O’Malley’s face darkened. “He ran toward the soldiers?”
“Yes. He was distracting them so that….”
“What exactly did you see him do?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I saw him give an awful yell and run straight for them, causing them to scatter and giving me the chance to get away.”
“And after they scattered?”
“I don’t know. I was galloping in the other direction,” she snapped.
O’Malley grumbled. “Five to start. Two that pursued us. That leaves three. Wonder what happened to them?”
Annabelle said through her teeth, “I would guess they followed Captain Daniels.”
“Or, he joined them.”
Annabelle blinked. “What? Why would he do that?”
“Why, indeed?” Mr. O’Malley studied her for a moment.
Despite her discomfort, she refused to wilt under his scrutiny and held his gaze. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind on something and gestured ahead. “We are off course, so it seems it would be best to keep to the woods tonight. Then we’ll camp.”
Annabelle balked. “Out here?”
“No, at the inn just ahead.”
She stared at him flatly. The muscles in his jaw worked, and then he plastered a false smile across his lips.
“Forgive me. As I am sure you are aware, we are off course and in the middle of the woods. As there seems to be no local bedding establishments or any homes to offer hospitality in this vicinity, it seems to me the best course of action is for us to continue on today for as long as the horses will carry us and then find a place to hide for the night.”
Annabelle swallowed a lump that gathered in her throat. She looked at Peggy, who had risen to sit in the saddle and was staring at Mr. O’Malley with thinly veiled hostility. She seemed to share Annabelle’s thoughts. How safe would they be, alone in the woods with these two men? Harry seemed harmless enough, but Mr. O’Malley… she suppressed a shudder. And, what had happened to Benson?
Mr. O’Malley didn’t wait for her reply but spun his horse around, looked at the position of the sun in the sky, and then headed north.
Annabelle watched him go for several paces. He didn’t glance back at her. Then, seeing no other options, Annabelle sighed and urged her exhausted horse forward.
Matthew slapped the horse again and ducked another branch. He’d led the two remaining soldiers back down the road until he’d reached the barn he had hoped never to see again, then looped around and crossed over, turning and doubling back the way he had come. Unfortunately, he had not managed to shake them. But, at least now he was once again going in the right direction. The poor beast beneath him wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. All he needed was a good place to throw them off his trail.
He hated to lose the horse, but there would be no way he could outrun them now. Up ahead, he saw what he needed. An ancient oak spread her branches wide, taking up the majority of the ground’s resources and choking out the other life. It just might be his salvation. He quickly wrapped the reins around the pommel of the saddle and tied them tight. Then he slapped the horse’s hindquarters and rose to his feet in the stirrups.
The horse lowered his head and plowed toward the low limbs of the tree. Matthew swung one foot free of the stirrup and with all his might lurched himself from the saddle.
He hit the branch with his midsection, his air leaving his lungs with a grunt. Matthew clawed to hang on, then swung his leg up and wrapped it around the limb, pulling himself to his feet and scurrying up to a large fork in the trunk. From this vantage, he could see his horse barreling ahead, free of the weight of its rider. With any luck, the animal would stay far enough ahead of the others that they might not notice that a man was no longer in the saddle, at least for a time.
Seconds later, the two soldiers galloped into the clearing, shouting to one another and turning at the angle Matthew’s horse had gone. They passed near him without pause, and Matthew let out a sigh of relief.
He held still until he could no longer hear anything more than the twittering of birds and the occasional squirrel. Then he began to descend the tree. His boots hit the damp earth, and the jolt sent pain through his right side. He prodded beneath his jacket with gentle fingers.
His ribs probably weren’t broken, but they hurt something fierce. At least his leg was holding up. It appeared he would have a long walk ahead of him.
Matthew was glad he’d been shown the entire planned route to Washington. They had mapped out several safe places to stay along the way, and if he kept moving he could eventually intercept the others at one of them. Matthew stepped through tall grass the wind sent dancing in multiple directions. When he cleared the tree’s shade, he noticed the sun had climbed well into the sky during the chase and had now begun its descent back toward the horizon. He turned north and began to make his way through the woods with the skills he had learned as a hunter. It was a little slower going, but Matthew was doing his best not to leave a trail, just in case the soldiers discovered his deception and doubled back.
He trudged on in silence, his ears straining to pick up on the sound of approaching hoof beats. As the sun began to droop, Matthew inched his way through the underbrush, finally coming near enough to the road that he could see it. He paused and watched for a moment, but not a soul appeared to travel it. Still, Matthew didn’t dare leave his cover.
He would need to find Miss Ross, and soon. He did not suspect O’Malley to be the type to take advantage of women, but he still figured she would be frightened after her flight of escape. If she had escaped.
He pushed the thought aside. He had to believe that she had made it to freedom. To dwell on the alternative would only stoke his anger and benefit him nothing.
Matthew continued forward, pausing for nothing and thinking only of the relief that seeing her safe would bring. Step by step he pushed on, until the night fell thick and the moon shone her face upon the weary man below.
“Booth wants his life, but I shall oppose anything like murder.”
