Sweet Release (51 page)

Taking one of his hands, she placed it on the small, hard curve of her belly. “Wh-what should I name the baby?” she asked, barely able to speak the words.

The look of anguish and regret on his face was like a dagger to her heart. “If it’s a boy, I’d be flattered if you’d consider naming him after me.”

“And if it’s a girl?”

“Oh, God, Cassie!” He pulled her against him and pressed his lips into her hair. “Sarah Elizabeth,” he whispered, his voice tight. “After my mother and sister.”

“Time’s up.”

Cassie choked back a sob.

“Come now, Cassie. Where is the strong woman who stood up to an entire colony?” He took a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and dabbed the tears from her face. He turned her hand over and placed the handkerchief in her palm.

The door was thrown open. Guards marched in, seized Alec, and pulled him from her.

“Alec!” Cassie reached for him, then sank to her knees on the floor.

“I love you, Catherine Blakewell,” he called as guards pulled him out the door. “If there is any justice in God’s universe, you and I will be together again. You must believe that! Stay with her, Miss Carter. Keep her out of the courtroom.”

“Oh, Cassie, darling.”

Cassie felt Lucy’s arms enfold her, and heard the door shut over the sound of her own sobs.

Something was wrong.

Cassie stopped knitting and listened.

“What is it, love?” Lucy looked up from her needlework. And then Cassie knew: The hammering had stopped. “They’re finished.”

Lucy cocked an ear; then her eyes grew wide. “I’m so sorry!” She laid aside her stitching and leaned over to put a comforting arm around Cassie’s shoulders.

For a week the pounding of hammers had echoed through the streets of Williamsburg as carpenters worked to build the gallows that would carry out Alec’s death sentence. Now all was still. While Cassie had found the hammering unbearable, the silence was even worse. “Tomorrow?” she asked in a whisper.

“Aye, tomorrow.”

Cassie nodded, squeezing her eyes shut against the threat of tears. Was she foolish to still hope for a miracle?

“How I wish Father would finish his business so we could go home!” Lucy rose and walked to the window in a swish of silk. “It cannot be good for either you or the baby to live under such a dark cloud. I know you don’t agree with me, Cassie, but it would be better for you to be away from all of this.”

Cassie knew her dear friend was trying to shield her, but there was nowhere she could hide. Day after day she’d sat alone in her room, looking out the window into the gray November sky, aching and empty, unable to understand why her body was still alive when she was dead inside. Each night she’d lain awake in her bed, clutching the handkerchief Alec had given her, inhaling his scent, too full of grief and heartbreak even to cry.

“I have to stay, Lucy. I have to stay as close to him as I can, until.. .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I owe it to him to be here. Leaving now would be like giving him up for dead. You’d feel the same if it were William.”

Lucy blanched, her eyes growing wide for a moment. “Oh, Cassie, I’m so sorry! I hadn’t thought. . . That is to say . . . Of course you want to be near him.”

Cassie forced a smile at her friend’s stumbling apology and returned to her knitting, her eyes focusing on the tiny red sweater that was taking shape. Knitting was supposed to provide her with a practical way to keep dark thoughts away, or so Lucy said, but Cassie’s mind drifted. No doubt Alec, too, could hear that the hammers had stopped. Did he regret loving her? Did he feel forsaken? Would he be able to sleep tonight, knowing what awaited him in the morning? Was he afraid?

When the time came, would he suffer?

Cassie had heard stories about hangings, stories she’d tried in vain to block from her mind these past weeks. It was said that most died quickly, their necks snapping like twigs, life fading abruptly into darkness. But she knew that others lingered, writhing and twisting in agony at the end of the rope while they slowly suffocated to the jeering of the crowd.

Try as she might to avoid it, she pictured Alec, dressed in plain linsey-woolsey, climbing the steps to the gallows, his hands bound behind him. Cold in the morning air, head held high, he wouldn’t struggle as they slipped the hood over his face, the noose around his neck.

She hadn’t told him she loved him.

She’d been so upset at the trial. She’d missed her last chance. “Oh, I can’t bear this!” She stopped knitting, dropping the sweater into her lap.

That was when she felt it.

“Ooh!” Her hands dropped to her belly.

“What is it?” asked Lucy, rushing to her side.

“The baby. I t . . . moved.”

“The baby? You felt it?” Lucy’s eyes were wide.

“Aye and, ooh, there!”

Cassie guided Lucy’s hand onto the small, hard lump of her belly.

“Do you feel that?”

“Nay.”

Cassie felt a smile spread over her face.

“Tell me what it feels like.” Lucy was smiling, too.

Cassie searched for the right words. It was all so strange and new. “It’s like . . . like the flutter of butterfly wings.”

“Butterfly wings!” Lucy giggled.

“Aye, butterfly wings.” Cassie laughed, too.

“You see, Cassie. Alec’s child quickens within you. He’ll always be with you.”

“Aye.”

A baby. Alec’s baby. Warmth crept over Cassie, leaving her silent. She’d known she was with child, but it had all seemed distant, unreal. Now she felt his baby moving inside her. She wished she could tell him, share this moment with him. But it was only one of a thousand he would never know, unless…

Oh, Alec.

She must do
something.
Surely there was some way to free him. Despair began to wash over her once again. “I think I shall go up to my room and rest now.”

Lucy smiled indulgently. Cassie knew she wasn’t very good company these days, and Lucy had been more than forgiving.

“Shall I have your dinner sent up?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Cassie paused in the doorway. “Lucy, I hope someday I shall be as good a friend to you as you have been to me.”

