Once their pewter cups were full again, Devon began searching groups of men for his friend. They found him at a game of dice.
"Mordecai, get yourself up from there. I've someone for you to meet." Devon knocked a buckskinned shoulder.
"Well, I'll be God-damned!" Mordecai came to his feet, tossing the dice onto a makeshift table. "I'm out, brother," he called to the other player. "Well, excuse me, ma'am," he apologized to Cassie, sweeping off his muskrat skin hat with great flourish. "Shame on you, Marsh, letting words like that slip from my foul mouth with a lady standing right here."
"Cassie, I want you to meet Mordecai Steele. He's from west of Dover. His family's got a few hundred acres out there. No one knows where. Hell, they don't know themselves."
Mordecai let out a hoot. "Don't pay any attention to him, Cassie. He hasn't got a bit more sense than God gave a cricket." He turned back to Devon. "So how the hell have you been?" He swung back around to face Cassie. "Damnation! I've done it again, haven't I?"
She shook her head, laughing, not in the least bit offended. She'd heard far worse in her father's encampments, used worse on occasion.
"Just watch yourself, all right, Mordecai?" Devon narrowed his eyes.
"Yes, indeed, I aim to do just that." Mordecai nodded his head, knowing not to cross his friend after he'd had a few drinks. "Now where'd you get that refreshment? I'm parched as hell."
"You're looking at the right people to show you. I believe Cassie and I've forged a path between here and the booth." Devon took her hand.
"Well, join me in a cup and tell me how army life's been." Mordecai patted Devon on the back. "I've missed you. Mama's only been making half as many pies on Sunday, since you left."
"Well, I suggest you tell her to start baking because unless the King's men are coming through Dover tonight, I'll be there tomorrow afternoon for my share."
Laughing and teasing, the three made their way to the stall where the kegs of ale stood. While Devon and Mordecai talked, Cassie listened, watching the passersby. Then, a petite, elegantly dressed woman came walking in their direction, calling out to Devon. Cassie stiffened involuntarily. The woman was beautiful.
"Devon," she said, stepping daintily over a mud puddle,"I thought I'd find you near the ale."
Cassie watched the crooked grin disappear from Devon's face. He had known this beautiful woman for a long time; she could see it in his eyes.
"Anne." Devon reached to take her hand. "You know Mordecai, and this is Cassie." His eyes met the lady's for an instant, and then he turned to Cassie. "Cassie O'Flynn, Lady Anne Cartland."
Cassie smiled stiffly, managing a nod. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She had no place here, not among these people. It was obvious there was something between Devon and the Lady Anne. No wonder everyone had been staring at her! Devon, the town hero, had this Lady Anne, and here he was parading this tavern wench around like a paramour! She'd kill him! She'd kill the colonial bastard!
The slender Lady Anne was talking.". . . Father insists you come to evening meal. I told him you were probably busy taking care of your own affairs, but you know how he is." She forced an uncomfortable smile.
Devon nodded, feeling foolish. He never knew what to say to Anne these days. "Yes, well, I have been occupied." An uncomfortable silence followed before he spoke again. "Tell him I'll try to come by before I return to New York."
The Lady Anne nodded, looking up from the reticule she fiddled with. "I'll tell him. Well, I must be going." She smiled again. "It was nice to meet you, Mistress O'Flynn." She nodded. "Now you keep an eye on him, Mordecai. You know what happened last year at the fair. He hasn't a head for rum."
Cassie waited until Lady Anne was well out of sight before she spoke. "Take me home," she whispered in Devon's ear, through clenched teeth. "Now!"
Devon took her arm, steering her out of the crowd as he waved a hand at Mordecai. "Just wait a minute, I don't—"
She spun around. "Take me home, I said."
"What? What's wrong, Cassie?" His face was a mask of concern. "What did I do?"
Cassie jerked her arm from his grasp, fuming. "Who was that?" she challenged, shaking her finger.
He lifted his palms in confusion. "I told you. Anne."
"No." Cassie shook her head. "Who is she to you? You made me look like a fool." She was so angry she could have spit fire. Angry with him for leading her on, angry with herself for letting him do it. I could have loved this man, she thought, staring at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He swept off his hat, running his hand through his hair. "You sure can get mad fast."
