from County Antrim had known plenty of young and self-assured officers, some of whom had made excellent leaders on a battlefield. Few of them, on the other hand, had been clear-eyed enough to understand that a menial was still a man, even a black one, and couldn't be dismissed with no more thought than you'd give the livestock.
Driscol, in turn, glanced at the captain's Indian companions. There was a tale there, too, he was certain.
He started to look away from the group, but a flash of teeth drew his eyes back.
Lord in Heaven.
Driscol hadn't paid any attention at the time to the big girl whom the captain had claimed to be an Indian princess of some sort. His focus had been entirely on the captain's argument with the officious clerk, and he'd dismissed the statement as just another of the captain's Niagara Falls of balderdash and bunkum. Now...
The "princess" was exchanging a jest with a young Indian warrior who looked to be some sort of relation. That big smile, on that face—perched as it was atop a supple body whose graceful form couldn't possibly be disguised, even in a modest settler's dress—
It took a real effort for Driscol to tear his eyes away. This was no time for such thoughts. It was hardly as if that smile had been aimed at him, in any event.
"I know what I'm doing, yes, sir," he growled, more gruffly than he'd really intended. "I served under Generals Brown and Scott in the Niagara campaign, and before that for some years with Napoleon. I was at Jena and Austerlitz both, and more other battles than I care to remember."
The captain's grin shallowed into a simple smile. "Oh, splendid. I'll give the speeches and wave my sword about, then, while you whisper sage advice into my ear."
"My thoughts exactly, sir. You lead the men, and I'll keep them steady."
The captain examined Driscol carefully. By the time he was done, there was but a trace of the smile left. "Steady.