Saratoga (17 page)

"I need no thanks from the major," said Skoyles.

"You're entitled to far more than that."

"Take that up with him, Miss Rainham. Though I should perhaps warn you that you may not find him very forthcoming. As far as I'm concerned, the whole business is best forgotten."

"
Forgotten?
" she echoed in wonderment. "You save a man's life on the battlefield and you want to forget it? Did it have no more significance than that, Captain?" Her eyes were glistening with subdued passion. "Tell me what happened."

"The major can do that, Miss Rainham."

"If he'd wanted to, he would already have done so. Besides, I want to hear it from your own lips. All that I have is a second-hand account that was picked up by Nan, my maid. She heard very few details."

"I suspect she heard enough."

"What do you mean?"

"That some of the facts are too distressing to recall," said Skoyles, not wishing to add to her discomfort. "I prefer to leave the incident where it belongs—firmly in the past."

Skoyles was in a dilemma. Wanting her to stay so that he could relish her company, he was loath to talk about the one thing that would keep her there. There was a silent battle of wills. Elizabeth tried hard to persuade him but he refused to comply. When she looked at the injuries to his face again, she assumed that he had picked them up at Hubbardton.

"This is not the first time, is it?" she said with admiration. "You've distinguished yourself on the battlefield before."

"I'm a soldier. I do what I have to do."

"Not everyone would have acted as bravely as you did in a skirmish some years ago." She smiled at his look of surprise. "Brigadier General Fraser told me about it. You not only took on four enemy soldiers single-handed, you rescued a wounded officer and carried him to safety under fire. That was how you earned your lieutenancy—or is that something else you prefer to keep firmly in the past?"

"No, Miss Rainham," he confessed readily. "As it happens, I cherish that particular memory. It was an important event in my career."

"And so is this. You should receive some recognition."

"The circumstances are very different."

"But the outcome was the same. You saved a man's life."

Skoyles was touched that she had taken the trouble to ask his commander about him and flattered by her praise, but he still refused to provide her with the details she wanted. He could imagine how she would react if he told her that the person to whom she was betrothed had pounded the skull of a dead British soldier in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Rainham," he said.

"It was not really my place to do so."

"You'll always be a more welcome sight than Major Featherstone."

"That's an improper remark, Captain," she scolded. "You know my reason for being in this country and you should respect it."

"I do, believe me."

"Then let us leave the matter there."

"If you say so, Miss Rainham."

It was her turn to be perplexed. Knowing that she should leave, she could somehow not bring herself to do so. Her mind was telling her one thing but her body was countermanding the order. All she could do was to stand there in a state of indecision, wondering what it was about the rough-edged captain that made him so oddly appealing. There was no battle of wills between them now, just an exploration of each other's eyes, a soundless declaration of something beyond casual interest.

The mood was broken by the arrival of Major Harry Featherstone.

"Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, stepping abruptly into the tent. "What, in the devil's name, are you doing here?"

"Miss Rainham asked to speak with me, sir," said Skoyles.

"I'm not talking to you," snarled the newcomer before changing to a gruff politeness. "Well, Elizabeth?"

"It's exactly as Captain Skoyles told you," she replied. "I wanted to have a word with him."

"
Alone?
In here?"

"He was kind enough to invite me in."

"Then you should have refused," said Featherstone, barely able to conceal his annoyance. "Or, at the very least, your maid should have been in here with you."

Elizabeth bridled. "I need no instructions on decorum."

"It seems that you do."

"Harry!"

"This is not what I expect of you."

"The fault was mine, Major," said Skoyles, coming to her aid. "I should have spoken to Miss Rainham outside."

"You should not have spoken to her at all!"

"Surely, that's a decision that only Miss Rainham should make."

"I agree," she said spiritedly, "but it's not one that I would even have had to consider if you'd been more honest with me, Harry. Why didn't you tell me that Captain Skoyles had come to your rescue in the nick of time at Hubbardton?"

"The opportunity never presented itself," he said dismissively.

"But we've spoken on a number of occasions."

