Love's Courage

by Elizabeth Meyette

  Andrew brushed her hair back. “Are you all right?” His worried look made her heart sing.

  “Yes, yes. We must keep moving.”

  “Not in this wagon,” Ephraim said.

  The broken wheel lay in the road, the wagon tilted like a genuflecting penitent. Ephraim tried to settle the horse that whinnied and shook its head, jangling the harness in the quiet night. Once the harness was off, one corner of the wagon stabbed into the ebony sky.

  “Ephraim, you must take the horse and return home.”

  “But you should …”

  “No. I don’t want you or Lucy implicated in any way.”

  He nodded. “I wish’t I’d brought a saddle.”

  Andrew scanned the countryside. “Not a farm in sight where we could borrow a saddle … or a horse. Not that we could take that chance. We’ll have to walk.” He frowned at her and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Are you up to it?”

  “Yes.” She had intentionally worn her sturdiest boots. Turning to Ephraim, she took his hand. “Thank you. You risked your life for us. Now you must return home, for I don’t know if we’ll be followed.”

  Ephraim glanced at Andrew. He may as well have spoken the words aloud. You’ll be followed for certain.

  The two men dragged the wagon off the road and hid it in a copse of trees.

  “Will you be all right traveling alone?” Andrew asked him.

  He hoisted his rifle. “I’ll be fine, but yer gonna need this.” He handed the weapon to Andrew, who stepped back.

  “No, we can’t take your rifle.”

  Ephraim nodded toward Jenny. “She saved your life. You may need to save hers.” He thrust the weapon into Andrew’s hands.

  “How can we ever thank you?” Jenny kissed his cheek, the stubble prickly and coarse.

  “Let me and Lucy know yer all right.” He turned and led the horse down the road toward the city.

  The shadowy night held the rustling of raccoons and skunks, the air filled with the songs of crickets. A cool, westerly breeze whipped Jenny’s blue shawl around her shoulders as she walked beside Andrew. She couldn’t help looking up at him. Was this a dream? Would they finally have the life together they had planned? Perhaps, but his silence alarmed her. Certainly, his strength waned, but he hadn’t even taken her hand. This was not how she’d imagined their reunion.

  They had been walking for more than an hour when their steps slowed and she stumbled. They paused in a nearby clearing. To conserve water until they could find a spring, they had been sipping sparingly from the canteen she’d brought. Now she took two biscuits and two pieces of dried beef from a pouch slung over her shoulder. Handing Andrew his share, she nibbled on her own. He tried not to gobble it down, but she could see his hunger. Too bad she had wasted that delicious stew on the soldier at the gaol.

  He lay back on the grass, and when she tried to cradle in beside him, he rolled away.

  “Andrew,” she whispered.

  “I’m tired.” His voice, thick with exhaustion, barely reached her. Soon his steady breathing signaled his sleep.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the stinging tears. Within the fear and tension of her plans to help him escape had been the excitement of being beside him again. To be able to touch him, to hold him. She believed their love would withstand any danger. She hadn’t been ready for his rejection. She opened her eyes and stared at his back, reaching out, then withdrawing her hand. He wanted nothing to do with her. How could he believe she’d betrayed him?

  She tried to sleep, but the night sounds kept slumber at bay. Small animals scampered through the underbrush, and larger ones crept through the trees between them and the road. The one time she did drift off, a dream of Ashby crawling through the tall grass toward them shook her awake.

  A thin pale line etched the eastern horizon, signaling the coming dawn.

  She cocked her ear. Was that Ashby? Or a deer? A wolf? She sat up. Chills ran through her. They had to move. Now.

  “Andrew,” she whispered. “Andrew, wake up.”

  “Umph.” He rolled to his back.

  Something was wrong. Someone was out there.

  “Andrew. Wake up.”

  He sat up, instantly alert. He aimed the rifle at the road.

  “We need to go,” she whispered.

  He looked around. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. A feeling. I just don’t want to stay here.”

  “Let’s go.” He rose and stretched.

  The sky was growing lighter, not affording darkness to conceal them.

