“Fine!” she cried, stung. “So you don’t want me! Well, I’m not finished with you, Mynheer Maddox, and I don’t intend to leave until I’m ready, so you can just go to the devil!” She spun from him, lest he should see her tears.
And after all she’d risked for him! She sensed his approach, and she whirled, her arms swinging. “Stay back, you blather schuyten! Leave me alone!”
“Kirsten, hold up.” Richard grabbed her flailing wrists, but she broke free, clipped his jaw with her fist, and heard him mutter beneath his breath.
“Sonofabitch!” he growled when she struck him again. “Damn it, woman, stop hitting me!” Kirsten socked him in the arm and he bellowed in anger. “I said stop!”
As his cry echoed in the stillness, Kirsten sprang back, horrified at what she’d done. She raised a hand to cover her gasp of horror, her fingers trembling against parted lips.
His face taut, Richard clutched his arm, then rubbed his cheek.
“Oh, Richard! I’m so sorry!” She made a move toward him, but then stopped, afraid.
He shook his head and stared at her in astonishment. “Are you finished?” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
She nodded vehemently. “Yes.” It was a whisper of apology.
His right arm bracing his injured left, Richard glanced down to check for signs of blood from his shoulder wound. The injury throbbed with pain, but there was no trace of blood. He winced as he carefully lowered his arm. The next thing he knew he was laughing. It began as a chuckle and built steadily to a full-throated roar.
“Damn if you aren’t something!” he managed to gasp. He sensed Kirsten’s shock, but couldn’t seem to stop. “God, lady, what I wouldn’t give to see you tangle with the general!”
Kirsten froze. Had Richard gone mad? She watched in helpless horror as he continued to chortle until his cheeks glistened with tears of mirth. “Richard?” She dared to venture one step closer.
His laughter eased, and he simply grinned at her, the wide stretching of his sensual lips making him appear boyish, appealing. He lifted his arm in invitation. “Come here, you foolish woman!”
Afraid to move, she shook her head.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of me? What do you think I’ll do—retaliate? Hit back?” He chuckled. “What? And have you cripple me for life? I can only thank God you fought with your hands instead of your knees!”
Kirsten looked confused. Then her eyes widened with disbelief that he could suggest she’d hurt him in his tender man parts. “Oh no, Richard, I’d never . . .” The implication made her blush.
“Come here, Kirsten.” He smiled, amused. “I promise you I’m not angry with you. Come here.” His voice dropped to a husky entreaty. “Please?”
When he looked at her with such warmth in his russet eyes, how could she refuse? She approached him cautiously, her muscles coiled. She was ready to flee at any unexpected movement.
Richard noted her wariness with amusement, and his lips curved into a wicked grin. Damn, but she had a right to be wary! He was tempted to tease her, to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.
She had a damn good right clip, almost as powerful as any man’s punch, stronger than many he’d had the pleasure of encountering. He pretended to glare at her, saw her start and then hesitate in her steps. His expression softening, he shook his head and beckoned her forward with his hand. His jaw hurt like hell but he had told her the truth. He wasn’t angry; he actually felt proud of her.
When she came to within a yard of him, Kirsten paused, her chin down, her stance like that of a recalcitrant child.
“Oh, Kirsten.” To her amazement, his voice was incredibly gentle. “What am I going to do with you?”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “Love me?” she whispered.
“Love.” His tone was harsh. His eyes darkened to a deep troubled brown. “This is no time or place for love,” he said gruffly. Richard reached for her then, encircling her slight form with his strong arms. After gazing for a time into her blue eyes, he groaned. “There’s time only for this . . .”
He kissed her brow gently. Then his lips moved down to her nose, which he nipped playfully, tenderly, at the tip. “God knows why He made our paths cross, love.” He kissed her cheek, nuzzled her neck. His breath quickened as he worshipped her throat.
“You’re special, Kirsten Van Atta,” he whispered as he raised his head, his russet eyes aglow. “Young . . . innocent . . . but more woman than child.”
