Love's Courage

by Elizabeth Meyette

  The shortest man stood on the top step, almost tripping as he descended. “I’m talkin’ to you, boy.” He approached her. She tugged at the reins, but the man on the horse moved in to block her again.

  “Evenin’, sir. I’m just headin’ home.” She deepened her voice, hoping to convince them she was a young man. She touched the brim of her hat and tugged the reins to direct the horse around the man obstructing her.

  “We’ll shee wha … where yer goin,” the short man slurred as he squinted at her. He seized Jenny’s leg.

  She jerked back on the reins and the horse bucked. The man held tightly to her, yanking her off the horse. As she tumbled, her hat fell off, spilling her jet-black hair across her shoulders.

  Chapter 12

  “Ooooffff.” Air burst from Jenny’s lungs as she hit the ground. She shook her head, trying to erase the blackness with its dizzying bursts of light. For a moment, all she heard was buzzing, as if a swarm of bees surrounded her. Then, her vision cleared.

  And her panic rose.

  The other two men had descended from the porch, their faces twisted with drunkenness and lust. She glared at them. Suddenly, one of them lurched backward, shock clear on his face.

  Andrew appeared from behind him and pummeled him until the other seized his arms. His gaze met hers, his brows drawn together as they pulled him away.

  She stared at him, puzzled.

  He followed me.

  The dazed man beside her staggered sideways then stared down at her.

  “What have we here?” The short man teetered as he leered at her, then at Andrew. “On yer way home, eh? On yer way to a bit of a tumble, I’d wager.”

  The other men laughed. The injured man clambered up, helping to hold Andrew, but the two were barely able to stand, let alone restrain him.

  Andrew twisted away and ran to Jenny. The drunk beside her swung then twirled when his fist missed Andrew. Andrew brought his fist up, catching the man in his gut. He doubled over, moaning. The other two men each grabbed one of Andrew’s arms again.

  The man on the horse held her mare’s reins. “Let’s make him watch.”

  “I found her, so I get the first go.” The short man unfastened the top button of his breeches.

  Jenny stirred. Sitting up, she scrambled backward, but the drunk caught her by her feet. She kicked furiously, but he only laughed. She clawed at his hands. He captured her flailing wrists, heaving her up to stand. When they were face to face, she froze. She stood an inch taller than him. She thrust her face into his.

  “Shall I tell Mrs. Carter about our little tryst?”

  Gasping, he staggered backward. “Miss Sutton?”

  Ephraim Carter’s eyes were not twinkling tonight. Instead the rheumy effect of too much rum clouded them, and he squinted, trying to focus on her. He dropped her wrists and stepped back. “Miss Sutton. Excuse me. I thought you were a …”

  “And if I were a whore, would that excuse what you and the other men were about to do?”

  He hung his head. The other men released Andrew and stepped away.

  “Leave them be.” Ephraim’s voice was low. “They work for the Sons.”

  One man picked up Jenny’s hat, returning it to her with a jerky bow. “Sorry, miss.” The man on horseback handed the reins to Andrew, tipping his hat. Andrew helped Jenny mount the horse, then swung up behind her.

  Jenny glared at the men. “Is this what we’re fighting for? For you to attack a woman—any woman? My father gave his life to fight for your liberty. Shame on you.”

  She tapped her heels against the mare, giving one disdainful look back as they rode away.

  When they were a safe distance, Andrew slowed the horse to a walk.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, resting a shaky hand on his. “Yes. You followed me, didn’t you?”

  “I had to make sure you arrived home safely before I left.” He buried his face in her hair. “Jenny.” The heady, familiar aroma of lilac filled him with desire. He was unable to tame his body, their bodies so close, moving in rhythm with the horse’s gait. Was she aware of his longing?

  “It will be like this for us now, Andrew. Living in fear, unsure of who we can trust.” Her voice was serious.

  Perhaps she wasn’t aware of his desire.

  They reached her road and turned toward the house.

  “Remember our peaceful nights at Brentwood Manor?” she asked.

  “Mmmmm.” He nuzzled her neck.

