by Lena Hart
For her, Africa was where her heart was. A home she’d never known. A trip she’d always wanted to take. He had offered that to her—a journey to a place unknown. So long as they made the voyage together. It didn’t really matter where they decided to go next because home was where they were.
“Africa it is, then,” he murmured, hugging her close.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Battle of Saratoga marked the turning point for the War of Independence (or Revolutionary War) on October 17, 1777, when British General John Burgoyne surrendered to American forces. Before that fateful surrender, Burgoyne waited for assistance from General Sir Henry Clinton, who had promised to send reinforcements to aid Burgoyne in the battle. Aid, however, never arrived. It is not known if Clinton actually sent the soldiers as he, too, was short on officers while he defended the British’s control over New York City. Eventually, Burgoyne grew impatient waiting for assistance, forging ahead into battle, which resulted in his surrender.
With the help of the Onyota’aka tribe (known today as the Oneida Indian Nation), the Americans, led by General Horatio Gates, defeated the British in the Battle of Saratoga. The Oneida are one of the five founding nations of the Iroquois Confederacy in the area of upstate New York. The Oneida tribe divided themselves into three clans: the Wolf, Bear, and Turtle. Known as the “First Allies” for their loyalty and support of the Americans during the Revolutionary War, the Oneida were one of the few Indian tribes to ally themselves with the American Colonists. More on the Oneida tribe can be read in Forgotten Allies by Joseph T. Glatthaar and James Kirby Martin.
In A SWEET SURRENDER, Sergeant James Blake and Siaragowaeh (”Siara”) are fictitious characters created for the purposes of this story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lena Hart is a Florida native currently living in the Harlem edge of New York City. Though she enjoys reading a variety of romance genres, she mainly writes sensual interracial romances with a flare of suspense and mystery. When Lena is not busy writing, she’s reading, researching, or conferring with her muse. To learn more about Lena and her work, visit LenaHartSite.com.
Enjoy a preview into Alyssa Cole’s
BE NOT AFRAID
CHAPTER 1
August 1776
Brooklyn, New York
Be not afraid.
Elijah repeated the words to himself as he squatted in the marshy ditch, what was originally a battle cry now a command he forced himself to obey. The man who had first shouted the words and charged the Redcoats at Boston Common had been courageous, but Elijah didn’t plan on joining him in the ranks of dead Patriot Negroes quite yet. He had come very close to it this night, though.
He gripped the cold metal barrel of his Brown Bess with one hand. With the other, he pulled out a grimy handkerchief and slowly wiped the blood from the bayonet. The Redcoat crumpled on the ground beside him had gasped his last breath only a moment before. Elijah held no personal hatred for the Brits; he hadn’t pulled away when the ruddy-cheeked man had reached for him, fear and desperation in his eyes as his guts spilled out. Elijah had even said a quick prayer over the still-warm body before searching it for ammunition and rations. He had no qualms about this act—the Continental Army was poorly supplied and the lobsterbacks were funded by the Crown.
The late summer night was unseasonably chill, and the wind cut through his shoddy uniform with ease. His breeches had ripped during his flight from the battle, and the cool night air gained entrance there as well. Elijah shivered and wished he were back at the farm tending to the horses, the only thing that made him feel at peace.
He shook his head at the indulgent thought.
Back at the farm, you’re a slave, and if you don’t keep fighting you’ll remain one, Elijah chided himself. Stop reminiscing about your equine friends and go find your regiment.
The attack on Brooklyn had been expected, given the area’s sparse population, but it still caught the Continentals unawares. When the skirmish had started, for one shining moment Elijah thought they might take the day. Then the Brits had fallen upon them like a wave crashing into the shore, scattering the untrained American soldiers like so many particles of sand. One Patriot turned tail, and then another, and then fight turned to flight en masse as they sought escape from the onslaught of red-coated Regulars. Elijah had been filled with shame as he fled the skirmish, stumbling over the marshy land for who knew how long, but the emotion disappeared when he fell into the ditch and the British soldier tumbled in after him. He was still alive and the other man wasn’t, and there was no shame in that.
“Unhand me!”
A common refrain on a battlefield, but the voice that rang out in the still night was much too unusual to go unheeded: an angry, feminine vibrato.
Elijah poked his head up, scanning his surroundings. Night had fallen and thick cloud cover obscured the stars, making it hard to see much of anything. He squinted, wondering if he was simply going mad from fear until he saw the ethereal form burst through the trees a few feet away from him. She was tall, perhaps as tall as him, and clad in a long, white gown that flowed around her feet as she ran. A hooded cloak obscured her features. When she stopped and turned, the cloak flapped in the wind, revealing a glint of metal clutched in her hand.
