smiled to the sentry, Frederick saw that she was very beautiful. “It was quite a party, Officer,” she murmured.
“There’s parties all about tonight, so it seems!” The sentry saluted the man. “Milord, then, if you’ve things in hand, I’ll be on my way.”
“Quite right! Thank you.”
The sentry moved on. His footsteps fell upon the cobblestones, then faded away.
“Who are you, sir, and what do you think you’re doing?” the woman hissed. “Where’s Damien? And what do you know about him?”
“I only know, mam’selle, that you were about to lead the king’s men straight to him.”
“And what difference would that make?” she demanded heatedly.
“I don’t know, nor can I care. This man needs help.”
“Help! He’s been shot! Oh, my God! He’s one of the rabble, one of the dissidents—”
“He’s a bleeding human being, milady, and you’ll help him since you’re here! Then I’ll see you home!”
“I don’t need you to see me anywhere—”
“You do need me, milady. And I need you at the moment. Come, let me put my arm about your shoulder and sing. That should see us as far as this poor man’s place. Frederick! You must lead us, for I don’t know where we’re going.”
There was no choice. Frederick told him the number of his house, and they hurried onward. They could still hear the soldiers running blindly about the streets. The night was coming more and more alive as news of the night’s deed spread quickly from house to house.
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 hewas 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