The Officer's Desire

by Colleen French

  "That was an idiotic thing to say. You know it isn't true." His jaw tightened as he lashed out at her accusingly. "You said you'd go home."

  "I said I'd return to Marshview if there was a babe." She caught her lower lip with her teeth. "I told you. There's no child. Not this month." As she spoke the words, she could feel her chest tightening. It had suddenly become important to her that she bear him a child. He wanted an heir to Marshview, male or female, and she wanted desperately to give him one.

  He heaved an exasperated sigh. "I see no difference. Why were you willing to go home if you were pregnant, but not now?'

  Cassie rolled her eyes heavenward. "It's not my home! My home is with you. You insult me." She took a step nearer to him, hoping his tall frame would block the icy gusts that threatened to knock her off her feet. "You still don't understand, do you? You say you understand why I'm here, but you don't, not really." She sighed with disappointment. "I'd never risk our child's life, Devon." she said quietly.

  Devon gazed out over the ragged army camp, the anger inside him subsiding. She made him so damned mad at times that he was tempted just to walk away from her forever. But he couldn't. He couldn't because he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone or anything. When it got right down to it, he knew that in his heart Cassie was more important than Marshview and more important than this blasted war. He rested a hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze with his own dark brown eyes. "We're doing it again."

  She gave a nod, unable to look away. It still amazed her that after all these months, after all they'd been through—the tears, the pain, the accusations—she still felt her pulse quicken every time she saw those dark cinnamon eyes. "Seems we are."

  Devon pulled Cassie against his chest and she rested her cheek on the rough wool of his cloak. "Ah, Cas, I'm sorry. I know you'd not risk a babe's life." He rested his chin on her head, holding her tightly. "What's wrong with us that we fight like this?"

  "I dunno. It's in our blood, I guess." She slipped her hands inside his cloak to encircle his waist.

  "Is it always going to be like this?" Devon's voice seemed to come from a distance, carried in on the wind. "The anger, the unrest?"

  "I'm trying, Devon, I'm trying so hard." Cassie breathed deeply, letting his heavenly male scent envelope her. Only in his arms did she truly feel safe. Only Devon could drive away the demons of war from her mind.

  "I'm not blaming you, sweet" He tugged at her arm, leading her into their tent. "It's as much my fault as yours, probably more." He sat down on the camp stool, pulling her onto his lap. "It's just that you make me so damned mad sometimes that I could strangle that pretty neck of yours."

  "That right?" Cassie pushed her hood off her head and two long red braids tumbled from within. "I hadn't noticed."

  "I'm being serious, Cassie. You don't need me. You don't need anyone, you're so damned self-sufficient." A hint of a smile lingered on his lips as he untied the piece of string that bound the end of her braid, and began to loosen her hair. "I need to be needed."

  "What makes you think I don't need you? Just because I'm not back at Marshview sending notes begging you to come home?" She unhooked the top button of his cloak. "It's not my way, but that doesn't mean I don't need you. No one's ever loved me like you love me, not even Paddie." She lifted his chin. "I need your love."

  "You've already got that." He fanned her freed hair over her shoulder and reached for the other braid. "You don't have to prove anything to me. You don't have to be here."

  "Is that what this is all about?"

  "Isn't it always?" He loosened her hair with his fingers, burying his face in the bright waves of orange and red.

  "Probably." she returned. "But it doesn't change anything. I'm not going home. What if you're wounded?" She lowered her eyelids as he tugged at the buttons of her cloak until it was open to the waist.

  ' "There are surgeons. The other men seem to survive without their wives."

  Cassie gave a snort. "Those men don't know any more about battlefield medicine than a horned toad. Hell! They're barbers!"

  "That's another thing!" Devon threw up his hands.

  "What?" She leaned back to study his face in puzzlement.

  "Your language. Some of the things you say would turn a sailor blue! How many times must I tell you, a lady doesn't speak like a stable hand." The truth was, he didn't even notice her colorful exclamations anymore except when someone else did. But he couldn't tell her that. She had to learn to speak civilly. She was going to be the mistress of Marshview someday!

  She made a face. "I'm trying! It's all I can do is try." she said tartly.

