Several desolated farms later, the platoon rested on a hillside overlooking a gentle river. Some of the men refreshed in the icy water while others broke off into small groups talking. Cinnamon drew herself dangerously close to Ben, but yet naively so.
"The Scotsman really did this?" she asked, her warm breath licking Ben's neck.
He shivered unintentionally, relishing the erotic delight upon his neglected flesh. "Yes. He is a soulless man."
"I believe you. I've met him and within him, reflects a cold, black heart. There are terrible rumors whispered about his past during the French and Indian War. But my grandfather is a gentleman. He would never…"
"The orders did not hail from your grandfather. Rogers was used so that English Militant would not be deemed responsible."
"Ben…" she called his name, leaning intimately close. Her voice ethereal, like that of a sighing angel. He closed his eyes, vividly mustering the strength not to caress her. "Yes, Cinnamon?"
"The exchange you mean to negotiate. It is someone close to you? Is it for your wife?"
No longer able to resist, as if his body was merely responding to her summon, he drew an inch closer, so now her breasts pressed against his chest. Looming over her, he replied, "my father and Caleb's uncle. I am not married."
She made no move to cower from him, instead she branded her eyes with his and continued with interrogation. "There is something between you and Simcoe?"
So close, he could hear her heart pounding, feel the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathe. A mental flash of him shoving her dress up and thrusting himself between her legs rippled. Forcing the desire from his head, he replied, his tone a mere whisper, "I slaughtered Roger's force. I captured and tortured Simcoe. My only brother died as a result of my actions and now perhaps my father."
"You have made enemies of two of the most fierce. They will not stop until they…"
He cut her off, "until I kill them."
Her eyes widened, realization setting in. This man was not a gentleman raised in London. He was a grizzled warrior. He endured horrors unimaginable to her. The blood on his hands was thick and dense. Suddenly realizing how intimately close they were, danger dawning on her, she pulled away.
The gesture seemed to hurt him. She had read his pain before he hardened his eyes on purpose to shield human emotion from her, he stood and ordered his men to their feet and marched away, without helping her stand.
Caleb came up behind her and tugged her up. "Be careful, miss. Ben is a good man, but war makes even good men do things they regret."
They walked for hours until reaching a post where they would rest for the night. Tomorrow they would obtain horses and negotiate a prisoner exchange. Cinnamon sat cross-legged on a bed of moss, watching several dragoons construct Ben's tent. Jeffrey approached, ferrying a bowl of stew.
"It is not what you are used to, but it will ease hunger pangs," he offered shyly.
She accepted the bowl with a smile. "Thank you." Cocking one eye, she sniffed its steam. "What is it?"
"Wild onions and rabbit."
"Oh..." Having no spoon, she sipped it.
Jeffrey nodded and bid her goodnight.
"Thank you again for your hospitality, Jeffery," she called as the young man joined his friends by the campfire.
Caleb and Ben approached, wearing amused smirks.
"What?" she snapped, her smile fading as soon as she set eyes upon them.
"Just startled to find you bear some manners," Caleb joked, handing her a cup of steaming coffee.
"I have an array of manners in store for civilized people. And I do not drink coffee. I am British. I drink tea."
"Well you are in America and here your tea floats in Boston's harbor," Ben gloated, sitting down in front of her.
The wind begin to howl, drawing their attention to the approaching night. Cinnamon shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
"Why dont you go sit by the fire?" Caleb asked her.
She shook her head, casting her eyes at the dragoons as if they bore the plague.
Chuckling with sarcastic humor, Ben peeled off his Continental coat and wrapped it around her. "Because she has too much pride to join a herd of rebels."
Caleb nodded his head and broke toward the fire. "I am going to eat."
"Where am I to sleep, Ben?"
He glanced at her like she should know. "Well with me of course."
Eyes wild, she jumped to her feet, shaking her head. "I cannot! I will not! I will be ruined!"
"Relax!" He captured her boot and tugged her back down beside him. "I jest. You will sleep in my tent alone. You British girls do not know how to laugh at a joke."
She crossed her arms, pouting her lips. "It was not funny." She unbound her hair, tossing it in the night breeze, the act causing her breasts to jiggle. Ben watched, lapping up every second of her game.
After a few minutes of stargazing, a pack of coyotes began to sob in the distance. Cinnamon sucked in a startled breath and scooted overly close to Ben.
"Now you look to me for protection?" he teased in a smug tone.
Changing the subject, she asked, "Major, if Captain Simcoe denies the exchange, will you hand me over to your superiors and see me imprisoned for a crime I did not commit?"
"Are you fearful?"
"Yes…" She batted her coy eyes, her dark hair capturing the moonbeams, illuminating her silk. She was mesmerizing.
"I thought you were a little hell-cat?" He nudged her mischievously.
"Do not tease me so!"
"Tease you? You have been taunting me all day, warming my flesh with your body, casting me coy glances.."
She raised her hand to slap his face, but he captured it in mid-swing. "I warned you what would happen if you tried to strike me again!"
"You have insulted me! Any lady would react as so!" She tried to free her hand from his grasp.
Smirking, Ben twisted it behind her back and buried his chest into her bosom, intimidatingly. "You are not a lady. You are a spoiled childish brat."
"You are hurting me!" she whimpered, utilizing the tone a little girl would use.
Using one hand to pin her wrist behind her back, he used the other to tilt her chin to his face. "I am not hurting you and you know it. I have restrained my strength with every touch." She tried to glance away. He turned her gaze back to him with tender force. "And I will not see you imprisoned even if Simcoe refuses my request."
He released her with sudden retreat. She watched him stroll to dine with his friends, his departure leaving her hollow and aching.
Sighing, she drew to her feet and ducked inside his tent. She reclined on his spread and pulled his blanket over her. She rolled on her side and snuggled to his coat, inhaling his scent deep in her lungs, his masculine fragrance arousing her. Closing her eyes, she mentally conjured Ben's sultry face. She felt her core sear liquidity, imagining him collecting her in his arms and kissing her. Although his touch had always been gentle, his hands were rough. Her wrist still tingled from the warmth of his entrapment. She wondered if he would be as gentle beyond touching. She pondered his reaction if he were to duck inside his tent and find her draped over his coat, nipples erect and her cunt drenching with desire for him. The thought of him mauling into her virginal body and taking her primitively generated an involuntary moan.
She suddenly sat up, mind whirling. This was her one chance. Her one shot at living before being bonded for the rest of her dull life. It was reckless, impulsive, and oh so tempting. All she had to do was call him to her and she knew he would fulfill her fantasy without haste. She had seen the lust in his eyes. He might pretend he abhorred the British, but given the chance, he'd fuck her raw. All she had to do was open the tent and summon him, and he would give her a tameless memory to quell the wild in her soul for the long years to come, but instead she plunged back down, hiked her leg and fondled herself, pretending it was him.