Without warning a man brandishing a rifle leaped from the canvas-covered rear of the first wagon.
The crossroad was suddenly a melée of confusion. Maggie didn't know who shot first, but suddenly the air was thick with smoke and bright with white light as shots sounded again and again in the still night air. Men hollered, the horses squealed in fright and leaped in their traces.
Then, it was over in a heartbeat. Two of the men in the transport wagons were dead, the other four were quickly tied up by two hooded figures. Maggie knew she was supposed to be high-tailing it out of here, but she was entranced by the entire operation. The hooded rebels moved quickly, working as one. They acted like players in a staged play Maggie had once seen in Williamsburg. Each knew his part; the timing was perfect.
Then from the east came a pounding of hoofbeats. Over the bluff appeared horses and riders.
"Redcoats!" one of the hooded rebels cried, sounding the alarm.
Maggie scrambled to her feet, picked up her rifle, and rushed toward the wagons. Hooded men were leaping up onto the wagon seats while others untangled the horses traces.
They mean to still take the wagons! she thought wildly.
One of the figures grasped her arm, his fingers biting sharply into her flesh. "Get the hell out of here," Zeke's familiar voice ordered.
"I'll go with you!" she cried. Automatically her fingers found the hammer of her rifle and she cocked it.
"The hell you will! Now run!" Zeke gave her a rough shove and raced for one of the wagons as it rolled away. All three horses and wagons were moving.
The wagon she had driven had been set aflame and left to burn in the center of the crossroad. The horse had been unhitched and led away.
Maggie looked up to see the redcoats coming straight down the middle of the road toward her. With a cry of fright, she ran. She raced through the tall grass that pulled at her hair and tangled in her skirts. Behind her she could hear the British soldiers shouting.
"You're letting them get away!" one of the captured Tories shouted. "They went that way!"
"Damnation!" Grayson shouted as he galloped into the crossroad. He hadn't expected there to be any real trouble. He'd just assumed this was another one of Major Lawrence's wild-goose chases. Now what was he supposed to do?
Luckily the dark night and the burning wagon in the center of the road provided enough confusion that his men rode in circles shouting, but not going after the stolen wagons. What the hell would he have done with them if he'd captured them?
A soldier slid off his horse and ran to the huddle of men tied near the road. "They say there's a woman," the private shouted to Grayson. "She went that way!" He pointed in the direction of the bay.
Grayson reeled his horse, Giipa, around and headed straight for the tall grass. Two soldiers followed. A woman among them! Damn, this bunch had balls! He rode through the grass and up a steep bank. Ahead he caught movement. A figure, running.
"Halt!" Grayson shouted. "Halt in the name of the king's army!"
The figure swung around and went down on one knee. In an instant he recognized the red-haired wench. It was Maggie! Maggie, for Christ's sake!
"Get down, Captain," one of the soldiers shouted from behind. "She's got a gun."
Grayson's eyes met hers; even in the darkness, he knew she recognized him.
Dear God! She was going to shoot him!
At the same instant that he flung himself from the saddle, he heard the echo of the rifle shot. His face hit the wet, boggy ground and for a instant he was stunned. The wench had shot at him! She'd tried to kill him!
"Captain! Captain!" one of the soldiers shouted, leaping off his horse.
Grayson swore beneath his breath as he pushed up off the muddy ground. There was a sudden crash of thunder followed by a bright streak of white lightning. The sky lit up for an instant and he saw Maggie sprinting across the open field. Rain began to fall.
The soldier crawled toward his commanding officer. "Captain?"
"Yes, yes, I'm all right." Grayson snatched his grenadier cap off the wet ground.
"Captain, she's getting away. You want us to get the others and go after her?"
Grayson wiped his white breeches, smearing the ill-smelling mud. He reeked like a London sewer in mid-July.
"Captain." The soldier slowly rose to his feet. "I asked if you wanted us to go after the woman."
Grayson looked up in the direction Maggie had run. With the next flash of lightning he saw that she was gone. He glanced down at the private peering into his face. "No," he said softly.
