Revolutionary Love

By Cass Scotka

The Revolution has cost Verity Sterrett nearly everything. Redcoats killed her father and burned her home. Verity is forced into living with her Loyalist uncle, who is determined to marry her off to a brutal British officer among those boarding with the family. And her beloved brother and his best friend Theo, the man Verity loves, are off fighting for independence. When one of the Redcoats brags of covert plans for an ambush, Verity sees her chance to aid her cause. It's the first step in her role as a spy in Martha Washington's spy ring.
 

Major Theodore Kinnard volunteered to fight for his new nation with ideals of chivalry and honor. War has shattered those ideals. Gifted at sharpshooting, Theo has become General Washington's best sniper. However, killing at a distance feels more like murder than honorable combat, and leaves Theo hesitant to admit his love for Verity lest he corrupt her innocence and goodness.
 

As the war moves forward and Verity's involvement grows, Theo does his best to shield her from its danger, and from himself. The battles rage on and Theo and Verity won't stop fighting for independence. But when the danger mounts, if Verity can't convince Theo to give their love a chance, their happiness and their freedom may become another casualty of the war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Aug 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781771559959

Book preview

Two people playing a guitar Description automatically generated with low confidence

Revolutionary

Love

CASS SCOTKA

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Revolutionary Love

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.

~~~

First Edition 2021

eISBN: 978-1-77155-995-9

Copyright © 2021 Cass Scotka All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Robyn Hart

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

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For Angela. I wouldn’t have gotten

here without you.

Chapter One

Tarrytown, New York

August 1776

Verity’s lungs burned and her eyes stung. She dared not breathe or blink. Three boys—men—in front of her stood frozen. Dust swirled along the path leading to the small home with deep green shutters that she shared with her father and brother. The one where her brother and his two best friends now confronted one another.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak. Please. Her voice trembled. You cannot all run off to war. None of you need to prove anything.

Nathaniel threw a withering glare in her direction.

She lifted her chin, daring her brother to respond.

Theo shook his head and grasped Nathaniel’s dark navy Continental Army uniform sleeve.

Her heart lurched. Redcoats teemed everywhere these days. Decimating the troops, murdering families of supporters, burning towns supporting the American cause. All in the name of King George III. Now Isaac, her almost betrothed, had joined the British in this fight and she could only pray her father would not sign anything until the war’s end. Or at all.

She shuddered at the vulgar glances and crude comments Isaac had made to her when no one watched. While Isaac had never hidden his interest in her, he was not the friend of her brother’s from whom she wished to receive attention.

No, the handsome boy in the American navy-blue uniform held her romantic dreams. Theo. Her heart crumbled at the thought of her brother dying, let alone the boy who’d carried her for two miles after spraining her ankle as a child, and had carried her heart ever since. She’d held out hope the man he’d become would one day look on her not as his friend’s little sister, but as a woman grown. A woman whom he could love in return, but that did not seem to be in their fates.

Nathaniel shook off Theo’s hand and rounded on her. You cannot understand what’s at stake. This is what men do when faced with a choice of freedom or tyranny. He arched a brow in Isaac’s direction.

She set her hands on her hips and scowled at her brother. You think I care not for the American cause? Then you do not know me as well as I’d supposed. She glanced at Isaac in his red coat, his jaw clenching at her words, then back to Nathaniel. I simply have no desire to see my own brother and the other boys I’ve known my whole life perish on the battlefield.

Wrenching her thoughts from those that would lead to tears and begging, she swallowed away the lump in her throat. Her gaze connected to Theo’s for the briefest moment. It was all she could manage to not break down in front of them. I wish you all safety and will keep you in my thoughts. She dipped into a small curtsy. Please excuse me. Her voice broke and she rushed into the house, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks.

~ * ~

Theo watched as Verity made her hasty departure. His muscles tensed to give chase. Her eyes that shone with tears gutted him in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. His mother and sisters had cried, too but he’d not experienced this almost compulsive need to comfort them. To hold Verity until her tears subsided. Perhaps because she isn’t my sister. Theo startled. True, she was not his real sister, but she was Nathaniel’s and therefore, off limits. Isaac’s family name and wealth offered far more than he could. Theo would not test his friendships.

