Quartering Acts
By Ahro
Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language.
(WARNING! EXPLICIT CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER!)
Chapter 8
"Alfred! Oh, my dear, it's been far too long. Micah has told me everything that happened. You look like an absolute fright. This sort of brutality should have been reported."
Alfred sighed as Micah's mother, Emily, looked over his wounds with a meticulous air about her. She tisked, and tutted at the bandaging job while she began pulling his head down to her level so she could examine the gash. All this fretting over himself, yet, he didn't have an ounce of concern over his injuries where others seemed to have so much. So far, only a few minutes had passed since he had entered the two story home, and still there was no familiar sound of a door opening and closing behind him.
There had been an instant where he wanted to rush back out, to hear reassuring words that the smith's assumptions had been wrong. That the soldier, after having met Americans for the first time, had somehow come up with a brilliant plan to stand against his Empire, and help the colonists win their war for freedom.
And for Arthur to find a permanent home with me.
"Ugh- Emily, It's not as bad as it looks. I just need you to stitch this hole up." Alfred found his way into a comfortable arm chair and had rested his head in his hand. His thoughts were so far obscured from reality that he couldn't help but find himself pathetic.
Just his expression when I told him how I felt with him asleep in my arms. It was what? Cold? Disgusted? Angry? Had there been anything warm to it at all? Didn't he want me? Even after my name had escaped his lips in the throws of passion? It was my name.
"Sorry, dear, I'm just still in such a tiff over the thought of what they did to you. Even after you had given them all of those beautifully crafted muskets." The woman fretted in front of him. "Let me just go and grab a few things to patch you up with. Then you can sit and have a fresh piece of pie. It should warm you right up." She said cheerfully as she spun in her step, skirts floating about her ankles as she did.
Alfred barely even heard a word the woman had said as he was left alone in the foyer. Left alone to allow his thoughts to continue to steep.
Why am I even allowing this man to get under my skin? He's just another Brit, and will mindlessly follow orders like the rest of them. I'm just acting a fool for thinking I could trust him. He knows I'm a rebel now and he has no reason to not report me. Chances are he'd get a promotion for turning me in. Why wouldn't he jump for an opportunity like that? He'd be an idiot if he didn't.
"Alright, Alfred-" The cheerful woman came bustling out from a back room. In her hands she held a wide basin that was sloshing about some sort of liquid before settling it down on a small cabinet. "I've been soaking some thread and a needle in alcohol to try and keep your wound from getting infected. I take it you've kept it clean since yesterday?"
Alfred shook his head at first, but quickly nodded when he realized what she had said.
Emily didn't look the lease bit persuaded, "Right. Well, let's get it clean-er, shall we?" She said with an almost malicious grin that seemed to flit around her face for only a second before it turned soft again. She picked up a small cup and dipped it into the basin before dumping it over the wound igniting a hiss from Alfred as he backed away from the liquid.
"Dammit! What is in that?"
"Whiskey. Much higher proof though. This would put you on the floor before you could order another drink. Now, bend your head down so I can get to work. This has been exposed for much too long." She then proceeded to lift the soaking thread from the basin as Alfred felt his head forced downward to allow the woman better access to the wound.
His head had been bent for only a few moments before he felt her fingers reach down through his hair, part it, and then pinch at the skin. Alfred jolted back in the chair at the sudden pain that coursed from the wound.
"Dammit, Emily!"
"Oh- don't be such a baby, Alfred!"
"You could have warned me you were about to press down there!"
"How else do you expect me to thread your skin back together if I don't hold it?"
"At least let me know first." Alfred couldn't help it as his voice whined the last plea before he settled back in the chair.
"Ugh- I'm going to be threading the needle through your skin now. If you jump while I'm doing it, I will have to start over."
Alfred sighed and nodded as he returned to the position she had him in originally.
This time she seemed to go a bit easier but the smith couldn't help but practically bite his tongue as he felt the needle push through his skin for the first of many insertions.
