Scamp's Lady

By Jackie Walton

Even if he wasn’t a British officer, Deborah Morgan would detest the arrogant Kit Marshall! Being on opposite sides of a war alone should be enough to keep them at a distance, but injured men, murderers, and a scrappy little dog drive them together, forging unbreakable bonds of the heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Walton
• Release date: Sep 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465781789

Jackie Walton

After growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area and marrying my high school sweetheart, we became what Alvin Toffler called "corporate gypsies." We've lived in a number of states and countries, including Italy, and have visited a lot of places, some of which show up in my stories. I'm a retired high school science teacher with degrees in English and psychology. (Those two and $4 will get you a good cup of coffee!) I've always loved history, though, as you might guess from the last chapter of my books. That's what happens when you mix a teacher with a self-professed history geek. We are once again back in the Bay Area with our long, tall Pole of a dog.

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Scamp’s Lady

Jackie Walton

To Dick, with lots of love

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Jacquelyn Walton

Cover art by Lauren Manning

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27 For the History Geeks

Chapter 1

It was a glorious day to be out for a ride, even if it was in an old farm wagon with her older brother for company. The day had blossomed crisp and clear, and bloomed into the kind of day that made it a pleasure to be alive. In this first week of October 1780, the leaves in the farm country north of Lancaster, South Carolina, had on their red coats, but she forgave them this disloyalty because the sky over shown everything with a Patriot blue. Besides, it was too beautiful a day to dwell on the damnable British.

If it weren’t for those awful redcoats, Deborah mused as she worked another row on the stocking for Adam, this would be an enjoyable ride, in spite of his uncanny ability to find every hole in the road with the north-bound wagon.

She silently damned the British. Her mother would have her head if she ever said such a thing aloud. It was impossible to stop thinking about them. The war had been going on for over five years now. The Colonies were no closer to independence from England then they were at the beginning. Maybe even a little further away.

I don’t know how I’m going to keep an eye on Joshua for Mama if he goes off to join Sumter, Deborah complained. Thomas Sumter led the Rebel raiders operating in South Carolina somewhere between the towns of Ninety-Six and Camden.

Now look, little chick, Josh can take care of himself. You’re a mite young to be his wet-nurse.

She bristled at the diminutive. He always called her that. They all did. She was fairly tall for a woman, but with three very large, older brothers and a giant of a father, they felt it their right to emphasize her relative smallness.

Besides, Adam continued, Sumter need his tracking skills. You know Josh’s the best tracker in the Shenandoah Valley.

Mention of home got Deborah back on track. You know I promised Mama. And you did too. Even before they obeyed their father, the boys would comply with their mother’s wishes. Abigail Morgan was a tiny woman, with a soft voice and soft ways, but every male in the household jumped to her bidding. And not because they feared her...

You know Mama wanted us all to stay with Papa. She told me to...

Ah, the little chick has become a mother hen. Do you really think you’re big enough to handle it? She jabbed him in the ribs, and he pretended to swoon. As he went toppling over, the reins slackened, and the horses swerved to the right.

Adam! She dropped her knitting and grabbed for the traces. He leaned further to his side, holding the reins just out of her reach and keeping the horses on the path, generally speaking.

Adam! came out with less terror and more exasperation. She straightened up and slapped at his arm.

Oh, sorrow and pain! She strikes her beloved brother, wounding him to the core and doing grievous damage to his person. His eyes twinkled. I won’t be able to lift a rifle and hold my position, and so the whole unit will be overrun and the battle lost, and we’ll all be slaughtered, and it’ll all be your fault. She stuck her tongue out at him as he wasn’t quite keeping the laughter out of his voice. Will you grieve for me dear sister? Will you throw yourself on my grave and weep for me? A mournful expression decorated his face.

Idiot. She shivered, none the less, despite his teasing, for it was a possibility she lived with any time her loved ones went into battle against the damnable British. Enough, I don’t need that, particularly since we’re so close to the British camps. General Lord Charles Cornwallis was still in the area of Camden, the site of Cornwallis’s crushing victory over General Horatio Gates, some miles south of them. Picking the soon-to-be sock off the footboard, she inspected it for damage. Thankfully, there was none.

