Speaking to supplant the inner battle, he took half a step back. “If you ever see him again you are to tell me immediately.”
She nodded. “I intended to, but couldn’t find you at home, so I went to the Watson’s—”
“You are sure you were not seen?”
Her brow crinkled. “I believe so…I hope so.”
So she wasn’t sure.
“From this time forward our vigilance must be paramount.” His mind ground at the facts like a gristmill. They knew her adversary was near—or had been. But the question remained. Where was his? He moved forward, closing the small distance between them. “Speak to no strangers. Go to town only if you must, and never leave the house without telling me.”
Swallowing, her head bobbed shallow and quick. “I understand.”
He smoothed a hand around her waist. “Can you walk?”
Her slight arm gripped around his back. “Aye.” She flung him a quick look as he helped her off the table. “Where are we going?”
“To the Watson’s.”
She shook her head, pushing away. “I don’t need care, William, please. I wish only to—”
“Anna.” The finality in his tone stopped her mouth, and he held her before him with his stare. “I must speak to Thomas on some pressing business and I will not leave you here alone.”
Her face slackened and she glanced to the kitchen fire, her mind clearly warring against some unspoken ill. “I see.”
The way her eyes saddened and her lips pressed together made William’s muscles flex with the need to draw her close, hold her against his chest and reassure her that all would be well, that he would be her protector always.
But the truth battered his redoubt of courage.
Until Paul found William—and William defeated him—he would continue the facade of refuge. Forever, if he must.
~~~
The little town reeked of patriotism. Paul sat taller on his mount and doffed his hat at a woman and child as they passed, pressing the anger to his core, away from the fringes of his exterior. He must, to fully embrace this new identity, though the vile stench of their felonious actions against the crown pricked his skin like a shower of arrows. Several stores had notices in the windows proclaiming their disdain for English goods, vowing to sell only that which was proudly produ
ced by the colonies. He smiled to hide the sneer that lurked beneath. Nothing in these sorry provinces could match the quality of goods from the mother country.
He stopped and dismounted, tethering his animal to a post outside the cobbler at the edge of town. He eyed the townsfolk that mingled in and out of shops and down the streets. How this place had any significance to anyone he couldn’t begin to tell. A flash of crimson in the corner of his eye brought his shoulders back and he slowed his pace, feigning interest in the goods of the shop window, when in truth, he studied the reflection of who waited on the other side of the street. Two soldiers. Who, he couldn’t tell from such a distance. His pulse rose and he continued on, hoping his look of an overmountain man would make him unrecognizable to any who might know him. Passing another shop window, he glanced again at the reflection and his ride-weary muscles flexed beneath his heavy coat.
They followed.
His fears were realized then. Father intended to find him. He continued walking, keeping his pace neutral despite the rapid charge of his pulse. As he passed an open shop door he turned in, instantly spinning out of view. He peered from the corner of the window beside the door. The two soldiers continued on, speaking back and forth as if they discussed only the weather, not once glancing his direction.
“May I be of service?”
Paul turned, relaxing his shoulders, a grin on his mouth. The man behind the large printing press, tall and well-muscled, looked genuine with a spark of reserve in the back of his expression. Paul’s gut soured. He knew that look well.
Patriot.
“Good day, sir.” Paul stepped forward, easy charm and warmth at the ready. “I was hoping you could tell me which is the best inn in town.”
The man’s eyes narrowed before a quick smile flashed across his face. “Fessenden Tavern across the way is popular. You heading to Boston?”
Paul fought the urge to answer the man’s question with a question. Instead he smiled. “Aye. Plan to lend my hand to Washington.”
At that, the man’s face beamed. “Then Fessenden is the place for you.”
“Excellent.” Paul nodded. “Good day to you.”