Midnight (22 page)

“Your man beat him very badly. His lips had to be sewn by a surgeon and he lost a few teeth.”

“Nicholas didn’t care for him striking me any more than I.”

“He said you deserved it for being disrespectful and obstinate.”

“Again, he’s only given you his side of the matter.”

Faith still had no idea what this visit was about, but her bath was waiting. She needed Elizabeth to get to the point. “Is there another reason you are here?”

“His wealth, or should I say his lack of it.”

“Meaning?”

“Is he as penniless as he now claims?”

Faith met the question in Elizabeth’s eyes.
So the fatted calf turned out to be straw.
Faith had nothing for her. “You will have to take that up with him.” Hoping to intimate the end of the visit, Faith got to her feet.

Elizabeth ignored it. “He promised me new dresses, a home, a carriage.”

“That’s between you and your husband.”

“Did he think I married him for his handsome appearance?”

“Why did you marry him?” Faith asked her bluntly.

Elizabeth turned away for moment as if to ponder that, and Faith saw a brief modicum of what appeared to be regret. But in the end, she flashed Faith a hostile look and stood. “Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll show myself out.”

Faith watched her depart. Upon hearing the door close she left the parlor to make certain the young woman was truly gone, and saw her being driven away by a young, blond-haired British soldier seated atop the wagon. The surprising sight made an interesting encounter even more so. However, Faith didn’t have the time or the desire to dwell upon the new Mrs. Kingston’s machinations; the water for her bath was probably good and hot, so she wearily ascended the staircase once more.

That evening as Faith lay in bed reading, she wondered how Nicholas might be faring. She missed him dearly. Was he still angry, or had the time away allowed his ire to drain? She’d prefer the latter, but had no way to determine whether it had or not, until he came home.

Her mind drifted to Elizabeth’s surprising visit. Faith felt not a teaspoon of sympathy for the conniving young woman with her soldier driver. It was plain from the conversation that she was beginning to regret her marriage, but Faith felt nothing for her on that, either. Although the church encouraged people to take the high road, she couldn’t help but enjoy learning that the bed her father and his bride had made was filled with rocks and nails.

Exhausted after the long day, she set her book aside, blew out the candles, and snuggled down into the bedding to sleep.

O
n the fourth morning that Nicholas was away, Faith was returning home from visiting Bekkah when Henri Giles rode up.

“Good morning, Henri,” she said with as much cheer as she could manage. Both she and Bekkah were worried that they’d heard no news from their men.

“Good morning. Is Nicholas about?”

“He’s away for a few days. Business.”

Henri looked her in the eye. “Rebel business, no doubt.”

Faith’s face remained bland. “Is there something I may help you with?”

“I saw your father yesterday. He came to the general’s office to show off the results of his fight with Nicholas.”

“And?”

“I assume it was earned?”

“It was. He struck me again.”

His lips thinned.

“What was the general’s response?” she asked.

“Dismissed him summarily. Said with war imminent, he had no time to intervene into petty disputes.”

The answer was a double-edged one. It was good to know that her father no longer had the general’s ear but not good to hear that the war the colonies had been anticipating would really come to pass. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. When will Nick return?”

“Soon” was all she would say.

“Then consider me at your service until he does.”

She gave him a curtsy, then smiling winningly, asked, “How would you like to buy some bread?”

To her delight, he purchased what she had left, minus the two loaves she kept for herself. He also contracted with her for a future dozen loaves a week. The price they negotiated was fair in Faith’s estimation and she couldn’t have been more pleased.

As she walked with him back outdoors to where he’d tied his horse, he said, “You can count on me buying at least a dozen loves a week for as long as I’m deployed here. I’d prefer to come by and pick them up on Saturday afternoons so that the men can have fresh bread with their Sunday rations.”

“Saturday afternoons it shall be. Thank you, Henri.”

Astride his horse now, he bowed. “Thank you. When Nicholas returns please pass along my regards.”

“I will.”

Offering her a final nod and a smile, he rode back towards Boston. Faith reentered the house humming happily. In the kitchen she did a quick inventory of the ingredients she’d need to make more bread. There were enough dry goods like meal and flour but only enough molasses on hand to make Henri’s initial twelve-loaf order and then she’d have to buy more. Because of the British blockade of Boston’s harbor and the colonial boycott of slave owners in the Indies who’d gone along with the hated sugar tax imposed by Parliament, molasses, also a key ingredient in the making of rum, was increasingly difficult to come by. Any quantity that did make it to sale commanded extremely high prices. She remembered that there were two gallons back at her father’s inn, not that that did her any good, but she would have to find more for purchase if she wanted to fill Henri’s future orders.