  They skirted the road, making their way through the thinner trees along the edge. This slowed their progress, as brambles caught in Jenny’s skirt. She finally pulled the back of it between her legs, tucking it into her belt.

  Andrew frowned and looked away. Was he angry? “We’ll have to find a place to hide during the day.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

  “Yes, I think it will take another day of walking to reach the farm of Uncle Jonathon’s friends. On horseback or wagon, we would have been there by now.”

  “We can—” He was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats barreling along the road. “Quick, into the woods.”

  Crouching behind a large log, they saw two riders approaching. Neither wore the scarlet coats of British soldiers. As the riders neared, she and Andrew lay flat on the grass behind the fallen ancient oak. She chanced a peek at them once they’d passed. Her jaw dropped. There were only two men she’d ever met who were that size. The Wirth brothers.

  She jumped up, sprinting toward the road, waving her arms. Her voice stabbed the air.

  “Stop. Come back.” She was seven years old again, chasing Kathryn, her twin’s laughter trailing back to her. Can’t catch me, Jenny. Ha ha. I’ll always beat you. The sound of the horse neighing as it shied to avoid her sister. The piercing scream. Kathryn’s sightless gray eyes.

  Jenny’s arms dropped to her side, she sank to the ground. “I didn’t run to the road fast enough. I never run to the road fast enough.”

  Andrew followed Jenny as she scrambled from behind the tree and raced toward the riders. By the time he reached her, she had crumpled in the road, weeping. An iron fist twisted his heart as he fought the urge to gather her into his arms. Instead, he knelt beside her, the rifle balanced across one knee.

  “Shhh, Jenny, shhh. Everything will be fine.” His fingers itched to brush the tangled hair from her face, and sweep away her tears. He wanted to kiss her forehead, draw her into his lap, and rock her as they sat on the dusty ground. Instead, he held the rifle.

  “I couldn’t … save Kathryn, and I … can’t save … you.” Her words caught between her sobs.

  “We’re going to be all right, Jenny. You have saved me. I would be dead by now if not for your daring.”

  When she had told him about Kathryn, she had simply said her twin sister had been killed accidentally. Her voice had been steady. Her face, her expression, had given no clue to this depth of emotion … and guilt. Now, her body trembled with unshed misery.

  He stared in the direction where the brothers had ridden. Jenny was reliving her nightmare. He balanced the rifle against his shoulder and looked down at her. He couldn’t take her into his arms and comfort her. She belonged to Ashby.

  When he looked away, he noticed the sky growing brighter, and his gut signaled the need to hide.

  “We must move.”

  She nodded.

  He helped her stand. The tears that glistened on her cheeks sliced into his gut. How could he not comfort her? “It was not your fault, Jenny. You were a child. What could you have done?”

  “I was chasing her.”

  “You were playing a game. You had no evil intent. She would have run anyway.”

  Raising her face to his, her eyes shone. “Yes, she would have run anyway.” A weak smile revealed her dimple.

  It stabbed his heart. She could save the world with that smile. But she was pale, and the dark circles spoke of a nig
ht of little sleep. He had to move away from her.

  “Let’s conceal ourselves as best we can. Perhaps we can find berries or nuts as we walk.”

  “I thought we would be at the farm by now. I brought the biscuits and meat for our escape, but only enough to see us through the night.”

  He was still weak from lack of food during his imprisonment, but he had to force himself to keep going. Jenny’s face was ashen and drawn, but the determined set of her jaw convinced him they should move.

  “Perhaps we will dine in comfort this evening. To do so, we must make good progress.” Would they reach this farm and safety? I should have killed Ashby when I had the chance, for he will certainly kill me if he finds us. Would he blame Jenny because their plan to murder me went awry? Would he harm her?

  He called up all his strength.

  The burden of her safety weighed on him like the ropes that had carried him beneath the whaler in the sound.

  The sun shot brilliant tones of orange and crimson into the clouds as it settled into the horizon. They had about an hour left of twilight. Andrew hoped they would reach the farm tonight. She’d said they should arrive in another day’s walk. His legs trembled with fatigue, and the trees and road ahead shimmered in a blurry scene. Just keep one foot in front of the other. He continued solely by dint of will.

