"Why is it called Bitter Creek?" asked Featherstone.
"I don't know but it ought to be given a much nicer name. Can we go down there?" she pleaded. "Uncle David is going to be so thrilled to see us."
Featherstone smiled indulgently and nudged his horse forward. She kept pace with him on her own mount. Relieved that they had at last reached their destination, the soldiers trudged behind them. Eyes on the house below, they followed a winding track down the hillside. There was no whisper of danger. When the column got within fifty yards of the house, however, shots rang out, and one of the Indian guides dropped dead on the ground. Two of the soldiers were badly wounded. The noise of gunfire was so loud and unexpected that it made Elizabeth scream in horror. Her horse bucked wildly, tossing her onto the grass.
Leaping from his saddle, Featherstone crouched beside her to shield her from any attack. On both sides of them, he could see long-barreled rifles protruding from the bushes.
"Scatter!" he yelled to his men. "It's an ambush!"
CHAPTER NINE
Jamie Skoyles had always believed that the only way to get a woman out of his mind was to take another woman into his bed. Accordingly, he invited Maria Quinn to join him that evening and share a bottle of wine that he had been keeping for just such an occasion. Maria was more than compliant. A vivacious young woman with red hair that hung in curls and a pretty face that was lit by a bewitching smile, she had joined the ranks of the camp followers in the hope that Skoyles would seek her out again. The night they had spent together after the ball in Montreal had been the culmination of a dalliance that had gone on for days. It had been such a riot of love and lust that it prompted Maria to abandon the safety of Canada for the uncertainties of an American campaign.
She was delighted that Skoyles had finally remembered her, and as they lay entwined in his tent, he wondered why he had not done so before. An hour of raw passion with Maria Quinn had obliterated all trace of Elizabeth Rainham from his mind. After caressing her naked back and buttocks, he ran an index finger down her nose and onto her lips. She gave the finger a playful bite.
"Are you happy?" he asked.
"Very happy," she purred. "I thought you'd forgotten me."
"After what happened in Montreal? Impossible, Maria."
"Good."
"It's just that I've been rather busy since."
"I can see that from the state of your face and these bruises all over your body." She nestled into his shoulder. "You've been in the wars, Jamie. It's just as well you've got me to kiss your wounds better."
"You do it so beautifully."
"Does that mean I'll be seeing you again soon?"
"I can't promise anything," said Skoyles, drawing slightly away. "I told you before, Maria, that a soldier's life is not his own. This is the first chance I've had since we left Canada to spend time with you."
"I'm a patient woman."
He laughed. "You were impatient enough earlier on."
"Didn't you like that, Jamie?"
"I loved it."
He kissed her full on the lips and she responded willingly. Skoyles was about to roll on top of her again when he heard a noise outside his tent. He held Maria away from him so that he could strain his ears. A second later, the voice of Polly Bragg called out to him.
"Captain Skoyles!" she said. "Are you awake in there?"
"Wait a moment!" he replied, anxious to conceal the presence of his visitor from her. He blew out the candle beside the bed. Snatching up his breeches, he clambered into them before crossing hurriedly to put his head outside the tent. "What is it, Polly?"
"I'm sorry to rouse you at this time of night," she said, holding her candle close to him, "but Tom sent me. There's bad news, I fear."
"Bad news?"
"You're to come at once."
"What sort of bad news?"
"It concerns Miss Rainham," she said anxiously.
"What's happened to her?"
"There's been an ambush."
"I'll come immediately."
Having no details to impart, Polly went off into the dark and left him to scramble into the rest of his clothing and pull on his boots. When he had lit the candle again, he turned to Maria with a gesture of apology.
"Do you want me to wait?" she asked hopefully.
"No, I may have to ride out of camp."
"You know where to find me, Jamie."
"Yes, I do."
"Then don't leave it too long next time."
