War of Hearts, A Historical Romance (6 page)

***

Colonel Hill was on his way back from a
meeting. The horse he was riding carried his bulk easily. His eye
caught a flash of red and he tracked it to a solitary woman. Her
glorious red hair peeked out from her bonnet and shone like embers
where it was kissed by the sun’s light. Intrigued, he pulled up
short just to watch her.

She was as bedraggled as her horse, and just
as thin. However, her stance belied her emotions. She was not
looking upon the ruins in sadness, but in grim determination. She
somehow reminded him of his own daughter back in England. It was
unusual to see a woman alone in town. It just wasn’t safe.

Captivated, he dismounted and approached the
girl. “Are you in need of assistance?”

Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice.
Spotting the uniform first she paused, her mind blank.

“Pardon?” she asked, turning to look up at
him. He was taller than her, and almost as wide. She felt quite
sure she could out run him if the need arose. Even then, she slowly
moved her hand into position to grab her straight pin.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you; I was asking
if you needed assistance. You seem to be a bit lost.”

“What makes you say that?” Sarah asked,
aghast that she was failing her mission to blend in already.

“No one has paid any heed to these ruins in
a long time.”

Sarah, feeling no threat from him, lowered
her hand and looked back to the scene. Looking closer she could
make out tents set up to house the living.

“I was looking for my aunt’s house. I have
just arrived to stay with her,” she purported, adding a hitch to
her voice, covering her face with her hands.

“Have you heard from her recently? The fire
took a fair number of people.”

She shook her head. “We lost contact, my
home was ransacked by rebels, and I thought I would find safety in
New York. I have found no such thing.”

“What is your aunt’s name? They have a list
at headquarters.”

“M-Margaret Smith,” Sarah replied quickly,
much pleased with herself.

“And yours?”

“Sarah Smith.”

“Colonel Hill at your service,” he added
with a bow. “Well come along, Sarah, we shall see if we can find
your aunt.”

She complied and mounted her horse. “Are you
sure your horse will make it?” he asked, trying to lighten the
mood.

“She’s tougher than she looks.”
And so am
I,
she added silently. With a nod, he climbed on his stallion
and led the way. The British headquarters was the last place she
expected to go, yet she did not have much choice without appearing
peculiar.

As they moved into the city, the scent of
fresh baked bread and spiced pies wafted toward her. Her stomach
grumbled in response. She was glad that the Colonel was far enough
ahead so he could not hear.

She studied his back while she rode; his
powdered hair was plaited down the nape of his neck and tied with a
blue bow. What a nice touch, she chided herself at her sarcastic
thoughts.

He pulled up sharply and she almost ran into
him. She had not even noticed the stately building they had stopped
in front of. Soldiers were everywhere, dressed in their fine woolen
red coats and white powdered wigs. Their muskets gleamed brightly,
the bayonets sharp and deadly.

Sarah had seen first-hand the destruction
these weapons could carry out, and it overwhelmed her how close
they were.

The Colonel was at her side and helped her
dismount. He handed the reins off to a young boy, to have the
horses fed and rested. Sarah normally would have refused any
charity, but the poor horse deserved what comfort it could get.

Silently she nodded her thanks and let him
lead her to her fate.

The inside was just as splendid; it would
have been more so if it were unoccupied.

He walked over to a desk and greeted the
lieutenant by name. “Baxter, Miss Smith is looking for her Aunt
Margaret Smith. Can you search the list from the fire?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. He stood, did a
quick bow, and headed to a back room.

It was odd hearing the new name applied to
her. She was leery to reveal her real name; she had no idea how
thorough their record keeping was. Would they have a record of the
missing soldiers buried on their land? She doubted it, but
preferred not to take any chances.

She stood awkwardly while they waited. She
wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She ended up clasping them
together in front of her as she looked around the room.

She was glad for the Colonel’s silence as
well. She didn’t want to answer a bunch of questions she had no
answer for. Luckily, he seemed content to check the paintings and
windowsills for dust.

