As they started firing, she and Tillie ran.
“JESUSCHRIST,” DEVLIN CRIED,sitting astride the horse he had summarily taken from a civilian.
The town was an inferno. The dead and the dying littered the streets, both militia and civilians, women and children. The attacking forces had been two thousand strong, to ensure a decisive and swift victory after the humiliation of Norfolk. Devlin had seen soldiers go berserk and burn, rape, loot and murder before, but he had not expected to see the terrible plunder he was now witnessing. Word had quickly reached him aboard theDefiancethat the British marines were out of hand—mostly fueled on by the French who fought with them, prisoners of war who had enlisted to avoid their confinement. Yet he doubted all the blame lay with the Frenchmen in their ranks—he suspected Cockburn had encouraged the carnage, damn his black soul to the fires of hell.
Even now, a group of marines, mostly inebriated, were destroying a shop, the nearby buildings entirely in flames, a dead woman and child in the middle of the street.
“Lieutenant,” he shouted in fury to one of the British officers.
The officer rode up to him. “Yes, sir?”
“Stop those men and arrest them all,” he ordered. And he was thinking of his wife.
“But, sir!” The young officer was wide-eyed.
“Shoot them if you have to!” he said grimly. “All troops are to return to their respective commands. Our work is done here. We have clearly won.” Inside, he was sick, a sickness that reached his soul.
But he shoved it aside. The battle might be over, but there remained much work to be done. He spurred his mount into a canter, determined to inspect the town. But inspection was a real impossibility. British troops ran amok everywhere. As he turned the corner he discovered two more of his troops in the act of raping a woman, surrounded by a dozen cheering men. Seized with fury, Devlin did not pause. He unsheathed his sword and charged the men. Instantly several turned and fled, the others backing away. The woman scrambled to her feet and ran.
“Stand at attention,” he snapped, the urge to strike them all down wild and huge. They stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. “There is to be no more plunder, no rape, no looting. Report to your respective commands.”
The men stood down. “Aye, sir,” one said, his eyes popping.
He spurred his mount on, thinking of Virginia again. This was her home—the town was close enough to Sweet Briar that she must frequent it often—and he hated what he and the British had done. At least she was spared the sight of this, he thought grimly, and he thanked God for that.
But it did not seem as if the town could be saved. Half of it would be ashes by nightfall, and he was afraid to count the American dead. Not for the first time, he was silently grateful that Virginia was safe and sound at Sweet Briar.
As always, regret and grief warred in his chest.
Dusk began. The battle was over except for a few isolated incidents; most of the troops had been brought back under control. Devlin dismounted to inspect one scene, where dozens of militia and civilians lay dead or dying in the street, the British medics already present and tending to their own. “What is the tally so far?” he asked, weary beyond words.
“Our losses are few, sir,” a young doctor said. He was covered in soot and blood, as was Devlin, though he hadn’t realized it until that moment. “But I’m afraid the Americans have suffered in the hundreds.”
“How many hundreds?” he asked, a movement catching his eye. There would be hell to pay for this day.
“Three, four, five, it’s impossible to say just now.”
Devlin narrowed his eyes. He knew that man lurking across the street, did he not? And then Devlin recognized the slave, having seen him once before, at night, hiding in the front hall at Sweet Briar. He strode across the bloody street, avoiding tramping upon the bodies there. “You, man, wait!”
The black man turned and began to run.
“Damn it, halt! Halt before I fire,” he roared, the threat an idle one.
The man froze, hands lifting in the air.
Devlin hurried to him. “Turn around. I will not hurt you,” he said. The man obeyed. “You’re from Sweet Briar.”
He nodded, eyes wide with both fear and recognition. “An’ you be Miz Virginia’s husband. The captain,” he said.
He now nodded, a sudden, terrible inkling beginning. “She is safe, is she not? She did obey me when I told her to stay at the plantation?”
The man’s eyes filled with tears. “No, sir!” he cried. “She done come to town to see a doctor, as she’s been poorly for some time now, and then the fighting began and I don’t know where she is!”
Devlin’s world tilted wildly. And for the first time in his life he knew horror.
“She is here?” he shouted. “My wife is here, in this town, now, today?” he cried.
The man nodded.