  "I know." He brought his mouth down on hers, sampling the honey of her lips. "So what are we to do about going home?" He kissed his way across her cheek, nuzzling her ear.

  "I'll make you a deal." she said softly as her fingers moved to unbutton his cloak. "You stay a few more days, just until we get through those towns up north the general is heading for, and then we'll both go to Marshview." She slipped her hands beneath his tattered linen shirt and he flinched.

  "Your hands are cold!"

  She grinned. "So warm ' em. . ."

  "You mean it, Cassie?" He slipped his hands beneath her cloak to caress her back and buttocks. "You'll go back to Marshview with me?"

  "Not to stay." she murmured in his ear. A warmth began to spread from the core of her being as his hands smoothed the tired muscles of her back, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

  Devon cradled Cassie in his arms, pushing her cloak to the floor and gathering her in the folds of his own. He nuzzled her neck, slipping a hand beneath her shirt to caress one tumescent breast. "And what was that other promise, Mistress Marsh?" His hands played over her pliant flesh, bringing a moan to her lips. "If you become with child, you'll return to Dover?" His voice was breathy, hauntingly sweet to her ears.

  Heavy-lidded with building desire, she gave a nod, forcing the words from her lips. "When I carry your babe, I'll return." she whispered.

  "Then there is only one thing I can do to make you go home . . ." Devon slipped her shirt from her pale shoulders, leaning to suckle one budding, pink nipple.

  "Methinks you take unfair advantage." she breathed as his hot, wet mouth closed over the tip of her breast, bringing a moan of desire to her lips.

  "I don't know whatever you mean."

  "This, this." she explained weakly, arching her back. She ran her frenzied fingers through his raven hair. "You always did know the way to a wench's heart."

  He chuckled, lifting Cassie to carry her to their bed on the far wall of the tent. She nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder as he kneeled to lay her on the pile of wool blankets and slid in beside her. Pulling his cloak over them, they fumbled to divest each other of their remaining clothes. Desire raging within them both, they strained against each other, their bodies entwined as they struggled to block out the crumbling world around them.

  The air inside the tent was so frigid that Cassie and Devon could see their breath, but beneath his wool cloak, fires raged.

  Cassie forced one foot in front of the other, leaning against the ammunition wagon for support. When a wheel caught on a stump in the road, she took the harness of the old nag that pulled the wagon and backed her up, leading her around the obstacle.

  Like the other American soldiers, Cassie moved in a daze. She was exhausted past the point of logical thought. Her mind was muddled to the point that she had to concentrate to keep her feet moving over the frozen ground.

  On the first of the year the rebel army had recrossed the Delaware only to find themselves trapped by the energetic Cornwallis and his army of eight thousand well-dressed, well-fed, armed soldiers. But the fates were with the rebel army once again as driving winds and plunging temperatures froze the muddy fields and mired roads, allowing them to escape from the grip of the all-too-confident British Army. Instead of retreating, as Cornwallis had expected, at one o'clock in the morning on the third of January, 1777, Ge
neral Washington and his five thousand men slipped from Cornwallis's arrogant hands to drive deep into the heart of New Jersey.

  Cassie glanced behind her, searching the lines of silent men for Devon. She had seen him only an hour ago, walking, leading his horse as he moved among the foot soldiers lending encouragement. The American Army had left a handful of soldiers behind in the earthworks around Assunpink to keep the fires stoked. The British couldn't know the army was moving until it was too late. On tiptoe the Americans moved out, stumbling in the darkness.

  Cassie gazed ahead, watching the cannoneers move under the strain of the trace chains. They carried them in their arms to keep the cannon chains from clanking. The gun wheels had been muffled in sacking, and word had gone out that the men must move in utter silence.

  The dawn broke bright and clear near the town of Princeton, the air so cold that Cassie could feel the ice forming in her nostrils. The world glittered white with frost as the sun climbed in the sky. Every leaf, every blade of grass, seemed to dance beneath the weight of a crystalline gilding.

  Cassie walked at Devon's side, a musket slung over her shoulder. Their column, Mercer's, had been detached by General Washington to destroy the bridge by Stony Brook. At the first sound of British drums, Devon and Cassie's eyes met for a split second, then with the rest of Mercer's men, they bolted into action.

