Storm of Love - A Historical Romance Set during the American Revolutionary War by Nathaniel Burns Page A

ready to guard the campground while all the bantering and fighting went on around him. He even had the look of a bulldog. He was plump, barely fitting into the white pants he had on, and his shirt was so tight around him it looked as though he might break free of it at any moment.
              His eye drooped to one side, the right one, and he had the expression of someone who had been glaring and guarding something his entire life. It was obvious, though his expression seemed to have only one setting, that he did not trust them and found the situation suspicious.
              "Why ye wanna come up here and join us, eh?" he asked, as though nobody in their right mind would be coming to join a battle.
              "Why did ye join?" retorted Abigail as Raymond.
              The man grunted a response as though he hadn't considered that, and, at the same time, appreciated her—er, his—honesty and retort.
              "Mm, I suppose we all join fer our own reasons, nah?" he said, laughing as though he was trying to cough something up at the same time, guttural and base as an instinct, but still he carried the gruff and drooping eyes, as though his face had two personalities. The lips were smiling, but the eyes were glaring, and it made not much difference which was true.
              "Then I suppose if we have our own reasons they be our own, yes?"
              Edward had to note how good of a job she was doing, and it was everything he could do not to laugh audibly. Just the previous night she had been the woman of his dreams, feminine and elegant, and here she was passing herself off as a rugged old male soldier with a storied background. It was humorous but also rather surprising.
              "Yes, I suppose they be. All right then, you two out on the lines, nobody slacks around here, get on with it."
              For a moment, Edward thought that even Abigail seemed surprised at how easily they were able to join a war. But then again, the more the merrier was likely the idea, and since it was so often the case that members of the army would go home to their farms, leave, or be killed, he figured that this exchange was merely a formality to make it seem as though there was an actual recruiting and examination process, when in effect anyone who had breath in them could easily join. And shouldn't it be that way? That passion is what earns you a spot in a fight, nothing else?
              As they walked away, Edward noted Abigail's disposition. She was still in character, so he remained that way, as well. He knew she was no fool. If anyone but suspected that they were anyone other than who they claimed to be, it was over, and a worse end would likely come to them than if they had never set foot on the battlefield in the first place or had simply walked in front of a gun battle.
              Earlier, Edward remembered, Abigail had mentioned that on the north side of the camp there was an area of trees left unsurveilled and that they should meet there nightly, quietly, once the camp was either too drunk to notice or already asleep, so they could discuss the day and make plans—but also simply to see each other.
              As discussed, he parted ways with Abigail once they left the camp, not wanting to raise any suspicion. It was easy to pretend you were someone else, but pretending there was no connection between you and someone else, particularly when you had just spent the previous night in that person's arms and then the situation called for being bitter and war-torn men, it was best for the both of them if they parted ways.
              As he made his way toward the east of the camp, he realized that there was very little to be done. While he expected to be engulfed in battle from the very moment he entered the field, he noticed