Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies)

by Lynette Vinet

  ~

  General Clinton’s aide was most grateful for Annabelle’s information about the Dove. After her departure, he notified the general because of the gravity of the situation. Clinton mulled over all he’d been told, but shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

  “Arrest the wench,” Clinton stated, and the aide instantly obeyed.

  29

  Bethlyn told her inquisitors nothing, and for that she earned a cell with a mildewed feather mattress and a cracked chamber pot for amenities. No one had harmed her. In fact, General Clinton had been most accommodating by pouring her a cup of tea which she hadn’t been able to swallow, and inquiring after her husband’s health. However, his smarmy smile had faded when his aide had no luck in gaining an admission from her that she was the Dove. So now she sat on the cold stone floor of her cell rather than sit on the foul smelling mattress which she felt certain must be crawling with bugs.

  She wanted to cry but wouldn’t give her captors that satisfaction. However, she did pray for Ian to learn of her arrest and come to her. Her body literally ached to see him again, but since he’d left for Washington’s headquarters nearly a month ago, she’d received only the one message about Andre. And Andre had been hung on October second, more than two weeks ago.

  Where was Ian? Why hadn’t he returned by now? She felt so alone and frightened without him. Yet even if he did receive word that she’d been arrested, could he help her? At the moment her only hope was that Hans and Molly would soon receive the message she’d sent by a servant to them when she was arrested at Wild Violets. But even that hope was dashed when Hans and Molly appeared by her cell some two hours later.

  Molly dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief and held on to Bethlyn’s hands which reached through the bars to hers. “What a travesty this is,” Molly noted in high indignation. “You’re the wife of Ian Briston. a loyalist, and Clinton dares to treat you like a criminal. I shall have my say with the man, believe me!”

  “Hush, Molly,” Hans warned, his concern for Bethlyn clearly expressed on his face. But it was the glimmer of knowledge shining in his eyes which conveyed to Bethlyn that he knew she was the Dove. His thick accent sounded harder to understand when he sadly shook his head and said, “I can’t help you. You’re not to be released under any circumstances until your trial proves your innocence. I’m sorry, Bethlyn. Forgive me for not being able to do anything.”

  Bethlyn sighed, fearing as much. “Then I shall be in here a very long time.”

  After Hans left and Molly had parted tearfully from her, Bethlyn knew such intense isolation that the tears she had suppressed all day finally ran free. Huge gasping sobs tore from her throat, and she wondered if she’d ever see Ian again.

  “Please keep Ian safe,” she prayed after she’d wept so hard and long she couldn’t squeak out another tear. “Keep him safe so that he can come for me, and we can be together again. Is that so much to ask?”

  Somehow she feared it was.

  ~

  Ian watched as General Washington’s tall figure settled into the chair behind his desk. The man’s weariness was evident by the sloping line of his shoulders and the dark circles beneath eyes which had had little sleep. Yet a spark of determination flowed through him as he waited for Ian’s response to the secretive plan he’d just put forth.

  “I need you for this mission, Ian. I’ve chosen only the best and never have you been a disappointment to me. You see, I’m so positive you’ll accept that I decided to inform you of what has been planned for a number of weeks. The only hitch was that Andre confessed to everything, and I was forced to hang him.” He tiredly rubbed his eyes. “If he wouldn’t have said anything, then he could have been exchanged with the British for Arnold.”

  “You must want Arnold quite badly,” Ian noted.

  Washington’s face hardened. “I confess that I do. The man not only betrayed his country but our friendship. So often I took up his cause when he wanted to advance himself, even writing to discover why he didn’t receive some commissions. And his treason is my reward. I even believe that his wife was in on everything and pretended to be hysterical the morning I visited their home and learned of … this … this treachery. Arnold has ill used me, and I want him returned to me. Alive. I need your help.”

  Ian fairly groaned under the knowledge that he had no choice but to accept the mission to kidnap Benedict Arnold. If Washington had gone so far as to brief him on secret plans, then he knew the seriousness of the situation. Arnold was leading an army of American deserters who’d taken up the British cause. Such an influence could be damning to an American victory.