"Good. You're doing much better. Can you keep that up?"
"Y-yes, ma'am."
She smiled and a hand gently rested on his shoulder. It was warm and soothing, and it was able to help him take his mind off of the pain in his head.
Each press and tug of the needle as he felt his skin being pulled together did not get any better over time. Yet, he was able to endure just by the thoughts of how this pain would be nothing compared to the pain he would be dealing to the Brits when their time would come. His first goal was to end that pig of a general by slicing open the man's grotesque belly and watching as his insides poured out of him. He wouldn't die quickly, and Alfred would find joy in seeing the man flailing feebly to try to keep his organs inside his massive gut. While his life flowed faster and faster onto the ground to dirty the Earth.
Would I see Arthur on that battlefield as well? With a barrel pointed at me, and orders to fire.
"That's it dear, you're finished. I say, once your friend here came in and held onto your shoulder you relaxed right away. Make sure to thank the man."
Alfred's eyes widened as he listened to her words. Then it dawned on him. That hand; so strong and warm. It had been caressing his shoulder the entire time while his mind drifted to thoughts of killing. It couldn't have been Emily's like he had assumed prior. She would have needed both her hands to work the needle. And still, while he sat there, that hand was still on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with their thumb against his shoulder blade.
"Thank you, ma'am, for assisting Alfred with his injury."
He followed after me.
"Oh, it's not a problem, dear. You've been takin' very good care of him since that assault. He's been alone for so long. It's nice to see him finally openin' up to people again."
"Yes, no one should keep themselves locked away from the pleasures of good company."
His touch had given me strength through that pain.
"I really wish there were other British soldiers like yourself. Micah has spoken nothin' but great praise of you."
Just like when he reached out to me in the rain and mud.
A soft laugh.
"That boy of yours is something, really. I am afraid the real me does not stand up to such praises."
And again in the cellar.
"Such a modest young man. Oh- why don't you and Alfred take a seat at the table, and I'll bring you both out a fresh slice of my apple pie."
What is this all about?
"Thank you, ma'am, that sounds lovely."
His hand... still hasn't moved.
"Very good. Oh, you might have to wake Alfred up. Seems he's drifted off into a daze. Perhaps the pain was too much for him?" A worried tone.
"He will be fine. Think a spot of fresh air will wake him up."
The hand squeezed.
"Alright, dear, be careful. I'll round up Micah. He took off to the beach again for something."
Soft padded footsteps left through a rear door, leaving silence in their wake.
Calm breathing, a steady pulse.
"I'm going outside. Join me if you so desire."
The hand was removed.
As quietly as the man had entered, he left just the same way. As if a ghost that had never even been there.
Alfred lifted his hand to rest on his shoulder where the man's hand had rested only seconds ago. The warmth there meant it was real.
He had come inside. He did follow me after all that I had said. After I threatened his life once again. I practically begged him to run and report me. Why?
Bringing his gaze level with the room after having been starring at the floor, he turned to face the front entrance.
Should I follow him? What will he tell me? Or will he say anything? Perhaps he's already made a decision and just hasn't acted on it yet. Maybe he wishes to lull me into a false sense of security.
With a groan, he quickly rubbed his hand over his face at an attempt to wake himself up. The cool air was sounding quite welcoming.
He finally stood up, surprised when he wobbled on his feet slightly. Had it been from the lack of blood or something else?
Walking to the door, he rested his hand on the knob, and swallowing back any doubt, he pushed through to go greet whatever it was that waited outside.
A strong northerly breeze hit him the moment the door opened into the afternoon. The smith never realized he had broken out into a sweat while inside until the cool air blew across his arms and face. With it came the crisp smell of a pit fire somewhere in the woods. It helped to lift his spirits and cool him some but then when the man in question stepped out from behind a large maple, he felt himself grow warm again.
The soldier didn't say anything, and only started walking.
