The Patriot and the Loyalist

by Angela K Couch

The man was talking, but saying nothing she could use. Lydia took a step closer. “His parents must worry for him, camping out in the swamps. Some of the areas near the Santee River are not very welcoming. Any number of places might make for a perfect hideout, but goodness knows what conditions you would have to endure.”

  A nod was all Daniel gave.

  “Where have you been camping?”

  He shrugged—cursed man. “Here and there. Only spent two nights in the same place so far. Too much to do to settle in, I reckon. Maybe once winter arrives.” He flashed a boyish smile. “If it ever does.”

  Lydia hid her hands behind her back so he could not see them work the fabric of her gown, the only exit she had for the frustration heating her blood. She had to keep her expression soft. “What are the Swamp Fox’s plans now with Tarleton and his Dragoons no longer breathing down his neck?”

  Again a shrug, but Daniel only lifted one shoulder this time. “That probably depends on what I learn from you.”

  “Where are you to meet up with him? Do you have far to go?”

  “Depends how long it takes me to get that information about the Tory camps.”

  Lydia turned, stepped back to the low sweeping branch, and sat down. It was either that or strangle the man. Why could he not give her a direct answer for once? Would she risk raising his suspicions by asking any more questions?

  Daniel regarded her much too closely. “It’s a little nerve wracking, isn’t it?” He folded his arms. His rich brown eyes bored right through her.

  “What?”

  “Spying.”

  The blood drained from her head, almost making her swoon. “Excuse me?”

  “Having a British major in your home, and your family looking over your shoulder as you sneak letters and meet in secret.”

  A gust of air huffed from her lungs. She hadn’t been discovered. Still, her hand trembled as she raised it to her chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Daniel dropped to his knee in front of her and cupped her elbow. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I only wanted you to know how much I respect what you’re doing for our freedom. Your bravery is inspiring. You should know that.” His hand slipped to hers, embracing it with warmth, his callused palm creating a perfect cocoon. “I will do everything within my power to make sure no one ever suspects you.”

  She tried to work moisture into her dry mouth. “Thank you.”

  Daniel’s gaze held hers a moment too long and she looked away, glancing to his hands. He quickly withdrew. “I’m afraid that was rather presumptuous. Forgive me. I…” He shook his head as he backed away. “If you have nothing else right now, I should go. I’ll keep my head low and meet you back here tomorrow evening.”

  “No. Not tomorrow,” she said too quickly. He couldn’t have the information until the fifteenth. “Um…I shan’t be able to get away after dinner. If anyone saw me…it might be considered suspect. I will meet you here the next morning.”

  “All right.” He collected his reins and mounted. A single nod and he was gone.

  “Oh, God, help me.” Lydia glanced heavenward through the canopy of bare branches. Mother had been religious, but Father had never had the time for “such nonsense” after her death. Lydia had not bothered with prayer either, but perhaps it was time to start.

  ~*~

  Daniel applied pressure with his heels, encouraging Madam’s gait. Away from Lydia Reynolds. As much as he wanted to look back, Daniel wouldn’t let himself. It had felt too good to wrap her hand in his, the urge to protect her surging through him. Irrational. That’s what any attraction to her was. He’d already made one disastrous mistake with love, and he wouldn’t do it again no matter how much her smile reminded him of home, or her patriotism stirred him. Or how the dark fringe of lashes, contrasting the paleness of her blueish irises, made her eyes appear so large. And innocent.

  A scoundrel. That’s what he was. Daniel slowed his horse. He was within sight of the road and needed to clear his head before he entered the village. Georgetown. A hornet’s nest of redcoats and Loyalists and he was letting a wide-eyed girl risk everything spying for him. Maybe he should stop her before she stepped too far into harm’s way. What if he were cursed to hurt every woman he learned to care for?

  “You don’t care for her. Not like that.” Daniel spoke the words out loud, needing to hear them. His attraction to the young woman was undeniable, but it could go no further. He only felt protective of her because he had sisters. He wouldn’t risk one of them this way.

