Faithfully Yours (13 page)

She took a step toward him, then paused beside the puddle. “What is wrong, Sebastian? Are your men worse?”

“No, they are better. However, I know now what has caused this stomach ailment. They have been poisoned.”

“Poisoned? How can you be certain of that?”

Holding up the mug, he ordered, “Run your finger around it.” Before she could move, he set the mug on a fence post. “No, 'tis better that you do not touch it. There is no way to tell if the poison is as deadly to the touch as it is when swallowed.”

“Deadly?” She stared at the mug.

He wiped his hands on his breeches, then stepped over the puddle. His arm around her waist drew her closer. His thumb brought her chin up and her lips to his. Wanting to rid himself of the taint of the fury that drove one person to kill another, he savored the welcome on her lips. They quivered, and he raised his head to see the horror in her eyes.

“Someone tainted what they were drinking,” he said quietly.

“But I—”

“They drank more than the mulled cider you sent to them.” His lips tightened. “In fact, Osborne apparently kept most of the rum he purchased for himself. That would explain why he was the sickest of the lot.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she closed her eyes.

Tipping her chin back again, he whispered, “Did you think
you
did this to my men?”

“They drank the cider I sent to them. If something had been amiss with it—”

“Your father and I both drank the cider you made that night.”

Again she shut her eyes and trembled.

“Major Kendrick!”

At the shout, Sebastian turned to see a man riding into the barnyard. The insignia upon his brilliant red jacket identified the man as a sergeant. When the man swung down from the horse, he swept the reins around the fence. One end caught the tankard, tipping it to the ground.

“Forgive me, Major,” the man said, ashen-faced. He snapped a salute. “Sergeant Darnell, sir.”

“No damage done. Tell me what has brought you here at such obvious speed.”

“Bringing good news, sir.” He glanced at Faith before adding, “Do you want it now?”

“Good news comes so seldom that I would like to hear it as quickly as possible.”

“A rebel spy has been caught, sir. Man by the name of Tom Rooke.”

At Faith's soft gasp—a sound she regretted if he judged her gray face correctly—Sebastian asked, “Do you know this man, Faith?”

“I have heard of him, but he does not live in Goshen.”

Sergeant Darnell nodded. “The message I was ordered to bring you, Major Kendrick, said the man lives in Paoli, not far from where the battle was fought there.” His grin widened. “You will be glad to know as well, Major Kendrick, that his capture was by your brother. He is being touted as a hero from here to the Schuylkill River.”

“Gaylord—Lieutenant Kendrick caught the man?”

The messenger grinned. “On his way back to his own company, he happened upon Rooke, who had injured himself sneaking through the woods.”

“Is he badly hurt?” Faith asked. She did not lower her eyes, but Sebastian noticed how her face stiffened as if she were fighting to keep them from seeing her true reaction.

“A broken leg.” Sergeant Darnell's grin widened. “Don't worry. He will not have to suffer its pain long before he is hanged.”

“Oh.” Her face became pale again, and her smile seemed false. “You must be proud of your brother, Sebastian, for such a heroic deed.”

Sebastian clasped his hands behind him. How Father would crow with delight when he learned how his youngest son had proven his courage by nabbing a rebel spy! His father's voice rang through his head as he reminded Sebastian—again—of the obligations upon the shoulders of an heir of the lord of Kendrick Court.

Darnell added, “The colonel asks that you oversee this spy's questioning, Major Kendrick. He believes that Rooke may be the key to discovering all the rebels' activities in this area.”

“I understand. Thank you for bringing me such tidings, Sergeant,” he replied. “Faith, I trust your mother has a plate of something for the sergeant.”

“Yes.” She looked from him to Sergeant Darnell, who was wearing a quizzical expression. “My parents are always pleased to offer hospitality to the king's men.”

With another salute, the sergeant hurried to the kitchen door. Sebastian wondered if the man was more eager to have a good meal or to escape his clipped tones.

“You seemed upset about the arrest of this spy,” Sebastian said.

