Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II)

by Jessica James

  “It is for the good of your Command that you can lay me up for four more weeks! You are trying to prolong my agony by hindering my recovery!”

  “You cannot believe that is why the procedure was done,” Hunter said, annoyed at the outburst. “Surely you must know that putting up with your obdurate personality for four more weeks will not be an agreeable proposition for anyone in this household.”

  “I cannot make too emphatic a statement that it is my desire and purpose to leave here as soon as possible,” Andrea said, as if reminding him of something he could easily forget.

  “And I assure you I am doing, and will do, everything in my power for the accomplishment of that purpose.”

  “Good then we agree on something.” Andrea crossed her arms.

  “Yes, we agree. Now can I trust you to eat, Miss Evans?”

  “If I can trust you to leave,” she said with a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Like the Confederacy, I wish to be left alone.”

  Chapter 17

  Distrust and caution are the parents of security.

  – Benjamin Franklin

  Four weeks later

  A soft breeze carried the aroma of budding growth to Hunter as he made his way into the house. In the weeks following his latest encounter with Andrea, he had been in the saddle almost continuously. Now he was home at last for some much-needed rest. Pausing at the stairs with one boot on the bottom step, he changed his mind and proceeded toward the back veranda. He needed to soak up the peace and quiet of Hawthorne and clear the battle scenes from his mind before retiring.

  “Mistis Andrea, you need a wrap?” he heard Izzie ask. “It getting chilly out heah.”

  “That would be nice, Izzie, thank you,” came the reply.

  When the coat settled on her shoulders, Andrea laughed. “Thank you, Izzie. That was fast.”

  “You’re welcome.” Hunter sat down on the step beside her.

  Andrea glanced around in surprise before focusing her attention back on the descending darkness. “Oh, I was not aware you were back.”

  “Just got in. Came out to listen to the silence.”

  Hunter pulled out his pipe and struck a match on the stone step. As he touched the flaming head to the tobacco, his mind wandered to their last meeting—though the same did not seem true of her. She appeared more intent on ignoring his presence than thinking about the last time she was in it.

  “I see you’ve been making much progress,” he said to break the tension. “Hard to believe it’s been four weeks since the…procedure.”

  Andrea cocked her head, apparently trying to decide if he was asking a question or merely delivering an assessment. She must have decided on the latter, because she did not respond.

  “I think perhaps you are pushing yourself too hard,” Hunter prodded. “I believe Doc had hoped you would not put weight on your leg for at least six weeks.”

  “Didn’t you say you came out to listen to the silence?” She did not bother to turn and look at him. “If so, you may find that the quieter you become the more you will hear.”

  Hunter shrugged and leaned back, placing his elbows on the step behind him. It was becoming clear that his houseguest’s spirit of intolerance had not diminished or disappeared as he had hoped.

  But then she surprised him.

  “Hawthorne is a perfect paradise,” she said staring out over the fields. “It’s obviously been well cared for and loved.”

  Hunter sat up and gazed at the serious look on her face. “But you are disappointed it is owned by a rebel?”

  She was silent for a few long moments, but finally answered. “No. I don’t allow that to detract from its impressiveness.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad the fact that we’re in Virginia does not reduce its value in your eyes.”

  “It’s quite magical, really. Magnificent.”

  Hunter decided to push his advantage. “And yet you wonder why I fight for it?”

  She looked back over at him, her brow furrowed, pondering his simple question.

  “Fighting against Virginia would be like fighting against a piece of myself,” he said, leaning forward, eager to get her to understand. “I love this soil, perhaps more than I love my own soul.”

  Andrea nodded, the fight and challenge in her eyes replaced by a heartfelt look of understanding. “I suppose it is natural to choose to fight for the soil from which you came.”

  Her words and tone indicated a compromise had been reached. “Miss Evans, in the end we believe in the same things. I desire peace as much as you do. But we won’t purchase it at the price of the honor and the interests of Virginia.”

  She remained quiet, but he followed her gaze from the giant shadows of horses in the fields to the wisps of white scudding across the black dome of sky.

  “It looks like the clouds are racing the moon.” Andrea pointed heavenward. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Hunter glanced up just as a shooting star streaked across the velvety cloak of night. Andrea leaned into him and grabbed his leg excitedly. “Quick. Make a wish.”

  She closed her eyes, while Hunter stared at her hand as if it were a branding iron searing his flesh. Indeed when she withdrew it, he flinched, imagining he felt a scorching handprint there. Clearing his throat, he returned his gaze to the sky. “I think I can guess what you wished for.”

  “It’s easy, I suppose.” Andrea looked up at him with wide-eyed youthful innocence. “Peace.”