  A narrow cart drawn by a single horse rattled down the road past him on its way into town. The farmer guiding the horse gave Daniel a passing glance. Pushing reservations aside for the time being, he moved onto the path—at the same time a troop of King’s soldiers emerged from between the buildings ahead, coming toward him. Daniel stiffened but kept true to course. Technically, he was no longer in the Continental Army, and nothing should lend suspicion to his affiliation with Marion or Sumter. For today Daniel was just another British colonist.

  The stocky, scarlet-clad officer led his six men around the cart, but slowed as they approached Daniel. With the raise of his hand the officer drew to a halt, and his troop followed. “Good day, sir. I’m Lieutenant Mathews. You have business in Georgetown?”

  “I do.”

  “You look an able-bodied man. Why are you not serving your king?”

  Daniel leaned back and gave his cane a pat. “Who’s to say I haven’t already given the king what I can?” Like a fight the king and his men would not soon forget. King George deserved a fervent rebellion against his tyranny.

  “Where did you fight?”

  Daniel smiled. “New England. Albany. Saratoga. I’m not much use to them anymore, so I came south. I heard the king still had a strong hold on South Carolina, so I decided this might be the place for me.” A place he could show the king and his troops that the Continentals weren’t about to roll over and submit.

  Lieutenant Mathews settled into his saddle. He seemed harmless enough. Not the same cunning as men like Tarleton. “What is your trade?”

  “I was a farmer,” Daniel said. “Or planter, as I hear them called around here. I’m looking to get myself some land.” Someday. Somewhere. Like that valley near the Mohawk that had been his for a whole two months.

  “The indigo and rice grown in this colony feed the war.” The lieutenant waved to Daniel’s leg. “But can you manage a farm?”

  Daniel thought of his father. Benjamin Reid needed his cane for over a decade now and it hadn’t stopped him from braving the wilderness, clearing land, planting fields. A man could do whatever he had the mind to. “I get by. Especially if I get some healthier bodies to do the work for me.” Though he smiled and chuckled, the thought of owning another man, no matter what his color of skin, didn’t sit well. Maybe that’s what it took to build and maintain the stretching farms and huge houses this colony boasted, but he’d be happier with a few dozen acres and the simple frame house he’d promised Rachel the day he’d proposed marriage.

  “Good to hear it. I’ll let you about your business, then.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Daniel snugged down his tricorn hat and nudged his horse forward with his “good” leg. Madam gave the bit a chomp and a tug, then nickered low and started forward, weaving past the soldiers. More streamed from the town—a whole company. The commander’s shoulder bore the insignia of a major. Lydia’s major possibly? Daniel refused eye contact as the man looked him over. Not quite the serpent Tarleton was. More like a vulture. A red turkey vulture with a powdered wig.

  Just before entering town, Daniel glanced behind at the lobsterbacks. The soldiers continued on while the major and lieutenant paused with their mounts off to the side of the road, eyes on Daniel.

  So much for keeping his head low.

  7

  Lydia flinched as Charles took her elbow, slowing her descent down the stairway. He circled in front of her. Now a step lower, their gazes were level. “I know you are up to something.” Even w
ith his voice hushed, it held an edge. A sharp one.

  “I do not know what you are talking about.” She jerked her arm away.

  “Yes, you do. But it is no good. Major Layton has nothing. He has worked his way up ranks because he cannot afford to buy a commission. I have made inquiries. His family resides on the fringe of society. Barely more than peasants. To attach yourself to such a man would—”

  “You think I intend to marry him? I assure you I have no such plans or thoughts.”

  Charles folded his arms. “Then perhaps you play a more dangerous game. I implore you, Lydia, if only for the reputation of your family, do not—”

  “I assure you I would do nothing to damage my family’s memory, or my own reputation.” She shook her head at him. “And I have no idea where the basis for such insinuations has come from.”

