Kiss of a Traitor (17 page)

As Willa led Cherokee out of the barn under cover of darkness, she questioned the wisdom of her decision once again. She could not help but see her reasoning as muddled, but the answer was as clear now as it was hours ago. She must find Francis Marion and report his location to the military. The rebellion would end; her father would be safe, and he would not compel her to marry Baron Montford. As to the tale Marlene spun about Colonel Bellingham’s weak heart, Willa refused to accept the word of an adulteress.

Slinging the saddlebags on the horse’s back, she fastened them to the rear of the saddle. Cherokee stamped his feet and shook his head. His bridle clinked, breaking the stillness.

“I know you detest the saddle,” she whispered as she adjusted the stirrups, “but we could be searching for many days. This time we’ll not return until we find Marion’s hideout.”

She did not want to cause her father more pain than necessary, so she had penned a letter hours ago and locked it in the study armoire, the sole place she could be assured Papa, and not Marlene, would find it. Memories welled up, and she recalled an earlier time, when the armoire acted as a secret mailbox for messages between her and her father ‘Twas only a child’s game, but one that had brought them closer. She mourned those lost days when she had sisters for playmates and Papa still loved her. The days before Marlene entered their lives.

She left a separate letter for Jwana, Plato, and Quinn. Neither Jwana nor Plato were schooled in reading, so she slipped it under Quinn’s bedchamber door.

Willa wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and checked the saddle girth again, pulling it a notch tighter. Cherokee snorted and whipped his head around. “Sorry,” she muttered as she sidled away from his teeth. After patting her body for her concealed knives, she shoved two pistols she had taken from the gun cabinet into the waistband of her trousers and tied bags of shot and powder to the saddle.

Taking up the reins in a gloved hand, she slid her left foot into the stirrup and swung her right leg over Cherokee’s back. She was ready to leave. As Cherokee walked down the drive, she swiveled in the saddle, pushed back her hat, and looked once again on her beloved Willowbend. She had no idea how long she would be gone … or whether she would even return. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Turning around, she bent over Cherokee’s neck and allowed him to stretch out into a gallop.

Tarleton rose to his feet in Gray Oak’s formal dining room and held up his glass. “To the enemies of our country,” he toasted. “May they have cobweb breeches, a porcupine saddle, a hard-trotting horse, and an eternal journey.”

The men shuffled to their feet with, “Hey, hey,” clinking together glasses that held sour ale, due to the war’s deprivations, rather than fine wine.

As Tarleton dropped back into his chair, pushed away his plate, and patted his stomach, he looked at the silent woman and her children standing stiffly against the wall.

“A fine dinner, Mrs. Richardson,” he said. “Now we have unfinished business.”

Mary bowed her head. Her sagging shoulders seemed barely to hold her on her feet. “I can tell you nothing.”

He threw his napkin to the floor and sprang from the chair. Stalking over to her, he grasped her chin and tilted up her face until her green eyes collided with his cold blue ones. “You
shall
tell me where to find Francis Marion. I know you warned him during our last visit to your property, madam, and I vow, you
shall
tell me.”

When she remained silent, he swung around and signaled to two men to take her outside. Richard came off the wall in a rush. At Tarleton’s direction, two other dragoons seized the young man and wrestled his hands behind his back, where they tied them with drapery cords. The remaining officers took hold of Emma and Rebecca and pushed them outside behind their mother.

The dragoons had ignited a bonfire with the broken furniture stacked in the front yard. Flames leaped into the sky and licked the branches of the oak trees beside the house. Ash and cinders swirled like gnat swarms, alighting on the shell drive and dry winter grass in a rain of gray snow. Black billowing clouds from burning varnish rose from the fire to pool over the house and yard. Men dashed about, catching chickens and pigs that escaped from the barn, picking them up, and throwing them into the fire. Mary’s beloved camellia bushes lining the circular drive were uprooted and tossed into the conflagration.

Mary moaned when confronted with the destruction.

Tarleton loomed in front of her again while the two men held her arms. “Where is Francis Marion?” his voice lashed out.

She lowered her eyes and shook her head.

Lines of determination etched his face as he motioned to the two soldiers. They pushed Mary to her knees and over onto her back. With her children watching, they threw up her skirts and took turns raping her on the sharp shells.

