The Patriot and the Loyalist

by Angela K Couch

  Please, Lord, do not let me make those mistakes again. He focused on Lydia. “I need you to tell me that you don’t care for me.” Because if she said it, he’d be able to walk away without looking back, without any second-guessing.

  “Daniel, I—I…” Lydia looked away. Did he need a clearer answer?

  “It’s fine. I know you helped me because you wanted to assist in pushing out from under Britain’s thumb. You’re a Patriot. And you’ll be a boon to this state. I apologize for being presumptuous.”

  “No, Daniel. It is not…”

  “Maybe it’s best that we focus on the matters at hand.” He moved back under the tree. His ankle burned with each step. The physical pain was a relief—anything to get his mind off the live coal planted in the center of his chest. How could he have let himself fall for her so quickly? He attempted to clear the thickness expanding in the back of his throat. “I tried to get a feel for what the British are up to in the area on my way here. I heard Cornwallis is in Winnsborough. Rumor had it he awaits recruits from Charles Town.” He dislodged his hat to rake fingers through his hair. The tricorn did not fit as well as the one lost in the swamps, but he wasn’t one to complain. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Um…” Lydia walked parallel to him, keeping her distance as she approached an extended branch. She touched it and then turned.

  Even knowing how she felt, it was hard not to appreciate how she looked with the setting sun glowing from her skin and eyes. His sister Fannie had a similar complexion. No wonder Joseph Garnet had been taken with her. Only, in Joseph’s case the girl had been more than willing to be his and share his life.

  Daniel had always thought it would be as easy. He’d find a woman he liked and they would marry and have children. Reality proved much more complicated and painful. He would do well to follow Francis Marion’s example and remain a bachelor.

  “I have not heard much.” Lydia still did not look at him.

  “I should get back to camp. Colonel Marion will want to know about recruits being moved.”

  “What do you think he will do? Will he ride against them?”

  “Hard to say.” Daniel started to the gelding. He’d make finding a new mount a priority, so he could return this one to her. “He usually doesn’t pass on opportunities to nip at the enemy’s heels and send them running. Most of the men have returned home though, so I doubt he’ll do anything drastic without calling them back.”

  Lydia’s full attention was now his. “Would you send me word? When he makes his plans. I’d like to know.”

  “Why?” Daniel frowned. She was too anxious.

  The natural blush in her cheeks slipped away. Her shoulders lifted with a deep breath against the constraints of her corset. Then her murky blue irises centered on him. “Because—because I do care about you. Have I not already told you as much, Daniel?” She inched closer. “Hearing nothing from you for those two weeks, and then a full week, not knowing if something had happened, if I would ever see you again... I cannot live that way. I need to know when you face battle. I need to know where you are when you are not here. Please.” Lydia touched the tips of her fingers to his sleeve. “Daniel. Find a way to send me word.”

  Pressure built where his brows pressed together. “But…do you speak the truth?”

  Her lips curved. “I do. I do care for you. I admit that I fought it. What with my family and their loyalties and positions in this colony, I could not contrive a way for us to be together. But I hardly care anymore. My only concern is your safety—and with Major Layton reporting each battle, I need to know where you are. I need to know the Swamp Fox’s plans.”

  At the moment, Daniel cared nothing for Colonel Marion’s plans. Not with Lydia so near—her eyes bright and her lips full. The desire to lower his mouth to hers edged him closer. “I had hoped… I’ve been such a fool in the past and the thought of making those mistakes again…” His chest expanded as he let his hand cup her shoulder. “Even though you speak it, I dare not believe it.”

  Hesitancy showed in Lydia’s movements as she leaned near and pushed up on her tiptoes. Her warm, sweet breath caressed his face as she paused, her lips just out of reach of his. Her fingers brushed across his ear sending a pleasant tingling through him. “Believe it, Daniel Reid,” she whispered. Then pressed a kiss to his cheek. She left him paralyzed, her hands falling away as she stepped from him. “How far is Marion’s camp from here?”

