Rapture's Betrayal (31 page)

“I don't care what you do with those two,” he said. “But I'll not stay! Out of my way or I'll kill her.”

Andrew had caught William Randolph's arms, and Richard held Thaddeus Phelps. Without her weapon, Kirsten could only stare at Rhoades, feeling helpless and angry.

“Love,” Richard breathed out softly. “My sword.”

She glanced down and spied the weapon which had fallen in the scuffle, but pretended that she hadn't noticed it as Rhoades inched toward the door.

“Don't listen to him,” Catherine said. “He can kill me; just don't listen to him!”

Rhoades jerked her as he edged toward the door. “Be silent!”

Kirsten's eyes met Catherine's. Something in her aunt's gaze encouraged her to try for the sword. She moved with a suddenness that took even Richard by surprise. At the same time, Catherine, who had remained limp within Rhoades's grasp, pulled forward, allowing Kirsten to drive the sword into the man's stomach.

Rhoades made gargling noises as the blade pierced his gut. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the knife fell harmlessly from his hand before he fell backward, squirming with agony, onto the bedchamber floor, the sword still buried in him.

Catherine went to him, and stepping on his chest with her bare foot, she withdrew the sword. With a smile, she then turned toward Kirsten and held up the bloody weapon, grinning at her stunned niece.

“Now, William,” Catherine said, “it's your turn.” And then to the shock of everyone else in the room, she thrust the sword point into her husband's neck. William's face contorted with surprise and horror before he slumped to the floor, dead, his blood staining the rug.

Kirsten looked sickly. Reaction had set in, and she started to tremble. Richard noticed and he was aware of the now quietly sobbing Catherine. He ordered Andrew to help secure the prisoner, Phelps. Then he ushered the two women from the room and the house.

Fletcher and the other three soldiers had returned by the time Richard and the women stepped outside.

“Sir,” Fletcher said, “we couldn't find the Tories. Not even a clue.”

Richard nodded, his expression serious. “That's because there were none, Private, but for the three men in the upstairs bedchamber with Jones.” He had his arm about Kirsten's shoulders, and he gave her a squeeze to remind her that he was by her side.

“I'll need two of you to help Jones remove the bodies,” he continued, addressing the soldiers. “Rhoades is dead. He was a traitor to the cause.”

Fletcher and a soldier named Martin volunteered, so Richard turned to Harris and the remaining Continental. “The stable must be checked. These ladies will want to return to the Van Atta farm. If one of you will do that, I'll send the other to alert Washington. We must have more men. There is a band of Tories to be taken, and with enough soldiers to assist that shouldn't take but a few hours.”

Private Fiske volunteered to go to the general, while Harris went to ready a wagon to take Kirsten and her aunt home.

Catherine had stopped crying. Richard met her gaze. “Are you all right?” he asked. She sniffed once, but nodded. “Harris is going to take you to your sister-in-law's.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Richard turned to the woman he loved. “Kirsten, it's all right. Everything's all right now.”

“Oh, Richard”—she sobbed—“all that blood.”

He pulled her head against his chest and tenderly stroked her long platinum locks. “I know, love. I know,” he murmured.

Soldiers came from the house with their prisoner, Phelps. Andrew approached Richard to give him a report. “We've removed the bodies, sir.”

The women started to cry again.

“Thank you, Andrew,” Richard said, his voice soft as he noted the young man's concern.

It wasn't long before Harris brought around the wagon.

“Take them home,” Richard said. “I've got a job to do.” He turned Kirsten so that she faced him. “Private Harris is going to escort you—”

Kirsten grabbed his arm. “No, Richard!” she cried. “You mustn't leave me!”

He stroked her cheek with his other hand, his expression tender. “I must. I'll be all right, Kirsten. . Please, go home now.” He gently removed her hand.

Richard climbed awkwardly onto the saddle of his horse and gazed down at his commander in chief. “I must do this, sir. It will be my last assignment but my most important one.”

General George Washington nodded. “I understand, soldier. Although I'll be sorry to see you go.”