Emma and Rebecca screamed and twisted in the grip of their captors, causing them to tighten their holds. Richard roared and struggled to fight his way free. His guards shoved him down onto his stomach. One pinned him to the ground with a boot on the back of his neck. Mary simply turned her head to one side, closed her eyes, and without protest, allowed the men to take her.

Ford watched the rape from a distance, his gut rebelling at the brutality. But he could do nothing to prevent the abuse, even should he try, and he could not afford to draw the dragoons’ suspicion. He had seen rape before; ‘twas an inevitable consequence of war. The deed disgusted him. Still, it was a penalty less severe than death. Mary was a grown woman with children, not a maid. She would suffer pain and humiliation, perchance even depression of the mind and body, but she would keep her life. He understood Tarleton’s current mood and considered the Richardsons fortunate to receive merely rape and destruction of property as retribution for aiding Marion.

When the two men finished with Mary and others surged forward, Tarleton, in seeming leniency, waved them away. But the Butcher had yet to finish with the Richardsons. He grasped the woman’s arm and hauled her to her feet. Her legs were shaky, and he was obliged to hold her upright. “Will you tell me now, madam?” he asked. “Or shall I be forced to have you flogged, as well?”

Mary lifted her head when she gained her balance and looked him straight in the eyes. “I have nothing to tell you.”

Silence reigned for a long moment, the only sounds those of wood popping and flames whistling while Tarleton regarded Mary with a glint of esteem that quickly vanished. Constricting his mouth into a taut slash, he shoved her into the hands of the dragoon standing behind her. “Tie her to the porch post and flog her,” Tarleton said, his voice rising over the raging bonfire.

The soldier dragged Mary to the post and tethered her hands with rope taken from the barn. He pulled her up until her toes skimmed the ground, then looped the hemp over a wooden hook for displaying flowering baskets. After ripping open her dress to bare her back, he stepped to one side with a riding crop in his hand.

“No,” Richard screamed as he squirmed beneath the foot holding him down. Two additional men ran over to subdue him.

Ford tensed his muscles to move forward, not to stop the flogging but to prevent young Richard from goading the dragoons into firing a pistol shot between his eyes. However, the men were able to restrain the young man, who had no idea how close he had come to death. Ford heard the shame and frustration in the ragged sobs coming from Richard’s throat and felt the boy’s pain.

When the flogging commenced, Ford glanced at the two girls, Emma in particular. She was his fiancée’s closest friend. The sisters huddled, their arms wound around each other. Their bodies shook as tears wet their faces. He hoped Tarleton would spend his anger on Mary and leave the girls untouched. Mary had grit. Even now, with the whip leaving bloody streaks on her back, she retained her dignity. He had to respect a woman with that sort of courage. He had met many men, both before and during the war, with much less.

Tarleton finally saw that seeking to break Mary Richardson’s silence would avail him naught. He ended the flogging and ordered her tormenter to cut her down. She sagged to her knees on the porch. Then stiffening her back and shoulders, she struggled to her feet and walked to her daughters. She enfolded them in her arms and soothed their tears. Ford shook his head in admiration. Her demonstration of fortitude reminded him of why he remained in America—why he fought so hard for the young country’s freedom from British tyranny. America bred women like Mary Richardson and men like Francis Marion.

Tarleton shouted orders over the din of the fire. Dragoons barricaded the barn doors with the remainder of the livestock still inside. Others lit torches from the bonfire and set the old, dry boards aflame. Bloody Ban mounted his horse, extended his arm, and pointed at the house. “Burn that, too,” he yelled above the howling flames. “I shall allow no house of sedition to stand.”

Men ran toward the house with torches, through the front door and lower rooms, touching the flames to drapes as they passed. By the time they emerged from the rear of the structure, fire consumed the wood walls and floors in a ruinous inferno.

The dragoons released Richard. He sped to his mother’s side and pulled her into the shelter of his chest. Their job completed, the soldiers climbed into their saddles and followed Tarleton out of the yard. Richard urged his mother and Rebecca away from the fires to the sanctuary of a folly standing beside the pond at the base of the sloping backyard.

