Chapter 29
Charlotte turned Tuck into the forest, urging the horse on with a squeeze of her legs when he balked at entering the darkness.
Last time, she’d blithely ridden up to the inn doors and nearly gotten herself captured.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
She found a decent-sized clearing, tied him securely, and set out to find Simon.
The muted rumble of voices led her through the dark woods to the back of the inn. She shivered. Now that she was far from Tuck’s warmth, the cold sleet pierced the layers of wool, numbing her fingers and toes.
The image of Simon, hands tied behind his back, trudging to the gallows, kept her moving. She picked her way through the woods, keeping her eyes and ears on alert as Joshua had shown her.
Joshua. Another weight that tugged at her heart with each step. She’d never imagined a life for herself outside of Edenbrook until he came along and upended all her certainties. Sighing, she pushed aside her wistful thoughts. This place was far too dangerous for daydreaming.
At the edge of the clearing, she lingered in the darkness, eyeing the inn and determining her next course of action.
Men filled the yard, farmers mostly, wearing homespun and carrying pikes and staffs as weapons. One group stood to her left, listening to a giant of a man who spoke about patrols, squadrons, and the cost of freedom.
Charlotte scanned the rest of the crowd for a glimpse of Simon.
A dozen men were mounted, barking orders that no one seemed to heed.
It was chaotic, yet there was an energy and purpose that alarmed her.
If those disdainful men in Ballantine’s study could see this scene, perhaps they’d think twice about pronouncing the rebels doomed to failure.
She crept closer, making her way around the stable. Still no sign of Simon. Finally, she approached the back of the inn and peeked in a window. The room was bright with the glow of candles. A small man sat at a paper-strewn table, surrounded by a crowd that seemed to hang on his every word.
Suddenly, he bolted to his feet, a folded paper crushed in one hand. He waved it, his red wig coming askew in his excitement.
Charlotte’s eyes widened. A small man in a red wig. It must be Mackenzie himself, the leader of the rebels. He gestured wildly in her direction. Charlotte ducked and darted away from the building before she aroused curiosity. No sign of Simon inside. He must be in front.
Retracing her steps, she moved around the side of the inn, her senses heightened with hope and fear. Simon, where are you?
A man emerged from the inn. “Secure the perimeter, men.” His voice boomed across the yard. “No one comes in and no one leaves until I give the signal.”
Instinctively, she flattened herself against the building.
“C’mon then, lad.” A large man sidled up to her and nudged her none too gently toward the men assembling on the right. “Only natural to be a bit off, the first time you carry arms. What squadron are you in?”
Charlotte’s first thought was to get away from the helpful man as soon as possible, but perhaps he could help her find Simon. “Not sure.” She kept her voice low and gruff. “I’m with Simon Carruthers. Know him?”
The man didn’t appear to question her identity, she saw with relief. He looked around the inn yard. “I don’t. Nothing to worry about, though.” He gestured over her shoulder. “They’ll know where you belong.”
Charlotte spun about. Intent on finding Simon, she hadn’t noticed the small group of men approaching.
One held a lantern high, another gripped a list and seemed to confirm each man’s identity.
She saw with horror they were headed her way.
She attempted to backtrack, but the man behind her gave her a shove.
“Buck up, lad. Nothing to fear. I’ll tell them to put you in my squadron. You’ll be safe with me.”
She hunched her shoulders, preparing for the worst. Maybe they’d let her go. Maybe she could take advantage of their surprise and make a run for it. Maybe—
Charlotte felt a tug on her jacket that made her jump out of her skin. She looked down at its source. A boy stood just behind her, his shock of startling red hair visible even in the partial light of the courtyard. “Excuse me. You’re wanted for the Third Squadron.”
Charlotte was too surprised by the boy’s appearance to answer, but the man beside her had no such qualms. “Be off with you, lad. They’ll tell us soon enough where he belongs.”
The boy wasn’t cowed. “They’re looking for another small lad over there. Scouting or some such thing.” He pointed to a squadron across the yard. “Lount himself said so.”
“Oh, well, if it came from Lount . . .” The man still sounded doubtful, but Charlotte couldn’t afford to wait. Another moment and the lantern would shine in her face and expose her.
The boy took off across the yard and Charlotte followed close at his heels, expecting at any moment to be called back. He darted into the shadows at the edge of the clearing before skidding to a stop.