She could sense the restraint in him. He bent his head, his breath warm upon her cheek, and his mouth found her earlobe. His tongue swirled in the hollow of her ear.
Kirsten clenched her hands at her sides to keep from touching him, encouraging him. She felt confused, somewhat angry, while at the same time repentant for striking and hurting him with her fist. She shouldn’t touch him; he’d rejected her, told her to go home. To caress him now would be like daring the devil. To kiss him now would be begging for heartbreak—and pain.
“Kirsten . . .”
His scent assailed her nostrils, its woodsy aroma tantalizing her. His skin was warm; his hands were gentle in their caresses. Closing her eyes, Kirsten tilted her head back. She shouldn’t let him do this . . . she shouldn’t allow him to . . . fondle her breasts.
Against all reasoning, she moaned softly in mindless pleasure as Richard cupped and palmed her aching flesh. Giving up the battle, she surrendered to the wonderful, pulsating feelings that flowed from nerve ending to nerve ending, that made her breathing uneven, made her heartbeat quicken. She raised her arms, settling her hands at his neck, beneath the thick, mass of hair bound at his nape. As she played with the soft silky strands there, she felt Richard’s mouth everywhere . . . worshipping her neck, her ears, her face, following the movement in her throat when she swallowed.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, but he couldn’t seem to leave her alone, not for a second.
Kirsten sighed with enjoyment. “But you’re glad I did.”
His head rose, but didn’t say anything. She blinked up at him in protest of his stopping. He must have felt her dismay and shared the depth of her desire, for he groaned and captured her lips in a kiss that seared her all the way to her toes.
She opened her mouth to receive his thrusting tongue, imitating its movements with her own.
“Kirsten . . .” He tugged her with him to the ground, taking care that nothing hurt her, then pulled at the buttons of her homespun shirt. “What? No dressing gown? I liked your dressing gown.” His eyes glowed and caressed each feminine feature.
The buttons came free one by one, but as the last opened, she covered his hand. “No, Richard.”
“No?” He looked incredulous.
“You don’t want me—you said it yourself.”
“Hell, Kirsten, I want you. But love?” He scowled. “That’s a different story.”
“Get up, Richard.”
“Don’t fool me, woman.”
“Me! I’m not the one whose behavior is in question. You turn hot then cold on me. I’m so confused!” She fought back tears. She’d never felt this way before; she was afraid.
“You want me.” His tone was fierce as if daring her to deny it.
She nodded, her lashes fluttering against pale cheeks. “Let me up, Richard.” She caught his gaze, saw something change in his expression.
He groaned as if in pain and then stood, presenting her with his back as she stumbled to her feet, fumbling with her shirt buttons. “Kirsten,” he murmured, “I have to go.” He faced her, his brown eyes searching the depths of her soul.
“Go!” She felt her chest constrict.
“I’m well enough to travel now,” he began. “I have to get back. There are many who need me.”
But what about me? she thought. I need you! What about me? She said, “So you’re leaving Hoppertown . . . when?”
“Perhaps I should leave this night.”
“When were you going to tell me this?” Her head
lifted from the last of the buttons. She was angry. “You weren’t going to, were you?”
He flushed. “I wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye . . . and thank you.” He shifted uncomfortably and studied the ground. Richard ran his hand through his tawny hair, tugging his club free with his awkward movements.
“You would have!” She sounded tearful.
He glanced up. “I wouldn’t. I swear it! Although now, I wish to God I could have avoided this!”
“Well, pardon me, mynheer, if I make you feel guilty! This isn’t easy for me either!”
Something moved in the woodland off to the right, catching Richard’s eye, instilling alarm. “Hush!”
“I won’t hu—”
He pulled her against him, clamping a hand over her mouth. He was conscious of her curves beneath the coarse muslin shirt, the full mounds that begged to be kissed and caressed.
Struggling, she bit his hand.
Richard cursed and regained his hold on her. “There’s someone in the bushes, you little termagant! Bite me again and you’ll be sorry!”
