Maggie knelt on the hearth and the dog allowed her to hook him into his harness inside the wheel he turned, which rotated the spit over the open fire. She gave the dog one last pat and it began to walk; the ham on the spit began to spin slowly.
"I can't tell you where I've been," she answered finally.
Manny gave a snort as he lifted a pot of steaming turnips off the stove and set them down on the worktable in front of his wife. "I told you she'd not say." He handed Alice a wooden pestle. "Mash, wife. We've hungry men to feed."
Maggie picked up a carrot off the table and took a bite. "I'm a widow, Manny Commegys, I've got a right to come and go as I please."
"A widow too long, I say. An idle woman is the devil's work. My brother Lysias is looking for a new wife. Matilda was buried a good fortnight ago, God rest her soul." He crossed himself and then added, "The ague, they say. She wasn't sick but two days and then she was gone."
"Lysias's looking for a third wife? I wish him good luck." Maggie glanced across the table at her sister. "He's going to need it. The poor soul's got the face of a steer and the mind of a turnip."
Alice giggled and Manny gave her a pinch as he passed behind her. "Hush, wife. You encourage your sister's outrageous behavior."
The sisters looked at each other with an all-knowing glance and then both looked away for fear they'd burst into laughter. "I appreciate your concern for me, Manny," Maggie said, trying to soothe him. "Really I do. But I told you. I'm not looking for a husband."
Manny ran a carving knife over his sharpening stone, making a grinding sound. "Appreciate my concern, do you? Mighty fancy words you're carryin' these days, Maggie Myers. Someone been givin' you talkin' lessons or something?"
"You need help or don't you, Manny?" She dropped a hand to her worn homespun skirt. She'd been tempted to wear one of the day gowns Grayson had bought her, but of course she couldn't. Though she'd brought everything he'd bought her in her new trunks, they would have to remain stored until she went to New York. There would be too many questions if she appeared in a gown like the ones she'd grown fond of wearing at Thayer's Folly.
He tested his sharpened knife, seeming pleased when a drop of blood beaded on his thumb. "The greencoats under the south window, they'll be looking for their apple tarts."
Maggie gave a nod. "I vow I can handle that. Anything else?"
"That and check on that wench Lattice my wife made me hire. Be certain she's servin' the ale and not drinkin' it."
Alice lifted her masher out of the turnips and shook it at her husband. "You can't expect to make money without spending some, Manuel Commegys!" She glanced back at Maggie, who couldn't hide her surprise at her sister's outburst. Alice went on to explain. "I stood there and I looked at Matilda Commegys bein' lowered into that cold ground in that pine coffin and I said to myself, Alice, that's gonna be you if things don't change. Manny's gonna be lowerin' you into your grave and then he'll be out lookin' for a new wife in a fortnight just like his brother!" She picked up her pestle and began to mash the turnips with a vengeance. "So I made Manny hire that girl. And I told him straight out, after this babe, I get two years' rest. If Father Rufus can vow a lifetime of celibacy for the Lord, Manny Commegys can certainly vow a year or two of celibacy for his wife!"
Maggie looked with round eyes toward Manny who was making an event of chopping carrots for stew. "I . . . I suppose I'll get to those tarts now," she said.
Still smiling at her sister's bold declaration. Maggie went to the pie safe and opened the punched-tin door. The spicy aroma of cinnamon and clove enveloped her as she removed half a dozen plump apple tarts from the dusty, floured shelves and closed the door again. Arranging the tarts on a pewter plate, she lifted it over her head and left the kitchen.
Maneuvering her way through the throng of boisterous enemy soldiers in the public room, Maggie's gaze wandered from face to face. Of course she knew Grayson wasn't here, but she couldn't help herself. Near the cold fireplace she spotted Zeke and the others. She gave a wave and pointed to the tarts, signaling that she'd be right with them.
"Aiee! Here iss the dessert," a round-bellied German soldier exclaimed. "The only question I haf iss, iss the dessert the tarts or the vench!"
Maggie made a face as she slid the plate onto the table. "Be there anything else I can get you?"
