Redcoats and Sleigh Bells

By Carol A. Spradling

It took more than a bullet wound to stop Holly Masters from completing her intelligence mission. Generals, patrols, and experienced scouts had been her sport, until she met Dr. Nicholas Clayton. Severely injured and now his patient, in order to complete her assignment, she must decide if she can kill the man who saved her life.

Nicholas has healed wounded men for both the Patriots and the Crown, but he never expected to find a wounded woman, dressed in a British military uniform, on the edge of his property.

Tucked into her coat sleeve, she holds many secrets that will change the course of the war. As an officer, Nicholas has a duty to prevent her from leaving his custody. As a doctor, he has the means to prevent her from revealing what she knows. Trained for every action, nothing has prepared him for what he knows he must do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol A. Spradling
• Release date: Feb 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781475153118

Book preview

Redcoats and Sleigh Bells

by

Carol A. Spradling

Chapter 1

Holly Masters twisted General Deerwood’s door handle.  A silver scar glinted across her wrist, a reminder to watch her attacker’s eyes and not his blade.  She had learned her lesson early in her career and could now match any man’s sword or dirk, at least long enough to escape.  No one had been more surprised than she when she pinioned a captain’s hand to his desk with a crude, yet serviceable, steel, letter opener.  She could hardly account all of the credit to skill.  His other hand was busy at his waistband.  She had told him no.  He should have listened.

The brass knob warmed in her palm as she pushed against the door.  She whirled inside and the latch clicked closed.  An unsuppressed grin spread across her face.  Entering British Generals’ offices, stealing military secrets, and doing it practically under their noses always made her giddy.  One would think that after fifteen thefts, the British would be less predictable.  She glanced around the room.  Apparently, they were not. 

Holly rubbed her nose then fanned the air in front of her face.  Virginia tobacco.  The Tories may stand loyal to their tea, but Colonial cigars were an item the officers openly enjoyed and clearly, General Deerwood indulged to excess.  The sweet smell blanketed the room. 

Having never been here before, she could easily guess where everything was positioned.  A small fire crackled and popped in its attempt to generate a cozy atmosphere, and an oversized, mahogany desk flanked the far wall, meant to intimidate and command respect, no doubt.  Of course, to soften the rigid exterior, a curio from home would hold a place of prominence on the bookshelf.  Ah, his wife liked cats. Holly slipped past the silver-ensconced puss.  With a quick glance out the window, she positioned herself behind the desk.  Getting comfortable, she lifted a brow at the pair of woolen slippers tucked inside the seat cushion.  Now, that was something she hadn’t seen before. 

Her blood pumped with exhilaration as she edged the chair to the side of the drawers and dropped to her knees.  A simple lock, wide enough for a one-inch key held firm, and she ran her finger over scratch marks marring the wood.  This drawer saw frequent use.  Acting on instinct, she gave it a jiggle just in case someone had been forgetful.  She really should carry a small assortment of keys with her for these assignments, but quieting the jingle when she fled for her life would most likely prove problematic. 

Experience told her that a hidden desk key generally rested under the ink well.  She smiled, sure of what she’d find, and lifted the crystal bowl.  The upturned corners of her cheeks dropped into a frown.  Not there.  She returned the dish and slid her finger along the polished wood.  Then it has to be...  She tapped her nail on her chin and scanned the room. 

Evergreen branches and berries stretched along the mantle with festive candles anchoring the ends.  How prompt.  His staff had already begun decorating for Christmas and it was only the first week of December.  Too bad his wife and children couldn’t be here.  Families always served as a helpful distraction.  Instead of squealing children and demanding wives, Holly had to rely on the disorganized delivery of live pigs opposed to smoked hams, which the cook had ordered.  Requisitions were such an easy way of creating useful diversions.  Caught up with the deliveryman, no one had seen her slip past the kitchen staff.

The chair leather squeaked as she sat and then swiveled the seat to face a series of shelves behind her.  There, in the back of one corner, hid a small ceramic pot.  It was an ornate vessel, similar to the ones used to hold scented oils.  Near the container, a marble bust of Alexander the Great stared eyeless back at her.  Hmmm, perhaps she had been wrong in her original assumption and the good general had no wife at all.  It would seem he had more secrets than an iron key could lock away. 

Her mind wandered a little too far and the looming, high-backed chair suddenly overwhelmed her.  She jumped to her feet and reminded herself of her objective.  This was not a fact-finding mission; she had done her share of those.  She needed to procure the necessary documents and leave before more items presented themselves that were none of her concern.  Still, if she were a betting woman, and she was, even money said this was a hiding place. 

Sorry, old boy.  She wrapped her fingers around Alexander’s neck and lifted the likeness.  Her brows drew together.  For a two-foot marble statue, it weighed less than she expected.  She tipped it over.  No key was needed this time.  Rolled papers filled the hollow.  What an interesting man you are, General. She slid her fingers deep into the chest cavity, withdrew the documents, and scanned them for identity.

Satisfied, she worked the rolled papers into