Alfred eyed the man yet followed reluctantly. He felt a bit weary at the lack of being armed, but taking in the soldier's attire, he had come along unarmed as well.
Arthur had led him to a small wood shed that was well away from the road, and far enough from Micah's home to be unheard. Was the man hiding a knife somewhere he could not see? Was that how he'd do it? Just a silent kill.
Would he hold me as I died in his arms?
The soldier disappeared as he rounded behind the shed. It was the moment of truth. Would the smith be turning that corner to his death? He had wanted to walk into death's warm embrace for so long now. Was this the way he wanted to go though?
No, I wanted to die fighting the Brits... but I wouldn't want anyone but Arthur to be the one to do it.
Going into this blind, Alfred sighed and followed the same path the soldier had just taken.
He wouldn't defend himself. He wouldn't do anything.
"You desire death so much, that you would walk willingly with a British soldier to a place like this after you declared so openly of being a rebel." Arthur stood facing him in what must be his favorite pose; arms crossed across his chest and his chin held high. Even when to Alfred, there was no looking down at the smith, but he would still look for that prestigious appearance he seemed to favor.
"Since you haven't killed me yet, I think it's safe to say the terms of my death have yet to be written. You want something else."
A smile spread across the soldier's face as he relaxed his stance to look at Alfred.
"The only thing I want is for you to listen."
"You needed to bring me out here to do that?"
Arthur shook his head, still smiling, "Would you rather we chat with a cup of tea by the road concerning your alignment with the rebels? Perhaps another British soldier could walk by and give me a hand in taking you to the gallows."
"I'm surprised you haven't done so already."
Arthur sighed, all joking put aside. "What ever gave you the idea that I would turn you or Micah and his mother in to my superiors?"
Alfred was aghast that the man would even ask something so obvious. "It couldn't possibly be because you are a lieutenant in the British Army. Sent on orders to quarter with colonists and observe for any rebellious acts against the Empire. You are a British soldier, correct? That general didn't address you as Lieutenant Kirkland for a laugh. Or did you wear motley before dawning a uniform.
A smirk lit Arthur's face at the smith's words. "I probably should be wearing motley for being such a fool to have fallen for a rebellious, ill-mannered, sarcastic, drunken, American, blacksmith."
Before Alfred could even comprehend the words he heard, his lips were captured by the soldier's own, and all his previous questions, thoughts, and concerns were suddenly, and completely irrelevant.
The smith felt himself go weak as his back was pushed up against the shed. The smaller soldier having noticed Alfred's obvious acceptance gave the man renewed confidence as he angled his head for better access to deepen the kiss.
Alfred couldn't help but moan as he let his lips part slightly allowing Arthur's tongue to slide inside his mouth greedily. Their kiss grew hotter as Arthur pressed his body against Alfred's, grinding his hips up against the smith's as he did. Their growing desire becoming more evident with the additional friction.
Alfred's thoughts were a mess as any comprehension over his situation had been dashed the moment the man's soft lips touched his own. The smith had brought his uninjured arm up to assist in bringing the soldier's body closer. Pressing at the small of the man's back which caused Arthur to wrap his arms up around Alfred's neck.
Was this what he wanted? To have this man, now in his arms to share in more than just hormonal urges, but to display emotions and feelings he thought had been buried away long ago.
The realization of what he wanted woke up something in the smith, and he wanted it fiercely.
Ignoring the discomfort in his shoulder, the smith extended his right arm from the sling so he could grip the soldier's hips with both of his hands, and flipped their positions in an easy movement. The soldier went along with the change willingly, and Alfred took over as he plunged his tongue into the Brit's warm mouth, inciting a heated moan from the smaller man.
