Scamp's Lady

by Jackie Walton



  Scamp’s Lady

  Jackie Walton

  To Dick, with lots of love

  Copyright 2011 Jacquelyn Walton

  Cover art by Lauren Manning

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27 For the History Geeks

  Chapter 1

  It was a glorious day to be out for a ride, even if it was in an old farm wagon with her older brother for company. The day had blossomed crisp and clear, and bloomed into the kind of day that made it a pleasure to be alive. In this first week of October 1780, the leaves in the farm country north of Lancaster, South Carolina, had on their red coats, but she forgave them this disloyalty because the sky over shown everything with a Patriot blue. Besides, it was too beautiful a day to dwell on the damnable British.

  If it weren’t for those awful redcoats, Deborah mused as she worked another row on the stocking for Adam, this would be an enjoyable ride, in spite of his uncanny ability to find every hole in the road with the north-bound wagon.

  She silently damned the British. Her mother would have her head if she ever said such a thing aloud. It was impossible to stop thinking about them. The war had been going on for over five years now. The Colonies were no closer to independence from England then they were at the beginning. Maybe even a little further away.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to keep an eye on Joshua for Mama if he goes off to join Sumter,” Deborah complained. Thomas Sumter led the Rebel raiders operating in South Carolina somewhere between the towns of Ninety-Six and Camden.

  “Now look, little chick, Josh can take care of himself. You’re a mite young to be his wet-nurse.”

  She bristled at the diminutive. He always called her that. They all did. She was fairly tall for a woman, but with three very large, older brothers and a giant of a father, they felt it their right to emphasize her relative smallness.

  “Besides,” Adam continued, “Sumter need his tracking skills. You know Josh’s the best tracker in the Shenandoah Valley.”

  Mention of home got Deborah back on track. “You know I promised Mama. And you did too.” Even before they obeyed their father, the boys would comply with their mother’s wishes. Abigail Morgan was a tiny woman, with a soft voice and soft ways, but every male in the household jumped to her bidding. And not because they feared her...

  “You know Mama wanted us all to stay with Papa. She told me to...”

  “Ah, the little chick has become a mother hen. Do you really think you’re big enough to handle it?” She jabbed him in the ribs, and he pretended to swoon. As he went toppling over, the reins slackened, and the horses swerved to the right.

  “Adam!” She dropped her knitting and grabbed for the traces. He leaned further to his side, holding the reins just out of her reach and keeping the horses on the path, generally speaking.

  “Adam!” came out with less terror and more exasperation. She straightened up and slapped at his arm.

  “Oh, sorrow and pain! She strikes her beloved brother, wounding him to the core and doing grievous damage to his person.” His eyes twinkled. “I won’t be able to lift a rifle and hold my position, and so the whole unit will be overrun and the battle lost, and we’ll all be slaughtered, and it’ll all be your fault.” She stuck her tongue out at him as he wasn’t quite keeping the laughter out of his voice. “Will you grieve for me dear sister? Will you throw yourself on my grave and weep for me?” A mournful expression decorated his face.

  “Idiot.” She shivered, none the less, despite his teasing, for it was a possibility she lived with any time her loved ones went into battle against the damnable British. “Enough, I don’t need that, particularly since we’re so close to the British camps.” General Lord Charles Cornwallis was still in the area of Camden, the site of Cornwallis’s crushing victory over General Horatio Gates, some miles south of them. Picking the soon-to-be sock off the footboard, she inspected it for damage. Thankfully, there was none.

  Deborah Morgan knew they had reason to be concerned. She also knew that Adam, despite his levity, was also keeping a sharp eye out for British troops or their Tory collaborators. He had not wanted her to come along on this mission, but she had insisted. How much more innocent than a brother and sister taking supplies home from the market, she had argued. Their father had agreed. Only the supplies were going to more bodies than there were at home, but the British didn’t need to know that. The siblings were headed for the rebel camp at Charlottesburg.