Deborah Morgan knew they had reason to be concerned. She also knew that Adam, despite his levity, was also keeping a sharp eye out for British troops or their Tory collaborators. He had not wanted her to come along on this mission, but she had insisted. How much more innocent than a brother and sister taking supplies home from the market, she had argued. Their father had agreed. Only the supplies were going to more bodies than there were at home, but the British didn’t need to know that. The siblings were headed for the rebel camp at Charlottesburg.

Their father, Daniel Morgan, had fought for independence from the beginning. But as the war progressed, those patently less worthy had been promoted over him for political reasons. In addition, his rheumatism had progressed from annoying to unbearable. A year ago he retired. Now General Washington and Gate’s successor, General Nathaniel Greene, had offered him the general’s rank he deserved. They needed his affinity with the backwoods riflemen who were experts at the hide and shoot type of warfare that confounded the British. Daniel Morgan was an expert at it; after all, who taught Joshua to track?

The rheumatism, however, had not gone away. A goodly part of Deborah’s function was to make the pain bearable for her father so that he, in turn, could do his job. Her skills with herbs eased the pain. Both of her parents knew she wanted to win this war as badly as her brothers did. The elder Morgans agreed to let her accompany her father, but her mother designated her watchdog, guardian, and yes, mother hen to three of the world’s four most stubborn men. Eli stayed to tend the farm with his mother and waxed jealous of his brothers.

Adam began to whistle tunelessly and then struck up a song.

Sir William, he, snug as a flea

Lay all this time a-snoring

Nor dreamed of harm, as he lay warm

In bed with Mrs....

Deborah shushed at him and tried to swat his arm again when she realized the direction of the ditty, but he finished his song, a tribute to the welcomed inaction of the British Commander-in-Chief, Sir William Howe. Until he was, unfortunately, relieved in 1778, General Howe saw most of his action with the lovely Mrs. Loring.

Birds chirped happily in the trees and every once in a while, the flick of a squirrel’s tail was visible through the branches, storing the fall’s harvest of nuts against the winter. So peaceful, so tranquil, she thought she’d...

Hoof beats sounded around the bend in front of them. Redcoat troopers, whispered Adam as he handed her the reins. I’m an idiot, and we’re going to Rock Hill from the market in Lancaster, remember. Adam vanished before her eyes, replaced by a slack-jawed, slump-shouldered lump staring vacantly out of wide, brown eyes. Deborah only had a second to marvel at the stranger beside her, when a hand full of British soldiers galloped toward them. She stuffed the knitting under her skirt. As they drew near, the one in the lead signaled for his men to stop and then gestured for Deborah to also halt.

She stared, fascinated, at his blood-red coat and pristine white breeches and all the gold buttons. And then she looked at him. He was barely more than a boy! A pink-cheeked, fair-haired boy, he looked significantly younger then her own twenty-two years. But a red coat, she cautioned herself.

Good day to you, sir, she said, putting on a smile. Can I help you? Adam shifted and grinned and scratched himself in a place that would have earned his mother’s censure. The soldier trotted alongside him.

Good day to you, too, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Harvey of the 7th Foot. I’m afraid I must ask you to allow us to search your wagon. The cultured tones of the well-bred English upper class saturated every word.

Deborah froze, but knew what she had to do. Why, of course, Lieutenant, we have nothing to hide. He gestured his men to the wagon. They moved without expression to obey. We’re just fetching the supplies from Lancaster to our place on she coughed to gain a moment to think, Pine Creek south of Rock Hill. Is there a problem? A light brown strand of hair escaped its braid, and she tucked it behind her ear.

No, ma’am. We just have standing orders to inspect all traffic on this road. Rebels, you know. Alongside the lieutenant, Adam picked his nose. The young soldier curled his lip and looked off at his men.