Soon the yard was empty of soldiers and devoid of life but for three exceptions: Emma had slumped down on the stump the family used for killing chickens and stared blindly into the flames; a trio of dragoons failed to leave with Tarleton and lingered at the head of the drive; and Ford remained behind to ensure the Richardsons got to safety before he caught up with Tarleton.

From where he stood under the shadows of a beech tree, Ford glanced back and forth from the three green-coated men to Emma. He recognized the dragoons, Corporals Tavist and Jenks and Sergeant McReedy, as they slowly reined their horses around and rode them back into the drive. A worse trio of rogue soldiers he’d never met.

When hooves crunched on the shells, Emma turned her head. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she gazed up at the three men as they drew closer. They dismounted and strolled toward her, unmistakable maliciousness riding the sets of their mouths and gleaming in their eyes, and the air escaped her lungs in one hard rush. She shot to her feet and bolted. After several terrifying seconds, the dragoons caught her in a circle. A heavy, icy lump sat in her stomach.

“In all me born days,” McReedy said with a grin, “I hae never seen a bonnier lass. Ye must hae a wee bit o’ Scotland in yer blood wi’ all that red hair.” He favored her with a mocking bow. “What’s yer name, little lass?”

She stared at him and bit her lip to hold back a scream. Richard would come running should she cry out. This man would then shoot her brother. She could not take that chance.

“She’s got more meat on her than the mother,” Jenks observed. “Should make for a right cushy ride.”

“Leave me alone,” she hissed hoarsely.

Laughter exploded from Tavist. “Now why would we want to do that?” He cocked his head, and a cold grin stretched across his face. “Tell you what, miss, you give us what we want, and we’ll not harm you any further.”

“Look at those teats,” Jenks said as he flexed his calloused hands. “I can’t wait to bury my face in them.”

She gathered herself to run, and McReedy darted forward, seizing her wrists and dragging her toward the grass on the drive’s verge. She fought his every step in a daze.

“Hey!” Tavist said. He slapped a hand down on McReedy’s shoulder. “Who says you get to go first?”

“This here sergeant’s insignia,” the Scotsman replied, shrugging off the hand. “Privilege aff rank.”

When a man stepped out of the shadows, McReedy halted with Emma still twisting against him. His lips parted at the pistol pointed in his direction. Another pistol covered Jenks and Tavist. Emma fell still and gaped at Lord Montford.

“Awa an bile yer heid,” McReedy spat out. “What are ye doin’ here, Sinclair?”

“Major
Sinclair,” the man said slowly. He advanced in a relaxed gait. “Let her go.” The gun twitched in a manner that caused McReedy’s eyes to widen.

“There’s three aff us an only one aff ye,” McReedy pointed out. “Ye hae only two shots.”

A grim smile touched the major’s lips. “Then I kill only two of you. Shall we draw cards to see who survives?”

“Let the girl go,” Tavist begged the sergeant. “There’s plenty others out there. I’m not taking lead for a bit of quim.”

“What do ye plan ta do wi’ the lass?” McReedy asked as he kept his eyes on the major.

Montford’s smile still held. “What do you think, Sergeant McReedy? Privilege of rank.”

McReedy chuckled. The other two broke into smiles, and their tense postures relaxed. McReedy dropped Emma’s wrists. “Dinna fash yirsel. We’ll jest wait fur ye, Major, an’ make sure ye get back ta the Legion wi nae trouble.”

“I would appreciate that.”

As Emma watched the men, she shivered and rubbed the marks on her wrists where McReedy had held them so tightly.

Montford turned his eyes to her. “Come here, girl,” he said in a low voice.

She breathed more easily until the major’s pistol swiveled from McReedy’s chest to hers.

“I said, come here. I shall not repeat myself again.” His voice became as sharp as his eyes.

She hesitated at Lord Montford’s threatening demeanor. She examined his face, straining to discern his thoughts. In spite of his harsh words and hard expression, she detected something in his eyes that both promised rescue and denoted warning. A light kindling in her breast, Emma guarded her excitement and cringed with lowered head until McReedy gave her a hard shove.

Montford slipped one pistol into his holster and stretched out a hand, catching her by her wrist and wrenching her to his side. As he backed up, he towed her alongside and kept the other pistol trained on the three dragoons.