  “Andrew.” She laughed softly on the night air.

  “I want you, Jenny. Now.”

  They had reached her yard.

  She half turned toward him. He slid off the horse and reached up to her. As she leaned forward, his hands brushed against her breasts. Her breath caught, fueling the fire in his belly. She stood before him, her breathing fast, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

  Tilting her chin up, he repeated, “I want you, Jenny.” His mouth covered hers, moving, hungry. He ran his hands along her back, down to her buttocks, pulling her into him. She melted against him, a soft moan driving him on. Her arms looped up around his neck, her hands running through his hair.

  He would soon explode. A rush of pleasure pulsed through his body. He kissed along her neck, burrowing into the crook. She was trembling, her breath hot against his ear.

  “Jennifer?”

  She pulled away.

  “Is that you, Jennifer?”

  Mrs. Sutton rushed out the back door, her voice strident with fear. “Jennifer? Please … are you there? Are you all—” She stopped a few feet from them, lifting a candle up to see more clearly.

  Andrew moved away as Jenny tried to tame the curls wildly dancing about her head. She wiped at a tear that ran down her cheek. He pulled his longcoat forward, hoping to hide his present state of arousal, but it didn’t fool her mother.

  “I have been sick with unease, Jennifer. And you have been out here … dallying with this young man?”

  “No, Mother—”

  “Did you at least deliver the message to Laurence?” Her voice shook with anger and, he suspected, fear.

  “Mother, please. Let’s go inside.”

  Mrs. Sutton scowled at them, then led them toward the house. Turning, she pointed at him. “You see to the horse.”

  Jenny cast a half-smile at him, and even in the candlelight that damned dimple assailed him.

  Jenny poured a glass of brandy. “It is not what you think, Mother.” She handed her the drink. “I did deliver the message to Mr. Montclair, immediately.”

  “Jennifer, I have been worried sick all night.”

  “I’m sorry, but so much happened.” Should she explain the incident at the tavern? She didn’t want to add to Mother’s distress, but she had always been honest with her. Mother needed to know about the occurrence. She poured two more glasses of brandy, trying to form an explanation. The back door closed. Her heart skipped. Andrew was here. In her house. He would meet Mother. Oh, that he could remain safely here.

  He stood at the door. The sheepish look on his face melted her heart. Reaching for his hand, she drew him into the room and handed him a crystal snifter.

  “Mother, this is Andrew Wentworth.” She couldn’t control the smile that covered her face.

  “Well, I should hope so. After all your talk about him in your letters, I would hope you wouldn’t be dallying in the night with someone else.” She rose, extending her hand. “Mr. Wentworth.”

  He bowed over it. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sutton. Jenny’s affection for you has come through every story she has told me. May I offer my condolences on the passing of Mr. Sutton?”

  She returned to her seat on the settee and indicated the chair beside it. Jenny smiled at him. Andrew returned her smile, glanced at Mother, then studied the hearth as he sat down.

  Together they explained the events of the evening, starting with their meeting with Montclair. Jenny’s throat tightened as she recounted his command that they not be seen to
gether. How could she stay away now that they were finally united?

  “He is very wise. It is protection for both of you.” Mother looked from one to the other. “I know it’s difficult, but the risk is too great.”

  “You are right. As I was watching your house this evening …”

  Mother arched one brow.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Well, yes, I have been watching every evening since I arrived.” He shifted in his seat.

  Mother patted his arm. “It’s all right, Andrew. I appreciate your concern for our safety.” Jenny caught the twinkle in Mother’s eyes and the gentle tone of voice she used when teasing.

  “Well, when I was out there tonight, two British officers happened by. One told the other, named Ashby, that your house was under suspicion.”

  Mother set her snifter on the side table and nodded slowly. “I wondered if he had ulterior motives for his attentiveness to Jenny. Even more reason for you two to stay apart.” She looked at her daughter, her voice soft. “I know that’s not what you wish to hear, but it must be so.”

  “But for tonight …” Jenny folded her hands as if praying, pleading.

