Less Than a Gentleman

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  “ ’Tis not amusing.” Caroline grinned.

  “Falling in a pond.” Matthias slanted her a wry look. “I wonder if she’s with child.”

  Caroline elbowed him in the ribs. “I’d better go.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  With the chaos surrounding Agatha, Matthias found it easy to escape unnoticed. But he couldn’t escape what he had done. He had failed to end the relationship with Caroline.

  The trap at Kingstree would be ready within a week, and though he hoped the ambush would go smoothly, bloodshed was always possible. He shouldn’t have kissed her again. Not when his next mission could be dangerous.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kingstree, South Carolina

  Saturday, September 16, 1780

  “Move your damned horse,” the British officer commanded.

  Matthias squatted behind his reclining horse, his musket on the ground by his feet. From his position in the middle of the road, he’d watched the redcoats cross the bridge. There were only five of them—two soldiers on the wagon, two more on foot, and the impatient lieutenant on horseback.

  Rubbing his horse’s neck, Matthias gave the officer an apologetic look. “I’m afraid he’s gone lame, sir.”

  “He’s blocking the road.” The lieutenant wiped the sweat from his brow with a lacy handkerchief, his woolen uniform obviously uncomfortable in the noonday heat. “Shoot the beast. My men will help you haul it to the side.”

  “Aye, sir.” Matt picked up his musket and stood.

  “Quickly, man. We haven’t all day.” The officer stuffed his handkerchief up his sleeve. “Aim for the head.”

  “As you wish.” In seconds, Matthias had his musket raised and aimed. Directly at the lieutenant’s head.

  “What the hell—” The officer’s eyes widened.

  The other redcoats scrambled for their weapons, then halted as two dozen partisans appeared from the cover of bushes and trees, all with muskets trained on them.

  The lieutenant’s face reddened with anger. “This is an outrage!”

  “No, this is an ambush.” Matt whistled. His horse rolled to a standing position and cantered off.

  The lieutenant’s gaze darted nervously along the line of armed partisans. “If you deny us passage, you will all be guilty of treason.”

  Matthias kept his musket aimed at the officer. “If we kill all of you, who will be left to report it?”

  The British soldiers gave their commanding officer a frantic look for guidance. The partisans slowly advanced.

  With a clenched jaw, the lieutenant addressed his men, “Lay down your weapons.”

  Matthias breathed easier. Over half of his men were out of musket balls and powder, but the bluff had worked.

  As planned, the partisans ushered the redcoats into the nearby woods. Simon scrambled onto the supply wagon and drove away. Ten militiamen mounted their horses and rode escort. Matthias and Richard tied the five British soldiers to trees while the rest of his men stood guard.

  “Make yourselves comfortable. You may have a long wait,” Matthias advised the sitting soldiers. He would send a man to Kingstree to arrange for the townspeople to discover the redcoats and release them the next morning.

  “We’ll come after you,” the lieutenant warned. “We’ll hunt you down.”

  Matthias tightened the knot around the lieutenant’s ankles. Using his knife, he cut off the excess rope. “You could wander the swamp for years and not find us.”

  “They’d probably drown in a bog,” Richard added.

  “Traitors,” the lieutenant growled. “I’ll see you hang.”

  “Then perhaps I should adjust your eyesight, now.” Matthias lifted his knife so the blade caught the sunlight and cast a glare across the officer’s face.

  The lieutenant paled.

  Matthias leaned closer. “How many homes have you burned to the ground? How many children have you left to starve?”

  “This is war,” the redcoat whispered. “We do what we must.”

  “Aye, we do.” Matthias straightened. “A shame you have no way to defend yourself. ’Twill be a long night.”

  “Aye.” Richard nodded with a twinkle in his eye. “The snakes are bad this close to the river.”

  Matthias wedged the knife under his belt. “Did you know that alligators are attracted to the color red?”

  “Really?” Richard smiled. “How interesting.”

