De Warenne Dynasty: The Prize Part 55

Virginia's heart pounded with sickening force. She turned and fled back the way they had come, her arm in Tillie's, and when they turned the corner they paused, facing each other in real fear. Virginia wondered if her eyes were as wide and horrified as Tillie's. "They must have planned a second a.s.sault from the rear-they must have landed other troops farther up the inlet," Virginia whispered, trembling.

"How do we get out of here? We cannot leave Frank," Tillie cried.

Virginia did not know how they were going to get out of the town. "Come," she whispered. They could hardly stay where they were, so close to that terrible battle, and as they ran down the block, a building behind them exploded, then burst into flames. They turned onto another street and then leapt back against a brick house. A hundred British troops were fighting some dozen militiamen with muskets blazing and swords clanging. Within moments, not a militiaman was left standing and a river of blood ran through the street.

Virginia choked on bile.

Tillie was sobbing, but soundlessly.

The redcoats hadn't seen them as they stood huddled in a doorway, the mounted officers ordering the infantry to regroup. Their predicament had become crystal clear.

The town was overrun. Hampton would fall. It would be a ma.s.sacre. How in G.o.d's name would they escape? Could they even survive?

"Virginia," Tillie said tersely, poking her with an elbow.

Virginia followed her gaze and froze in abject horror at the sight of a mounted officer wearing the blue coat of the British navy.

"Over there," a British army officer shouted.

Virginia jerked and saw a man stepping out of his stable. She knew him well-it was the Hampton blacksmith, John Ames, holding his hunting rifle. As he lifted it, a dozen muskets blasted and he fell.

A woman screamed. She came running out of the stable, screaming still, and Virginia shouted, "No, Martha!" to his wife, but it was too late. Martha flung herself down on her husband's body as Virginia saw a marine aim his musket at her. The British soldier fired and hit the woman, clearly killing her. Virginia could not move, stunned.

Tillie had taken Virginia's hand. "They're murdering innocent people," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "We've got to go."

Virginia turned, her heart lurching with dread, seeking out the naval officer in blue. Instantly she found him. She cried out.

"What is it?"

It was Thomas Hughes.

She stared at him across the street, a battlefield of the wounded and the dead, and a chill went down her spine.

What was he doing there? As far as she knew, his career had been spent in the offices of the Admiralty in London. But she could not think about him now.

Because Tillie was dragging her away and shouting at her to run. Virginia realized that they had been seen-and a dozen marines had turned their way.

As they started firing, she and Tillie ran.

"JESUS CHRIST," DEVLIN CRIED, sitting astride the horse he had summarily taken from a civilian.

The town was an inferno. The dead and the dying littered the streets, both militia and civilians, women and children. The attacking forces had been two thousand strong, to ensure a decisive and swift victory after the humiliation of Norfolk. Devlin had seen soldiers go berserk and burn, rape, loot and murder before, but he had not expected to see the terrible plunder he was now witnessing. Word had quickly reached him aboard the Defiance that the British marines were out of hand-mostly fueled on by the French who fought with them, prisoners of war who had enlisted to avoid their confinement. Yet he doubted all the blame lay with the Frenchmen in their ranks-he suspected c.o.c.kburn had encouraged the carnage, d.a.m.n his black soul to the fires of h.e.l.l.

Even now, a group of marines, mostly inebriated, were destroying a shop, the nearby buildings entirely in flames, a dead woman and child in the middle of the street.

"Lieutenant," he shouted in fury to one of the British officers.

The officer rode up to him. "Yes, sir?"

"Stop those men and arrest them all," he ordered. And he was thinking of his wife.

"But, sir!" The young officer was wide-eyed.

"Shoot them if you have to!" he said grimly. "All troops are to return to their respective commands. Our work is done here. We have clearly won." Inside, he was sick, a sickness that reached his soul.

But he shoved it aside. The battle might be over, but there remained much work to be done. He spurred his mount into a canter, determined to inspect the town. But inspection was a real impossibility. British troops ran amok everywhere. As he turned the corner he discovered two more of his troops in the act of raping a woman, surrounded by a dozen cheering men. Seized with fury, Devlin did not pause. He unsheathed his sword and charged the men. Instantly several turned and fled, the others backing away. The woman scrambled to her feet and ran.

"Stand at attention," he snapped, the urge to strike them all down wild and huge. They stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. "There is to be no more plunder, no rape, no looting. Report to your respective commands."

The men stood down. "Aye, sir," one said, his eyes popping.

He spurred his mount on, thinking of Virginia again. This was her home-the town was close enough to Sweet Briar that she must frequent it often-and he hated what he and the British had done. At least she was spared the sight of this, he thought grimly, and he thanked G.o.d for that.

