The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) (22 page)

The whole time Colonel Devlin listened to the men’s rants and ravings, he knelt beside me. Eventually, he had taken my hand and kissed it. He said something, but I wasn’t listening anymore.

I heard nothing.

I woke with a start, and looked around the now quiet, completely empty kitchen. I still sat at the table, the wood surface had been a hard pillow. I wondered when I had fallen asleep. Embarrassingly before the mourners had left or after? A note lay limply in my hand in Mathew’s broad scrawl that read how he’d be in Lexington with his cousin, but if I needed him to send a messenger, and he’d be at my side within minutes.

I heard a rap again, which more than likely had awoken me in the first place. I forced the letter into a pocket, then turned to the kitchen’s door, and opened it hoping for a hallucination, hoping for Jacque.

It was Colonel Devlin. Only, he was wearing ebony civilian clothing, not his scarlet uniform. It had only been a few hours since I had seen him with the afternoon’s sun gracing his wide shoulders and glinting off his graying swarthy hair, but now the sun was setting in the horizon, making him appear even larger, darker. To most others, I would have guessed, he would have made an intimidating sight, but there was something about his shy glances, his gentle smile, and the way he looked at me square in the eyes, something of which even Mathew seemed to find difficult as of late, that made me easily open the door to Colonel Devlin.

I had no words upon letting him into my house. He had none either, apparently, since neither of us spoke. He carried a leather case, which he placed on the table.

He turned to me, his face taut. His eyebrows suddenly furrowed. I didn’t realize I was standing so close to him, but I could feel his warm breath on my face.

“Miss Buccleuch . . . I . . . I know this is uncustomary to have me here, in your house—”

“It’s not my house anymore.”

“Not your house?”

“No. I am a single woman. I cannot own land or a house. ‘Tis funny, isn’t it? I’ve put more blood and sweat into his land, my house, more so than even my father, but I can’t own it.” I laughed bitterly.

Colonel Devlin reached for my hands. “I’m so sorry.”

I let a tear fall and shrugged. “Would you like some mead? A neighbor of mine makes it. He sent it over, to help with the suffering, he’d said.”

“Ah, well-farers. They seem to abound to you. And . . . yes, I would love to share some mead with you, but I don’t want to be a trouble. Besides, I have brandy on my person.” He unbuttoned his overcoat and retracted a silver flask, smiling timidly.

Grief is a miserable encounter. When I was in the presence of so many people, all the men from Concord and the politicians, I was unable to be myself or even human. I was the shell of a person I once knew. But now, being in Colonel Devlin’s company, I was freer with my words, my emotions, myself than I might have ever been, as if I was already drunk.

“Ah, I knew I’d like you.”

“As I knew, I’d like you,” he said in halting words.

He gave me his flask, and I gave him the bottle of mead, and we sat at my table together.

“Shall we make do without glasses?”

He smiled broadly and nodded. He held the bottle and toasted. “To . . . comrades, of sorts.”

I taped his flask against the bottle and drank down the harsh drink. Liquid lava swelled down my throat and tickled my empty belly, threatening an evacuation of any remains, but I held my ground with the liquor, having nothing to vomit anyway.

He cleared his throat. “I have heard news you are to marry soon?” He didn’t look at me but my oak table.

“Yes. You heard correctly.”

“You are marrying the man who bought your farm?”

“I am.”

Colonel Devlin let his eyes rise back to meet mine.

“Are you happy, then, with this arrangement?”

It was completely rude of the colonel to ask, but for some reason I didn’t bristle at the offense. He seemed concerned, legitimately concerned.

I shrugged.

It was answer enough for him. It had to be. I had no idea how to explain myself. Happy? I finally realized I truly loved Mathew, and I would be able to live in the house I had always fantasized I’d raise my own children, in the house I had been a child myself. It was a dream come true, save for the fact that my sister, the only other person I cared to include in my future wishes was now dead. Oh, and I was a traitor of the worst kind, in love with another man at the same time I loved my fiancé.

