Page 4

II

W hen Frederick came to, he was still on the sofa, he could hear the fire crackling and burning in the hearth, and he could feel its warmth.

There was a certain commotion at the door. Elizabeth and the man were both standing there, talking to the redcoat before them.

“I assure you, Sergeant,” the man was saying, “that I know nothing about any tea party at the harbor, nor do I know anything about any smuggled and hidden arms. And I assure you that this young lady knows nothing of it either. Indeed, I would appreciate some discretion here. I visited here earlier with a lady friend. You know how difficult a certain privacy can be. Then I returned, for I’d hoped to convince the Bartholomews to move down to Virginia to take positions at Cameron Hall, but Frederick’s printing business has been quite a success.”

“He prints traitorous garbage!” the sergeant insisted, then he added quickly, “Lord Cameron, sir, that is.”

“What? Is the man not still a free Englishman with rights! Come on, man, what has this to do with anything? I’m telling you, Sergeant, yes, we’ve been having a tea party. Elizabeth and I were sipping a warm berry brew when you so rudely interrupted us. I wish privacy now. I have been harassed quite enough for the night, as have these good people, I am quite sure. Am I understood?”

“Oh, quite, milord, yes!” The sergeant snapped to a salute. “Yes, milord. Good night, milord.”

Milord. Milord Cameron. Frederick smiled. He had heard of the man. He had fought, leading a band of Virginians, in the French and Indian Wars. He sat on the Governor’s Council in Virginia. He was immensely wealthy, with estates in the colonies, the islands, and in England. But he had stood in the line of battle again and again, defying bullets, so they claimed. He could do more than shoot Indians, he could speak their language. He was powerful, yes, and by God, he was a member of an elite peerage, but he was an American, too, so it was sworn. Virginia was not Massachusetts, the seeds of discontent were not so fully sown there as here, but she was a great colony, creating great statesmen.

This man sat on the Governor’s Council instead of in the House of Burgesses. The Councilmen were appointed for life, a great honor. He should be loyal to the Crown. And still, Frederick realized, Lord Cameron had saved his life.

The door was shut and bolted. Elizabeth fell against the door, trembling. “I shall faint—”

“You mustn’t madam, I beg of you!” he said, and drew her up.

“You’ve saved us once again. Oh, milord, our lives are yours! Whatever you wish—”

“I wish a long, potent drink!” Eric laughed. “And a word with your husband.”

Elizabeth nodded and glanced worriedly toward Frederick. Then she hurried toward the kitchen, and Eric approached Frederick. He pulled up a chair and straddled it, and stared at the printer. “I want to know about it. I want to know about tonight.”

“But you must know—”

“I know nothing. I’m a Virginian. I’m here on business, and I stumbled upon you.”

Frederick inhaled and exhaled. The man was tough, and he wanted answers.

“We didn’t want it to happen—”

“Don’t tell me that. The trouble has been brewing here since the Boston ‘Massacre’ in 1770.”

Frederick exhaled. The Boston Massacre had actually been a street fight. About fifty citizens, infuriated by the soldiers within the city, had attacked a British sentinel. Captain Preston, the British officer in charge, had brought more soldiers, and they had fired into the crowd. Three people were killed, eight were wounded, and two of the wounded later died. A town meeting had been called, and the British had agreed to let the captain stand trial for murder. John Adams and Josiah Quincy had been his defense counselors, and he had been acquitted of murder—it couldn’t be proven that he had ordered his men to fire into the crowd. Two soldiers were found guilty of manslaughter, and they were branded on their hands and dismissed from the service. Speechmakers and politicians, eager to keep sentiment high against the British, had termed the event the Boston Massacre.

