by Jo Goodman
"Wouldn't you be? You don't even like to be questioned about a bird call. You'd be a damn sight touched if someone were questioning your loyalty after all this time."
Smith grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Salem McClellan angry. "Now don't get all riled up. I never had any doubts. I was under orders to find out, that's all. If I didn't respect you, I wouldn't have asked you flat out."
"Whose orders?"
"The general himself."
"Washington? Questioning a McClellan's loyalty? He's been a family friend for years. What would make him think—"
"Your name on a list of Loyalists the British are puttin' together."
"That's absurd. Gareth's in the State Assembly, and there are few groups more radical than that. Everyone knows where Father stands and Noah is—"
"I said your name. No one else's. Political dissension has been known to split families before. Why should the McClellans be immune?"
"My name on that list is a lie."
"I know that. That cussed general knows it, too, but he'd surely like to know how it got there."
Salem frowned. "Tell me about the list."
"Like I said, the redcoats are putting it together so they know who they can count on for quartering and supplies. New York and Philadelphia have large Loyalist populations, and the British can occupy either city without much difficulty. But once you get out of the cities, it's more difficult to find the Loyalists, which is why your name nearly burnt the general's fingers when he touched on it in the section marked Virginia."
"I don't understand. Who would put my name on such a list?"
"I figure it's someone tryin' to discredit you."
"Someone who knows what I've been doing?"
"I don't know about that," Smith said slowly. "It's possible. How many people know you're a courier?"
"My brothers, Shannon, and my father. You, of course, and whoever you've told."
"Your sisters? Your mother?"
"No, but not because they can't be trusted. I didn't want them to worry."
"Your slaves?"
Salem ignored Smith's hint of derisiveness. This was ground they'd tread before. Smith and Ashley Lynne were of a similar mind on the subject. "No. I've been careful."
"Then I don't know if you've been discovered or not. Looks as if you got yourself caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, Salem. Your escapade in London, getting yourself tossed in the jail, doesn't win you Loyalist favor here. And your name on Grant's list doesn't win you much support with the patriots."
Salem felt his gut twist. "Whose list?"
"The redcoats."
Salem grabbed Smith's indigo blue vest, pulling off one of the white buttons. "Dammit! Repeat what you said. The man's name."
If the man holding Smith's clothes in his fist hadn't been Salem McClellan, he would have been feeling the cold edge of the blade tucked in Smith's scruffed top boots. Because Salem was one of the few men Smith genuinely liked, he only placed his hand around Salem's wrist and squeezed until Salem's fingers relaxed their grip. He picked up the fallen button and tucked it into his vest pocket while Salem shook out his hand. "My regrets, friend. I don't like people grabbin' at me."
Salem smiled, chagrined. "I'll remember that."
"Grant is the man's name you were askin' about. Charles, Lord Grant. He's one of Gage's most valued advisors. He's had a post in Boston for a number of years. He's quite familiar with the Colonies—and Colonial Loyalists."
"Married?" Salem already knew the answer.
"You'd never know it by the company he keeps, but yes, I believe there's a Lady Grant somewhere in England. Probably pining for the randy goat this very minute."
Salem's short laugh was filled with skepticism. "Not if I know Davinia."
"You know the lady wife?"
"I met her on that personal matter I mentioned. She is the mistress of the Duke of Linfield." He hesitated, searching Smith's hard and knowing features, then plunged in with the details of his visit to London, including Ashley's wise suspicions that Nigel was behind the smuggling charges as well as Shannon's broken legs.
Smith listened carefully, his face inscrutable. When Salem was finished he said thoughtfully, "It seems you've made an enemy in your own right, Salem. It seems the duke wants your hide. I wonder how it can aid us?"
Since he had been thinking the same thing, Salem's smile was mocking. "Your concern overwhelms me."
"Hell, Salem. I figure you can take care of yourself. In a clinch you're the second best man I know." His grin said he was the first.