  Their father, Daniel Morgan, had fought for independence from the beginning. But as the war progressed, those patently less worthy had been promoted over him for political reasons. In addition, his rheumatism had progressed from annoying to unbearable. A year ago he retired. Now General Washington and Gate’s successor, General Nathaniel Greene, had offered him the general’s rank he deserved. They needed his affinity with the backwoods riflemen who were experts at the hide and shoot type of warfare that confounded the British. Daniel Morgan was an expert at it; after all, who taught Joshua to track?

  The rheumatism, however, had not gone away. A goodly part of Deborah’s function was to make the pain bearable for her father so that he, in turn, could do his job. Her skills with herbs eased the pain. Both of her parents knew she wanted to win this war as badly as her brothers did. The elder Morgans agreed to let her accompany her father, but her mother designated her watchdog, guardian, and yes, mother hen to three of the world’s four most stubborn men. Eli stayed to tend the farm with his mother and waxed jealous of his brothers.

  Adam began to whistle tunelessly and then struck up a song.

  Sir William, he, snug as a flea

  Lay all this time a-snoring

  Nor dreamed of harm, as he lay warm

  In bed with Mrs....

  Deborah shushed at him and tried to swat his arm again when she realized the direction of the ditty, but he finished his song, a tribute to the welcomed inaction of the British Commander-in-Chief, Sir William Howe. Until he was, unfortunately, relieved in 1778, General Howe saw most of his action with the lovely Mrs. Loring.

  Birds chirped happily in the trees and every once in a while, the flick of a squirrel’s tail was visible through the branches, storing the fall’s harvest of nuts against the winter. So peaceful, so tranquil, she thought she’d...

  Hoof beats sounded around the bend in front of them. “Redcoat troopers,” whispered Adam as he handed her the reins. “I’m an idiot, and we’re going to Rock Hill from the market in Lancaster, remember.” Adam vanished before her eyes, replaced by a slack-jawed, slump-shouldered lump staring vacantly out of wide, brown eyes. Deborah only had a second to marvel at the stranger beside her, when a hand full of British soldiers galloped toward them. She stuffed the knitting under her skirt. As they drew near, the one in the lead signaled for his men to stop and then gestured for Deborah to also halt.

  She stared, fascinated, at his blood-red coat and pristine white breeches and all the gold buttons. And then she looked at him. He was barely more than a boy! A pink-cheeked, fair-haired boy, he looked significantly younger then her own twenty-two years. But a
red coat, she cautioned herself.

  “Good day to you, sir,” she said, putting on a smile. “Can I help you?” Adam shifted and grinned and scratched himself in a place that would have earned his mother’s censure. The soldier trotted alongside him.

  “Good day to you, too, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Harvey of the 7th Foot. I’m afraid I must ask you to allow us to search your wagon.” The cultured tones of the well-bred English upper class saturated every word.

  Deborah froze, but knew what she had to do. “Why, of course, Lieutenant, we have nothing to hide.” He gestured his men to the wagon. They moved without expression to obey. “We’re just fetching the supplies from Lancaster to our place on” she coughed to gain a moment to think, “Pine Creek south of Rock Hill. Is there a problem?” A light brown strand of hair escaped its braid, and she tucked it behind her ear.

  “No, ma’am. We just have standing orders to inspect all traffic on this road. Rebels, you know.” Alongside the lieutenant, Adam picked his nose. The young soldier curled his lip and looked off at his men.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure, but we don’t know too much about them. We just try to go about our business.” She wanted to sound loyal, but not so much as to arouse the young man’s suspicions. Glancing back to the wagon, she wondered when they would be finished. How long did it take to see that there was nothing overtly suspicious in it?

  Adam reached over to touch a gold button with the finger that had been exploring his nose. “Purty.”

  Lt. Harvey jerked back. “’Od’s blood! Can’t you keep him on a leash or something?”