  “Almost forty miles. I should be there well before morning.”

  “Good. Send me word, Daniel. I need to know where you are and when you plan to engage the British. Please.”

  “But would it be safe? To send you messages, I mean. If your family discovered—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “As long as the letter is sealed and in my name. Address it from Ester Hilliard. No one will suspect.”

  He managed a nod, and then she was gone, turning and hurrying through the woods toward Georgetown. Daniel stood dumbfounded for a while longer as he stared after her. He walked back to his horse. He had information to deliver to Marion and a future to plan.

  20

  Though full dark by the time Lydia reached the house, the door to the library sat open. She stepped inside. Please do not let this be a mistake.

  Major Layton glanced up from the book he held, then tossed it aside and stood. Like a scavenger bird, he circled her before closing the door. “Well?”

  “Colonel Marion only has a handful of men with him.” She followed him with her gaze until he again disappeared behind her. “The rest have gone home.”

  “And?”

  She had no choice. “His camp is in the swampland about forty miles north of here.”

  “Some of the locals have suggested Snow Island. A hard place to reach, and easily defended.” Layton stopped in front of her. “More.”

  “Sergeant Reid knows about the recruits traveling north from Charles Town.”

  His eyes became thin slits.

  “And so does Colonel Marion. Or at least, he soon will.”

  “I am listening.”

  Lydia compelled her lungs to expand a little more. Her head already spun. “Reid has agreed to let me know more of their movements. As they happen. You must give me more time.”

  The creases at the corners of Layton’s eyes lengthened toward his wig. “Pray you have something substantial for me soon, Miss Reynolds.”

  She nodded. Her freedom—and Daniel’s too—depended upon her success.

  Upstairs, she lay in bed for a long time. Sleep easily evaded her. Daniel’s words, the tenderness in his expression, the hope in his eyes, all tormented her conscience. Mother’s Bible sat beside the unlit candlestick, condemning her. What would You have me do, God? What other option is left to me? It was not as though she believed in God. He had never given her reason to.

  But Mother had. And Eli did. Even Margaret had spoken of Divinity from time to time.

  Lydia lit the candle and dragged the book onto her bed. The Gospel according to St Mark. She read about Christ’s words and miracles until she could no longer force her eyes to remain open. One phrase echoed in the recess of her mind as consciousness slipped away.

  Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.

  ~*~

  By the time Daniel rode the miles back to Snow Island, he’d convinced himself the likelihood of Lydia leaving her comfortable life for a much ruder one was next to nil. Still, the memory of her lips warmed his cheek.

  It was dark long before he reached the swamps. Daniel camped in the open rather than risk getting lost or tussling with an unsuspecting reptile. He waited until dawn, his head propped on his saddle as Lydia’s words plowed furrows through his mind.

  She cared. Not quite a profession of love, but sometimes, a softness touched her eyes when she looked at him, which made him believe that given time…

  The colonel and his men still slept when Daniel dismounted the gelding and moved to the coals that remained from the night before. He w
aved his hand over the charred logs, still resonating heat. With a stick, he bared the heart of a log and flecks of life glowed in the early light that sifted through the high branches. Laying fresh kindling close, Daniel blew against the embers until a tiny flame took hold of cattail fluff and grew.

  “How was your ride?” Marion asked. He rubbed his palms against the morning chill. His breath hung on the air momentarily before dissipating.

  Daniel clamped his jaw to keep from grinning.

  “Any news?”

  “Yes.” He snapped thin branches in his hands and set them over the flames. Lawrence Wilsby had provided what Lydia could not. “Cornwallis is still at Winnsborough. But I doubt he’ll stay much longer. Colonel Balfour is sending him reinforcements from Charles Town.”

  Marion sat on the log beside him. “Route?”

  “Nelson's Ferry and the Santee Road.”

  “No surprise there.” Colonel Marion cupped his hands and blew into them, his gaze distant.

  “What’s happening?” Horry questioned as he joined them.

