The cannon blast woke me even as I was being shaken.

The first thing I was aware of was the urgency with which Gracen was moving. Immediately on the heels of that thought was the change in the periodic gunfire I'd heard last night. It came faster now. Not as fast as it would in my time, but still enough of a change to remind me of where and when I was.

The Battle of Bunker Hill had begun.

“Did you know?” he asked as he cut the rope binding my hands. “Was this why you wanted to get away so urgently?”

“I had no idea,” I lied, rubbing my sore wrists as I watched him throw a glance toward the city. In the light, he was even more handsome than the night before, his features clearer, his emerald eyes more piercing. The frown on his face, though, wasn’t as appealing.

He looked at me as if I had tricked him somehow. “Did you attempt to keep me here?” he asked.

“Are you serious?” I asked incredulously. “I tried to get away from you. You were the one keeping me here against my will.”

He pulled his overcoat on without taking his eyes from the tree line. I knew what he was looking for, and I wanted to assure him that if we avoided Breed's Hill, we'd most likely pass by unseen. But I knew if I offered this bit of information, he'd want to know how I came by it, and that wasn't a story I could tell.

“I want nothing to do with this.” Gracen's voice was hard. “You are free to do as you please, but I will not be a part of this madness.”

I moved quickly to his side, pleased at how much better my ankle felt, and crouched beside him even as the sounds of muskets and cannons roared nearby. This was what I wanted to avoid last night, though, in hindsight, I realized it would have been a bad idea to join up with the soldiers now facing off against the British. While the British casualties would be more than double the American ones, it would still be a bloodbath.

“We should probably stick together,” I said.

I'd told myself that Gracen wasn't my responsibility, but now that it came down to it, I couldn't leave him here, knowing what I did. Even though neither of us were soldiers in this war, it felt too much like leaving a man behind, no matter how things had originally played out for him.

He was moving now, and I followed. At least he was being cautious as he inched toward the river. As I walked behind him, I was unsure if I should give him details about where the majority of the fighting was taking place. My sense of direction was skewed at the moment, and I had no idea where we were in relation to Breed's Hill. Ennis would have known.

Keeping low and moving slow were our best bets. With neither of us being armed and me still limping a bit, I could only hope that if we ran into either side, they'd take us for civilians trying to avoid being shot.

Morning turned into afternoon as the heat rose steadily. I wanted to ask Gracen how much farther, but being quiet was more important than the sweat pouring down my face. Theoretically, I'd known that Boston and the surrounding countryside would have looked different than what I was used to, but I hadn't realized how much. I was completely dependent on Gracen to lead me now. I was completely lost.

Then I saw the smoke.

Charlestown, Massachusetts was on fire.

Through the trees and brush, I could see flickers of orange and red. The people in Boston would have a better view. According to the book Ennis had given me to read, one of those Bostonians would be John Quincy Adams, a child now, but who would later become president.

The strange things we remember in moments of duress.

Even though the details were lost, the smell of the smoke and the sounds of battle drove home more than anything else just how great a price had been paid for our freedom. This was only one of many battles that would make up the war, and it wouldn't be long before the colonists would run out of bullets and resort to throwing rocks. It would be a bloodbath.

We had to leave before we were counted among the casualties.

I grabbed Gracen by the arm, but he wouldn’t budge.

“My God,” he whispered as he watched the flames across the Charles River.

I pulled harder. “Gracen, we have to move, now!”

He stumbled a few steps, his face pale. I didn't blame him. I'd seen war firsthand, and I felt sick to my stomach. For someone who'd never witnessed it, it was overwhelming. I pulled harder, and Gracen followed me a dozen feet or so before we were stopped by three muskets pointing straight at us.

“Halt, in the name of King George!”

Shit.

I pushed Gracen behind me, an involuntary act since there was no way I'd be able to protect either one of us, but I was also pretty sure he'd be useless if it came to a fight. The redcoat in the middle lowered his musket, coming toward us in slow strides. The other two kept their weapons trained right on us.

“Identify yourselves!” the leader demanded.

