The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3)

by Elaine Manders

  On the island, they’d caught twice as many fish as John and Matt. The brothers had been so chagrined to be outdone by their younger siblings, they tattled. That got Will in trouble, and he’d had to muck out the stables for a week for risking her life in the rushing waters. But she didn’t see it that way. She’d trusted Will with her life.

  She hadn’t trusted anyone as much until Alex, but could she trust him? Was he just using her to spy on her father and his political friends?

  If only she had Will to confide in now. She’d almost come to accept she’d never see him again. Just because he wasn’t the soldier Jubal McElroy had known, it didn’t prove Will hadn’t died. Somewhere. In some other way. Should she accept Alex’s offer to continue the search and bring Will’s body back for burial? If Will was indeed an unknown soldier buried in an unmarked grave, she owed it to him to have his remains brought back to his home.

  John and Matt’s graves were still at Lynwood, and though they no longer owned the plantation, the new owners wouldn’t mind her visiting the graveyard.

  Julia had tried to persuade Papa to put up a headstone for Will, but Papa had kept putting it off. He hadn’t given up hope his youngest son would return. Or did he even care? Yes, she had to admit Papa had never been close to any of his children, and to her least of all. He hadn’t wanted her to return from England, and he was anxious for her to stay in Atlanta with Aunt Mandy. Was he truly concerned for her safety in Macon? Or did he not care?

  That old pity she tried so hard to ignore sprang forth. Tears stung her eyes, and she leaned against an ancient oak and let them gush forth. She wept openly, knowing no one could hear her. She had no handkerchief with her, but lifted the hem of her dress to wipe her face. The gown was ruined anyway.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of movement in the far bushes. She peered around the tree to see if it might be a dangerous animal. The thing came into a clearing. Not an animal.

  Far more dangerous.

  A figure in white stealthily glided through the dark underbrush. For one wild second she thought it was a ghost. Then logic took over.

  Other figures moved out into the clearing, all dressed in long white, flowing sheets. Weird hoods covered their heads.

  Cold fear darted up her spine as she recognized them. The Klan. Then she remembered these were residents of the area, men she probably knew. Respectable businessmen or politicians. She wasn’t their target.

  Regardless, they wouldn’t want her to witness their secrets. She jerked around ready to take flight and ran straight into one of the Klansmen. A scream rose in her throat but was cut short when he whipped her around and clamped his hand over her mouth.

  Though she struggled with all her might and dug in her heels, the Klansman dragged her to the edge of the clearing, her feet scrubbing the grass. The other men gathered around a ring of fire, feeding twigs. A hole gaped the ground.

  After her initial shock, she felt calm take over. Surely these men wouldn’t hurt her if she told them who she was. Weren’t they a vigilante group, organized for the purpose of protecting white Southern women?

  Then why did this thug retain an iron clasp on her. She ceased her struggles, hoping he’d relax his hold. But her assailant was too fascinated by the spectacle before them. It was as though he’d forgotten her.

  Other Klansmen dragged a slender log to the hole, thrusting it up by its stripped branches. They shoved dirt around the log and started a fire. As the flames grew, Gillian recognized the ominous thing only by what she’d read in newspaper accounts. They weren’t burning a mere log, but a cross, a shorter tree trunk fastened to the top.

  She wondered how men could call themselves Christians while partaking in this ritual of burning a cross, the most sacred symbol of Christianity.

  Her blood froze as she realized the import of their burning the cross on her aunt’s property. Aunt Mandy had invited both sides of the political divide, trying to make peace, but these men didn’t want peace. The warning was real.

  She must escape now.

  Her squirming and threshing got her nothing but a tightened grip, threatening to cut off the blood flow in her arms. Somehow, she managed to get around in front of him. With her arms penned to her, her only weapon was her legs, and she thanked God for this new gown with it slender front panel, all the petticoats pulled to the back.

