Faithfully Yours (15 page)

“You can leave the matter to me, Osborne. You are dismissed.”

Sebastian waited until his lieutenant stamped out of the room. Then, picking up the note, he followed. He was not surprised to find Faith in the parlor, because she taught her sisters needlework every day at this time. As he watched her show Molly how to do a complex stitch, he smiled. She had a patience with her little sisters that she had not shown him.

Because she trusts them
.

He almost laughed at his own thought. It was true. Faith did not trust him, although she willingly offered him her lips. Nor did he trust her. Once he had trusted a woman, and he had learned that sparkling eyes and soft kisses could mask other intentions.

He continued to watch as she showed her sister how to push the needle at the proper angle through the fabric. Every motion she made offered an unwitting invitation to draw her away from her sisters and into his arms.

Glancing at the fire on the hearth, he sighed. He
was
a fool to complicate his life with a flirtation now. Why had all the desires he had thought he could control come forth now to prove him wrong?

“Sebastian,” Faith said as she looked up at him, “I did not hear you come in.”

“This arrived for you.” His tone was gruff, and he saw her amazement. By crook and crown, he was not going to explain why to her.

“Thank you.” She took it, setting it on her lap.

When he saw that her sisters were listening, wide-eyed, he asked, “Aren't you going to read it?”

“As soon as Nancy finishes her stitch.” She bent to show her sister what to do.

Sebastian leaned his shoulder against the door frame. Every instinct told him that Faith was hoping he would leave. Every instinct warned him not to … before he had had a chance to kiss her again. Fool! She might be betraying her father and her king, and he could think only of her eager lips.

“Very well done, Nancy,” Faith said, her cheerful voice ripping through his dark thoughts. “Try it again.” Without a hint that anything was unusual, she opened the note and scanned it. She quickly refolded it. “Thank you, Sebastian, for bringing this to me. I fear I would have forgotten what I had promised Reverend McEachern if he had not reminded me.”

“I thought it might be important.” He kept his tone as light as hers.

“It is to me.” She gave him a winsome smile that inveigled him to forget all about everything but the way her eyes glistened with longing in the moment before he kissed her. “I would be remiss to forget a call on our pastor.”

“A faux pas?”

“What's that?” asked Molly.

Faith smoothed her little sister's hair back and motioned toward her needlework. “I shall explain while we are working. Nancy has completed her stitch. Now I wish to see yours.”

As Faith bent her head to continue the embroidery lesson, Sebastian saw her fingers trembling. He pushed away from the door and went out into the foyer, reeling as if someone had struck him in the gut. The note meant more to Faith than the simple words he had read. She had almost hidden the truth from him.

She was involved in something that she wanted to keep secret. The only question now was how he would uncover the truth and still keep her from being arrested. He was not sure if that was even possible. He could not betray the vows he had taken when he came here to serve the king. He must do his duty and return a hero.

Hearing Faith's laugh as she teased her sisters, he hoped fulfilling his vow would not come at the cost of her life.

Ten

Faith inched into the byre. Had Tom Rooke told the British soldiers of this meeting place? If he had, then she was doomed. She should not be here, but the note had been clear. Using Reverend McEachern's name was the signal she had devised with Tom to arrange a delivery here. Now she knew it was a warning that she should not halt her work. Even the few supplies she was able to take from Mother's kitchen helped.

Drawing back her cloak, Faith set the basket on the bench by the dirty window. Nothing had changed here, except that Tom was a British prisoner. She struggled to breathe when a form edged through the deepest shadow. If this was a trap, she was doomed.

“Do not flee.”

A woman! That was a woman's voice!

Faith clutched the basket's handle. She had not given thought to the idea that her new contact might be female. Choosing a woman made sense, because too many of the men were busy with the fighting or with protecting their homes here in Goshen. A woman who was stopped and searched would not look out of place if she carried knitted goods and foodstuffs.

But who was this person? Her high-pitched voice did not resemble that of anyone Faith knew.

“Please come out,” Faith replied. “I will not tell anyone who you are. I have kept my counsel before.”

“I know that.”

Faith took a step toward the shadows.

“Stay where you are,” the woman said. “It is better that you do not see my face.”

“But you have seen mine.”

“True, but I knew of you before.”

“From Tom?” She did not add his last name. So many men in the area were named Tom that she would not betray herself more.

“He has been tight-lipped about his contacts. If he had not been, you would not be standing here talking with me now, because you would have been arrested.”

Faith knew she should not ask, but she could not halt herself. “Is he really a spy?”

“That is what the British think. Do you have what you were to bring me?”

Taking the clothes and food out of the basket, she set them in a small pile on the hay, as she had always done when she met Tom here. “I know there is not much here, but I have had a difficult time finding time to knit in recent days.”

“Why?”

“Surely you know that my father has visitors.”

“Yes, I know that.”

Faith wanted to ask the woman to disguise her voice another way, because the high-pitched squeak was vexing—almost as vexing as Sebastian when he interrupted her attempts to find a quiet corner and concentrate on her knitting. Adrat! She should not be thinking of
him
now. If he learned of this meeting, he might have no choice but to send her to hang alongside Tom Rooke.

Would he? She did not dare to answer that question herself, because she knew how seriously Sebastian took his vows.

“It is not easy to find time to knit when I must help make my father's guests feel at home,” Faith answered, knowing the excuse sounded weak. Without being honest about how she did not resist Sebastian's interruptions, her explanation seemed silly. “I bid you good day, mistress.”

Picking up the basket, Faith went back out into the chilly day. The wind tugged at her shawl, and she wished she had put on a heavier cloak. She fought the temptation to look back. Tom had taught her well that knowing too much could be deadly.