“We did not intend this!” Frederick insisted. “Milord,” he added quietly. Then he lifted his chin. “Ask around, among your friends, and you will discover the truth. The British offered the British East India Company a rebate for tea sold in America. The tea was to be consigned to certain individuals. There would have been a monopoly on the tea, and our local merchants would have been put out of business. It was a government move to enforce the tea tax, milord, can you understand? The Committee of Correspondence refused to permit these tea-laden ships to land, and we appealed to Governor Hutchinson to let the loaded ships return to England. The governor refused. There was a meeting, a huge meeting at the Old South Meeting House. We went to the governor again, and again he refused to receive the mass of people.” Frederick lowered his head. “At a signal from Sam Adams, we hoarded the ships and dumped the tea.”

Eric was silent for several long seconds. “There are going to be repercussions, you know.”

“Of course.”

“We move ever farther and farther away,” Eric murmured. “God, how it hurts. But of course, they don’t want to hang you for your part in this tea party. They want to hang you for smuggling arms to use against the Crown. So—tell me. What of these arms?”

Frederick started. “Arms?”

“You are guilty. Of storing arms.”

Frederick wet his lips nervously with his tongue. He knew all about the arms. There was no sense denying it. “We are not planning anything. The arms are not to be kept in Boston. I should not tell you more.”

“You’re right—you should not. Not now.”

Frederick looked at the man, and he tried to rise. But Eric wasn’t looking his way, he was staring into the flames. The fire caught the curious color of his eyes. They had seemed dark, indigo. Now they looked like steel. They burned with startling, silver flames. He was lost in thought, but Frederick could not read those thoughts.

“Tell me, is a man—a Virginian—named Damien Roswell involved in any of this?”

Frederick inhaled sharply. “Milord, turn me in if you would, but I will not give you names—”

“Never mind. You have given me what I want.”

Elizabeth came, and offered Lord Cameron a glass of whiskey. Lord Cameron flashed her a quick smile, and Frederick was somewhat startled by his wife’s reaction. She flushed deeply, and her eyes fell over the length of him as he straddled his chair. Even at rest he was laden with energy. There was a pulse about him. In silence he spoke of tempest and passion. His eyes portrayed intelligence, fire, and wisdom; his mouth betrayed a great sensuality and an undaunted love of life.

“You’ll not turn me in now, will you?” Frederick whispered. Lord Cameron looked his way, and the printer realized that the man was not ten years his senior, he was hardly thirty, if he was that.

“I’d hardly bring you here, act out such outrageous performances, and lie to a soldier to turn you in,” he said.

“What of—what of the lady who saved my arm?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes clouding over. “No. You have nothing to fear from the lady. Not for this night’s work.”

“She is so kind—”

“She is not so kind, my friend. But though she refuses to face it, she has a stake in all that has occurred. You will be safe from all that she knows.”

Frederick nodded, then spoke to him in blunt amazement. “You’re a lord, sir. You’ve a great deal at stake here.”

“I have promised you that I will not turn you in. And my word is seldom doubted, sir!”

“Oh, bless you, milord! Again and again!” Elizabeth cried passionately, and she fell to her knees.

Eric smiled, touched her hair, and looked at Frederick. “You’ve far more at stake than I have, lad. You have this lovely woman, and you have her love, and you have your son. What you possess now is precious. You must take care with your decisions in the future.”

“My son is the future, sir, and it is for him that I make my decisions. I am not a lord, I have no memory of a motherland, nor did my father, or his father.”

Eric laughed, rising. “Dear sir! I’ll have you know that my ancestors settled the Hundred when Jamestown was still in its infancy.” He was silent for a moment. “Our blood has been shed for this land, my father and my father’s father and his before him, all lie cradled in Virginia earth.” He shrugged, and Frederick saw more than the strength and severity of the man, he saw his humor and his youth and all that was charismatic and powerful in his lazy smile. “Perhaps I do have much at stake, for I do love my land, and I would fight, and die gladly, to hold it.”

“Who would you fight, milord?” Frederick asked.

“God knows, lad. God alone knows. Perhaps we should all pray for peace. Elizabeth, may I have my greatcoat, please?”

