The Patriot and the Loyalist

by Angela K Couch

  But he was left to trust Lydia.

  Daniel tapped his fist against the side of the grain sacks beneath him. Lydia. The image that name conjured settled over the anger burning in his chest. Bright blue-green eyes. Chin set with determination. And a pair of the prettiest lips he’d ever been drawn to. Daniel groaned and pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes. Hadn’t he learned his lesson?

  An hour or so later, the door creaked open and he tensed. The man who entered appeared almost invisible in the shadows except for the whites of his eyes and the gray in his hair. His arms were laden. A pail of water, towels, bread and a small pot of warm soup, more blankets, and socks.

  “Thank you.”

  The man said nothing, his expression stone as he made his delivery and picked up Daniel’s lone, muddy boot.

  “What are doing with that?”

  “Miss Lydia asked me to fetch it.” Eli pushed the boot into a canvas sack and left.

  The hairs rose on the back of Daniel’s neck. Though taking the boot made sense so a suitable replacement could be found, he wouldn’t make the mistake of figuring Eli as a complacent man. He appeared as intelligent as any. He might do Lydia’s bidding, but to what point? Were his loyalties to her, or her family? Or the King?

  Given the choice, Daniel would make plans for leaving that very night, but unfortunately his ankle wouldn’t take him far. He didn’t even have boots. And the door was again locked.

  ~*~

  Twenty-one people in attendance, almost half of them British officers, and the other half Tory leaders and their wives. The walls vibrated with conversation of the war, the last set of skirmishes with the Swamp Fox’s men, and the terrible plight of keeping up with England’s latest fashions.

  Lydia sat on the settee beside Ester Hilliard, not really listening to the middle-aged woman across from them as she continued bemoaning their displacement from society.

  A hand brushed Lydia’s arm and she looked to Ester, who leaned nearer. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  Lydia pasted an affable smile on her face. “Perhaps a little weary,” she whispered in return. “But I am fine.” Another lie. She glanced to Lieutenant Mathews only to find his gaze on her. He raised a brow and glanced to Major Layton in his scarlet uniform, who stood in conversation with Colonel Tarleton. And Charles. Though his back was to her, she knew the blue coat. She gave a slight nod to Mathews. She needed to get Major Layton alone so she could reason with him properly.

  With a “pardon me for a moment,” Lydia rose and circled behind the settee. As much as she wanted to wait until the morrow before speaking with the Major, she doubted Lieutenant Mathews would afford her that option.

  Lydia’s hands trembled at her sides, and she pressed them into the generous folds of her gown, the same crimson one she wore the evening she had first negotiated with Layton. Though her stays did not constrict her lungs as they had, she still couldn’t manage a full breath as she stepped to join the threesome. Colonel Tarleton’s admiring stare made her skin crawl.

  A hand gripped her elbow. Charles. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he told the officers. “There is a matter I must speak of with Miss Reynolds.”

  “Most unfortunate,” Tarleton answered, “but hopefully you will not keep her long. I am growing weary of all this talk of stratagem.”

  Lydia let Charles lead her away, almost grateful for the escape. Until he drew her from the parlor and paused outside the door.

  “Tarleton is a pig when it comes to women,” he whispered in her ear, “and Layton is little better when in his company. But that should be the least of your concerns if you are not careful.” Charles released her and strode back into the room, going to Mr. Hilliard’s side.

  Lydia steadied herself with a hand on the doorjamb. She wasn’t sure she wanted to consider what he referred to. And Major Layton had started across the room toward her.

  Lieutenant Mathews watched.

  “You are again a most congenial hostess, Miss Reynolds,” Layton said as he approached. “Though I must say Mr. Selby does not seem himself this evening. I hope there are no difficulties between you.”

  “None that cannot be easily resolved by my departure.”

  “And I had even written to General Cornwallis about our agreement, but have you anything left to offer?”

  The words momentarily clogged her throat, but she forced them out. She no longer had a choice. “He is not dead.”

  “Your rebel? Really?”