  Hoofbeats pounded on the road behind them, from the sound of it, several riders.

  He took her hand and dashed toward the trees.

  Jenny’s scarf caught on a bramble. Reversing her step, she tugged at it, which only twisted the fabric into a knot. She looked toward the road and tugged again. “Damn!” She tore the blue cloth away and followed him into the trees. Had she done that on purpose? Left a sign to indicate where they were? She must trust Ashby enough not to fear retribution for the failure of their plan. Knowing the man’s cruelty, he believed otherwise.

  He pulled her down to crouch behind a fallen maple.

  Nearing them, the horses slowed to a trot.

  He held his breath as he eased up, peering through the trees. He gulped. Seven British soldiers approached, led by Nigel Ashby. Even from here, Andrew could see the pallor in his face, his wince of pain as the horse moved. But his jaw was set, his eyes stony cold.

  Some of the soldiers walked their horses into the underbrush and trees along the road. Their hiding place would soon be discovered, and to try to run from it now would be useless. He scanned the area. Just trees and shrub. No place that would provide adequate cover for them from a determined murderer. Perhaps they wouldn’t hang after all. Perhaps Ashby would shoot them on the spot. His gaze slid to Jenny.

  No, not until Ashby had tortured them both.

  She met his gaze. She hadn’t called out to reveal their position. Have I misjudged her all this time? He still wasn’t sure. Her brows lifted in question but not in fear.

  I can’t help myself. I love this woman who stares down death—and worse—without so much as a blink. She hefted the pistol they had loaded that morning.

  Shoot straight, my Jenny.

  He pulled Ephraim’s rifle along his side until he positioned it to fire. They waited.

  Darkness was descending, but the snagged scrap of blue fabric waved in the breeze like a beacon. The troop was getting closer. Ashby looked like a buzzard, turning his head from side to side as he scanned the road, as if his beaked nose could detect their scent.

  A soldier was the first to spot it. He ripped the fabric from the twig with a flourish.

  “Lieutenant. Look here.”

  Ashby kicked his horse to a trot, halting where the soldier stood. A grin broke across his face. “Hah!” Sitting erect, he craned his neck peering in their direction. Did he see them? “Find them. Search in there.” He pointed, his sense of their position uncanny.

  Andrew sighted the rifle. Jenny cocked the pistol.

  Two soldiers dismounted and tramped around just beyond them, thrusting their bayonets into the shrubbery.

  “Don’t kill them,” Ashby shouted. “Save that for me. That and a bit more pleasure.”

  Andrew seethed at his sneering voice. The scene before him was tinged with red; his blood ran cold. He would see this man dead before he could harm Jenny.

  The soldiers were closing in. At best, they could each get off one shot before they would be at the mercy of the soldiers. If he waited until one soldier was close enough, could he capture his musket, giving them another round? It was risky, but it was their only chance. Of course, once they were detected, the whole troop would dismount and surround them.

  Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them, blurring his vision. He was aware of Jenny, still as a statue, beside him. No matter how brave she was, what Ashby had planned for her was horrendous. Andrew couldn’t allow that to happen. He nudged her. Pressing his finger to his lips, he mouthed, “wait for me to fire.” She nodded.

  Andrew saw the recognition in the first soldier’s gaze. The man raised his musket then remembered his commanding officer’s orders. He didn’t fire, but he didn’t call out, either. Instead, he glanced to his left where his partner was just behind him.

  Come closer. Come closer.

  Andrew’s gaze locked on the soldier’s, willing him to approach.

  Treading softly, a triumphant smile playing on his face, the soldier did just that.

  That’s right. Save the prize for yourself. Gain the admiration of your lieutenant. Just a few more steps.

  Andrew smirked at him, drawing him in. A few more steps.

  The rifle’s recoil jolted Andrew’s shoulder, and beside him Jenny jumped. The soldier’s face exploded in a cloud of red. Jenny remained still. Horses shied and neighed at the blast.

