Faithfully Yours (26 page)

“It is clear he isn't coming,” Muellers said as he pushed back from the door and dropped to the log beside it. He glared at the single lantern that barely pushed back the darkness. “By God's teeth, it is cold, and the snow is coming down even faster. Why can't we go home and wait there?”

“Maybe Kendrick married Cromwell's daughter simply as a ruse to trick us,” said a man named Jones. He sat beside where Faith perched on the stool in the tumbledown byre. “He let you escape and is now bringing troops to arrest us all.”

Rooke swung his crutch at the man. “Be silent! He did not
let
me escape. He will come here for his pretty bride. He cannot be tired of her already, can he?” Pushing his face closer to Faith's, he laughed.

Faith turned away as he tilted back the tankard he balanced on his crutch. His breath was sour with ale. Rooke had been drinking since they came to the byre—after he had arranged for a trap to be set in a barn by the creek where he had told Sebastian to meet them.

“Then why haven't we gotten word that he has ridden into our trap?” asked Muellers.

“Because I know better than to ride into such a clumsy trap,” came the reply from the doorway.

“Sebastian!” Faith cried, then realized he was not alone.

“What are you doing here, Mistress Cromwell?” asked Rooke, pushing himself up to stand.

“Using my daughter as a hostage was not part of what I agreed to,” her mother replied. “You may have been unable to catch anything in your trap, but I was much more successful.”

Faith stared in disbelief when she saw that her mother held a gun pointed at Sebastian, whose hands were bound behind his back. Leaping up, she took one step before Muellers caught her and shoved her back onto the stool.

Rooke chuckled. Taking a deep drink, he said, “Mistress Cromwell, I should have guessed you would be a worthy ally.”

“She is a traitor twice over,” Sebastian replied with a vicious curse. “She will hang beside you, Rooke.”

“No,” moaned Faith. She doubted if anyone had heard, because Rooke ordered Muellers to go and get the others.

“They will enjoy seeing you die, redcoat,” he added, sneering.

“You have what you want,” her mother said. “Now release Faith.”

He took another drink. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he called, “Jones, go and get that rope from the wagon. It should be strong enough to hold this redcoat by the neck.”

Jones did not reply.

Rooke poked him with his crutch, and Jones toppled to the ground and did not move. His mug fell, sending ale streaming across the frozen earth. With a curse, Rooke spewed the ale that was in his mouth. He flung his mug at the wall.

“The sleeping potion!” he cried, glaring at Faith. “You put it in my ale!” He raised his hand.

Faith cowered, unable to lift her bound arms to protect herself. He did not strike her, and she stared at him. He seemed frozen like the trees in the ice storm. When she looked past him, she wondered if
she
had drunk the powder and was dreaming.

With a loop of rope over his wrist, Sebastian held a pistol against Rooke's ear and said, “I hope you do not mind that I set a trap of my own, Rooke.” In a low growl, he added, “Mistress Cromwell, help my wife.”

“Mistress Cromwell,” Rooke cried, trying to take a step to halt her, but wobbling on his crutch, “obey, and you will be hunted by every rebel for betraying us. If—”

He stiffened when Sebastian ordered, “Silence! Mistress Cromwell, I told you to help my wife get free.”

“Sebastian,” Faith said with a gasp, “there is no need to speak so to my mother.”

“Faith, say nothing,” Mother murmured as she untied Faith.

Throwing her arms around her mother, Faith heard a thump. She whirled to see Rooke on the floor.

Sebastian chuckled as he made the pistol disappear under his coat. “Do not look at me aghast, Faith. I did not do that to him. I suspect you did.”

With a soft sob, she ran and was enveloped by his arms. She delighted in kisses that she had feared she would never savor again.

She pulled back and said, “Sebastian, my mother—”

“Helped me rescue you, although it seems you might have managed on your own. When did you put the sleeping powder in Rooke's ale?”

“I took the packet I was given to drug you, and I slipped it into his ale before they tied me up here.” She smiled quickly. “He left the bottle open while he was pouring for himself and the others. I put what had not spilled out into the ale. Sebastian, about my mother and—”

He looked past her. “Mistress Cromwell, I trust you will forgive me for being so concerned about my wife that I leave you here now.”

“I will see to Rooke.” Her mother smiled and put her hand on Faith's cheek. “My dear child, do not look so startled. Sebastian, your father, and I all worked to save you.”

“Father? Where is he?”

“Trying to wake enough soldiers to go after the rebels.” Her mother laughed. “I suspect you will be safely home before he succeeds.” Looking past Faith, she added, “I believe you said a day's head start, Sebastian.”

“One day.” He looked down at Rooke. “I will hang him when he is recaptured.”

“If.” Her mother laughed.

“When. I trust you will keep your vow not to be involved with the rebels any longer.”

“I will not change my opinions, but I will not do anything more that might endanger my family.” She touched Faith's cheek again. “Nothing is more important than those we love.”

“I agree.” Taking Faith's hand, Sebastian led her out into the snowy night.

“You are letting him go?” Faith asked, sure she was misunderstanding all of this.

“For now.”

“But if you were to bring him to your colonel, you would be as heroic as your father wishes you to be.”

Sebastian put his hands on either side of her face. “What good would that do if I was not
your
hero?”

“So you cannot resist being my hero?”

He smiled. “I cannot resist anything about you.” He claimed her lips, which she wanted to share with only him.

As her fingers sifted through his hair, which was damp with melted snow, she whispered, “Sebastian, I must speak the truth. I have not told you—”

“All you need to tell me is that you love me, sweet one.”

“And that I trust you with every secret in my soul.”

“I do not want your soul.” He tilted her face back and smiled. “I want your heart.”

“Only my heart?” She drew his hand to her breast. “Or do you want it, and what covers it?”

“You know I want
you
, sweet one. I love you. So tell me that you love me, too.”

“I do love you. Do you remember what you promised me when you asked me to be your wife?”

“That I would be faithfully yours. Will you be faithfully mine?”

“Forever.”

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2000 by Jo Ann Ferguson

Cover design by Neil Alexander Heacox

ISBN: 978-1-5040-0901-0

Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution

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