Read Online Love Not a Rebel by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Graham
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“Perhaps I do have much at stake, for I do love my land, and I would fight, and die gladly, to hold it.”
“Who would you fight, milord?” Frederick asked.
“God knows, lad. God alone knows. Perhaps we should all pray for peace. Elizabeth, may I have my greatcoat, please?”
Elizabeth brought his coat and set it over his shoulders. He started for the doorway.
“Milord!” Frederick said, imploring him back.
Eric turned. Frederick offered him his hand. “I thank you, Lord Cameron. I am your servant, for all of my life.”
Cameron shook his hand. “My name is Eric. And it is good to have friends, Frederick. I shall remember that I have friends here.”
“Aye, milord—Eric. And that you do. The very best of friends.”
With a smile, Eric turned and strode out of the house and into the night. Elizabeth sank down by her husband’s side, and together they watched as he closed the door. She trembled slightly, but he said no word to her, and they both knew that their lives had been strangely touched. Greatness had descended upon them, and had done so with mercy.
Eric mounted Joshua, his great stallion, but pulled in on the reins.
The last of the soldiers’ footsteps had gone still, and the night was coming quiet again. Cold and quiet and touched with mist. The spires of the churches rose high against mist and darkness to touch the heavens, and the city lamps were burning low. There was quiet all about.
There would never be quiet again, Eric thought. This particular tea party would be known about from the length and the breadth of the country, and its cry of rebellion would stretch across the Atlantic Ocean. In his pursuit of Lady Sterling he had seen the tea floating in the harbor, and he felt both a horrible, wrenching pain and a startling excitement. They were a new people. A new breed of men. They would be given the rights and liberties of English men by the English government, or, by God, they would forge their own liberties.
I have become a dissident this night! he thought. But maybe he had not, maybe the seeds of dissatisfaction had been sown in him long ago, perhaps during the French and Indian Wars, or the Seven Years War, as it was known on the Continent.
War. It could come to war again.…
No one wanted to speak of war. Even the worst of the radicals were careful not to speak of it.
Eric sighed deeply. It didn’t matter. The whisper was on the wind, and it was growing louder and louder. Virginia’s ties to England were firm and fast. The Virginian Patrick Henry spoke passionately about reform and against illegal representation. But not even he spoke aloud about war.
Eric glanced toward the printer’s house and smiled ruefully to himself. The lad and his young bride were so in love, and so passionate, and so ready to die for a cause. He knew their feelings, though, for he would die, and gladly, for his land. Frederick’s question was a good one.
Just who would he battle?
He thought of Lady Sterling, of the passion in her eyes when she warned Elizabeth that her husband was a traitor. Her mind was set! She was loyal to the Crown. Still, Eric knew instinctively that Frederick was in no danger from her. She did not know that her cousin Damien was procuring arms for the Sons of Liberty, but she suspected something. And because fear for him lurked within her breast, she would keep quiet, no matter what her loyalties. Poor lass! Her heart was due to be shattered. That fool Tarryton was destined to betray her, and her own kin was already embroiled in rebellion!
There was nothing more for him to do that night.
Eric rode back to Thomas Mabry’s. The house was very quiet, but he knocked softly upon the door. Anne Marie opened it quickly, her eyes wide and brilliant. She had been awaiting him, it was obvious.
“Lady Amanda returned safely?”
Anne Marie nodded, catching his arm and pulling him inside. “She is sleeping, and thank God! Lord Sterling did return; he is anxious to get home tomorrow.
“Who would you fight, milord?” Frederick asked.
“God knows, lad. God alone knows. Perhaps we should all pray for peace. Elizabeth, may I have my greatcoat, please?”
Elizabeth brought his coat and set it over his shoulders. He started for the doorway.
“Milord!” Frederick said, imploring him back.
Eric turned. Frederick offered him his hand. “I thank you, Lord Cameron. I am your servant, for all of my life.”
Cameron shook his hand. “My name is Eric. And it is good to have friends, Frederick. I shall remember that I have friends here.”
“Aye, milord—Eric. And that you do. The very best of friends.”
With a smile, Eric turned and strode out of the house and into the night. Elizabeth sank down by her husband’s side, and together they watched as he closed the door. She trembled slightly, but he said no word to her, and they both knew that their lives had been strangely touched. Greatness had descended upon them, and had done so with mercy.
Eric mounted Joshua, his great stallion, but pulled in on the reins.
The last of the soldiers’ footsteps had gone still, and the night was coming quiet again. Cold and quiet and touched with mist. The spires of the churches rose high against mist and darkness to touch the heavens, and the city lamps were burning low. There was quiet all about.
There would never be quiet again, Eric thought. This particular tea party would be known about from the length and the breadth of the country, and its cry of rebellion would stretch across the Atlantic Ocean. In his pursuit of Lady Sterling he had seen the tea floating in the harbor, and he felt both a horrible, wrenching pain and a startling excitement. They were a new people. A new breed of men. They would be given the rights and liberties of English men by the English government, or, by God, they would forge their own liberties.
I have become a dissident this night! he thought. But maybe he had not, maybe the seeds of dissatisfaction had been sown in him long ago, perhaps during the French and Indian Wars, or the Seven Years War, as it was known on the Continent.
War. It could come to war again.…
No one wanted to speak of war. Even the worst of the radicals were careful not to speak of it.
Eric sighed deeply. It didn’t matter. The whisper was on the wind, and it was growing louder and louder. Virginia’s ties to England were firm and fast. The Virginian Patrick Henry spoke passionately about reform and against illegal representation. But not even he spoke aloud about war.
Eric glanced toward the printer’s house and smiled ruefully to himself. The lad and his young bride were so in love, and so passionate, and so ready to die for a cause. He knew their feelings, though, for he would die, and gladly, for his land. Frederick’s question was a good one.
Just who would he battle?
He thought of Lady Sterling, of the passion in her eyes when she warned Elizabeth that her husband was a traitor. Her mind was set! She was loyal to the Crown. Still, Eric knew instinctively that Frederick was in no danger from her. She did not know that her cousin Damien was procuring arms for the Sons of Liberty, but she suspected something. And because fear for him lurked within her breast, she would keep quiet, no matter what her loyalties. Poor lass! Her heart was due to be shattered. That fool Tarryton was destined to betray her, and her own kin was already embroiled in rebellion!
There was nothing more for him to do that night.
Eric rode back to Thomas Mabry’s. The house was very quiet, but he knocked softly upon the door. Anne Marie opened it quickly, her eyes wide and brilliant. She had been awaiting him, it was obvious.
“Lady Amanda returned safely?”
Anne Marie nodded, catching his arm and pulling him inside. “She is sleeping, and thank God! Lord Sterling did return; he is anxious to get home tomorrow.
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