It was time to go. Gabrielle, crooning softly in Michael’s ear, never noticed as she slipped from the room.

  Her carriage still waited outside, luggage piled on top. Barring instructions the stablemen had watered the horses, and no more. Sampson moved along the team, checking harness. He opened the door for her, but she leaned her head against the carriage instead of getting in.

  For the first time in hours, though it seemed like days, she remembered that she would have to face Justin and explain leaving Charlestown in Gabrielle’s company. Before, she’d put off thinking about it. Something would occur to her, a way to wriggle out or shift the blame. It always did. But this time it hadn’t. Her brain had been full of Michael, and nothing had come.

  Michael. God snatch him to hell! Betraying her. Giving his love to that little bitch. And why should she care? Had she really ever thought of going back to when she had little idea of what he was doing and none of what she could do? That could never compare to what she had with Justin, the constant search for greater thrills that left her panting raggedly just from thinking of what they’d done, of what they would do. Like when Justin—

  Justin. She had to keep her mind on Justin, on explaining what had happened, on protecting herself. If it could be a way that gave Michael to Justin. How sweet that would be. Justin was always especially randy after killing. How would he be after killing Michael Fallon? And for her there’d be the added fillip of knowing she’d given him to Justin. It would be better, more exciting, than it had ever been before.

  She stepped up into the carriage without looking back at the house. “Charlestown, Sampson. And quickly. Quickly.”

  Gabrielle and Martha held Michael while Sarah pushed the sheet under him, then turned him for her to tug it smooth and tuck it on the far side. He seldom woke, and though he recognized her when he did, he was always fearful for her, believing he was at the defense of Charlestown, or on the quarterdeck of the Hussar. That one terrified her, with him crying out that she had to run before the black angel. But at least he knew her. And his wounds seemed to be mending. She sat beside the bed and fanned him.

  Daniel burst into the room, panting. “Mrs. Fallon, it’s your brother, Mr. Justin. He’s coming, with a lot of men.” A crowd of murmuring servants gathered in the hall.

  Gabrielle calmly laid down the fan. “How long before he gets here?”

  “Hour, ma’am, maybe little bit more. They ain’t pushing hard, but they done crossed the Black River.”

  “Then we’ll have to leave. Quickly.” A collective sigh went up from the listening servants. Gabrielle shook her head. “Elizabeth!”

  “She didn’t set them on us, ma‘am. Somebody seen her take the Clement’s Ferry Road. She gone to Charlestown. These coming from the north.” He stopped awkwardly, his black face creased with worry. “Ma’am—Ah, ma’am, they say Mr. Justin, he mixed in some killing up to the Waxhaws, with that Colonel Tarleton. I hear they kill a whole bunch of soldiers after they surrender.”

  Gabrielle sighed. It sounded like Tarleton, and like Justin. She’d given up long ago trying to disbelieve the tales. “Well, he won’t kill anyone here because he won’t find anyone. Daniel, you hitch the best team of horses to the carriage. Martha, you get James and his clothes together. I’ll pack for my husband and myself. Sarah, set some men to burying the plate. And send runners to the quarters. Tell the people they’re to hide in the woods, and drive all the stock with them. Horses, cattle, pigs, sheep, chickens, everything. And they can use what they need until we come back. Now move.”

  Justin studied Tir Alainn from the tree line. A flash of light came from the far side of the house, and another from the trees behind it. He smiled and spurred forward, the squadron bursting out of the trees behind him.

  They’d done it before, and each man knew his task. Some peeled away toward the slave quarters, and others toward the stables. Justin leaped from his horse and ran up the front stairs, pistol in one hand, saber in the other. A half dozen men followed at his heels. He kicked open the door and plunged through with a cry of, “Come out, Elizabeth! Gabrielle! Come out!” The words rang emptily in the hall. Everywhere were signs of hasty flight, half-open drawers with clothes and linens hanging out, cabinet doors standing wide, light patches on the walls where pictures had been removed.

