The Patriot's Conquest (24 page)

Rebellion shadowed her expression. Suddenly, he understood the source. Powerless in his arms, she resisted him in other ways. The soap. The imported toiletry case. And now the pure defiance of walking alone in the woods. A battle of wills. Jeffrey steeled his spine. Well then. He had years of battle experience.

“Amanda, you are my wife. I have rules you and all the others are expected to obey for your safety. You will obey them or suffer the consequences.”

She lifted her chin. “Your wife, aye, but you treat me as a child. I am an adult, not an infant!”

“You act as a child. Dare I say what we do with children on this farm? We give them a good spanking when they disobey. Should I demonstrate and turn you over on my knee?”

She drew in a harsh breath. “You would not dare.”

“Would I not? Do not cross me on this! If that rattler had bitten you, you would have died. The rules exist for a reason!” He realized he was shouting again. Jeffrey clenched his fists and silently wrestled with his temper.

When he’d calmed down, he held out his hand. “Come with me.”

She glowered, but rose and took his hand. Once outside the woods, he released her hand, glad he’d finally controlled his temper. Little did she know exactly how much effort it took him to stop railing. She vexed him to madness with her stubborn pride. Vexed him with the thought of how much he had begun to care and feared losing her.

“Amanda,” he said slowly. “Listen to me and listen well. You are my wife. You will heed the rules I have laid down. I will not tolerate any more of your disobedience. Is this understood?”

Her only answer was a sullen look. Jeffrey felt an unreasonable urge to sit down, pull her over his knee and spank her soundly. He counted to ten again, reciting Rogers’ Rules. Damn Robert Rogers! Surviving in the wilderness and fighting French and Indians was not half as demanding as putting up with a headstrong wife.

Jeffrey herded her toward the house, frustrated and at the limits of his patience.

Supper that evening, leftover pork, roast beef, and a helping of other delicious dishes, promised to be quiet. Amanda picked at her food, not speaking. Jeffrey darted a glance at her. She had said nothing all day. Just this quietness, as if she’d settled down into the role of a meek wife.

He wasn’t sure he liked it. Jeffrey hated silence from her. He’d been hard, allowing his anger to control him. Logically, he knew his feelings had been stirred up that morn with the dispatch the post rider had brought in. He thought of Sam, Dr. Warren and his other friends. Were they all safe?

Chewing a mouthful of beef, he longed to hear her talk and chase away the morbid thoughts swirling in his head. He needed lively chatter to ease his deep melancholy. Only one way to provoke her...

“’Tis a delicious meal we eat here tonight. Good American beef raised on American farms, better food than that imported English slop they serve at your cousin’s house.”

Amanda bit her lip, casting her gaze downward.

“Of course, if that old lecherous goat had his way, he’d slap a tax on food as well to raise money and stock more wine in his cellar for his drunken carousing.”

Now she looked up, her gaze narrowing. “My cousin is not a lecherous man. You listen to gossip, Jeffrey. Nor does he advocate drinking.”

“’Tis not what John Pinkney says.”

“John Pinkney prints malicious lies that he passes off as news for his slanderous paper.”

“John Pinkney is a patriot whose newspaper keeps colonists abreast of England’s latest injustices. Such as Captain Collins’s nighttime searching of a vessel in Huagar’s Harbor this past March. Secretly boarded at night, marines stealing on board and concealing themselves, then seizing a poor innocent apprentice and questioning him ruthlessly about the sloop’s crew.”

“Captain Collins was doing his duty, searching all vessels for proper permits.”

“Collins was shown those permits, but returned in the night like a thief! Instead of openly questioning the owner, he frightened a poor lad.” Jeffrey rejoined.

“I am certain as a Royal Marine, Captain Collins had just cause.”

“Like your cousin did in removing the gun powder? Mandy, that powder is our defense. What if we faced real danger? What if we actually did have a slave revolt?”

“Lord Dunmore assured the people the powder was safely aboard the
Fowey
and could be retrieved in half an hour.”

“Lord Dunmore,” he mimicked her voice, “was afraid the people would use the powder against him. He governs not with respect, but with the might of British soldiers. He’s a cowardly sot who would not hesitate to set a desperate woman to spying for his own purposes, not caring if she wandered into a den of rattlers.”

Amanda picked up her wineglass, her expression troubled as if someone had lifted a curtain, and she’d glimpsed the threat hiding behind it. Jeffrey drew in a deep breath, wondering if she’d drop the curtain and pretend she’d seen nothing.

Or had they finally reached a crossroads of understanding?

Her husband’s words deeply distressed Amanda, for she realized he spoke the truth.

That afternoon she’d cooled down and understood Jeffrey’s anger. She could have died without his help and all she did was whine like a spoiled brat. No wonder he’d yelled. She’d probably do the same. The man worried about her safety, more than her own flesh and blood had ever done.

Her cousin had cared not a fig that he’d sent her into a nest of potentially deadly vipers to spy. Nor did her parents.

Amanda’s stomach knotted. Suddenly she lost all interest in food. Again, she looked inside and saw the rebellious spark glowing brighter. That spark threatened to burn all she had clung to her whole life, everything safe, secure and comfortable. All her firmly-set ideas about England and being English would turn to ashes.

Everything she’d wanted in life: acceptance by English society, belonging to the circle that had shunned her; all would be destroyed if the spark Jeffrey fanned turned into a flame. Then she’d be left lost, uncertain and adrift, without direction or the comfort of her beliefs. Amanda’s mouth went dry.

