Bobbi Smith - Captive Pride

“A very capable woman,” Matt supplied. “She’s proven herself before; there was no reason to doubt her now. Besides, nothing bad is going to happen.”

“I wish I had your confidence…” Noah muttered, troubled.

“Join us, Noah,” Matt suddenly implored. “You know we’re right about things. Come with me.”

“No,” he snapped, striding toward the door. “You know how I feel about this.”

“And you know how I feel.” They faced each other one last time before Noah slammed from the house.

“Matthew?” Faith called. “Did Noah leave?”

“Yes.” His answer was curt, and she felt disheartened to know that they had come to no reconciliation.

“Did you talk?”

“It did no good. I should have known…” Matt looked down at her and his sadness was evident.

“I’m sorry.” She touched his arm sympathetically.

“So am I, love. So am I.”

Noah was furious and frustrated as he entered the taproom of the Red Lion. Even Polly was surprised by his surly mood, and she hastened to do his bidding lest she feel the bite of his jagged temper.

Bound to inaction by decisions of his own choosing, Noah sat alone as he downed his ale in a few deep drinks and then called for another. The next heady brew followed its predecessor as Noah’s thoughts churned with anxiety over what might happen this night. He was concerned about Matt, but he knew Matt was a man, and most capable of taking care of himself. What concerned him most was CC’s safety, and just the fact that he found himself worrying about her infuriated him. What did it matter if she got herself killed? Why should he care that she was doing something so potentially dangerous? The questions bombarded him endlessly as he consumed ale after ale, and still Noah refused to examine his true feelings to find the answers. He didn’t want to worry about CC or care about her, yet there could be no denying that he did.

The conflict built within him until the sound of the clock striking six-the scheduled time of the meeting-drove him to his feet. Enraged, knowing that he could not sit idly by and let CC possibly come to harm, he drained the last of his brew and sought out Polly.

“I need a horse,” he told her brusquely. “Who should I see?”

“A horse, m’lord? Wouldn’t you prefer a carriage? The weather’s not the best, you know.” She was surprised by his unorthodox request.

Noah glanced outside and noticed that a light rain was falling. Still, despite the miserable weather, he insisted, “No. Tonight I need a mount.”

“Then Jack’s the one to see, sir. He’s out back in the stable,” Polly answered.

“Thanks.”

Without another word Noah quit the room, his pace rushed as he feared he might be too late.

The colonists, now over seven thousand strong, were crowded together in the Old South Meeting Hall. Their number had proved far too great for them to remain at Faneuil Hall, and they had been forced to relocate to the larger building. Eagerly now, they listened to the speeches calling for justice as they awaited the governor’s answer to their request that the tea be returned to England.

Out of sight of the main assembly, the selected group of patriot “Indians” waited patiently for the secret signal they knew would be given if it became necessary for them to take action this night. Their spirits were high even though they were well aware that violence might result if a confrontation with the redcoats occurred. It was time to take a stand against the abuses of the Crown, and they knew it.

Matthew and Ben, both in their Indian garb, were near the rear of the group when Matt caught sight of CC standing alone off to the side. The camouflage of her costume was so good that at first he wasn’t certain it was her. Hesitantly he left Ben’s side and maneuvered closer, breaking into a wide smile as he finally recognized her beneath the heavily applied soot and paint.

“CC!” Matthew made his way to her side.

“Hello, Matthew.” CC had known that he was to be involved and was not surprised to see him.

“I must say, my dear, that you make the best-looking warrior I’ve ever seen,” he told her in good humor as he noted her long braids and the single feather stuck in her headband.

“You’re looking rather savage yourself,” she returned with a tight laugh, the seriousness of what they were about to be involved in leaving her slightly on edge.

“Are you nervous?” Matt asked, hearing the tautness in her tone. Noah’s concern had somehow become his concern.

“Just a bit,” she replied honestly. “With so many warships in the harbor, you can’t help but wonder what will happen if we do make the attempt…”

“Perhaps you should stay behind…” He was hoping that he might be able to convince her to stay back where it was safe, but as soon as he uttered the words, he knew he’d made a mistake.

Fire flashing from the emerald depths of her eyes, she turned on him. “Matthew, I had thought you were different…that you understood. Don’t you realize how long and how hard I’ve fought for just this moment? I have to be a part of this!”

He was about to respond when a sudden hush fell over their group, and they caught sight of Sam Adams climbing atop a bench at the front of the hall. The crowd went silent as everyone waited breathlessly to hear his announcement.

“This meeting can do nothing more to save the country.”

Adams’s phrase was the signal they’d been waiting for, and the response was wild as the crowd poured forth from the hall, heading in the direction of Griffin’s Wharf and the three tea-laden British ships.

Captain Pitt assumed direction of the “Indians” and divided them into three distinct groups, each one being responsible for a different ship. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, there was no time for CC and Matthew to talk further as the eager disguised patriots started off toward the wharf.

Riding as quickly as conditions would permit, Noah raced over the narrow, winding, rainslick streets on the mount he’d gotten at the inn. The considerable amount of liquor he’d consumed had erased his usual stoic control over his emotions, and he was frantic to find CC. Noah’s thoughts were only of her sweetness and the possible danger she was facing. He knew he had to do something to protect her, if not from the troops, then from herself. When at last he rounded the corner and spied Faneuil Hall ahead, he was surprised to discover that it was deserted.

“Where’s the rally?” Noah called to a small group of men still lingering near the entrance as he sawed on the reins to bring his horse under better control.

“Moved to the Old South Meeting,” one returned.

“Thanks.” Putting his heels to the horse’s flanks and giving it full head, he was off again.

The light, chilling drizzle had ceased, and the moonlight, pale and bright, broke through the remaining low cloud cover as Noah finally reached his destination. The crowd was streaming out into the street, and it was only with great difficulty that he managed to keep his mount under control. Desperately searching for some sign of CC, he attempted to wind his way through the crush of bodies. His expression was thunderous as he scanned the huge crowd.

“The Indians…where are the Indians?” Noah knew he was taking a chance to ask.

“They’re up ahead,” someone shouted back.

With iron-handed control, Noah urged the horse forward, paying little heed to the people who were forced aside to make room for him to pass. His quest seemed endless as he fought his way through the crowd, his silver gaze combing the multitude for CC’s slender form. He moved ever onward, oblivious to anything but the driving need to find her. Griffin’s Wharf came into distant view, and the fear that he might not reach her in time filled him. It was then, just as his frustration reached its zenith, that he spotted the Indians emerging from a side street slightly ahead of him.