Authors: Traitorous Hearts
It was almost too bad they were only three miles from New Wexford.
She wriggled, settling back more comfortably into her perch.
He groaned loudly, as if he were in intense pain. Perhaps he'd
been hurt back in the chaos at the camp after all, and she hadn't even noticed.
How insensitive of her.
"Are you all right, Jon?"
No!
He clamped his molars together before the word escaped. Lord, this
was getting worse all the time. After carrying her all that way, her body
jiggling against him with every step, he'd figured riding behind her on a horse
had to be easy.
He'd figured wrong. She nestled so easily between his thighs,
fitting him as no other woman ever had. He was acutely aware that he now had a
free hand, a hand that could so easily slip up, down, over, around—any of those
places sounded mighty good to him.
"I'm fine," he ground out. Fine, as long as she didn't
start wondering what the hard lump against her lower back was. "Just a
little, um..."
Stiff,
his mind supplied. "Tired," he said
quickly.
She yawned. "Me, too. It's been a long night."
He slipped his arm around her waist. He could do that. It was
pretty safe.
"Comfortable?"
"Mm-hm."
He tightened his hold on her. "Go to sleep, Beth. I won't let
you fall."
"Beth?" he whispered, her soft curls stirring against
his lips as he spoke. She'd been asleep for at least ten minutes. He'd
immediately known when her body relaxed in his arms. The knowledge that she
trusted him enough to keep her safe while she slept was curiously appealing.
Now they'd reached their destination, and he was reluctant to disturb her.
They were in front of the Dancing Eel. The windows were shuttered
and the place was quiet, as if all the occupants were peacefully sleeping—or
were absent entirely. He would have been content to stay there with her,
warming her with his body, letting her rest, but he knew he had to get back to
the fort. In the madness that had reigned when he left, no one would notice his
absence, but he didn't know how much longer that would be the case. It was
equally necessary he get to Ben Walters, the young soldier he'd clocked on the head,
before Ben's tale spread too far through the ranks.
He could count on Captain Livingston not to act precipitously. The
captain wouldn't give orders based merely on a woolly-headed youngster's
dubious identification of a woman he'd seen only briefly in the dark.
Unfortunately, Jon wasn't quite as sure of some of his fellow soldiers. Those
who'd been injured, discomfited, or downright insulted by the attack might find
it necessary to investigate rather vigorously. Jon intended to dissuade them.
"Beth. It's time to get up now, Beth," he said more
urgently.
"Mmm?" She arched sleepily, a sinuous stretch of muscle
and limbs, like an elegant cat awakening from its afternoon nap. He ground his
teeth together; the slow sway of her body against his with the rhythm of the
horse had left him perilously close to the edge of his control. Now, her
unconscious sensuality was nearly more than he could take.
"We're home."
"Home?" Apparently suddenly aware of the way she was
snuggled up against him and of his body pressed against hers, she straightened
her spine abruptly, putting as much distance between them as their positions on
the horse allowed.
"Oh. Well, then." She started to swing her leg forward
over the neck of the horse.
"Stay there."
He slipped easily off the back of the horse and scooped her into
his arms before she had a chance to protest.
"Really, Jon, I'm sure I can stumble my way into the tavern.
It's only a few steps."
He tightened his arms around her. "Not going to start arguing
this again, are you?"
"No, of course not. It's simply that I've asked far too much
of you already tonight, and—"
"Didn't ask. Now quiet."
"But Jon—"
"Arguing," he said warningly.
She shut her mouth. She wasn't stupid. If the man was going to
insist on carting her around some more, who was she to object? Especially when
he did it so competently. Since this was as close to a romantic gesture as any
man was ever likely to make to her, she might as well enjoy it fully.
If only the door was just a little bit farther away.
When he reached the Eel, Jon turned, set his upper back to the
door, and gave a shove. The door gave easily, opening smoothly on its oiled
leather hinges, and he stepped inside.
The tavern was illuminated by a single lantern. Four of her
brothers were there, slumped around a table staring glumly into their tankards.
Looking bedraggled, worn, and worried, they swung their heads toward the new
arrivals.
"Bennie! Thank God, it's Bennie!" One of them— one of
the younger ones, Jon thought, although they all rather looked the same—jumped
to his feet, toppling his chair in the process.
"Calm down, Henry. I'm fine. I take it you all are safe,
too?"
Henry dragged a hand through the loose curls of his hair, which
looked startlingly blond against the blackness of his smudged face. "Well,
of course we are. But you—it took you so long to get back! Where have you
been?"
"Yes, Elizabeth. It might be rather interesting to hear, at
that." The man's voice was laced with amusement. It was Brendan; this
brother, slender and dark, Jon remembered, if only because he was so different
than the other Joneses.
"Bennie," Henry repeated, this time with shock instead
of relief. It was as if at first he'd been too relieved to see her safe and
sound to register that she was wrapped up in Jon's arms. Now he had, and the
veins in his neck bulged. Clenching his fists, he started for Jon. "Just
what are you doing with my sister!"
"Oh, my word." She was abruptly, embarrassingly
conscious of what it must look like. She was being carried into the tavern in
the arms of a man, a big, strong, wonderful-looking man who was wearing nothing
but boots and a pair of loosely buttoned breeches. Heavens! What were her
brothers going to make of this? If the Lord were merciful, perhaps the other
four wouldn't find out.
She wiggled a bit, trying to get her feet safely on the ground.
Jon tightened his hold and spared her a brief frown. It was futile. She wasn't
going anywhere.