Then why do I fantasize about her? Heat rose in his cheeks and he willed it away. It would do no good for Nathaniel or Isaac to raise questions. Yes, she had grown quite pretty over the past two years. Her dresses filled out in ways they hadn’t previously, but fantasy did not mean heartstrings attached. Theo would worry about a wife and family once freedom for America was secured. After he’d built a name of his own, and perhaps a small sum on which to make a life.

~ * ~

New York City, New York

August 1779

Verity tucked her hands into the folds of her skirts to hide their trembling. Redcoats filled her uncle’s parlor, and she attracted more than one set of eyes. Hungry gazes danced from her to her cousin as the two of them perched on a settee in front of the main window. Seraphine’s flirtatious smile at an officer with clear blue eyes unfurled tendrils of anxiety inside Verity’s chest. Without a doubt, Sera would stretch and snap the boundaries of Aunt Sally’s instructions on welcoming their new houseguests.

Gentlemen, the house of Elmore greets you with all the hospitality we may provide. Aunt Sally announced, as she swept to the center of the room. Your service in the name of our king is commendable, and we thank you for everything you have sacrificed. May this war against these treasonous rebels be a resounding and absolute victory for England.

Huzzahs and the stomping of boots vibrated the air. The faint scent of gunpowder wafted toward Verity. Smoldering anger balled tight in her stomach. She clenched her fists hard enough for her nails to dig marks into her skin. The pricks of pain focused her in the moment. How could Aunt Sally believe she would play a role in this? Not when her brother still fought on the side for American independence and those horrible soldiers had tortured and murdered her father. This war had dragged on for three long years, and she despised the British more every day.

Perhaps she was a better play actor than she believed of herself. Or perhaps her silence and passable behavior were the only reasons she hadn’t been thrown out into the street. She hardly had other choices, not now that her childhood home lay raided and burned to the ground.

She drew a thin breath. She should be grateful Uncle Joseph allowed her to stay with them. Though she held no memories of her mother and could not recall him ever visiting, her uncle still seemed to hold a soft spot for her.

She fixed her stare on the golden damask silk wallpaper between two officers. Her will to survive would be tried in the coming months with Redcoat officers now billeted in her uncle’s grand New York City home. Somehow, she would find a way to fight back and avenge her father’s death.

Awareness skittered over her skin and the fine hairs on the nape of her neck lifted. She cut her gaze to the right, finding a Redcoat with a hawked nose leering at her. His eyes were a brown so dark she couldn’t discern his pupils from this distance, and while his white wig obscured the color of his hair, familiarity told her it would be the same near-black shade. Isaac. His expression held a cruel edge to the greedy desire in his look. Pulling her hands together, she tensed her shoulders against the fear crawling up her spine. Would Isaac no longer try to hide his lewdness toward her?

Mrs. Elmore, your generosity is quite welcome, Colonel Hawthorne replied. My command will be headquartered here, but many of our soldiers will come and go as directed. I know all will be most obliged to have a warm and comfortable house for their needs when not on the battlefield.

Cheers erupted again and Sera sat up a bit taller, preening under the attention of so many soldiers. Her golden blonde hair, delicately arched brows, and emerald-like eyes had always made her a jewel sought after in society. Now nineteen, Sera aimed to choose from her gaggle of suitors to launch herself even higher into New York society. Landing a high-ranking, rich British officer would top her list.

As conversations broke out amongst the men, Seraphine leaned closer. The captain with those devastating blue eyes is mine. She flashed another coquettish smile at him.

Verity turned her gaze to the officer in question. There was no denying he was handsome. She could see how many a lady would fall under his charms, but she could not garner interest. Instead, her thoughts flashed to a sandy-haired and whiskey brown-eyed boy. Though three years her elder, Theodore Kinnard had stolen her heart thirteen years ago and never given it back. His handsomeness had always charmed her, but his kindness captured her affections. Those eyes of his held security and safety in them, a protectiveness for her she’d treasured for years. The tiny, niggling hope that he might one day notice her stirred in her chest. She clasped her fingers together to keep from pressing a hand over her chest.

