Faithfully Yours (11 page)

When Gaylord pulled someone into the room, Sebastian was not surprised to see Faith. She was carrying a basket of clean laundry.

“How long have you been lurking there?” Gaylord demanded again.

Faith tugged her arm, but he did not release her. Reaching over Gaylord's hand, Sebastian peeled his fingers off Faith's arm.

“Thank you,” Faith said, but her eyes flashed with anger. “I will continue with my chores now, unassaulted by you and your fellow soldiers.”

Sebastian glared at his brother. With another sniff, Gaylord went back to the hearth. At the same time, Faith walked out of the room. A hushed chuckle came from where Osborne was witnessing the whole of this.

Motioning at the door, Sebastian said, “Osborne, Gaylord, you are excused.”

“If you want to be alone, so that you can call her back,” Gaylord said, walking toward the door, “all you need to do is say so. There is no need for you to order me about as if I am under your command.”

“I need to write a message to send back to our superiors in Philadelphia,” he replied as Osborne went out into the corridor. The lieutenant would linger there, no doubt hoping to hear every word that was spoken within the room.

Gaylord closed the door and faced Sebastian, his arms folded in front of him. “Will you tell them about a fair lass whose father is unfortunately a loyalist?”

“Unfortunately? Cromwell has been a good host, and this farm is an excellent base for our explorations into the rebel-held areas.”

“But a loyalist would be heeded if he complained about you and his daughter.”

“I have no intention of giving Cromwell any cause to complain.”

Gaylord chuckled. “What of his daughter? I have seen how she looks at you—with a soft gaze that suggests you need only ask and she is yours. Will she be sorry that you did not share this comfortable bed with her?”

“That you can say that proves you do not know Faith well.”

“Not as well as you do, I daresay.” Clasping Sebastian's arm, he grinned. “I know you believe you have to uphold the family's honor with every breath you take, but I know as well that any man with Kendrick blood in his veins cannot ignore such a beguiling gaze when it is aimed at him.”

Sebastian laughed as he pulled off his coat and draped it over the foot of the bed. “Now I know you are well enough to return to your patrol. I had wondered how soon you would start speaking of the pursuit of a lady.”

“I am not speaking of my pursuits, but yours. You are far from Kendrick Court, Sebastian. Who knows how long you will be stuck here in this cold and miserable place? With the victories by the rebels north of here, this war will last at least until spring.” He put his foot on the chest by the bed and rested his elbow on his knee. “You need not be cold this winter if you have such a lass to warm your bed.”

“Beneath her father's roof?” Sebastian shook his head. “That will never happen.”

“You say never easily. I have seen that Cromwell is eager to have his eldest daughter in your company. How often in the few days I have been here has he arranged for Mistress Faith to sit beside you? Do not ignore good fortune simply because it is convenient.”

Slapping Gaylord on the arm, he said, “I look forward to trading tales with you when I see you next. Take care, little brother.”

“You should do the same, Sebastian.”

“I am out of the line of fire here.”

“I was not speaking of that.” Gaylord picked up his hat and set it on his head. “Take care that you do not let your determination to gain Father's favor keep you from enjoying Faith's.”

The door closed behind his brother. Sebastian scowled at it, but nothing would change the truth his brother had spoken. How easy it was for Gaylord to seek his pleasures, knowing that he did not have to live up to some ideal of what the Kendrick heir should be. Sebastian's frown became a wry grin. It would not matter if Gaylord was the heir or not. His brother had a sincere disregard for anything that intruded on his focus on cards and women. In that, Gaylord resembled their mutual sire much more than Sebastian did.

Lord Kendrick never shirks his duty. He is always the first to engage battle and the last to retire
.

And his father would be glad to remind Sebastian now that his duty was to find some way to bring honor to the family with a show of great heroism. Opening up the dispatch from Philadelphia, he reread it. Becoming a hero when the British army was mired in the stench of defeat would not be easy. Somehow, he would find a way, but this was bound to complicate everything.