After giving Maria a farewell kiss, Skoyles ran all the way to Tom Caffrey's tent. When he lifted the flap to burst in, he saw his friend dressing the wounds of a soldier who lay on the camp bed. Polly Bragg was helping him. By the light of the candles, Skoyles could see that Private Marcus Wolverton was in poor condition. His jacket had been removed so that a musket ball could be removed from his upper arm, there was heavy bandaging around his thigh, and his hands were covered with abrasions. Pain was chiseled deeply into his face. When he recognized the newcomer, Wolverton gave him a pale smile of deference and spoke with a voice slurred by fatigue.
"No, Captain," he said with a weak smile. "I haven't had a fight with Dan Lukins this time. It's more serious, sir."
"You were part of the escort to Bitter Creek," noted Skoyles, crouching down beside him.
"They took us by surprise."
"Was anyone killed?"
"Five dead, at least."
"What about Miss Rainham? Was she hurt?"
"I've no means of telling, sir. Major Featherstone told us to scatter, so that's what we did. Before I could fire a shot, I was hit in the arm. Another ball grazed my leg. I dropped my musket and limped away. Since I couldn't hold a weapon to fight," he went on, "I thought the best thing I could do was to come for help."
"Yes, yes, Wolverton. You did the right thing."
"He's exhausted, Jamie," said Caffrey. "I had to give him a tot of rum to get any sense out of him."
"I want to hear about Miss Rainham."
"There's nothing I can tell you, sir," said Wolverton. "I wish I could. They seemed to be all round us, hidden in the bushes. We didn't stay long enough to see how many of them there were."
"We?" repeated Skoyles.
"He came back with one of the Indians," Caffrey explained. "The other one was killed. They were lucky. Miss Rainham's horse threw her and bolted up the hill. They managed to catch the animal."
Skoyles was disturbed. "She was thrown from her horse?"
"Yes, Captain," Wolverton replied. "The last I saw of her, the lady was being helped toward cover by Major Featherstone."
"But she was still alive?"
"Yes, sir."
"It was Redsnake who caught the runaway horse," said Caffrey, who had prized some of the story out of the wounded man. "He's one of the Mohawks helping to guide them to Bitter Creek. I know that we've heard some bloodcurdling tales about the Indians but this man is a real hero. Instead of riding off himself, he helped Wolverton into the saddle."
"It's true," Wolverton agreed. "I'd never have found my way back here, especially in the dark. But Redsnake seemed to know exactly where to go. He was my savior. If he'd not bound my arm for me, I might have bled to death."
"Where is he now?" asked Skoyles.
"Back in the Indian camp," said Caffrey, "reporting to his chief."
"Was he injured?"
"Apparently not."
"Good," said Skoyles. "I'll need him to lead us back to Bitter Creek. And I'll give him thanks on your behalf, Wolverton."
"He deserves my apologies, Captain," said the other.
"Why?"
"Because the only way that I could stop myself from falling asleep was to quote from some of the plays I've acted in. Redsnake had hour after hour of William Shakespeare inflicted on him."
"I doubt if he understood a word of it."
"I'm not sure that I did, sir."
Skoyles stood up. "Who else knows about this?"
"You were the first person I sent for, Jamie,"
said Caffrey.
"Thanks, Tom. Brigadier Fraser needs to be told immediately so that a detachment can be formed. I'll make sure that I lead it."
"I'll ride with you. It sounds as if I'll be needed there."
"Take me as well, Captain," said Wolverton, trying to sit up.
"No," said Skoyles.
"You must, sir."
Polly Bragg eased him back down. "You're in no state to move," she said, solicitously. "Just try to rest."
"But I have to get back."
"Why?" asked Skoyles.
"Because I left poor Dan Lukins there," said Wolverton with evident affection, "and I feel guilty for having deserted him. I've simply got to find out what happened to him."
There were eight of them still alive. The other two in the group had died from their wounds in the night. Locked in a shed that had no window, the soldiers were bound hand and foot. Every so often, the guard who was posted outside the door opened it and shone a lantern in to make sure that they were still securely tied up. All of the prisoners had suffered cuts and bruises during the ambush. One of them had a musket ball embedded in his calf, another man had broken three fingers. The shed was dark, filthy, and uncomfortable, reeking with a compound of foul smells. Rats darted to and fro. All that the men could do was to lie there in a trough of self-pity.
