Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 2

  "Well, Sam, you have really muddled it now, have you not?" Amelia pulled his bloodstained shirt aside and stared at the gaping wound in his chest. "You have really gotten into a situation this time. If Doctor Gait has his way, he'll want to bleed you, and it looks like you have lost enough blood already. You will fare better if I see to your needs."

  Grotesque shadows danced on the wall of her aunt's sewing room when Lavender lit a candle and moved across the threadbare rug. She quickly located a box of clothing and rummaged through it until she found what she wanted. The ladies in her aunt Amelia's sewing circle were making new uniforms for the Virginia Militia, and Lavender hoped she could find a uniform that would fit her. Hastily she pulled on a pair of buff trousers, a rough linen shirt, and a green velvet jacket. There were several cocked hats in the box. Lavender chose one that seemed to fit and placed it on her head. Now the uniform was complete except for boots. She glanced down at her black leather slippers, hoping no one would notice them. She had no time to worry about the fact that it was unladylike to dress in male attire. She could only imagine what her aunt would say if she saw her. Well, she certainly couldn't go into a tavern late at night dressed as a girl. She knew if she allowed herself to think about her situation she might panic.

  She took a deep breath and moved to the hallway where she removed her cloak from the coat rack, and placed the documents in the inside pocket before fastening it about her shoulders. Lavender knew that time was of the utmost importance, so she dashed for the front door, mindful that the clock had just struck one. So much had occurred within one short hour—her whole world had tilted crazily.

  The stable door creaked on its hinges as Lavender made her way to the darkened stall where her gray mare was kept. Not bothering to light a lantern, she realized she couldn't ride sidesaddle if she wanted to be accepted as a young soldier. She felt her way along the railing until she found the saddle Jackson always used. As she was tightening the cinch, she was startled by a shadow that moved between her and the moonlight streaming through the opened door. She had expected to see Jackson standing there, and was speechless when she recognized her father's bond servant, Nicodemus.

  Nicodemus had been in her father's service for as long as Lavender could remember. He was a small, wiry man, with a rugged face and a ready smile. She had not seen him since her father had brought her to live with her aunt.

  "I got here as quickly as I could. I had to pull the redcoats away from your papa. It took a bit longer to lose them than I thought it would." A sincere look of concern etched the deep planes of Nicodemus's face. "Was your father badly hurt?"

  "Yes, I fear for him, Nicodemus."

  The bond servant moved closer and studied Lavender's face in the half-light. "Your father has asked you to make the delivery, hasn't he?"

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  "I know him very well. There's nothing that can come between him and his duty. I guessed that if he couldn't go himself, he'd send you. I sort'a wished he wouldn't get you involved in all this. Why don't you let me go in your stead?"

  Lavender would have liked nothing better than to turn the whole thing over to Nicodemus, but she couldn't. "No, I gave Papa my word I would see it through. He was most insistent that I do this."

  "Your pa can be a very stubborn man when he wants something done. I have found its best to humor him at these times."

  Nicodemus lifted Lavender onto the mare's back and handed her the reins. When he would have pulled away, Lavender caught his hand. "Papa has told me that Chandler may be . .. dead. Do you think he is?"

  "No. That boy's too slippery to be caught by the enemy. I always say to your father that Chandler is wherever the fighting is the thickest. He'll come home when he's good and ready, and not a day before."

  "I would like to believe that," Lavender sighed.

  "We best be off now, miss. We got a piece to go, and we want to get there before sunup."

  "We?"

  "Of course we. You don't think I would let you go alone, do you?" He led her aunt's horse out of a stall and quickly threw a saddle across the animal's back. "I'll just take the liberty of borrowing this little mare. My horse is spent, and I doubt he could go another mile, let alone all the way to Yorktown. I hope you don't mind."

  Lavender smiled gratefully at the little man. "No, I don't mind at all, Nicodemus."

