Defiant

  Connor fired his pistol again.

  On the plain, men sprang into action, moving steadily forward, loading as they moved, firing while the man beside them reloaded. Some crawled, some crouched, all moving toward some imagined enemy, each fighting for himself, but all striving in common purpose. And this time when Connor fired his second shot, ending the drill, the paper marks were full of holes, some torn and hanging in shreds.

  The victorious recruits grinned, slapping one another on the back, black gunpowder stains on their faces and fingers. Around them, the Rangers raised their muskets and let loose a bloodcurdling cry such as Sarah had never heard before, the sound of it making her start.

  “Fear not, my lady. ’Tis the Mahican war cry,” Lieutenant Cooke explained. “The MacKinnon brothers learned it from their Mahican kin and taught it to their men. It is terrible to hear, but I have come to associate it with victory.”

  Apparently, so had the Regulars. Men who had only hours ago mocked the recruits now broke into cheers.

  But Sarah was barely aware of them, her gaze locked with Connor’s.

  Connor closed his eyes, his mind fixed on an image of Sarah as he stroked himself, his cock aching with need for her. She lay beneath him, her slender legs spread wide, her bare sex opening for him as he buried himself inside her. She was tight, so tight, her moans heating his blood as he drove himself into her again and again, her taut nipples ripe for suckling.

  He tightened his grip on himself, his hips thrusting into his closed fist.

  Sarah, beautiful Sarah. He pounded his cock into her, reveled in the bliss on her face as she came, her quim clenching around him as she cried out his name.

  Connor came with her, pleasure flooding his body, his seed shooting from deep inside him, spilling onto his fingers and bare belly. And for a moment he lay still while his breathing and heartbeat slowed, release fading into…emptiness. He opened his eyes, watched light from the fire dance on the ceiling of his cabin.

  This is how it would be. For the rest of his life, this is how it would be.

  He would want her, need her, love her—and he would not be able to speak a single word to her, much less make love to her again. They would never again be closer than they’d been today. The thought left a hole where his heart ought to have been, the pain sharp and bleak. And yet if this were the price he had to pay for those few stolen days, those brief hours of happiness, he would gladly pay it.

  And he had been happy.

  The weight he’d carried with him this past year had seemed to slip from his shoulders when he’d been with her. She had accepted him as he was, even knowing the ugliness inside him. In her eyes, he’d been a man. He’d felt whole again. But now that weight had returned, and with it the grief of losing her.

  Och, Sarah, lass!

  He slowly rose, crossed the cabin, and poured water from a pewter pitcher into a wooden bowl, washing the seed from his hand, cock, and belly, his mind turning to rum. But drink would not help him, not truly.

  How could he abide this? How could he withstand this hell?

  ’Twas only last night that he’d dined with her, spoken with her, held her hands. Only one night without her, and yet eternity stood before him.

  And then he knew what he had to do.

  He dragged on his breeches, pulled a shirt over his head, and slipped his feet into his moccasins, sheathing his hunting knife at his waist. Hesitating for only a moment, he opened the door and walked into the night to find Ranger Camp quiet, those who were not on watch asleep in their cabins. He crossed the camp to a cabin that had once belonged to a subaltern but had now been set aside for a greater purpose.

  He hesitated once more, uncertain whether he could face this, yet knowing he’d already put it off for far too long. He rapped quietly with a knuckle, waited.

  He heard the wooden bar shift, the hinges squeaking as Father Delavay opened the door, his kindly old face peering through the crack.

  “I ken ’tis late, Father, but I must speak wi’ you.”

  “Come in! Come in!” Father Delavay smiled, opening the door, then closing it behind Connor, his French accent soothing. “It has been a very long time since you last shared your heart with me.”

  Connor fell to his knees and crossed himself. “Forgi’e me, Father, for I have most grievously sinned.”