Cassie tiptoed through the darkened hallway toward the stairs, every creak of the wooden floor seeming to shatter the silence of the sleeping house. Her heart in her throat, she could barely admit to herself what she was about to do. Stepping gingerly, she moved quickly down the stairs, then stopped, her heart pounding deafeningly. The light in Master Carter’s study was still lit. She’d thought him in bed hours ago. What could he be doing at this hour? It was well past three o’clock.

She shrank into the shadows, not daring to breathe. Seconds became minutes, and the minutes stretched on for what felt like hours. Still, there came no sound from within. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep at his desk and wouldn’t notice her as she slipped by. Or maybe he was reading and would hear her if she so much as moved. Did she dare risk it?

Swallowing her fears, her pulse racing, she took first one step, then two, moving forward ever so slowly. Almost even with the study door now, she peered gingerly within to find the room empty, the candelabra still lit. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, she moved silently to the gun case.

She peered inside and felt her heart sink. The pistol she’d hoped to borrow, so central to her plan, was missing, leaving only heavy muskets. She’d not be able to sneak one of those into the gaol.

They were far too long and awkward to hide under her skirts. She could barely lift one, let alone use it.

She hesitated, her entire plan in ruins. Without the pistol, how would she be able to force the gaoler to give her the keys? How would Alec protect himself once he’d escaped? Dear Lord, what should she do now? Go back upstairs and forget the entire thing? She couldn’t do that. If she did Alec would die. Yet if she tried and failed he would die anyway, and she would be sent to join him once the baby was born—hanged by the neck until dead. Racked with indecision, she wavered. Then, her hand trembling, she took hold of a musket and pulled it from the rack. Could she pretend she knew how to use it long enough to win Alec’s freedom? She lifted it to her shoulder a few times, struggling to balance it, and looked through the sights, as she had seen her father do. The result wasn’t exactly graceful, but it would have to do.

Then she spied the hunting knife. Taking it by its polished handle, she lifted it, testing its weight in her hand. A knife she could carry, but could she actually use it? Was she willing to spill a man’s blood with it? Uncertain, she faltered, put it back, then took it out again. As long as the gaoler
thought
she meant to spill his blood, it wouldn’t matter, she decided, tucking it inside her cloak. Hiding several bundles of powder and shot in her bodice, she silently shut the case and tiptoed toward the back door, feeling very much like the thief she had become.

Strangely, the door was not locked, but Cassie gave that oddity only a passing thought as she slipped outside, grateful that the cloak was heavy enough to shelter her from most of the winter chill. Closing the door behind her, she silently bade Lucy and Master Carter farewell. “Forgive me.”

Outside, she breathed easier, her breath a mist in the cold night air. No light shone from above, as heavy clouds blocked out both moon and stars, seeming to muffle even sound. She moved quickly and silently over the cobblestones toward the gate. She couldn’t risk opening the gate itself. It was so large and creaky, it would surely give her away. But there was a little door in the gate. She’d seen Master Carter make use of it when he took his after-dinner stroll. Its hinges were no doubt well oiled and would not alert anyone to her plans. Balancing the musket awkwardly under one arm, she turned the handle. Holding her breath, she slowly pulled the door open, gazing into the silent darkness of the street beyond.

Nothing moved. Not a single light shone in the windows on the street. She took a few timid steps, then turned and shut the door behind her. It would take only a few minutes to reach Nicholson Street and the gaol if she ran into no trouble along the way. Clinging to the shadows, she hurried down the street.

Strong arms shot out of nowhere and held her tight, and a hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her screams.

Chapter Thirty-four

“Takin’ a stroll, Miss Cassie?”

Though she could not see his face, Cassie knew the voice.

“Zach!” she whispered in surprise when he let her speak.

“Aye, who else?”

She saw his teeth flash white in the darkness as he smiled.

“I’m so glad to see you!” She gave the sawyer an impulsive hug.

“What’s this jabbin’ me in the side? Do ye mean to gut me in the street?” Zach searched her, then removed the hunting knife from her waist.

“You’re lucky I didn’t.”

“A hunting knife and a musket, Miss Cassie? Don’t tell me ye’re off to one of those fancy parties the Carters are so fond of.”

Cassie fell silent and sank deeper into the shadows, her breath catching in her throat as footsteps approached from the darkness.

“We’re over here,” Zach called softly.

Cassie heard a low chuckle and saw a man’s form emerge from the darkness across the street. It was Luke.

Then it hit her.

“What are you two doing here?”

“We’re keeping an eye on you,” Luke said.

“What?”

“Aye. Master Carter knew ye’d try something like this sooner or later, so he picked yer father’s most trusty men to guard ye,” Zach said. “That’s us, of course.”

“How long have you been here lurking about in the streets like criminals?”

“Long enough to know ye shouldn’t be out here alone at night.

It’s not safe,” Zach said.

“Then you’ll help me? I’m going to the gaol—”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, Miss Cassie—except back to bed.

Come along.”

“But what about Alec?”

“He’s no longer your concern,” Zach said.

“No longer my—How can you say that?”

Zach reached for the musket.

Cassie made her move. Thrusting the weapon against the men and shoving them both as hard as she could, she darted down the street. But she hadn’t gone two steps when strong arms again imprisoned her. She struggled, but couldn’t break free from Zach’s iron grip.

“Please don’t fight me, Miss Cassie,” Zach whispered. “You don’t have the strength to get away, but you might hurt yerself or yer babe in tryin’.”

Cassie sagged against him in defeat. This had been Alec’s last chance, her last hope, and it had been destroyed by friends. Zach lifted her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “Trust us.”

Then he swung her rather unceremoniously into his arms and began walking back toward the gate, Luke leading the way, carrying the musket.

It was then that Cassie noticed that both men reeked of whiskey.

Strange. They didn’t seem drunk.

They had just shut the small gate door behind them when church bells began to peal, shattering the quiet of the night. “Hurry!” Zach ran toward the back door.