It's the height of the American Revolution. You're a widowed colonist, trying your best to raise your toddler son, keep your home out of enemy hands, and stay out of this wretched war. One day, you happen upon a wounded soldier, in need of help a...
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"Sadie, who is it?" you called from the bedroom. The knock on the door was unmistakably formal . More soldiers, you thought. But which? It was a regular occurrence that British men would pop by to take a rest, eat your food and warm themselves by your fire. Each time, you were complacent, giving them whatever they demanded, even down to your last morsel of bread. You were careful to accommodate them, playing the part of dutiful subject to the crown and doing whatever they asked.
It wasn't even a month since the Whitman's were dragged from their home, screaming in protest as British soldiers arrested them for treason. Turns out they were harboring barrels of gunpowder for the militia in their stable. Gun powder that the English eagerly procured. Yet, even as their cabin burned before them, Mr. Whitman declared the King a tyrant, and he was shot right there in front of his wife and children.
The Minutemen weren't much better. They intruded your homestead just as much, intending that any colonial house be public domain of the militia, otherwise the war would never be won unless united. During these visits, your loyalties were always in question. Time and time again you talked of your husband, how he served to heal the militia men, insisting that your allegiance was to this New World only, just as his. Although that wasn't necessarily true. Samuel's loyalties were to the sick and wounded, no matter what colors they wore, no matter what side of the ocean they called home. But you wouldn't dare tell them that.
The Cassidy's home was invaded by the militia when whispers spoke of coin being traded for grain. It was hard to fault them for such. There were six children under 12 in that household, the youngest being infirm. Any father would be pressed to refuse money in exchange for their hard earned grain. At least the Redcoats offered payment for such. But this treason would not do and the colonial soldiers hung Cassidy from their sycamore tree before defiling their home with the words "TRAITOR" in pig's blood.
So, the choice was not easily made, especially for one such as yourself that only wanted to live in peace with the two people you held dearest. Yet, you knew deep down that you made that choice as soon as your dragged that soldier past your door. It wasn't one of politics or devotion, but of an innate moral code to help others and above all, do no harm. The harm was instantly put on you and yours. Regardless of his character or intentions or even his ridiculously handsome face, he was a danger to you, and every knock upon your door could make you the next Whitman or Cassidy.
Sadie appeared at the bedroom door. You were making the bed with fresh sheets as Thomas quietly watched you from the chair. "Colonel," Sadie signed, forming a hat around her head with her hands. "Heaven help us," you sighed, tossing the pillows back onto the bed. Sadie crossed her arms and nodded at Thomas. He looked from you to Sadie, then back again. "What is it?" he asked, wide-eyed. You folded down the blanket and walked over to him. "You'll need to be quiet, alright?" you said, helping him from the chair. His hold on you was tighter than usual. He stopped you halfway to the bed, turning that penetrating gaze towards you. "Is there some trouble?" his hand seemed to punctuate his question with a squeeze of your waist. Your already anxious heart wanted to seize right there in your chest as your body gave a noticeable start. "Possibly," you frowned, already practicing what you'd say to the Colonel, how you'd smile at his unwanted advances. Always with the uncomfortable stares and lingering kisses on your hand. You knew exactly what he wanted - a widow with a small child, living this far from town. He mentioned it often enough when he would pop in like today. "Only to check on you, my sweet," he simpered at you. The crisp cotton of his collar was always spotless from dirt and not a hair on his head was ever out of place. He was priggish and privileged and you had to swallow every unwelcome gesture with a smile.
"Just...," you helped sit Thomas down on the edge of the bed, "just be quiet, please. I'll do my best to get rid of him," you said dismissively but he grabbed your hand to stop you. You froze.
"If there's trouble, I can help," he insisted with much more confidence than was warranted for a man with an ailing leg.
"You can barely stand," you retorted. His hand made no effort to move from yours, and truthfully, you didn't want it to. He leaned in closer and for the first time you noticed the flecks of gold in his eyes. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. A stubborn streak inside of you decided you would no longer hide from those eyes, however troubling they made you feel.
He grabbed his cane and with tremendous effort, stood straight up onto his feet. You crossed your arms and frowned as you watched him. He took a precarious step forward, but managed to keep his balance. Your eyes widened as he approached you, slow but remarkably steady. He stopped just short of a foot between you two.
"I've been practicing," he said a bit guiltily as you continued to frown.
"Have you been keeping your wellness from me?" you asked with mounting anger. How long has he been able to walk without your assistance?
"No! No...,"he held his hand up defensively. He could see your suspicions rising. "I didn't think it would actually work, to be frank," he laughed a little and ran a hand through his hair. Your eyes followed, while that sinful notion took hold again. How satisfying it would be to grip those curls. You swallowed hard and diverted your eyes.
"Well," you put your hands on your hips and assessed his posture. "At this rate, you should be well enough to leave soon," you said with a nod, your tone betrayed you with the sound of disappointment.
"That should be a relief for you, having me out of your hair," he replied, a smug smile spread across his face again.
"Quite!" you shot back with a smirk of your own, "At the very least, I get my bed back."
"You could have joined me in bed at any point," his eyes flashed at you and your whole body was overcome.
"That would...that would be improper," you stammered, taking every amount of effort to keep your cool.
You took a step back.
He took a step forward.
Those heated brown eyes never wavered from yours. The room seemed to float about you and you with it. A charge surrounded you. The air left your lungs when he lightly held your cheek, just lingering there until you were ready for your next breath. His fingertips, rough and calloused against your skin, ignited you to your core, drawing you closer, beckoning you to claim what you desired.
BANG!BANG!BANG!
Sadie slammed her fists against the wooden frame, startling you both. You spun around to her, face full of a shameful blush.
She haughtily made the signal for Colonel again, her movements exasperated and sharp.
"Yes! Sorry," you nodded quickly at her, your hands patting the loose strands that broke free from your pins. That steely gaze of hers passed between you and Thomas before she left, leaving you feeling like some child that received a scolding.
"Right. The Colonel," you said with a deep breath, your back to him.
But before you could make your exit, Thomas grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. His grip loosened from your arm and quickly traveled to your waist, pressing you against him with surprising strength. Your fingers grabbed at his collar yanking his lips to yours in a feverish kiss of longing and lust. A delightful groan passed from him as he met your heat. You felt the corners of his lips curl as you devoured them.
Quickly you pried yourself from him, catching your breath as you looked at him questioningly, your fingers still clutched his clothing. He glanced down at them, then back up to your eyes with a satisfied shine to his eyes.
"You needn't rip me out of my clothes, darling. A simple disrobing would suffice," that cheeky smile of his returned.
You slowly let go and buried your burning cheeks into your palms, muttering with a hidden smile. "Heaven help me."
