"Fair enough." She snatched her lock of hair from his hand. "Now if that's all you came to say, I want you to go."
His eyes narrowed as he studied her freckled face. There was something wholesome, something fresh and untamed about her simple ways. The girl was clever, too. She'd been quite careful to admit to nothing, though she knew full well she'd been caught red-handed.
"Oh, no, it's not as easy as that, Maggie mine. A bargain."
Her brow creased. "A bargain?"
"Yes. One kiss."
"I told you I'm no whore," she spit.
"All I ask of you is a kiss, a single kiss. It seems a fair request from a man willing to save you from the noose."
A kiss! I can't kiss him again, she thought wildly. "One kiss? Nothing more?" she heard herself ask.
"One kiss."
She nodded, remembering the feel of his lips on hers last night. "Then you go." She let her eyes drift shut as she waited for him to kiss her.
His chuckle made her snap her eyes open. "What?"
"I want you to kiss me."
"Me kiss you!"
"Yes. You were a married woman. Surely you must have kissed your husband. Now, give me a husbandly kiss and we'll consider this matter settled."
"Noah Myers never kissed nothing but a pint of ale!"
"Maggie, I have to be on my way before someone realizes I've left the camp."
She thought to refuse him, but how could she? The man was right. He held her life in the palm of his hand. He wasn't asking her to bed him. He wouldn't force her; somehow she knew he wasn't that kind of man. All he wanted was a kiss. With a groan she lifted up on her toes and brought her mouth to his. She was careful not to let any of her body touch his. Their lips met and she moved to withdraw, but he caught the back of her head with his palm and deepened the kiss.
Before Maggie knew what was happening, her tongue was touching his. His fingers threaded through her hair and her hands rose of their own accord to rest on his broad shoulders.
God, it felt good to be kissed like this. Like he cared.
Cared! Maggie stepped back abruptly. Of course he didn't care! He didn't even know her! Grayson smiled at her and she turned away, embarrassed by her wanton behavior.
"That was nice," he told her gently. "Now how about some of that bacon? Maybe you could fry up one of those eggs for me? I haven't had an egg in ages."
"You said you'd leave," she said angrily, her back still to him.
"And I will. After breakfast." He grabbed a chair and sat down at her table.
She turned back to him, the apples of her cheeks pinkening with rising anger. She opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut, whirling back around. Grabbing the eggs, she cracked them into the hot skillet the bacon fried in. She didn't want to make the blasted redcoat breakfast, but what was she to do?
Flipping the bacon onto a pewter plate, she slid the eggs next to the glistening strips and added a piece of toast. None too gently, she dropped the plate in front of him. "Eat and be gone!"
He glanced up, amused. "A fork?"
She crossed the room, retrieved one from a cup over the mantel, and slammed it on the table beside his plate.
"Won't you have some?" he asked, cutting the egg with his fork.
"Lost my appetite," she snapped, turning away.
He caught her apron string. "No, no, you come and sit with me." He indicated a chair with his fork and then took a mouthful of the egg. "Sit and talk with me."
She scowled. "I'd sooner sit and talk with the devil than you, Captain Thayer."
"Grayson."
"What?"
"No one ever calls me by my Christian name these days. I want you to call me Grayson. Now sit and talk with me while I enjoy my meal. I'll eat and then I'll go, I swear it. You'll never see me again."
With a sigh of resignation, Maggie took a seat across the table from the redcoat, wishing she could believe him. But somehow she knew that this wouldn't be the last she'd see of Grayson Thayer.
Maggie stepped into the public room of the tavern and surveyed the noisy crowd. A thick veil of smoke hung in the air. She squinted, adjusting her eyes to the dim light. Grayson wasn't there. Feeling foolish to have even been looking for him, she crossed the room and slipped into the back kitchen.
"Where you been?" Her brother-in-law Manny asked, as he dumped a sack of potatoes onto a wooden table. "We haven't seen you in three days."
