Wild legacy (30 page)

Not wishing to intrude upon the unhappy individual, he stood very still, and in a moment located the source of the sound. He had noticed the wooden benches when he had passed through the garden earlier in the day. He saw a woman clad in white, her nightgown perhaps, curled up on a bench near the house. She was crying very softly, as though she did not want to be discovered in such a downcast mood, but her sorrow touched him nonetheless.

At first he thought it might be Belle, weeping because Falcon was leaving, but the pair seemed so close, he knew the brave would not leave her to cry alone. He took a single step, and then he did not need to see the young woman any more clearly to know it was Dominique. He knew it would break her parents' hearts to hear her sobbing so dejectedly, but had she wanted their comfort, she would surely have sought it.

Instead, she had left the house and given vent to her tears in the seclusion of the well-tended garden. His first impulse was to go to her and offer the sympathy Falcon had suggested he give, but he lacked faith in the effort to succeed. He did not want to provoke another angry outburst from her, especially when he harbored the lingering suspicion that he had deserved it. He had blamed her for being cold,

but why had he expected warmth when she had repeatedly told him she would rather be left alone?

He hated listening to her cry. It tore at his soul and yet he stood transfixed, unable to go to her or to leave to seek his own solace elsewhere. Shadowed by the night, he remembered other young women who had wept over him and wondered what had happened between Dominique and the man she so clearly still loved. Beau had said he was unworthy of her, but Dominique plainly did not share that view. She was mourning the loss of something precious to her, and Etienne felt the depth of her sorrow with every muffled sob.

He heard the rushing river in the distance and the crickets' lively chirp. There was jasmine on the air that he had not noticed during the day. The garden provided a romantic setting, but he felt as though miles, rather than a few yards, separated him from Dominique. He waited in a silent vigil, not even understanding why, but he could not leave the garden until, exhausted by tears, she had gotten up and gone inside.

He picked his rose then and carried it to the stable. Falcon had given him a blanket to spread out on the straw, and he made himself comfortable. He had spent nights in worse quarters, but as he inhaled the rose's heady perfume, he knew he had never been more lonely. A tear slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. He had come to America to fight, not to fall in love with a fair beauty who loved someone else, but the logic of that thought did not ease his pain and he wished he and Dominique could have wept together.

him a good deal better than other men, so the difference didn't trouble me. I believe being part Indian is an advan-' tage, you see, and have never lacked for pride. Christian can wear suits as easily as buckskins, and no one will comment that he resembles a savage. I've never tried, but if I trimmed my hair to the length of yours and donned a fancy velvet suit, I think I could walk through Williamsburg and receive only admiring glances."

"You are both handsome men," Etienne agreed absently. They had ridden hard all day, but he wasn't ready to go to sleep. He had truly enjoyed Falcon's stories, and felt compelled to offer something even if it would not be equally entertaining. "My father is also different," he revealed softly. "He could have had a good life in France, but he never overcame his bitterness with the British for breaking Queen Anne's promises to respect the Acadians' religion and lands. Nor could he forgive the French Canadians for not defending the Acadians when the English demanded they leave.

"I do not even know why he married my mother. She is still remarkably pretty, so perhaps she simply caught his eye, but he has always spent more time at sea than at home. My mother tends her garden and cares for my three sisters, but she deserves to have a real husband rather than a man who longs to be in Acadia instead of in France with her. He taught me how to sail and fish, but little else of value."

"Is he still living?"

"Yes. If you can count thriving on old hatreds being alive."

Falcon's home had always been filled with the sound of happy laughter, and he found it difficult to imagine how empty Etienne's life must have been. With his father away at sea, he would have undoubtedly shouldered more responsibility than a young boy should.

"Is your mother kind as well as pretty?" Falcon asked.

Etienne smiled as he thought of her. She had taught him

there was more to life than his father's bleak view. He had been happiest when his father was away, and his mother had read to him and his sisters and joined in their play.

"Yes. She is as sweet as her precious flowers. She will take care to see that my sisters each make a better match than she did and be happy with her grandchildren."

"That's good. What about you? What will it take to make you happy?"

