Chapter 7 The Haircut

"Dr. Koch, perhaps you might quell the rumors concerning the identity of one of your patients," Caleb drawled. Cecily looked up from her dessert and met his gaze, aware of his fingers lazily twirling his wineglass by its stem. One quick glance in the doctor's direction told her that Caleb had offended him, yet the older man hid it by raising his napkin to his lips and gently patting them. Yet he met Caleb's stare without flinching or looking away, giving her the feeling that Caleb might have just met his match.

"Since when do we care about rumors?" she gushed with a nonchalant smile, hoping to fill the void in conversation and cover up her husband's boldness. So far it had been a pleasant evening, despite Caleb's objection to her inviting the older couple for dinner. Unlike her husband she found them quite interesting and enjoyed their company. Over the past few years she had exchanged conversation with Dr. Koch when visiting Ceara at work and had always found him polite and intelligent. The rumors about his passionate love for his wife even after 20 years of marriage was something she hoped to expose her husband to and investigate herself.

To her dismay Caleb's gaze bored into the doctor's despite her attempted dismissal of the subject. However his smile curved his handsome mouth as he defended his position. "Rumors which become the subject of an upcoming town meeting are unfortunately of some concern," he said casually, reaching for her hand. She let him take it despite her irritation with him, and as if sensing her disapproval he turned to search her eyes for the reason.

"Surely you are aware of the necessity for confidentiality between patient and doctor," Dr. Koch stated, dropping his napkin to his plate and glancing at his wife. "Rumor or no rumor."

"He's right," Stephanie Koch smiled at him before glancing at Cecily. "But with all the news lately, people are a bit on edge."

"Understandably so," Caleb agreed, reaching for the decanter to pour her another glass despite her hushed objections. Dr. Koch spread a hand over his half empty glass, causing Caleb to pour Cecily and himself a refill. "It is not every day we hear of four British soldiers found frozen to death up north—"

"Caleb honestly—" Cecily objected with a tense smile of apology to their guests, "we must not spoil a very lovely evening with such talk."

"It's all right," Dr. Koch assured her, nodding toward Caleb. "I can imagine how people wish to know if my patient shared any relationship with those poor souls."

Caleb nodded gallantly toward him. "The appearance of any stranger would prompt the same."

"I doubt that very much, but I sure the matter is being investigated as we speak," Dr. Koch said with a shrug; "that is all we need to know for now."

Caleb leaned forward. "If your patient is indeed a deserter, his presence could very well attract the more undesirable elements of society to our environs, hence the reason for my concern."

Dr. Koch threaded his fingers over his stomach. "We have our own authorities to handle that. As for me, I do my required paperwork and report what I must, yet my main concern has to be tending to the wounded and ill," he explained. "And frankly that is all anyone needs to know concerning me or my patients."

Caleb tapped a finger into the silk tablecloth. "Then we had better pray he recovers and leaves before the bounty hunters appear looking for such treasure," he challenged. "You wouldn't want them to suddenly appear at the infirmary doors and frighten poor Miss Baldwin, not to mention dear Ceara..."

Cecily kicked him beneath the table as she laid her hands over the tablecloth. "I am sure Dr. Koch knows what he is doing, dear," she said sweetly. "And Ceara and Betsy can handle themselves should such an event occur."

Mrs. Koch smiled eagerly at her, leaning close. "Is it true that your sister is the best shot in her age group?" she asked in a hushed tone, obviously hoping to redirect their conversation. "Including the young men?"

Cecily nodded, glancing at the twinkle in Dr. Koch's eye as he looked at his wife. "She would probably have won the men's prize if they failed to discover she was a girl before she could prove it."

"So it is true that she dresses as a boy in order to compete?" Stephanie chuckled with pleasure.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Cecily agreed, glancing at Caleb's profile. "But now they keep close scrutiny on the entrants. So you see, Ceara is very able to defend herself, though I love my husband for being concerned for her welfare."

Stephanie glanced knowingly at her husband, but Dr. Koch nodded politely. "Miss Connolly is quite able to defend herself, and is a dedicated patriot as well," he stated, glancing at Caleb. "Had our patient posed any threat despite his wounds, she would have personally seen to it that he was turned over to the proper authorities. She of all people can spot a deserter better than anyone else."