Oh, yes, I’m sure, but we don’t know too much about them. We just try to go about our business. She wanted to sound loyal, but not so much as to arouse the young man’s suspicions. Glancing back to the wagon, she wondered when they would be finished. How long did it take to see that there was nothing overtly suspicious in it?

Adam reached over to touch a gold button with the finger that had been exploring his nose. Purty.

Lt. Harvey jerked back. ’Od’s blood! Can’t you keep him on a leash or something?

Deborah grabbed Adam’s hands and put them on his lap. Surreptitiously, she pinched his leg. Sorry, sir, he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just a little touched in the head, you know.

Harvey humphed, but a soldier came forward to report, so he let the matter drop.

Sir! Just food and clothes, blankets and stuff of that sort, sir! The man’s face was blank and his back like a board.

Yes, well, all right. Be on you way now.

Thank you Lieutenant and good day to you.

She gathered up the reins and let the brake go when the sound of more horses around the bend reached them.

Sir, riders, sir!

Yes, I know, you dolt.

In a moment, three riders came into view, the lead man distinguished by his plumed hat and green jacket. They drew to a halt in front of the wagon.

Col. Tarleton, sir! Lt. Harvey snapped. Nature had played a trick on Banastre Tarleton. He was too pretty for a man. Now, along with his reddish-blond, wind-tousled, hair, his classically beautiful features were delicately flushed from the ride.

Deborah stiffened and groped for Adam’s hand. He squeezed it gently and went back to playing with a sliver on the wagon seat.

What’s going on here, Lieutenant? Tarleton asked. His horse danced aside, and he hauled brutally on the reins.

Just a routine road inspection, sir. I was just sending them on their way.

One of the other men with Tarleton nudged him in the ribs. Well, Ban, you’re the one who said you were going to butcher more men and lay more women than anyone else in the Army. Here’s another chance. He leered at Deborah and snickered at Adam.

Deborah knew right then that they were in very great danger. Banastre Tarleton had become the most hated man in the Colonies after the recent battle at Waxhaw, South Carolina, where Col. Abraham Buford’s 400 men were slaughtered under flags of surrender. A man like Tarleton was capable of anything, and here he was in front of her, assessing her like a particularly scrumptious desert.

Stifle it, Hanger. You’ll frighten these good folks. What are they carrying, Lieutenant? Tarleton inquired, ever so softly.

Farm supplies, Colonel. They’ve been to the market. I believe them to be loyal subjects of the King, sir. They’re ready to go on their way.

Yes, I see that Lieutenant, I see that. Tarleton rubbed his thumb along his elegant jaw and grinned back at his friends. However, he drawled, there are reports of rebel troops in the area. We would be remiss in our duty to the King if we allowed this fair lady to go on unescorted. Unfortunately...we are unable to escort your to your destination, so you will have to accompany us back to our quarters in Camden.

Sir! Lt. Harvey, obviously ill at ease with the turn of events, began, swallowed, and hurried into his thoughts. Our patrol was ordered north. We can...

That’s enough, Mr. Harvey. Continue with your duties. We’ll take care of these good folks.

His smile confirmed what Deborah suspected. Thank you, sir, but we’ll take our chances on the road ahead. We really must get home.

Turn the wagon around, miss.

There’s no need for this, I assure...

Tarleton drew his pistol. Turn the wagon around.

Deborah swallowed hard. She glanced at Lt. Harvey, knowing, even as she did, that he was as powerless as she. He was looking at Tarleton, his mouth drawn into a hard line. She could guess his opinion of his superior officer.

The young man made one last try. Sir, don’t you...

Lieutenant, get on with your patrol. Damn your eyes, I don’t want to tell you again.

Yes, sir. He wheeled his horse, shouted to his men, and rode north on the trail.

Tarleton grinned back at his companions and then turned to Deborah. Allow me to introduce myself, my dear. Col. Banastre Tarleton of the British Legion, at your service. His smile promised just exactly what kind of service he would provide. My friends, he gestured towards the others, call me ‘Ban.’ Please consider yourself my friend.