Elizabeth brought his coat and set it over his shoulders. He started for the doorway.

“Milord!” Frederick said, imploring him back.

Eric turned. Frederick offered him his hand. “I thank you, Lord Cameron. I am your servant, for all of my life.”

Cameron shook his hand. “My name is Eric. And it is good to have friends, Frederick. I shall remember that I have friends here.”

“Aye, milord—Eric. And that you do. The very best of friends.”

With a smile, Eric turned and strode out of the house and into the night. Elizabeth sank down by her husband’s side, and together they watched as he closed the door. She trembled slightly, but he said no word to her, and they both knew that their lives had been strangely touched. Greatness had descended upon them, and had done so with mercy.

Eric mounted Joshua, his great stallion, but pulled in on the reins.

The last of the soldiers’ footsteps had gone still, and the night was coming quiet again. Cold and quiet and touched with mist. The spires of the churches rose high against mist and darkness to touch the heavens, and the city lamps were burning low. There was quiet all about.

There would never be quiet again, Eric thought. This particular tea party would be known about from the length and the breadth of the country, and its cry of rebellion would stretch across the Atlantic Ocean. In his pursuit of Lady Sterling he had seen the tea floating in the harbor, and he felt both a horrible, wrenching pain and a startling excitement. They were a new people. A new breed of men. They would be given the rights and liberties of English men by the English government, or, by God, they would forge their own liberties.

I have become a dissident this night! he thought. But maybe he had not, maybe the seeds of dissatisfaction had been sown in him long ago, perhaps during the French and Indian Wars, or the Seven Years War, as it was known on the Continent.

War. It could come to war again.…

No one wanted to speak of war. Even the worst of the radicals were careful not to speak of it.

Eric sighed deeply. It didn’t matter. The whisper was on the wind, and it was growing louder and louder. Virginia’s ties to England were firm and fast. The Virginian Patrick Henry spoke passionately about reform and against illegal representation. But not even he spoke aloud about war.

Eric glanced toward the printer’s house and smiled ruefully to himself. The lad and his young bride were so in love, and so passionate, and so ready to die for a cause. He knew their feelings, though, for he would die, and gladly, for his land. Frederick’s question was a good one.

Just who would he battle?

He thought of Lady Sterling, of the passion in her eyes when she warned Elizabeth that her husband was a traitor. Her mind was set! She was loyal to the Crown. Still, Eric knew instinctively that Frederick was in no danger from her. She did not know that her cousin Damien was procuring arms for the Sons of Liberty, but she suspected something. And because fear for him lurked within her breast, she would keep quiet, no matter what her loyalties. Poor lass! Her heart was due to be shattered. That fool Tarryton was destined to betray her, and her own kin was already embroiled in rebellion!

There was nothing more for him to do that night.

Eric rode back to Thomas Mabry’s. The house was very quiet, but he knocked softly upon the door. Anne Marie opened it quickly, her eyes wide and brilliant. She had been awaiting him, it was obvious.

“Lady Amanda returned safely?”

Anne Marie nodded, catching his arm and pulling him inside. “She is sleeping, and thank God! Lord Sterling did return; he is anxious to get home tomorrow. And Amanda is expected by her aunt in South Carolina within the next few weeks. If she had not been here, God knows what would have happened! He wouldn’t have let her go, and I fear for her when she is at home.”

Eric frowned. “But why? What would he do to her? The girl is his child, his own blood.”

Anne Marie poured him a whiskey. “Eric, something about it chills me! She does not see the danger. She tosses her head in the air and ignores it all.” She hesitated. “Just as she ignores trouble. With—with Damien.” Anne Marie cast him a quick glance. “She loves him, passionately, you see. And that is her way, her nature. When she loves like that, she is reckless and daring and so defiant! Oh! How I do go on! But I wanted to thank you, Eric, with all of my heart.”

