“It’s far. The horses won’t make it. We’ll let them rest a bit, then race them again.”
And so they plodded along. Anxiety grew and swelled within Amanda’s heart. She did not move a foot that she did not pray again, pray for her husband’s life.
They began to race again. There seemed to be nothing, nothing before them, just the endless white of the snowdrifts, just the skeletal leaves of the barren trees. The camp even seemed far behind them. Very far. So far that it seemed like a miniature village, a child’s toy, and not a place where grown-up men suffered and died.
“Geneva, how far? Where is he? Have we missed him.”
“No, no!” Geneva shouted back.
They kept racing. Suddenly, ahead, Amanda saw an embankment of fir trees. Rich and green, they covered the landscape.
“Just ahead!” Geneva called.
“Thank God!” Amanda shouted in reply. She forced her tired horse to draw close beside Geneva’s. “There? In the woods?”
Geneva nodded, her lashes falling over her beautiful eyes to form crescents on her cheeks. “Yes, Amanda, in the woods.”
The woods…
The thicket of green pines suddenly came alive. Horsemen came bounding out from both directions, horsemen wearing the bright red colors of a British cavalry unit.
Amanda drew her horse quickly to a halt, determined to turn back and flee as quickly as possible. “Geneva, the British! We’ve got to escape! It’s the damned redcoats—”
“There is no escape! Look around. We’re surrounded.”
They were surrounded. There was no direction in which she could escape.
“The British—”
“I know,” Geneva said quietly.
Stunned, Amanda stared at her friend. Then she understood. “It’s you. You’re Highness—I never really was! You called Robert and Father to Cameron Hall, you’ve been sleeping with my cousin for whatever information you could gain. You—you whore!”
“Tsk, tsk, Lady Cameron!”
Amanda swung her nag of a horse around as a rider approached her. Well clad, well fed, sitting his horse very well, it was Robert Tarryton. “What a horrid thing to say to an old friend!” he taunted Amanda.
“Traitor!” Amanda snapped to Geneva, spitting toward the ground.
“Traitor! Ah, no, milady. Geneva is not the traitor—you are. You should be frightened. We hang traitors, you know. Ah, but a lovely lady? Maybe not. You’re much too useful. You see, my love, with you my prisoner, I just might get your husband at last. And maybe a few more of your illustrious patriots. Eh, love? I might even manage to pick off the entire Continental Army.”
“Never. You’ll never beat them, Robert. Never.”
“They are dying. They are beating themselves.”
“No. You don’t understand, do you? It isn’t guns—it isn’t even in battles. The revolution is in the heart of the people, and you can never take the heart, Robert. Not you, not Howe, not Cornwallis, not King George.”
“Brave words, Amanda. Let’s go. I’m willing to bet that I can nab a victim or two for the hangman. Hurry back, Geneva. It’s time now to bring Lord Cameron for his lady.”
They had led her here with lies. They would bring Eric out in the same manner.
She couldn’t let it happen.
She dug hard into the flanks of her horse, wrenching the reins around. The animal shrieked out and reared up. Amanda slashed the reins about, catching Robert across the face with length of them as he tried to lunge for her. He faltered as leather stips whipped his face and Amanda’s horse bolted, then lunged forward.
“Get her!” Tarryton commanded.
She tried. The valiant little horse tried. But ten horsemen were bearing down on her. A red-coated rider suddenly jumped forward. Caught in his arms, she was brought down, down into the snow with the soldier firmly upon her. Flakes were in her mouth and nose and eyes. Coughing, she fought for breath.
