Chapter 89: The Courtesan

One of the problems about fighting rearguard actions was that they usually ended in retreat and not everybody got the word to fall back at the same time. At least that was the excuse I was given after I was left behind during one such action. It had been going pretty well that morning until the British got some more men into the fray, and the weight of their iron and lead convinced Lt. Foster to live to fight another day.

He later told me that he blew his whistle and shouted, but it was very noisy at the time so pretty soon I was hearing shooting behind me and saw no one in front of me when the smoke cleared. That was when I tore off my black jabot, pocketed the handkerchief we had tied about our right arms, threw away my cockade and became a civilian, again, a civilian with a Tower musket.

The first place I found after following a creek uphill was a tavern that was small by even backwoods standards. Twenty people would have filled the place and the kitchen stood as an afterthought on one end. I found some relatively clean straw, hid my musket and sat back to relax for a spell. Not a minute later, out of the kitchen door came a woman in a white shift, torn weskit and brown apron, holding her flapping skirts about her knees, running hard, and then a florid Redcoat with his codpiece undone and his belts all ahoo. The woman fled into the woods and the puffing soldier pursued her, crying curses, his ugly prong flapping.

That got my curiosity up, so I crept to a grimy window and spied two women being mauled about by three or four Redcoats who obviously had rape on their tiny minds. I ran to the front door, barged in, knifed the nearest man in the gullet and then took on the other two in a very brief and bloody fracas that involved some furniture throwing and vulgar cussing.

I had a weapon, they did not and the women, until they huddled on their knees in a corner, tended to impede their attempts at escape as well as to defend themselves. The Redcoats ended up bleeding while I felt at a loose tooth in my mouth and a barked shin.

The two women, a small, frightened girl who turned out to be a maid, and her mistress, an angry raven-haired beauty who was mad enough to spit and whose bodice had been ripped asunder revealing her fancy stays and abundant charms stood holding each other beside the only window, unable to take their eyes from the bleeding bodies on the floor and benches. I was about to sheath my blade and claim my reward when the door burst open and the big fellow with the open foreflap appeared.

He took in the carnage at a glance and came at me without hesitation, a brave and stupid man. I dodged his charge, tripped him up and drove my big blade into his back twice in less than the time it takes to write the words. I wiped my long knife on the squirming man, stood after taking a couple of purses and asked the women if they were all right. They both nodded and gulped as they got to their feet. About then the tavern girl returned, her face scratched but otherwise unharmed.

The dark-haired woman found her tongue first. "Our driver is out there," she gestured broadly, "would you see to him?" She clutched her torn dress to her ample bosom while her maid stood gape-jawed.

In front of the tavern I found a light rig and a dead man, shot in the face. I pulled his body down, took his meager purse and fine hat and wondered how to dispose of five bodies. The soldiers had been afoot and were probably just stragglers out for some loot and casual sex. The women stumbled out of the charnel house I had produced and climbed into the rig without a word. "You can drive," the woman said. Her eyes brooked no disagreement so I nodded, clamped my new hat on, took two of the muskets leaning against the wall, wiped the bodies from my mind and hopped to the sprung seat.

"Where are you headed?" I asked over my shoulder, admiring the pear-shaped boobie she was putting away beneath lace-trimmed silk.

"My farm," the woman said, still comforting her trembling maid. "Go on. I'll call the turnings. It's not far."

I released the brake and got the rig moving. By high noon, I was surely lost and suspected the woman giving directions was as well, but she assured me we were almost there. She was right and by mid-afternoon we approached a large, frame house with a long row of out-buildings, all set in a fine grove of shade trees. The women disembarked and disappeared while I took the carriage to the empty shed and unhitched the horses. Once they were happy and in the care of a black servant, I went to the house.

The maid greeted me at the back door, bade me wipe my feet and asked me in. She was in control of herself, in her element. She fed me well, a cold but hearty meal, thanked me profusely and asked if I needed directions to go on my way.

I said I did, and she called her mistress, who appeared in a simple ivory white gown with some curlicue trimming and a fancy blue weskit of patterned silk laced with a golden cord, slippers on her feet and her dark mane neatly combed and tied back.

