Fair Weather Heaths’, Virginia, United States of America, December 1813

Amelia and Jonathan just crested the hill furthest away from the mansion. The redbrick structure glimmered like a lone ruby in the snowy landscape below their position. Even at this distance, the homestead was sprawling.

As Jonathan rode on ahead, Amelia brought her mount to a halt and let her gaze wander. She frowned. There were more buildings further to the west. The small cluster of houses looked like a small village. She asked herself whether this was the closest town. But it seemed improbable because Jonathan had mentioned during breakfast that morning that his estate comprised all of the land to the north, south, west and east for many leagues.

She looked on ahead. Jonathan had dismounted from his black stallion and examined the ground. His horse moved about on its hooves restlessly behind him. Although Amelia was an accomplished horsewoman, she was grateful for the more docile chestnut mare she had been allotted by the groomsman. Seeing the stallion’s temperament the entire ride to the hill, she had come to appreciate her animal’s sweet nature.

The surrounding countryside was magical. It reminded Amelia of home. She would often go for a ride with her father’s chief groom when they were on the family’s estate in Berkshire. The undulating landscape resembled an unblemished sheet of ice, reaching in all directions. It was the same in England in the winter. The only difference being that there were more signs of human life than in the Americas.

Amelia felt a pang of sadness engulf her. She thought of all that had happened so far. She was so far away from home and worried whether she would ever get back. And even if she could, would she want to. What did she have there? A mother and a father that wanted to elevate their social standing by pawning her off to the highest bidder and a betrothed who would be the bane of her life if the marriage ever took place.

“You all right, Amelia? You’ve been awfully quiet the entire time,” said Jonathan, leading his horse by the reins to where she stood.

Amelia snapped her head in his direction. She smiled wanly. She didn’t want to offer him any sweet gestures, but she was too preoccupied to resist the natural impulse. Jonathan had been nothing but courteous to her ever since she saw him that morning after her little faux pas during dinner the previous evening. He had been so successful that she felt bad for breaking up the dinner that had been so pleasant. Sometimes, she wished that she were not as brazen as she was.

He hadn’t been overly fawning in any way but gentle and charming. He had made sure that she and Anna had every comfort he was able to give them. Also, Jake had been more than forgiving. He and Anna had decided to go fishing by the stream while Jonathan showed Amelia around his estate as he had promised during dinner.

“I was just admiring the view,” said Amelia, shifting her gaze away from his handsome face, boasting pink cheeks from the cold.

“Yes, it is beautiful up here. I would often come here when I was a boy. There is no more peaceful place on earth,” he said, remounting his horse that fretted skittishly.

Amelia copied him when he urged his mount into motion. They started to descend the hill at a sedate pace in the direction of the cluster of houses she had seen earlier, their horses’ hooves crunching in the snow as they went. “Has your family always been here?” she asked. She vaguely remembered him mentioning something that his grandfather had laid the cornerstone for the house in the seventeen hundreds.

“Not always.” Jonathan thought a moment. “My family is originally from Scotland.” He smiled when he saw surprise register on her face.

“Scotland - speaking to a true Highlander, am I then?” It was the first thing that came to mind. Judging by his looks, she could get away with it.

“Did my red hair and height give me away?”

Amelia crinkled her nose as she flashed him a slight grin. Seeing him smile so much made him look almost endearing to her. It was infectious. But yes, his brawny stature and the color of his hair did kind of point to the Highlands. “Is that a yes?”

“Aye, lassie,” he said, imitating a Scottish accent. “I am a veritable Scotsman.”

“Not bad, not bad at all.” Amelia laughed at his awful impersonation that had sounded more like a frog rabbiting. “Where in Scotland?” she asked, letting the curiosity get the better of her.

“My family is originally from Kilmarie, a small place on the Isle of Skye.”

“Is it nice there? I have never been to Scotland although it is starting to become rather fashionable as of late – you know for summer holidays and the like. Of course, only for the upper classes, some of which claim that the land is magical and as if out of this world.”

“Of course, only the aristocrats can afford to go there – it is rather a long journey from the south of England,” said Jonathan sarcastically.

“What is so funny?” asked Amelia, scrunching her brow.

“Oh, nothing; just how you described it and English society…” he waved his hand in a rotating motion, “but no, I have never been. I would like to go though…if this damn war ever comes to an end.”

“Do you always have to bring that up?” Amelia scowled.

“Well, there is one raging all around us. Our ports are blockaded, trading has become more and more difficult as other British ships arrive, and young men march north to their deaths.” He shrugged. “It’s difficult to keep one’s mind off it when you look at it from that perspective, wouldn’t you agree?”

Amelia nodded. She patted the mare’s neck in thought. “I suppose so. I just don’t like talking about it. War is so vile and depressing.”

“Well, you did pretty well on the subject when we were still on board the Triton. You knew almost everything there was to know about the happenings here in the Americas,” needled Jonathan. He just couldn’t resist provoking her. However, seeing the expression on her face, he realized that she was not in the mood for one of their petty squabbles. “My family have noble origins, you know,” he added quickly before she could continue their line of conversation.

“Oh.”

“Yes. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Not really – you have impeccable manners when you want to. Someone in your family must’ve taught them to you.”

Jonathan chuckled. “That would be my mammy.”

Amelia frowned. “Your mammy?”

“Yes, the lady who raised me when my parents died during the War of Independence with the British. I was only four years old. That kind-hearted lady saved my life – well, she and Jake’s father did.”

There was more to Jonathan Mitchell than met the eye. Amelia had seen an elegantly attired elderly black lady roaming around his mansion that morning. By the way she comported herself, she was in charge of all of the household staff, and she ran the place as if it was her own and she the lady of the house. The affection Jonathan showed her had been obvious.