  Deborah grabbed Adam’s hands and put them on his lap. Surreptitiously, she pinched his leg. “Sorry, sir, he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just a little touched in the head, you know.”

  Harvey humphed, but a soldier came forward to report, so he let the matter drop.

  “Sir! Just food and clothes, blankets and stuff of that sort, sir!” The man’s face was blank and his back like a board.

  “Yes, well, all right. Be on you way now.”

  “Thank you Lieutenant and good day to you.”

  She gathered up the reins and let the brake go when the sound of more horses around the bend reached them.

  “Sir, riders, sir!”

  “Yes, I know, you dolt.”

  In a moment, three riders came into view, the lead man distinguished by his plumed hat and green jacket. They drew to a halt in front of the wagon.

  “Col. Tarleton, sir!” Lt. Harvey snapped. Nature had played a trick on Banastre Tarleton. He was too pretty for a man. Now, along with his reddish-blond, wind-tousled, hair, his classically beautiful features were delicately flushed from the ride.

  Deborah stiffened and groped for Adam’s hand. He squeezed it gently and went back to playing with a sliver on the wagon seat.

  “What’s going on here, Lieutenant?” Tarleton asked. His horse danced aside, and he hauled brutally on the reins.

  “Just a routine road inspection, sir. I was just sending them on their way.”

  One of the other men with Tarleton nudged him in the ribs. “Well, Ban, you’re the one who said you were going to butcher more men and lay more women than anyone else in the Army. Here’s another chance.” He leered at Deborah and snickered at Adam.

  Deborah knew right then that they were in very great danger. Banastre Tarleton had become the most hated man in the Colonies after the recent battle at Waxhaw, South Carolina, where Col. Abraham Buford’s 400 men were slaughtered under flags of surrender. A man like Tarleton was capable of anything, and here he was in front of her, assessing her like a particularly scrumptious desert.

  “Stifle it, Hanger. You’ll frighten these good folks. What are they carrying, Lieutenant?” Tarleton inquired, ever so softly.

  “Farm supplies, Colonel. They’ve been to the market. I believe them to be loyal subjects of the King, sir. They’re ready to go on their way.”

  “Yes, I see that Lieutenant, I see that.” Tarleton rubbed his thumb along his elegant jaw and grinned back at his friends. “However,” he drawled, “there are reports of rebel troops in the area. We would be remiss in our duty to the King if we allowed this fair lady to go on unescorted. Unfortunately...we are unable to escort your to your destination, so you will have to accompany us back to our quarters in Camden.”

  “Sir!” Lt. Harvey, obviously ill at ease with the turn of events, began, swallowed, and hurried into his thoughts. “Our patrol was ordered north. We can...”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Harvey. Continue with your duties. We’ll take care of these good folks.”

  His smile confirmed what Deborah suspected. “Thank you, sir, but we’ll take our chances on the road ahead. We really must get home.”

  “Turn the wagon around, miss.”

  “There’s no need for this, I assure...”

  Tarleton drew his pistol. “Turn the wagon around.”

  Deborah swallowed hard. She glanced at Lt. Harvey, knowing, even as she did, that he was as powerless as she. He was looking at Tarleton, his mouth drawn into a hard line. She could guess his opinion of his superior officer.

  The young man made one last try. “Sir, don’t you...”

  “Lieutenant, get on with your patrol. Damn your eyes, I don’t want to tell you again.”

  “Yes, sir.” He wheeled his horse, shouted to his men, and rode north on the trail.

  Tarleton grinned back at his companions and then turned to Deborah. “Allow me to introduce myself, my dear. Col. Banastre Tarleton of the British Legion, at your service.” His smile promised just exactly what kind of service he would provide. “My friends,” he gestured towards the others, “call me ‘Ban.’ Please consider yourself my friend.”

