Part Seven
by Paula B and CJ
Webb dragged her upstairs and tied her to the chair. He hadn’t said a word since realizing exactly who she was. She waited anxiously, wondering what he would do to her. She struggled at the knots holding her to the chair, but to no avail. «He might very well be a dandy, but he has tied a knot before.» Then she remembered how good he had been with the horses. Long-buried memories filled the dark. Strong shoulders flexed as he calmed a bucking horse, his hair falling wildly about his face. Soft words, gentle hands that patted the horse to stillness.
The sun was just beginning to set, and as the room darkened she began to imagine what he would do to her. She hated him for the Tory that she knew he was, but there were things that he had done today that made her think that he wouldn’t hurt her. Of course, from the sounds coming from the next room, she wasn’t entirely sure about that.
She remembered the way he cut Tess free and brought her back to the wagon. But then there was the way he had looked at her in the hospital. She heard the step outside her door and waited. She was afraid it was him. She was more afraid that it wouldn’t be.
Clayton Webb paused outside the door where he had tied her to the chair earlier. He found that he couldn’t stay with her. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts and his composure. He made sure he locked the door before going down the hall to where Lindsay had taken the other prisoner. Not bothering to knock, he found Lindsay on the floor rubbing his cheek staring up in fright at the boy standing over him. Webb thought for just a moment to let the boy try and escape, but footsteps on the stairs behind him convinced him to pull his pistol and shout. "Hold there." He had tied the boy to the chair, scolded Lindsay and said. "Go back downstairs. I’ll handle both of them."
"But I was told…"
Webb got into the taller man’s face and snarled. "I am fairly sure you weren’t told to allow the prisoner to escape. Now go and fetch some food. I haven’t eaten all day."
"Do as he says, Mr. Lindsay." Walden's purr made Webb pale for a moment, but he met Sydney’s eye as steadily as he could. Lindsay clumped noisily down the stairs before Sydney entered the room. "Well done, darling."
Webb took a deep breath. "Why are you suddenly so affectionate, Mrs. Walden?" he demanded.
A small grin tugged at her lips. "You don’t welcome my attentions, Mr. Webb? Few men find me so unattractive as to reject me out of hand." She advanced on him, a leer on her lips and a hungry look in her eye.
Webb straightened and glared just behind her. "Pray madam, what would your son say?"
"My son is…"
"Mother?" The squeak was a question and an accusation. The look that Sydney shot Webb reinforced his earlier surmise that the Walden family would be the death of him yet. Webb watched as the two of them went off together – in the opposite direction to where he had left Sarah. The relieved grin that had started died as he considered his options. He refused to consider the way she made him feel. Forcing himself to the task at hand, he studied the boy before him. The bandage over his head was slipping, and Webb started to straighten it.
"Don’t touch me, you traitor."
Webb eyed the boy with amusement and pride. "Traitor? Indeed boy. YOU speak of treason to me."
"Yes, I do, Mr. Clayton Webb." The boy smiled in triumph at Webb’s shock. "Oh, I know who you are."
"Indeed sir, if you know who I am, then perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me your name."
"Michael Roberts!" the boy said with pride and dignity. The effect was ruined as the bandage slipped further, covering both eyes.
"Ah. The blacksmith’s brother. Of course. Well, we will have to make sure no harm comes to you. Roberts has a reputation for being gentle to all except those who would harm his family." Webb stepped behind the boy and adjusted the bandage. "Now tell me young sir, what is the strength of Washington’s army?" Webb asked loudly.
"What? How would I know that?" The boy squeaked.
"Where does the General think Howe will strike next?"
Michael Roberts twisted around and stared at the man behind him. A knowing grin seemed to flash across the traitor’s face for just a moment and then Robert’s vision was blurred as a hand came in front of his face. It took Michael a moment to discern the object Webb was showing him. When he made it out, he gasped but shut his mouth quickly as Webb’s hiss in his ear. "Hang on and just follow my lead. Help will be coming soon." He took a deep breath. "I hope. But until then I have to pretend."
"Do what do you need, Mr. Webb, sir. I’m sorry about…"
"Don’t be sorry, lad. In fact, you have to forget who I am or we will all perish."
"Yes, sir." For the next thirty minutes anyone who walked past the door heard slaps, moans, shouted questions and vehement denials. Several pieces of furniture were even knocked about for effect.
Lindsay brought a tray of food and knocked boldly on the door and opened without waiting for an answer. He found a table knocked over, Webb panting heavily and the rebel’s head lolling forward. He didn’t look, so he didn’t notice that the ropes binding young Roberts were very loose.
