The Billionaire's Muse
But some things were worth fighting for, and I knew this had been one of them. America wasn't perfect, but I'd enlisted because I believed in my country.
“I think you should get some sleep,” Gracen ended the conversation. “Sunrise will be in a couple hours, and if we’re lucky, we can get away from here before the patrols make their rounds.”
He stretched out on the ground this time, covered his face with his hat, and crossed his arms over his chest. I continued watching him until his breathing steadied, and a light snore escaped him. I didn't like him, I told myself, but I did wonder what would happen to him when the battle began tomorrow.
And what would happen to him as the rebellion became an official war? A war that the British would lose. I didn't know enough about British history to know how drastically the war affected their country, but I did know that it was a turning point that eventually led to America becoming one of the major world powers.
I reminded myself that none of it was my problem. That whatever happened to Gracen and his family had already happened long ago, just like the war had already taken place.
Sort of.
Trying to figure it all out made my head hurt even more.
I finally got into a relatively comfortable position, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
The cannon blast woke me even as I was being shaken.
The first thing I was aware of was the urgency with which Gracen was moving. Immediately on the heels of that thought was the change in the periodic gunfire I'd heard last night. It came faster now. Not as fast as it would in my time, but still enough of a change to remind me of where and when I was.
The Battle of Bunker Hill had begun.
“Did you know?” he asked as he cut the rope binding my hands. “Was this why you wanted to get away so urgently?”
“I had no idea,” I lied, rubbing my sore wrists as I watched him throw a glance toward the city. In the light, he was even more handsome than the night before, his features clearer, his emerald eyes more piercing. The frown on his face, though, wasn’t as appealing.
He looked at me as if I had tricked him somehow. “Did you attempt to keep me here?” he asked.
“Are you serious?” I asked incredulously. “I tried to get away from you. You were the one keeping me here against my will.”
He pulled his overcoat on without taking his eyes from the tree line. I knew what he was looking for, and I wanted to assure him that if we avoided Breed's Hill, we'd most likely pass by unseen. But I knew if I offered this bit of information, he'd want to know how I came by it, and that wasn't a story I could tell.
“I want nothing to do with this.” Gracen's voice was hard. “You are free to do as you please, but I will not be a part of this madness.”
I moved quickly to his side, pleased at how much better my ankle felt, and crouched beside him even as the sounds of muskets and cannons roared nearby. This was what I wanted to avoid last night, though, in hindsight, I realized it would have been a bad idea to join up with the soldiers now facing off against the British. While the British casualties would be more than double the American ones, it would still be a bloodbath.
“We should probably stick together,” I said.
I'd told myself that Gracen wasn't my responsibility, but now that it came down to it, I couldn't leave him here, knowing what I did. Even though neither of us were soldiers in this war, it felt too much like leaving a man behind, no matter how things had originally played out for him.
He was moving now, and I followed. At least he was being cautious as he inched toward the river. As I walked behind him, I was unsure if I should give him details about where the majority of the fighting was taking place. My sense of direction was skewed at the moment, and I had no idea where we were in relation to Breed's Hill. Ennis would have known.
Keeping low and moving slow were our best bets. With neither of us being armed and me still limping a bit, I could only hope that if we ran into either side, they'd take us for civilians trying to avoid being shot.
Morning turned into afternoon as the heat rose steadily. I wanted to ask Gracen how much farther, but being quiet was more important than the sweat pouring down my face. Theoretically, I'd known that Boston and the surrounding countryside would have looked different than what I was used to, but I hadn't realized how much. I was completely dependent on Gracen to lead me now. I was completely lost.
Then I saw the smoke.
Charlestown, Massachusetts was on fire.
Through the trees and brush, I could see flickers of orange and red. The people in Boston would have a better view. According to the book Ennis had given me to read, one of those Bostonians would be John Quincy Adams, a child now, but who would later become president.
The strange things we remember in moments of duress.
Even though the details were lost, the smell of the smoke and the sounds of battle drove home more than anything else just how great a price had been paid for our freedom. This was only one of many battles that would make up the war, and it wouldn't be long before the colonists would run out of bullets and resort to throwing rocks. It would be a bloodbath.
We had to leave before we were counted among the casualties.
I grabbed Gracen by the arm, but he wouldn’t budge.
“My God,” he whispered as he watched the flames across the Charles River.
I pulled harder. “Gracen, we have to move, now!”
He stumbled a few steps, his face pale. I didn't blame him. I'd seen war firsthand, and I felt sick to my stomach. For someone who'd never witnessed it, it was overwhelming. I pulled harder, and Gracen followed me a dozen feet or so before we were stopped by three muskets pointing straight at us.
“Halt, in the name of King George!”
Shit.
I pushed Gracen behind me, an involuntary act since there was no way I'd be able to protect either one of us, but I was also pretty sure he'd be useless if it came to a fight. The redcoat in the middle lowered his musket, coming toward us in slow strides. The other two kept their weapons trained right on us.
“Identify yourselves!” the leader demanded.
