The cell was in darkness when Julian awoke to the throbbing pain that shot through his body. He shifted his position and called on all his strength to stand. With a rattle of chains and a groan of agony, he moved to the barred window, keeping himself upright by holding on to the bars. His eyes burned with anger as he peered out at the predawn stillness of Williamsburg. A muscle knotted in his jaw when he thought about the indignities he had suffered. Outraged at his helplessness, Brainard Thruston's image was burned into his brain. That man would be called to account for what he had done.
His knees would hardly hold his weight, and he struggled backward, falling heavily on the straw mattress.
He heard the sound of a key grating in the lock and turned to see someone enter his cell. "Julian, it's me. 1 have come to help you."
How well he knew that throaty voice. He strained forward, wishing he could get his hands around her neck. She had won . . . she had brought him as low as a man could fall. "Get out," he whispered through stiff lips. "1 don't want your help."
"Shh, be quiet," Lavender urged. "You are going to have my help, whether you want it or not. I fear if I leave you here, Brainard will kill you. I fear he has lost all reason where you are concerned, and wants to use you as an example to other Englishmen."
Lavender was beside him, bending over him. He wanted to push her away, but he was too weak to resist. It seemed she had him at her mercy once more. Then a new thought came to him. Perhaps she was his only hope of escaping. He could barely see her face as she unlocked his shackles. When she helped him to his feet, he felt his stomach churn as he took a faltering step. Julian kept telling himself to put one foot in front of the other, and not to fall. The sick feeling came in waves, but he was determined not to lose consciousness in front of Lavender. His mind was not clear, and he did not know why she was helping him. It might be another of her tricks, but at the moment he had no strength to protest anything.
Julian leaned heavily on Lavender's shoulder, and she realized he must have been badly injured; otherwise, he would never allow her to help him. There was an urgency to get him away, but he was unable to move fast. They had to get out of the hospital before Julian collapsed, or before Brainard returned.
Lavender had come to the hospital immediately after Sarah had informed her that Brainard was torturing Julian. She did not stop to think what would happen to her if she helped Julian escape. All that mattered was that she get him away from this place.
When they reached the back door, Sarah appeared and helped Lavender get Julian down the steps and into the waiting cart. Sarah's husband, Forbes, was in the driver's seat, and he put a whip to the horses when Lavender nodded.
As the cart lurched forward, Julian fell back against the unsprung seat, trying to find some relief from the pain. His eyes moved to Lavender, even though it was hard to focus since the pain was so intense. She was dressed much as she had been the first time he had seen her, when she had stopped the Williamsburg coach. Her black britches blended with the dark shadows, but he could plainly see her glorious golden hair that tumbled down around her face.
"Rest your head against my shoulder," she said, pulling him gently toward her. "I believe you should not lean back against the seat since it will only cause you more pain."
He was too weak to protest. He found if he didn't think about it, he could just bear the pain. With his head resting against her shoulder, he felt her cool hand touch his brow. "You are going to be all right, I promise you that, Julian."
He licked his dry lips. "Why are you doing this? Did you never tire of having me at your mercy?"
"Julian, for whatever it's worth to you, I had no notion that my brother had arrested you until an hour ago. Surely you cannot believe I was a party to what Brainard Thruston did to you? He is not usually like this."
"If you did not know I was arrested, how is it you are here now?" he asked skeptically.
Lavender knew she could not mention Sarah's name to Julian. "A friend of mine came to the house and informed me that you were being held prisoner here. She also told me that my brother Chandler has ridden to Richmond to ask his superior to intervene on your behalf. Since Brainard is in charge of the operations at the hospital, he would not allow my brother to release you. I decided it would be wiser to get you away before Brainard returns."
Lavender had dropped all pretenses. Gone were the spectacles she had worn to disguise her eyes, and there was no stammer in her voice; instead it came out deep and throaty. Julian cursed the weakness that had drained him of his strength and forced him to depend on her.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked in a whisper.
"Forbes has a friend with a small farm outside of Williamsburg. The man is away fighting the . . . with the Virginia Militia, so you will be safe there."
=
"Why are you doing this? Why should you want to help me?"
She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke it was in a soft voice. "I owe you this much, Julian. I feel guilty for the deception between us."
He ground his teeth together. "You owe me more than this, Lavender Daymond. Never fear, I will one day collect everything that is owing."
"Hush now and rest," she soothed. "We will soon reach our destination, then I will administer to your wounds and you can sleep."
The sound of her voice and the coolness of her hand on his brow lulled him into a calm world where there was no pain, only glorious forgetfulness.
13
Julian felt as if someone was dropping hot coals on his back, while a throbbing pain pounded in his head. When the anguish became almost more than he could bear, he groaned and opened his eyes. He was aware that he lay on his stomach while some unknown hands caused added agony to rip through his back.
"I am sorry if I am hurting you, Julian." He recognized Lavender's voice—or was it the Swallow? He could not be sure which one spoke to him from out of the fog.