Webb wiped his bloodied hand on his kerchief. No need to tell Lindsay that he bloodied it from the wound on Robert’s head. Michael had insisted that Webb really hit him to make it appear Webb had beaten him. Fortunately, the head wound began bleeding again on its own. Webb carefully wiped some of it on the edge of Roberts’ mouth.
Webb met Lindsay’s shocked and excited look. "What news?"
"News?"
"When does the Reverend Mr. Nelson return?"
Lindsay looked out into the already dark early evening and then checked a pocket watch. "Not for another hour."
"Very well. Have you taken Mrs. Walden her supper?"
"No, sir. She and the boy are at the cellar under the church, questioning the witch."
Webb thought quickly. "Well you had better go and tell them that the Reverend won’t be pleased if they hurt her before he gets here."
"That’s true enough. The Reverend is a stickler for doing things right. He will want to have a trial for her."
Webb took the tray and sat it on the bed. "Go. I’ll eat here."
Once Lindsay had left he lifted Roberts’ head. "Eat something. If you hear anything then make sure to hold your hands together behind you."
"I understand, Mr. Webb." Michael grabbed up the bread and a slab of the meat that was supposed to be Webb’s dinner. Webb watched as the boy greedily ate it and wondered just how well Tess was faring out in Germantown and then decided that Roberts was still a boy and boys always ate like they couldn’t remember their last meal.
Closing the door behind him he took a deep breath and prepared to face not a boy, but a woman whom he thought of several times since hearing of her father’s death. He paused again outside her door and tried to remember her . Unfortunately, there was only one time that came to mind. It was at Thompkin’s Mercantile. He blushed as he remembered his and Allison Krennick’s cold words.
He closed his eyes and the smell of smoky tapers and wood oil gave way to sweet grass and the smell of horseflesh. It had been in the late fall, last year. Just before Josiah MacKenzie died. Josiah had brought several mules needed for the farm, but Sarah had been there too. She brought Dominion to him. "I think you’ll like him, Mr. Webb." She had such a sweet smile. Her hands were caressing the horse’s neck and for one wild moment, Webb had thought how jealous he had been of a horse. And then he wondered in a whisper."How did I not recognize her just by her hands?" He wondered How any of the men she had marched with were fooled?
Now, hand on the doorknob, Webb took several deep breaths to steady himself. Michael Roberts’ knew the sign of the Liberty Tree; his brother was one of the founding fathers of the movement. But Webb also knew the boy wouldn’t have spoken of it to his friends and fellow soldiers. Most common soldiers, most of the officers in fact, had no idea that a network of spies even existed.
He pushed open the door. It was cold in here. Cold and dark. Carefully feeling his way he found the taper on the dresser. Going out into the hall he lit it from one of the sconces there and returned with it. The glow suffused throughout the room, and he spied the holder with the thin strips of sapling to start the fire. While the kindling took he realized that she hadn’t eaten anything either. He wondered if Roberts had left anything.
He returned with a small cup of broth. It was probably weak, but the only reason why it was still on the tray was because Roberts had thought it was coffee. "Don’t like it much, never have." At least it was still hot.
Placing the cup on the hearth, he finally turned to face her. The firelight picked up the sparks of anger in her eyes. «They are such beautiful eyes.» Webb tore his attention away from her face only to find himself studying her heaving breast. He tried to find some neutral spot to look, but became fascinated by the way her hair curled around delicate ears. The shirt she wore underneath the vest covered her neck but he could tell it was long and graceful. He closed his eyes and shuddered. "If I untie you so you can drink some broth, will you promise to not try and escape, Miss MacKenzie?
"No," she spat out. She glared at him. She willed herself to hate him. Willed herself to not take in the fine line of his clothes or the way he looked at her with such concern. She tried to ignore the way his hair was neatly cut and pulled back into a neat little tail, so unlike the rough boys who had come to call on the horsetrader’s daughter. How had she forgotten how gentle those hazel eyes were though now they seemed to spark with a hidden passion in the firelight?
"Very well, Sarah."
«Was that an approving grin tugging at the corner of his mouth?» She hadn’t thought of herself that way in nearly six months. She tried hard to push Sarah away and reclaim ‘Mac.’ But he knelt before her and held the steaming cup to her lips. "I’ll hold it for you." She struggled to kick out at him, but he was too close. His body held her legs against the chair sending sparks of feeling throughout her body. She inhaled his scent. Even after a day of marching from Philadelphia to Germantown and back he still smelled clean to her. She suddenly felt ashamed at the way she must smell, the way she must look to him. She planned on spitting the hot liquid back in his face, but the aroma was too heavenly and she hadn’t eaten anything since the oatmeal Tess had served at breakfast. When she had finished it all, he didn’t move. It was like he was reading her heart and her soul. "I won’t hurt you. I won’t let any of them hurt you. I swear it. Tell me, what did they call you in the forest? The other soldiers?" His breath caressed her cheek.
