Even in the darkness, she knew the loyalist had seen her long hair tumble from beneath the hat. Scooping it off the ground, she stuffed it back on her head.
"Hey, hey, not so fast." he ordered. "A woman? Won't the general be pleased to hear this? The colonials are so desperate that they've got their daughters out fighting with squirrel guns!" He laughed deep in his throat, taking her by the collar of her coat and jerking her around to face him.
Cassie winced, suddenly afraid. Where was everyone? There was still such a commotion, patriot soldiers running, firing their arms. In the haze of the dust and powder, no one must have noticed them, not yet.
The loyalist grabbed her chin with a rough hand and pressed his mouth hard against hers. Instinctively, Cassie bit down on his lip and he yelled, swinging his fist to catch her in the jaw.
"Bitch!" he accused as she fell to the ground. "You want to play? That's all right, we can play."
Before Cassie could scramble to her feet, he was down on the ground, pinning her arms to her side. She kicked and shouted, calling him every vile name that came to mind until he cuffed her again and her head reeled, threatening to suck her into blackness.
The man threw her skirts up over her waist and fumbled with the tie of his breeches. Cassie squeezed her eyes shut, a whimper escaping her tight lips as she struggled beneath his weight.
"Excuse me, sir." a calm voice came from the darkness. "I believe you have something of mine."
Cassie's eyes flew open to find Devon standing above them. He held a long, slim hunting sword to the man's throat. A devilish smile played on his lips.
"Release my wife, sir, and get to your feet." Cassie heard Devon say.
"Easy, easy man." the loyalist begged, throwing up his hands as he got to his feet
Devon caught the man's breeches at his groin with the cold tip of his sword and lifted his head to meet the quaking man's gaze. "If you'd gone a hair further, it would not have been your life you lost first."
Devon's eerie voice echoed in Cassie's head as she struggled to straighten her skirts and make it to her feet. She had never seen this side of him. This was a dangerous man.
"Cassie, get his rifle. The gentleman is in luck. Our colonel has ordered that we take prisoners tonight." He turned back to him. "Now fasten your breeches, man, and get moving. We're holding men on the south side."
"His shoes." Cassie piped up.
Devon turned, raising one dark eyebrow. She had never seen him so haughty, so threatening. "Madam?"
"His shoes. I want the bloody bastard's shoes." She pointed at his silver-buckled feet. "Our men are going barefoot. I think this fine citizen would like to donate his."
Devon struggled to hide a smirk beneath a scowl. It was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. "Do as the lady says." he ordered, making a sweeping motion with his sword.
"My shoes? If I'm to be taken prisoner, I'll have to march. I must have my shoes." The gentleman's hands trembled.
Devon shrugged. "Women . . . there's no end to their demands. Now take off the shoes and hand them to her before I cut off your stinking feet!"
Cassie tossed her cards to the ground, throwing up her hands in defeat "You've beat me again." She laughed, reaching for the flask of whiskey one of the men passed to her. "I think you cheat." she added good-naturedly, bringing the bottle to her lips. The whiskey ran like liquid fire down her throat, warming her insides.
"Come on, Cas, how about another game?" Candle Man, one of the foot soldiers in Devon's company, reached for the dog-eared cards and began to shuffle them.
"No." She shook her head. "I've had enough of you colonials for one night. Your games are too fast and your whiskey's too smooth."
"Come on, Mistress Cassie." someone called from the crowd of men. "You're not turning in yet, are you?"
She held up a hand. "I told you, gentlemen. I'm a poor card player." She pulled her green woolen cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"Then how about a story?" someone suggested. "A story! A story." the others chimed in.
Joe tossed another stick of firewood into the campfire they gathered around. "Tell us about the time your father and his friends stole their general's tent with him asleep in it."
"No, no, the one about Paddie and the jackass." the Candleman called. "You haven't told us that one in days!"
Cassie ran a palm over her face. She was tired and wanted to go to bed. But what was there to look forward to but a night of restlessness beneath the wagon? The wind would howl, mixing with the sound of hushed voices and occasional gunfire until she would think she was going mad. Without Devon, sleep was a nightmare.