"Then you agree the duke's influence put my name on that list?"
"Makes as much sense as any other explanation. The real question is whether Grant did it because he thinks you're a sympathizer, or if he put it there at the behest of his wife, knowing full well it would discredit you."
"I'd like to find out which it is."
Smith nodded, lowering his hat a shade over his eyes. He levered his elbows behind him. "Had a feelin' you might. I have a plan I've already discussed with the general. I can't see that it needs any changin' just because of what you've told me."
"Go on."
"I don't know when we're going to move the British from Boston. Washington's got his hands full trying to keep the army together, raise supplies, and plan a campaign, but you can be certain the lobsterbacks will be gone and just as certain they're not likely to swim for England. We figure New York is a likely refuge. I'd like you to be there, settled in, when they arrive."
"And do what?"
"What you do best. Find out things."
"You don't even know when they'll get to New York. It could be a year from now, if ever."
Smith shrugged. "It could be worse. They could settle in Philadelphia. After the peace here at the landing, that city would make you dizzy. Anyway, I'm not suggesting you leave tomorrow. The first of the year is fine. That'll give you six months to inquire about a house and think about what sort of trade you want to pursue in New York. You can hardly be a planter there. And, of course, you'll have to make some kind of break with your family."
"When I leave the landing for New York, my family will know the true reason. I will lie to others but not to them."
"As you wish. The less people who know, the better."
"And my wife will go with me."
"Your wife?" Smith cocked an eyebrow.
"She will be in another three days. I'm marrying Ashley Lynne."
Smith looked at Salem shrewdly and realized quite rightly there would be no broken engagement or any chance of leaving his ladywife behind. "Damn." He whistled softly. "I hope I never meet the wench that can make me leave my senses."
"There's no warning, Smith," Salem told him, remembering the lurch his insides had taken when Ashley sat in his arms sniffling.
"I'll keep that in mind," Smith said. "How's she going to like the idea of New York?"
"She's not. But if you think it can wait until after the first of the year, then I'm waiting to tell her."
"Is she a Loyalist, Salem?"
"I was wondering when you'd get around to that. You're asking the wrong question. You should ask if I can trust her with my life. After all, in New York it's my body that will swing if I can't."
"You do what you want. But you had better be the only damn one swingin'."
"You're a hard man, Smith. If I didn't feel so sorry for you, I'd take you to task. Ashley will never betray any of us."
"Keep your pity. I'd rather feel your knuckles."
"Forget it," said Salem. "What can I do for you before the first of the year?"
"Routine coastal searches."
"Of course. Trade is going to be difficult for a while."
"Congress will get around to sanctioning privateering. You could stand to make a fortune on British ships."
"I don't think so. It smacks of piracy, pure and simple. But it sounds like something you'd be interested in."
Smith stood, brushing off his dusty
breeches. "No, thank you. I don't ever want to sail again if I can help it."
Salem laughed. "Seasick?"
Smith's jaw tightened. "Something like that." He looked away, wondering why he was unable to tell the truth even now. What was worse, Salem knew he lied and didn't question him.
"When will I see you again?"
"You know how to get a message to me."
"That wasn't precisely what I asked."
"It's a safe bet you'll see me in New York." He picked up his musket and stretched out his hand to Salem. "The general appreciates what you're going to do," he said gruffly. "And if Miss Lynne is only deserving of half the confidence you've placed in her, she sounds like a good woman for you." As an apology, it was the best he could manage. He took his leave then, disappearing quietly into the woods.
Salem stayed in the clearing long after Smith had left. Damn, but that man could unsettle every plan he had. He came and went like a ghost, appeared when he was least expected, and was absolutely single-minded in his pursuit of American independence. Salem couldn't believe Smith had anyone in his personal life who depended on him; he seemed almost aggressively alone, trusting no one. Even after working under Smith's direction, and ultimately under the direction of the Sons of Liberty, for nearly two years, Smith remained an enigma to Salem. A rueful smile touched Salem's mouth. He didn't even know the man's first name.