She heard the front door open and
instinctively turned to see who it was. Recognizing the arrogant
man who accosted her this morning, she quickly turned away.

Unfortunately, he had recognized her as well
and walked over to join them.

“Madam, so nice to see you again. Can I be
of service?”

“Major Johnson, there is no need, I am
assisting the lady.”

“Well let me see if I can speed things
along,” he said, turning sharply on his heel with a click and
heading down the hall in search of the desk clerk.

Sarah exhaled, not realizing that she had
been holding her breath.

“You make friends quickly,” he
commented.

“It’s a gift,” she replied and smiled
reluctantly when he laughed.

The major returned rather quickly with a
sheath of papers. The lieutenant was suspiciously absent. She took
in the hand written list and was taken aback by how many pages
there were. So many had perished.

“Perhaps we should move to a more private
area,” he said, and Sarah reluctantly followed. She glanced at the
exit wistfully, the Colonel put his hand on her back and was
guiding her to another room.

The Colonel sat behind an ornately carved
mahogany desk. She sat in the chair closest to the door and the
major stood next to the desk.

“Your aunt’s name?” he requested in a
soothing tone.

“Margaret Smith,” she supplied without a
hitch. He searched through the names so slowly Sarah wanted to rip
the list from his hands.

He went through the entire list before
stacking the papers neatly in a pile and looking down at Sarah’s
anxious eyes. “I am sorry to report that your aunt has passed.”

Sarah gasped at the news and shook her head
in disbelief. “No, it can’t be. She is all I had.”

“Let me see that.” The Colonel insisted,
dismayed to see the girl so distraught.

“May I look?” Sarah asked using her softest
voice.

“You can read?” he asked quizzically.
Educating women was not highly encouraged in the colonies; the men
were hard enough to deal with. .

“A bit,” she replied with a blush. It would
not be wise to share her love of reading with the British Army.

“Of course ma’am.” He made a big show of
walking around the desk and leaning over her as he flipped through
the pages. She felt suffocated but forced herself to stay calm.

“There,” he finally said pointing to a name
on the page.

She studied the word for a moment and then
frowned. “It says M. Smith.”

“Yes, M. for Margaret.”

“Or it could be M. for Mitchell, or Mark, or
any other M name,” the Colonel suggested, trying to offer some
hope.

Sarah watched, amused for a moment, until
she remembered her fictional aunt is now dead. “Please stop! I
can’t take any more discourse. With her home gone, I can only
believe the worst. Thank you for your time,” Sarah said, standing
to leave quickly.

The major blocked her way and grabbed her
arm. “Ma’am, I feel somewhat responsible for your loss. I insist on
arranging board for you.”

“That is not necessary. I have been fending
for myself for quite a while. If you can just point out a boarding
house I’ll be off,” Sarah said demurely, tugging her arm free.

“Unfortunately, that is not possible,” the
Colonel added. “Since the fire, the army has taken over all of the
abandoned homes and most of the civilian properties. I, however,
have ample room at my home. You are welcome to stay as long as you
wish.”

Sarah looked up into the round, portly face
of the Colonel. She should hate him, but for some reason she
didn’t. The fact that he seemed to like the Major as little as she
did warmed her to him a bit.

With a silent nod, she allowed him to take
her elbow and guide her down the street.

The home was grand. It totaled three stories
and had a large Cupola on the roof. The Colonel opened a wrought
iron gate to allow her entrance and she marveled at the gardens.
There was a sculptured maze of bushes, all precisely manicured. She
had never seen such a splendid show.

“This is your home?” she asked in awe.

“It belongs to a friend of mine; he and his
wife are back in London,” he added a bit wistfully.

“And they won’t care for you inviting a
guest?”

“Not one such as yourself,” he said with a
wink.

An older woman in an apron opened the door.
She did a hasty bow and offered to take Sarah’s cloak, which she
refused.

