Somewhat later, Jack and Angelica were sitting on a log near the edge of the forest, working their jaws on some salty, tough jerky and sharing thin beer from an old bottle. Much the same as any Indian village, the women here worked while their men, who had done their share in the raid, were now lounging, gambling and sleeping.
They had expected an unpleasant confrontation with the women because of the men Jack was known to have killed, but none seemed forthcoming. Royal, the man who’d been ready to shoot him in the back, had had a woman, but instead of condolences, this woman was receiving a flurry of congratulations from her companions.
Only the loss of Neddy’s hand provoked any ill feeling and this had been mostly put to rest when Jack had expertly stopped the bleeding by cauterizing and sewing up the stump.
“God in Heaven,” Angelica whispered after Jack had washed up after this task. “Where did you learn that?”
Behind them, Neddy lay among a sullen knot of his friends, babbling incoherently as he rolled about on a mat, stupefied with whiskey.
“On a battlefield you don’t always have a surgeon when you need one.”
“I thought we were dead back there,” Angelica whispered, shuddering.
“I did, too, but I know a little about this kind of animal,” Jack replied, nodding back at the smoky settlement. “They appreciate bravery, although they’re like dogs. They’ve only got the guts to attack if they’re in a pack.”
“Would you really have cut Bell’s throat?”
“I should have. He’ll try some other mischief before this is all over. It won’t grieve the world when he’s gone.”
“Not at all,” Angelica replied. “He was a known rustler, but at Kingston, they could only prove theft against him. He was branded and whipped out of town. Later it was thought he’d done much worse,” she said, her voice lowering. “The body of a young girl was uncovered in the woods just after he’d gone.”
“I should’ve cut his throat.” Jack was briefly regretful. “But I’d already done four of them. Being taken prisoner was inevitable, and there is sentiment, even among vermin.”
Angelica gazed at her companion. The way this gentleman, now sitting so tamely beside her, had killed! So precisely, without any emotion, knocking men over like pins on the bowling green. She now understood why George Armistead had taken that step backward.
“They surely would’ve killed us if you had just—just—stuck him,” she observed. She could just see the hilt of that thin and very sharp secret blade, now back inside his boot.
“Maybe. And maybe not,” was his troubling reply. “No telling with this kind. M’Bain might’ve just laughed, for I did make a fool of his man. I was certain he was going to be more trouble than that.”
A man approached them, picking his way around the huge tree trunks. By his dark suit and round clerical hat, they recognized the captive preacher.
When he’d come close, he bowed politely and said, “Reverend Witherspoon at your service, miss and sir.”
“I’m Captain Church, but I don’t generally go by it.”
Witherspoon looked momentarily surprised and Angelica understood why. If there was one thing you could usually be sure of about an ex-military man, it was that he’d proudly insist upon the dignity of his last rank.
The preacher was a tall, thin man who wore a mouse- gray, short wig. He spoke with the elegant but, to Angelica’s ears, ungrammatical drawl peculiar both to the southern colonies and the villages of the southwest coast of England.
“And how did you fall into the hands of these brigands, Reverend Witherspoon?” Angelica asked.
“I was travelin’ from my parish in Coksaky. I was leavin’ this benighted place, miss, for my fidelity is to King George. I was ridin’ a fine mare down to her owner, Mr. Philip de la Barre, who has already fled to the city. Near the village of West Point these reivers caught me. They haunt the river roads and waylay travelers.
“It was, of course, the mare which attracted them. I fear they would’ve made away with me on the spot, but they, or rather, their idiosyncratic leader, was feelin’ a sort of spiritual itch which he decided I could scratch.”
“Indeed?” Jack raised a blonde eyebrow.
“It’s quite true,” said the parson, clearing his throat. He paused, produced a silver flask from his pocket, and offered it to Jack. “A drink, sir?” he asked. “A gift from the de Lanceys who own the land in my lost parish.”
Jack accepted. After a sip, he gave an appreciative nod, and took another. “Some of the best whiskey I’ve tasted,” he observed.
