War of Hearts, A Historical Romance (8 page)

Tristan frowned feeling somewhat protective
over his new guest. She seemed so frail, yet he somehow knew that
she was not.

No one was about as they entered through the
back door, and for that she was grateful. Tristan led her up the
kitchen stairs and to the second floor landing. Everything was
backwards from the way she had entered previously. Getting her
bearings, she recognized Tristan’s door as they passed it. He went
past the staircase and stopped in front of a set of double
doors.

Sarah had never seen double doors before and
watched carefully as he opened one. He bowed deeply and his eye
twinkled at her. “Your room, Madame.”

Feeling as if she was in a dream, Sarah
stepped into the large room. It was ornately decorated with hand
woven tapestries lining the wall. A large bed was against the back
wall and a sitting area was next to the fireplace.

“This is your parent’s room? I can’t stay in
here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need all this.” She spun in
a circle to emphasize as her hair fanned out about her.

“I do apologize, but the other rooms are
taken. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you want to stay in my room.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, “I am not some
trollop! And if that was your incentive to offer me board I’d
rather sleep on the street.”

Tristan’s smile quickly faded. “I meant no
harm. Sometimes my tongue is faster than my brain. I was thrown
from a horse as a child, been addled ever since.”

Sarah made the mistake of looking up at him.
He had a pained expression on his face that reminded her of an
abandoned dog she had found as a child. Their eyes locked and she
noticed how much his eyes favored Robert. He was taller though, and
his lips a bit fuller. Her breathing quickened and she turned away,
miffed at her reaction.

“Your items are in the chest,” Tristan added
with a motion of his hand. “If you need anything else. You know
where to find me. Goodnight Sarah.” And with a nod, he was
gone.

Sarah turned toward the fireplace, which had
already been lit and stoked. She was warm, she was well fed and all
she could do was pray for her friends who were not. Climbing into
the bed, she soon sunk into a troubled sleep.

***

Sarah was surrounded by Redcoats. She
twirled in a circle looking franticly for a way to escape. Her feet
crunched on the frozen ground beneath them. Looking down she saw a
red patch in the snow. She dropped to her knees and began digging
with her hands. Her fingers were numb, but she only dug deeper.
They soon touched flesh and she looked down into Silas’ dead eyes.
A shadow crossed over her. It grabbed her arm and dragged her out
of the pit.

With a gasp, she sat up in bed and
discovered the hand on her arm belonged to Tristan. Her mind tried
to make sense of it all. She looked up at him; the candle on the
bedside table made it seem as if he was glowing. Concern clouded
his face and he asked if she was all right.

She shook her head no, warm tears were
overfilling her eyes and sliding down her cheek. She was pulled
into strong arms and she let loose the emotions she had held in
check for so long.

She let out all the anguish she had bottled
up, for the loss of her home, her parents, Silas and all the men
who had died before her eyes. She wanted to fix it, to set things
right, for their deaths to be not in vain.

She was slightly aware of a large, warm hand
rubbing her back and another cradling her head. Hot breath touched
her cheek while he whispered soothing words into her ear.

Her other ear was pressed into his hard
chest. The rhythmic tune of his heart was causing hers to flutter.
She sniffed and pulled away, trying to gather up what poise she had
left.

“I’m sorry, I must look horrid.” She
sniffed, wiping her puffy eyes.

“You are lovely; are you alright? You were
shouting.”

Sarah froze, her heart skipping a beat. How
could she be so foolish?

“Wh-what was I saying?”

“You were calling for Silas.”

She closed her eyes in gratitude that she
hadn’t been cursing the King. “Silas is my brother. His death still
haunts me.”

“He died in the war?”

Sarah nodded, opening her eyes to look up at
him. Some part of her realized that he was half dressed in a night
shirt. Another part realized that he was on her bed.

“Then I insist on being your protector.”

He was so close, just a breath away. Sarah
turned her head, her thoughts jumbled. She wanted to refuse. To
shout out that she didn’t need anyone. But she didn’t have the
strength, she felt safe in his house, in his arms. And it scared
her to death.

