Cassie got down on her knees. "I can't make out any of this. They took the horses, didn't they?"
"Yup. Casper's gone, if that's what you mean."
She got to her feet, dusting off her skirt. "Let's backtrack to that creek and follow it. It's the only thing I can think to do. If there's a grain mill anywhere nearby, it's got to run off that creek."
"All righty, Cas." Mordecai chuckled. "You're the general. Lead the way!"
Cassie's breath caught in her throat as she and Mordecai rounded the bend in the creek. He swore softly beneath his breath, leaping to the ground to hand her down.
"God A'mighty!" Cassie breathed. Her hand trembled in his. "This is it. 'Tis the mill I dreamed of, I'm sure of it." There ahead of them was a mill house built over the creek, its water wheel standing silent.
Leaving the horses to graze at the edge of the woods, Mordecai and Cassie approached the farmhouse just through the clearing. It had a Dutch gambrel roof and was sorely in need of a bucket of whitewash. "What are you going to say to 'em?"
"I don't know. Seen any good-looking soldiers?" She laughed uneasily.
The two passed a garden plot in the process of being hoed for spring planting. The property seemed to be neglected: a gate to the animal pasture was off its hinges, shutters were missing from the side of the house, and where a barn had once stood, only ashes and a charred skeleton remained.
"Looks like these people have seen some of the war." Mordecai murmured, fingering his queue.
They reached the door to the side of the house and Cassie raised her hand to knock. Before her knuckles hit the hard wood of the door, she heard the hammer of a gun click back. A dog growled fiercely just behind them.
"That's far enough." Return ordered in his gruffest voice. "Drop your weapons."
Cassie raised her hands, turning around slowly. "I haven't any. My pistol is on my horse." Her eyes widened and her pulse quickened. This was the boy she'd seen in her dreams. It was him! "You'll find a musket there too, if you want it." she added cautiously.
Mordecai did as the child ordered, dropping to the ground the pistol he kept tucked in his breeches. A smile flickered across his face. The boy was barely old enough to be weaned!
"What you laughin' about, mister? You move in the wrong direction and this here dog'll take your possibles off!"
Cassie couldn't help sniggering. "We mean no harm." She looked down at the massive black dog that stood between them and the boy. "Nice dog you got here." It, too, she recognized from her dream.
"What you want?" the boy ordered. He held an old Brown Bess on them that was as long as he was tall. Cassie doubted he could shoot it if he tried. The mere recoil would knock him halfway across the yard.
"I'm looking for my husband. He's wounded. A soldier."
"Ain't seen no rebel soldiers around here!"
"I didn't say he was a rebel . . ." Her voice caught in her throat. Devon was here! She knew it!
"Ain't seen no soldiers of any kind!"
"We mean no harm." Mordecai lowered his hands but kept them in plain sight. "You sure you haven't seen anyone?"
"He's here." Cassie whispered desperately. "I know it."
"I said I haven't seen any wounded soldiers." Return waved the Brown Bess and the dog growled, taking a step closer.
"All right, all right! We're going now. Just watch where you're aiming that thing." Mordecai grabbed Cassie's arm.
"We can't go! We can't just leave him here!" Cassie tried to pull herself free of Mordecai's grip.
Mordecai ignored her struggles, holding her tightly. "I'm just going to take my pistol now and we'll be on our way."
"Leave it!" Return shouted. "I been needin' a pistol."
It was all Mordecai could do to keep from laughing. This one small boy had more guts than half the men in his regiment! He knew he could overpower him easily, but he didn't want to take the chance of Cassie getting hit if the child pulled the trigger. "All right. I'll leave it." He was propelling Cassie across the yard now, with the boy and his dog trailing behind them.
"We can't just go!" Cassie groaned desperately beneath her breath. "We can't leave him. Mordecai, I know he's here!"
"Shshsh! We're not leavin'," he whispered. "We'll be back. The boy's just protecting himself and whoever else is in the house. Devon's been safe this long, he'll be safe a little longer."
"Return Littleton!" A feminine voice shouted from the house behind them. "Put that gun down and let those people be before I fan your tail!"