“He was captured not far from here,” Faith replied. “Of course, I am distressed. However, you do not look pleased that your brother is now a hero.”

“It may be the lack of sleep.” He bent to pick up the tankard. “It appears that even the news of the capture of a spy is not enough to spark my interest when I am so fatigued.”

“But you should be excited that your brother is the one who apprehended him.”

“By lucky circumstance.”

“And is that all it is to you?”

“What else could it be?”

He knew he should have kept silent when her eyes widened and she gasped, “You are jealous of your brother!”

“Do not be silly.” He set the tankard on the post. When it fell to the ground again, he cursed.

“Me?” She shook her head. “I am not the one who is struggling not to bemoan the fact that my brother is about to be lauded as a hero.”

“He
is
a hero.”

“Yes, the very hero you wish to be.” She put her hand on his sleeve, and he had to force his mind to focus on her words instead of her touch.

It was impossible. As his fingers covered hers, he said, “Being a hero is not what I am thinking of now. I am thinking of how I might persuade you to discover the rapture that we could share.”

“Sebastian—”

He silenced her with his lips over hers. When she softened against him, his slow, eager exploration of her curves enchanted him. His tongue surged into her mouth, and he tasted its slippery secrets.
This
was what he wanted—this delicious pleasure. It was even sweeter than the idea of standing before his father as he acknowledged that his son had met the obligations of the title that the family claimed.

When she drew back, he stared at her in amazement. She wanted this, too. He could tell that. Yet, she eased out of his arms and stared at him with tears dimming her eyes.

“Faith …”

“Do not say anything you shall regret,” she whispered. “I shall not be your way to assuage your sorrow at not being the grand hero you vowed to be.”

Shocked that she seemed privy to his thoughts, he said, “Kissing you has nothing to do with sorrow. Your kisses captivate me.”

Her eyes brightened for a moment. Then she sighed. “Maybe so, but I wonder if they mean as much to you as your father's admiration. You would risk anything to fulfill your vow to him.” She whirled away, her skirt rippling behind her as she hurried into the house.

He started to follow, but his boot struck the tankard. Squatting, he picked it up. He looked from it to the kitchen door. Faith was right. He would risk anything to do as he had vowed. Would she do the same to protect those she loved? She had quickly changed the subject when he asked her about the spy. He must find out why. If there was some connection between her and this spy, he must discover it—before she did something foolish. He did not want to become a hero by sending her to hang beside Rooke.

Nine

“You are mistaken, Major.” Rooke glared at him. “If you did not want to admit that your brother made a grave error in arresting me, you would have released me by now.”

Sebastian smiled from his seat on a log in the small building that was being used as a cell for the spy. Rooke's glib answers had persuaded him that the man was lying. He looked for a way to attack Sebastian with each answer, as if they were dueling with swords. Rooke was seeking any weakness.

Looking past Osborne, who was pacing in front of the bars in the cell's door, Sebastian said, “You are the one mistaken, Rooke. To spy on the king's men is always a mistake that leads to execution.”

“A threat that would make any spy refuse to admit the truth.”

“True.”

The spy regarded Sebastian, astounded. Wanting to tell Rooke that he had not been chosen to interrogate him simply because he was the highest ranking officer in the area, Sebastian continued to smile. Using words as weapons was a skill Sebastian had learned young.

“Would you rather,” Sebastian asked in the same pleasant voice, “that I skip this interrogation and send for a strong rope?”

“That would gain you nothing, Major.”

“
That
is not true,” retorted Osborne, clearly unable to remain quiet. “Your death would serve as a warning for your compatriots that the price of treason is dear.”

Rooke snickered. “Do you honestly believe that drivel?”

“
I
honestly believe that I am being honest,” Sebastian replied. “I cannot say the same about you. Tell me who you were planning to meet the day you were captured.”

“I have told you. A person with whom I had business that has nothing to do with the war.”

“Does this person have a name?”

