Faithfully Yours

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  And Gaylord had followed him, as his younger brother had since he took his first steps. Pain sliced through him. Gaylord, who had cried when his horse slipped and broke its leg and had to be destroyed. Gaylord was no soldier, but he had come with Sebastian.

  He groaned again.

  “Are you ill?”

  Faith’s voice! It was taut with anger.

  Sebastian grimaced. What was she doing here, and why did her question have the tone that her voice assumed whenever she was furious?

  “’Tis nothing but a night vision,” he replied as he saw her among the shadows beyond the glow of the low fire.

  “Then I bid you good night.”

  He came to his feet. His eyes widened when he admired Faith in the doorway, her auburn hair ablaze with the light from the hearth. She wore a simple white wrapper over her unbleached nightgown, and he was treated to a view of her captivating curves that had been hidden beneath her wide-skirted dress. Before she could move, he captured her fingers, stroking them gently.

  He released them with a silent curse. Was he condemned to repeat his foolishness over and over through all the rest of his days? He had learned the faithlessness of women when Leonora chose his brother over him. He scowled into the darkness. When he proved his valor on the field of battle, she would regret her choice.

  “Can you sleep easily now?” she asked.

  He intended to say yes, but as he looked at her hair glowing like a ruddy star on the darkest night, he said, “Sit with me awhile, Faith.”

  “It is late.”

  “I have been here at your father’s house for nearly a week, and yet I know so little about you.”

  “The rest of the household is asleep. We should be quiet and seek our beds, as well.”

  “A few minutes stolen from the middle of the night should make no difference.”

  Faith wanted to argue that he might be well-rested, but she had spent the day tending to the animals in the field, as well as making their meals and assisting Mother … and taking supplies to Tom Rooke. But she sat on a chair next to where he lowered himself to the settle and asked, “Of what do you wish to speak?”

  “I am not sure.” Astonishment filled his voice, and she guessed he had not thought she would stay.

  “You might start with why you are here instead of in the room Father made available to you.”

  He chuckled. “That is answered simply. When I came in after giving my men their orders for the morrow, I intended to sit for a few minutes and enjoy this warmth before going upstairs. Needless to say, I fell asleep right here.”

  “If you are so tired, you should seek your bed.”

  “But I am not tired any longer. My nap took care of that.”

  Faith hesitated, then said, “In spite of what you said, you know much about this family, for you have had an excellent chance to observe us for the past week. I know very little about you.”

  “Other than that I enjoy the flavor of your lips.”

  She came to her feet. “You may wish to speak of that mistake, but I do not.”

  “Then we shall not speak of it.” He motioned toward the chair where she had been sitting. “Remain a bit longer, Faith.”

  “If we speak of other things.”

  “As you wish.”

  What she wished was to know that she could trust him. That thought startled her. She should have been thinking that all she wanted was for him to leave her father’s house. “You could begin,” she said, her voice atremble, “by telling me where you are from.”

  “My home is Kendrick Court, where my father is the earl.” Only his smile suggested that he had noticed her disquiet.

  “I do not know where Kendrick Court is.”

  “I doubted you would.” His chuckle was hushed enough so it would not reach beyond her ears. “I am from Norfolk, a part of England that juts out into the eastern sea.”

  Vexed at his condescending tone, she tilted her chin. “I would not expect you to know where the county line is between here and Lancaster County, so do not treat me as an imbecile because I ask such a question.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I am a stranger in a strange land. America is very different from England.” Standing, he put his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned toward her. “And I like the differences very much.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, enough so I shall not ask your permission.”

  “Permission?”

  “To do this.”

  Her gasp vanished beneath his lips as they slanted across hers. When he drew her to her feet, she gasped again when he set her on his knees on the settle. He tugged her up against him as his tongue darted past her parted lips, caressing hers until she softened against him. His fingers swept down her back. She pulled back with a soft cry when they edged along the thin fabric covering her legs.

  “Are you going to slap my face for my forwardness in not asking your leave to kiss you?” he asked, grinning.

  She was not deceived. The fire in his eyes burned more fiercely than the flames on the hearth. “I should. I heard you speak of another woman in your dreams.” She gritted her teeth when she heard the soft timbre of her voice. It was an outright invitation to what she hoped he wanted as much as she did. He irritated her as no one else did, but she had lost her resistance to his charm.

  “In my nightmares, Faith.”

  “Nightmare?”

  “Of a faithless woman.” He smiled. “Faithless is the very best description of her. She was nothing like you. She did not have your kindness or—” He kissed her lightly. “Your sweet lips.”

  “Now I should slap your face for being so forward.”

  “But you won’t?”

  “No.”

  “Then what were you planning to do with these five slender fingers?” He brought the tips of her fingers against his. “I can tell you what I would gladly do, if you grant me your permission, sweet one.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I do.”

  His eyes twinkled with eager desire. “I thought you might offer it.”

