"The suggestion has been made," John continued slowly, "that we simply disband."
"Disband, hell," Pete shouted. "I say we find the traitor and hang the bastard!"
"Our duty is coming to an end here. Most of us will be lifting arms to fight." John raised his palms as if in surrender. "I want no more lives lost."
"I can tell you one thing," Les said from far in the rear, his voice razor-edged. "I aim to find which one of you it is, and I aim to deal with it."
"Win or lose, how could we live in this town, knowing one of us betrayed the others," Harry offered. "We got no choice, boys. We have to find the rat among us."
"How?" someone asked.
"If we knew who it was, we'd have taken care of him long ago," someone else offered.
"Him or her," Les muttered.
Maggie stiffened. "Now wait a minute, Les Bennett! You know better than that! If I was the traitor, don't you think I'd have made things a little easier on myself? You think I'd be dragging through the mud in the middle of the night carrying bags of Brit flour on my back?"
"Easy," Grayson soothed in her ear. "It's his grief talking."
Les chewed on his thumbnail. "Cool your petticoats, Mags. I weren't talkin 'bout you."
"Well, what other blasted woman is there among us?" Harry asked, striking his cane on the dirt floor.
Les turned toward Zeke. "I'm not sayin' this for a fact and I'm not sayin' it to hurt you, Zeke, but what of the whore."
"Yeah! What of Lyla," another men echoed.
"You know I wouldn't speak of what goes on here, not to anyone," Zeke said slowly.
"M-maybe it's not your fault," Carter piped in. "I . . . I mean what man's responsible for what he says when he's wrapped in a woman's web? Especially a woman of Lyla's talents?"
Zeke took a step back, his face awash with anger. "You got no right, Les, Carter—any of you."
Carter took a step toward him. "Les's brother's dead because of that bitch. You admitted yourself you went to meet her the night Ed was killed. She was the one who went runnin' to the Brits tellin' 'em about the dispatches."
Zeke shook his head, backing toward the door. "You accuse Lyla, you accuse me, friends." He lifted his head, his gray eyes meeting theirs defiantly. Then he turned and limped out the door.
Immediately all of the men began talking at once. Maggie hesitated for a moment and then leaned to whisper in Grayson's ear. "I'll meet you at home."
Grayson nodded.
Maggie turned and ran out of the barn, running down the path in the darkness until she came upon Zeke. He didn't slow down for her.
"Zeke . . . "
"I didn't hear you speak up for me, Maggie. I didn't hear a word come out of your mouth. You think I told Lyla stuff, don't you?"
She walked beside him. "I don't know what I think, but I know you wouldn't do anything on purpose to jeopardize our lives. That I know, Ezekial Barnes."
He shook his head. "Ain't good enough. I'm tellin' you, Mags, she's innocent. She'd not say a word no matter what she knew, which is nuthin'."
Maggie drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I'm going to ask you something, Zeke. You remember that time you asked me about Grayson before we knew the truth of who he was? You remember when I asked you if you would turn in someone you loved if you knew she was the enemy."
"I remember."
"I'm going to ask you again and then I'm going to take you on your word." She stopped him, her head reaching out to grasp his forearm. "Zeke . . . would you turn her in? Would you tell me if she told the Brits about the dispatches Ed was passing on?"
He swallowed against the lump in his throat, fighting the tears in his eyes as he met and held her gaze. "I'd turn her in without thinkin'."
Maggie nodded. "If you say she didn't do, then I believe you."
"You do?"
She nodded and then started down the path again. "Besides, doesn't that sound too simple to you, Zeke? Too obvious?"
"I don't know what to think, Mags. I can't believe one of us could betray the others. I can't believe one of us would do that to Ed. We're like brothers, all of us."
"Wars a funny thing," she said as if she could console him. "We do things we thought we'd never do."
He nodded and then glanced sideways at her. "You gonna marry Major Thayer?"
She kept her gaze fixed on the path. "You going to marry Lyla?"
"Don't know," he answered.
"Don't know," she echoed.
