The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale (31 page)

Lady Strathmore looked at him, perplexed. She pulled the wool blanket up over her shoulders. “Lieutenant? Are you to accompany me?”

“Stay quiet and move along the seat,” he growled, indicating the side farthest away from the door she entered.

She slid across the bench instantly. He moved to the door, then knelt down and pushed aside the curtain just enough to look out the window.

“You hate him, don’t you Clara?” he asked.

He felt her tense behind him. He had never spoken in such a familiar manner to her before.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered warily.

He glanced back at her, drew the curtain a little farther so she could see as well, then turned to peruse the scene outside intently. He wanted to be absolutely certain the patriots had secured their supplies and prisoners of war. The carts of men and crates were moving ploddingly off the field under the direction of a small contingent of men. A hundred or so Americans still stood at attention facing their British counterparts, the faces of the rebels exhibiting both fear and determination, the redcoats looking merely vicious and bored. As he watched and waited, Sebastian very carefully and as quietly as possible opened the carriage door just an inch. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled out a flintlock pistol, then balanced it on his bent arm. He had counted the steps from General Strathmore’s horse to the coach.
Fifty paces. Dueling distance.

The carts were off the field. It was time.

General Strathmore lifted his arm above his head, the signal to engage in battle. Sebastian took aim and fired his pistol from the coach, the crack reverberating with an eerie echo.

Strathmore’s head exploded. His body jerked and slid off his saddle. Lady Strathmore barely suppressed a scream.

Sebastian blinked. One bullet should not have caused the utter destruction of a man’s skull. He scoured the field, catching a glimpse of the American officer he had met several days before. Lieutenant Patrick Hamilton had not been on horseback previously that he remembered, but now was dismounting a ride and surreptitiously passing an American rifle to a waiting ensign.

Sebastian grinned in morbid satisfaction.

On the field, chaos reigned. Soldiers fought while others fled. In the back of the lines, redcoats stood in confounded amazement. At the front, Captain Taylor shouted orders while British troops tried to drag him off his horse.

The time to join was now.

“Give my love to Annabella, my lady,” Sebastian said hastily as he tore off his red coat and leapt from the carriage. Before closing the door he spied her terrified and confused expression. “Tell her I will come for her when I am able. It won’t be too long. Keep her safe.”

He closed the door and pounded on the side of the coach signaling to the driver to depart, then fled into the melee.

Chapter Twenty-Four

New York, May 1778

From her perch on the second-story window seat, Clara looked out onto the greening and blooming yard below and pulled her wool shawl more closely around her. Spring had been much anticipated. It meant the house was not as cold as it had been during the harsh winter. Yet, with the shortages, they still had to conserve wood. She never started a fire in the upstairs bedroom anymore, and Annabella had set up a bed downstairs in the kitchen where it was warmer. Her baby had come early and Annabella feared for his health.

It had been a cold, long winter, made seemingly colder and longer as the Americans had not come for the two women. The British forces, having been strengthened under General Strathmore’s command, were able to beat back the patriots until the snows came. After that, there was only the occasional skirmish. The patriots, it seemed, were holed up on their side of the battle lines.

The British had not been quite certain what to do with Clara once the general’s carriage had returned to Chesterton camp without Lieutenant Hawkins. As the general’s right-hand man in all matters administrative, the lieutenant would have known precisely what the general would have wanted for his widow. The remaining officers decided to simply establish her in the farmhouse she had once occupied until they could organize passage back home to England.

And for the first time since arriving on the shores of the wild colony, Clara did not want to leave.

But the redcoats quickly forgot her, as the general’s second in command decided to decamp for Fort Knyphausen. First, however, they ransacked the general’s stock of wines and spirits, as well as his pewter, silver, and plate. They even took General Strathmore’s eager young maidservant. In the scramble of looting and troop movement, a distraught, pregnant Annabella joined her mistress at the farmhouse, having been evicted from Hawkins’s former abode in the officers’ barracks.

