Broken Legacy (Secret Lives Series) (33 page)

She didn't know how long she stood staring at the door, but she could stand it no longer, grabbed her cloak and without one word to anyone, walked out the front door.

The stiff air greeted Hannah as she ventured forth. Logic played no part in her decision, only her urge to leave.

She walked.

She walked by her church, which still stood untouched, but the further she walked, the more destruction she discovered. Businesses had been rioted. Men ran into buildings and returned with arms full of merchandise. On the next street a small band of British soldiers chased the rioters. She walked by the Beekman mansion, which lay near the East River on Manhattan.

Havoc reigned.

People and soldiers ran rampant. Hannah sat in the gardens not far from the Beekman mansion, which seemed to be overrun with Redcoats. She sat without a word and stared. 

Voices startled her from behind, but the words weren't directed at her.

“I don't know where else we are to put them. I don't believe the Sugar House can hold more. Has to be more than two hundred held upon the supposition that they were incendiaries to the fire,” one voice commented.

“General Howe is in no mood to be lenient.”

“The poor soul this morning, but I s’ppose there had to be made a statement, Arthur. Don’t you think?”

“Think? I think that if this is any indication of the intelligence of the Americans, then they are indeed not long to deal with. The spy signaled our ship. No question about his intent. Drawings and papers damned him without a debate. General Howe ordered the execution without even a trial.”

“But I will give that his spirit was strong. Although from his appearance, too gentle a disposition for the role he was supposed to have played. I found him to have a consciousness of rectitude, even dealing with Cunningham. He destroyed the letters I let the poor fellow write his family. Told me that the damn rebels shouldn't know that they had a man in their army who could die with so much firmness in his beliefs.”

“I know you, Captain Montresor, haven't seen eye to eye over much with Cunningham, but we are at war. He may be too brutal by half, but maybe that's what the Americans need at the moment. Hit them hard and they won't come back with this ridiculous notion of independence.”

“So, Arthur, you weren't impressed with the spy's last words.
My only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.
You think that we are going to suppress our colonies quickly with that heart felt passion for their cause.”

Hannah stood up, the voices trailing away. A spy hung! She had seen a crowd around artillery park by where Henry Rutgers took up residency. She needed no reminder of what they did to a captured spy; a disgraceful death hung out for a warning to all; a warning to her of the dangerous waters she tread; the possible consequences of her actions. But a draw pulled her toward the crowd.

The gallows established in front of the park. Among the crowd of people, she made out a hooded form, which hung from a stout apple tree. Beside the corpse a signboard propped up of an old soldier with Washington written upon it. She stood frozen, not able to move.

She stared at the lifeless body. A reminder instead of what she was fighting for, unquestioned belief in this new country. Her father had believed, her brother. Their deaths couldn't be forgotten, ever. She thought of the unquestioned fear they all must have faced when the noose placed around their neck, tightened.

Tepper's word echoed. “You will be needed, my dear. Make no mistake about it. Congress has tarried too long on this issue. Don't wane in your beliefs for they will be tested in the days to come. You have a job to do. Don't lose sight of the cause. Your mission is more important than any of our petty concerns. I have faith in your ability. Put your emotions aside. I know all too well that those can eat at one's soul. What better revenge than to beat them at their own game? You ask what I expected out of you- information, my dear, information that will bring the British down.”

The wind picked up, blowing her hood back, but she stood thus, staring at the body hanging out for all to see.

* * * *

The last few days had gone well. Colonel Marcus Durham set foot again in New York, now back under control of the British. A beginning at least on settling this rebellion. Pressure had mounted on him from Britain. King George wanted a quick settlement, not willing to compromise in the least.

Marcus could foresee issues that would arise. He had lived among these people and understood their steadfastness. Over the last few years he had spent more time in the colonies than in his homeland away from family and friends. He had no doubt the British would eventually Be successful, but this matter would take time and lives. But this was also war. The worst kind. A war against their own.

Chaos
ensued after the initial invasion, which now had begun to dissipate. Sleep hadn't come for the last thirty-eight hours and he didn't expect any in the foreseeable future. The latest briefing had gone well, though. The Americans were on the run. Marcus only hesitated because General Howe seemed reluctant to go after the Continental army. He expressed his opinion, which differed from Howe's and he had only the rank of Colonel.

He stepped out of the Beekman mansion, which served as British headquarters.
A gray haze greeted him. One young officer bumped into him as he crossed the yard for his horse.

“Sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going. My attention turned,
” the young officer apologized.

“Quite all right, Lieutenant,”
Marcus nodded as he continued on his path. He gave pause when he heard the two's conversation.

The other laughed. “Simon, you should have been honest and said your attention was upon a young woman.”

“I'm telling you, she's Clay's granddaughter. I met her this morning. He told her quite plainly to stay within the house. She must not have listened,” he said. “I need to escort her back. I don't believe the old man will be happy with her.”

“Not because she's a beauty. Not here twenty-four hours and you have already made eyes at a woman.”

Marcus turned to the two officers. “Hold there. Of which do you speak? Alexander Clay? His granddaughter is down here?”

“Do you know of him, sir? I was over to secure his home this morning. The
 General gave orders to take care of our Tory families. The girl,” he pointed toward the crowd. “Wanted to go out. He refused. But I can swear I just saw her at the hanging spy.”

“I'll look into it,” Marcus dismissed the two.
The Lieutenant hesitated. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant....”