Propped up against a wall, Harry Featherstone brooded on the calamitous turn of events. He was angry with himself for leading his men into an ambush and for being unable to fight his way out of it. He was also furious with his captors for incarcerating a man of his rank with common soldiers, forcing him to listen to their inane babble. It was a deliberate affront to his dignity. But his overriding concern was for Elizabeth Rainham, unhurt by her fall from the horse but now in the hands of a cruel and vindictive enemy. Featherstone chided himself for agreeing so readily to take her to Bitter Creek.
While the soldiers had been herded into the rat-infested shed, Elizabeth had been taken into the house to face unknown horrors. The major feared for her virtue. The American rebels who had captured them were part of the rear guard of the Continental Army that had been routed at Hubbardton. They had already killed David Lansdale and looted his house. It was unlikely that they would show any mercy to his niece. Patriots had little sympathy for anyone suspected of being a Tory. The lucky ones were only severely beaten. Hanging was a more likely fate, followed by the rape of their womenfolk and the destruction of their property. David Lansdale had been one more victim.
Featherstone was fuming with impotent rage. Elizabeth was in the house with a group of violent men and there was nothing that he could do about it. He took no consolation from the fact that he had heard no screams from her during the night.
Daniel Lukins had heard something else in the dark hours.
"I wonder what 'appened to Wolvie," he said sorrowfully. "I'd 'ate to think they left 'im out there with the others to feed them wolves. They never stopped 'owling, did they? Wolvie, eaten by wolves—it's not right."
"Be quiet, man," Featherstone ordered.
"But 'e was my friend, sir."
"Then mourn him in silence."
"What's goin' to 'appen to us, Major?" asked Lukins.
"I wish I knew."
"It's alright for you, sir. I mean, you're an officer. You're important. They'll exchange you for one of our prisoners." He peered at the others in the gloom. "What about the rest of us?"
"Yes," said another voice. "What about us, sir?"
"We'll just have to hope for the best," replied Featherstone.
"As long as it's not left to that sergeant with the scar across his face," said Lukins with a shiver. "An 'eartless devil, 'e was. I 'eard 'im say 'e'd like to put us in 'ere and set fire to the place. If I ever gets out alive," he vowed, "then that sergeant's goin' to 'ave a lot more scars across 'is ugly face—or Dan Lukins is a liar."
"Hold your tongue," Featherstone demanded. "It's bad enough to be locked up in here without having to listen to your stupid remarks."
Lukins was cowed into silence and nobody else dared to speak. The tension in the shed was almost tangible. The soldiers remembered only too well what had happened to Private Roger Higgs, flogged on the orders of Major Featherstone. Even in captivity, they were afraid to disobey the officer. After another hour, however, the pangs of hunger were too much for the little Cockney to bear and he had to speak out.
"Aren't they goin' to feed us, Major?" he wailed. "I can stand anythin' but bein' starved to death—that'd be against every article of war. I'll write to that turd, George Washington, to complain, so I will."
His absurd boast provoked some half-hearted laughter, but Harry Featherstone did not join in. All that he could think about was the fate of Elizabeth Rainham.
Back at Skenesborough, swift action was taken. Brigadier Fraser not only agreed that Skoyles should lead a detachment to Bitter Creek, he insisted on getting General Burgoyne out of bed to hear details of what had happened. As a result, Skoyles was given the loan of his commander's telescope once again. The news that Elizabeth Rainham was caught in the ambush upset Burgoyne. As a friend of the family, he felt that he was—to some extent—in loco parentis. The thought that Elizabeth might be dead, badly wounded, or, at the very least, taken prisoner by the rebels made him curse his decision to allow her to travel to Bitter Creek.