The two walked in silence all the way to the edge of Maggie's property line and Zeke turned off. "I don't know what I'm gonna do, Maggie. Take off maybe . . . if she'll go with me."
"Sometimes takin' off is the answer," she said thoughtfully, her hand falling to her slightly rounded belly. "Sometimes it isn't."
He nodded again, and then headed for home. For a long time Maggie stood in the darkness wondering how this all was going to end.
At dawn Maggie walked out the front door toward the well to fetch water for breakfast. Grayson had spent the night, but he had to be back before Major Lawrence realized he was missing. With the first British lines of defense nearly complete, Grayson was finding it more and more difficult to get out of the camp without causing any suspicion. Last night after he and Maggie had made love and he held her in his arms, he told her he thought this was the last time he could safely come to her.
As Maggie walked through the cold, wet morning dew, she listened to the quiet. By midmorning the sound of gunshot would be heard. Washington's army was advancing rapidly. Grayson said it would only be a matter of days before the British, lacking enough men to properly defend their outer works, would have to retreat farther out onto the York Peninsula. Cornwallis still held one supply and possible escape route through Gloucester Point across the river. Grayson surmised Washington was depending on the French navy to close that route.
Chilled by the brisk morning air, Maggie hurried to the well. The trees in her yard were turning breathtaking shades of orange and yellow as they shed their foliage for another winter. Maggie wondered how the sky could be so blue, the sun so bright, and men be dying only miles in the distance.
She lowered her bucket and brought it up filled with cold, fresh water. She would bake muffins this morning, using the last of her flour. She had purposefully used most of her supplies in the last few weeks, knowing the time would come when she would be forced to flee her home. With the patriot army marching on the British, she would be in the direct line of fire in a few days.
Halfway back across the lawn, Maggie came to an abrupt halt, mystified by the oddest sensation. Slowly she lowered her water bucket to the dry, brittle grass and pressed her hand to her stomach. There it was again! She smiled a bittersweet smile as she concentrated on the flutter she had felt. The babe. Grayson's child. It felt like the wings of a butterfly brushing against her insides. There it was again! Tears collected in the corners of her eyes as she savored the feel of her child's first movements.
"Maggie!"
She looked up to see Grayson standing on the front porch dressed in nothing but a pair of tight white breeches. The corded muscles of his chest rippled as he pulled a shirt over his head. "Maggie, you all right?"
She smiled up at him and leaned to catch the handle of the bucket. She had half a mind to walk right up those steps and ask Grayson to marry her. Today. Before the fighting started. But a part of her hesitated and the moment was lost. All of her insecurities came back, flooding her reason. What if what Inga had said was true. What if she wasn't worthy of him? What if Grayson turned to drink after the war. When moments were tense Grayson reached for a bottle of claret. She'd seen it herself. She could stand to lose another husband to drink. She'd be better to walk away now.
But what if he died on the battlefield? Would she regret the rest of her life not having married him and given her child a name. Yes.
Maggie groaned as she came toward the front porch where Grayson waited. "Holy Mother Mary," she murmured. "Why can't I make
a decision?"
"What did you say?" Grayson asked as he took the bucket from her.
She flashed him a smile, brushing her fingertips against his cheek as she passed him. He caught her hand and kissed her. His face was cleanly shaven and he smelled of soap. It was moments like this that she wished could go on forever.
"How long before they get here?" she asked, going inside and heading for the kitchen.
"Days. It's time you packed up, sweet." He set the bucket down on her dry sink. "I could have you at Thayer's Folly in twenty-four hours."
She frowned. "Don't start that again or there'll be no breakfast for you. I'm not going to Williamsburg and I'm not going to talk about it with you. When the time comes for me to hightail it to higher ground I'll go to John's. Elizabeth and the baby will be glad enough to see me."
