moment before. Elijah held no personal hatred for the Brits; he hadn’t pulled away when the ruddy-cheeked man had reached for him, fear and desperation in his eyes as his guts spilled out. Elijah had even said a quick prayer over the still-warm body before searching it for ammunition and rations. He had no qualms about this act—the Continental Army was poorly supplied and the lobsterbacks were funded by the Crown.
The late summer night was unseasonably chill, and the wind cut through his shoddy uniform with ease. His breeches had ripped during his flight from the battle, and the cool night air gained entrance there as well. Elijah shivered and wished he were back at the farm tending to the horses, the only thing that made him feel at peace.
He shook his head at the indulgent thought.
Back at the farm, you’re a slave, and if you don’t keep fighting you’ll remain one, Elijah chided himself . Stop reminiscing about your equine friends and go find your regiment.
The attack on Brooklyn had been expected, given the area’s sparse population, but it still caught the Continentals unawares. When the skirmish had started, for one shining moment Elijah thought they might take the day. Then the Brits had fallen upon them like a wave crashing into the shore, scattering the untrained American soldiers like so many particles of sand. One Patriot turned tail, and then another, and then fight turned to flight en masse as they sought escape from the onslaught of red-coated Regulars. Elijah had been filled with shame as he fled the skirmish, stumbling over the marshy land for who knew how long, but the emotion disappeared when he fell into the ditch and the British soldier tumbled in after him. He was still alive and the other man wasn’t, and there was no shame in that.
“Unhand me!”
A common refrain on a battlefield, but the voice that rang out in the still night was much too unusual to go unheeded: an angry, feminine vibrato.
Elijah poked his head up, scanning his surroundings. Night had fallen and thick cloud cover obscured the stars, making it hard to see much of anything. He squinted, wondering if he was simply going mad from fear until he saw the ethereal form burst through the trees a few feet away from him. She was tall, perhaps as tall as him, and clad in a long, white gown that flowed around her feet as she ran. A hooded cloak obscured her features. When she stopped and turned, the cloak flapped in the wind, revealing a glint of metal clutched in her hand.
A stocky man with a rifle slung over his shoulder stumbled out of the woods close behind her, out of breath from giving chase. The man’s impeccably tailored red coat, fine stockings, and imperious gait were more than enough proof that he was a high-ranking officer in His Majesty’s Army.
“You’ve caused quite enough trouble tonight, Kate,” the man said between huffs. “You’ll return to my tent this instant, before we end up in the thick of the battle.”
A squabble with a camp follower , Elijah thought with contempt. He must have run further than he thought. He would hunker down until these two took their drama elsewhere, and then attempt to find his way back to his fellow Continentals.
“I’ll be damned if I do that,” the woman bit out in a familiarly accented voice. It had the dips and curves of the voices of the older women in the slave quarters, those who had not been born with a shackle linking them to these fledgling colonies. A gust of cold wind whipped across the marsh, knocking the woman’s hood back, and Elijah felt a tremor run through him that was entirely unrelated to the weather. Her kinky hair was cut short, exposing smooth dark skin pulled taut across high cheekbones and a proud forehead. Her eyes were narrowed and her full lips stretched into a grimace as she regarded the Redcoat who approached her. She was gorgeous in her fury.
Kate , Elijah thought, briefly angered by the dull British name likely given by her master. It
The late summer night was unseasonably chill, and the wind cut through his shoddy uniform with ease. His breeches had ripped during his flight from the battle, and the cool night air gained entrance there as well. Elijah shivered and wished he were back at the farm tending to the horses, the only thing that made him feel at peace.
He shook his head at the indulgent thought.
Back at the farm, you’re a slave, and if you don’t keep fighting you’ll remain one, Elijah chided himself . Stop reminiscing about your equine friends and go find your regiment.
The attack on Brooklyn had been expected, given the area’s sparse population, but it still caught the Continentals unawares. When the skirmish had started, for one shining moment Elijah thought they might take the day. Then the Brits had fallen upon them like a wave crashing into the shore, scattering the untrained American soldiers like so many particles of sand. One Patriot turned tail, and then another, and then fight turned to flight en masse as they sought escape from the onslaught of red-coated Regulars. Elijah had been filled with shame as he fled the skirmish, stumbling over the marshy land for who knew how long, but the emotion disappeared when he fell into the ditch and the British soldier tumbled in after him. He was still alive and the other man wasn’t, and there was no shame in that.
“Unhand me!”
A common refrain on a battlefield, but the voice that rang out in the still night was much too unusual to go unheeded: an angry, feminine vibrato.
Elijah poked his head up, scanning his surroundings. Night had fallen and thick cloud cover obscured the stars, making it hard to see much of anything. He squinted, wondering if he was simply going mad from fear until he saw the ethereal form burst through the trees a few feet away from him. She was tall, perhaps as tall as him, and clad in a long, white gown that flowed around her feet as she ran. A hooded cloak obscured her features. When she stopped and turned, the cloak flapped in the wind, revealing a glint of metal clutched in her hand.
A stocky man with a rifle slung over his shoulder stumbled out of the woods close behind her, out of breath from giving chase. The man’s impeccably tailored red coat, fine stockings, and imperious gait were more than enough proof that he was a high-ranking officer in His Majesty’s Army.
“You’ve caused quite enough trouble tonight, Kate,” the man said between huffs. “You’ll return to my tent this instant, before we end up in the thick of the battle.”
A squabble with a camp follower , Elijah thought with contempt. He must have run further than he thought. He would hunker down until these two took their drama elsewhere, and then attempt to find his way back to his fellow Continentals.
“I’ll be damned if I do that,” the woman bit out in a familiarly accented voice. It had the dips and curves of the voices of the older women in the slave quarters, those who had not been born with a shackle linking them to these fledgling colonies. A gust of cold wind whipped across the marsh, knocking the woman’s hood back, and Elijah felt a tremor run through him that was entirely unrelated to the weather. Her kinky hair was cut short, exposing smooth dark skin pulled taut across high cheekbones and a proud forehead. Her eyes were narrowed and her full lips stretched into a grimace as she regarded the Redcoat who approached her. She was gorgeous in her fury.
Kate , Elijah thought, briefly angered by the dull British name likely given by her master. It
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