But it did not seem as if the town could be saved. Half of it would be ashes by nightfall, and he was afraid to count the American dead. Not for the first time, he was silently grateful that Virginia was safe and sound at Sweet Briar.

As always, regret and grief warred in his chest.

Dusk began. The battle was over except for a few isolated incidents; most of the troops had been brought back under control. Devlin dismounted to inspect one scene, where dozens of militia and civilians lay dead or dying in the street, the British medics already present and tending to their own. "What is the tally so far?" he asked, weary beyond words.

"Our losses are few, sir," a young doctor said. He was covered in soot and blood, as was Devlin, though he hadn't realized it until that moment. "But I'm afraid the Americans have suffered in the hundreds."

"How many hundreds?" he asked, a movement catching his eye. There would be h.e.l.l to pay for this day.

"Three, four, five, it's impossible to say just now."

Devlin narrowed his eyes. He knew that man lurking across the street, did he not? And then Devlin recognized the slave, having seen him once before, at night, hiding in the front hall at Sweet Briar. He strode across the b.l.o.o.d.y street, avoiding tramping upon the bodies there. "You, man, wait!"

The black man turned and began to run.

"d.a.m.n it, halt! Halt before I fire," he roared, the threat an idle one.

The man froze, hands lifting in the air.

Devlin hurried to him. "Turn around. I will not hurt you," he said. The man obeyed. "You're from Sweet Briar."

He nodded, eyes wide with both fear and recognition. "An' you be Miz Virginia's husband. The captain," he said.

He now nodded, a sudden, terrible inkling beginning. "She is safe, is she not? She did obey me when I told her to stay at the plantation?"

The man's eyes filled with tears. "No, sir!" he cried. "She done come to town to see a doctor, as she's been poorly for some time now, and then the fighting began and I don't know where she is!"

Devlin's world tilted wildly. And for the first time in his life he knew horror.

"She is here?" he shouted. "My wife is here, in this town, now, today?" he cried.

The man nodded.

"Where?" he gasped, seized with a fear he had never before experienced. Had she been wounded? Raped? Was she even alive? How could she have survived this terrible battle? "Where did you last see her?" He realized he was shaking the man.

"I'll show you, sir," the man cried.

Together they ran through the burning town. It seemed to take hours to arrive at a shop that had its display window broken, the entire interior looted, but Devlin knew it had taken mere minutes. "I left 'em here to shop for a bit, before goin' to the doctor," Frank said on a sob.

Devlin went cold inside, and slowly, his hand on his sword, he looked around.

Dead littered the streets. A few shops and homes burned. Dusk was deepening. There were stars tonight, stars and the beginning of a full moon. He felt helpless then.

If she's dead I will die, he thought. And I will kill whoever was responsible.

But he was responsible, wasn't he?

For if it weren't for his d.a.m.ned obsession with the Earl of Eastleigh and his refusal to put revenge aside, she would be safely at Waverly Hall, not here in this h.e.l.lhole of blood and death.

"Help me find her," he said.

"I THINK IT'S SAFE TO GO," Virginia said hoa.r.s.ely. They had spent the entire day hiding in the attic of someone's home. From a tiny window there, they had seen death, destruction, murder and rape. They had seen vicious brutality, unspeakable carnage and ma.s.s mayhem. They had seen so much blood and it flecked and stained their faces, hands and clothes. Once, troops had entered and searched the house, but had not bothered with the attic where they hid, faint with fear. Miraculously, the house had somehow been spared, when half of the town surrounding them seemed to be burning still.

Virginia was shaking uncontrollably, as was Tillie. She remained in a numb state of fear and terror. Still, she thought about Devlin. He might be ruthless, but she was sure, as she had never been so sure of anything, that he would never condone what had been done that day.

She looked at Tillie. Her long, curly hair had come down to hang wildly about her shoulders. Blood smeared her pelisse, her dress was torn and muddy, and her eyes were wide and wild. Virginia knew she must look as frightful, as terrified, as her friend. "Shall we try to go?" she whispered raggedly. Her heart continued to beat hard and fast, uncomfortable in her chest. Every time the house creaked, she flinched and whirled, raising the musket she had taken from a dead man, expecting to confront a British soldier on the attic's threshold and prepared to fire first.

Tillie nodded, looking frightened and uncertain.

The street below was empty, although two buildings still burned. They crept through the house and slipped outside, holding their guns so tightly their knuckles were white. It remained hard to breathe, because of the fear, because of the smoke, and because of the stench of death. The night was starry and lit by a full moon.