  Charles’s expression remained as staunch as ever. “I’ve seen how he admires you, which cannot be faulted. But for you to return his sly glances. And the meetings in the library? I have a mind to suggest the major take his residence elsewhere. Hushed conversations. Passed notes. And you deny all of this?”

  Had she really been so obvious? Lydia set her hand to the polished oak banister. “I deny nothing—our interactions are simply not what you assume them to be. If you must know, I have of late taken a keen interest in the war efforts and the state of Georgetown, and the major has merely been keeping me informed.” She raised her chin at Charles’s look of disbelief. “You may ask Major Layton himself. You may even join us in the library after supper if you care to.”

  Taking her skirts in hand, Lydia brushed past him. The fullness of her gown forced him to shuffle aside. Inviting him to join them might prove a mistake, but she already knew what the major wanted her to tell Daniel, and it would give her opportunity to lay Charles’s concerns to rest.

  Major Layton and the several lower officers he’d invited upon her request already visited in the dining parlor as she entered, Charles at her heels. The officers stood.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” As Lydia moved to her seat, she trained her expression to one less severe than she had a mind for. The food was served, and she busied herself with the meal, letting the hum of the men’s conversation remain a buzz in her ears. She really had little interest in this war. Why should she when England would soon be her home?

  “It is difficult to be sure of our true allies with the ebb and sway of people in the area.”

  The major’s statement brought up Lydia’s head. There was something about the way he said it, as though the words were discreetly aimed at her.

  “Like that man you questioned coming into Georgetown yesterday, Lieutenant Mathews.” Major Layton looked to Lydia, an intensity darkening his eyes. “A New Englander in want of some land. He has a lame leg he claims is a result of fighting for the Crown, but how can anyone be sure in a case such as this? As a peasant farmer, he has no documents confirming the fact.”

  Lydia dabbed her napkin to the corner of her mouth before replacing it to the table beside her plate. Was the major inquiring if the man were her Patriot? She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. It should hardly matter if Daniel Reid was known to the British—Major Layton had already promised he would let her handle the rebel—but the thought left her uneasy. “Does anything make you doubt him?”

  “Not offhand. But this past week I have found myself watching newcomers like this man with extra suspicion. How can we be certain how many spies we have in our midst?” He gave a half-smile and took a sip of wine.

  Lydia made no reply, returning her attention to her food. She ate quickly and excused herself. Leaving was expected of her anyway so the men could have more time for their talk.

  “Before you go, Miss Reynolds,” Major Layton called and raised his wineglass. “Gentlemen, let us toast the health of our lovely hostess.”

  They all rose and drank, and she curtsied her reply before again turning to the door.

  “Colonel Tarleton will be joining us in three days,” the major continued. “I told him you and Mr. Selby would be pleased to hold a dinner in his honor.”

  Lydia glanced back and smiled, refraining from the shudder that always rose at the thought of Tarleton. Rumor had it he was quite the scoundrel when it came to women. “Of course. Good evening, gentlemen.” She sped to her escape.

  The hinges on the library door creaked as she pushed it open. A testament to the room’s lack of use. The sun dimmed in the window, but Lydia didn’t bother with a lamp or candle. She sat in her father’s chair and leaned her head against the tall back, the leather stained a dark brown—a similar shade to her New Englander’s eyes. She smoothed her hands over the arms and focused instead on the wall of books. Encyclopedias, histories, novels and ship records. Leather-bound and pristine. Father had collected them one by one and read each in turn. He’d been proud of his library for that reason. Not as extensive as others she’d seen, but Martin Reynolds had been able to boast what few others could.

  Meanwhile, she had read very few.

  Lydia ran her fingers along the stained wood of the desk. The quill pen and ink pot remained where she’d left them after writing Daniel the note to meet. What sort of man was Mr. Reid? He seemed intelligent enough—he’d easily sidestepped every one of her questions. A man with confidence. Too much, really, walking into the lion’s mouth here in Georgetown. Major Layton watched for him and possibly even knew his identity. Was Daniel aware?

