one of these men killed him he might not even comment on it. They had already shown themselves to be very casual about killing, and she was beginning to believe that under his facade Ashford was as bad as the others. He considered himself a patriot and a gentleman, but what kind of a gentleman would kidnap young girls and plan to sell them into slavery? Yet as long as he wore the cloak of a gentleman he might behave like one, and without him they had nothing.
Butler? She did not know about Butler. Would he help? Was he too loyal to Ashford or to the Cause? Or would he take the risk of helping them escape?
Escape to where? Where could they go? They were miles and miles from home, and they were out on a flat white beach with only a tangle of forest and undergrowth behind the beach. There was no place to which they could run, nobody to ask for help.
Martin Connery? Her feeling was that Connery would have nothing but contempt for Ashford, but she wasn't sure. Nor did she know how many men he had or whether he would try to help her.
Why should he? He had never seemed to care for his family, and certainly none of them cared for him. He was, to their thinking, a black sheep. He had strayed from the fold, and as far as the family was concerned he could stay there. Yet ...
It was a forlorn hope but the only one she had. That and whatever the boys might do.
The sun was warm, and the glare off the sand caused them to squint. Two men sat out on the beach between them and the water, rifles across their knees. Some others had taken the horses and oxen and were leading them toward some grass at the edge of the trees. Several cooking fires had been started, and she could smell coffee.
Ashford was coming toward her. She got up, brushing off her dress, putting a strand of hair in place. He stopped before her, feet apart, staring. "You're quite a woman, Kate, and you've got brains, too. We'd make a team, you and I."
"I am not a soldier."
He chuckled. "Of course not, but you have brains."
The smile left his face. "This uncle of yours? He was a Southern sympathizer?"
"I am sure that was where his sympathies lay." Then to offer something more to Ashford's taste, she added, "He was, I believe, a blockade runner."
"Ah?"
It was a wild card she was playing, a pitiful gamble against impossible odds. Martin Connery had never shown the slightest interest in any of his family, and there was no reason why he should now. By leading these renegades to him she might be endangering his life, but somehow, some way, she must save the girls from what lay before them.
What she was offering Ashford was the chance of an alliance, and if that failed, the prospect of loot. That he was considering both possibilities she was sure, and if she remembered her uncle correctly he was perfectly capable of handling Ashford.
What right had she to risk her uncle's life to save herself and the others? Exactly none at all. But there was no alternative.
Ashford stared out over the bay, considering. She had, she believed, detected some uneasiness in him, perhaps about the expected ship. Was its arrival uncertain? Or did he not trust those with whom he would be dealing? At least, she had offered another possibility.
"Colonel Ashford? The girls would like to bathe their hands and feet. Might we go to the water?"
"Of course. But no tricks, understand? And please, offer my men no temptations. Discipline is a delicate matter now that the War is over. We must tread carefully." Then he smiled. "If temptation is offered, let it be to me. I can handle it better."
"Thank you." She walked to the girls and explained. Ashford called to the guards and told them to allow the girls to go to the edge of the water, no farther. And no straying to right or left.
When they were at the water's edge and had washed a bit she gathered them together on the sand, out of hearing of the guards. Carefully, she explained what she had done, clarifying points that might have been left
Butler? She did not know about Butler. Would he help? Was he too loyal to Ashford or to the Cause? Or would he take the risk of helping them escape?
Escape to where? Where could they go? They were miles and miles from home, and they were out on a flat white beach with only a tangle of forest and undergrowth behind the beach. There was no place to which they could run, nobody to ask for help.
Martin Connery? Her feeling was that Connery would have nothing but contempt for Ashford, but she wasn't sure. Nor did she know how many men he had or whether he would try to help her.
Why should he? He had never seemed to care for his family, and certainly none of them cared for him. He was, to their thinking, a black sheep. He had strayed from the fold, and as far as the family was concerned he could stay there. Yet ...
It was a forlorn hope but the only one she had. That and whatever the boys might do.
The sun was warm, and the glare off the sand caused them to squint. Two men sat out on the beach between them and the water, rifles across their knees. Some others had taken the horses and oxen and were leading them toward some grass at the edge of the trees. Several cooking fires had been started, and she could smell coffee.
Ashford was coming toward her. She got up, brushing off her dress, putting a strand of hair in place. He stopped before her, feet apart, staring. "You're quite a woman, Kate, and you've got brains, too. We'd make a team, you and I."
"I am not a soldier."
He chuckled. "Of course not, but you have brains."
The smile left his face. "This uncle of yours? He was a Southern sympathizer?"
"I am sure that was where his sympathies lay." Then to offer something more to Ashford's taste, she added, "He was, I believe, a blockade runner."
"Ah?"
It was a wild card she was playing, a pitiful gamble against impossible odds. Martin Connery had never shown the slightest interest in any of his family, and there was no reason why he should now. By leading these renegades to him she might be endangering his life, but somehow, some way, she must save the girls from what lay before them.
What she was offering Ashford was the chance of an alliance, and if that failed, the prospect of loot. That he was considering both possibilities she was sure, and if she remembered her uncle correctly he was perfectly capable of handling Ashford.
What right had she to risk her uncle's life to save herself and the others? Exactly none at all. But there was no alternative.
Ashford stared out over the bay, considering. She had, she believed, detected some uneasiness in him, perhaps about the expected ship. Was its arrival uncertain? Or did he not trust those with whom he would be dealing? At least, she had offered another possibility.
"Colonel Ashford? The girls would like to bathe their hands and feet. Might we go to the water?"
"Of course. But no tricks, understand? And please, offer my men no temptations. Discipline is a delicate matter now that the War is over. We must tread carefully." Then he smiled. "If temptation is offered, let it be to me. I can handle it better."
"Thank you." She walked to the girls and explained. Ashford called to the guards and told them to allow the girls to go to the edge of the water, no farther. And no straying to right or left.
When they were at the water's edge and had washed a bit she gathered them together on the sand, out of hearing of the guards. Carefully, she explained what she had done, clarifying points that might have been left
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