She shrugged the leather pack containing several pairs of half-made boots off her back and set it aside. "Been around." After the close call earlier in the week with Captain Thayer, Zeke had suggested she lay low. She had told Zeke of the conversation she'd had with Grayson that morning in her kitchen. But she hadn't told him about the kiss.
"For once it was to your advantage to wear a skirt," Zeke had teased. "He let you go, hoping you'd show him a little favor."
Maggie had pitched a clod of dirt at Zeke, beaning him on the head and ending the conversation. But she'd still taken his advice and remained at the farm working her sparse garden, and starting on a boot order for several British soldiers camped near the tavern. It seemed it took her longer to make a bad pair of boots than it did a decent pair. She'd said nothing more of the redcoat captain who had spared her life, but she'd thought of him often. No matter how many times she pushed him from her mind, he reappeared. She saw his startling blue eyes, she heard his rich tenor voice, she tasted his lips on hers.
"Maggie! Have you gone daft, woman?" Manny broke her from her thoughts. "I asked if you could peel the taters. I got a crowd of hungry men out there."
Maggie took the knife he offered. "I can only stay a few minutes, then I got to head out to do some sizin' for boots. Where's Alice?"
He rolled his bulging eyes heavenward. "Upstairs, sleeping. Women's ailments. She said she couldn't lift another thing today."
Maggie grabbed a potato and began to peel. "You got to get some help here, Manny. You can't expect her to cook for the whole place, clean rooms, and watch your four children, with another on the way."
"We must work the works of him that sent me, said the Lord." Manny wiped his hands on his protruding stomach.
"Don't start that Bible quotin' with me. Work, yes, kill yourself doin' it, no!" She grabbed another potato. "Since the Brits started movin' in on us, it's been too much on her."
He shrugged his massive shoulders, unwrapping a quarter of beef he'd just brought up from the cellar. "You could move in, give her a hand."
"Ah, no. We're not startin' that again, Manny. I appreciate the offer, but I'm not movin' in with anyone. I'm gonna sit right there on my own porch and rock away the days."
"Not safe," he grunted. "A woman alone with these soldiers comin' and goin'."
She peeled faster. "I'm safe enough. Nobody's bothered me yet, have they? I got the farm, and with the few pennies I make fixin' boots, I'm doing as well as Noah ever did." Better, she thought to herself.
Manny took a meat cleaver and raised it to cut into the beef quarter. "It just ain't right, a woman doin' a man's work. Shoe-makin's men's work." The cleaver hit the wooden table with a thump and he raised it again.
"We've been through this before. I thank you for your concern, but mind your own knittin', Manny. Alice is your wife, not me."
"Thank the good Lord for that," he muttered.
Maggie grinned, still peeling potatoes. "What'd you say?"
"Nuthin'." He brought the great cleaver down and hacked off another hunk of meat.
She chuckled. "Well, I got a start on your potatoes, but I got to go."
"You're not leavin' me with twenty-five pounds to peel before supper!"
She handed him the knife. "That I am. It's not my place of business. It's yours." She grabbed her knapsack and waved as she went out the door. "Tell my sister I was askin' for her. And do yourself a favor, Manny. Hire yourself another cook!" With that, Maggie walked out of the kitchen and back into the public room.
Scanning the crowd of tavern patrons
once more for her captain, she slipped out the door. Outside, she headed east toward the British encampment where several men who had ordered boots were residing. The men belonged to some sort of special detachment sent to keep an eye on the citizens of Yorktown no doubt. So far, Maggie hadn't seen them keep an eye on anything but their cards and Lyla. Maggie thought she'd fit the customers for their boots and then get home before dark.
As she walked along the road she contemplated her interest in Grayson.
She laughed aloud. Here she was thinking of him, calling him by name. She'd didn't know what ailed her, but she hoped she could cure it fast and simple. The man was dangerous. He was the enemy. Crossing the shallow creek that ran over the road, Maggie climbed the bluff to where she knew the men camped. On the crest of the hill, she could see that the encampment had been enlarged since the last time she'd been up here.
She couldn't help wondering what General Washington was up to these days. Did he realize Cornwallis intended to move his men from Wiliamsburg to Yorktown? Of course nothing was official yet, but Maggie and the others in the town knew it was only a matter of time.
