by Tamara Gill
The lieutenant saluted rather sloppily and said, “Some of the boys think they otta be allowed to look for loot and such like.”
Sean stared silently at him for several long moments. The Lieutenant stiffened to attention and added crisply, “Sir!”
“Lieutenant, we are liberators, we are not conquerors. There will be no looting. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Very well.” Sean unrolled the map that showed all of the properties in the area, and who owned them. “Now, one party will cover this group of farms...”
Jaclyn stood back, listening to him organize the foraging details in a remarkably clear, concise manner. Far too quickly the Lieutenant was breaking his troop up into small groups and sending them off.
“Sean, er, Major, do you think that was a good idea?” Jaclyn asked after Sean had finished.
He looked down at her, his blue eyes veiled, one brow raised. “Do I think what was a good idea?”
Jaclyn waved her hand toward the rapidly dispersing foraging parties. “Sending your men out in independent groups. Maybe some of them will run away.”
“Maybe they will. What of it?”
Jaclyn blinked. “You don’t care that you may lose men?”
“There’s nothing I can do to stop a man from running if he wants to go. This isn’t the regular army. We don’t hang deserters.”
“Well, what about the people of this area? You call yourselves liberators. The people who have had their horses stolen and their food ripped off will hardly welcome you as liberators afterward!”
He eyed her curiously. “Ripped off?”
Jaclyn colored. “It’s family jargon—slang! My dad uses it all the time. It means stolen. Oh, never mind!”
He was frowning now.
Jaclyn blushed harder and called herself all kinds of a fool as she looked down at her feet. What was she doing, trying to convince this Fenian that he shouldn’t do what history said he and his men had done? She had to be careful. She had to remember that she could not say things, or do something that would change the outcome of even the smallest part of this invasion or the present might no longer be her present when she returned to it.
When she looked up Sean had gathered a group of six tough-looking characters around him. “Form up in single column, men. Come along, young Jack. You’re about to help rip off your neighbors.”
***
Sean set off at a fast clip with his small detachment, although no one seemed to notice but Jaclyn. To her surprise they walked cross-country, rather than taking one of the narrow dirt roads that divided up the region. The ground was full of lumps and Jaclyn’s found herself stumbling far too often. She was glad she was wearing boots rather than sandals, but she was worried that her uneven gait would brand her as a city person, rather than one of the locals. She was certain that the Fenians would consider her useful only as long as they thought she belonged to the area.
Their route led them past a two-story brick house, with a large barn and other outbuildings nearby. They skirted around the buildings, but there was a young woman out feeding grain to a flock of a dozen or so chickens. As they passed she paused in her task to watch them. Sean reached up and tugged his wide-brimmed hat in a silent salute and said politely, “Morning, ma’am.”
She froze for a minute, then, as the enlisted men sang out similar greetings, she screamed and ran for the house.
Sean didn’t pause in his steady, determined march.
When he’d formed his detachment, he’d placed Jaclyn behind him, but ahead of the troopers. Now she put on a spurt of speed so she would be able to walk beside him.
“What did you do that for?” She was panting slightly. The day was already warm, even though it couldn’t be much more than seven am. She rubbed sweat from her forehead and decided she’d better start going to the gym regularly once she got back to her own time.
Sean looked down at her, but didn’t slacken his pace. “I was being polite. Is that not something people do hereabouts?”
“I know, it’s all part of this liberators, not conquerors, stuff,” Jaclyn said. “But don’t you think she’ll run inside and tell her daddy that a bunch of guys in blue uniforms came marching past their house?”
“I suppose she will,” Sean said. He didn’t seem worried about it, though.
“Then her father will come boiling out, all fired up and ready to break heads—”
“And who would her father be, then?” He looked down at her, his eyes assessing.
Jaclyn realized she’d just fallen into a trap. She didn’t know whose house it was they had just passed, but if she’d been a local, she would have. Since they were camped in Thomas Newbigging’s orchard and she’d seen no other houses, she decided to take a guess and hope it was the right one. First though, she made a show of resentment, glaring at Sean and pretending that she was considering whether or not to divulge this vital piece of information. Finally, with a mental crossing of fingers, she said, “That was Thomas Newbigging’s house.”
