The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (26 page)

"And that looks like fresh
blood on it."
 
Murray raised his
voice.
 
"Joe, over here.
 
George, Fergus — cease work for now.
 
Pete, Raymond, Jeremy — get out there and
help the sentries.
 
Step lively.
 
Brown's Rangers are in the
neighborhood."

Betsy motioned Joshua and Tom to
join her.
 
Captain Murray drew up tall
and imposing before Joe MacCrae, whose lower lip took a sullen downturn during
his salute.
 
"Mr. MacCrae, this
woman says you murdered civilians with whom you had personal grievance and
disguised it as military action."

Joe feigned being flabbergasted and
gaped at Betsy.
 
"She said
that?"
 
He laughed.
 
"Captain, she's lying.
 
Did she also tell you some crazy story about
being a spy for the Continentals?
 
And
you believed that, too?"

"She isn't lying,
sir."
 
Tom stepped forward with
Joshua.
 
"All three of us watched
the MacCraes burn the Duffy family's house this afternoon and load them into that
wagon."

"Notice the blood stains on
the wagon, sir," said Joshua.

"MacCrae, you'll hang for
it."

"I don't think so."

Betsy heard the sound of muskets
being cocked and realized that MacCrae kinfolk had taken aim on them and the
non-MacCraes in the clearing.
 
Her palms
grew sweaty.
 
Murray scowled.
 
"This is treachery!"

"I ain't ending my life on a
rope."

A musket discharged from the
road.
 
Everyone heard the warning of a
sentry —"Rangers!"— before the sentry howled in agony.

"To arms, men!"

The issue of civilian murder tabled
for the moment, the MacCraes trained their muskets on the incoming trail while
the other men snatched their weapons.
 
Betsy, Tom, and Joshua rushed for their horses, but MacCraes blocked
their escape.

Everyone waited while seconds
spilled past.
 
The militiamen in the
clearing sweated and listened to sounds of the forest night and the sputtering
of torches.
 
"Rebels!"
 
Adam Neville's voice ended minutes of taut
nerves.
 
"You're surrounded.
 
Lay down your weapons.
 
We promise you quarter!"

"Quarter, hell!"
 
A MacCrae spat.
 
"Tarleton's Quarter!"

"No, men!
 
Listen to me, and do as he says!
 
I recognize his voice.
 
You'll be treated well.
 
Lay down your weapons."
 
The captain threw down his musket and
knife.
 
Other Whigs followed his
example, even the MacCraes, until the shush of muskets, fowlers, knives, and
tomahawks landing on pine straw had ceased.
 
Remembering that fanatic look in Adam Neville's eyes, Betsy couldn't
envision him granting quarter to Murray's party.
 
What made Murray think otherwise?

"The lady and her two companions
remain where they are, off to the side.
 
The rest of you walk to the center of the clearing.
 
Keep your hands where we can see them."

Murray's men shuffled like skittish
sheep past the firearms.
 
Rangers
emerged from cover, soundless wraiths, weapons ready.
 
They passed Betsy, Tom, and Joshua and hemmed in the Whigs.
 
"Be still, men."
 
Murray radiated calm and trust.

Joe sneered.
 
"Look at them sons of bitches.
 
Damn them."

"Keep your mouth shut,
MacCrae."
 
Murray smiled at Adam.

"I won't!
 
Damn you, Captain, you've sold us out!"

MacCrae dove for a discarded
musket, rolled to a crouch, and fired.
 
Four more Whigs dove through the rotten-egg stench of black powder smoke
for firearms.
 
One even managed to
discharge his before the Rangers opened fire and transformed the clearing into
a fusion of sulfur and scarlet slaughter.

Chapter Twenty

CLOAKED BY THE chaos, Joshua and
Tom hoisted Betsy astride into Lady May's saddle and thrust Lucas's musket into
one hand.
 
"Hold on!
 
Yee-aww!"
 
Tom slapped the mare's flank.
 
Joshua whizzed past on his gelding.
 
Betsy, clinging to musket and reins, guided Lady May after him toward
the road.
 
Branches swiped at her
face.
 
She bent low behind the mare's
neck to dodge them.

Betsy emerged on the road with Tom
bringing up the rear.
 
Joshua's horse
gave a nervous snort, and he stroked the beast's neck.
 
"Fly for Ninety Six!"
 
He sent his gelding galloping northward.

"Ninety Six?"
 
Betsy kicked the mare after him.

"That way they won't look for
us in Camden!"

Admiration for her uncle's
ingenuity overcame the fatigue locking her muscles.
 
For the next few minutes, she focused on encouraging and
maintaining Lady May's gallop.
 
The orb
of the moon, near full, painted their escape route silver and lent excellent
visibility ahead and behind.
 
However as
Betsy had feared that afternoon, the mare was too worn for flight.
 
Joshua and his mount pulled ahead, and Tom's
gelding inched past, and their lead over her increased.

Joshua threw a look over his
shoulder.
 
"Faster!"

"She's too tired!"
 
As Betsy spoke, she felt the mare's first
shudder.
 
She might have used the riding
crop to exact another quarter mile gallop from the poor beast, but after a
glance behind, she realized it wouldn't have helped.

Riders pursued them.
 
From the way they were bearing down, only a
rested Lady May might have outrun them.
 
Joshua and Tom continued to pull ahead of her.
 
Tears of frustration mingling with sweat stung her eyes.
 
Was the musket she'd seized loaded?
 
She flung another look behind to spot a
rider out in front closing on her, and she gritted her teeth.
 
By all the gods, she wouldn't let them
capture her easily.

Lady May continued to lose
speed.
 
Foam rose to her lips.
 
"Steady, girl.
 
This is going to be terribly loud."
 
Betsy cocked the musket and snatched another
look behind.
 
The Ranger out front had
eaten up the distance between them and was only about thirty feet behind
her.
 
"Good, my Lady.
 
Good girl."
 
The road ahead lay flat and even.
 
"Now's our chance.
 
Steady, there!"

Betsy twisted about, dragged up the
musket, and squeezed the trigger.
 
Holding it one-handed, she'd no strength to aim.
 
When the musket belched saffron fire, the
kick nearly flung her from the saddle.
 
Lady May neighed in fright and faltered.
 
Betsy regained control, her right shoulder knotted from the
recoil.
 
A grim smile stretched her
lips.
 
She'd heard the pursuing horse's
scream of agony, and she'd seen it collapse and fling the rider off.
 
One down.
 
How many were still back there?

Lather spewed off Lady May's mouth,
and her breathing grew labored.
 
Another
shudder wracked her.
 
Tom and Joshua had
reduced speed, realizing she was in trouble after hearing the musket.
 
Betsy flung another look over her
shoulder.
 
"Give me whatever you
can, girl!
 
Here comes another of those
Rangers."

Her musket grasped by the
still-warm barrel, she waited until she heard the breathing of both Ranger and
horse.
 
Peripheral vision furnished her
with correct timing.
 
The butt caught
the man on the jaw and knocked him clean off the saddle.
 
Even though the musket was yanked from her
hands in the process, she let out a whoop of primeval victory that would have
done her Creek grandfather proud.

Adam Neville was upon her seconds
later and received a taste of riding crop before falling back to reassess his
strategy.
 
When he bore down on her
again, he deftly hooked the crop from her hands with the butt of his
musket.
 
Her efforts at fighting him off
with her bare hands would have yielded doubtful results, but Lady May dropped
from gallop into canter, thus putting an end to Betsy's flight.

Rangers flew past to apprehend
Joshua and Tom, but Betsy's companions brought their own flight to an end upon
her capture and waited in the road to surrender.
 
Adam gripped her hands, and, controlling his own horse with his
knees, pried the reins from between her fingers and slowed their horses to a
walk.
 
"Madam."
 
He took a couple of deep breaths.
 
"I hereby arrest you and your
accomplices in the name of His Majesty King George the Third."

***

Exhaustion avalanched upon
Betsy.
 
The Rangers hauled her up on
Adam's horse, on pillion, took Lady May in tow, and headed back south, where
they met more Rangers and a caravan of riderless horses.
 
All Whigs who'd survived the original battle
now lay with their compatriots and enemies in the mass grave they'd spent the
afternoon digging.
 
No muss, no
fuss.
 
How convenient for Neville and
the Rangers.

They established camp with pines
and oaks shielding them from the road and lit no fire, picketing horses beneath
an oak.
 
Betsy sat on a blanket spread
by her uncle and stared at pairs of boots and moccasins traipsing back and
forth before her in the moonlight.
 
Tom
brought water and trail rations and fussed over her because she showed no interest
in either.
 
She'd been awake for almost
twenty-four hours.
 
Food wasn't what her
body craved.
 
Wild flight on horseback
couldn't be good for the baby.

Adam walked over, fists on
hips.
 
She glanced at him and restrained
her cockiness over the damage her riding crop had inflicted on his lower
lip.
 
The swelling was evident even by
moonlight.

"Why were you headed for
Ninety Six?"
 
His injured lip
fuzzed his speech.

"We were trying to escape
you."

"Don't waste my time."

"You're wasting your own
time.
 
You're within the law to hang
me.
 
There's room for my body in that
mass grave."

"Are you such a shrew with
Clark?"
 
She bit her lip and
squeezed her eyes shut.
 
Had Clark
escaped the assassin's knife?
 
"You
headed to Ninety Six to join your husband, didn't you?"
 
She opened her eyes and remained mute.
 
"Such devotion.
 
Misplaced, I assure you.
 
Haven't you wondered why he married
you?"

"He loves me."

"Perhaps, but he appreciates
your intelligence more.
 
He abhors
working with numbers, you see.
 
No other
young lady in Augusta had quite the bright mind or knack for the ledger that
you do.
 
Having you around means he
isn't bothered by the less appealing aspects of business."
 
Adam tilted his head in closer.
 
"And what a clever way to circumvent
paying your most valuable employee.
 
Marry her."
 
Betsy's exhaustion
didn't quite deflect his dart of doubt.
 
"If I were you, I'd think twice about blind devotion."
 
He pulled back to evaluate the effect of his
words.

Could Clark be that callous?
 
The trust between them was just rickety
enough to start teetering.
 
Her head
drooped, concealing her disillusionment.
 
"I don't know where my husband is.
 
Did you not read the letter I left for Sarah and Lucas?"

"Letter?
 
A good-bye letter for the O'Neals?"

Her heart sank.
 
He hadn't seen the letter.
 
"Yes."