If Brigit Delaney wrote Harlequin Romance…

Katrina stood outside the door of her cabin, surveying the farmland below. She’d heard rumors in the village that the British soldiers were on their way and had planned a surprise attack for after dark. It wasn’t their normal style, they weren’t marching into town, two by two, bright red uniforms and a drummer boy announcing them from miles away. They’d been in country long enough to learn that the local boys used different, more successful tactics picked up from the natives.

But, the British regulars weren’t prepared for the local boys’ women.

Kat, made her way to the laundry basket, picked out her husband’s red long-johns and clipped them to the line, smiling at the way the wind carried them upward like a flag. She added a few sheets and then glanced across the field again. From a distance, she could just make out a flash of red between the trees. Emily had gotten the message and had answered in kind. Janice would be watching, too, and within minutes, red long-johns would be sending the message down the line, across the country-side.

Brushing her hands together, she gathered her basket, picked up her skirt, and headed back into the warmth of her cabin. Jim would be home soon to gather supplies and head out to his post, and she didn’t plan to send him to battle on an empty stomach or without his fill of what she kept beneath her skirts.

She stirred the bubbling stew in the cast-iron pot hanging above the cooking fire, and then gathered the necessary dishes, cut a few large pieces of bread, and placed a crock of this afternoon’s butter on the table. As she began to ladle the stew into a bowl, she heard Jim’s approach, set the bowl on the table and swished her way toward the door to greet him.

He entered, and she gathered his gear, taking the musket from his shoulder, leaning it up against the wall by the door. She’d refill his pack and ensure he had plenty of ammunition while he ate.

He removed his hat and sat down at the table.

“My beautiful Kat, I’m a lucky man to have ye. What have ye heard in the town? I saw the red from a mile away.”

“Well, Jim…just that…the redcoats are just a few miles away, set to come upon us after sunset.”

“Aye…we’ll meet them at the bridge, then. They’ll never have the chance to cross.”

He ate quickly, using his buttered bread to clean his bowl, and then met his wife’s expectant eyes as she stood beside her chair.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked.

“You’re heading into battle, and I thought it best that we ensure the good Lord knows our commitment to one another before you do.” Her cheeks colored at the thinly veiled request.

Grinning, he provided one right back, “My musket is ever at the ready for you, my dear…always loaded…and the good Lord already knows I am yours, lock, stock, and barrel.”

He stood, taking her into his arms and depositing her one the bed. She pulled up her skirts and presented herself to him as he undid the buttons of his trousers.

Tonight, he would be part of an ambush. Tonight, he might meet his maker. But before that, he’d lose himself in his wife’s softness.

Katrina undid the criss-crossed ties of her leather bodice, letting her breasts loose beneath her shift. Their subtle movement made his groin ache with lust, and he grabbed hold of them both as he entered her and inhaled the scent of her arousal.

Hours later, aiming his musket from behind a fallen tree trunk, the smell of her satiated need mixed with his will be just the brand of powerful motivation required to fight.

Lock, stock, and barrel (background of phraseology)

Revolutionary Spies: Women Spies of the American Revolution

I also thought this would be a fun piece…simply because so many of my readers are British. I love you guys!

2 Replies to “Lock, Stock, and Barrel”

    1. Thanks…I was pretty sure it sucked, given how little interest it drummed up. But, then, not everyone likes what I write…so there’s that.

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