Amusement danced in Sean’s eyes. “So Major Canty’s map claims.”
This time the outrage in her eyes was very real. “You were testing me!”
Sean laughed. “What is the name of Mr. Newbigging’s fetching young daughter?”
“I’m not telling you!”
He laughed again. “I didn’t think you would.” Fresh young shoots were greening the field ahead of them, so Sean kept his troop to the edge of the growing area to avoid destroying the new crop. “Fall in, young Jack. We’ll march single file along here.”
Despite herself, Jaclyn was impressed by the care he was taking. The going was easier now. The plowed earth had been beaten down into a path, but it was softer than the grassy area and she began to feel a little less conspicuous. Even so, it was not long before she began to wonder when they were going to take a break.
By the time they’d skirted several fields Jaclyn was quite lost, although Sean seemed to know where he was going. He drew them to a halt in the shadow of some poplar trees and turned to face Jaclyn and his men.
He pointed to a sizeable brown smudge on the horizon. “That’s the farm we’re going to. It belongs to a family called Bailey.” Jaclyn leaned against one of the tall trees, idly watching Sean but focused on the slowing of her heartbeat.
“According to our intelligence...”
Jaclyn straightened with a jerk, now listening intently.
“...the Baileys’ breed top-notch horseflesh. I aim to get a suitable mount for Colonel O’Neill from the Bailey stud. The Baileys are an Irish family, but the old man has abandoned his allegiance to the homeland, so we should not expect an easy time of it. He is a cantankerous devil, I’m told, though his son, who also works the farm, is more practical. At this hour the men may be doing chores, but it is possible we’ll find both of them at the house, ready for a fight.”
Horrified, Jaclyn stared at the rifles slung over the shoulders of the troopers. “You’re going to shoot this old guy and his son?”
Sean shot her a quick, frowning look. “Only if it’s necessary.”
“Listen, Sean—”
“Major O’Dell to you boy.”
Jaclyn took a deep, steadying breath and tried again. “It’s not a good idea to shoot people you’re trying to liberate. Bad PR and all that.”
Sean frowned at her and Jaclyn groaned silently. She was doing it again, using words that did not belong in this time period and making suggestions that might interfere with history.
He waited for a moment, but when she didn’t continue he turned back to his six villainous looking men. “I want their horses, I want their food, but I don’t want their blood shed, unless you cannot avoid it. Do you understand?”
The six men saluted. Sean then gave them their orders, directing two to cover each other as they went to the barn to collect the horses, while the other four were to surround the house. Sean himself would knock on their kitchen door and request the Baileys’ compliance in
supplying the required goods. He nodded at Jaclyn. “You’ll come with me, young Jack.”
“But—”
Sean ignored her and marched off.
Just beyond the trees the path widened, not quite a road, but more than just a people track. It divided as well. One fork appeared to lead toward the Baileys’ house while the other headed off in the other direction. Sean followed the wider path.
Jacqui hurried to catch up with him. “Listen, Se...er...Major O’Dell. Couldn’t you leave me behind? You could tie me to one of those trees. I wouldn’t mind, really.”
He made a sound in his throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort of disgust.
Fear made her say more forcefully, “I don’t want to be in the middle of a gun battle! You can’t make me come!”
He looked down at her. “I’ll do with you as I see fit. Now fall in behind, prisoner.”
“There are rules on how prisoners are treated,” she said hotly to his elegant back as she did what he ordered.
His laughter floated back to her. “Rules? I don’t think so. You’re lucky, young Jack, that we didn’t hang you when we found you spying on us.”
“I wasn’t spying on you! I was trying to get home.”
“A likely story.”
“It’s true!”
They were nearing the house and outbuildings now. Sean turned and made a motion with his hand. The soldiers melted away to take up their assigned duties staking out the Bailey farm. They used what cover they could find so as not to arouse the suspicions of the occupants. Sean, however, marched straight up to the house and knocked on the kitchen door. Jaclyn hung as far back as she could.