  Lieutenant Colonel Mawhood's 17th Leicesters descended upon them with bayonets poised. Muskets boomed, and for the first time, Americans raised their own makeshift bayonets against the King's men. The lines of the 17th Leicesters and 55th Borders faltered as Mercer's men beat down on them.

  At the sound of the first gunshot, Devon had thrown Cassie to the ground on the slope of a small bluff. Rather than advancing, he had chosen to remain behind with several other men, to fire at the British right flank. Cassie loaded while Devon shot. The sights and sounds of the battle filled her head as she reloaded again and again. It was getting difficult to see now through the thick, black smoke. Henry Knox's guns had begun to sound and the Rhode Island and Massachusetts brigade had come over the ridge to bear down on the disbelieving Royal ranks.

  Cassie's eyes stung with black powder and her hands ached, but as long as her supply of round musket balls held up, she would continue to reload for her husband. Shouts of terror rang in the air and men fell at the points of bayonets, but there was a strange exhilaration running through the American soldiers. Despite their lack of food, clothing, and ammunition, this was an offensive attack and they were overwhelming the enemy.

  Squatting beside Devon, Cassie squinted, trying to see through the clouds of smoke. She was so exhausted that her mind was playing tricks on her. Flashes of past battles leaped through her mind as she tried to blink the image of Paddie O'Flynn from her battle-weary mind. Then suddenly a scream ripped from her throat as she vaulted forward into enemy fire. She could hear Devon's faint voice calling from behind her, but there was no turning back. That was Paddie O'Flynn she had spotted among the retreating British.

  Devon raced after Cassie, screaming her name until he was hoarse. She was headed straight for the bulk of the retreating King's men. She darted and slipped through the battling soldiers, ignoring the musket fire and stab of bayonets. It was as if she was possessed. She ran blindly, unseeing, and oddly enough, no one else seemed to notice her.

  Devon lost sight of Cassie for a moment when a redcoated soldier lunged at him with his bayonet. Only after Devon had sent the soldier's soul heavenward was he able to start after his crazed wife again. As he gained on her, he could hear her voice as it sailed on the wind. "Paddie! Paddie!" she called.

  Devon's chest tightened and his mouth grew dry as he darted around a clump of trees. Poor girl, she thought she saw her father. But he couldn't help her if he couldn't catch her. He'd be of no use to her if the British caught her first.

  "Paddie! Paddie!" Cassie called as she ran after the mob of retreating King's men. Then she saw him turn, and her heart skipped a beat. She came to a halt as men ran past her and musket balls flew over her head.

  Orange-haired Paddie O'Flynn turned to catch the first glimpse of his daughter in almost four years. For a moment he thought he had been shot and was dying. "Cassie Laura." he murmured beneath his breath. Was she an angel? Had she come to lead him to the Almighty? No, the sound of ricocheting lead and the smell of dying flesh were too strong. He threw his arms out. "Cassie, Cassie Laura." he cried out as she flung herself into his arms.

  Devon was on her in a moment, dragging her from Paddie's embrace. "No! No!" she screamed hysterically as Devon lifted her off her feet. "Let go of me. It's my papa! My papa!" Tears streamed down her face as she bit and clawed at Devon, trying to escape him.

  She couldn't breathe . . . . It was all a nightmare, a horrifying nightmare. . . .

  Devon ran as hard as he could with Cassie flung over his shoulder. She beat at him unmercifully, screaming as the distance lengthened between her and her father. It was a miracle that no one had shot her. It was a miracle no one had shot them both. Only the confusion of the retreating British army and the thick smoke saved them.

  Panting, Devon flung her to the ground, leaping on top of her to hold her down. He called her name over and over again, yet she made no response but to kick and swing her fists, shouting obscenities at him. "My papa! My papa!" she shouted over and over again.

  "Cassie! Cassie!" Devon grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a vicious shake. "If you don't stop it, I'm going to knock the hell out of you!" he threatened. "You're going to get the both of us killed!"

  "Let me go!" she screamed. "That's my papa!"

