by M. S. Parker
I just didn't want to have to come back here.
The majority of the staff were mercifully absent as Gracen and I departed. The only servants assisting us were the two stable hands who made sure that our horses were saddled and ready. Dye hovered in the background, a distracting, somewhat fiendish grin on her face. I tried to ignore it but couldn’t help myself. Every time I looked over, she was looking right back. I still wasn’t superstitious, but she had me wondering again if she knew something I didn’t. Or she was just thinking that Gracen and I getting away from Roston would be good for our marriage.
Knowing I wouldn't get an answer – at least not anytime soon – I forced myself to give her an acknowledging nod and then set my mind on the journey ahead.
We set out on horseback with two horses that Gracen had purchased himself. He'd been careful to cultivate his own money over the years, not wanting his father to be able to hold his inheritance ransom. Considering that Roston probably would have done just that in regards to Gracen's recent decisions, I was grateful my husband had such foresight. I might not have been used to riding, but it was definitely preferable to walking.
We traveled late into the night, wanting to put as much distance between us and the estate as possible. By the time we finally stopped at an inn, my entire body ached, and I knew I was going to be sore in the morning. Gracen had managed to learn the general direction of the camp where Washington was located. Since he'd only taken command of the Continental Army earlier this month, I was hoping he'd be open to expanding his information network.
After a quick wash down, I fell into bed next to Gracen, who was already snoring and allowed the exhaustion of the day to pull me under.
All I could think about was that I had to get him to the Jeep before he bled to death in front of me. Gunfire filled the air, and I knew that Jacobs wouldn’t survive the massive leg wound he’d sustained if I didn’t treat him soon. I already knew where I'd put the box containing the medical supplies I needed. That was, if Wilkins hadn’t been an irritating scoundrel and rearranged everything. I told him never to move the medical kits without my permission, but sometimes he did shit just to piss me off, regardless of the consequences. That was one of the reasons why I was always having to bail his ass out of trouble.
I supported Jacobs as best I could, half dragging him toward the truck. He groaned in pain every time I jostled his leg, but it couldn't be helped. When I finally managed to get us both into the relative safety of our transport, I found the kit and got the kid patched up as best I could. He would survive until we made it to the field hospital where I could finish the job.
I’d just given Jacobs a pain killer that I kept stashed aboard when another soldier appeared at the back of the truck. Between the dirt covering his face and the lack of moonlight, I couldn't tell who he was, but that didn't matter. He told me what I needed to know.
“There are way more where that came from, Daviot. Hurry.”
I emerged from the back of the truck and followed the soldier around the corner of a half-bombed house to see a dozen men and women lying around what remained of another transport vehicle. The scent of burning flesh invaded my nostrils, and I had to force back the bile that wanted to rise. The continued gunfire was deafening, but I could still hear the scream and cries of pain. The closest body to me I recognized as the other medic, which meant I was the only hope these soldiers had, and the knowledge paralyzed me.
Dimly, I was aware of someone shouting my name, and I knew I had to move or everyone would die, but I couldn't make my legs obey...
I woke up in a cold sweat, struggling to sit upright but constricted by the bed clothes which had become wrapped around my body. Then I felt my husband’s touch and heard his voice close to my ear, grounding me as he untangled me.
“Ssshhhh,” he comforted, running his hands along my back and shoulders in smooth, soothing motions. I buried my face in his chest as I gulped in deep breaths of air. He ran his fingers through my hair, murmuring words of solace.
“A nightmare?” he asked.
I nodded against him. I hadn’t thought or dreamed of my past so vividly in weeks, and half of the shock came from that. The other half, I knew, stemmed from what I knew was to come. I was about to become part of a war that would spark revolution around the world and bring to end one of the greatest empires that had ever existed.
Crippling fear of battle had never before plagued me. But this was beyond the fear of injury or death. This was fear of failing and knowing what it would mean if I messed something up. Gracen's presence, however, reassured me, reminded me that I could do anything with him at my side.
I lay awake long after his breathing became even again, and he fell back to sleep. The beat of my heart slowly returned to a normal rhythm as I spoke reality over and over again in my mind. Gracen was here. What we were doing was right. Everything was going to be okay. We could do this.
Like many other things when it came to history, the American camp was far less remarkable than TV had led me to believe. The settlement was a crude one and far from being glamorous. It was late afternoon, the first of August, when we spotted the sentries moments before they called attention to themselves.
As Gracen had suggested, I kept quiet and to the background as he spoke, first to a sentry and then to an officer, before the two of us were led toward a tent near the center of the camp.
“General Washington,” the man spoke as he pulled aside the tent flap and stepped inside, “there’s a man, Gracen Lightwood, here to see you.”
As we followed the soldier inside, a man behind a desk stood and then stepped around with his hand out.
“Hello, Mr. Lightwood,” he greeted. As he shook Gracen's hand, he glanced at me, gaze zeroing in on my left hand. “And you must be Mrs. Lightwood.”