Faith hammered the nail back into place on the fence post. Mother would be distressed to see her doing this sort of work, especially when the sky was low with the promise of a storm. Yet, hitting the hammer over and over against the square nail eased her anger. How dare Lieutenant Kendrick treat her so crudely and assume that she was eavesdropping on them! Yes, she had heard their raised voices, but she had not been paying them any mind. Her own thoughts had been raucous as she tried to decide what to do about her burgeoning desire for Sebastian Kendrick.

When she heard the dogs barking, she smiled. They must have found another squirrel to chase. Sometimes, she thought the squirrels took turns tormenting them, knowing none of the dogs could catch them as long as they stayed in the trees.

“Do they always get involved in such hopeless pursuits?” asked Sebastian from behind her.

Faith closed her eyes, trying to submerge the pulse of joy at the sound of his voice. “Hopeless pursuits seem to be becoming something of a habit around here.”

“If you speak of my mission, I can tell you that it is not hopeless.”

“No?” She looked up at him, startled. Maybe she should have listened more closely at the doorway. “Have you found the smugglers or the Continental Congress?”

“We know where the Continental Congress is.”

“And the smugglers?”

He gave her a rakish smile. “I wish I could say the same, and I expect I will soon.” Bending toward her, he added, “Let me help.”

She started to stand, then yelped as she realized her skirt was caught by a thick sliver on the rough post. She turned, trying to free herself without ripping her skirt.

Sebastian's laugh halted her frantic fingers. Here, in the gray light beneath the clouds and without his uniform, for he wore a buckskin shirt and breeches, his smile no longer seemed like a taunt, as it had in the house. Good humor glittered in his eyes—good humor and something she would be a fool to examine too closely.

“I believe I do need some help,” she replied, kneeling again.

“Then do not move. You are certain to tear your pretty blue skirt if you do.”

Faith smiled, but held her breath as Sebastian's leg brushed her shoulder, heating all kinds of sweet stirrings in her. When she released the breath and took another, it was filled with his enticing masculine essence. She should tell him to move aside, that she had changed her mind, that she would find a way to escape without his help. As she savored the inadvertent touch, she did not.

“I think I am more skillful with knitting needles than I am with a hammer,” she said, trying to keep the conversation going so she could think of something other than how close he stood.

“There,” he announced as he stepped back. “You are free.”

“Something that folks around here would never expect to hear from a British army major.”

His smile wavered. “Can you never speak of anything without bringing the war into it?”

“I would like to, but the war touches everything I do, everything I see, everyone I love.” She picked up the hammer, but met his eyes steadily as she added, “And it makes even allies distrust each other so much that they accuse each other of crimes that have not been committed.”

“Gaylord should have thought before he acted.”

“Is that a fault with everyone in your family?”

Even though he wanted to deny it, Sebastian could not halt himself from caressing Faith's cheek, which was burnished by the cold. “Not with everyone.”

She laughed. “It is in mine.”

“I would say it is quite the opposite. At least, in your case. You seem to think endlessly about everything you do or say.”

“It is a good idea to consider all aspects of an action.”

“And how would you consider
this?
”

When he pulled her to him, her lips were soft and inviting beneath his. His tongue brushed hers. She trembled and pressed closer. He groaned with the need that stole his thoughts from his duties. His arm around her waist, he tugged her even more tightly to him. As her hands glided up his back, he longed to scoop her into his arms and take her somewhere to teach her that these kisses were only a prelude to a crescendo that would thrill them both.

The dogs yelped again, and Faith drew back. Sebastian refused to let her escape him this time. Locking his fingers together at the back of her waist, he smiled at her.

“So what do you say, Faith?” he asked. “How do you consider that?”

“I consider it constantly.” Her finger traced the lacing that held the front of his shirt together.

“That is good to hear, but sometimes one needs to stop thinking and do something.”