"All right, gentlemen, one story, but I warn you, that'll be it." She glanced up to catch the silhouette of a man standing outside the circle of firelight. Only one man could be that tall. It was Devon, standing alone, listening, but refusing to join in because she was a part of them. Tugging on her lower lip with even teeth she began to talk, reciting one of the many tales Paddie O'Flynn had recited to her.
Devon stood stock still just outside the firelight, listening to the sound of his wife's clear voice. As she went on telling her tale, the men relaxed, pulling out pipes and passing around a flask of confiscated whiskey. Devon's fists tightened at his side as his wife went on, spinning a web of characters and incidents of long ago. The men laughed and nodded, adding a sentence here and there, reminding her of something she might have left out. By now, they knew the tale as well as she did.
Devon's chest tightened as he watched the firelight play on the thick head of hair that fell down her back and over the woolen cloak. At first glance, her hair seemed dark—a sullen brown—but then a flame would rise from the burning logs to cast a magical light. Suddenly, there was a burst of reds and oranges and royal golds like a feast of harvest leaves—only brighter, more brilliant.
He groaned, knowing it was better not to let his mind dwell on her. He moved closer, taking care to remain in the shadows. He could see the curves of her face, almost taste the honey of her lips as her words tumbled forth. God . . . His pulse quickened. He could smell the soft fragrance of her pale skin, he could feel a full breast at his fingertips. He wanted her so badly, he thought he might scream. But he remained where he stood, watching her as her tale came to an end.
Devon watched from the shadows as she said her good-nights and started across the compound. He followed her, moving silently through the night.
"Cassie." His voice was barely a whisper, his throat so tight it took an effort to force the word from his mouth.
She turned. "Devon." Her hands fell to her sides and she raised her chin to rest her eyes on his. "You frightened me."
He said nothing. He just stood there, staring, wanting her, needing her. Before he could stop himself, he was taking her in his arms and lowering his lips to hers. "Cassie, Cassie, why must it be like this." he murmured, forcing his mouth hard against hers. She tasted of baked apple and whiskey, of fire and water.
Cassie opened her cloak, wrapping him in the folds of the heavy wool as she accepted his mouth greedily. It had been so long since he had touched her, since he had held her in his arms. His hands ran the length of her back beneath the cloak, his fingers radiating a tingling warmth. She molded her body to his, feeling the hard, lean muscles of his thigh as he wedged his knee between her legs.
"Cassie, please be reasonable." he whispered, his tongue darting out to sample her lower lip. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world, girl." he told her between kisses. "You make things hard on yourself."
"Let's not talk about it." she told him breathlessly. "Not tonight. We'll go to your tent." She sucked in her breath as his thumb brushed against her nipple and he cupped his hand beneath her breast.
Devon's hand spread a flame of desire through her as he brushed his fingers over her breasts, teasing a nipple that strained against the harsh linen of her shirt. Cassie arched her back, pressing her body against his, willing them to become one as their breath mingled in another fierc
e kiss. "Please, love, I need you. I need to feel you against me." She ran her hands over his coat, fumbling with the pewter buttons.
"Tell me you'll go home, sweet." He planted soft, fleeting kisses across the bridge of her nose. "Tell me you'll do it for me."
"Please, not tonight. Not tonight, Devon." She clung to him, arching her neck to bare the tender flesh of her throat. "Let's forget just for tonight. Let it just be you and me. Forget the war, your family . . . just you and me." She lowered her hand to graze his thigh, pressing a kiss in the hollow of his throat.
Devon's hands tightened around her arms as he slowly pried himself from her. "I can't do it, Cassie." His breath came in short gasps as he tried to forcibly still his pounding heart. "Please understand."
Cassie's arms fell to her sides in bitter disappointment. "I just want you to love me, Devon." Her bottom lip trembled. I'll not cry, she told herself as the anger began to rise in her face. I'll not give him the pleasure.
"I do love you." he whispered, brushing a dark lock of hair off his forehead." but nothing has changed. You must go home."