He looked like the pictures I’d seen in Ennis’ textbooks. Tall, especially for this time period. Only an inch shorter than Gracen. He wore the traditional wig that was featured in historical portraits. The main and most salient difference was he was utterly and completely real. As in human. There was a very mortal ruggedness about him. I supposed it was weird because I was so used to seeing actors looking sort of like the historical figure they were portraying, that seeing the real thing was...strange.
“Good morning, sir,” Gracen said. He didn't look the least bit nervous. “My wife, Honor, and I have come to offer our support and assistance.”
Washington motioned for us to take a seat on the two chairs sitting across from his desk. Everything was on the rickety side, but as a general, he at least got to have furniture.
“Lightwood,” Washington said as he took his own seat. “You are the son of Roston Lightwood?”
“I am. You know my father?”
Washington shook his head. “By reputation only.” He tilted his head, giving us both a hard look. “He's a Loyalist.”
“Yes, he is,” Gracen answered. “But his views are not mine. That is why I'm here.”
Washington’s look was contemplative as he turned his gaze to me. “And you, Mrs. Lightwood? Why have you accompanied your husband? Surely it would be safer for all involved if you remained at home.”
Though the statement was made with unmistakable respect, I knew he was simply saying what most men of this time believed. While some women might have been used as nurses, there wouldn't have been many of them.
I wasn't about to let any of that stop me from stating my piece. “I might be a woman, but this is as much my fight as it is my husband’s. I would be prepared to work alongside him in whatever capacity you deem fitting.”
A few moments of silence passed as Washington regarded us carefully. I could almost see the wheels in his head turning. Unfortunately, I didn't know enough about how he'd strategized to know what he could be thinking.
“Perhaps you’re in need of...information?” Gracen suggested. “I have no experience in the army, but my civilian position may provide some useful insight.”
Washington stroked
his chin. “It’s an intriguing concept.”
I wasn't sure if that meant he was seriously considering it, or if he was just playing along, but there was something I knew that might prompt him to make a decision. I just had to figure out the best way to say it.
“Sir,” I said, drawing his attention to me. “When King George refuses any agreement the colonies might attempt to make with him, when he officially declares the colonies to be in rebellion – and he will – it will be helpful to have civilians working on your side. Not only as informants but also to pass information along. Civilians rarely get noticed. Especially young men of indeterminate birth.”
I watched as understanding dawned on the general's face.
“Am I understanding that you are volunteering to impersonate a man in order to gather and pass information?” Washington responded.
I sent Gracen a sideways glance, and he gave me a nod that told me to continue. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve played the part of a man, General Washington.”
“Though I know that Honor would be more than capable of working under that guise,” Gracen put in. “I would wager that the fact that she is female could also be a valuable asset. And a husband and wife who have connections among Boston Loyalists...”
I had to admit, that was better reasoning than some sort of womanly wiles shit.
“I will consider your offer,” Washington said. He thought again for a few moments and then looked back at me. “What makes you so certain that the king will not negotiate? That he won't listen to reason?”
I made sure I kept eye contact, made my voice even, so there'd be no doubt of my honesty. “By Thanks…” I cleared my throat to cover my near mistake. Thanksgiving wouldn’t be a holiday for nearly a hundred years. “By the end of November, King George will announce to Parliament that the colonies need to be dealt with. This won’t be a short skirmish that will be settled quickly.”
He looked at me oddly, then after another moment asked, “And why are you so sure of this, Mrs. Lightwood?”
Gracen's hand grasped mine, squeezing it to give me a warning I didn't need. If I claimed to be from the future, not only would we lose all credibility, I'd be lucky not to be accused of being mad...or a witch. Neither of those things had a good outcome.
After a moment, Washington waved his hand dismissively. “Thank you for your offer and your information. I will speak with my men and contact you if we believe you can be useful.”
Gracen and Washington shook hands, and I took a minute to appreciate it.
My husband was shaking the hand of America’s first president. I’d talked to George Washington. I could end up working for George Washington...as a spy for the Continental Army.
Ennis would never believe it.
Then I remembered that I'd never get the chance to tell my brother about any of this.
Chapter 10
We were back at the Lightwood estate two days later, which was two days too soon in my opinion. Roston’s greeting at our arrival was far from warm, but it wasn’t extremely hostile, so I figured that it was a good halfway point to settle in at, and probably the best scenario we could realistically hope for.
We'd made decent time back despite my reticence to return, so we had time to wash up before dinner. We didn't talk, but we didn't need to. We'd talked over things the whole way back, going over what I knew the next couple months held – not much that I could remember until George's announcement – as well as discussing what we would do if Washington did call for our service. Better to make plans and not need them than to be caught off guard.
Especially when being caught off guard meant being executed for treason.
When I finally felt clean again – or at least as clean as I could possibly feel without indoor plumbing – I slipped into one of my “proper” dinner dresses, then sat at the dressing table to brush out my damp hair. Gracen came up behind me, leaning close to kiss my neck. When he slid his hand down my shoulder to cover my breast, I chuckled.