  Bracing herself, she shoved her knee upward as hard as possible into the captor’s groin.

  He yelped in surprise and, she hoped, in pain. As soon as he took his hand from her mouth, she screamed again and again, managing to break loose. She only got a few steps before he captured her again. His fingers circled her neck, shutting off her ability to scream or even breathe.

  Please God, help me was her last thought before blackness claimed her.

  Chapter 20

  Alex ran into the direction of Gillian’s screams, pistol raised. Maybe something as harmless as a snake had frightened her, but he didn’t think so. Unless it was a two-legged snake. What had enticed her to wander into the woods, unless to escape Reuben’s attention, and in that case, he blamed himself for leaving her side.

  He’d never thought Amanda’s well-guarded property would hold dangers. Not so close to her guests.

  The light from a burning cross illuminated the one who held Gillian and the other white-robed devils. He couldn’t get a bead on Gillian’s captor without possibly hitting her, so fired into the air.

  “Halt!”

  Alex’s shout made the man drop her like a hot coal and tear into the night. The Klansmen scattered when Alex fired again. He knew he wasn’t near enough for a solid hit but hoped he’d winged the scoundrel who’d held Gillian.

  Before he reached Gillian, they’d all disappeared. For that he was grateful, but dear God, let her be all right.

  She lay in shadows, unmoving. He had to get her out of here before he could assess her condition. Panic coiled around his midsection, making it hard to breathe. He carefully cradled her to his chest and thrashed through the brush in wide, hurried strides.

  When she stirred in his arms and buried her face in his shirt he closed his eyes and filled his lungs with thick air. His heart must be pounding loud enough to hurt her ears, but he dared not stop until coming into view of the bonfire.

  Exhaustion had him at the end of his endurance, forcing him to slow. He stopped beside a fallen log a little way from the bonfire. Partly because fatigue forced him to stop, and partly because he didn’t want to alert the party just yet, he sat on the log with her on his lap.

  “Where are we?” Gillian’s strained voice called his attention to her throat and the marks on her neck.

  Anger flared such he’d not experienced since his brother was killed. Rage. Revenge. Regret.

  He cleared his throat and swallowed the bitterness. “We’re just outside the group. You can hear the revelers.” It was true, and giddy laughter indicated some had had too much to drink. “Are you all right? Should I take you to a doctor?”

  Her white hand trembled as she rubbed her neck, but she shook her head with conviction and sat up straight. “I don’t think I was their target. I just stumbled on them.” She stared into his eyes. “But who was their target?”

  “Me, General Terry, Governor Bullock—who knows?”

  “You? Then it’s true what James Parker, the reporter, said. Your mission for the army involves investigating my father. You think he’s a suspect.” He felt her shudder. “I see it now. I’ve just been a means to an end for you, a way to learn about my father’s secrets, the Democrats’ plans.” Fresh tears followed the track of dried streaks on her cheeks. “You don’t care for me. I don’t know why it should hurt. No one has ever cared. You’d think after I’ve been seared so many times, I couldn’t feel anything.”

  Her words stunned him, and all he could do was shake his head in denial. She sniffed, raising a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve already had my pity party. We can rejoin the gathering now.” She didn’t sound angry, just
disappointed. Hurt.

  She had good reason to be angry. He should have confided in her earlier, as much as he could legally, especially after those messages to her father threatened her. She trusted him. Why hadn’t he trusted her? He took hold of her shoulders. “We aren’t going anywhere until I make you understand.”

  “Understand what? Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No, it’s not obvious. Nothing is obvious. You’re wrong about me not caring for you. The truth is I love you, Gillian. Maybe I didn’t know how much until I saw you lying there where that white-robed devil left you. It’s true I’m on a mission to ferret out the trouble makers and find out how your father is involved, but I was sworn to secrecy.”

  She surprised him by touching his cheek with her fingertips. “You love me?”