Etienne stared into the flames. Dressed in an old pair of Falcon's buckskins, he was comfortably warm on the autumn night, and beginning to feel sleepy. "I would like to see the same equality in France that the Patriots are fighting for here. I am a good soldier, and perhaps I will one day have the chance to fight in my country."

"I wish you good luck, but this war has gone on too long," Falcon murmured through a lazy yawn, "and so has today. Let's get some sleep. I'll check on the horses."

To please Belle, Falcon had left Nails at home and ridden a dapple-gray gelding named Smoke Ring. Smoke was a fine mount that could carry him all day without tiring, but he was not Nails. Afraid the horse sensed his disappointment, Falcon gave him extra attention and talked with him each night as though he were an old friend.

He would discuss the day's ride and make plans for the next, all the while stroking the gelding's soft, smooth muzzle and finely arched neck. The horse seemed to appreciate the chat, and would snicker softly. "You miss home, don't you, Smoke?" Falcon asked. "WTiat I miss is Belle. I imagine her strolling down by the river about this time in the evening, and thinking of me. At least I hope she is thinking of me as she is never far from my thoughts."

Falcon gave the horse a final pat, then returned to the fire and stretched out on his stomach. Etienne wished him a good night, but sat up a while longer. Falcon could not help but believe Etienne must long for something more than political freedom—a sweetheart as pretty as Belle, per-

haps—but respecting his solitude, he did not speak the thought aloud.

While Falcon and Etienne were moving southwest, Lord Cornwallis had captured Charlotte, but with a great many of his force ill, could advance no farther in his effort to subdue the southern colonies. Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Ferguson, the Inspector for Militia in the Southern Provinces, was also bound for Charlotte. Moving west with twelve hundred American-born Loyalists, his mission was to cover Cornwallis's left flank, to defeat rebel militia, and to enlist whatever Loyalist recruits he could find among the residents of the South Carolina Blue Ridge Mountains. Rather than attracting recruits, however, Ferguson, who was noted for being one of Cornwallis's cruelest officers, encountered fierce resistance from armed backwoodsmen.

Unable to summon support from Charlotte, on October 7, 1780, Ferguson took up a defensive position on the slopes of King's Mountain. Digging in on the crest of the steep hill, Ferguson's troops looked down over a rocky slope dotted with towering pines. They felt exhilarated but secure.

Falcon and Etienne had joined the frontiersmen two days earlier. Living on the edge of civilization where Indians were a constant threat, most had shown little interest in the war when it had been waged on the east coast, but now that Cornwallis had sent Ferguson out into the Carolina Piedmont, they had a good reason to fight. Led by Colonels William Campbell, Joseph MacDowell, John Sevier, and Isaac Shelby, they numbered eleven hundred.

"This is going to be too easy," Falcon whispered to Etienne. "We'll move up the hillside from tree to tree and take the mountain before nightfall. You'll see."

Falcon had previously fought with William Campbell, who was Patrick Henry's brother-in-law and led the Virginia Militia. Falcon was clearly looking forward to the battle,

while Etienne had to fight the queasiness in his stomach to appear as cool-headed. When the order was given to advance, he copied Falcon's bravado; moving with a lithe grace and using the trees as shields, made his way up the treacherous hillside.

The fire from above was continuous, but so inaccurate that the frontiersmen quickly grew bold. They crawled and lurched up the hill, all the while firing their rifles with the skill they had honed in their youth. Etienne slipped going over a boulder, but Falcon caught him by the belt before he took a tumbling fall all the way back down the mountain. The pair fought on, side by side, coughing in the rain of pine needles and rock chips thrown up by the bullets pelting the earth.

They heard Ferguson's shrill silver whistle and dodged a savage bayonet charge to press on. A white flag appeared on the mountain, but firing continued from both sides. Etienne knelt as he and Falcon used the same tree for cover. He reloaded and had just raised his rifle to his shoulder when a bullet knocked Falcon off his feet.

