Storm of Love - A Historical Romance Set during the American Revolutionary War (4 page)

6
Feelings

As the campfire glowed, Abigail was mentally reviewing her choice to let this man—a British soldier no less—join her on her quest. She had to admit, though, if he was serious about his discontent with the British, he could be a valuable asset. She knew little to nothing about fighting, about war, so perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.
              On the other hand, if he was a spy, her entire life could be over very shortly. But how would he be reporting to them? He didn't have enough time to leave and come back; she had heard his blundering footsteps the entire way, and once she no longer heard them, she knew he had stopped. Then she had set up the campfire, crept up behind him, and waited until he woke up.
              And now here he was, sharing the same campfire as her. He was attractive, there was that. With chiseled features and dark black hair standing at about six feet tall, muscular and with a disarming smile, she felt that he could not easily be a spy. Spies had to be unassuming, stealthy, and he was anything but. Had she been a bear, he would have been her first choice for a meal, since he was so intent on making his presence known in the forest. She wondered for a moment how someone so adept at battle could be so loud in a forest—but then again, perhaps this was a first for him, too.
              They sat in silence for a while. She tossed him an apple and he caught it. Quick reflexes. She offered him a very small smile, and he grinned back at her, that disarming nature of his working its magic.
Get a hold of yourself, Abigail,
she thought, mentally scolding herself for falling victim to the smile of a man of his stature and station. The butterflies in her stomach wouldn't go away, and it bothered her. She was there to do one thing—avenge her father; nothing else mattered.
              His voice broke through her thoughts like rolling thunder, and she was almost startled at how smooth it was.
Oh, sure,
she thought.
Once you don't have a gun to your back you’re Mr. Composure and Charm.
The thought made her almost want to laugh, but she found it in her to hold back.
              "So, you know my name is Edward now," he said. If he was hoping she was going to extrapolate from context and offer her name up so willingly, he was wrong. She still wasn't entirely convinced that he could be trusted, so she held back just enough to let him know.
              He sighed, almost in a joking manner, flashed a half-smile, and said, "So, what's your name?"
              She waited for a moment, staring into the fire. "Raymond," she said, half sarcastically, half hoping he would believe her.
              "Nice try. I saw you cut your hair off, and I've never known a man with hair that long."
              He waited for her to reply, and she knew he was waiting, so she let him. She was in no hurry to make him feel better, or to ease his mind, or to bring him any kind of calm.
              "Plus," he added, "you're far too beautiful to be a man, so I'm not sure how you're planning on covering that up." Their eyes met over the fire, and he quickly looked down again, almost as though he was shy, but she found it hard to believe it wasn’t an act.
              "I'll make it work," she said.
              She thought about it for a moment longer and added, "Thank you, by the way. For the compliment."
              He nodded in reply.
              "It's Abigail," she said.
              He looked at her questioningly, almost as though he had forgotten his own question.
              "My name," she added.
              "Oh, right…Abigail…nice to meet you," he said. And then, just as she was going to ask him what a bad meeting was for him, he added, "Well, it is now…it wasn't so nice when we actually met, but…you know, I understand."
              She laughed, and he did, as well. It dawned on her that it was the first time she had laughed since about a month before her father had gone off to war. It felt good to laugh, even though it felt wildly inappropriate for the circumstances. But even so, she allowed herself the moment of joy, not knowing when one would come again.
              "If you think I make a bad man, though, you make an even worse American," she said, motioning to the coat and outfit he was wearing. "How do you think you're going to convince the Continental Army to let you in with that garb, eh? Don't you know we're just a pack of disorganized, drunk rebels?" She gave him a look of condescension, intentionally, and he looked down at the ground.
              "That's not what everyone thinks," he said. "It's not what I think. But you do have a point; this is a horrible disguise, isn't it?"
              She nodded. Then she thought about the fact that she had another pair of her father's clothing in her sack. They were of no use to her, far too big, and she didn't have the time to sew up another set. She firmly intended to wear what she had on for the remainder of her time as a soldier in the Continental Army. Not many of the men had been changing their clothes, anyway; she had heard the stories from her father. And changing would only expose her identity to others if they caught a glimpse the wrong way.
