Rapture's Betrayal (21 page)

“Hell and damnation!” he muttered. He shifted on the platform, getting into a fighting crouch.

Someone was at the door to the smokehouse. Richard grabbed Kirsten by the shoulders and pulled her against him in a protective embrace. She heard his legs shift as he prepared to attack.

Kirsten heard the sound of the iron lock. She stared at the door. Who was on the other side? Her uncle? Greene? She shuddered. Were they coming to kill them? Her uncle was capable of murder; she was sure of that now that she knew he'd frequently beat his wife and son.

Her pulse quickened with fear. Were they coming for Richard, to torture him for information?

She heard wood scrape against wood as the person outside raised the bar. The door squeaked and slowly swung in. Kirsten caught her breath. A lone man was silhouetted against the opening.

Suddenly, Kirsten found herself tossed to one side as Richard lunged.

The intruder cried out as he fell back under the force of Richard's weight, and Kirsten scrambled from the platform, watching as the two rolled across the ground in a deadly tussle. Then she recognized the stranger.

“Richard!” she cried. “Stop! Please! It's Miles!”

Richard didn't hear her as he slammed a fist into the youth's face. Kirsten gasped as her cousin fell back, knocked senseless.

Richard, seeing his victim out cold, rose and, with a cocky smile of victory, turned to Kirsten. Then his smile disappeared.

“Spitterbaard!”
she exclaimed, kneeling at her cousin's side. “I told you to stop. It's Miles. He's come to help us.”

The guilty look on Richard's face might have appeared comical to Kirsten if she'd been in a different state of mind. Richard cursed as he bent down at the boy's other side. “I'm sorry, love. I didn't realize.”

“Obviously,” she snapped. “Tell him you're sorry when he wakes—
if
he wakes up.”

Richard scowled. “I didn't kill him if that's what you're implying. I didn't even hit him that hard. ”

Kirsten grunted with disbelief.

Richard tried to revive the boy. He could see now that it was indeed Kirsten's young cousin, Miles Randolph; and although the lad's father was a Tory, Miles certainly posed no threat.

“Come on, fella,” he urged. “Get up!” He gently patted the boy's cheek. “Wake up!”

Miles stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes, saw Richard, and flinched.

“It's all right,” Kirsten said. “He didn't know it was you.” She sensed Richard's gratitude for her support, but chose to pretend otherwise.

Miles turned his head in Kirsten's direction. “Kirsten! It was you I saw from my bedchamber window! I couldn't believe it when they brought you in! What happened? What did you do?”

“It's not what she did,” Richard said, and Miles glared at him.

“Miles,” Kirsten said gently, “he's a friend, but don't listen to him. It was my fault as well as his. He's only trying to protect me. The fact is, Richard was with the Tories who were attacked this night by our local militia.”

Her cousin blinked. “I'm aware he's a Tory, but what are
you
doing with him?” He continued to regard Richard with suspicion.

“Trust me,” Kirsten said, “he's a friend. He's told me so, and . . . I believe him.”

Richard touched her arm, squeezing it lightly. You must get home,” he told her. “The militia—I must speak with them. There'll be others coming. Tories . . . British troops. Smugglers transporting goods to the King's men to the south.”

“From New York?” she guessed.

He nodded.

Kirsten glanced at her cousin. Miles lay on the ground, looking better. His color was good, and he seemed none the worse for Richard's fists. “Your mother . . . ?”

“She's all right. She's sleeping.”

She sighed with relief. “I was planning to come for her, to take her to join the others at the Van Voorhees'.”

“Your family is at this farm?” Richard asked with raised eyebrows.

She inclined her head, studying his handsome features.

“Go there then,” he said, “where you'll be safe. I'll be back to see you again.” His voice deepened. “I promise.”

“I don't know . . .”

“There are many I must talk with. Now that Greene and the others realize I'm not one of them, I must work quickly to complete my mission. I suspect that Greene and your uncle are somehow involved with Biv—and perhaps someone in Washington's command.” He scowled. “If only I had more time!”

“Richard, don't go,” Kirsten pleaded, rising to her feet. “Or, at least, let me go with you. What if the militia won't believe you're one of us? What if they take you prisoner?”

“Then, I'll send for you.” Richard stood.

“And if they won't wait? Won't listen?”

“It's a chance I must take.” He grinned. “If that happens, I'm sure you'll hear about it. I'll expect you to rescue me.”

Afraid for him, Kirsten shook her head. “Please, Richard, no.” Her eyes filled with tears as she memorized his beloved features. She had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to him, but when he was so determined to go, how could she convince him to stay?

Miles cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the two lovers. “You'd best go,” he said as he scrambled to his feet. “Before Father or one of the others hear and come.” He brushed the dirt from the seat of his breeches.

Kirsten eyed her cousin with concern. “You will be all right? Your father must not learn of this.”

“I'll be fine. My father doesn't know I'm aware of your presence here. He'll not guess I was involved.”

She nodded. “He'll blame one of the others.” She patted his cheek lightly. “Thanks, cousin, for the rescue.”

Miles's gaze held affection. “I should let you free and lock him up.” He jerked his head in Richard's direction.

“But then Uncle William will know.”

The youth sighed. “Go then—the both of you—and hurry. The morning sun will be up before you know it, and you'll be caught before you've had a chance to flee.”

Kirsten kissed his cheek. “If ever you need me . . .”

