The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2)

by Colleen French

  A dog barked, breaking Grayson from his thoughts. Realizing he had ridden into Billy Faulkner's barnyard, he dismounted and walked his horse to the hitching post. Several pairs of dark eyes peered from curtained windows as Grayson passed the farmhouse, but no one stepped outside. There were no sounds in the yard but the clucking and scratching of a few hens Grayson walked to the coral gate and leaned over. "Billy?"

  Billy Faulkner gave a grunt in reply. "You're late. You're not supposed to come late."

  Grayson leaned on the gate watching the small, powerful man lift straw with a pitchfork and toss it into a horse stall. "Got called in by Lawrence."

  "Trouble?" Billy was a man of few words, but he was sharp. He was one of the best contacts Grayson had had in the last seven years.

  "No. But we've got to watch our tails. I've been put in charge of rounding up the 'rebel scum' that's causing Lawrence all of the trouble. He's damned mad about those boys walking off with his coat cloth again."

  Billy slapped his knee. "Fast bunch they are. Good sense of humor, too. I hear they got women cuttin' up the major's cloth to make us some of them stars an' stripes flags our army's totin' these days."

  "You know who the men involved are?"

  Billy shook his head. "Got some idea. But they're real careful." He grinned. "They wear flour sacks over their heads."

  "I know," Grayson said dryly. "I've seen them in action."

  "But as for who they are, I'd say it's better I didn't know. I got children to protect. The less I know, the better. I'm just a messenger."

  "You're probably right. We're going to have to be very careful, more careful than we've been thus far. That pup Riker I was telling you about has been made Lawrence's private secretary. I think Riker's got it in for me. I had a little trouble with him over a woman the other night."

  "Women!" Billy leaned on his pitchfork and spat on the ground. "More trouble than they're worth, I'll vow."

  Grayson grinned as an image of a red-haired woman flashed through his mind. "Well, one good thing did come out of Lawrence calling me in. While I was in his tent I saw a map of the York River as well as the whole Chesapeake with ships drawn in. Ships that aren't there right now, Billy. There was a date, a proposed date for the engagement written across the top, but I couldn't read it."

  "You think you can get a look at the map? Word is that that there bay may be how we can beat these bloodybacks. General Washington's workin' out a deal with the French. Seems like they may have a few ships to send our way. A Frenchy by the name of de Grass-y is in the West Indies but may be headed our way.

  "Damn," Grayson breathed. "I'll be damned." He looked up at Billy. I'll get the map and sketch a copy."

  "It better be fast. We're sittin' on a keg of powder here, Thayer."

  "And we don't know which way it's going to blow, do we," Grayson finished.

  "That we don't."

  "So you got anything for me? Where's Lafayette and Wayne. I haven't seen hide nor hair of one of our men in two weeks."

  "Step inside." Billy swung open the gate. "And I'll fill you in. But it'll have to be fast. The wife's got goose on the table."

  "Women are nothing but trouble, eh?" Grayson teased as he stepped inside the corral and closed the gate behind him.

  Billy just grinned.

  Chapter Six

  "Evening to you, Carter," Maggie said as he stepped out of the pine trees and onto the road. "Where're you headed so late?"

  The light of the moon reflected off his face illuminating his amusement. "No doubt the same place you're headed," he said with a chuckle.

  "No doubt. Where's Mary think you've gone?" They walked along the road cut into the earth by years of passing footsteps and the roll of wagon wheels. In the distance Maggie could see the silhouette of a man headed in the same direction.

  Carter shrugged. "She doesn't ask. I don't tell her." He looked at Maggie. "But she knows."

  Maggie nodded. "I always liked Mary even if she did steal you away from me."

  Carter laughed. "We were twelve that summer."

  "I caught you kissin' her behind the schoolhouse," Maggie teased, brushing back a lock of hair. Though it was well after sundown, the heat of the day still rose up from the dry soil making her prickly with perspiration.

  "You told me right there and then that you weren't gonna marry me. 'Course I don't remember askin'."

  Maggie gave him a punch in the shoulder. "You're shamin' me. My da always said I was too bold. He swore no one would ever marry me and I'd shrivel up and die a barren spinster!"