She shook her head fiercely. "No! I can't. I'm sorry."
He shrugged, turning from her. "Then I am sorry for both of us."
Chapter Nineteen
Cassie lowered her head against the driving snow and sleet, catching the horse's halter with her hand. "C'mon, you stupid nag. You'll freeze in your tracks if you don't keep moving." She tugged on the worn leather, leading him forward again. The wagon he pulled creaked and groaned beneath the weight of ammunition and supplies, and then leaped forward.
"That's a boy." she soothed, wiping her stinging eyes with the back of her hand. "Keep moving. We'll set up camp soon." She raised her head, checking the distance between her wagon and the next. The army was retreating again. They'd lost Fort Washington and Fort Lee to the enemy, thus giving up all of Manhattan, and now the British were moving up the Jersey shore. This morning Washington's bedraggled army had crossed the Delaware River into Pennsylvania, trying to escape the unrelenting enemy.
Cassie shivered, pulling her wool cloak closer, and turned to see if she could spot Devon in the blinding snow. An hour ago he'd been on his horse, trotting up and down the moving lines of soldiers, shouting words of encouragement, urging them forward. He had passed her several times, never giving her so much as a second glance.
She sighed, turning her attention back to the horse and the road beneath her feet. Times were getting hard. The army was so low on black powder, food, and decent clothing. Some two thousand men had just left for home, their enlistments up. Those who remained were still dressed in summer uniforms, some without shoes, marching through the snow with rags bound about their feet. What was it the man, Thomas Paine, had said in his last pamphlet the soldiers passed around? "These are the times that try men's souls . . ."
Cassie's thoughts moved to her husband. "Ah, Devon." she sighed. "What's to be done?" She pressed her face against the thick hide of the horse, warming her windburned face.
Week after week passed and still nothing changed. Cassie was miserable, but took satisfaction in the fact that she guessed Devon was just as miserable. Mordecai had said as much—not in words, but he had urged her again and again to make amends with her husband. She guessed that he had urged Devon to do the same. The blasted man was so stubborn! Why couldn't he accept her decision and live with it? He told her he still loved her. There was no other woman. He said he just couldn't live with her under these conditions. No wife of his was going to be a soldier. When she came to her senses, he said, she could come to him. He'd make arrangements to get her home to Marshview.
When the wagon ahead of her stopped, Cassie pulled her own nag to a halt, leaning heavily against him. She was tired and hungry. "Is this it?" she cried out to a passing soldier in a worn uniform.
"This is it, ma'am." he replied.
"But I'll be able to see the bloody British washing their drawers across the river if this cursed snow ever lightens up."
The soldier shrugged, moving on. "The general's orders. Be glad they're not on this side!"
The following morning Cassie and Mordecai sat side by side on a blanket on the frozen ground, trying to piece weapons together. To Cassie's left was a pile of assorted parts: bent ramrods, lose locks and side plates, broken triggers, and torn musket slings. To Mordecai's right was a pile of weary muskets—stocks broken, missing ramrod pipes, barrels rusted. By putting the pieces together, Cassie and Mordecai thought they could come up with a few extra weapons.
The two worked in silence Mordecai bursting into an occasional song. He sang foolish ditties, the words bringing color to Cassie's cheeks.
"Bad you are." Cassie chided. "You'll burn in hell if you don't mend your ways." She ran a ramrod down the barrel of a gun, trying to scrape the rust from the inside. "What you need is a good woman to set you straight."
Mordecai chuckled, picking through a pile of gun parts in his lap. "You're already taken, angel. I can't bear to think of settling for less."
Cassie slapped his knee. "Hush your mouth, you'll have people talking. I hear them whispering. You only fuel the fire with your mouth." She stuck her hands beneath her cloak to warm them. "Why is it that a man thinks a man and a woman can't be friends unless it's between the sheets?"
He shook his head. "Don't know. Just the way it is, love." He looked up at her. "Want me to back off?"
Cassie reached out to take his hand. "No, don't be silly. I don't care what they say. You're the only friend I've got, Mordecai. If I lost you . . ." She chewed on her lower lip. "I don't know what I'd do."