Blinking several times against the stinging at the backs of her eyes, heartsick loneliness clamped around her abdomen. She’d not seen him or Nathaniel for the almost three years since they joined the Continental Army. Letters from her brother were always scarce, and she’d heard nothing from Theo at all despite writing to him as well. Now living in Uncle Joseph’s house, there was no way for her to smuggle a note to either.

She despaired of what they might think now that her correspondence had stopped, though she’d given warning in her last note to each. Her mind filled with the final time she’d seen them. Isaac in his bright red uniform squaring off from Theo and Nathaniel in their navy. She’d never written to Isaac. Prior to leaving Tarrytown, news of Isaac’s welfare had reached her regularly, not that she’d gone out of her way to inquire. Her reluctance to marry him kept her quiet and after her father’s brutal death, resentment toward the British hardened her against Isaac. She would never have him now.

Fear clogged in her throat at what may have happened to both Nathaniel and Theo. She cleared it with a delicate cough. Shaking away those memories, she patted her cousin’s hand with a forced laugh. You’ve no competition from me, cousin. Even if I were to try, it appears your soldier has no inclination to look at any but you.

Sera lifted one corner of her mouth. Well, you seem to have an admirer of your own. She tilted her head in the barest of nods in the direction of Isaac. You would do well to position yourself with an arrangement from a British officer. Once this horrid war is over and the King has run the rebels to ground, you will need to secure your future. After all, you are twenty-one and must find a husband.

Verity’s stomach lurched at the thought. She would rather end up a spinster working as a governess or seamstress than married to any Redcoat. Pushing her nausea aside, she said, I have no thoughts of marriage at this time, cousin. And even if I did, there is no man who would look my way when you sparkle so next to me. I must confess that soldier is only looking at me because he is an old acquaintance. I’m certain he will vie for an introduction to you.

She did not fancy herself nearly the beauty her cousin was, nor did she desire it. Her shyness prevented her from being at ease in social situations. Only with close friends and family did she ever allow her personality to show. I believe I will retire to my room and finish my correspondence for the day.

Sera bid her well and she navigated around the soldiers, attempting to avoid Isaac. She hurried to the stairs, eager for the solitude of her desk. A hand caught her elbow on the first step, and she spun, wrenching it from the foreign grasp.

Hello again, Verity. Isaac sneered at her.

A foul smell of sweat and onions hit her, and her stomach twisted. Goodness, but didn’t these Redcoat men bathe? This problem hadn’t plagued him back home. Lieutenant Wolcott. Are the rules of propriety not observed in the King’s army? A nervous laugh escaped her. What had happened to him during his tenure in the military?

"Beg your pardon, Miss Sterrett. I only wished to renew our friendship. He ran his gaze over her. Your aunt did extend the house’s hospitality, and we are practically betrothed."

Her flesh crawled at the blatant undertone in his words. How dare he approach her in this manner? Anger flared and she steeled her nerves. For too long she had not spoken her own wishes. We are not betrothed. My father never completed marriage contracts between us. As I am certain my aunt made clear to your colonel, we observe the rules of society in my uncle’s house. We have not seen one another in years, nor is it seemly for us to converse without a chaperone. I bid you good day.

She pivoted on her heel and climbed the stairs, deliberate in her measured pace so not to give Isaac signs of discomfort on her part. She needed not to bare any weakness to him. It appeared the seedier side of his personality had flourished during the war. Instinct told her he was now a predator who would pounce upon any vulnerability he could find.

When she reached the deep shadows, she risked a glance back. Isaac’s beady stare locked onto the steps she’d just vanished from as a slow, sinister grin stretched across his face.

Chapter Two

Hello, Miss Sterrett. Lovely to see you, Sybil Lundgren greeted as Verity stepped into the Lundgren parlor.

She grinned a hello and looked at the groupings of mint green and pink striped chairs and settees around ornate dark wood tables. The matching drapes were drawn to allow sunlight to brighten the room through the floor to ceiling windows. This was one of the few activities she anticipated since moving here. She’d met Sybil through a mutual friend of her aunt’s six months ago and now every other Thursday morning, she met with several ladies for a knitting group. The easy banter she had with a few of the women helped ease the loneliness burrowing deeper and deeper into her heart each day. It now held the added bonus of escape from the Redcoat soldiers flooding her uncle’s home.