That afternoon, an unfamiliar man came to the door. He said he had a delivery for her from Babette Locke. It was all the new clothing Nicholas had purchased and she was so eager to see what Mrs. Locke had created she could barely contain her excitement. The driver carried in first one trunk and then returned to the wagon to bring back a second. Faith tipped him for his service out of her bread profits, and once he took his leave to continue his other deliveries, she knelt and lifted the lid on the first trunk. It was filled with beautiful lace-trimmed shifts, satin drawers, and petticoats, and the exquisite design and needlework took her breath away. The second trunk held three well-tailored day dresses, a skirt, and a matching overblouse. Beneath those garments was a thin layer of linen and below it were three beautiful nightgowns. Faith held up the first one; it was made of lightweight snow white wool that weighed next to nothing. It lacked any ornamentation and had a curious split in the back that began at the top of her spine and veed down to the base. She guessed it was meant to be worn in that way, but she’d have to put it on to be sure. Gently setting it aside, she investigated the two remaining. They were obviously designed to please a husband’s eyes. There was lace, and tiny buttons she could already imagine Nicholas slowly undoing. They both weighed less than a cloud, and she was certain they’d feel that way once she put them on. She wondered how Nicholas might react to her wearing them, but in order to gauge his response he’d have to come home first, she reminded herself. However, she found Mrs. Locke’s creations quite dazzling, and so emptied the trunks and carried the bounty up to her room.

Faith had dinner at Bekkah’s. They’d taken to eating together the past few days, and this evening Charity and the baby joined them. Ingram had left earlier in the day to be trained in his duties and Charity had needed cheering up. Peter never failed to put a smile on Bekkah’s face. She and Arte had been married for over a decade but had yet to have any children. She always made a fuss over Peter whenever he was around and the look on her face when she held him was touching to see. Holding Peter often made Faith wonder about the possibilities of her and Nicholas having little ones as well.

When they ended their evening, they shared hugs, and Charity and Faith went back to their respective homes.

Faith had decided even if Nicholas never came home again, she was never moving away unless she could take the bathing tub with her. Washing up and then soaking herself in a hot tub of rose-scented water had become an evening ritual.

She was lying in the chest-high water with her head cushioned by one of the house’s fat towels and daydreaming when she heard a few familiar footfalls on the stairs. Sitting straight up, she listened, hoping it hadn’t been a tub-fed fantasy, and then she heard his voice. “Faith? Where are you?”

The part of herself that was still modest around him wanted to jump from the tub and cover herself, but the part of herself that loved the touch of his hands and kiss wanted to catch his eye and show him just what he’d been missing by staying away for so many days. With that in mind, Faith decided she was going to seduce her husband whether he was still angry or not. “I’m in the bathing room, Nicholas,” she called out.

A second or so later, the sound of his boots neared, followed by a knock on the closed door.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, Nicholas took a look at her in the tub and had to close his eyes for a moment to steady himself.

“Close the door please, so the heat will stay in.”

His eyes riveted on the picture she made sitting in the tub with her wet shift transparent enough to show off the dark nipples beneath, he reached back blindly to comply with the request.

“Welcome home,” she offered quietly.

Nicholas closed his eyes again and took in a deep breath as his manhood rose in silent appreciation.

“How are you?” she asked, but he couldn’t answer because he was too busy staring at her as she rose slowly to her feet, letting the water cascade down her breasts to her thighs. Only then did she step out and take up a towel. To further torture him, she paused for a moment to slowly draw the wet shift over her head to remove it, showing off the taut muscles of her belly and waist, while her breasts revealed themselves in all their shimmering glory. He thought he might fall over.

She smiled and slowly dried herself, languidly moving the towel over all the places he longed to touch and kiss. “Cat got your tongue?” she asked softly.

“You’re aware that you’re killing me.”

“Am I?”

To add more heat to the fire, she took down the small tub of creamlike lotion and gently smoothed it over her limbs while he watched with glowing eyes. Done, she picked up a long white gown he’d not seen before and slid it on over her nudity. The gown covered her from neck to toes and clung to her curves in a way that was both seductive and demure, but when she turned from him to pick up the towel and her discarded clothing, the slit up the back of the gown fanned open just enough to offer an enticing slice of her beautiful back, and he uttered a groan.

