he sat up, but ceased abruptly when he spotted his comrade's body. His face paled. "You killed him."
Matthias winced inwardly. They were at war. It was self-defense. He'd had no choice. War was hell. There was a whole list of justifications that he repeated to himself every night so he could sleep. And be at peace. Sometimes he slept. He'd given up on peace months ago.
Greville touched his empty scabbard. "You used my knife. On my best friend." He shifted his gaze to Matthias. "You bastard. I swear you will pay for this."
I probably will. Matthias turned as the door burst open and militiamen marched in. "Good morning, gentlemen. This room is secure."
A short, swarthy man in the Colonial uniform of a lieutenant colonel shouldered his way into the room. "I heard a weapon discharge in this room. What happened?"
Matthias motioned to Freckle-face. "He fired it, sir. I . . . handled the situation."
The lieutenant colonel glanced at the dead redcoat, then inspected Matthias. "And you're the one who splattered the guard outside?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think so highly of yourself, Captain, that you were prepared to take on twenty-five redcoats single-handedly?"
"I knew you were outside, sir."
The lieutenant colonel narrowed his dark eyes. "How? The redcoats didn't hear us. We took them by surprise."
"Apparently they're not acquainted with the migratory habits of the wood warbler."
The officer's mouth twisted with a wry smile. "I could use a man like you. I'm Francis Marion. And you, Captain?"
"Matthias Murray Thomas, sir."
"You're under my command now." Marion turned to a man who had just entered the room. "Report."
Dressed in the tattered and bloodstained uniform of a major, the man towered over the smaller lieutenant colonel. "We released over a hundred lads from the other rooms," the major replied with a Scots accent.
Marion nodded. "And the British?"
"Twenty-one prisoners." The major hooked a lock of graying auburn hair behind his ear. "Five wounded, one dead."
"Make that two." Marion gestured to the knifed redcoat.
"He has a name, damn you." Greville spat a glob of blood in their direction. He glowered at Matthias as a militiaman hauled him to his feet and tied his hands behind his back. "I heard your name, Matthias Murray Thomas. I won't forget it."
The militiaman dragged Greville out the door.
"Where are you taking the prisoners?" Matthias hoped it was far away.
"North Carolina," answered Marion. "There's no point in staying here. After Gates's defeat at Camden, South Carolina is lost."
"But there's still hope," Matthias protested. "Colonel Sumter is doing well in the west. We should rendezvous with him."
Marion shook his head. "You haven't heard. Sumter was defeated two days after Gates."
Matthias's mouth dropped open. Gates and Sumter both defeated?
Marion motioned to the Scotsman. "The major here was with Sumter. He escaped capture and met up with us."
A chill stole over Matthias as his spirits plunged. His men were free, but South Carolina was indeed lost. "There's no one left."
The Scotsman snorted. "And what are we, lad? A pack of ghosts?"
Marion paced toward the window. "Unfortunately, we'll have to disappear like ghosts. Once the British learn of our little escapade here, they'll retaliate. And they'll most likely wreak their vengeance on the known patriots in the area."
Matthias felt a twinge in his gut at the thought of his mother alone on the plantation. Unprotected. His stomach churned even more when the Scotsman leaned over Freckle-face and yanked the knife from his chest.
"Ready your men, Captain," Marion ordered. "We march for North Carolina immediately."
Matthias cleared his throat. "With all due respect, sir, many of my men are wounded and would not survive the journey."
"Do you have an alternative?"
"We could hide in the swamp. Some of the wounded live nearby. I could deliver them home at night. Then they can rejoin us once they've recovered."
Marion frowned as he considered. "Very well. We cannot fight the British with dead soldiers. Take care of your men."
"Thank you, sir."
"I expect you to be more than a nursemaid, Captain," Marion continued. "Your objective will be to sever the British lines of supply and communication between Charles Town and General Cornwallis in the west. Burn the bridges and the ferryboats. And lose your uniforms."
"Yes, sir."
"Use Snow's Island as your base," Marion referred to a river island in the midst of the nearby swamp. "I hope to return in a few weeks. Until I do, South Carolina is in your hands."
"I understand." Matthias swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. He and his men would be the only resistance left in the area.