That sound of pleasure urged Alfred on as he withdrew a hand from the man's hips and traveled down to mold against Arthur's hardening member. The soldier jumped slightly at his touch, but quickly went to his belt to unfasten and lower his trousers. Alfred grew even hungrier for the man in front of him as the soldier displayed his need. Alfred's callused hand took hold of the soldier's throbbing cock to give it a few strong strokes, and was rewarded by a guttural moan as the soldier released their lips to rest his head in the crook of Alfred's neck. His warm breath along his bare skin sent shivers through the smith's body.
Feeling more and more daring, and knowing what to do from previous experience, Alfred slicked his fingers with the soldier's pre-cum and glided them to Arthur's entrance.
A gasp escaped the Brit as his arms now clutched tightly behind the smith's strong back, yet no word of protest was uttered. He wanted this as much as Alfred did and the soldier's bucking against Alfred's hand as it continued to stroke him lightly only fermented the soldier's desire.
Taking the initiative, Alfred slowly began to push his middle finger into Arthur's tightness, and the immediate clench of his muscles around the intrusion made Alfred release the soldier's cock to wrap around his back to try to sooth him some. Alfred knew it would be painful as he had experimented with a young man many years earlier before he was forced to move to the south. They had learned how to make it enjoyable though, and once you were past the pain it was pure bliss to the end.
"I-it's alright, Alfred."
Those shuddered words next to his ear made Alfred continue as he slowly pushed more of his finger inside the soldier. A groan escaped him as the smith began to slide in another finger to begin to stretch the small hole. Alfred was surprised when Arthur moved his hips back against his fingers to push them in up to his knuckles.
"You're brave, I'll give ya' that." The soldier grunted as a third finger was inserted, and Alfred began to slide them in and out to prepare the man for what was to come.
How did we reach this point? Two days, and already confessions of something that normally would take many years to feel for someone. Were the large holes we seem to share in our hearts that desperate to be filled by someone that we simply took to one another so easily?
"A-Alfred, I... need you."
Those words, gasped out by his neck fueled Alfred's already blazing fire inside him. Alfred then undid his own belt to release his throbbing cock from it's confinement. The head being moist already with need, he used that to run it's length to make it easier to enter the smaller soldier.
Alfred stopped a moment, though, much against everything that screamed inside of him, and maneuvered the soldier so that their eyes could meet again. The soldier allowed it, and their eyes met. Alfred's looking deep into those green spheres, filled with lust, while a light red hue tinged the soldier's cheeks. His breathing was heavy as their breath mingled together in front of them.
There was just something about this man that felt so important to the smith. As if they were alone in this world, and in order to survive they would need each other.
"Are you sure you want this? It will be uncomfortable at first, but I'll make sure to go slow."
"Don't go slow." His voice was heavy as his eyes seemed to bury inside of Alfred's own. "I want to know that this is something real."
Alfred felt like his eyes had begun to glisten at the soldier's words, and instead of allowing any more time to pass Alfred's lips closed around Arthur's once more. He wanted to show this man that he was there and was real. This was no fantasy, and if he could help the soldier move on; from that past that still troubled him to such a point of breaking, he would, and be damned by anyone who tried to change that.
With their lips locked fiercely together, Alfred gripped the lean soldier under his thighs, and hoisted him up against the shed. Arthur immediately wrapped his own legs around the smith's hips to pull Alfred closer to him.
"Ah- are you alright... doing this, I mean, with your shoulder." Came Arthur's worried response between kisses as his hands clutched amidst Alfred's hair.
"Yeah, I can't feel anythin' else but you right now."
That seemed to be the right response, as the soldier's legs tightened their grip and their lips were locked again; this time with Arthur's tongue delving into Alfred's mouth in need.
Nothing else seemed to matter to the smith as he positioned his cock at the soldier's tight entrance. Not their different heritage, positions in society, or that they were both men. Not even the thought of impending war between their two sides would pull them apart. This was what Alfred needed, and now he had to figure out how he would keep it.
Making sure he was still slick, Alfred slowly pushed the head of his cock against Arthur's tight hole, inciting a sharp intake of breath from the soldier.