“Indeed,” the parson agreed. “You know, it seems I shall be allowed to go on my way eventually, but they’ve told me they want me to perform some offices of the church for them.”
Jack gave a cold laugh that reminded Angelica uncomfortably of M’Bain. It seemed the practiced killer with whom she’d found herself riding earlier today had not entirely departed.
“Yes. I’ve said a funeral service for one of the blackguards and another over the graves of three children.”
“And I believe I’ve brought you more of the same, reverend,” said
“Yes, I’m told I shall read another funeral service. And so, sir,” the parson replied, fixing them with his bright, small eyes, “may God continue to defend you and your companion. Sittin’ there by the cook shack, I’ve been hearin’ about what you did. M’Bain’s sayin’ he wishes he had just one like you by his side. He seems marvelous takin’ by you, captain.”
Jack acknowledged the compliment with a polite inclination of his fair head. “Twenty years in His Majesty’s cavalry, Reverend Witherspoon. And none of it on the parade ground, if you take my meaning.”
Witherspoon nodded, accepted the flask Jack returned, and took a sip himself. “Most fortunate for you and for this young lady, captain.”
“Yes,” Angelica replied. The Jack she’d seen this morning had inspired fear—and awe.
“Yes. And what have you done apart from praying over their dead?” Jack asked.
“Well, two nights ago I preached to them,” the reverend replied. “Mr. M’Bain gave me specific instructions on the nature of the sermon. None of your Popish tarrydiddle, says he, but a good old Covenanter hellfire sermon.”
“A hellfire sermon?” Angelica was incredulous. “To these men who will go there—every one?”
“Quite so, Miss TenBroeck,” Reverend Witherspoon agreed. “As an Anglican and an educated man, hellfire, certainly, is not my primary choice. Personally, I’m inclined to the cerebral, but I could see that for a congregation like this one, Mr. M’Bain’s suggestion was sound. ”
“You know,” he continued, “I’ve come to have a sort of respect for him. He can read, you know—and he’s smart as a whip. Still—” The reverend sighed. “—I shudder to think how many folk he’s made away with.”
“So you preached to them?”
Witherspoon nodded, a kind of unholy shine suddenly illuminating his gaunt, pale face.
“What on earth was it like?” Angelica couldn’t imagine.
“A pretty queer business, miss,” Witherspoon replied. “M’Bain saw I was nervous and so he insisted I have a swallow of some of their whiskey before I began. I didn’t want to, but he can be very persuasive.”
Jack chuckled. “I can imagine.”
“At first, I was frightened,” the reverend said. “But the more I laid it on and told ‘em they were damned for all eternity, and the more I described their future torments, they more they seemed to like it. I’ve never seen such a sight in my life, all these cutthroats and murderers crawling on the ground and weeping and crying to Jesus to forgive them, their harlots alongside of them.”
“M’Bain wasn’t one of ‘em, I’ll wager.”
“Correct, captain. M’Bain kept slipping up behind me and slapping me on the back and handing me glasses of spirits. Finally, I got so hot from the whiskey and preaching, I told him to his face that he was the biggest sinner of them all because of w
hat he was leading all these ignorant folks into. That he’d made Magdalenes of all the poor women and pagans of all the children.”
Jack grinned. “Which he loved.”
“Right again, captain, though, by Heaven, if I had not so much whiskey in me...” Suddenly overcome with the recollection, the reverend took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“I fear,” he went on, “that I baptized some folks that night, too. I used whiskey, which M’Bain insisted had more of the spirit in it than water.”
“Crazy doings,” Jack was laconic. “It’s the same among ‘em everywhere, be they on the Scottish border or over the Pale.”
“Well, I now see how deportation ends—with the same old mischief planted in a new place,” declared Witherspoon. “Hangin’ is the only real cure for their kind.”
The two men shared a nod of heartfelt agreement. Then the parson added, “I’m told I am to carry the ransom demands to your uncle, Miss TenBroeck. It is a journey in the wrong direction for my purposes, but one I’m more than willing to take on behalf of such distress as yours.”
“We are glad you will help us, Reverend Witherspoon,” Angelica replied with feeling. “When are you to go?”
