"Who is it?" Grayson asked.
She shook her head. "I don't know. Wait. It's the boy that works for Pete. His apprentice. I don't know his name."
The young apprentice astride his pony sailed over Maggie's fence and rode into the barnyard. "Miss Maggie?"
She came toward him. "Yes?"
"My master, Pete Clendaniels, says you have to come quick." He eyed Grayson.
Maggie waved her hand. "He's safe enough. "Go on."
"The Bennett boys' cabin, ma'am. Fast as you can get there." He wheeled his pony around and sunk his heels into its sides. "I've got to get Zeke, too."
Maggie stood stunned for a moment, then sprang into action. Her hands found the harness on her horse and she began to restrap it.
"Wait." Grayson rested his hand on hers. "The horse and cart will be too slow. Let me take you." He caught Giipa's reins and lifted easily into the saddle.
She looked up at him, her face etched with concern. "I don't know what the problem is. I'd best go alone."
He offered her his hand. "So I'll leave you in the woods near by where no one can see me."
Maggie took his hand and allowed him to lift her into the saddle. Seated straddled in his lap, she twisted her fingers in the gelding's mane and nodded. "Let's go!"
Giipa flew over the fence with the ease born of good breeding. The weight of an extra rider seemed not to hinder him as Grayson drove him hard across the field and into the woods.
"Which way?" Grayson asked.
"Left." A moment later Maggie pointed. "Right. Down the trail, than right again at the mulberry bush."
Too tense for conversation, they rode in silence. But even though Maggie didn't speak, she was comforted by Grayson's presence. He cared enough about her to be there when she needed him, even when she herself denied that need. Was that what love was? She only wished she knew.
"It's just through this hedge," Maggie murmured. "Let me down."
Grayson reined in Giipa and Maggie slipped to the ground. Without another word to Grayson she lifted her skirts and ran through the woods down the trail that led to the Bennett boys' cabin. The moment she came into the clearing, she spotted Pete at the door. There were no redcoats to be seen, only a few neighbors standing with their heads bowed, speaking in hushed tones.
"What is it? What's happened?" Maggie demanded, running across the grassy yard.
Pete's usually ruddy face was a pallored gray.
"What?" she repeated, coming to stop at the door. "Tell me!" She glanced through the doorway but could see nothing but the glare of morning sunlight.
He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "You don't want to go in there, Mags."
"Tell me!"
The blacksmith put his arm up to bar her entrance. "It's Ed. He's dead."
"Ed?" Her eyes searched his face for some explanation. "Redcoats?" she whispered.
He looked away. "He came by way of a dispatch bag yesterday. There were some important messages inside that we meant to send to Williamsburg."
With a sudden movement, Maggie ducked under Pete's arm. By the time he caught her she was halfway across the dimly lit log cabin. She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes cloudy with tears.
Over near the fireplace Les sat on the floor, Ed's mutilated body cradled in his arms. Les cried like no man Maggie had ever seen cry before. He rocked back and forth. "Why, why?" he demanded, the tears running down his stubbled cheeks. "Not my brother? Why my brother?"
Zeke suddenly appeared at Maggie's side. "Good God," he muttered as he turned his face away.
Instead of running, instead of turning away and being sick, Maggie forced herself forward. She went to Les and knelt beside him. "Let me take him, Les," she whispered. "Let me take him and clean him up right for buryin'."
"They kilt him, Maggie. They kilt my brother, Ed." He rocked back and forth, holding Ed's body against him.
"I know," she answered evenly. "I know what they did and we're gonna get the bastards for it, but right now you got to get up off the floor and let me take him, Ed."
He shook his head. "Nobody's takin' my brother. Nobody's takin' Edwin and puttin' him in the cold ground."
Maggie stroked Les's graying head. "Now you know this isn't Ed here, this is just an old shell of a body. Ed's gone to heaven, Les. He's huntin' duck this very minute, I'll bet you."
Les sniffed. "Pete says they come for some dispatches Ed got a hold of. He died fightin' for us, didn't he, Mags?"
She rested her head on Les's shoulder, trying to ignore the stench of burnt human flesh that made her stomach heave. "He died a hero, I'd say."