A stocky man with a rifle slung over his shoulder stumbled out of the woods close behind her, out of breath from giving chase. The man’s impeccably tailored red coat, fine stockings, and imperious gait were more than enough proof that he was a high-ranking officer in His Majesty’s Army.
“You’ve caused quite enough trouble tonight, Kate,” the man said between huffs. “You’ll return to my tent this instant, before we end up in the thick of the battle.”
A squabble with a camp follower, Elijah thought with contempt. He must have run further than he thought. He would hunker down until these two took their drama elsewhere, and then attempt to find his way back to his fellow Continentals.
“I’ll be damned if I do that,” the woman bit out in a familiarly accented voice. It had the dips and curves of the voices of the older women in the slave quarters, those who had not been born with a shackle linking them to these fledgling colonies. A gust of cold wind whipped across the marsh, knocking the woman’s hood back, and Elijah felt a tremor run through him that was entirely unrelated to the weather. Her kinky hair was cut short, exposing smooth dark skin pulled taut across high cheekbones and a proud forehead. Her eyes were narrowed and her full lips stretched into a grimace as she regarded the Redcoat who approached her. She was gorgeous in her fury.
Kate, Elijah thought, briefly angered by the dull British name likely given by her master. It in no way matched the woman before him.
“I was told that if I fled my rebel master and joined with the Crown I’d have my freedom,” she said. “There was no mention of bartering my body for the privilege. I will work, but not on my back. If you think I escaped just to be ravished by some bloody English bastard, you are mistaken, sir.”
“Come now, girl,” the man crooned, his voice placating. “Don’t act as if you’re stranger to a good tupping. I said I’d give you a bit of coin, what more do you want?”
“So romantic, you Brits,” she sneered. “Is that how your father wooed your mother before he rutted with her, then?”
“You disrespectful bitch, I’ll—” the man grabbed for her. Elijah didn’t know if the Redcoat saw the flash of the knife but he surely felt its point as the woman drove it into his sternum. The Englishman’s face went white with shock and he clasped the knife with both hands, tumbling to his knees before he could pull it free. The woman called Kate stood over him and watched, her face expressionless.
She didn’t even flinch, Elijah thought. As if she had heard him, she suddenly began to shake. It was cold, but not cold enough to produce the full body tremors that wracked the woman as she pulled her cloak close and stared at the dead man at her feet.
Elijah knew he should stay where he was and wait for this m
orbid tableau to come to its logical conclusion, with the woman fleeing into the night.
Bloody hell, he thought as he pulled himself from the ditch and started for her. His mother had always said that his heart was bigger than his brain.
He stepped on a branch as he approached, and the noise startled her. The clouds had passed and wan moonlight illuminated her gaze as she turned to face him. Her eyes were filled with a fear that made his heart constrict. It made no sense, given the harsh words and deadly action he had just witnessed, but in that moment she seemed like something fragile that should be held gently. A newly bloomed rose whose delicate petals might fall away at the slightest touch, despite her sharp thorns.
“Are you alright?” He walked toward her with hands raised. Dealing with skittish animals was his job, and the woman before him was not so different from a wild mare—one wrong move and she would bolt. He knew that he must proceed with caution, lest he frighten her. Her gaze flitted over his body, which he knew was a weapon in itself. A lifetime of plowing and planting and picking had seen to that.
She took a step back.
“I mean you no harm,” he said. “I saw what the bastard was attempting and he deserved what he got.”
She was still trembling, although her dark gaze was bright and sharp.
“Most of them aren’t like that,” she said, as if she needed to explain herself. “Most of the soldiers ignore me, unless they need me to do their wash or mend their uniforms. It was such a relief, after…after everything else. But this one, he fixed his attentions on me and he wouldn’t look away. I couldn’t let it happen again. It will not happen again.”
There was something entrancing in the warm tone of her voice. Her voice was quiet now, nearly carried away by the winds chasing the clouds through the night sky, but there was no mistaking the strength that undergirded her words.
Elijah walked over to the fallen man and began searching him. He’d gotten barely anything from the Regular in the ditch, but this man had a fine musket and an even finer revolver, plus a small satchel of coins. He took the weapons and tossed the coin purse to Kate. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t seem pleased. It was only then that Elijah realized that he wanted to please her.
“I’m going to find my regiment now, if you want to come with me,” he said. “The Loyalists scattered us, but I’m sure we’re regrouping somewhere.”
“You’re fighting with the Continentals, then?” she asked. “Are you daft?”
