Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Mid-March, 1777

E dmond helped Tabitha out of the ferry boat that had just brought her across the Altamaha River about two weeks after their arrival at Fort Howe. He had swum their horses over and met her on the other side. The mounts now waited on the bank.

Tabitha looked back at the stockade as Edmond paid the ferryman. “I cannot believe I tended Lachlan McIntosh himself. And he was pleased with my care.”

The fifty-year-old general, brother of the man who had commanded Edmond’s troop last year and acknowledged head of the clan that had settled around Darien, as well as a tax collector, surveyor, and justice of the peace, held thousands of acres south of River’s Bend. ’Twas no wonder Tabitha had found his gallantries flattering. But now her glowing brown eyes swung to Edmond as if she sought his approval too.

He did approve. Tabitha had handled the fresh wave of wounded men—including their fearless general, who had been struck by a musket ball in the heel—with as much fortitude as the slave woman she’d again summoned from River’s Bend. She’d not even quailed at helping prepare for burial the twelve soldiers they lost defending the river crossing. But if he wanted to shield his heart, he couldn’t afford to show his admiration. Not when he’d just been consigned to helping her again, once again placing him in close proximity to her.

He’d thought after arranging the contract for her cattle, Tabitha would be taken care of. That at least the income would buy her enough time to make a plan to get back on her feet. Instead, rather than being promoted for taking down three Loyalists in the fray—including the officer proudly mounted on Maximus—Colonel Harris had assigned him to aid the widow in rounding up a dozen head of cattle to fill the soldiers’ bellies. At least Edmond had retrieved his horse.

The way his pulse raced as Tabitha laid her hand on his arm gave testament to the dangers of remaining close to her. Women weren’t to be trusted. And ever since she had revealed her unfortunate connection to the Jacksons, Edmond had been torn between a fierce urge to protect her and the desire to ride as far away as he could as fast as possible. The memories the mere mention of the Jackson name stirred made him sick. How could he embroil himself again with such wicked men?

“I cannot thank you enough for speaking to your colonel on my behalf.” Her lashes fluttered, and she looked away as if embarrassed by her own gratitude.

“I’m just thankful the new commander agreed to honor his predecessor’s commitment.” Lieutenant Colonel Harris had been relieved by Colonel Stirk with fifty of his men from the Second Georgia Battalion. While the British had retreated toward St. Augustine, an increased number of scouts would patrol the area south of the Altamaha for some time, making it possible for Tabitha to return home—and Cyrus and Edmond to round up some of her cattle. For which he was less than thankful. Why couldn’t Colonel Stirk have sent someone else?

Tabitha scanned his face. “But you would rather be with your men.”

How did she do that? He thought himself stoic, but she seemed to discern his every thought. He led her to their horses. “If it means helping you make a start here, I am happy to oblige.”

“A start that does not include Julian Jackson.” Her gaze fixed on him as he secured her stirrup and held out his hand. She took it.

“Yes.” He tightened his jaw and boosted her up, only releasing his breath once she was mounted. He swung onto Max, and they started down the Old Post Road. But he couldn’t let the subject go. “He has an ulterior motive, you know.”

“What?” She shot a glance over her shoulder.

“Julian. Everything he does is calculated. If your husband already sold his father the plantation and he did not leave you an income, what does Julian stand to gain?”

Tabitha huffed. “Me?”

Edmond gave his head a quick shake. “The man is a notorious womanizer. Why would he settle down with…” His voice trailed off as Tabitha’s scarlet countenance evidenced his blunder.

“A penniless widow half a dozen years his senior?”

“That was not what I was about to say.” And he never would have guessed she had passed thirty.

“But it was what you were thinking, was it not?” She tossed her head. “You must consider me a fool to boot. Of course, it already occurred to me that the Jacksons are playing some sort of long game…probably having to do with the land. Maybe they want the cattle. They have neither south of the river, after all.”

“I would never think you a fool.” Impetuous, perhaps. Headstrong, no doubt. But never a fool. “It sounds as though you have already discerned the focus of his motives. You must guard against giving him any leverage, Tabitha.”

“Yes, Sergeant .” Her narrowed eyes shot daggers at him, then she tapped her heels on Cora’s sides and trotted ahead.

Edmond released a heavy sigh and followed her onto a path through the woods. Words had always been his shortcoming—written, but even spoken ones. She could tie him up with her tongue and render him defenseless in about five seconds. He should have heeded his own inner voice of caution and refrained from expressing any concern for the feisty widow. He would find her cattle and leave her to her own devices.

