Surrender the Night (41 page)

Alex swallowed and stared down at his muddied boots as he marched onward. He had never asked God to forgive him. In fact, Alex had never forgiven himself. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry for what I did to my brother,” he whispered.

A weight seemed to roll across his shoulders and fall to the dirt beside him. He stretched his back and gazed upward into the blue sky. Unexpected joy filled him. His skin buzzed with excitement. God
had forgiven him. God had forgiven him! How could Alex not forgive himself?

He bowed his head.
Thank You for Your forgiveness, God. I forgive myself. Please help me never to do something so foolish again
.

He cringed and raised his gaze. Yet wasn’t staying with Rose just another foolhardy, irrational move?

No. It wasn’t just a frivolous sentiment. Though Alex’s heart was elated, becoming an American also rang true in his mind and in his spirit—the spirit that now was connected to God Almighty.

Alex chuckled out loud, drawing the gaze of a few of the soldiers. Perhaps he was the half-wit his father had so often called him. Here was the proof. What son of a wealthy viscount would turn his back on his family, his inheritance—egad, even his country—for a farm girl who spoke to pigs and cuddled chickens? A woman who feared everything and yet saved the life of an enemy whose people had killed her father.

A woman who loved without measure.

The lure of home, family, love, and a pair of luminous turquoise eyes made all the things he had sought for his entire life seem suddenly unimportant—trite. He would give up all the fortune and titles in the world, even the throne of England itself, to make Rose his wife.

Later that night Alex squeezed between two seamen and lowered himself to a rock before the blazing fire—one of many that dotted the landscape. The boldness of his countrymen! Setting up camp so brazenly in the middle of their enemy’s land. As if the Americans hadn’t the wit or the bravado to attack them. Quite astonishing. Yet hadn’t Alex been a willing participant in that enormous British ego most of his life?

The seamen and marines under Alex’s command greeted him as they dipped bread into the stew filling their tin plates. The scent of beef and unwashed men swirled about his nose, and he grabbed his own plate, hoping his appetite had returned. But the sounds of the men slopping their grub reminded him of Prinney, and sorrow clamped over his heart once again. He set the plate down.

He wanted to leave. Find his way back to Rose’s farm. Tell her he loved her. Become an American. But he must be careful. The countryside was flooded with British soldiers on high alert. If he were caught, he’d
be put in irons and sent back to his ship. If the Americans caught him before he could explain, they’d shoot him on the spot. He couldn’t risk it. The best strategy would be to wait until they spotted the American army. Then he could slip away in the night, white flag in hand, and report to their commanding officer. But so far, they’d not spotted a single American troop.

He gazed across the dark night to a field dotted with white canvas tents that reminded him of a fleet of ships at sea. But where was General Ross leading this fleet? Alex had sent one of his own men, Mr. Glasson, to loiter about Ross’s quarters and glean what information he could about the general’s objective.

And there Mr. Glasson came now, emerging from the crowd of soldiers milling about the camp as he rushed to their small group. He knelt beside them, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I found out what you asked, Mr. Reed. I ran into Lieutenant Scott, one of Admiral Cochrane’s men.”

“So, where are we heading?” One of the men asked before he took a swig of water.

“Tomorrow we march into Washington.” Mr. Glasson smiled and rubbed his hands together. “To burn her to the ground.”

CHAPTER 24

R
ose knelt beside the pigsty and eased her hand through the wooden posts. Prinney waddled toward her, snorting and grunting in glee. Memories drifted across her mind, of Alex’s face twisting in indignation when he’d discovered whom she’d named her favorite pig after. A traitorous smile lifted her lips. The first in days. Three days, in fact, since she’d last seen Alex in the gardens of the Fountain Inn. That entire evening seemed like a dream to her now. Like one of those mystical childhood fairy tales where the prince arrives at the ball and sweeps the princess off her feet. Only to be separated later by some evil wizard.

Which was a perfect description of Mr. Snyder.

Thank goodness the laudanum Noah had slipped into his drink had befogged his faculties enough to give her and Alex time to say good-bye one last time. That Alex had risked so much to see her softened the blow of his leaving. He loved her. Then why did he have to leave at all? Perhaps, he just didn’t love her enough.

She ran her fingers over Prinney’s rough hide. The pig nuzzled against her hand. “At least I still have you, Prinney.”

He grunted in return, encouraging his fellow pigs to join in the chorus.

Rose stood, pressed a hand on her back and glanced over the
farm. The noon sun capped the field in a bright bowl of glistening light, transforming ordinary green into emerald, browns into copper, and yellows into saffron. Even her ripe tomatoes sparkled like rubies. A light breeze, plump with the scent of cedar, hay, and horseflesh, stirred the tall grass into swirling eddies of green and gold. Chickens crowded around the hem of her gown. Grabbing a handful of dried corn from the bucket, she scattered it across the dirt. The birds clucked and flapped and strutted back and forth, snatching up the tiny seeds.

Picking up the bucket, Rose headed toward the barn. Even the beauty of this place could not penetrate the fortress of gloom around her heart. She already missed Alex so much, she had no idea how she would endure the rest of her life without him.

Wind whipped through the barn doors, tossing loose strands of her hair into her eyes and blinding her for a moment. Groping her way to Liverpool’s stall, she brushed the curls from her face.

And ran straight into a man.

Rose screamed and leaped back. Mr. Snyder stood before her, cane planted in the dirt, and a look of deviant fury warping his face.

