Glimpse Time Travel: Enemy Of Mine Part 3

"Aye, that it is." Will bowed his head. He'd loaned the rifle to Braddock mainly because he wasn't too sure where to store it himself. As well as borrowing it out to the colonel had landed the surly man in a much better mood, since he thought himself a rifleman, yet, regrettably, was myopic. "Would you mind doing the lady and me the favor of fetching it then?"

The Private's wide smile waned, his eyes widened, then he stared at Erva. "I'd be honored," he whispered reverently.

"What's your name, Private?"

"Bradley O'Neal, sir. I'm in the Fifty-Third infantry."

Will nodded, noting that the lad was not only enamored with Erva, but had his uniform in order as well as his hair tied neatly. Good boy, Will thought, and wondered about a recommendation for the Private. "Thank you, Private O'Neal. Now, let's see how fast you are."

O'Neal saluted first, which Will snapped back immediately, then the boy sprinted while the crowd cheered. His men hadn't had this high of moral since...Lord, Will wondered, his men might have never been this excited. Well, except for the time he'd given them three times the rum rations on the day after they'd conquered Long Island from the Continentals.

"Ye'd load the gun yerself?" Will barely heard McDougal ask Erva over the crowds' chanting.

Erva smacked the sergeant again. "Of course."

"Ye're familiar with a breach-loading rifle?" the sergeant asked.

Erva nodded confidently. "Very."

It hit Will as hard as if he'd been thrown from a horse. Why was the lady so familiar with guns? h.e.l.l, he had only fired the Ferguson rifle a few times himself.

He stared hard at the lovely lady, speculating. Spies abounded. He knew since he had several trying to infiltrate the Continentals' camp at that very moment. Lady Erva couldn't be a spy, could she? What had her letters of introductions said? Why couldn't he remember?

"So ye're goin' to shoot at least seven times in a minute?"

"I hope I can. I mean, I haven't practiced shooting this particular gun in a while, but I used to be able to."

Will swallowed. How could she have become so skilled? Granted, he'd heard of a few ladies who target practiced with muskets, but they mainly used archery as the fas.h.i.+on of the day dictated.

"Then I'm sure my simple mind would explode from the event." Sergeant McDougal teased with a grin.

Still, Will felt unsettled. He had no issues with the lady being a right good shot, as McDougal would say. It was how she had gotten the opportunity to become so that was bothersome.

"But ifn my brain doesn' split down the middle," McDougal continued, "then I'd probably start talking to ye after."

"It's a deal then?" Erva smiled.

The Highlander spat in his palm and extended his hand to the lady. Erva did the same, making Will quietly laugh. They shook like two conspiratorial friends at long last reunited. At least Will hoped that the look between the two was amiable. If not, then he'd break the sergeant's nose.

Mercy, here he was suspicious the lady a spy, yet ready to a.s.sault his sergeant over her.

He didn't have time to sort through his thoughts, for Private O'Neal careened through the crowd, holding the rifle over his head, screaming, "Got it! Got it!"

A red and winded Colonel Braddock was hot on his heels. "I say, General, what in heaven's name is-" Braddock cleared the crowd just then and stared at Erva. He glanced at Will with a bow and sauntered close to whisper, "The lad told me there was a lady shooting. You aren't really going to let her, are you?"

Will nodded at O'Neal. "Will you hand the lady the rifle, please?"

The Private nearly skipped to Erva, then stammered a few noises while extending the arm to her.

"Thank you," she said.

O'Neal might have choked a few times, bowed, and ran back into the crowd. Yes, Will liked the lad, for his own charm was similar in that he wondered one minute if he'd said too much, then the next he couldn't find one d.a.m.ned word to utter. She was bewitching him, and Will wasn't too sure if that was the purpose of her visit or if she was innocent of her enchantments.

Sergeant McDougal gave Erva a few cartridges and a powder horn.

"Anyone have a watch?" the lady asked as she examined the rifle.

Will extracted his from his waistcoat and showed it to her.

"You will time me. A minute, please."

He loved how she ordered him about. Apparently the crowd of watching soldiers liked it too as they rumbled merrily. Except for Braddock who stood agape, staring at him then Erva.

"On my honor," Will said, "you will have one minute, my lady."

She beamed at him, then did the boldest thing and winked. She winked at him. Wasn't he supposed to be the one doing that? Instead, he found himself tongue-tied and with probably too wide a grin aimed right at her.

"You'll tell me when to fire?"

Will nodded, for words escaped him. Once more. d.a.m.nation.

Sergeant McDougal walked back to Will as Braddock ambled into the crowd, looking like the apocalypse might take him instead of a woman about to shoot a rifle. With a swirl of his black-green plaid, McDougal planted his feet wide and stood beside Will. Erva, even with her dainty little limp, readied for the shooting. She gave him another suns.h.i.+ne smile, which made Will's heart hammer, forgetting any other thoughts about where she had gleaned how to shoot a rifle. Glancing at his watch as the second's hand scooted around, he lifted his arm. Dropping it, he shouted, "Go!"

