privacy. Yet, in uncharacteristic fashion, he cooled his anger.
“Well, sir, tell me, in these divisive times, which road do you walk—the king’s road or the patriots?” The merchant winked at Kate, then stood back, stroking his chin and waiting for an answer.
“My own road,” Daniel said.
“That often leads right down the middle,” Woodbine said. “And the middle is the worst place to be when the shooting starts. Better to be on one side or the other. But you’re a smart lad; you’ll make the right choice when the moment comes.”
Woodbine bowed toward Kate and once again kissed her hand. He started toward the door, then paused to take an extra tankard from a nearby shelf built into the wall near the door.
“My men appear to be enjoying Loyal’s cider. I think I’ll join them, for there is none better the length and breadth of the Trenton Road.” He stepped out into the courtyard and held out his tankard for Kate’s brother to fill.
The dragoons, as hard-looking a group as Daniel had ever seen, stood when Woodbine appeared among them.
“By God, Loyal, you’ve a gift for this,” said the merchant.
Loyal beamed with pride and nodded his thanks. A simple man, he trusted openly. It pleased him that others found merit in the work of his hands.
Kate and Dan also stepped outside.
“You’re welcome any time, Colonel Woodbine. You’ve been good to us, as good as one to his own kin. Isn’t that right, Kate?” Loyal said in his rasping voice.
“Like a kind uncle,” Kate replied.
Nathaniel Woodbine’s eyebrows arched, but he said nothing. He donned his tricorn hat with a flourish and motioned to his men, who quickly drained their tankards and headed out of the courtyard. One of the dragoons, a short, solid man older than Daniel by a decade, paused to scrutinize the Highlander.
Daniel noted the man’s attention and returned his stare until the man looked away.
“Corporal, will you join us?” Woodbine said as he made his way toward the phaeton. The militia men mounted their horses.
Daniel glanced down and spied the flash of silver in Kate’s hands.
“Handsome work, that. Worth a good deal,” he commented dryly.
Kate waved as the phaeton rolled past and then looked down at Woodbine’s gift. “Perhaps too much,” she mused aloud worriedly.
Nathaniel Woodbine settled back in the padded leather seat of his carriage, guided the geldings from the drive onto the Trenton Road, and pointed the animals toward Philadelphia.
“A kind ‘uncle,’ is it?” he muttered to himself, and snorted in contempt for the word and all it implied. Kate Bufkin was a blossom waiting to be picked. “We shall see about that.”
Chapter Seven
B Y THE TWENTIETH OF May, Daniel had repaired all the pewterware and fashioned a wrought-iron latticework arch that he fit over the entrance to the courtyard. Now the tavern’s patrons would pass beneath black iron vines that intertwined upward from either side and became a hound and hare caught in a tableau of the hunt.
When Daniel had finished, he, Kate, and Loyal stood out in the drive. Kate produced a bottle of the most potent brandy Daniel had ever lifted to his lips. They all drank a toast to Daniel’s handiwork. Daniel folded his arms across his chest and beamed with pride and satisfaction. It was indeed quite good. Not perfect, to be sure. He had made a twist here and there in the wrong place and the rabbit was not quite the right proportion in relation to the hound, but by and large, his work was worthy of the man who had been his teacher, Brian McQueen. Daniel gulped his brandy and let the burning liquid chase away the pain of his predicament.
“Tonight I’ll fix you anything, Daniel McQueen. A meal the like of you’ve never tasted,” Kate said.
“There’s no need.”
“It was a grand day when you rode to my sister’s rescue on the Trenton Road,” Loyal exclaimed, and patted the craftsman on the shoulder.
“Rode … I more or less leaped.”
“Well, sir, tell me, in these divisive times, which road do you walk—the king’s road or the patriots?” The merchant winked at Kate, then stood back, stroking his chin and waiting for an answer.
“My own road,” Daniel said.
“That often leads right down the middle,” Woodbine said. “And the middle is the worst place to be when the shooting starts. Better to be on one side or the other. But you’re a smart lad; you’ll make the right choice when the moment comes.”
Woodbine bowed toward Kate and once again kissed her hand. He started toward the door, then paused to take an extra tankard from a nearby shelf built into the wall near the door.
“My men appear to be enjoying Loyal’s cider. I think I’ll join them, for there is none better the length and breadth of the Trenton Road.” He stepped out into the courtyard and held out his tankard for Kate’s brother to fill.
The dragoons, as hard-looking a group as Daniel had ever seen, stood when Woodbine appeared among them.
“By God, Loyal, you’ve a gift for this,” said the merchant.
Loyal beamed with pride and nodded his thanks. A simple man, he trusted openly. It pleased him that others found merit in the work of his hands.
Kate and Dan also stepped outside.
“You’re welcome any time, Colonel Woodbine. You’ve been good to us, as good as one to his own kin. Isn’t that right, Kate?” Loyal said in his rasping voice.
“Like a kind uncle,” Kate replied.
Nathaniel Woodbine’s eyebrows arched, but he said nothing. He donned his tricorn hat with a flourish and motioned to his men, who quickly drained their tankards and headed out of the courtyard. One of the dragoons, a short, solid man older than Daniel by a decade, paused to scrutinize the Highlander.
Daniel noted the man’s attention and returned his stare until the man looked away.
“Corporal, will you join us?” Woodbine said as he made his way toward the phaeton. The militia men mounted their horses.
Daniel glanced down and spied the flash of silver in Kate’s hands.
“Handsome work, that. Worth a good deal,” he commented dryly.
Kate waved as the phaeton rolled past and then looked down at Woodbine’s gift. “Perhaps too much,” she mused aloud worriedly.
Nathaniel Woodbine settled back in the padded leather seat of his carriage, guided the geldings from the drive onto the Trenton Road, and pointed the animals toward Philadelphia.
“A kind ‘uncle,’ is it?” he muttered to himself, and snorted in contempt for the word and all it implied. Kate Bufkin was a blossom waiting to be picked. “We shall see about that.”
Chapter Seven
B Y THE TWENTIETH OF May, Daniel had repaired all the pewterware and fashioned a wrought-iron latticework arch that he fit over the entrance to the courtyard. Now the tavern’s patrons would pass beneath black iron vines that intertwined upward from either side and became a hound and hare caught in a tableau of the hunt.
When Daniel had finished, he, Kate, and Loyal stood out in the drive. Kate produced a bottle of the most potent brandy Daniel had ever lifted to his lips. They all drank a toast to Daniel’s handiwork. Daniel folded his arms across his chest and beamed with pride and satisfaction. It was indeed quite good. Not perfect, to be sure. He had made a twist here and there in the wrong place and the rabbit was not quite the right proportion in relation to the hound, but by and large, his work was worthy of the man who had been his teacher, Brian McQueen. Daniel gulped his brandy and let the burning liquid chase away the pain of his predicament.
“Tonight I’ll fix you anything, Daniel McQueen. A meal the like of you’ve never tasted,” Kate said.
“There’s no need.”
“It was a grand day when you rode to my sister’s rescue on the Trenton Road,” Loyal exclaimed, and patted the craftsman on the shoulder.
“Rode … I more or less leaped.”
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