"Relax for me. Exhale when I push in."
The soldier nodded as he buried his face against Alfred's neck once more.
Hearing the soldier exhale slowly yet loudly against his skin, Alfred pushed against the strong muscle which finally gave way, and the overpowering sensation was already breaking the smith's senses.
"A-Alfred-" the soldier clenched his teeth while his hands grasped at Alfred's back.
Breathing hard, Alfred stammered, "It-'ll go easier... from here. Just... try to control your breathing and relax."
Alfred felt the man nod again against his neck. Trying to regain his own composure, Alfred moved his hips further forward to thrust deeper into the soldier. A gasp came from the man as Alfred moved even deeper until he was able to fill the man completely.
He could hardly stay standing at the sensation of the heat that surrounded his cock, while the soldier pulled at the thin fabric of the smith's shirt.
"Move- dammit."
It was all the smith needed to hear as he grasped Arthur's thighs tighter and began to thrust into the soldier. Slowly at first before they both found a comfortable rhythm.
Arthur's breath whispered against the smith's skin while soft gasps escaped him with each thrust. Those tiny sounds causing Alfred to almost lose himself entirely. He wasn't going to forget about Arthur's needs in place of his own.
"A-Arthur, I-I'm not... going to last much longer. Are you-"
"I'm close, just- don't stop, A-Alfred." The soldier's voice whispered before nipping at Alfred's ear.
With a moan, Alfred picked up the speed of his thrusting until he lost all control over his actions, and spilt his seed deep inside the soldier.
"Ahh- Al-fred!" The soldier grunted his release as his own seed spilled onto Alfred's chest.
The smith couldn't stand any longer as he legs grew unsteady from the recent excursion. Feeling it safer to make their way to the ground, Alfred gently lowered them both down, using the shed to assist in making their decent easier.
Once settled, Alfred pulled out and rested one arm beside Arthur's head on the ground to hold himself up. His breathing was erratic as he starred down at the soldier below him. The soldier seemed less out of breath but his heavy lids gave way his own exhaustion.
Then, Alfred felt the soldier's hand move up to rest along his jaw, brushing a few sweaty strands of blond hair away from his face as he did. The soldier's face then lit up with a grin that caught Alfred off guard.
"Wha-what is it?"
Arthur smiled more, and instead of answering back he wrapped his hand around the smith's neck to pull him down into a soothing kiss. Soft and slow with only care and compassion behind it. Alfred allowed himself to be lulled into the soothing embrace as he lowered to rest on the soldier's chest, lips never parting as he did.
This was something he had been missing from his life, and why it made death so easy to accept. Now, though, things had grown more complicated, yet, Alfred wasn't so sure he was against the added difficulty.
Parting from the kiss, Alfred looked down at the soldier now with his own grin, "I do hope you have some miraculous plan in mind."
Arthur laughed, "The plan was actually lost the moment you accepted that first kiss."
"So you thought I'd reject you? You don't remember the blow job I gave you yesterday?"
"Of course not- but I had no reason to believe you harbored any feelings for me. I thought you just wanted sex."
"If I wanted sex I'd have taken you across that anvil right there, not pleasure you with a blow job."
Arthur blushed, "Yes, well, I can see that now. But that initial kiss would seal all of my doubts."
Alfred cocked an eyebrow, "And has it?"
Arthur smiled again, "I believe it has."
"Than you should, because I think I'm pretty lost now on my own. You were never somethin' I had planned on."
"You think I planned for any of this? I was ready to die just as much as you were."
Alfred laughed, "We make for a pathetic duo.
"I can agree to that one."
Laughing again, Alfred finally found his strength to stand up again, tucking himself away in the process. While Arthur found his own feet, Alfred couldn't help but notice the obvious disarray of his own shirt. Returning back to Micah's home like this would spell a lot of questions.
"What would you say I should do about this?" Alfred pointed out as he displayed the soldier's cum that had stained the blacksmith's white shirt.
