Daniel laughed, eager to change the subject. “I’ll saddle one of the mares and get the candles. Sister Hope ought to be done with them by now.”
“Sister Agnes keeps the bees, and it is she who makes the candles. It is a source of great pride to her,” Kate corrected. “But you should rest now. You’ve spent many an hour before the forge.”
“The ride will do me good.” Daniel seemed eager to go.
“Perhaps I should show you the way,” Kate suggested timidly.
“No!” Daniel snapped, with more force than he had intended. “What I mean is … I know the way—you told me earlier, remember?”
Kate lowered her gaze and blushed. Daniel, who would have liked nothing better than to be alone with her, silently cursed his blundering manner. What was she doing to him? With any other woman he’d know exactly what to say and do, but she had turned him into an oaf, clumsy in word and deed.
“Take whichever horse suits you,” Kate told him. Her wounded tone made Daniel feel small inside. She turned from him and headed for the tavern door.
“My sister’s a proud one,” Loyal said. “It isn’t often she lets a person close to her.” He glanced at Daniel, who could not meet his stare. “I do believe that’s the only thing Kate fears. Poor girl.” He smacked his lips after downing his brandy.
“What do you fear, Mr. McQueen?” Loyal added.
Now Daniel looked at him. There was more to Kate’s half-mad brother than the Scotsman had initially perceived. Loyal laughed softly as if reading Daniel’s thoughts and then stepped beneath the wrought-iron arch. He lifted his eyes to the animal figures rendered by the artisan.
“Hounds and hares,” Loyal noted coldly. “The world is reduced to the chase. But which of us is the hound?” His voice grew distant, thoughtful, and then he faced Daniel again. “And which the hare?”
An hour’s easy ride from the tavern, Daniel walked his bay the last few yards up a hill ringed by white oaks to where the ashes of a campfire still curled smoke and two men awaited him.
Major Josiah Meeks stretched his gaunt frame and stepped around the remains of the campfire. His brown-brimmed hat and eyepatch gave him the appearance of a swashbuckling rogue. He puffed on his clay pipe and hooked his thumbs in the broad belt circling his waist.
Black Tolbert stood a few paces off to the left. He held a pistol at the ready, cocked and primed and set to bring down the first stranger who entered the clearing. He recognized this incoming rider and held his fire. Still, he was slow to lower his gun. There was no love lost between Daniel McQueen and Black Tolbert.
Daniel dropped a hand to one of the “Quakers” tucked in his belt. Meeks defused the situation by stepping between the two antagonists. The major’s brown cloak flapped with each long-legged stride.
“We waited all morning, Danny boy,” the major said.
“You said to meet on the tenth day after I arrived at the inn. You didn’t say what time of day.”
“And you enjoyed keeping us out here while you played ‘bushy park’ with a tavern wench.” Tolbert slapped his neck, crushing a nettlesome insect. He pulled a leather flask from his pocket, took a couple of swallows of rum, and returned the flask to his forest-green coat.
The veins in Tolbert’s cheeks were like crimson lines drawn upon a war map. In another few years of self-abuse he’d be a dissolute wreck, but today he was an unbalanced and dangerous adversary.
Daniel didn’t care a whit. “Consider these discomforts just so much practice for your time in hell.”
Black Tolbert grew livid and tried to step around Meeks, who only just managed to restrain his impetuous henchman.
“I’ve heard enough from both of you,” the major complained.
Tolbert turned on him and his anger slowly subsided beneath the officer’s withering one-eyed stare.
“You hold the purse strings,” Tolbert grumbled. “But I’ll brook no more of McQueen’s insults.”
“Sister Agnes keeps the bees, and it is she who makes the candles. It is a source of great pride to her,” Kate corrected. “But you should rest now. You’ve spent many an hour before the forge.”
“The ride will do me good.” Daniel seemed eager to go.
“Perhaps I should show you the way,” Kate suggested timidly.
“No!” Daniel snapped, with more force than he had intended. “What I mean is … I know the way—you told me earlier, remember?”
Kate lowered her gaze and blushed. Daniel, who would have liked nothing better than to be alone with her, silently cursed his blundering manner. What was she doing to him? With any other woman he’d know exactly what to say and do, but she had turned him into an oaf, clumsy in word and deed.
“Take whichever horse suits you,” Kate told him. Her wounded tone made Daniel feel small inside. She turned from him and headed for the tavern door.
“My sister’s a proud one,” Loyal said. “It isn’t often she lets a person close to her.” He glanced at Daniel, who could not meet his stare. “I do believe that’s the only thing Kate fears. Poor girl.” He smacked his lips after downing his brandy.
“What do you fear, Mr. McQueen?” Loyal added.
Now Daniel looked at him. There was more to Kate’s half-mad brother than the Scotsman had initially perceived. Loyal laughed softly as if reading Daniel’s thoughts and then stepped beneath the wrought-iron arch. He lifted his eyes to the animal figures rendered by the artisan.
“Hounds and hares,” Loyal noted coldly. “The world is reduced to the chase. But which of us is the hound?” His voice grew distant, thoughtful, and then he faced Daniel again. “And which the hare?”
An hour’s easy ride from the tavern, Daniel walked his bay the last few yards up a hill ringed by white oaks to where the ashes of a campfire still curled smoke and two men awaited him.
Major Josiah Meeks stretched his gaunt frame and stepped around the remains of the campfire. His brown-brimmed hat and eyepatch gave him the appearance of a swashbuckling rogue. He puffed on his clay pipe and hooked his thumbs in the broad belt circling his waist.
Black Tolbert stood a few paces off to the left. He held a pistol at the ready, cocked and primed and set to bring down the first stranger who entered the clearing. He recognized this incoming rider and held his fire. Still, he was slow to lower his gun. There was no love lost between Daniel McQueen and Black Tolbert.
Daniel dropped a hand to one of the “Quakers” tucked in his belt. Meeks defused the situation by stepping between the two antagonists. The major’s brown cloak flapped with each long-legged stride.
“We waited all morning, Danny boy,” the major said.
“You said to meet on the tenth day after I arrived at the inn. You didn’t say what time of day.”
“And you enjoyed keeping us out here while you played ‘bushy park’ with a tavern wench.” Tolbert slapped his neck, crushing a nettlesome insect. He pulled a leather flask from his pocket, took a couple of swallows of rum, and returned the flask to his forest-green coat.
The veins in Tolbert’s cheeks were like crimson lines drawn upon a war map. In another few years of self-abuse he’d be a dissolute wreck, but today he was an unbalanced and dangerous adversary.
Daniel didn’t care a whit. “Consider these discomforts just so much practice for your time in hell.”
Black Tolbert grew livid and tried to step around Meeks, who only just managed to restrain his impetuous henchman.
“I’ve heard enough from both of you,” the major complained.
Tolbert turned on him and his anger slowly subsided beneath the officer’s withering one-eyed stare.
“You hold the purse strings,” Tolbert grumbled. “But I’ll brook no more of McQueen’s insults.”
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