The Patriot and the Loyalist

by Angela K Couch

  Daniel broke through to the shore, the rush of hooves following, closing in on him, and leaving him nowhere to run. He kicked the horse toward the bank.

  The gelding only made it several rods toward the water when it balked, throwing its head, its hooves sinking into the sand and mud. Madam would have plowed through, but Daniel couldn’t wait for the young horse. He leapt from its back and raced downwards, his boots bogging with each step as though the very elements plotted with the British for his demise.

  Lord, help me!

  One of his boots stuck deep and he stumbled to his knees as another ball sank into the mud in front of him. He yanked his foot free and scrambled forward, meeting the water’s cold embrace with no resistance. He swung his arms to propel himself forward despite the burn already in his lungs. He had to reach the island.

  ~*~

  Lydia touched the tips of her fingers to her mouth, her silent prayer not ceasing. Her lips still tingled from Daniel’s kisses. Darkness spread over the small town. Surely Major Layton’s men would soon return to report their failure. They had to fail.

  “Oh, God, please.”

  The front door swung open, and she jerked as Charles’s long strides carried him past her chair on the veranda.

  “Where are you going?”

  He pivoted. “Lydia? Evening is upon us. You should not be sitting in the cold.”

  “It is not that cold.” As she spoke, a shiver worked its way through her. “But it is late. Where are you going?” He could not possibly have more to speak with Mr. Hilliard about.

  “The docks. With the Zephyr being refitted for its next cargo…” His lips thinned. “I have much to discuss with Captain Hues.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, tonight.” Charles continued toward the harbor.

  From what Lydia had overheard, the Zephyr would be in port another two weeks, not leaving berth until the New Year. Not that it meant anything to her with Charles’s refusal to even consider granting her passage. In many ways, she was as much a prisoner in Georgetown as Daniel would be if he was caught. Though how much less pleasant would it be for him in Major Layton’s clutches? If the major wanted more names and locations of the Patriot forces, what would it take to induce them from a man like Daniel? You are not supposed to care. You are not supposed to care.

  Her mantra flitted away with the touch of a breeze, replaced by the image of Daniel’s dark eyes and boy-like smile. The deep resonance of his voice. The warmth of his hands. The brown waves tied at the nape of his neck.

  “I cannot do this to myself. Not again.” Lydia stood and turned to the door. Her hand gripped the latch and she glanced heavenward—to the underside of the terrace above. I asked for Your healing, God. I asked for peace. The pounding of hooves along the hard-packed road pivoted her.

  Layton’s men. Almost a score of them. No Daniel.

  Major Layton must have been waiting, or having one of the servants watch for him, as he stepped out of the door before Lieutenant Mathews reached Lydia’s position.

  She stood out of the way with hopes they would ignore her presence.

  “We have wasted our time, Lieutenant. He did not meet Miss Reynolds.”

  Lieutenant Mathews straightened, his eyebrows pushing low and together. “But the rebel—the New Englander—was there.”

  “What?” The major rotated to her.

  Lydia shook her head, panic rising in her throat. What had become of Daniel? “He must have come after. It was too cold to wait long.” And yet she still remained out of doors. Her lies wrapped her like stays cinched too tight.

  Mathews continued his report. “We pursued him back through the wood, but he took to the bay. I have men going out in boats to search the island and others are scanning the shoreline, but for all we know he went down when we fired on him.”

  No. Lydia’s fingernails bit into the tender flesh of her arms.

  Mathews motioned behind him at one of the men holding the reins to a young sorrel. “We have reclaimed the gelding, though.”

  A harrumph sounded from the back of Major Layton’s throat. “That might serve us better if the animal could talk, but he will not very well lead us to Marion.” A string of curses spewed from his lips, and he glanced again to Lydia.

  “Excuse me, sirs.” She stole into the house, her whole body trembling. In her bedchambers, silence surrounded her along with thoughts of her Patriot and her lies. She needed something for her hands, but needlecrafts had never been her talent. Lydia abandoned her room and paused at the nursery. She paced by the door. More silence.

