“Perhaps he was aiming at you? Did you move Esther into harm’s way?”
“Perhaps his bullet was meant for me, but I was trying to save her.”
“Do you want her to bleed to death?” Sassy shoved them from the room and slammed the door behind them.
Hamilton descended the steps, the terror of Esther being shot mingling with his anger.
“Lightfoot! Do not walk away from me.”
The British redcoats were no gentlemen. He knew firsthand what atrocities they could perpetrate, and in thirteen years, not a lick had changed.
Hamilton shoved through the front door. He’d kill Twimball with his bare hands if he ever saw the lieutenant again. The man was a criminal, make no mistake.
“Lightfoot!” Sir Michael maintained his pursuit. “I demand an explanation.”
Hamilton’s foot slipped on the wet stone, the rain thick, falling fast. He caught himself on the wide, square porch post.
“An explanation? No, you demand your will. My reason was not to your liking, so you deem me a liar. But upon my word—”
“The word of a Lightfoot is folly.”
“—Lieutenant Twimball raised his musket and fired when your daughter was clearly in sight. How loyal are you now, sir?” Hamilton stepped near the man he had loved when he and Esther were younger. The man who had invited him, Uncle Laurence, and Aunt Mary to sit by the fire on winter nights, playing games and drinking cider. “You believe the king’s men have the corner on honor? Then you do not know men. For every soldier of honor on your side, there are two on ours. And every man of dishonor fighting the cause? You’ll find three or four wearing the king’s red, or the green of a dragoon.”
“You weave the tale you wish me to believe, Lightfoot. Come, man, fess up. You fired upon my daughter.”
“Fire upon her? I’d rather kiss her. I want to marry her.” The heat of his ardor branded his countenance. Had he not learned better to guard his words? Now Sir Michael knew the truth and bore the upper hand.
Sir Michael grinned, slow, wicked. “You love my daughter? You want to marry her?”
“Does this come as a surprise to you? I thought you a keen observer of human nature.”
“You speak correctly. I am a keen observer. Why do you think I sent her back to London? Yes, to make her debut to society and be presented in court, but also to be rid of you. She has the makings of a duchess or countess.” Sir Michael toyed with his mustache. “She’s destined for better stuff than the likes of you.”
“Then why did you raise her in the backwoods of South Carolina for over a decade? Why did you allow her to return home? For your own company? Your own selfishness?” Hamilton turned away. “Go. Tend your daughter. If you’ve any softness in your heart, pray for her.”
“You know your uncle and I had a falling out.”
“About what, pray tell?” Hamilton paused on the path, under the maple where the rain collected in the leaves. “I’m not privy to the details.”
“He’s in possession of a tract of land Lord Whatham believes I acquired some time ago, but I did not.”
“Did you squander your employer’s capital? Is he now demanding an accounting?”
He laughed. “I could be persuaded of a union between you and Esther if you would give me that land.”
“Give? Do you see pound sterlings falling from my pockets? Give, nay, but sell... Then you must face your employer with your own ill deeds.” Hamilton propped one foot on the stone steps. “But what part of Quill Farm could you desire, sir?” If Uncle Laurence had purchased land, he did not tell Hamilton. And he felt sure the poorer Lightfoots purchased no land out from under the richer Longfellows with their Whatham resources.
“Not part, but all. The entire tract you call Quill Farm.”
Hamilton laughed. A drop of rain dripped from the edge of a green leaf onto his cheek. “Have you gone mad, sir? Uncle’s owned the land for nearly fifteen years.”
Sir Michael bristled, his cheeks red, his eyes wide. “Your uncle stole the land out from under me when I was away. I’ve been trying for fifteen years to acquire it back.”
“So your friendship with us was insincere?” Hamilton remained confident, steady, the rain trickling down the back of his collar.
“A man of business must maintain good relations with his neighbors.” Sir Michael stepped down toward Hamilton. “I’ve been patient... for far too long. I should’ve called in his loan six years ago when he first fell ill and couldn’t repay his debt.”
“I repaid the debt.” As Uncle Laurence fell ill, the daily burden of the farm fell to seventeen-year-old Hamilton. “Out of respect for you. Now I see you intended to do us harm.”
