***
The next day, Ty had been able to get up, bathe, dress, and trim the chin stubble he had inherited from his father before Sonja could help. He had sent her to the garden to gather some greens for the noon meal.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and Sonja appeared. Wild-eyed, breathless with fingers trembling, she quickly stepped toward him. Her whiskey colored eyes held alarm, but there was a determination as well.
"Riders coming in fast. Stay here," Sonja whispered. "Don't move. Don't say a word. Do you understand?" Motioning Ty back on the bed, she threw the covers over him as she spoke close to his ear. "If need be, you'll pretend you're my husband. You're down with the Typhoid, all right?"
A frenzy of contained motivation whirled around her. The nerves showed in the clenching of her jaw as well as the thinning of her lips. When she inched back to see if he comprehended her little ruse, her eyes gleamed with a feral glint. A golden huge lit their irises. He could have sworn she growled, there was something primal about the sound that called to him. The quicksilver reaction to danger reminded him of his men when faced with the enemy. Ty found concentration difficult as he considered the fierce set of her face. He had the strangest need to pull her in close and protect her from herself. They were looking for him. Being the reason for concern had him caught between fighting and the need to relinquish control to her. Annoyed with his reactions to her directives, Ty shoved them back to help her any way possible.
With a smooth move of her hand in and out of the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed, Sonja produced a small Derringer, a ladies' pistol. Handing the gun to him, she paid attention to his eyes as he examined the tiny weapon. "This isn't for killing, the Derringer's for protection," she said.
Ty raised one brow. "If you say so."
The call to halt came from outside the window. Sonja peeked out the drape at the small window before turning to Ty and mouthing the word "quiet." She turned before disappearing through the door, locking it behind her. Near the window, Ty strained to gain a view. The sight of the Yankee commander had surged through him before he got his temper under control. With the instinct to survive, he flattened himself against the wall and listened.
"Ma'am." Major Perkins, the leader of the detachment, tipped his hat to Sonja in a courtly gesture.
The small cottage was L-shaped as if the addition of the bedroom had been a later add-on. From the small window, Ty had a perfect view of Sonja as she confronted the Yankee officer from the porch. She stood with her feet planted and her arms wrapped over her chest. Ty noted her board, straight back. Her lovely face remained unreadable, but her mouth formed a firm line in her delicate chin.
"Major Perkins."
"We'll need to search the premises for those Confederate deserters."
As the adrenalin surged through him, Ty's ingrained response wanted to launch an attack. Tamping down the urge to bolt through the door behind Sonja with guns blazing, Ty looked down at the small lady's pistol Sonja had given him. He would not be launching any attack with the gun he held in the palm of his hand. If he could not start the fight, at least he could defend the fort. Ty focused all his attention on the major and the details of the detachment. Knowing one's enemy was an advantage. He understood the Major. They were a band of renegade blue-bellies scouring the countryside for anything they could take in the name of the United States Army.
"A Confederate ammunitions transport was captured and exploded several nights prior about a half a mile from here. Ten Yankee soldiers along with most of the Confederates died. Their commander and several rebels are missing. We're here to track them down," the Major said.
So, Ty mused, they had managed to eliminate several of the damn Yankees. Satisfaction settled his nerves a bit. Some of his men were missing. They might be alive! Ty's relief grew acute, but not complete. Questions about their whereabouts and condition ran through his brain. The major's clipped Yankee voice broke his concentration.
"I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to step aside, ma'am. We're here to search the premises," the major said.
Ty tensed as he waited for what would be his last act as a lieutenant in the Confederacy. He could not expect to take on many of the Yankees successfully, but he would try for any who walked through the bedroom door. Figuring he would buy Sonja some time to escape, Ty checked the rounds in the small pistol. A short oath left his mouth. Only five shots remained in the tiny gun.
"I would advise against searching the house, Major." Sonja's voice came to him on the breeze. She sounded cool and calm.
The major dismounted without waiting. He arranged his face in a scowl as he took in her words. "What do you mean?" he asked before taking a step forward before tipped his hat to her. "Ma'am, our orders are direct from the Major General of the 23rd United States Cavalry. We are to search the premises." He bent slightly at the waist in another courtly bow. "We'll be out of your way in due time."
"That's not a good idea, Major." Sonja stood her ground.
This woman had a spine. She would not be so easily placated, Ty mused. Glancing back at the riders, he counted four others with the major. Each one carried several weapons. Apparently, he was the only one ill-prepared for a gunfight as he looked down at the pitiful excuse for a gun in his hand. Glancing back at the enemy, Ty gauged if he were accurate, he would get one maybe two before they drew and filled him full of lead.
Noting the major's arrogant attitude, Ty took an immediate dislike to the man. He waxed too full of his own importance for Ty. Physically, Perkins was a tall man, perhaps six foot four inches, muscular of build, while keen of eye. He wore the chops men favored. They were dark with a liberal peppering of gray, giving his face an ashen appearance. He sat tall in the saddle and his mount appeared well tended. Those keen eyes took in everything around him in brief, calculating glances. Slapping his finely oiled gloves on his palm, Perkins finished with another of those lusty perusals of Sonja.
That did it! Perkins would be Ty's first shot. The man was no gentleman even in front of a woman from his own side. He hated the men who called themselves Yankees. The fact he could be so brazen proved abhorrent to his thinking. How could the man be so bold with a lady? Perkins was the kind of Union soldier he despised. If not today, Ty vowed to see him again, perhaps in hell.
Sonja had not said a word. Her only response to Perkins directive had been to close the front door at her back. Ty could hear the hinges squeak as she shut the door before turning back to face the major blocking his forward progress. "Major Perkins," her voice remained surprisingly calm.
From his position, Ty could hear her strength in her address of the major. That a girl, Sonja. Keep talking.
"I won't presume to tell you what you can or cannot do, but my husband is down with the Typhoid." Sonja paused. "You do know what Typhoid means don't you?"
The Major's expression slipped into uneasiness as he cleared his throat. "Typhoid? Yes, ma'am, I'm familiar with Typhoid."
"He contracted the dreaded mess while logging in the swamp," she said before raising her hand. She pointed in the direction of the swamp. "He's been down with the fever three days now."
Perkin's boots scrapped the boards of the porch as he turned to speak to his men. Once again, his voice rose in volume as he faced Sonja. "I am sorry your husband is ill, ma'am. Of course, we won't come in. But we will search the barn and fields."
"Thank you, Major." Her response was clipped and cool. Sonja leveled her chin nodding briefly at the Yankee.
Ty breathed a sigh of relief. The mention of the Typhoid had stalled their advance. Otherwise, the Yankees would have barged in, making themselves at home. When they discovered who the man in the bedroom was, they 'd have left nothing but the well hole filled with debris and the bodies of Ty, the Confederate soldier, and Sonja, the Rebel sympathizer, swinging from the old oak tree out front. There would not have been a trial or even an inquisition. No, he had a
lready seen enough of their kind, pillaging, murdering, renegade Yankee cavalry, scouring the countryside in search of whatever they could take, all in the name of the United States Government. His hands fisted at his sides. Damn the Yankees!
The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1) Page 12