  As much as Ian wanted to help, he also wanted to return to Bethlyn. Yet he’d already vowed that his country would have to come first until the war was won, and he hoped that Bethlyn truly understood. Still, this fight wouldn’t keep him warm at night. He missed Bethlyn so damned much! “I’ll do anything that’s necessary,” Ian finally responded.

  “Good, son. I knew I could trust you. The man in charge of the operation is Sergeant Major Champe.”

  “I thought he was a deserter.”

  “Champe’s desertion was a deception. He has since made contact with Arnold and been offered a position as one of his officers. Major Light Horse Harry Lee and three of his men will be hiding nearby on the night of the kidnapping with horses in readiness for Arnold, Champe, and yourself. You and Champe will kidnap Arnold in the garden of his home. Someone will wait with a boat by the Jersey shore for transportation to Hoboken. Arnold will be delivered to Lee, who will then bring the traitor to me. Any other briefings between now and the kidnapping will come from Champe.” Washington’s gaze penetrated Ian’s. “As always, I avow no knowledge of activity. Your escape is entirely up to you.”

  Ian nodded and stood up to shake Washington’s hand.

  “Don’t fail me, lad,” the general requested softly.

  “I promise that Arnold will be in your hands before long, sir.”

  On his way out of Washington’s office, Ian nearly bumped into a man who was sweeping very close to the general’s door. He nearly stopped, wondering if he should say something to Washington about the man. One never knew who might be listening. But the man who resembled an Indian with his coal-black hair and bedraggled clothing shot Ian a very bright smile and said something in an Indian dialect which Ian didn’t understand.

  Inclining his head, Ian mumbled a good day to the man and walked on, deciding that he was no threat. Apparently he couldn’t speak English.

  The Indian man disappeared from his mind as he conjured up Bethlyn’s image. He wanted to see her again, but there wasn’t time. For the Arnold kidnapping to be carried out, he had to make immediate contact with Champe to arrange the details. But he decided that when this mission was over, he’d remain at Wild Violets with Bethlyn for a long rest. Maybe a permanent one.

  ~

  Thomas Eversley was livid at the news from Mariah that Bethlyn Briston was the Dove.

  What a fool the little tart had made of him! He’d never forgive her for humiliating him in front of his crew, for the innocent way she’d gone along with nary a clue after his arrival in Philadelphia. How she must have laughed at him. But now he’d have the last laugh. The bitch was in prison, most likely suffering horrible indignities. No Captain Hawk would come to her rescue now.

  His head bolted up, no longer seeing Bethlyn’s face in the bottom of his empty ale cup. The loud voices and bawdy tales from the sailors and men who surrounded him in the seafront tavern ceased to exist for Thomas, and he barely saw Mariah, who sat across the small wooden table from him. Instead, he pictured the masked visage of Captain Hawk and wondered how he’d been such a stupid jackass as to not realize the truth before this. If Bethlyn Briston was the Dove, then wouldn’t it figure that her paramour, Hawk, was, in reality, her husband?

  The sudden knowledge rolled over him like a thunderbolt, deafening him with the implications. Finally, after all these years, Thomas had Ian Briston backed into
a corner, a cage to be exact, in some filthy hole of a prison if he had his way, and he relished the sense of absolute power. But a sense of frustration welled within him. Briston wasn’t in his grasp.

  “Has Briston been to visit his wife yet?” Thomas asked Mariah.

  “No. Only the Grubers.”

  Thomas didn’t hide his downcast look, and Mariah gulped down his ale and laughed. “My friend, I thought you were most eager to learn the identities of this couple.”

  “I could have put the pieces together once I knew Bethlyn was suspected of being the Dove,” Thomas reminded Mariah sharply. “Most certainly I’m not stupid, man.”

  “Ah, but you’re not a spy and you don’t think like one or know how to obtain the information you seek. At this very moment you want to know how to lay hands on Ian Briston.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I shall help you do this. For a price.”

  “Of course I’ll pay you, but don’t expect a fortune from me.”

  Mariah stood to leave, his large frame bending over Thomas. “If that’s your attitude I will keep the information to myself. Good night, Mr. Eversley.”