"Am I interrupting?" Devon stood above them, his hands planted on his narrow hips. Checked anger clouded his dark eyes.
Cassie slipped her hand from Mordecai's, shielding her eyes from the bright winter sun to look up at her husband. "No . . . no, we were just . . ." She looked at Mordecai, cursing Devon silently. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was he making her feel guilty when she'd done nothing? " . . . Mordecai and I were trying to piece some muskets together." She took a deep breath as the silence lengthened between them. "Ah, had any luck convincing any of the men to stay?"
Devon's gaze dropped to the frozen ground. "Not much. And I can't blame them. The Continental Congress has offered a much better deal for enlistment in new regiments. They're promising better pay, guaranteeing periodical promotions." His eyes rested on Cassie's windburned face. "Suppose I'm a fool to stay, too."
Cassie's pulse fluttered. This was the first time he'd spoken more than a word or two to her in weeks. He was worried. She could see the lines on his face, and yearned to smooth them with the palm of her hand. She noticed for the first time that he was growing a mustache. "How many left in the Delaware Regiment?" All thought was gone from her head, except for thoughts of Devon standing so near. Mordecai's presence faded into the background; the cold wind on her face suddenly felt warm as a tingle ran up her spine under her husband's gaze.
Devon exhaled sharply, dragging his eyes from hers. He couldn't stand to see his best friend so near her. He saw them, the two of them laughing, gathering firewood, eating together. "Not more than a hundred enlisted men that could fight." he heard himself answer.
"You mustn't lose hope." Cassie said quietly, getting to her feet. She barely heard Mordecai get up a nd walk away. "Think of Marshview."
"Since when have you become so patriotic?" he snapped.
"Since I've seen you fight, since I've seen these men in this camp go into a raid barefooted." She twisted her hands in her cloak. "I hear their stories of home. What they have now, what they will lose . . ." She took a step closer, forcing him to look her in the eye. "It's not my fault that I never understood. What have I ever had to fight for . . . except you? I understand now."
Devon hung his head. "Cassie . . . I can't deal with this now." He wanted to reach out to her. He needed to feel her arms around him. "Can we talk later? I came to tell you that we've received a message that Anne and her husband ar
e on their way with a wagonload of supplies. Food and clothing my father and some of the families in Dover have sent. I thought you would want to see her."
"Anne?" Cassie's eyes brightened. "She's coming here?"
Devon gave a nod, turning to go.
"Wait!" Cassie called after him. Then, when he turned back, she didn't know what to say." I . . ." She held up her hands helplessly. On impulse, she ran up to him, threw her arms around his waist, and hugged him. Before Devon could respond, she had released him and was making her way through the camp.
"Anne!" Cassie ran to the small woman cloaked in a fur-trimmed pelisse, taking her outreached hands to squeeze them. "I can't believe it's you!"
Anne beamed. "Cassie, I'd like you to meet my husband, Master John Carter."
Cassie looked up to see a tall, slim man in a dark cloak offering his hand. "I finally have the pleasure of meeting you." He gazed down at his wife, his eyes aglow with love. "I understand I have you to thank for bringing my wife and me together."
Cassie laughed, pushing the hood of her cloak off her head. "Nonsense. Anne asked for my advice and I gave it. She did no less for me."
John took his wife's gloved hand in his. "She's a good woman, better than I deserve. I urged her to remain home . . . her condition." he murmured beneath his breath. "But she insisted on coming when she found out where we were bound with the supplies."
Cassie grinned at Anne. "Your condition? You're going to have a babe?"
Anne blushed profusely, tightening her hold on John's hand. "We are." she managed.
Cassie gave a squeal of delight, throwing her arms around her friend. "I'm so happy for you." she exclaimed. Then in her ear she added." I only wish it were the same with me." Releasing Anne, she swung around to the wagon. "Well, what have you brought? Food, I hope . . . blankets?"
"Come let me show you." John answered, letting go of Anne's hand.
The Officer's Desire Page 20