  He pushed open the study doors. Fallon’s private place. He put up his weapons. It was just an empty room, but it had the feel of Fallon in it, as if some part of the man was imbedded in the walls. It was almost as if he had Fallon in his grasp. He trembled with the thought of it. That Irish guttersnipe, daring to touch a daughter of the Fourriers, daring to mix his bastard blood with theirs. And he’d dared to touch Elizabeth, once? What else had he done with her? Everything came to Fallon. Money, ships, plantations. Everything that Justin wanted went to him. Jean-Baptiste seemed to take—No, not Papa. It was Fallon who would burn. He pushed over a cabinet in a crash of breaking glass, and it felt like hitting at Fallon himself.

  A man looked in the door, and quickly moved on. Justin was busy. He tipped over the desk next, then smashed chairs against it. He ripped down curtains until there was a mound of broken wood and stiff cloth in the middle of the floor.

  Next to the fireplace, among the fire tools, was a turkey-wing fan. He used it to brush away ashes, and then to slowly fan the coals he uncovered. Bit by bit he added kindling, and then larger pieces of wood, fanning all the while. The knots that gripped his brain always went away when something was burning. A lean, long-nosed officer strode in, raising his eyebrows at the blaze in the fireplace. “We found four marsh tackies in a pen by the river, and we’ve rounded up nine blacks. That’s all. I know for a fact this plantation has over three hundred slaves and one of the finest stables in the colony.”

  “Did you expect them to leave it all for us when they went, Captain Gordon?” Justin was transferring a burning knot from the fireplace to the pile of demolished furniture, and then another. “Get everyone clear of the house. I’ll question those blacks outside.” Runnels of fire ran quickly along the heaped curtains as he followed the captain outside.

  The captured slaves, seven men and two women in rough, field hands’ clothing, lined up in the drive. Justin took a pistol in each hand and motioned to the first man in line.

  “You there, fellow. Yes, you. There were ladies here. Two ladies. I’ll put an ounce of lead between your eyes, unless you tell me where they went.”

  The slave burst out volubly. “I works the rice, sir. I don’t know nothing about the house.” He jumped as Justin thumbed back the hammer with a loud snap. “I swears to you, sir. I don’t know nothing about no ladies. Please, sir. I don’t know nothing.” Suddenly he darted between two horses, running down the drive.

  Justin pivoted smoothly. The gun in his hand barked. The man fell, jerked once, and was still. Justin sighed raggedly. It felt good, almost as good as taking a woman.

  “One of us could’ve ridden him down, Major,” Captain Gordon said. “That was four hundred pounds on the Charlestown dock.”

  Justin pointed to the woman who was next in line. “Where did they go?”

  The woman threw her hands up to her face. “Lord have mercy, sir. I don’t know. I just knows they gone.” Justin cocked his second pistol, and she screamed.

  “Major,” Gordon said. “Major, there’s a rider coming. A rider, Major.” He heaved a sigh of relief when Justin eased the hammer back down. They always lost money when Fourrier got carried away.

  Two of Justin’s men escorted the rider—one of Tarleton’s green-coated troopers. Before he could speak a shattering of glass brought everyone’s head around. Flames roared out of the study windows.

  “Well?” Justin said, turning back.

  “A message, sir.” The trooper leaned forward to hand a sealed note to Justin. “From your wife, sir.”

  “My wife?”

  “Yes, sir, so Colonel Tarleton said. It came from Charlestown, with orders for the colonel to search this plantation for some rebel officer. The colonel said you’d be taking care of that, sir.”

  Justin turned the note over in his hands, staring at it with hooded eyes. “And this, ah, rebel officer’s name?” he asked softly.

  “Fallon, sir. Colonel Michael Fallon.”

  Justin ripped open the letter.

  Darling Justin,

  I have a wonderful surprise for you. I was starting to leave the city for Les Chenes when I encountered Gabrielle. It didn’t occur to me then to wonder what she was doing there, but mindful that it would please you and Papa for her to return to the family, I managed to extract an invitation to Tir Alainn. Despite her reluctance I hoped to persuade her to come to Les Chenes. Imagine my surprise at discovering on arrival why she had been reluctant, and why she had been in Charlestown. Michael Fallon is there, wounded, and she had gone to buy medicines. Of course, I immediately returned to Charlestown and informed the authorities.

