In The Arms of My Enemy Book 1

Act of Desperation

Off the coast of Delaware Bay, June 21, 1812

Darkness amplified each sound as William and Edmund sloshed the final three yards to shore. Their boots sank into the soft sand and they paused, listening for an alarm to sound. Behind them, The Eurydice retreated into the dark ocean waves, her British flag lowered to divert suspicion.

They poured water from their boots and continued up the shore. A mile inland, a sleepy farm lay nestled between a grove of white oaks, a small log cabin and a barn standing across from each other. Dark mist from the ocean crept around their ankles, shrouding the cluster of trees and muting all sounds. The windows of the cabin were dark, pale curtains fluttering in the night breeze.

William held a finger to his lips, gesturing to the barn. The door creaked as he tugged it open.

Three farm horses lifted their heads inside their stalls, tossing their forelocks in surprise.

Edmund frowned over his shoulder toward the cabin. "These horses are probably their livelihood," he said, rubbing the velvety nose of the roan mare.

"We will return them," William promised. The bay gelding stamped his foot warily as William approached, a sugar cube extended in the palm of his hand.

"If we aren't killed first," Edmund muttered. He retrieved a bridle and saddle from the opposite wall and readied his mount.

William followed suit, whispering softly to the bay to calm it.

They led the horses out of the barn and swung into the saddles.

"We can still turn back," Edmund said, touching his mare apologetically on the neck.

"The Prince Regent is relying on us," William patted his breast pocket. A secret letter was tucked inside, weighing heavy against his heart. "We have no choice."

They rode south through the night on a long, curved dirt road. Passing by the western outskirts of Baltimore, they continued to Washington.

The Prince Regent had said William was his last hope at avoiding another war with America. He said he couldn't trust anyone else. But it didn't ease the sense of foreboding that grew in William's chest as they drew closer to the capital.

"Woah," William soothed his horse, patting the beast's neck, frothy with sweat, as they entered Washington. A purple glow grew in the east, signaling dawn over the rooftops of houses and shops.

"The streets are..." Edmund whispered, looking around.

"Empty," William finished, wrapping the reins tighter around his knuckles.

"There should be laborers heading to work, or shops readying to open," Edmund said, turning his horse. The mare's hooves clacked against the cobbled street, echoing off the buildings.

"Curfew." The word drove another nail of worry into William's chest. If there was a curfew in place, then their mission may already be doomed.

"Hurry," William said, spurring his bay horse onward. The horse nickered in protest and tossed his head.

"The horses are exhausted," Edmund swung down from the saddle and led the mare down an alley to a patch of grass behind a row of buildings.

William followed, dismounted, and checked his horse for injury. The creature was tired and hungry, but otherwise in good health. "Thank you, friend," he whispered in the bay's ear. It tossed its head in reply.

Cheeks creased with a frown, Edmund began rubbing his horse down.

"We haven't time," William said, grasping his friend's shoulder.