He kissed her cheek tenderly. “It is ever a pleasure to serve you, Anne Marie,” he told her.

She smiled. “I just wish that you could love me!”

He started to speak, to protest. She smiled and placed a finger against his lip. “You do not, so don’t deny it! And I would settle for no less than a man who did love me, milord, so there!” Her smile was only slightly saddened by the mist in her eyes.

“Anne Marie, you are a priceless treasure, and I will never allow you to settle for less than a man who adores you and will know all that he holds.” He finished the drink and handed her the glass, then started for the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“Back to my lodgings. Then—home.”

“Home! But it is so late. You mustn’t start to Virginia now!”

“Nay, lass! ’Tis morning. A new day. A very new day,” he added reflectively.

“You should stay—”

“I must go.”

She walked him out. He took his reins from the post and mounted his horse and smiled down to her, saluting. “I shall see you soon. Give your father my regards!”

“Yes, Eric! And—thank you. Thank you, so much!”

He waved and started to ride. The light was coming. Boston was about to burst into activity.

It suddenly seemed urgent that he head for home as quickly as he could.

He wanted to stand upon his own acres, feel the breeze from the James River. God, how he loved that land. The land had always been his mistress, his heart’s desire. He smiled ruefully, though, thinking that he envied Frederick his son. Perhaps it was time that he married, for Cameron Hall needed heirs. And he craved a son who would learn to love the land as he did.

Maybe it was not his sudden interest in an heir that led his thoughts, he warned himself ruefully. Maybe it was the memory of Lady Sterling. She, who carried within her soul the passion of this very night, all the fire and the tempest and the spark of raw excitement that seemed so very necessary to him.

Pausing beneath a streetlamp, he smiled. He remembered the girl she had been. Passionate, aristocratic, haunting even then. She had been so young, but already those emerald eyes had carried a dazzle and a fury to match. She’d had a soft, vixen’s laughter, and a will of steel. It had been years since he had first seen her, but tonight he could remember the encounter vividly. He’d been so furious, and she’d been so very indignant, calling him boy, and assuring him after his first warning that she was Lady Amanda Sterling, and that no one ever spanked her.

No one had previously, he told her, but the situation was about to be rectified. She had warned him imperiously that her father would have him lashed, but he didn’t care. She had so very nearly killed them both, he had still been tense and frightened because she had so nearly been crushed.

He had paddled her good and hard, but she had cried out only once, and when he had released her, she had promised him that he would die very slowly and rot, she would see to it. He had offered to tell her father about the entire event himself, and she walked off furiously, her eyes flashing, her chin in the air.

But she had never told her father about the occasion. She would have gotten into trouble as well as he, Eric was certain.

She had changed. The lady had definitely grown.

Take care, friend, he warned himself. She was becoming a fascination. And this was a dangerous time to find oneself falling beneath the spell of Lady Sterling. Very soon it could come to war.

No. It would not come to war. No one wanted war.

It did not matter. For the time he was going home. He would make inquiries about Lord Sterling’s daughter—she had not seen the last of him. If Tarryton meant to marry the Duchess of Owenfield, he had best forget his interest in Amanda Sterling. And if it were all bald rumor, then Tarryton had best be prepared to fight for the lady, for Eric did indeed plan to have her.

Tension filled him as he nudged the stallion back into motion. Repercussions were sure to come, swift and serious. There had been a tea party that night, and the guests were destined to pay. Where were men of good reason? There was an answer to this new trauma, surely, there must be an answer.

And yet, as he rode toward his room by the common to gather his things for the long ride home to Virginia, Eric felt a new rustle upon the winter wind.

As he reined in on the stallion, he felt it all around him. He knew that the events of the night had forever changed him, and that there were things he could not deny.

There was that movement, a whisper on the wind. And the whisper grew louder…the whisper of war.

Eric rode on, unaware that his next meeting with Lord Sterling’s daughter would indeed cause him as much turbulence as the dangerous deeds of the night.