  Despite her hysterial threats against me, I plead your understanding and forgiveness for Gabrielle. I fear her mind may have been unhinged by all that has happened, and she may not be entirely responsible for what she says.

  When you have taken Fallon, my dearest, come to me. I will await you in our special place, in the way you like me best.

  With all my love,

  Elizabeth

  He read it a second time and shook his head. An explanation for everything. Or was it? a tiny voice whispered.

  “Burn everything,” Justin said. “Burn it all to the ground.”

  “Sir, there’s a warehouse down by the river bulging with rice, a fortune in it. And there are barges, too.”

  “Are eight blacks sufficient to row a warehouseful of rice to Charlestown, Captain?” Justin swung into his saddle. A smile came on his face. Flames shot up from half the house, now. “Burn it,” he said. “Burn it all.”

  Michael lay in the farmhouse and took the broth Gabrielle spooned at him. He’d been demanding something solid for three days now. She’d only smile at him infuriatingly and push more broth into his mouth, or worse, mush.

  By the fireplace Mrs. Johnson, the farmer’s wife, watched Martha intently as she minded the pots, stirring this one, seasoning that one. Several times her hand twitched as if she wanted to take the spoon herself. Finally she turned away with a small laugh. “I do declare, Mrs. Fallon, I’m just not used to having somebody do for me.”

  Gabrielle cast a sidelong glance at the farmwoman, still pretty, but fading from years of harsh work. “Every woman should be able to sit back and let someone else do for her once in a while. Mrs. Johnson, we owe you our lives. Accept our assistance, since you will not accept our money.”

  “The colonel’s shed blood for the cause,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Least we can do is give him and his lady a place to rest and some food.” She whirled as the door burst open and her daughters ran in, swinging James between them. “Mary! Alice! How many times do I have to tell you not to burst in here like that? And put that child down before you hurt him.”

  They obeyed, but Mary, just sixteen, kept a hand on him. “Ma, can I play with him? Just in the corner, with that old top? I like playing with babes. I hope my first is a boy.” A blush covered the freckles that bridged her nose.

  “Best wait till you’re married,” her mother said dryly. “Mrs. Fallon?” She looked for Gabrielle’s nod. “All right. You can take him over in the corner, then.”

  Mary beamed, but Alice, a year younger, sulked. “I don’t want to play with no baby. They’re messy.”

  “In that case,” Mrs. Johnson said, “you can help with dinner. No. I won’t force you to play when you don’t want to. You just take up a spoon and help watch those pots.”

  Alice glared at her sister, spinning a top for James in the corner, and they stuck out their tongues at each other, but she did as her mother bade.

  By the time Daniel and Mr. Johnson got back to the house for dinner, Michael had finished the broth. He looked wistfully at the roast as it was set on the table, but said nothing. It was no use asking just to be told no.

  “Where’s Ben?” Mr. Johnson asked as he put his hat on a peg.

  “Over to the Corbins’ to trade some eggs for butter and cheese,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I told him to be back before dinner, but you know the boy.”

  “Like as not he and Patrick Corbin are off fishing.” He sniffed at the roast. “That boy ain’t here, he don’t eat.” He looked up in surprise as his fourteen-year-old son pushed open the door and ran in.

  “Pa,” Ben panted, “Pa, there’s redcoat horsemen to the Tyrells’. A whole lot of them.”

  “At Tyrells’?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “That’s out of your way by—”

  “Hush, Ma,” her husband cut in. “Tyrell leans to the crown.” His voice shook. “Maybe they’re just watering horses.”

  “Yes, sir, they were. I watched from the bushes. But I heard them talking, too.” He swallowed and looked at his father. “They’re looking for a lady and a wounded man, a rebel officer.”

  In the silence that fell the sound of Michael’s feet striking the floor was loud. Sweat broke out on his face from the effort of sitting up on the edge of the cot. Gabrielle and Martha rushed to him, but he shrugged off their efforts to make him lie back down. “We must leave. Now. Not just for ourselves, Brielle, but for the Johnsons. If the redcoats find me here, they’ll likely put Mr. Johnson, and maybe even Ben, in the same cell with me.”