"That's quite true," Cecily chuckled, having abruptly dismissed Ceara's statements about her patient being a deserter. She knew her sister had only said them to cut off her interfering in her hunt for a husband. "Were that man truly a deserter she would have already seen him escorted from the area, and without waiting for the proper authorities, I'm afraid."

Caleb smirked and swung his gaze back to the doctor. "Such matters should not be left to women," he said cynically. "And we must consider one very important matter which no one has yet mentioned—why a group of Regulars would be in this area in the first place, even more importantly traveling unsupervised."

"That does seem strange," Dr. Koch agreed. "Such things do not occur in the British Army, at least not on a regular basis. One is left to wonder about the fate of their commander."

"How can you not wish to question him, then?" Caleb urged.

"My patient is nothing more than a patient until proven otherwise," Dr. Koch insisted. "Should the constable wish to question him he may at any time, but as for the rest of us, we should allow him his privacy in convalescence."

"The man was found wounded in John Master's barn," Cecily stated, repeating another rumor. "Even he has seen fit not to ask or divulge the man's identify."

"I will say that I have filed for his transfer to Boston, and he has not argued with that fate," Dr. Koch said dryly. "That is all any of us need to know."

Caleb leaned back in his chair. "Good, then…my own theory is that he was part of their queue and tried to stop them from deserting, which would explain his being injured during the argument. They obviously won."

"Interesting theory," Dr. Koch shrugged. "You could be right."

"I think Ceara is doing her best to convince him to join the rebel cause," Cecily breathed, glancing at Stephanie. "She can be very convincing, when she sets her mind to a task."

"Your sister is first and foremost his nurse," Dr. Koch defended Ceara. "And she knows better than to use her position to influence our patients."

"I find it strange that despite her animosity for men, we have seen little of her since his arrival," Caleb drawled, holding Cecily's glare. "Perhaps you had better make sure she is not doing exactly that, Doctor."

"Are you insinuating that Ceara is recruiting the man?" she gasped, glancing nervously at Dr. Koch, who only waved a hand in dismissal and pushed back his chair.

"I think, Mr. Godwin that you and your sister-in-law should have a little chat on that subject and perhaps settle things privately."

Cecily threw down her napkin and got up, avoiding looking at Caleb. "I apologize for the way this evening has turned out," she said, feeling close to tears. "Dr. Koch, and Stephanie, I only hope that you will keep the former part of our evening in mind, rather than the latter."

Stephanie rose and put an arm around Cecily. "We have enjoyed it immensely," she stated, glancing at Caleb as he too stood. "Your husband is very keen and intelligent, so I think we can tolerate a bit of heated discussion, can we not dear?" she said, looking at her husband.

Dr. Koch nodded. "Of course, no offense taken; I admire your sister a great deal, Cecily, both as a nurse and an intelligent young woman."

"I should like to meet your sister, and perhaps we might return the favor and have all three of you to our house for dinner," Stephanie added, tightening her grip on Cecily's arm "It would mean a great deal to us."

Cecily nodded and put a hand over Stephanie's. "I appreciate your offer, thank you."

"Forgive me," Caleb stated, extending his hand to Dr. Koch. "I did not mean to judge your management of the infirmary, but rather only to voice a concern I am not alone in sharing."

Dr. Koch shook his hand briefly. "I understand; we hardly welcome bounty hunters coming anywhere near here."

"I have already taken the matter into consideration by hiring a few men, just for added protection," Caleb said conspiratorially, glancing at Cecily. "Though my wife objects to the violation of her privacy."

Cecily huffed in annoyance. "I know it is for our protection, but really Caleb, guards are usually positioned outside a garrison, not an estate. We may as well move to Boston or New York, if that is to be our situation."

Stephanie leaned closer to Cecily, her eyes moving to Caleb. "He's just demonstrating how very much he loves you," she said as if Caleb could not hear them. At his broad smile, she grinned. "And don't forget your precious baby, sleeping undisturbed upstairs."

"No," Cecily agreed, her troubled expression evening out. As Caleb's eyes met hers she saw the love in their depths. "I know that is what he is thinking of."

Aaron woke suddenly, startled by the wonderful scent of something baking. He sniffed, his mouth watering. Blinking twice, he noted the soft sound of singing off in the distance and stared at the strong light pouring in through the curtains. Lifting his head from the faintly lavender scented pillow, he dug an elbow into the soft mattress and turned his head to study the pleasantly feminine room. Then he remembered where he was.