  As they rode out of the stable, their horses' hooves were muted by the deep snow. When they galloped down Queen Street, a dark wind sent winter's cruel fury to slow their progress. Snow swirled about them, stinging their faces and blinding the view. Onward they rode into the night, ever conscious of the danger they would face if they were caught by the British.

  Lavender tried to clear her mind and not think about her father and brother. She had been entrusted with a mission that her father thought vitally important, and she would see it through to the end. She knew they must be cautious because the country was crawling with Americans who still supported the king and his parliament. If she were caught, she could be arrested for treason, and even the fact that she was female would not save her from a death sentence.

  The Swan Tavern was dimly lit when Lavender and Nicodemus entered. Still, a cheerful fire burned in the hearth to welcome travelers, and a jovial landlord bid them sit by the fire to warm themselves.

  "It ain't a fit night out for man or beast," the portly innkeeper observed, his eyes almost invisible beneath bushy eyebrows. "I didn't expect many travelers being that it's the Yuletide season." He looked Lavender over and guessed her to be a young lad from a good family because of the new uniform.

  "My name is Angus McCree, the owner of the Swan Tavern. Will you be wanting lodgings for the night?" The landlord directed his inquiries to the young soldier, paying small heed to the manservant who hung back in the shadows.

  Lavender shook her head and pulled the cap lower over her forehead. "No," she answered, making her voice as deep as possible. "I would be most grateful if my servant and I could just have a glass of ale and be allowed to rest before your warm fire. We have traveled far and still have a way to go." She could feel the document inside her pocket, and she wished she could deliver it and leave at once. A sweeping glance of the room told her that her contact was not present, for the taproom was empty.

  "It would be better if you was to stay until the snow eases a bit, young sir. Right now, the storm don't show no sign of letting up, and the night's mostly spent as it is," the landlord reasoned, not willing to let payment for a night's lodging escape him so easily.

  "No, I cannot stay since I am expected elsewhere. As you pointed out, this is Christmas."

  Suspicion gleamed in the man's eyes. There were strange happenings afoot tonight, and he had learned long ago that one couldn't tell a man's loyalties by the uniform he wore. There were spies on both sides. He had decided that only a desperate man would be out on such a night. "Please yourself. As for me, I wouldn't be out on a night like this for any reason."

  Lavender sat down at the table and watched the landlord amble away. Nicodemus seated himself near the door, his eyes ever watchful; his hand close to the pistol that was poked in his belt. Lavender's eyes darted about the room, and she wondered if her father had been mistaken about the rendezvous point, or perhaps her contact had already come and gone, thinking no one would appear tonight.

  By now the landlord had returned and placed a mug of ale and a platter of food before Lavender. "I brought you something to eat. You can eat it or not, but you're a skinny lad and to my way of thinking need fattening up. I'll see that your man gets something to eat as well."

  Lavender nodded. "Thank you." She stared at the glass of ale, wondering how she could turn it upside down when it was full of ale, as her father had instructed her. She had never in her life drunk strong spirits. What was she to do?

  She glanced at Nicodemus for direction, but his eyes were on the door. She waited for the landlord to leave the room, then picked up the mug and tossed the contents into the firepla
ce. The flames hissed and sputtered as she sat down and turned the mug upside down on the table. Nervous and agitated, Lavender wondered if she and Nicodemus should leave. Surely no one would be coming out in this storm.

  Suddenly the door opened and a man entered in a swirl of blowing snow. Lavender was so frightened that she lowered her head and pretended not to notice the man. Her heart was beating fast when she heard his footsteps approaching her as he sought the warmth of the fire. When she could stand it no longer, she glanced to find the man closely scrutinizing her.

  He was dressed in gray from the tip of his cocked hat to the cape that reached to the floor. His face was hard and his eyes cold. It was difficult to tell the man's age, but Lavender guessed him to be about her father's age.

  "I expected your father to meet me here, Chandler. What happened?" The newcomer's voice had a slight edge to it, as if he were irritated. He had mistaken Lavender for her twin brother, so he must be the man she was supposed to meet. She remembered her father's warning not to turn the document over to anyone unless they gave her the password, so she decided it would be best to do exactly as she had been instructed.

