Picking up one of the swatches between his thumb and forefinger, Henry eyed it skeptically. "You don't seriously think this is necessary, do you, Brendan?"
"It certainly is." A bucket thudded as he set it on the table. He dipped his fingers into the pail and smeared a thick streak of soot across Henry's cheek. "And, you're going to have to cover up that pearly skin Mercy's so fond of."
Henry glared at Brendan, who smiled cheerfully.
"Well, come on, boys. Let's get to work."
***
Snow creaked beneath her feet as Bennie huddled a little closer to the ancient, dilapidated maple. The bark was rough against her back, even through the thick cloth of her cloak, but its trunk blocked the worst of the wind, and she hoped its dark shadows made her completely invisible.
The tree was on a small knoll, perhaps a hundred yards from the fort. Behind her, the woods were deep, thick, and black; in front of her, the massive bulk of the fort was limned with silver by the bright moon, now lowering in its nightly journey.
They had ridden their horses for only three of the four miles to the fort. A mile from camp, they had dismounted and tethered their mounts, preferring to creep on foot the last distance, ensuring no noise betrayed their arrival.
Brendan had insisted they each leave their horses in different places, hiding them as well as possible. That way, if one were discovered, no one could know how many others there were, nor would they lose all their horses at once.
He had been equally insistent that they would not meet up again after their mission. If one was captured, there was little the others could do anyway, and any attempt at rescuing him would only put the rest in danger. So no one would know until they returned to the Eel if everyone had made it back safely.
Brendan had stationed Bennie beside this tree with strict instructions that if things started to fall apart, she'd get herself out of there and back to safety as quickly as possible. Although the thought of leaving her brothers in the midst of the enemy made her feel vaguely ill, she had agreed, knowing their safety would be compromised even more if they had to worry about her.
Carefully, she scanned the camp that crouched on the narrow, flat strip of ground between the forest and the fort. A few dozen tents were scattered about, a couple much larger than the others. An occasional fire flared, adding a golden glow to the silver moonlight.
The camp seemed to be completely quiet. A handful of soldiers patrolled the outer perimeter or stood lackadaisically at their posts. They seemed inattentive, apparently sure that no one would challenge the might of the British army.
Bennie's heart thudded painfully. There was no indication that any of the guards were even the slightest bit suspicious, alert to possible intruders. If she saw any danger, she was to warn her brothers with an owl hoot. But could they hear her over this distance? And would it make any difference if they could? At that point, it would probably be too late for at least one of them; all she could do was hope and pray that the others got away safely.
She could detect no sign of her brothers. They had left fifteen—twenty?—minutes ago. It was impossible to judge the time, for each second seemed to drag by with agonizing slowness. There were no unusual movements in the camp, so either her brothers weren't there yet or they could move with much greater stealth than she'd given them credit for.
Another tiny glow appeared at the far side of the small encampment. Perhaps one of the guards had gotten cold on duty and had made a fire. Bennie shivered and thought longingly of the Eel's hot, spiced cider as the sharp wind whistled in the branches overhead.
The glow grew and brightened, looking warm and cheerful against the stark blue-white of the snow. And then she knew. It wasn't a simple campfire at all.
Brendan had done his job.
The shout sounded almost unreal when it shattered the stillness of the air. It must have taken the soldiers even longer to identify the alarm, for it was several more seconds before dark, human shapes began to stumble out of the tents.
There was no point in Bennie trying to warn her brothers now. By this time, surely they all knew the camp had been roused and were long gone—that, or it was too late to save them.
More shouts. More men running out of their tents, scrambling to the river with buckets. Perhaps they assumed that the fire was due to natural causes, for the guards didn't seem to be beginning a search; rather they rushed to join the others battling the fire.
The neighing of panicked horses joined the shouts. Although Bennie could not see them from her post, she knew the company's horses were fenced to the west of camp; her brothers had scouted the location well.
A faint rumble trembled under the other sounds, rhythmic and almost imperceptible. Hoofbeats—a lot of them. She smiled slightly. George had been as efficient as always.
The frantic scrambling in camp began to slow. Evidently someone had taken charge; one group of men still fought the fire, but individual troops were leaving camp in all directions, as if searching.
It was time to leave. If guards were going out, they knew someone had set the fires and released the horses. So far, none seemed to be heading toward her, but there was no way of knowing how long that beneficial state of affairs was going to last.
Bennie slipped along the edge of the forest, careful to stay in the shadows. If one didn't know it was there, the path she planned to take through the woods was almost impossible to find. Once she reached it, she would be safely away. Only a little further—
Boom!
Bennie clapped her hands over her ears as the sound of the explosion ripped through the clearing, loud enough to blot out all other sounds and shake small branches. Throwing herself behind the nearest tree, she looked back at the camp once more.
The fire must have made it to the powder magazine. Orange flames leapt upward and clouds of smoke billowed up, obscuring the clear sky.
Gingerly, she lifted her hands from her ears. Sounds were muted, as if her head was wrapped in soft cotton. She could hear faint pops as the fire reached smaller pockets of ammunition.