She chose a spot close to Sybil and plucked her favorite knitting needles from her basket. Pulling out a hunter green yarn, she cast on thirty-five stitches and began to knit and purl her way across the rows. Lifting her gaze, she noticed two new additions to their typical gathering of women. Hello. I’m Miss Verity Sterrett. She offered a smile to the blonde and ginger-haired ladies on the couch to her left.

Oh, do forgive me. Where are my manners? Sybil said and gestured to the blonde woman. This is Mrs. Elizabeth Mulligan.

The fair-haired lady smiled. Hello, a pleasure to meet you.

Lovely to make your acquaintance. Verity replied.

This is Mrs. Amity Smith.

The redhead peeked up from her sewing. Delighted to meet you. Her quiet voice barely carried the four-foot distance between them.

She is my cousin’s wife, visiting from South Carolina. Her husband is a prominent British officer, Mrs. Arnold preened aloud, then peered at Verity.

Verity schooled her features to keep from grimacing. As the woman was a staunch British supporter, she had to choose her words with care. Mrs. Arnold’s heavy jaw, thin lips, and bulbous nose gave her a masculine essence; however, her well-endowed, but always modestly covered, bosom cleared up any confusion one might have. Currently, those thin lips were pulled tight, and her nose crinkled as if an unpleasant aroma filled her wide nostrils. Mrs. Arnold already disdained her due to her brother’s involvement with the Americans.

Sybil frowned at Mrs. Arnold for a tiny moment.

If Verity had blinked, she might have missed it. Turning back to her knitting, she suppressed the shiver fighting across her shoulders. The hair on her arms stood on end. What if Sybil was a secret rebel supporter? She had wondered a time or two before but hadn’t had the opportunity to inquire deeper. With another row completed, she said, Mrs. Smith, how are you enjoying your time in New York?

Mrs. Smith’s gaze unfocused as she answered. The city is quite the marvel, but I find I prefer the peace of our country home in South Carolina. Crowds are not to my liking.

When she did not offer further conversation, Verity took the hint and did not press further. Likely Amity was a shy woman and uncomfortable with new people. The other ladies of the group chattered away while Verity contented herself working on the new scarf.

That is beautiful work. Very tight stitching. Sybil spoke with a kind smile.

Verity reclined back on the overstuffed couch. Thank you.

Mrs. Mulligan peeked over. With the war efforts and such need for stockings and the like, I often find I’m doing some sort of sewing or knitting. For whom are you making this scarf?

She paused and cast a glance around the room. None of the other ladies appeared to be paying particular attention to their conversation. She trod lightly in how much information she offered. My brother. I often make items for him. Also, for his best friend. Who still saw her as another little sister. She held back a morose sigh. At least she felt she contributed in some minuscule way…if her scarves and other items ever made it to them.

How lovely. Does he reside in the city as well? Mrs. Mulligan asked as she wove her needle through a fabric-covered needlepoint hoop.

After an excruciating moment of panic for Nathaniel, the tightness in Verity’s ribs eased. She drew a breath. He does not. I’m not certain where he is at the moment.

Mrs. Mulligan cocked her head but said nothing.

He is fighting, and I’ve not heard from him in quite some time. Over eighteen months of silent communication between the siblings weighed heavy and dark on her.

I am sorry to hear that. Of which British regiment is he a member? We’ve plenty of those in and out of our tailor shop. I could inquire on your behalf? Mrs. Mulligan angled forward with a polite smile.

He is not with the British, Verity answered in a soft, but firm voice. She would not allow the society women and British supporters of New York to cow her.

Oh, Mrs. Mulligan replied and leaned even closer, lowering her voice. Well, perhaps I can still be of assistance. Mrs. Mulligan winked, and Sybil chuckled under her breath.

Verity opened her mouth to respond, but the stomp of boots halted all conversations. A troop of four men in redcoat uniforms gathered and Mrs. Arnold and Mrs. Smith jumped to their feet. Cousin, Mrs. Arnold trilled. What an honor to have you and your men grace us with your presence. To what do we owe this pleasure?

An older man with a prominent jaw and flinty eyes stepped forward. He towered over the ladies, and what likely was once a steely-muscled chest had softened with age to give a rotund effect.

Verity bent slightly to drop her knitting into the basket at her feet and her movement triggered his attention. She froze. His gaze was hard and cold, calling to mind a doe in the sights of a hunter.

After a pregnant moment, he switched his focus to Mrs. Smith. I’ve come for my wife, he said in a raspy baritone voice. One side of his mouth curled up. She is needed for morale boosting.

He held out one giant paw and Mrs. Smith placed a faintly tremoring hand in it. Her already pale skin now appeared ashen, and she kept her gaze on the floor.