The door was opened by a pretty young woman of about Jacqui’s age. At the sight of Sean she touched her hand to her throat in a brief, nervous gesture, then whispered, “Who are you?”
Sean tugged his hat again in that brief salute he seemed to reserve for civilians. “Top of the morning to you,” he said, deepening his Irish lilt. “I’m Major Sean O’Dell of the Fenian Expeditionary Force—”
“God in Heaven!” roared a deep male voice from somewhere inside the house. Softening his prosaic Canadian tones was the underlying music of an Irish accent. “Slam the door, Sara, girl, and lock it! We’ll have no truck with these Fenian vermin.”
Sara tried to shut the door, but she was no match for Sean. He put his shoulder to the wood and gently, but inexorably, pushed it inward. Sara stumbled a little as she backed away then she stood, trembling, as she stared at the sword at Sean’s waist.
Without turning, Sean shouted, “Jack! In here. Now!”
Reluctantly, Jacqui joined Sean in the Baileys’ kitchen.
A white-haired man who must be old man Bailey erupted into the room. He was holding an enormous weapon that was considerably more cumbersome than the sleek war surplus Springfield muskets the Fenians had brought with them from Buffalo.
Sean lifted his hands. “I am unarmed, sir.”
“You have a sword, Major,” Sara pointed out in soft, but firm tones.
Jaclyn took stock of Sara Bailey. She was a pretty creature, with a rounded figure that was somehow enhanced by the dark blue cloth dress she wore. Her features were delicate and she had a small point to her rather stubborn looking chin. Big brown eyes dominated a face that was framed by golden hair carefully pinned into a chignon. All in all, she was a very feminine looking creature.
Sean smiled at her in a disarming way. “As you say, ma’am, I have a sword, but I cannot use it with my hands in the air.”
“But all he has to do is drop his hands for a moment and he can draw the sword,” Jacqui said, thinking of every action movie she’d ever seen.
“Easier said than done,” Sean remarked with a wry smile.
“What’s your part in this, boy?” the old man demanded of Jaclyn.
She swallowed. “I’m his prisoner.” She looked down at the floor and hoped old man Bailey wouldn’t investigate further.
“Then you go and take off his sword belt, boy, while I keep him covered,” Bailey said.
“What! Are you kidding? Me?”
“Jack is not the most cooperative of young fellows,” Sean said with considerable amusement. “He is constantly complaining about nothing.”
Jaclyn put her hands on her hips. “While I never!”
Sean’s brows rose. Jacqui blushed again and subsided.
“Stop your whining, boy, and go do it,” old man Bailey said.
Jaclyn looked from Bailey’s tense features to Sean’s watchful ones, and finally at Sara’s frightened face. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered, slowly moving toward Sean. Old man Bailey did, after all, have a gun.
She wasn’t quite sure what Sean would do when she tried to disarm him, but she was certain it would be something she wouldn’t like.
Fortunately, she never had to test out her theory, for one of the Fenian soldiers poked his head in the door and said, “The horses are secured, Major, and the house has been surrounded.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sara screamed, Jacqui swore and Sean lunged for Jim Bailey. As the two men wrestled Jaclyn expected the big gun to go off any minute, but nothing happened. Sean wasn’t even panting when he finally wrested the weapon from Bailey’s hands.
He tossed it aside with a carelessness that made Jaclyn gape. “What are you doing? You could have killed us with that thing!”
He shot her a cold, hard look. “It wasn’t loaded.”
Old man Bailey laughed shortly. “I had you fooled for a time.”
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps for a time. Mr. Bailey, we’ll be requisitioning your foodstuffs and riding horses. My men will be using your cart for transport.”
“You’ll not take my victuals or my horses!” Bailey said, glaring at Sean.
“The Fenian army needs food and transportation, Mr. Bailey. Like it or not the goods will be supplied by you and your neighbors.”
“I’ll have nothing to do with your thieving rabble!”
