Captain John McDonell glanced over Wyatt’s shoulder towards the tether line. He was a tall man; gangly and narrow-shouldered with a thin face and a long nose to match. A native of Inverness, with pale features and soft Scottish lilt, McDonell always reminded Wyatt of a schoolmaster. The captain’s bookish appearance, however, was deceptive. Prior to his transfer to the Rangers he’d seen service with the 84th Regiment of Foot and had survived a number of hard-fought engagements, including St Leger’s expedition against Fort Stanwix. He’d also helped defend British maritime provinces from Colonial attacks by sea and on one memorable occasion had led a boarding party on board an American privateer off Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, capturing the ship and crew and delivering them into Halifax in chains.

“Who’ve you got there?” McDonell asked.

“Name’s Matthew,” Wyatt said.

The captain nodded as if the information was only of passing interest and then he frowned. Something in the equation was missing, he realized. He turned his attention back to the Ranger. “Where’s his family?”

Wyatt’s expression told its own story.

McDonell sighed. “All right, let’s hear it.”

“We ran into some opposition,” Wyatt said.

Behind McDonell, the officers gathered around the table paused in their discussion.

Instantly alert, McDonell’s chin lifted. “Regulars or militia?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Neither. Citizens’ Committee.”

McDonell’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I’d not have taken them for a credible threat.”

“They weren’t,” Wyatt said.

Pondering the significance of Wyatt’s terse reply, the captain waited expectantly.

“Turns out they were on an incursion of their own. We interrupted them.”

“Go on.”

“We were at the Archer farm,” Wyatt said. “We—”

“Did you say Archer?”

The interjection came from behind McDonell’s left shoulder. A bewigged, aristocratic-looking officer dressed in a faded scarlet tunic stepped forward.

Wyatt turned, remembering to salute. “Yes, Sir John. William Archer. We were tasked to bring him to the Hall. His homestead is … was … on the other side of the Caroga.”

Colonel Sir John Johnson matched McDonell for height but where the captain was thin the colonel was well set, with a harder, fuller face. His most prominent features were his dark blue eyes and his beaked nose, which gave him the appearance of a very attentive bird of prey.

“My apologies, Colonel,” McDonell said quickly. “Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Wyatt; 4th Ranger Company.”

“Lieutenant.” The colonel’s gaze flickered sideways towards Tewanias before refocusing on the Ranger.

“Colonel,” Wyatt said.

“You said you were at what was the Archer homestead.”

“I regret that both William Archer and his wife were killed in the exchange, Colonel.”

A look of pain crossed the colonel’s face. His eyes clouded. “Tell me,” he said.

The two officers listened in silence as Wyatt recounted the events of the morning.

“Bastards!” McDonell spat as Wyatt concluded his description of the skirmish. “God damned bloody bastards!”

The colonel looked towards the boy.