Verity’s stomach clenched at the sight. Something was not right. Why should this cause such alarm for Mrs. Smith?

Well, I’ll be happy to join you. After all, what could be more important than keeping up the troops’ spirits? Mrs. Arnold announced, but her cousin shook his head.

ʼTis very kind, but my Amity is used to this sort of thing and is more than obliging. Do stay and enjoy your morning with the rest of these fine ladies. He bowed to them. A good day to you all.

They murmured farewell sentiments back, but Verity couldn’t shake the urge to ensure Amity’s safety. Mere moments after they departed, she issued her goodbyes as well. Hurrying down the stairs to the foyer and out the front door, she caught sight of them at their carriage.

A pedestrian bumped into Amity and she tripped, tumbling into the black horse held by a groom. The horse whinnied. Her husband swung around. Watch yourself. He reached to calm his horse.

Verity took three steps toward the couple, but another Redcoat soldier held his hand out to assist Amity into the carriage. He tilted his head and Verity froze. Nathaniel? It couldn’t be, but the soldier looked uncannily like her brother. Inching closer, she saw the two exchange a few words and then, with a small smile, Amity was in the carriage. The soldier flicked his gaze in Verity’s direction, and she gasped. His eyes were two different colors. One blue, one amber brown. She’d never seen such a thing, but on him the effect was arresting. Giving her a curt nod, the soldier pivoted and strode in the opposite direction. She stared at the retreating figure and her heart sank.

Disappointment coursed through her body, leaving behind a faint nausea in its wake. The ghosts of her past haunted her everywhere these days. Wishful thinking on her part. With a sigh, she turned and walked back to her uncle’s house.

~ * ~

Theo wiped the sweat from his brow. He hiked his long rifle an inch higher onto his shoulder and peered through his field telescope at the British troops in the valley below. Two hundred yards away sat Captain Fraser on his bay horse. His white plume waved in the northeasterly wind.

Two hundred yards. Not such a long distance. Three hundred yards was his record, so this should be an easy feat. One well aimed shot and this battle would end before it ever began. A thousand soldiers would be left in disorder and disarray. Then the four hundred American troops surrounding from in front and behind could swoop in to capture them and claim victory.

Ready, Kinnard? whispered Lieutenant Flucker at his right.

Aye. He kept his eye trained on the soldier below, unwilling to lose his target.

There’s the signal. Take your mark.

Theo sucked in a breath, twitched his finger on the trigger. Powder exploded around him. He sneezed once as the smell invaded his nose. When the white smoke cleared, Fraser lay sprawled on the ground, a dark red stain spreading across the stomach of his uniform. Relief and horror flooded Theo. His hands shook as he exhaled. The American troops swooped in, victory within easy reach. Nausea at taking yet another life threatened to overflow. A life that hadn’t the chance to defend himself or even stare down the face of his killer. He feared his soul would always be tainted by his deeds in this war. That hell awaited him with eager arms. An invisible boulder crushed upon his chest, restricting his airflow. He glanced at his hands expecting to see blood dripping from them. He needed a strong drink to blot out this day.

Flucker slapped his back and whooped. Damn good shot, Kinnard! Knox will be happy with this win. His grin was wide and infectious.

Theo shoved down his self-loathing and forced a mirrored expression. For the good of America. For freedom. Come, let us join in the fray and earn our rest at the end of this fight. They turned and raced to their horses hidden in the thick trees. Mounting, Theo hurled himself down the slope to the chaos below, half hoping to stare down his own death for the sins he’d committed.

~ * ~

Kinnard!

Theo spun toward the direction of his name. Two tables away from where he sat, Colonel Hamilton stood. Theo rose and settled his tricorn on his head.

How can I be of service, Colonel? He strode closer and Hamilton jerked his head toward the door.

Once outside, Hamilton fell into step with him, leading them to the largest house in town. Stone walls, dual-ended chimneys, and three stories high, this was where General Washington and his closest aides bunkered. Theo swallowed as Hamilton pushed open the red glossy door.

This way, Major. His Excellency would like a word.

Of course. Hearing the rasp in his own voice, Theo cleared his throat. The heavy oak walls matched the massive desk centered in the room. The man sitting in the chair stood. Theo paused in awe of the impressive persona in front of him.

Well built, with a commanding air, Washington’s attitude demanded respect and commanded leadership. It was his gaze, however, that held a person captive. Theo automatically straightened under the scrutiny of the undisputed leader of America.

He snapped his heels together and