  The second soldier spotted them, stepped forward, and Jenny shot him in the throat. His face froze, his eyes wide with surprise, before he collapsed.

  They bolted forward, each snatching a soldier’s musket.

  “Get them,” Ashby shouted, raising his saber, his face contorted in pain.

  Four soldiers dismounted and circled them. They could kill two more, but there would be no more opportunity to steal weapons. Andrew and Jenny stood back to back as the soldiers closed in.

  The man on the left was bulkier than the other, and closer to Andrew. A shot to his limbs might just wound and Andrew needed to kill him. If need be, he’d run the soldier through with the bayonet. Then they would be at the mercy of Ashby, who would show no mercy. He aimed for the bulky man’s face. “I’ll take the man on the left,” he whispered to Jenny.

  They fired. Two more soldiers fell. The last two came at them with their muskets raised, their bayonets aimed at their hearts.

  “Do not kill them,” Ashby repeated, striding through the underbrush. He stood before them, triumphant. “They are mine.” He caressed Jenny’s face, then pulled one tendril straight, the back of his hand brushing the top of her breast.

  Andrew lunged for him, but Jenny grabbed his arm, restraining him. A soldier lifted his gun, aiming it at Andrew until Ashby pushed it down.

  “No. Before he dies, he is in for a spectacle.”

  How could he save Jenny from this monster?

  Chapter 25

  With hands bound and tied to the saddle horn, Jenny rode on one of the dead soldier’s horses. Ahead, moonlight lit the shape of Andrew’s back as they trotted along the road. Her mind raced with possible ways to escape—most involving Ashby’s death—and even though none of the plans seemed plausible, she refused to give up hope.

  Ashby raised his hand to halt the others when they reached a clearing. Dismounting, he ordered a fire and some food. The two remaining soldiers scrambled down from their mounts, tethered their horses, and began to set up camp. Ashby held her and Andrew’s reins, ordering them to remain mounted, while the others worked. Once the fire burned, he handed the reins over to one of the soldiers and strode to the trees to relieve himself. Returning, he smirked up at Jenny.

  “I suppose I needn’t be so discrete since you will be enjo
ying all of me very soon.” He turned to Andrew. “And you’ll have the pleasure of watching.”

  She kicked a foot out toward him, but he caught it before it could land. Caressing her ankle, he kissed it, his gaze never leaving Andrew’s.

  She wrested it away. “You’re a bastard.”

  “Oh ho. I see I bring out the saucy side of you. How delightful.”

  He sauntered off, chuckling.

  “Jenny, I swear …”

  “Hush, Andrew.” She nodded toward the soldier who seemed peevish about being left holding their reins. He kicked at the ground and shifted from foot to foot. His face brightened when Ashby brought a fresh canteen to him. “Good work today.” His gaze shifted to her. “See? I can be kind.” He laughed as he sauntered to deliver the second canteen to the soldier by the fire.

  The aroma of porridge cooking over the flames tormented Jenny. All they had consumed since morning were a few berries and some water. One soldier chewed on some salted meat while he tended the fire. He then took a draught from the canteen, and she swallowed against her parched throat. Her stomach growled as she regarded the pot.

  “Hungry, my love?” Ashby appeared beside her. He untied her hands. She began to dismount, but he stopped her. “Allow me, Miss Sutton.” He held her waist as she slid from the saddle. His hands ran along her side.

  Never did she feel so filthy as when his hands touched her, sullying any sense of goodness she held. Recoiling, she turned her head away, her mouth pulled down in a scowl. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Hunching her shoulders, she folded her arms.

  Her stomach growled again.

  “How neglectful I’ve been. Come by the fire. You must have sustenance before we share what should have been our wedding night.” He took her elbow, but she pulled it away. “Oh yes. It will be a delightful nuptial celebration.” He added over his shoulder, “Let Wentworth down. Keep a close watch on him.”

  Jenny tried to look back, but Ashby tugged her forward.

  He offered her a bowl of steaming porridge and a drink from his flask. She took the bowl but waved off the drink. She gagged at the thought of putting her lips where his had been.