The greencoat that spoke English grasped her around the waist. "How about yourself, mine voman with hair of fire?"
When Maggie elbowed him sharply in the ribs, the German gave a grunt. "No? Then I'll be on my way." With a smug grin she turned away from the table and headed for Zeke's.
John slid in to make room for her, his grin broad against his sunburned face. "Christ but it's good to see you, Maggie."
Ed and Les both whipped off their battered felt hats. "We're real sorry 'bout what we did back a few weeks, Maggie. We just thought we was doin' what was right. We didn't know the major was one of us," Les said, lowering his voice, though he didn't have to lower it far. The Scot soldier had wound up his bagpipes again and the sound was nearly deafening.
Maggie offered a smile. "That's all right, boys, because I didn't know, either."
Zeke slid his hand across the table and laid it over Maggie's. "I'm sorry, Mags, for doubting your judgment," he murmured awkwardly, taking back his hand. "I'm just glad to see you safe."
Maggie leaned back against the wall and took a sip from John's leather ale jack. "It's so good to see you, all of you. I missed your ugly faces."
The two Bennett boys blushed and looked away.
"Has the exchange taken place yet?" John asked quietly.
She looked up. "You know about the exchange?"
"We were contacted by Colonel Hastings. He gave us the whole story."
"He's asked for our assistance." Zeke told her proudly.
Maggie folded her hands, choosing her words carefully. She didn't know what they knew of her relationship with Grayson, but it wasn't a matter she wanted to discuss, especially now that it suddenly seemed over. "I was in the camp this afternoon. I went by Gr—the major's tent. I saw Private Michaels who works for him, but I didn't speak. I thought I'd lay low and see what happens."
"Wise decision," John nibbled on a square of cornbread, "for all of us."
"Exactly what did Colonel Hastings say, as far as our involvement?"
"We're to be at the major's disposal. A new round of contacts are being set up."
"To replace Billy Faulkner," Maggie said, looking down at the table. The tune of the bagpipes playing in the background suddenly sounded like a funeral dirge.
John nodded solemnly and the group paused for a moment, as in memorial for the dead patriot. Finally, John spoke again. "Once the major is back in the Brit camp, we were told to contact him."
"How?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "The Brits have sentries around the perimeter of the entire camp. She's sealed up tight as a barrel."
It was Zeke's turn to speak. "We thought that was where you would come in if . . . if you were still willing to work with us after what we done."
"Me?"
"Well, we figured you can still get in and out with your bootmakin', and with you and the major . . ." His dark eyes met hers. "It's up to you, Mags."
She gave a nod, not wanting to go into what had happened between Grayson and her in front of the others. "We'll see, Zeke, once he's in safe."
When Maggie realized Zeke was looking past her as she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder to see who had caught his attention. It was Lyla. She was standing by the stairs, barefoot, dressed in a simple, clean sak dress of pale burgundy. Her gaze was locked with Zeke's.
" 'Scuse me, but I got to be goin'," Zeke said suddenly.
Les Bennett slid off the bench to let Zeke out. "Best watch yourself," he told his longtime friend as Zeke smoothed his queue. "That 'lady' spends more time in the Brit camp than the Brits do."
Zeke limped away, seeming not to hear.
John shook his head. "I don't like to te
ll a man what to do, but Zeke's playin' with fire."
Maggie glanced at John, not knowing what to say. She wanted to take up for Zeke, for his judgment; on the other hand, she knew about women like Lyla. If she was willing to sell her body to the enemy, wouldn't she be willing to sell secrets as well? Maggie reached for John's ale jack again. "He says we've got nothing to worry about."
Les pulled his three-cornered hat down over his ears. "Just hope the hell he's right," he commented gruffly.
"Maggie!" Manny called from the kitchen doorway, catching Maggie's attention. He had a keg tucked under one arm and a tray of dirty trenchers under the other.
She slid off the bench and gave a wave. Coming, Manny." She turned back to the men at the table. "Promised Manny I'd help him and Alice out." She leaned over and whispered, "I figured it was a good way to hear what was happening inside the camp. Sometimes more's said here than there."
