Faithfully Yours (14 page)

Reverend McEachern's voice from the pulpit was soothing. She clung to each word. When she shifted on the hard seat, she almost gasped aloud at the extraordinary delight searing her as her leg brushed Sebastian's. His hand settled on hers beneath one of the folds of her skirt, and she heard nothing more the minister said. All of her was riveted on the lazy motion of his finger tracing hers.

Only when Molly tugged on her skirt from the other side and asked, “Are you going to sit here all day, Faith?” did Faith realize the service was over. She leaped to her feet, dismay making her so awkward that she bumped into Nancy, who was trying to slip past her sister. Nervous laughter taunted her. Silencing it before she added to her humiliation, she shook her head. “No, Molly, I am not. Sorry.”

“It is so chilly in here. I want to get home.” Molly held up her hands, revealing a hole in a finger of her left glove. “Will you knit me a new glove?”

“Soon.”

“Soon?” asked Sebastian with a sharp chuckle. “Certainly you have a few gloves stashed away in a chest somewhere. You must have knit almost a score since I arrived here.”

Hating to be false while she was standing in the church, Faith said nothing. She rushed out of the small building and into the cold air. When snowflakes fell heavily onto her best bonnet, she drew up the hood of her cloak.

Sebastian was watching her too closely. She longed to believe it was because he found her as desirable as she found him, but knew she must not delude herself. He had suspected her of lying to him from the moment they met on the road, when he rescued her from his heavy-handed men. Although the questions in his eyes about where she had been going had been replaced by undeniable craving, he would not set aside his duty.

Sebastian took her hand and placed it on his sleeve again. “Would it be inappropriate to say here that you act as if the devil is nipping at your heels?”

“I am cold and wish to hurry home.”

“I would be glad to take you there now.”

She hesitated, wishing she had thought before she spoke. Her mind became scattered when her fingers brushed the brawny strength beneath his sleeve. She could not keep from remembering the sturdy breadth of his chest when he kissed her.

“Thank you, but no. I must speak with some of my neighbors,” she replied, glad
that
was not a lie.

Her mother spoke before Sebastian could. “Will you be long, Faith?”

“No … No, I don't think so.”

Father hunched beneath his thick cloak. “It is too chilly to linger here while you enjoy some girlish gossip. We will take the wagon home, and you may follow in the pony cart.”

“I can call upon them later if that is more convenient.” Adrat! She had not intended this to spiral out of control so swiftly.

Mother smiled. “Do not be silly, Faith. You have had so little time lately to visit with your friends.”

“Sebastian,” added Father, “will you escort my daughter safely home?”

Faith pulled her hand off Sebastian's arm. “Father, I would—”

“Is there a reason you do not wish to ride with him?” her father asked.

She dampened her abruptly dry lips. “Of course not, Father.”

“Good. Then it is settled. Do not linger too long along the way.”

She realized that Father was not speaking to her, but to Sebastian. Were his words a warning, or the suggestion that the ride home together was the perfect time for a bit of courting?

“Well, Faith,” murmured Sebastian as her parents hurried to the wagon where her sisters and brothers were giggling together, “I guess you will be riding with me, after all.”

Faith wanted to accuse him of arranging this, but that would make matters worse. With defeat tainting every breath, she wondered if matters
could
be worse. “I suppose I should thank you for offering to escort me.”

“You know I would be a fool to miss the opportunity.”

“Ah, I remember now.” Sarcasm filled her voice. “You have told me more than once that you take advantage of every opportunity that comes your way.”

He stroked the curve of her shoulder. “Are you suggesting that I persuaded your parents to allow me to see you back to your father's house?” He chuckled. “I would say it was quite the opposite.
You
convinced them with your determination to speak to your friends on this frigid day.” With a gracious bow, he motioned toward where some of her neighbors were gathered. “Shall we?”

He was daring her to disdain his company and walk home, but if she did she would have to give Father a reason for disobeying. “This way,” she said in a strained tone.

Sebastian put his hand on hers on his arm as they walked from the church. She was delighted, yet disappointed, when he released her as Mother motioned to him. Watching him join her family by their wagon, she wondered how she could feel relief and regret at the same time.

Faith was surrounded almost instantly by her neighbors. Questions were fired at her from every direction, by those who supported the rebels and those who were loyal to the king.

“How much longer is Major Kendrick staying with your family, Faith?” asked Mistress Eddley, a squat woman who was growing wider with her second child.

“I do not know.” To cover her dismay at the thought of Sebastian leaving, a dismay she wished she did not feel, she added, “He will be here as long as he must to arrange buying supplies for the British army.”

“Buy? I thought he was selling
you
something.”

“Pardon me?”

The women laughed at her stiff answer.

“My father,” Faith said, “is a good host, and he wishes me to treat our guests with respect.”

Mistress Mertz pushed past the others and took Faith's arm with one hand as she held her youngest son's fingers with the other. “Just the one I wanted to see.” Not giving anyone else a chance to speak—or Faith a chance to greet young Johnny—the tall woman, who had the same freckled face as all her children, steered Faith from among the women. She lowered her voice. “It is not like you, Faith, to be so unthinking. You should have known that they would be atwitter with questions about you and that British major.”

“I should have.” Faith did not want to admit that she had been hoping to escape the web of seduction that Sebastian spun with such ease. “Mistress Mertz, about my father's guests, I want you to know—”

“Do not say anything that would betray you or your parents,” Mistress Mertz said. “I know what is in your heart, Faith, for I saw your genuine friendship with my son and your deep grief at his death. I—”

“Good morning, Mistress,” said Sebastian as he came to stand beside Faith.

“Major.” Mistress Mertz's tone was polite, nothing more, as she acknowledged his bow in her direction.