The smile vanished as he thought to the future. It was certain Ashley would not appreciate Smith's intrusion into their lives, and the continued influence of the duke, three thousand miles away, would worry her. The prospect of a smooth first year of marriage suddenly seemed very dim.
* * *
Ashley's most recent purchase was balanced precariously on top of her other bundles. Her head tilted to one side so she could see around the wrapping that contained one of her new bonnets. Just in time she managed to side step a particularly deep puddle in the street.
"Darlene!" she called to the petite woman in front of her. "I can't see where I am going. You shouldn't have allowed me to buy this bonnet!"
"Pish!" Darlene replied. "Watch that nasty piece of business there, to your left. You don't want to ruin your slippers." Darlene's own arms were filled with the overflow of Ashley's purchases, but she had no regret about anything she encouraged Ashley to buy. Charity's instructions were that Ashley was to have a complete trousseau. It was a lovely opportunity to learn the new fashions and Ashley's company was refreshing, although Darlene wished Salem's bride-to-be had entered into the spirit of the thing more readily instead of worrying about every expenditure. It took all of Darlene's wiles to persuade her to complete her wardrobe.
Darlene neatly skirted a particularly handsome young man purposefully making his way across the street and called out a warning. "Ashley! Are you still back there? Watch your—" Too late. A soft thud, cries of dismay, and hastily murmured apologies told Darlene she had been too slow with her warning. Spinning on her heels she found Ashley and the young man bent over the bundles. He was helping her load the packages back into her arms.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said to Ashley, bright blond hair glinting in the sunlight. "Reckon I wasn't lookin'." He paused, looking over Ashley carefully, and his grin said he liked what he saw. "Then again, mebbe I wanted to see who was hidin' behind all these bundles."
Ashley blushed and Darlene intervened. "Mind your manners, sir! This young woman is going to be Salem McClellan's wife the day after tomorrow."
Smith straightened and tipped his hat to Darlene, his eyes dancing. "Then there's still time for me to win her."
Darlene's small mouth pursed and Ashley could see she was ready to deliver the stranger a set down. Ashley broke in. "I'm afraid that's not possible. I've already been well and truly won."
She said it with such simple sincerity Smith had no doubt that Salem held her heart. Damn lucky fellow! Smith broke contact with Ashley's striking green eyes and dramatically placed his hand over his heart which made both women laugh. "If there's no hope for me, and if you have everything well in hand, then I shall take my leave." Before Ashley or Darlene could make a polite protest he was gone.
"That was a peculiar encounter," Darlene commented minutes later as they turned past the gate to her home. A servant rushed out to relieve them of most of their packages.
"I thought the same," Ashley said. "D'you know, I could swear I wasn't going to bump into him until you called my name. Then I couldn't seem to avoid him."
"He was such a flirt."
Ashley shook her head. "I'm not certain. I felt as if he were studying me." Her eyes darkened and she felt her stomach clench. "You don't suppose—no, he couldn't—not yet..." Her voice drifted off, and she realized Darlene was staring at her.
"What is it, Ashley?"
"You don't think he's someone Nigel sent, do you?"
"No," Darlene said hurriedly but unconvincingly. "Anyway, we'll tell Gareth about it as soon as he comes in. He'll know what to do."
Ashley wasn't so certain. Suddenly she wanted to return to the landing and Salem. This forced separation, though brief, was long enough for her to discover that only with Salem did she feel safe from her guardian.
Gareth returned from the landing shortly before dinner. Though dusty and smelling of horses and sweat, Darlene hurled herself at her husband's large frame as soon as he crossed the threshold. He picked her up easily in his massive arms and kissed her soundly, thoroughly muffling her protests.
