Faithfully Yours (3 page)

She tilted her hand up to see it in the weakening sunshine. The small spot of dried blood was no worse than if she had pricked her finger while sewing. Even stronger than the pain was the memory of the sensation of Major Kendrick's fingers. They had been broad across her wrist, but had not held her prisoner.

I doubt if, on the rest of my journey, I shall come upon another sight more fair
.

Faith stepped away from the door. Major Kendrick's flattery had probably been as fake as his smile, and his offer to discipline his men more for their benefit than hers, for it reminded them of his authority over them.

“Major Kendrick, you say?”

At his question, she looked at where Tom Rooke now stood by the small window. “Does his name mean something to you?”

“Aye, it does.”

“What?”

“Best you don't know, lass.” He ran the back of his hand across his lips. “Don't trust him, lass.”

“I don't trust any of them.”

“I know you don't, but this one is the worst of the lot.” He rested his arms on the weatherworn sill. “If he is like the others who have passed this way, sooner or later, he will be calling on your father.”

She nodded, wishing that were not so.

“Heed what he says about what he is doing in Chester County.”

Her eyes widened as she stood. “Spy on him, you mean?”

“I mean, heed what he says of what he's doing here.” Tom faced her, the crags of his cheeks deepening. All hints of mischief had vanished. “You don't have to tell another soul what you are doing, but listen carefully so you may protect yourself and your family. It is not right that a major is here when all the redcoats of his rank are setting themselves up right pretty in Philadelphia. He must have some assignment that can only bring more trouble to this area.”

“He had traveled a goodly distance already.”

“How do you know that?” He chuckled when she told him about the road dust on the major's boots. “You are becoming quite the prize, Mistress Faith.”

“Prize?” She shook her head. “I want nothing to do with such work.” Pointing to the supplies by her basket, she said, “This is all I shall do. This, and heed your advice to listen carefully so my family is not endangered.”

He chuckled. “Wise of you.”

Gathering up her basket, she rushed out into a wind that was beginning to cry mournfully among the leafless branches. On its rapid flight, it carried the sound of Tom's laughter to chase her back toward the road. Never had she wanted to be home as much as she did now.

Sebastian Kendrick swung down off his horse, handed his gun to his lieutenant, and tossed the reins to another of his men. Turning up his collar, he bent his head to escape the cold drizzle. By crook and crown! This day had been one misstep after another, and he had not needed this chilly wind and rain to add to his tribulations. Maybe they would have arrived before the storm began if Osborne had not gotten them lost on their way north from the Brandywine.

Osborne was not the lieutenant Sebastian would have chosen for this mission through a countryside that seethed with anger at the number of dead who had fallen on its fields. Osborne was a man to have in a parlor, not on a deserted road. Quick with a sally and able to flirt with the skill that brought admiration from his fellows, Osborne made himself scarce when there was work to be done. He must have angered someone, for Sebastian had been informed by his colonel that Osborne would accompany him on this mission.

If the lieutenant were his sole problem, Sebastian would have been able to deal with Osborne. Clearly the men selected to be part of this foray had heard of the lieutenant's reputation, as well, for they had wasted no time in trying to win Osborne's favor by accosting a lone woman on the road.

He scowled at the fieldstone wall of the house before them. It glistened with the rain that had been falling for the past hour. The sight added to his ill spirits. He had thought his men were smart enough not to taunt one of the local women. The situation could easily become a catastrophe without their adding fuel to the anger churning in too many rebels' breasts.

The rebels were running away from the strength of the British army, but—if France's interest in the Americans' rebellion was more than a rumor—this war could take a fearsome turn. Already the Marquis de Lafayette was fighting alongside Washington and advising him on how to handle his ragtag troops. One Frenchman made little difference, but the French fleet and King Louis's infantry could alter the situation irrevocably.

That must be prevented, and the place to do it was right here. Then he would have done his duty for king and country and his father, who believed the heir to his earldom should be able to claim the title of hero, as well.

