"Cassie! Cassie!" Devon gripped her shoulders, his face turning livid with rage. "What in God's name are you doing here?"
She peered up at him, sniffling. "Aren't you glad to see me?" He's alive, he's alive, her mind screamed. You got here in time!
"Yes . . . no, no, I'm not, Cassie." A streak of cold hard terror ran down his spine. She was looking up at him so innocently. Didn't she realize they were surrounded by Howe's men? Didn't she know they were going to die on this godforsaken island? Devon gripped his wife's shoulders, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. "How did you get here?" he breathed through clenched teeth. "I can't get you out, Cassie." His voice was thick with desperation. "Even if I knew how, I couldn't leave my men."
Cassie's emerald eyes rested on Devon's weary face. "I don't want you to get me out, love. I came here to be with you, to help you. If we die, then we die together."
Devon shoved her back roughly. "Damn it, Cassie!" He turned his back on her, his fists clenched at his sides. Tears threatened to spill from his dark eyes. "Damn it." he whispered into the darkness. Never in his most horrifying nightmares could he have dreamed this could happen. He was so angry at her, so frightened for her, that he was numb. She had come to him, the one soul on this earth he loved more than life itself, and she was going to die.
Cassie stood for a moment, staring at the back of Devon's battle-worn coat. Her bottom lip trembled and she lifted a fist to brush a tear from her cheek. She had come out of love for him. She had traveled hundreds of miles, risked her life sneaking through enemy lines, and the colonial clod was angry with her! Fury welled up inside of her and Cassie reached for his coat, yanking him around. "You bastard!" she accused hotly. "You ungrateful bastard!"
"You stupid, common wench!" Devon grabbed her arm, twisting it viciously behind her back. He was so close that his breath was hot on her tearstained cheeks. "You shouldn't have come!"
"Common, am I? Stupid?" Cassie. spit. "What? I'm common because I'm not a coward. I'm common because I wanted to help my husband . . . I wanted to be with him?" She struggled to free herself but he held her tightly against his massive, unyielding form. "Guess I am common then!"
"You should have stayed at Marshview where you were safe! You should have obeyed me!" He leaned against her until his nose almost touched the tip of hers. "I could kill you myself." he threatened in a hushed voice.
"You don't own me! I'm your wife. I'm not your property! I have a right to fight if I wish! That is what this war is all about, isn't it? Rights?" Her heart pounded wildly beneath her breast. Being so close to him, it was almost unbearable. She was so furious with him that she couldn't think, but still, she wanted him. Here in the midst of dying men and blasting artillery, she wanted to feel his solid flesh against hers.
"Fight! Oh God, Cassie . . ." Devon sobbed, forcing his mouth down hard on hers. There was no tenderness in his kiss, only raw, desperate passion as he forced her to part her lips. She clung to him with frenzied need, letting him crush her in his arms. She took his mouth hungrily, not caring that he hurt her, not caring that he was bruising her tender flesh. To hurt was to be alive.
Tearing his mouth from Cassie's, Devon held her against his chest, feeling the rhythm of her heart. He pressed his lips against her temple, against her tangled hair, knocking her hat off her head. "You've got to get out of here. There's got to be a way." he breathed raggedly. "Surrender, you'll have to surrender to them."
Cassie pushed against him, leaning up to study his stony face. "The bloody hell I will. You think I can't fight? You think I can't shoot as well as your men?"
"No, no, that's not it." He shook his head. He was so confused. The men were still marching, still filing past in the darkness. The sound of cannon echoed in the darkness, mingling with the groans of dying men. "You can't. I won't let you."
"Devon." She shook her head slowly, pulling away from him. "It's not your choice." She leaned over to pick her hat up off the ground. "I was Cassie O'Flynn long before I was Cassie Marsh."
Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. Devon was paralyzed. What was she saying? Fight? She was going to fight?
"I have to do this. For me . . . and for you." She stuffed his three-cornered hat on her head. "Don't you understand, love? I have to make my own way. I have to show you what I can do . . . who I am. I have to show myself. If we're to make it, this is the only way."
Devon shook his head. "No! No! I don't understand." he murmured. "I love you." He lifted his clenched fists. "Don't you understand? I love you?"
