Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T he clink of metal and splashing of water alerted Edmond to vacate the narrow game trail that led to a shallow section of the Satilla several miles above Fort McIntosh. Someone was approaching from the south—by the sound of it, many someones.

He and Dougal had dismounted so they could confirm the cattle Captain Winn had them tracking had indeed crossed the river here. When Edmond requested transfer to Fort Howe, the commander bid him complete the last labors on the new stockade. Just as they finished a couple days later, a scout brought back news of several Indians lifting cattle north of the fort. Winn had sent Edmond, Dougal, and Privates Shelton and Bailey to investigate before releasing them. They had split up this afternoon to cover more ground.

Now, there was no way they could mount fast enough to canter north on the narrow trail. Instead, he pivoted to gesture to Dougal, waving him toward the opposite side of the path. They needed to plunge as far into the forest as possible before whomever it was passed. If only it were a month hence, the foliage and underbrush might provide better cover. At least the light was almost spent.

Edmond led his stallion, Maximus, behind a massive red cedar about fifty yards off the trail. He smoothed the horse’s brown muzzle with its white stripe, shushing the animal as voices carried from this side of the Satilla. Edmond reached into the saddlebag for a handful of oats and held them under the stallion’s nose. Hot horse breath and velvety lips skimmed his palm. Meanwhile, Edmond peered around the trunk.

Through the trees, he had enough of a view to count the number of horsemen slipping through the shadows. The riders wore the same type of hunting shirts, cocked hats, and breeches that the Patriots did, neither side having developed a standard uniform to date, but there was nothing else familiar about the twenty men who rode past. British-allied Florida Rangers, then, as he’d suspected since he knew of no Patriot companies dispatched south. And more than a larger company than would be required to thieve cattle. A raiding party, bound for plantations on the Altamaha?

“No campfire tonight.” The comment from the man at the tail end of the group made to the comrade who traveled before him reached Edmond’s ears. Apparently, the ranger felt himself far enough away from any officer to verbalize his thoughts. “I’m starving. How far to the savanna where we bivouac?”

The man ahead of him turned and hissed a warning.

Edmond knew the clearing he spoke of, which was about a half mile farther along the trail. If the soldiers were passing the night so close to Fort McIntosh, it likely meant their plans involved its capture.

Edmond had to find Dougal…and fast.

He waited a good ten minutes after the rangers left to make certain no scout followed them. Then he eased across the path and plunged into the ever-darkening woods on the other side. He expected to find the private hunkered down roughly the same distance from the trail he had, but no one was in sight.

He chanced a loud whisper. “Dougal?”

A whip-poor-will gave its mournful cry.

Edmond rustled through the palmettos as quietly as possible, then followed some trampled underbrush back toward the river. At last, near the bank about twenty yards distant, a flash of Dougal’s beige hunting shirt prompted Edmond to let out a soft breath of relief. The man’s horse was tied a little distance away, and his back was turned. Was he relieving himself? No. He seemed to be wrestling with something.

A mournful lowing brought Edmond’s feet to a halt. A cow?

Yes. A boney brown-and-white steer had its horns stuck in a privet hedge, and Dougal was attempting to free it.

Edmond had just started forward again when a figure in a baggy coat, a floppy hat, and knee breeches stepped out from a pine right behind Dougal. The boy—for boy he must be, given his diminutive size—raised his arm, a pistol extended. Edmond’s inhale froze in his throat. He mustn’t make a sound. And no shots must be fired, lest they summon the Florida rangers. But Edmond had to gain the advantage, even if he did not plan to shoot. He dropped Maximus’s reins and reached for his own dragoon pistol as the boy spoke.

“’Tis my family brand on that steer.”

Dougal wheeled around, his hands shooting into the air.

“I will thank you to let him go.” The slight tremor in the youth’s voice betrayed his bravado.

“I’m only tryin’ to get him free. See?” Douglas gestured ever so slightly toward the bovine in question. “Then ye can have him.”

“How do I know you are not the one who stole him?”

“I—I’m a Georgia Continental. We do not…” His wide gaze slid to Edmond as Edmond brought his pistol up.

The boy whirled, and Dougal sprang into action, tackling him before he could train his weapon on Edmond. The boy grunted as Dougal’s substantial barrel chest pinned his legs. The pistol flew through the air and skidded past Edmond into the underbrush. He ran for it at the same time their feisty opponent wriggled out from under Dougal and scrambled for his pistol.

“Don’t.” Edmond cocked his weapon.

The boy looked up at the same time Dougal seized him from behind, jerking him back. The floppy hat fell off, and long, dark hair tumbled down.

“What in the…?”

The rush of blood in Edmond’s ears nearly drowned out his private’s exclamation. A woman? Indeed, for the hair that escaped from the remnants of a bun framed a face far too dainty to belong to even a boy. Pink splotches marked high cheekbones. Thick black lashes studded the edges of wide brown eyes rich as chocolate. It was all Edmond could do to keep his pistol pointed at her as he said with far more firmness than he felt, “Get up. Hands in the air.”

She braced herself on the ground with one hand while she did so, the other hand raised. As soon as she stood erect, her chest heaving while little puffs of breath escaped her rosy lips, she lifted the other. She met his eyes. “If you are who you say you are, you will not hold a lady at gunpoint.”

“That lady just held us at gunpoint.” Edmond stood stock still while Dougal retrieved this… woman’s weapon. She was beautiful, there was no doubt, but no youthful innocent. Older than he, and despite her homespun masculine clothing, possessing the delicate look of an aristocrat.

