Enemy of Mine (31 page)

When she could finally breathe again, she began crying once more, which utterly humiliated her as she found her way into a pack of redcoats. They were young boys, who took a few glimpses at her, then finally one whispered, “Oy, that’s a girl.”

“If it is, that’s a girl officer,” another one of them said. Then they all snickered.

Any other time, she’d think that was funny. But she kept running as she found more and more redcoats, and the noise of gunshots grew louder and louder. Something smacked against her chest hard, making her stop in her tracks. She glanced up when she realized she was firmly tucked into a man’s sturdy body. There, she saw the anxious and maybe angry face of Sergeant McDougal.

“Jesus Christ, what are ye doing here, my lady?”

“Will. Will can’t be here.”

Sergeant McDougal’s jaw kicked. He didn’t say anything for several eons. She was about ready to buck from his strong grip when he leaned close to her ear.

“His head’s not in the battle.”

She nodded.

“He yelled at General Leslie. He’s never done anything like that before. He swore too. Granted, Leslie is a pompous arse, but yer General has never done anything remotely like that. Yer General Hill has always been the most patient of men I’ve ever known.”

Nodding again, she leaned away enough to look at the sergeant in the eyes and plead her case. “He’s—he’s going to get himself killed.” Her voice broke, and tears rushed down her cheeks all over again.

The sergeant sighed. “I understand yer fear. I do. But these are just a bunch of farmers pretending to be soldiers. They couldna do any damage to yer man.”

“The way they didn’t do damage during the Battle of Lexington and Concord just a year ago?” She shook her head and tried to gain more distance between herself and the Sergeant. “Trust me, McDougal, those pretending soldiers can and
will
do damage. But I’m not about to let them do it to Will.”

McDougal gave her a wide smile. “There ye be, Minerva. Ye fight for him, hmm?”

She tore free from the Sergeant’s grasp, but for some odd reason answered him. “Yes, I will.”

He sighed and nodded. “He’s on the left flank, just over there.” The sergeant pointed in the direction where the musket shots were intense and jarring. “I’ll come. I doubt ye need the help, but just in case.”

Chapter 28

E
rva rushed ahead of Sergeant McDougal, now assured where Will was. The buckwheat field sat on a fat hill, where row upon row of British soldiers stood their ground, making their scarlet uniforms such a bright contrast to the earthy grains. It was too late for harvesting, and the buckwheat’s fruit had fallen shame-faced down toward the thinning, skeletal stalks.

For this battle, she knew neither side had enough time to gather field pieces, so they were shooting each other only with their muskets. Of course, to many thinkers of her time, the in-line formation for a battle seemed absurd and silly—to just stand in front of an enemy and get shot at and shoot right back. What most modern people didn’t understand was that the muskets weren’t anywhere as close to as accurate as the guns of the twenty-first century, meaning that one side couldn’t target the other. Shooting at each other was more a game of chance, and not as fatal as one would think. Further in-line tactics hadn’t changed much since the dawn of battling with pikes. The only time it altered was when weapons became more accurate and deadly.

Sergeant McDougal dragged Erva back by clasping her wrist and pulling. “I can’t have ye go into the battle.”

She easily twisted her arm then swung free. “The hell you won’t.”

In a step, the sergeant grasped her arms. “He’d kill me if he thought ye were in peril. Again.”

She balled her hands into fists. “He can’t kill you if he’s dead himself.”

His grip loosened, and she ran from him. She sprinted so fast, she didn’t watch carefully where she was going, other than the direction the sergeant had indicated Will would be. Pushing young soldiers out of her way, she knew they were changing lines. The front row of men needed to reload their muskets. They would about-face, and have the second line come in their place. God, the air was thick with white-blue smoke and smelled strongly of sulfur, the tell-tale sign their gunpowder wouldn’t pack much of a punch.

She vaguely heard the sergeant call out her name, but she scanned the crowd of redcoats for her Will. Finally, close to an apple orchid, she saw him, sitting on that big black horse, a bit away from his men, but he was stationed so he could see better, his eyes focused on what lay ahead of him. Continental soldiers.

Never were the Continentals in uniform. Well, some were, but mostly they dressed in their civilian clothes, which unfortunately were threadborn and disheveled. It was a wonder so many stayed and fought. They never had enough clothes, food, or pay. But they must have believed in the cause. And Erva knew Will believed in freedom and equality too.