Redsnake needed no persuasion to act as their scout. It emerged that the Indian who had been killed in the ambush was his brother, and he was eager to wreak revenge on his behalf. Four other Mohawks joined the detachment of fifty men, all of them mounted to ensure speed. As they left the camp, they were waved off by General Burgoyne himself, wishing them well and still praying for the safe return of Elizabeth Rainham. With the Indians leading the way on their ponies, the detachment followed a track that seemed to meander aimlessly through the forest. Jamie Skoyles rode beside Lieutenant Charles Westbourne.
"We were wrong to condemn all the Indians," said Skoyles. "Because of Redsnake's prompt action, one of our men was saved and the alarm was raised."
"I know, Captain," returned the other, watching the Indians ride bareback in front of him. "I just do wish they'd wear something more than a string of beads and a few feathers."
"This is no time for maiden modesty, Lieutenant."
"You'd think they'd want to protect their bodies."
"They prefer freedom of movement."
"So I see."
Sergeant Tom Caffrey brought his horse alongside them. Knowing that there would be wounded men when they reached their destination, he had his instruments and bandages in his knapsack.
"How long will it take us, Jamie?" he asked.
"Hours yet."
"Do you think that they'll still be at the farm?"
"There's only one way to find out, Tom," said Skoyles. "I can't believe they'd kill the entire detachment and move on. My guess is that they'll take prisoners and steal their guns and ammunition. The sight of captured redcoats is a powerful symbol for them."
"What about Miss Rainham?"
Westbourne gulped. "I shudder to think what might befall her."
"Let's just hope that the lady is still alive," said Skoyles.
"And unmolested."
"What puzzles me," said Caffrey, "is how they walked into the ambush in the first place. They were experienced soldiers with two scouts to help them, yet they were taken completely by surprise."
"They simply weren't expecting rebels in that part of the country," Westbourne explained. "Colonel Skene assured them that they'd be safe."
"I think I've worked out what must have happened," Skoyles decided, turning it over in his mind. "From what Wolverton told us—and from what I could get out of Redsnake through an interpreter—there's a hill that overlooks the approach to Bitter Creek. The rebels must have had pickets up there. When they spotted Major Featherstone and his men coming, they had ample time to set up the ambush."
"What if the pickets are still there?" said Caffrey.
"Th
en they've chosen the wrong day to be on duty."
They pressed on hard, breaking into a canter whenever possible and only stopping to water the horses once during the journey. Urged on by Skoyles, they were soon back in the saddle, exposed to the beat of the hot sun that glinted off their bayonets and sent trickles of sweat down their faces. When they got their first distant glimpse of the hill near Bitter Creek, Skoyles called them to a halt and ordered them to conceal themselves among the trees. He and the Indians went forward on foot, remaining under cover all the way.
Half a mile from the hill, he used the telescope to scan the summit. As he had expected, two sentries had been posted there to keep the approach road under surveillance. Skoyles was gratified. It meant that the rebels had not yet left Bitter Creek. He gave the telescope to Redsnake and showed him how to use it. The Indian was amazed at what he thought were its magical powers. Fascinated by the instrument, each of the Mohawks had to take his turn with it, sharing their excitement as they did so. Skoyles reclaimed the telescope and sent them off. They knew what to do.
It was a long wait. At first, Skoyles thought that they might have lost their way or been caught in a trap somewhere. Though he scanned the undergrowth on the slope ahead, he could see absolutely no sight of the Indians. They had vanished as if they had never existed. He began to worry, fearing that, in his eagerness, Redsnake had given himself away, but the anxiety proved groundless. When he trained the telescope on the top of the hill yet again, he saw the pickets being felled by shattering blows from tomahawks. Two scalps were soon waved triumphantly in the air. It was the signal for Skoyles to run back to his men. They mounted up at once. Caffrey rode beside his friend.
"They're still there, then," he said. "That's good news, Jamie."
"We don't know what state they're in yet."
Caffrey tapped his knapsack. "I've come well prepared."
Skoyles thought of Elizabeth Rainham. Physical wounds might be dressed, broken bones could be mended. But there were wounds to the mind that would never heal, deep, agonizing, and ever open, vile memories that could stalk a woman for the rest of her life. Skoyles hoped that Elizabeth had been spared such permanent injuries.
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