"And don't you understand? I love you." She looked down at the man Devon had been giving water to. "I think he's dead." she murmured. "Know him?" She got down on her knees to check the pulse at his neck. "Be sure his name is marked down. People forget to mark 'em down when they're retreating like this." She slid the dead man's squirrel gun off his shoulder and his bag and water can as well. "Someone will need these." she whispered, glancing back up at Devon again.
Slowly gaining control again, Devon nodded. "Give me his gun. You're already carrying two." He took it from her. "Come on, I've got to reach someone in command—Stirling if I can get to him. I think we may have a chance at saving the bulk of the army."
"How?" Cassie reached up to wipe a smear of blood from his cheek.
"The British are coming over the hills near Porte Road now—we've lost all organization. But if some of us can hold the bastards back awhile, I think we can get out through those salt marches." He pointed into the distance.
Cassie nodded. "You go, I'll stay with these men— keep the ones who can walk or be carried moving."
He nodded. "Now I'm warning you, Cassie. You live through this night, and you're going home. Do you understand me?" He searched her enigmatic green eyes. Even in his sleep, those Irish eyes haunted him.
Cassie stood on her tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the lips. No sense arguing now, she thought, grasping the arm of a limping soldier. I'll tell him tomorrow . . . if there is a tomorrow.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassie turned her head away, taking a deep breath as the bile rose in her throat. Another deep breath and then she was leaning back over the soldier's leg. "It's clean shot." she told the sandy-haired man. "Nice round hole. I can take the ball out, but she's gonna smart."
The soldier smiled weakly. "If it's got to come out, I can't think of a prettier person to do it."
Gritting her teeth, Cassie stuck her finger in the bloody hole in his leg, feeling for the musket ball. When her finger touched hard metal, she gouged at it, catching it with another finger and popping it out. "There you go." She held up the bloody round ball to him. "Brave you are." she told him. "Never heard a squeak out of you." She poured hot water on the wound and he flinched.
"Not my first war. Wounded in the French and Indian fuss, too." He grimaced, leaning back as she applied hard pressure on the oozing hole and leaned to scoop a clean bandage from her bag.
"Well, sir, I'm proud to say I fought at your side then." She stuck out a bloodstained hand to take his. "Now you just sit here comfortable-like and I'll send someone by with a drink and a bit to eat. You're gonna be up and moving in no time." She gave him a smile, waving as she passed him.
Cassie knew she should get to the next soldier but she couldn't. She had to sit down, gather her senses. She squinted, staring up at the brilliant afternoon sky. She'd been bandaging wounded men and moving dead bodies since just past dawn. If she didn't get a sip of cool water and a breath of fresh air, she was going to pass out.
The Delaware, Pennsylvania, and Maryland Regiments had remained under arms through the night, trying to hold back the enemy while the bulk of the patriot army struggled to retreat through the swamps at Frecke's Mill. General Putnam and General Sullivan had gotten all their men out, with General Stirling staying behind with a handful of Marylanders. The Delaware Battalion had been the last men to reach the safety of the far side of the swamp—what was left of them. Word had just come that Lord Stirling had been captured.
Out of five companies of Marylanders that had stayed behind, nearly two hundred men, only nine soldiers had reached safety. The rest were dead or captured.
Cassie took a drink from her water can, wiping the sweat from her brow. Where was Devon? She hadn't seen him in more than an hour. Picking her way through the camp, she searched the haggard faces for her husband's. "Devon! There you are." she called out, waving to him.
Stepping over a sleeping man, she rested her hand on Devon's arm. He had removed his coat and waistcoat and wore his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Dirt and blood stained the fine white linen and his buckskin breeches. His hat was gone from his head and his hair had come loose from its club to hang over his shoulders. "You're tired." she murmured, leaning over to look at the man he was nursing. "You said yourself ye haven't slept in three days. Go get some rest before you keel over."
"No." He shook his head, running a hand through his raven hair. "Can't. Too many men we still haven't reached." He lifted his head to peer out over the camp. "I still haven't accounted for all of my men, dead and living."
Cassie brushed the light hair off the wounded man's face. Young, she thought. Can't be more than sixteen or seventeen—too young for the likes of this. "What's with this one?"