Terror gripped her. Her aunt and uncle had left for Washington DC the day before. Cora and Amelia had gone to town on errands, and Mr. Markham was no doubt asleep in the parlor. “What are you doing here?”

A caustic smile twisted his lips. “To inform you, my dear, that I know what you and your friends did. Malicious and traitorous gnats. I should have you all arrested.”

Annoyance swept her fear aside. “Why don’t you then?”

He shook his head and stepped toward her. “You think you have won, Miss McGuire, but you have not.” He grinned. “You will still marry me”—he clipped her chin between his thumb and forefinger—“or I will inform General Smith that you harbored a British naval officer in your home for weeks.” His bergamot cologne stung her nose.

“I beg you to do so, sir.” Rose snatched her chin from his fingers and thrust her nose into the air. “You have no proof and Alex … Mr. Reed is gone.”

“Ah yes, gone back to join the troops who attack us daily. Why, in fact, your beloved naval officer may be at this very moment marching into a trap.”

Rose stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Victory flashed across Mr. Snyder’s contemptuous gaze. “I heard from General Smith that a band of British troops are headed toward Washington.” He brushed dust from his coat. “As if they could occupy our capital. Bah!” He chuckled then studied her. “Oh, I see fear on your pretty face. Now, don’t fret about the lives of your fellow Americans, my love, I’m sure the regular army and Maryland militia will give the British quite a welcome. Hopefully one which obliterates every last one of them.”

A dozen thoughts spun in Rose’s head until it grew light. Her aunt and uncle were in Washington. Did they know about the attack? Were there enough American soldiers to protect them? And what of Alex?

She took a deep breath and gripped the edge of Valor’s stall. “Mr. Reed is no doubt back on his ship.”

Mr. Snyder cocked his head and smiled. “Ah yes. One would think so, but I also heard there are several naval officers among the British horde.
Tsk tsk
. It would be a shame to see him killed. And by one of our own.”

Rose’s legs wobbled.

“Which brings me back to why you will still marry me,” he continued, twirling his cane in the air. “Who do you suppose General Smith will believe, a prominent councilman or a British doxy?”

Rose longed to wipe the supercilious smirk from his lips. “A rather inebriated councilman, from all appearances at the ball. Perhaps he’ll believe me, over you, sir.”

“Humph.” Mr. Snyder tugged on his cravat, then pressed his fingers through the red hair at his temples. “You are nothing but a British strumpet, a sullied orphan girl.”

Rose tried to ignore the insult, but it slipped into her heart anyway. “I insist you leave at once, Mr. Snyder. You are no longer welcome here.”

A spark of fury seared in his gaze. It grew larger and larger until it seemed to consume his eyes like a wildfire. Rose swallowed and took a step back.

“I will take down your entire family.” Lifting his cane, he slammed it over the post. The ominous snap of wood shot through the barn like musket fire.

Liverpool let out a long mournful groan as the chickens scattered in a frenzy.

A wave of acid flooded Rose’s belly. She hadn’t thought Mr. Snyder capable of violence, but suddenly she was not so sure.

Mr. Snyder tossed the broken stick to the ground, then clutched Rose by the throat.

Clawing at his hands, she gasped for air.

He thrust his face into hers until she could smell the sausage he’d had for breakfast. “I will have this land and you as my wife if it’s the last thing I do.”

Valor let out a thunderous bray and kicked her stall.

Rose scratched at his hands, her lungs screaming. Visions of another man’s harsh grip upon her throat blasted through her mind.
Oh God, no!
Panic set in, first clenching her heart then weaving its way through every muscle and tissue. Just when she thought she might lose consciousness from lack of air, Mr. Snyder released her, shoving her back against Valor’s stall.

Lifting a hand to her throat, Rose coughed and gulped in air, shifting her gaze between the open barn door and Mr. Snyder, lest he come at her again. Instead he stood there, his chest heaving, his expression one of shock and self-loathing. “Forgive me.” Then suddenly, spinning on his heel, he marched from the barn.

A minute later, Rose heard his horse gallop away. She wanted to succumb to her trembling legs and crumple to the ground. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run and lock herself in her chamber.

But she couldn’t. Her aunt and uncle were in the center of a city about to be attacked by the British. She couldn’t count on the military evacuating them. Despite what Mr. Snyder declared, Rose’s aunt had informed her that Washington was often left largely unprotected because most of the army stationed there was called out to battle in other locations. No one in their wildest dreams considered an attack on Washington DC possible.

And perhaps it still wasn’t.

But how could she be sure?

Daniel’s words of destiny rang in her ears.
God has something important for you to do
. She hadn’t believed him. Not until this moment. Now she feared the destiny he had spoken of was fast approaching.

She must go to Washington to warn her family.

Climbing to the barn loft, she retrieved Alex’s pistol from a trunk. She hated bringing the heinous thing but it might come in handy. Thoughts of Alex caused her heart to shrink. Was he indeed marching on Washington? If so, he’d be forced to shoot Americans. Which made him her enemy once again. Not to mention put him in grave danger. And the worst of it was, if he died, she would never know. She didn’t know whether to pray for him or her countrymen. Perhaps both. After climbing down the ladder, she prepared Valor to ride, stuffed the pistol in the saddle pack, and led the horse out of the barn.

No sooner had she reached the open field than her legs went as limp as blades of grass, her chest felt as though Liverpool were sitting on it, and her head spun around a pounding ache.