I held up my hands to show that I didn't have any weapons. Even though it irked me, I knew that we were safer with the British than the Americans at the moment.
“My name is Gracen Lightwood.” He stepped around me, and I frowned at him. He ignored me. “I am the son of Roston Lightwood, a Loyalist to the Crown, and a friend to the British army.”
The man looked at me, clearly expecting me to add my own identity to the mix. Gracen knew where my loyalties were, and I wasn't sure I could trust him to support any lies I might tell, but I also knew I couldn't tell the truth.
“Mr. Daviot is my steward,” Gracen lied, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “We were on our way to my estate when the fighting started, and we decided to take cover and wait out the battle.”
The redcoat looked past us toward where the battle continued. He didn't even bother hiding his contempt at what I was sure he considered cowardly behavior. I had no doubt he wished to be with his comrades, charging the rebels on the hill. I wanted to tell him that he was better off here.
“In the name of King George, I am putting you under arrest and taking you to camp for questioning,” the man said.
“Good man, I assure, there is no need–” Gracen began but immediately held his tongue when he was shot an angry glance. The other two soldiers came forward, clearly intending to do as they'd been told.
I couldn't let them take us to camp. I didn't know how close it was to Breed's Hill, for one thing. For another, I was somehow still passing as a man. If we were taken somewhere to be questioned, there was a good chance that my gender would be discovered which would cause more problems than I even wanted to think about.
Since I was unarmed, I needed to be fast. I said a quick prayer that my training back home would be as much of a surprise as my resistance and then moved. Kicking at the
musket pointed at me, it fell to the side just as the man pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was deafening, but it was the target I was worrying about, and the lead ball had the desired effect as it buried in one of the other soldier's legs.
As the musket was brought back around, the redcoat seemed eager to use the bayonet on me, but I grabbed the barrel and pulled it forward. I watched as the blade slid into the other soldier before he could do anything more than stare at us in shock.
The redcoat hit me, his fist slamming against the back of my head. I saw stars and staggered, pain shooting through my skull and down my spine. I let the adrenaline flood through me, giving me what I needed to move past the pain, and not a moment too soon. The soldier pulled his weapon out of his fallen comrade and turned it on me.
He thrust the bayonet toward me and the blade cut through my shirt and shoulder, drawing blood. It did little damage, and I ignored the pain as I pushed the weapon away and grabbed the soldier. My hands wrapped around his arm, and I brought his elbow upwards with tremendous force. The man screamed in pain as I felt his joint snap and the gun fell from his hand. He was quick though and managed a blow to the jaw that caught me enough off guard that I fell.
I was sure that would be it for me, but that was when Gracen moved. His cane caught the redcoat square in the jaw. The man staggered, surprised by the attack, but collected himself quickly. He went for Gracen, but I grabbed at him as he passed. His elbow connected with my temple, and my grip loosened enough for him to break free.
He grabbed his gun and turned on me, ignoring Gracen as the soldier who'd been shot joined in the fight. He grabbed Gracen's leg, but I barely had time to register it before the leader drove his bayonet down.
I screamed at the pain searing through my leg as the blade sliced through skin and muscle. Grabbing the barrel of the gun to keep the soldier from pulling the bayonet out, I kicked with my good leg. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gracen knocked to the ground. The man above me saw it too and reached for his dead comrade's gun.
Without thinking, I yanked the bayonet free, sending a fresh wave of pain blasting through my system. Swinging out, the bayonet sunk into the leader's side before he could reach Gracen. I twisted it sharply, and the soldier turned toward me. Our eyes locked for a brief second before he slumped to the ground.
I fell back, the pain in my leg and shoulder overcoming the adrenaline. A gunshot made me jump, and I looked over to see Gracen holding a small pistol, smoke still coming from the barrel. The injured soldier was now dead.
Gracen's eyes met mine, and I saw horror at what we'd done. I opened my mouth to tell him that we hadn't been given a choice, that it had been us or them, but I knew he wouldn't understand, not when he'd been so certain that his father's loyalties would protect him.
At the moment, however, that wasn't our biggest problem.
About thirty yards away, three more redcoats were running towards us, and I knew there was no getting away.
Chapter Nine
“The key is to not get caught.”
Wilkins and I had been doing grunt work all day, and all I wanted now was to grab a nap in the short time we had before dinner.
“Go to sleep, Wilkins,” I called out.
“I’m serious, Daviot,” he said. “This isn’t a place where you want to play hero. To these people...anyone who's not Muslim is an infidel, and they're going to treat you like one. Probably worse since you're a woman doing a man's job.”
I shook my head, knowing it was pointless to argue with his stereotyping. The truth was, I'd met several locals over the past couple months, most of whom had treated me with respect, some I even considered friends.
“When the going gets rough, Daviot, you run,” Wilkins continued. “And if you can’t run, you better make sure you have a bullet left that you can aim at your head.”
I sat up on my elbow and looked over at him, frowning as he stared back at me with his child-like grin. “You know you’re full of shit, right?”