  Maggie's laughter died away as she thought of how close to the truth her da had come. Here she was with Noah in his grave and no babe to cuddle at her breast and nurse with sweet milk. She couldn't help feeling saddened by the thought that she would never have children now. It left an ache inside her that kept her awake at night. But she'd been married once, she'd not make that mistake again. If dying childless was the price she had to pay, she'd just have to accept it.

  Carter and Maggie overtook the figure ahead, moving more slowly.

  "Papa!" Carter said with surprise. "What the hell are you doin' out here?"

  The old man thrust his cane out and kept walking. "Same as you, I'd expect, Son."

  "Papa, you don't belong out here."

  The old man stopped short on the dirt road and swung around to face his son. "You tellin' me I'm too old to fight for my land, for my grandchildren?"

  "Papa-"

  "Don't you Papa me! I fought the French and them Iroquois back in '55 and '56. I might be too old to enlist now, but I sure as hell ain't ready to lay down and die." The old man started forward again. Carter could do nothing but follow.

  "Papa, who told you about this meeting?"

  "Don't matter," he grunted. "What matters is I got the invite. That's all it takes and you know it."

  Maggie couldn't help but smile in the darkness. Harry Perkins was a tough old bird and she liked him.

  Carter swore. "First a woman, now an old man!"

  Maggie swung around. "I can't believe you of all people would say that! I'm as capable as you, Carter Perkins." She walked backward in front of him. "Mayhap a little more capable."

  "Why would you say that?" he asked, his face taut with irritation.

  "Because I got a way in and out of the Brits' camps. I'm free to come and go repairin' boots and takin' orders. What would happen if you walked into Lawrence's camp right now?"

  "They'd likely fill his tail full of lead shot," Harry offered as he walked off the road to cut through the woods toward the river.

  Carter scowled.

  "I got a way in and out," Maggie went on, "and I've got a friendly captain who just might be of some help to us, though he don't know it yet."

  "Whew! You're dangerous, girl," Harry said. "You just watch yourself. What these boys are doin' is babe games compared to what you're talkin' about."

  She patted Harry's withered arm. "Don't you worry about me. I'll not take on more than I can bear."

  Carter passed them as they reached the river. Ahead in the distance Maggie could see the outline of John Logan's tobacco house. Dim light filtered through the cracks in the walls that once allowed air to circulate around the drying tobacco. Since the war had begun, the barn had sat vacant.

  A man with a flintlock stood in the shadows of the barn. "Name," the soldier demanded, his identity obscured by the darkness.

  "Carter Perkins."

  "Step inside."

  "Name," the guard demanded of Harry.

  Harry straightened to his full height, expanding his chest with pride. "Harry Perkins, Captain, Virginia militia, French and Indian fuss."

  "It's an honor to meet ya, Capt'n Perkins. Go on in. They're waitin' on you."

  When Maggie stepped up to be admitted, the soldier waved his rifle. "Evenin', ma'am. They're waitin' on you, too. Leave it to a Virginian to bring a woman into something like this."

  Maggie only laughed. "Good even' to you," she said, bo
bbing her head as she slid open the door and stepped inside.

  A dozen men had gathered in the dim lanternlight of John Logan's tobacco house. Built a hundred years earlier by his grandfather, the barn was a story and a half tall with rafters looming high above Maggie's head. She could hear the soft coos of birds roosting in the eaves. Though there'd been no tobacco in the barn for nigh on five years, the pungent smell of Roanoak was thick in the air.

  All eyes turned to Maggie as she closed the door behind her. She suddenly felt self-conscious and found herself brushing out the wrinkles in her blue-tick skirting. Why are they staring? she wondered. I got every right to be here! And as she looked out at the men standing in a semicircle in front of her, as she began to make out the faces of friends and neighbors, she knew this was where she belonged more than anyplace in the world.

  Zeke appeared at her side and cleared his throat, summoning the other men's attention. "Friends, for those of you that don't know her, this here's Maggie Myers. She was the one who helped us intercept those wagons last week."