Slowly putting a hand to his side he probed it gently, both front and back. The tenderness to his abdomen was greatly reduced and his back was healing quickly, though it was still quite tender. Sliding his legs up and from beneath the tangled blankets, he draped them over the side and touched the floor with his feet. With a slow and deep breath he managed to rise but gripped the bedpost for support. The slight feeling of lightheadedness passed quickly, leaving him to ponder his next move.

Noting the clean clothing left inside the small half-opened closet, he pulled off his nightshirt and gingerly dressed himself, finally glancing into the small mirror above the bureau. Tacked over it was a small spray of evergreen and dried berries, which he pictured Ceara placing there. Shaking his head at his own lapse into sentimentality, he stared at his flushed and whiskered cheeks and the long waves of his hair that were in desperate need of trimming. Beyond his door he heard Faith's animated voice interrupt the singing, then the lower, husky tone of Ceara's voice joined hers. He was unable to discern their conversation, distracted by the sounds of children playing outside, as well as the call of one neighbor to another. He raised his brows, feeling the weight of his predicament grow heaver by the moment.

No longer hidden away on the outskirts of town, he was now right in its midst, among civilians. How could he remain hidden another two days, when Burke would come for him? Running a hand over his whiskers he looked into his own empty stare, sighing with resignation and uncharacteristic indecision.

Something hit the window and he flinched, turning abruptly to look across the room. A crystalline mound of snow slid slowly down its surface as footsteps rushed toward the house. Moving cautiously toward it, he peered out from the edge and saw a group of boys just below his window, Paulie's voice ringing out.

"Tommy Baker, get away from my house!" he yelled as Aaron ducked back out of sight, though he thought the boys too short to look in and see him standing there.

"It's not your house!"

Aaron heard their steps pound around to the front of the house and fists upon the front door. "Is too—Miss Betsy took us in and there's nothin' you can do about it! Now git away—"

"Boys, boys!" Betsy's voice rang out, overpowering theirs. "Go play in the common—we've got work to do and you're preventing us from baking cookies!"

There was an abrupt silence and Aaron chuckled softly as he moved away from his window. "Can we have some, please?" he heard a chorus of voices chant.

"Only if you do as I say, and don't come back till 4!"

There was a scampering of boots and yells of joy as the mob ran away, leaving a pleasant muted silence in their wake. He heard the outer door close and Faith's soft apology. Reaching for the latch he opened his own door, stepping into the threshold and finding three sets of eyes snap to his.

"—just being a boy—"

"We underst—"

"Oh—you're up!" Ceara finished breathlessly, laying a hand over her chest.

Aaron felt the jolt of awareness shoot through his length as her stunningly blue eyes locked with his. Something deep inside him flipped over, as if a huge rock were turned to expose all sorts of hidden life as it awoke to the light. Whereas before he would have immediately stomped out any spark of interest he might feel for the fairer sex, this time he found he hadn't the strength...nor the will.

Betsy turned to stare at Ceara, then to Faith's wide eyed stare. This, he noted, also shot to Ceara's profile as they all stood waiting for her to say something. He slid his gaze back to hers and almost felt her swallow of nervousness. Her lips parted but she seemed strangely unable to speak. This pleased him a great deal, though he knew he should not be responding to her in that manner.

"I see snowball fights are still popular among boys," he said quietly, lifting a hand to massage the back of his neck and realizing he must have slept with his head in a crooked position. The stiffness and pain in his muscles made him move with great caution.

"They woke you—" Faith complained, her pretty young face crinkling with regret. "I'm so sorry, Lieu—"

"Aaron," Ceara corrected, finally finding her voice as the corners of her lovely lips curled upward.

He stared at her mouth, hearing Faith's soft giggle. "Mr. Aaron."

Betsy planted a hand on Ceara's shoulder and gripped Faith's arm. "We need to get to the oven before we burn the house down!" she reminded her, glancing at him with a knowing smile as she escorted the girl from the room, leaving Ceara standing immobile in its epicenter.

"I was awake before that," he assured them, holding Ceara's gaze.

She looked even lovelier today, he thought distractedly. Her hair was softer, not as tightly bound. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows to reveal graceful forearms and wrists normally hidden beneath her serviceable work clothes. A large canvas apron covered her from bodice to well below the knees, and it was splattered with what looked like brown puffs of powder, reminding him of the tantalizing fragrance filling the house.