Ed looked at her for the first time. "You think he deserves a commendation?"
"From Washington himself."
He smiled a sad smile. "You'll clean him up good?"
She smiled back. "Make him handsome, I will." She put out her arms.
Slowly Les lifted his brother's body and eased it onto the floor, allowing Maggie to take Ed's shoulders. Pete came to help Les off the floor.
Zeke knelt beside Maggie. "My God," he groaned. "This could have been me. It should have been."
Maggie looked up. "Don't say that . . . don't ever say that again, Ezekial Barnes."
"It's true. I was the one who was supposed to take the dispatches. Instead I met Lyla."
Maggie shook her head, looking back at Ed's face. "It was his time to go. God's will. Now hush your mouth about who this could have been or should have been. The truth is it could have been any of us." She paused. "Now go see what you can find out. We've got to carry on, Zeke. That was our agreement from the beginning. No matter what, we've got to carry on."
Knowing the truth of Maggie's words, Zeke slowly rose. Then, taking a deep breath, he went to Les's side. "I hate to ask," he told Les, gripping his friend's shoulder, "but do you know anyplace Ed might have hidden the dispatch bag? From the looks of this place and Ed's body, the bloody butchers didn't find what they were looking for. I just don't think Ed told 'em."
Les wiped his teary eyes with the back of his hand. "Hell no, he didn't tell them!" he answered gruffly. "I know just where the damned bag is!"
Zeke's compassionate gaze met Les's. "Can you show me, friend?"
Maggie watched Zeke, Pete, and Les go out the door and then she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain in her heart. She wanted to scream, to shout! There was no need for this man to die! No need for any of them to die! She felt the weight of Ed's body in her arms and she knew she had to get up from the floor. She knew she had a job to do.
"Maggie . . ." Grayson's voice penetrated her thoughts. "Maggie, let me help you."
She opened her eyes to see Grayson stooped in front of her, his hands extended. He took Ed's body from her, handling it as if it was spun glass and laid it gently on the floor. And then he took her into his arms and cried with her.
Chapter Twenty-three
Grayson came to a halt outside Major Lawrence's tent. Private Michaels paused beside him. "You want me to announce you, sir?"
Grayson adjusted his grenadier cap and looked down at the young man. He'd been seriously considering taking Michaels into his confidence. He'd grown so fond of him that he feared for the boy. What would happened to Michaels when the English were beaten here on the banks of the York River? Grayson had a mind to send him to Thayer's Folly where he'd be safe. There in Williamsburg he could build a new life for himself as an American. Grayson liked the idea of having the boy around after the war. "Have I got my breeches on backward, Michaels?"
Michaels broke into a grin. "No, sir."
"Then I suppose I'm ready."
Michaels ducked inside the tent and came out a moment later. "The major will see you in his inner tent," Michaels said. "You . . . you want me to wait here?"
"I swear by the king's bowels, son, you worry over me like you were my wet nurse," Grayson chided. "Now go about your duties."
Michaels saluted and Grayson flipped back a playful salute. Yes, he decided, as he watched the boy wa
lk away, he needed to figure out a way to get Michaels to Thayer's Folly before the real fighting began. Grayson knew he couldn't save the life of every fifteen-year-old boy on the battlefield, but damned if it wasn't in his power to save this one!
Taking a deep breath, Grayson walked into Major Lawrence's tent. He shifted his thoughts from Michaels to Lawrence. Each time Grayson was called in by the major, a part of him was afraid, afraid he'd been caught. But another part of him, the part he allowed to control him, was excited by the game. It was Grayson's wits against the major's, against the entire bloody British army's.
Grayson passed Major Lawrence's secretary seated at a small camp desk and walked into the inner tent. Grayson immediately came to attention and snapped a sharp salute, holding it.
"Yes, yes," Major Lawrence muttered, returning the salute. "Just get in here, Thayer. I called you a good forty-five minutes ago."
"I was bathing, sir," Grayson murmured apologetically. He didn't tell him he'd been bathing with Maggie.