"I didn't wish to upset you with unsavory details."

"It's far more upsetting to be kept deliberately in the dark," she argued. "How do you think I felt when Nan told me what happened? I was distressed, Harry. You might have been killed."

"We'll discuss this later, Elizabeth."

"Captain Skoyles saved your life."

"I'd like you to go now," he said with studied civility. "I need to speak to the captain alone." When she hovered, he became more forceful. "Goodbye, Elizabeth."

"Goodbye, Miss Rainham," said Skoyles.

She was plainly discomfited by the turn of events but she accepted that it was no place to start an argument with Featherstone. After giving Skoyles a smile of farewell, she went swiftly out of the tent.

The major immediately rounded on Skoyles. "Don't you
dare
do that again!"

"Do what, Major?"

"Speak to Miss Rainham in private."

"She raised no objection herself," said Skoyles.

"Well, I do," asserted Featherstone. "A very strong objection."

"I could hardly turn the lady away when she asked to talk to me. That would have been ungentlemanly. And I didn't go in search of Miss Rainham, sir. It was she who came here."

"What did you tell her?"

"That's between us," Skoyles said bluntly.

"What did you tell her—damn you!" Featherstone roared. "Her maid said that the pair of you had been in here for several minutes. Were you portraying me as a helpless victim at Hubbardton? Did you boast about how you just happened to see Private Higgs before I did?"

"No, Major. I declined to go into any detail."

"Is that what Miss Rainham wanted?"

"Yes, sir. As far as I'm concerned, the incident is best consigned to history. I said as much to her."

"You gave no account of what occurred on the battlefield?"

"None at all," said Skoyles. "Miss Rainham is still unaware of the savagery with which you attacked Private Higgs."

"The man tried to kill me!"

"That was no reason to assault him. He'd already been shot dead."

"I don't have to answer to you, Skoyles," said Featherstone with vehemence. "Higgs got what he deserved, and there's an end to it. There was no need for Elizabeth—for Miss Rainham—to hear anything at all about the incident."

"It did not come from me, Major."

"Then where
did
it come from?"

"In truth, I've no idea. There were several witnesses."

"I'll find out which one of them spread this story. However," he added, straightening his shoulders, "that's not what brought me here. I came to ask if your interrogation of the prisoner was worthwhile."

"Extremely worthwhile, sir."

"Have you reported to General Burgoyne?"

"He was very pleased to hear what I'd gleaned from the man."

"He'll be less pleased when I talk to him."

"About what?"

"That friend of yours—Ezekiel Proudfoot. I knew that it was a mistake to bring him here. He should have been sent to Fort Ticonderoga under armed guard with the other prisoners."

"But he's no soldier," said Skoyles. "Ezekiel is a harmless artist."

"Harmless?"

"He poses no threat to us, Major."

"A peaceful man, is he?" mocked Featherstone.

"Ezekiel Proudfoot will give us no trouble."

"Not anymore, he won't—because he's no longer with us. The man you describe as harmless overpowered his guard and stole his musket."

Skoyles was astounded. "Ezekiel has
escaped?
"

"Yes, Captain," said Featherstone angrily, "and he's had time to take stock of our army. Thanks to you, he came here as a prisoner and escaped as a spy. Now get after the bastard at once and bring him back here—alive or dead!"

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
he search began immediately. With a dozen redcoats and a couple of Indian scouts, Captain Jamie Skoyles went off in pursuit of Ezekiel Proudfoot. Two major difficulties confronted them. The fugitive had over an hour's start on the posse, and they had no idea in which direction he had gone. Skoyles had to wrestle with an additional problem. He found himself almost wanting his former friend to get away. Though Proudfoot was committed to the rebel cause, he was no enemy soldier with a blood lust. He was a man with a genuine love of his country and an urge to shake it free from the grip of an army that had slaughtered his wife and child. Prompted by revenge and the desire for liberty, he was doing exactly what Skoyles would have done in his place. He was hitting back in the way he knew best.