  “Seems the British don’t feel we’re keeping them busy enough. They think they can spare to send men up North Carolina way.”

  “Shall we inform them they are mistaken, Colonel?”

  Marion nodded. “We shall. Send up some birds, signal the men to return.”

  Horry turned to go, but paused and clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “I take it you’ll ride with us now that your foot is healed enough to scamper after a petticoat?”

  Daniel inwardly flinched at the crudeness of the words, but nodded. His ankle didn’t love him for his escapade, but it would fare. “I’ll be with you.” As Horry left, Daniel looked to Marion. “I was wondering, Colonel, if I could borrow some of your stationary later.”

  “Of course. Least I can do. We appreciate your help, Sergeant.” He set a larger log over the growing fire. “The distance is starting to wear on you, isn’t it? You’re fighting a long way from home.”

  “It’s not just the distance. The war is by no means kinder in my valley.”

  “So why are you here, then?”

  Daniel stared at the tongues of flames as they lapped at the kindling. A month ago, South Carolina had been a place to escape to, to procrastinate going home. Now, dark waves and blue eyes held him in place. He did need to go home. Soon. But first he’d find out if he had to go alone.

  The back of his mind nudged him with doubt. Lydia had been too eager for information. Especially the whereabouts of the Swamp Fox. Her questions always seemed to lead back to Marion’s camp and movements. What if that was all she wanted? The question struck him, a boot to the gut. He would be careful what he told her from now on, but prayed it wasn’t true.

  ~*~

  “Is there anything else you need, Miss Lydia?”

  Lydia opened the cover of the old ship’s log and glanced over Father’s faulty penmanship. No wonder he had used a scribe whenever possible. She closed the book before nostalgia took hold, and set it on the top of the pile Eli had brought down for her from the highest shelf. “No, that is all.”

  “Very well.” The gray-haired Negro turned toward the door.

  Perhaps if you saw him as a man, instead of an heirloom. Every time Eli came into a room, Daniel’s words whispered in her ears. No man should be enslaved, not by a king, or his neighbor.

  “Eli?”

  He turned. “Yes, Miss Lydia?” Though that was all he said, his eyes asked deeper questions.

  She had her own. What would you do if you were free? But she couldn’t ask it. Maybe because she was afraid of the answer. What if he wanted to leave? What if he wasn’t happy here? But why wouldn’t he be? This was his home. They supplied all his needs. But what of his wants? “Nothing.” She tried to smile at him.

  The man knew her better than to be fooled. That, too, showed in his eyes.

  “Actually, I was wondering, did Mr. Selby ask you to put the door bolt inside my chambers?”

  “No, Miss.”

  “But then…”

  Eli stiffened. “I hear how the officers carry on when the wine loosens their tongues.”

  He had done it on his own. “Thank you.”

  “See that you use it, Miss Lydia.”

  “I will.”

  With a nod, he left.

  Lydia ran her fingers over the silky finish of her father’s desk before grasping the brass handle and opening the drawer. The same one she had found the Bible in. She unloaded the few remaining items onto the desk and put her mother’s book from her mind. The guilt was not so easily displaced. She had lied to almost everyone…including herself. Was she any better than a tavern maid, convincing Daniel Reid of her affections, toying with him? If only she did not feel so trapped. Lydia chose a penknife and blue sealing wax to pack into the corner of her crate. She didn’t want to think of Daniel right now, either.

  The door swooshed open and she jerked up.

  “Charles.” Her heart rate accelerated. “What do you want?”

  He opened his mouth, and then closed it as he took in the full library, gaps missing on the shelves where she had taken books, the large trunk in the center of the floor. He waved a sealed envelope at the shelves. “What are you doing?”

  Her gaze remained on the letter. “Is that for me?”

  Charles glanced to his hand as though he’d forgotten what he held. “Yes, from Miss Hilliard. I was told you had come in here, but…what is the meaning of this, Lydia?”