Icy rain spat at him. His scowl lessened while he strode up onto the narrow porch that was further shadowed by bare tree limbs. Boards creaked beneath him as the wind howled around the eaves.

The door was thrown open, and the welcoming glow of a lamp splashed out onto the porch. Behind him, he heard Osborne giving orders to take the horses to the barn, which was a black silhouette through the rain.

Hoping he could depend on the lieutenant to handle this simple task, Sebastian took off his cocked hat and entered the foyer, where more stones that matched the ones on the house's facade caught the water falling from his cloak. Puddles formed in his wake as he followed the maid past the stairs.

As she opened the door to a parlor whose far wall was lost to the darkness, the cheerful voices he had heard through the door silenced. Several decades older than Sebastian, a man sat near the fireplace, smoking. A woman who must be the man's wife looked up from her sewing. Two lads, as alike as two whelps of the same litter, stared at him.

He tossed back his cloak and walked to the hearth. The fire crackling upon it was a most welcome sight. He decided he need not worry about his pistol firing from the heat, for he doubted if he had been able to keep his powder dry. Pulling off his gloves, he held his hands out to the fire's healing warmth. He tried to unbend his fingers, but they had almost frozen in the grip he had kept on the reins.

“Welcome, Major Kendrick,” said a cheerful voice.

He reluctantly lowered his hands and faced the man who had been sitting next to the hearth. His pipe was now in his hands, but the smoke curled up around his face, where the beginnings of a beard contained more hair than on his head.

Sebastian smiled. “This fire is more welcome than you can guess on such a stormy night.”

“Bring something to warm the major from the inside out,” he called to the maid. He laughed and gestured to the chair he had vacated. “This is the warmest seat in the house tonight. You are welcome to it.”

“Thank you kindly, friend.” Sebastian turned to the lady, who had been listening without comment. Taking her hand, he bowed over it. “And thank you most kindly, mistress, for opening your door to weary travelers.”

“You travel alone?” she asked.

“Bess,” the balding man said in a chiding tone, “give the man a chance to warm himself before you plead with him for any news he might bring.”

Sebastian smiled as he took the steaming cup offered to him by the maid. “It would be my pleasure, mistress, to share with you any tidings I might have, but I am so long from Philadelphia that you probably know more of the news than I or my men, who shall express their gratitude to you on the morrow for the use of your barn.”

“Your men are welcome to enjoy its shelter, Major,” the man said. “You and your fellow officers will, of course, stay beneath our roof here.”

“I gladly accept for Lieutenant Osborne and me.” Untying his cloak, he draped it over the back of the wooden chair. He took a sip of the mulled cider, which he thought must be from the first squeezings of the season. Lowering himself to the chair, he said, “We are—”

His host turned as Sebastian stared at the red-haired woman in the doorway. Her hand clutched the fabric she was carrying so hard that her knuckles were bleached to the color of the white kerchief that was draped over her shoulders and tied with a bright blue ribbon between her breasts. The rest of her pleasing curves were hidden behind the material, which was draped over her arm, just as her cloak had been when they met on the road.

“My oldest, Faith,” said Mr. Cromwell, his host. “She will forgive you if you sit before her, Major, after your long day.”

Only then did Sebastian realize he was poised halfway to the chair. Standing, he watched Mistress Faith enter the room. He wished they stood again on the road so that he could admire the way the sunshine had set fire to her red-gold hair and how it sparkled in her green eyes. Now the shadows hid her features, but the flickering from the hearth and the candles revealed the curves that had been concealed until she handed the material to her mother. The embroidered apron around her waist accented its slender line and the enticing swell of her breasts above.

“Good evening, mistress,” he said quietly.

She flinched as if he had slapped her, but she faced him as she replied, “Good evening to you, Major Kendrick.”

“You know each other?” Mr. Cromwell asked.

“I have had the pleasure of meeting your daughter already, Cromwell.”

“How is that?”

