Enemy of Mine (13 page)

Chapter 13

W
atching Lady Ferguson handle a rifled musket was mayhap just as good as making love to her. All right, Will admitted to himself, he would prefer to make love, but for the moment taking in her enthusiasm about the helix-grooving inside the gun with as much fascination as most women would have for dress shops, was quite possibly the most erotic vision he’d ever seen.

The sun lit the campground, making the buildings and tents seem brighter, cleaner, better. Even Will’s men seemed more jovial. Will couldn’t help but accredit this to Erva. The Queen’s Rangers surrounded her, delighting in her fancy at the rifle.

“Shoot for me,” she ordered Captain Reynolds, handing him back his gun.

Lord, she should have been an officer. The men would do anything for her.

The captain nodded. “Of course, my lady, but,” he glanced at Will, “I am not the shot that General Hill is. He is better than all of us.”

Will wondered about the young captain’s compliment. He’d thought that Reynolds had had contempt for him, for he’d often complain about being handicapped under Will’s command. And it was true. Will chose multiple times not to use the Rangers, fearing an outright slaughter if he did employ the skilled soldiers against the Continentals.

Erva pivoted back towards Will. “You have a sniper’s eye?”

He didn’t respond, but after a moment couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful lady and her arched brow.

“That he does, ma’am,” Reynolds said. “He’s the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

Will bowed his head at the captain who reciprocated with his own. It was the most affectionate the prickly captain had ever been, and it was best to receive the compliment with a reverenced gesture.

“Then
you’ll
shoot for me.” Erva grinned up at him.

The crowd of young soldiers surrounding them cheered.

Will sighed. “But we must train.” And Lord, did they have to. He and his men were to take Manhattan from General George Washington and the Continental Army in two days’ time.

How on earth was he to be a general when the lady was present? How was he going to continue?

Erva had changed his whole world, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Or if he could. Perhaps it was silly of him, but he was toying with the idea of resigning and spending his days in the company of the lady. Aye, it was a bit much to hope for, but it felt damned good to hope once again.

Captain Reynolds extended his arm to Will, which being a rifleman himself, Will knew it was beyond respect when one man handed over his gun to the other.

“You honor me, Captain.” Will took the musket and the crowd parted in the direction of the rounded dirt hill, where the men practiced shooting and Erva had destroyed a scarecrow just yesterday. “I suppose I’ll have to back up?”

“Yes, General. I’d say walk back two hundred yards, sir,” the Captain responded.

From his periphery Will caught Erva lift one light-colored brow. He wished he could kiss it. If he were married to her, he could.

The thought both exhilarated and stung. He’d believed Julia would forever haunt his heart. He’d assumed no one would turn his eye ever again, as well as he’d supposed no one should. Admitting to himself that he felt guilty beyond reproach about his wife’s death was not difficult. For he knew that had he been more understanding, more compassionate, she would be alive. Or would she? It was what Julia’s mother had screamed at him, yelling every insult, thrusting too many daggers into his self-incriminating soul for him to survive.

Yet he did. He kept waking every day with the stark realization that Julia was truly gone.

This morn was the first where he didn’t think of his grief, his mistakes.

His first thought had been of Erva.

While walking on the dirt path with rifle in hand, Will considered how she had infected him with hope—there was that word again. But none other was more fitting. Erva had cast such a spell he began to believe again, believe in...love? Oh, there had been many a man who could fall in love in a day, but he never thought himself one. However, he had with Julia. Although their marriage had been pre-arranged, Will knew he could stop the understanding if he’d wanted. However, before he wed, he’d decided to introduce himself. Only without her mother, whom it was rumored was constantly around her. He wanted to know the dark-haired beauty on her own, since he knew he was most himself when alone. It took months to figure out how to track her, especially without her mother who acted more like a bodyguard than anything else, but finally he’d found her. Sitting in a garden during sunset outside a banquet where night jasmine exotically clung to the air, there she had been.

She’d spoken so excitedly about the flowers, not even caring to look up and see with whom it was she chatted. Will had seen many a pretty girl, but Julia was lovely beyond compare with her almost black hair, dark eyes and light skin that glowed in the scarlet light. She talked of myths of fairies who lived in the blossoms. Then she smiled up at him, and he knew he would love her, cherish her, and protect her until the day he died.

Finally at a good distance from his target Will pivoted, surprised the crowd of Rangers and Erva, whom the captain had taken by arm, had followed. He’d been in his own world with Julia for a moment, and, God, how it made him want to choke, but he could have sworn he saw her, pointing at Erva and tenderly waving. Yet, as always, when he tried to focus on the apparition, he realized it was just a shadow.

However, he couldn’t neglect that Erva smelled of night jasmine.

Or was he was merely seeking signs, like some superstitious fool, that his affections toward Erva were respectable, permissible, obtainable?

After loading the weapon he went down on one knee. He thought about his decision to come here and fight. Nay, that wasn’t the truth of the reason why he’d come here, for he’d had a more purposeful goal. As soon as this ambition had entered his mind, he could have sworn he saw and heard his wife everywhere, warning him to stop his plans. She had been in windowpanes, at street corners, in his garden, and in his dreams. The visions of her in his reveries had been so painful he couldn’t bear it. She’d screamed at him to desist; she’d hollered how life was too beautiful to pass by.

He glanced at Erva. Captain Reynolds might have had her arm and hand, but she looked only at Will. She smiled down at him. The grin was wide, carefree, and utterly gorgeous.

He took aim at a scarecrow. Inhaling, he knew now how right his wife had been—this life could be so beautiful. While holding his breath, he pulled the trigger. As he stood, he knew he had hit the target.