“Are you mad, woman?”
Annabelle crossed her arms and glared at the spindly man in front of her. Peggy dropped her armload of firewood on the ground at Annabelle’s feet.
“I am not asking for your assistance. I am perfectly capable on my own.”
She was tired, hungry, and above all else chilled to the bone. She was in no mood to be treated as a helpless female. She would have her fire whether they wanted her to or not. It was bad enough she would have to sleep on the ground. She would not die of pneumonia for it.
“And what happens when the soldiers still hunting us see that smoke?”
Annabelle drew her lips into a line. He had a point.
“If we use the dry wood, it won’t smoke as much as that green do,” Peggy inserted. Harry looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“’Sides,” she continued, “if we get a fire goin’, I can make y’all some supper.”
Harry put a hand on the back of his neck. “Well, a hot meal would be kind of nice….”
The women took that as consent enough and began building the wood stack. Harry sighed and tromped away. Annabelle expected Mr. O’Malley to come protest her efforts, but he was sitting on a log staring up at the sky, seemingly lost in thought. Content to leave him distracted, Annabelle focused on her task.
She and Peggy scraped the grass and dried leaves away from a small circle of earth and stacked a handful of pine straw at the center. Then they built a teepee of smaller sticks on top of it. Annabelle was suddenly struck by the thought that most women of her class probably had no idea how to start a fire.
When she was younger, the slaves had always built the fires in the hearth. A lady was never supposed to handle such mundane things. Now, her calloused fingers were familiar not only with the building of fires, but with the gathering and chopping of wood as well. No longer was she the refined, pampered young lady her father had expected her to be. But Annabelle figured it w
as better that she could do the necessary things for herself.
Peggy produced a match, and in a few moments they had a small flame going. Annabelle removed her gloves and stretched her fingers toward the paltry but welcomed warmth. She watched as the smaller sticks were devoured and Peggy added stouter limbs until the fire crackled pleasantly and offered a small ring of light to chase away the gathering shadows.
Harry brought a pot of water, and soon they filled it with chunks of dried meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes. Peggy even had a little flour to thicken it. Annabelle wondered at the readiness of supplies. They’d not had this much food on hand at Rosswood all winter. How had this band of spies afforded so much? Someone had to be funding them well.
Annabelle tended the fire while Peggy stirred the stew, the delicious aroma reminding her stomach that she hadn’t eaten since early this morning.
“You got that ready yet, cook?”
Peggy didn’t look up at Mr. O’Malley but continued to stir. “No, sir. Not yet. Needs a little more time.”
He walked over and looked down. “Well, I say it’s done. Serve it up.”
Annabelle shot a glance at him and started to give him a biting retort, but she caught the almost imperceptible shake of Peggy’s head and snapped her mouth closed. Peggy was right. Best not to stir them up. A little disrespect was the least the women might have to endure.
Night settled heavily on the camp, and the deepening chill seeped all the way through her. She gathered the set of tin bowls, held them out for Peggy to ladle in the meal, and served them to the men. Neither of them thanked her.
She settled down across the fire on an old curtain Peggy had spread out for them from her pack. She tucked the edges of her skirt around her ankles and motioned for Peggy to sit near. The older woman hesitated for only a moment, then sat cross-legged next to her.
Annabelle sipped her soup. “You were right. It needed to thicken a little longer. The meat’s still chewy, and the flour tastes a little too raw.”
“Um hum, but you can’t tell ’em that.”
Annabelle looked at Peggy out of the corner of her eye. As if she would do anything so foolish. The band of four ate their meal in relative silence. She wondered if they mourned their companion. She had not known Benson well, but she still felt sorrow over his sudden death. Mr. O’Malley said he’d been dead before he’d hit the ground.
When they finished, the men handed their scraped bowls to Peggy. She quietly set aside the rest of her meal and rose to rinse them with a little water from the canteens. Annabelle knew better than to offer assistance in front of the others. Peggy wouldn’t allow it, and she needed these men to see her as a lady. Still, she felt guilty.
When the camp settled down for the night, Annabelle curled up as close to the fire as she could get. She knew she would be unable to sleep, despite her exhaustion, so she let her thoughts turn to Captain Daniels. Perhaps if she kept the fire going, it would be a light by which he could find them.
Matthew kept to the woods until it was too dark to see, then ventured out onto the road, confident he would hear anyone approach before they picked him out of the darkness.
What had happened to the others? He didn’t even know what direction they might have gone in order to evade the soldiers. His only hope would be to follow this road and try to beat them to the next stop, where they had planned to change out the horses. O’Malley might have a different place to hole up for the night, but he likely would still have to make it to the correct stables.
Whoever was backing him had deep pockets. Matthew set his teeth against the cold and continued his trudge northeastward. Some time later, he topped a small hill, and something caught his eye. He’d almost missed it. He wasn’t even sure what had drawn his eyes that way, but as he squinted in the moonlight, he became more certain: white smoke. It had to come from someone’s campfire. Matthew stood staring at it for a moment before concluding reconnaissance would be worth the risk. It could very well be the soldiers seeking his arrest or a band of thieves, but there was a small chance it could be his group. Would O’Malley really be foolish enough to light a fire and give away his location?
