The Reckoning

Wondering what Eleanor Rain had been hiding.

8

“This one’s new,” Maddie murmured softly, running her fingers along the line of puckered flesh. “Or is it because you have so many now, I’m losing count?”

The furrow followed the curve of Hawkwood’s left bicep, as if a spindly grub had burrowed beneath the skin. A musket ball had grazed him as he was leading a Mohawk raiding party against an American advance column which was attempting to seize a British-controlled blockhouse on the Lacolle River, five miles north of the Canadian border. It had been a foolhardy enterprise from the outset, though the mission had been deemed a success because it had delayed the column long enough to allow British forces to launch a counter-attack. Victory, however, had come at a heavy price. All but three of Hawkwood’s war band had died and the survivors – Hawkwood, Major Douglas Lawrence and the Mohawk war chief Tewanias – had all received wounds.

Almost two months had passed since the engagement. The injuries – including the cut on his forehead and the bayonet graze on his thigh – had healed well, a process aided by native poultices and the attention of the surgeon on board the Royal Navy frigate that had transported Hawkwood from Quebec to Falmouth. Other than fresh scar tissue and the odd twinge from the damaged arm muscle, everything was back in working order, save for when Maddie went exploring and memories were reawakened.

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