“Cecilia, Miss Smith is visiting with us.
Please draw a bath so she may rest after her travels.” She nodded
silently before heading to the kitchen to heat water. The Colonel
walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a flask of liquor.
“Drink?”

“No Sir.”

After pouring three fingers worth he
motioned for her to sit. Sarah did so, making sure the front door
was within view. Her nerves were on end, and she wasn’t sure why he
was being so kind.

She looked around the room; much time and
trouble had been spent on the décor. Luxurious settees and chairs
were grouped in front of a roaring fireplace. Sarah couldn’t resist
walking up to it and holding out her hands toward the flames to
warm them. The heat soaked into her skin, and she stood there until
she was practically boiling.

Her eyes rose to take in the charming family
portrait above the hearth. Her thoughts turned to her own family.
They were stolen from her, perhaps by the deeds of the man in this
very room. She had never been a believer in fate. How could fate be
so cruel? Reluctantly she turned around to warm her backside. She
found the Colonel was watching her with amusement.

“So what does a Colonel do exactly?” she
asked at last.

“Well what I do is paperwork; there is loads
of the mess. I mingle with local politicians, to make sure they
have the correct view on things. It can be quite tedious attending
all the banquets and pleasantries.”

“It sounds just awful; I couldn’t imagine
smiling for hours on end,” Sarah said. He chuckled with a nod. She
couldn’t help but feel bitter as these soldiers drenched in finery
were plotting to destroy her country.

She was quite glad when Cecilia appeared and
led her upstairs. She was steered into a large, masculine bedroom.
The four-poster bed was draped with velvet red curtains to ward off
drafts. Next to the window was a large porcelain tub filled halfway
with steaming water. All thoughts of running from the house were
lost.

“Supper is at six, feel free to rest as long
as you need to, you will not be bothered. Only gentlemen live
here,” she assured Sarah, slipping out of the room.

Sarah removed her garments and laid them on
the floor. She didn’t want to sully the bedcovers with road dust.
She carefully dipped a toe in and sighed. Stepping in and sitting
down, she lolled her head back against the rim.

It had been way too long since she’d had a
proper bath. Cleansing yourself in a creek within feet of hundreds
of men was not considered proper. Nonetheless, she made do.

She glanced to the side and noticed a bar of
soap and some towels. Sniffing it, she was rewarded by the scent of
lavender. She grasped the soap and began lathering herself from
head to toe. Twice. Her skin tingled and her muscles relaxed; she
rested until the water turned chilly.

She climbed out and quickly dried off her
body before spending much time squeezing the water out of her hair.
She allowed a yawn to escape as and eyed the bed wearily. Well,
they did suggest for her to rest.

Feeling like a trespasser she pulled on her
shift and climbed under the covers. The bed was larger than the
tent she lived in. With her mind as tired as her body, she sank
into the feather mattress and was asleep in minutes.

***

Tristan climbed the steps to his family's
home and was surprised to find it empty. He had spent the day
working on the ship with his men. It felt good using his muscles
again. The sea was calling his name and he ached to be off.

His hand trailed along the mahogany railing
as he headed to his room to clean up before supper. He grasped the
iron knob and twisted. Locked. He frowned a bit before fumbling
into his pocket for the key. Unlocking the door with a click, he
entered and shut the door behind him. He tossed his hat on the
bureau before turning to head for the water basin. A soft sound
ebbed at him and he turned in bewilderment to take in the lump on
his bed.

Instinctively he pulled out his knife and
turned to face this new threat. He stood silently, holding his
breath. When no attack came he took a ginger step forward, and then
another. Fire had spilt out over his pillow and attached to it, was
the most delicate face he had ever seen.

Not quite trusting his sight, he sheathed
his blade and bravely walked to the edge of the bed. He reached
over to lift a strand of flame, to see if it would burn. At the
gentle touch her eyes flew open, as did her mouth to scream.

Realizing this, he knelt, and covered her
mouth with his hand.

Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he was
met by a piercing pain in his wrist. He quickly pulled back as the
girl sat up in bed, clutching the covers to her chin.