Read Online Law, Susan Kay by Traitorous Hearts - Free Book Online
Authors: Traitorous Hearts
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face. Something was wrong. Bennie began to go to him but paused,
seeing his brows draw together and his eyes darken with rage.
The relaxed men suddenly drew together, their hands tightening on
their weapons. Cad looked at Adam, seeming to find satisfaction in his
answering nod.
What was it? Bennie wondered in bewilderment.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
Drums. But all the towns expected were already here.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
Relentless, rhythmic, unstoppable. Almost eerily regular. The
drums of soldiers marching to battle.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
Louder. Closer. A drumming that seemed to set the pace of her
painfully pounding heart.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
They were coming.
CHAPTER 5
There weren't asmany of them as she'd first thought.
Bennie huddled a little closer to the other silent women. All
around the square, small groups of women and children drew together, quiet and
watchful, as their men were confronted by the redcoats.
When the lines of soldiers had first come into sight, they'd
seemed endless. Long, evenly spaced columns, their marching flawlessly
synchronized to the beat pounded out by the Negro drummers, resplendent in
vivid yellow. Now, with the initial shock over, Bennie could see there were no
more than thirty or so men, not much more than half the number of colonial
militia.
It didn't seem to matter. These were soldiers. Their bayonets
gleamed malevolently in the sun. Their cross-straps were so white they must
have been freshly daubed with pipe clay. Their posture was straight, their grip
on their weapons sure, their bearing arrogant.
The lone exception was Jon. His size alone would have made him
conspicuous. A half step out of line, spoiling the sharp, perfect rows, he
fumbled with his musket and nearly lost his hat before he jammed it back on his
head. Earnest seriousness darkened his sculpted face as he sidled forward more
closely into alignment with the soldiers flanking him.
Quickly Bennie turned her attention back to her father. He was
nearly ready to explode. Even from this distance, she could see that his
eyebrows were quivering, the way they always did just before his temper erupted
onto one of her brothers.
Soon as they'd known what was coming, the colonists had rapidly
moved to a better defensive position. Now there were four solid rows backed
against one side of the common, protecting the women and children. Behind them
were the tavern, the store, the printshop; places their families could quickly
retreat to if it became necessary.
But what choices did the militiamen have, really? They couldn't
shoot, not without provocation or threat. And they wouldn't turn tail
and run—that was what the British wanted.
Cadwallader Jones stood proudly in front of his men. If the damn
English wanted to push this issue, he would oblige. There'd be better days and
places than this, but if this was what was to be, then he was ready.
Captain Livingston sauntered slowly, almost casually over to Cad.
Planting his feet slightly apart, Livingston linked his hands behind his back.
"So, Jones, you couldn't see your way clear to make this
simple, could you?"
"It could be very easy. You march your men back to your fort,
and we'll continue as if nothing had happened."
The captain shook his head regretfully. "Well, no, I don't
think that would work. I've been ordered to stop you from conducting any
military maneuvers, you see."
"And just how do you plan to stop us? You can't shoot
us."
"No? It would be a bit messy, I will admit. All that blood
and everything. Still and all, it's a rather expedient way of doing things, and
my men haven't had much chance to practice on moving targets recently. Might do
us some good."
Cad's hands tightened around the stock of his musket. "You
can't shoot first."
"I suppose not. But then it's always a bit confusing in
battle. All those shots, all that screaming. Who's to say who fired first? I'd
imagine twenty different men would have twenty
seeing his brows draw together and his eyes darken with rage.
The relaxed men suddenly drew together, their hands tightening on
their weapons. Cad looked at Adam, seeming to find satisfaction in his
answering nod.
What was it? Bennie wondered in bewilderment.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
Drums. But all the towns expected were already here.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
Relentless, rhythmic, unstoppable. Almost eerily regular. The
drums of soldiers marching to battle.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
Louder. Closer. A drumming that seemed to set the pace of her
painfully pounding heart.
Ba-dum-dum-dum. Ba-dum-dum-dum.
They were coming.
CHAPTER 5
There weren't asmany of them as she'd first thought.
Bennie huddled a little closer to the other silent women. All
around the square, small groups of women and children drew together, quiet and
watchful, as their men were confronted by the redcoats.
When the lines of soldiers had first come into sight, they'd
seemed endless. Long, evenly spaced columns, their marching flawlessly
synchronized to the beat pounded out by the Negro drummers, resplendent in
vivid yellow. Now, with the initial shock over, Bennie could see there were no
more than thirty or so men, not much more than half the number of colonial
militia.
It didn't seem to matter. These were soldiers. Their bayonets
gleamed malevolently in the sun. Their cross-straps were so white they must
have been freshly daubed with pipe clay. Their posture was straight, their grip
on their weapons sure, their bearing arrogant.
The lone exception was Jon. His size alone would have made him
conspicuous. A half step out of line, spoiling the sharp, perfect rows, he
fumbled with his musket and nearly lost his hat before he jammed it back on his
head. Earnest seriousness darkened his sculpted face as he sidled forward more
closely into alignment with the soldiers flanking him.
Quickly Bennie turned her attention back to her father. He was
nearly ready to explode. Even from this distance, she could see that his
eyebrows were quivering, the way they always did just before his temper erupted
onto one of her brothers.
Soon as they'd known what was coming, the colonists had rapidly
moved to a better defensive position. Now there were four solid rows backed
against one side of the common, protecting the women and children. Behind them
were the tavern, the store, the printshop; places their families could quickly
retreat to if it became necessary.
But what choices did the militiamen have, really? They couldn't
shoot, not without provocation or threat. And they wouldn't turn tail
and run—that was what the British wanted.
Cadwallader Jones stood proudly in front of his men. If the damn
English wanted to push this issue, he would oblige. There'd be better days and
places than this, but if this was what was to be, then he was ready.
Captain Livingston sauntered slowly, almost casually over to Cad.
Planting his feet slightly apart, Livingston linked his hands behind his back.
"So, Jones, you couldn't see your way clear to make this
simple, could you?"
"It could be very easy. You march your men back to your fort,
and we'll continue as if nothing had happened."
The captain shook his head regretfully. "Well, no, I don't
think that would work. I've been ordered to stop you from conducting any
military maneuvers, you see."
"And just how do you plan to stop us? You can't shoot
us."
"No? It would be a bit messy, I will admit. All that blood
and everything. Still and all, it's a rather expedient way of doing things, and
my men haven't had much chance to practice on moving targets recently. Might do
us some good."
Cad's hands tightened around the stock of his musket. "You
can't shoot first."
"I suppose not. But then it's always a bit confusing in
battle. All those shots, all that screaming. Who's to say who fired first? I'd
imagine twenty different men would have twenty
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