Devon got down on his knees to lift the bandages from the boy's thigh. "Shrapnel. They fill the cannon with cut chain and scrap metal. We've got to get it out."
Cassie stroked the boy's cheek. "Can't one of the surgeons do it? What of Congress's Flying Hospital?" Poor thing, she thought. I know how frightened he must be. Belongs home with his mama, that's where he ought to be.
Devon unrolled a bit of cloth, extracting a lancet and tortoiseshell tweezers. "No. Not enough surgeons and too many patients." He lowered his voice. "The surgeons and their mates have been ordered to take care of all stomach and chest wounds first. Then amputations. They'll be busy awhile still. We'll have to do this ourselves. I can hold him if you can get it out."
Cassie swallowed hard. She'd been bandaging mangled limbs since she was four, but she'd never grow use to it. She hated the smell of blood, the heat of open wounds. "What's your name, soldier?" She leaned over the boy's face.
"Joe, ma'am. Josiah Irons." he squeaked, gritting his teeth.
"Where you from, Joe?" She took his hand, squeezing it.
"Milford, ma'am." His eyes fluttered open and then closed again. "I'm hurtin' awfully bad." He rolled his head back and forth in pained spasms.
"Well, we're going to fix you up in a minute. Seems you've got some British lead in your leg." She glanced up at Devon, who'd returned from a campfire where he'd run the instruments through the flame. "What, you bring your own?"
He managed a bedraggled smile. "Got them from one of the bondwomen at Marshview. She gave me a few tips on surgery before I left. Guess I should have studied medicine instead of law."
"Guess so. Now how are we going to do this?" She kept her voice low, trying not to frighten the boy any more than necessary.
"I'll hold him. You get the shrapnel out. But, Cassie, you've got to get it all out." He opened her palm and placed the instruments in it, closing her fingers around them. "He'll lose his leg to infection if you don't."
She sighed heavily. "I can bandage and pull out slugs, but I don't know about this." She looked up shakily at Devon.
"You can do it because you have to." He tugged on a lock of red hair that rested on her shoulder. "Now let's get to it. I've got a lot to do before the sun sets."
Getting down on her knees, Cassie lifted the blood-soaked bandages to get a better look at the wound. She found three holes where the shrapnel had entered the boy's thigh. There were three pieces of metal to be extracted, but she couldn't tell how deep they'd gone. "I'm ready when you are." She gave Devon a nod of her chin.
He got down on the ground, lifting the boy into his arms. "Joe, now listen to me."
The boy nodded. "I'm listening, Lieutenant." He bit his bottom lip fiercely, trying to hold back the tears.
"Joe, we've got to get the wounds cleaned out. This is my wife, Cassie. She's been on more battlefields than our whole company put together." Devon smoothed the boy's shoulder-length hair, speaking softly. "She's going to fix you right up."
Joe nodded, his whole body trembling in anticipation. "Am I going to live?" he sobbed.
"Of course you're going to live. Just a few scraps of metal, Joe. You're not going to let that beat you, are you?" He held the boy tighter and gave Cassie a nod.
Taking a deep breath, Cassie leaned over the leg wound, feeling for the shrapnel with her finger. The way she figured it, making a clean cut with the lance would be the best way to get the first piece out. Gritting her teeth, she sunk the lancet into the torn flesh and the boy screamed, making her jump.
"It's all right, it's all right." Devon soothed, holding the boy tightly in his arms.
With the tweezers, Cassie extracted the first piece of British shrapnel and laid it on the boy's leg. She tried to block out his sobbing pleas as she fumbled with the second wound.
As Cassie worked on the young soldier's leg, Devon cradled him in his arms. He spoke in hushed tones, gently rocking the lad, holding him against his chest as Cassie removed the last bit of metal.
"Shshsh," Devon hushed, wiping Joe's forehead with a clean cloth. "She's all done, son. It's all over."
Sobs wracked the young soldier's body as Cassie cleansed the wound with hot water and a bit of home-brewed whiskey someone had slipped her. Joe clung to Devon, his tears making a damp spot on his officer's shirt. "I'm so ashamed I hollered like that." He wept, trying to gain control of himself.