  Ignoring the frightened protests from the captured redcoats, Matthias mounted his horse. With the rest of his men, he rode back to Snow’s Island.

  Another week passed, and Matthias stayed at the campsite with his men. Luckily, the supplies they’d captured contained weapons and ammunition they sorely needed. He was careful to ration the wine and rum, and doubled the guard in case the British attempted to locate them.

  It was nigh impossible to live each day surrounded by green vegetation without recalling Caroline’s green eyes. And he couldn’t pass a sweet bay magnolia without longing to bury his nose in her scented curls.

  The evenings were worse. The men sat around the campfire and reminisced about their wives and children. And he would remember how she had melted in his arms, how she had returned his kisses, how her eyes had glimmered with tears at the thought of losing him.

  “Roasted potatoes again?” Simon sat cross-legged, staring glumly at the potato on a slab of bark. “You know what I’d like, Captain? More of that bread you bring from your home.”

  The men murmured in agreement.

  Richard gave him an amused look. “You haven’t been home in a fortnight.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Matthias passed his potato to Simon before walking away.

  He settled under an ash tree and swatted at the buzzing mosquitoes. The humming sound of locusts grew louder as the sun descended. A marbled salamander scurried into a clump of marsh fern. Why had he told Caroline he’d be back in a few days? He closed his eyes and muttered a curse.

  “Sounds like a woman,” Richard said.

  He opened his eyes to glare at his cousin. “Sounds like someone prying into my business.”

  “A bit grumpy, are we?” Richard sat beside him. “The men are laying bets as to why you’ve been growling so much.”

  Matthias ground his teeth. “I’m not growling.”

  “Right.” Richard smiled. “So is it a woman? The one you called a ‘conniving little she-demon’?”

  “No.”

  “The one you called a ‘vixen with sharp little teeth’?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Rich laughed. “The wound’s a little tender, huh?”

  “What wound?”

  Rich’s face grew serious. “She wasn’t interested, I take it. That’s why you’re staying here.”

  “She is interested. That’s why I’m staying here.”

  “And that’s supposed to make sense? You’ve been breathing in swamp gas?”

  Matthias shot his cousin a wry look. “You know how I feel about this war. ’Twould be foolish for me to marry and father children when I could die any day.”

  Rich tugged a leaf off a nearby pepperbush and dissected it slowly. “You’ve given thought lately to marriage and children?”

  Matthias shrugged. “The timing is wrong.”

  Richard tossed the mangled leaf to the ground. “What if there was no war?”

  “There’s no point to this. Go away.”

  “Answer me. If there were peace, would you pursue her?”

  If there were peace, Richard wouldn’t have that blasted red scar down his face. Matthias rubbed his brow. “You could have peace, Rich. You could go home and forget about this nonsense.”

  “ ’Tis not nonsense.”

  Matthias sighed. Richard’s father, the Quaker
minister, had opposed his son’s entering the army. But as soon as Matthias had joined, Richard had followed suit. And Matthias knew his uncle blamed him for leading Richard into the war.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Richard persisted. “If there was no war, would you pursue her?”

  Matthias leaned his head back and gazed at the darkening sky. “I suppose I would.”

  “You suppose?”

  Matthias shrugged.

  “I’ve known you all your life. ’Tis not like you to be indecisive. What’s wrong?”

  Matt gave his cousin an annoyed look. “I’m not sure. I cannot decide.”

  Richard rubbed at the scar on his face. “I know. There’s something wrong with her.”

  Matthias scoffed. “I think not.”

  “Oh, there must be. Because if you thought she was perfect for you, you wouldn’t let anything stand in your way. Is she ugly and scrawny?”

  “No!”

  “Then she’s stupid.”

  “No, dammit. And stop insulting her or I’ll bash your teeth in.”

  “Ah, so you do care for her.” Richard grinned with triumph.

  Matt glared at his cousin. “Very clever.”