  “Wait!” Thomas hissed, and Mariah sat back down.

  “I’ll pay your price, no matter the cost. I want Ian Briston.”

  “I think you want his wife more,” Mariah noted, and there was a bit of dislike for Thomas and loathing for himself in his tone of voice. “But I tell you what I know only because I need the money, a very large sum of money, Mr. Eversley.”

  “The damn money is yours,” Thomas grumbled, running out of patience. “Just tell me the plan to capture Briston and be done with it. I’ve waited long enough in these godforsaken colonies. Heaven only knows why we’re fighting to keep them. I say good riddance to the lot of them, and to you, Mariah. Before this month is over, I’ll sail for England — with my bride beside me.”

  Mariah felt no satisfaction when he started to reveal the plan he’d overheard outside the door of Washington’s office. As a trusted British spy, he’d make certain that Benedict Arnold wouldn’t be the man kidnapped that night. But a pang of guilt twisted through him at what he was doing to an innocent woman.

  No woman deserved the distinction of being the object of Thomas Eversley’s lust, but to realize that he was helping to place her in Eversley’s keeping pricked the last vestiges of Mariah’s conscience. When Eversley left the tavern, much pleased with the plan, Mariah sent up a prayer to the creator and begged forgiveness.

  ~

  Bethlyn dozed as she leaned against the damp wall of her cell. Dusk filtered in through the small, barred window and no lanterns had been lighted yet. She thought she must be dreaming when she heard someone softly call her name from outside, but being too fatigued from her weeklong stay in the prison, she nodded off again.

  “Bethlyn!” The voice cut through her sleep, and she woke to stare at the window, seeing a figure silhouetted against the darkening sky. Blinking back her disbelief, she rose on unsteady feet, the hem of her gown dragging along the dirty floor, to grasp the bars and feel the warm pressure of Ian’s fingers in her own.

  “My God!” he whispered in a ragged voice. “What have they done to you?” If his hands had been small enough he’d have slid them through the bars to wipe away the dirt streaks on her face and the dark smudges beneath her eyes from lack of sleep and worry. Yet those beautiful brown orbs which swirled with golden specks shimmered with joy at seeing him.

  “I thought I’d never see you again.” She choked on her words as tears slid down her cheeks. Increasing the pressure of her fingers on his, she gazed wonderingly at him and hoped she wasn’t dreaming.

  Ian could barely speak from the sense of dismay and guilt which clutched at him. Just that afternoon he’d learned about Bethlyn’s arrest from a house servant when he’d returned to Wild Violets, hoping for a few hours alone with her until he had to leave. As he’d viciously spurred his horse towards the city, he’d blamed and cursed himself a hundredfold for not being home to protect her.

  Arnold’s kidnapping was scheduled for midnight, allowing very little time to tell her how much he loved her; that would take days. He knew that at that very moment he should be going over last minute plans and changing into the uniform of a British officer. But he knew Bethlyn must be frightened, and he must convince her that he would free her as soon as he was able and to cling to his love for her.

  “I haven’t much time, my love,” he said, and memorized every inch of her beautiful face. “I learned what happened just today. Has anyone wondered why I haven’t visited you yet?”

  “Yes, but I told General Clinton and his aide that you were away on business. Oh, Ian, I’m frightened.”

  Her fear transferred to him, but he must soothe her until he could free her. “Listen to me, Bethlyn, and understand. I’ve been preparing for a mission which will take place tonight. As soon as it is ended, I’ll be back here and demand your release. When this night is over, Captain Hawk will no longer exist. We’ll go home and never worry about espionage again.”

  “What if General Clinton doesn’t release me?”

  Ian had considered the possibility. It seemed that the evidence against her was damning, but that wouldn’t stop Ian. “Be prepared for anything, even an escape. Can you be brave until then?”

  She nodded. “I can stand anything as long as we’re together again.”

  For a few silent seconds they gazed at each other with so much love that the sound of footsteps and the sudden brightness from a wall lantern along the corridor nearly went unnoticed until the jailer’s shuffling step grew louder.