  “Alas, especially tonight. For if you were seen on the street by anyone other than Mr. Carter and his cronies, they will come for us.”

  Andrew rose. “Your mother is right. I must go.”

  Mother stood. “I must see to preparations for breakfast. I will return in a few moments.” She raised one brow at Jenny before she swept out of the room.

  Jenny smiled. “I believe we have a few precious minutes alone.” She craved his touch, his nearness.

  He shifted in his seat but did not move closer.

  She reached out her hand, inviting, beseeching.

  He remained where he was.

  “Andrew?”

  “I don’t know. Here in the light, you look like a lad.” His lips twitched up, his eyes danced.

  Her gaze darted to the door. “We have precious little time together.” Reaching up, she swept off the hat, freeing her black curls to tumble and swirl around her shoulders. “I am no lad.”

  He was up and beside her in one swift movement. He wrapped her in his arms, leaning her back against the pillow. “Jenny,” he whispered. His soft, warm lips moved over hers. He traced kisses along her cheek, along her throat. Never in her life had she tingled with such an agonizing need that started in her belly and suffused her whole body. She clung to him as if these were the last moments they would ever share.

  They could be.

  “Andrew.” Her arms tightened. His lips found hers again, and he nibbled along her neck, pausing in the crook. She thought she would shatter with the joy of holding him, tears streaming down her cheeks. He stroked her back, sliding one hand forward along her side, just tempting her breast. She shuddered. His hand moved forward.

  “Jennifer.” Mother’s voice from the next room was like a splash of cold water.

  They sat up, but he kept one arm around her shoulder.

  Mother entered. “Mr. Wentworth.”

  He dropped his arm.

  Jenny brushed her hair back as if that would hide the flush of pleasure on her face.

  “I’m afraid you must leave now.” Mother’s voice was gentle. “No matter how safe you think you may be, there are too many who cannot be trusted. If only one person sees you …”

  Jenny shivered. She took his hand.

  He stood. “I will do whatever is necessary to keep Jenny safe, Mrs. Sutton.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry it must be this way.”

  He nodded. Taking Jenny’s hand, he helped her rise from the settee. Despite Mother’s presence, he kissed her long and full. She stumbled back a step when he released her.

  “I cannot say farewell, Jenny. I will only say, ‘Until we meet again.’” He kissed her hand, bowed to Mother, and disappeared.

  Tears streamed down Jenny’s cheeks. Would his words prove true?

  Chapter 13

  After Andrew had seen Jenny safely home from Montclair’s, he’d returned for instructions for his mission to Setauket. Montclair got him to the wharf, where they’d met a whaling crew that sailed him across from New York to Long Island. He’d traveled on foot the remaining distance to Setauket.

  He now crouched behind a bush, watching British soldiers drill in front of the white clapboard church in the early morning sun. A mounted officer shouted instructions as the troop pivoted sharply, avoiding the gravestones standing at attention along the lawn. Suddenly, at the officer’s instructions, they dove behind the markers, aiming their Pattern rifles at an imagined enemy.

  He swallowed against the sickening feeling in his stomach. Their actions confirmed the message he was carrying to Major Benjamin Tallmadge. The British already knew of the planned attack.

  He crab-walked away, not rising until he was well beyond view of the mounted officer. Then, he broke into a run. He had to reach Tallmadge before General Parsons launched the raid. Heart racing, feet pounding the earth, he sprinted along the road leading to the Tallmadge house. His lungs screamed against his labored gasps, but he would not slow down.

  He wiped at the sweat that stung his eyes and blurred his vision. A farmer driving a rickety cart loaded with his harvested vegetables meandered along the road, blocking the center, so Andrew had to skirt it by running into the field. He leapt over small shrubs and tree roots, doubling his pace once beyond the farmer. How long could he maintain this? His heart felt as if it would explode.

  Up ahead was a large, brown, saltbox house. Slowing, he ducked into the trees. Bracing himself with one arm against a sturdy maple, he doubled over, gasping. As his heartbeat slowed, he scanned the yard and noted a young boy just inside the stable door. His dark skin contrasted with the brilliant white shirt and straw hat he wore. Andrew approached him carefully.