Traitorous tears betrayed her but she managed a forceful hiss. "Damn you. Do what you will, traitor! My name in Mac! Mac MacKenzie!"
His smile was too kind for a Tory. «No. He’s just trying to trick you. The devil could smile to get what he wanted. The devil tempted Jesus. This devil won’t tempt me.»
"Pleased to meet you Mac. My name is Clay. Clayton Webb." He pushed back away from her and she tried to kick out but she missed. "Good for you, Mac." He straightened and turned toward the fire, placing the empty cup on the mantle. She couldn’t see the grin, or the grimace that followed it.
She did hear his sigh but before he could ask her anything she demanded, "I don’t care what you do to me. Can’t you protect Tess?"
He longed to tell her that he hoped that help was coming, but he heard the shuffle outside the door and knew he would have to pretend some more.
When he turned, his face was a mask. "Tell me young Master MacKenzie, what company were you with? What campaign did you fight in? How were you injured and why did they leave you with Tess Coulter. Are they coming back for you? Answer me."
His change in manner took her by surprise. «Master MacKenzie? What is this?» She let anger cloud her sense and spat out. "I’ll tell you nothing, your horrid little man. Nothing, I tell you."
Webb sighed. "We have all night, boy. What do you know of guns to be delivered to…" He heard footsteps clomp down the steps, but for good measure, he knocked over a table to muffle the rest of his question. "Answer me!"
She had no idea what this insane landowner was about, so she just sat there and stared up at him. Too afraid to answer, too broken-hearted to care what he did to her.
Mid December 1776
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Philips Mercantile
Cordelia spent most of her time in the inn, reading and working on some needlework she kept with her. But today, she decided to brave the public eye and visit the mercantile. Surely no one would recognize her. She couldn't think of a single person in Philadelphis that she knew who wasn't in on the subterfuge. She wanted to make some shirts for Albert and his men. «There's no reason for them to endure the cold this winter.» She knew she could find some dark flannel and a black wool yarn. In the week that loomed before them, she could make sure that each of the men took a new shirt, socks and gloves back to the frontier. «The trick will be finding something drab enough.»
Albert showed great patience, offering Cordelia as much privacy as possible while still maintaining the charade of a recently reunited married couple. At first, it made her uncomfortable, since she hardly knew the man, but no other alternative seemed possible. She hadn't been happy when the word came that the last shipment of guns would be delayed. But over the weeks they had been living together in the inn as man and wife, she had grown accustomed to him. «It could be worse. Braxton would never have asked me to do this if he didn't trust the man. Albert is a fine man. He is strong, kind and handsome. He's smart too. And considerate. He brings me such wonderful books to keep me occupied. And he is very patient when he talks to me in the evening, recounting his day and the events of Philadelphia.» It had surprised Cordelia when she learned he was not married, never had been.
Moving slowly among the bolts of material, Cordelia paused to feel the thick softness of a deep grey flannel. «This will make a fine shirt. It should keep him warm, too.» She pointed to the bolt of material and called to the shopkeeper, "I'd like some of this material, please." She watched as the elderly gentleman carried the bolt over to the counter. "I'm still looking. I need some yarn. Black or even a dark grey like the flannel will do fine." The shopkeeper, already stooped, bent farther, opened a drawer and removed three skeins of yarn, each one darker than the last. She pointed to the middle one. "I'll need enough of the flannel for four, no, five shirts. And I'll take all of this yarn." Someone touched her shoulder and startled her. Cordelia turned, expecting to see Albert or one of his men. Instead, she stared into the eyes of her brother-in-law, Daniel Wallace.
"Daniel, I had no idea you were back from England. How long have you been home?" Cordelia asked, trying to hide her distaste for the man.
"Not long," Wallace said evasively. «But long enough to put a bullet through that traitorous brother of mine.» He smiled grimly and asked, "How is Braxton?"
Cordelia swallowed. «Oh, no! He can ruin all of this. He knows that Albert Chegwidden is not my husband.» Quietly, she said, "Braxton is dead."
"Dead?" Wallace echoed.
"That'll be fifteen shillings," the shopkeeper said.
Cordelia quickly took the money out of her purse, gave the man exact change. "Can you hold it for me? I'll pick it up before the end of the day."