She looked his way. “Do you like the gown?”

“Very much.”

“It’s one of the things Mrs. Locke sent over.”

“Remind me to give her a larger bonus. I came home to find out how you were faring and to tell you how much I love you, but I’m finding it difficult to remember the speech I’d been rehearsing on the ride.”

“You can tell me in the morning. Right now I’d rather you show me how glad you are to be home.”

“That I can do.”

And to prove his point, he crossed the room, took her into his arms, and kissed her until they were both breathless. Then he picked her up and carried her to her bedroom.

Nicholas spent an inordinate amount of time on the bared path of back revealed by the sultry white gown. She was lying on the bed on her stomach and he couldn’t ever remember being so aroused by a woman’s spine before. He brushed his hand down the velvet-soft skin peeking through the space and then lower over her shrouded hips. It took all he had not to rip the garment at the seams and take her from behind. “I missed you,” he whispered while he slid the gown up her legs. When he raised it over the curve of her sultry behind, his fingers played wantonly between her thighs. Uttering a pleased moan, Faith parted them in welcome invitation and he smiled.

“Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

She complied, shuddering and trembling in response to the familiar feel of his hands. “I missed you, too.”

“How much?” he asked, his voice hot. He moved his fingers over the swollen damp gate of her soul, enjoying the slickness there and the way her legs parted even farther, before dropping his head and using his tongue on the tiny kernel of flesh.

Her eyes popped open with surprise. “What are you—”

With a gentle hand on her waist, he kept her where she was. “Just showing you how much I missed you.” He slid a finger inside. Her growl of pleasure coupled with the feel of her sheath tightening as he possessively stroked in and then out caused his manhood to surge in lusty response. He lowered his mouth again, and this time she was filled with so much fire, she let him have his way.

“Oh my,” she breathed as he dallied and lingered. He’d loved her in many soul-exciting ways since their memorable wedding night, but this was new and raw and so very very scandalous, her legs flew wide and she soon exploded, screaming his name.

Only then did he take what he’d been dreaming of while he’d been away, and they spent the rest of the day and most of night savoring what they’d missed while apart.

Chapter 22

F
aith awakened the next morning to sunlight pouring through the windows and her husband leaning on an elbow watching her. When he smiled, she gave him a soft one in reply. He gave her a soft kiss.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Faith always enjoyed waking up with him beside her and it was especially wonderful this morning because he was back.

“I missed you.”

“I noticed. Are you here to stay?”

He shrugged. “Depends on Gage.”

She turned on her side to face him. “And all that anger?”

“Better.”

“Good,” she answered sincerely. “What my father did to Primus was heartbreaking.”

“Yes it was. I’ve come to grips with it, though. Having you in my life helped.”

Faith looked at the man she loved with all her heart, and knew without question that he meant each word.

“You’ve helped me as well,” she replied.

“How so?”

“I’ve not had someone to love me since my mother died.”

He peered into her eyes, and upon seeing the emotion reflected in them pulled her into his arms. “And now you have. Plan on being loved until death do us part, my Faith.”

Their smiles met.

“I will.” Faith didn’t know what she’d done to earn such happiness but it radiated inside like the sunbeams filling the room.

“So, tell me what has been happening with you while I’ve been away.”

She began by telling him about her lack of success with selling her bread. “And then Henri Giles stopped by and purchased all that I had left.”

“To sell to his smuggler friends, and at a profit, no doubt.”

Faith turned to him with surprise on her face. “Smuggler friends? Henri isn’t a smuggler.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No,” she said, awed.

He nodded.

“Should I not sell to him then?”

“Oh, by all means do. War’s coming and the price of bread will probably rise high as the moon. You stand to make a good profit, too.”

She lay back. “Henri is a smuggler. He asked if you were out on rebel business but I didn’t reply. Does he know you support the Sons of Liberty?”

“He does. Being a soldier is just his way of making extra coin. He has no love of the King, either.”

He looked at the continued surprise in her eyes and grinned. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you he has feet of clay.”

“You’d never know to look at him.”

“Which only adds to his success, no doubt.”

Faith shook her head in wonder. “And here I thought myself to be a good judge of character.”

“You judged me fairly well.”

“I know you lie. I didn’t expect that he did, as well.”