He sat down to roll on his stockings. "It may be time for me to make my move shortly, too. I sent a message to Colonel Hastings asking that I be permitted to join Washington when he arrives. My job is done among the Brits. I feel more of a hindrance these days than a help. No matter how much I stall, those trenches are still getting dug." He glanced up at her, a boyish grin on his face. "I do of course take care to always put the slowest-witted men on the job. Had one the other day that nearly buried another."
Maggie laughed, her voice filling the kitchen with sunshine. Grayson watched her as she prepared their morning meal. He liked to see her move across the kitchen, her skirts brushing the swept floor as she seemed to glide rather than walk. Her hair was brushed down her back in a thick curtain of curly waves, the color as breathtaking as the dawning of the sun they had watched together this morning from the bedroom window.
Pulling on one boot and then the other, Grayson rose and walked to where Maggie stood at the fireplace. He wrapped his arms around her, forcing her to turn and face him.
"Hey! Take care. Those muffins burn and there'll be no others," she scolded.
"You said last night you'd think about marrying me."
"So I'm thinking." She lifted her hands to rest them on his broad shoulders.
"And?"
"And I don't know."
"You don't know if you love me?" His blue eyes were riveted to hers making it impossible for her to look away.
"I love ye. I've loved ye since the cursed day I set eyes on ye."
"So why won't you marry me?"
"I told you, Grayson. It takes more than love to make a marriage."
He planted a kiss on the pale ivory skin of her neck. "Love conquers all, sweet. Marry me and I'll make you a happy woman."
"I am happy," she whispered. "Somehow in the midst of a war I'm happy." She made little laugh of disbelief. "How can anyone be happy at a time like this?"
"It's going to end soon and then I'm going to make you marry me."
"You can't make someone marry you!"
He kissed his way across her collarbone down to the swell of her breasts peeking above her thin bodice. "Ve haf vays of making vomen marry us," he told her in a poor Hessian accent. "Ve haf vays aff torture! Terrible torture."
She sighed, her eyes drifting shut as his warm lips sent shivers of delight through her body. "You would torture me?" she whispered with a giggle.
"Yes I vould! Ve must use all methods at our disposal to best the enemy."
"You would torture me like this to make me marry you?"
"Yes!"
Her lips met his and she teased his upper lip with the tip of her tongue. "Perhaps this torture could work," she said in a silky voice.
His eyes narrowed as, with one sweep, he lifted her into his arms. "Could it?"
Their kiss deepened and Maggie strained against him, running her fingers through his golden hair. When she realized he had carried her down the hall and was taking her up the steps to the bedroom, she struggled in his arms. "My muffins! Grayson! The pan is already hot."
He nuzzled her neck. "Make me hot instead, Maggie mine."
Chapter Twenty-four
Maggie stood beside Zeke on the small bluff on the outskirts of Yorktown watching as the patriot army marched onto the peninsula. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she watched the ragtag army file by in columns, company after company, their new American flag held high, the sound of fife and drums in the distance.
Maggie's heart swelled with pride until she thought her chest would burst. She only wished Grayson could be here with her to see the sight, but he was stuck in the British camp overseeing the digging of trenches. Already the outer works had been abandoned by the British. They were backing onto the peninsula, caught between the bay and the advancing patriot army.
"Damned fine sight," Zeke murmured, embarrassed by the emotion evident in his voice. "After all these years, we've got 'em, haven't we, Mags? We've got the bloody redcoats."
She drew her woolen shawl over her head. There was a stiff breeze blowing in off the Chesapeake bay, sending dry, crumpled leaves scattering. A V of geese flew overhead, their calls melding as one with the haunting sounds of the fife and drums. "I don't know, Zeke. Grayson says it's too soon to tell. Cornwallis could still make it across the river to Gloucester Point. It depends on the weather, on the Brit fleet, on the French fleet, on our own ability to strike and strike hard."
"I don't care what the odds are. I feel a victory in my bones, Mags. Someday I'm going to sit a grandson on my knee and tell him of the great battle that took place here."
She glanced at him, smiling. "Grandchildren, is it? I haven't seen any children yet."