She considered her options and knew that there was only one, and a risky one at that. Thank you, Colonel, I am Deborah Morgan. She glanced at the gun, still in Tarleton’s hand, now lying across his saddle. Gathering the reins, she began to turn the wagon. Excuse me, sir, but I will need some room to turn.

He holstered the gun and moved his horse.

How is it that such a lovely lady is out in the middle of rebel country alone?

Tarleton’s smile would make the angels cry, she thought. Even the unholy light in his eyes couldn’t dim the perfection of his cheek or the symmetry of his jaw line. I had to go to market, and I’m not alone.

He couldn’t protect you from a three-legged mouse, he snorted, nodding at Adam. But now you have the protection of the King’s finest.

Keeping her eyes on the horses, she nodded acknowledgement, and tried not to wince at the double entendre. His notion of protection and hers differed greatly. She hoped that by not answering him, he would get bored and spread his attentions elsewhere, but there was little hope of that. He’d been pestering her with questions and gossip and the names of the great and powerful that he was on intimate terms with for the better part of half an hour now. Tarleton obviously like the sound of his own voice so much that he didn’t notice that she said almost nothing.

Mistress Morgan, I personally, will take...

Adam’s raspberry and bouncing on the seat not only stopped the chatter but startled the Colonel’s horse. Yanking the animal’s head around, Tarleton subdued the agitated prancing. Can’t you control that idiot any better than that? My horse almost threw me.

I’m sorry, sir. He doesn’t know any better. Her own placid mare had stirred in the traces and Deborah saw her opportunity. I am not so adept at handling horses as you, sir. Mathilda, here, is a little shy around other horses. You must excuse me, but I really need to concentrate on the reins. Tarleton pursed his lips but urged his horse up to join his companions in front of the wagon.

After awhile, they stopped for a break. Deborah desperately needed some privacy. Discretely, Adam nudged her over toward some bushes. Through the branches, she watched him standing guard while she lifted her skirts to take care of matters. The tallest member of the group noticed her absence just as she was finishing and came over to investigate. Adam had his back to her while she hurriedly started to adjust her clothing. The sound of water splashing on the leaf carpet caught her attention as Adam swayed back and forth. He was...he was...

The tall soldier jumped away, cursing and threatening.

Adam! Adam, stop that this instant! She ran around the bushes, knowing that she now had to rescue him. Adam turned away at her approach and put himself back together. She gathered him in her arms, leading him in a wide circle around the enraged officer and back to the wagon.

Shoving him back up onto the seat, she folded his hands and grabbed the reins. Don’t ever do something like that again, she hissed. He will happily kill you. You could have done something less drastic if you had to.

It worked, and that’s all that matters. His voice was hard and low and predatory. She looked sideways at him; the cold light in his narrowed eyes was something she’d never seen in her happy-go-lucky brother. It was time to get moving, before he attacked the British dragoons barehanded.

Tarleton and Hanger were laughing at the tall one. Their raillery had succeeded in defusing his anger, at least for the moment.

"Damme, how can she stand to be near such a revolting creature?’

How can such a lovely morsel be related to that degenerate?

Ah, Tarleton interposed, but he’s not going to be around all the time.

**

It was near lunchtime when they stopped at a roadside inn. A number of horses were tied around the inn courtyard, and a handful of British troopers lounged under a tree on the other side of the yard. Two ostlers rushed out to take the horses. Tarleton escorted her into the dining hall with Adam trailing behind. A figure stood up from one of the tables, but in the relative darkness, she couldn’t see who it was.

Sir! She recognized the youthful voice of Lt. Harvey. We just arrived. Our host is just preparing luncheon. I’ll have him set more covers.

What the hell are you doing here, Harvey?

Why, sir, I thought you realized, our patrol was only supposed to go a short ways past where we met up with you. We turned around, came down the west road and arrived just before you did. Tarleton looked suspicious. Must have traveled faster without the wagon along, sir.

