Free Midnight by Beverly Jenkins

will be over.”
    Surprised etched her face and she stopped. The ramifications of his words were enormous. Composing herself, she entered the room. All conversation ceased.
    Once done with the serving, she left them as silently as she’d come. Hoping Gage might continue the conversation, she quickly went into the wood bin and was just getting herself into position when she heard behind her, “What are you doing?”
    Startled, she turned and came face to face with one of the aides. “I’m getting more wood for the grates, sir,” she managed to say without stammering. Her heart was thumping against her chest.
    He eyed her suspiciously. “Then get about it.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Under his watchful stance, Faith hastily filled her arms with some of the rough-cut wood, and after giving him a nod, moved past him and headed up the stairs. She could feel his eyes on her back, so she didn’t turn around.
    Once alone in the kitchen, she waited until her galloping heart slowed and then thanked providence that he’d shown up when he had. Had it been a few moments later, she would have had a harder time explaining why she was in the room and not already gone. In the future she might have to find another way to eavesdrop, but for the present, she pondered what she’d heard. If Gage was indeed planning an imminent move against the rebels, word needed to be spread so that preparations could be made to meet the assault. She supposed she could send word to the Sons of Liberty by Charity again, although she preferred another way. Should Ingram ever find out her role, their marriage might be destroyed and Charity cast out. Although Charity had undoubtedly weighed the risks when she began her tradecraft, Faith preferred not to use her too often. She supposed she could pass on what she’d heard to Blythe and let her handle it from there. As far as Faith knew, no one had been appointed to replace Primus. She assumed the role would be filled eventually, but she had no way of knowing if it would be someone she could trust. If all else failed she could take a chance on leaving a message at the home of John Hancock. It would mean sneaking out of the house again, but Gage’s plans were important enough to take the risk.
    While trying to decide on the best course of action, she added the wood in her arms to the stack by the grate. She was checking the biscuits still cooking in the Dutch oven when her father entered.
    “Are they served?” he asked.
    “Yes. You’d think they would offer some words of thanks for it.” She continued to be offended by their lack of manners.
    “Don’t be disrespectful, child. The general shows his appreciation in other ways. Add these coins to the safe.” He placed a small leather pouch on the table and walked out.
    Faith opened the bag. The pile of sovereigns inside widened her eyes. Grabbing it up, she went after him. “What is this for?”
    “Bills.”
    “I mean why would he pay you such a large sum?”
    “For the good service, of course.”
    She swore he looked evasive. “Are you certain?”
    “What other reason would there be? Now go put it in the safe like I asked.”
    So she did, but not without wondering why he’d looked the way he had in response to her question. Many of the homes and inns in the area had been forced to house British troops with no compensation to the owners. To the people of Boston the foisting had come to be known as one of the Intolerable Acts. The general and his aides had been taking meals at the inn for months now, but Faith never remembered them paying her father so much as a farthing, so why now? Closing the safe, she supposed her suspicions were simply a product of the times.
    T he sun had just risen when Nicholas breached the surface of the ice-cold creek and shook the water from his face and head. Shivering, he strode naked up the bank and quickly wrapped himself in the warmth of the thick pelt blanket before pushing his bare feet into the worn deer-hide moccasins.