William flung a quick glance over his shoulder toward the kitchen to be sure they were still alone. “She was gathering nettles for supper.” The memory sparked the fear and indignation that simmered just beneath the surface. If that soldier had touched her…
“What did he say? Could you discern if they had any additional intelligence?”
William nodded. “We must be more discreet if we are to continue. Find another route perhaps. Not exchange in the middle of the…” He stopped and bit his tongue to keep from swearing. He growled and finished the thought, “The middle of the day.” The anger he’d suppressed since the moment he’d seen Anna bubbled.
Nathaniel’s neck ticked. “We must speak of this to Thomas.” He hurled from the chair and yanked his hat from the table. “Come. I have much to tell you, as well.”
They were out the back door and striding down the road for some minutes before Nathaniel began speaking again. “Thomas and I are feeling the need to do more.”
“More?”
“Aye. Our army surrounds Boston in the hills outside the city, but their situation is desperate.”
William focused on the ground, forehead pressing down. “I had heard they were in some need.” He stopped short as a horse and rider approached. Both men nodded as the rider passed and only when the sound of the hooves had completely passed did Nathaniel continue.
“Thomas knew Henry Knox from his time in Boston and has corresponded with him.”
“Knox? I don’t know him.”
Nathaniel nodded. “He’s the officer over artillery. He has pleaded with Thomas to secure any and all weapons, and as much powder and lead as we can.”
“So you will switch your attentions to only gathering and supplying the army with more ammunition?”
The Watson’s home came into view and Nathaniel picked up his pace. “Nay, not switch them. We shall do both.”
Nathaniel knocked twice and strode in without so much as a second’s pause. “Thomas?”
Eliza called down from the stairs. “He is just outside, Nathaniel.”
“Thank you, Eliza,” he answered as the back door opened and Thomas entered, a load of wood in his arms.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” He deposited the load by the fire and brushed his hands. “You have told him?”
Nathaniel nodded. “Aye.”
“I’ve alerted Joseph Wythe,” Thomas said. “I expect him here any minute.”
William went to the fire and stared at the orange flames. Did these men know what opposition awaited? His forehead cramped. They were not fools, not ignorant of the challenge that lay ahead. But the British out-gunned and out-manned them at ratios hard to comprehend. He glanced over his shoulder. Thomas and Nathaniel spoke together in quiet tones. ’Twas possible they were blissfully unaware of the consequences. He gave a quick shake of his head. Nay. Never were two men more astute, more acutely in tune with the realities of life.
A quick knock tapped through the room. “There he is now.” Thomas opened the door. “Joseph.”
Joseph entered and doffed his hat. “Gentlemen.”
Nathaniel spoke first. “William encountered a lobsterback today.”
“You did?” Both Joseph and Thomas answered together.
William stepped back and crossed his arms. “’Twas unpleasant but we managed. I gave the boy the package and he escaped, but I fear his passage to Plymouth will be hampered.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Not three hours.”
Joseph neared, resting his hands atop the upholstered chair. “’Tis becoming too dangerous?”
“Never too dangerous.” William shook his head. “We simply need to out-smart them. And that shouldn’t be at all difficult.”
The door slammed open and Kitty rushed in. “Nathaniel!”
She whirled aside and two men entered, the limp body of a boy in their arms. William’s blood went still in his veins. The red hair and freckles were unmistakable. He rushed forward but Nathaniel was there before him.
“Put him down, let me see him.”
“Help me, help me!” The boy’s broken voice ripped William’s heart.
He rushed to the boy’s side as the men lowered him to the floor. “You’ll be fine, son.”
The boy’s eyes found William and his quivering hands reached out. “I did what you said—ahhh!” He cried out in pain as Nathaniel ripped open his blood-soaked coat.
Nathaniel’s features went hard. “Get me a cloth. Now!”
Eliza rushed into the room. “What’s happened?”
No one answered.
Already prepared, Kitty thrust a cloth at the boy’s chest and Nathaniel held it firm. He turned to his wife and gave instructions while the boy wailed.
“I can’t die, I can’t die, I can’t die.” The boy’s entire frame quivered, and his pale face went ever more white until even the freckles began to lose their pigment.
“Son, look at me.” William cupped his face and forced the young stranger to look in his eyes. “You will be well—look at me. You will be well. Now, tell me your name.”
“Lund…Townsend.” He struggled to look down at his middle, but William held his head still.
The boy groaned again, this time with a shrillness that stabbed the air. His eyes went round and his breathing hiccoughed. William’s limbs went numb. No, Lord!
William threw a frantic look to Nathaniel. The doctor’s arms and chest were spattered with blood, as were Kitty’s. They worked together to stem the flow talking fast and grabbing at the cloths and bandages that Eliza thrust at them.
William turned again to the boy. “Tell me what happened.”
The boy’s body shook more now, his jaw tapping his teeth together as he tried to speak. “In the woods…the same soldier…and…another man.”
“Another soldier?”
“No, he was…” He stopped as tears poured from his frantic eyes. His young face contorted with fear as he met William’s gaze. “I don’t want to die.”
Dear God, please keep him alive!