Deborah had never seen such innocence before in her life. With that look on his face, the young man could have told Tarleton that General Washington was a loyal subject of the King, and the Colonel might well have believed him. She could only hope that their horses weren’t too blown, or the dragoons would know his tale for the lie that it was. Deliberately, she walked over to the table near him. When he stood aside to seat her, she looked him directly in the eyes and said, Thank you.

Young as he was, he didn’t miss her meaning. My pleasure, ma’am.

Lunch was a quiet affair. Tarleton attacked his food like it was a rebel soldier and no one was foolish enough to gainsay him. In short order, they were back on the road.

Several hours later, Deborah saw the perimeter pickets for the British camp at Camden.

Chapter 2

More and more British soldiers appeared on and near the road as they rode into the camp past a palisade wall and a ring of redoubts. Camden lay just south of them. This appeared to have once been a very prosperous farm. The main house, set up on a rise, was large, three stories, and painted cream with a blue-gray trim. Two porches, one atop the other, crowned the main staircase. Another wooden palisade profaned the Georgian lines of the house.

Tents of varying sizes radiated out from it as far as she could see. There were horses and men everywhere. Not all wore the hated red jackets; many were in the distinctive uniforms of the various companies that were under Cornwallis’s command at the moment.

The small parade stopped in front of the house, just as two officers walked out of the main door. The taller one frowned at a set of papers. He looked up and glared at Deborah, her brother, and the obvious military escort. Lt. Harvey drew up beside them. The officer looked down on his subordinate from the top of the stairs. Well, Harvey, what breed of rebel scum have you brought in this time?

Halloo, Kit, Bulldog, Tarleton trotted up to the bottom of the stairs. We found these good people on the road without any protection, right in the middle of rebel country. Had to give them an escort, of course, but that led them back here. Not to worry, we’ll get it sorted out soon enough. I’ll see to their quarters while they’re here.

Before the officer could reply, Harvey dismounted and handed to reins to a soldier. Sir, he addressed the taller officer, I’d like to make my report as soon as possible, now if it’s convenient to you.

The officer’s eyes narrowed on the young man. He watched him glance toward the wagon. Come in, Lieutenant. Thomson, he shouted over his shoulder, …Find these two a campsite. I may want to talk to them. Turning back to the group, Ban, I’ll want to talk to you, later. Harvey, inside. Thanks, Bulldog. His shorter companion saluted awkwardly and wandered away.

Tarleton made a face at Deborah and gave her a flourishing salute. I’ll check that your accommodations are satisfactory later, lovely lady, but for now I must see to my duties.

Deborah offered him a frosty nod. Luckily, Thomson (at least she assumed it was Thomson) came up to the wagon. A big, bear of a man, he nodded respectfully. This way, ma’am. The rumble of his voice matched his size.

Deborah turned the horse to follow the human bear while Adam looked around, chin up, and eyes wide, with a blank sort of interest. As he looked around past her, he whispered, Just do as they say. I don’t think the head man wants us here any more than we want to be here. He turned towards Thomson, who’d come up to the wagon, and gave the man the biggest grin he could manage. Pointing to the band of gold buttons on the uniform sleeve, he gurgled, Purty!

Like that, do ye, son? Thomson lifted his arm so Adam could see it better. Tha’ shows Ah’m a somebody around ‘ere, an’ mighty proud of it, Ah am, too. Anybody gives you two grief, he made sure Deborah knew he was talking to her, too, ye just yell up old Thomson, an’ Ah’ll take care of it. He leaned a little closer and looked at her. However, for safety’s sake, ye’d best be steering clear of Col. T. Being the pretty lass that ye are, and all.

Thank you, Mr. Thomson; I’ll keep that in mind. I’m Deborah Morgan. And thank you for being so kind to my brother, Adam, here. Not everybody is, you know.

