Chapter 4 #2
“There’s a smith at Montgomery’s Tavern, isn’t there?” Charlotte was nearly certain Fulton had added that detail to her map.
The man straightened, his height dwarfing her slight frame. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. Or how broad. He completely blocked her view of Scarlett.
“Best avoid Montgomery’s Tavern if you can.” He jerked his head back in the direction they’d come. “It’s only ten miles back to the city.” He hesitated for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. “I’ll give you a ride.”
As much as she knew it was better for Scarlett not to have the weight of a rider, she couldn’t risk it. She needed to get to Mrs. Norris’s Inn before nightfall. Besides, he’d be bound to ask questions. He might figure her out.
“No.” He thought her rude, she could tell by the way his lips thinned when she snuck a glance from under the brim of her hat.
It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t impede her progress.
“I’m fine.” She darted to Scarlett’s side and mounted before the man could argue, digging in her heels to make Scarlett start off at a fast trot.
Fulton would disapprove of the risks to Scarlett, but he’d disapprove of her accepting a ride in a wagon from a strange man, too.
She’d choose the lesser of two evils and hope for the best.
The town of Eglinton came into view, little more than the intersection of a small trail with Yonge Street. A large two-story clapboard building stood on one corner. Montgomery’s Tavern. Her eyes searched the grounds for signs of the smithy. Behind, perhaps?
She dismounted but something made her hesitate to move forward.
Fulton had advised against stopping here.
Too busy, he’d said. The risk of detection, or worse, recognition, was too high.
Still, they hadn’t planned on a thrown shoe.
Even at this slow pace, the possibility of injury grew the longer she rode Scarlett unshod.
“Nothing to see here, boy. Move along.”
She heard the rough voice behind her a moment before a powerful hand clamped on to her upper arm and whirled her about.
Two men armed with ancient muskets had emerged from the thick brush at the side of the road. They stood before her, wearing the brown homespun and wide-brimmed hats of farmers, a day’s growth of beard on their faces.
She ducked her head. “I’m in need of a smithy. My horse threw a shoe.”
“You’ll have to turn back. Smithy’s not . . . open today.”
The man’s words made no sense. It wasn’t Sunday. “May I speak to him? I just need this shoe nailed, and I’ll be on my way—”
“I said move along.” The man’s gaze flicked to Scarlett, and his eyes widened. “Come from the city, have you?”
“Watch ’im, Ed. Could be a spy.” The other man crowded closer, a hand on his musket.
Charlotte’s breath hitched as a surge of alarm coursed through her.
These weren’t young cubs she could dismiss with a few cold words.
She swallowed down the lump of fear in her throat.
These men were in earnest, their eyes filled with the fire of conviction and purpose.
But to what end? What kind of spy did they imagine she was?
“Well, boy? What do you have to say for yourself?” The man accompanied his question with a rough shake that sent her hat tumbling to the ground and with it every hope that her disguise would hold.
He stilled, and Charlotte risked a glance at his face.
His eyes were wide, his mouth a round circle of surprise.
“You’re a girl.” He looked to his companion. “It’s a girl.”
His inane comment broke through the chokehold of fear and Charlotte nearly rolled her eyes. She was twenty-three and had left her girlhood behind years ago.
“Of course it’s a girl, you fool,” his partner replied.
The man turned his attention to Charlotte, his eyes narrowing.
“That doesn’t explain what she’s doing here.
” His eyes traveled down to her trousers and Simon’s old boots before darting back to her face.
“In fact, I’d say that only raises more questions. ”
Charlotte channeled all the feminine charm she could muster, which wasn’t much, even on a good day.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” She tried to remember how Mama had talked to Papa, how she could bring him around with just a smile.
Charlotte’s efforts only seemed to confuse the men.
No wonder, since she was dressed like a boy.
The men shot each other a look before the older one spoke.
“What’s your business here?” His voice was gruff, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. She suspected he had no wish for a confrontation with a lady.
“Just passing through when my horse threw a shoe. I’m meeting my brother just ahead,” she said breezily, as though a young woman alone on the road in boy’s clothes was a daily occurrence.
“Just passing through, eh?” The older man cocked his head, his skepticism palpable.
Charlotte swallowed. She didn’t want the smithy now. She wanted to be far from Montgomery’s Tavern as quickly as possible. Her mind raced to concoct a story that would explain her presence and stay close enough to the truth to be convincing.
The gentle plodding of a horse and wagon interrupted her spiraling thoughts. It was the young farmer she’d passed earlier. Men emerged from the bush on the opposite side and spread out across the road to stop him. The farmer stared straight ahead, calmly answering their questions.
An idea flashed through her mind, one Mama would have deemed foolish in the extreme. A lady never acts impulsively, Charlotte. You must think and pray before every decision.
Charlotte sent up a quick prayer. At least she could satisfy half of Mama’s requirements. Then she turned to the older man. “There he is now.” She raised her free hand to point to the wagon, wondering if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. “I told you my brother was coming to meet me.”
Joshua pulled up Bess and tipped his hat to the men spread across his path, weapons slung over their shoulders.
Rebels. So the farmer at the market had been right.
He’d shrugged off the man’s words at the time.
Folks had complained about the government as long as he could remember, and it never came to anything.
“Good day, gentlemen.” Joshua left his hands where the men could see them, loose and open on the reins. Then he waited, a twinge of alarm making him tense in his seat. Surely they wouldn’t stop him? Not when it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was intent on minding his own business.
A man with a musket stepped forward and lifted his hand. He was dressed better than the rest, in an ill-fitting wool jacket buttoned up over his homespun shirt. The man didn’t bother to return Joshua’s greeting. “State your business.”
Joshua was tempted to slap the reins and send Bess charging through the men.
They had no right to stop citizens on a public road, and he had no wish to involve himself in their political wrangling.
One of the younger men stepped forward and put a hand on Bess’s bridle, close enough that Joshua saw the tension in his shoulders and the wild excitement in his eyes.
These men were unpredictable, and he’d do well to tread carefully.
“I’m returning from market to my homestead.” He kept his voice steady and confident despite the misgivings that grew by the minute.
“Can’t see why you wouldn’t join us.” The man jerked his head in the direction of the inn and adjusted the musket on his shoulder. “Unless you’re a loyalist.” He frowned as though the word left a bad taste in his mouth.
Joshua’s stomach sank. He didn’t want to join a rebellion. He just wanted to find this fellow on Line 5 and get the money to release Henry.
“There he is now.” A feminine voice broke through the tension of the men gathered in the road.
As one, they turned to watch three figures approach.
Joshua recognized the boy whose horse had thrown a shoe.
Except the boy was . . . not a boy. The wide-brimmed hat was gone to reveal delicate features and long, dark hair falling out of a knot and tumbling down her back. How had he ever thought her a lad?
A burly man held her by the forearm in a none-too-gentle grip, but that didn’t stop her from raising her free arm and pointing directly at him, her eyes holding a frantic request.
The woman caused such a distraction that he could probably slap the reins, get through this makeshift barricade, and be free of the rebels. But he glanced at her again and paused. He doubted there was anything he could do to help, but he couldn’t ignore the desperation and fear in her eyes.
“You see,” she continued, turning to the man beside her and attempting to jerk her arm from his grasp. “I told you my brother was coming to meet me.”
Joshua sent a quick glance over his shoulder, but the road behind him was deserted. Surely she didn’t refer to him?