There was no doubt her brothers had succeeded beyond their expectations. It would take the British weeks to repair and replace what had been lost. But Bennie, as she watched in fascination the scene below her, could only worry that someone had been injured in the explosion.
She told herself her sudden trembling was due to the biting wind. Squinting, she began desperately searching the ground around the camp for some sign of a limp body. Particularly a large, familiar body.
What if he'd been too close to the fire? Surely they'd seen that it had been heading toward the ammunition supplies. But had he moved fast enough?
Bennie bit her lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Why hadn't she found some way to warn him? Some way to make sure he was anywhere but here when this had happened?
Because she couldn't endanger her brothers. And because she really hadn't considered the possibility that someone would be injured. It had seemed somewhat harmless, a prank, like the Boston Tea Party, to be played on the too complacent British. She'd been sure the only risk had been to her family.
Now, too late, she'd realized she was wrong.
There was nothing to do. It was too dark and confused down in the camp to identify anyone, even one as big as Jon.
Bennie swore to herself that first thing tomorrow she'd find a way to check on Jon. At the moment she had no idea how she was going to manage that, but she'd think of something. If nothing else, she'd find some excuse to talk to that overfriendly Captain Livingston.
Reluctantly, fighting the urge to rush down into the midst of the madness and start hunting for Jon, she turned to leave.
The entrance to the path was cloaked by two large bayberry bushes. Bennie doubted that any of the British, even after several months of residence, had found it. But after nine children had spent their youth running all over the district, she doubted there was anyplace in the vicinity of New Wexford that the Joneses didn't know as well as they knew
every board in the Dancing Eel.
Sucking in her stomach, Bennie pushed her way through the bushes. It wasn't easy; both she and the bushes had grown some since she'd done this as a child, and earlier tonight, she'd had her brothers clear the way, as several broken branches on either side attested.
Wouldn't be a hidden pathway much longer, she thought. In the daylight, any alert man would see the damage to the foliage and find the path. It wouldn't matter then; she doubted she'd ever have need of it again.
"Halt!"
CHAPTER 10
Bennie's heart lurched. They'd found her.
She turned slowly, acutely conscious of the branches rustling around her.
He was no more than two long steps away from her—a soldier, the muzzle of his musket gaping at her midsection.
"Come out from there," he ordered. "Easy, now."
She could risk it, dive back through the bushes, try and make her way through the forest. She was faster than most men. But even thinking about it, she felt the flesh between her shoulder blades twitch. Her back would be exposed, vulnerable to a musket ball. Although it was dark, perhaps dark enough to provide cover, he was very near, and she had no faith in her ability to outrun a shot from that grotesquely oversize musket.
She hesitated for only an instant longer before pushing her way back out of the thicket. The soldier was young and vaguely familiar. Perhaps she had seen him at the Eel, or the mustering. He must have already been on duty when the explosion occurred, because his uniform was faultlessly worn, unrumpled, not something that had been thrown on in the rush of the moment.
"Come on, now. Hurry up. The cap'n will be pleased to talk to you for sure." Moonlight, white and cold, glinted off the shiny blade of his bayonet.
Surely he wouldn't remember her. In black breeches and shirt, her hair braided and tucked down the back of her blouse, one of Brendan's black rags tied over her head, and soot smeared all over her face, she in no way resembled the woman he may have seen in New Wexford. Her cloak was navy blue and, as her mother had complained on many occasions, completely unfeminine. With Bennie's stature, as long as she didn't talk, perhaps he wouldn't perceive her sex.
She had to escape before he did realize she was a woman. If he knew her gender, it wouldn't take him long to identify her; every other woman in the area was at least a full head shorter than she.
If he discovered who she was, it would be very easy to guess who had raided the camp. There'd be little hope for any of the Joneses then. And, if there was as much destruction to the camp as she suspected, she doubted the redcoats would be inclined to be lenient.
"Come out now, I said, or I may have to shoot. The cap'n might want t'talk to you, but I'm sure I could wound you so's you'd last long enough so's he could question you."
Fear, sick and acidic, clogged her throat and churned in her stomach. There seemed to be nothing she could do. Every option she had endangered her life and her family. If only the guard would relax, just for an instant...
She was nearly out of the bushes now, almost completely visible. Still, there was no flicker of recognition on the guard's set features. A sharp tug on her cape stopped her. She pulled. Damn, she was caught on a sharp stick. Grabbing the fabric in both hands, she yanked hard.
She heard the fabric rip. The bushes on either side of her shook violently. Still, she was held fast.
"Got yerself caught there, have you? Well, I can't say that I care if you catch a bit of a chill."
Still training his gun on her carefully, the soldier reached forward and tore the cloak from her shoulders. Bennie registered the sudden cold in the fraction of a second before she realized her freedom.
There wasn't time to do anything about it. The redcoat grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the thicket.
The cloth could hide her hair. The soot could hide her features. Unfortunately, with her cloak gone, there was nothing to hide her breasts.
His mouth fell open.
