not trusting herself to drift off to sleep, she crept to the door and listened for any sound in the hallway. Not hearing any, she sat back on the bed and put her boots on.

  Stopping by the washbasin, she peered into the mirror above. In the dim light she studied her reflection. Doubts about her plan flickered through her mind. Randall was a bastard, but did he deserve to die? Did she deserve to kill him?

  He threatened Tristan; if she lost Tristan, her attempts for rescuing the men would be fore not. Was saving his life worth risking hundreds of others? No. Every day, more men died from disease and sepsis. She had to save as many as she could no matter how much the cost.

  Leaning forward she grasped a kohl stick and added a beauty mark to her cheek. Satisfied, she headed to the door and opened it cautiously. The night was still. She locked her door and headed down the back stairs, careful not to make a sound. At the stable, she held her hand over Molly’s nose to prevent the usual welcome neigh. The moon was full and afforded her some light to saddle the mare.

  Making sure the house was still silent, she left the gate and headed on her way. Unbeknownst to her, dark eyes watched her leave from an upper window.

  Clutching her bag tightly to her, she navigated down the darkened roads. Street lamps burned here and there, but the darkness was her ally and she tried to avoid them. She paused in her journey to wrangle the wig out of the pouch and flopped it onto her head. She adjusted it by feel and hid her red hair underneath. She thought wigs themselves were too much; her head started to itch immediately and she hoped it was due to the rough material holding it in place and not to some type of infestation.

  The world was so different at night; even the air seemed different. Everyday objects cast ominous shadows around her and her heart beat heavily in her chest as she pressed on. Few people were on the street; the ones that were staggered drunkenly.

  The glow from the Tavern washed in front of her, a beacon in the night guiding her way. It stood out boldly against the other darkened shops. She tied Molly at the end of the block next to the alley, walking the rest of the distance.

  She was glad to see a man behind the bar; men were much more gullible than women. The room was much more crowded with soldiers and civilians alike. A great place to gather information, she thought. Her memory flickered back to the previous barman hanging from a tree; perhaps not such a good place.

  She greeted the man and asked for a room. His eyebrow rose with suspicion as he took in her clean attire. “Are you alone?”

  “Not for long.” She winked at him and took the key. Ignoring the whistl
es and stares from the other men she climbed the stairs and matched her key number to a door. Letting herself in, she hid the knife under a pillow and opened the window to let some fresh air into the stagnant room. It smelled of sweat, whiskey, and old perfume. Taking a deep breath, she felt better instantly. She still had an hour until their meeting time; an hour to reflect back on her life and how the hell she ended up here.

  It all came down to arrogant men, from the British soldiers whom killed her family to the damn King himself. It was as if she had no control over life, but tonight, she would be in control. She would choose her destiny.

  Restless, she headed out the door and down to the bar for a drink. She ordered a Brandy. She wasn’t sure what a brandy was, but that was what Tristan drank. Thinking of him, she wondered if he would look for her tonight. If he raised alarm…

  “Drink up,” the rough voice muttered, splashing the drink down on the counter.

  Lost in thought, she took a rather large sip and choked as fire burned in her throat. The fire continued down to her stomach, warming her insides. Taking a deep breath she took a much smaller sip as the man chuckled at her. She sat facing the doorway, keeping watch for Randall. She barely recognized him when he appeared in civilian garb. He had a hat flung down low over his face; however, she would recognize his cruel mouth anywhere. He took a double look at her as he came closer. She smiled as recognition set in and he joined her ordering a whiskey.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she whispered, taking another sip.

  “I’m surprised you did. Of course you are full of surprises,” he said, laying his hand on her thigh. She covered it with her own and moved it higher.

  “I have a room.”

  “I’d like to see it.” He downed his drink with one last gulp. Sarah left hers, already nauseous.

  She guided him up the stairs, hoping they would not collapse with both their weight. Releasing the lock, they stepped in and closed the door behind them.