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“Is your wife well, sir, and your Indian nephew?” Wayne was asking, beaming up into Jamie’s face. Anthony was short and stocky, with the full cheeks of a chipmunk, but also equipped with a sharp, poking sort of nose over which his eyes did now and then seem to glow with fire. At the moment, Jamie was relieved to see them merely alight with friendly interest.
“All well, sir, I thank ye. And—”
“Tell me, is your wife near at hand?” Wayne moved a little closer and lowered his voice a bit. “I’ve been having the most damnable time with my gouty foot, and she did wonders with the abscess at the base of my spine while we were at Ti—”
“Colonel Fraser, allow me to make you acquainted with Major General Charles Lee and with General Nathanael Greene.” George Washington’s voice drove a smooth Virginia wedge between himself and the base of Mad Anthony’s spine, to Jamie’s relief.
Besides Washington himself, Charles Lee was the best equipped of the lot, wearing complete uniform from gorget to polished boots. Jamie hadn’t met him before but could have picked him out of a crowd as a professional soldier, no matter how he was dressed. An Englishman of the sort who seemed always to be smelling something dubious, but he shook hands cordially enough, with a clipped “Your servant, sir.” Jamie knew exactly two things about Charles Lee, both told to him by Young Ian: to wit, that the man had a Mohawk wife—and that the Mohawk called him “Ounewaterika.” Ian said it meant “Boiling Water.”
Between Mad Anthony and Boiling Water, Jamie was begi
“Sit, gentlemen, we have no time to waste.” Washington turned to the woman in the corner. “Have you anything to drink, Mrs. Hardman?”
Jamie saw her throat move as she swallowed, squeezing the child so hard that it squealed like a piglet and started to cry. He felt several of the men, doubtless fathers, wince at the sound.
“No, Friend,” she said, and he realized she was a Quaker. “Naught but water from the well. Shall I fetch you a bucket?”
“Don’t trouble thyself, Friend Hardman,” Nathanael Greene said, soft-voiced. “I’ve two bottles in my saddlebag will do us.” He moved slowly toward the woman, not to startle her, and took her gently by the arm. “Come outside. Thee needn’t be disturbed by this business.” He was a heavy, imposing man, who walked with a noticeable limp, but she seemed reassured by his plain speech and went with him, though looking back with an anxious face, as though fearing that the men might set fire to the place.
A quarter hour later, Jamie wasn’t so sure that they might not ignite the cabin by the sheer force of their excitement. Washington and his troops had been bottled up at Valley Forge for the last six months, drilling and preparing, and the generals were on fire to be at the enemy.
Much talk, plans proposed, argued over, put aside, returned to. Jamie listened with half a mind; the other half was in Philadelphia. He’d heard enough from Fergus to know that the city was divided, with regular clashes between Patriots and Loyalists, these kept under control only by the presence of the British soldiers—but the Loyalists were a minority. The moment the army’s protection was withdrawn, the Loyalists would be at the mercy of the Rebels—and Rebels who had been suppressed for months were not likely to be merciful.
And Claire … His mouth went dry. Claire was, so far as anyone in Philadelphia knew, the wife of Lord John Grey, a very visible Loyalist. And Jamie himself had just removed John Grey’s protection from her, leaving her alone and helpless in a city about to explode.
How long did he have before the British left the city? No one at the table knew.
He took as little part as possible in the conversation, both because he was estimating how fast he could reach Philadelphia on foot—versus the possibility of going out to the privy and stealing back the horse he’d just given Washington—and because he hadn’t forgotten what auld Dan had said to General Washington when he’d dragged Jamie in here. The very last thing he wanted was—
“And you, Colonel Fraser,” Washington said. Jamie closed his eyes and commended his soul to God. “Will you do me the signal service of accepting command of Henry Taylor’s battalion? General Taylor fell ill and died two days ago.”
“I … am honored, sir,” Jamie managed, thinking frantically. “But I have very urgent business … in Philadelphia. I should be happy to oblige ye, so soon as my business is accomplished—and I could, of course, bring back word of exactly how matters stand with General Clinton’s forces.” Washington had been looking severe during the first part of this speech, but the last sentence made Greene and Morgan hum with approval and Wayne nod his little chipmunk head.
“Can you manage your business within three days, Colonel?”
“Yes, sir!” It was no more than ten miles to the city; he could do that in two or three hours. And it wasn’t going to take him more than thirty seconds to take Claire out of that house, once he reached it.
“Very well, then. You’re appointed to a temporary field rank of General of the Army. That—”
“Ifri
“I beg your pardon, Colonel?” Washington looked puzzled. Dan Morgan, who’d heard Jamie say “Hell!” in Gàidhlig before, shook silently beside him.
“I—thank ye, sir.” He swallowed, feeling a dizzy wave of heat pass over him.
“Though the Congress will have to approve your appointment,” Washington went on, frowning a little, “and there’s no guarantee as to what those contentious, shopkeeping sons of bitches will do.”
“I understand, sir,” Jamie assured him. He could only hope. Dan Morgan passed him a bottle, and he drank deep, hardly noticing what was in it. Sweating profusely, he sank back on the bench, hoping to avoid any further notice.
Jesus, now what? He’d meant to slip quietly into the city and out again with Claire, then head south to retrieve his printing press, perhaps establish a wee business in Charleston or Sava
Despite all the talk and the worrying prospects of the immediate future, Jamie found himself paying more attention to Washington’s face than to what he said, taking note of how the man talked and carried himself, so that he could tell Claire. He wished that he could tell Bria
He would admit that Washington knew what he was about, though; he listened more than he talked, and when he said something, it was to the point. And he did give off an air of relaxed authority, though it was clear the present prospect excited him very much. His face was pockmarked, big-featured, and far from handsome, but had a good bit of dignity and presence.
His expression had become very animated, and he went so far as to laugh now and then, showing very bad, stained teeth. Jamie was fascinated; Bria
And as suddenly he was back, pressed between Lee and auld Dan, smelling sweat and exhilaration and, despite himself, feeling the rising excitement among them begin to seep into his blood.