Major Lawrence was seated in a chair allowing a young servant boy to fit an immense white wig over his head. Grayson was surprised to see that the major was entirely bald save for a sparse thatch of long white hair that stood up like a rooster's cock in the center of his head. It was all Grayson could do to keep from chuckling.
With the wig in place, the servant handed Major Lawrence a breathing cone and the major placed it over his face. Great billows of white hair powder filled the small sleeping tent as the servant proceeded to powder the officer's wig.
Grayson choked and turned away. Major Lawrence wheezed. The boy went on powdering, seemingly immune to the suffocating dust.
Finally, Major Lawrence lowered the cone and fanned it in the air. "Enough! That will be all, Gill."
The boy gathered his hair accoutrements and slipped out the tent flap, letting it fall behind him.
Major Lawrence gave a great sneeze, and then rubbed his nose. "Ah, much better." He blinked as if just remembering Grayson was there. "Thayer."
"Yes, sir." Grayson noticed that the usually thin man was now so underweight that he appeared emaciated. His cheeks were sunk into dark hollows and his eye seemed to bulge unnaturally. It was obvious the major was not sleeping well.
"Your aunt, Thayer?"
"Sir?"
"You aunt in New Castle. How does she fare?"
"Not well, sir. She's dead."
The major gave a sigh and pushed out of his chair, going to his desk. "Better off than the rest of us, I'll grant you." He nodded. "My condolences just the same."
"Thank you."
"And my letters, were they delivered?"
"Not by my own hands, I'm sorry to say," Grayson answered carefully. "I wasn't able to leave my aunt's side, but I had them delivered."
Major Lawrence nodded. "Good enough." Then there was a long, uncomfortable pause before he spoke again. "You know the Frenchman de Grasse engaged with our fleets under Hood and Graves yesterday."
"No, I didn't know. How did we do?"
The major lifted a sheet of paper and then let it glide back onto his desk. "Piss poor."
"I'm certain we'll whip their tails on the next engagement, sir."
"Christ a' mighty! Thayer, don't you see? Use your head, boy! They've taken control of the sea, Washington's in Williamsburg and we're caught on this bloody peninsula!"
"There's Gloucester Point, sir. Nothing but a few militia and farmers to defend her," Grayson said, offering information that was well known.
Major Lawrence shook his head. "It doesn't feel right, boy." He brought up his fist to the place on his chest over his heart. "I've just got this sick feeling in here." He looked up. "I'm thinking of sending my nephew to New York."
When Grayson said nothing, the major went on. "We'll be digging in here. There's going to be one hell of a battle no matter which side the coin turns on. I can smell the stench of death already."
"And you don't think Lieutenant Riker will want to be a part of that battle?"
"I understand that you and my nephew have not seen eye to eye, but he's my only living blood relative. I don't want to see him die."
Grayson cleared his throat. "Yes, sir, but what does this have to do with me?"
"I'll need you to double up on duties. I offered to General Cornwallis that I would take a fighting command. I'd like to start digging our first lines of defense today and I want you to be in charge of the work."
Grayson nodded. "Whatever it is you want, sir."
Major Lawrence lifted his head for an instant and Grayson saw fear in the older man's pale-gray eyes, primal fear. This was not the man Grayson had been wary of a few months ago when he'd come to Yorktown. That major who had fought beside Banastre Tarleton, the butcher, seemed gone. There's was nothing left but a tired old man.
"I'm asking as a personal favor to you that you not speak to my nephew on this matter," the major murmured. "I've no wish to argue with him. I believe I'll simply send him to Clinton in New York on some sort of business."
Just then the tent flap lifted and Riker came strutting in. "Uncle." He gave Grayson a nod. "Captain."
"I was just speaking to Thayer about beginning the digging on our outer lines. I have a special task for you as well."
"Oh?" Riker picked up an apple off a small table and took a bite. "What is it?"
"I need you to go to New York."
"New York!" Riker flashed Grayson a scowl. "Is this your idea, Thayer?"
Grayson lifted a taunting eyebrow. "I stand innocent. Surely you don't think I have anything to do with the major's decisions."
"I can't go to New York, Uncle. Not now! I'm this close," he brought his thumb and forefinger together, "to catching that entire band of filthy rebel troublemakers."