              Finally, she reached into her pack and pulled out the clothing. Ensuring that the clothes didn't meet the flames, she threw them toward Edward's head. He was reclining on one side, his hand propping up his head, and when the clothes landed near him he sat up, as though he thought she had thrown a grenade.
              Unbridled laughter escaped her lips—how could she resist?—and he began to laugh along with her, a mixture of deep laughter and relieved sighs.
              "I didn't mean to scare you," she said, still laughing, "I just have an extra pair of clothing and my…" she trailed off, not wanting to talk about her father to a stranger. "I thought they would fit you."
              She averted her gaze from his eyes and pulled out another apple. She motioned to him to ask whether he wanted another one, and without a word he shook his head, raising his hand as if to say, "That's okay, I've had enough."
              "Thank you," he said, raising the clothes as though to indicate what he was thanking her for.
              "Of course," she said.
              Another silence passed between them, and she realized that he looked rather nervous, almost uncomfortable. Not understanding what had caused this change of behavior and disposition, she sat back against the tree and observed him. Finally, it dawned on her that he was trying to figure out where to change.
I could have fun with this,
she thought. After all, she was already being rather rebellious for a woman; why not go with it?
              "So, um," he said, "where should I change?"
              She shrugged her shoulders and casually made a circular motion in the air with her pointer finger, as though to say “who's around?” "Anywhere you want," she replied.
              "Right," he said.
              He got up and walked to the left toward a cluster of trees, using them as a kind of door or shield. A few moments later he returned, carrying his own clothes and wearing her father's. They fit him almost perfectly, and it was uncanny—almost disturbing—to see another man in her father’s clothing. But then again, it was only practical. This man needed clothes, and she had clothes she couldn't use, so why not?
              He sat down again, holding his old clothes in his hands and staring pensively at the fire. Without warning, startling her, he threw the red coat into the fire along with his old clothing. The flames excited and then grew to a new level of activity with the newly added fuel.
              "Hey!" she shouted, leaping to her feet and stepping back.
              "Sorry…I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't know it would flare that much."
              They both sat back down.
              "It's okay," she said. "Just warn me next time."
              He grinned boyishly at her. "Warn you the next time I throw clothes into the fire? You don't suspect I'm going to fight in the nude, do you?"
              She gave him a coy look back and shrugged.
              "How should I know?"
              They both chuckled.
              "If we're going to head out at dawn, we'd better get some sleep," she said to him. "Have a good night," she added.
              He nodded and rested his head on his arm, using it as a pillow, his back to the fire. Apparently he didn't have any issue sleeping on the forest floor. That much was a comfort to her. She watched him as his breath made his chest rise and fall, his arm following suit as it rested on his side.
              Could she trust this man? Did he really want to join the patriot cause? Why would he? But then again, if he wanted anything else, wanted to bring her to her demise or cause her harm, why announce himself as a Redcoat? Wouldn't spies come in disguise? If you're trying to blend in with someone else and gain their trust, surely you don't show up dressed like the enemy, right? She couldn't think straight.
              Her thoughts drifted as she rested her head against the tree, allowing the firelight to lull her to sleep, making half-laid plans for the following day until finally she was lost to slumber.

She awoke the next morning to find the campfire still smoking but mostly extinguished. The forest was crisp and the air was sweet, no doubt cleansed by the rain. Today was the beginning of one more wilderness walk, and she knew that at this hour the following morning they would be at the battlefield, ready to fight for the patriot cause.
              As sleep left her and consciousness removed the clouds from her eyes, she began to look around and take note of her surroundings. The packs were all there, but Edward was nowhere to be found. Panic began to overtake her, until she realized that panic would do absolutely nothing to help her.
              No, she had to think clearly about this. Perhaps he had gone off in the night and become lost or been injured. It didn't necessarily mean that he had been lying—his absence could mean anything at all. As she frantically tried to wrap her head around the absence of her newfound companion, she decided to remain still in case he was close by, ready to attack her.
              Remaining very aware of her surroundings, she slowly turned her head to the right, the back of her head still resting against the tree. The forest floor was still moist from the previous day's rain, and she saw footprints in the mud leading to the right, but they disappeared out of her line of vision, and she didn't yet have the courage to rise from her position and follow them.
              "Good morning!"