Well Ah do, ma’am. Ah once ‘ad a little girl cousin. Prettiest thing ye’ve ever seen, but muzzy in the noggin, if ye knows what Ah means, and Ah knows ye do. She loved everybody and everything.

The sorrow in his voice touched her heart. What happened to her, Mr. Thomson?

He cleared his throat. Some boys from the town nearby hurt her real bad, and she died. Tha’ was just before Ah took the King’s shilling.

It was his tone that told her that a great deal of significance had happened between the little girl’s death and his joining the army. She didn’t think she wanted to know the details. She took another tack. You loved her very much, didn’t you?

Yes, ma’am.

You’re a good man, Mr. Thomson. They moved through the camp in silence for a few minutes. Could you tell me who the officer at the house was?

Certainly, ma’am. Th’ one that spoke to ye was Col. Christopher Marshall. ‘E’s Gen. Cornwallis’s Chief of Staff, sort of runs things around here, ‘specially wi’ General Cornwallis feeling poorly these days, if ye knows what Ah means. Ah suspect Col. T’ll get a rare...humph! Ah should say, Col. Kit likes things done right, if ye knows what Ah means. Th’ other gent was Major Patrick Ferguson, ‘Bulldog’ t’ his friends. Now that un’s a real gentleman. Always a good word t’ the men, none too ‘igh in the instep, neither. Course-ways, some o’ th’ officers think ‘e’s a fool to ‘ave anything to do with t’men, but Col. Tarleton’s been wrong before.

What happened to Major Ferguson’s arm? Is it broken?

No, ma’am. ‘E got ‘isself shot in t’elbow, and it don’t work well no more.

Oh.

T’ young sprout, Lt. Harvey, his uncle’s Adjutant General, but the lad’s got plenty o’bottom.

What about Col. T?

Thomson slowed his pace too a stop and stared her full in the face. Then he turned and spit, What o’im?

Deborah hesitated, What…what’s he like?

Thomson stared at her a moment longer. Ye steers clear of ‘im missy, y’ear?

Deborah pursed her lips and nodded. I hear.

They put the wagon in a small, open space, not too far from the main house. Thomson assigned them to a campfire for meals, giving the soldiers there strict instructions and prohibitions. The men watched her avidly, but she felt more uncomfortable with Thomson’s promise of the lash for the men than with their hungry, woman-starved looks. Even so, those promises, she knew, were for her own protection.

Adam wandered among them as she settled the wagon. When did he get to be such a good actor, she muttered well under her breath. She watched as he firmly established his idiocy among the men.

He played with a Brown Bess rifle, stacked cornstalk-fashion until the nearest soldier pushed him away. Purty, he gushed. Show Adam!

No, ye bleedin’ mooncalf, the soldier yelped. T’sergent’ll ‘ave yer ‘ead an’ mine!

Adam, come here and help me. He hunched his head down into his shoulders and cowered a bit at her tone. Now, Adam.

He lumbered over to her like a naughty child, casting occasional wistful glances at the stack of rifles.

Don’t overdo it! she hissed. I’m going over to the headquarters and see if I can talk that colonel into letting us go. Stay here and don’t get into trouble.

Yes, little chick. Take care.

As she walked away from the wagon, she turned as if to admonish him, Now stay there.

Deborah climbed the steep stairs to the lower porch of the house. Large bushes on either side softened the sharp changes in level between the house and the ground.

Preparing to knock, she reviewed the decision she’d come to on the way over here. The best approach would be an appeal for a speedy release to tend to her sick mother. That would work well. Loud voices tumbled out the open window near the porch and stopped her knock.

I’m more than four, Ban. I know exactly what’s going on under those blond curls of yours.

Aye, I’ll bet you do, Kit. She’s quite a little beauty, our colonial farm girl.

Damnation! This is an army camp, not a brothel, and I’ll thank you to remember that!

Tarleton snorted, And what of Ferguson’s two private body-birds?

They’re here because they want to be. Mistress Morgan is not.

So?

Marshall curled his lip. "Your enthusiasm may serve you well on the battlefield, but it