  Her breath caught, rapid and eager, in her chest as he slowly kissed each of her fingers. Unable to look away from his eyes, which mirrored her longing for more than this simple caress, she gasped at the stroke of his tongue along the end of her middle finger. Her hand quivered when he blazed a moist trail along the lines of her palm. The bristles of a day’s growth of dark beard scraped her skin, enlightening every inch and leading to a hunger for more. Closing her eyes as she savored the longings roiling within her, she stroked his wide shoulder.

  Dogs barking in the yard made Faith flinch as she was ripped away from the fantasy. Sebastian released her and, coming to his feet, went to peer out the window.

  “What is it?” she asked. “One of your men?”

  “No. I don’t see anything.”

  The dogs yelped louder.

  The front door crashed open. Silhouetted, a man stood in the doorway, a knife bare in his hands. Faith stared in horror as Sebastian rushed back to the settle and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

  Before he could do more, the man in the doorway mumbled something and collapsed to the floor.

  Shouts came from the upper floor.

  Faith shoved past Sebastian. Kneeling, she put her fingers to the man’s throat. The rhythm of his heartbeat pulsed, but faintly.

  “He is alive,” she said.

  “Not long!” Father and Sebastian said at the same time.

  Amazed, she looked over her shoulder to see them staring at each other in disbelief. She was tempted to laugh at their shocked expressions, but knew she must tend to the man. Her urge to laugh vanished when she felt the heat on his forehead.

  “He is ill,” she whispered.

  Her arm was grasped, and she was yanked to her feet. Sebastian said, “You should stay away from him. If what has sickened him creates ill humors in you, then you could sicken, too.”

  The man groaned and thrashed on the floor.

  Sebastia
n’s fingers bit into her arm. Then he was kneeling beside the man. He clasped the man’s face between his hands. “Bring cool water, Cromwell! Now!”

  As Father hurried into the kitchen, Faith asked, “Sebastian, do you know him?”

  “He is my brother.”

  Six

  Sebastian knelt near where his brother was lying in a bed in the room next to his in Cromwell’s house. What was Gaylord doing here? And in such a condition?

  A wet cloth was pressed into his hand, and he looked up from his brother’s senseless face to see Faith’s dismay. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your help.”

  “I do not want others to come into contact with him. He is ill, and we cannot allow the bad humors to jump from him to anyone else.” She tossed his brother’s clothing onto the hearth. “Do you know where he had been before he arrived here?”

  Sebastian pulled his gaze from his brother’s face to look at hers. Her cheeks had nearly as little color as Gaylord’s. “If he followed orders,” Sebastian said, “he was south of here, closer to the Brandywine.”

  “If?”

  “Gaylord is strong-willed, not truly fit to be a soldier.” He sighed. “Do you think he will live?”

  “I believe so. He has been of good health before this, I am assuming.”

  “My brother has always resisted anything that might put him in an unhealthy situation.”

  “Which is a challenge for a soldier.”

  “Not one whose idea of a battle is a challenging game of cards in a parlor in Philadelphia.”

  Her brows rose. “There are those who say most of the British soldiers have more interest in pursuing pleasure than the rebels.”

  Standing, he drew her down to sit on the blanket chest by the bed. “You look as if you are ready to tumble onto your face.”

  “I did not get any sleep.”

  “Why?”

  “You woke me.”

  “But you went upstairs early.”

  Coming to her feet, she went to his brother, who had not moved. She removed the damp cloth and wrung out another to put on his forehead. In her simple wrapper, she resembled one of the angels in the stained-glass window over the altar in Kendrick Court’s chapel. Her red hair was as fiery as her eyes when she faced him.

  “You are keeping a close eye on my whereabouts, Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian?” echoed Gaylord as he slowly opened his eyes. “Brother, are you here?”

  Sebastian was astonished by how difficult it was to look away from the accusations in Faith’s eyes. He wanted to reassure her that she was mistaking a simple comment for something more threatening. Because she has something to hide. He tried to ignore that thought as he went to his brother’s side. It was futile, because the thought pounded through his head again and again like the sound of a gun being fired among these hills, which captured every sound and threw it back.

  “I am here, Gaylord,” he said, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder, which quivered beneath the power of his fever. “How do you fare?”

  “Poorly.” He closed his eyes and sagged more deeply into the pillows. “They told me you were here in this desolate place, but I did not know if I would find you to deliver your new orders.”

  “New orders? You can tell me later.”

  “But—”

  “Later, Gaylord.” Sebastian did not have to look at Faith to sense how she stiffened. Not at his brother’s comment, but at his own tone. By crook and crown, how could she expect him to speak so openly of such matters when she was making every effort to hide something? But what? He could not guess, and now was not the time to probe.

  Faith said softly, “I will bring some broth for Mr. Kendrick.”

  “Lieutenant,” grumbled Gaylord with the pride that even his fever could not dampen. “Lieutenant Kendrick. Tell the lass that she needs to know to show some respect to me, Sebastian.”

  “You need to rest and get better, Gaylord.”

  “Send for the doctor and have him bleed me, and I shall be fine.”

  Sebastian looked at Faith and was astonished to see her smiling. He almost smiled back, then recalled why she did not find Gaylord’s words offensive. She had suffered far worse in the company of British soldiers. Wanting to remind her that she did not have to endure such abuse while he was here, he asked only, “Is there a doctor nearby?”

