Love Thine Enemy

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Standing tiptoe on a crate, Rachel peeked out the small round window at the gray sky. If she were a little taller, she could see down to the street or perhaps as far as the harbor. As it was, she saw only an occasional airborne seagull or wren. She heard only horses’ hooves clopping past General Gage’s house and the muffled voices from the rooms below. Try though she might with an ear to the floor, she could not distinguish one word from another.

Since her imprisonment almost a month before, Rachel had dredged up memories of sewing circle conversations and prayed none of the other ladies had revealed important information to the traitor. Only one clue surfaced. The peacock had lost his hen, and Major Brigham’s dreadful wife had sailed home to England. Perhaps the stray sow in the garden referred to none other than Mrs. Arthur. Had Susanna suspected her?

To furnish Rachel’s tiny attic prison, Mrs. Gage had provided a narrow cot with a feather mattress and two blankets. Three times a day, either a British lieutenant or Major Brigham himself brought her meals and hot water, no doubt to keep her from talking to servants or kind Mrs. Gage to beg that a message be sent to Susanna. Rachel’s poor sister must be worried sick. Charles might make a few inquiries about her, but his position must not be compromised.

With only a borrowed Bible for comfort, she spent her days and weeks reading and praying for a way to escape. Once she had tried stacking the crate on a trunk to reach the window and climb out. But the scraping sound had alerted the soldiers, and they took away the trunk. After many tears and prayers, Rachel decided her post in the revolution was to be a prisoner. By delivering the map to Charles, she had done all that she was supposed to do. One thing was certain: her face would always betray her heart, as proven by her confrontation with Major Brigham.

Snow brushed over the round window, dimming the attic. Huddled against the chimney’s warm bricks, Rachel pulled her woolen shawl closer. Soon winter would arrive in full force. Never had she expected to miss the heat of East Florida, but oh how she would welcome it now.

The key turned, the door opened, and Major Brigham stepped into the attic. “Miss Folger, gather your things.” His placid expression gave her no indication of whether or not she was in imminent danger.

She glanced about the attic. “I have nothing to gather.” Hugging her shawl, she toddled across the room on legs aching from want of exercise and stopped in front of her captor. “Am I to be p-punished?” Would they hang a woman? “If so, would you please explain why?”

Amusement rippled across his aristocratic face. “No, my dear, you will not be punished. You have been our guest these weeks past to prevent your divulging, ah, how shall I say it? A certain friendship of mine. Now you will be delivered into the hands of a loyalist sea captain who in turn will deliver you back to your father, from whom I never should have separated you.”

“Sea captain?” Irrational hope sprung up within her.

“Yes,” Major Brigham drawled. “I believe you know the chap. This way, Miss Folger.”

Her legs shook as she descended two flights of stairs to the drawing room. Near the door stood Frederick, and he took a step in her direction.

“Rachel!”

Her heart seemed to rip in two. She pushed past him and flung herself into Jamie’s arms.

“Oh, Jamie, take me home.”

To her shock, Jamie gripped her upper arms and stared sternly into her eyes. “Cousin, do you not wish to greet your betrothed?”

The imperative message in his gaze penetrated her cloudy mind.

“Oh.” She turned around. “Frederick. Darling.” Surely no one would be fooled by her cold tone. She walked across the room on wooden legs, seeing beyond him that Major Brigham stared at her through narrowed eyes.

Frederick pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Dearest,” he whispered, “trust us.”

She nodded her assent, but only because Jamie had come, too.

“Enough.” Major Brigham moved closer. “Our bargain is that you will return her to East Florida forthwith and keep her out of trouble once she’s there.” He leaned so near that Rachel could smell cherry tobacco on his uniform. “Understand, Miss Folger, I am releasing you only because—” Abruptly, he stepped back. “Really, I am not a brute. But we are at war, and—” He exhaled impatiently. “I owe you much for saving Lady Augusta from the alligator. This should balance our accounts.”

Rachel’s knees buckled, but Frederick held her fast. She tried to form a response.

“Furthermore,” Major Brigham continued, “your courage during the fire impressed me. Take that boldness back to the wilderness and raise loyal British subjects—”

“Enough!” Rachel straightened and stepped out of Frederick’s embrace. “You have prattled on far too long.” She glanced at Jamie. “Shall we go?” Forcing strength into her legs, she strode toward the hallway door.

“Sir, forgive her.” Jamie’s voice reached her. “Naturally, she’s a little overwrought.”

“Naturally.” Sarcasm laced Brigham’s tone. “As I told you, you will have an armed guard until your ship sails, in case she tries to—”

“She will behave, Major Brigham.” Frederick’s voice sounded like music to her traitorous heart.

No, she would not behave. Not if she could help it.

“Please believe me, Rachel.” Frederick stood beside Jamie, blocking the door of the ship’s cabin. “Your sister and her family are in no danger.”

Rachel looked at Jamie, wondering what safe response she could give. Anything she said to Frederick might cast suspicion on her cousin. Like Papa, Jamie had never claimed to be a patriot, thus keeping their revolutionary activities secret. But Jamie’s brotherly smile gave her no indication of what she should say.

“It’s true, Rachel.” Jamie nodded. “We visited with Charles. He said to tell you the stray sow in the garden has been put back in her pen.”

Cautious relief crept into her. “That is good news. Do you know what happened to…to a certain old woman?” Rachel could not bear to think of Granny Jones being imprisoned, too.

Jamie put a warning finger to his lips. “When we’re out to sea, I’ll tell you everything. For now, will you please stay here and not try to jump ship?” His face creased into a pleading expression.

Rachel pursed her lips at his humorous remark. “I won’t jump ship.” But only because she could not swim.

The two men traded a look of relief.

“I’m going on deck,” Jamie said to Frederick. “We’ll want to sail beyond the harbor before sunset.”

Once he left, Frederick sat behind the oak desk and toyed with a long, slender package.

Rachel fussed with her shawl. “This is against all propriety.”

He glanced up. “What is?”

“Our being alone. Is there no other woman on board?”

Frederick set aside the package. “Tsk. An oversight. How shall we amend that?”

Despite the cold, heat filled Rachel’s cheeks. “You could jump ship.”

Merriment lit his face. “Ah, but I promised your esteemed father that I would deliver you safely home.”

“Nonsense. Jamie can do that.” She could not comprehend why Jamie seemed all too willing to leave her alone with Frederick.

“Or we could secure the services of a vicar, who could marry us before we are out to sea. Then you would be safe in my care.”

“What?” Rachel crossed her arms and glared at him. “Oh, forgive me. I forgot to tell you. I have released you from our engagement.”

Hurt clouded his gaze, but his smile remained. “Rachel, I know of no other way to tell you this. I have come to believe the revolution is the only right and righteous course for England’s American colonies—all of them.” Fervor burned in his eyes, and he came around the desk to kneel in front of her. “Believe me, my darling. You and your father have convinced me.”