William coughed to clear the rock from his throat but it wouldn’t move. He spoke deep and low, stroking the boy’s head as huge tears continued to fall over his trembling cheeks. “You will live.”
Nathaniel yelled something and Kitty responded quiet but with equal urgency.
The boy’s trembling began to fade and his voice quieted. “I’m scared.”
William forced a smile he didn’t actually feel as he stroked the boy’s head once more. “You are the bravest man I know.”
The panic smoothed from his features and his eyes went still. It was only when the boy’s head went limp that William turned to Nathaniel, unable to breathe.
The doctor swore between his teeth and hurled a blood-covered rag on the ground beside him. Kitty slumped to the side and turned her head away.
William gasped and his lungs raced, meeting the sudden pace of his pulse. He looked again at the boy. A needless death. Rage misted through him like a poisonous fume.
He rested the boy’s head gently against the ground and looked to the men who had brought him. “What happened? Where did you find him?” Rising to his feet, he started to speak again, but Nathaniel neared and spoke before him.
“Were you returning from Plymouth?” Nathaniel turned to William. “This is Andrew Cooper and his son Leo.”
William nodded as the older one spoke.
“Aye, we were.” He looked to the boy’s limp form on the ground. “We heard gunfire, then not long after Leo heard him—”
“Did you see anyone?” William interrupted. “Was he alone?”
The younger man answered. “We saw no one else.”
William spun and strode from the room, but Nathaniel caught him by the arm. “Where are you going?”
“To get my musket.”
Nathaniel’s grip went as hard as his look. “Wait.” He turned to Andrew and Leo. “Report your story to my wife, then bring the child’s body to his family.” He
turned to Kitty. “I’m going with William.”
Thomas reached for his musket above the mantel then turned to Joseph as if he knew full well his thoughts mirrored theirs.
William exited with the others following. “Meet me at my farm at the edge of the wood.”
The men raced from the house and the part of William he could not suppress—the soldier he would always be—surged to the forefront, giving commands as they parted ways to ready their mounts. “If the murderer is on foot, he’ll be easy to catch. On horseback, it could be impossible.” He looked up. “The sky is darkening. Be ready to ride.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The front door was locked.
William jostled the handle and rammed his fist against the door. “Anna, let me in.”
When the door finally opened, Anna’s face was as white as the flour on her hands. “What’s happened?”
He rushed in and hurried to the mantel, yanking his musket from its perch, then snatched the powder horn and lead balls he’d made two nights before.
He spoke as he flung the strap of munitions over his shoulder. “You are to go to the Watson’s immediately.”
Her arms dropped to her side. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“I will tell you when I return.” Taking her by the arm, he led her outside. “Run and do not stop until you reach their door.”
She nodded and turned, but his fingers refused to release her. Anna flung him a look, eyes wide with fear.
He should run with her, make sure she was safe, but his duty was elsewhere. God, please stay with her…
Her brow puckered and he finally spoke. “All will be well.”
His words seemed to smooth the depth of the creases but not eliminate them. She studied him. “I pray it will.”
Aye, pray. “I shall return. Now go quickly.”
Grabbing a fist-full of skirt, Anna ran toward the Watson’s just as Joseph and Thomas arrived on horseback. Thomas scowled, looking after Anna. “Where is she going?”
William yelled over his shoulder as he raced to the barn for his mount. “To your home.”
When he returned, astride his saddled horse, Nathaniel had arrived, two pistols strapped to his chest and a musket across his lap. “Ready?”
“Aye,” William answered.
The animals tossed their heads and stepped side to side. William looked to the wood and snapped a curse between his teeth. “This fog will do us no good.”
A low mist had begun to blanket the forest with a thick curtain of white. ’Twas just the sort of cover a fugitive praised and a hunter despised.
He yanked on the reins and motioned for the men to follow. “Thomas and Joseph, take the road. Nathaniel, follow beside the creek and I’ll take the wood.”
Each man nodded in turn and kicked their mounts, disappearing into the gathering fog.
William’s chest burst as he recalled the young boy’s pale skin, his pleading eyes. A vice-like grip on the reins, William prodded his animal forward but the fading light and heavy white that encircled him made a swift journey impossible. His muscles ached to induce the same fear in the killer’s face as he’d seen in the child’s. If only he could be found.
William trained his ears upon every snap, every rustle, every scratch that might echo through the trees, but the fog seemed to deaden the air. An eerie silence loomed as the sun stole another bit of its light. Lord, let me find him.
The horse’s ears perked and William tugged on the reins, bringing the animal to a quick halt. He’d heard it too, a tiny brush against the ground not three yards distant. He barely breathed, praying that the sound was evidence his prey was within reach of his musket’s ball.
Sensing a pair of unseen eyes trained on their approach, the hairs on William’s neck pricked and his blood charged faster in his veins. A familiar sensation expanded in his stomach, turning it to granite.
He was not alone.
Every creak of leather as he dismounted seemed loud as cannon fire and William berated himself for not having ventured on foot. Ghostly billows of fog drifted round like a haunting apparition.
Utter silence.