  Lydia smiled at Charles as he glanced their way. She lowered her voice more. “Yes, he is quite alive.” Even now she felt the relief of it.

  A gust of a chuckle carried the major’s fermented breath. The odor of wine hung between them. “But he was on his way to Alliston’s plantation with the others, was he not? The New Englander. And that was his cane.”

  “Yes.”

  Standing beside her, his shoulder touched hers as he inclined nearer. “I want his name.”

  “Sergeant Reid.” Her voice cracked. “Sergeant Daniel Reid.”

  “And where is he now?”

  She shifted her gaze to Colonel Banastre Tarleton, who now stood with several women. He smoothed a palm over the green wool of his uniform as a grin split his face. Tarleton’s Quarter. She’d heard someone once say that the rebels referred to him as The Butcher, or Bloody Ban, but at the time she hadn’t given it much thought. Men, and their wars. Now, however, after speaking with Daniel, she did not want the colonel or major anywhere near the storehouse. Sooner or later Lieutenant Mathews would probably reveal what he knew, but better to hope he waited until after the Colonel’s departure in the morning.

  Lydia swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “That is not important.” She backed farther into the hall and waited for the major to join her. “All I need from you at this juncture is a horse.”

  “A horse?” The major cocked his head to look at her as he followed her away from curious glances. “So you can hand it over to one of Marion’s men?”

  “I could hardly give him one of ours. Mr. Selby would never agree to that. Besides, you are the reason Sergeant Reid lost his mount. Think of it as giving a messenger pigeon wings.”

  “You think you can control him?”

  “He came to me when he needed help, did he not?”

  Major Layton’s mouth curved into a leer. “Indeed.” He took her hand and laid a kiss to her knuckles. “And he cannot be blamed. Very well, Miss Reynolds, I shall give you a horse and leave him to your capable hands. But your time is limited to get Sergeant Reid to lead us to Marion, or deliver him to us.”

  “How long, exactly?” She wouldn’t tell him that Daniel had a talent for question evasion.

  “You give me something useful, and I give you time.” The major released her. “But if you fail, you agree to hand Reid over to me?”

  She had little choice. “Yes.”

  “Good. Then I shall get the information I want using more conventional methods.” He made a slight bow and walked back to the gathering.

  Lydia remained. She could not seem to move.

  Footsteps approached from the kitchen. “I did like you said, Miss Lydia.”

  “Thank you, Eli. Remember not to mention anything of this to Mr. Selby. Or anyone.”

  “’Course not, Miss Lydia.” But instead of turning, he stood there. As though waiting.

  Lydia looked to the man and was struck for the first time that, in a way, Eli was all that remained of her childhood and youth. Him and Mother’s Bible. “Do you believe in God?”

  Lips pressed thin and eyes softening, he nodded. “That I do, Miss Lydia. And I’ll be praying He leads you now.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “I—I shall pray for that as well.” If only she believed He would lead her. As far as she could tell, God was as oblivious to her existence as she had been to His.

  13

  Daniel woke to darkness and reached to where the lamp had resided when he succumbed to sleep. A cough wracked his lungs and sto
pped him short as he attempted to smother it with his sleeve. He took up a wooden canteen Eli had brought and pressed his dry lips over the hole. The cold water sliced his raw throat like a blade but eased the need to cough.

  After setting the canteen aside, Daniel lit the lamp and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Bound tight, the pain in his ankle was not as severe as the day before, and he tucked Wilsby’s crutch under his arm so he could move to the door. The building had been well constructed, but the thin cracks outlining the door hinted at daylight.

  Daniel stood only two feet from the entrance when the gentle plod of approaching footsteps encouraged him to the wall. The latch wiggled then opened with the wide swinging of the door, concealing him.

  A feminine gasp drew a chuckle from his chest.

  Lydia stepped around the door as she yanked it closed. “Why on earth are you hiding back there? You nearly frightened me to death.”

  He only smiled, struggling against another cough. He turned his head away to clear his throat. “Just stretching my legs. It’s best I leave today.”