“Well, there is one final pious task for me here. ” Another band of his cutthroat friends is arriving and when they do, I am to marry two couples. After that’s done, he says he’ll send me off.”
Jack was grinning broadly. Clearly, he’d enjoyed the reverend’s story. The grin stayed in place, even as the three of them walked back towards the cabins together.
“Don’t smile so, Mr. Church,” Angelica whispered nervously, putting a hand on his arm.
At the closest door, a ferocious pair of ruffians stood, staring at them.
“Don’t worry,” he replied, the fierce grin firmly in place. “The way to get along with these two-legged animals is to be as free as they are. To be ready to kill them a little faster than they are ready to kill you.”
Angelica did not find this comforting. Witherspoon, after a nervous glance over his shoulder, moped more sweat from his high brow.
“I can’t help but fear M’Bain’s got some new trick up his sleeve,” he muttered. “He’s entirely too good humored this afternoon.”
Chapter Ten
Just then a group of women came out of the cook shed. After some noisy disputation, which seemed to concern Angelica, two approached. They were dirty, barefoot, and dressed in a back country combination of leather and muslin.
One, a beauty with heavy black braids like an Indian, had a baby riding on her hip. The other, a rawboned, freckled red head, held a bare-bottomed toddler by the hand. Beneath the apron her belly rose with another child on the way. Although both women were brown-skinned and rough-handed and each had a few missing teeth, both were relatively young and both moved with a swaying grace that marked them as beauties of their kind.
They stared dumbly at the reverend for a moment and then the black haired one declared, “Well, where be your manners, parson? Introduce us to these here folks.”
Witherspoon, discomfited, did as he was asked. “Captain Church, Miss—ah—Ten—TenBroeck,” the reverend stumbled, “this is Miss Nancy Bankhead, and this lady is Widow Ima M’Alister.”
The black haired woman glared at the reverend whose “Miss” had given offense. Both ladies stared at Jack with frank admiration, perhaps finding not only his good looks, but also the tale of his having humbled the brutal Davy Bell much to their taste. The eyes that turned toward Angelica held admiration, too, but well larded with jealousy.
“Miss,” said the black haired Nancy, after an awkward pause. “There is a pack more men than women in this camp.”
“Yes,” Angelica replied, nervously, instantly wondering where this was leading.
“Well, we’ve got weddin’s comin’,” Nancy went on. “Either tomorrow or next day. Dependin’ ‘pon when the men get here.”
“Yes, the reverend was just telling us,” Angelica said politely. Nancy went on with a challenging stare. “Mr. M’Bain says we kin ask you to help us out, miss. ‘Specially as you’re bein’ treated good.” “Besides,” red-headed Ima put in with a flirtatious wink at Jack.
“It ain’t proper that you laze around in company with this fella.”
“We could use another hand in the cook shed,” Nancy said, her dark eyes snapping. “That is, unless you bin raised too fine to know how.”
“Ah—ladies—” Jack began a defense.
“Miss Nancy is quite right, Mr. Church,” Angelica said, promptly getting to her feet. “As they are so hospitable, I certainly can help. Are you to be the bride, Miss Bankhead?” she asked politely.
“Yes,” Nancy replied with uneasy dignity. “I’m to marry Johnnie Callahan there.” She gestured at a big, sullen red head, one of the men who had been, in between bouts of spitting tobacco, staring fixedly at them.
“My congratulations, miss,” Angelica replied, thinking that her tongue had never been more in cheek. “I shall be glad to help out with whatever needs doing.”
“Well, come on, then.” Abruptly Nancy turned her back and strode away.
Ima, who seemed friendlier, put out a tough, freckled hand, the one not attached to the toddler.
“You kin work beside me, miss. My man’s the one we’re waiting for—Donnie Graham. He’s got a gang hisself, you know.” Ima stated this with as much pride as if she were explaining that her Donnie was a rich New York City attorney.
Ima was pleased when Jack and Reverend Witherspoon bowed them away. Angelica, without so much as backward glance, had taken the freckled hand and walked off in the direction of a lean-to.