Etienne grabbed for him, caught the fringe on his pant leg, and hung on. He had to fight to maintain his balance to keep them both from skidding down the steep incline. The bullet had passed through Falcon's right leg just above the knee, and Etienne yanked hard to pull him behind the tree to do what he could for his friend. All around them the bitter fight continued and screams and curses echoed off the trees. Etienne looped his belt around Falcon's leg to stem the flow of blood, but the brave's buckskins were already soaked.

Falcon gritted his teeth, leaned back against the tree, and fought to stay conscious, but he knew the wound was bad. "I won't lose my leg," he swore through clenched teeth.

Etienne was more frightened for Falcon than he was about the outcome of the battle, but he ducked as a bullet whistled by so close it tore a hunk of bark from the tree.

"No. You are very strong." He offered what encouragement he could, but with the firing so intense, he dared not carry Falcon down the hill for fear they both might be shot in the back.

The frontiersmen needed only one hour to overwhelm the Loyalists, but the battle was the bloodiest since Bunker Hill. Colonel Ferguson was killed as he rode his horse on a wild charge down the hill, and his entire force was either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. As for the backwoodsmen, they lost only twenty-eight men, while sixty-two were wounded.

Despite his agonizing pain, Falcon heard cries of "Tar-leton's quarter!" and knew men were being slaughtered who should have been allowed to surrender.

"Stop the killing," he urged Etienne. "Go on. The fight's over. Don't let any more men die."

Amazed that Falcon could think so clearly, Etienne left, but only briefly. He dragged what wounded men he could away from the carnage, but he refused to leave Falcon alone for long. He stood guard over his terrified prisoners and his wounded friend until a physician at last appeared. "Treat this man first," Etienne insisted, pointing to Falcon.

The doctor was a pudgy young man with wispy blond hair, but he had kind eyes and nodded immediately. "Yes. I'm looking after our own first." He slit Falcon's pantleg up the side, then loosed Etienne's belt and handed it to him. "You're very lucky. The bullet missed the artery or we'd have blood spurting with a definite pulse. You see, this is just seeping out all over."

"Well, stop it!" Falcon cried. "It makes no difference if I bleed to death slowly, or fast. I'll be just as dead."

"A good point." The physician did his best to cleanse the entry and exit wounds, then bound them with lint soaked in oil and wrapped the leg with a long piece of linen, "Where are you from?" he asked.

"Virginia."

"Good. There are other Virginians among the wounded and you can all go home together."

His whole leg was throbbing with excruciating pain, and for the first time, Falcon feared he might not make it that far. He reached out for Etienne. "You take me home," he whispered.

Falcon had been a true friend to him, and Etienne could not refuse. "I will," he promised. He knelt beside him and gripped his shoulder. "Belle will take such good care of you, you will be dancing again before the holidays."

Falcon had never cared much for dancing, but tried to smile. "I just want to be able to walk."

The doctor rose, took Etienne's arm, and pointed down the hill. "Wait a while to make certain he does not lose any more blood, and then bring him to the bottom of the hill. I want all the wounded kept together."

Etienne nodded, then, too badly shaken to remain on his feet, he sat down beside Falcon while the physician looked after the Loyalist prisoners. "I have been wounded several times," he explained. "The pain is always bad."

Falcon closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, but that was such a great understatement, he could not find a clever reply. Nails had always brought him good luck. He had known that, but he would never tell Belle he had been wounded because he had left the stallion at home. She would suffer so badly when he came limping home that he would never cause her more pain, but when he was next called upon to fight, he would ride Nails or simply stay at home.

While Etienne and Falcon waited on the hill, the bodies of the enemy dead were heaped together and covered with logs rather than buried. By the time Falcon felt strong enough to make his way down the hill with Etienne's help, the spoils of the battle were being parceled out. The buckskin-clad victors took horses, rifles, and even clothing from

the defeated Loyalists. By sundown, their mission against Colonel Ferguson done, many left for home.

William Campbell knelt beside Falcon. "I won't ask how you feel because I know it can't be good, but I'll see that you and the other Virginians reach home safely. You're one of the best men we've got, and you must know how much today's victory means. With Ferguson and his men lost, Cornwallis will have to go on the defensive. After the rout at Camden, we needed this victory, and badly."