  “Is this the home of Benjamin Tallmadge?”

  The boy looked at him, his large brown eyes wary. “Who you?”

  “My name is Andrew. I have a message for Major Tallmadge.”

  The boy stared at him.

  Andrew wanted to shake him. Just let me know if I’m in the right place. “Please, it’s important that I see Major Tallmadge immediately. Is this his home or do I need to look elsewhere?”

  A rifle cracked in the distance, and the young boy jumped at the sound.

  “You there. State your business.” Behind him, a voice resounded.

  Andrew turned to see a man a few years his senior aiming a rifle at his chest. One quick shot and he’d be dead. The man’s nose looked too large, his forehead too high for his pale face. He wore the blue wool jacket of an officer in the Continental army. Silver buttons gleamed along the white trim of his coat and his white vest.

  “Major Benjamin Tallmadge?”

  “Who is asking?”

  More shots echoed from the direction of the church. The man jerked in the direction of the noise, then turned back, again aiming his gun at him. “Quickly,” he said.

  “I am Andrew Wentworth. I’ve come from New York City with a message for John Bolton.”

  At the name, the man lowered his rifle. He glanced to the left and right. “And just in time—I am about to leave for …” He glanced in the direction the shots had come from. “Come inside. Quickly.”

  The interior of the house was refreshingly cool, making Andrew’s sweat-soaked shirt clammy against his skin. Grasping the cotton material, he pulled it away, fanning it in an attempt to dry it. It immediately stuck to his body again.

  Tallmadge led him to the dining room and pulled out a chair, inviting him to sit. He poured a glass of cider and set it before him.

  Andrew scanned the room. Resting on the sideboard was the plumed helmet signifying Tallmadge’s rank of major in the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons. Andrew studied him with a deeper appreciation. His looks must belie his abilities.

  “How do you know of John Bolton?” He cocked his head, reminding Andrew of an inquisitive bird.

  “I’ve never me
t him. My orders were to ask for him.”

  Tallmadge nodded. “Well, where is this message for John Bolton?”

  “I was told to give it to him directly. He would request it with a specific phrase.” Andrew broke out in a sweat again.

  “Culper requests the message.”

  Andrew started at the exact words he was to listen for. So, Tallmadge was John Bolton. He pulled a letter from the leather pouch he carried, relieved to see that it had remained dry despite his dripping perspiration. Handing the letter to Tallmadge, he sank back against the chair. His body shook as his muscles relaxed and his mind calmed. No longer was he solely responsible for this message. His legs trembled from his exertion, and he rubbed them to try to still the tremors.

  Gunfire in the distance reverberated in earnest now.

  “I’m afraid my message arrives too late. The battle has begun. I hurried here as soon as Laurence gave it to me.”

  “Montclair?”

  “Yes. Leaving the city was not difficult, but navigating the sound proved almost impossible.”

  “Yes, the British guard it well.” From his breast pocket, he took out a piece of leather and unrolled it, revealing rectangular cutouts. Placing it over the parchment, he quickly read the message. “Damn. How did they discover our plan? Their spy network is as good as our own.”

  They both looked at the window as gunfire filled the air. Tallmadge rose.

  “I’m sorry. I tried …” Andrew spread out his hands.

  “It’s not your fault. The British had this information long ago. Parsons was hell-bent on this raid after the success of Sag Harbor. Once a general gets a plan into his head, it’s difficult to change his mind. Knowing the British were aware of the raid might not have made a difference. Rest easy.”

  Andrew crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on them. His arms, sticky with sweat, stuck to the table. He sat up and fought to stay awake.

  “There is a stream just behind the stable. Cool yourself off there while I prepare a message for Montclair.” Tallmadge patted his shoulder. “You did your best, Andrew. We are grateful for your effort.”

  Rising slowly, he wasn’t sure his legs would carry him as far as the barn. His first steps were wobbly, but he gained his footing and shuffled toward the river. He thought he heard his feet sigh in delight when he tugged off his boots, then he peeled off his clothing.