  "I do not know you, sir. You have mistaken me for someone else."

  The man looked astonished for a moment. His eyes narrowed, and she was sure there was an angry twist to his lips. "It is not I who have made the mistake. I have seen a drawing of you, young Chandler Daymond. Do you not know you and your father's exploits have become well known?"

  Lavender felt great trepidation in her heart. Something was not right here. The man had not given the password. Her father had been most insistent that the password be given before the document was turned over. "As I said, sir, you are mistaken. I am not the man you call Chandler."

  He ignored her denial. "Do you have something for me?" His eyes were cool, almost hostile, and Lavender knew the meaning of real fear.

  She glanced at Nicodemus and saw that his hand was resting on his pistol. Surely he would protect her from this man. "I.. . don't know what you are talking about," she answered in a trembling voice.

  In one long stride the sinister man was at her side. Before she could react, he jerked her to her feet and spun her around in an armlock. A pistol appeared from the folds of his cape and he aimed it at her head. "To interfere would be foolhardy, bond servant. I have heard about your loyalty to this family, but I do not think you are prepared to die just to prove that loyalty. Instruct your young charge to turn over the documents, or I shall take them off his dead body?"

  Nicodemus's eyes darkened with anger. "If you harm one hair on Lav— on his head, you will not live to see the morning sun." The threat hung in the air as the landlord entered the room, carrying a tray of food and ale.

  No one had seen the man who crept down the stairs and unsheathed his knife. Only the landlord saw the knife fly through the air and find its mark. Lavender felt her assailant stiffen and watched his pistol slide out of his hand while he loosened his grip on her arm. She gasped with relief as he fell to the floor to lie at her feet. Too astonished to move, she was quickly enfolded in Nicodemus's arms, and he turned her away, hiding her face from the grim spectacle, but not before she had seen the knife protruding from the man's back.

  The landlord approached the dead man cautiously. Placing his tray on the table, he bent down and felt the man's pulse. "He be dead sure enough," he proclaimed to the man who stepped out of the shadows.

  A quiver shook Lavender's body as she turned to face the stranger who had saved her life. He was tall with sun-bleached hair and twinkling gray eyes. His smile was genuine as he bowed to Lavender. "I cannot believe you were mistaken for a boy. I knew you were a woman the moment I laid eyes on you." Before the bewildered Lavender could answer, the man turned to the landlord, Angus McCree. "Dispose of the body, my friend. It would not bode well for you if he were discovered in your tavern."

  Lavender took a quick step toward the door. She had seen murder done right before her eyes, and she felt sick inside. She just wanted to flee for home where she would be safe.

  "Nicodemus, would you tell this young lady who I am. I have already guessed her identity. She can be no other than Chandler's twin sister."

  Nicodemus grinned. "You are right, sir. This is Miss Lavender Daymond. Miss, this is Captain Brainard Thruston, of the Virginia Militia. He is assigned to special duty, of course, which I am sure you have already guessed."

  Lavender nodded briefly. Her heart was still pounding, and she couldn't get rid of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She acknowledged the man's polite bow with the nod of her head. "You know my brother, sir?"

  "Indeed I do, ma'am. I count myself fortunate to be numbered among his friends."

  "The man you killed also claimed to know my brother. Why should I trust you?"

  Brainard Thruston laughed heartily and plopped down on a chair. "You are right to be cautious. You see, the contact that was supposed to meet your father here was killed just outside of town and this man took his place. Angus McCree is a true patriot and alerted me that something was wrong."

  "How did you find out about the contact?" she asked, still skeptical.

  "Never mind that. Have you got the document?"

  Lavender felt her knees go weak, and she sank into a chair. "Have you no other way to identify yourself, Mr. Thruston? My father gave me specific orders, and I was told to follow them explicitly."

  For the first time Brainard Thruston's eyes went to the ale mug that was on the table in front of Lavender. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot." A smile lit his eyes. "What flower blooms in the winter?"