  He took the hand and turned it over to kiss her palm. Somewhere in the forest an owl hooted as her eyes searched his face like she couldn’t believe him. “I love everything about you, Gillian. Your gumption, your passion, your stubbornness.” He leaned in to kiss her brow.

  She jerked away as if he’d stung her. “You were using me in this mission. How can you expect me to believe you?”

  “I don’t blame you for being skeptical, and even though divulging secret information will get me in serious trouble, I’m going to tell you as much as I can.”

  She pressed her fingers over his mouth. “If you’re going to get in trouble, don’t tell me.”

  He smiled. She cared for him whether she admitted it or not. Again he caught her hand and kissed each fingertip. “I trust you not to divulge anything I tell you. I want you to know I’m trusting you with my freedom, maybe my life.” He kissed another finger. “Can you believe me?”

  “I want to believe.” For a breathless moment they stared into each other’s eyes. He understood how she felt. He’d been there before. It was one thing to want to believe and being able to believe. Trust. That was the crux of it.

  “That’s all I ask. Your father is being blackmailed by a gang of radicals, his money extorted. Very successfully. I hate to tell you this, but Mr. Carey is almost destitute.”

  She pulled her hand free. “Aunt Mandy already knows that. Papa refuses to admit it, though, so what can be done?”

  “That’s true, and he’s either run out of enough money to satisfy the blackmailers’ demands, or he’s decided to take matters into his own hands.” If the latter were true, he’d put his daughter in more danger. “Amanda also knows I’m investigating.” He forced a soft cadence to the words, knowing how hard it was for her to hear the truth about her father. “But no one knows who’s responsible or what I’ve found.”

  “What have you found?”

  He watched the flickering light play over her features and weighted how much he dared reveal. Instead of answering her question, he said, “I promise you the men who attacked you tonight are going to jail tomorrow.” That might be promising more than he could deliver, but he knew the suspects, besides he’d nicked one of the villains as they escaped.

  “I’m going to conduct a raid tonight, without waiting to consult with my superior officers, which I should do.” Another chance to capture the outlaws might not come, and if he waited to follow protocol, they’d be long gone from Atlanta. He really ought to leave now to go after them, but how could he until he’d satisfied Gillian he was on her side?

  “How can you find them? We couldn’t see who those men were.”

  “You mean because they dressed in Klan garb? They aren’t Klansmen, Gillian. The Klan doesn’t attack their own. No, these radicals just use the Klan as a ruse to throw us off track.”

  Aware a thick silence had fallen, he darted a glance toward the bonfire. Even the revelers had quieted.

  Gillian sat as still as the night, obviously waiting for his direction.

  A mosquito buzzed in his ear, and he automatically swatted the air. It must be past midnight. He had to give her over to her aunt and go in search of the outlaws, but there was one more thing he had to tell her.

  “What happened tonight proves you’re in danger. You father’s enemies have drained him of his money and have changed their tactics, going after you, the only thing he has left.”

  Long lashes shaded her eyes. “Poor Papa. What can we do?”

  He stood, pulling her up with him and cupped her chin. “I want to make our marriage public. I’ll be able to protect you better as your husband.”

  The pulse in her neck sped, and her gaze lingered for several long moments. “I don’t know Alex. I just don’t know. I’ll have to talk with Aunt Mandy—and Papa must be told.”

  What was he thinking? Of course they’d have to tell Mr. Carey they were married before announcing it to the world.

  “And I’m going to talk to your father as soon as I report to General Terry and Major Turley.”

  Frightened blue eyes pinned him as she pressed her hand to his chest. “You’ll have to explain what happened up in the mountains. That will go against your record, and Aunt Mandy said you have a stellar record in the army.”

  He cradled her face in both hands. “Whatever honor I’ve gained with my stellar army record pales in comparison to the honor of being your husband.”

  When he kissed her lips, her arms came around him. If only time would stand still. But time was something he didn’t have.