              Edward's voice was so loud and robust she physically jumped from her location and her head shot toward the left, where the voice originated. She saw Edward, still in her father's clothing, walk up with a jovial smile on his face, his hair obviously the product of a night's sleep on the forest floor. She didn't know whether to laugh or hit him.
              "Where have you been? You scared me!" She wanted to sound very stern but couldn't help smiling at the sight of him. This man had a hold on her in some way, she admitted, but only to herself. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him, but she knew that now was not the right time.
              "I'm sorry," he chuckled. "I went to…you know…there isn't exactly a latrine anywhere, and…"
              Now that it was so obvious why he would be up, she laughed out loud, putting a hand to her forehead as though trying to keep her head physically together.
              "Right," she chuckled. "Sorry about that."
              He twisted his face into an expression that clearly said "Don't worry about it" and waved an invisible object in the air, apparently disregarding her apology.
              "So what's on the agenda today?" he asked.
              "Walking. A lot," she replied.
              He nodded in reply. "Very good."
              The rest of the day was spent walking side by side. They had gathered their packs and discarded what was no longer necessary, making every effort to conceal any tracks they could and getting rid of anything they didn't absolutely need. After all, the extra weight would only hold them down, and since the arrival of Edward had no doubt been an unexpected event, time had been, if not wasted, then spent on his account, regardless.
              The butterflies still wouldn't go away, and she hated them. This was no time to start feeling, to start allowing emotions to overtake her, especially for someone she was still not entirely convinced was with her on this journey for the right reasons. No other possible explanation came to mind that held any water, but the whole thing just seemed unusual, implausible.
              "You should learn to tread more quietly," she said to him, softly and almost teasingly, throwing a half-smile in his direction.
              He chuckled. "Yes, I suppose I'm not all that discreet, am I?"
              "Well, I don't know about all that. Until you swore, I thought you could have been an animal. Although animals usually don't have human shadows."
              "Okay," he laughed, "you caught me. Being stealthy isn't my strong suit."
              "What is?"
              "Oh, I don't know. I don't really have one."
              She thought the statement was more than a joke, more than a self-deprecating attempt to put her at ease. Something about it seemed sincere, and she had to wonder whether perhaps he was battling his own demons.
              "Everyone has a strong suit," she said, smiling again.
              He smiled in return, but his eyes seemed to be in another place, a time past, remembering old sins or far-off regrets that couldn't be undone. She wanted to reach out for his hand, to comfort him, and then was immediately terrified by her desire to do so, mentally reproving the mere thought of doing such a thing.
              They walked through most of the day, exchanging conversation, whatever bits of information they wanted to share and nothing more. It was apparent to Abigail—and she was sure it was to Edward, as well—that there was much more to her story, as well as his. Both of them were playing the cards they had very close to the vest and not letting the other see too much. And why should they? He had as much reason not to trust her, she reasoned, as she had not to trust him.
              Toward the end of the day, they heard the sounds of raucous laughter, some vile jokes being thrown about, the clanking of tin, and some distant gunfire. It was finally here. She was—well, they were—finally about to reach their destination. Another few hours’ hike through the woods and they would be where they had been heading the entire time. Another fate, another life. A new page for the both of them.
              Suddenly, pangs of emotion hit her and she realized how much she cared for this man. It didn't make any sense. But somehow, she thought he felt the same way. How was it that only a day earlier she feared this man, and before that, she thought she was alone in the world, off to face her doom or her victory, she couldn't know which. And now, here, in this strange twist of—what was it? fate?—she was standing beside a man she had only known for several hours, and she felt as though she loved him.
              Whether he could read her mind or simply felt the same, she didn't know, but he stopped walking, and so did she. They both listened to the sounds of rebellion and revolution and war and didn't say a word. Finally, he put his arm around her, gently, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. She moved closer to him and put her arm around his waist. At least it was comfort. If she was wrong about him, she was wrong; it would cost her no more than being right. But she needed him.
              "Abigail," he said quietly. She looked up at him. "This is…I…" He searched for the words. "This is crazy, I know, but I…I was out here alone and running from this very thing, and then I saw you, and I knew I had to follow. I didn't know why, but…Abigail…"
              She didn't want to leave him in discomfort and confusion this time. She reached up and touched his face gently, knowing exactly what he was trying to say but not being able to find the words herself.