  Hunter couldn’t hide the surprise from his expression. “Oh.”

  “That was not your guess?” She tilted her head and looked at him intently.

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “I thought your first wish would be to leave here.”

  She simply shrugged as if the thought had never entered her mind. “You are mistaken.”

  Nothing disturbed the peaceful silence for a few more moments, until Andrea pulled the coat draped across her shoulders closer around her. Looking down, she shrieked, then stood, in one swift movement. “How dare you!”

  “What’s wrong?” Hunter asked, surprised by her sudden change in attitude.

  “What’s wrong?” Andrea cried, her lightning temper apparently ignited. “You, sir, may pledge your allegiance to the Confederate States of America, but I do not!” She took the military coat off her shoulders and threw it at him. “Do not dress me in Confederate gray while I’m being held here against my will!”

  The warm and innocent eyes suddenly blazed, the peaceful serenity of the evening shattered. “Miss Evans, I assure you, I meant nothing by it.”

  “You call yourself a gentleman.” She flung the words over her shoulder in disgust, leaning heavily on the cane. “Circumstances may require that I live here, but that does not require me to owe allegiance to your homeland!”

  “Miss Evans.” Hunter stood and followed her. “My only intention was to keep you from catching a chill when you asked for a wrap. I swear to you. You may be sure of my pardon if you’ve taken offense.”

  “You are trying to provoke and insult me,” she spat, turning back to shake her cane at him in an act of utter contempt.

  “I can assure you I would never intentionally do such a thing.” Hunter shook his head. How could he have known that draping his own coat across her shoulders would bring out this demon of rebelliousness? He listened to Andrea let out another string of curses that was neither polite nor especially easy on the ears as she made her way to the house. The words she used were of the type that should never have been heard by a lady, let alone cross the lips of one.

  He stood dazed, shaking his head in amazement, while Andrea continued her tirade. She uttered maledictions all the way through the house, making it abundantly clear he had committed a sin that should not, and could not, be pardoned in this world or the next.

  She was, without a doubt, the most perplexing, unpredictable, infuriating woman Hunter had ever met. Never had he seen a creature whose emotions we
nt to such extremes, a wide-eyed, innocent child one moment, a willful, wild demon the next. There was no way of knowing which would appear or when, and he was tired of trying to figure it out.

  A breathless quiet descended following Andrea’s exit, reminding Hunter of the scene when a violent storm passes and leaves everything in its path shaken and in disarray.

  If she is determined to remain enemies, I will have to respect her wishes. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a door slamming in the house. On second thought, I have no choice in the matter.

  Chapter 18

  Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?

  – Abraham Lincoln

  Andrea paced back and forth on the front porch five days later, her cane clanking against the planks with each step. She paused when she noticed Hunter walking up from the barn, sweaty and dusty from helping the slaves unload a wagon.

  “Miss Evans,” he said, pushing his hat back from his forehead and resting his arms on the porch railing. “Something wrong?”

  “Yes, something is wrong. Andrea nodded toward the pasture. “I sent word down to you a half hour ago about removing that roan from the field. He’s been causing a commotion all morning.”

  Hunter turned his head in the direction of a horse viciously nipping at another, and then rested his gaze back on Andrea. “Yes, I heard,” he said dryly, “but I had other duties to attend.”

  Andrea snorted with indignation. “Then I’ll remove him myself!” She drew up her skirt up with one hand and started limping down the steps.

  Hunter grabbed her by the arm. “Miss Evans, there’s no need to alarm yourself. Zach will be moving him to another pasture in a few minutes.”

  “In a few minutes?” Andrea yelled. “That horse needs to be moved now. He’s running those horses up and down the fence line and biting them when they stop.”

  “Major Hunter, I presume?”

  Hunter and Andrea whirled around simultaneously, neither understanding how they had missed the advance of the three horsemen in front of them. The corpulent rider who addressed Hunter wore a lavish saber that clanged on the hardware of his saddle each time his horse moved.

  “Yes, I am Major Hunter.”

  Andrea eyed the man in the saddle with suppressed amusement. He was a veritable mountain of flesh, his vast proportions quivering with each movement of his mount. She saw no evidence that the flamboyantly dressed soldier had ever seen combat, for the simple reason that the target he made was unmissable. How he had ever planted his great bulk onto the saddle in the first place was a great mystery to her.

  Accompanied by enough clanking and banging to cause alarm among some nearby horses, the man dismounted hastily, and none too gracefully, and presented his papers to Hunter. “My letter of introduction from General Stuart, suh,” he said, bowing as if to a king.

  Andrea stood just behind Hunter’s right elbow and, with a slight twist of her head, was able to read part of the contents.