Erva moved quickly and efficiently, lowering the breach plug and loading a cartridge into the gun, when Sergeant McDougal interrupted his attention. "She's the one, ye ken?"

Will glanced at his sergeant, then back at the watch. Erva got off a shot less than six seconds into the compet.i.tion. It hit the scarecrow, this time in the chest. The rifle's impact was nearly twice as damaging as the musket's, making a large hole where a heart might have been.

"Forgive my impertinence, General, but ye've got to marry this one."

Will blinked and glanced again at his sergeant.

Another shot rang out. Eighteen seconds had pa.s.sed. This last shot was again in the chest, which was deteriorating fast.

"Dismiss yer mistresses, sir. Just focus on her."

Will clenched his jaw at the mention of mistresses. Erva fired, this time less than twenty-four seconds in.

Again without censor, his mouth moved of its own accord. "The lady would never have me."

He should have said something about mistresses, should have defended himself, but he knew he couldn't. Instead he'd said that? The most d.a.m.ning and vulnerable statement he'd been thinking? Lord, he was a bona fide mess.

Bang! This one only five seconds later.

"Begging yer pardon, sir, but there's where ye're wrong. The lady is quite fond of ye."

"She's leaving in less than a week."

Another shot exploded.

"Then seduce her."

Will gawked at his sergeant. Another eruption exploded. Six shots in less than forty seconds.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I need to speak frankly with ye. Bed that woman."

Bang!

"She'll not only stay after ye do the deed, but she'll marry ye."

Bang!

Will shook his head. "I-I've never-"

"Then how do ye have so many mistresses?"

Will couldn't answer.

"Well, General, ye'll just have to try, won't ye? She's yer match, ye ken? Ye have to seduce her."

Bang!

"I've run out of bullets," Erva said.

Will glanced at her then his watch. In three, two, one, and, "Time's up. The lady shot nine rounds in under a minute."

The crowd of soldiers, Will's soldiers, loudly cheered, making it impossible to think. Then again, most of his blood was no longer in his brain. The only reason to which he clung was what his sergeant had said: Seduce her.

Chapter 5.

Erva smiled at Will as the carriage made its way through Brooklyn, where they were to attend a banquet. As much as she wasn't fond of attending a stiff get together-and Erva had to face it, a party in the eighteenth century had to be pompous and boring as h.e.l.l-this was the perfect opportunity to study Will, see whether any of the historical rumors were true.

The sun was setting, and out of the windows she could see the town painted in the sun's red-orange light. The town. She wanted to laugh, because presently it was a tiny hub of colonial houses, Tudor-like taverns, and even a few teepees and wigwams dispersed in the hamlet that was, is called New York City. Where they were driving over would be standing steel and frozen gla.s.s so tall, the eye couldn't make out the top of it. But at the moment it was a small town. It was so beautiful. Or was it? G.o.d, her mind was playing such a weird trick on her. Was she inventing all of this in her whack-o-doodle head? Or maybe, just maybe she'd fallen, hit her head really hard and was in a coma. Whatever it was, reality or not, it was distracting enough to make her stay with it. Stay with Will.

They'd gone back to his home and redressed into evening clothes. Erva was sad to see Will's tall black boots replaced with black shoes. Those riding boots were spectacular on him. However, his breeches and the hose he wore revealed thick waves of muscles throughout his thighs and calves. To say nothing about his a.s.s...G.o.d, she could spend an eternity watching the man walk away.

Will's maids had flocked to her again, cleaning and dressing her. She'd let them. Somehow. Some of the younger maids, the way they giggled and teased her hair, might think she was a large dress-up doll. And usually Erva would have bristled at the reminder of her mother, of being a Barbie whom people would see but never hear. However, the maids had oh-ed and ah-ed how pretty she was, not scolded her, and Erva couldn't help but, indeed, feel a bit attractive.

Yet when Will had looked at her after she was freshly redressed, had openly gaped, that had made her feel beautiful. He'd actually stumbled in his footing, his gaze traipsing up and down her body, dressed in a Pomona green frock that made her think of Christmas when she got close to Will and his scarlet dress uniform. His gaze kept peeking at her open neckline. Any other man glancing at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s like that, she might have smacked. But Will was so adorably shy, Erva couldn't help but grin at him.

As they traveled through Brooklyn, Will gave her a nervous smile. This time he sat beside her in the carriage and stretched his hands down his splayed, altogether wonderfully muscular thighs.