Surprise froze him first, and then Elijah’s temper flared. Suddenly, he was acutely regretting coming to Kate’s aid. He hadn’t been wrong in his initial assessment: she was a hard woman.
“Is it daft to fight for my country?” he asked. “This is my homeland, and I mean to defend it.”
He believed those words, believed them with all his soul. That he had other motivations for fighting, a deal struck between master and slave, was none of her concern.
“You speak like a man with book learning. A freedman, perhaps?” she asked, her hand gripping the coin purse. "I bet you grew up in some Northern town and have white neighbors who treat you nice. Well, let me remind you: you are a nigger and your country enslaves niggers. Yet you risk your life to help these men. Yes, I’d call that quite daft.”
Elijah reached for her, his anger sudden and intense. She thought she knew what he had been through, did she? Maybe he would strip his shirt off and show her how wrong she was.
It was only after her warm wrist was in his grip that he realized his actions mirrored those of the British officer. Kate was knifeless, so she didn’t stab him. She simply stared back at him with disdain.
“Oh, so the British are our great saviors, are they?” Elijah asked, annoyed by her icy disapproval and his reaction to it. “Says the woman who just killed one of the bastards for trying to molest her. Perhaps you’d like to ask our brethren down in the islands their opinion?”
She narrowed her gaze at him, and then whipped her arm around, the quick movement shaking him off of her. Her aim with the knife hadn’t been lucky; she knew how to fight.
“If the slaves in the island were offered freedom as we were, they’d think quite as well of the Crown as I do. The British are simply the lesser of two evils,” Kate said flatly. “Some folks may choose to stick with the devil they know. But the devil you know is still a devil, and when this war is over, he’ll send you straight to hell whether he wins or loses.”
Her words stung. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had the same thoughts himself. It would be foolish not to consider every option, especially with the Crown offering freedom to those slaves who deserted their Patriot masters and joined with them. But fighting for the colonists provided Elijah an opportunity for freedom, too, and he wouldn’t have to commit treason to get it.
“The Crown makes a tidy sum selling the likes of us, in addition to taxing the colonists for even breathing,” Elijah retorted. “Yet I suppose you imagine they’ll set you up with a house along the Thames when this ends. Now who’s daft?”
They simply stared at each other, the conversation having reached an impasse.
He shouldn’t have found her beautiful. She was rude, abrasive, and had insulted his intelligence. But his gaze was already fastened on her luscious mouth when it pulled up into a smirk.
“Many thanks for your offer of assistance, but, having tried slavery once, I find it’s not to my liking. I’ll be returning to the British camp, where at least I’m paid to be held in contempt,” she said.
“And I’ll be returning to my regiment, where I’ll fight for freedom for everyone, including those who turn their backs on their homeland,” Elijah retorted.
“This is not my homeland,” she said emphatically, her accent reinforcing her point. “But I wish you well in your endeavor…”
“Elijah,” he supplied. He didn’t know what compelled him. He would never see her again, but some part of him was adamant that she know him, if only in this small way. “Elijah Sutton.”
She nodded and stuffed the coin purse into a pocket in the lining of her cloak.
“Good evening to you, Elijah.”
She turned back in the direction she had come, just as a group of Redcoats emerged from the woods. Everything went still as the four soldiers took in the scene: Kate, who sparked recognition in their eyes; Elijah, who wore the uniform of the enemy; and the crumpled form of one of their officers on the ground. In a flash, three of the men were on him, wrestling him to the ground while the other turned over the body.
“It’s Trumbull! He’s killed Trumbull!”
Elijah grunted in protest as they pulled the dead man’s weapon from his back. His eyes flashed to Kate. All signs of the woman who gave cheek at every opportunity and could kill a man with one blow were gone. Her head was bowed demurely as she murmured, “It all happened so fast.”
“Why is the washwoman here?” one of the men holding him down asked.
“Good question,” Elijah said pointedly, and received a cuff to the ear for his trouble.
Kate’s eyes widened, gaze flying frantically from soldier to soldier.
“He—, I—,” she stammered, and then without the slightest warning she fell into a dead faint.
“Bloody hell,” one of the soldiers said. “Tie this one up. We’ll put him with the other prisoners. One of you pick her up. We’ll have to send some boys back for the body.”
As the men trussed him like game fowl, Elijah glared at Kate’s prone form. One eye fluttered open and then quickly squeezed shut when she saw him staring at her.
He growled in frustration. His mother had been right. Large heart, small brain, indeed.
Read the complete story, along with more stories of diversity and romance, in the historical romance anthology, FOR LOVE & LIBERTY: Untold Love Stories of the American Revolution (June 2014).
