Surrender the Night by MaryLu Tyndall

icehouse and propped him against the front wall.
    Rose opened the door and a waft of cool, moist air tainted with mold blasted over her, refreshing her hot skin. She and Amelia assisted Mr. Reed inside and helped him down onto the bed of hay Rose had prepared earlier.
    “I am not without compassion.” She sighed. “You may stay a few more days until you are well enough to walk.”
    Mr. Reed propped himself up on his hands and studied the gloomy room.
    Amelia handed her the bundle that had been slung across her free arm. “I’ve brought some of Samuel’s old clothes.”
    Grabbing the sack, Rose tossed it at Mr. Reed’s feet. “You may want to change. If someone does find you, it would be better if you weren’t dressed like a British naval officer.”
    “Thank you.” Mr. Reed nodded.
    Rose glanced at the dreary walls, the empty space, anywhere but into his kind dark eyes. “I shall bring you some food and water later. There’s a bucket in the corner where you can relieve yourself.”
    He wrinkled his nose, and a brief glimmer of repulsion crossed his face before he dipped his head in her direction. “I am completely at your mercy, Miss McGuire.”
    “So it would seem.” Rose started to leave, confusion tumbling within her at his accommodating attitude.
    “Why do you hold me with such scorn?” His indignant tone turned her around.
    Rose threw back her shoulders. “As I said before, because you are attempting to rob me of my freedom, sir.” Sorrow weighed on her heart. “And because your countrymen murdered my family.”
    His throat moved beneath a swallow, and he opened his mouth as if to say something but then quickly slammed it shut.
    “And because of that”—retribution surged through Rose, tightening her voice—“you will keep hidden and behave yourself, Mr. Reed. Or mark my words, I will gladly turn you in to the American military where you will rot in prison until the end of the war.”

CHAPTER 5
     
    R ose adjusted her sprigged muslin gown and fingered the lace trim on her collar. She gazed out the window of the landau as they traveled down Calvert Street. Beside her Amelia pinched her cheeks and chattered incessantly about who she was going to see at church, which couples she had heard were courting, and which privateers might be in town.
    Amelia glanced out the coach’s small window with a sigh. “Privateering is so romantic.”
    Aunt Muira exchanged a smile with Rose at the woman’s fanciful views of life. Dressed in a plain cotton gown of emerald green, Rose’s aunt looked much younger than her fifty-eight years. Perhaps it was the love she shared with Uncle Forbes that kept her so young and vibrant. Rose wondered if she would ever find such happiness with a man.
    She turned her gaze back to Amelia and saw her wistful expression. “Privateering is anything but romantic, Amelia.” Rose clasped her gloved hands together in her lap, noticing the tremble that went through them. “It is difficult and dangerous work.”
    “Oh why must you be such a crosspatch, Rose.” Amelia closed her eyes as the breeze blowing in through the window sent her dark curls twirling over her neck. “I daresay I hope I am never as frightened asyou are of everything.”
    Rose lowered her chin beneath the affront, yet before her anger had a chance to swell, she remembered her trembling hands. As curt as Amelia was, her maid spoke the truth.
    Aunt Muira leaned forward and touched Rose’s hands. “How are you faring, dear?” Her dress brought out the deep green in her eyes—eyes full of concern.
    “It grows easier each time I travel into town.” Rose smiled and her aunt squeezed her hands and leaned back on the leather seat. Though Rose knew her aunt referred to the tragedy that had befallen Rose years ago, it was the recent assault by Garrick that had Rose’s nerves twisted in a knot. In fact, despite her trembling hands, she was proud of herself that the incident had not kept her from her Sunday trip into