"Sir?"
"I said, no, boy. What do we want with a woman? She won't know anything. It's the stolen wagons that are important. Let's get back to the crossroad and see what the drivers can tell us. They'll be our best lead."
"Yes, sir."
Grayson whistled for his horse and the gelding came prancing over. Mounting, he spun around and headed back toward the crossroad, suppressing his desire to glance over his shoulder.
By the time Maggie reached her front porch she was shaking all over. She collapsed on the top step, wrapping her arms around her waist and gasping for breath. Her sides ached from the run. She'd nearly been caught!
She had been caught. The redcoat had seen her. He'd recognized her. She was sure of it.
A bright steak of lightning zigzagged the sky, illuminating the field that stretched in front of the farmhouse. The field was empty, no sign of horses and riders. So where was he? Why hadn't he and his mounted dogs followed her? Why weren't they here arresting her this very moment?
Maggie pushed back a lock of her wet hair, her breath finally coming easier. What was she supposed to do now? Zeke hadn't told her what to do if she got caught!
With the next streak of lightning she saw a figure running in an awkward gait through her field toward her. She jumped off the step. "Zeke!" The sound of the pounding rain and the booming thunder nearly drowned out her voice. "Zeke!"
"Maggie!"
She was so glad to see he was safe that she grasped his arms and spun him around. "Zeke! I was afraid you'd been caught!"
He pulled her out of the rain and onto the front porch and dropped a small bundle at his feet. "We're safe, all of us. The wagons, too. You were perfect, everyone said so. By daylight there'll be no trace of tracks, thanks to this." He motioned to the downpour.
Maggie's eyes suddenly grew wide. "Oh, God, Zeke, you can't be here!"
"Can't be here? What are you talking about?"
She wiped the rain from her full mouth. "He saw me."
"Who?"
"The redcoat. The officer."
"What do you mean, he saw you? He saw a woman." Zeke laughed. "He could have seen me in skirts."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. He recognized me."
"You know Captain Thayer?"
"Yes. No, not really. I mean . . ." She looked away. "Zeke, you just need to get out of here. He's coming for me, I know he is."
He caught her shoulder, steadying her. "You're certain?"
"I knew the risk of joining you and your men, Zeke. I knew same as you."
He eyed her rifle that she'd left leaning against the step. "I could wait. Take care of him for you."
She grabbed the rifle and headed inside. "Don't be ridiculous," she flung over her shoulder. "What, you're going to shoot him and his men and bury them in a row beside my turnips?"
"It's been done, Maggie," he said gently as he grabbed the bundle of leather goods off the porch and followed her into the house. He found her lighting a candle in the kitchen.
She shook her head. "It's not been done on my farm. I won't kill like that. I won't be a a part of it."
"You were a part of it tonight. We killed two men." He dropped the bundle of leather that was to be her share in the raid on the table.
"It ain't the same thing and you know it." She lit a second candle, then a third.
"I can't just leave you here to wait for your own hanging."
; "Sure you can." She pulled her wet apron over her head and hung it on a peg on the back door. "You can and you will. He might just question me. He can't prove it was me."
"Maggie—"
She held up her hand. "Zeke, don't start with me. Just get on out of here while you can."
He flung a fist in the air. "You just going to give up that easy?"
"What do you want me to do? Run?" She poured some fresh water from a bucket into her coffeepot and reached for a tin of grounds. "Because I'm not. I'm not gonna do it. My whole life is here. My da's tools, my mam's roses . . ." She looked up. "Besides, who said I was givin' up?"
Zeke walked to the door. "You're sure you want me to go?"
"Yes, I want you to go and I don't want you to worry about me. I'll take care of the redcoat."
"How?"
"I don't know. I'll think of a way."
"Don't do anything you'll regret later."
Maggie swung around angrily. "If you mean sell myself, I wouldn't do it, and you know it!" Her hands fell to her hips. "You have no right to be thinkin' that way."
"More than one woman—"
"I said I wouldn't do it, not even to save my life! My body's mine. You know how I feel about that."
