Spaniard.” Jackson dismissed Obregon with a single glance. “I did not expect such behavior from you, Lieutenant.”
“I am sorry, General.” Kit dabbed at his swollen lip. Blood had begun to dry at the corner of his mouth. He took satisfaction in Obregon’s swollen jaw. At least I’ve given the freebooter something to remember me by, Kit thought.
“Then, I will have your report back at my house,” Jackson said.
Kit looked dismayed. He needed to find Raven and apologize and somehow explain his actions. He desperately wanted to make her understand.
“General Jackson, if you’ll permit me just a brief moment…”
“It would seem you already have taken several moments to yourself and placed your affairs above the importance of my defenses,” Jackson replied. He had a sneaking suspicion as to the nature of McQueen’s unfinished business. Damn it all, if he didn’t like the mettle of this headstrong officer despite the younger man’s mistakes. Kit McQueen had put his life in peril more than once over the past few months. Jackson could attribute his recent victory over the Creek Indians at Horse Shoe Bend to the courage displayed by McQueen and his Choctaw allies. The general had almost talked himself into allowing Kit to reenter the widow’s house when he noticed the third man standing between Nate Russell and Strikes With Club. He recognized the uniform even at night.
“By heaven, a spy.” He pointed toward Harry Tregoning, who cringed as Jackson’s armed escort turned their weapons on him.
“I ain’t no spy, General, sir. Blimey, it would be a poor show if the only disguise I could come up with was a uniform of the King’s royal marines.”
“Arrest him at once!” Jackson curtly ordered. Harry cast an imploring look in Kit’s direction. Hanging was the punishment for a spy. The thought of dancing a dead man’s jig from the nearest tree branch made the Cornishman go sick inside.
“I don’t know how in the name of Jehovah you made it through our lines—” Jackson began.
“I brought him through,” Kit interrupted.
Jackson sputtered, and turned on McQueen as if the lieutenant had physically struck him. “You what!”
“He’s my prisoner.”
“Indeed, then why isn’t he in irons?” Jackson was scowling now, and his normally bad temper grew worse. “He’s seen our defenses.”
“We sort of had an agreement, Your Generalship,” Harry said, flashing his most winning smile. “You see, I promised not to try and escape, and that way I figured Mr. McQueen… uh… the lieutenant… might visit his lady fair. I mean, I ain’t in no hurry to taste the prison bread, if you catch my drift.” Harry moved into the moonlight to reveal he was unarmed. Bluffing was the only course open to him. He scratched beneath his arm and continued his explanation, much to Kit’s chagrin. “Let no one say that Harry Tregoning lacks respect for true love. Why, a good woman is worth her weight in gold, don’t you agree, General, sir? What do you say?”
Andrew Jackson seemed to swell in size. Color came to his cheeks and lightning flashed in his eyes. “What do I say…?” He grabbed the cap from his head and wadded it up in his fist. The stone-faced men of the Tennessee Volunteers flanked their commander. With guns leveled, they awaited his orders. Old Hickory’s iron gray hair stuck out from his head in wild disarray. “What do I say?” He looked from Harry to Kit, his gaze darting back and forth from one man to the other. “Arrest them both!”
Chapter Six
“Y OU CAN’T ARREST ME, ” said Kit McQueen, standing at attention in the middle of Jackson’s study. The general had taken an apartment at 106 Royal Street and had commandeered a spacious suite on the second floor of a three-story building whose balconies were trimmed with wrought-iron railing forged to resemble a swirl of black vines across the face of both the second and third stories. “Come on, now, General,” Kit continued.
“I am sorry, General.” Kit dabbed at his swollen lip. Blood had begun to dry at the corner of his mouth. He took satisfaction in Obregon’s swollen jaw. At least I’ve given the freebooter something to remember me by, Kit thought.
“Then, I will have your report back at my house,” Jackson said.
Kit looked dismayed. He needed to find Raven and apologize and somehow explain his actions. He desperately wanted to make her understand.
“General Jackson, if you’ll permit me just a brief moment…”
“It would seem you already have taken several moments to yourself and placed your affairs above the importance of my defenses,” Jackson replied. He had a sneaking suspicion as to the nature of McQueen’s unfinished business. Damn it all, if he didn’t like the mettle of this headstrong officer despite the younger man’s mistakes. Kit McQueen had put his life in peril more than once over the past few months. Jackson could attribute his recent victory over the Creek Indians at Horse Shoe Bend to the courage displayed by McQueen and his Choctaw allies. The general had almost talked himself into allowing Kit to reenter the widow’s house when he noticed the third man standing between Nate Russell and Strikes With Club. He recognized the uniform even at night.
“By heaven, a spy.” He pointed toward Harry Tregoning, who cringed as Jackson’s armed escort turned their weapons on him.
“I ain’t no spy, General, sir. Blimey, it would be a poor show if the only disguise I could come up with was a uniform of the King’s royal marines.”
“Arrest him at once!” Jackson curtly ordered. Harry cast an imploring look in Kit’s direction. Hanging was the punishment for a spy. The thought of dancing a dead man’s jig from the nearest tree branch made the Cornishman go sick inside.
“I don’t know how in the name of Jehovah you made it through our lines—” Jackson began.
“I brought him through,” Kit interrupted.
Jackson sputtered, and turned on McQueen as if the lieutenant had physically struck him. “You what!”
“He’s my prisoner.”
“Indeed, then why isn’t he in irons?” Jackson was scowling now, and his normally bad temper grew worse. “He’s seen our defenses.”
“We sort of had an agreement, Your Generalship,” Harry said, flashing his most winning smile. “You see, I promised not to try and escape, and that way I figured Mr. McQueen… uh… the lieutenant… might visit his lady fair. I mean, I ain’t in no hurry to taste the prison bread, if you catch my drift.” Harry moved into the moonlight to reveal he was unarmed. Bluffing was the only course open to him. He scratched beneath his arm and continued his explanation, much to Kit’s chagrin. “Let no one say that Harry Tregoning lacks respect for true love. Why, a good woman is worth her weight in gold, don’t you agree, General, sir? What do you say?”
Andrew Jackson seemed to swell in size. Color came to his cheeks and lightning flashed in his eyes. “What do I say…?” He grabbed the cap from his head and wadded it up in his fist. The stone-faced men of the Tennessee Volunteers flanked their commander. With guns leveled, they awaited his orders. Old Hickory’s iron gray hair stuck out from his head in wild disarray. “What do I say?” He looked from Harry to Kit, his gaze darting back and forth from one man to the other. “Arrest them both!”
Chapter Six
“Y OU CAN’T ARREST ME, ” said Kit McQueen, standing at attention in the middle of Jackson’s study. The general had taken an apartment at 106 Royal Street and had commandeered a spacious suite on the second floor of a three-story building whose balconies were trimmed with wrought-iron railing forged to resemble a swirl of black vines across the face of both the second and third stories. “Come on, now, General,” Kit continued.
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