Then why did he fight to urge to apologize all the way to her cabin?

A mulatto woman in linsey-woolsey clothing with a kerchief on her head came running from the porch as they rode up in the yard. Chickens scattered at their approach, some flying up into the nearby trees with a squawking and fluttering of russet wings. Tabitha swung down from her mare before Edmond could dismount to assist her. As he led Maximus closer, Tabitha and the young woman embraced with cries of greeting. Tabitha’s obvious affection for her servant softened Edmond’s resolution to remain detached.

“I’m so glad you are all right.” The woman held Tabitha’s arm. “I knew we should never have split up to cover both sides of that ridge.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. I was so worried until your mother told me you’d made it home.”

“And you got caught in a siege? Oh, Miss Tabitha!” The woman covered her mouth.

“All is well. Sergeant Lassiter here came to my rescue.” Tabitha turned to him as he led Maximus closer, but her manner was stiff, and her tone held an edge. “Rather unwillingly, as I recall.”

Edmond frowned. “You had my man at gunpoint.”

“So I did.” Tabitha chuckled.

“I think I’ve proved my trustworthiness since.” Was she that irritated by his questions about Julian that she would revisit the enmity of the day they met?

“And so you have.” She proceeded to explain to her servant, whose widened gaze swung between them. “Sergeant Lassiter has arranged a contract for us to supply beef to Fort Howe. He is here to help Cyrus round up a dozen cows. Edmond, this is Dulcie.”

Edmond lifted his hat. “Ma’am.”

Dulcie shook her head and cast a slightly censorious glance at Tabitha. “Sounds like the Lord’s provision to me.”

Edmond stiffened. She thought God had sent him to help them? Could the instinct to protect mean he was being given a second chance to prove himself?

“I knew you would say that. I’m not sure the sergeant agrees.” Dismissing both him and God, Tabitha glanced toward the cattle pen where a single wiry stallion nibbled grass on the other side of a split-rail fence. She spoke again before Edmond had a chance to respond. “Where is Cyrus?”

“Burning off some land he be clearing. He be back soon. Come in. I just set some squirrel stew to simmer.”

To Tabitha’s credit, she did not so much as wince.

Edmond took Cora’s reins. “I will see to the horses.”

Dulcie jerked her chin. “There’s a creek just past the house, if you want to water them.”

When Tabitha walked toward the cabin without acknowledging him, Edmond tugged the horses toward the water, his chest tight. Was Tabitha that offended over his comment about Julian, or did she feel just as ambiguous about relying on him as he did about being relied upon?

No, that wasn’t right. He did all in his power to convince his superiors, his men, and what remained of his family of his trustworthiness. It was his inexplicable connection to a woman that had him rattled. And not just any woman, but one who stirred him in unexpected ways. One he admired.

A woman Julian Jackson wanted.

He let the horses drink, then allowed them to forage along the banks. He could stand a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t risk a repeat of the past. He was right to guard his heart.

He sat on a fallen log in the sun and lowered his head into his hands, releasing a heavy breath. He’d just closed his eyes when the leaves rustled and a sharp pain shot through his ankle.

His eyes popping open, Edmond jerked and yelped. Then he leapt up—for slithering away into the saw palmettos was a two-foot-long gray-and-tan snake with segmented rattles on its tail.

“ T hat sergeant seems nice.” As she stirred the stew, Dulcie smirked over her shoulder at Tabitha. “And handsome.”

Tabitha had no call to notice—much less, remark on—Edmond Lassiter’s appearance. The way the sunlight struck the red in his hair and the amber tints in his brown eyes. Those laugh lines beside his mouth. His broad shoulders, trim hips, long legs. Indeed, none of that. If marriage to her father’s peer had not taught her to pay no heed to younger men, Edmond’s disbelief over Julian’s interest in her should.

Tabitha sniffed as she placed several clay mugs on the rough pine table and began to fill each with cider from a pitcher Dulcie had given her. “He is only here because his colonel ordered him to be. Once he gets shed of his duty to us, he’ll be gone.”

She’d known from the first that duty and chivalry motivated Edmond’s protectiveness. But after they had faced down the Loyalists together, she thought she’d glimpsed genuine admiration in his eyes. She had dared to assume his intervention for the beef contract arose out of personal regard, but Edmond’s reserve this morning even in the face of her gratitude had revealed where his true motives lay. He’d clearly resented being saddled with her. And the moment she grasped that, she’d chided herself for her error in trusting him.