Cassie and Mordecai turned to see a slight woman in her midthirties coming across the yard. She was dressed in a worn cotton gown with a hand-knit shawl around her shoulders. "What have I told you about pointing guns at people? You don't raise it unless you're pulling the trigger." She had reached the boy now and was snapping the musket out of his hands.
"But, Mama . . ."
"Don't you 'But, Mama' me! Get up to the house and take that dog of yours with you!" The woman watched her son make his retreat and then turned to face Cassie and Mordecai. She brushed a wisp of hair beneath her mob cap. "Please excuse my son." She smiled. "He sees himself as the man of the house. He really didn't mean any harm."
Mordecai laughed. "He reminds me of myself when I was a boy." He still held Cassie's arm tightly. "We're looking for someone, and we were wondering if you might have seen him."
She gave a nod. "I thought that might have been why you came." She turned back toward the house.
"You've seen him? You've seen my husband, Devon Marsh?" Cassie was running to catch up with the woman now, her heart pounding beneath her breast. "Is he all right?"
"He's sleeping now. Been through a lot. You're a lucky woman. You're all he talks of when he's awake."
"How. . . why . . ." Cassie was so excited she couldn't speak. "We thought he was dead. . ."
"He would have been if it hadn't been for my son and his dog. They found him and chased a pack of dogs off him." She opened the door to her small frame house. "My name's Patience Littleton. My son's Return."
Stepping into the living quarters of the house, Cassie scanned the room for Devon. Return stood near the fireplace, his head hung, his shoulders drooping. "Where is he? Can I see my husband?"
"'Course you can. Right this way." Patience led them down a short hall and pushed open a paneled door.
Cassie raced to the side of the narrow rope bed, falling to her knees. Tears ran freely down her cheeks as she lifted Devon's hand to her lips.
"Cas?" Devon opened his eyes. "That you?"
"Who else?" Her lower lip trembled. "We thought you were dead."
He laughed, wincing with pain. "I thought I was, too." He turned his head slowly to look at his friend. "Where you been, you stinkin' coon? I've been waiting for you."
Mordecai came to the side of the bed. "They really do come back from the dead." He grinned. "We'd have put you four foot under if we could have found your body."
"Would you care for a bite to eat?" Patience asked.
"If you've anything to spare." Mordecai gave Devon a wink, squeezing Cassie's shoulder.
"Come right this way then, sir."
"The name's Mordecai."
Patience smiled, blushing prettily as she led him back down the hall. "Mordecai it is."
Cassie couldn't tear her eyes from Devon's face. His mustache was gone and he had several cuts across his cheek. One had even been stitched. But still, it was the same Devon. Her Devon. . . the Devon she thought she'd lost. "I was so afraid." she whispered, brushing his dark hair off his forehead.
"I'm sorry, sweet. I wish I could have spared you." He laughed. "I wish I could have spared myself."
She squeezed his hand tightly, still trying to make herself believe he was really alive. "You hurt bad?"
"Let's put it this way. I'm going to live but the Blue Hens are going to have to win this war without me." He struggled to sit up and Cassie got to her feet to help him.
"Well, I've got news for you, sweet They're going t
o have to do without me as well." She broke into a grin, reaching behind her to pull a chair up next to the bed.
"What? You're not going to send me home to Marshview alone?" He lifted a hand slowly to tug on a braid that fell from beneath her cocked hat.
"'Fraid not. I've got other responsibilities now." she teased.
"Me?"
"You and this one here." She caught his hand and placed it on her flat stomach.
Devon's voice was barely audible. "You mean . . ."
"I mean . . ." She gave a nod. "You're gonna be a papa, Master Marsh."
"Oh, Cas." His dark eyes turned misty as he ran his hand over her abdomen in disbelief.
"Marshview's heir, right here." she said huskily, laying her hand over his.
"Come here." He held out his arms to her.
"Come here?" She laughed. "Come where? Look at you! You're takin' up the whole bed, you big oaf!"
"Here's a spot, meant just for you." He patted the coverlet, smiling up at her.