The man's face grew scarlet at the blatant evidence of what they had just done. Thankfully, a puddle had quickly grabbed his attention.
"Take it off and soak it in that puddle. We'll say you tripped and fell."
Alfred sent the soldier a very unamused side-long look. "I tripped and fell. That's heroic. How about I passed out from the loss of blood."
"That would make sense considering where all that blood had just been running to." Arthur grinned wickedly.
"So, I take it getting fucked in the ass doesn't change that charming personality of yours at all."
Arthur laughed, "I should say the same for you. I hoped losing some of that pent up sexual frustration would eliminate those mood swings of yours."
"What mood swings?"
"Shit! How long have we been out here for?"
Alfred looked to the sun where it poked through the trees, "I'd say a half an hour. Just count us lucky Micah hasn't come lookin' for us."
"You are right. Mess up your shirt and let us head back."
In agreement, Alfred quickly made his shirt look even worse than before, and once Arthur was able to walk relatively straight, they found their way back to the small home.
"You're both finally back! Oh- Alfred, what happened to your shirt?"
"I-"
"He tripped and fell in a muddy puddle along the road. It will need to be laundered."
Alfred shot the soldier a glare but Arthur acted as though he didn't notice.
"Absolutely. You could catch your death in that wet thing. Take it off and I'll clean it up for you. I have some spare shirts of my late husbands up stairs, they should fit you well enough."
"Thank you, Emily. You've done so much, I must find a way to repay your kindness."
Emily tutted, "Don't talk such nonsense. You've done more for us over the years than I could keep track of. It is my pleasure to be able to help you out, dear.
Alfred nodded, unbuttoning his shirt and handing it off to the woman.
"Go on upstairs, look in the dresser in the room on your left. There should be somethin' in there for ya'. Arthur, go ahead and have a seat at the table, and I'll fetch you both a slice of pie." The woman then disappeared through the swinging door into the back kitchen.
Taking the woman's offer, Alfred found his way up stairs, eager to put something on. Thankfully, Emily hadn't taken notice that his bandages were still dry. That wouldn't have looked suspicious at all.
Locating the dresser he was able to find a cleanly pressed linen shirt, much like his own, to wear and was glad to find that it fit his frame well. Stepping back to look himself over in the mirror his attention was quickly taken to a small piece of what looked like parchment sticking out from beneath the large frame.
His curiosity getting the better of him, he reached and plucked it out from behind the mirror. Alfred generally wouldn't be the type to pry in other people's affairs, but after seeing Emily's name written in his father's obvious script there was nothing that could stop him.
March 1, 1770
Dearest Emily,
I'm afraid this letter will reach you too late as my plan will have been successful.
America will find her freedom in the coming years, and I do hope that you strive to live and see that day.
Please keep an eye on Alfred. Some days I wonder if he'll ever return to shore. Perhaps I've smothered him too much on taking over the smithy.
Also, I've enclosed the money I've been saving for our Micah's future. I'm sorry I've been absent in his life, and in yours.
I will always love you.
Yours and forever,
John F. Jones
The letter floated out of his hands, and gently rested on the wood floor at the smith's feet.
His hands shook.
His mouth had gone dry.
His teeth were clenched.
His hands balled up into fists.
"Alfred! What are you still doing up there? Do you need help with putting on that shirt?" Arthur's voice rang up to him as the smith did nothing but stare blankly in front of him. His thoughts ran everywhere, yet nothing was comprehensible.
He didn't even hear the footsteps as they approached him, as well as the voice that had become muffled. He vaguely felt someone shaking him. The tickling of warm breath in his face. His head being jerked to the side by something forceful yet still not feeling a thing.
He had planned on getting himself killed?
No one knew who fired the first shot.
Micah is my brother.
"-fred! Al-fred! What the bloody fuck is wrong with you? Can you even hear me? Snap out of it you idiot!" A firm slap across the opposite side of his face finally brought the smith to his senses.