"Don't avoid the question." Cassie planted her hands on her hips. "Who is she to you, Devon?"
"She's nothing to me."
"Liar!" She turned, stomping off. "I'm not that stupid," she called over her shoulder.
Devon ran after her, stuffing his hat on his head. "Will you wait a minute and listen to me? Cassie?"
She turned back to face him, her cheeks rosy with anger. "I'm waiting."
Devon stood in front of her, forcing her to look him in the face. "She is nothing to me. I am nothing to her. But our parents want us to marry."
Cassie dropped her gaze to the ground.
He grabbed her hands. "We never will. Anne loves another, a man her father, Lord Cartland, would not consider a suitable match. She's afraid to tell her parents. So far she's stalled by saying she isn't ready to marry yet, but her parents still think they can pressure her into marrying me."
Cassie let out a sigh, feeling a little foolish. "You're not lying?" Slowly, she raised her head to study his dark eyes.
"I'm not a liar." His hands tightened around hers. "Our families' properties join. A long time ago Lord Cartland and my father put their heads together and decided that we should marry. Neither Anne nor I was ever in agreement." The laughter was gone from his face. "My father and I quarreled about it at Christmas; he's still angry that I refused the match. I couldn't tell him about Anne's involvement with her merchant. She and I've been friends since we were children. I promised Anne I would cover for her until she worked it out. That's why Lord Cartland expects me to call." Devon pulled off his cocked hat. "Sounds like a tall tale, doesn't it?"
Searching his tanned face, Cassie shook her head. He was telling the truth. "How could you ever have gotten yourself into such a mess?" Leaning against a tree, she slid to the ground.
"I don't know; it just got out of hand." He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "I didn't think it would do any harm, and I wanted to help Anne. Then the war finally broke out and I went to New England to join one of their regiments. Anne said she'd have everything straight by the time I returned on furlough. Guess it isn't."
"All sounds pretty foolish to me." Cassie hugged her knees to her body. "A person ought to marry who they want to."
Devon sat in the grass beside her. "You're right, a person should." He fingered the brim of his hat, at a loss for words. He really liked this red-haired girl, and it scared him. This was not the time to fall in love with a woman. In a week he'd be back in New York fighting the King's Army, defending this new land his family called home. He could make no promises to this girl or any other. The chances were slim that the Continental Army could ever win against the greatest military power in the world, and even slimmer that he would come home alive. He glanced up at Cassie, her head hung low, a curtain of bright hair framing her face.
Devon could imagine what his family would have to say if he brought an indentured serving girl home as his intended—not that he gave a tinker's damn. This was his life, wasn't it? Someday, God willing, he would have his father's plantation to run, the family name to carry on. A woman like Cassie would be his choice—intelligent, honest, strong-willed. . . . He glanced up at the clear blue sky. The truth was, he could fall in love with this woman very easily.
"I feel stupid," Cassie spoke up, plucking at a blade of grass. "This was none of my business anyway."
"No, I understand." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Let's just forget it." Forget all of it, he told himself. We're just here to have a fun day. Life had grown too serious in the last year, he needed some lighthearted fun. He dropped his cocked hat on Cassie's head, leaning closer.
She laughed nervously, overcome by his strange male scent and the feel of his body pressed against hers. She knew she shouldn't be here, not with a man like Devon. Nothing could ever come of it. His station was far above her own. Men like Devon never married women like her. She lifted her eyelashes to study his dark eyes. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her cheek.
What was wrong with her? She was a girl who lived for today, wasn't she? Hadn't Paddie O'Flynn taught her the importance of the present? She might not ever meet another man that made her feel the way Devon did . . . the way she felt right now. You have to be thankful for what you have, she told herself. If the good Lord intended for her to have only these few hours with this wonderful man, then she should accept it. With a war so close at their heels, this was no time for silly schoolgirl games.
Devon stared into her deep green eyes, mesmerized. "How about a kiss?" he murmured.
Cassie struggled to keep her senses as he leaned to press his mouth to hers. She met him halfway.