  Maggie probably slept.

  She went back downstairs. No sign of Major Layton. He appeared to have left with his men. And Charles would be gone for a while longer, as well. Lydia took one of the lamps from the hall into the parlor with her and set it on the edge of the pianoforte. Her fingers itched for occupation and her mind begged for relief from a bombardment of thoughts of Daniel. And fear.

  Laying her fingers to the keys, a chord rang, echoing in the emptiness of the house. Though stiff from lack of use, her hands continued across the instrument. A simple tune, slow and sorrowful, dredged the feelings from her soul. She tried so hard not to form any sort of attachment, but evidently she had failed.

  Dear God, keep Daniel safe.

  23

  Daniel crouched low as a flickering lantern continued farther along the shoreline. Water dripped into his eyes, and he blinked the sting away. His stay on the island had been short-lived, the British soon joining him with a couple of rowboats. He would have liked to relieve them of one, but the soldiers had been wise enough to post a guard, so he’d hid until it was dark enough to swim back to the main shore. If he avoided the redcoats long enough to find a horse, he would hopefully make it out of Georgetown once again.

  Clothes clinging to him and water running in streams from his hair and shirt, he crept up the bank. His foot, sore from the swim and again without a boot, pinched with each step as he darted, half hobbled, across the narrow road and into the trees on the other side. Even in the dark, he recognized the proximity to the harbor and the two large storehouses. No stars were visible in the overcast sky, but several lamps lit the docks. He was on Georgetown’s front porch. Daniel made his way to the smaller storehouse, cloaked in shadow.

  The smooth planks of the back wall braced him up as he caught his breath. He would have to leave the settlement before dawn, which made his exit more difficult. The soldiers would probably be watchful for him. The question remained as to how they knew he was a Patriot and where he’d be? Had they been told, or had Lydia been discovered? Was she in danger?

  A rattling at the front of the building put all other thoughts aside. Voices mumbled, and he strained to hear.

  “Do you know what has the soldiers riled?”

  “I have my suspicions. But as long as they are busy elsewhere…” The shuffle of feet entering the building drowned out the words.

  Curious, Daniel inched around the side of the storehouse. A light glowed from the doorway, before being squelched by the closing door. Again, the voices became mumbles. He moved forward, and pressed his ear to a small crack extended between the hinges.

  “Are we ready, then?”

  “Almost. By the first of January we will be. I will be.”

  “And then this will all be over. What will you do, then?”

  “As long as my family is…”

  Daniel pulled away from the door as footsteps pounded from between the other two buildings. A dark form of a large man barreled toward him. Daniel grabbed for his knife and dodged back around the side of the smaller storehouse.

  More rushing footsteps, the men inside the building joining the hunt. By the time he again reached the back wall, they had him flanked, one on either side, pistols in hand and aimed.

  “Toss that blade down,” the larger man ordered in a harsh whisper.

  No other option presented itself.

  As soon as the knife struck the ground, the seco
nd man snatched it up, and grabbed Daniel’s pistol from his side. “You will not need this, either.” The tall, thin man also kept his voice hushed.

  “Who are you?” Daniel asked. They obviously didn’t want to draw attention to themselves any more than he did.

  Instead of answering, the large man, and a third, shoved Daniel to the front of the storehouse and inside. A single lantern gave little illumination.

  “Now, who are you, and why were you spying on us?” The larger man straightened his tricorn hat as he squared off with Daniel. Though only an inch or two taller, the middle-aged man probably weighed twice as much, and the huge coat that hung off his shoulders resembled that of a ship’s captain.

  “Where was he?” The second man stood near in gentry’s attire.

  “With his ear to the door, trying to listen in. For all we know he’s a bloody Tory.”

  Relief strengthened Daniel’s limbs. “I assure you, I am not.”