She froze and then slumped within his arms. “Act naturally when I let go of you,” he warned her softly. “If they’ve seen us, we don’t want them to know we’ve spied them.”
“The fire!” she whispered when he’d released her.
“Forget what I said then and put it out-quickly! I’ll get everything back inside.”
Whoever was out there, Richard thought, was on the far side of the woodland separating the field surrounding the mill from the next one. They were probably unaware of him and Kirsten, a miracle considering the way he and she had argued. They? For some reason, he thought more than one person was out there. He hadn’t wanted to alarm her, but this could be dangerous. He’d had no choice but to tell her.
Kirsten’s hands shook as she ran to the stream, filling the kettle and returning several times from the bank to the fire to douse the flames. The water hissed and sizzled as it became steam.
“Richard, what of the embers? If they come this way, surely they’ll know someone’s been here.”
“Get in the mill. I’ll take care of it.” He searched for the three-legged fry pan.
“What are you going to do?”
“Get rid of them.” He began scooping up the coals in the pan. Sensing her presence, he looked up, scowling. “Didn’t I tell you to get inside?”
She stiffened, and he sighed. “Please?”
Without waiting to see if she complied, he carried the filled frying pan toward the stream. He managed to get rid of the ashes in two trips. Before joining her inside the cellar room, he swept the area with a leafy branch from a nearby bush.
Waiting anxiously for him to join her, Kirsten began pacing the dark room. Who could be out there? The British? Tories? Just a friendly neighbor taking a walk? Come to think of it, the rattle-watch had been late making his rounds. Perhaps he’d only seen Garret Vandervelt moving from his last stop toward the next!
She scurried to her feet and moved to the doorway, her intention to relay her suspicion to Richard. She gasped, startled, when his form loomed in the opening before her.
“Kirsten! What were you doing?” He ushered her back inside, blocking the entrance, enclosing them in their own little world.
“Richard—out there—it may be the klapperman making his rounds.”
“Afraid not, love. I saw them. In the clearing. They were definitely wearing bright red coats.”
“British soldiers,” she breathed fearfully. “How can you be certain?”
“I know George’s men when I see them.”
“What are you going to do?”
Richard drew her trembling form within the circle of his arms. “We’re going to hide here and hope they don’t find us.” He stroked her hair, nuzzling his face in the silken strands. “We’ll be fine, little one. As long as we stay here, we’ll be just fine.”
His quiet voice was reassuring to Kirsten. She felt safe and secure within his arms. Sagging against him, she listened to the sound of his heartbeat, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His skin felt warm, comforting. He smelled so good and familiar to her. Content, she wanted to stay in his embrace forever. But no doubt he thinks differently, she thought.
Richard released her when she pushed herself away from him.
“There is something to eat,” she informed him, keeping her voice soft. “I brought what we call puffertjes—they are cinnamon cakes—and some vegetables from our garden.”
“You’re amazing, woman.” He was pleasantly surprised by her thoughtfulness. “What kind of vegetables?” It had been a long while since he’d eaten fresh vegetables.
“Peas and a radijs or two—radishes,” she replied, and he heard the pleasure in her voice.
The thought of a tangy radish made Richard’s mouth water. “We may as well get comfortable,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Too long, he thought. How could he remain this close to her and not lose himself in her silken sweetness? When his eyes became adjusted to the lack of light, he could make out her form. She was sitting on the blanket on which he’d lain each night since his confinement. To his mind came an image of her lying there naked, all soft and willing, her warm hands touching him with passionate fervor. He heard a noise and spun toward the door in a raised crouch. His hand searched the cellar floor for a weapon and found the knife Kirsten had brought days before for his use. It would be a poor method of defense should they be discovered, but it was the only thing available.
“Richard?” She sounded scared.
“I think they’re coming, love,” he told her. “We must stay quiet.”