  “Perhaps you’re afraid.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, I mean it. Your parents have a miserable marriage. Are you afraid you’ll have one?”

  “No. My parents’ marriage was arranged. I shall choose my own wife. And she’ll need to love me, not the plantation.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re expected to settle down at Loblolly and breed more heirs for the little kingdom.”

  Matthias gritted his teeth. “I know. What’s your point?”

  “You were never happy there. You hated the way your father was treating—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Richard rose to his feet and brushed off his breeches. “I think you’re avoiding the truth.”

  Matthias snorted. “The truth is we’re at war.”

  “And it makes the perfect excuse for you not to marry. How convenient.”

  “War is never convenient.” Matthias scowled at his cousin as Richard wandered back to camp.

  At General Cornwallis’s headquarters, Captain Ezra Hickman checked the polish on his boots and tucked his tricorne under his arm. A week had passed since he’d made his recommendation, and now the general wished to see him.

  The door opened, and Cornwallis’s chief aide motioned for him to enter. Ezra strode inside and stood at attention. The general fumbled through papers on his desk.

  As Ezra waited to be acknowledged, he chanced a few furtive glances at the other occupants in the room. Next to him stood an ashen-faced lieutenant who looked ready to lose his dinner. Against the far wall, he spotted Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton. Yes! The general was planning to honor his request. Soon, he’d be trading his red coat for the green one of a dragoon.

  “Hickman, is it?” Cornwallis scratched his chin, not bothering to look up. “I expect you know the lieutenant colonel.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ezra bowed to Tarleton. “I am honored, sir. Your reputation is legendary.”

  Tarleton snorted. “I’m not interested in legends. I want results.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ezra felt his face redden.

  Cornwallis waved a pudgy hand. “Don’t mind him. He’s been in a foul mood ever since the incident at Nelson’s Ferry.”

  Tarleton stalked to a window and stood there, looking out at the rows of tents. “That bastard Marion cannot hide from me forever.”

  “I saw a report on Marion this morning. Where the deuce is it?” Cornwallis thumbed through a stack of papers and called to his aide, “George, who was the man who filed that report?”

  “Greville, my lord,” the aide replied with a stony expression. “Do you request his presence?”

  “Yes. Right away.” Cornwallis motioned for his aide to go. “Now where were we?”

  Tarleton turned with an annoyed expression. “We were discussing the debacle at Kingstree. I wanted to have the lieutenant here flogged.”

  “I believe a loss in wages will suffice.” Cornwallis looked at the lieutenant. “What say you, Rooster?”

  “Brewster, sir.” The lieutenant bowed his head. “I will gladly forgo my wages, sir.”

  “You deserve worse.” Tarleton strode toward the lieutenant. “Losing your supplies to a pack of ruffians? You’re lucky I don’t whip the skin off your back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brewster replied with a strained voice.

  “Why did you cross at Kingstree?” Tarleton demanded.

  “It was the only bridge. The partisans burned all the others.”

  “And that didn’t seem suspicious to you?” Tarleton’s eyes blazed with anger as he turned to Hickman. “And you, did you lose your shipment as well?”

  Ezra stood stiff at attention. “No, sir. I arrived without incident.”

  Tarleton examined him. “You speak like a local.”

  “I come from Charles Town, sir.”

  “Do you know your way around the swamps?”

  Ezra hesitated. His knowledge was limited, but he didn’t want to admit it.

  Cornwallis leaned back in his chair. “Hickman recommends we move our supplies by barge. In fact, he knows a perfect place halfway to Charles Town. What was the name of that plantation?”

  “Loblolly, my lord,” Ezra answered. “On the Black River.”

  “Your suggestion has merit,” Cornwallis continued. “And since you are already acquainted with the house and its occupants, I’m putting you in charge.”

  Ezra’s mouth dropped open. Damn. He would be far from the battle lines and entirely forgotten.

  Cornwallis smiled as he poured a crystal glass full of wine. “You’re a lucky devil, Hickman. You’ll be eating well and living in comfort while the rest of us suffer.”