Virginia fought tears. "So many have died, and for what? Free trade? Land in Canada? For what?" she cried, shaking wildly.

Voices could be heard, drunken, leering, approaching.

"Hush," Tillie said hoa.r.s.ely. "You hush until we are safe at home."

Breathless with renewed fear, Virginia leaned close and whispered, "We have to find Frank."

Tillie's eyes suddenly overflowed with tears. "We both know he can't be alive."

Virginia didn't want to believe it. But Tillie was probably right. They started down the street at a quick pace, Virginia determined to ignore the aching in her belly. She had been fighting mild cramps all day and the baby had been kicking.

Please hang on, she silently told her unborn baby. Just a little longer and we will be safe at home.

She ran alongside Tillie, wis.h.i.+ng Devlin might appear and safely spirit her away, then tell her that he was wrong, he was sorry, that he still loved her and he always would and that they would make their marriage right.

They turned the corner and came face-to-face with five dangerous, b.l.o.o.d.y, red-coated men.

They whirled to run the other way.

A man suddenly blocked their path, his sword raised.

Instinctively Virginia raised the musket, finding the trigger, aiming at him. Then she saw the navy-blue jacket, the gold b.u.t.tons and epaulets. She saw the clear gray eyes, the hard face. She began to shake and her musket waffled wildly.

"Virginia," Devlin said harshly. "Put the musket down." He lowered his sword.

Devlin. She had been praying for him to come and he was there. Stunned, she started to lower the gun. "Devlin," she whispered, suddenly flooded with relief. And she was an instant away from moving into his arms.

But his expression changed. His eyes went wide and his sword was raised. "Virginia," he shouted in warning.

And in that instant, she felt the hostile presence behind her. But before she could react, she was seized from behind. As she twisted, she met glazed eyes, a toothless grin and saw the man's scarlet coat. Other marines were with him and one held a fiercely struggling Tillie.

"Got me a nice wh.o.r.e," the man laughed, his breath foul with rotten teeth and whiskey.

"Devlin!" Virginia cried, trying hopelessly to break free of the marine's grasp. And suddenly his grip eased and the marine howled in pain, hot liquid spraying over her. Dumbfounded, she saw that the hand still attached to her breast was severed from the marine's arm. As dumbfounded, he stared at his armless shoulder.

A saber whistled and the marine's head disappeared.

Virginia stumbled away, gagging, as the armless, headless body collapsed at her feet. She turned to see Devlin a.s.sault the other marine, his face frightening in its fury. As he landed blow after blow, she went down on her hands and knees, crawling away as fast as she could, somehow realizing that Devlin was insane with rage. Now, nearly paralyzed with terror, she turned from the ground and saw four dead marines not far from where she knelt. Devlin was viciously attacking the last soldier, clearly intent on murdering him, too. Suddenly Tillie was beside her on the ground, but she had eyes only for Devlin, wide and aghast.

A voice whispered in the night. "O'Neill."

It was soft, taunting. Virginia knew that voice and knew the threat and she desperately wanted to warn Devlin. But the earth had tilted wildly and she had to hold on tight. Somehow, as her world spun around, she managed to look up. And the last thing she saw was Thomas Hughes standing behind Devlin, smiling as he raised his musket and aimed it at his head. And the last thing she heard was his gun being fired.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

HER DREAM WAS A TERRIBLE ONE; soldiers were everywhere, killing one another, and Devlin stood on the other side of a wall of fire, shouting for her, but she dared not run to him, for to do so would mean being burned. Desperate, she held out her arms; between them, the fire roared. "Devlin!" she wept.

"It's all right."

Virginia gasped, her eyes flying open, certain he had spoken, and as sleep instantly fled, she recognized her bedroom at Sweet Briar. She was there in her own bed. She turned her head, whispering, "Devlin?" She needed him so-she had never needed him more.

Tillie gripped her hand and stroked her forehead. "You're awake," she said softly.

Virginia blinked, a terrible dismay beginning. "Is...is Devlin here?"

"No, honey, he is not."

And she lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes, seared with ghastly recollections of the battle of Hampton. And suddenly she could see Thomas Hughes pointing a gun at the back of Devlin's head. Devlin had been there. He had come to her rescue when soldiers had seized her from behind. He had been enraged as she had never before seen him, murdering one soldier after another. And then Thomas Hughes had appeared, raising his pistol, pointing it at the back of Devlin's head.

And she had heard the shot, hadn't she?

"Where's Devlin?" she cried, her heart beating frantically, filled with fear. "Please, G.o.d, tell me he's all right!"

"Doc Barnes gave me some laudanum. Here, let me give you some," Tillie began, holding a cup of tea laced with the drug.