“Ye came looking for me,” he said bluntly, looking up from the wheel. They hadn’t spoken on the walk save for brief courtesies. With the guns in plain sight, though, it was clearly time for business.
Cleveland nodded and took off his hat, openly appraising. His stomach strained the fabric of his hunting shirt, but it looked like hard fat, of the sort that would armor a man’s vitals.
“I did. Heard a good bit about you these two years past, one way and another.”
“Folk who listen to gossip will hear nae good of themselves,” Jamie said, in the Gàidhlig.
“What?” Cleveland was startled. “What’s that? Ain’t French, I heard aplenty of that.”
“It’s the Gàidhlig,” Jamie said with a shrug, and repeated the sentiment in English. Cleveland smiled in response.
“You’d be right about that, Mr. Fraser,” he said. Bending, he picked up the heavy iron strip as though it were made of dandelion fluff and stood meditatively turning it in his hands. “There’s a good bit of talk abroad about how you came to lose your army commission.”
Despite himself, Jamie felt warmth rise up his neck.
“I resigned my commission, Mr. Cleveland, following the Battle of Monmouth. I had been temporarily appointed as field general in order to take command of a number of independent militia companies. These disbanded following the battle. There was no further need of my services.”
“I’d heard that you quit without notice, leaving half your men alone on the battlefield, in order to tend your ailing wife.” Cleveland’s bushy brows rose inquiringly. “Though having met Mrs. Fraser, I can certainly understand your feelin’s as a man.”
Jamie turned to face him over the wagonload of muskets and powder.
“I’ve no need to defend myself to you, sir. If ye’ve something to say to me, say it and have done. I’ve a privy to dig.”
Cleveland raised one hand, palm out, and bent his head, conciliating.
“No offense intended, Mr. Fraser. I only want to know whether you’re planning to rejoin the army. In whatever capacity.”
“No,” Jamie said shortly. “Why?”
“Because if not,” Cleveland said, and fixed him with a calculating eye, “you might be interested to know that a-many of your Whiggish neighbors over the mountains”—he jerked his chin in the rough direction of Tennessee County—“landowners, I mean, men who have something to lose—are raising private militias to protect their families and their property. I thought you might be considering something of the sort.”
Jamie felt his dislike of the man alter slightly, sliding reluctantly toward curiosity.
“And if I were?” he said.
Cleveland shrugged.
“It would be good to keep in touch with other groups. There’s no tellin’ where the British might pop up, but when they do—mark me, Mr. Fraser, when they do—I for one would like to know about it in time to take action.”
Jamie looked down into the wagon: muskets, and old ones, for the most part, with dry, cracked stocks and scratched muzzles—but a few regular British Brown Besses in better condition. Bought, traded, or stolen? he wondered.
“Action,” he repeated carefully. “And who are some of these men you speak of?”
“Oh, they exist,” Cleveland said, answering the thought rather than the question. “John Sevier. Isaac Shelby. William Campbell and Frederick Hambright. A good many others thinking on it, I can tell you.”
Jamie nodded but didn’t say more.
“One other thing I heard about you, Mr. Fraser,” said Cleveland, picking up one of the muskets from the wagon bed, idly checking the flint, “is that you were an Indian agent. That true?”
“I was.”
“And a good one, by report.” Cleveland smiled, suddenly clumsily playful. “I hear tell there’s quite a few redheaded children down in the Cherokee villages, hey?”
Jamie felt as though Cleveland had struck him across the face with the musket. Was that really being said, or was this some piece of foolery by which Cleveland hoped to involve him in something shabby?
“I’ll wish ye good day, sir,” he said stiffly. “My men will be down with tools to mend your wheel directly.”
He started walking back up the trace, but Cleveland, who moved quickly despite his bulk, was right beside him.
“If we’re to have militia, we need guns,” Cleveland said. “That stands to reason, don’t it?” Seeing that Jamie wasn’t disposed to answer rhetorical questions, he tried another tack.