Paul’s head tilted, an unmistakable knowing in his eyes. “Samuel Martin.”
“Aye. Do you know him?” For a moment the possibility of her deepest hopes breathing back to life stopped the very blood in her veins.
“I knew him.” Paul’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry to say he’s passed on.”
Frozen, Anna stared, allowing the words to fall into the holes that waited to receive them. She breathed deeply to coax the blood to move again. So. He was dead. A coffin lid slammed shut in her mind as she buried forever the dream she’d clung to. ’Twas a foolish thing to even consider the report had been false. She met Paul’s gaze. “Do you know how he died?”
“I’m afraid I do not.” His long face expressed more emotions than Anna could clearly detect. The softening of his eyes suggested compassion. However, the tightness of his mouth made her re-examine her decision to confide in him.
She glanced to the crowd of soldiers not twenty feet away. “Is there no one else? I understand Captain Martin served under your father, and I’d hoped—”
“You needn’t speak with my father.”
Startled by his sharp reply, Anna took a step back and prepared to answer, but he continued without pause.
“There isn’t much anyone knows about what happened to Martin.” He glanced away, eyes squinted, as if he struggled to recall a memory. “He died outside of Boston, it seems to me. But no one else was there to—”
He stopped cold, his eyes suddenly round and motionless.
Anna leaned forward. “Captain?”
“Forgive me.” He shook his head and touched her elbow, nudging her farther away from the group. “I have remembered something that may be of use to you.”
“You have?” She clutched the bag harder. “Sir, I will do anything that must be done to discover what happened to him. Please tell me what you know.”
He nodded lightly then looked directly into her eyes. “I cannot tell more, because I know nothing more. But I do know someone who does.”
~~~
The beautiful, mysterious woman gazed at Paul with wide, pleading eyes. The way she stared up at him, hands clasped at her stomach and forehead creased, reminded him of a poor street urchin. And she might have been, from the way she was dressed. The gray petticoat she wore, frayed at the bottom and stained, looked as though it should have been discarded long ago. That is, if she had anything else to wear. And yet, her hair wasn’t matted and she smelled clean, unlike the sorry lot that littered the streets. What relationship had she had with Martin that created in her such a need to know the story of his death? Who was she?
He studied her face. Lovely, no doubt of it. Black hair, gentle features and cool blue eyes. Aye. This kind of woman would have suited Martin’s tastes. Perhaps she’d been a favorite of his? Perhaps she’d had his child…Nay. Martin had talked of a young woman he’d loved and hoped to marry. He’d never been one to use women the way so many other soldiers did. Paul tossed the theory away and focused his energy on the plan that unfolded within him.
Forcing as much tenderness to his features as he could muster, he took a step closer. His soul was still raw from the lashing he’d endured from his father only minutes past, but the wounds urged him to fight on, not abandon the irrepressible need to find the man who’d flaunted his abilities and skills, ensuring his father would find pride in one and not the other.
The scheme that had sprung to life was nothing short of sheer brilliance. Donaldson had been the only other soldier there when Martin had died. And here, with this pleading woman, perhaps Paul could reach Barrik after all—and thereby, capture the man whose life he would end.
Using the well-toned charm he’d perfected over the few, but productive years of his career, Paul lowered his tone and stepped an inch closer. “I am well acquainted with the man you must find. He was there the night of Captain Martin’s death and was privy to all that transpired.”
Her crystalline eyes widened and her gentle smile stretched across her face. In a near breathless voice, she pleaded. “Please, sir, tell me where I may find this man. Is he here, in New York?”
Paul opened his mouth then snapped it shut and glanced around him. The regulars crowded on the street would more likely dull their hearing than strain to glean his words, but he couldn’t take the risk. Offering his arm once again, he motioned up the road.
She hesitated before offering a tentative bob of her head and took his arm once more.
He sighed before speaking. “This conflict with the colonies has been difficult on us all.” He gave her a quick glance, but her gaze was on the road ahead. “Many soldiers are deserting their posts, leaving that which is right and honorable to feed upon the slop of liberty the colonies fling from every direction.”
At this the woman peered at him briefly, her dainty eyebrows folded in question, but she said nothing.
He exhaled before continuing. “Henry Donaldson is one of those men.” Speaking his name heated the resentment that simmered deep within. “For several years now he has aided the colonists in resisting the king’s benevolent hand. He has at last run from us, fearing he will be punished for his actions.” Paul stopped walking at the corner, grateful for the sudden calm in the road. The summer heat blistered his back as the unadulterated rage for his enemy did the same to his stomach. He took a calming breath to mask every emotion but sincerity. “But that is untrue. He is simply misguided. We only wish to speak with him and help him find the error of his ways.”
At this Miss Whitehead pulled her hand from his arm and looked away, her lips pressed tight. Did she not believe him? He chewed the inside of his cheek. The lie was plain, but such a woman could not be acquainted enough with the ways of war to understand what kind of punishment awaited anyone who deserted. He could only hope that adding more cushion to his report would soften whatever it was that made her question him.
“He was Samuel’s good friend,” Paul continued, “and I know that he would be most glad to tell you what he knows, if only we could find him.”
She stayed silent for a moment, keeping her expression from his view. “So, the man I must find is missing. And is there no one else?” At this she turned to face him, her expression firm.
“I am afraid there is not.”