  Her eyebrows appeared to question his sanity.

  “Of course, it will be much easier if I don’t have to walk.”

  “I think I have a horse for you, but…” she frowned at his foot, “today is out of the question.”

  Daniel hobbled back to his bed of grain sacks. The throb became more painful each minute he stood. Again seated with his foot propped up, he leaned his shoulder into the wall and worked his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be fine as long as I have a horse. But I don’t feel right about involving you. I don’t suppose Tarleton left his mount nearby?”

  Her hands dropped to her sides. “Colonel Tarleton’s?”

  Daniel couldn’t contain another chuckle, though it did nothing for his throat. His voice rasped a little when he spoke. “I’m sure I saw him astride a quite becoming stallion when I first arrived in South Carolina. Though, if anyone owes me for the loss of my horse, your Major Layton may be the one to forfeit his mount. Do you think it a worthy creature?”

  Lydia shook her head and strands of brunette fell loose against her cheeks. “I think you are daft.”

  “And I won’t argue.” He smiled, hoping to evoke one from her as well.

  Her lips resisted compliance.

  “I suppose you think your plan is better.”

  “I do.”

  Daniel settled back so he could look at her and folded his arms, relaxing them across his chest. “I shall leave it to you, then. And your most capable hands.”

  Her gaze froze.

  “As long as you are careful. For your own sake.” He wasn’t comfortable with Lydia endangering herself for him, but few options remained. Daniel glanced to the satchel at her side, taking notice of it for the first time.

  She also looked down. “Eli will be along shortly with breakfast and a few more items for your use, but I wanted to bring these.” She folded open the leather flap and withdrew a quill, corked ink pot and folded parchment. “You said you wanted to write a letter.” She set them on the top of the nearest molasses barrel.

  “Yes, I did. Thank you.” He could finally let his family know where he had strayed. But he tried to put them from his mind for a little longer. “What did Tarleton and Layton have to talk about last night?”

  The light faded from Lydia’s eyes. “Unfortunately, not much was said. A recent letter from General Cornwallis was mentioned, but with no detail.” She stepped back. “I should go.”

  “Do you have to?” He coughed, hoping to clear the pleading from his voice. Lydia both warmed and lighted the small building with her presence, and he was bored of his own company. “We don’t have to talk about Cornwallis, or Tarleton, or even Colonel Marion. But please stay a little longer.”

  Lydia glanced behind her at the closed door, letting the silence linger. Then she looked back to him and seated herself on the edge of a keg of ale. “Maybe a few more minutes.”

  ~*~

  Lydia entwined her fingers to keep her hands still on her lap. What was wrong with her? She should seize the opportunity to speak with Daniel at length with the purpose of extracting information about the Swamp Fox and his plans. Instead she sought an excuse to leave. As much as she needed Colonel Marion’s location, she could not afford to listen to the deep tones of Daniel’s voice and wonder what he thought behind eyes so dark.

  Yet here she sat.

  The flame in the lamp flickered, and Daniel reached over to lengthen the wick. “What’s your family like?” He glanced to her, apology in his eyes. “Not politically. But do you have sisters, or brothers? Are they older, younger than you?” His shoulder lifted a hapless shrug. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”

  Lydia focused on the shadows cast upon the walls. She didn’t want to think about her family, or lack thereof. But excusing herself now would only make him suspicions. “One older sister.” She sighed at the all too familiar ache rising within. “And two younger brothers.”

  “Like I said, I didn’t have any brothers—not that lived past infancy. Stillborn. I have my sisters though. One’s married and has a little boy.” He brushed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “’Course I didn’t stick around long enough to see Fannie married. I was frantic to get away from there. Couldn’t think of much else.”

  His words resonated. Lydia’s own plight stared her in the face. “What were you running from?”

  Daniel glanced away, looking momentarily sheepish.

  “You now have my full attention.”

  A groan vibrated from his throat. “A girl.”

  “Pray tell me more.” What sort of woman had sent this strapping man fleeing?