  The gentleman relaxed his hold on his pistol. “Then who are you?” He eyed Daniel’s soaked clothing. “And what are you doing here looking like a piece of driftwood?”

  “My being here is merely coincidence,” Daniel answered. “With a little curiosity when I heard you talking. You seem distrusting of our red-clad visitors. Are you Patriots?”

  The man glared. “You still have not said who you are, and with all the Kings’ soldiers standing watch in this town, I suggest you hurry if they are the ones you wish to avoid.”

  There was only so long he could skirt their questions. “Daniel Reid. And, yes, I would rather my presence in Georgetown remain unknown. Can you help me?”

  The men looked at each other. The gentleman spoke. “We cannot very well leave him here, I have wagons emptying all this tomorrow. Do you think we can get him past the sentinel they left us, Captain Hues?”

  Hues nodded. “None of the crew is aboard, so all we have to worry about is that guard Major Layton left for us.”

  “I can distract him while you come past.”

  Daniel wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or uneasy as they discussed their plans. “To take me where?”

  “Safest place right now is onboard the Zephyr.” The thin gentleman, obviously in charge, nodded to his men and started to the door. “I suggest we delay our discussions until after this matter is settled.”

  He left, and a few minutes later the others followed, Daniel between them. His one foot sloshed in the boot while the other felt every pebble freckling the path. South Carolina seemed to have cursed his ability to keep a pair of boots—or to stay dry, for that matter.

  “Are you one of Sumter’s men, or Marion’s?” Hues asked as they skulked toward the ship. “Or did you escape from the British?”

  “I’ve been with Colonel Marion, but the king’s soldiers seem to have a vendetta against me today. But who is the tall gentleman?”

  “Charles Selby owns the Zephyr.” Hues paused in the shadows.

  Selby approached the scarlet guard patrolling the dock. Their voices murmured, blending with the hush of the tide breaking against the bank.

  Daniel tensed as a red-clad figure abruptly hurried down the dock and then in the opposite direction. He soon vanished from sight.

  Hues shoved Daniel forward. “Let’s go.”

  Selby waited for them near the plank stretched between the dock and ship.

  “What did you say to the lobsterback?” Hues questioned.

  “Told him I did not feel comfortable with him as a lone guard with half our cargo still aboard. I insisted I would watch things while he reports my suggestion of more men.”

  More soldiers guarding the ship did not sound like a good idea to Daniel. His pulse took on a different rhythm as they led him into a box of a room with a single cot. Selby hooked the lamp on the wall. “Rest yourself while we find you dry clothes, Mr. Reid.”

  Then they left, the door swinging closed behind, followed by the slide of a latch. British guards were on their way with him closed in this small room aboard the Zephyr. The name resonated in his head, so familiar to him. But from where?

  Lydia.

  One of her father’s ships. The first. Now her brother-in-law’s, who was a known Tory. Daniel stepped to the door and tried the handle. It didn’t budge.

  ~*~

  Lydia slipped into the nursery, the room abandoned but for the child lying asleep in her small bed. Dark hair crowned her face, fine against flushed skin. Lydia ran a finger across the silky hair and soft cheek. Little Margaret turned her head, but remained unconscious to her aunt’s presence. Another baby appeared in Lydia’s memories. Poor, darling Martin had only been a few months older than Maggie when he had passed from his life, cold, pale and stiff in the bed at Mother’s side.

  Lydia clamped a hand over her mouth to smother a sob. She had failed at locking her heart—protecting it. She loved Maggie despite all her efforts to keep her distance. Just as with Daniel. What an awful, torturous feeling. Especially knowing that she could keep neither of them.

  Eyes stinging, Lydia hurried downstairs to the library. The trunk remained in the middle of the floor. She threw open the lid and grabbed handfuls of books from the shelves. She no longer cared where she went or how she got there. She would sell the cottage for the little money Hilliard thought it worth and move to a hovel in Charles Town if she had to. She had to leave this place. Distance herself.