“For now,” she agreed, leaving the future
open.

He leaned toward her and she was a bit
disappointed when his lips brushed her cheek.

“You need your rest,” he insisted,
standing.

Sarah pulled the covers tightly around her
and watched him leave the room. With a sigh, she blew out the
candle and lay back down to wait for morning.

Tendrils of sunlight crept into the room as
Sarah awoke. Images from last night slipped into her thoughts. She
wasn’t sure what was real and what was dreamt. Rising, she stepped
to the window to take in the morning view. She could see dozens of
soldiers milling about with the town folk.

It made her sick inside to think of the men
they killed. The ones they had ran through with bayonets even after
surrendering.

Where her men were merchants, farmers and
tradesmen: These were professional killers; they had been well
trained in the art. She startled at a knock at the door.

“Breakfast ma’am,” Cecilia’s voice rang out
cheerily.

Moving to the washbasin, she cleansed
herself and then dressed in the same dress from yesterday. Hers had
not appeared yet, and she was starting to worry that they had
discarded the threadbare garment.

She unbraided her hair before brushing it
out and tying it up into a bun. A few tendrils escaped and she
hastily tucked them behind an ear. Stepping into the hallway, the
scent of fried ham wafted up to her. Heading down the stairs, she
grasped the balustrade and made her way to the dining room.

She was the last to arrive and was dismayed
to see that they had a visitor. The good major; he kept popping up
like a bad penny. She found herself seated next to him and wasn’t
sure who was more annoyed, her or Tristan. The fact that Tristan
seemed putout made her feel a little better. Brief introductions
were made as breakfast was served.

“Miss Smith, Major Johnson has offered to
take you on a tour of the city. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Sarah shoved a large piece of ham into her
mouth. It gave her time to think. What a great opportunity to see
the city from a soldier’s viewpoint; what information she could
gather! Although in all practicality she doubted she would see much
more than his bed. Point proven, he leaned toward her, placing his
arm on the back of her chair. She swallowed and patted her mouth
daintily. “Oh I am sure that a man as essential as the Major,”

“Please call me Randall,” the major
interrupted.

“Well then, I’m sure Randall has many
important duties to tend to instead of worrying over me.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure no one will miss him at
all.” The Colonel chuckled, causing the major to frown. “I
insist.”

“Well then,” Tristan said leaning forward,
“for proprieties sake. I will gladly accompany you.”

“That would be splendid!” Sarah replied,
taking another bite. She sipped at her milk and she heard what she
would call a growl escape Major Johnson.

“But completely unnecessary! I believe my
reputation stands on its own merit,” Randall added.

“Your reputation is well known, as Sarah’s
keeper, I intend to make sure she is free from harm,” Tristan spat
back.

“Gentlemen, enough!” the Colonel said,
slamming his hand down on the table. “The day will be half over by
the time you sort it out. Both of you will accompany Miss Smith.
Good day,” he replied, leaving the room, with Ryan scurrying after
him.

The two men glared at each other as Sarah
took another bite. Pushing back her plate she addressed Tristan.
“Ready?”

“Of course. I will have my stable
hands….”

“Anticipating your decision, I have already
procured a carriage,” Randall replied smartly, cutting Tristan
off.

Sarah followed him halfheartedly out the
front door. Tristan was right behind her. She stopped short upon
spying the carriage parked out front. It had only one seat and
Sarah eyed it wearily. There was barely room for two, much less
three.

“Is this it?” she asked, looking down the
street hopefully for a larger one.

“I apologize; I wasn’t expecting us to have
company.”

“This is ridiculous! I have a full size
carriage that can be ready in minutes,” Tristan guffawed.

“Wonderful idea! You can follow behind us,”
the Major replied, grabbing Sarah by her waist, practically tossing
her into the carriage and hurrying to the other side.

“Like hell!” Tristan muttered stepping
forward and pulling himself up.