"Some wonderful fragrance drew me up from the depths of a deep sleep," he finally finished, trying not to stare at her pleased smile and how beautifully it lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle.

"Cinnamon bread," she explained softly, nodding toward the table. "Would you like some?"

He leaned against the door and smiled back. "Is it as good as it smells?"

She dipped into a tiny curtsy. "You'll have to be the judge," she said politely, sweeping her hand toward the chair at the head of the table. "Have a seat and I'll bring you some.'

He smiled despite the memory of her fear and hatred for men, directed at him only days before. Cursing the men who had attacked her, he hid his feelings and pulled away from the door to make his way to the table. "Thank you, I will," he answered, not liking the way she stepped backward as he came closer.

"You look pale still—" she observed, her expression troubled.

"I'm fine," he warned, not liking their lapse into patient and nurse again. But she followed close behind him and he could feel her critical gaze upon him as he neared the table.

"You move stiffly and you slept half the day."

"I haven't slept in weeks—"

"—which indicates an incomplete recovery—"

"The bed was more comfortable than the infirmary's—"

"And you look a bit feverish—"

He swung his head around to hold her look of concern. "Swamp fever," he explained blandly. "Now if you don't mind—"

"Swamp fever!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands wide. "Why didn't you tell us you suffered from that?"

"I forgot—"

"'Forgot?' How could one forget that? It lasts for weeks, sometimes years—"

"I said I'm fine—" he said, stopping abruptly so that she stumbled into him. Planting her hands upon his chest to keep her balance, she stared up at him a he gripped her shoulders with both hands. For a moment they stared into each other's eyes and then, to his astonishment, he watched her gaze move to his lips and hold. Something melted in his heart in that moment, but he could not acknowledge it.

"Steady," he said softly, loosening his hold on her at the same moment she snatched back her hands.

Her eyes shot to his. "I'm sorry—"

Aaron felt desire leap to life within him, having awakened suddenly after years of dormancy. With great effort he clenched his hands at his sides as she wrung her hands before him. At that moment Faith hurried in with a small tray.

"I've brought you some porridge and coffee as well," she said happily, her steps slowing as she saw them standing close. Her eyes met his as her smile brightened. "Come sit at the head."

He nodded to Ceara and moved to take the place indicated, slowly pulling out the chair as he looked back at her. Having recovered from what seemed to be shocked surprise, she smoothed her features into a calm mask and nodded to him.

"It's fine," she agreed. "A man should take the head of the table; I'm sure Paulie won't mind yielding to you."

He sat stiffly as Faith unloaded the tray and stood back to study him. Looking up into her teasing smile, he stared back. "What?"

She chuckled softly and pushed the mug toward him. "Black or with cream?"

He frowned but edged closer to the table, drawn by the fragrance of the coffee. His stomach burned with hunger, though it was his accustomed state. "Black."

Faith looked up at Ceara who pulled out the chair next to him and ordered his next move. "Try the bread first."

He swallowed a gulp of coffee and frowned into the steam. "Yes sir."

Ignoring Faith's giggle as she pushed the small crock of butter toward him, he looked up at Ceara.

"I'm glad you recognize who is in charge here," she said with a tiny smile.

He let Faith place a thick slice of the rolled bread on his plate but put up a hand at the butter. "Plain, if you don't mind."

Faith placed a bowl of porridge at his side and pulled out her chair. He popped a piece of bread in his mouth and sighed with pleasure at the taste. It was still warm and held the perfect combination of cinnamon-sugar, nuts and salt. Not too sweet. Aware of them watching him like birds of prey he leaned back and swallowed.

"Though I've dined alone for far too long and normally enjoy your company, I'd rather not have an audience," he stated, turning to note how Faith threw her head back and clapped her hands with glee.

Ceara snatched up a piece herself. "We'll join you then."

He took another swallow of hot, strong coffee and decided it was just the way he liked it, hot and strong. Faith was near quiet hysterics though he had no idea why. He met Ceara's gaze and nodded toward the girl. "What seems to be so amusing?" he complained.

This triggered off more quiet hysterics as Faith got up to stand over him, her hands covering her mouth as if to hold in her laughter. "You're so funny!" she gasped between giggles.

"What did I do?" he demanded. "I'm only trying to eat a meal in peace."

She pointed to his head. "Your hair," she chuckled, dabbing at her eyes, "and the way you pretend to be grumpy!"

"I am grumpy," he growled, ducking his head to slurp his coffee.