  She considered her options and knew that there was only one, and a risky one at that. “Thank you, Colonel, I am Deborah Morgan.” She glanced at the gun, still in Tarleton’s hand, now lying across his saddle. Gathering the reins, she began to turn the wagon. “Excuse me, sir, but I will need some room to turn.”

  He holstered the gun and moved his horse.

  “How is it that such a lovely lady is out in the middle of rebel country alone?”

  Tarleton’s smile would make the angels cry, she thought. Even the unholy light in his eyes couldn’t dim the perfection of his cheek or the symmetry of his jaw line. “I had to go to market, and I’m not alone.”

  “He couldn’t protect you from a three-legged mouse,” he snorted, nodding at Adam. “But now you have the protection of the King’s finest.”

  Keeping her eyes on the horses, she nodded acknowledgement, and tried not to wince at the double entendre. His notion of “protection” and hers differed greatly. She hoped that by not answering him, he would get bored and spread his attentions elsewhere, but there was little hope of that. He’d been pestering her with questions and gossip and the names of the great and powerful that he was on intimate terms with for the better part of half an hour now. Tarleton obviously like the sound of his own voice so much that he didn’t notice that she said almost nothing.

  “Mistress Morgan, I personally, will take...”

  Adam’s raspberry and bouncing on the seat not only stopped the chatter but startled the Colonel’s horse. Yanking the animal’s head around, Tarleton subdued the agitated prancing. “Can’t you control that idiot any better than that? My horse almost threw me.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. He doesn’t know any better.” Her own placid mare had stirred in the traces and Deborah saw her opportunity. “I am not so adept at handling horses as you, sir. Mathilda, here, is a little shy around other horses. You must excuse me, but I really need to concentrate on the reins.” Tarleton pursed his lips but urged his horse up to join his companions in front of the wagon.

  After awhile, they stopped for a break. Deborah desperately needed some privacy. Discretely, Adam nudged her over toward some bushes. Through the branches, she watched him standing guard while she lifted her skirts to take care of matters. The tallest member of
the group noticed her absence just as she was finishing and came over to investigate. Adam had his back to her while she hurriedly started to adjust her clothing. The sound of water splashing on the leaf carpet caught her attention as Adam swayed back and forth. He was...he was...

  The tall soldier jumped away, cursing and threatening.

  “Adam! Adam, stop that this instant!” She ran around the bushes, knowing that she now had to rescue him. Adam turned away at her approach and put himself back together. She gathered him in her arms, leading him in a wide circle around the enraged officer and back to the wagon.

  Shoving him back up onto the seat, she folded his hands and grabbed the reins. “Don’t ever do something like that again,” she hissed. “He will happily kill you. You could have done something less drastic if you had to.”

  “It worked, and that’s all that matters.” His voice was hard and low and predatory. She looked sideways at him; the cold light in his narrowed eyes was something she’d never seen in her happy-go-lucky brother. It was time to get moving, before he attacked the British dragoons barehanded.

  Tarleton and Hanger were laughing at the tall one. Their raillery had succeeded in defusing his anger, at least for the moment.

  “Damme, how can she stand to be near such a revolting creature?’

  “How can such a lovely morsel be related to that degenerate?”

  “Ah,” Tarleton interposed, “but he’s not going to be around all the time.”

  **

  It was near lunchtime when they stopped at a roadside inn. A number of horses were tied around the inn courtyard, and a handful of British troopers lounged under a tree on the other side of the yard. Two ostlers rushed out to take the horses. Tarleton escorted her into the dining hall with Adam trailing behind. A figure stood up from one of the tables, but in the relative darkness, she couldn’t see who it was.

  “Sir!” She recognized the youthful voice of Lt. Harvey. “We just arrived. Our host is just preparing luncheon. I’ll have him set more covers.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Harvey?”

  “Why, sir, I thought you realized, our patrol was only supposed to go a short ways past where we met up with you. We turned around, came down the west road and arrived just before you did.” Tarleton looked suspicious. “Must have traveled faster without the wagon along, sir.”