Page 19 of Earl of Excess
Hearing her words, the man whipped his head in Bethany’s direction. “Like I said. I need it. And the others are mostly gone,” he said, his voice livid.
Perceiving an advantage, the man continued. “I seen the man hang back. I recognized him, though. He’s been hanging around the area since the fight. He’s a stranger in these parts. Like that’n there,” he said, giving an exaggerated nod toward Matthew.
“Ah... yes,” stammered Bethany. “This is Matthew. And I had not planned to do anything but try to convince you to leave. However, I am afraid you have drawn undue attention to all of us.”
Matthew spoke up. “I believe we need to determine where this person is that followed Miss Phillips and her dog, Dandie.”
Smoot’s response was no surprise. “He’s English!” he sneered.
She smiled. “Yes. That... was...oursecret. Matthew was gravely injured, and this is the first time he has been able to be out of bed. He’s been unconscious almost since arriving here.”
“You’ve been living with a man,” he accused with a sneer, apparently focused on Matthew.
“I am Lord Matthew Romney in the King’s army,” Matthew said, speaking up. “I was critically injured in the same battle that took your son, and probably headed for burial.” A shudder swept his body. As he had begun to sort through memories following the battle, he recalled thinking he was not going to make it. “Miss Phillip’s dog found me still breathing under a stack of dead bodies after several men looking for survivors left me for dead. I was indeed dying. They saved me.” Matthew was careful not to give away his loss of sight, confident that if he could see the man’s expression, after having heard the sneer in his voice, he would want to rearrange his face. He could maintain his bluff with more light, so he stepped to the side to remove himself from the stream of light he felt hitting his back.
He heard the sharp intake of breath and imagined the stranger gaping in shock at the sight of him.
“I am hoping that Grandmère can help the colonel with...”
Matthew cleared his throat and Bethany stopped, looking at him.
“I had hoped Grandmère could help with his healing... but she seems to have been detained longer than I expected. I have run through all I know,” she finished, punctuating the last words, and her head turned in Matthew’s direction.
“Grrrrrr! Rrrrrrrr!” The small dog got up from where she had been laying and circled the chair.
“Don’t let her bite me again,” the man cried, suddenly nervous again.
“She has done that—if she perceives I am in danger,” soothed Bethany, reaching down and petting her dog. “Dandie, he can hardly hurt me. He’s bound. It would be very unfair for you to nip his fingers or bite his leg,” she continued, her voice taunting.
“Tell me about this man you saw following Bethany,” Matthew asked, throwing off all attempts to hide his British accent.
“He’s looking for soldiers,” Caleb said. “I heard him asking others around town.”
“So, you’ve noticed him for a while,” Matthew said, not speaking to Caleb. Something seemed off here. “Did you catch a name?”
“No sir, he spoke hushed-like, and I had my hat down when I was around others, hoping not to be seen. But a man’s gotta eat. I would filch some food here and there when people weren’t looking.”
“I am not getting a clear idea of where you have been, filching food,” Matthew said, his tone haughtier than he intended. Truthfully, the man was annoying him with the half-answers. He was not used to having to pry so hard to have answers.
Smoot sneezed. “Sorry.” He wiped his face on the shoulder of his shirt. “I been filching food from the small campfires where the womenfolk been feeding the troops—I’ve gone back and forth, and only taking what would feed me when no one was looking. But someone saw me, so I left and ran here before I got put back on the line somewhere.”
“The troops are still in the area?” Matthew wondered if his regiment had left or was still around. If he could find them...but how?
“Some are, best I can determine,” Smoot replied. “I heard the English had run, heading down the river.”
A sigh escaped Matthew. He started to respond, but bit his tongue. This cowardly deserter’s opinion of his countrymen mattered not to him. What mattered was that they might still be here. It sounded like they could still be in the vicinity. A feeling of hope swelled in his chest at the thought his comrades could still be near—perhaps at a distance hecouldnavigate. He needed more information. Unclear on what the man meant, Matthew probed. “Wheredown the river?”
He wanted very much to get home—even as unlikely as it seemed. He could not count on being able to see, which made planning to leave absurd. He would need a guide. Perhaps the better plan was to try and regain as much of his health as possible, first.
Feelings of grief threatened to overwhelm him. He needed to stay focused.
“All that matters to me is staying clear of Jackson,” Smoot spat. “Word is they are leaving the area. I’ve been hiding near here, keeping my eyes peeled for a boat. Yours is a nice one. Once the English leave, I can clear out.” He gave a crooked grin. “When you came out this morning, I saw the boat, and I wanted it. They willnotshoot me for deserting something that I didn’t want to do.” He gave an expression of earnestness. “I wouldn’t have stolen not’n else, ’cept for now that I smell your food, I might like whatever you’re cooking.”
The door to her cabin slammed open, and another man stepped in, appearing to hold a gun.
“Tobias!” Bethany stepped toward Matthew.
“I heard a shot.” He replied before turning his gaze to the man tied to and writhing in a chair in front of a snarling terrier. Matthew imagined blood was dripping from both of their faces. “Smoot, what the Hell have you done?”
