let the loaded ships return to England. The governor refused. There was a meeting, a huge meeting at the Old South Meeting House. We went to the governor again, and againhe refused to receive the mass of people.” Frederick lowered his head. “At a signal from Sam Adams, we hoarded the ships and dumped the tea.”
Eric was silent for several long seconds. “There are going to be repercussions, you know.”
“Of course.”
“We move ever farther and farther away,” Eric murmured. “God, how it hurts. But of course, they don’t want to hang you for your part in this tea party. They want to hang you for smuggling arms to use against the Crown. So—tell me. What of these arms?”
Frederick started. “Arms?”
“You are guilty. Of storing arms.”
Frederick wet his lips nervously with his tongue. He knew all about the arms. There was no sense denying it. “We are not planning anything. The arms are not to be kept in Boston. I should not tell you more.”
“You’re right—you should not. Not now.”
Frederick looked at the man, and he tried to rise. But Eric wasn’t looking his way, he was staring into the flames. The fire caught the curious color of his eyes. They had seemed dark, indigo. Now they looked like steel. They burned with startling, silver flames. He was lost in thought, but Frederick could not read those thoughts.
“Tell me, is a man—a Virginian—named Damien Roswell involved in any of this?”
Frederick inhaled sharply. “Milord, turn me in if you would, but I will not give you names—”
“Never mind. You have given me what I want.”
Elizabeth came, and offered Lord Cameron a glass of whiskey. Lord Cameron flashed her a quick smile, and Frederick was somewhat startled by his wife’s reaction. She flushed deeply, and her eyes fell over the length of him as he straddled his chair. Even at rest he was laden with energy. There was a pulse about him. In silence he spoke of tempest and passion. His eyes portrayed intelligence, fire, and wisdom; his mouth betrayed a great sensuality and an undaunted love of life.
“You’ll not turn me in now, will you?” Frederick whispered. Lord Cameron looked his way, and the printer realizedthat the man was not ten years his senior, he was hardly thirty, if he was that.
“I’d hardly bring you here, act out such outrageous performances, and lie to a soldier to turn you in,” he said.
“What of—what of the lady who saved my arm?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes clouding over. “No. You have nothing to fear from the lady. Not for this night’s work.”
“She is so kind—”
“She is not so kind, my friend. But though she refuses to face it, she has a stake in all that has occurred. You will be safe from all that she knows.”
Frederick nodded, then spoke to him in blunt amazement. “You’re a lord, sir. You’ve a great deal at stake here.”
“I have promised you that I will not turn you in. And my word is seldom doubted, sir!”
“Oh, bless you, milord! Again and again!” Elizabeth cried passionately, and she fell to her knees.
Eric smiled, touched her hair, and looked at Frederick. “You’ve far more at stake than I have, lad. You have this lovely woman, and you have her love, and you have your son. What you possess now is precious. You must take care with your decisions in the future.”
“My son is the future, sir, and it is for him that I make my decisions. I am not a lord, I have no memory of a motherland, nor did my father, or his father.”
Eric laughed, rising. “Dear sir! I’ll have you know that my ancestors settled the Hundred when Jamestown was still in its infancy.” He was silent for a moment. “Our blood has been shed for this land, my father and my father’s father and his before him, all lie cradled in Virginia earth.” He shrugged, and Frederick saw more than the strength and severity of the man, he saw his humor and his youth and all that was charismatic and powerful in his lazy smile.
Eric was silent for several long seconds. “There are going to be repercussions, you know.”
“Of course.”
“We move ever farther and farther away,” Eric murmured. “God, how it hurts. But of course, they don’t want to hang you for your part in this tea party. They want to hang you for smuggling arms to use against the Crown. So—tell me. What of these arms?”
Frederick started. “Arms?”
“You are guilty. Of storing arms.”
Frederick wet his lips nervously with his tongue. He knew all about the arms. There was no sense denying it. “We are not planning anything. The arms are not to be kept in Boston. I should not tell you more.”
“You’re right—you should not. Not now.”
Frederick looked at the man, and he tried to rise. But Eric wasn’t looking his way, he was staring into the flames. The fire caught the curious color of his eyes. They had seemed dark, indigo. Now they looked like steel. They burned with startling, silver flames. He was lost in thought, but Frederick could not read those thoughts.
“Tell me, is a man—a Virginian—named Damien Roswell involved in any of this?”
Frederick inhaled sharply. “Milord, turn me in if you would, but I will not give you names—”
“Never mind. You have given me what I want.”
Elizabeth came, and offered Lord Cameron a glass of whiskey. Lord Cameron flashed her a quick smile, and Frederick was somewhat startled by his wife’s reaction. She flushed deeply, and her eyes fell over the length of him as he straddled his chair. Even at rest he was laden with energy. There was a pulse about him. In silence he spoke of tempest and passion. His eyes portrayed intelligence, fire, and wisdom; his mouth betrayed a great sensuality and an undaunted love of life.
“You’ll not turn me in now, will you?” Frederick whispered. Lord Cameron looked his way, and the printer realizedthat the man was not ten years his senior, he was hardly thirty, if he was that.
“I’d hardly bring you here, act out such outrageous performances, and lie to a soldier to turn you in,” he said.
“What of—what of the lady who saved my arm?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes clouding over. “No. You have nothing to fear from the lady. Not for this night’s work.”
“She is so kind—”
“She is not so kind, my friend. But though she refuses to face it, she has a stake in all that has occurred. You will be safe from all that she knows.”
Frederick nodded, then spoke to him in blunt amazement. “You’re a lord, sir. You’ve a great deal at stake here.”
“I have promised you that I will not turn you in. And my word is seldom doubted, sir!”
“Oh, bless you, milord! Again and again!” Elizabeth cried passionately, and she fell to her knees.
Eric smiled, touched her hair, and looked at Frederick. “You’ve far more at stake than I have, lad. You have this lovely woman, and you have her love, and you have your son. What you possess now is precious. You must take care with your decisions in the future.”
“My son is the future, sir, and it is for him that I make my decisions. I am not a lord, I have no memory of a motherland, nor did my father, or his father.”
Eric laughed, rising. “Dear sir! I’ll have you know that my ancestors settled the Hundred when Jamestown was still in its infancy.” He was silent for a moment. “Our blood has been shed for this land, my father and my father’s father and his before him, all lie cradled in Virginia earth.” He shrugged, and Frederick saw more than the strength and severity of the man, he saw his humor and his youth and all that was charismatic and powerful in his lazy smile.
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