Free Arms of Love by Kelly Long Page B

manly thoughts. She could not resist the clutch of fear at her heart that he might try to join the fight somehow. Boys as young as ten had been known to run off, never to be heard from again. She pushed aside his insinuations about her attitude toward the war . . . and Adam.
    “Is John angry, Lena?” Abigail asked.
    Lena pivoted on her bare feet and stared at her innocent, tousledhaired sister. She thought of her mamm and went back to the bed, catching the child close for a hug.
    “ Nee , Abby. He is . . . becoming a man.”
    Abigail giggled, and Lena suppressed a troubled sigh.

Chapter 9
     

    I t had been two days since the night at Lena’s, and Adam’s mind still burned with the memory despite the cool spring breeze that lifted his long hair from the back of his neck. The days had seemed an eternity. She was not only his love but his best friend, and the loneliness he now felt cut him to the core.
    His face was flushed from the heat of the smithy where he was shaping new shoes for the chestnut mare in the far pasture. He had left the barn doors wide-open and relished the scents and sounds of spring. He hated winter, with its unrelenting cold and the rigors of the snow—the bleakness of this thought made him wonder how Samuel Yoder would eat this day in prison. Adam could, of course, walk the coin and bread into town, but there were dangers in being afoot. He considered the situation with a prayerful bent and was about to strike the shoe with the anvil again when the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats caused him to look up.
    He gazed in amazement at the laughing apparition of Major Dale Ellis, blond hair askew, blue frock coat and lace collar intact, as he came to a rushing halt in front of the barn. Dale was mounted on a fine bay gelding and led Tim, saddled but riderless, directly behind him.
    Adam put down his tools. Dale laughed again and let go of the lead, leaving Tim to come directly to Adam’s hands.
    “I believe, sir, that I return something which rightfully belongs here, on this no doubt fine farm.”
    Adam said the first thing that came to mind. “You are not permitted to go beyond the city limits of Lancaster—you could be hanged.”
    Dale waved an airy hand. “Aye, I know. Death and dismemberment and all that hoptrop—just what one of your earthy Patriots would love to dish out to an Officer of the Realm.”
    “I do not understand.” Adam stepped out into the sunshine and offered a jug of water up to the other man.
    Dale took a swig and wiped his hand over his mouth. “I will make my telling quick, so as not to meet some dire end. I won Tim here from some miscreant militia man who was too far into his cups early this morn . . . much too far to be betting what he did at cards. And since I as a prisoner can own no horse, I thought I’d return him. I’ve seen you about with him and figured that foul guard took advantage somehow.” Dale jumped down and moved to water his own mount at a nearby trough.
    Adam smiled. “Perhaps, but let me give you coin for your trouble.
    And I do mean trouble, if anyone finds out. This is no ladies’ picnic, after all, for the town fathers to turn a blind eye to. And where, might I ask, did your own fine horse come from?”
    “The same unfortunate card game, I fear,” Dale muttered, shaking his head, then remounting in an expert manner. “I don’t know what I will do with this horse—dedicate it to the cause, I suppose. And, my fine Amish fellow, friends do not exchange coins over gifts. That is, if I have your friendship during my rather boring imprisonment?” The question hung between them while Dale’s eyes bored into Adam’s intently.
    Adam hesitated for only a second before extending his hand and grasping the other man’s firmly. “I will call you a friend,” he said.
    Dale let go of his hand and smiled. “Good. Then I will tell you why I am here in truth. There is a famed, or infamous, I should say, Tory hunter in Lancaster. A Major George, to