She jogged through the red-clad troops, all reloading. A soprano buzzing sound erupted too close, then stung her shoulder. It made her stop in her tracks, the pain that suddenly exploded throughout her right arm. With her left hand she clutched at the bee sting, but when she looked at her palm she realized she’d been shot.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

She knew it wasn’t a deep wound, but it still hurt. A lot. It burned and simultaneously began to throb as fast as her heartbeat. Getting hurt had never entered her mind. After all, she wasn’t in her own time, and for some strange reason she’d thought she’d be immune to pain, getting shot, and death.

But she didn’t have time to think more about it.

She looked up and couldn’t find Will for a moment.

“You’re shot,” said a boy’s voice.

She looked at the kid, no taller than she, who stared at her left hand then her right shoulder where her red uniform darkened around a black hole in the fabric.

His eyes widened. “You’re a woman.”

“I need to get to General Hill.” Her voice came out reedy.

“But you’re shot. You need to see the surgeon.”

She shook her head. “It’s not bad. I need Hill.”

The boy’s face tightened with frustration. He couldn’t be more than sixteen. The way he worried over her injured shoulder was adorable. She’d heard of the brotherly affection that fellow soldiers had for each other. Working intelligence, she’d never had much experience with it, except in Afghanistan when she’d been caught in a skirmish with a small brick of Green Berets. But even then, she’d been the outsider, the one they had protected. She’d never seen the way a soldier would worry in such a nurturing way over her. It touched her, and she wanted to tell Will about the boy soldier, she wanted Will to give him a medal. She wanted Will to stay alive so he could.

She glanced in the direction Will had been, then saw him circling his horse, a thicket of trees behind him, giving him shade to see better. He gave an order to three large men, probably sergeants, and they raced back into formation. God, he looked beautiful—no, magnificent—on that horse, giving orders, his face concentrating on what needed to be done. This was what she had most wanted to see. He’d been a soldier since he was seventeen years old. The only time he’d had off was when he’d married, and he’d tried his hand at other investments. But as soon as Julia had died, he’d returned to the military.

Erva’s heart smashed around itself and was about to dissolve into nothing when she recalled the reason why Will had chosen to be here. She’d assumed he probably wanted to be close to this brotherly affection soldiers often had for each other. But ultimately, he’d been here because he’d given up.

Now he was here in this buckwheat field to sacrifice himself for her.

She didn’t talk any further with the boy, but began jogging to Will. Every step seemed to jar a red-hot fire poker into her shoulder. But she kept on until she finally was about ten feet from him.

“Yes, yes, sergeant. Tell the men of Bixby’s line to fall back fifty feet, make those Continentals creep forward, then we’ll have them at our mercy,” Will said almost softly. His always gravely deep voice had an odd lilt to it, as if he knew every word he uttered might be his last. Then he added, “But make sure to tell your men to have mercy. The Continentals are our brothers after all.”

The brawny man Will had been speaking with nodded. “But sometimes, sir, brothers make the most fierce of enemies.”

Will nodded too. “I’m afraid of just that, Sergeant. Make sure your men and Bixby’s never cut the Continentals into an outright rout, will you?”

The sergeant saluted. “Aye, sir.” Then he brushed past Erva as if he hadn’t even seen her.

Erva lost her voice, when she needed it most. But she cleared her throat, which made Will look over his shoulder at her. At first, he gave her a cursory glance, but then he looked again, his eyes wide. Immediately, he jumped from his horse.

At that same instant they both heard the whiny, high-pitched zip of a musket shot. The tree where Will had been sitting close to exploded into shreds of bark.

Will halted and stared at the hole in the tree. That had been exactly where his chest had been, and Erva knew it. She made an odd noise—part relief and part anguish—then raced to him. Holding him around his neck, she enjoyed his clean male scent rushing through her senses. Mixed with his usual smell was dirt and gunpowder. Unwrapping her arms from him, she searched his hard body with her eyes and hands for any injury.

“You’re wounded,” he whispered.

She shook her head as she felt along his thick arms. “It’s nothing.”

He took her by her arms and shook her. “Nothing! Good God, Erva, what the hell are you doing here? And you’re bleeding. Don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me I can’t be here when I know perfectly well why you’re here!”

He swallowed. “You—you’re not supposed to be here.”

Hot tears instantly fell down her face. “And what? I’m supposed to wait and hear about your death from Sergeant McDougal?”

“No. I don’t know how it works. Wouldn’t the muses tell you?”

“Ah, no. We don’t like sharing bad news,” said a feminine yet low voice with an unmistakable Greek accent.

Erva glanced up. There sat the muses on a nearby fence rail, wearing their golden togas, looking as if they were enjoying Shakespeare in the Park, instead of a full-fledged battle. But when Erva looked around, she realized the combat had ceased. No, it hadn’t. It had paused. Every single man was frozen in odd positions, some in mid-scream, some in mid-shot.