  "I don't give a tinker's damn if it's the Good Lord himself! You want to be a soldier so bad?" he barked. "Then you start acting like one!" Though it was near freezing, perspiration ran in rivulets down the sides of his face.

  Slowly, Cassie relaxed, panting, her eyes squeezed shut as she gained control of herself. Devon was right. Tears slipped down her cheeks as her breath came easier. But it was her papa! Her papa! Slowly she lifted her lashes to look up at Devon. "You can get off me, you big oaf." she snapped.

  Relieved to hear Cassie's own voice and know the mad woman was gone from her, Devon rolled off her onto the frozen grass. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He lay back on the ground, panting. An occasional musket ball sang through the air, but the battle seemed to be over. The King's troops had retreated down the road to Trenton, their coattails tucked between their legs.

  "I don't know." She shook her head. "It was my father. It was Paddie." She sat up, covering her face with the palms of her hands.

  "He's the enemy, Cassie. You shouldn't have run after them. You could have been killed, woman!"

  "I know, I know. But I've got to see him. I've got to see him, Devon."

  "You can't see him. It would be his duty to turn you in. You're wanted as a spy, remember?" Devon got to his feet and put out a hand to help his wife up.

  She shook her head, taking his hand. "Not Paddie. He'd not turn me in. He doesn't care who he fights for. He has no loyalties. They must have paid him well to get him to cross the ocean." she mused. "It's just not like him."

  "Come on." a soldier shouted to them as he raced by. "The general says we march into Princeton and take her!"

  Devon threw his arm around Cassie's shoulders and she slumped against him. "You up to it?" he asked, walking toward the bluff where he'd left their bags and her musket.

  Her lower lip trembled. "I'm up to it." She stopped in midstep. "You could do it, couldn't you? You could arrange a meeting . . ." She studied his alarmed brown eyes.

  "No! Watch my lips, wife." He spelled out the letters. "N-O—no! You can't see him, not ever. It's not safe."

  "Please." Cassie begged. "Just for a moment. I just want to talk to him for a moment. I want to see how my mother fares, I want to tell him I've found a fine husband who wears fancy velvet breeches and owns a plantation." She swallowed hard. "I want him to know I'm happy."

  Devon
laughed aloud, reaching to brush a damp tendril of hair from her temple. "You're happy? Only you could be happy amongst this." He spread his arms, looking out over the frozen meadow littered with dead soldiers.

  "I'm happy because I'm with you." she whispered. "But I need to see him, don't you see?"

  Devon sighed heavily, his eyes resting on Cassie's heart-shaped face. He loved her so much that it made his chest ache to think about it. How could he voluntarily risk her life on her whim? He wouldn't do it, he just wouldn't. She was not going to see Paddie O'Flynn.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  "Cassie, are you listening to me?" Devon let out an exasperated sigh, watching her shimmy across a log seven feet off the ground.

  The Continental Army had just settled in Morristown, where their commander in chief had decided they would winter. The Americans were cold and tired, but they held their heads high as they labored to build the wooden huts on the south slope of Thimble Mountain. With the victories at Trenton and Princeton tucked beneath their belts, they were confident that when spring came, they would again take the offensive to drive the King's troops from their homeland. Of course, these victories had not come without a price. Great men had fallen at the battle of Princeton: Hugh Mercer, Captain John Fleming, Captain Daniel Neil, and the Delaware Blue Hen's own John Haslet. The soldiers mourned the loss of their leaders, but kept their heads held high, refusing to allow these men to have given their lives in vain.

  "I'm listening, I'm listening!" Cassie hiked up her skirt and got to her feet, balancing on the log wall above his head.

  Devon gave a chuckle at the sight of a pair of men's breeches beneath her skirt. "I thought you swore you'd never wear breeches." He and Mordecai heaved a log over their heads and Cassie guided it into a freshly hewn notch.

  "Changed my mind. It's colder than a witch's—" She caught herself in midsentence. "It's rather cold for an unprotected young lady out here." She raised an eyebrow haughtily, her speech exaggerated. Devon and Mordecai burst into laughter as she dropped back into her own voice. "Besides, standin' up here with this breeze, I'd be givin' every soldier in the camp quite the look-see if I wasn't wearing something!"