After the Skirmish

"Mebbe. Mebbe it was for you. He's real nice, though, ain't he? I mean, doin' that, an' not turning me off when he could've, and all that sort of thing." He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Would you... would you help me with the chain of this ag'in, though?" He held the locket up.

She laughed, feeling relieved somehow, and fastened the clasp at the back of his neck. Her heart felt lighter for knowing that the captain had done the deed, and that in addition to Cotton and Jenny, Martha, the priest, Newbury, and Captain Hunter, there was yet another person who was kind and concerned. "I won't know what to say to the captain when I see him next."

"Just tell him thanks," Cotton said, feeling the cool weight of the locket as he slipped it inside his shirt. "It's just summat that he does, see. I mean, he's loyal to folks in the Company, like he 'spects folks to be loyal to him - an' each other. I can't explain it too good, really, though."

"But I'm not in the company, even if I am on the strength," she protested. "And all that money... And the donkey, it would have taken so much longer to catch up without the donkey. I just..." She shook her head, overwhelmed. "From now on, you can take the pick of anything for his food, half the price, all right? Bless him, and I'll do all his mending and washing. I'll even help keep books if he wants, or copy things fair. I know how to copy things so it looks like a real clerk wrote it. Will you tell him? Or maybe he wouldn't like me meddling. I won't know what to say!"

"You'm on the strength, you come out with us, you'm one of us. Like Martha Jacklin is, an' Sarah Palmer. But I'll tell him, if you want. For sure you'd do a better job of it than me!" He smiled. "I... I won't hurt you if I do this?" he asked, pulling her head to rest against him, much as he had earlier. His shirt wasn't as coarse as the wool of his jacket, and it certainly didn't have all the buttons that his jacket did.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. "Course not. But come on, help me with my things. Poor old Jessy will want her packs off, and there won't be any tea left for us, or supper."

"There'll be plenty left. More if we get there quick. So, you tell me what you want doin', and I'll help, how about that?" He grinned at her.

"Carry my pack? And this bag. Oh, but are the captain's things here too? You'll need them for fixing his supper and setting up his tent and all, won't you? I can help you with that, too, if you want."

"I'll be all right. I usu'lly manage, anyhow." He took the pack and the bag. "Things is, Maggie, are you all right? An' is there anythin' I can do to make things easier for you?"

She let out a shaky breath, having almost forgotten her troubles. "I'm fine, Gabe. If you can just carry my pack and this bag." She knew that was not exactly what he had meant, but she preferred not to dwell on it. "Here, I should give your jacket back for now. I want to wear my shawl." What she really wanted was to hide her face from the stares of men in the 60th, men who knew her and would be full of questions. But she could wear her shawl like a hood, and perhaps the bruises would not be so visible. "Kind of wish we had a tent, don't you?"

He accepted his jacket back. "I'll tell you a secret," he said. "Times when I want a bit of space an' time to meself, I go and sit outside the Captain's tent, y'know, along one side of it. Folks can't disturb you there without disturbin' the Captain too, see. So, if you want, you can kip there tonight."

"Really?" she breathed, suddenly full of hope that was rather touching and sad. "Oh, yes, can we do that please? I really don't want... a lot of company just now. Or folks asking questions."

'We', she'd said. Somehow, Cotton hadn't been sure she would want him close to her tonight, not after everything that had happened. He'd offered it as a bit of sanctuary and privacy for her, though he would have been nearby.

"'Course we can, sweeting," he said. "If you want, you can go an' sit there now an' I'll sort out everythin' that needs doin'. You look like you could do with a cup of tea, anyhow."

"You're an angel," she answered, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I'll take the donkey though. But wait," she added, laughing, "I can't sit by the tent if there is no tent yet. Come on, you help me and I'll help you. I can lead two donkeys just as well as leading one. Where's his?"

"The white one, there. Doesn't have a name that I know of, yet. Mebbe you can help me think of one?" He grinned, taking the rope bridle from the Portuguese boy who looked after Vickery's baggage when Cotton was with the company. The lad grinned and sloped off.

"That's Willow," she replied, giving him a reproachful stare. "Don't you know your own captain's mule's name? At least, I've heard her called Willow and that's what I've been calling her. Hello Willow, sweet girl," she said, her voice becoming musical as she talked to the beast. She took the white mule's reins in one hand and the donkey's in the other. "Did you pick a place for the tent?"

"Ah, well, there you go, see." He shrugged. "I did, yes. If you help holdin' up the tent poles, we'll have it up in two shakes of a... two shakes of Willow's tail."

She laughed at his poor attempt at a joke, feeling rather cheerful now that she knew she would be able to have some privacy. Of course, there would still be Captain Vickery himself to face, but he would surely be tactful and as always, kind.

While they were setting up the tent, Jenny came to find them. "Here Maggie, I brought you some of the stew. Hello, Cotton. Want me to bring you some? I was just... I was going to eat with Newbury."

"Stew?" He rolled his eyes as his stomach gurgled at the thought of food. "Aye, that'd be real good of you, Jenny. Thanks."

Maggie took a bite of it before handing it to Cotton. "Here, try it. I didn't know I was so hungry. I can do the pegs. I like doing the pegs." She handed him the bowl and picked up the mallet. "There's this Bible story I heard once, where a woman tricked this bad man, a soldier, into coming to her tent, and while he was sleeping she hammered a tent peg through his skull. I always liked that story."

"I allus used ta pretend they was Squire's son. Got 'em banged in real quick." These days, it was someone else that he thumped with the mallet, at least in his imagination, but he couldn't say that. "You knock the pegs in an' I'll hold the tent up, then."

She was happily hammering away when she heard a voice behind that made her stop.

Vickery was pleased to see that Maggie had decided to rejoin them. Cotton looked far more like his usual self. He couldn't quite believe that Maggie was banging in the tent-pegs while Cotton was standing there supporting the pole, however. "Good evening, Miss Evans. Though wouldn't it be easier for Cotton to do that?"

She turned around like a guilty child, embarrassed to be caught with the incriminating mallet in hand. "I was just... Good evening, sir." She rose to her feet and offered a belated curtsey, leaving Cotton supporting the tent on his own.