“Fletcher, sir. No, sir, but I would be happy—”

“You're dismissed, Lieutenant,” Marcus interrupted the young officer, who sighed and walked reluctantly away.

Marcus strolled over
to the crowd doubtful he would find her. The notion it would be Hannah seemed distant, but he rounded the bend a lone figure came into view. She stood in the haze.

He
walked up behind her. “Hannah?”

She turned around. Her face drained of all color. She had never seen him in his finely cut uniform and white powdered wig, a moment necessitated before he saw the recognition flood through her.

She shook her head. Tears she had held back flooded her face. She tried to turn from him, but he
held tight. He could feel her shiver and her legs giving way. He drew her into his arms and she cried.

He led her
from the display, back into the gardens. She broke from his embrace and wiped her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

“You should have never seen such,” he said, holding back the words he wanted to
ask, such as why she was here. Instead, he tried to soothe away the remembered horror. “It was understandable.”

He brushed back her hair that had fallen
onto her face. A sadness lived within her once bright eyes; she had lost weight. He was puzzled, though. He hadn't thought she would have still been within New York.

“Marcus,” she said softly. “The poor soul that hung. I heard...”
 She swallowed. “He didn’t know what he was doing?”

“I don't believe so,” Marcus stated. His eyes studied her intently. “It didn't seem he was prepared for what he intended.”

“But he was brave, the officers said. They said they were impressed by his gallantry.”

Marcus nodded acknowledgement of the fact. She faced him. “Was my father? What of
 William? Tell me. Did they leave letters? Were they scared?” The questions rolled off her lips, but her tone waned with each question into almost a whisper.

Tears swelled back within her eyes with an almost infantile quality. His hand instinctively pulled her back into his
shoulder and stroked her hair. “Hannah, I wasn't there. I'm telling you in truth I wanted neither to have endured that punishment, but I heard they both meet their fate honorably. I don't believe anyone could've questioned their bravery or honor.”

Marcus didn't move, but held her such. A light breeze picked up along the river's
edge. He had much work still tobe done, and this young woman wasn't supposed to be his concern. But he was content at the moment and admitted to himself that he was glad to have found her thu
s
.

KISS OF DECEIT
by Jerri Hines

Book Three, Winds of Betrayal Series

Previously Published as Ruse of Love

The tides of war have shifted. When all eyes turn south, Doctor Jonathan Corbett finds himself once more thrust into the war’s turmoil. On assignment from General Washington, the dashing doctor discovers his mission has taken him straight into a conflict where the British are not the only ones to be feared.

Rebekah Morse has no time to contemplate the exploding war around her. Caught up as a pawn in a deadly conspiracy, she finds her only hope lies with her old friend, but things have changed since they last saw each other.

Yet destiny has not intervened in their lives without cause. Rebekah’s strength, courage, and breathtaking sensuality sets within Jonathan a desire he swore never to feel again. When Rebekah’s life is threatened, Jonathan is determined to save the stubborn woman whether she wants to be saved or not. Now Jonathan and Rebekah must face the perilous threat together—only to discover a passion they never imagined...

Excerpt

The rain began again. The storm brewing on the horizon burst forth on the streets of Charles Town. Rebekah was getting soaked standing outside the Meeting Street Inn. The choice seemed so simple a short while ago. She made it without a second thought: a very practical solution to a number of issues.

Nervousness swept over her, a sense that there would be no coming back from this step across the threshold. Try as she might, she couldn’t get Katy’s pleas out of her head.

“You can’t seriously be considering this. Rebekah, he’s a madman. He kidnapped you and…and…” Katy’s hand waved toward her stomach. “I don’t mean to be so brutal, but Rebekah, my dearest friend, he’s a murderer! He…he will kill you this time.”

“You don’t understand, Katy. He’ll do me no harm. I’m not sure he will go. I’m not sure of anything except I have to leave. I have to protect everyone. Over in France, I will have a chance to live a life without fear. If he gives up his life here…if Rory wants a hope of a life again with his child away from the killing and loss…then I will consider it once I get to my destination. I have to get away.”

“We have only just met this Mademoiselle Fontaine, Rebekah. I beg you…Go to this friend of yours. Dr. Corbett, please. He will help you. I know, Ernie says…”

Rebekah took her friend’s hand in hers. “I can’t do this to him or anyone. I wish everything was different, but it’s not.”

She cast one last troubled glance at her dearest friend and turned back toward the door. She couldn’t explain to Katy what she herself couldn’t understand. One note from Rory called her away from the people who loved her, but it was for that reason she had to leave. She put all in danger. She felt it.

If she could only leave and go away from anyone who knew her, she could raise her child safe away from this madness. Rebekah thought back to the casual meeting with Mademoiselle Fontaine at Katy’s home, a friend of Randa. Rebekah found Mademoiselle Fontaine the most interesting of women, elegant and refined. The woman talked of the court of King Louis and the world allowed in France. To Rebekah it seemed she was heaven sent.

Had she not begged Rory to go away with her and start anew? Was not France the perfect place for this? She decided well before the arrival of this woman to leave. She had no choice, especially with Jonathan’s appearance.
 
Oh, why had they seemed fit to play on Jonathan’s sense of honor? Jonathan of all people!
 She could not face him.

Rebekah didn’t remember how the subject arose, but in honesty when Mademoiselle Fontaine talked of a new life, Rebekah wasn’t surprised to hear her say that Rory sent her to deliver a message, a message only Rory would have known to send.