Her breathless “Yes,” barely reached his ears before her mouth welcomed his again. Smiling against her lips, for he was pleased at her kissing
him
, he let his fingers slide slowly down her back. She quivered beneath his touch, and a fiery craving thrust through him like a heated blade. As his hands came up to cup her breasts, her sharp gasp became a soft mew of pleasure. He raised his head so he could see the rapture on her face.

“No,” she whispered.

“No? You don't want me to touch you like this?” His thumb climbed the curve of her breast to tease its tip.

“No. Do not stop kissing me.” Her voice took on a frantic tone as her hand against his nape steered his mouth to hers.

He tightened his arms around her until he was sure he could feel her heart beating against his. With a groan, he released her before he found he could not. She rested her cheek against his chest, her breath coming as swiftly as his. He leaned his head against her cap, which smelled of fresh air and the day's chill. A stray curl teased him to explore further.

Before he could follow that temptation, a cold drop struck his head. It was followed by another. Looking up, he saw that the clouds were about to release their burden of rain. He took Faith's hand and hurried with her into the house before both of them could get soaked.

Sebastian cursed under his breath as they stepped beneath the roof of the porch and out of the storm. The soft gaze in her eyes remained, offering him an invitation that he ached to accept.
Under her father's roof
. He knew he would be wise to recall that the obligations of a host did not include offering his daughter. Voices came from the dining room, so he drew her into the parlor.

Again he could not keep himself from tasting her soft lips. She jumped back when footsteps raced up the stairs, followed by Mistress Cromwell calling to her children not to run through the house.

“
They
certainly could never be accused of sneaking up on one,” Sebastian said with a chuckle.

“I did not hear what you and your brother and Lieutenant Osborne were discussing,” Faith whispered, wanting to slip her arms around him again.

“Why not?”

She regarded him in amazement. “I do not eavesdrop on my father's guests.”

“Then you have not heard about the defeat of the British army north of Albany?”

Her eyes widened as Sebastian explained the contents of the message he had received. “How can that be? How can the rebels cause such a defeat?”

“Defeat?” Her father strode into the parlor. “What are you talking about?”

Faith drew her fingers out of Sebastian's hand and went to her father. “Sebastian has received word of General Burgoyne surrendering to the rebels.”

What her father replied sent flame rushing up her face. She wanted to remind him that the expedition from Canada led by General Burgoyne was not a part of the main army, but her father would remain furious. Nothing but the complete defeat of General Washington's army would satisfy him.

She lowered her eyes quickly so that her father—and Sebastian—could not see her dismay. General Washington could not give up, because he would be sentenced to be hanged along with all of his officers. Clenching her hands, she recalled how two men from Goshen had been made officers before the battle by the Brandywine.

“I have embarrassed you, Faith,” her father said with a sigh. “Forgive me for letting my own dismay cause me to speak so harshly.”

“Embarrassment is what Burgoyne's going to face when he returns to Philadelphia.” Sebastian sat, as Faith did, then came to his feet as her mother came into the room.

Mistress Cromwell motioned for him to sit. “I have heard what you said. I find this remarkable.”

“As do our military leaders in Philadelphia,” Sebastian said. “I am glad I shall not be there to listen to Burgoyne explain how his well-trained men were defeated by an undisciplined collection of mountain men and farmers.”

“How can you jest about this?” asked Faith, astonished. “If—”

Mistress Cromwell stood. “I came to tell you that our meal is ready. Why don't you wash up? Then we can discuss this during our supper. Faith, will you bring the soup into the dining room? I have to—” She glanced at her husband and Sebastian. “I have something I must do before supper. It will take only a moment.”

Faith nodded, but glanced again at her father and Sebastian, who did not move to follow her out of the room. As they talked so low and fast that she could not understand, she hurried after her mother.

One thing she did understand. She liked Sebastian's kisses too much. She must not let them betray her into foolishness, or she would be defeated as utterly as General Burgoyne—and the cost of surrender might be far higher than she could imagine.