"Go away," he murmured. "Leave me . . . alone." It was too much of an effort to speak, so he fell silent, wishing the wave of pain would subside.
"I have to remove the shirt so I can clean the wound and apply ointment to the cuts," she explained. "The problem is that your back has bled, causing the shirt to stick to the wounds. Close your eyes, and I will try to get this over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible."
Forbes held the candle for Lavender to see by. She bit her lip when she saw how much dried blood there was on Julian's shirt. She knew the fabric was stuck to his wounds and when she removed the shirt, it would be very painful.
"This is going to hurt, Julian, but I have no choice," she warned.
Julian tried to shut out the sound of her voice. He did not like her seeing him this way. "Dammit, just do it and get it over with," he ground out. "Or would you prefer to talk me to death first?"
Lavender wet the back of the shirt and slowly peeled the shredded material away from the wounds. Anger boiled up in her when she thought of Brainard doing this to Julian. She would demand an explanation from him the next time they met. She sucked in her breath when she saw the deep, angry, red gashes. Gently she cleansed the wounds and applied ointment before binding the upper part of his back and chest with white gauze. Lastly, she cleaned and treated the cut on Julian's head. She had done all she knew how to help him, hoping it would be enough. There was always the danger of infection.
"I am not a doctor, Julian, and I don't dare send for the one from the Public Hospital for fear he will alert Brainard to your whereabouts."
Somehow Lavender's treatment had soothed the pain, and he began to relax. "Will you do something for me?" he asked before sleep took over his thinking. "Will you contact my valet Hendrick for me. He is better than any doctor I know of, and will know what to do."
"Yes, my friend will go for him, if you will tell us how to find him."
"Hendrick is staying at the Swan Tavern in Yorktown," Julian said before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Lavender pulled a light coverlet over him a
nd tiptoed out of the room, motioning for Forbes to follow her. She would feel better if Julian's own man were here to look after him.
Forbes had been gone for over two hours. Silence hung heavily in the air, broken only by the creaking of the floorboards when Lavender walked across the room. Each sound seemed magnified as she entered the small bedroom where Julian lay. Her eyes rested on his face, and she saw he was still sleeping. As she approached the bed, she laid her hand on his forehead and found he was still feverish.
Dropping down in the chair near the head of his bed, Lavender watched Julian's breathing to make sure it was smooth and even. He was lying on his stomach because of the wounds on his back. She softly touched his dark hair, loving him in the very depths of her soul. Her eyes hungrily ran over his features, knowing she would keep an image of him in her heart for the rest of her life.
She was startled when, with a lightning-fast move, he captured her wrist in a tight grip and yanked her down to her knees beside him.
"Where in the hell am I?" he insisted on knowing.
Her face was only inches from his, so close she could clearly see the dilation of his pupils. "Do you not remember? I brought you to a farmhouse outside Williamsburg. You have been badly hurt."
He did not release her, but stared at every feature of her lovely face. "Yes ... I do remember. I am surprised to find you still here, since you have the irritating habit of always disappearing."
Her eyes searched his. She could feel the tension mounting between them. Her heartbeat matched his . .. her breathing rose and fell in rhythm with his. She wanted to pull away, but was compelled to stay because of the firm grip he had on her hand. "Julian," she said throatily. "I would never leave you alone when you are so ill."
He released her hand, his eyes following her as she stood. She rubbed her wrist to restore the circulation, while his glance moved up her boot-clad legs, past her slim waist to where the material of her shirt was pulled taut across her breasts.
Lavender, seeing his disapproval, dropped down in the chair, wishing she could flee from his close scrutiny. The sunlight streaming into the room picked up the gold that was reflected in his brown eyes—those eyes that moved across her face, down her throbbing throat, past her breasts, taking in every detail as if he had seen it all before. There was a light of possession in those eyes—a sparkle of ownership.
Lavender licked her lips nervously, wishing he would stop staring at her, or at least say something to break the tension between the two of them.
It cost him a great deal of pain, but he managed to roll onto his side so he had a better view of her. "I would like something cool to drink."
She moved forward and picked up the pitcher of water. "I .. . have water here on . . . the—"
He cut her off as his lips curled cynically. "So, you are back to stammering again, are you? I do not recognize this disguise, it is half Swallow and the other half Lavender. I wonder when I will meet the real you—if indeed you know who the real you is."
Lavender refused to be drawn into an argument with him. He was too ill. "You should not talk, Julian," she urged. "You need to conserve your strength."
He ignored her advice. "Have you sent for Hendrick as I asked?"
"Yes, Forbes has gone to Yorktown to fetch him. He should be returning before too long."
His eyes moved over her body again with the same disapproving glower. A frown knotted his brow. "Must you appear before me in those damned britches? While I admit your wardrobe is interesting and varied, it is not to my liking." Anger gave a coldness to his tone of voice.
Lavender was determined not to lose her temper. After all, he was in pain and not responsible for his ill humor. Holding a glass of cool water up to his lips, she watched him drink thirstily. "You have a fever," she said, coming to her feet and moving to the small table near the door. Dipping a cloth in water, she moved back to his bed, knowing his eyes had followed her all the while. She felt self-conscious. His eyes locked with hers, making her want to look away, but his gaze held hers.