  “I’d rather not elaborate.”

  Lydia wagged her finger at him, enjoying his discomfort much more than she should—and far too curious for her own good. “You’ve come this far.”

  Daniel moaned again and leaned his head back against the wall to stare upwards. “Fine. It was a young woman I’d been planning to marry, and she married someone else.”

  Lydia gave herself a moment to collect her thoughts, which suddenly raced helter-skelter with…jealousy? Nonsense. She couldn’t be jealous of the random girl who had jilted this man. There was no reason for it. She didn’t even have any sort of attachment or attraction…at least she shouldn’t be attracted to him. He was a reckless rebel whose life sat upon a precarious pinnacle, waiting to topple off. She refused to be attracted to him. And she refused to be jealous.

  “So there you have it. The Continental Army kept me occupied for three whole years. And yet here I am. Still hiding, and ashamed to say it.”

  “Then you still love her?” Lydia tried to keep her voice even but for some reason it rose in pitch.

  Daniel met her gaze, and she dared not look away. She couldn’t. He would think she felt something for him that she didn’t.

  He shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think I do. It’s more the humiliation of what I did. I lost my temper and…” His breath released in a gust. “I would much rather talk about something else? Do you get along with your sister?”

  Lydia frowned. She’d much rather pry about him than talk, or even think, about Margaret. Memories only hurt, and she was tired of hurting. She motioned to his scabbed knuckles. “Do you lose your temper often?”

  Flattening the hand with which he’d pummeled the tree, he sighed. “I like to think I’ve gained some reserve over the last few years, but as you point out, obviously not enough. What about your brothers? How old are they? Have they been lucky enough to avoid the fighting?”

  How could he turn it back on her so quickly? “No, they haven’t had to fight.” But only because they had lost their first battle as children. “How dreadful could you have been to warrant never returning home?”

  “Dare I recount?” Daniel took a breath. “I attacked a man because he was with the woman I wanted, and then I gathered a mob and almost hanged him. Only the Good Lord’s intervention saved me from faci
ng the guilt of that for the rest of my life. But I still risked the lives of people I cared about, because of my own daft pride.” He coughed against his shoulder. “You’ve probably always lived in a grand house with your servants and everything you wanted. I don’t suppose you had to share much with your siblings.”

  Lydia gaped at him, still trying to process what he had just told her. She’d seen his temper flare but could not imagine him responsible for such violence. Then she registered Daniel’s final statement and inwardly moaned. Why couldn’t he let her family go? “We did not always live in a grand house. Before my father purchased the Zephyr, he was only a ship’s captain, leaving us for weeks and months at a time in a drafty hovel. Three rooms. That is all we had.”

  His mouth twitched. “We only had two.”

  “And now we come to the real reason you do not want to return home?” She folded her arms. Pursing her lips was the only way to keep them from revealing the fun she was suddenly having.

  A rumble started in his chest and broke free as a laugh. “Let the truth be known by all. Our cabin was too small to be cooped up with that many sisters.”

  Lydia’s own insides warmed with a chuckle. Too warm. Gaining his trust was one thing, but this was beyond anything needful. The lamp’s low flicker highlighted the angles of his face. She reached over to adjust the wick before standing. “I should go.”

  At the corners of his eyes, the creases that had marked his pleasure now smoothed. “I suppose you should.”

  She looked to the parchment and quill she had brought. Again she was walking away, no closer to giving the British what they wanted. “Who are you planning to write, if not Colonel Marion?” She picked up the small porcelain ink pot and turned it over in her hands, giving her a reason not to look at Daniel.

  “My family. They don’t know where I am. I got to thinking while wading up to my ears in that swamp, if anything happened to me, if I were killed, there is no record of my location. I’ve been released from the army.” He tipped his head forward and shook it. “I don’t want to leave them without answers.”

  At least he had someone who would feel his passing. People who loved him…and whom he loved. Lydia set the ink pot back in place and moved to the door. Staying longer, talking to him, had not been wise.