Charles stepped out onto the veranda.
Lydia tucked the letter out of sight. There had to be a way to stop everything from unraveling.
“Are you ill, Lydia?”
“Hardly.” She tried to subtly clear the tightness that strangled her words. “Where are you off to?”
“I have some business with the Hilliards.”
The solicitor had seen a lot of Charles since the sinking of the Americus. Not surprising with a loss to the company so great. Only one ship remained.
But even it wouldn’t help her.
“What were you discussing?” He pointed a look at Lydia. “Or need I ask?”
The blood returned to her face with a rush of heat.
“We were observing the difficulty of finding someone to trust in the colonies,” Layton answered. “Loyalist or rebel. You all dress the same and wear the same hat, as it were.”
Charles cocked a brow. “Perhaps with some it is difficult, but many are outspoken in their politics one way or the other.”
For a brief moment both the major and Charles looked to her.
The major spoke. “Unless they have reason to hide it. I am sure there are those disloyal to the crown among us here in Georgetown who say nothing for either their own sakes or to garner information for the enemy.”
“Such as?” Charles asked.
Major Layton tugged at his coat. “I am not so concerned with those at the moment, but I am glad the rebels are more complacent with their trust.” He tipped his head to Charles and then to Lydia. “Now, if you will excuse me, my men await.”
Charles nodded and turned to Lydia. “What did you say to him?” he whispered.
“Nothing.” Another blatant lie. She’d lost track of how many she’d told. “Nothing that concerns you.”
He pointed a finger. “Do you have any idea…?” He pulled back and shook his head. “No. Heaven help us if you did.” His boots echoed on the solid steps as he jogged down to where one of the stable hands waited with his sorrel stallion.
Lydia filled her lungs with the cool December air and then turned back inside the house. The bawl of a baby hastened her feet to the stairway. She knew the difference between little Margaret’s hurt cries from her upset ones. And if anything had happened to her…
The child’s wails faded to a whimper before Lydia reached the top of the stairs, but she couldn’t help from being drawn to the nursery door and peering in at her young niece in the arms of the nursemaid. Tear streaks lined Maggie’s full cheeks and her eyes still glistened. Lydia’s arms ached, the sensation real and painful with the desire to hold the child, to be the one to kiss away those tears. But instead of giving in to her need, Lydia forced her feet to step away and closed the door.
~*~
Daniel encouraged the gelding to lengthen its stride. With all the action they had seen this week, he hadn’t been sure if he’d get away today, but the Sabbath had come with a gentle peace about it—and a plunge in temperatures. Nothing compared with a mid-December day in New England, but cold enough that it paid to keep one’s blood moving. Only his fingers and face felt any of the chill as he raced toward another rendezvous with Lydia.
The sun lowered in the west, and brilliant rays of light filtered through the branches, the lengthening shadows a sharp contrast. The broad angel oak stood with arms extended, stately and welcoming. Daniel dropped to the ground and fastened his reins to a branch. Then he moved to the large trunk and settled in to wait. That only lasted a minute or so. The temperature didn’t compel him to pace, but the growing uncertainty of Lydia’s loyalties badgered him on, nagging the back of his mind. He needed to be sure of her patriotism and affections before he could fully acknowledge the feelings mounting within him.
The rustle of footsteps over dried leaves pulled his gaze to the cloaked figure hurrying toward him. He had no power over the curve of his mouth or the acceleration of his pulse. He shortened the distance to her. “You’re here.”
“Why do you sound so surprised? I have been here every week.” Her lips pursed with a hint of smugness.
“Not surprised. Just pleased.” He braced both her shoulders and grinned. He probably appeared ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. “For the past week it’s been hard to think of little else besides seeing you again. If a ball from a Brown Bess musket found me, it would have been almost entirely your fault.”
Any blush faded from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I suppose that is not what you want to hear. I’m afraid I can be given to teasing. My sisters can testify to that. But growing up with four younger, how was a lad to help himself?” Daniel took her hand and led her to the base of the tree. “You told me you have three siblings?”
