Love’s Betrayal
Authors: DiAnn Mills
Love's Betrayal
(previously titled
The Turncoat
) ©2003 by DiAnn Mills
Faithful Traitor
©2004 by Jill Stengl
Print ISBN 978-1-63409-779-6
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-913-4
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-914-1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,
www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Prologue
1776
H
enry O'Neill studied the blue waves slapping against the sides of the British war vessel as it sailed into Boston Harbor. The wind gathered momentum and rocked the vessel from side to side. Glancing above the sails and tall masts to a gray, turbulent sky, he watched the clouds roll toward the bay. At least they would land soon on the American soil and be free of nature's pending fury. Henry believed in God, not omens, but a clear blue sky and a sparkling ray of sunlight flitting off the waters would have suited him much better.
Glancing at his bright red jacket with its deep blue facing and white metal buttons, he could not help but feel proud of what his uniform represented. As a foot soldier in Colonel Hamilton's Twenty-first Regiment, he shared in the objective to help squelch the rebellion. These colonists were an unruly lot, but they were no match for King George's army.
No matter what lay ahead in the line of duty, serving the king provided the distinction of being a part of the world's strongest fighting force. The distinction also kept clothes on his back and food in his belly, although the latter hadn't settled well during the lengthy voyage. Henry cringed. His stomach had wretched more times than he cared to recall, and he could not wait to set foot on solid ground.
A twinge of excitement and fear raced up his spine. Henry never thought of himself as a hero. His livelihood before enlisting depended on weaving cloth, an honorable trade taught to him by his father. Unfortunately, his father couldn't feed all twelve of his brood in Ireland, and Henry had vowed not to go without food, clothing, and proper shelter again. This new land offered so many opportunities for a skilled craftsman, and he eagerly anticipated setting up his loom for business once he had fulfilled his responsibilities to His Majesty.
He stiffened. Yes, he'd fight for King George. Henry had declared his allegiance, his very life if necessary, to defend the crown and uphold the king's edicts.
A few short months should manage the rebellion quite nicely. Then on to his new life.
January 1776
D
elight Butler stuffed a folded piece of paper into her apron pocket and peered to the right and to the left of Boston's bricked street for any sign of redcoats. A gust of wind whipped around and caught her unaware, and she pulled her coat tighter to fight the biting chill. A few soldiers emerged from down the street and marched toward her and her sixteen-year-old sister, Charity. Although she believed they would not harm them, a measure of anxiety nipped at her heels nonetheless.
Where is he?
Sometimes she read the papers before delivering them to the designated patriot or member of the Continental army, but not today. William Taylor needed this as soon as possible.
“How much farther to the Taylor home?” Charity said with a sigh. “Mama will be expecting us.”
Delight frowned at her sister and adjusted the wooden bucket dangling from her arms. “Papa promised this to Mr. Taylor. We only have to cross over to Hanover Street.”
Charity tossed her dark head, her mobcap trimmed in lace bobbing like a chicken pecking for grain. “I don't like walking with the redcoats marching by.”
Delight stopped in the street, her attention focused on the approaching soldiers. Just the mere sight of them infuriated her, and the thought of flinging a jeer their way teased her mind.
“Sister?” Charity said with a stamp of her foot.
Delight found her senses. “We shan't be much longer, and I must say the walk home will be more pleasant without the sight of the British soldiers.”
“I agree. I am simply thinking of the work awaiting us at home, and this cold has my fingers and toes numb.”
Delight ignored her. She didn't have the time or the whim to indulge Charity. The soldiers moved closer. Their hands gripped their muskets, poised and ready for a fight. Their boots pounded a rhythm against the packed snow, leaving the impression they stomped every patriot in Boston. A twinge of fear assaulted her, although not for her safety but for those defending freedom. She held her breath as they passed, not wanting to offer any respect for their pompous mannerisms, least of all for King George and his outrageous demands.
Will these despised soldiers ever leave Boston?
“Let us hurry on,” Delight said. She recoiled when the five soldiers turned onto Hanover Street. Suspicion crept over her. She picked up her pace in an effort to make Charity think she was obliging her.
“Has Mr. Taylor paid Papa for the buckets?” her sister said.
“He traded with Papa for an iron pot. We only need to make the delivery.” How could she give him the document with Charity nailed to her side? She should have anticipated this problem when Mama suggested Charity accompany her and carry the second bucket for Mr. Taylor.
While they hastened their pace, Delight's gaze fixed on the soldiers who marched past Mr. Taylor's blacksmith shop.
Thank Thee, Lord.
She'd delivered more than one message to Mr. Taylor and knew his boldness. While soldiers waited for him to shoe their horses, they talked among themselves, and he forgot nary a word. Delight knew only one of his contacts, the man who'd given her the document todayâa close friend of her father's who was a tanner by trade and lived on the outskirts of the city.
Once at the blacksmith, Delight peered into the darkness. “Mr. Taylor,” she called out. “This is Delight and Charity Butler. We have come to deliver your two buckets.”
The lean-looking man stepped out of the shadows and smiled broadly. “Good afternoon.” He took the pieces and admired the craftsmanship. “What a fine job your father does, and I sorely needed these today.”
“Papa will be pleased.” Delight touched the crisp document in her pocket. Now, how would she be able to distract her sister?
“Do you have a favorite piece of scripture?” Mr. Taylor said.
Her code. If Charity had not been with her, she wouldn't have had to deal with procedures. Mr. Taylor needed to be assured of her purpose, and in the past she had been alone. “Yes sir, I most certainly do. It is from Psalm 37:4. âDelight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.' ”
“Ah, commendable. Your namesake verse, perhaps?”
We are using all our formalities today. I wonder why.
“Yes sir. All of my sisters have one in accordance with their name.”
“I've finished with the iron pot your mother requested. Would you like to take it with you?” Mr. Taylor gestured toward a bench in the corner, crowded with tools, nails, ox- and horseshoes, and her mother's pot.
“Of course.” Delight stepped over to retrieve the potâa bit heavy, but she had Charity to help her carry it back. Spying a pile of nails, she elected to slip the message under them. Her fingers grasped the paper.
“William Taylor!” a man's voice boomed.
Charity gasped, and Delight whirled around to see British soldiers pointing their bayonets at the blacksmith.
Oh no. He has been found out.
“That be my name,” he replied without reservation.
Delight took her sister's arm and pulled her away from the soldiers' path. She could feel Charity trembling and feared the young woman might faint.
“The colonel would like to speak with you,” the same soldier said. “He does not like to be kept waiting.”
“About what matter?” Mr. Taylor crossed his arms over his chest.
“It matters naught to you. It is the king's business. Come along without another moment's delay.”
Mr. Taylor laid his leather apron aside and glanced at Delight. In the dim light she could not read his eyes, but the document still rested in her pocket. “Go ahead and take the potâand give my utmost to Mistress Butler.”
Delight nodded and lifted the pot from the bench. “Godspeed, sir. Our prayers will be with you.”
“He will need them,” another soldier said with a chuckle.