I held up my hands to show that I didn't have any weapons. Even though it irked me, I knew that we were safer with the British than the Americans at the moment.

“My name is Gracen Lightwood.” He stepped around me, and I frowned at him. He ignored me. “I am the son of Roston Lightwood, a Loyalist to the Crown, and a friend to the British army.”

The man looked at me, clearly expecting me to add my own identity to the mix. Gracen knew where my loyalties were, and I wasn't sure I could trust him to support any lies I might tell, but I also knew I couldn't tell the truth.

“Mr. Daviot is my steward,” Gracen lied, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “We were on our way to my estate when the fighting started, and we decided to take cover and wait out the battle.”

The redcoat looked past us toward where the battle continued. He didn't even bother hiding his contempt at what I was sure he considered cowardly behavior. I had no doubt he wished to be with his comrades, charging the rebels on the hill. I wanted to tell him that he was better off here.

“In the name of King George, I am putting you under arrest and taking you to camp for questioning,” the man said.

“Good man, I assure, there is no need–” Gracen began but immediately held his tongue when he was shot an angry glance. The other two soldiers came forward, clearly intending to do as they'd been told.

I couldn't let them take us to camp. I didn't know how close it was to Breed's Hill, for one thing. For another, I was somehow still passing as a man. If we were taken somewhere to be questioned, there was a good chance that my gender would be discovered which would cause more problems than I even wanted to think about.

Since I was unarmed, I needed to be fast. I said a quick prayer that my training back home would be as much of a surprise as my resistance and then moved. Kicking at the musket pointed at me, it fell to the side just as the man pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was deafening, but it was the target I was worrying about, and the lead ball had the desired effect as it buried in one of the other soldier's legs.

As the musket was brought back around, the redcoat seemed eager to use the bayonet on me, but I grabbed the barrel and pulled it forward. I watched as the blade slid into the other soldier before he could do anything more than stare at us in shock.

The redcoat hit me, his fist slamming against the back of my head. I saw stars and staggered, pain shooting through my skull and down my spine. I let the adrenaline flood through me, giving me what I needed to move past the pain, and not a moment too soon. The soldier pulled his weapon out of his fallen comrade and turned it on me.

He thrust the bayonet toward me and the blade cut through my shirt and shoulder, drawing blood. It did little damage, and I ignored the pain as I pushed the weapon away and grabbed the soldier. My hands wrapped around his arm, and I brought his elbow upwards with tremendous force. The man screamed in pain as I felt his joint snap and the gun fell from his hand. He was quick though and managed a blow to the jaw that caught me enough off guard that I fell.

I was sure that would be it for me, but that was when Gracen moved. His cane caught the redcoat square in the jaw. The man staggered, surprised by the attack, but collected himself quickly. He went for Gracen, but I grabbed at him as he passed. His elbow connected with my temple, and my grip loosened enough for him to break free.

He grabbed his gun and turned on me, ignoring Gracen as the soldier who'd been shot joined in the fight. He grabbed Gracen's leg, but I barely had time to register it before the leader drove his bayonet down.

I screamed at the pain searing through my leg as the blade sliced through skin and muscle. Grabbing the barrel of the gun to keep the soldier from pulling the bayonet out, I kicked with my good leg. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gracen knocked to the ground. The man above me saw it too and reached for his dead comrade's gun.

Without thinking, I yanked the bayonet free, sending a fresh wave of pain blasting through my system. Swinging out, the bayonet sunk into the leader's side before he could reach Gracen. I twisted it sharply, and the soldier turned toward me. Our eyes locked for a brief second before he slumped to the ground.

I fell back, the pain in my leg and shoulder overcoming the adrenaline. A gunshot made me jump, and I looked over to see Gracen holding a small pistol, smoke still coming from the barrel. The injured soldier was now dead.

Gracen's eyes met mine, and I saw horror at what we'd done. I opened my mouth to tell him that we hadn't been given a choice, that it had been us or them, but I knew he wouldn't understand, not when he'd been so certain that his father's loyalties would protect him.

At the moment, however, that wasn't our biggest problem.

About thirty yards away, three more redcoats were running towards us, and I knew there was no getting away.