Her beauty was nearly shocking, the combination of white skin and black hair, of loose-fitting, scoop-necked dress and tight-laced girdle. She took a deep breath, introduced herself as Mrs. Grantis, and found a piece of thick paper in a tall desk and made me a map which was well-done but, since I had no idea where the army was headed, would do me little good.

"Which way is Princeton?" I asked, having heard some officers talk about that town. I enjoyed standing behind her with a fine view of her beautiful hair, lustrous skin and the deep valley between her jutting bubbies.

She drew an arrow on one of her inked roads. "Perhaps ten or twelve miles this way," she said. "Did you eat?"

I nodded and thanked her.

"I have not thanked you," she said. "That was an amazing performance back there, truly amazing. You are a butcher, sir, a veritable butcher." She cocked an eyebrow at me.

"I had this," I said, patting my scabbard.

"Yes, but, well," she said. "You might get halfway to Princeton if you start now." She stood up straight and looked out the window.

I wondered what her hurry was. She seemed very ill at ease.

"You can take any riding horse that suits you," she said, offering me her hand and holding my eyes briefly, a tiny smile and worry lines both on her face. Then she said, "Damn!"

I followed her glance and saw three riders followed by a fancy carriage clatter into the back yard. They were both British Hussars and a Hessian cavalry officer, red coats and dark blue. "Get to the cellar," she hissed. "Quickly and keep quiet."

I hurried down the narrow stairs and was suddenly in the dark after the door closed above me. A bit of searching led to a pair of outside hatches where a few slivers of sunlight entered so I sat there, leaned back and snoozed. In those days, when you got a chance to eat, swive or rest, you took it.

When I awoke it was dark outside as well as inside, moonless. I stretched, urged my body to forget its need for relief, and listened. The house was very still. I tried the hatch doors and found them bolted from the outside so I climbed the steps, ignoring their creaks. The door at the top was also locked.

I retreated, pissed in a distant corner and then sat at the bottom of the steps, contemplating my next move. I felt the door above me open and the pat of bare feet descending. She almost stepped on me before I moved and greeted her with open hands, one sliding up her leg to her hip and the other grazing an upright breast before I found her arm. She was wearing just her flowing nightgown and her breathing was soft and urgent.

A bit of light seeped down from the floor above where a candle stood. I took a chance and pulled her to me and found her mouth with mine while my exploring hand held her rounded butt. She kissed me back and wriggled nicely as I kneaded her rump, fingers deep in her crease.

"Everyone is asleep," she said to my mouth. I kissed her again. "You can go now if you lead a horse away." She kissed me again. I sat on the edge of the steps and pulled her to my lap, rolling her nightdress up with both hands.

"What is going on here?" I asked as I ran my thumbs up the inside of her smooth thighs and enjoyed the sound of her eager moan. I found her slit behind its hairy veil, damp and warm.

"I am General Frederickson's mistress," she said quietly, kissing my eyes. I let my hands get to know the ripe lady, cupped her breasts, loosed the drawstring at her throat and then gnawed at her neck.

"He shares me with his favorites," she said, "brought two of them this time, but they were much too drunk to bother me. His men are sleep on the third floor with my maid, horsing her or the other servants I am sure. They usually do." She snorted as I pawed her mound, raking her muff and tracing the edges of her wet and quivering lips with a finger tip.

"Um," I said, finding her mouth and sucking her tongue into mine. Her fingers worked at my waist buttons.

"Why?" I asked, nibbling at her bare breast and tonguing her nipple to hardness while my hands caressed her arched back.

"Because I eat well, wear nice clothes, have a warm bed, and, and, don't do that."

I stopped sucking her nipple and lifted her at the hips so I could get my fiercely hard ram up into her dripping cunny. She wriggled and helped with her fingers delicately on my swollen shaft until it was properly positioned and slipping into her, and then she lowered herself slowly on the throbbing spike, sighing as she did so, looking to the side, sucking air. 'Wonderful, wonderful," she sobbed, her head nestled on my shoulder, hips rotating, knees behind me on the step. "S'blood, such a huge thing!"