The circumstances of his escape defined the man. Overpowering the guard, he had made no attempt to kill him. Proudfoot simply knocked the man unconscious long enough to take his uniform, bind, then gag him. His disguise helped him to slip through the British lines and vanish into the forest. Skoyles was sure that he had not stolen the musket in order to kill anyone who went after him. It was taken solely as a defense against the wild animals. If caught, Skoyles believed, he would surrender the weapon without a fight. Ezekiel Proudfoot was no soldier.

The search party made what speed it could. Ahead of the redcoats, the Indians moved along at a steady lope as they tried to pick up a trail. Skoyles followed on horseback with his soldiers behind him, fanned out in a wide arc that nevertheless left each man within sight of his fellows. Believing that Proudfoot would make for Castleton, they had set off in an easterly direction. After a couple of miles, however, they had found no scent of their quarry. Skoyles ordered a sweep to the south, guessing that Proudfoot must instead
be heading for Fort Anne. As the redcoats combed the forest, they heard the howling of wolves in the distance.

The farther they went, the more certain Skoyles became that they would never catch up with Proudfoot. He would not only be miles ahead of them, he was traveling through woodland he had known since childhood. Skoyles was soon obliged to dismount in order to lead his horse. They had found the route taken by the American rebels who had departed in haste from Skenesborough and felled trees in their wake to delay any pursuit. The search party was slowed to a painful crawl. Where tree trunks did not block their way, they had to wade through steamy swamps, black with clouds of angry insects.

Skoyles could hear the protests of his men getting louder all the time. Soaked by the water, stung by mosquitoes, pestered by gnats, and frustrated by obstacles in their path, they were getting farther away from the safety of Skenesborough. The Indians finally called a halt. They had seen something up ahead that alerted them to danger, and they came back to report to Skoyles. Tethering his horse to a branch, he followed the scouts until they reached a small clearing. Through the trees on the other side, he could make out what looked like the figure of a man, hanging from a bough. With his sword in hand, Skoyles inched his way around the clearing with the Indians at his back.

When he got closer, he realized what he had seen. It was the stolen British uniform, stuffed with brushwood and dangling from a tree. Having served its purpose, it had been abandoned by Ezekiel Proudfoot, but not before it had been shredded with a knife and covered with excrement. Skoyles was positive that the desecration was not the work of Proudfoot. Evidently, he had met up with some of the rebels who lurked in the forest to pick off any British targets that presented themselves. The fact that the red coat had no holes in it showed that the fugitive had not been mistakenly shot. Realizing that Proudfoot had got away, Skoyles felt a curious mixture of disappointment and pleasure.

"That's enough," he decided. "I'm calling off the search."

Major Harry Featherstone took a long time to compose himself before he called on Elizabeth Rainham. She was in her tent with Nan Wyatt, sitting in front of a mirror propped up on a rickety table while the maid brushed her hair. As soon as the visitor announced himself from outside, Nan put the
brush down and left, collecting a censorious glance from him as she did so. Elizabeth got to her feet.

"Come in, Harry," she called.

He entered the tent, smiled fondly, then took her hand to kiss it.

"This is no place for you, Elizabeth," he said, looking around. "Why didn't you take a room at the house when it was offered to you? It would've have been much more comfortable."

"I had no wish to be under the same roof as that woman."

"You've nothing to fear from Mrs. Mallard."

"It's not fear that stopped me," she said. "It was disapproval. If I'd moved into the house, I'd be countenancing the arrangement that General Burgoyne has reached with another man's wife, and I'm simply not able to do that."

"You'll come to accept it in time."

"No, Harry. I can assure you of that."

"Very well," he said, careful not to argue with her. "What I really came to do is to offer you my apology. I was unnecessarily brusque earlier on and didn't mean to speak to you like that."

"It was rather upsetting."

"Skoyles was to blame. He caught me on the raw."

"You were extremely rude to him."

"He deserved it, Elizabeth."

"What—after saving your life?" she asked incredulously. "That's a strange way to repay the captain for what he did. And you still haven't explained to my satisfaction why you made no mention of the incident."