John nodded. "Well, go on with you then." He caught her hand and whispered, "We meet tomorrow night, midnight, the hangin' tree off Les and Ed's place."
She nodded and then turned back toward the kitchen, hurrying to help Manny with his burden.
Hours passed and Maggie grew fatigued as she served ale and trenchers of food nonstop to the gluttonous soldiers. Her queasy stomach heaved and perspiration saturated her gown as she cleaned off table after table, only to reset them for another group of soldiers waiting outside.
Finally, near midnight, the public room began to thin out. The bagpiper fell unconscious in a drunken stupor and was carried out by several kilted soldiers. To Maggie's relief, the noise level in the public room immediately became more bearable.
"Barmaid," Maggie heard a voice call from behind. "Barmaid," he said a little louder.
Maggie froze in midmotion, her wet dishrag limp in her hand. "That voice . . . it still made her breath catch in her throat. He was safe! Thank the Virgin, he was safe!
"Barmaid! I've waiting nigh on twenty minutes. Have you something for a man with a fierce thirst?" Grayson demanded in his best captain's voice.
Slowly Maggie turned. There he was sitting behind her where he'd not been a moment before, his boots propped cockily on the table's edge. He wore his scarlet uniform all pressed and neat. His cap was tossed carelessly on the trestle table. On his face was the proud, insolent grin of a man who had fooled the enemy and was back in a seat of power.
Maggie came to his table, her dishrag still in hand. She leaned over and began to wipe tip the puddles of ale. "You're still all in one piece," she murmured, pushing his feet off the table. They hit the floor with a thump.
"Safe and sound." He slapped his chest.
When she said nothing, he laid his hand over hers, to stop her from the motion of cleaning. "Maggie, sweet, I'm sorry for leaving like that."
She slipped her hand out from under his and began to stack several dirty plates and trenchers onto a tray on the next table. "You hurt me, Grayson."
"I know." His eyes searched her flushed face as he tried to meet her eyes. "But I'm sorry. We can work this out, I know we can."
"Your idea of workin' it out is for me to go back to Williamsburg."
"I still think that's what's best."
"For who?" She turned to face him, not caring who saw them talking. "For you or for me?"
"For both of us."
She bit down on her lower lip. "The boys will be meeting tomorrow night at the old hanging tree southwest of my place. You know it?"
"Yes. Will you be there?" He tried to catch her around the waist, but she slipped away.
"Of course."
"I don't want you there."
"Of course you don't," she answered, her sarcasm thick.
"It's getting too dangerous."
"Is it that, or are you afraid a woman might show you up?"
"Maggie! What a terrible thing to say! You know better than that. I've already admitted to you that you're a better soldier than I am. But you're still—"
"A woman?"
"The woman I love. The woman I want to protect." He leaned on the table. "I was in a skirmish for the first time in several months yesterday and it scared me, Maggie."
"Sterling said you weren't ready to get back into the fighting."
He grabbed her hand, refusing to let go when she tried to twist away. "It didn't scare me because I was afraid to die," he said fiercely. "It scared me because I saw you. I saw you dying by a stray bullet, a crazed soldier with a bayonet."
"There's worse ways to die," she said, keeping her voice hard and emotionless.
"Ah, Christ, Maggie, listen to us." He kissed her work-worn knuckles. "Is this the way it's always to be?"
"We were raised on different sides of the cornfield," she said quietly. "It's not anyone's fault, it's just the way it is."
"But I don't want it to be that way!" Grayson came to his feet, placing her hand in his on his heart. "I want to fight for you, and for this country."
She gave a soft sigh of tentative surrender. "Wait for me outside, Grayson." She took away her hand and began to untie her apron.
He scooped up his grenadier cap.
His eyes searched hers. "Do you love me, Maggie Myers?" he asked.
"I love you," she whispered. Slowly she lowered her lashes and then in a hushed voice whispered, "Outside."
She waited until Grayson was gone and then she headed for the kitchen. Manny was standing in the doorway.
Maggie handed him her apron. "I'm going home."
Manny eyed the doorway the dashingly handsome redcoat had just exited. "You're not done with the cleanin' up."