  She settled her shoulders back and stood. Her full skirts swished past him as she took the wax and penknife to the trunk. Only a matter of time before he found out anyway. “I will be leaving soon.” Please, God, let that be the truth.

  “But where?” Little more than the blacks of his eyes showed. “England? That cottage near Brighton? Is that what this is about?”

  It seemed he remembered. “Quite. Since you will not help me, I am finding another way to secure my passage.” She snatched the letter from his hands. It indeed bore Ester Hilliard’s name, but was not her handwriting. “Now I must go find Major Layton.”

  He twisted after her as she hurried to the door. “What does Ester’s letter have to do with Major Layton? Or…Oh, Lydia, please tell me he is not the one you are bargaining with.” His tone degraded.

  She hadn’t meant to tell Charles as much, but the liberty of it rotated her back to him. “How dare you reprimand me? You have no right. Not when you have the power to send me to England. The Zephyr will be home soon.”

  “She docked this morning,” he murmured.

  “She has taken passengers before.” An escape beckoned with the power to put her beyond the major’s power. She wouldn’t have to give him Daniel. “There is no reason—”

  “No! I already told you that. I cannot help you.” His eyes closed momentarily. “Even if I wanted.”

  “You simply do not want to. Even after everything my father did for you. This was all his. Well, you no longer have the right to voice your opinions. I will go to England, even if I have to strike a bargain with the devil himself.” Lydia rushed from the room. Her eyes welled with frustration. What if such a bargain had already been made?

  21

  Despite the sun’s attempts to breach the heavy clouds that darkened the sky, the air remained cold and pricked Lydia’s skin, making her shiver. Or was that the thought of what she was about to do? She perched on one of the chairs set out on the veranda and stared down the street at a cart as it passed by, the man pulling it mostly hidden behind a gray woolen scarf. She told herself she had no choice, but such rhetoric did nothing for the cluster of knots binding her insides.

  The door swung open and Layton stepped out flanked by Lieutenant Mathews and another of his officers.

  Lydia stood. “May I have a brief word with you, Major?”

  He paused, as did his men.

  “Alone.”

  He motioned them past. “Do you have something for me?”

  The letter trembled in the breeze as s
he extended it.

  Major Layton took the paper from her hand and smoothed it. “Why is it wrinkled?”

  Lydia didn’t answer. He didn’t need to know that the mere mention of smallpox by Daniel had clenched every muscle in her body. She didn’t know why it affected her so this time. Even if she did care for him, it was not as though Daniel were a weak child, susceptible to succumb to the dreaded illness. He was a grown man and, now that his cough had improved, a strong, healthy one. According to his letter, he hadn’t even set foot inside the house where the illness was. After an initial skirmish with the British, the Patriots had tried to set up an ambush for them by hiding in and around the Singleton mill and the surrounding outbuildings. Until it was discovered that the whole Singleton family had the smallpox.

  Major Layton glanced down at Daniel’s scrawled words—not elegant in the least, but all correctly written—and then looked to her. “This is well and good, but gives little information of any use to us.”

  “Perhaps,” Daniel had only stated what had already taken place, “but it proves I am closer. And is it not also useful to note how quickly the Swamp Fox called his men? Almost seven hundred within a day.”

  “Yes, the same men who yesterday torched one of our boats near Nelson’s Ferry after removing anything of military value.” Layton thrust the paper back in her hands. “Your news is almost three days old. What good is it?”

  Lydia folded the letter away. “I will get more.”

  The major pulled at his coat, and then thumbed one of the brass buttons adorning the front. “And I admit to losing patience.” He turned thoughtful, and the corner of his mouth twisted upward. “I think it is time to put your rebel to use once again.”

  A chill touched her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “You were successful at directing him and his friends into one successful ambush. Before your next meeting, I will instruct you exactly what to say to him. Perhaps this time we will trap that sly swamp fox himself.”

  Instead of just his nephew? The recollection of what Daniel had told her of young Gabe Marion, along with her role in the boy’s murder made her ill. She could not play such a part again. “Major—”