  Lavender was flooded with relief. Her voice shook as she replied, "The cactus blooms in the desert." Reaching into the folds of her cape, she removed the documents and handed them to Brainard Thruston. "I hope these are worth a man's life."

  Brainard smiled and rose to his feet. "They are, Miss Daymond. The fact that the British went to such lengths to capture them should have alerted you to their importance. Now, tell me before I go, why are you here instead of your father?"

  "He was wounded."

  There was a light of concern in his eyes. "I am sorry. I trust it isn't bad. I will be seeing your brother, and he will want to know your father's condition."

  Her heart skipped a beat. "Chandler is alive?"

  "Yes, of course. At least he was a week ago when I last saw him."

  Lavender had lived through so many different emotions tonight that she suddenly felt numb. "I. . . Tell my brother that Father is wounded. I do not know how badly. The danger lies in the fact that he has lost so much blood."

  "I do not think anything as insignificant as a bullet will stop your father." With a flash of white teeth, Brainard Thruston bowed to Lavender. "I will inform your brother that I met you tonight." He looked Lavender over as if he were trying to find the woman beneath the disguise. "I hope to see you again under different circumstances."

  Before Lavender could reply, he had turned to Nicodemus. "I would suggest that the two of you leave immediately. It is not wise to linger any longer."

  "We will do that, Captain," Nicodemus answered, taking Lavender's arm and leading her toward the door.

  Brainard Thruston's voice reached them before they stepped out into the swirling snowstorm. "Merry Christmas, Miss Daymond. We shall meet again."

  After the door had closed behind Lavender and Nicodemus, Brainard Thruston turned to Angus McCree. "I think that girl would make a good messenger if she lost her nervousness. I watched her tonight, and I believe she would have died before she would ever have relinquished the documents to the wrong person. Did you see how angelic she looked? She would be perfect, because no one would ever suspect someone who looks like her of being a spy."

  "Her pa would never allow it," Angus reminded Brainard. "You had better step easy."

  Brainard threw his head back and laughed. "Her pa will never have to know. I will appeal to Miss Daymond's love for her father and brother."

  "That hardly seems fair,
Captain. She ain't more than a little girl."

  "What is ever fair in war, Angus? We all do what we must to win."

  "I still say leave her be. I know Samuel Daymond. He will kill you if anything happens to her. He might have sent her into danger tonight, but he wouldn't allow anyone else to do the same."

  On the ride back to Williamsburg, Lavender felt an urgency to be with her father. She prayed he was still alive—he just had to be.

  As the snowflakes continued to drift earthward, and heavy drifts piled up in the road, Lavender's mount carried her homeward. In her mind she relived the events as they had happened at the Swan Tavern, and she began to experience the first true stirring of patriotism in her soul. She had done something tonight to strike a blow against tyranny.

  Suddenly she was no longer weary but felt invigorated, and wished she could do more to help the United States of America gain its freedom from England! She doubted it would be possible while she was subject to Aunt Amelia's damnation.

  Brainard Thruston's handsome face flashed through her mind. He had saved her life tonight. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

  2

  South Carolina, 1780

  Wind-driven rain pelted against the windows of the Fife and Drum Inn with a force that rattled the old building to the very foundation. The two-story, boxlike structure that served as a coach stop between Charlotte and Salisbury was deserted but for two men who sat at a corner table talking in lowered voices. One man was a British colonel hiding his rank beneath the clothing of a humble tradesman, while the other gentleman was huddled beneath the folds of a stylish black cloak.

  Colonel Grimsley, a man of fifty with powdered hair and clear gray eyes, looked over his shoulder to make sure the landlord was not near enough to overhear their conversation. "Tell me again what the note said," he urged the second man.

  His companion, a thin-faced man named Cleave Wilson, leaned in closer. "As I told you before, the note was from the Duke of Mannington. He told me to get in touch with you and that we should meet him here at nine to discuss a matter of extreme importance. The note said we were to practice extreme caution and we are not to reveal our identities to anyone."