She did not want any further part in this. “Wade, forgive me,” she whispered as she hurried along the path through the trees, taking care to avoid the bushes that were sharp with prickers.

“What did you say?”

Faith spun to see Sebastian walking toward her. Had he seen where she had been? She pulled the cloak over her basket to hide it. If he had seen her go into the byre with a full basket, then took note of how empty it was now, he was sure to ask questions she could not answer without betraying herself.

“Sebastian, you startled me.” That was the truth. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I was following some interesting paths through the woods, and I seem to have gotten myself turned quite around. When I chanced to see you, I knew you would show me the shortest way back to your father's house.”

“If you keep going in the direction you were walking, you should reach it in less than a quarter mile.”

He strode toward her, his dark cloak catching on the briars beneath the trees. The dead branches snapped in his wake. “There must be a simpler way than through this undergrowth.”

“You need only walk around rather than push through.”

Taking her hand, he said, “Show me.”

She yanked her hand out of his. “Is that an order, Major Kendrick?”

“An order?” His dark brows rose. “I thought it only a friendly request, Faith.”

Knowing that she had let her own disquiet dupe her into speaking so coldly, she said, “It sounded like an order.”

“Are you not going home just now? Are you, perchance, making another call?”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled, but his eyes remained focused on her as he came even closer. “I meant only what I asked. You were to call upon Reverend McEachern today, and I was wondering if you had another call to make. Why do you look for ulterior meanings in everything I say? I thought we were allies.”

“I have told you. I do not—”

“By Jove, Faith, spare me another recitation of the insults that have been heaped upon you by my fellow soldiers. That excuse wears thin.”

“Then I will not offer it again.” With a glare at him, she began to walk away. She heard his footfalls behind her, but she did not turn. She was afraid she would say something she would regret deeply.

She was halted when she came upon a small stream. Adrat! She had been so unsettled by his comments that she had walked in the wrong direction. She turned to go back, but halted. Sebastian stood in front of her with his infuriatingly superior grin. She waved him aside.

He grasped her hand and pulled her closer. “I would be willing to tramp through these woods with you all day, watching your pretty blue skirt emphasize the sway of your steps, but shall we do it as friends?”

“You do not want to be my friend. Not when—stop that, Sebastian!” Faith tried to pull her fingers from his, for he was stroking them with an invitation he did not have to put into words. “Let me go.”

“Is
that
an order?”

His tranquillity irritated her. Was he toying with her? She wished she knew if he had seen her come out of the byre. If not, he might be jesting with her, as he had nearly from the moment they first spoke. She tried to will her frantic heartbeat to slow. It was impossible when his finger slipped beneath her cloak to stroke her nape.

“If you wish it to be an order, Sebastian, then that is what it is. Please step aside, so I might be on my way.”

“I am afraid this is one order I cannot follow.” He brought her to him.

“I have no interest in—in
this
.” She tried to avoid his eyes, but his broad hands edged her face.

“No?” Kissing her tenderly, he whispered, “You know that you have a great deal of interest in this.”

“Do I?”

He put one finger under her chin. Tilting her mouth toward his, he whispered, his breath warming her lips, “You have even more interest in this.”

She welcomed his kiss. She had dreamed of his tongue grazing her lips, of his strong hands on her. Waking in the middle of the night, covered with sweat, her body aching for him, she had yearned to savor this again. But no dream was as splendid as the reality. As he drew her up against him, so that there was nothing between them except their clothes, her hands glided up his back. She wanted—she needed—to savor his strength.

“So what do you think?” he murmured.

“I find it very interesting. I—”

Sebastian grasped her arm, whirling her behind him. At the sound of horses riding toward them on the path, she pressed her hands over her lips, which were heated by his kiss. He swore as the riders approached.

“Kneel down here,” she ordered as she heard a shout. She recognized
that
voice.

“Faith—”

“Heed me, please.” She framed his face with her hands, as he had when he held her. “Trust me just this once, Sebastian. Those men would be glad to kill you because of the uniform you wear.”

“And you?”

“They are my neighbors.”

“Neighbors who are rebels.”

“Trust me,” she whispered, pressing on his shoulders. She did not want to add that she was unsure if the men riding through the woods would spare her life. Then Sebastian would try to protect her, and he would die.

Nodding, Sebastian knelt. She pulled his dark cloak over his brilliant uniform and walked toward where the riders were approaching. Wanting to look back to be certain Sebastian was invisible in the undergrowth, she raised her hand to wave to Wade Mertz's older brother, Wendell. Sebastian would be dead before he had a chance to draw his next breath if Wendell and his fellow rebels found him here. They would take great pleasure in slaying a British officer to repay the king's men for arresting Tom Rooke.

“Faith!” called Wendell as he swung down from his horse.

The other men remained in their saddles. She realized how few of them she knew and how many there were. When Wendell had left Goshen, determined to repay the British army for his brother's death, he had traveled with three friends. Now nearly a dozen men were behind him on the path.

He gave her a smothering hug. “What are you doing out on such a cold and miserable day?”

“I had finished some gloves and wanted to give them to Reverend McEachern so he might share them with those who need them.”

“How does my mother fare?”

“She seems better. I saw her at church on Sunday. Why are you asking? Aren't you going to see her?”

His mouth became a straight line. “The British are closing in on us. They must suspect that we have been taking to General Washington what few supplies the British soldiers have not already stolen. Without the help we have received from—”

“Do you have a message I can take to your mother?” she asked, too aware of how Sebastian could hear every word.

“Tell her that I am well, and that Wade's death will be avenged.”

“She will not be comforted until you are home and safe.”

“Soon.” He gripped her shoulder. “Tell her soon.” Mounting, he tipped his cocked hat to her. “Tell your father that, as well, Faith. He may reconsider his opinions.”