The recently promoted Continental captain rubbed his leg and smiled. He'd been wounded during the raid on the Tory cabin, caught across the knee with a bullet from John Greene's gun. It had been some time since the skirmish in which the Patriots had taken the Tory camp. Richard had been staying at the Hoppe tavern; his recovery was slow. John Greene had been rewarded with death, like his two older brothers before him.

Richard set his cocked hat upon his head and took up the reins as he prepared to leave. “Andrew . . . ah, I mean Private Jones . . . is a good soldier, General,” he said.

Washington smiled as his gaze shifted toward the young man. “He's a good boy. I can see that.” He paused. “I'll keep an eye on him for you.”

Richard swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. “Thank you, sir,” he said in a husky voice. “I'd appreciate that.”

Now that Alex's killer and the traitor had been found, Richard's mission was complete. With Randolph and Rhoades dead, that left only Thaddeus Phelps. On the day of the capture, the disfigured man had been turned over to the general to await Washington's decision regarding his fate. Randolph's wife was learning to live with what had happened. As for Kirsten she was already herself again, for she knew she'd made the only choice open to her in killing a man.

“General, what of Phelps?”

Washington frowned. “I haven't decided yet, but rest assured he'll not be murdering any more of our men.”

Kirsten had ridden her mare to the edge of the Paramus encampment and had entered the camp on foot. As she stood out of sight, waiting to speak with Richard, she couldn't help but hear his conversation with the general. She didn't like the topic under discussion.

She watched as Richard prepared to leave, and then hurried along the rear of the tents to intersect his path. He'd nearly reached the road when she planted herself firmly before him, her hands on her hips. Taken by surprise, Richard muttered a nasty oath and drew back on the reins to stop his mount.

“Just where do you think you're going,
mynheer?”

He stared at her. His lips formed a straight line, and his russet eyes glowed with a strange light. “I suppose you were eavesdropping on the general and me.”

Flushing with guilt, she nodded.

“So you know I'm proceeding to my next assignment,” he said slowly. “A very important one.” He eased himself off the saddle, his movements stiff. “A last assignment for a cripple.”

Kirsten protested. “You're not crippled!”

He limped toward her and touched her cheek. “This leg may not heal. I may never walk properly again.”

“So? Does a leg make a man?”

Richard's lips curved. “What are you telling me?”

She hesitated. His mission was over, but he planned to leave her again. She was hurt. She was angry. She wanted him to stay. “It wouldn't matter to me.”

“You wouldn't care, let's say, if your husband hobbled about for the rest of his life?”

Her eyes filling with tears, she inclined her head.

“Good,” he said abruptly. “I was hoping you'd say that, because you see, my dear, my assignment happens to be in Hoppertown.” He paused. “As your husband . . . keeping you out of trouble and safe.”

Kirsten blinked, startled. She was afraid to hope. Was this a dream? A hoax? It seemed not, for Richard was regarding her with flaming, golden brown eyes. The tenderness and love in his expression was real.

“I'm asking you to marry me,” he said.

“But the war—”

“My enlistment's up. I'll continue to do my part-here, in Hoppertown. There are a lot of troops who'll need our help, hungry men waiting to be clothed and fed.”

She melted. “Oh, Richard . . .”

He smiled. “Say it once more. I love the way you pronounce my name. I could listen to you say it over and over again. I'll never tire of hearing it on your sweet lips.”

She threw herself into his open arms, and he kissed her until her head was spinning and all five of her senses became alert and alive.

“Richard, I love you,” she said when they'd ended their kiss to briefly come up for air.

“And I love you.” His voice was husky with desire. “But will you marry me?”

Kirsten grinned up at him impishly. “I must think—”

He grabbed her, kissed her hard. She clung to him as he deepened the intimacy until she was reeling and breathless and aching with wanting him.

“Richard, Richard, yes,” she gasped, “I'll marry you!”

Candace McCarthy is the author of 20 romances—18 historicals and two contemporaries. She won the National Reader's Choice Award for her book,
White Bear's Woman,
and has been voted one of
Affaire de Coueur's
Top Ten Favorite Authors on many occasions. She lives in Delaware with her husband Kevin, whom she married over 36 years ago. Candace and Kevin have one son, who is now grown and married, and three granddaughters. She is currently at work on new stories. Readers can find more information on Candace and her books at
www.candacemccarthy.com
.

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