"She's hurt." Jon carried her over to the nearest table
and gently settled her on a bench, propping her injured leg up on the plank.
His fingers skimmed lightly over her ankle, tucking in the edges of his
makeshift bandage. He lifted his gaze to hers. "How is it?"
"It doesn't hurt too much. I'm sure it will be fine in a few
days." She was warmed by his care of her and the tender concern in his
eyes. She was used to being treated as capable, practical, and self-sufficient.
Accustomed to being the caretaker, the protector, she'd underestimated the
appeal of being on the receiving end of someone else's concern.
"Stay off it," he ordered.
"Yes, sir, Lieutenant." She saluted him smartly.
"Now see here." Henry shouldered his way past Jon to
hover at Bennie's side. "Where the hell have you been? What did he do to
you? Did he hurt you? And you—" He turned to face Jon. "Just where
the bloody hell is your shirt?"
"Ankle."
Henry wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "What?"
"Put my shirt around her ankle."
"Bennie."
She smiled up at Henry brightly, in no hurry to disabuse him of
either his worry or bafflement. After all, she knew right well the whole night
had been his idea in the first place.
"Bennie, you tell me what happened or I'm going to beat it
out of the lump over there."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure you'll be just as successful at that as you
were at the arm-wrestling," she said sweetly.
"Bennie," he repeated, frustration clear in his voice.
"If you must know, I was captured."
"Captured!"
"Well, nearly. A soldier caught up with me right before I
reached the path. I suppose I'd spent too long at the camp, watching to make
sure you all didn't do something foolish."
"Ben—" Henry began apologetically.
"Guess it runs in the family, doesn't it? I should have left
earlier. Anyway, I'd nearly managed to escape the soldier, when I stepped in
something—I don't know, a hole, a burrow, whatever—and turned my ankle."
"How did you get away?"
"Jon..." She stopped, turning from her brother to regard
Jon soberly, the full impact of what he had done for her finally registering.
He had hit someone. One of his own men. It would certainly be
considered treason, injuring a British soldier in order to help a colonial. It
had undoubtedly gone against everything he'd spent the last several years doing
and may well have put him in jeopardy besides.
And he had done it for her.
"Jon—"
"It will be fine," he said, as if he could read her
concern.
"He didn't see me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Would someone please finish telling me what happened?"
Henry's patience was long past the breaking point.
"Jon saved me."
"What? How?"
"I'm here, and I'm safe, Henry. That's all you need to
know."
"But he's a..." Brit. Redcoat. Lobsterback. The enemy.
Henry whirled to gape at Jon.
"Friend," Jon suggested.
"But—"
"Friend," Bennie agreed. He was more than that, she
knew, but for now that would have to do.
"Shouldn't you be getting back before someone discovers your
absence?" Despite the quiet pitch of Brendan's voice, it carried an impact
that none of the others' shouts ever had.
Jon bobbed his head. "Yes. Long walk."
"Walk!" Bennie protested. "You're not walking all
the way back. Take a horse."
"Can't take your horse."
"Exactly. He can't," Brendan agreed. "Besides, it's
not that long a walk."
Jon glanced at Brendan. It was a quick look, not enough to raise
suspicion, but after years of practice, Jon could gather a good deal of
information with a minima] glance.
Brendan was calm, almost unnaturally so; he seemed completely
unsurprised by the events of the evening. Jon wondered if that quiet demeanor
was ever disturbed by anything, and if anyone ever really knew what went on
beneath it. Perhaps with a bit of time and a little probing, Jon could catch a
glimpse.
"You could come with me. Bring the horse back here
after," Jon suggested.
Brendan smiled slightly, but his eyes were dark with calculating
intelligence. This one, Jon knew, was going to be the toughest one to fool.
Brendan shook his head slowly. "No. If you just turn the
horse loose and give him a slap, he'll find his way back. The question is, will
you?"
"Brendan!" Bennie was shocked by his barb. Except for
the occasional jab at members of his family, he rarely bothered to insult
anyone and generally seemed to prefer to keep his opinions to himself.
Jon, however, seemed unperturbed. "Oh, sure. Fine.
It's bright out, and I remember the road. Been on it many
times." Turning his back on Brendan and the others, Jon bent over to check
her bandage once more. His big form filled her vision, blocking her view of her
brothers and of the rest of the room. His fingers wandered above the wrapping,
slowly rubbing her leg. After spending so much of the night pressed against his
body, she was somewhat disconcerted to find that this small touch had a nearly
identical effect on her.
He gently massaged the bottom of her calf, and the warmth of his
fingers spread easily through her breeches. Her whole leg began to feel loose
and floaty. She sighed. Pain? What pain?
"I'll send your shirt back," she said.
His smile was dazzling, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
"Keep it. Yours now."
***
"What the hell happened!"
Sergeant Hitchcock winced as his captain's bellow resounded
through the now quiet camp. The fact that the captain had hollered was an
indication of just how upset he was; the captain always prided himself on his
patrician, perfectly modulated tones. He might be in the army, but he was still
Quality, and he wouldn't lower himself to such an unbecoming thing as shouting.
Unless, of course, his camp had nearly been destroyed by a raid.
Hitchcock warmed his fingers over a small campfire. It was still
damn cold out, and he was unlikely to get warmer anytime soon. The worst of the
blaze was finally out, but there was a lot more work to do before the night was
over. Even then, there was hardly going to be a nice warm tent for him to crawl
into.
He sighed; it was no use moaning over something that couldn't be
helped. If there was one thing he'd learned in nearly thirty years in the army,
it was to forget about the things that were done and past and get on with the
job at hand.