  He lifted his head as the breeze blew a tendril of her hair across her damp, flush features. He smoothed it back, his heart in his throat. Did she really want to stay married to him?

  The doubt holding him in its grip began to loosen. She’d given him hope to believe she loved him, maybe even wanted to make the marriage permanent. His smile came slowly. She hugged her arms to her chest as if cold, despite the sultry night. He draped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll take you to your aunt and get back to the unit.”

  Before they’d taken two steps she turned, head thrown back. “You’ll be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  Damp lashes closed over her eyes. With face still tilted up, she moistened her mouth. Light flashed in the distance. Heat lightning seemed appropriate for the passion rising between them.

  Her bosom rose and fell as her lips parted, and when he touched their velvet smoothness with his, she slipped her arms around him.

  The intensity of the moment tore a groan from his throat. “Come, my darling, I promise to keep you safe—even from me.”

  “Take me home. I don’t want to face Aunt Mandy tonight.”

  He wished he could take her to his home—no, to their home. “All right. We’ll go straight to the carriage.”

  She might not have said she loved him in words, but she did care, and despite the secrets he’d kept from her, she trusted him.

  For now, that was enough.

  Chapter 21

  I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Aunt Mandy turned from Gillian and stared out the window. Morning sunlight spilled across her hair, revealing more silver than gold.

  Gillian didn’t know whether her aunt was more upset that she’d wandered away from the bonfire last night, or that she left the party with Alex. “I’m sorry.”

  Aunt Mandy swung around. “I am too, my dear. It must have been frightening for you. Thank Heavens Alex rescued you from those Klansmen. But why didn’t you come to me?” She threw out both hands in appeal as she dragged out the last syllable.

  Gillian had no answer—none that would please her aunt, anyway. She blew out a sigh.

  “The worst of it was coming home with Ester Boyles, and Abe telling me Alex had brought you home—in her hearing.”

  “I asked him to bring me home. I was frightened.” Gillian’s tone was harder than she’d intended, but Aunt Mandy apparently didn’t appreciate that a man had almost killed her niece. “Who is Ester Boyles? Is she related to Lizzie’s husband?”

  Aunt Mandy collapsed beside Gillian on the sofa. “She’s his mother, and one of Atlanta’s leading hostesses. My main rival, I suppose, since she’s always putting
on airs. Her husband is in city government. How he made his money after the war doesn’t bear close scrutiny, but it was a lot. They’ve built that huge house up on the hill. I made the mistake of boasting about my new Louis the Sixteenth desk.” She waved a hand in the direction of her writing nook where that piece of furniture proudly stood.

  “Aren’t you concerned about the Klan burning a cross on your property?”

  “Of course, but we know why that was. Don’t think too harshly about the Klan, dear. Every organization has some bad apples. The Klan is simply one of those secret societies men involve themselves with.”

  Aunt Mandy was taking the matter much too lightly. But she didn’t know the whole of it. Gillian wished she could tell her what Alex confided—that those men who burned a cross down at Brown’s Landing weren’t really Klansmen. How did he know that? Had he apprehended them yet? If he didn’t come, or at least send word, she was going to—

  “Don’t you agree, dear?” Aunt Mandy asked.

  “No, if I hadn’t interrupted those men, they’d have made their presence known to everyone present. They would have stirred up anger among your guests, created a confrontation that Mr. Parker would have reported, and no wonder where that might have led.” It was possible Parker was responsible for those men being there. Aunt Mandy was letting her liking for the reporter cloud her good sense.

  “Most reasonable men, including Mr. Parker agree some ideas outlive their usefulness. Right after the war it wouldn’t have been safe for ladies to walk the streets if not for the Klan, but it’s outlived its usefulness. And anyway, Ester will divert everyone’s attention away from the Klan by spreading gossip about you and Alex.” She rubbed her temple as if her head pained her. “Hubert Boyles was a Grand Marshal of the Klan at one time, and Ester won’t want anyone to remember that.”