Her fingers slipped from his. “Had.”
“Had?”
She tipped her face away from him. “I am not here to talk about my family.”
“Why are you here?”
Hesitation gave way to a small smile. “To see you, of course.”
“And I want to hear more about your family.”
“But—but I have news. I—I overheard Major Layton speaking with his lower officers. They said Lord Cornwallis was—”
Daniel placed the tip of his finger over her lips. “There is time for that later. Tell me about your family.”
She staggered back a step, again breaking contact. Her mouth opened, but hung silent as pain etched her face.
“Lydia?” Daniel pulled her into an embrace and her shoulders trembled. “What’s wrong?”
“I do not have one.” She pushed against him, shoving him back. “I cannot do this. Stay away from me.” She tried to run, but he pulled her to a halt.
“Why? Lydia, please tell me what happened. Did they somehow discover what you are doing? Are they angry? Or are you just worried they will find out? Please help me understand what happened.”
She twisted. “I wish they were angry. I wish they felt anything at all. But how can they? The dead cannot feel.”
“Dead?” Tension built behind his temples. “I thought…” He tried to recall everything she’d said about her family, but he remembered little other than their differences in loyalties. “What happened?”
“Small pox. Privateers. Childbirth.” Lydia tried to shrug away, but he didn’t release her. Her gaze rose to his face and then dropped to his boots. “Please let me go.”
Something in her expression made him doubt that was what she really wanted. “Are you sure?”
“I—I…”
She leaned into him, and Daniel wrapped her in his arms, the need to shelter her overwhelming. He touched his mouth to her hair and breathed deeply of rose water. He tightened his hold. “I’m sorry.”
“I do not need you to be sorry. I need…” She pulled away and started walking east, toward the bay.
He followed, no sign of a soul as they passed from the grove, and she made her way down to the shoreline. Across the neck of shimmering water Daniel could see the long length of island, and beyond, on the edge of the harbor, boats nestled against the docks.
“What do you need?” At that moment he might give her anything she asked.
“Freedom,” she whispered.
“Freedom?” He understood the desire for freedom from the British, but… “You live in a fine house and your family’s shipping company is at this time dependent upon what it hauls for the British.”
“My father is dead. The shipping company means little to me anymore. The freedom I seek is from a shadow, a feeling so oppressive.” Lydia shook her head and backed away another step. “Sometimes I feel as though I am suffocating.”
“Having a redcoat in your home probably doesn’t help.” Daniel’s confidence grew. She spoke with such earnestness, he could not doubt her words. “But I don’t suppose you want to leave Georgetown.”
Her gaze flickered to his, a desperation lighting it. “But I do.”
A surge of hope warded off the deeper chill gathering in the air as the sun continued to si
nk lower.
“There are too many memories. My mother, brothers and sister are buried not far from here. I have lost everything I care about.” She sank down, her skirts billowing out as her knees met the ground. “Have you felt that pain?”
Daniel sat beside her. He knew loss well enough. “When I was a child I lost a brother, born dead. And I’ve lost many a friend to battle.” The thought of young Gabe Marion still constricted his chest. Yet how many boys just as young had he watched breathe their last? Too many. Still, that wasn’t the same pain she spoke of.
“You mentioned a woman once. You loved her?”
He nodded, though he did not like the direction of the conversation. “Yes.”
“I cannot imagine why she would have wanted anyone else.”
Daniel jerked his head to look at her.
Lydia blushed. “I only meant—”
“Thank you.”
She pushed up and started south along the coast, her shoes leaving indentions. Lower on the shore, small waves lapped at the mix of sand and stone set in mud. The sun continued to sink, adding a pinkish hue to the blue-gray horizon. “What was her name?”
“Rachel.” The word he had dreaded speaking. No longer did her name invoke the same emotions it once had. Regret perhaps, but not longing.
“And what did you love about this Rachel?”