Left alone without army rations and with the storms of winter fast approaching, the women had to act quickly to ensure their survival. Although she did not lack for money—having her jewelry to pawn—Clara knew she would need local help in getting food and fuel during the winter. She asked the Cuyler family to return to their homestead. Despite the ill-treatment by General Strathmore, the farmer, his wife, and their four children displayed great generosity by giving Annabella and Clara one of the bedrooms. The general had been hated in Chesterton, but, Clara discovered, she and Annabella had been held in high regard.

When the slow thaws of spring arrived, Clara sought out gossip and rumors about what had actually happened on the field during the prisoner exchange. She learned General Strathmore had been killed by two men—not just Hawkins—that there had been an ensuing fight, that Sam had been wounded but was alive. Word was the Americans were making headway into the Chesterton area hoping to secure positions for a future assault on Manhattan.

Clara missed Sam terribly, his company, his conversation, his body, his touch. Her fantasies were filled with the when and how of their reunion. Despite the daily tasks of farm life, the boisterous play of the Cuyler children, and the good-hearted conviviality of the farmer and his wife, emptiness oppressed her. Tears accompanied her unsuccessful attempts to satisfy herself, the solitariness of masturbation only heightening her loneliness.

The emotions of pregnancy stirred Annabella’s pining for her Sebastian, and night after night she cried herself to sleep. In the darkness of winter, Clara and Annabella, while sharing the warmth of the same bed, eventually discovered comfort in each other’s arms. Annabella’s lips were soft, her cheeks smooth, sensations so unlike being with Sam, but sensations she was willing to explore. Clara discovered new delights in pleasuring her former servant whose uninhibited nature was infectious. Another woman’s pliant curves were certainly no substitute for Sam’s hard muscular form. But until spring, when she could try to search for him, Annabella’s soft flesh would have to do.

The jangle of horses in the front yard woke Clara from her late morning reverie. American rebels. Her heart pumped loudly as she frantically searched for Sam amongst them. The clamoring of soldiers in the entryway sent her running to the landing. She stopped upon seeing the tall, lean, handsome figure of Samuel Taylor dressed in his officer’s uniform, resisting the urge to scream in delight, to fling herself into his arms. He relayed orders to his soldiers to secure the house and grounds, his masculine authority sending long-awaited sensual thrills to rile her core. He looked up and locked eyes with her, easily dismissing the soldier at his side as he approached her on the stairs.

“My lady, I must inform you that the Continental Army now controls this area and will need to make use of this farm.” His tone was firm, but tempered with an underlying expectancy. “Are you alone in this house?”

“No, I—”

A rebel ran through the front door, panting and eager.

“Major Taylor, sir—”

Major Taylor?
Clara tried to make sense of Sam’s uniform. It was clean and new-looking. His cockade was no longer yellowish, but red. He must have been promoted. Her heart skipped a beat in pride.

“—we found the owners, the farmer Cuyler and his wife, in the field,” the young soldier pointed behind the house. “They have welcomed us, as anticipated.”

“Thank you, cadet. Clear the house of any soldiers and fetch my officers.” Sam licked his lips as one corner curled into a sly smile. He took a step forward.

As the cadet shouted orders and men filed out into the yard, Sam simply stared at her. It took every ounce of self-control to remain where she was. She stared back, desire quickening her breath while joy dampened her lashes.

* * * * *

Sam could barely maintain his veneer of authority as his men filed out. When the last man had closed the door behind him, he let out a much needed exhale.

“Clara,” he said, his voice shaking from restraint, “love, please accept my apology. The plan had been to follow your coach, and then everything went horribly wrong. We had to wait until after the snows to make our move. I’ve been—”

The wail of an infant came from down the hall.

His mouth fell open as he turned to face the sound. “Yours?” he asked softly. “Ours?” He swallowed the incredulous hope welling within.

Clara beamed as tears wet her cheeks. “No,” she said. “My maid Annabella had her baby. The father was Redmond, Strathmore’s groom who died at the fort after fighting alongside Paul.”

“Oh. Of course.” He had never met Annabella, but Sebastian had gushed over every detail of his sweetheart. The man was head-over-heels smitten.