Cassie dropped her hat on the chair and slid gingerly into the narrow bed, pressing her body against his. "Am I hurting you?"
He shook his head, closing his arms around her. "You feel so good, Cassie Laura. I thought I was going to die." His dark eyes locked on a sea of heavenly green. "I thought I was never going to hold you again."
Cassie bathed in his smoldering gaze, running her hand carefully over his bandaged bare chest. "How's your leg?" Her eyes drifted shut as she lowered her head to his shoulder.
"How did you know?" He was touching her now . . . her cheek, her chin, her lips, caressing her pale flesh. His chest ached, not from the pain of the bullet wound, but from the bittersweet agony of her love.
"'Tis a long story, Devon."
"Then save it. There'll be plenty of time to tell it later. You and I, we've got a long life together ahead of us." His eyelids drifted shut as he stroked her bright hair.
"I love you, Devon Marsh." she murmured.
"I love you, Cassie O'Flynn . . ."
Epilogue
October 1781
Dover, Delaware
Cassie let out a squeal, racing out the front door of Marshview's great house and leaping off the landing. "Devon Marsh! Where the blast are you?" she shouted, coming around the back of the house. Up ahead, just past the woodshed, she spotted him. He was stripped to his breeches and an old muslin shirt, swinging an ax over his head. Their firstborn son, Ry, stood beside him, watching him split wood.
Cassie let out another squeal of delight, running across the yard to throw herself against him full force. Devon dropped the ax, catching her in his arms. "God damn him to hell!" she shouted, showering his face with kisses. "Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown two days ago!"
Devon let out a hoot, swinging Cassie high in the air. "Yee-haaa! It's over!" The two of them danced up and down, laughing and spinning in circles.
Redheaded Ry leaped in the air, joining his mother and father in the fun. He didn't know what was going on, or what a Cornwallis was, but he jumped and shouted just the same.
Devon swept the boy into his arms, planting him on his broad shoulders. "What about Mordecai?"
"Not a scratch. He's the one who sent the message." She dropped her hands to her hips, grinning.
Devon gave another hoot, bouncing Ry on his shoulders. "It's over, son! It's over!" He danced a jaunty jig in a circle around Cassie.
Cassie beamed at her two men, joining their mingled laughter. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of their second son, Grey, dashing across the lawn, with his nursemaid chasing him down. In her arms, the nurse carried their youngest son, only a few weeks old.
"Mama." the redheaded two-year-old shouted, waving his chubby hands. "Mama!"
Cassie waved back, watching Devon start out across the lawn toward Grey, with Ry still on his shoulders. She clapped her hands, joining in their laughter. It was difficult for her to believe she could possibly be this happy. Devon had recovered completely from his injuries and favored his bad leg only slightly. She had him and her three boys, and now the war was nearly over. With Cornwallis's surrender, it would only be a matter of time before the British evacuated New York City and signed a peace treaty.
Devon came running back toward her, with the two eldest boys balanced on his broad shoulders. He kicked at the fallen leaves that littered the ground, filling the air with the browns and oranges of fall, making his sons squeal with delight. Sliding them gently to the ground, he reached out to draw Cassie into his arms, pressing a kiss into her hair. She was dressed much as she'd been the day he'd met her, in a simple homespun skirt, an open white shirt, and a mob cap perched on her head.
"Aren't you a sight, dancing like you haven't got a lick of sense!" She kissed him saucily on the lips.
"You taste like apple jelly, wench." he murmured huskily, pulling her against his chest.
"How else is a body to make apple jelly? It's got to be tasted, hasn't it?" Her bright orange-red hair was tumbling from beneath her starched cap to frame her face in a fiery halo.
"You know what we do with sassy mouths, don't you?"
She shook her head, bubbling with laughter. "What do we do with 'em, Master Marsh?"
"We kiss 'em!" He lowered his mouth to hers and they kissed hungrily.
Cassie pulled away, breathless. "Devon! I hardly think this is the place!" She laughed, her cheeks growing rosy. Arm in arm they turned to watch their sons playing in the woodpile under the nursemaid's supervision.
