Surrender the Night (10 page)

Alex stretched his leg out over the dirt and winced. It had healed nicely and only pained him when he attempted to stand. Despite being a woman, Miss McGuire had done a good job of extracting the bullet and dressing the wound. In a day or two, Alex should be able to walk the distance he needed back to his ship, back to his people. Oddly, he found no joy in the prospect. He drew in a deep breath of warm air and allowed the scent of honeysuckle and pine to fill his lungs. Though he knew he’d have to go back to his ship eventually, this brief respite from the horrors of war did his soul good. As long as he kept hidden away and did not endanger this rebel family, why should he rush back and risk reopening his wound?

Leaning his head back against the wooden doorframe, he thought of the lovely Miss McGuire. Rebellious curls that refused to be restrained framed her face in a silken web of glittering gold. Her eyes, the turquoise color of the sea he’d once seen in the West Indies—clear and sharp. With a wit to match. So outspoken. So unlike the women he’d known back home. One woman in particular came to mind. Miss Elizabeth Burgess, demure and sweet at least in etiquette and mannerisms. But beneath the outward facade of feminine perfection, a devious vixen raged.

On the contrary, despite Miss McGuire’s harsh words and her obvious hatred toward his nationality and uniform her inner kindness overwhelmed him. She had every reason to turn him over to the military authorities. Yet she saved his life, healed his wound, protected him. He’d never been on the receiving end of such true Christian charity.

Slipping his knife inside his boot, he propped the end of the crutch into the dirt and hoisted himself up. The muscles in his back and arms ached and his thigh throbbed, but he felt strength surge through him. Shoving the handle of his crutch beneath his left arm, he tested it with his weight, careful not to place any strain on his injured leg. Perfect. This would do nicely. A gentle breeze wafted over him, cooling his sweat and bringing the smells of the earth, the forest, and life. Sunlight set the field aglow in various shades of green that waved before him like a mossy sea. America was indeed a beautiful land.

But it was Britain’s land. And these people were British subjects.

The sooner they faced that, the better. Arrogance and greed had
made them forget their homeland—the parent country of their birth. Like rebellious children, they needed to be reminded who was in authority. Hopefully, that reminder would not take the lives of too many people. Or of one lovely lady in particular.

Alex released a sigh of resignation. Regardless of the lady’s allure and the peace of this land, he should leave tomorrow night. The longer he stayed, the more danger he placed on her and her family. Alex would rejoin his ship and secure his future as an honored British naval officer. No one need know what had happened with Garrick. Alex had taken the only action available to him in the defense of an innocent woman. It mattered not that she was an American. He had done the honorable thing. And if he continued doing the honorable thing on board the HMS
Undefeatable
, this war would not only bring him the prize money he needed, but the accolades he required to earn the forgiveness of his brother and respect of his father. And maybe even a welcome home.

The clomp of horses’ hooves and the grating of carriage wheels filled the air. He glanced toward the road leading to the house. The family returned. But it wasn’t the same landau that left that morning. Alex froze. Behind the carriage, a band of horses trotted. He squinted at the sight. Men, armed with muskets and swords, some in blue-and-white uniforms, spread like a stormy wake behind the landau.

So, Miss McGuire had alerted the authorities after all. Alex’s heart raced as his mind sped, searching a course of action. There was no way he could outrun them in his condition.

Ignoring Mr. Snyder’s outstretched hand, Rose leaped from the carriage, trying to contain her fear behind a polite mask of composure.

“By the by, Miss McGuire,” Mr. Snyder said as he assisted Amelia behind her. “You seem flustered.” His eyes gleamed as if he knew something.

As if he knew she was about to be accused of treason.

“Not flustered, sir.” She offered him a tight smile. “Simply tired after my long day in town and anxious to rest.”

“Of course.” He nodded, then searched the area—no doubt for a groomsman to take his horse—before he tied the reins to a post with
a huff. “Someday I shall be able to afford a coachman.” He grumbled under his breath. “And you a footman, perhaps?”

Rose frowned. A ridiculous comment in the midst of wartime.

Amelia brushed past Rose and entered the house, terror screaming from her eyes. The thunder of horse hooves pounded the air and shook the ground as a dozen men, both regular army and militia stormed toward them.

Rose struggled to breathe. In the western sky, the setting sun barely grazed the tops of the trees, sending spindly bright fingers across the farm, poking and prying into every dark corner. Her gaze shot unbidden to the icehouse in the distance. The door was shut. Was Mr. Reed inside or outside? If inside, he’d never be able to leave unnoticed.

Cora came running through the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is happenin’, child? Why are these men here?”

“Never fear, Cora.” Rose took her arm in hers and led her back inside. The spicy smell of roast rabbit and wood smoke filled her nose. Normally Rose found them to be comforting aromas, but under the circumstances, they only enhanced her fear of losing everything that was dear to her—family, home, and freedom. She faced the cook. “They are here to protect us.”

Or arrest us as traitors
.

The cook’s chubby cheeks quivered as her dark eyes skittered toward the door. “Then why are you shakin’, miss?”

Rose snatched her arm back. “I’m just tired.” She glanced up the stairs, wondering where Amelia had gone. “Now please run along and finish preparing the meal. Aunt Muira and Uncle Forbes will be here shortly.”

With a frown, Cora turned and waddled toward the kitchen, muttering something about soldiers having no business searching the farm.

Taking a deep breath, Rose faced General Smith and Mr. Snyder as they marched through the front door. The general’s thick boots thumped over the wood, grinding Rose’s nerves to dust. He removed his bicorn and held it by his side. “Miss McGuire, we shall be no bother to you, I am sure.”