*

S
eeing the redcoat army drill in earnest was startling. At the beginning of every semester, Erva discussed the myths of the American Revolution. One was that the British Army lacked backbone, another was that they didn’t have sense enough to fight guerilla-style combat. Watching the redcoats take turn after turn bayonetting straw decoys and fire at pretend Continental soldiers was, well, frightening. They were formidable, well trained, and if Erva had been a Continental soldier she would have run if faced with the likes of the eighteenth-century Royal British Army.

All right, run might not be accurate, because she had been trained to handle combat. But her training had been with automatic weapons and grenades, something she felt might be the only thing to stop the redcoats. As much as she took pride in America’s first army, one of the reasons they won independence was that they outnumbered the British when the French and then Spain and even the Dutch joined the war. Until then, the redcoats were supreme in the battlefield with very few exceptions.

Today’s drills took on an air of determination too, because Erva knew that in two days’ time they would attack Manhattan. The thought made her queasy. Again, she realized reading about past events was one thing. Living through them...she didn’t know if she could. The battle that commenced in two days was badly handled by the Americans. There were many casualties. Even more prisoners of war who would rot in a prison boat docked off the Hudson Bay.

Maybe she could do something about that. She blinked while she sat on a cushioned wicker chair that had been given to her. Inspiration set in. She’d talk Will. He wouldn’t stand for anybody, not even his enemy, sitting in terrible prisons, dying horrible deaths from starvation, influenza, and smallpox. Yes, she’d talk to him about...

Two thoughts crashed into Erva’s mind then that made her clutch at her heart. The first was that she was Will’s enemy. She was as American as they got. For this war, she sided with the men the redcoats were targeting, the men Will had and would bring to their knees. He would kill so many of them in a couple days.

The second more earth shattering thought was how much she’d grown to care for her enemy, Will. She watched him talk to a small group of privates as he demonstrated how to run with a bayonet. He said something to the dozen boys, and they laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Will did that for them. By training the men, becoming so close to them, he’d ensure that the troops under him would thrive during war. Erva took in a shaky breath, realizing she still held her hand over her heart.

Will glanced at her. His smile faded when he caught her eyes. Saying something to his boys, he strode toward her. He was so big, so tall, so powerful. His black boots were spotted with mud, and much of his uniform was too, but he seemed his most content dirty, maybe even his most handsome.

Erva’s body stirred with every step Will took towards her. God, why was she so attracted to him? Okay, he was nice on the eyes, but she’d seen and hung out with several good-looking men. None of them had this effect on her. He was intelligent. This she knew from everything she’d read and from spending the brief amount of time with him. Thoroughly steeped in Enlightenment philosophy, he’d related his beliefs about world-wide revolution and rights for
everyone,
as if that wasn’t sexy enough to make her think of getting her hands on him. And although being brilliant and considerate was such a turn on, again, she’d known other smart, innovative men. So why did her breasts feel too heavy as he neared, the apex of her legs felt like liquid gold?

“Are you all right, Erva?” he asked when he was close, then immediately dropped to one knee so she didn’t have to crane her head back to look at him.

He was incredibly thoughtful. Erva knew that this was one reason why she wanted him so bad. But the other...

“Erva, my—” He cut himself off.

She suspected he was going to call her a name of endearment. She’d thought of doing the same too many times herself.

“My knee...” she could only whisper. Although the morning’s ibuprofen was wearing off, which was making her a wee bit uncomfortable, that was not at all the reason she wanted to leave.

“Shall we go back home to ice it? I have that dreaded banquet to attend this evening, but shall we cancel?”

He’d said “we” as if they were already a unit. God, she felt like it too. How could that have happened? She’d known the man a little more than a day. But then again, they’d been spending almost every waking moment together. And that was the way she liked it.

She couldn’t stand the thought that soon battle would commence, soon men would suffer, soon reality would come to fruition, and Will would die.

He carefully settled an ungloved hand on hers. It was dirty and had black smudges of gunpowder on it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, trying to pull away from her.

She guessed it was because he was stained, but she didn’t care. Grasping at his hand, even holding it on her lap, she tried desperately to think of the words she wanted so much to tell him. Only, out of her mouth came, “I think we should attend the banquet, but if we could slip away to ice my knee now, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course. Shall I call a carriage to escort us—”

“The horse is fine.”

It was more than fine. It had been exquisite feeling him at her back, especially as he nipped at her neck.

She was supposed to be professional, aloof, distant, she reminded herself.

Will lifted her hand to his mouth where he kissed two of her knuckles, reminding her why professionalism just might be overrated.

“Of course, darling.” He blinked, then winced slightly, as if waiting to be reprimanded.

The word darling had always sounded so...snotty and superficial to her. She’d thought of a stiff, old Brit couple that’d never meant the word, or worse of women calling each other darlings, in that bitchy, not at all endearing way.

But the way he’d said it, the way his voice hadn’t tripped over the word, but more like he’d been wanting to say it all along, yet had somehow restrained himself until this very moment...well, she was a convert. She loved it, loved being called darling, as long as Will was the one doing the calling.

She grinned, not trusting her voice or her brain for much use after that.

*

A
ctually, it was Mrs. Jacobs who iced Erva’s knee, as well as confide that she, Lady Ferguson, was the talk of the town. Not only was she known as a talent, but people kept speculating how long Will and she had been in love.

Wasn’t that just the way people were? Through a revolution, a demanding of rights, and war, people were more interested in a love match than anything else, especially a scandalous one. Erva reminded herself yet again that Will had a reputation as a lady’s man. She would be another notch on his bedpost.