  Chapter 26

  May 10

  Sarah stood naked before the looking glass, fighting another wave of nausea, her gaze on her belly, her heart beating franticly in her chest. She slid her hand over the almost imperceptible curve of her abdomen, feeling an unmistakable hardness beneath her palm. Her gaze shifted to her breasts. Her nipples were darker, her breasts fuller, heavier. And, oh, how they ached!

  Was she with child?

  She had not felt anything move inside her, no quickening, but what other explanation could there be for these changes? Or for her relentless nausea. Or the bone-deep weariness she’d felt these past weeks. Or for the fact that her monthly still had not begun.

  Oh, Connor, help me! I am so afraid!

  The sickness had started a fortnight past, even the scent and sight of food making her queasy. Thus far she had managed not to throw up in front of Agnes or Uncle William, though she feared Agnes was becoming suspicious of Sarah’s frequent trips to the outdoor privy. And though Sarah wanted nothing more than to sleep, she could not lie abed all day lest she further rouse the meddlesome lady’s maid’s doubts.

  How long could Sarah hide this? What would happen when her condition became apparent? Would Uncle William cast her out, send her back to Governor DeLancey? What would Papa do to her when she returned to London with a large belly? Where would she give birth? Who would help her? Would she survive it? What would become of the child?

  Connor’s child and hers.

  Sarah’s pulse beat in thready strokes, dizziness driving her to sit on her bed. She drew in several deep breaths, fighting not to vomit, dread coiling thick and dark in her stomach. Slowly, the worst of her nausea subsided, leaving cold panic in its wake.

  And Sarah knew there was only one thing she could do. Somehow, she had to hide her condition and get word to Connor. And no matter what occurred, she must not let Uncle William know that Connor was the baby’s father, for she knew Connor was right.

  Uncle William would kill him.

  But hiding her condition would not be easy with Agnes helping her to dress each day. One day soon Agnes would find that Sarah’s clothing no longer fit as it once had, her stays and skirts too tight about the waist, her bodices too snug. The only answer was for Sarah to see that Agnes lost her situation and was returned to Albany so that Sarah could dress herself, arranging her skirts to hide her belly as it grew. Hopefully, she’d be able to get word to Connor before Uncle William discovered the truth. And then Connor would find a way for her—

  An impatient knock came at the door.

  “My lady, have you finished with your bath?”

  Sarah grabbed for her shift, drew it over her head. “One moment, Agnes.”

  Mindful that she could not seem distressed, she walked to the door and unlocked it, willing herself to smile. “May is such a lovely month, is it not?”

  “If you say so, my lady. I myself prefer autumn.”

  “I should like a bit of fresh air.” Sarah turned, walked to a window, and threw it open, leaning out and taking in a deep breath as nausea once again curled up the back of her throat. “The ivory silk today, I think, Agnes.”

  Connor, help me!

  Silent and still, Connor lay on his belly, looking down from the summit of Rattlesnake Mountain on Fort Ticonderoga with his spying glass. Now in the hands of the British, it had been a French stronghold for four long years. More than fifteen hundred British soldiers, including many Rangers, had died in the first attempt to take it, their cries piteous, their blood staining the soil red. Then, last summer, the fort had fallen without a battle, the French fleeing northward at Amherst’s approach.

  Connor had
led his men here to let the new recruits test their mettle at scouting while still safe in British territory, the third day of a ten-day practice scouting mission to Crown Point and back. He’d sent a party of recruits down to spy with orders to report back with the number of guards on duty at the main gate and in the redoubts without getting caught, and now he watched as they slowly crept along the embankment of the La Chute River.

  Beannachd leat!

  Blessings go with you, brother!

  The echo of Morgan’s farewell shout echoed in Connor’s mind. Morgan had been shot on that same riverbank a little more than a year ago. Since that night, Connor had not been able to look down on this place without feeling haunted by all that had happened since, the innocent blood on his hands burning.