“A brave lady,” the Reverend Witherspoon observed.
“Reverend, you don’t know the half of it,” Jack replied, watching admiringly as Angelica’s graceful figure disappeared inside the smoke-spitting shed.
RIGHT AFTER DINNER, M’Bain tried to insist they should not pass their nights together. “Well, it’s established that ya ain’t brother and sister, ain’t it?”
“And so?”
“Well, the Dutch miss should sleep with the other women.” “Miss TenBroeck stays where I can keep an eye on her.”
“I’m not sure if just keeping an eye on her is all that will go on.
With such a comely lass, I’d fail in the task myself,” M’Bain joked, with a leer.
“Chief, moralizing doesn’t suit you,” Jack replied.
“Oh? Ain’t I had the preacher up here?”
Angelica hadn’t liked the bullish, injured expression M’Bain had assumed, but beside her Jack was insouciantly grinning that who-gives-a-damn-face these ruffians put on for each other.
“I’ll say one thing about you, lowlander. You’ve got stones,”
M’Bain growled, staring at him. “Don’t tempt me to cut them off.”
“I’ll have yours first, M’Bain,” Jack rejoined cheerfully.
Angelica tried not to, but she could feel herself shrinking against his side.
“Cocksure, ain’t he?” The chief had waved his bottle truculently towards Jack. The three lieutenants who stood around nodded in unison.
“It’s plain,” Jack said evenly, “that the lady and her honor are safer with me than anywhere else in this camp.”
“And just why is that? If I kin make so bold as to ask?”
“Because I intend to marry her,” Jack said evenly. “I have not yet spoken with her uncle, though, and until he agrees, I’m honor bound to treat her like my sister.”
There! He’s said it again! Angelica gave an involuntary start. There was a flash of insane excitement, followed by an even larger flash of resentment. Why did every one of these men—George Armistead, Cousin Arent, and, now, Jack Church—just assume I am theirs for the taking?
Still, she knew she was in love. She had breathed the alarming, dizzying words to herself, but that didn’t mean that she would just throw common sense to the winds and let herself be carried away by emotion.
I did it before...did it with ‘Bram. And, oh, I’ve sworn a thousand times never to be so foolish again!
Since their meeting at Governor Tryon’s, she’d discovered so many different kinds of Jack. Jacks undreamed of, even in the daring sweep of his rescue. There was the tender and masterful lover of the inn. This morning she’d seen a ferocious and devious fighter, a master of pistol, fist and saber, a blonde war god, who matched boast for boast and blow for blow with their savage captors.
Considering these different Jacks, she felt fear, much of it now centering around the precise yet offhand way he’d killed. Angelica sensed Jack Church had many of these secret selves.
She lowered her eyes, hoped to hide her growing agitation, but M’Bain was not looking at her. He was too busy staring at Jack.
“By Christ! You don’t say? You lowlanders are cold fish beyond ken. What’s goin’ on, then? Was you carryin’ her off?” The chief broke into one of his wolfish grins.
“Yes.” As usual Jack didn’t skip a beat. “I intend to marry Miss TenBroeck, but I must show her family respect.”
“What? Is her Dutch uncle a good shot? Or is he meaner than yourself, sir?” M’Bain paused to gurgle at the notion. Then he rolled his evil eye toward Angelica. “Hey, miss, wouldn’t you like to marry this fine young soldier?
“Um, of course...” What I have to say is clear enough. “But, um, ah, my Uncle must—must—”
“Get used to the idea.” Jack completed her sentence. “You see, we only met down in the city a few weeks ago.”
Thinking he understood, M’Bain brightened. His bullish head nodded vigorously, as if comprehending everything in one stroke.
“You don’t want any trouble with the rich uncle, do you, captain? And so you was goin’ home to ask for his blessin’ like good children when we caught up with you. Still want to marry her, even though we’re gonna bankrupt him?”
When Jack nodded, M’Bain grew animated. “Well, then, here’s a solution. Let my preacher marry you. He’s a real reverend and all, as respectable as you’d ever want, and then it’s done and over. Not much Uncle Dutch can say after.”
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