Blinking, he finally noticed Arthur standing directly in front of him. Worry was etched in his eyes even when his face held a scowl. His hands were gripping the smith's arms as if he would run away any second.
"Arthur?"
"Of course it is! What the hell happened? You looked like your soul had been sucked right out of you."
Alfred lifted one hand up to rub at his face until his hand was wrenched away unexpectedly.
"Dear God, do you have a thing for self-mutilation? You dug your nails so deep into the palms of your hands that you're bloody well bleeding!"
Alfred didn't care. Nothing mattered except what was written in that letter.
"Sit down. Let me wrap them up to stop the bleeding. Is this what spending time with you is going to be like forever?"
He vaguely felt his hands being cleaned and then wrapped firmly with clean bandages. The bed he had been pushed onto sank more as Arthur took a seat along side the smith. More muffled words, but his face was suddenly jerked to the side, and all he could see was the soldier in front of him. The soldier that he had just made love to in the forest, with deep worry and concern etched in his features.
"Alfred. Please, talk to me." Arthur's lips lightly pressed to his own in hopes of some response, lingered, and then pulled back.
A sigh finally broke the smith of his silence which caused the soldier to jump. "Alfred, you need to tell me what happened? What has caused you to act like this?"
Alfred's response was that of a slow turn of his head so his eyes could settle on the letter that had spoken to him, and dashed so many of his beliefs within a few sentences.
Arthur gave the smith a confused look, but finally stood up and walked over to pick up the small letter.
His eyes read over it quickly, and until he read the name on the bottom did he look back at Alfred, his face had gone white.
"Is- is this from your father?"
It was a question that didn't need an answer, but Alfred nodded.
Arthur walked back over to take his seat on the bed once more, the letter still clutched in his hands.
A few moments of silence fell between them as Alfred tried to pull his thoughts together into something he could explain. Part of it was speculation, but he had a feeling it was probably the truth.
Wetting his lips, Alfred finally spoke, "No one knows who shot first during the Boston Massacre. While that letter was dated a few days prior to that event. I think, my father may have been involved in inciting the colonists that night. He may have been the one to have set the groundwork for this war."
Arthur's reply came a few moment later. "What are your feelings on this?"
Alfred finally stood up from where he sat so as to give his body something to do while his mind raced.
How do I feel about this? I knew my father's patience had been growing taxed, but he was always so gentle. Not of someone who would light the flames that would goad the colonists forward in wanting American freedom. Then if this was his idea, why wouldn't he tell me? Or leave me some clue as to what he wanted me to do. Then, what about Emily... and Micah. Was it true Micah was a child born of wedlock? That would make him my brother, and even with that nothing would change between us.
Alfred jumped as his hand had been grasped pulling his attention away from his thoughts, and back to reality. Looking to the hand in his own, he followed the arm until his gaze lingered in Arthur's gaze. A pleading look, and it hurt Alfred knowing that he was causing the man to worry.
"I can't seem to show it right now, but a part of me seems angered that my father would keep this all from me. His plans to rally the colonists into rebellion under secrecy, his death, and then... Micah."
"Micah is your brother."
"Micah is my brother."
"Alfred!" Emily's voice rang up the stairwell which made Alfred run to the landing.
"What is it?"
"I was just wondering if either of you two may have seen Micah. He's been gone for some time now. I know he wanted to spend time with both of you as well."
Alfred looked over his shoulder to Arthur. The soldier's face held a look of worry as he quickly walked over to join the smith.
Knowing he had Arthur there to support him, boosted his courage, and helped clear his mind of the previous situation. His father was dead, and regardless of what he did before life's breath was taken from him, there were more important things happening with those who were still alive. Those who he cherished, and those who he would protect.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Alfred made his way down to stand in front of the shorter woman.
"You said he went to the beach?"