“I thought you said we had to report to the—”
“This ain’t no place for a girl.” The boy shook his head in disapproval.
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. How had the boy seen through her disguise when the men hadn’t?
“I been watching you. Don’t know what you’re doing here, but I figured you deserved a chance to get away.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte looked over her shoulder. It didn’t seem like anyone paid attention to them. “How did you know?”
“I have eyes, don’t I?” He jerked his head toward the busy yard. “Them folk don’t think a girl would have the nerve to show up here.”
Charlotte smiled. The boy was perceptive. “Yet it crossed your mind.” She raised an eyebrow. “I wonder why?”
He crossed his arms. “I been around girls as has minds of their own. I know what they’re capable of.”
That made her smile. “Well, I appreciate your intervention.” She crossed her arms, still scanning the sea of men for Simon.
“You’d best head home, don’t you think?”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Five minutes through the woods and you’d be back to the main road. Trust me, the guards they have set up ain’t good at their job.”
She shook her head. “I have something to attend to here.”
“What? It can’t be important enough to risk your life for.”
“Of course it can.” He looked doubtful, and she was goaded into adding, “It’s a matter of life and death for my brother.”
“Ah.” He bit his lip. “You must really love him if you’re willing to go to all this trouble.” There was a note of longing in his voice that made her wonder about the boy’s family.
“I do. And I must bring him home before he makes a mistake that could cost him everything.”
“You sure about that? There’s reasons men want change, you know. Good reasons.”
Charlotte grew uncomfortable under his sharp gaze.
“From the fancy way you talk, I reckon you don’t know what it’s like to be poor.”
She wanted to argue with him, to explain how she’d had to work and scrimp and save.
But this boy reminded her of the ragged Wilkie children, trading their mother’s keepsakes for flour.
Little Pete, whose family couldn’t afford to feed him.
Her hardships were nothing compared to theirs.
She’d always had a roof over her head, clothes to wear. Books. Food.
“The men who are here, they’ve all but given up.” He swept his hand across the yard. “That’s what guv says. He says change is needed. Can’t blame these men for picking up arms. They don’t have much to lose.”
Charlotte thought about Joshua, battling against impossible odds to help his brother, his own childhood cut short by sorrow and work.
She shook her head. She couldn’t let the child distract her from her purpose.
Her eyes scanned the yard, straining for a glimpse of a familiar face.
“My brother’s situation is different. Our father died.
He needs to come home—” Charlotte broke off.
A man separated himself from a group to her left and walked toward the inn.
His height, even his gait reminded her of Simon, yet it wasn’t him.
She sucked in a breath. It was his father. She didn’t hesitate. Darting away from the boy, she went straight to Mr. Foster’s side.
“Excuse me, Mr. Foster?”
“Yes?” he answered, a trace of impatience in his voice. His eyes widened as they took her in. “What in the name of—” His voice lowered. “Miss Carruthers.” He grabbed her elbow, steering her into the shadows at the side of the inn. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for Simon.” She averted her eyes. This man had ruined her mother’s life and destroyed her family. She hadn’t ever wanted to see him again.
“Lass, it’s dangerous. You must go home at once.”
She shook her head in impatience. “Not without Simon. Papa, er, my father, has died. Simon doesn’t even know, but he must come home or else . . .”
Mr. Foster stilled. “Charles is gone?” He swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good man.”
His words of sympathy filled her with anger. This man took Simon from her. Now he tried to comfort her with platitudes. “He was a good man,” she said. “Until you destroyed his life.”
He didn’t respond in kind. Instead, his face softened.
“So you know, do you?” A sigh left him that made his shoulders slump and his face appear older in the flickering light of the torches.
The bustle around them seemed to fade into the background as he continued.
“I loved your mother long before she met your father. If I’d returned when I said I would .
. .” He scrubbed a hand across his face.
“I’m sorry for it. All of it. Never should have followed Elizabeth to Canada, I reckon.
” His lips curved into a sad smile. “Life’s full of regrets, child.
You’ll find out yourself when you’re as old as I am. ”
Charlotte pushed aside the questions buzzing in her mind. There wasn’t time for regrets or absolution. “Where is Simon? I need to talk to him.”
Foster slowly shook his head. “Long gone. Volunteered to be a scout ahead of the squadrons.”