"You'll feel better after a shave and a haircut," Ceara offered, trying to keep from laughing.

He reached for another piece of bread. "I am hardly at liberty to visit a barber."

She reached up to smooth down a piece of hair which apparently had been standing straight up. "I usually do haircuts at the infirmary every Monday, but since you've been transferred here—"

"Transferred? I thought I was an invited guest—"

"I suppose I'll have to do it under these conditions," she sighed, getting up and moving toward the cupboard to his right.

"What 'conditions'?" he wanted to know, glancing at Faith who, he noticed, had abruptly stopped laughing at him and was watching their interaction with great interest as she leaned into the chair before her.

He looked back at Ceara just in time to catch her mischievous grin. "Why you're our prisoner, of course," she said dramatically, an evil smile upon her face.

Faith giggled again as he turned in his chair to face her. "Prisoner? If this is some kind of a joke I'm not laughing—"

"Of course it is!" Ceara chuckled, pulling out a leather case and coming to stand next to Faith. "Teasing is an important part of the recovery process, in case you hadn't realized."

He pursed his lips and reached for the porridge. "I prefer the standard methods of care, thank you very much."

"Don't you know the Scripture, "a joyful heart is good medicine"?" Faith laughed, her eyes glowing with pleasure as she glanced at Ceara.

He swallowed the thick, nutty flavored porridge without looking up. "I don't believe I've heard that one."

"Papa used to quote it all the time," Faith said, her voice trailing off as she turned and picked up the tray.

Aaron met Ceara's troubled glance as she set out razor and scissors. "Still no word from him?" she said, her gaze shifting back to Faith.

"No, not yet," Faith said bravely, forcing a smile. "But he will come back for us, I just know it."

Aaron nodded in understanding before she excused herself to check on whatever was being prepared in the kitchen.

"I am sure he will," he heard Ceara reply softly. Sensing his regard, she straightened and smiled. "Well, why don't you finish up and then I'll be happy to trim your hair and give you a shave—"

"I can do it myself," he refused, immediately regretting his abruptness. "It will help me feel somewhat useful," he added more considerately.

She nodded, her eyes lifting to his hair again. "I do think you need help with your hair, Lieutenant."

He grimaced, feeling inordinately uncomfortable with the thought of her cutting his hair. It was far too intimate a task for her to do for him, one he was tempted to allow just for curiosity's sake nevertheless.

"You cannot win this argument," she said primly, "I insist—but if it helps, think of that upcoming meeting with your captain, if only for his sake."

"All right," he groaned, lifting his cup and holding it so that the steam curled pleasantly up into his nostrils. "For Burke's sake."

Cecily wrapped the baby snugly and slipped out the door, nodding to her driver.

"To my sister's house, Mr. Stevens," she requested, taking his proffered hand. Grasping it tightly, she climbed up into the carriage, smiling her thanks.

"Bundle up warm, Miss," the elderly servant urged as he glanced fondly at Baby Matthew. She could see the twinkle in is eyes as he locked them in and turned to climb up himself. Settling back into the seat she pulled the lap rug over her knees and glanced out the window at the bright late morning sun. She had bribed the man earlier that morning, just after Caleb rode away for the day to visit a client in the next county. It had been before dawn but she was always up to feed the baby, as was Mr. Stevens. Not knowing how he had managed it, she nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief that her two bodyguards were noticeably absent. And she was sure they were off fulfilling some distant task at Mr. Stevens' bidding.

They started off and Matthew giggled, as he took great delight in any kind of outing. Touching the tip of his pert little nose she hugged him closer and gazed out at the passing countryside, almost as glad to be out of the house as he. The snow was melting beneath the bright sun, though she knew winter was far from over. As she counted the months till spring her thoughts wandered again to last night's failed dinner. Not letting Caleb's churlishness bother her, she concentrated on the day ahead and tried to be optimistic concerning the future. But she did want to warn Ceara about what she had learned concerning the dead soldiers, praying that no others would venture into their part of the world again. The war was moving south, Caleb had declared, and for that they must all be hopeful.

She thought of her husband traveling alone to the Barnes estate, feeling a bit wistful about the fact that Matthew was still a bit young to take that far away, especially in winter. Maybe by spring she could accompany Caleb on his next business trip and take the baby along. It would distract Caleb from his responsibility to find a suitor for Ceara, though the Barnes family had no eligible relatives her age to match her sister. Perhaps she should invite Ceara for dinner again, sans suitors. Maybe then she and Caleb could enjoy a peaceful dinner without all the pressure of that particular task.