He smiled at her. “I know.”

“Be careful,” she whispered. She hoped Miles was right in that his father wouldn't learn he'd helped her escape. She couldn't bear it if Miles was punished by William Randolph.

Miles nodded as he turned away. “Go.”

And the two lovers fled into the dark night.

 

 

They traveled to the Van Atta farm first. Richard thought to check there, because it was closer than the Van Voorhees' place, and there was a good chance that with the time they'd spent in the smokehouse, Kirsten's family might have returned home.

He was wrong, however. When they arrived, the house was dark. Despite the hour, Richard could tell that there was no one home. There was no sign of a return, not a wheel track in the yard or a footprint in the soft dirt. Nothing.

Kirsten went to the barn to see if the animals were still there. Their cow was, but someone had come back for the horses. Pieter must have returned to take the animals away for safekeeping, or else the horses had been stolen by fleeing Tory soldiers.

Richard wouldn't allow Kirsten to go to the Van Voorhees' farm by herself. And so, despite the added risk he was running, he escorted her to the Patriot shelter. With Greene and the Tories free, there was a chance she might be apprehended along the way, and if that happened, he feared Kirsten would suffer because of the men's anger at “Canfield.”

He stopped in view of the Van Voorhees' house, but out of sight of those who hid there. It was time to part, the moment Kirsten had been most dreading.

“Richard.” A painful lump clogged her throat. “You'll be careful?”

He looked at her, and she could see well enough to glimpse the tenderness of his expression, the glow of his russet eyes.

“I'll be fine,” he said. “And you? You'll be all right? You won't again take any foolish chances?”

She nodded. “You will come back.”

“When I can. I don't know exactly when. I must speak to your militiamen. Then, I must find General Washington and report what I've learned. I've no idea what he wants me to do next.”

“Richard, I don't know about the militia. There are those among them who are obsessed. Some saw you with the Tories, know you as one of them. I don't believe you'll be as safe as you think.”

“It's a risk I must take.”

Her blue eyes glistened. “Find Martin then. Talk to him first. You know who he is?”

He inclined his tawny head.

“Make sure he knows I'm well.”

She and Martin had become close in their efforts to help the cause. Almost as close as she and Miles were.

Miles . . . She frowned. She hoped he was all right. If his father had learned of his part in their escape . . .

“What's wrong?” Richard asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I'm worried about Miles.”

“Don't be. He's a smart young man. I'm sure he'll cover his tracks well.”

“I hope you're right,” Kirsten murmured.

Richard drew her into his arms. “A kiss to hold me until my return?”

She was thrilled with his mention of returning, and she raised her chin happily, offering him her lips. He bent his head and touched her mouth lightly, sipping her sweetness as one would sip a glass of fine wine, savoring the flavor, the moment of pure sensual enjoyment.

Suddenly, the kiss changed. Richard's arms tightened, and Kirsten reacted accordingly, moaning softly, leaning up into his kiss. There was a desperation to their embrace. The threats of war and an unknown future hung over them like clouds blocking out the sun. They fought to get closer, to feel the warmth of their own special sun, the light that came from being near the one most cared about.

Would they be reunited? Kirsten wondered. She clung to him, unwilling to let go.

The two lovers disengaged. “'Bye, love,” Richard said softly, holding her lightly within the circle of his arms.

She could hear his labored breathing, feel the thunder of his heart beneath her fingertips. She stroked the hard muscles of his chest before slipping her arms about his waist in an attempt to bring him to kiss her again. When he wouldn't, she settled for leaning against him in a quiet moment of companionship.

Kirsten raised her head. “I don't want you to go,” she said.

“I don't want to go, but I must. Many depend on me.”

She nodded, blinked back tears.

And then, with a last, quick kiss, Richard urged her toward the Van Voorhees' residence. After he saw that she'd entered safely, he went on his way.

When Kirsten returned to the Van Voorhees' farm, her mother was frantic with worry.

“Daughter, my God! Where have you been? I've not seen you or your
vader
for hours. You are all right? You have seen your
vader?
He is all right?”

“I saw him earlier, but that is all. I'm afraid I don't know if he and the others are safe. I believe so, though. When I left them, the militia were holding their own.”

There was a knock on the Van Voorhees' door. Mrs. Van Voorhees rushed to get it for a second time. As if conjured by magic, James Van Atta stood on the stoop, swaying tiredly but otherwise unhurt.

“James!”

The two women cried out in unison.

Smiling, Mrs. Van Voorhees stepped aside to let her neighbor in. “Please come in, James.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

Kirsten and Agnes sprung at their loved one to hug him. Behind him, still on the stoop, another member of the militia, George Zabriskie, waited to see his family. The Zabriskies' cries of joy echoed the feeling of happiness in Kirsten's heart.

She stepped back to better study her father. Had Richard spoken to the men yet? There had barely been time . . .

Her father had brought the farm wagon, and it was dawn when the Van Atta family climbed into it and headed for home.

“Vader,
where are the horses?” Kirsten asked as they rolled and bumped over the dirt road. The faithful mare Hilga was with them, tied to the back of the wagon, while a gelding pulled them along.

“Pieter has them. He went back to get them when some of the Tories escaped.”

Kirsten nodded. It was just as she'd thought. She silently thanked God that the Tories hadn't stolen them. “The other men—are any hurt?”