When the man nodded, Cordelia took Wallace's arm and led him outside. Her hand brushed over his and she felt he ring. «Can it be?» She turned his hand over in hers, her fingers tracing the shape of the tree. «Of course. This explains so much! No wonder he spends so much time in England. We all thought his sympathies lay elsewhere, but he is one of us. He is the third man I can trust. Braxton suspected that the third man was posing as a Tory to obtain information. Wallace is not so different from Braxton after all. I can trust him.» Cordelia whispered, "Daniel, there is so much I need to tell you."
"Not here. Come with me," Daniel led now, walking briskly down the sidewalk to a livery stand. He held her hand as she stepped up into the covered carriage, then followed behind her. He gave the driver an address that was unfamiliar to her. "Now tell me, how did he die?"
"Someone shot him, Daniel. It was a Tory, I know it," Cordelia said quietly, making sure the driver couldn't hear. "But he made it home. He died shortly after he arrived, but not before he told me how to finish everything that he had started. He told me about you."
Wallace peered intently at Cordelia, "What did he tell you?" «I am certain he could not see me when I shot him. What could he have told her? And what did she mean 'everything that he had started?'» He watched the scenery pass as they approached Alexander Nelson's church. Cordelia could see the simple, wooden church and the stately brick home beside it. The carriage stopped and Wallace climbed out, reaching up to offer his hand to Cordelia. She took his hand and clambered down from the carriage, then followed him up the brick walk and into the house beside the church.
Once inside, Wallace shut the door quickly behind them, then led Cordelia to one of the drawing rooms toward the back of the house. He directed Cordelia to a simple chair, and she sat quickly. Wallace pulled another chair directly across from her and said, "Now, tell me everything."
Cordelia began, "I was so worried when I saw you that you would ruin everything Braxton had worked so hard to make possible. But when I saw that ring, I knew. Braxton wore one like it and told me that I could trust the man who wore it. I can't imagine why he didn't tell me it was you."
"Braxton always did keep information close," Wallace murmured.
"Now that I know that you are with us, I should tell you. I am finishing Braxton's work, making sure the Colonial Army has the gun shipments. To do this, I must pretend to be another man's wife. I was afraid you would betray our masquerade. Now I know that we are safe, you already know all about it," Cordelia sighed with relief.
Wallace smiled, stood and began to pace. "Yes, the gun shipments," he nodded, walking behind her. He moved quickly, removing his cravat and tying her hands together. Cordelia stood, but he circled to face her once more and pushed her back into the chair. He had removed the silken cord that held back the curtains and used them to tie her legs to the chair, holding her down by sitting in her lap. Cordelia screamed and he laughed. "The only people who will hear you here are Tories. Or their prisoners. The Tories will be very interested in what you have to say. But there is plenty of time for that."
"But you are with us," Cordelia stammered. "Braxton said I could trust you."
"Braxton said you could trust the man who wore this ring. Now I will have to find out who he is so I can kill him, just as I killed my dear, departed brother," Wallace watched the confusion, then understanding, in Cordelia's eyes.
"You killed Braxton," Cordelia whispered.
Wallace nodded. "I found this ring. It is an interesting design. I had no idea I had stumbled upon a little den of rebellious zealots. How fitting that my brother should be one. He always was such an idealist. Well, he's dead, and his ideals will soon follow."
"I had planned, originally, to marry you and take his land that way." Wallace ran his hands over Cordelia's face. "I always found you rather pretty. Of course, now I don't need to marry you. You are a patriot, a traitor. The land will be taken from you. I am loyal to the crown, it would only be fitting that I should have my misguided brother's land. Of course, it doesn't mean that I won't have you, too. It just means that I won't have to marry you. You have already admitted to pretending to be someone's wife. If you can whore for the rebels, you can whore for me." Wallace shocked Cordelia by taking her face in his hands and kissing her. His lips pressed hard against her mouth. She pulled her head away.
"You don't like my kisses? There may come a day when you wish for such kisses," Wallace ran his hands over her breasts, laughing as he pinched her nipples. His hands roved over her thighs and down her calves, lifting her skirts and spreading her thighs. "I will have you. Then, perhaps when I tire of you, there will be some battalion in need of a woman's," Wallace paused, then smiled diabolically before continuing, "Touch."
Cordelia's lip quivered as Wallace touched her. She heard him rip the linen of her pantaloons, exposing the flesh of her thighs. He leaned forward, taking the linen collar of her dress in his teeth and pulling, ripping the material away. He ran his tongue over her bosom, thrusting his tongue under the edge of the material. A shudder of repulsion seemed to travel up her spine and she lurched forward impulsively.
Wallace screamed, "You bitch! You little traitorous bitch!"