It was too bad the two people she loved most in the world, save dear Matthew, could just not seem to get along. Though Caleb's wit and charm helped his success in business, she wished he would be a little less so regarding her sister. He always seemed to try to impress her but had never taken the time to really get to know her. Cecily knew that women like Ceara threatened men, and compared to her older sister she seemed compliant and subservient. But she loved Caleb, and loved having him provide for her. Though she envied Ceara's freedom, she knew that her sister secretly longed for the protection and love of a husband, despite her behavior toward Caleb's chosen suitors. For that reason she had finally decided to step in herself, without Caleb's help. Sighing with frustration, she had to admit that it was not going to be easy.


Gently working the lather through his hair, Ceara massaged his scalp, trying to ignore the change in Aaron's demeanor. Whereas before he had sat stiff and erect while she snipped off the longer pieces of his hair, now he slumped low in the kitchen chair, resting his hands over the arms of the chair and looking complete relaxed. His head was thrown back as he rested his neck upon the thick towel lined edge of the sink, and she tried not to admire the strong column of his neck from beneath his parted collar. His eyes were closed and his hands limp, and for some reason the word "surrender" kept coming to her mind as she worked.

The hearth clock ticked softly and the fire snapped and hissed, the only sound in the room save the splash of water and squish of soap as she lathered it into his dark, thick hair. Leaning close as she worked, she tried to ignore the strange excitement she felt in tending to his personal needs. Despite the fact that Dr. Koch had discharged him to home care and he was certainly capable enough to do it himself, she was pleased to offer her services. She had to admit that it felt good and somehow right, having him here in the house she shared with Betsy, and now the children. Though she had explained that this was something she did for all her patients, he had seemed to look upon her with suspicion as to her motive. Their time together had produced an easy friendship, in her opinion. But judging by his expression he sensed it was more than that. Even more exciting was the fact that despite all this, he was letting her have her way with him.

Turning away to wipe her hands on a towel, she then reached for the pitcher and poured warm water over his head to rinse it thoroughly. He sighed lustily but kept his eyes closed, letting her guide his head from side to side as she poured and rinsed. Lathering his hair again, she ran her hands through it a second time, finally massaging the base of his skull. This brought them into even closer proximity and she sensed him tense up as she worked. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, she noted. The muscles at the base of his neck were tight and resistant, but after a few moments she felt him relax and they became more pliant. His answering sigh tickled the skin at the back of her own neck and traveled down her spine with delicious effect. Straightening abruptly, she reached for the water and rinsed his hair again.

Why does he affect me so? she wondered, glancing down at his upturned face. She had done the same for many male patients, but had to admit that none seemed to enjoy it as thoroughly as he seemed to. She wondered what he'd endured in the past to bring him such pleasure with only the simplest of luxuries? Her earlier attempts to draw him into conversation had revealed very little, yet somehow she found herself trusting him. And, judging by the way he relaxed under her touch and his closed eyes, he seemed to trust her.

Setting aside the pitcher she smoothed most of the water from his hair before reaching for a towel. This she placed beneath his head and patted the rest of his hair until it was damp. Touching his shoulder, she watched him stir as if awakening. He opened his eyes to gaze sleepily up at her and she found she could not look away. In the bright sunlight she noted shards of silver in his eyes, as well as specks of black and darker hues of gray, at which she stared in fascination. As she did so they changed, firing like molten silver, darkening in hue as his gaze became something more than simple gratitude. But then they changed again, as if in realization, just before he broke contact and glanced away. He straightened in the chair, touching her hand as if in apology. She gripped the towel beneath his neck more tightly despite the warm comfort of his touch, finally sliding her hand from beneath his. He was turning to face her as she took a step backward, watching him slowly rise to tower over her. To her astonishment he smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That was a rare pleasure indeed," he said softly as she stared mutely at him. "I shall recommend your services with only the highest praises."

She felt herself smile back and tilted her head to one side, glancing at the long wet tendrils of his hair where they lay plastered along his open collar. "But I haven't finished," she replied, reaching up to pull the damp towel from his shoulders. "Please, sit down."