Happy would not be in my vocabulary for a while, but I was content enough.

He stood, moved his chair slightly, then knelt beside me, clutching my hands. “Miss Buccleuch, I’m sorry. I feel responsible for your loss. Lieutenant Kimball was not in my regiment, but I didn’t think much of him. I should have . . . I’m so sorry.”

“’Tisn’t your fault. The fault lies with Kimball himself.” It was difficult voicing that monster’s name, but after I did I felt . . . ridiculously cocky, and managed to say all that was on my mind. “But I have to admit that I’m beginning to despise your uniform. I’m glad you didn’t wear it. I’m sorry for that, but I’m starting that hate that color of red. It doesn’t make sense, I know, to be angry against men who have nothing to do with this crime. If my father were still alive, I know he’d give me similar counsel.”

He took in a breath. “But what lies in your heart?”

I tried to smile to cover my lurid emotions. “Heart? My heart drowned in that river over yonder, sir.”

He squeezed my hands again and nodded, then cleared his throat. “My mother . . .” His voice was lowered, hushed, almost reverent, yet raw. “My mother, she was a very beautiful woman, like you. I was told your sister was quite attractive as well.”

I nodded. He had no idea how I never compared to my sister’s splendor.

“It happened to my mother,” he spoke quickly. “It happened when I was on the verge of becoming a man, about twelve years of age. My father died, unexpectedly. It was the very day my father died actually. There was a group of men, five or more, waiting for my mother after she returned from the undertaker’s. They captured my mother in front of me. I tried to protect her, but I wasn’t strong enough. Forgive my immodesty.”

He took off his overcoat, then untied his cravat, the loose plain silk dangled around his thick neck, down his chest. While his umber eyes studied me, he untied his undershirt, but I saw it before he was finished. He exposed his neck and upper chest. And there on his tanned skin was a thick silver snake that coiled about his neck, zig-zagging from ear to ear, and continued down his neck to his upper chest. He didn’t reveal much of himself, just enough for me to see his long, gruesome scar.

“They tried to kill me. The cuts weren’t deep enough though. But they got to my mother. She, they didn’t try to kill with their knives. I watched as they took turns with my mother. She never recovered. She lives in an institution, I hope happily. She was everything to me.” He paused while he swallowed, and I watched the hulking man blink his tears away. “I wouldn’t speak so boldly to any woman of such a crime and malicious deeds, but what you’ve gone through . . . Again, I’m so sorry, and I know it’s no consolation, but I understand, and I’d like to be of service to you.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but I reached out and touched the soft plains of the silver snake on his neck. He looked surprised too, as his eyes grew wide, but then with feathers for my fingertips, he let out a soft breath, relaxing. I touched long ago suffering, still carved into his body, mayhap still etched in his soul. When our eyes locked, I met my twin in pain. “I’m sorry about your mother . . . your neck.”

“We are kindred spirits, are we not?”

I nodded. “Comrades in grief.”

He nodded too. “I was thirteen when I joined the military. Quickly, I rose in rank. They call me a hero, but . . . it was my anger, my rage, that catapulted my military career. I didn’t care about death; I wanted vengeance. They call me a gentleman of honor now because I’ve conquered many a battlefield. Me, a man not born into privilege, but fought my way here. I didn’t fight to become a gentleman. I fought because that was all I could think of, dream of. I’ve never married, nor had I any such designs, for I knew my heart was blackened with my need for vengeance.”

I nodded. My heart wasn’t blackened. It was under water. But no matter what color the heart or in what environment, I knew what he had wanted, what he had needed. I knew it as I knew in my crimson marrow, I had a keening for death as well.

Colonel Devlin clutched at my hands then, still on his neck, yet the embrace of his fingers didn’t feel connected to me, more like two shadows linking.