  But now…

  Connor looked down upon that sandy bank, feeling some measure of peace. Father Delavay had listened to Connor’s confession and had granted him absolution, not only for breaking his vow and killing innocent lads, but also for taking Sarah’s maidenhead, likening the slaughter to a kind of madness, a sickness of the spirit, but calling Connor’s actions toward Sarah the lesser of two evils.

  Father Delavay had bidden him to do penance through the night by stripping himself naked, kneeling upon the bare earth, and praying the rosary for the souls of those he’d unjustly slain. Father Delavay had promised to pray for Sarah, urging Connor to make his love for her pure by putting his carnal thoughts of her aside. Shivering with cold, wooden beads clutched in his hands, Connor had willingly done as Father Delavay demanded, praying unceasingly through the dark watches of the night. And when the sun had arisen, its light striking him full upon the face, a great sorrow had been lifted from his heart.

  As for his carnal thoughts about Sarah…

  Och, he was trying!

  He could banish lustful thoughts from his mind, at least for a time, but he could not make himself quit missing her, needing her, loving her. For, although a great burden of guilt had been lifted from him, the burden of this grá—of this love he felt for Sarah—had not.

  Joseph came up beside him, silently joining him on his rocky perch. Joseph had brought his warriors on this mission to teach the newest amongst them how best to fight alongside the Rangers. As Connor’s men crept nearer to the redoubt, Joseph’s youngest warriors guarded their flank.

  “These children you think to make Rangers—I do not think they can fight.” Joseph grinned, holding his hand out for the spying glass.

  Connor handed it to him, knowing he wished to view his men. “They can fight better than those bonnie lasses you call warriors.”

  Joseph chuckled. “It is good to see you acting yourself again brother.”

  Connor scowled at his Mahican brother.

  Joseph handed the spying glass back. “You will see her again. If it is the will of the Shining Spirit, we will both see her again.”

  William read Amherst’s latest dispatches, idly rubbing the cracked black king between his finger and his thumb, the marble warm and smooth from his touch. In the next room, Sarah played from the printed music he’d bought for her, the sound pleasing, adding a touch of civilization William hadn’t realized he’d missed these past years.

  There came a knock at his door.

  “Enter.”

  Lieutenant Cooke appeared with a bow. “Lady Sarah’s maid wishes to speak with you, my lord. She says it is a matter of great urgency.”

  William looked up from his letters, wondering what business a lady’s maid might have that could possibly be urgent. A need for more shoes? Stains? An infestation of moths? He tucked the marble chess piece into the pocket of his coat. “By all means, send her in.”

  Cooke stepped aside, motioned the woman in, closing the door behind her.

  The woman approached, her lips pressed into a flat line, her hands folded tightly in her skirts. She gave a perfunctory curtsy, watching him warily. “My lord.”

  William struggled to recall her name. “You wish to see me about Lady Sarah?”

  “Yes, my lord.” She drew herself up to her full height. “I have been in your employ for a month now.”

  “Is that so?” Good heavens! Was she already seeking a rise in pay?

  “Yes, my lord.” She seemed to hesitate. “During that time, your niece has yet to bleed.”

  It took a moment for the meaning of the woman’s words to hit William. “Do you mean to say that Sarah has not had her monthly since your arrival?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The woman’s face told William there was more. “For the past two weeks, she has been throwing up every morning, though she tries hard to hide it from me, hurrying outside to the privy. She cannot hold her breakfast, yet her waist has begun to thicken and her breasts to swell. I know the signs, my lord.”

  The blood drained from William’s head. “What are you saying, woman? Are you telling me my niece is with child?”

  There was fear in the woman’s eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

  William’s mind raced to fathom how this could be. Her letters pleading to allow her to leave Governor DeLancey’s. Her ordeal with the Indians.

  If the old woman was right, either someone in the governor’s household had taken advantage of Sarah’s innocence—most unlikely—or Katakwa had ravished her before MacKinnon had been able to rescue her. In either case, Sarah had kept it secret.

