The mockery wasn't lost on Gracen, and the look on his face said he didn't appreciate it. I had a feeling that Gracen Lightwood wasn't accustomed to being mocked.
Keep them busy, Gracen, I thought. And we might just get out of this alive.
Fortunately, the captain was willing to help as well. “Tell me, Loyalist Gracen Lightwood. Why are you with this colonist?”
“As I previously told you, he is a servant. My steward, specifically. And he accompanied me on a trip. We were on our way home when we were ambushed without warning or cause.”
“And where were you before this?”
“Farther South, visiting friends.”
I slowly shifted my position closer to the bayonet beside me, keeping my eyes on the soldiers the whole time, stopping when one looked over at me, then resuming movement when they looked away. I kept going until the tip of the bayonet poked into the small of my back, and the ropes around my wrist rested on the sharp blade.
The officer looked at Gracen skeptically, and while all attention was focused away from me, I used the opportunity to cut the ropes. As I sawed up and down, I felt them begin to loosen but knew it would be a while before I could get all the way through. I didn't rush it though. Getting them off was one thing, finding a way out of here something else completely.
And with Gracen tied to a chair, escaping wouldn’t be easy. Taking on three unseasoned soldiers was one thing, and we had barely come out of it alive. Four soldiers and an officer were an entirely different issue. Add to that the fact that I had no idea where we were or what would be waiting outside this tent, I knew the odds were stacked against us.
I needed a plan and quick.
“Tell me, young Lightwood,” the officer said, his voice even louder than before. “Why haven’t you enlisted in the king’s army?”
Gracen didn’t answer, his silence deafening, his expression impassive.
The officer smiled. “Perhaps you might be more like your colonist friend here than you care to admit.”
“Not all men of eligible age have enlisted.” Gracen's voice was mild. “I happen to know of several English-born citizens who prefer to show their loyalty to the Crown in other ways.”
The captain gave Gracen a look of pure disgust. “Citizens who think they are too good to fight for their king are little better than cowards.”
Gracen flushed. “The king knows that my family is loyal, and when my father hears of how I have been treated, there will be hell to pay.”
The officer didn't look worried, but he did stand and speak to the other soldiers. “I believe we have given young Mister Lightwood and his steward enough to think about. We shall come back later to determine if their tongues have been loosened.”
Chapter Ten
We were alone for hours, neither one of us speaking, though I wasn't sure if Gracen was staying silent for strategic reasons or because I'd pissed him off. Either way, I used the time to gather information that could be potentially useful.
As the light coming in through the tent changed, then receded, the temperature dropped, making it a little more bearable. The sun had fallen, and although I'd been able to cut through my binds, I stayed where I was, waiting. Thinking.
Based on the voices outside, the soldiers had rotated shifts, the first two having left at sundown. They were replaced by two younger sentries who sounded like boys barely out of high school. I remembered back to when I'd first enlisted and wondered if they were going through the same shock I had gone through the first few nights away from home. Then I realized that they were probably closer to sixteen than eighteen, and a wave of guilt washed over me.
I didn’t want to hurt them, knowing well that they weren't responsible for what happened to Gracen and me, but I had a pretty good idea that if I waited any longer, any chance of escape would be gone. I didn't know the details surrounding the aftermath of the battle, and I didn't want to risk us getting caught up in something else. It was now or never, and after listening to the sounds around me, I had a strong feeling that whatever camp we were in, this tent was on the edge of it. If that was true, we could escape through the back and be gone before anyone noticed.
I looked at Gracen, hoping to somehow get his attention without having to speak, but he seemed to be asleep, an incredible feat given the fact that he was still tied to a chair. I just hoped that his limbs hadn't fallen asleep and that he'd be willing to listen to me when I told him to run.
Now that my hands were free, I removed the bayonet from the musket, then whistled to the sentries. They both peeked inside, and I saw that I was right about their age. Neither one looked old enough to shave, which didn't make what I had to do any easier.
“I need a drink,” I said, making my voice raspy and weak.
The boys looked at each other, and I could tell they were trying to figure out what to do.
“I'm sure your captain wants us alive so he can question us further, and I've been bleeding a great deal. Some water will go a long way to making sure I don't die in the middle of the night.”
The boys – I still couldn't think of them as men – looked at each other. The first shrugged and the second rolled his eyes as he made his way out of the tent to get my drink. I gestured to the other boy, then at my leg.
“Mind taking a look at that?” I asked, letting my head loll over to my shoulder. “The bandage might need to be tightened.”
The boy sighed and lowered his musket. I apparently looked bad enough that he didn't consider me a threat.
I'd been counting on that.
As soon as he was close enough, I grabbed him by the collar of his coat and slid the bayonet into his neck, my hand covering his mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Blood gushed as his body dropped and the bayonet came loose. My stomach churned, but I managed to keep myself from throwing up. I hadn't had a choice. Knocking him out wasn’t an option, not when I needed to make sure he wouldn't wake up at the wrong time.
I closed his eyes, looking away as I quickly pushed myself up to my feet. I told myself that he probably wouldn't have made it through the end of the war anyway, but it didn't soothe my guilt.