Looking on from the base of the stairs, Ashley momentarily forgot her own concerns and smiled at the loving play between the married couple. Gareth's hair looked so dark against his wife's ash-colored curls, and though Ashley was used to his size, she still was amazed when she saw him with his tiny wife. How did they manage in bed? She looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her bold thoughts and was filled with a longing for Salem's touch.
With some difficulty, Darlene was able to pull back from her husband's embrace. "Oh, Gareth! You must put me down and listen! Ashley was accosted by a stranger today."
Gareth frowned. If anything happened to Ashley it would kill his brother. "What? Were you hurt, Ashley?"
"I'm fine, Gareth. Really. Darlene is making too much of the incident, though I admit to some concern after I thought about it. At the moment it was happening there was nothing odd about it."
Gareth set Darlene down, frowning. "A few details please."
"A man ran into me because I couldn't see for all my packages. But later it seemed to me that he did it on purpose, and he did look at me strangely."
"He flirted unconscionably," Darlene put in.
"There's nothing so strange about the last," Gareth said, giving his wife's waist a light squeeze. "But as to the rest perhaps you'll give me the particulars after I've cleaned for dinner."
During the meal Darlene and Ashley fully explained the incident, including a description of the rogue. They knew precisely the minute they could cease worrying because Gareth visibly relaxed in his chair, his large frame unfolding.
"Who is he, Gareth? And don't prevaricate. I know you know." Darlene smiled triumphantly.
"He's an acquaintance of Salem's, and when my brother hears he accosted you, he'll have his guts for garters."
"Oh, surely not," Ashley protested. "You are making too much of it."
Gareth's comment was cut off by his wife. "Ashley, pay attention. You will need to know this about the McClellan men: They are unfailing in their protection of their women, but on occasion they take it too far. Do you realize that my husband has not answered my question?" She turned to Gareth and fluttered her eyelashes coyly. "Now, suh," she drawled. "I am sho' this acquaintance of Salem's has a name. Might we be privileged to know it?"
"What possible difference does it make if you know the man's name?"
"D'you see, Ashley? He answers with a question. When Jerusalem does that to you, you'll know he's hiding something."
Gareth shifted uncomfortably, his hazel eyes darting from one woman to the
other. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "All right. His name is Smith. Does that satisfy you?" He laughed at their disappointed faces.
"Couldn't you have done better than Smith?" Darlene asked. "He didn't look like a Smith."
Gareth smiled smugly at Ashley. "Here's another lesson for you. When your husband gets around to telling you the truth, make certain you recognize it."
Darlene was undaunted. "Well, then, who is this Smith? Why don't I know him?"
"Can't Salem know someone you don't?"
"But you know him, too. You recognized him from our description, and I've never seen the man before. Is he one of those Liberty Boys? Is that why I never met him?"
"Liberty Boys?" Ashley asked, recalling Charity's pronouncement of them as riffraff. "Why would Salem and you have anything to do with them?"
Gareth shot his wife a speaking glance and Darlene held her tongue. She knew all the McClellan men were involved in some manner with the Sons of Liberty. Although he never spoke of it, it was not something he could hide once they had moved away from the plantation. There had been small hints over the last year that had made her suspicious, but until now she had never spoken of it. She wished she had not chosen this moment to air her suspicions. It was a certainty that no one would want Ashley to find out: She was still undecided on the issue of independence and unlikely to take pride, as Darlene did, in her husband's involvement.
"It sounds as if you've been speaking to Mother," Gareth said carefully, helping himself to a second portion of rice and freshly caught flounder stuffed with crabmeat. "She doesn't have a good word to say about the Sons."
"I believe she thinks they are overzealous in their pursuit of liberty," Ashley replied. She was aware Gareth had not denied involvement with the men. At the same time she knew it was not Gareth she should be questioning. She would speak of the matter to Salem at a later time.
"Mother is not in a position to be pointing fingers at the overzealous," Gareth said easily, glad he had found an opening to steer the conversation through. "She has everyone at the landing jumping through hoops in preparation for your wedding. I haven't seen her this excited since—"