He watched her reach for a dry towel and sighed with resignation. "Very well," he said, and when he sat with his hands upon his knees she stepped behind him and covered his head with the towel. Drying his hair with vigorous strokes she roughed his head, smiling as he laughed, the deep rumble from his chest pleasing her by its warm tone. She felt she had been rewarded a rare treat indeed, to hear his laughter.

"Quite invigorating, Miss Connolly," he declared, "but I am glad I chose to shave myself."

"I'm much gentler at shaving," she quipped, tossing aside the towel and reaching for another. This she wrapped over his broad shoulders, patting them as she leaned toward his right ear. "In foregoing that service you must therefore limit your recommendations to barbering—"

He chose that moment to turn his head, bringing their faces into close proximity. Her words faded into silence as she stared into his remarkable eyes and promptly lost her train of thought. Their regard traveled like a gentle caress over her face, settling upon her parted lips. She heard his breath quicken as his own lips parted. He smiled hesitantly, his brows lifting in anticipation as he gazed up at her.

"My hair?" he suggested softly, lifting his eyes to her upswept coiffe. "Though I don't mean to rush you."

She smiled at his challenge. "There is one small matter concerning my fee…" she hinted, finally deciding to pursue the issue which had plagued her since discovering him in the woods.

His gaze heated even more. "Name it."

She quirked a brow at him, squeezing his shoulder beneath the thick towel. "You might not be willing to pay it…"

"It would only be fair," he agreed, "considering my present state of poor grooming."

She picked up the scissors and held them aloft. "It involves a bit of play acting."

He eyed the instrument with some reserve. "I'm fairly good at that, if I do say so myself."

"And experienced," she added, sobering as she considered how to state her need.

"I am at your disposal, mademoiselle," he said softly, his eyes capturing hers. "State your terms."

"I need a temporary fiancé," she blurted out, grimacing at herself. "I'm sorry—it's just that—"

"How temporary?"

She glanced toward the closed door, for the first time wondering if anyone could hear their conversation. "Just until I can leave."

"Why the urgency?"

She glanced back at his look of concern. "I sense my brother-in-law's parade of potential suitors is about to come to a halt, and that he will force me to decide upon one."

"And you find none of the candidates suitable?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

He pondered this a moment. "Then he is rather persistent, this brother-in-law of yours?"

"Very," she answered, relaxing in the light of his puzzled expression. "Overbearingly so—and he is younger than I!"

He shrugged. "He takes his family responsibility quite seriously, it appears."

"Just to get rid of me," she protested, glancing toward the window. "I fear my days are numbered here, Lieutenant."

"Aaron," he sighed, and she detected a note of frustration in the sound. "Then it is a simple matter of you needing escort—for the mere price of a haircut…"

"And a shampoo," she added, turning to look at him again. "I thought that since you were going to be leaving, it would benefit us both."

"Really?" he smiled, gazing at her with interest. "How might I benefit, save for the haircut?"

She frowned. "I realize I'm asking a high price to pay, but our disappearing at the same time might satisfy the gossips and provide you an excuse for lingering so long."

He nodded. "The local laws concerning loitering seem to be quite strict."

"It's not that!" she said in frustration. "Look, I nursed you and took a fancy to you—"

"I'm honored—" he smiled devilishly.

"Then having finally found someone I liked I pleaded with you and convinced you to join the patriot cause. I took advantage of your weakened condition and convinced you to join our side!"

He stared at her in mock outrage. "I didn't realize how bold you truly are."

"Don't' tease me, Aaron!"

He smiled. "Finally you've used my name, now that we are engaged—"

"I'm entirely serio—" She stopped mid-sentence to stare at him. "Then you agree?"

He shrugged. "It seems to make sense—the only problem is my supposed transfer to prison, not to mention the danger of the journey."

"Masters will help us! All you need do is meet up with Captain Burke, take me along as far as necessary so that I can book passage onto see my brother."

"The one at Fort Schuyler?"

"Yes, and when I return later with an obviously broken engagement and heart, no one will press me to risk it to another," she stated. "It's the perfect solution, for all concerned."

He stared at her with obvious concern. "This is your choice of a future?"

She frowned, somewhat startled by his question. "It's hardly my choice," she admitted, laying a hand on his shoulder as she held up the scissors. "For now I see no other course of action…at least think about it, while I cut your hair?"

He quirked a dark brow. "If I decide against it, what happens to my hair?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get a good haircut."

"I hope so," he sighed, settling into a more relaxed position. "I will consider your request with the utmost care."