"Bloody balls, you're a woman!"
His gaze was fixed on her chest, and the bore of his gun dropped a fraction.
It was all she needed. She shoved, the soldier stumbled backward, and she turned and flew into the forest.
"What the—Halt! Halt, I say!"
Sharp branches tore at her clothes and scratched her face. The cold air burned her chest. Her heart pounded so loudly she could scarcely hear the sounds of the man's pursuit.
"Stop! Damn it, stop!"
She kept running. The ground was uneven, rocky and overgrown, and the path was almost impossible to follow in the dark while sprinting at high speed. She could only hope it was equally difficult for him.
Breaking into a small clearing, she pushed herself to run harder. The opening might give him the opportunity to get off a clear shot.
She gave no cry as she went down; there was only a muffled thud as she slammed into the snow-covered ground. Sharp pain stabbed up from her ankle to her calf. Had she stepped on a stone or in a hole, stumbled over a small ridge?
It didn't matter. It only mattered that she moved.
Her hands sank wrist-deep into the snow before she was able to force herself up. He was getting closer; she could hear him charging through the woods like a maddened bull.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she tried a step. And went down again. Her ankle simply wouldn't hold her.
Perhaps she could crawl out of the clearing, hide herself in the undergrowth. Absurd to hope that he wouldn't find her, but—
"Stay right there."
She froze. He was advancing on her warily, his musket trained on her carefully. Clearly, he was taking no chances this time.
"Get up," he snapped.
"I can't."
His face registered the impact of her voice. "Dear God, you are a woman."
She grimaced. "Your captain said much the same thing to me once."
"The cap'n?" He bent, pulled the cloth off her head and tugged her hair out of its confinement. Grabbing her chin, he tilted her face up to the moonlight, turning her head from side to side as he studied her features. Bennie held her breath as the bayonet of the gun swept perilously close to her leg.
"I remember you," he said thoughtfully.
"That's most observant of you, soldier."
He smiled and straightened. "I think the cap'n is gonna be very happy to see you, miss."
"How lovely," she said tightly.
"Get up."
"I can't. I hurt my ankle."
"Well, I'm certainly not gonna carry you. You're too heavy. You'll just have to hop, won't you?"
"How gallant."
He poked her with the bayonet, not hard enough to pierce her skin but with enough force to show her she had better move or he might not be so gentle the next time.
Reluctantly, Bennie started to push herself up to her feet again. She heard a muffled thud and watched in disbelief as the soldier closed his eyes and sank slowly to the ground.
A hulking form loomed over her, dark, large, and shadowy—and completely nonthreatening, for she immediately recognized that bulk.
"Jon!"
"Hush." He knelt in the snow in front of her. "You all right?"
"What did you do?" she said in shock.
"Made him sleep."
"What did you hit him with?"
He shrugged and lifted one huge fist. "With this."
"But he's one of your own men," she protested.
Tentatively, tenderly, his fingers brushed her knee.
"He might have hurt you, Beth."
It was pure luck that had him stumbling upon the soldier chasing Beth into the woods. He'd been scouting the perimeter of the camp, gathering his own information and conclusions, when he'd heard the soldier holler "Halt!" Jon had caught only a glimpse of the soldier's quarry before both had disappeared into the woods, but that had been enough; Jon had recognized that fluid, controlled, sure way of moving and plunged into the woods to follow.
Luckily the soldier had been too intent on chas
ing down his prey to realize someone was quietly speeding along behind him. Jon had caught up with them when they'd reached the clearing and had been able to slip up behind them without either noticing his presence.
When the man had prodded Beth with that deadly silver blade, Jon hadn't thought; he'd only felt—rage, pure and blinding. The kind of rage that was fatal for a man in his profession, for spying required absolute, steady control. Before he'd had time to think about it, he'd whacked the hapless fellow over the head.
And he wasn't one bit sorry.
"Did he hurt you, Beth?"
"No. I fell, twisted my ankle on something. I can't seem to put any weight on it. Maybe if I try again—"
"Don't move." He touched her left foot. "This one?"
She nodded.
He lifted it to his lap. "First, we have to get your boot off." His fingers probed gently around her calf, her ankle, the edge of her boot. "It's starting to swell."
He paused, looking at her intently. "It's going to hurt, Beth. Whatever you do, though, please don't yell. I don't know how many guards there are out here."
"I won't make a sound."
Her face, covered with dark streaks of soot, was composed, no telltale glimmer of silver dampness on her cheeks.
"Here we go."
He pulled steadily, putting the force of his massive strength behind it. He watched her carefully; she was calm. Not even a faint grimace crossed her features. The boot resisted, finally coming free with a sharp jerk.
He stripped off her woolen sock, rotating her foot carefully. Her ankle was puffing up rapidly, already showing faint signs of discoloration.
"You've earned a few tears, you know. A few moans, even."
"I'm fine," she said, only a small tightness in her voice betraying what he knew must be throbbing pain.
Her eyes were dark and bleak, the flat color of a night sky void of stars. "What happened back at camp?" she asked.
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