“No trouble at all.” Rose tugged off her gloves if only to keep her hands from shaking. She tossed them onto a table lining the wall of
the foyer as she took a mental inventory of any incriminating evidence lying about the farm. Mr. Reed’s coat and weapons were in a wooden chest on the top rafters of the barn. Other than that and the freshly dug dirt of Garrick’s grave, there should be no sign of any traitorous activities.

Unless the soldiers looked in the icehouse.

If they did, at least her aunt and uncle wouldn’t be here to witness Rose’s arrest.

Five soldiers entered behind the general, two of whom Rose recognized as men from town who had joined the militia. They wore the same white trousers as the regular army but their dark blue jackets were devoid of the golden stripes and red trim that marked them as military. They both tipped their straw hats in her direction. “Miss McGuire.”

“Mr. Cohosh. Mr. Blake.” She gave a tremulous smile.

“My men will search your home.” General Smith’s commanding tone left no room for argument.

Mr. Snyder stood by the door, hat and cane in hand, and a worrisome look on his face.

Rose clenched her jaw. “General, this is pushing matters rather far. Do you think I wouldn’t know if British soldiers were in my own house?”

“They are sneaky little devils, Miss McGuire,” the general said. “It is for your own protection.”

With a huff, Rose gestured toward the stairway. “You are wasting your time, gentlemen. Please be advised that my lady’s maid may be in her chamber.”

The men scrambled up the stairs, muskets in hand and swords flapping against their breeches.

Rose took a deep breath to steel herself. Then after a moment she turned. “May I offer you some tea, General, Mr. Snyder?” She sauntered toward the parlor, hoping to act nonchalant, but stumbled over the rug.

“No, thank you, miss. I need to direct my men.” Swinging about, General Smith plopped his hat atop his head and marched outside as quickly as he had come.

Mr. Snyder hung his hat and cane on a coatrack by the door, then approached her. “I am here, Miss McGuire.” He dabbed his fingers
on his tongue then raked them through his perfectly styled copper-colored hair. “Nothing will happen to you. I can see these military affairs cause you great distress.”

Rose merely stared at the man, hoping he, too, would find an excuse to leave.

“I will accept your offer of tea if you will join me,” he said. “Perhaps I can help allay your fears.” He gestured toward the parlor and a floral-printed settee that sat in the center of the small room.

Rose’s palms grew sweaty. Her stomach bubbled. “Very well.” Using the tea as an excuse to leave the man, Rose entered the kitchen, and leaned back on the wall beside the door. Her head grew light, and she raised a hand to rub her forehead.

Cora turned from stirring a pot over the fire. “Are you all right, child?”

“Yes. Would you prepare a tea tray for me and Mr. Snyder?”

The cook frowned and shook her head. “O’ course,” she sassed. “Along with makin’ dinner and cleanin’ the house and everythin’ else I do around here. Yes, I’ll serve tea to you and your gentleman caller.” Pulling a tray from a shelf, she set it on the preparation table and eyed a kettle already steaming on the Franklin stove.

Ignoring her, Rose darted to the window above the sink and peered out through the mottled green glass. Blurred figures spread across her field like a swarm of locusts. Several men entered the barn. She could hear Prinney and the other pigs snorting accompanied by the squawk of chickens.

“Search the icehouse!” General Smith’s command shot like an arrow through Rose’s heart. She swung about and leaned on the sink, nearly collapsing.

Cora’s brow wrinkled and unusual concern flitted across her face.

“Child?”

Oh Lord, save us
. The prayer rose up, unbidden. But when had God ever come through for her? When had He ever answered her pleas? Rose dragged in a breath that stuck in her throat and ignored the numbness that had taken over her body. “I believe Mr. Snyder and I will take that tea now.”

Slapping a hand onto her rounded hip, Cora faced the fireplace, muttering under her breath. Her legs trembling, Rose left the kitchen.

If she were to be arrested for treason, she would abide it with dignity. She would pay the consequences of her actions. Memories of another equally terrifying event from her past threatened to leech the last of her strength and send her tumbling to the floor. Not all involved in that fateful night had lived to see the dawn. At the time, she had wished to be among those who had not survived. But now, she longed to live. To remain on this farm with her aunt and uncle, and when she was able, to help other women who had suffered the same fate as she had.

She gulped as she made her way to the parlor, trying to dislodge the vision. The soldiers clomped down the narrow stairs, casting smiles her way—
knowing
smiles. The wood creaked in laughter beneath their boots as they stormed toward the kitchen.

Cora burst through the kitchen door, tray in hand, and screeched at the sight of the men. They marched past her, nearly knocking her aside. Tossing a string of choice words over her shoulder, she entered the parlor, slammed the tray down on the rosewood serving table perched before the settee, and left.

“Difficult to procure decent servants these days.” Mr. Snyder shook his head.

Taking a cloth, Rose lifted the teapot and attempted to pour a cup of tea for the councilman, but her hands shook, spilling the steaming liquid onto the tray. She set the pot down with a clank and sank onto the settee.

“They are simply soldiers ensuring your safety, miss. I’ve never seen you so distraught.” Mr. Snyder took the opportunity to sit beside her. Her trembling increased. “Why, whatever is the matter, Miss McGuire?” He took her hands in his.

“My apologies, Mr. Snyder.” She snatched them back and stood. “I fear I am unwell.”

General Smith barged through the front door, two armed soldiers behind him. A fierce look rode on his face.

“Miss McGuire, we have found something most distressing.”

CHAPTER 7