"It's all right, lad." Devon laughed, taking the wet cloth Cassie offered him. "No need to be ashamed. This was your first battle." He wiped the boy's face, washing the blood and dirt from it. "You fought very bravely." he soothed. "No man need be ashamed of that." Easing out from under him, Devon stuffed a provisions bag under Joe's head. "I'll tell you something, Joe, if you swear you'll never tell anyone else."
Joe nodded. Sniffing, he reached up to wipe his nose with the sleeve of his coat. "I won't tell, sir."
"Well, Joe, the first time I heard those British cannon fire up in Boston and saw those German mercenaries coming at me with their bayonets"—he stooped over the boy, lowering his voice—"you know what I did?"
Joe shook his head. "What did you do, sir?" He studied his lieutenant's dirty face.
"Well, Joe, the first time the firing started and men went running, I pissed in my pants, that's what I did!" He grinned. "Scared the devil right out of me." He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "But what matters is that I fought and what matters is that you fought, son. We're all afraid. But you're fighting for your homeland. Your papa's going to be proud of you."
As Cassie stood to the side listening to Devon speak to the young soldier, tears welled in her eyes. A better man I'll never find, she thought, dashing at her face with the torn sleeve of her shirt. Never before had she witnessed such compassion, such brutal, caring honesty. Turning to look out over the camp, she dared a bittersweet smile. There was a lot she had to learn about this husband of hers.
By the time the sun was setting, some semblance of order had settled on the patriot camp. The Continental Army was safe for the time being, protected on both flanks by water and behind good earthworks dug by the soldiers in the previous days. As long as the adverse winds kept the British fleet out of the East River and out of range, the rebel army could rest and regroup.
By late afternoon General Washington was making his way through the Brooklyn Heights camp, his presence radiating a calm confidence that spread to his men. He had crossed the river from Manhattan sometime the night before, witnessing his Long Island's army's bitter losses. But with the coming of night, men were locating their outfits, and parties of riflemen were already creeping from the earthworks to fire on the enemy posts.
Only after Devon had accounted for his company, seen that their wounds had been tended, and found them a meal did Cas
sie convince him he had to get some sleep.
"Just sleep a few hours and then I'll wake you." Cassie promised, holding out a hand to show him her tent.
"Where did you get this?" Devon draped his arm over her shoulder, giving her a squeeze.
"Traded it for some tobacco I brought from Marshview and a bottle of Scotch."
"Where'd you get Scotch?" He got down on his hands and knees to crawl inside.
Cassie followed behind. "I hope your feet don't stick out. Found it in a soldier's bag along my way. Good Scot stuff, it was." She stretched out beside him on the ground, cradling her head in her arm.
"You should have saved me some." he teased, letting his eyes drift shut.
"You want some? I can get it." She started to get up. "I've got all kinds of things stashed on a wagon. Joe's keeping an eye on it for me."
Devon caught her arm. "No, I'm kidding. I don't want you to go." He patted the horse blanket she'd lined the ground with. "Stay here with me."
Sitting up, Cassie tossed her hat in the corner and leaned down to pull off her riding boots. Next came her rough shirt over her head and then her skirt.
Devon groaned, watching her slip the soiled clothing over her head to reveal the gleam of smooth, creamy flesh, the curves of ample rounded breasts. "God, you're beautiful." he murmured, reaching out to touch a nipple with his finger.
Cassie caught his hand, bringing it to her breast. She stared boldly at him through a veil of heavy lashes. The sound of the evening camp faded into the background as she leaned to brush her lips against his. "I was so afraid I'd lose you." she breathed shakily. "So afraid. So many things left to say."
"Hush." he told her, crushing her mouth to his. "Hush, sweet. I live. Now love me."
Cassie threw her arms around Devon, suppressing a sob. He took her mouth hungrily, threading his fingers through her hair to force her mouth down on his. He kissed her brutally, venting the pent-up fear and anger of the past days, and she clung to him, caught up in his fervor. Slipping a hand beneath his muslin shirt, she caressed the hard, tired muscles of his back, tipping her head back to bare the damp skin of her throat to his seeking lips.
The Officer's Desire Page 17