He followed a pace behind. “Our families traveled up the Mohawk together. She was beautiful, intelligent, and a hard worker.”
Lydia’s head tipped down. “The last is no doubt an important trait for the wife of a New England planter.”
Daniel scuffed the bottoms of his boots along the ground. This was not what he wanted to discuss, not with Lydia. Again he nodded, though she wouldn’t see it.
“What happened? Who was the man who stole her from you?”
Strange that the sensation of jealousy, though not as strong, still remained at the memory of that day. “A British officer.”
Lydia glanced back at him, brows arched.
Daniel chuckled. “I didn’t take it so well at the time.”
“I imagine not.” She searched his face. “So your Rachel was a Loyalist, then?”
The use of both terms grated his nerves. “No. I would never let myself love someone who could not share my passion for our independence from Fat George. I have bled and watched friends die for our freedom. Not only do I find it impossible to understand those who turn against their own neighbors to keep their loyalties for a king who does not share their affection, but I hate them more than a soldier in scarlet.” His passion heated him and his words, but he couldn’t help it. “The war between neighbors in the Mohawk Valley has not been pleasant. One of the bloodiest battles I took part in was against the very people who had once worked alongside us to build our community.” He tugged at his hat, fighting down the images of Oriskany. “They slaughtered us.”
Lydia turned her sad eyes away from him. “I can understand your feelings.” She started to walk again, this time slower.
“Lydia.” He hurried to catch up, taking her arm. “I know this is not the best time or place, but if things were different, I would ask to visit your father.”
She swung to him. “Why?”
“Because I would want to court you—like a proper gentleman.” He let go so she wouldn’t feel the tremble in his hand. “Would I have any hope, or do you think he would shoo me away? I am but a simple soldier and farmer.”
Lydia’s eyes softened. “Hardly simple.”
Her words seeped through him with tendrils of pleasure and hope. “Thank you.”
~*~
Lydia ducked her head, chastising herself for her words, and for the fire ignited in her heart. “I should go.” She would think of some excuse to give Major Layton. It would be better to face his anger than let him harm one hair on Daniel’s head. She should have stopped this long ago. Or never let this charade begin.
Daniel took hold of her shoulders, and she glanced to his face. Horrible mistake. Dark pupils merged into equally dark irises glowing with lighter tones of brown. They penetrated her, seeking. He glanced to her lips, but her gaze remained on his eyes as they neared and closed. Warmth touched her mouth, then withdrew, lingering a breath away.
His eyelids fluttered open. His voice rumbled in her ears. “May I kiss you?”
Lydia shook her head as her body inclined toward him.
22
Lydia tipped her chin up at Daniel’s touch, her lips parting as they met his. Her eyes closed, but not to darkness. A strange sort of light filled her, along with the scent of moss and earth, and something distinctly and wonderfully him. She deepened her breath as Daniel deepened the kiss, his fingers traveling across her back, drawing her against him.
Slow and needy, his mouth moved against hers. An ache welled within her, as though she were being ripped in half…and then a sudden release. Her defenses crumbled. Her hands slid with a will of their own to his face and the hair at the nape of his neck. She answered his silent plea with an equally silent yes.
Daniel’s withdrawal was gradual, as though weaning her from his touch. He never completely let go, but gave a boyish grin that broke dimples in both cheeks and melted her reserves as surely as his kiss had. How could she deny any longer that she cared?
Lydia thought to step back, but her legs didn’t respond to their cue. “I should go.” She needed to tell him to leave and never return.
“Do you have to?” Daniel lifted a shoulder. “It might be awhile before I see you again.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t seem to break contact. “Does Colonel Marion have plans?”
His hands fell to his sides. “Nothing to speak of.” He tapped his knuckles to his thigh and turned away.
His removal was so abrupt, she almost lost her balance. “Daniel?”
He looked back.
Lydia fought the dread welling up in her as more strings tightened around her heart. He would be so easy to truly love, but losing him was inevitable.