Will turned too, glancing around. His mouth was ajar at the battle halted in the middle of action.

One of the muses jumped off the fence and strolled closer. “As I said, we don’t like sharing bad news, but with you two kids we have a bucket load to spill.”

The other one, Erva wasn’t too sure which one was which, since they looked so similar, lunged off the fence too and walked close to the tree with the bullet hole. She shook her head as she inspected it. “This was supposed to go straight through your heart, Will.”

He huffed and clutched onto Erva’s non-wounded arm as if to hold him up.

The other muse, Erva thought it might be Erato, shook her head at her. “Erva, what are you thinking, trying to change history?”

Erva sidestepped until she was in front of Will, protecting him with her body. “I won’t let you repeat history. I won’t let you kill him.”

Clio stepped away from the tree and walked closer, her head cocked to the side. “Erva, come now. You of all people know the importance of history.”

“And with my death,” Will said, his voice hoarse, “wonderful things will happen to you, Erva.”

“Finally a voice of reason,” Clio said.

Erva whirled around and captured Will’s coat in her hands, realizing her right arm, though, was much weaker. “Wonderful things
will
happen? Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand that wonderful things have already happened? They happened because of you!”

Will’s eyes reddened. He gave her a small smile. “I hoped so. Because I know for myself, you are the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“And for me,” Erva cried. “I won’t live without you. I won’t.”

A tear trickled down Will’s sunken cheek. He hadn’t shaved and the moisture thinned through his dark, two days old beard. He smiled again. “Lord, I love you, Erva.”

“And I love you.”

“So it’s love, is it?” Erato asked, carefully stepping closer.

“Yes,” Erva said savagely, defensively. “Yes, it is, and there’s nothing you can do now. I’m not going to leave him.”

“Not even for all your dreams come true in your own time?” Erato asked.

Erva shook her head wildly. “You of all people, or whatever you are, should know about love. It exceeds all your expectations, all your wishes. My silly dreams of researching and writing are nothing compared to what I feel for Will.”

She felt Will’s hand caress her neck then turned to look at him. He bowed his head and spoke quietly. “No, my darling.”

“It’s the truth!” Erva screamed.

Will nodded. “I’m not arguing how you feel about me, and Lord knows how you have healed my heart, mended it until I was whole again, then made me a better man for it. But you are your dreams as well, darling. You can’t give them up.”

She clutched at his coat with her left hand. “No. Don’t tell me this. Don’t you understand what they’re here to do? They’re here to kill you and take you away from me. Don’t you understand by now?
You
are my dream.”

“I—I can’t do this, Sissy,” Erato said as moisture flowed down her pale face. The sun made her tears glisten like silver.

Erva saw from her periphery that Erato took a few steps away, covering her face with her hands. Clio took a tentative step closer to her sister, but stopped and looked at Erva and Will. She smiled with tears standing in her own eyes.

“My sister, the Muse of romance.” Clio shrugged. “But I’m not immune to your love either.”

“Then let me stay here, Clio,” Erva begged. “Please.”

Clio looked from Erva to Will. “You really fell in love in just a few short days, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Will answered before Erva could. His voice was authoritative and deep. Maybe even held a trace of hope.

Erato fell to her knees sobbing, shaking her head. “I can’t do this.”

Erva glanced from one muse to the other. “What does she mean she can’t do this?”

Clio stepped closer and then held up her hand toward the tree with the bullet hole. Immediately, a round metal-looking ball emerged, spiraling in the air. Clio waved her hand and the ball flew seven feet from the tree, but lingered, twirling, spiraling ominously.

Then Clio turned to Will smiling sadly, then Erva. “Oh, honey, you can’t change history.”

At that, Will was ripped from Erva’s grasp and suddenly back on his horse. Before she could even scream or take a step, the bullet hanging in the air suddenly flashed toward Will. With an eerie popping noise, Will grunted and curled in around his chest.

“No!” Erva screamed. “No!”

Suddenly his hands lay limply beside his hips, his head lulled to one side. He fell from his horse, and then the noise of the battle grew loud, deafening. Musket shots whizzed by. Men screamed in agony. And Will lay in a heap beside his horse.

Clio grabbed Erva by her shoulders, her right one screaming in pain. “Write about this, Erva. Write it all down. The world needs to know what a hero he was.” She shook Erva as Clio’s own tears spilled down her alabaster cheeks. “And get yourself to a doctor. You gunshot wound looks bad.”