Matthew slowly made his way through the underbrush, placing his feet as well as he could in the darkness. The deeper he went, the less the moon was able to give him aid through the thick canopy. He crunched leaves, tripped on roots, and smacked himself with branches. With as much noise as he was making, it would be a wonder if he wasn’t shot before even making it to the fire.
He stepped up to a big pine and looked around it. Relief flooded him more thoroughly than he wanted to admit. There was no mistaking the beautiful face staring with wide eyes in his direction. He knew his bumbling was likely what had frightened her from sleep, but he couldn’t help but withhold his presence for an instant to watch the firelight dance across her smooth features.
As he stepped away from the tree, he said calmly, “Easy, Miss Ross. It’s only me.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she gestured him closer. He made his way to her, doing his best to avoid at least some of the leaves that rustled and cracked beneath his boots. Matthew knelt beside her pallet, trying not to notice her mussed hair and flushed cheeks.
“I feared you were dead!” she hissed.
A small smile played on his lips. “You worried over me?”
She glared at him. “Of course.” Then she hastily added, “As I would anyone. I am afraid poor Mr. Benson was killed.”
Matthew nodded solemnly, the hint of humor he’d felt leaving as the weight of their situation settled on him. “I feel responsible.” He’d not meant to say it, but as her hand rested on his arm, he was almost glad he had.
“You cannot. They were after all of us. We are all responsible for it.”
Matthew regarded her quietly. Such a woman would do George good. A man needed a wife who would help to lessen the weight of his burdens. The sudden thought surprised him. Where was the Matthew who had determined women were more dangerous to handle than an unbroken colt? He’d never once thought of one as a calming presence.
She patted his arm and glanced at the others. “Should I wake them?”
His thoughts jerked back to the present. “No. Let them sleep. In the morning, they will be glad I was no other. You should return to your rest as well.”
“I have not yet slept.”
His leg beginning to ache, Matthew lowered himself from his haunches and sat just off her pallet. When she didn’t protest, he asked, “Why not? Surely you must be tired after such a day.”
She picked at a frayed edge on the blanket spread over her lap. “I believe it is the nature of the day that has rendered me unable to keep my eyes closed long enough for sleep to take me.”
“So then, let’s talk of something else and give your mind another direction. Then perhaps you will find your rest.”
A small smile bowed the corners of her mouth. “That would indeed be pleasant, if you truly do not mind it.”
“I would find it distracting as well.”
She thought a moment, and then something sparked in her eyes. Uh-oh. He should have thought on this before….
“Did you know me when we first met?”
“I did not.”
She narrowed her eyes, her suspicion evident.
“Did you know me?”
She blinked. “No.”
“So, then, why do you find it so unbelievable that I did not at once recognize a woman whom I had only seen once, when she was but a shy young girl at her father’s coattails?”
He’d meant it to be light, but pain flooded her eyes, and he regretted his levity.
She nodded. “Of course.” She waved her hand as if to shoo unwanted emotions. When she looked back at him, her eyes were once again cool and somewhat distant. “At what point, then, did you remember my name?”
Matthew’s hand involuntarily returned to the base of his skull, where the shopkeeper had bested him. “Something reminded me,” he mumbled. At her silence, h
e continued. “When I started to think on where I remembered you from, it all came back to me. Your father’s wedding, my own father’s plans.”
Miss Ross wrapped her arms around herself.
“Are you cold, Miss Ross?”
She dropped her arms and sat a little straighter. He waited. Finally, she sighed and turned the conversation, yet again keeping him off balance. “If you are to be my brother, perhaps it would be acceptable for you to start calling me Annabelle instead.”
Brother. Why did that word feel like a punch to the gut? “And you may call me Matthew. Besides, I don’t think Captain Daniels applies to me any longer.” The bitterness in his tone surprised him, but her smile washed some of it away.
“I prefer Matthew, anyway.”
Matthew unlaced his boots and pulled his feet free, rubbing one to put some circulation back into it. Annabelle watched him quietly.
“So,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him and toward the welcomed warmth of the fire, “at what point did you remember me?”
She wrinkled her nose. “When you showed up at my house and told Grandfather I was betrothed. Which was an exaggeration, by the way.”
“It was a gamble.” He shrugged. “I’m thankful you went along with it.”
She gave a small laugh. “Marriage to a man I don’t know isn’t exactly appealing. Tell me something of your younger brother.”
“How do you know he is younger?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Father said I was to court the youngest Daniels son.”
His throat constricted. How to explain? What would she do if she knew it was actually Matthew who was the youngest son? Would she leave? It was George who would inherit, George who would be able to give her a life she deserved. Not him.
He didn’t correct her. “George is a good man, Miss Ross.”
“Annabelle.”
He stared into the flames. “He is kind, decent, and will be able to provide well for you. You will make a good lady for him at Westerly.”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 19
