Before Arthur could do more than open his mouth with a warning, Gates had pulled his hand away. Fearing he would slap her, Arthur stood ready to leap to her aid, but no. He only gripped her hair and pulled her head back. No doubt with more force than he ought to have, but she made nary a whimper.
“I would never hurt you, Gwyneth.” The words, spoken in a low pulse, were a strange combination with the fury in his eyes. “But I will kill each and every one of these ignorant Americans who have turned you against us. And I will begin with the Negro and child in the kitchen.”
The flare of her nostrils was the only indicator of her emotion for many seconds. Until at last she closed her eyes and a tear slipped from her lashes. “Don’t hurt them. Please.”
Would he? Arthur wanted to think not. He wanted to think it as much a bluff as his own threats had been. But in that moment, he was none too sure.
Gates released her abruptly. “Get up and go pack your things. You will bring home every single thing you brought with you, and I mean every single thing.”
She turned back to the paper and made a few more quick lines. “I cannot. I do not have it all anymore. I had to spend some of the coin—”
He cut her off with a blistering expletive. “I do not give a fig about the money, you stupid girl!”
The new lines turned into a wagon, one with strange apparatuses within. Roughly drawn, but precise. Then she dropped the pencil and stood. “Very well. If I have your word that you will not hurt them.”
He didn’t so much as blink. “If you behave yourself. If not, I promise I will.”
Her burning gaze moved to Arthur. “Can I at least leave my husband that drawing, or will you take that from him too?”
Arthur glanced down again at the sketch. A whimsical image of herself, the man’s parents with satchels in hand, a wagon. Hardly a farewell love letter, but if that was what she wanted to leave with him… He shrugged. “Have it your way.”
Thad looked over the wall at the ships in the harbor, waiting for the next flash, the next boom, the next shell to fall upon them. His musket rested along with Arnaud’s and Reggie’s, its thirty-six rounds untouched. For far too long, the fort’s massive guns had been as silent as their personal weapons, their major unwilling—wisely—to waste ammunition while the British vessels remained out of range.
Still. Inactivity pulled the tension taut.
Arnaud toed the unexploded ordinance that had landed a few hours earlier. Across it was scrawled, in black grease paint, A present from the King of England. “If we cannot do something soon—”
Another round came screaming toward them. Thad dove for cover, pulling Reggie and Arnaud with him. The walls at their back shook, dust went flying, and the groan of metal came a second before one of the 24-pounders crashed from its place to the ground.
Screams of agony filled the air.
Thad sprang to his feet, but Major Armistead charged forward before he could get to the area littered with men. “We need to evacuate the wounded! And remount this gun, quickly.”
Lending his shoulder to the remounting effort, Thad kept an eye out for Arnaud and Reggie to return from transporting the injured. When Arnaud returned, he did so with shaking head. “Two dead. Clemms and Clagett.”
“God rest their souls.” Thad looked past him to Reggie and a young man. His eyes went wide. “Will! What are you doing here?”
Willis sidestepped another soldier and hurried to Thad’s side. “I gave Gates and Hart the slip in the confusion coming into Baltimore.”
His blood ran cold. “Baltimore?”
The lad’s mouth set in a tight line, and he nodded.
“We have ships pulling within range again, Major!”
Armistead ran to the wall. “Bomb ships—they must have thought they did serious damage with that last one. Ready the guns, boys!”
A cheer went up from the men. Thad gripped Will’s shoulder. “Tell me what they are planning.”
The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “To take your wife. Take her back to London while you are here and unable to protect her.”
Thunder and turf. He dropped his hand and fisted it, but then he told himself to calm down. “She is with my parents. They will keep her safe.”
“They left.” He darted a glance toward Reggie. “That mulatto friend of Philly’s came, and they all tore off toward her house.”
Reggie’s face went whiter than a sail. “The baby.”
Willis shrugged. “I heard nothing. I just saw them leave, and then I took off myself. You need to get to her, Thad, fast.”
“Ready!” Armistead shouted. “Fire!”
Their guns blazed and roared. Thad ran to the major. “Sir, I—”
“Lane, good. I am worried about our powder magazine. ’Tis nothing more than a brick shed. One lucky shot, and this whole place could go up.”
He swallowed. “Sir, my wife is in danger—”