“What happened?” she asked. Amelia immediately regretted having asked the question when she saw a shadow of pain darken his face.

“My mother burned in the barn with many of the other people held there. There had been no discrimination whether black or white. Everyone was burnt to a cinder with my father being made to watch…”

Amelia gulped when she saw Jonathan’s eyes water over. She half expected him to cry. She looked down hastily to give him some modesty in the act. When she looked back up, his piercing blue eyes were almost dry.

“As the fire grew in force, my father broke away from the men holding him and ran to the barn in an attempt to save my mother. He never came back.”

“How horrible…and you saw all this?”

Jonathan nodded. “My mammy held on to me to prevent me from running over there. We were hiding in the main house. She tried to drag me away from the window lest I witness more and the British see us, but I remained stuck to the spot. We watched until the fires burnt out.” He sighed. “I should have perished that day as well, but God works in mysterious ways.”

“How do you mean?” asked Amelia with concern emblazoned on her features.

“Before the British could plunder the main house and burn it to the ground like the barn, their scouts reported back. George Washington’s army was on the move south to crush Lord Cornwallis once and for all. They were perilously close to Fair Weather Heaths’, so the British troop that had massacred so many people had to retreat to Yorktown and the main British army.”

“I am so sorry, Jonathan.” Amelia reached out to touch his shoulder. It was the first gesture of intimacy since they had met. She realized that under the masculine veneer of the captain and plantation owner was a man of many facets, sides that spoke of his painful past and described his character. It impressed her that his personality had not been marred by the travails of life.

“The vile dragoon colonel…” Jonathan cleared his throat bronchially. “Colonel Clayton killed my parents a few months before the war ended in the Americas. On October 1781 the first step was taken – Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown and many British prisoners of war were taken. That defeat convinced the British to negotiate rather than prolong the war indefinitely. It set the stage for the peace treaty in Paris a few years later.”

“And Clayton. Did he act under direct orders from Cornwallis?” asked Amelia, hoping that her countrymen would never have stooped so low.

“Cornwallis never gave the order for such a scorched earth policy. The man had taken it upon himself to punish them, to his mind, traitors to the crown. My mother and father were just two of the hundreds of victims killed by the colonel.”

“What happened to the colonel? Do you know?”

“He was court-martialed and shot thanks to a direct order from Cornwallis.” Jonathan shrugged. “I suppose justice finds everyone in the end.”

They rode on in silence for a while, their horses carrying them at a trot. Amelia didn’t know what else to say. Her mind worked busily in an attempt to find some words that might put the handsome American’s memories to rest. She snuck furtive glances in his direction. She liked his profile that was strong and well defined by a prominent chin and a straight nose that beaked slightly at the tip.

Yet, it wasn’t the way he looked that drew her in. His manner was something to admire. When he didn’t focus all of his attention on the happenings of war, he was almost reflective, deep and a man of many facets. In her mind, he was the enemy. And yet, she wasn’t certain whether she could despise him in the same way she had done when he had captured the HMS Capricorn.

“You said that your family is of noble origins? Does that mean you once had a title?” she asked.

“I never did, but my grandfather was a laird when he came to the onetime colonies to find a new life. His name was Laird Duncan Mackinnon of Mitchell,” said Jonathan.

“Why did he leave?”

“It was after the Battle of Culloden in 1746. You know the one when the British defeated the Scots during the Jacobite rising of 1745, ending Bonnie Prince Charlie’s claim to the British throne.”

“Yes, the Duke of Cumberland led the British forces,” said Amelia.

Jonathan smiled. “You certainly know your history, Amelia.” He studied her more closely. Jonathan had sworn not to let himself be immersed by her pristine countenance, but it was nigh impossible. Amelia was like an angel when she wasn’t fighting him. He loved her mind even more though. It was full of information. Jonathan did not know many women, but he was certain that few existed with Amelia’s spirit and thirst for knowledge.

She wore a bonnet with silk and wool, embellished with a fur lining. Her riding habit clung to her frame, offering glimpses of her perfect lines. Her daintiness and sweet face made him want to reach out and take her into his arms. Jonathan had the undying urge to hold her and never let go. He would protect a woman such as Amelia with his life. And before he knew it, he was behaving as his father had done – one love for one life.

The feeling was alien to him. Everything from the crunching snow under the horses’ hooves, the quietness all around them to the trees bare of their foliage added to the sensation. He was naked before it, vulnerable but keen to discover more of the emotions coursing inside of him. The cold air stood in such contrast to the heat within his body that was like warm butter, soft and smooth.

His gaze remained fixed on her face as it persisted motionless, facing in the direction in which they were headed. Amelia moved gracefully and in perfect harmony with the horse. Her long legs mantled in a tweed skirt hung elegantly down the right flank of her mount in a seamless sidesaddle posture. She was perfect, he conceded. Never had Jonathan beheld such a woman before.

“He left because Cumberland issued the order that the rebels be given no quarter?” As the words past her lips, Amelia turned her head to find Jonathan studying her. His gaze was warm and alluring, and she found herself liking the way he looked at her. It had something proprietary and safe about it, as if he were claiming her as his own.

“Yes. Had he stayed, as one of the leading men in the Jacobite host, he would have been executed on Tower Hill in London as a high-ranking rebel lord. Also, it was the end of the clan-based system in which the laird acted as a feudal lord with omnipotent judicial powers. There was nothing left for him in Scotland, and he knew that the time of the clansmen was over, so he took his family and left.”

Jonathan let his arm float over the surrounding land. “And this is where he brought them – to a new life in a new land.”