"I'll just put this cloth on your—"
As she reached forward, he turned his head away. "I did not. ask for your help, nor do I want it."
She was determined to help him whether he wanted her help or not. Firmly, she placed the cloth on his brow while their eyes met in combat. His dark eyes were cold and haughty, her blue ones soft but resolute.
"To hell with you," he said, giving in to the inevitable. "I will not squabble with you over this. You can have your way for now, but when Hendrick arrives, I want you out of here."
Lavender pulled her chair closer to his bed, then sat down. "I will gladly give your care over to your valet. To tell the truth, I know very little about nursing."
Julian became quiet, and his eyes were brooding. "Why are you still here? Do you not know that if I have the chance I will have you clapped in irons?"
She shrugged. "I would expect you to try. However, you will have to mend some before you are strong enough to take on even me. As to why I am still here, since my friend had to go for your valet, I was the obvious choice to remain with you. I am afraid you will have to endure me for now."
Julian frowned with ill humor. "Where are your spectacles?" he asked with irony.
"I don't really need them. They were just a part of my disguise." A smile curved her lips. "You will have to admit they worked very well."
Julian did not find any humor in her statement. He stared at her long and hard, trying to find the meek little Lavender Daymond, but there was no evidence of her now. No, this was the Swallow, beautiful, assured, and daring. He wondered how he could ever have been fooled by the disguise. How cleverly she had played her part; how readily he had believed what she had wanted him to believe.
"I am wondering which of you is real, Lavender, you or the Swallow?"
"I have not decided," she answered flippantly.
"Sometimes I think I am a little of both."
"Is this another of your games?"
"You, of all people, should know that I do not play games, Your Grace."
His eyes burned into hers. "Do you not?"
"No."
"What do you call running around the countryside like a hellion, enticing men to betray their country?"
Her gaze was sobering. "I call it war. What do you call it?"
His eyes flamed. "I call it folly, because you finally paid the ultimate price, did you not?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I am talking about the night you had to give me everything in order to escape." Bitterness laced his words. "You never counted on that, did you?"
She lowered her eyes, remembering when his touch had been gentle on her naked skin, when the feel of his lips on hers had taken her breath away. How could he not know that she had gone into his arms gladly that night at the Swan Tavern? If he thought she had used her body only to gain her freedom, that made the beautiful experience that had happened between the two of them sordid and ugly. Lavender had felt no shame in giving herself to Julian that night, because she loved him. Now he made her feel ashamed.
She raised her chin proudly and looked into his eyes without flinching. "Since seduction was the weapon I often used to gain information for my country, I have always been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice if the need arose, and that night the need arose."
His lashes covered his dark eyes and she could not tell what he was thinking. "Pity you left so quickly that night. I usually pay for services rendered."
Lavender felt as if he had struck her, and she wanted to strike back at him. "Indeed," she said coldly. "I would never have guessed you would have to pay a woman to go to bed with you. I suppose I wrongly assumed your outgoing personality would have attracted women to you."
When his face paled, she was immediately sorry for her brazen words. He already had a low opinion of her, what must he think of her after her little speech? Why could she not learn to control her temper?
He tried to raise to his elbow,
and fell back gasping. When Lavender rushed forward to help him, he pushed her away. "You will find your sacrifice was all in vain, Lavender," he said in an even voice. "The outcome of the war will place you back under England's rule, and you will be tried as a spy."
"I hope England will not win, not for my sake, but for future generations of Americans."
His eyes lazily assessed her. "How tiresome it must be for you to wave the banners and keep the big bad king away from your door. You are a regular little patriot," he said cynically. "What you, and others like you, don't realize is that if you had the rule, you would not know what to do with it. You would soon come crying back for Mother England to take you in again."
"It is attitudes like yours that started the war in the first place. You do not know one thing about me or people like me." Lavender spoke passionately, as if trying to make Julian see what she knew to be true. "America was one of England's greatest jewels, and yet England treated her like a stepchild. America loved her Mother England—but England did not love her child. England wanted to strip America of her wealth, use and abuse her."
She moved across the room and opened the window, realizing she was wasting her voice, but unable to stop. "Take a deep breath and know what freedom smells like, Julian. Look at the sky and know that it stretches across this great continent, past vast wildernesses, across unchartered rivers, spanning wide mountain ranges until it touches the Pacific Ocean. Know that this is the jewel that England spit upon. You and your kind will lose, Julian. In the end England will lose its brightest jewel."
A lump formed in his throat as he watched her eyes blaze with conviction, her golden hair ruffled by the slight breeze that filtered through the window. She was so lovely, she shone like a beacon. He admired Lavender's courage, her strong beliefs, her desire to raise the flag of freedom!
His head was pounding, and he closed his eyes in pain. "Get out," he whispered. "I have no place in my life for a Jeanne d'Arc, or a martyr."
Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 19