"You don't pay me, Manny. I come and go as I please."
"I offered to pay you a hundred times for all you've done for us!"
She smiled up at him, weary. "Why do you think I don't let you pay me." She turned away before he could speak again and gave a wave over her head.
He called after her. "I'm not a man to tell you what to do but—"
"Then don't!" she answered as she stepped out of the tavern and into the arms of her lover.
Chapter Twenty
John Logan raised his hands and a hush fell over the men who gathered beneath the twisted branches of the hangman's tree. A full, waxing moon cast an eerie light over the gathering. Long-fingered shadows thrown across the men's faces altered their features until Maggie wasn't quite certain who was who.
Except of course for Grayson.
She couldn't miss him standing at John's side, waiting in anxious anticipation, his fingers flexing at his sides.
Maggie couldn't help thinking of the way only an hour ago those fingers had played her body like a harp. Arm in arm, limb in limb, they had cried out in mutual pleasure and then Grayson had held her in his arms and again begged her to return to Williamsburg.
"Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to Major Grayson Thayer of the First Legionary Corps, but to you of course, he is Captain Grayson Thayer, king's soldier."
All eyes were fixed on Grayson. The Bennett boys lifted their caps and crumbled them in their hands in reverence.
Grayson studied the group, taking note of their tattered clothing and haggard faces as his perceptive blue-eyed gaze moved from one man to the next. "Evening to you," he finally said.
"Evening," the group of a dozen patriots responded.
Maggie tightened the light shawl she wore around her shoulders. Enough with the dramatics, she thought. Get on with it, Grayson.
"A few of you already know me," Grayson said, allowing a grin to slip across his handsome face. "But I'm willing to forgive on that matter if you are."
Pete chuckled and several men joined in.
"What happened," Grayson went on, "was an unfortunate accident, one we'd all like to put behind us. I've been returned to my redcoat company. The trading of prisoners went off well, and there seem to be no suspicions. Just the same, I want to remind you men how vital it is that my identity remain a secret. You cannot tell wives, lovers, not even your best hunting hound."
Again there was a ripple of laughter. Grayson had put the rebel band at ease. Maggie could hear it in their voices. She could see it in their stances.
"It's my opinion that we're about to make history. We presently have the upper hand at sea and will soon have it on land. Right here on your doorsteps I surmise you'll see an end to this war."
"So what's our part?" Les asked.
Carter took a step forward. "How can we help?"
Grayson swept off his cocked hat. Though he was dressed in the same style as the other men, there was air about him that set him apart from the others. Maggie couldn't resist a proud smile. That man was the father of her unborn child.
"I can't say exactly how I can use you just yet. But I know I'll need you. I'll probably want messengers. And I'll need to know what you're seeing and hearing."
John stroked his chin. "With our men and the French closing in from Williamsburg, how much longer do you think you'll make it out of the camp without being scrutinized?"
"I can't honestly say. The Brits have pretty much taken over Commegys' ordinary. I imagine I'll still be able to get in and out of there for a while."
"Then what?" Chester Cage asked, his pipe bowl glowing in the semidarkness.
"Then I take over."
All heads turned to Maggie, who stood at the rear of the group.
She could see Grayson's jaw tighten. She ignored him. "I see no reason why I won't be able to walk in and out of the Brit camp, even once the shooting starts. I'll go with my boot repairs same as always. That way I can carry the captain-major's messages in and out without suspicion."
Pete hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his blue-striped tick breeches. "And you don't think no one will wonder what you're doin' spendin' so much time with the captain?"
"Before I left there were already rumors about me and Thayer."
Several men dropped their gazes guiltily.
"I just aim to play on those rumors," Maggie went on. "There are other women who seem to come and go without anyone questioning them."
"Never seen anyone stop Lyla," someone said.
Maggie had thought the same but hadn't wanted to say so in front of Zeke. She went on. "You see, the way I figure it, I go into his tent, stay a while, then walk right out with his message, written or otherwise." She finally lifted her gaze to meet Grayson's. He was seething inside; she could see it. But he had the sense to hold his tongue in front of her friends.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 24