Sarah shrank back as the two men sat down at
the same time, trapping her in between them. She twisted a bit, to
get more comfortable and ended up leaning toward Tristan, her bum
overlapped Randall’s thigh. She was grateful the carriage required
both of his hands to man the reigns.

“Comfy?” he asked turning his head. Their
faces were inches apart and Sarah could feel hers growing warm.
Suddenly, the carriage hit a divot in the street causing their
heads to collide.

His curses caused several townspeople to
look their way and Sarah tried to slink down in the seat. Her
forehead ached, but her dignity was injured more so.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am having a brilliant time,” Sarah
replied sarcastically, bracing for more bumps. With each one her
bum would rub against Randall’s thigh. She started to suspect he
was hitting them on purpose. With grate effort she shifted again
reversing her situation.

Facing Randall now, she could make out the
tale tell smirk on his face.

“Where are we headed?”

“To the wharf; you must see the bay.”

Sarah was a bit appeased by that news. She
had wanted to visit the bay anyways. Maybe she could see Tristan’s
ship. They passed the park with the hanging man and Sarah looked
away out of respect.

Noticing her movement, Randall spoke.
“Traitorous scum was found with maps of the city.”

““How awful, are they sure he was a spy?
Perhaps he was lost?” Sarah quipped.

Randall grunted. “He ran a local Tavern.
With a name like Baker, you would think he’d be making pies.”
Randall chuckled as Sarah’s heart almost stopped.

What kind of cruel trick is this? Surely
that was not her contact. This was a huge city, there had to be
many taverns ran by men named Baker.

Tristan spoke up as well. “I was there when
he was arrested. He confessed and then cursed them blue. It was
quite shocking; I had known the man for years.”

“And who knows what secrets he queried from
drunken souls,” Randall added grimly.

Sarah frowned; this was the only
conversation the two men had where they agreed on something. The
fact that they both supported hanging spies made her a bit
wary.

The smell of burnt wood filled her head and
she was brought back to reality. Movement caught her eye and she
watched some children playing hide & seek amongst the ruined
buildings.

The ease at which these children accepted
their fate was heartbreaking. Well, she was no child and confidant
or not, she would still do whatever she could to further her cause.
She owed it to Silas.

Her eyes rose to the cloud spotted sky as
she made her vow. The beauty of it surprised her. Except for all
the death & destruction, it was quite a lovely day.

She could sense the change in the air and
knew they were close to the shore. She sat up, eager to see the
ships and to distance herself from these ghastly men.

She was not disappointed; the port was
filled with large ships. Even with their sails down they were
majestic. Men were milling about loading and unloading crates,
feeding the British, keeping them strong.

Doubt flickered in her chest for an instant.
Doubt that her threadbare, rag tag group of men could take on this
force and win. Then she quickly stamped it out. They had something
much more important than bought goods, they had heart.

Putting on her best smile, she turned to
Tristan, “Which one is the
Sea Maiden
?”

Tristan stepped toward her, placing his hand
on the small of her back. he guided her to face the proper
direction. “See the ship with the blue flag flying? That’s her. You
want to go aboard?”

“I’d love to.”

“We would love to,” Randall added.

Tristan led them over the dunes and down to
the beach. He shouted orders to a group of men who were apparently
part of his crew. Acquiring a rowboat, he grasped Sarah’s hand,
helping her step into the wobbly craft. Sarah’s heart was
fluttering. She wasn’t scared of the water; she had been swimming
since she was a child.

Her father had taught her and rated her
skill level from Tadpole to Fish. No it wasn’t the water, it was
her mission. She looked around and memorized the view. Soundlessly
she counted the ships in port as well as the ones at dock.

The
Sea Maiden
was a large frigate
but appeared small next to the British warships. Her vision was
blocked as Randall awkwardly stepped into the boat and sat next to
her. Tristan sat across from them and used an oar to push them off.
Once they were away he set the oars and methodically rotated them
to move the small boat.