How could she forsake the very foundation of her dreams, hopes and ideals?

“Lord Dunmore has the authority of the Crown behind him. Though his actions may be seen as reprehensible, they were justified for the greater purpose of preventing rebellion. How can you justify your radical idea of breaking free from England? I do not understand nor will I ever. Is not a child obliged to obey and respect the parents who provide for him?”

“Every child grows up. And did you not tell me that a parent can’t keep a child forever when you talked of slavery? You of all people should understand rebelling against society’s restraints.” Jeffrey set down his fork, his gaze serious and intent.

Her flush deepened. “If you refer to my scandalous behavior that led us into this marriage, that was not being a radical. But rather being foolish and letting my passions rule me.”

“Nothing is wrong with being passionate,” he said softly, gazing at her. “Passion is good. But I reference your love for Voltaire.”

Confused, she stared.

“Voltaire. The theist. He espouses freedom of thought and denounces repression. If that isn’t radical, what is?”

Amanda stilled, stricken with the thought. The tiny spark of rebellion grew. She sought to stamp it out. “I read Voltaire for intellectual pleasure,” she shot back.

“There are many philosophers you could read,,” he countered. “Why chose Voltaire? Because he stimulates you, Mandy. He makes you think for yourself. And the more you do, the more you will break away from the herd of bleating Loyalist sheep who blindly turn an eye to England’s injustices simply because they fear change. You are far too intelligent to follow the herd, sweet.”

He added quietly, “Remember? ‘True greatness consists in the use of a powerful understanding to enlighten oneself and others.’”

“‘Man is free at the moment he wishes to be,’” she quoted Voltaire back at him, feeling more confused. Was she a radical at heart?

His gaze softened as he regarded her. “You are not a child, anymore, Mandy. No longer subject to your parent’s wishes and restraints. As the colonies are not children in need of guidance. We Americans grew up long ago.”

Relieved he’d turned the conversation back to politics, she leaned forward. “But has America truly matured? Exports and imports are needed for a delicate balance of trade! There is no manufacturing here, only in England. How can the colonies expect to survive on their own?”

“We already produce many items here and will learn to produce more. When we boycotted English rum, we began making our own. This wine we drink, ’tis good Virginia wine.”

“What of government?” She sipped more wine. Truly, it did not taste anything as delicate as fine Madeira, but it had a raw, exciting bite to it. As zesty as her husband’s fervor. “England has a long-standing tradition of parliament and monarchy. How can 13 separate colonies that cannot even agree expect to be anything more than fractious?”

“We’ll learn. We learned to survive in the woods, grow our own crops, tend our herds and we shall learn to govern ourselves as well.”

Oh he made her brain swirl! “Jeffrey, you cannot convert me to your treasonous views against my country. Americans are pig-headed, backwoods folk who paint themselves as Indians and launch sneak attacks on merchant ships. You don’t fight fair and you think you can strike free from the mother country. You will never be free.”

His jaw grew tighter than a drum skin. “Nay, I know we can. ’Tis only a matter of time. ’Tis already begun. We will break free.”

Truly he was more obstinate than an old mule. She sputtered, saying the only thing she could summon at the moment. “God save the King.”

Jeffrey exhaled through clenched teeth. “God damn the King.”

Now her fury mounted. “Jeffrey Clayton, how dare you swear in this household! Do you forget children live here? Will you have Miles and Sara grow up cursing the air?”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “I apologize,” he muttered, then added defiantly, “About the swearing. Nothing more.”

Adversaries. Would they ever be anything more? Amanda sipped more wine, then set the glass down. The alcohol threatened to daunt her senses. She needed them honed to keep her wits about her. His face was set like hard iron. Jeffrey polished off his food in silence. Why did he seem so angry tonight? Was he still furious over the earlier incident? Their political bantering usually had a more light-hearted tone, not this fractious quarreling.

Then her husband glanced upward, heat in his gaze. “Come Mandy, finish your supper, for ’tis growing late,” he said softly.

Back in his cabin, Jeffrey lit a fire in their bedchamber. Her raw nerves jumped each time the flames crackled. Amanda sat on the bed. He turned, intent shading his gaze.

“Time for bed.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“Didn’t say anything about sleep. I said bed.” He knelt, removing her shoes and slid off her stockings. His lips softly grazed over the bare flesh of her calf. Amanda felt her muscles clench with aching need. She held herself all the more rigid. Damn if she’d cave in to her desires.

Next he pulled her up, unfastened her gown, sliding dress and petticoats off, then removed her stays. She cursed the fact she’d kept them quite loose in order to move about doing chores. Finally he tugged her shift over her head. Jeffrey pulled off her lace cap and removed the pins binding her hair. Giving her a gentle push backwards onto the bed, he smiled.

“There lies England, flat on her back, finally agreeing that America is a great power that can overtake her.”

Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. Amanda glared. Did he think her a wife who would eagerly submit to his demands? Fie on him!

“I’m not easily conquered, Jeffrey.”

“Aye, Mandy. ’Tis half the fun.”

The confession startled her. His playful grin dissolved her anger like snow in a fire. She recognized the challenge in his smile and the gleam in his eye. Leaning over, he tickled her ribs, making her giggle.

“Come now, Mandy, admit it. You like Americans. We’re not all that bad.” Another playful tickle.

“Yes, you are,” she retorted, sticking her tongue out. “You’re very bad.”