  The general didn’t look like he was suffering or missing any meals, Ezra thought. “My lord, I was hoping for something more—” He noticed a hard glint in the general’s eyes. This was not the time. “I am delighted to be of service, my lord.”

  The door opened behind him, and the aide spoke. “Greville, sir.”

  A tall soldier marched in and stood at attention.

  “You’re the soldier who escaped from the partisans?” Cornwallis asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Greville replied, his eyes gleaming with pride. “I escaped five days ago in North Carolina. I made it back here last night.”

  Tarleton advanced on the soldier. “You were captured at Nelson’s Ferry?”

  Greville’s face reddened. “Yes, sir.”

  Tarleton gritted his teeth. “Where is Marion now?”

  “He was in North Carolina when I escaped, sir. I believe he is still there.”

  Tarleton turned to Lieutenant Brewster. “When was the ambush at Kingstree?”

  “A week ago, sir,” Brewster answered.

  Tarleton stepped closer to the lieutenant. “Who was the leader of the ambush?”

  A drop of sweat ran down the lieutenant’s cheek. “I don’t know his name, sir. He had dark hair—”

  “So does Marion,” Tarleton interrupted. “Was he a short, swarthy fellow, in his forties?”

  “No, sir,” Brewster answered. “He was young and tall. He threatened to cut my eyes out with that vicious knife of his.”

  “Wait.” Greville held up a hand. “He has a knife?”

  “Yes, a long, wicked one with a handle inlaid with ivory.”

  “That’s my knife,” Greville insisted. “After the bastard broke my nose, he stole my knife to murder one of our soldiers at Nelson’s Ferry.”

  “Make a note,” Cornwallis addressed his aide. “I want a bounty on this man’s head. A handsome reward should help us nab hi
m. Do you know his name, Greville?”

  Greville’s crooked nose made his smile appeared lopsided. “Aye, I’ll never forget. He’s Captain Matthias Murray Thomas.”

  Ezra’s breath caught. The mistress of Loblolly had introduced herself as Jane Murray Thomas. She had to be related. His heart started pounding, and he stiffened, carefully keeping his face blank.

  “I mean to apprehend this Captain Thomas,” Tarleton announced. “Since you know him, Greville, you will ride with me.”

  Greville’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, sir.”

  Ezra remained wooden, not letting anyone know how excited he was. That hefty reward could be his! He could still attain his dream of being a wealthy man. All he had to do was turn in the wanted rebel leader Matthias Murray Thomas.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Monday, September 25, 1780

  After Caroline had completed two rows, she passed the knitting needles and yarn to her niece.

  Charlotte accepted them with a frown. “Do I have to?”

  “Aye.” Virginia lowered her ever-expanding form onto Charlotte’s bed in the nursery. “Jane was kind enough to give us needles and yarn, so you should practice.”

  With a huff, Charlotte sat beside her mother. “I wager Miss Ludlow doesn’t knit her own stockings.”

  “Don’t you want to be able to take care of yourself?” Caroline asked. “And you, Edward, I’m sure you can find something more useful to do than playing with soldiers.”

  “I like playing soldier when Mama and Charlotte are knitting.” Edward stretched out on the floor. “I pretend the clicking noises are their swords clashing.”

  Caroline plucked one of his soldiers from the floor. “What happened to this one? His head looks melted.”

  “ ’Tis nothing,” Edward mumbled.

  Charlotte paused in her knitting. “He’s punishing the redcoats.”

  “What?” Virginia asked.

  Edward glared at his sister. “Tattler.”

  Caroline inspected the British army. Several soldiers bore mutilated heads. “Edward, what have you been doing?”

  He sat, crossing his legs. “I burn them. They deserve it. They burned our house in Charles Town and our cabin—”

  “I don’t care!” Caroline gathered up the melted soldiers. “These don’t belong to you. You have no right to destroy someone else’s property.”