Zeke sighed, suddenly feeling so much older than his twenty-seven years. "I'm sorry." He rubbed the aching thigh of his crippled leg. "I feel like all of this is my fault. I should never have taken you along."
"It ain't your fault. I been askin' for two years to go along. It's my fault because I was seen and because I missed my mark."
Zeke tugged on his scraggly beard. "You shot at Captain Thayer?"
"What was I supposed to do?" She slammed the coffeepot down on the spider over the coals. "Him and that big horse of his was bearing down on me. It was shoot or be trampled!"
"Ah, God, Maggie. They say Thayer can be a real bastard when he wants to be. I can't let you face him alone."
"You know the rules," she answered quietly. "You ought to. You gave 'em to me yourself. No man gives himself up. Not for a friend. Not for his own mother. It's the only way you boys have held on this long." She paused for a moment. "Now go on with you. I imagine the captain'll be here afore long."
"You're just gonna wait?"
"No, I'm not gonna just wait. I'm gonna make myself some breakfast. Been collectin' Myra's eggs. Got a little bacon. Might even scare up a little peach marmalade. I'd offer you a plate, too, but seein' as I might have company . . ." She shrugged, a silly smile on her face.
Zeke hung his head. War, it made people do things they never thought they'd do. "If they take you in, you hold tight. Don't give 'em any information."
"Information? What could I tell him? His shoe size? I don't know who was wearin' those flour sacks over their heads." She smiled. "Though I got some ideas."
"Just the same, you take care. The best is not to say anything. We won't let 'em hang you."
"You better not." She pointed a finger. "Now get out of my kitchen, Ezekial Josiah Barnes, before I kick you out."
Maggie watched him until he disappeared down the dark hallway, dragging his bad leg behind him, and then went back to her coffee-making. She was amazed to realize she suddenly felt weak in the knees. If they try to hang you . . . Zeke's words scared her to her bones. Sure, she could talk tough when she had to, but inside she was trembling. She didn't want to have to die for this cause, for any cause, but then who did? What you want to do and what you got to do is sometimes two different things, that's what her da always said.
While the coffee was brewing, Maggie made herself busy in the kitchen. She brought up her precious eggs and bacon from the cellar. She cut slices of bread from a loaf and placed them in a toasting spider. She added wood to the fire and hunted down a cast-iron skillet. Dawn was just beginning to break as she poured herself a cup of coffee and slid into a kitchen chair to sip the strong, fragrant brew.
Resting her chin in her hands, she stared out the front window at the open field. The storm had passed; the dawning sunlight cast a golden halo over the wet field. Every stalk of grass seemed to glimmer.
Then she saw him. The redcoat. Captain Thayer. He'd come for her.
Chapter Three
Maggie's first instinct was to run . . . to slip out the back door and sprint across the field, past the cemetery and on toward the bay. But where would she run to?
Instead of running, she sat at the kitchen table and calmly drank her coffee. She watched the captain ride through her field, up to the front porch, and dismount. It was funny how in the early-morning sunlight he looked like a prince out of a fairy-tale book with his clean white breeches and gold-piped scarlet coat. His face was as handsome as any man's she'd ever set eyes on, and his hair was like gold spun from a spinning wheel.
"Anyone here?" he called as he threaded his horse's reins through the hitching ring off the front porch.
Maggie sipped her coffee, making no reply. Her heart pounded, but it wasn't quite fear she felt in her chest. What was it? she wondered. Anticipation? The captain strode up her creaky porch steps, surveying the small farm. "I said, is anyone home?"
She lost sight of him, but she could hear him knock on the door. Finally it opened.
She listened, sipping her coffee as he walked into the parlor, called up the front steps, then cautiously came down the hall to the kitchen. His footsteps sounded hollowly in the rooms, seeming to echo their emptiness . . . her loneliness. When he reached the kitchen doorway, he stopped.
She turned until her eyes met his. For a moment their gazes locked. He had the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen. They were the color of heaven.