He chuckled and asked, “Anything else I missed?”

She then told him about the odd visit from Elizabeth, her blond soldier driver, and General Gage’s rebuff of her father and his woes.

Like Faith, he was glad to hear that Gage had better things to do than go chasing after Kingston’s enemies, but also like Faith, he hadn’t liked hearing why Gage sent him packing.

“There were over a hundred men working with us in Concord. I’m told there are more than ten thousand men who’ve volunteered to fight.”

“Are the rebels ready?”

“No, but then no one is ever ready for war. Everyone has been instructed to keep watching the road.”

“Are the rebels still sure the general will strike at night?”

“If he’s the tactical commander everyone thinks he is, yes.”

Faith thought about the death and bloodshed that would follow. “Ingram is training with the British and Charity is afraid he will be hurt. She’s promised to come here and stay with Bekkah and me if the fighting starts. Ingram is convinced she and the baby will be safe because they are a Tory household but she’s not convinced.”

“Neither am I, but I’m glad you ladies will be in one place.”

“So am I. Is it wrong to wish the war would hurry and start so that it can be over?”

“No, but sometimes you must be careful about what you wish for.”

“Then right now, I wish for my husband to make love to me, so I can forget what is ahead for the moment.”

“A wish I will willingly grant. Come here.”

A
t ten
P.M.
on April 18, General Gage made his move. He sent a thousand soldiers on a mission to Lexington to capture the rebel leaders John Hancock and Samuel Adams. From there they were to proceed to Concord to destroy the large rebel arsenal that was hidden there. The plans were so secret that not even the soldiers knew where they were going, but secrets were made to be exposed, and rebel patriots Paul Revere and William Dawes rode quickly to Lexington to warn Hancock and Adams while rousing minutemen along the way.

All over the countryside, from Boston to Lexington to Concord, minutemen jumped to the ready. Church bells rang, men frantically knocked on the doors of their neighbors, and little by little word spread that the British were on their way.

Nicholas was up and drinking coffee when Arte knocked on his door. Nicholas knew by the tense set of his old friend’s features that the time had come.

Nick said, “Let me go up and say good-bye to Faith and I’ll be ready to ride with you.”

Arte nodded and headed back across the road to say his own good-byes.

Nicholas walked into her room holding a candle boat to lighten the darkness. The last thing he wanted was to leave her but it couldn’t be helped. “Faith,” he called softly.

Rousing her gently, he said, “Sweetheart, wake up.”

Her eyes slowly opened. “What’s the matter?” she asked sleepily.

“The British have marched out of Boston. I must go.”

She sat up and wrapped him in her arms. He put down the candle and held her close to his heart. Nicholas had no words for how holding her made him feel, nor were there words for how much he loved her. “Keep yourself safe,” he whispered.

“You do the same. I’ll be very angry if you get yourself killed, Nicholas Grey.”

“And we don’t want you angry, do we?”

Her reply was soft. “No, we don’t.”

He smiled against her fragrant, midnight black hair. “If you have to hide, do so. I don’t want you risking your life, either.”

“I won’t.”

He pulled back so he could see her face. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“I believe so, but you can tell me the depths of it when you return, and I promise to do the same.”

He smiled. “You have a deal. Now give me the best kiss ever so that I will have something to sustain me while I’m away.”

The kiss they shared was a tender, poignant reaffirmation of the feelings that bound them together. And when he reluctantly ended it, he felt compelled to give her yet another. “Good-bye, my love. I’ll come to you just as soon as I can.”

“Godspeed.”

Her sitting on the bed and framed by the candlelight was his last look before he turned and hurried away to meet Arte.

B
ecause the British soldiers had to be rowed across to Cambridge and had to wait for their supplies to do the same it was a long four hours before they began their march to Lexington to capture Hancock and Adams. Although both Revere and Dawes had been captured by the advance mounted patrols Gage had sent out to ambush or intercept anyone attempting to spread word of the British advance, the four-hour wait had cost the British precious time, and gave the rebels enough time to spread the word. By the time the soldiers began to march towards their targets in earnest, thousands of minutemen of all ages, sizes, and races were following and trailing them under the cover of the trees.

Captain John Parker was the leader of the rebel contingent in Lexington and although his men had been alerted, it was a cold night, and when the British didn’t show up in a timely fashion he sent his men home. As fate would have it the soldiers made their appearance shortly after, and although the rebel drummer sounded the alarm, many of Parker’s men by that time were too far away to return to add their support, so Parker, a veteran of the French and Indian War, met the British force with the small number of men who’d stayed behind.