“Am I?”
“Go to sleep!” This time, my tone was harsher, and when I laid back down, he didn’t reply.
The water was cold, and I instantly snapped awake.
I was on my knees, my hands tied behind my back, and the wound on my leg crudely tied to stop the bleeding. My face and hair were dripping from the water they'd thrown on me.
I looked up from my kneeling position, taking in my surroundings. A few feet away from me sat Gracen. He was in a chair, frowning at the officer who leaned calmly against the edge of an oak table. I had a feeling Gracen had sold the same lie he'd given the other soldiers, which meant I was the more expendable of the two of us. The fact that the officer was smiling at me didn't make me feel any more at ease.
There were four other soldiers around us, and the closest one to me held the bucket that I assumed once contained the water that was now running down my face. I glanced at Gracen, my eyes catching his, and the worry I saw there was surprising.
“I always thought of you colonists as a rugged bunch, wild dogs running about and snapping your muzzles at anything that walked by.” The officer sneered down at me. “While your friend put up a surprising fight, in the end, you were still no more than I expected.”
I stared up at him, silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reply, though I knew exactly what he was talking about. The sound of gunfire had ceased, the battle obviously over. The British had won, but I knew what was coming. I gave the man a small smile.
“This amuses you?”
I nodded. “You might have won, but I’m pretty sure you’ve lost more than you’ve gained.”
A fist connected with the side of my face, and I fell backwards, unable to stop myself from hitting the ground hard. My cheek throbbed, but my leg hurt more. The way I'd fallen had pulled the muscles in my leg and made the wound bleed again.
“I do not like being here,” the officer said, standing up and dusting his coat as he looked down at me. “I would much rather be home, among civilized people, but until this rebellion is quashed, I'm here. So, you will help me get home. Let us start with how many men are outside Boston, shall we?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
A kick to my ribs and I gasped as the air was pushed from my lungs.
“When are your reinforcements arriving?”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know.”
Another kick, probably cracking my ribs.
The officer sighed heavily. “Lying will get you nowhere. Now, you know that someone such as yourself, dressed in non-regulation uniform, can be considered a spy. And we hang spies.”
“I demand a meeting with General Gage,” Gracen cut in.
The officer looked at him for a few seconds before back-handing him, the ring on his finger leaving a thin cut across his handsome cheek. “You don’t make demands here.”
“My name is Gracen Lightwood, captain.” Gracen looked pissed. “My father is Roston Lightwood. We are loyal British subjects and friends to the Crown. Our lands were presented to us by the king himself. I demand to see General Gage.”
The officer bent down, his face inches from Gracen’s as he smiled. I'd seen that look before, and it wasn't one I cared to see now. This captain wouldn’t be intimidated.
“I know your father,” the captain said. “Now, I ask myself how he would react to knowing that his son was found in the company of a sympathizer, or worse, a colonist soldier. I doubt he’d be very pleased.” The officer grabbed Gracen by the jaw. “He may ask to put the noose around your neck himself.”
Gracen didn't even flinch. “Let us send for my father and see?”
The officer let go of Gracen and gave him a shove, knocking both Gracen and the chair onto the ground. One look at the expression in Gracen's eyes told me that no matter what his politics were coming in here, he wouldn’t extend that loyalty to this captain.
“Now,” the officer cut into my thoughts as he crouched in front of me, “let us discuss what inform
ation you will give me.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes, bracing myself for another beating. When I felt pressure on my leg, a boot pressing down on my wound, my eyes snapped open, and I screamed in pain.
“This is bleeding badly,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “You might not even make it to the gallows.” He removed his foot and leaned closer. “Now, I can make all that pain go away, or I can make it much, much worse. The choice is yours.”
I didn’t answer, focusing instead on taking slow, deep breaths as I fought through the pain. I could take more, even though the prospect wasn't appealing. All I needed was for him to decide to leave me to die at some point and hope that I was able to escape.
Let them have their fun, for now. I planned to kill each and every one of them as soon as I had the chance.
The officer sighed and heavy hands grabbed me by the shoulders, picking me up. They dragged me to the opposite side of the tent and tossed me there to lick my wounds. The bucket was tossed aimlessly at me, the hard wood slamming against my head as it tumbled away. Dazed, I watched it roll...only to stop at the side of a musket, the protruding bayonet inches from where I lay.
I sat up slowly, exaggerating the extent of my pain as I watched the officer and soldiers shift their attention to Gracen. Two of them yanked him upright.
“You know, I do not consider colonists to be true British citizens,” the officer said. “Not like you and I, Mr. Lightwood. I see them on the level of the Irish, or the Scots. A lower class of being. They can hardly be surprised to not be afforded the same liberties as those of us more deserving.”
“I know what the colonies owe the Crown,” Gracen said stiffly. “And as you pointed out, I am not colony born.”
The officer nodded in mock approval, applauding softly as he smiled at his soldiers. “I do believe we owe the man an apology, do we not, boys? I say we free him from his shackles and pour him a cup of tea.”