Paul ground his teeth, back rigid, arms at his sides. His father was a blind fool. Pursuing a man who aided the colonists and bringing him to justice was not something to be slandered. But Ezra wouldn’t see it that way no matter how truthful. “If you would only—”
“Nothing will change you into the kind of man I should have for a son. You are slothful, ignorant, and self-centered.” His father stopped in front of him. Another plume of freshly exhaled smoke soured the air around Paul’s head. “Donaldson was loyal, determined, fearless, and—”
“Loyal?” The rage that he’d bottled shot skyward. Somewhere Donaldson raced to freedom, a freedom he didn’t deserve. A freedom he’d bought with his devil’s nature. Yet here his father said Donaldson had been loyal? “He is a traitor to the crown. He has aided numerous colonists in escaping capture. You favor him.”
“I favor no one!” Ezra’s face reddened as he stomped forward. Paul’s stomach clenched. So did his fists. He opened his mouth, but his father cut him off.
“How dare you slander me! I am your superior officer as well as the man who gave you life. Your behavior is insubordinate.”
“Do forgive me, Father.”
Shock and rage weaved through Ezra’s expression at Paul’s mocking. Instantly, the still-hovering words clashed with the greater need that swirled in Paul’s chest. His father would never accept the truth of what must be done. Though it pained him to the very core, submitting now might be the only way to attain the higher goal. “I…I beg you to…to please indulge me one last word.”
Ezra stared, blinking long and slow. “Well?”
“I know a man—a mercenary of sorts—who could track a field mouse in a blizzard.” Paul stepped forward. “Allow me to send him a message, to let him know of our plight. I know he would find Donaldson and bring him to us. It would take only as much effort as giving him a few coins.”
With an audible exhale, Ezra stepped back and leaned against the desk. He folded his arms around his sturdy chest. “So, you would spend the king’s money to hire someone to do the job you took upon yourself but were too incompetent to complete?”
“I would only wish to see Donaldson brought to stand trial for what he’s done.”
Ezra’s brow folded and he breathed in and out, one eye twitching. The even tone of his voice said as much as his words. “Let it alone, Paul.”
“Let it alone?” Paul’s volume heated. “Donaldson must be found and punished for desertion—”
“Do you know how many soldiers have deserted this army?”
“Aye. Which is why we should pursue him. We must show what will be done to those who do not fulfill their duty to the crown.”
Ezra set down his pipe and closed the distance between them. He reached out and cupped Paul’s shoulder, the sudden calmness in his face lurching Paul’s suspicion. “Let the man go, son. We have more important things to occupy our time than chasing someone who will never be found.”
Ezra dropped his hand and the tender moment faded, allowing the ever-present color of disdain that lurked in the back of his eyes to peek out from behind the pretended kindness.
Paul fought the disgust that worked its way from his chest to his face, the truth blasting through him like a musket at close range. His father cared for Donaldson. Cared for him so much he was willing to overlook the law and a soldier’s commitment to duty to let the man get away with crimes for which he should be killed. He stared at
Ezra as the man walked around his desk and took his seat, a signal the conversation was over.
Years of resentment turned Paul’s chest to granite. The confrontation at the cabin lunged from his memory and refused to vanish. The incompetent dogs, the vacant home, how he’d been trapped and forced to run when all he’d wished to do was fight. He seethed, inhaling the hot air deep into his lungs. Only a coward would choose to hide instead of accepting the consequences of his actions like a man of honor. Nay. Honor and loyalty had no place in Donaldson, despite what his father believed. Donaldson lied. He had said Ezra trusted him only as a way of cutting where he knew it would wound Paul the deepest. They’d labored side by side since their first days in America. They tolerated each other as soldiers but hated each other as men.
The more Paul thumbed through the ills his enemy had handed him, the more his neck heated. Lost commissions. Denied praises. Subjected to hearing the many ways Donaldson was superior. It could not be borne.
“I’m sending you to Virginia.” Ezra’s sudden words yanked Paul from his thoughts.
“What?”
Ezra pulled a folded paper from the drawer and extended it to Paul. “The colonists there are nearly as belligerent as those in Massachusetts.”
Paul stepped forward and took the note, immediately opening it and pouring over the words. A volley of curses readied for firing.
Heart pounding, he swallowed before he spoke. “With all due respect, sir, my work here is not finished.”
Ezra rose from his seat. “You are going south, and I am leaving for Boston within the hour.”
Rage turned his muscles to steel. “How can you—”
“Out of my sight.” Ezra turned and waved him away as if he were the errand boy.
Turning, Paul stomped from the room, still gripping the paper in his hand. The shock of what transpired stabbed with the thrust of a blade. How could the man hate him so? After all he’d done for him? Paul growled aloud and exited the house through the back door, grateful for the sounds and constant motion of the city.