His lips pulled up, but his eyes did not brighten. “I want to believe this—believe you—so badly, but after everything, I fear to trust myself and my senses. I know our acquaintance hasn’t been long and circumstances have been quite irregular, but I believe I love you, Lydia.”
Love?
“I do care for you, Daniel. Very much so.” Too much. She needed to distance herself from him before she cost him his freedom or life. But when she opened her mouth to tell him the truth, the words wouldn’t come.
He stepped to her and kissed her again.
She lost herself in his touch for only a moment before she reclaimed her senses. Both hands pressed against his chest, she gasped for a breath. “No, Daniel. We cannot.”
“Cannot what?”
“I will be missed. I must go.” She had to clear her thoughts. Find a way, and the strength, to tell him to never come back, never meet her again, talk to her, hold her…kiss her.
“All right. I suppose we have gotten a little swept away.” He grinned. “I forgot you wanted to tell me something about Cornwallis.”
The wagonloads of ammunitions bound for North Carolina…and the hundreds of hidden soldiers waiting to pounce upon unsuspecting rebels. “He hopes to bait the Swamp Fox. Don’t take any chances.” As for Major Layton, she would tell him Sergeant Reid had never come back. Gone forever. It would be the truth all too soon. “Be safe.”
Daniel smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “And you.” He stole one last kiss before saying goodbye.
Lydia waited until he vanished back into the woods in the direction of his horse, before starting north along the shore toward Georgetown. Her mind still spun when she reached home, where Major Layton waited on the veranda.
“How was your rebel friend?”
Lydia cradled her cape around her. “I never saw him.”
The major frowned. “Then I have sent my men out for nothing.”
“Your men?” Her heart took flight. “What do you mean?”
He wagged a letter at her. “General Cornwallis has rejected my plan, and I am weary of these games, Miss Reynolds.”
“But our agreement—”
“My patience was on the conditions that you provide us something useful, and you have failed at that, Miss Reynolds. I want my horse back.”
No. If they caught or harmed Daniel it would be all her fault. “But—”
Major Layton held up his hand, silencing her. “Do not fret, Miss Reynolds. We still have plans to raid Snow Island. If we find Colonel Marion, I will see you find passage back to England as I promised. But if not...” He crumpled the letter and turned back to the house.
Lydia remained in place as the major disappeared inside. She couldn’t follow. Dear God, do not let them find Daniel. Please let him get away.
~*~
With the hazy blue of dusk draped over the woods, Daniel mounted the gelding and reined west. He’d ride a mile or so away from Georgetown before heading north. That would give him more time to get this ridiculous smirk off his face before he found Marion’s camp. He couldn’t help the upturn of his mouth with thoughts of Lydia. And their kisses.
A horse nickered up ahead, and the gelding stretched its neck to return the call. Daniel cranked the animal’s head around, cutting the whinny short. “Whoa, boy.” He listened. There was only the rush of the breeze through the naked branches overhead. But someone was there.
Daniel encouraged the gelding forward again, but this time turned him south with a slight curve toward the west so he wouldn’t find himself pinned against the river. As he neared the edge of the woods, he slowed the gelding’s gait and searched for any movement ahead. A flicker of red. A British uniform.
Regulating his breath, Daniel spun the horse north and applied his knees with a nudge. With a quicker pace, he worked his way through the trees. More redcoats sat astride their mounts, watching. As though they waited for him.
“Halt!”
The cry had the opposite effect. Daniel yanked the gelding’s head to the east and spurred him. Dried leaves and dirt strayed from the animal’s hooves as he dug over the littered ground. Daniel crouched low in the saddle. A musket ball whistled past him. Branches snatched at his clothes, and one whipped across his face, his dodge not sufficient. He veered toward Georgetown, hoping for a gap. Deep scarlet flashed between the trees, also headed in his direction. He was surrounded on every side but one. Trapped.
The Patriot and the Loyalist Page 15