  “Not far. Father will have sent for him.” At the sound of a door closing in the distance, she added, “That must be Dr. Langley now.”

  Heavy footfalls came along the hall, so Sebastian was surprised to discover that the doctor was a slight man. Dr. Langley kept up a steady patter as he examined Gaylord and prescribed some powders for easing his aching head. In spite of Gaylord’s insistence, the doctor refused to bleed him because Gaylord already seemed to be recovering from his fever.

  When Faith left with the doctor, who assured them no quarantine was necessary, Sebastian mixed the powder in a glass of water and handed it to his brother. Gaylord took a sip and grimaced.

  “Your mistress?” Gaylord asked after draining the glass. “You did much better with this one than with Leonora, who was always trying to wheedle you into giving her what she wanted. This one seems properly respectful.”

  Sebastian laughed. “I am not sure which one of your off-the-mark statements to answer first. Faith is the daughter of our host, Cromwell. She is not my mistress.”

  “Then you are wasting a perfectly good opportunity.”

  “Maybe so, but you will learn quickly that Faith is not at all respectful. She has a mind of her own and speaks it whenever she believes she should.”

  “It may not be such a good opportunity, after all. You have no need of a shrew.” He put his hand to his forehead. “My head hurts so much that I could believe I had been struck by a ball.”

  “You should sleep—as soon as you tell me about these new orders.”

  “Now that Mistress Faith is gone?”

  Sebastian drew a chair up by his brother’s bed and said, “Tell me.”

  “You are going to like these orders.” Gaylord smiled weakly.

  “Let me judge that after you tell me what they are.”

  “First, the colonel wishes you to obtain what supplies you can to keep the rebels from using them.”

  With a grimace, Sebastian shook his head. “You thought I would like those orders?”

  “No, but I thought you would like the rest, because the colonel wants you to find a spy who is working in this area.”

  Sebastian formed fists on his knees. Here, at last, might be the very way he could prove himself in his father’s eyes and bring this war to a quicker close. He ignored a twinge at the thought of riding away from this small farm and not seeing Faith again. He must think of how long he had waited for a chance to be a hero. “All right, Gaylord. Give me what information you have.”

  Faith carried the bucket of scraps out of the kitchen. The surprisingly gentle breeze, which contained remnants of the warmth of early fall, lured her hair out from beneath her linen cap. Smoke drifted on the air, and she guessed the smokehouse at the Mertz farm was in use. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the smaller barn. Sebastian’s men had been away every day since Gaylord Kendrick arrived last week, but she did not want to chance meeting one of the mannerless brutes.

  Emery had made friends with several of the soldiers and tried to convince her that she must not judge all the men by the actions of a few. That her brother was repeating what Sebastian had said was vexing, especially as she usually found herself in agreement with Emery.

  She glanced around. No one was in sight. Good! As soon as she finished feeding the pigs, she would take a basket of knitting and food to Tom Rooke. She had agreed to meet him yesterday, but getting away had been impossible because Sebastian had been about each time she went to get the basket.

  Did Sebastian suspect that she was not being completely honest with him? She was sure he did. He seemed to be trying to keep an eye on all of them. She wished
she could send one of her brothers in her place, if either of them had been willing to go, but she did not want to endanger them.

  She quickly tossed the scraps to the pigs and went back to the house. She must take care so that no one took note of what she was doing next. Setting the bucket inside the kitchen door, she took the basket from under the table. She hooked it over her arm and strolled toward the road leading south.

  Every muscle was tense, but she saw nobody as she walked. She tried to force her shoulders to relax. When a squirrel ran in front of her, she almost shrieked. Her nervous laugh was a recrimination. She had been bringing supplies to Tom for several weeks now, and she never had been this uneasy.

  I never had Sebastian Kendrick watching me, either. A heated shiver coursed through her. What unsettled her was not that Sebastian was a British officer, but that his touch threatened to persuade her to open herself to him. She had had no trouble keeping this secret from her family, whom she loved. So why was she struggling with hiding it from Sebastian?

  She heard footsteps behind her. Before she could turn, hands covered her eyes. She drew in a breath to scream, but it vanished as she was whirled and a man’s mouth covered hers. Her eyes widened. She drew away to gasp, “Sebastian!”

  He laughed as he silenced her with his lips on hers again. She was consumed by the delight of his kisses. When he released her hand, she raised her arms around his wide shoulders. Her fingers splayed across his back, she realized they were touching linen, not wool.

  Pulling back again, she stared up at him. For the first time since she had met him on the road, he was not wearing his uniform. His dark cloak rippled back to reveal that. She forced her eyes away from how well his buckskin breeches followed his strong muscles and the way his open-collared shirt invited her fingers to explore him again. A dark string tied his hair back, but she imagined those black strands loose and brushing up against her face as he kissed her until her breath came in tempo with his.

  “You scared a fortnight off my life,” Faith said when she realized from his grin that he was aware of how she was looking at him. Stepping away from him before she could give in to her longing to be in his arms again, she asked, “Are you daft?”