Free Rapture's Betrayal by Candace McCarthy Page A

“They’re banding together. I’ve heard talk of a militia.”
    â€œIt’s true, William,” said Edmund Dunley. “They’re meeting in Peremus this very day.”
    â€œDo we have anyone on the inside?” William Randolph sat back in his chair and began picking his teeth with the edge of his thumbnail.
    Dunley raised a pewter tankard to his lips. “Dwight Van Graaf,” he replied before taking a healthy swig.
    â€œVan Graaf,” William murmured. “Good man?” When the other two gentlemen nodded, he said, “Then, what are you so concerned about? With Van Graaf as our spy, we can certainly handle a few cocksure Dutch.”
    The three men sat in Randolph’s study, avid supporters of the English king, George. English by heritage, they were satisfied with the way things had stood before the uprising, unable to understand what all the fuss was about. They’d paid their share of taxes to the King and yet had retained enough for a hefty profit. The land had been good to them, and so, too, they believed, had their mother country.
    Randolph was a prosperous farmer, who gave gladly to the British troops. He was not only baffled by his neighbors’ choice of sides, but his anger bordered on vengefulness.
    Godwin and Dunely, his two cohorts, hailed from the Ramapo region to the north. Their motives were more clearly defined; they wanted to line their pockets with coin.
    â€œYou may be right,” Godwin said. “But what of the forces coming from the south?”
    â€œThat’s where Biv comes in, gentlemen,” William replied with a wicked smile. “Now that the ‘Mad Ox’ is out of the picture, we have nothing to worry about.”
    â€œAre you sure the job was done? The man is dead?”
    â€œSo Phelps said. And you know Phelps.” The man chuckled. “He so loves his work!”
    A door slammed on the back side of the house. William rose from his chair behind a polished oak desk. “Gentlemen, I believe our meeting is over. Until next Thursday then?” He extended a hand to first one, then the other.
    Voices could be heard in the corridor outside the study door. William frowned when he heard Catherine’s laughter, followed by his son’s shrill tone.
    He threw open the door, surprising the both of them. Miles gaped in open-mouthed horror, while Catherine blinked and then smiled in docile acceptance.
    â€œWhere have you been?” Randolph demanded.
    â€œWhy, William, whatever is wrong? I thought you were going to visit the Prevosts, so Miles and I decided to go for a ride.”
    The smooth way in which his wife offered an explanation took the wind out of Randolph’s sails. “It was raining,” he muttered gruffly.
    â€œGood day, gentlemen.” Catherine smiled at her husband’s departing guests as she encircled his arm with a slim, white hand. “As you can see, dear, the rain let up, and I was feeling restless.”
    William was lost in his wife’s guileless blue gaze, and one corner of his mouth curved upward. “Did the horses give you any trouble, sweetheart?”
    His father’s endearment brought a frown to Miles’s face. He didn’t hear his mother’s response; he was watching William with the intensity of a hawk. His father’s good humor was often followed by fits of uncontrollable rage.
    Had his father learned of the church visit? Had someone informed William of his wife’s betrayal?
    Miles knew he’d have to watch his father closely—and guard his mother with an even closer eye. There was no telling what the old man would do when his temper finally erupted. The last time he himself had sustained a broken arm and his mother . . .
    Closing his eyes, Miles swallowed thickly.
    It won’t happen again! he vowed silently. Never again would he allow his father to strike her . . . never again would his mother suffer!

Chapter Seven
    Richard sprang