"So you are here." He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a casual stance. "Why didn't you run while you had the chance?"
"How did you find out where I lived?" She pushed away from the table, wood scraping wood, but remained seated. You're innocent until proven guilty, she thought to herself.
"The tavern."
His distinctly masculine voice sounded odd in her kitchen. She nodded. Lyla, the town whore, no doubt. The young girl was probably willing to provide information to turn a coin. "So what do you want?"
"Want?" He lifted a blond eyebrow. "You tried to shoot me last night. You were caught involved in criminal activities."
"Criminal activities?" she mimicked. "I fear I don't know what you're talking about, Captain. I was here all night."
"You fear?" He grinned incredulously. "You have any witnesses to say you were here all night?"
"No one but a single hen, a swayback horse, and a pack of hounds. I'm a widow." She drained her handleless china cup.
It was Grayson's turn to nod. "That's dangerous business you were a party to last night, Maggie. My superior officer is determined to catch that band of rebels. This is the third time they've stolen the bolts of cloth meant for his new coat."
"I didn't steal anything."
His gaze wandered to the stack of shoe leathers Zeke had left on her table. "Your haul?"
"My leather. I have to make a living."
"So you told me before."
"The last time the Hessians came through here they took my leather, my cow, and all of the chickens but for the one I hid under my bed." She got up and went to pour herself another cup of coffee. "They steal my leather and then they demand new boots. How am I supposed to sew boots with no leather?"
Grayson's easy smile fell from his face. "You make boots for us?" For some reason he was disappointed. Somehow he'd compared Maggie to his sister-in-law, who had been heavily involved in patriot activities in Philadelphia a few years back. He'd always admired her for her strength, her conviction.
"I make boots for whoever is willing to pay," Maggie responded cautiously.
He sighed. Of course she did. What else could he expect of a woman in her circumstances? Still he couldn't help thinking that everyone had to take a stand in their life . . . in this damned war. Either she was a loyal British citizen or one of the new breeds, an American. She couldn'
t be both. Selling boots to both sides made her a mercenary of sorts.
He watched her as she set a skillet over the coals. She dropped several strips of bacon into the pan and they sizzled, filling the cozy kitchen with a tantalizing aroma. His stomach growled with hunger.
He walked to the window and brushed his fingers over the filmy white curtains. "So what am I to do with you?"
"Do?" She dropped her apron over her head and tied the strings behind her back.
Grayson was mesmerized by her fiery waves of red curls and her haunting dark-brown eyes. Indian eyes, his grandmother always called them. "Yes, do. My duty is to seek out the rebels and bring them to justice."
"Rebels? What do the rebels have to do with a poor widow?" She turned her bacon. "I just don't understand what you're talking about."
He spun around, slamming his fist on the table. "Damn it, woman. This is no game! You could die for that stack of tanned leather."
Her face hardened. She didn't like being shouted at, and certainly not in her own kitchen! "So, are you going to arrest me or not?"
He jerked his hand off the table. What was it about this woman that irritated him and yet fascinated him at the same time? "Give me a reason not to."
"A reason?" Maggie's lower lip quivered involuntarily. She felt like a mouse cornered by a barn cat.
"Certainly. Just tell me why I shouldn't arrest you?"
She thought for a moment and then looked up at him through thick lashes. "Because I asked you not to," she dared softly.
"I want you to give me the names of the men who made you do it."
She laughed. "Made me? No one makes me do anything I don't want to do, Captain. I spent too many years playing that tune."
She was brave. Grayson had to give her that. Not many women would stand up to a man as imposing as he knew he could be. Slowly he came toward her.
She watched him.
"You'd have to give me your word you won't get involved again."
She shook her head. "If you're not going to arrest me, I want you to leave. Now." She didn't like him so close. He made her stomach flutter, her heart beat irregularly.
He stopped just in front of her and lifted a bit of hair off her shoulder, feeling its texture between his fingers. "I can't do this again. I get caught, I could be charged with treason. I find you involved with those rebels again, and you'll be turned in the same as anyone."
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 3