  The door opened, and Charles stepped in.

  Lydia ignored him, glancing around the room one last time. She would not be back.

  “What has upset you?”

  She clamped her jaw tight and settled her shoulders back. He didn’t need to know how utterly weak she was—wide open and as vulnerable as ever. That had always been her problem. It was too easy to care too deeply and that only brought pain. She couldn’t fight it anymore—she could only run.

  “Lydia, say something.”

  “You need to let me travel on the Zephyr when she returns to England. You have to, Charles. I will do anything.”

  He studied her for far too long, his brow creased. “How am I to understand this? I know the past year since your sister’s passing has been most difficult for you, but before that you were happy. Your father built this house for his daughters. This is your home.”

  “How can it be a home without the people I care for? All I have are memories, and I cannot bear them anymore. I cannot bear being the only one left here, everyone else gone.” She grasped his sleeve. “Please, Charles. Let, me go on the Zephyr. Please. I do not care if I have to sleep on deck—I need to leave this place.”

  He stiffened and shook his head. “I do wish I could help you, Lydia. I loved your sister and have tried to do everything in my power to make you happy and provide for you for her sake and your father’s, but that is one thing I cannot do.”

  Lydia gritted her teeth as she released him. “Why? Why will you not help me? Charles, you are the only one who can. You own the ship. You can give me passage.”

  “Not this time.” He averted his gaze. “I have already agreed with the British that I shan’t take cargo this time. Not real cargo, I mean.”

  “Then what?”

  “Prisoners. They want me to transport a shipload of prisoners.” A small muscle in his jaw ticked. “They insist.”

  Prisoners, like Daniel may very well be...if he wasn’t dead. Lydia tried to push the dread aside. “There are plenty of cabins on the Zephyr.”

  “Lydia, please accept that I cannot help you. You have a home here. I have made sure of that. So please, do not ask—”

  “No, Charles, I will not accept it!”

  “It is too dangerous. We have already lost the Magellan with your father, and the Americus. French fleets patrol the main routes, and even the Continental Navy has become formidable.”

  “I do not care. Leaving here is worth the risk. Many ships still make it through. I ask so little for my sister’s sake. For my father’s memory and all he left you. Give me passage to England.”

&n
bsp; “The ship is not going to England!” The words came sharp and chopped.

  Lydia clamped her mouth closed.

  Charles moaned and waved her to not speak. “Please, everything depends on your silence. No one can know.” Face drawn, Charles sank to the nearest chair and massaged his temples. “If the British find out...”

  “Find out what, Charles? Where is the Zephyr bound? You said you had agreed to ship their prisoners.”

  “And I shall.” He took a breath and looked at her, then stabbed his finger in her direction. It trembled with his words. “If you care anything for Margaret’s child—for Maggie—or have any consideration for myself or for Ester, you must keep your silence in this one thing.” His hand fell open. “I beg you.”

  “Ester? Why would…?” The pieces began sliding into place. “You and Ester Hilliard? You plan to marry her.” She would be Maggie’s new mother.

  “Yes.”

  “Why the secrecy?”

  “These are strange, dangerous times. I wanted everything in order. Everything in readiness, before…” He let the sentence die with a sigh.

  Lydia leaned into the corner of the desk briefly, and then she pushed away. “I need to go.” She rotated toward the door. She needed air. She needed to clear her mind enough to process what was happening—and what was about to happen.

  24

  A half laugh, half grunt pushed from Daniel’s chest as he pulled new boots on.

  “What?” Captain Hues questioned, pausing at the door.

  “I left home with a good pair of boots and wore them for three years. Three years. I arrived in South Carolina not two months ago, and this is already my third pair of boots.”

  The ship’s captain chuckled and again reached for the latch.

  “Why are you helping me?” Daniel asked before Hues had a chance to leave again. “Or is that what you’re doing?” Who knew what would happen when Mr. Selby returned. “Is this a game of sorts?”