“I hope you will forgive me taking Faith from your company. Her parents expect her to be returned home with all due speed.” His smile was as cool as Mistress Mertz's voice.

Mistress Mertz squeezed Faith's hand. “It has been good to speak with you again. Do call soon. It has been so long since I last spoke with you, at Wade's funeral.”

Faith murmured something as she saw Sebastian's eyes narrow. Adrat! Now he would be asking questions that she could not answer. Slipping her arm through his, she went with him to the pony cart and let him hand her onto the low seat.

She barely waited for him to sit beside her before she said, “Forgive Mistress Mertz for her coldness.”

“She has every reason to hate this uniform.” He slapped the reins and guided the cart out onto the rutted road that was pocked with slushy puddles.

“I was so glad to see her here today. She has not been receiving callers since Wade's death.”

“Oh?”

Knowing she had to continue with this tale, she babbled about how she had tried to call on her friend's mother several times and how her sisters still went to play with Wade's siblings. She talked about past events at the church, and how she had joined Wade and his betrothed for an outing by a nearby stream. Pointing out a tree, she told of how one of the Mertz children had chased a racoon up it and then had not been able to get down.

Sebastian listened to the prattle. This was not like Faith. Something had upset her, and she was trying to hide that behind this endless gibberish. He growled under his breath before he pulled back on the reins. The cart stopped beneath leafless branches. Before Faith could ask why, he swept his arm around her and claimed her lips.

Some sweet fragrance drifted from tendrils of her hair that had escaped from beneath her bonnet and curled along her neck. He thought of how he would like all those strands grazing his fingers as he let his hand slip down her back, loosening her gown and bringing her soft skin to his.

Tasting the cool texture of her downy cheek, he whispered against her ear, “Tell me, Faith.”

“Tell you what?” Her question ended in a soft moan as his tongue slid along her neck.

He tightened his arms around her, wishing there was more room in the small cart. If he had been taking her for a drive in his fine carriage in England, he would have gladly leaned her back on the seat and invited her to explore him as intimately as he would her. Here in this accursed cold and in this absurd vehicle, he could only imagine that pleasure.

“Tell me what has frightened you so,” he murmured.

As he had suspected she would, she drew back from him. She tucked her hair under her bonnet, and her fingers trembled. “Why do you need to ask? The war is all around us, so I have every excuse to be scared.”

“And your neighbors hate to see you on the arm of a British officer.”

“Everyone in Goshen knows my father's opinion of the rebels.”

“But do they know your opinion, as well?” When she looked away, he framed her face with his hands. “Sweet one, do
you
know your opinion of the rebels? You cannot continue to act as if this war will go away if you ignore it long enough.”

“I wish it could be so simple.”

“But it cannot.”

“I know! How can you ask me to hate my friends because they have spoken out for independence?”

“They are traitors,” he replied quietly.

“They are my friends. I have told you that before, and nothing will change how I feel.”

His fingers brushed her high cheekbones. “Even if you threaten your own family with your refusal to pick a side in this war?”

“No one cares what I think.”

“I do.”

Her emerald eyes widened. “Why would
you
care what I think about the war?”

“
I
do not care what you think about the war. I care what you think about this.”

As she melted in his arms, her mouth straining against his, he knew he was an even greater fool than she was. She might be inviting her father's wrath if she was mixed up in some way with the rebels. But to give in to the need to hold her, to discover anew her softness, to imagine her all around him as they sought every possible pleasure—that risked his very mission.

That he must not do.

An excited knock came at the door of Sebastian's bedchamber. It was too high along the plank to belong to one of the Cromwell children. A pulse of excitement leaped through him before he reminded himself it could not be Faith on the other side of the door. He had seen her walking toward the small barn only minutes ago. From his room, he had watched the enticing sway of her skirts until she had disappeared into the barn. She could not have returned. His eyes had again and again glanced toward the window and the yard below.

He had wasted his chance on the way home from church today to ask her about the man Rooke had alluded to. He had meant to ask her, but when he drew her into his arms, he could think only of how much he longed to make love with her. That he might be playing the fool once more had not mattered when her mouth met his.

“Come in,” he said as the knock was repeated.

Osborne entered, and Sebastian noted that his lieutenant's normal color had returned completely. The lieutenant had been an unhealthy shade this morning after another evening of drinking with the men. Yet, Osborne followed every order given to him, so Sebastian had no excuse to send him back to Philadelphia.

“This was just delivered for Mistress Faith,” Osborne said as correctly as a parade soldier. “I thought you might wish to see it.”

“Why?”

“After what Rooke said, I assumed you would.”

Sebastian took the folded page. Loathing himself for what he must do, he opened it. “Step back, Osborne. I do not need you reading over my shoulder.”

“It is of little interest.”

“You read it already?”

Osborne shrugged. “The letter was not sealed, and I saw no reason why
I
should not read it with an objective eye.”

“You sound as if you do not trust me.”

“You have paid much attention to Mistress Faith. If she is mixed up with this spy Rooke, who has been unwilling to speak of his allies, will you send her to hang?”

Instead of answering, Sebastian read the note. Osborne was correct. This note spoke of nothing more than Faith calling upon Reverend McEachern and his wife before the week's end. He set the page before him on the desk. It was nothing but common correspondence between friends.

Or was he missing something? It was very peculiar that the pastor had said nothing of this at church yesterday. Maybe Sebastian was simply looking for trouble where there was none. He almost laughed at the thought. Even someone as thick-skulled as Osborne could see that Faith was hiding something.

“You are right,” Sebastian said. “It is of little interest to anyone but Faith.”

“I can deliver it to her.”

“No, I shall do that.” He smiled. “I wish to ascertain for myself her reaction when she reads it.”

“You would be a fool to trust her.”

“I know.”

“So …?”