She smiled, grateful that he did not press her for details she did not have. Temporarily distracting herself from the proposition, she worked carefully on his hair, concentrating on its thickness and the hues exposing themselves as it began to dry. She hated asking him for this favor, but when she thought of Caleb's return she knew he was not to be deterred. All she was doing was taking her future into her own hands, and she sensed Aaron realized this. To her surprise, the ensuing silence between them was not tense, but somehow comfortable. Finishing off with a few snips here and there, she stood back, trying not to laugh at the way he sat up and squirmed uncomfortably from the hair that must have fallen down into his shirt. She reached out and pulled his collar away from his neck, freezing when he turned his head and stared heatedly into her eyes.

"You have hair—" she tried to explain, her words trailing off beneath his intense regard.

After a moment he pulled the front of his shirt away from his chest and gently shook it, still holding her gaze. "I should change," he said somewhat coolly, then rose and walked toward the door. She saw him pause and set his shoulders before he turned to look back at her. "Thank you…"

They heard a carriage approaching, and her expression froze as they listened. To her horror it grew louder and she heard the driver call out to the team. Aaron's expression grew guarded as she stated the obvious.

"Someone's here—you need to hide!" she whispered, rushing to take his arm. "No, not your room—

upstairs!"

"So…" Cecily breathed, walking slowly around the parlor and glancing to the door that led to the kitchen. "Aren't you going to invite me to lunch?"

Ceara forced a smile as she reached for her wrap. "I thought we might visit the Perkins family and visit with Sarah," she stated. "You can help calm her fears about her soon delivery!"

"I'm not sure," Cecily stalled, patting Matthew's back. "I need to feed Matthew, and I'd rather discover what you're hiding from me."

Ceara frowned as her sister's gaze pointed toward the kitchen. "Nothing but a pile of dirty dishes that need washing!" she lied, praying that God would forgive her because she only did it to protect Aaron's safety. And she could not forget her sister's partnership with her husband in thwarting her right to choose her own husband.

"Really? It's so unlike you and Betsy to leave a mess," she drawled, approaching the door. "Besides, I came here to see you, not Sarah Perkins—"

Ceara cried out as her sister shoved the door open and stared into the kitchen. In its center stood the chair draped with wet towels, its legs planted in a carpet of dark hair. Cecily looked at her accusingly.

"I knew it!" she hissed, pointing toward the evidence. "He's here, isn't he—your patient friend!"

Ceara grabbed her arm. "Please Cec, don't tell anyone—"

Matthew began to fuss between them as Cecily patted his back and shook her head. "Have you any idea what you are risking, taking in a deserter?"

"It's not what you think—"

"Caleb suspects foul play," her sister pleaded. "And he's got friends everywhere, watching and waiting!"

Ceara released her arm with a huff. "I would hope my own sister might help me live my own life!"

"And go against my husband? I suppose now you want me to lie to him—"

"Yes, for once!" Ceara complained, propelling her toward the sofa. "I'm leaving because of your husband, and your loyalty to him!"

"What?" Cecily screeched. "Leaving? Ceara, you can't—I need you."

"No you don't, you have Caleb, and Matthew!"

They stared at each other a moment before Cecily grabbed her hand. "You are all I've got, Ceara. I love you, but I have to agree with Caleb when I see you charting your course toward spinsterhood! And I hate hearing what they say about you—"

"I don't care what they say—"

"But I do! They say you've let the past imprison you—"

"Just because I don't like Caleb's choice of suitors doesn't mean I'm doing that!"

Cecily sat down with a huff, shaking her head at her. "I just want you to be happy, like I am!"

Ready to protest but sensing it would do no good, Ceara forced herself to really see her sister. And for once, what she saw in her eyes was the truth. "I won't be happy if I cannot make my own choices, even if I make a mistake!"

"I know," Cecily apologized, breathing a calming breath. "But please Ceara, don't leave because of Caleb. And don't think of going anywhere near Fort Stanwix—"

"I need to see Jamie, who will at least allow me to do as I please!"

"But it's too dangerous and how would you even get there—"

"She's coming with me," a deep voice interrupted in a clipped British accent.

Both women stared toward the staircase, where Aaron stood watching them intently, one arm curled around his waist as he leaned against the banister.

"Your sister has agreed to marry me," he said soberly, shifting his gaze from Cecily to Ceara, a smile playing around his lips. "Haven't you, luv?"

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt