Angel's Flight (17 page)

As she let her legs over the edge, she began to slide. Choking off a scream, Angelica spilled over the edge and dropped into the darkness. As she fell, she prayed she was where she was supposed to be, over the pile of moldy hay the careless reivers had left heaped up by the cabin.

She landed with a dusty scattering thud, tumbling backwards. For a moment she lay there, gasping for breath, feeling an all over chorus of tingles and shocks.

From the cabin came a shout of laughter, but this seemed unconnected with her fall. Almost at once Jack’s breath came warm against her ear.

“Are you all right?” he whispered. “Can you walk?”

“In a minute,” she whispered back, sitting up and rubbing the ankle that seemed to have taken the worst of it.

A chilly gust began a watery patter in the forest. Angelica shivered as he handed her the shoes. As she put them on, across the
way, the door to the cook shed swung open. Light filled the street.

“Let’s go,” Jack said, pulling her. As if he had cat’s eyes, he walked her to the back of the cabin. From there they continued directly into the dripping, weedy darkness.

“Slowly,” he whispered. “Slowly.”

They tried not to step on anything that would crack. As they moved away from the covering sounds of the outlaw camp, the springtime chorus of peepers grew deafening.

Near the edge of the clearing, Jack directed her gaze. About halfway up a tree, she saw the muffled gleam of a lantern. Only a few steps farther, the light winked out. Angelica understood they had just passed the sight line of a sentry.

Jack squeezed her fingers to steady her nerves. They continued on, testing every step, bending branches out of their way and carefully letting them go behind.

Wind rose softly, a fresh sigh from the north. As they reached the trees, they noticed a distant glow. A late rising moon pierced thinning clouds. At last they came to the wide, broken trunk of an ancient oak.

“There are guards on either side of us here, but at equal distance,” Jack murmured. “They aren’t likely to spot us here.”

Inside the rotting bole, the fresh green smells of the forest were overwhelmed by something rank and musty. “Possums,” Jack whispered, propelling her in. “But they’ll be out now, gone for their evening stroll.”

After they were both inside, they sat, huddled within their cloaks. No alarm came from the camp.

Suddenly concerned, Angelica slipped her fingers into the pocket and fumbled amid the wad of fabric. Did I lose my scissors in the fall?

She found them at once, the curving metal neck cool to the touch. The single, precious needle made it presence known with a sharp stab.

Satisfaction smothered the ouch, and Angelica removed her fingers from the pocket. The injured one she put into her mouth and sucked until she tasted blood.

She would find it amazing later, but despite the stiffness and chill in every limb, she actually dozed for a while, huddled inside that moldy place. Security, even here, could be found within the strong circle of Jack’s arms.

Memories of her frontier childhood came like a flash in the pan. Angelica rushed into a terrified consciousness.

She’d heard it on Schoharie, recognized it: a repeating whistle! It was sweet and familiar.

Sometimes, it is an ordinary spring bird singing an ordinary spring song. Sometimes, it isn’t...

Beside her, Jack was already on his feet.

“They’re here,” he said.

Chapter Thirteen

The
s
S
addlebag house in which they’d made love was a charred and smoking ruin. Bodies were being dragged from where they had fallen and laid out in rows. The soul-rending sound of keening came from the dog trot house where the women and children had been herded.

“Colonel Jack Church, at your service,” the man beside her said to the officer in charge. He saluted briskly.

In the light of a cloud chasing dawn, Angelica stood in her smudged and wrinkled dress, and rubbed her eyes. They smarted fiercely from the drifting, acrid smoke.

“And this lady?” asked the officer who had commanded the raid and before whom they now stood.

“This lady is under my protection,” Jack said. “We were captured on our way to Newburgh.”

“Not rebels, are you?” The officer asked, his features assuming an expression of distaste at just the word.

“No, sir. I am Colonel John Church, under orders to Brigadier General Saint Leger.”

Angelica blinked, stared up at Jack. He did not meet her eyes, simply held her arm more tightly.

Under orders? Saint Leger? The British commander who, with help from the Tory militia and Indians, was even now ravaging the New York frontier?

“I think it best, sir, if we talk privately,” Jack said. “I’m hoping you can help me, Major Campbell. The lady’s peril has delayed me.”

Producing a knife from his boot, he slit the hem of his jacket. First, a square of oilcloth appeared. Out of this, Jack unfolded a paper with seals.

The sparse eyebrows of the major raised as Jack handed these over. After a quick survey, he cleared his throat.

“Well! Ah, Colonel, just as you say, we’d better have a private talk.” He gestured to the shed where his men had set a camp table.

Now Jack turned his gaze to Angelica. “Please wait here, ma’am,” he said.

Her mind reeled, but somehow she found the words to reply.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “From now on, I will know exactly what is going on.”

“It’ll be safer if you don’t.”

“No!” Angelica retorted. Angrily, she seized his arm.

“Well, perhaps, as you’re going to have to continue traveling with me,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “At least until I can get you to your uncle.”

Angelica could find no words to reply. She was struggling with her composure, shaking as if she’d been struck by a fist.

Bad enough to have married a Tory, but now Jack had revealed himself as an acting officer! Worse—he was traveling in civilian clothes, which meant he must be th
at
e
lowest, most despicable of all living creatures—a spy! As she clung to his arm, another stomach-turning thought struck.

Had marriage simply been part of his cover?

It did not help matters when Jack flashed a smile of dazzling playfulness her way before turning back to Major Campbell. “Sir,” he said. “Allow me to introduce Miss TenBroeck.”

“TenBroeck?” Campbell was now sharply interested. “Aren’t all
the TenBroecks—”

“Patriots, sir,” Angelica completed his sentence proudly, and not as the colonel had intended.

Campbell raised an eyebrow. “Not the wisest thing to admit in present company, miss,” he said. “However, rest assured, I shall not make war upon you.”

“Which will make you unique in my experience of British officers.”

“She is a most outspoken lady,” Jack observed. “Actually, Major Campbell, I’ve made the most unforgivable error in my introduction. This lady has just become Mrs. Church. Only a night ago, in order to keep her out of trouble with these rogues, I had to marry her.”

Campbell, who’d been admiring Angelica, now gave a bark, a noise, which with him, probably passed for a laugh.

“Well, Colonel Church,” he replied, his expression swiftly changing to one of shrewd approval. “I cannot imagine that was exactly a hardship.”

Pushed beyond endurance, Angelica tore at the wedding band. She was further humiliated when it wouldn’t come off.

“You are no gentleman!” she shouted at Jack. “Every other word—No!—every word you’ve said to me has proved a damnable lie.”

“That’s the trouble with these provincials,” Campbell remarked with a dry chuckle. “No matter how much we do for them, they show no gratitude.”

“I will never be wife to a damned lobsterback.”

She began to whirl away, but Jack caught her by an arm and harshly jerked her back. It was frightening to feel, for the first time, his strength turned against her, but her fury knew neither bounds nor fear. As hard as she could, she slapped him, right across his square jaw.

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“As you well know, madame, you are, in fact, my wife,” he said.

He’d taken the blow as if he’d deserved it, but even as he spoke, he seized her by the wrists and pulled her roughly against him. The eyes meeting hers had become as cold and hard as January ice.

“And, as I’m sure you remember,” he added, enunciating the words carefully, “we are bedded as well as wedded.”

On every side, Angelica saw grins and elbowing. Rage spouted through every fiber, like fire through a straw roof.

This man had rescued her from the contemptible Major Armistead—but only, it seemed, for his own low purposes. She spat with all the force she could summon.

Jack let go of one of her wrists. With the newly freed hand, he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, apparently as unconcerned as if the offending wetness had fallen out of the sky.

“I believe we are about to play a few acts of The Taming of the Shrew,” he remarked, sending a wink toward the colonel.

Campbell, failing at suppressing a grin, cleared his throat. “Your wife’s family lives by Esopus Kill?”

“Yes, they do,” Jack replied. “My mother owns a neighboring property.”

Although only held by one hand now, Angelica stood quite still. The fight had simply drained away. Suddenly, she felt dizzy, sick, and almost blind. She had been amused by Jack’s ability to play a part, to seem to be anything in order to get his way, but now...

What have I been but a pretty addition to a British spy’s civilian disguise? And, almost incidentally, an heiress fallen prey to a fortune-hunting younger son!

It made her want to sink to the ground, to break into helpless tears. She called upon every inner resource, refused to give in to the shame she felt. Lifting her chin, she attempted to blink away the tears already filling her eyes.

Conversation continued between the two officers. “I’ll send a
rider out,” Campbell was saying. “Perhaps we can spare their property when the punitive expedition comes up river. General Howe has taken an oath that every rebel house and barn between here and Albany shall burn before the snow flies.”

“When do they start?”

“Soon. We’ve fired the American stores at Peekskill and broken the boom and chain at Anthony’s Nose. Putnam is in retreat from West Point, fled back into the mountains. I believe a brisk application of His Majesty’s justice will soon bring these fools to heel.”

The wind shifted and smoke billowed around them. On every side were redcoats, green-coated Tory militia and a contingent of outlandishly dressed Hessians, all in motion around the remaining houses of the Clove.

Stonily, Angelica fixed her gaze upon the crows rowed upon the roof of the dog trot house. Every few minutes they called and another pair came flying in. There was quite a line of them now, staring down in an interested way at the bodies in the street.

This wicked, landless blueblood had taken his time, but in the end, he has achieved exactly what he must have been planning all along. My surrender!

“I thank you for any assistance you can provide, major,” Jack was saying. He began to put his arm around her waist to guide her away, but Angelica pushed him and cried, “Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me!”

Jack shook his head in exasperation. “Come along,” he said, tugging. This was no lover, but a father demanding obedience from a temperamental child.

“Do I have any choice?”

“Not unless you wish to become Major Campbell’s hostage. If not, please do as I say.”

Angelica did not attempt to run, but she refused to look at him. Her mind was working furiously.

Perhaps, if we ride through Newburgh, I can escape to my kinfolk who live there.

“We can only offer you one horse, Colonel Church,” Campbell said.

“Any mount you can let me will be much appreciated, colonel,” Jack replied. “But I would particularly like to have that big bay. I brought him with me from England. We’ve been on the King’s business in all over the world.”

“That tall, bonny bay gelding?”

“That’s the one.”

“Damn. That’s too bad, for I need a mount,” Campbell complained. “And you’ve just confessed that he’s a veteran and not likely to shy at gunfire.”

“Well, if you want him, major, of course, you may have him, but I warn you, he’s pushing thirteen.”

“Indeed? Doesn’t look a day over nine.” With a shrewd look, Campbell slapped Jack on the back and let out another of his mirthless barking laughs. “Well, if you say he’s yours, take him. There are other good horses here.”

Captured weapons were inspected. Jack retrieved his fine pistols from the stiffening body of M’Bain. The bearskin pistol buckets were discovered, too. His sword appeared in a cache of weapons stored in a cellar. Tack, too, had to be sorted out. Although their broad sheepskin covered saddle was easy to locate, Hal’s bridle had disappeared.

While this was going on, Angelica sat on a stump beside the makeshift headquarters and tried not to look at the long, makeshift gibbet. Some of the feet that dangled, only inches from the ground, still twitched.

Military justice had been swift. Every captured male reiver had been summarily hung.

Although a few of the bandits had escaped, most of the women, encumbered by small children, had not. Jack asked for clemency for them, especially for Ima Graham.

“A pregnant redhead with a small child,” he explained. “She helped us while we were captives.”

“Well,” said Campbell, “the reverend over there asks the same thing. Your Ima Graham must be a decent sort lost to bad company.”

Major Campbell nodded at Witherspoon, who was sitting, slumped and coughing, under a tree. The reverend had been inside the saddlebag house when it was fired, and he’d swallowed a lot of smoke. He had survived the ordeal, but he was not well enough to travel right away.

“As I’m sure you understand, Colonel Church,” Campbell said, “the soldiers could do with some women. It causes less trouble taking this kind along than if the boys get restless and take turns with some farmer’s wife they catch along the way.”

“I understand, but I’m asking that you keep this woman safe. She’s given good service to the crown already,” Jack said.

As he spoke, Jack grinned and took Campbell companionably by the shoulder. Angelica, who’d been following their conversation, thought that if she’d had a set of pistols in hand she would have cheerfully blown off their heads, one right after the other.

“Well, if it pleases you, I’ll keep your Ima Graham here,” the major replied, “where I can personally see that she comes to no harm. I’ll have to garrison this place to hold it and we’ll need women about the camp for laundry and cooking.
”

“As for the others,” he went on, “you must agree that sending them down to the army is better than turning them off with young children onto the country.”

Campbell was obviously surprised by what he saw as an indication of sentimentality in such an unlikely place, a hardened combat veteran exactly like himself.

“Be assured, Colonel Church, it shall be as you wish. Your chat with our scout the other day made taking this place easy. Not to mention that bullet you put into their leader. That just took the heart out of them.”

“Thank you,” Jack replied. “Give me your hand on it, then, sir, that red-headed Ima Graham won’t be forced or harmed in any way.”

“As long as she stays with me, it shall be as you wish,” Campbell promised.

Jack went to speak to Reverend Witherspoon about Major Campbell’s promise and to say good-bye. Angelica continued sitting on the stump, trying hard not to look at the gibbet with its awful load.

Not much later Jack’s hands—hands that had pushed her through circle after circle of ecstasy—were firm upon her waist as he boosted her onto Hal.

In a tender voice, he said, “We’ll go now, my brave heart.” There was the creak of leather as he swung up behind. “I’ve promised to get you home and I will.”

Once settled in the saddle, he added firmly, “It may be well yet between thee and me, Angelica TenBroeck.”

“That, sir,” she countered fiercely, “I do not believe. I shall scream for help the moment I see a Continental soldier,” Angelica announced coldly.

“You won’t,” Jack replied.

He held the reins in one hand. His other arm was tight around her waist, for she’d already attempted a leap from Hal’s back.