Ry leaped from the top of the woodpile to land at his father's feet. "Papa, what's a Cornwallis?" He stared up with wide dark eyes. They were his father's eyes, as dark as a wild stag's.
"General Cornwallis was the commander of the British Army on the southern campaign. He's just surrendered to our General Washington, so the war is just about over." Devon wrapped his arm around Cassie's waist, holding her against him.
Ry nodded his head slowly, sweeping his cocked hat off his head. "Papa, were you ever in the war?"
Cassie dissolved into a fit of giggles and Devon turned to her, smothering her laughter with a kiss. "I think your mother's the one to ask about that, son . . ."
The End
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Want more historical romance?
Here's an excerpt from Judith E. French's
FORTUNE'S BRIDE
Chapter 1
Fortune's Gift Plantation
Maryland's Eastern Shore
December 1777
"Marry you?" Caroline Steele's cinnamon-brown eyes narrowed with contempt. "I'd sooner wed with a red Indian." She stiffened and her naturally husky voice rang with gentle authority. "And take your boots off my father's desk. This isn't a stable."
Captain Bruce Talbot's pocked face flushed an angry red as he pushed back in the chair, put his feet on the floor, and poured himself another glass of port from the Irish crystal decanter. "Unfortunately, cousin," he said sarcastically, "your marrying a savage would do the family very little good."
Caroline's nose wrinkled in distaste. Bruce's red coat was tossed carelessly over a chair; his rumpled white linen shirt showed sweat stains under the arms, and the lace stock at his throat bore traces of the pork gravy Cook had served at dinner. His waistcoat was missing a silver button, and even his scarlet sash seemed the worse for wear. His Majesty must be desperate, she thought, if he was forced to accept an officer such as this in his Light Dragoons.
She didn't miss the slight tremble in Bruce's hand or the bloodred drops that splashed on the polished walnut desk. "You're a drunken pig," she said. "How dare you order me about in my own home? And what lunacy causes you to believe that I'd dine at the same table with you—let alone become your wife?"
One blow from his fist dashed the goblet against the brick hearth. "Damn you, Caroline!" he roared. "You forget your place. I'm here as a representative of the crown. And you are in danger of being declared a rebel and imprisoned for high treason."
Sh
e bit back the retort that rose to her lips and forced a wry smile. "I am a loyal Englishwoman. No one can say differently." Strange, she thought, how much Bruce looked like her brother Reed and Papa. All Papa's strengths distorted . . . the fair Talbot complexion marred by disease, the bright blue eyes muddied by drink and loose living. As Papa had looked, she corrected as the familiar pain knifed through her. Over three years had passed since her father's death. And nearly a year since her husband . . .
Bruce's tirade brought her back to the present.
"Not so loyal. We both know how and where your dear husband met his end."
"Do we?" She returned his bloodshot gaze squarely. "Wesley drowned. An accident."
"He was a traitor. Killed aboard a rebel privateer."
"Untrue. The Reverend Miles Clark of Lewes bore witness to Wesley's accidental death during a storm on the Delaware Bay."
"And what was he doing at Lewes?" Bruce demanded. "His body was washed ashore with other dead rebels."
"A false accusation, unfairly cast upon an upstanding man who is unable to defend himself against your lies."
"I'll prove it, Caroline," he threatened. "I'll prove it, and I'll strip you of everything you possess."
"Unless, of course . . ." She hesitated, judging the extent of his inebriation. She wouldn't put it beyond Bruce to attempt to strike her if he were drunk enough. After what he'd done to Amanda . . . "If I accept your offer, you'll drop these ridiculous charges against my dead husband."
"Naturally." He rose to his feet and swayed slightly. "I'm thinking of the family name. If Fortune's Gift is confiscated by the crown, you stand to lose a—"
"A king's ransom—as well you know," she lashed back. "Since you took it upon yourself to have yourself appointed my guardian after Wesley's death."
"It was the least I could do," he said. "You were distraught. A woman alone . . . in no condition to administer the finances of your father's estate. Our fathers were brothers, after all. Something should have come to me when Uncle John passed on."
The Officer's Desire Page 35