"Yes, he goes down there to collect sea glass. I believe he wanted to give you a present of them, Arthur." She turned, addressing the soldier.
Arthur's eyes met Alfred's and a silent agreement was made.
"We'll go look for him, Emily. You just wait here. I'm sure he's just lost track of time down there."
"Thank you dear. He's always just so eager to please. I'm sure he wanted to find the best pieces to give to you." She held a warm smile as she placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
"We'll find him, ma'am."
"I know you will. Do be careful as the tide is coming back in."
Alfred's growing unease must have been evident as Arthur quickly headed for the back door. "Let's get going. Micah won't want to miss supper."
The soldier's words were meant to sound calming but Alfred knew Arthur was as restless to be out of the house as he was.
With the door held open for him Alfred quickened his pace, and once he was clear of the door he broke into a run. He would not stop until he saw that bright smile... of his brother's
The long beach was empty save for the occasional gull or crab that scurried down by the water. The tide had been at it's lowest forty minutes ago, and had already begun to creep back in. The distant mud flats could be seen throughout the harbor, and the smell made the smith wrinkle his nose.
Arthur finally came up along side him as he tried to catch his breath. His gaze moving up and down the beach trying to spot some sign of the young boy.
"MICAH!" Alfred's voice rang out as he cupped his hands around his mouth. "MICAH! It's time to come in now!"
No response.
"Could he have went back to your house? I did ask him to take care of Crimson for me. Perhaps he rushed back there."
"He might have- wait, what is that?" Something had caught Alfred's attention. It was something, that looked vaguely familiar. It also made his heart race in fear.
Before Arthur was given a chance to reply, Alfred was already sprinting down the beach.
It can't be. There's no way it could have broken off, and been pushed to shore.
Alfred splashed into the ankle deep water that was slowly coming back in, far out beyond the shore line. The familiar cloth bag coming into view, half floating in the returning tide as he neared. However, one thing, was clearly missing.
Alfred fell to his knees as he grasped at the bag, and quickly he began to feel around for what was suppose to have been concealed inside.
"Wh-what is that?" Arthur's voice came in gasps as he tried to find his breath again.
Alfred didn't reply. Only until his hands brushed against a small pouch did he let out a gasp of shock.
Grabbing at the pouch, he lifted it up out of the water to take a look at it. There was nothing special about the small burlap sack, but the contents that he poured out onto his hands caused him to almost fall backwards.
"Sea glass."
Tiny pieces of the smooth, muli-coloured glass, spilled out onto his hands. Micah had been here.
"Micah! Micah, where are you?" Alfred stood, now anger in his voice, still laced with fear at what the boy had found.
"Alfred." Arthur's voice was shaken now, and Alfred quickly turned to see where Arthur had moved off to.
Alfred stood and followed to where Arthur was looking at.
Amidst the smooth sand, what he hadn't noticed before, were multiple sets of hoof prints, along with a mess of sand that looked to have been turned up due to a scuffle. Alfred looked off to see that the hoof prints had all ran back along the beach from where they had come, which ran far from the direction of Alfred's home but to the city.
"What do think happened?"
Alfred lifted his hand to stare at the colored pieces that laid there. Alfred was to blame for this. The boy had came across the bag due to the low tide. It had to have broken off it's anchor, and had been pushed to shore with the tides. The muskets were gone, and so was Micah.
"British soldiers found Micah with unmarked bronze muskets. Contraband... that I forged myself." Alfred turned to look at the soldier, "They've taken Micah in on the charge of smuggling."
A/N: A lot has happened in this chapter, and on a personal level, I hope it makes up for chapter 7's short comings. (I wasn't too happy with how that one played out. Probably going to rewrite that one.)
I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did in writing it! There is a lot more story to be had with "Quartering Acts" and I do hope you continue to read and enjoy it! :)
I also love to hear your feedback, so do please leave a review on your way out! :D
Thank you all for your continued interest in "Quartering Acts", and I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season! :)
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