  When no one said anything, Maggie stepped forward, taking the initiative. "I know what a lot of you must think, me bein' a woman. You think you don't need me. You think it's dangerous for a woman to be doin' what you been doin'. But I want to tell you, it ain't no more dangerous for me than you. And me, I got no family, no husband, no babes. I'm probably a safer choice than most of you."

  There were several nods of agreement.

  "I think Maggie's right," said Pete Clendaniel, the blacksmith. "She did a damned fine job that night we took those wagons. There weren't no panic in that girl's eyes when the redcoats came bearing down on us. She drew that captain across the field, givin' us a chance to get away."

  "I don't know." Carter spoke up, his gaze flicking from Maggie to the men. "She's a woman, for Christ's sake!"

  Maggie turned to Carter. "I don't know what you're gettin' so fluffed up about, Carter. You never had a problem with me relayin' to you those things I heard in the camps."

  Carter looked away. "Ain't the same thing."

  John Logan patted Carter on the back. "Sure it is. Now, if no one's got any real objections, I say we accept Maggie Myers in as one of us. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," echoed Les Bennett.

  "Agreed," mumbled several more voices.

  "Good. And now there's Harry Perkins. Any of you who know Harry know why he's here," Zeke said.

  "Damned brave man," John said, offering Harry his hand. "Glad you can join us. Now if no one else's got anything to say on this matter, I say we move on to other business. We got exactly twenty-five minutes till the next bloodyback patrol rides by. I want you all scattered before then."

  John took a suck on the pipe clenched between his teeth. When the rebel band had formed nearly a year ago, John had just naturally taken the lead. The owner of a sprawling tobacco plantation bordering the river, he had given everything he owned for the cause of freedom. Where rows of tobacco had once grown, he grew corn and wheat for the Colonial army. In the pastures where blue-blood horses had once roamed, he raised livestock to feed the hungry soldiers that passed by. "Now," John said, "let's have any business at hand."

  Pete took a step forward. "I just wanted you all to know that I tried talkin' to Billy Faulkner and he just don't want any part of us."

  "You were careful how you approached him, weren't you?" John questioned.

  "Sure." Pete crossed his massive arms over his round belly. "I didn't come out and say it, but he knew what I was talkin' about and he asked me not to come botherin' him again."

  "Well enough." John nodded. "The best thing for us to do is to stay away from Billy Faulkner. He's never come right out and said he was a Tory, but you never know."

  "More business?"

  Maggie stood in silence, listening as the men discussed several subjects. She was amazed at how these poor country farmers and tradesmen like her da had so easily fallen into the role of aggressive, elusive fighters. They had contacts everywhere! They knew every ship that went up or down the York River. They kept careful track of overland shipments, escorting as many of their own as possible, always attempting to capture the Brits'.

  In no time, the meeting was adjourned and the men hurried into the darkness, scattering like copper coins hitting the floor. Just as Maggie went out the door, John Logan caught her arm.

  "Pleased to have you with us, Maggie.

  She smiled at him, knowing his words were genuine. "Thanks. You won't be disappointed in me."

  "I know I won't. Now you understand you'll not ride as one of the group, just as Harry won't. Your main job will to be keep your ears open in the British encampments and relay information to the group. You'll be called on occasion to join just as you joined us last week. Memorize the faces in the group you didn't know and remember that no one, and I mean no one, can be trusted but these men. Not uncles, not friends, not Jesus Christ himself."

  Maggie nodded.

  "Now what's this talk about Captain Thayer? Zeke says he's paying you some attention."

  The sound of Grayson's name brought a pitter-patter to her heart. "Not much to tell. He was nice to me. Got me out of a spot of bad luck with a bunch of lieutenants the other night."

  "You think this might be worth pursuing."

  She lifted her head to meet John's gaze. "I think I got to pursue it."

  John's eyes searched hers. "You be careful, Maggie. You take it slow. Spying is the quickest way I know to get hanged these days."

  She flashed him a grin. "Don't worry about me. I can handle one bloody redcoat."

  He patted her on the shoulder and leaned to blow out the lantern as he escorted her out the door "For some reason," he whispered in the darkness, "I've no doubt you can."