"So beautiful," he crooned against her lips. He pulled his hat off her head to toss it carelessly to the ground.
Cassie explored Devon's lips cautiously, running her hand over his chest to wrap it around his neck. "Right in broad daylight," she teased, arching her neck as he kissed its length.
Devon nibbled at her ear. "No one can see us." His eyes danced merrily, intoxicated by her nearness. "Besides, this is why you walked behind this tree, isn't it?"
She pulled away, her emerald eyes sparkling, her cheeks brightly flushed. "You conceited lout!"
He combed his fingers through her hair, close to the scalp, savoring its crispness. "I'm just teasing you," he whispered, planting brief, fleeting kisses across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
"Just the same," she told him shakily." we've both had a tad more than our share of that ale, so I think we'd best be getting up." She ran a finger over his bottom lip. "Otherwise one of us is liable to lose some clothing here shortly."
He grinned. He'd never met a woman so refreshingly honest! "Who? You or I?" He tweaked the end of her freckled nose.
Cassie got to her feet, brushing the dry grass from the back of her homespun skirt. She turned to him, a smile playing on her lips. "Never know, will we?"
Chapter Three
"Devon, I told Roland you wouldn't be racing Casper this year, but he won't take no for an answer." Mordecai shook his head, his shoulder-length hair bouncing as he spoke. "I guess you'll have to settle it yourself." He shrugged, giving Cassie an apologetic grin.
"Do you mind if I leave you for a minute, Cassie?" Devon toyed with a long lock of bright hair, his hand resting comfortably on her shoulder.
She took a bite of her hot baked meat pie, glancing up. "Of course not. I'll wait right here for you." Her tongue darted out to catch a falling crumb. "I've heard so much about these bonny soldiers; I want to see them for myself."
"I won't be long." Devon dropped a kiss on her head and followed Mordecai.
Cassie watched them until they disappeared in the direction of the tied horses, and then turned her attention back to the group of men falling in behind their colonel.
She had to admit they were a smart-looking bunch, but then she'd always had a soft spot for a soldier who could come up with a uniform. In the battalions her father fought with, it was a great accomplishment to get everyone wearing the same color banner so they wouldn't mistake each other for the enemy and kill their fellow comrades.
As the small fife and drum corps began to play, Cassie moved a little closer. She couldn't resist tapping her foot to the lively piece the men played.
The "Delaware Blues" were splendid in their white waistcoats, buckskin breeches, white woolen stockings, black spatterdashes, and blue coats. Their pewter buttons were marked D.B. for Delaware Battalion; their round leather hats with the high peak in the front were embellished with red feather plumes and inscribed with the words "Liberty and Independence/ Delaware Regiment."
Cassie couldn't resist a smile. They were a handsome lot with their polished buttons and clean coats. But she couldn't help wondering what they would look like after their first real battle. She swallowed hard. She knew what they would look like: dusty and mud-splattered, they would drag into camp, their fancy white waistcoats stained with a friend's blood. Their faces would be haggard, their spirits low. And that was if they managed to be the victors. The defeated would look worse.
Her stomach suddenly turning sour, Cassie moved away from the crowd. As she walked, she couldn't help studying their faces. They had no idea how quickly their world was going to fall apart. They didn't know what it would be like, living in a divided country. But Cassie knew . . . and the thought sickened her. Who were these people to talk of independence from the Crown? They were alive, weren't they? Their children didn't go to sleep at night on empty bellies. But here these fine citizens were, dressed in their satin and bows, cheering their husbands and sons on, sending them to their deaths for an idealistic cause! She shook her head sadly. There wasn't a chance in hell old King George was going to give up a scrap of his precious land.
"Silky piece of hide, that one!" Mordecai handed the bottle of rum back to Devon. "Where'd you find her, you lucky devil?"
Devon took a long pull, choking as the fiery liquid went down his throat. "Whoa! That'll take the hair off your chest!" He shook his head, trying to clear his muddled brain. "The Patriot, serving tables. A beauty, isn't she?" He took another swallow and handed the bottle back to his friend.
"Wouldn't mind a roll on the riverbank with her myself." Mordecai took a big swig and tucked the bottle beneath his fringed buckskin coat.