“I’ve never admitted to anyone what I’m about to confess to you,” he whispered, “but not that long ago, I sought the men who hurt my mother. There were only three still alive, and I wished I had done something sooner. We are such a civilized culture; we don’t speak of vengeance, do we?”

I shook my head.

“I had them killed. The men that raped my mother.”

Something snapped inside my body, my heart. His revenge resonated within me.

“Lieutenant Kimball has already had his life threatened. Immediately after his arrest, there was a man—we never saw him, some black blur—who snuck into Kimball’s chambers and was attempting to strangle him when he was caught by the guards. Or do you know this already? Was it one of your men after Kimball?”

My mouth was agape slightly, which was answer enough for Colonel Devlin. He sighed.

Someone had tried to kill Kimball already? Who would do that? Jonah might, but he’d been almost constantly beside me since Hannah’s death. Mathew? Mathew, who had gone down to Boston to talk to the very man I was in company with? Mathew had said something about recently realizing his barbaric nature, but I just took that as meaning a jealous possession over me. Could Mathew have tried to kill Kimball?

“The man who had tried to assassinate Kimball surely couldn’t have survived,” Colonel Devlin mentioned. “The guards shot him repeatedly before he made his escape. Lieutenant Kimball endured, but unfortunately, Kimball gained most of his wounds after that incident.”

Mathew was very much alive, but could the guards have missed on all accounts?

Then I realized the trick of words Colonel Devlin had used. “
After
that incident? Not during?”

Colonel Devlin smiled proudly. “Of course during the incident, his neck was nearly broken, but
after
the attempted murder, Kimball needed better men to guard him. That’s why I requested him to be in my regiment, guarded by my men. Men who . . . feel the same as I regarding the violence of rape.”

“He’s still alive though?”

Colonel Devlin nodded. “Until I met you, the plan was to slowly beat him to death.”

My heart quickened. “And now?”

“I have moved Prisoner Kimball to outside your hamlet. Just down the river a mile or little more. Tomorrow at 7:30 in the morning, there is a change of shift in the guards. At that time, Prisoner Kimball will not be properly protected. Lieutenant Kimball will be unguarded, alone from 7:30 until 8:00. In that time, you can have a man of your choosing do whatever you deem to be justice.”

Colonel Devlin released my hands. He pulled the leather satchel toward me and then opened it. His earlier worn uniform’s distinct red flashed before my eyes.

“Have the man dress in this,” he said hurriedly.

“Is this yours?”

He shook his head. “It was the only uniform I could get without questions. ‘Tis a bit small. I apologize for this. But while your man wears this, I will personally guarantee his safety.”

I nodded and looked down at the bright red cloth.

“I . . . you might rest easier once Kimball is dead.”

“I might.”

“I would do it for you, if need be.”

“Would you?”

He nodded and found my hands resting on my lap again. “I would. If you ask me, I will.” His hands were callused, and, again, it reminded me of Jacque.

Jacque . . .

Colonel Devlin handed me two cards. “One is the address I keep in Boston, the other is my estate in England. I’m leaving, soon, back for England. I have long had sympathies for you colonists, and can no longer understand the purpose of the military being here. Peacekeepers? No, we soldiers are stirring a hornets’ nest. In protest of recent events, I’m retiring and returning back to England. But I digress. I’ve given you both my cards . . . I’m not sure why. I doubt you will ever want to see me again. I doubt you want any reminder of . . . this time. But if you are ever in need, please think upon me. I know I am a stranger to you, but think upon me as a kindred soul, who would like to know that you are safe.”

I clutched his cards and nodded. I couldn’t form any words to express my appreciation or . . . I wasn’t sure, if anything, I was feeling.

He sighed. “I have Kimball in a tent, not far from where you live. Ask your man to come a mile and a half north-northeast, up the Concord River where it bends, close to where the large boulder with the painted eagle sits. Do you know where that is?”

I nodded again.