              "I know," she said. He took her hand in his, and before she knew what was happening, he embraced her, his powerful arms pulling her toward him, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. He was trembling.
              "I'm sorry…" he said, as though coming out of a trance, color flushing his cheeks. "I'm…I didn't…I'm sorry…"
              "Don't be," she said, meeting his gaze and touching his face again. "Don't be."
              Nothing made sense to her, but she knew it didn't matter. Nothing was going to make sense anyway. How could it? She was off to battle one moment, and now she found herself falling for a man she barely knew, willing to trust him—but who else was there to trust?
              They had decided earlier in the day to make camp one more night before hiking into the battleground. After all, they had to create their identities, and she needed to get into…character? Yes, character, or something like it. Maybe the quiet type would suit her for a disguise and her role as a man. They would decide later.
              She was still flushed from the kiss, but she wanted more of this man. If it was among her last days on earth—or even if it wasn't—she couldn't think of another person she'd rather be with. There was no one else to be with, of course, but even considering the opportunity to be alone, she preferred his company.
              He was still trembling when he took her hand, and she felt for him. What could make this man so vulnerable? Surely he had kissed many women. What was it that shook him so? Was it the situation? Or was he, like her, trying to figure out how he found himself in this position, falling for someone of the opposite side, though they were on the same side now. At least according to him. And really she had no reason to doubt him.
              "Should we set up camp?" she asked.
              He nodded in reply.
              As night fell, they set up camp in much the same way they had the night before. Edward had with him a set of matches, which made lighting the fire easy; she had just run out of matches the night before. In his sleep, he had—gratefully—missed her scuffle with lighting matches in the rain, during which she used up nearly every match she had. Finally, at the last, the rain dispersed and she was able to light the fire. He didn't ask her how she had run out of matches, and she was glad for it.
              It was fully dark, and only a few stars peered through. Even the angels didn't want to see this kind of rebellion. Not tonight. This night they sat on the same side of the campfire, and she rested in his arms against the tree they had chosen to set up camp near. Watching the firelight, she gazed up at him and said, "What are we doing?"
              He shook his head, as though he didn't know, either. "I don't even care if this is right, Abigail. I just know how I feel. And that scares me more than anything."
              His blatant honesty scared her and put her at ease all at the same time. She stared at the campfire a bit longer, and then realized that his breathing had changed. Looking up at him again, she saw tears in his eyes, no doubt rebellious in their own right for escaping his attempts at holding them back. She couldn't resist anymore, she had to comfort this man.
              She reached up and embraced him, wiping the tears from his eyes and then holding him close. His returning embrace was firm, hard, as though he was clinging to her for dear life. And maybe he was. His sobs were unbridled now, and she began to kiss his neck. Moving her hands down to his side and facing him, she looked him in the eye. Her legs were on either side of him as though he were a chair, and she was sitting backwards, and when their eyes met he enveloped her in the same passionate kiss she had just recently experienced.
              They kissed for several moments, and the euphoric feeling she experienced spread over her entire body, through her veins, through every nerve in her body. She leaned back, allowing him to kiss her neck. It was too much. Too much to resist.
              In a moment she was on the ground, her back against the hard tree roots, not caring about the pain, simply engulfed in this man and his sorrow and vulnerability. Now she knew why the angels weren't looking tonight. This night was theirs alone, and it seemed they had the entire universe to themselves.
              He moaned her name deeply, and she embraced him as tightly as she could, exploring his body with her hands, memorizing everything about it, though she could barely see anything. She didn't need to see. She just wanted him.
              Without another word, they continued to embrace, and as the night wore on, they made love, for the first time, and then again. She didn't want to think, didn't want to know what was happening, she only wanted him, and he seemed to want her, as well. It was healing—she felt it was for him, too—just to embrace another person and be one with some other soul on the planet.
              Finally, they dressed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. The night would pass soon, and they would have to go to meet the fate they had chosen. This night had been theirs, and theirs alone, but the next days belonged to someone else—something else—destiny, perhaps. If this was her last night on earth, or the beginning of her life, she didn't care. She was only glad that it was spent with Edward.