Samuel grunted as cold drops stung his face, his neck muscles twitching. He crunched the map in his fingers. “I did everything I could to get any usable information out of Watson’s supposed uncle, but the man is as dumb as he is fat. And now I’ve been forced to let him go. What a waste.”
Samuel pointed at the next house and then to the soldiers behind him. They nodded and marched forward to do his bidding. He turned back to Donaldson as the wind yanked at his cloak. “I want you to tell Officer Clark and the other men to go north and search in Salem.”
“Excuse me, sir.”
Irritated, Samuel spun to see Clark standing behind him, his boyish face looking dwarfed under his dripping white wig. “Clark, where did you come from? You’re just the man I wanted to see. I need you to—”
“Pardon me, Captain, but—”
“But what?” Samuel barked.
Clark refused to meet his gaze. “Major Stockton wishes you to meet him at his quarters, sir.”
“Why?”
“Something about the rebels. He says it’s urgent.”
Blast it! It was always about the rebels. Didn’t Stockton know he was dealing with them in his own way? Watson was a rebel of the worst kind. Why did he have to be bothered with these things now? Eliza’s faraway cries kept him up every waking minute. He couldn’t rest, couldn’t think clear until she was found. And now he had to be interrupted with this?
“Tell him I’m on my way.”
Clark turned, but Samuel stopped him. “When I’m done there, meet me in my office. I’ve got an assignment for you.”
With a sharp bow, Clark headed into the wind toward the other side of town.
Turning once again to Donaldson, Samuel continued, pretending he hadn’t had to endure the untimely interruption. “After my meeting with Stockton, you will come with me. I can’t stay in this blasted town any longer or I’ll run mad.”
Donaldson held his mouth rigid as if he were trying to hold back a retort. “If I may, Captain. Where will you and I be going?”
Samuel squinted his eyes into the pelting drops, looking past the endless boats and beyond the rolling hills. “We’re going south.”
Thomas stayed by Eliza’s side day and night, hardly taking any time to care for his own basic needs. Eating was a trial. Sleeping was a burden. Every move she made, every sound that escaped her pale lips made his heart leap, hoping that maybe today would be the day she would open her brown eyes and look at him.
The autumn weather sent cool rains that pounded without end, increasing Thomas’s sense of helplessness. There was no bright sunlight to warm the cold that seeped not only through his clothes, but through his heart. No happy rays to bring cheer to a cheerless place. He wanted nothing more than to take Eliza’s pain for her, to turn back time and do things differently.
Kitty offered to relieve him, at least for an hour or so, but he declined. He was the cause of Eliza’s pain, and insisted that he would be the remedy. She would wake any day now, he was sure of it, and prayed for it without end. When that blessed moment arrived, he wanted to make sure his face was the first thing she saw.
A few times Eliza called out, delirious with pain. She developed a fever not long after her attack, just as Nathaniel feared. One minute she was hot as fire. The next, a pool of sweat. Thomas never experienced anything so terrifying.
He mopped her brow endlessly and moved the few strands of dampened hair from her soft face. His moments alone with her gave him ample time to observe the shape of her eyes, the length of her lashes, the perfect curve of her lips. He found himself mesmerized by the delicate mole adorning her cheekbone and noted how it intensified her beauty.
His face flushed every time her wound needed dressing. Even though she always remained properly covered, her shape and form under the coverings coul
d not be denied. The bleeding had stopped and thanks to proper care and healing herbs, no gangrene or other illnesses assaulted her.
“Kitty?”
Thomas jerked forward at the sound of Eliza’s dry voice and cupped his large hands around her trim fingers. “Eliza, ‘tis I, Thomas.”
She didn’t open her eyes, only moved her head from side-to-side and called for Kitty again.
He leaned in closer, wanting desperately to stroke her face. Instead, he held his hands tighter around hers to keep from caressing her soft skin. Doing such a foolish thing would only increase his already budding feelings. Feelings he shouldn’t have.
“Eliza, it’s Thomas. What do you need?” He spoke low, hoping it would help calm her distress.
Her eyebrows pinched into a deep V, her breathing erratic. Thomas held his breath. She must be in a great deal of pain.
Keeping his grip on her hands, he looked over his shoulder and called toward the open door. “Kitty! Eliza is calling for you!”