I limped to the entrance and waited, the bayonet held firmly in my hand. Gracen stirred but didn’t wake up, and I silently prayed he stayed that way until I was ready. I didn't need him second guessing what I'd done.
I was doing enough of that myself.
When the second soldier walked in, I waited for the flaps to close and quickly wrapped an arm around his neck, putting the bayonet’s tip near his carotid.
“One word,” I whispered, realizing I couldn’t make myself push the sharp tip through, “and you’ll be joining your friend over there.”
I turned him slightly so he could see the other soldier. He gagged, and then I slammed the end of the bayonet against the back of his head and lowered the unconscious boy to the ground. I stared at him, knowing I should finish him off, but couldn’t.
Giving myself a mental shake, I knew I needed to move quickly, not knowing how long it would be for the next guard shift, and definitely not willing to stick around and find out. I'd been lucky twice today, and I didn’t want to push it any more than that.
I heard Wilkins’ voice in the back of my mind, urging me to run, to save myself. I hobbled to the back of the tent, and with the tip of the bayonet, sliced downwards, ripping at the fabric while praying I was right about the tent’s position. I peeked out through the opening I'd made and was greeted by an empty field with a tree line a dozen yards away.
That’s the third one, I thought to myself. There wouldn’t be any more lucky breaks for me after this one.
I walked back to where Gracen sat and then took a minute to tighten my bandage. He would have to be strong for the both of us because I was fading fast.
As soon as I started to cut the ropes around his wrists, he snapped awake. For a moment, he struggled, and I was afraid he'd panic and alert soldiers to the fact that something was wrong.
I grabbed his shou
lder hard as my hand slammed down on his mouth. He looked at me, frowning in confusion. Then he looked past me at the two soldiers on the ground and all the color drained from his face. I shook him back into focus and then took my hand from his mouth.
“You did that?” he whispered.
“Now’s not the time,” I said. “We need to go. Can you walk?”
Gracen didn’t answer, only stared at the two soldiers lying on the ground, the pool of blood around one of them soaking into the dirt.
“Gracen?”
He finally turned to me. “Yes?”
“Can you walk?” I repeated my question.
He stood up slowly, shaking his legs before nodding at me. I staggered, and he caught me. For one long moment, I found myself staring deep into his eyes, momentarily mesmerized by them.
It was as if all the air was sucked from the tent as he held me for that moment. Then he blinked and his face morphed into confusion as he looked at me. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and I realized I needed to do the same.
Snap back to reality, sweetheart, I heard Wilkins in my head.
Right. Escape.
Plus, Gracen thought I was a man, so unless he was harboring same-sex tendencies – which based on his confused look, he wasn’t – he was simply making sure I didn't fall.
I straightened and pointed at the rip I'd made in the tent. He put a hand on my shoulder and gestured for me to wait, making his way to where I'd been tossed earlier. A moment later, he came back with two muskets and a pouch of lead balls.
“After the last twenty-four hours, I have a feeling we might need these.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to use them,” I said. I didn't add that I was pretty sure I'd have no idea how to use one.
He nodded his agreement and led the way out of the tent. We paused outside for a few seconds to make sure no one was scouting the perimeter. When we were confident we could get to the tree line safely, I wrapped an arm around Gracen’s neck, and we hurried across to safety. I kept fighting the urge to look back and see if anyone had noticed our escape, fearing that simply acknowledging the possibility would make it a reality. We made slow progress, each step fraying my nerves a little more, but we were soon in the protection of the surrounding woods, and Gracen sat me down against a tree as we stopped to catch our breaths.
“We have to keep moving,” I said.
He nodded in agreement, clearly still processing what just happened and I noticed he avoided looking directly at me.
“How far away is your estate?” I asked. It was no longer a question of whether or not I'd go. I had to find somewhere to heal before I could look into getting home.
“Not far, if we take the road past the colonists.”
I felt a wave of relief that he wasn't shutting down on me. “I’d rather we didn’t cross paths with any more armies tonight.”
“Agreed.” He smiled at me. It looked forced, but at least it was a smile. “Although to be quite honest, I doubt they’d be a problem for you.”
I gestured to my leg. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain was getting worse. “I think I’m pretty much done for a while.”
“Then we’ll stick to the woods,” he said. “Better to be safe.”
I nodded, looking back over my shoulder at the camp we'd just escaped. The skies above had started to change color, turning a deep, dark blue. Dawn was a couple of hours away, which probably meant the guards would be found soon. We needed a head start if we wanted to get out of here alive.
“We’d better get going,” I said.
Gracen nodded and helped me to my feet, wrapping my arm around his neck again as he grabbed a musket with his free hand. “They know who I am, so they will most likely go straight to the estate rather than trying to track us. Once we're there, my father will contact General Gage and the captain will find himself under inquiry for his treatment of us both.”
I thought back to the smile on the officer’s face and had a sinking feeling that his scenario might not be entirely accurate. I wasn't going to argue though. “Let’s not wait to find out.”