  He was a fool, and that would be his downfall.

  Lydia traced her finger down the drawer on the right side of the desk, and then eased it open. Inside were papers, untouched for three years, another quill, and a book lying face down. Perhaps the one Father had been reading before he left on that last voyage? She withdrew the volume and turned it over in her hands. The Holy Bible. That made no sense. Her father disliked religion. Yet memories stirred, faded and abstract. More a sensation of familiarity. She opened the cover. Elegant script marked the first page.

  My darling Louisa,

  May God hold you in His kind palm as you travel those great waters to your new home in the Americas to be with your husband. Be safe and forever in our prayers.

  Your mother.

  The ink blurred, and Lydia blinked to clear her vision. This book had been her mother’s, a parting gift from her grandmother. How long had the Bible been tucked away? Lydia stared at the page for a long time before closing the cover and lowering the book to her lap. She took up a blank piece of stationary and the quill. A dab of ink.

  Dear gentlemen,

  I am weary and have decided to retire for the evening. We shall continue our conversation about the war at a later date.

  Lydia Reynolds

  Not wanting to pass by the dining room and risk being detained, she tucked the Bible under her arm and took the back stairs up to her chambers. The note remained behind on the desk where Major Layton or Charles could easily find it.

  ~*~

  Daniel paced near the base of the ancient oak. He’d waited for almost an hour and his patience was spent. Miss Reynolds had promised him information this morning, but how much longer could he delay? If all had gone according to plan, Colonel Marion would be only a few miles north of Georgetown.

  The swish of fabric and scamper of feet turned him toward town. The form of a woman appeared between the trees, rushing in his direction. She slipped the hood of her cloak from her head as she slowed her approach. “I came as soon as I was able.”

  His edginess ebbed much more than it should. “What have you found out?”

  “Allston’s Plantation, just north of here. Loyalists are camped there.”

  “How many?”

  “From what I understood, only a few, but they have been collecting gunpowder. I do not know specifics.” Her eyebrows pushed together forming a single crease between. “I wish I had more. I had hoped to be of greater help to you.”

  Daniel’s feet rooted to the ground at the regret in her voice. And those eyes of hers
, so open and disarming. But she’d given him a location, and Colonel Marion would soon be deploying his troops. Daniel patted her arm and forced himself to where Madam pawed the ground, not as quick to recover from impatience. She disliked being tied in one place for too long. “Thank you for trying. Even that one location should help.” Daniel pulled his foot in the stirrup and swung his other leg over the back of the horse. She nickered low and tried to sidestep. He tightened the reins. “I shouldn’t keep the Swamp Fox waiting.”

  “Where is he?”

  Daniel glanced down at her. “A very good question.” But hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to find the colonel.

  “What direction are you headed?” Lydia had followed him and stood only feet away, her dark tresses piled in elegant knots at the back of her head with only a few strands laid across her pale skin. The darker blue of her irises merged with a hint of green toward the centers. The beauty of innocence.

  Daniel fixed his grip on the reins. The less Lydia knew about what went on outside of Georgetown, the better. Too much knowledge was never safe.

  “Do you have far to go?” She was a curious little thing.

  “Thank you, Miss Reynolds.” He tugged Madam’s head around and spurred her into a gallop, directly west. He’d give Georgetown a wide berth before circling north.

  ~*~

  Lydia clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. If she could breathe fire, no doubt flames would flare from her nostrils. Daniel Reid would be the death of her by pure frustration. Maybe she hadn’t given him much information he could use against the British, but the least he could do was answer one of her questions.

  As she neared the house, Lydia slowed her steps and her breath.

  Lieutenant Mathews’s stout form stood on the veranda with a dozen men in red already mounted nearby. Major Layton likely waited in the library for any information she had gleaned. If he suspected her failure, he would step in and get the information from Reid using his own methods, and she would be left with no passage to England.

  Cursed New Englander!

  Lydia walked past the men without a word. The less anyone knew about her involvement the better. She went directly to the library.