Matthew looked at the horse and nearly smiled. He was a big animal obviously bred for strength. He had seen one from time to time when some farm boy joined them with his big farm horse, a mount that was soon changed. If the men she spoke of had tried to take George it was either to pull a wagon or a cannon or even to try and send it home to their farm. It was the type of horse old armored knights had ridden into battle.
He moved to the wagon first and Abigail followed him. He stared at the wagon. It was a good size and looked solid but it had been painted black, a shiny black decorated with a lot of painted flowers. Did Abigail really expect any self-respecting soldier to ride in or drive such a wagon? He also wondered why she had felt the need to do it as it must have taken her a lot of time.
She suddenly uttered a glad cry and scrambled into the back of the wagon. Matthew did his best not to look at her slim legs as her skirts rode up but failed. She moved toward the long metal box set behind the driver’s seat. He hoped whatever had been in it was still there as he studied the horse and plotted the best way to approach it.
“Ha! They did not take any interest in this.” Abigail pushed aside a few dresses and pulled out a small box. “They would have taken it if they had.”
“Why? What is in it?”
Abigail hesitated only a moment in answering. She had seen nothing to tell her these men could not be trusted. If she proved wrong in that judgment she would deal with the consequences later. Right now, they were allies.
“A bit of money and the papers that give us the right to this land. We kept things in this box since the day the war began because we could not be sure when we might have to flee. That is why the deeds for the land are here so the one or ones who survived would have something to come back to. I never thought I would be the only one who might use them,” she added in a soft, broken voice.
He watched her as she carefully put everything back in the box. Matthew did not think she was aware of it but she was a fine-looking young woman. Her hair was thick, a soft golden brown that looked as if it wanted to curl, held back only by the braid she had forced it into. She was small, but curved in all the right places. It was her storm gray eyes that were the most striking. Her face was pretty but it was her eyes that held a person’s attention. He had already noticed how they darkened with emotion and lightened if she was amused. Her mouth was full and looked temptingly soft so he quickly looked back at the horse. It had been far too long since he had even kissed a woman, and watching her too closely was just asking for trouble.
They were deep in the middle of a vicious war. It was a bad time to be eyeing any woman with interest, he told himself. He had to get her someplace safe and leave her there, then get back to what he had signed up to do until his time was up. After that his plan was to get home and back to something that was normal, something that did not involve constantly killing or running or burying compatriots.
“Will George allow us to hook him to the wagon?”
“He will. He likes me and he is more than ready to do something, I think. He is, after all, a working animal.” She walked up to the stall the horse was in, held herself steady when he nudged her, and patted his neck. “Now, my big boy, you are going to be put to use and you are to be polite to the gentlemen. You have been restless to do some work and now is your chance to show what you can do.”
Although he was made uneasy by the way the horse eyed him, Matthew helped her hitch the wagon to the animal. Once in the harness the animal did seem pleased. He watched as she went back in the stall after fetching a stick of charcoal. She was writing on the wall of the stall and he was wondering why when Abigail stepped out and put the charcoal back on a rough shelf. She then got up in the seat and drove the wagon out of the barn. Matthew resisted the urge to go and look at what she had written and slowly followed because he wanted to see the faces on his men when they caught sight of the wagon.
“Ah, good, we will need that for Boyd,” said James, whose eyes narrowed as he finally gave the wagon a good look. “What the devil is all over it?”
“Flowers,” replied Abigail as she hopped down. “I like flowers and they are easy to draw.”
“Why is it black?” asked Boyd.
“Because it now looks fresh and new and black paint was all I had. But the flowers dress it up nicely, don’t you think?” She turned and walked over to Boyd to push open the lid of the chest set beside him to search for a blanket.
James slapped his hand over Danny’s mouth when the man opened it to speak, turned him around, and shoved him toward the horses. “Very nicely done, miss,” James said, and followed Danny.
“They hate it,” Abigail said as she approached and paused to trail her hand along the side of the wagon. “I was much younger but, to be truthful, I still like it.” She put the quilt she had removed from the chest by Boyd and spread it on the bottom of the wagon. “We best get him inside, don’t you think?”
“Good idea.”
“Just make sure his arm does not bump into anything or allow him to put any weight on it.” She kept a close watch on Matthew as he helped Boyd climb into the wagon then hurried back to the box to close it and bring it back.
Abigail intended to slide it in next to Boyd. She felt it would keep him steady in the wagon bed. It was important to her that he did not do anything to or with that arm. His injury was one of the most serious she had ever worked on and she needed to know she had done it right. It was selfish; she knew her concern should all be for Boyd, but she could not help it. She wanted to know she had done right by the younger man and she would only be sure of that when he was healthy again.
She stood back and studied the wagon then sighed and grimaced. Although she still liked it, she could see how the men might find it a bit less than a joy to ride in. They were probably concerned that someone they knew would see them. At that thought, she smiled, and climbed into the back of the wagon.
“I assume one of you fellows knows how to drive a wagon,” she said and then busied herself fixing the quilts so that she and Boyd could ride comfortably.
“I can,” James said with a reluctance he could not hide and jumped onto the seat.
Matthew and the others mounted their horses after tying James’s up behind the wagon. When James started the wagon moving, Abigail settled back against the box, which she had covered with a blanket. She had no idea of where they were taking her and wondered if she should be concerned. The more she fretted over it the more concerned she became. Matthew moved to ride by her side of the wagon.
“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked.
“Bit late to ask, isnae it?” said Matthew and grinned when he heard her growl. “Back to the town we came from. There is someplace ye can stay there. There are a number of women there, ones, weel, who lost their place because of the war. Ye will do just fine there.”
“Whether I want to go or not,” she muttered softly.
Boyd chuckled. “It is a good place, a nice place. The women are nice.”
“Well, they probably are to you.”
“What does that mean? Why would you think they would be nice to me?”