Gracen nodded, and we began to move again. The night covered our escape, and as we made our way through the woods, the tension in me started to ease. The danger was far from over, but at least we were heading in the right direction.
Chapter Eleven
We stuck to the woods, keeping our distance, always alert. The only indication that we were anywhere near danger was the distant voices of colonists in their camps and the lights from the fires. They'd be tending their own wounded, regrouping now, and I hoped they wouldn't pay much attention to a pair of ragged men not wearing uniforms. Well, uniforms that they'd recognize anyway.
As I limped alongside Gracen, the world narrowed down to the next step, then the one after that. I'd hoped for a vacation from my tour and got the complete opposite. Here I was, in the wilderness, looking over my shoulder every step of the way. I was tired, the fatigue setting in quick, my ankle relentlessly assuring me that it was still injured. Between the car accident and everything else that had taken place, I barely had a single inch of my body that wasn't aching.
Gracen stopped us several times, although we both knew that the best thing to do in our current situation was to keep moving. I could see the concern on his face, and I knew his constant need for rests were to make sure I could still make the trek to his estate, even though he didn't say it out loud. I appreciated the generous gesture, especially since I needed it.
It wasn't just the physical wearing on me either. My mind kept replaying the events of the day, particularly the deaths of the soldiers I'd killed. I'd never killed anyone before. Well, that I knew of. I'd fired a gun during a couple skirmishes, but I'd never known whether or not I'd inflicted anything mortal. These deaths...they hadn't been far away, impersonal. I'd taken the lives of those men up close. The first two had been bad enough, but it was the last one, the boy, that I knew would haunt me.
I remembered how Wilkins had always told me that when it finally happened, when I'd be in a situation where the choice was to kill or be killed, I would operate on instinct. That my training would kick in, and it had. I'd felt very little at the time, and I wondered whether that was a good or bad thing. Either way, something in my gut told me that it wouldn't be the last time I'd take a life.
A shudder ran through me, and nausea twisted my stomach.
“You did the right thing,” Gracen spoke softly, almost gently. “We both did.”
I shook my head, unable to believe him. A part of me began to wonder if there could have been another way, if maybe by morning the officer would have come to his senses and released us without bloodshed.
“We had no other choice.”
A hand came down on my shoulder, and I looked up. Gracen's expression was grim, and I wondered if he felt the same guilt over the soldier he'd shot. Was it worse for him since he considered himself one of them? I at least had the comfort of thinking of these men as enemy combatants. Enemies that would've most likely died in this war anyway. Or was it easier? Had Gracen's upbringing prepared him to act when his life was at risk so that he was able to justify it more easily than I did?
But he hadn't killed that boy. Hadn't made the decision to kill rather than incapacitate. That decision had been solely mine, and I wondered now if I'd made it on my own so I didn't have to argue with him. Or if I'd been trying to protect him from what needed to be done.
“How much farther?” I asked, knowing I was deflecting rather than acknowledging what he was saying.
“We’re almost there,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. He gave me a ghost of a smile. “I believe you’ll be quite pleased with what you’ll see.”
Even in the dark, the house was impressive.
I didn't know anything about architecture, but I could appreciate the beauty of the structure. Three stories, it boasted at least half a dozen rooms on the second, judging by the number of windows. No smoke came from either of two large chimn
eys, but the night was still warm enough that they wouldn't be needed. Candlelight seeped through the windows and drapes, the illumination casting an almost romantic glow over the carefully maintained garden and lawn.
Gracen led us to the back, keeping us to the shadows. I didn't understand why, but I didn't question him. This was his place, his time. I had to trust that he would get us to safety. Still, I half-thought he'd march up to the front door and walk in like he was king of the castle, the young Lightwood having finally returned to his not-so-humble abode, announcing his arrival with resolution. Instead, we stopped in front of a nearly-hidden back door on which he rapped softly and waited.
After a minute, the door opened a crack, a lamp illuminating the dark features of a man who had obviously been asleep. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of Gracen, and he quickly opened the door all the way to let us inside.
We stepped into a kitchen, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Despite my exhaustion, I was struck by the simplicity of the large space, a stark difference from the stainless steel workplace my mother had recently set up in our family home to replace the homey kitchen I’d grown up with.
When I was a kid, I remembered tearing into the kitchen, clutching my latest artistic endeavor, eager to see it take a place of pride on the refrigerator. I'd tried to hide my sadness when I'd returned from my previous tour to find everything gone, replaced by a collection of twenty-first-century new-age appliances that had looked like they'd jumped right out of a magazine. I'd understood the practicality of the new layout, but it hadn't made me miss the old things any less.
I barely had time to take it all in when Gracen grabbed me by the arm and pushed me along, whispering something inaudible to the man who'd let us in.
We left the kitchen in an inexplicable hurry, climbing stairs to the second floor, then on to the third. He led me to a small room, slowly opened the door, and then gestured for me to follow him inside.
He lit a candle, allowing me to see the small, simple space. In one corner, right beside a rickety dresser was a bed, the mattress clearly worn but well-kept. He set the candle on the dresser as I sat down on the edge of the bed, my body sighing in relief as I stretched my legs out.