“We chanced to meet earlier today while my men acquainted themselves with the area.” He wished Mistress Faith had not gone to sit beyond her mother. She was knitting as if she must finish socks for everyone in the room before the fire was banked for the night. He guessed this was her way of avoiding him. It was an excellent one, because her mother sat between her and him.

“You said nothing of that, daughter,” Cromwell chided.

Aha! Her eyes rose as she was about to answer her father. She glanced at Sebastian quickly, too quickly for him to react, and then away.

“I am sorry, Father. I did not know you were expecting Major Kendrick and his men as guests tonight.”

Sebastian tried to nab her gaze and hold it as he sat. By crook and crown! This place had less light than a low tavern. When her gaze flicked toward him, he smiled. She was captured as surely as if he had thrown his arms around her. No, 'twas hardly the same. He fought his own desire to admire her lithe curves again.

It was all for naught, because she looked at her father when he said, “They are welcome to stay as long as they wish.” He laughed jovially. “Our house is always open to the good men serving the Crown.”

“Thank you, Cromwell,” Sebastian replied, although he would have preferred to have his host speak to his daughter again, so she would be compelled to look up.

“You must make yourselves at home.” Mistress Cromwell rose, but still remained between him and her daughter, he noted. “Faith, would you check your sisters to be sure they are tucked in well?”

One of the lads he had forgotten chirped, “But, Mother, she just put them to bed.”

Mistress Cromwell's smile grew tight. “Of course. Where Faith was slipped my mind.”

Sebastian guessed it was quite the opposite. Thoughts of her daughter were uppermost in her mind, and he suspected the thought demanding the most attention centered on having a beautiful, unmarried daughter surrounded by strange men. If Mistress Cromwell had seen what he interrupted earlier today, she would be even more anxious. He wanted to assure her that the incident would not be repeated, but he could not speak of it without the risk of distressing her more.

“We had heard that you might be traveling this way.” Mr. Cromwell took a puff on his pipe and sent the smoke climbing toward the ceiling, which was lost in the darkness.

“Did you?” Sebastian asked.

“Rumors travel faster than the swiftest horse, Major.”

“So I have heard.” He forced a smile. “And so I am beginning to believe. If—” He looked toward the door as footsteps approached, although he would have preferred continuing to steal surreptitious glances at Mistress Faith's silhouette. Standing, he said, “Osborne, come here and make yourself known to our hosts.”

“The men and the horses are settled for the night, sir,” Osborne said with parade field correctness. Since the encounter with Mistress Faith, Osborne had endeavored to anticipate Sebastian's every wish and maintain complete military decorum.

Osborne's poise faltered when Cromwell introduced the lieutenant to his wife and daughter. He gulped, mumbled something, and excused himself even as he rushed out the door.

Sebastian thought he had heard Osborne say something about sleeping in the barn. An excellent idea! Maybe while cooling his heels—and the rest of himself—out there, Osborne would decide he would rather be a gentleman instead of a beast.

Mistress Cromwell clearly did not understand that, because she went after him, calling to him to follow her to where a bedchamber awaited. With a sigh, Sebastian clasped his hands behind his back. He could not insult his host by suggesting that Osborne should be sent to sleep with the other men. All in all, this day had been a disaster from the beginning. Maybe on the morrow … He yawned.

“Forgive us for keeping you here talking, Major,” Cromwell said, warning him that his host was taking note of every motion.

Why? Sebastian could not ask. Not simply because the question would criticize Cromwell, but because his gaze had been caught again by the man's daughter. As Mistress Faith bent over her knitting, her needles sparking in and out of the hearth's light like a pair of fireflies, he was treated to a splendid view of her lithe fingers against the white kerchief over her breasts. How he would like those fingers brushing him as he pressed her soft curves to him!

“We have a room for you in our guest wing,” continued Cromwell with a smile. “There, Major, you will not be disturbed by the children.”

“Thank you.

“Show our guest to his room, daughter.”

Mistress Faith gasped, her fingers pausing, as she looked from her father to him. She did not lower her gaze, regarding him without compromise. She came to her feet slowly as she said, “Of course, Father. This way, Major Kendrick.”