Riker's words immediately tapped Grayson's attention.
"I'm not certain how much longer they can do us harm," Major Lawrence answered, taking a seat on a campstool at his field desk.
"Can't do us any harm!" Riker exploded. "What of those dispatches they stole?"
The major sighed. "The bloody fools left the bag lying on the floor of the ale house! Those soldiers would have been court-martialed if they'd been my men. What did you expect the rebels to do? Return the dispatches unopened?"
"It we know who the traitors are, it's our duty as soldiers of the king to bring them to justice!"
Major Lawrence sighed. "Give your information to the captain. I have confidence that he can handle the matter."
Riker shook his head, his midnight hair brushing his shoulders. "Just a day or two, please, Uncle. I've found a Benedict Arnold among them. I'm certain I can bring the whole bloody nest of rebels down."
Grayson involuntarily flinched at Riker's words. His suspicions were finally confirmed. The information leaks that had been taking place had not been accidents as he had hoped, as they all had hoped. There was a traitor among them.
"A betrayer among them, is there?" Grayson smiled, his voice a smooth as liquid glass. "Damned Colonials, they've no honor!" He removed his grenadier cap and slipped it beneath his arm. "Give me the information and I'll take care of it, have no fear."
Riker's dark eyes narrowed venomously. "Oh, no you don't. I do the work and you take the glory?" He tossed his half-eaten apple, striking Grayson in the chest with it. "I've worked too damned long on this to let you bungle it like you bungle everything else!"
Major Lawrence dipped his quill into a inkwell and scrawled his signature on a report. "Listen to yourself. You sound obsessed, Nephew. Perhaps it was time you backed off. I keep telling you that you mustn't get emotionally involved in your duties. You have too many personal vendettas, including the one against Thayer, and I don't like it. It is unbecoming of a soldier."
Riker crossed the tent in three long strides. "A few days, Uncle," he pleaded. "A few days is all I need and I swear to God I'll hand you their heads on a platter. Then I'll do your bidding in New York. I swear it."
Major Lawrence shook his powdered head wea
rily. "I'm too easy on you. I've failed your father."
"Oh, you haven't, sir." He took the older man's gnarled hand. "I can catch these rebel devils. I can make you proud of me."
"All right, young man, a few more days, but then," the major held up a finger, "you go. It's important that I send a man I can trust. It's important I send you."
Riker spun around, offering Grayson a smug grin and then walked out of the tent.
Grayson shifted his weight from one polished boot to the other. "Will that be all, Major?"
"Yes. Take what men of mine you need." The major returned to his stack of papers and Grayson was dismissed.
Once outside in the crisp autumn air, Grayson hurried toward his tent, his head bent in concentration. He didn't know who the traitor was among the Yorktown band, but if he didn't find out soon, they would all fall.
Beyond the point of caring about town gossip, Maggie walked into the midnight meeting on Grayson's arm. Once inside the high-ceilinged tobacco house, she and Grayson moved up to stand beside Zeke. One by one she stared at the faces of the men she had grown up with.
This morning she had heard the first guns of battle. Washington had begun troop movement toward Yorktown, and already skirmishes were taking place. As Maggie glanced from one man to the next, she couldn't help wondering who among them would die before the last cannon fire was volleyed here on the banks of the York River.
The faces of the men who gathered in John's barn were taut with worry. Their voices were hushed. Not only did they carry upon their shoulders the burden of coming battle, but also the burden of a friend turned foe. Each man seemed to look at the man beside him, wondering if he was the traitor among them.
When the last man had arrived and the door was closed, John cleared his throat. "Men," he said in a deep, resonant voice, "we've got trouble." His eyes scanned the small knot of men and the single woman who drew closer. "Major Thayer has learned that there is indeed a betrayer among us. He's somehow connected to Lieutenant Riker."
A murmur rippled through the men. A curse or two was heard in the semidarkness. Maggie glanced up high into the rafters of the barn, blinking away the tears that clouded her eyes. A pigeon roosting on a crossbeam fluttered its wings and flew a short distance to another beam. Maggie felt Grayson's hand tighten around hers.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 28