Kirsten froze, the taste of fear on her tongue. She was afraid they’d hear the thunder of her heartbeat. Her ears picked up movement outside the ruin. A shuffling of feet. A man’s chuckle. Footsteps clipping across the floor above.
Next came the low murmur of British voices, followed by the harsh exchange of angry words. Huddled with her chin to her raised knees, Kirsten was afraid to breathe. She buried her face in the crook of her legs, wishing Richard were closer, beside her, touching.
Something settled on her arm, and a hand muffled her startled gasp. It was Richard. She shuddered with a sigh of relief. Joy bubbled within her, brought on by his nearness, by the feeling of protection and security it gave her.
She relaxed, and he released her, his arm encircling her shoulders, pulling her against him. Kirsten went to him willingly, and the two strained to hear the sounds above them. It is almost worth being in this dangerous position, she thought, to have him against me.
“Shall we camp ’ere, sir?” someone said from the room overhead.
“Is it safe?”
Kirsten could picture the British officer eyeing the room’s rotting floorboards from the threshold.
“That beam looks sound, Major, but that one . . .”
“Perhaps we’ll keep going as soon as I speak with that fool Biv.”
Biv! Richard perked up, his ears tuned into the major’s words.
“Who is this Biv, sir?”
And then, at the sound of splintering wood, “Sergeant! Get those two outside before the bloody floor caves in!”
There was a loud creak of buckling wood as the man complied. Then, “Sir? You were going to say, Major?”
“Biv, fool that he is, thinks he’s a Loyalist. But the fact remains he’s still just a colonial.”
“Will ’e be ’ere soon?”
“Any moment now,” the major informed his subordinate. “I’d get rid of him, but we may have need of him again.”
“Whatever for, sir?”
“The Tories, Shadwell. We’ll need someone to control them. Yes, I’ve heard he has the local Tories banding together. Later, these bands may be useful in taking the damn rebels unawares. If they kill one another, who cares? Biv and his kind aren’t worth a damn anyway. They’re all hoping that the King rewards them generously.”
F
ootsteps sounded on the wood steps leading from the main floor of the mill building as the major and his underling joined the others waiting outside.
Kirsten released the breath she was holding. Richard gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Oh, Richard . . .”
He silenced her with a finger against her lips. She understood when she heard movement against the door to their hideout. Terror made her huddle against his breast. There was a creak as if someone leaned against the wood and then a clear and distinct British male voice.
“’Ey, mate! What do ye thinks down ’ere?”
Kirsten nearly gasped aloud.
“It’s just an old ruin, Jake. It looks about to fall in, if you ask me.”
“But what if the rebs ’ave something ’idden ’ere?” the man called Jake asked.
The answer he got was a short bark of laughter and some comment about God allowing the Yanks half a brain.
Kirsten heard with relief the sharp command from the men’s superior officer and then disgruntled remarks as they moved away.
Neither man nor girl moved a muscle, waiting with apprehension for further noise. When none was forthcoming, they breathed easier, but Richard knew that the danger was far from over.
“I think they’ve given up and gone on, but we can’t be too careful.” He spoke in the softest of whispers. “It looks like we’ll be spending the night here, Kirsten love. We can’t risk leaving. There’s no telling for sure where they’ve gone. For all we know, they could be camped just a hundred yards from here.”
“But how can we stay trapped in here all night long?” she whispered fearfully. “What are we going to do?”
She could have bitten her tongue as soon as she asked the question. The air in the cellar room became fraught with tension. She was aware that he leaned closer to her, felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. The hand that had been stroking her shoulder, glided sensuously down the length of her, slipped to her waist and than ran up and down, tracing the line of her rib cage.
Hundreds of nerve endings within her sprang to life, and she was once again overcome with breathless wonder. She shivered as his lips found the curve of her jaw, sensitizing her skin with kisses and gentle bites. His raspy breathing echoed the acceleration of her own lungs. She shouldn’t allow him to do this to her! He was going to leave her, he’d said so! She was setting herself up for the worst kind of heartbreak.
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