  “Ian, you must leave,” Bethlyn whispered in a rush.

  Ian kissed one of her fingertips. Before he disappeared into the gathering darkness, he whispered, “Remember, I love you, and be prepared.”

  ~

  A nagging torment ate away at Ian’s vitals as he stealthily neared the arranged meeting spot where he expected to find Sergeant Major Champe. He couldn’t forget Bethlyn’s face, streaked with dirt and tearstains, when he told her good-bye. Already he reasoned that Clinton probably wouldn’t release her, so an escape was the only way to free her. They’d head for the safety of Windhaven and would stay there until the war was over, but he’d have to somehow arrange to bribe a guard to glance the other way when he sneaked into the prison to spirit Bethlyn to freedom. He couldn’t wait to have her in his arms again, to know she was safe.

  First, however, he must put all his energies into completing this mission.

  The Arnold residence glowed with but a few lights when Ian neared the back fence of the property. He found the wooden boards which Champe had quietly loosened weeks ago to make removal a simple task when they entered the yard to capture Arnold. The space would allow enough room to accommodate Ian and his fellow conspirator when lugging the hapless Arnold away.

  Champe had discovered in his investigation of Arnold’s habits that the man always used the privy late at night, thus eliminating the presence of servants. And on such a dark and cloudy night as this one, the abduction should be quite easy.

  Feeling a bit warm with his black cape thrown over the scarlet officer’s uniform, Ian skulked into the bushes to await Champe. He knew it was nearly midnight, and wondered where the man was. They had decided to meet at a quarter before the hour, and Champe was too much of a professional not to be punctual. Had something happened?

  Minutes dragged past until suddenly a door opened at the back of the house. Ian stiffened in response, melting into the darkness to peer over the fence top. Suppose it was Arnold going to use the privy? He couldn’t attempt the kidnapping on his own — otherwise, he’d be disobeying orders — but he sighed in relief to see that the figure silhouetted against the lamplight was Peggy Arnold’s. In her arms she held a cat, which she promptly let loose and closed the door. All was silent except the wild pounding of Ian’s heart.

  When moments passed, Ian grew edgy, instinct warning him that something wasn’t right.
Champe should have arrived before then, and having seen no sign of Arnold he began to wonder if Arnold was even at home. Should he abort the mission? He wanted to leave but he’d given his word to Washington and decided to wait fifteen minutes longer.

  The time passed slowly, and Ian grew more agitated, knowing that no kidnapping would occur tonight. The realization of this simultaneously annoyed and elated him. He’d wasted a great deal of time, but now he could concentrate on freeing Bethlyn,

  Leaving the shadows of the bushes and trees, he quietly trod away from the house, but he hadn’t gone far when his sense of danger alerted him to the fact that he was being watched. He’d barely halted in his tracks before he felt hot breath fanning the back of his neck.

  He spun around, going for his pistol, but before he could even raise a hand to defend himself, the shadowy figure knocked something rock-hard against his temple with such unbridled force that Ian staggered, willing himself not to fall.

  But the stunning dizziness won, and he barely realized that he’d dropped to his knees. Blood streamed freely down the side of his head and into his eye, but he wouldn’t relinquish his hold on the pistol despite the incapacitating weakness which overpowered him.

  Somehow he managed to lift his gaze to the dark-shrouded man before him who wore a black tricorn hat. “Who?” he rasped, losing strength as he tried vainly to rise to his feet.

  “No one of importance,” the man uttered in a somewhat sad tone of voice before hitting him with the hard, blunt object again.

  Falling forward onto the grass, Ian lay totally defeated and unprepared for the black fog of unconsciousness.

  ~

  An hour before dawn Bethlyn was awakened by the rattle of a key in the lock of her cell. A tall man wearing black gestured to her to be quiet, and he waved her forward. Remembering what Ian had said about an escape, she stiffly stood up from the corner where she huddled and felt an immense delight that soon she’d be with Ian. Following behind the broad-shouldered man in the tricorn hat who stalked down the dimly lit and abandoned corridors, she wondered why Ian had sent this man.