“As you will,” Sean said politely. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Where is your son and his family, Mr. Bailey?”
Bailey thrust out his chin, a male version of Sara’s pretty pointed one, and glared at Sean.
Sean picked up the old musket, tossed it to his trooper and said, “Take a man and search the house. I want the son and his family found and brought to me.”
Old man Bailey turned purple. Sara said hastily, “No, don’t, sir! They’ve gone. Mama has been feeling poorly these last weeks and Papa took her to Toronto to stay with my grandparents for a time.”
A little of the tension in Sean’s body eased. He smiled at Sara’s pleading features. “And how did they come to leave you behind, Miss Sara?”
Her features relaxed into a smile. She was clearly melting under the undoubted heat of Sean O’Dell’s Irish charm. “Mama was worried that there would be trouble while they were away, but Papa thought that the Fenian threat was only so much nonsense.” She stopped and blushed. Sean’s smile deepened with amusement and Sara laughed. “As usual, Mama was right and Papa was wrong. In any case, Grandpa needed someone to stay with him, so—”
“Stop your prattling girl. This is the enemy you’re talking to!”
“Yes, Grandpa,” she said meekly, but a smile peeped out despite her demure expression.
Jaclyn observed this with considerable interest. Sean and Sara Bailey were clearly quite taken with each other.
“Even so, Miss Sara, I fear I must have the house searched. I would be a poor officer if I did not ensure the safety of my men.” He touched his hat again, then gave orders to two of his men. They came back after a few minutes and reported that the house was empty but for the people in the kitchen.
“Miss Sara, would you show my men where to find your stores?”
“Never!” said old man Bailey.
“I fear I cannot, sir.” Sara looked up at Sean from beneath long lashes several shades darker than her hair.
Jaclyn s
aw him stiffen, then swallow. Wow. Instant reaction. Sara Bailey sure knew what she was doing.
Sean touched his hat again. “Then I apologize for any mess my men make in carrying out their duties, ma’am.”
Sara gazed up at him, using those big, warm brown eyes with devastating effect. “You are forgiven, Major.”
Bailey snorted.
Jaclyn was wondering if Sara was really as silly as she seemed, when Sean turned on his heel and headed out the door.
“Jack, you will come with me.”
Bailey and Sara followed Sean and Jaclyn outside. In the nearby paddock two huge horses with thick sturdy legs and rings of long hair around their massive hooves stood placidly nuzzling three fine-boned horses tied to the fence rail.
Sean frowned. “Is that all? I thought the Baileys were supposed to be horse breeders.”
One Fenian said, “There are three mares at pasture, sir.”
“Those are brood mares and they’re in foal,” Bailey said. He was standing with his feet wide apart and his hands clenched into fists.
Sean didn’t even look at him. “We’ll leave the mares, Grady. Saddle up these animals. I’ll head back to the camp with them. Harness up the cart horses when you’re ready to bring the supplies.”
“But Major O’Dell, you can’t ride Sunny Girl. She’s a carriage horse,” Sara said.
“Why thank you, Miss Sara. Which one of these fine animals is Sunny Girl?”
Sara pointed to a chestnut mare. The animal chose that moment to toss her head and pull at the lead rope that tied her to the rail.
“She’s young and green,” Bailey said. “Never had a saddle on her back. She’s no good to you.”
Sean tossed him a look. “No? Tell me about the other two horses.”
Jacqui began to worry. Sean was up to something, what she wasn’t sure yet, but she had a feeling that she and the Baileys’ weren’t going to like it.
“The black is a ten-year-old gelding, good gait, lots of spirit. The gray is an older mare. She has a nice placid temperament. She’s the boys’ horse. They both learned to ride on her.”
“You have brothers and sisters, Miss Sara?”
Unlike her grandfather’s reluctant response and curt tone, Sara’s reply was immediate and her voice was filled with beguiling laughter. “I do sir. A sister who is married and lives in Port Colborne, and two brothers who are much younger than I. They are in Toronto with Mama and Papa.”