“The child came early. Annabella stays in the kitchen by the fire for her son’s sake.”

The front door swung open and Sebastian and Pat charged in.

“You called for us, major?” said Pat.

Sam raised a brow and nodded in Clara’s direction. She stood frozen, her hand over her mouth to barely stifle a squeal. Pat and Sebastian grinned broadly.

The infant cried out again.

“Captain Hawkins,” Sam said, “Annabella and her son await you in the kitchen.”

Sebastian quickly sobered. “Thank you, Sam.” He rushed toward the sound of the crying child.

Sam leaned in to Pat. “As we planned, captain,” he whispered.

Pat flashed a smile and saluted before he left, closing the front door behind him.

Finally they were alone. Sam hastened to Clara on the stairs, grabbing her around the waist with so much enthusiasm she squealed and gripped his shoulders for purchase. She kissed him, tenderly at first, until his mouth sought to slake the thirst of desire his body craved. She drew back, his desperate need reflected in her eyes, and clasped his hand to lead him up the stairs. Once inside her bedroom, he led the frenzy, tearing at her clothes, she following suit, touching, kissing, licking, as they both removed layer after layer. Finally nude, he pressed against her, the pounding of his heart matching hers, sighing in relief as she gripped and kneaded his muscles, memories and fantasies flashing through him with every caress of her flesh.

Clara nestled her head on his shoulder. “Sam, Sam. I’ve been so worried—”

“Shh. Hush, love.” He pulled her cap off, then released her hair from its prison of pins. “I’m here now. We’re together. There is nothing to worry about anymore.” His cock grew impatient, jutting insistently against her belly.

“I heard you were wounded,” she sniffled as she smoothed her palms across his shoulders.

“Only a scratch, my love.” He stepped back and pointed to a scar on his left thigh. “See?” The bayonet blade had seared and shocked him with pain, but he had fought back, preventing the British from pulling him off his horse, avoiding more injuries, or even death. Yet the tussle had held him back and Clara’s coach was long gone by the time he had broken free. “Thinking of you, knowing I would—must—find you again, helped me heal quickly.” He kissed her forehead. “Clara,” he said against her ear. “I want to make love to you.” He pulled her closer to feel the heat of his prick. “Christ, I’m desperate for you!”

Her lips curled in a sultry smile as she led him to the edge of the bed. She climbed under the covers and reached her hand out for him to join her. He snuggled against her under the quilt, stroked the tender skin of her thighs and belly, cupped her breasts. She arched her back, her nipples peaked from the chilly air and arousal, willing him to suck. She gasped as he rolled the tender flesh against his tongue, then raked her fingers through his hair when he nipped gently. He turned his attention to her other breast while his fingers coursed over every once-familiar curve.

But something was different. Winter had been harsh.

He propped himself on an elbow. “Clara,” he said brushing aside a stray curl from her face. “You’ve changed. You’re—” he hesitated for a moment “—thinner, love.” He kissed her cheek. “You gave your food to Annabella, for the baby, didn’t you?” he asked gently.

Tears pooled in her eyes. He clutched her close, blinking back his own tears, angry with himself, with the well-stocked British who had camped so close by, with the entire damn war. He laid her against the mattress and kissed her, letting his lips and tongue touch every inch of her yearning, undulating body. He urged her thighs open and pressed his lips reverently against her clit before his tongue explored the swollen folds of her sex. She was deliciously wet, and he was more than ready.

He slid up her body until they were face to face, his legs between hers. He guided his prick to play in her wet folds and watched her expression dissolve to wanton desire. He poised himself at her entrance while he toyed with her clit.

“I have dreamed of this moment, Clara. It has been too long. I promise, we will never be separated like that again.”

She traced a finger around his lips. “There have not been others with whom you could have bided your time, Major Taylor?” she said teasingly.

He smiled. “After you, I could never have another woman. However, I do confess I used the willing services of my next-in-command. But even he was far too preoccupied with his own lady love to offer condolences with any frequency.”

Clara giggled until his ministrations between her legs caused her to catch her breath and exhale in a lustful moan.