“Do not be so sure of that.” Leaving the ladle in the pot, Dulcie went to fetch a stack of wooden bowls from the sideboard. “I see the way he looks at you. And if he be the way the Good Lord intends to provide?—”

“How does he look at me?” Tabitha hastened over to take the bowls—all but one, which Dulcie kept to fill with stew.

“When you walked away from him earlier? Like a lost puppy.” She chuckled and handed Tabitha the serving.

That couldn’t be right. Dulcie must have mistaken regret for yearning.

“I jus’ wish I could remember why his name sounds so familiar.” A dimple of concentration tucked into Dulcie’s smooth cheek.

“Perhaps you have met him before.” On her comings and goings across the river, ’twouldn’t be so unusual.

Dulcie shook her head. “No, but his last name…it seems I have heard it. But I cannot recall…”

The door banged open, and Tabitha almost dropped the stew.

Edmond braced himself on either side of the frame, his face ashen.

Her heart nearly stopped. “Loyalists?” It was all she could do to transfer the bowl to the board.

“Pygmy rattler.”

“What?” The word whistled from her constricting throat.

“Where?” Dulcie beat her to the sergeant’s side, supporting him as he stumbled forward. She helped him to the bench, where he collapsed and extended his left leg.

“My ankle.” He reached for the black leather gaiter buckled over his stockings between shoe and breeches but quickly sat up again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“He is going to be sick.” Dulcie snatched a platter from the table, brushing off the cornbread that had been on it, and held it out in front of Edmond.

He leaned forward and heaved, but only thin juices came up. He groaned.

Dulcie put her hand on his head. “We need to get that gaiter off, Miss Tabitha.”

Jerking into motion, Tabitha knelt before Edmond and unbuckled the leather wrap. It fell away to reveal a spot of blood soaking his stocking between the boney protrusion and the tendon that ran up the back of his leg. She removed Edmond’s heavy leather shoe and let it drop before rolling down his stocking. When he sucked in his breath, she removed the woolen garment as gently as possible. Casting it away, she studied his discolored skin.

“I see but one mark. And his ankle is swelling.”

Dulcie had put aside the trencher and now moved over to the sideboard. “Good thing he had the extra covering. It may be that saves him.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Edmond’s wry comment might have elicited a smile under different circumstances.

“And that is where we want to keep you.” Tabitha intended no double meaning, but if he assumed one, she would hardly pause now to correct him. She took his heel onto her knee and looked up at the servant, who returned with a wet cloth. “What do we do?”

“First, we wash it.” She bent toward Edmond, but Tabitha extended her hand.

“Let me do that.” He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her. The least she could do was tend his wound with as much care as she’d given the soldiers at the fort. Dulcie passed her the cool cloth, and Tabitha held it over the swollen flesh, wincing as Edmond stiffened. “Sorry.”

“You have to cut it.” His tight voice drew her alarmed gaze upward. “Let the poison out.”

“No.” Dulcie’s sharp retort made them both startle.

Edmond glared at her. “’Tis what a soldier said who got bitten by a cottonmouth.”

She shook her head. “My mother doesn’t hold with that. She has herbs for snakebites the Creek people used.”

The muscles in Edmond’s neck strained. His knuckles whitened on the bench. “The venom has to be bled out.”

“A poultice is your only chance. A man might not die from the bite of a pygmy rattler, but you could lose your foot. Maybe part of your leg.” Dulcie’s gaze swung to Tabitha, who had frozen in cold horror at her words. This was the world she’d been dropped into from her coddled perch high in society—one of lethal enemies and venomous serpents. Where one must be on daily alert merely to survive. “I will ride for the medicine.”

“You can hardly sit a horse, much less swim one across the river. And there are so many soldiers in the area and no telling how they would treat you. They will leave me alone.” Tabitha got to her feet, handing the cloth to Dulcie. “If I need to, I can tell them who I am.” Or who she had been.

Edmond’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist. “No. You cannot go.” The statement was no less forceful for its wheeziness. He was shaking, and perspiration popped out on his forehead.

Tabitha drew her lower lip up. He worried about her encountering the Jacksons. Gently, she pried his fingers from her flesh. “’Twill be fine. I will be in and out so quickly no one but Annabelle will know I was there.”