Rooke shifted, and a flash of pain cut across his face as he adjusted his broken leg, which had been splinted. “I am certain this person has a name, but I do not know what it is.”

“This will gain us nothing,” Osborne snarled. “Why not stretch his neck and be done with it?”

Sebastian motioned Osborne to silence. Leaving Osborne at Cromwell's house would have been wise, but the lieutenant needed to learn how to handle an interrogation. Arguing with a prisoner was not the way to do it.

Quietly, Sebastian asked, “You always do business with strangers, Rooke?”

“I do business with anyone who will buy my tin wares.” Rooke's lip twisted in a snarl. “Even your friend, Cromwell. I had planned to call at his farm after I had this other meeting.”

“That can be easily verified.”

Rooke gripped the bars of his cell and pressed his face close to them. “Go ahead, Major. Ask Mistress Cromwell. You will learn that I am telling the truth. I have called there regularly to sell her tin wares.” He laughed coldly. “Or ask her eldest. Mistress Faith knows me very well.”

“Do not think to shift our attention to the Cromwell family,” Sebastian said.

“Shift
your
attention, Major? From what I have heard even in Paoli, your attention is already focused on Mistress Faith. Don't you realize you are wasting your time? She is pining for her sweetheart, who was slain by British soldiers.”

“I know about Wade Mertz and—”

“Not Mertz, but a man named Burstan.” He chuckled. “I guess she failed to mention
him.
”

“We are speaking of your activities, Rooke, not hers.” Sebastian stood as he repeated the question he had so often. “Who were you planning to meet, and why?”

Two hours later, while he was riding back to the Cromwells' house, Sebastian wondered how long it would take Rooke to reveal the truth. There must be some proof before the man was sent to hang. Finding a way to obtain it should be the only thing on Sebastian's mind now.

So why was he thinking of how Faith had failed to mention this other man, who had also died beside the Brandywine? He had to find the answer to that as soon as possible.

Faith stepped from the pony cart after her mother and forced a smile for her younger brothers as they scrambled out of the wagon that Father had driven to church. Hearing the hum of voices beneath the clang of the steeple bell, she wondered how she could hold onto her lies in the churchyard.

In spite of herself, she could not keep from glancing at Sebastian, who was lifting her sisters out of the back of the wagon. He wore his uniform again today, and she saw the scowls aimed at him. Maybe he was noting them, too, so he could discover which of her neighbors supported the rebels. The truth of that would be known when Tom Rooke revealed all he knew.

Father had celebrated the tidings of Tom's capture by opening a precious bottle of wine to toast the British army and their skill. Lieutenant Osborne, who seemed much better after his sickness, had matched Father glass for glass. Sebastian might have, as well. Faith had kept herself from looking at him. If he saw her despair, he might guess that she feared that her family's safety would come to an end the moment Tom Rooke spoke her name to his inquisitors.

How could she have been so foolish? She had known that Tom was involved in more than taking supplies to those of her neighbors who were serving with General Washington. His antipathy of the British army was even greater than hers—not just the army, but of King George and his government. That fact she had tried to ignore. Now it would turn like a snake and attack her.

“Faith!” came her father's sharp voice, which warned her that he been trying to get her attention.

“Yes, Father?”

“Come along. We must not be late for the Sabbath services.”

“Yes, Father.” She was happy to answer dutifully when she saw Mother walking with her brothers and sisters into the church.

“May I?” asked Sebastian, offering his arm.

Knowing she was inviting more trouble, Faith put her fingers on his scarlet wool sleeve. To say no might create a scene, and she did not want that. She was aware of the glances as they stepped into the plain sanctuary. Wanting to urge Sebastian to hurry as they walked between the two sections of pews, she remained silent. When her eyes were caught by her mother's, she tried to smile.

She sat next to Sebastian, trying to ignore the glares aimed at them. She struggled to keep her face serene. When her father leaned across her to whisper to Sebastian, she was glad for the excuse to lower her eyes without acting guilty—which she was, she had to admit.