Glancing up at the setting sun, she hurried along, wishing she hadn't stopped at the tavern. It was growing dark quickly and a soldiers' camp was not the place for a woman after dark.
Weaving her way through the maze of canvas tents, ignoring the occasional bawdy greeting, she located the men who'd placed the order with her.
"Here she is, the boot girl," Lieutenant Riker called from a camp stool, his speech slightly slurred. He was drinking.
She looked around, realizing that the area was secluded by trees. A small campfire provided light as darkness began to settle in. The group of lieutenants were gathered in a circle, a deck of cards resting on a barrel they were using for a table. A tapped keg of ale sat on a rock under a tree. "I could come back if this ain't a good time," Maggie said.
Lieutenant Riker, a man of no more than eighteen, raised off the stool and approached her. His dark hair was pulled back in a a queue, though several stands had escaped to fall across his cheek. His blue-green eyes were rimmed in red. "Don't be foolish, sweet. What we need here is a lady. A party's just not a party without a lady, is it, gentlemen?"
There were several chuckles and an occasional guffaw as the men murmured among themselves.
"Just the same. It's gettin' late. I got a cow to milk," she lied as she turned around. "I'll come back tomorrow."
Riker grasped her shoulder. "Now just wait a minute. You can't walk out on us like that. Not when we invited you to stay. It would be damned rude, wouldn't it, gentlemen?"
"Damned rude," echoed a burly man, appearing at her other side. "Join us."
She shook her head. "I'm going' home. Now let go of me."
Riker smiled. "Look at the way her eyes light up, Gordy. Damned if we don't have us a hot country wench here." He eyed her breasts, winking at his friend.
Gordy took her other arm. Maggie tried to twist away, but both men held her tightly. "Let me go," she cried, trying not to panic. "You can't do this. Someone will hear me if I scream."
"Nah. No one's going to hear you, sweet," Riker answered. "Too busy with their own business. Besides, if they did hear, what would they care?" He twisted her arm. "Spoils of war is what we call baggage like you." He crushed his mouth against hers and Maggie's stomach heaved. All she could think of was Noah and his last fruitless attempts at making love to her. He had tasted of ale just like this man and it had made her sick to her stomach. She'd told Noah she wouldn't stand for any more and she wasn't going to stand it from this man, either.
With a cry of anguish, Maggie swung free of Gordy. She shoved Riker and clipped him hard in the jaw with her left fist.
"God damn, woman!" Riker cursed. "Mind your manners!" He cuffed her back, hitting her in the temple.
Maggie staggered backward, trying to catch her balance. Dear Mother Mary, don't let this be happening to me, she begged silently.
A man caught her from behind, steadying her. "A fine woman," he commented, grasping her tightly around the waist. "Sure wouldn't want to let her get away."
"Please. Let me go."
Riker walked up to her, nursing his jaw. "You ought have a little respect, missy. These gentlemen here are officers in the finest fighting army in the world."
"I think we ought to teach her a little lesson," the big one, Gordy, commented. He had tossed his coat aside and was pulling off his vest.
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, twisting to get away from her captor, knowing it was useless. He pulled her knapsack off her back and dragged her closer to the other men.
"Now wait a minute," Riker said, lifting a tankard of ale. "Who says you get first go, Gordy? I was the one that got her here!"
"You ordered boots! It was my idea to have a little futtering!" He stripped off his white shirt, baring a chest of black curly hair.
"What about me?" someone called.
"I was the one that caught her," her captor complained. "If it hadn't been for me, she'd have gotten away! I say I get her first!"
"Hold it! Hold it!" Riker raised his hands. "There's got to be a way to settle this in a civilized manner." After a moment of thought, he shrugged his shoulders. "We'll just play for her."
"Play for her?" questioned a red-haired man in the group. "What do you mean?"
"Are you dull-witted, Morrison?" Riker shot back. "I mean we'll play for her. A friendly game of laterloo."
"Loo . . . God's teeth," Gordy muttered, reaching for his shirt on the ground. "You know I'm lousy at the game."