  But then what gently bred lady wouldn’t keep such a shameful thing secret, especially when her name was already tarnished by scandal?

  William had feared this. He ought to have followed his instincts and had Dr. Blake examine her—a mistake he would rectify presently.

  He must have been scowling because the lady’s maid looked as if she feared he might strike her.

  “I-It is my duty to care for her in all matters of the body and—”

  William willed a look of calm onto his face, reaching into his drawer and removing several sovereigns. “You were right to come to me, and you shall be rewarded for your good service—and your silence. Do you understand?”

  He rose, towering over her, gazing pointedly into her eyes.

  She held out her hands, took the coins. “Yes, my lord. I shall say nothing to anyone. Nor will I reveal to Lady Sarah that I have spoken to you.”

  “I shall hold you to your word, madam.” William fully meant the threat implied by the tone of his voice. If she said but a word to anyone…

  The woman paled, but her bony chin came up. “Yes, my lord.”

  William dismissed her, his hand finding its way back into his coat pocket, his fingers closing around the black king, his mind racing again.

  Sarah with child? What in God’s name was he supposed to do?

  From the other side of the wall came the sweet sound of Sarah’s playing. Did she know she was with child? She certainly hadn’t given the appearance of being distressed. But then he hadn’t known she’d been ill either. Why would she seek to conceal her trouble from him? Pregnancy was not a problem that would go away, nor one she could face on her own. Surely, she understood that.

  Then again, she was very young and innocent in the ways of the world. He couldn’t even be certain she understood the connection between what had been done to her and her present condition—if, indeed, she was truly with child.

  William called for Lieutenant Cooke. “Go at once to the hospital and fetch Dr. Blake. See to it personally, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Dr. Blake would know her true condition. And if it turned out that she was with child, William would force the truth from her and kill the man responsible.

  Sarah sipped her tea, praying her stomach would not revolt and trying to think through her plan. It was the only way she could think of to get a message to Connor without rousing suspicions. Connor would surely refuse to accept another invitation to dinner, even if Uncle William agreed to host another party. Sarah could not visit Ranger Island—it was simply out of the question. Nor could she simply write him a message and ask Lieutenant Cooke to
have it delivered. There was too great a chance someone would read it. And what excuse could she make for wishing to write to him?

  Uncle William interrupted her thoughts. “You do not seem hungry this morning. Are you feeling well, my dear?”

  Startled by his question, Sarah smiled. “Quite well, thank you.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he seem to be studying her?

  She held her smile. “I’ve been thinking, Uncle. It is surely inappropriate for me to continue wearing wampum. I am most grateful to Captain Joseph for all he’s done for me, and I have no desire to offend him, but I should like to return his necklace.”

  Uncle William’s eyebrows lifted a notch. “Very well. Give me the wampum, and I’ll see it returned—with our thanks, of course.”

  “I should like to return it myself.” When she handed Joseph the band of shells, there would be a note on paper, curled tightly and woven amongst the beads. Joseph would find it, read it, and he would get word to Connor.

  “We can arrange for that when Captain Joseph returns. He, Major MacKinnon, and their men are on a ten-day training scout to Crown Point. I expect them to return within seven or eight days.”

  And Sarah’s already queasy stomach fell.

  Seven or eight days!

  Would her belly be showing by then?

  She willed herself to smile. “Thank you, Uncle.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come.” Uncle William stood as a bespectacled older man with bushy white eyebrows entered. “Dr. Blake, thank you for coming. Please allow me to introduce my niece, Lady Sarah Woodville. Sarah, I asked Dr. Blake to come because I am concerned about you. In the month you’ve been here at Fort Edward, you’ve not had your flux. I fear more may have happened to you in the forest than you felt you could tell me. For your sake, I must know the truth.”

  Sarah’s heart gave a thud, the rush of her own pulse drowning out her thoughts, the teacup slipping from her hand to shatter on the floor.