Zeke's cheeks colored. "I asked Lyla to go with me, but she said no. This here is home and she aims to stay. So I'm staying and I'm gonna prove that Lyla's not responsible for passing on information." He paused and then went on. "Did you know she's got three sisters to care for? I just found out a few days ago. That's why she does what she does, Mags. She don't have a trade like you. Her papa went off to war and her mama died of the pox in '77. She's been keepin' those girls safe in a cabin somewhere. Never brings 'em into town so they don't know what the rest of us knows about Lyla."
Maggie laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for the things I said about Lyla, about you bein' too good for her. That was cruel. There's some that would say Grayson's too good for me."
"You don't believe it, do you?"
She looked down the hill to the passing soldiers. "I don't know, Zeke. We're so different. He went to school in London. He's so much smarter than me."
"It don't make him smarter just because he knows more."
She brushed back a lock of her chestnut brown hair. "But what will we talk about across that big dining table? Will my children be ashamed of me?"
"Will my children be ashamed if they ever knew their mama had been a whore . . . for whatever reason." Zeke glanced at Maggie and then up into the clear blue sky. "I don't have the answers. Don't know that I'll ever have them."
Maggie suddenly took a deep breath. "Zeke . . ." She grasped his shoulder, trying to get a better look at the soldier passing. A space in the ranks had formed to make way for someone . . . a tall rider on a white horse.
"Zeke! Zeke! That's him!" She jumped up and down in excitement as she stared at the middle-aged gentleman dressed in blue and buff riding in the midst of an entourage. "It's General George Washington," she breathed.
Zeke swung off his hat in reverence. "Damn if it ain't. Who else could it be?"
Both watched in awe as Washington and his aides rode to the side and dismounted, allowing the troops to pass for the general's inspection.
"Hold this," Maggie murmured, whipping off her shawl, still staring wide-eyed at the general, who had dismounted.
Zeke grimaced as she shoved her wool shawl into his hands. "Mags, where are you going? You can't just walk up to the general of the Army and stick out your hand and say 'Pleased to meet you!' You're liable to be shot for the enemy!"
She shook her head, taking off down the hill, her fawn-colored skirts bunched in her fists. "I'll be right back," she shouted. "Wait for me!"
&
nbsp; Maggie ran as hard a she could down the hill toward the commander of the patriot army. She didn't stop running until she was headed off by a tall, thin gentleman wearing the insignia of an aide-de-camp. "Whoa, whoa there, madame." He put out his arms to stop her. "I'm sorry, but you can't approach the general. He appreciates your kindness in wishing to greet him, but he's inspecting the troops at this moment."
Maggie shook her head, breathless. "I wouldn't think to disturb the general, sir. I only wanted to offer my house."
"Your house, madame?"
She nodded. "It's not but half a mile from the abandoned outer works. The general would be safe there, but close to the men. It's small, but the roof don't leak and it's out in the open so it could easily be guarded."
The aide stroked his chin thoughtfully and then held up a finger, telling her to wait a moment. He turned sharply and walked the few feet to where the general stood engrossed in conversation with one of his officers. The aide spoke in the general's ear, pointing at Maggie.
Upon hearing what the aide had to say, General Washington turned and smiled at her, giving her a most gracious nod. Then he turned back to his officer and went on with his conversation.
Maggie held her breath in awe. The commander of the entire Army had just smiled at her! The aide came back. "Yes? What did he say?" she asked excitedly.
"The general believes that your house may be of some use, perhaps as a hospital for the wounded, madame. He has instructed me to follow you home and see it for myself. Can we safely get there from here?"
"The Brits'll not bother us. It's noon. There'll be few patrols out." Maggie grinned. "You know how they like their biscuits."
The aide signaled for his horse, and a beautiful chestnut was brought around by a servant. The aide stepped easily into his saddle and took the reins. "You walked, madame?"
She nodded, turning away. "But it's not far."
"Come, come. Sit up with me. It will be faster."
Maggie stared at the aide's handsome face, hesitant. But then she thought, why not? It would be a hell of a story to tell Grayson.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 29