William pursed his lips and scanned the dark pillars that surrounded him. He’d heard something, no doubt. But had he—
Another tiny brush made his lungs solid and he readied his pistol, his skin hot with rage. “Show yourself!”
He stepped forward. If it were an animal, it would scamper to safety. A fugitive, however, might stay and pray the fog would prolong its cover.
“I know you killed that boy.” He stepped again. Nothing moved.
Slow and deliberate, William took another step. His prey darted and William’s instinct consumed. The swift figure raced over the leaf-covered ground and William charged after. Chest heaving, he gripped the ready pistol. Dodging branches and bushes that jumped out from the mist, William’s breath matched the desperate pace of his pulse. Deeper into the wood, farther from safety.
Could this be a trap as well? A ruse to lure him away and finally bring him to justice? Nay, that mattered naught. The pace of the one he pursued quickened and so did William. The boy had been killed and this was the murderer. There was no doubt.
The distance between their crunching steps lessened and a muted gray figure began to take form through the fog. William pushed harder, almost feeling the skin of the man’s neck beneath his fingers. His legs burned as he strained to close the remaining gap. Though he could run full-out for much longer, the rage pooled in his limbs. Flashes of memory scarred his eyes. That innocent, freckled face. Pain. Fear. So much blood.
With a roar he skidded to a stop and raised his weapon. A burst of fire and thundering crack snapped against the trees. Even shooting into the fog, he couldn’t have missed. Not at this distance.
Silence consumed once more. Only the heavy in and out of his breath echoed in the unearthly stillness. He’d done it.
Racing forward, William hurried to the place the body had fallen, studying the ground as wisps of white swirled around his boots. His fingers twitched against the pistol.
It couldn’t be…
He stood motionless, grinding his teeth. How could the man have gotten away? How could he have disappeared with not so much as a telltale footprint?
William’s limbs grew heavy and his grip on the pistol turned to iron. The grayish-white fog dimmed a measure as the sun slipped farther down. Staring into the mist, resolve plastered into the tiny fissures of his will. The boy’s courage, his fearless sense of duty, knitted into William’s soul. More than ever the cause needed him. More than ever the British needed defeat—to be taught they could not demand a person’s loyalty. Or their life.
This was not the end. Nay, only the beginning.
~~~
Paul’s chest burned. Allowing only the thinnest thread of breath to his starving lungs, he pressed his back against the base of the tree. So, the boy had been killed after all. Well then. One less patriot. Refusing even to blink until the sound of his pursuer’s boots could no longer be heard, he pressed his fingers against the gushing wound in his middle.
Entombed in silent fog, Paul gasped and leaned his head against the bark of the tree. Staring at the unseen sky, his mind replayed the sound of the voice he’d heard. Could it have been?
He rubbed a hand over his face. It sounded so much like him, Paul would have wagered his weapon. This was Sandwich, was it not? Donaldson could be here, as he’d surmised, so the probability of such an encounter was not without reason. And good Samaritan that Donaldson was, meant where trouble could be found, the traitor was not far distant.
Paul winced and breathed hard through clenched teeth to keep his mind formulating the sorry tale he must produce. He pushed to his feet just as it lighted his mind. He’d seen the man who shot the boy. Aye. ’Twas the same man who pursued and nearly killed him as well. The murderer must be caught and brought to justice. A felon didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as honest men.
Black hatred charred
the edges of his weary mind. Stumbling from his hiding place, he stopped only long enough to catch his bearings and started toward Plymouth. Recovering in Sandwich could put him at risk of being found by the man whom he must find first—and bring to justice. Once he reported to the townsfolk the crime of the murdered child, and the butchering fugitive who was surely abiding in their midst, he would have their loyal support. Donaldson would get a piece of lead in the chest. And Paul would put it there. Today or tomorrow or next week, it mattered not. His pursuit was nearly over.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In front of the fire, only minutes after returning from the Watson’s, Anna stared. The golden glow faded in and out as the flames popped and snapped. She was numb, struggling against the image that continued to plague her. The motionless boy on the floor, covered in blood and with a face so white he looked almost stone-like. The fierce look in William’s eyes affirmed he would do more than find the killer. But he had not found him, and the tension billowing from his shoulders caused a pang in her middle.
Her throat ached and she blinked to keep the stray tears from falling. Eliza and Kitty, though devastated, seemed as though their determination against the British now heated instead of cooled. She looked to her hands and picked at the skin around her nail, remembering how at the sight of the boy she’d nearly collapsed and was forced to spend the remainder of the time resting above stairs while the two men took the child’s lifeless body away. Shame spilled over her like sap, slow and thick. Where was her courage? These people seemed to be strengthened by trial, not destroyed by it. Was it their ignorance, like her father had always said? Or was it truth that shattered the shackles of servitude, giving way to their unbridled courage? She looked forward again and studied the flames as they licked the far end of a log. Eliza had said the truth had done that for her—given her an understanding that carried her forward in the cause of freedom, despite the difficulties, despite the risks. For truly, there were risks. Today proved that in a way Anna wished more than ever to forget. But she never would.
The door clicked behind her and Anna turned in her seat. William entered and removed his hat, resting it and his coat on the peg by the door.
So Rare a Gift (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 3) Page 24
