Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Jake jumped from the bushes and flew to her, grabbing her hand just as she was about to light the pitch she had poured from the pail.
'Not a good place to be starting fires,' he said, forcing the torch from her grip. 'At least not tonight.'
'Let me go, you Tory bastard,' she yelped before Jake could clamp his hand across her mouth. 'I'll send you all to hell.
She was a cyclone of energy; Jake had to lift her off her feet and plunk her onto the ground to knock some of the fight out of her. Seventeen or eighteen at most, the girl wore the simple dress of a servant. The torch illuminated a winsome, spirited face; he felt an instant attraction, all the more so because she was on the right side of the conflict.
'You've got to close the front door before you set a barn on fire,' said Jake, who had experience in such matters. 'Otherwise everyone gets out. And look at this — you've concentrated your oil in one spot; the blaze will be easy to extinguish.'
'You Loyalists are all so smug and sure of yourselves. I hate you.'
'If you be quiet a moment,' said Jake, deciding not merely to trust her but to enlist her as an ally of sorts, 'you will discover that I am not a Tory, but a patriot like yourself.'
Whether she would have believed him or not, the young woman was given no chance to reply. Jake clamped his fingers back across her mouth as the indistinct murmurings from inside the barn turned into the definite noises of someone being sent to investigate the disturbance. He stamped out the torch, but there wasn't time to escape — or dismantle the brush next to the barn.
Only one thing to do: Jake pulled the girl forward and grabbed her in his arms, planting a large kiss on her lips as two Tories turned the corner of the building.
'What's going on here?'
'Be with you shortly,' he said as one laid his hand on his shoulder.
He was fortunate that they had not brought a candle with them, for otherwise they could not have missed the obvious signs of the aborted arson. The two men laughed and headed back inside for the meeting. 'Well, how was that?' said Jake as he let the girl go. His answer was a smack across the face. 'I'm practically engaged,' said the girl. 'Was my kiss that unpleasant?' Rarely do words have such a direct impact as these — the girl broke out crying.
Jake once more took her in his arms, this time soothingly. 'I am a patriot, and your friend. Tell me why you were going to burn down the barn, and I guarantee to help you.'
His voice was so reassuring, and the kiss had been so gentle and warm, that the girl trusted him instantly. Still, it took her a minute to calm enough to talk again. Emotion had broken from her like a river rushing a dam; its pent-up fury was overwhelming once released. Finally her sobs subsided enough for her to tell her story.
Chapter Seven
The girl's name was Rose McGuiness, and contrary to the evidence of her lush lips and well-shaped-if-thin body, she was closer to fifteen then eighteen. She was also a devout patriot, as was her fiance-to-be. The same age as Rose, the young man was a blacksmith's apprentice who had been put to work forging the great iron chain across the Hudson River north of Peekskill.
'It's all they talk of now, destroying the chain,' sobbed the girl, tugging at her reddish-brown curls. 'They'll kill my poor Robert, I know they will.'
Rose's fiance would be quite safe, Jake assured her. Most of the craftsmen working on the chain were actually ensconced in Poughkeepsie or New Jersey, their wares transported after they were fashioned. The few who had to work at the forts were well protected, and Jake mentioned breezily that the posts were nearly impenetrable to attack.
She could not see that he had crossed his fingers, and might not have noticed in any case. Her eyes had gathered that dewy glow that is the first warning of lovesickness; her body, so sharp and rebellious not ten minutes before, was now soft and compliant in Jake's arms. Indeed, her fiance faced a considerably more potent threat from this patriot than from the entire British army.
'Rose, I guarantee that we will not allow them to attack the chain,' Jake told her, his voice as sincere as it had ever been in his life. 'But you must do nothing now. Trust me when I tell you that I will deal with the Tories sharply and completely. In the meantime, go about your business as if nothing has happened. It is imperative that they have no warning before our forces surprise them.'
There was a look in his eye that no poet could describe, unless that poet were inspired by the muse Freedom herself. Determination was not the half of it; his soul had opened up, and his will flooded into the girl's. There was no chance for her to disobey his words.
But let us not get too fancy describing eye contact. Suffice to say that Rose nodded weakly. Jake gave her flushed cheek a kiss to seal the matter, then put on his best Tory face and walked around the side of the barn to attend the meeting.
As gruff and obnoxious as any noncommissioned officer in the regular army, Sergeant Lewis greeted Jake's story of his recruitment and subsequent ambush with a sneering grunt.
'I've got business to attend to. Captain Busch can sort yourself out when he arrives,' said the sergeant, turning to the horses.
This would have been fine with Jake, except that the other Tories immediately took their cue from his contempt. The hostility escalated as their leading questions turned to outright accusations.
'I think I've seen you before,' said a tallish bald fellow, twisting his words so that it sounded as if he'd spied Jake murdering a child.
'Where would that be?' countered the disguised patriot.
Instead of answering immediately, the man walked to the center of the barn and picked a sword off the table.
'In New York, at a rally for Washington,' said the Tory ranger, who pretended to test the blade's sharpness with his finger.
'You're mistaken,' said Jake. He folded his arms in feigned disgust. The inquisition was picked up by a fellow nearly as tall as he was, and half again as wide, who came and stood next to him, hands on his hips.
'Your story of being challenged by rebels smells a few days old,' said the man. Like most of the others, he wore a dark green coat — the official uniform of a Loyalist ranger. 'Where is Captain Busch if it is true?'
'Captain Busch met his corporal. He told me to come on alone,' said Jake. 'I have enough sense to follow orders.'
'He has a rebel stink about him, I'll warrant that,' said a third irregular. 'Someone with a name of Smith — as likely as finding a pig wearing a dress.'
'Your wife speaks ill of you as well,' Jake said.
Finally an answer that was well received by all but the subject of the rebuttal.
'I was told that this was a competent group,' added Jake boastfully, 'but I think the rebels would laugh the moment they saw your ill-fitting coats. Or is laughter your weapon of choice?'
'Best watch your manners,' said an older man in the audience. 'You're new here. A few of us are veterans of the war with the French and our bravery is well proved.'
'In that war, certainly,' said Jake, who tempered his mocking tone. 'But with respect, we're no longer fighting dance masters; we're after real game.'
'And you're here to show us the way, are you?'
'I've come just in time. What have you done till now? Upset a hen house or two?'
'Wasn't it our information that set the raid on Peekskill?' said the older man cheerfully. 'And who stole Old Put's own fodder from under his nose three times last month? If his troops are boiling their shoes for meat, it's us he has to thank.'
'We could beat the rebels entirely on our own,' said another. 'We don't need the Dependence or any other