“Well, well. Just what do you think you're doing, Mr. Lightwood?”
He placed a few more kisses along my neck and jaw before answering, “A man has the right to enjoy when his wife looks particularly beautiful, doesn’t he? Besides, I would like to enjoy seeing you like this now in case Washington decides that you should dress like a man again. I won’t be able to kiss you then, so I should take my fill while I am able.”
I chuckled again, turning my head to allow his mouth to find mine. His tongue slowly stroked across mine, stoking a fire low inside me.
When the downstairs clock chimed five, Gracen reluctantly pulled away. “Come on, let’s go.”
I groaned. “Do we have to?”
Gracen’s only answer was to give me a quick kiss on the mouth and then take my hand.
When we arrived downstairs for dinner, Titus informed us that dinner would be slightly delayed, the expression on his face clearly saying that there was a reason he wasn't going to share. I banished his smirk from my mind as Gracen and I made our way toward the library, planning to spend a few more precious minutes alone while we waited.
Except we weren't alone. Standing in the middle of the one room where I'd felt comfortable was the person I despised more than Roston.
“Well, Gracen, Honor. Welcome back.”
“Clara?” Gracen asked, “what are you doing here?”
She smiled that sickly sweet smile of hers. “It would have been terribly rude for me to ignore your homecoming. I had to come by and welcome you both back.”
“We were gone for scarcely three days,” I pointed out, not bothering to play nice with my tone. Clara already knew that I despised her, so why should I try to hide it?
She continued to smile, tilting her head in a way that made her sandy hair catch the flickering lamplight. She also completely ignored my statement and went on with whatever it was she'd come here to say.
“I’ve been ever so busy as of late. Quincy and I have been seeing quite a lot of each other, and he wishes me to accompany him to so many functions, I can hardly find time to do anything else. It's just been so exhausting.” She laughed in the most irritatingly artificial way.
It set my teeth on edge.
“Oh, the trials of the upper class,” I said, my voice dripping with mock sympathy.
I felt Gracen press my arm, and I took a mental step back. Though I saw no reason to act civil with this woman, I would try to control myself for his sake.
At least, Gracen didn't make me say anything else. “Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to make an appearance, but please feel free to return to your obligations now that you've welcomed my wife and me home.”
I tried not to look smug about both his dismissal and his not-so-subtle reminder of who I was to him.
Clara tossed a silky lock of hair over her shoulder and took a few steps toward the window, a far-off look coming over her face. “I suppose I should return now. Quincy and I do hate to be apart. We’ve become very fond of each other, you know.”
I almost snorted. They hardly knew each other. This was a ploy to make Gracen jealous. Any idiot could see it. But it didn't matter. She could try all she wanted, but it wouldn't make a difference. I just wondered if she had herself convinced with any of this shit.
“Then you mustn’t keep him waiting,” Gracen said.
Clara looked at the two of us for a long time, her perfectly formed lips twisting into a scowl. “If you're sure that's what you want.” She paused, her scowl deepening when she realized Gracen wasn't going to try to stop her.
With an overdramatic flounce, Clara hurried out, slamming the door behind her.
“Sore loser,” I said.
Gracen looked confused by my words, reminding me that the expression wasn't exactly commonplace in this particular time.
“She’s jealous,” I clarified. “Because I got you and she didn’t.”
He shook his head. “It seems petty after our meeting with Washington, doesn’t it? So
many more important things to worry about.”
I nodded. “Do you think he’ll contact us about joining?”
Gracen shrugged. “I believe that if he believes it will be beneficial to the cause, he will.”
I reached out and took his hand. “I'm so sorry that I've made things so hard for you.”
He gave me an exasperated smile. “I love you so much, and even more so due to your understanding. I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t here with me.”
I put my hand on his face. “Gracen, are you sure about this?”
He leaned into my touch. “Honor. I do believe that the people who have come to call this land home have a right to govern it however they see fit. That is the reason I agree with you. We will fight for our right to choose how to live our lives.”
The tension in me eased at his words. As long as we both knew where we stood, we could do this. We would do this.
Chapter 11
When a third week had passed and there was still no word from Washington, I began to feel restless, a strange sort of discontent that came with not having a purpose. It was that purposelessness that I'd dreaded when I tried to decide whether or not I wanted to re-enlist, and the fact that I'd found it here wasn't sitting well with me. It didn’t help that Roston’s attitude toward us was as cold as ever, though he seemed to avoid both Gracen and me. I could tell it hurt Gracen, but I couldn't help thinking it was actually better than the alternative.
While there was plenty of room on the estate for us to co-exist, it wasn't exactly comfortable for either of us, but I knew that our best bet was to stay here. Aside from the fact that we needed Washington to be able to find us if he needed us, the best way for us to pick up on any new information from the Loyalists was to be around them. If we left, we'd be losing the very thing that would make us an asset to the cause.