Read Online The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale by Regina Kammer - Free Book Online

well-maintained two-story wooden house, rather elegant with six-over-nine pane windows. A still-masked Redmond carried Annabella to the front door, while the driver carried her traveling box. Clara and her captor waited in the coach in silence. With the end of their journey imminent, his muscles relaxed as his breathing evened, so she took the opportunity to shift slightly to relieve her discomfort.
    The driver returned and took his position. As they drove away, Clara saw a candle flicker in an upstairs window. Annabella and Redmond would be having a reunion of sorts.
    Minutes later, the carriage stopped before a small cottage with a steeply pitched roof and large chimney. In case she had the urge to run, which she certainly did not, her captor flashed his gun as she was helped out of the coach by the driver. Once on the ground, her kidnapper picked her up and carried her in his arms. Before them, the driver opened the door to the little house, then went about lighting candles. Clara’s captor put her down and motioned with his gun for her to sit in a wingback. She did so immediately, then surveyed the tiny space. One wall was almost entirely taken up by an enormous hearth, well-used, with a black pot hung inside. The driver knelt to start a fire. Along the walls were shelves and cupboards. The room was obviously a kitchen, but one with a large bed placed in a corner.
    The fire lit, both men stepped outside for a minute and conversed in low tones. Her captor stepped back inside, keeping his eyes on her. The driver returned shortly, carrying her traveling box, then left. As her captor locked the door, the coach pulled away, the crunch of wheels on gravel and the jangling of harness and axle disappearing into the distance, leaving only the crackle of the growing fire to fill the void.
    Clara’s gut clenched. She had never been left alone with a man other than her husband or brother. It was unseemly, more so given the scene they had witnessed earlier that day.
    He stood at the hearth with his back to her and removed his cloak and hood. He let out a heavy exhalation. “I am so sorry to have frightened you, Lady Strathmore.”
    Mr. Bridgers?
    Clara balked at the familiar voice, then jumped up when he turned around. Disheveled from his hooded mask, bedraggled from the ride, his brow twisted in remorse, he was still the handsome, gallant object of her fantasies.
    Her fantasies. She had just been in his arms for the better part of the day. Confusion agitated her senses, mixed with a bit of relief and excitement. For some unknown reason, Mr. Bridgers had abducted her, Redmond had abducted Annabella, and both men were now alone with their respective captives. She had entertained many imaginary scenarios of being alone with Mr. Bridgers, but this one was playing out too roughly for her tastes. A man had been murdered, for God’s sake.
    “Mr. Bridgers, please, what is going on? What is this place?”
    He sighed as he hung up his garments near the door. “Until a few days ago it was a very profitable brothel.” He sounded disappointed.
    “A brothel?” She never imagined such an establishment would resemble the estate of a gentleman farmer.
    “Annabella and Redmond are in the main house. This is the kitchen.” He peered inside the pot next to the fire, then swung it over the flames. “I had it built separately as clients do not always like the smell of food while they are, uh, being diverted.”
    Clara eyed him incredulously. “You? This is your property?” A brothel? “I had no idea.” Her back twinged in pain. She sat down.
    “And as for what is going on, I have had it with your husband, to put it bluntly. He owes me quite a sum of money.”
    “My husband?” Clara said vacantly. “He owes you money for supplies?”
    “No.”
    It took but a moment for the information to sink in. “My husband would never go to a brothel.”
    Mr. Bridgers said nothing.
    Clara stared at him. “No,” she said hoarsely, shaking her