  “Colonel,” Johnson said. “You ain’t in no condition to travel.”

  “Colonel Fallon is right,” his wife said quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. “They have to hide until the soldiers are out of the area. The horses and the carriage are safe in the woods, and if they aren’t at the house when the soldiers come, there’s nothing to connect us to them.”

  “You’re right,” Gabrielle said. “Come, Daniel, help me get him to his feet.”

  “No need for that,” Johnson said. “Just pull that cot out from the wall.” He climbed up to the loft and returned with two long poles. “I made that cot when my wife was ailing one time, so we could get her out in the sunshine. See?” He fumbled under the edge and pulled out four leather loops, through which he ran one of the poles. Daniel quickly did the same on the other side.

  Hastily everything that might tell of their presence was gathered up. Mary stuffed the top in James’s pocket and reluctantly gave him to Martha. The procession left the house, first Johnson and Daniel with the cot, then Martha and James, and finally Gabrielle and Ben with the bundles of clothing. Johnson led them into a small hollow surrounded by a tight growth of myrtle. No stranger would ever suspect its presence, or theirs.

  Gabrielle caught Johnson’s arm as he was leaving. “God be with you, Mr. Johnson.”

  “And with all of you, Mrs. Fallon.” He took one last, worried look at them, and hurried off after his son.

  Michael moaned suddenly, and Gabrielle hurried to him. “Damn, the jouncing has opened his wound. Quickly, Martha, the laudanum.”

  She made it a large dose. When his breathing slipped into the deep, regular pattern of sleep, Daniel looked at her curiously. “Ma’am, you think you should of give him so much? He’s going to sleep for hours, now.”

  “It’ll be best. We’re going to move him.”

  “Miss Gabrielle, we safe here,” Martha protested.

  “Now listen to me, both of you. That woman doesn’t want to hurt us, but her family must come first. Her husband might not betray us, but if they threaten him or her son, or worse, her daughters, she’ll tell those soldiers where we are in an instant. I’d do the same for my family. And it’s my family I have to protect. Now let me see. From what I remember, the Tyrell farm is that way. So we’ll go just a little to the south of that.”

  “Ma’am,” Daniel said, “that be toward the soldiers. And it straight away from the carriage and the horses.”

  “That means it’ll be the last direction they’ll think we’d go.” She fastened the last bundle onto the cot. “And I know someone in that direction who might be able to help us. Come. We don’t have much time.”

  30

  Justin watched the man and his family being herded out of the farmhouse by his troopers. The woman didn’t look bad, although a bit long in the tooth for his taste, but the daughters were a juicy pair. Perhaps there might be time for a little sport.

  “Henry Johnson,” he said slowly, and watched the man jump. “I’ve heard it said you’re a damned traitor and a rebel, Henry Johnson. And that boy of yours. What is he, sixteen, seventeen? Prime age for the rebel militia.”

  Johnson followed Justin’s gaze, and a low moan escaped him. Two ropes had been hung over a tree limb in front of the house. “Please, sir. You’ve made a mistake. We’ve never been on either side. The boy’s just fifteen, sir, too young to be in the militia if he wanted to.”

  “On neither side, man? On neither side? You’re either for the King, or against him. You’re branding yourself a traitor.”

  Mrs. Johnson left her daughters for the first time, looking nervously at the mounted men. “We’re King’s people. Before God, sir. All he meant was, it takes him and the boy both to work the land, and that’s why they never went forward to join the militia, the Loyalist militia. They’d never have truck with the other kind.”

  She’d spoken levelly, but wringing her hands all the while, and darting quick glances at the nooses waiting for her husband and son. She was ready to talk, Justin thought. She’d tell everything she knew.

  “Then prove your loyalty,” he said. “I’m looking for a man named Fallon. He’s wounded and traveling with his wife. His carriage was seen heading this way six days ago. They may have a few blacks with them. Now, what have you heard or seen of these people? Quickly, now, and the truth.”