"Watch your tongue." Devon's dark eyes flashed a warning. "She's not that kind." He swung into the saddle of his horse, Casper, and straightened up, blinking. He was beginning to think that perhaps he'd overindulged himself with the rum.
Mordecai handed him the reins. "They're all that kind." His dark eyes narrowed speculatively. "This one got to you, has she?"
Devon shook his head slowly. "Yea—no—I mean she's different. Cassie's . . ." His voice trailed off as he tried to turn Casper around.
Mordecai reached for his bottle again, grinning wickedly. "So are you going to ruffle her petticoats?"
Devon stared at Mordecai in confusion. He really shouldn't have had that last swallow of rum; the ground was spinning beneath him. "Am I going to . . . what?"
Mordecai sighed with exasperation. "Are you going to bed the girl, Marsh?"
"The race is about to start." Devon shifted in his saddle. He really didn't want to get into this kind of conversation with Mordecai. Not about Cassie.
"Oh, come on, Marsh. Don't tell me 'Old Silken Breeches' has lost his touch. You used to be the hottest thing—"
"That was a long time ago. You know we were more talk than action." He ran his hand over his mouth, trying to clear his thoughts.
"How about a little wager, my friend?" Mordecai pressed.
"A . . . what? What are you talking about?"
"Just a little wager between old friends." He shrugged his shoulders innocently.
"No, I don't think so." Devon laughed, trying to brush off the conversation.
"What's the world coming to, Dev? Never in my life have I seen you turn down a bet! You always come out the winner."
Devon grinned crookedly. Suddenly, he felt like a boy; Mordecai was about to get him into another fix again. He could see it coming. "Guess I usually do."
The woodsman grabbed the horse's reins and began to lead him through the meadow. "Tell you what I'm going to do. I've got one last case of fine Irish whiskey." He sucked the last drop from the rum bottle and threw it over his head. "I'll bet you that case, tha
t you can't get the tavern wench into bed by dawn."
Devon looked down at his friend with unease. A fine rum mist had settled over his mind, making it hard to think. "I don't think so." He put up a hand. "I haven't got anything to lay against your whiskey."
Mordecai patted the dark steed. "How about Casper here?" He raised one eyebrow daringly.
"My horse?" Devon's eyes widened. "You want my horse?" He tapped his mount lightly with his heels, urging him to the starting line.
Mordecai followed close behind. "Only if you lose."
"You're crazy," Devon answered over his shoulder. "And it would take a crazier man to lay such a bet with you!"
When Cassie rounded the corner booth, she spotted Devon astride his horse. She knew he would end up racing. She could tell he was one of those men who couldn't resist a dare. Moving into the crowd behind the horses, she pushed her way to the front.
"Ready, gentlemen?" The judge stood on a wooden crate, his hands held high. "The first man to round the oak and return to this spot is the winner." He turned to the crowd of observers. "All bets placed?"
The crowd of farmers, gentlemen, and a few women chattered wildly as they exchanged bets. Cassie turned to a tradesman wearing a worn leather apron. "Who you favoring?" she asked.
The man glanced over at her with sparkling blue eyes. "The bay. I've seen 'im run. He'll take the rest by a couple of strides."
"Care to make a wager on that?" She pushed a mass of curls off her shoulder.
The man winked. "Might. Who you got your eye on?"
"The black with the white splash." Cassie grinned, raising a hand to shadow her eyes from the setting sun.
Looking from the horses back to Cassie, the man chuckled. "You got your eye on the horse, or the rider, lassy?"
"Let's see your coin," she dared, pulling a few pennies from her worn skirt pocket.
At the crack of the judge's pistol, Cassie stood up on her toes, craning to get a better view. The acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of unbathed bodies and warm ale, lending an odd combination of comfort and excitement to her surroundings. This was where she felt at home, in a crowd of cheering men. Spotting Devon on Casper, she leaped in the air, clapping and calling out. He was ahead of the tradesman's bay by a full length. Cassie couldn't resist elbowing the man in the side. "Hope you didn't need your coin, sir!"
The Officer's Desire Page 3