His chest tightened. He’d yet to meet a member of the upper class he’d consider a comrade, whatever side they were on. “What are you doing here?”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “I was attempting to retrieve my h—my cattle. Ten head were stolen from our land on the Altamaha. This is the only one I found.” She tipped her head toward the sinewy steer, which had broken free during their confrontation.

As if to punctuate her statement, the beast snapped off a small shoot from a black walnut tree and munched.

“You tracked them all that way by yourself?” Edmond did not even attempt to relieve his tone of its incredulity.

Her lips flattened into a thin line. “No. I had two servants with me, but we got separated in the swamp.” She paused and took a quick breath, a flash of emotion narrowing her eyes. Fear? She must’ve been terrified. “Then I found this game trail. I figured it might lead to water, so I followed it. And saw the prints.”

She showed common sense, at least. “Right. Well, the cattle are long gone.”

Some of them might’ve victualed those Loyalist troops right before they crossed the river, though ’twas probably best they did not alarm this woman by saying so. If she was the sort that anything could alarm. What kind of lady took off through the wilderness after cattle with only two servants at hand? A tight-fisted aristocrat, that was who—one determined not to yield even a single steer. Foolish. And brave. Yes. But probably not a threat to him.

Edmond uncocked his weapon and stashed it in his belt. “Dark is fast falling.” What was he to do with her?

“Best to take her straightaway to the fort.” Dougal’s meaningful look revealed that he’d also gotten a gander at the Floridians.

The woman turned on him. “I shan’t go to any fort. I must find my servants before dark. If you truly wish to be helpful, you could assist me. If we spread out and call them?—”

“No!” Edmond and Dougal said in unison.

She looked between them, the little space between her slender dark brows dimpling. “Why not?”

Edmond rolled his tight shoulders. “Because doing so would also summon the East Florida Rangers, who are now setting camp north of here.”

She sucked in a soft breath. As a sibilant whisper of a breeze slid past them, chill with the damp of the river, a visible tremor passed through her. “But then, how are we to get home?”

“You shan’t, tonight.”

Her gaze narrowed. “With soldiers that close, you had no intention of shooting me.” She pivoted to face Dougal and held her hand out. “Give me my gun.”

Dougal tucked it against his side, but his eyes sought Edmond’s.

“Pardon, ma’am,” Edmond said, “but we still have no idea who you are. Methinks it best Private O’Connor holds onto it for now.”

Dougal slid the extra pistol into his belt.

“For heaven’s sake.” She let her arms hit her sides and swiveled back to him. “Does it matter who I am? I am a lady lost in the wilderness with an unknown number of Florida Rangers between me and home. And you will not even return my pistol so I can defend myself? What are you going to do, leave me here alone?”

“No, ma’am.” Dougal was right. There was but one thing to do. Edmond spoke over his shoulder as he strode to fetch Max’s reins. “We will take you to Fort McIntosh.”

“But I cannot leave my servants out here. What if they stumble into the Loyalists’ camp?” The thickening of her voice indicated the threat of tears—and compassion that slowed Edmond’s steps. “Please, I must warn them.”

His heart squeezed, and he turned back to consider her request.

Then she added, “They are all I have.”

They were all she had? Just as he’d anticipated, she cared more for her own preservation than for that of anyone beneath her. The servants— slaves , no doubt—would be better off without her. Maybe they could take the opportunity to flee to Florida themselves, as so many others of their kind had done, finding refuge among the Seminoles.

Edmond spoke through stiff lips. “Then you should pray they hunker down for the night. We head for McIntosh. ’Tis more important the soldiers be warned than your slaves.”

“They are not…” The woman raised her knuckles to her lips, stifling a small sob.

“Pray dinna fash yerself, milady.” Dougal took a hesitant step in her direction, daring to touch her sleeve. “All will be well. Ye shall see.”

She cast him an entreating look. “What of the cow?”

The lanky steer rooted among the cordgrass, tail peacefully swinging. Dougal stifled a little bark of a laugh.

Edmond released a disbelieving huff. “We are not herding that cow to the fort.” He caught up Max’s reins and led the horse forward.

Her jaw firmed. “And I am not getting on that horse. I do not even know your name, sir.”

“Sergeant Edmond Lassiter, Georgia Regiment of Horse Rangers.” He wouldn’t ask her name. Once he delivered this woman to Fort McIntosh, Captain Winn could contend with her. She was no concern of his. “And no, we shan’t be mounting up. We will lead the horses through the woods as quietly as possible.” In case they needed to take rapid cover. The inconvenient presence of this foolish female made confronting any patrols ill-advised. But Edmond wouldn’t let her prevent him from warning the fort.

The woman sniffed. “I have my own horse. My mare is tied just over the ridge.” She tilted her head.

“Then go fetch her.” Had Edmond succeeded in keeping the exasperation from his voice?

Judging by the way the lady stalked off, probably not.

Maybe she would mount up and ride away. ’Twould be a relief if she did.

But she returned a moment later leading a pretty bay mare.

Dougal retrieved his horse from the pine where he’d tethered him, and they set off following the river. Their unwanted guest made little sniffling sounds that Edmond had to restrain himself from shushing. What had she expected, striking off into contested land between two armies? A pleasure jaunt through the woods?

Roughly a quarter hour into their trek, a sneeze from ahead froze Edmond in his tracks. He flung out his arm, signaling those following him to halt.

When Dougal edged up next to him, Edmond handed him Max’s reins and held up a finger. Then he crept a few feet forward, keeping to the cover of a spreading waxy-leaved magnolia. The land undulated downward to the Old Post Road. Every few feet in the dip before him, a man lay wrapped in his coat, rifle at hand.

They were too late to warn the fort. The enemy already had it surrounded.