In the camp he had been a bit quiet, yes, but under the stillness was captivating authority. Anything he said, his men silenced for and followed through as quickly as possible. His troops adored him. They'd walk to h.e.l.l and back for him, as the saying went. After drills, Will had personally seen to two young privates, encouraging them, showing them how to shoot faster. Someone had shouted that Will should have his own shooting contest. But he'd declined, stating he could never beat the lady. As much as it grated that he kept calling her that, she knew he was lying. His best record was almost twenty shots in under a minute, the world's record with the Ferguson musket, even faster than the maker of that particular breach-loading rifle. He'd befriended Colonel Patrick Ferguson years ago, and the two had friendly compet.i.tions whenever they met. Unfortunately that would end soon, because not only was Will to die in a few days, Ferguson was killed when he was much too young too.

Her heart racing, Erva stole another glance at Will who seemed minute by minute more and more anxious, which helped chase away her thoughts of his death. "Are you all right, my lord?"

He turned to her, appearing shocked. "I thought we were beyond formalities?"

"I did too, but you kept calling me 'the lady' to your men." She teased.

Will smiled and looked down. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"Do you prefer to be called William or Will?"

"Will, as my chambermaids did when I was a boy. William reminds me...Why do you prefer Erva instead of Minerva? You do know that my men loved your show with the musket and rifle, and they'll likely call you a G.o.ddess now anyway."

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. "It's what my father called me, little Erva. My mother calls me Minerva, and..." She cut herself off. She'd almost said too much, revealed so much of herself. How as a child her mother had tried so hard to change her, mold her into something other than whom Erva thought herself to be.

Will nodded. "William reminds me of my father, of my father's criticisms. As well as every governess he hired would eventually replicate his same condemnations and call me William, as if it were a curse. It's why I'm not overly fond of being called William."

Erva's heart pinched at that story. She'd read something similar too. William's father had been a bit of a tyrant in his house. He'd voted rather selfishly, not really picking a side to be on, neither Whig nor Tory, but what suited him best. And that usually meant he voted for raises for his own fortune. Will had done none of that.

She found herself again liking Will. He was open. Honest. She hadn't expected that. She'd thought she'd have to wrestle him down, not literally, but somehow corner him into telling her what she wanted to know. Often, he'd looked surprised when he'd spoken so freely with her, but now he appeared calm and coaxing, trying to get her open to him.

She submitted. "Ditto. Only for my mom. My dad was the one who picked my name though, but he mainly just called me Erva. Minerva for when I proved I could be war-like." She stopped as she listened to Will's appreciative chuckle. It was low, masculine, yet soft, and harmonious. He had a perfect laugh. It seemed to bounce through her body, making her feel more than she wanted to. The man would die soon. So she tried to ignore her response. "He was an army man, like you. He gave me my name, not just because of the powers of war, but for wisdom as well. He hoped I'd grow a h.e.l.l of a lot wiser than him, he'd tell me." Realizing she was being profane, she cringed slightly.

However, Will softly laughed again. "He sounds rather sage himself."

"Thanks." She had to clear her throat before she continued. "He pa.s.sed away. Some time ago."

"I'm so sorry."

She glanced up, because from her periphery it appeared he was reaching for her. But he stretched his hands on his thighs again, swallowing.

"I lost my father too."

"I'm sorry." She knew that, and it had been one of the reasons why she'd wanted to study him. They'd both lost their fathers when they were just teenagers.

She thought about patting his hand, but his jaw line kicked. She'd come to find out that for Will the pa.s.sing of his father had been one of the best things for him. At least one of his chambermaids had said so in a letter. Still, it was difficult to have any kind of parent die, she was sure.

He nodded, the tension in his face becoming icy cold air that permeated around him. But he suddenly turned to her, glancing at her up and down, then melted into a warm smile. "Erva, I hope you don't mind my asking, but wherever did you receive your accent?" He turned more to face her. "You sound rather American, if you don't mind my saying."

"Not at all." Because I'm quite American, she thought. She held back a giggle, as she continued. "Like I said, my dad was an army man too." She couldn't tell him that her dad had been a sergeant; otherwise, the disguise of being some kind of aristocrat would be blown. "So, yes, I was a military brat and traveled around a lot. I lived in several sta-colonies, as well as Germany, er, Prussia, even in England for a few years." And that was the truth. Well, most of it. She'd also lived in Korea and j.a.pan, but she wasn't too sure how to broach that.

"Brat, I doubt very much."

To hear those words felt much better than she would have ever thought. "Well, you know," she found herself whispering, "It's hard always moving, making new friends every year."

"That is difficult, isn't it? I never moved much as a boy. But it was difficult to make friends."

"Because of your earldom?"

He shrugged. "I suppose. It didn't help that my father secluded his family from the world. After he died, my first purchase, when I was just fourteen, was Paul, the man who helped you with your chair this morning. Back then I was so desperate for a friend. I went out and bought one." He stopped, looking utterly perplexed. "Lord, I've never told anyone that."