They were laughably outnumbered, but he and his men walked out to meet the King’s regulars hoping the troops would see their displeasure but pass them by as the British had done at other close confrontations in the past. He instructed his men not to fire and supposedly the soldiers had been told the same. However, a few moments later shots rang out. The British said the patriots fired the first shot; the patriots said it was the British. It didn’t much matter. In the chaos that resulted, the rebels ran in the face of the withering fire, forgetting their training and abandoning their posts for the trees, much to Parker’s anger and dismay. The fight didn’t last long, and after the British celebrated with a cheer, they marched on to Concord leaving the dead bodies of the patriots behind.

A bit after dawn, Nicholas and Arte, along with the men from Concord and Lincoln, stood on a ridge and watched the soldiers completely fill the Great Road with their superior numbers. The soldiers, after having met with success in Lexington, were moving confidently in their scarlet coats and snow white stockings. Nicholas had to admit they did make a handsome sight but he wondered, as he looked around at the minutemen wearing the earth colors of green and brown, why anyone would send their soldiers out in so distinctive a color that not even a misfiring musket could miss. It spoke to the arrogance of the crown, but he wondered if they knew that there were now a good fifteen thousand rebels armed and ready to meet them. As long as the rebels held on to their training, they’d give the King’s regulars a fight to remember.

But they waited.

While Nicholas and the other rebel commanders waited outside the town of Concord, the British marched into the town’s center and began their search for the weapons. Because the arsenal had been moved, they found little, but what they did find they piled up and set afire. Outside the town, the minutemen seeing the smoke thought the redcoats were torching the city. They rallied, lined up the way they’d been taught, and the war officially began.

Nick and the minutemen fired on the British for over two hours and the British fired back. Men died on both sides, but the firing continued. Unprepared for the sheer force of the rebels’ displeasure, the British commanders, Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith and Major John Pitcairn, prepared to withdraw for the return to Boston. They’d been hoping for reinforcements but they’d never arrived. Leaving their dead behind but taking their wounded, they set out on a forced march back to the safety of their barracks.

The rebels gave them hell every step of the way. The British were angered that the patriots weren’t following the rules of war. Instead of meeting the soldiers head-on and in a line, the colonials were shooting at them from the trees and from behind the stone walls erected on parts of the road, and then running down to the next ambush point and pounding them with their gunfire again and again. The British might have had more discipline, training, and skill but the rebels had the advantage of numbers, and they were fighting on land they knew well, and by dawn the soldiers of the King were all but running in retreat.

The rebels also broke another rule and used their marksmen to target the British officers, who fell one by one.

By the time the British made it out of the area surrounding Concord and into Lincoln, they hoped to have put the bulk of the rebel firing behind them but it continued. Even the citizenry, many of them women and men too old to fight, were shooting at them. The patriots had lost all discipline and every man was out to get to as many soldiers as he could. The soldiers, tired, exhausted, terrified, and angry, began torching the homes that held snipers as they continued their fast-paced retreat.

Hiding in the woodlot on the Cleggs’ land, Bekkah, Faith, Charity, and the baby did their best to stay out of sight. They had seen the thousands of troops pass by on the way to the fight and were relieved that there’d been no looting, plundering, or shots fired. Now hearing the sounds of gunfire and seeing minutemen swarming the trees, the women ran back to Bekkah’s house to get themselves out of the line of fire. It was a good thing because the redcoats’ cavalry arrived shortly after chasing the rebels and being chased in turn by rebels on horseback.

Inside the house Faith and her friends barricaded the door with the heaviest pieces of furniture they could find, then went upstairs to peer from the windows to view the spectacle before them. A sea of soldiers flowed by them. The wounded lay across saddles. The red coats of the foot soldiers that had sparkled in the sun earlier were now covered with gunpowder and mud. Their white stockings were white no more but bore the stains of fresh blood.

The rebels chased the British all the way back to Boston, and once there the rebels made camp outside the city.

Nicholas and Arte came home later that evening exhausted but, to their wives’ relief and delight, uninjured. A joyous Faith ran to Nicholas before he even reached the gate. Grinning at the whirlwind approaching him, Nick picked her up, swung her around, and kissed her with newfound energy. Content, they draped arms around each other’s waists and walked into the house.