"Play or don't play, girls," Ritcher offered. "Winner takes her first. The others can have their turns when the winner's worn out."
Listening to the men bargain over her like she was a side of beef made Maggie physically ill. All she could think was that she had to escape. Giving a scream, she rammed her elbow into her captor's stomach and dove for the ground.
But there were too many of them. Once on her feet, she barely made it out of the circle before someone caught her around the waist. There were hands everywhere, touching her, pulling at her clothing. She screamed again, and someone stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth. They forced her to sit on a campstool and quickly bound her feet together and her hands behind her back.
Maggie watched through hooded eyelids as the men gathered around the gaming table and one of them made the first deal. I swear if I survive this, she thought, I'll get even with you. I'll get even with you all!
Just then, another soldier entered the grove of trees. The campfire light flickered across his face and Maggie recognized him immediately.
Thank God! she thought. It's Grayson! He won't let them do this to me, I know he won't!
"Gentlemen . . ." Grayson greeted. His eyes met Maggie's, and for a moment she thought she saw compassion . . . even fear, but the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"What are you up to?" Grayson asked, trying to sound casual.
Riker stood. "Just a little, fun, sir." He threw a glance over his shoulder. "Got us a wench."
Grayson eyed the hands of cards. "Playing for her, are you?"
"We couldn't decide who'd take her first," Gordy volunteered. "It was Riker's idea!"
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Grayson responded dryly.
"You in?" Riker lit a thick cigar and inhaled.
Maggie's eyes locked with Grayson's; he looked away.
"Hell, yes!" Grayson pulled up a campstool, slapping one of the lieutenants on the back. "I'm in!" He took care not to meet Maggie's gaze again. "A wench like her? I'd be crazy to say no, wouldn't I, gentlemen?"
Chapter Four
The soldiers laughed as they shifted their campstools making room for Captain Thayer at the game table.
Riker offered him a cigar. "A friendly game of loo, sir. The winner takes her first." He winked at Gordy. "The rest of you will have to take the spoils."
There was more crude laughter as Grayson accepted the cigar and all
owed a redheaded lieutenant to light it for him. "Loo, is it?" He took a puff. "Fair enough." His gaze flicked to Maggie and then back at Riker. "But it's winner take all."
"Winner take all! The bloody hell it is!" Gordy swore, leaping up. "We all mean to have a taste of her!"
Riker lowered his tankard, sloshing ale on the ground. "You can't just walk in here and change the rules on us. We're the ones who invited you to partake of our good luck!"
Grayson propped one booted foot on his knee. He didn't like Riker. He was a poor soldier, but because he was Major Lawrence's nephew he received special treatment in the camp. He disobeyed rules and regulations, then flaunted it in front of the other men. "You know, of course, that this is against regulations, Lieutenant."
Riker glanced across the barrel table at his superior officer. "What's written and what's enforced are two different things here, Captain." He smiled, but his voice was laced with barely controlled anger.
Gordy dropped onto his campstool. "You ain't got no right to come in here and tell us what to do with our woman."
Grayson tapped the insignia on his shoulder-boards. "You see this, Moore. This gives me the right."
Riker pushed back a stray lock of midnight hair. "So what you're saying here is that you're pulling rank on us."
"I'm saying, boys, that I've changed the rules. Winner takes her for the night. Losers bow out gracefully."
Gordy slapped the cards on the table. I bloody might as well go back to my tent. I'll not be dippin' my wick tonight!"
Several of the other men grumbled in agreement.
"Enough," Grayson interrupted. "Time's awasting. The sooner we get through this, the sooner I'll have the wench to warm my cot."
Riker's cold gaze met Grayson's. "We'll just see about that, Captain, won't we?"
With bitter anger, Maggie watched the entire exchange between the British officers. How dare he! How dare Grayson be a part to this! For an instant she had fooled herself into thinking he would stop them . . . he would save her. She nearly laughed at her own naivete. Captain Grayson Thayer was no better than the rest of the men in this camp. What had made her ever think differently?
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 4