Soldiers passed them again. The man cast his head against the woman’s shoulder and stumbled, singing. “Stop it, you lout!” the woman cried.
“Ah, Mandy, love, drunken lout—it’s a drunken lout I am. ’Scuse me, Officer!” He stumbled, looked about sheepishly, and pulled the woman against him again, but led the horse along with perfect direction. The soldiers snickered—and left them alone.
Frederick could almost hear the woman’s teeth grate, and if he didn’t hurt so badly, he’d be laughing. What were they doing with him, he wondered, for they were aristocrats, the two of them. Alive in a sea of the Sons of Liberty.
It was a patriot’s city! Frederick thought proudly, and then he wondered again at the man who carried him homeward. He winced. This man was a lord.
But his accent sounded a bit…colonial. It was cultured, it wasn’t a northern accent, it had a softer slur to it. Maybe there was hope. Why, George Washington, a growing power in Virginia, was friends with Lord Fairfax, a man of importance very loyal to the crown. The time would come when a man had to choose sides. It would come soon.
The man reined in on the horse quickly as they stopped before the house. Frederick didn’t realize how weak he was until he was lifted bodily from the black stallion. “Help me!” the man demanded quickly of the girl. She complied, seething, helping as Frederick fell from the horse into the man’s arms.
Quickly, competently, the man brought him to his door and knocked upon it.
Elizabeth came and opened the door. Frederick tried to rise against the stranger’s shoulder. He saw her face, saw her soft gray eyes widen with alarm, but then she responded ably, drawing them into the small but comfortable home where they lived.
“Frederick!” she cried when the door was closed against the night.
“He’s taken a shot in the shoulder, and he drifts in and out of consciousness,” the stranger was explaining. His voice quickened. “We need to pluck the bullet out—he’s probably got a broken arm and collar bone, but ma’am, first, we need to wash away the paint, in case of a visitor.”
“The paint!” The girl gasped.
Elizabeth gaped at the strangers for a moment. The girl was stunning, well dressed, beautiful. There was no doubt of the man’s prestige and power, for though his clothing was not overly elegant, the cut and quality were unmistakable.
“Let’s lay him down, shall we?” the man said softly.
“Oh, oh! Of course!” Elizabeth agreed.
Frederick drifted in and out of reality as they laid him out and bathed him. He was offered a bottle of home-distilled whiskey, and he drank it deeply. Then the man was digging into his shoulder for the bullet and Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, was clamping her hand over his mouth and begging him to silence.
“Let me,” the girl said suddenly. Elizabeth and the man stared at her. She shrugged. “I’ve some skill.”
“How?” the man asked her.
She shrugged dispassionately. “My father has been shot upon occasion,” she said. She smiled at Frederick and brought the blade of a knife against his flesh.
Frederick passed out cold.
Eric watched with a cool assessing gaze as Lady Amanda Sterling removed the bullet from the young man’s shoulder. Her touch was both gentle and expert, and she murmured that it was best that he had lost consciousness, for he would feel no pain. “There’s no break in the shoulder, I’m quite certain.” She glanced at Elizabeth who stood by, wringing her hands upon her apron, tears in her eyes. “Cleanse the wound with alcohol, and I’m sure that all will be well.”
Elizabeth Bartholomew fell down upon her knees, grasping Lady Sterling’s hands. “Thank you! Oh, thank you—”
“Please!” Amanda Sterling’s beautiful face flushed to a soft rose. “Don’t thank me! God alone knows how I have come here, and I intend to leave now. This is a bed of traitors—”
“You are good, lady! So kind—”
Amanda Sterling, her hood fallen back, her hair glistening a glorious red in the firelight, pulled Elizabeth to her feet. “Please don’t. I’m leaving, and I—”
“Lady Sterling would not dream of betraying you,” Eric said firmly. Amanda glanced at him quickly. He saw the fury and defiance in her startling emerald eyes, but she did not deny his words.
“Warn your husband that he is a traitor against the king,” she said to the woman.
“But you will not turn us in.”
“No.” She hesitated a moment. “No, you’ve my word, I shall not turn you in.”
Eric stepped forward, taking her arm. “I’ll be back,” he told Elizabeth. “I shall return Lady Amanda—”
“I can return well enough on my own—”