  The following morning, Maggie rose early, refreshed by a full night's sleep. She hadn't realized how exhausted she been until she hit the goose-down mattress of her parents' four-poster bed. But then she'd remembered that she hadn't slept a wink the previous night.

  She'd lain awake all night stretched out on Grayson's cot, listening to the sounds of the camp around her, listening to his soft breathing and later the sound of him sleeping. Through the darkness she'd studied the sleeping man, perplexed by him. What would make a man behave as Grayson had behaved? What kind of man wouldn't take advantage of a woman at his mercy. There was only one answer. A good man.

  Maggie couldn't help smiling as she slipped naked from the linen sheets and pulled her shift over her head. Sweeping a faded cotton blouse and a tattered homespun skirt off a chair, she dressed quickly. She wanted to get into her vegetable garden and do some weeding before it got too hot. Downstairs in the kitchen, she let the hounds out the back door like she did every morning and then grabbed a bucket to fetch water for coffee. Just as she reached the back door, she heard the horrendous bellowing of Roy and Honey.

  There was a stranger outside. The dogs never carried on like that when Zeke came. Picking up her rifle from the corner by the fireplace, Maggie backtracked, going out the front door.

  The minute she stepped out on the front porch, her face lit up with amusement. There, perched precariously on her fence at six-thirty in the morning, was Captain Thayer!

  Roy and Honey howled, racing in circles, snapping at Grayson's boots. "Down! Down!" he ordered, but the dogs just went wilder.

  Maggie broke into laughter as she leaned the rifle against the side of the house.

  "What the hell are you laughing about?" Grayson called, jerking his fancy French boot from Honey's jaws. "Call them off!"

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, enjoying the sight of the uniformed captain perched on the top rail of her fence, trying to keep his feet off the ground.

  "I brought you something," he shouted above Honey and Roy's bellows. "Now call off the dogs!"

  Maggie's gaze fell to the leather knapsack lying on the top porch step. It was her knapsack! He'd brought back the precious half-made shoes the soldiers had stolen from her the other night! And l
ying on top of the worn leather sack was a single long-stemmed wildflower.

  "Oh," she murmured, lifting the delicate blossom. In the heat of the summer, she didn't know where he'd found such a beautiful flower.

  Absently she called to Honey and Roy, and the dogs immediately backed off. She slapped her knee and they turned and came running. She had just let them into the house when she heard Grayson's footsteps on the porch.

  She turned to face him, the fragrant posy clutched in her hand. Suddenly she'd lost her voice. All she could do was look up at him with his meticulously pressed scarlet coat and his golden hair blowing in the warm morning breeze.

  Grayson's gaze met hers as she stared at him with wide dark-brown eyes. She was a picture of loveliness this morning with her hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders and her face still wearing the mask of sleep. Grayson's first impulse was to reach out to her, to draw her into his arms, and kiss her rosy lips. He wanted to sweep her up and lay her in the dewy grass where he could caress her full, rounded breasts and taste of her womanhood. But all he could do was return her gaze, the electricity between them all too evident in the hot, still morning air.

  Maggie was the first to look away. "Thank you," she whispered. "For my boots . . . and the flower." She lifted the blossom, inhaling its sweet fragrance.

  "You're welcome," he said awkwardly. Christ. I feel like a schoolboy at Eaton again, he thought. "I hope everything is still there. I . . . I also came by to ask if you'd . . ." He laughed at his own foolishness and began again. "What I wanted to know, Maggie, was if you'd honor me by accompanying me to a bull roast at Mason Pickney's plantation on Saturday."

  "Me?" She couldn't help smiling. Of course she couldn't go. Mason Pickney was a bloody Tory. She wouldn't be caught dead eating the man's roast, even if she hadn't had beef in nearly a year.

  "Why not?" He smiled roguishly. "It might be fun."

  "I . . . I don't think it's such a good idea." She twirled her flower by the stem.

  "Why?" he asked, his rich tenor voice reverberating in the air.

  "I don't know, I just . . ." She lifted her dark lashes. He made her warm in the pit of her stomach gazing at her like that. Why not? she asked herself. What better way to keep tabs on the Tories and the Brits but to be right in the center of them?