  “…Colonel Wellington, my wife’s cousin, is en route to Richmond on my behalf. As one of my cherished friends Major Hunter, I ask you to please do everything in your power to make him feel the importance he has not, nor will ever achieve, during his short respite with you.”

  Andrea watched Hunter’s face and saw the muscles in his cheek twitch, though whether from mirth or anger she could not discern. Taking a deep breath as if stepping into a torture chamber, Hunter extended his hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure Colonel Wellington.”

  “The pleasure is mine, suh.” Wellington saluted Hunter, then grasped his hand in a cordial, though loose, grip. Andrea saw in a glance that Hunter’s handshake was not nearly so lax, because Colonel Wellington grimaced, indicating his fingers were being mashed to a pulp.

  When Hunter released his hold, the stranger turned his attention to Andrea, and all memory of the pain he had just endured seemed to vanish. He stood gawking in unmasked wonder, rudely eyeing her while licking his lips as if she were a leg of mutton hot from the oven.

  “This is Miss Evans…my, uh, houseguest,” Hunter said, noticing the man’s gaze.

  “A pleasure, madam.” Wellington removed his hat and bowed so low Andrea feared he might topple.

  She nodded in response but did not come out from behind Hunter. She had not failed to notice the way the man stared at her, and almost grabbed Hunter’s well-muscled arm for protection from his gaze.

  One of the men behind Wellington cleared his throat, and other introductions were made. Corporal Kroger, a strapping, barrel-chested young man, grinned profusely at Andrea, while the other man, Private Tate, stared at the ground.

  “Beautiful home you have here, Major,” Wellington said, walking a short distance, his saber jangling at his side. “Mind if we get a short rest before dinner?”

  Andrea looked up at Hunter for his reaction, and smiled when he successfully suppressed the agitation she knew he felt. She understood now his friendship with General Stuart was a strong one, because it would take a great camaraderie to keep Hunter from throwing a man like this out on his ear.

  “Of course,” Hunter answered. “I will have a servant show you to your rooms.”

  Hunter turned and headed into the house, expecting the entourage to follow, but Wellington held back. “We will, of course, have the pleasure of your company at dinner, Miss Evans,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm.

  Andrea took an evasive step backward as if about to be kicked by a horse and successfully avoided contact. Hunter turned around and glared at her with a look that indicated he thought the entire situation was somehow her fault. Then his gaze lowered to her bare toes clearly visible beneath the hem of her gown and his look turned to disgust.

  Wellington cleared his throat and spoke in a loud voice. “I would not think of dining without your presence, Miss Evans.”

  Andrea’s eyes fell at the look Hunter fired at her. “Of course,” Hunter answered, though his tone no longer conveyed warmth or welcome. “She’ll be there.”

  * * *

  Andrea assumed Hunter had shown his guests to their rooms and that all were napping before the dinner hour. She further assumed that Izzie and Mattie were busy in the kitchen preparing a feast for the visitors, because no one was anywhere to be found. Desperate for a drink of water, she decided to risk a quick trip down the stairs. Plopping herself on the polished rail, and using her cane for balance, she rode the bannister to the bottom. She’d discovered this method was much less tedious and painful than taking the steps individually.

  “Miss Evans!”

  Hunter’s stern voice brought an instant reversal to the smiling position of her lips. It was the voice, Andrea surmised, he used on the field to order his troops to battle. “Sir?”

  “That railing is for your hand, not your seat.”

  “Yes, sir, but I—”

  “I am trying to run a civilized household here. What have I told you about wearing shoes?”

  Andrea was just about to ask him if he’d been born with his boots on, when he spoke again.

  “Don’t leave your chamber without shoes on ever again.” He reprimanded her with a look of warning before turning away.

  “Yes, suh!” Andrea held herself up to full attention and saluted him, mimicking his order with exaggerated gesticulations.

  Hunter turned. “I saw that.”

  Andrea looked at the mirror she had forgotten was there and limped up the stairs, forgetting her thirst in her hurry to escape. Sitting in her room, fuming over his discourteous behavior, Andrea soon heard a curt knock on the door, followed by his entrance.

  “Dinner will be served at seven.”

  “Perhaps you can make an excuse for me,” Andrea said. “To tell you the truth, I find the aspects of dining at your table about as enjoyable as being kicked by a horse.”

  Hunter took a deep breath as if trying to control an impulse to shout. “You’ve made yourself known to the Colonel, and he expects to see
you. I know you may feel uncomfortable. . .”

  Andrea, who was staring out the window, looked back in surprise, thinking for a moment Hunter was going to express sympathy for forcing her to share a meal with a bunch of rebels.

  “…Having to act like a civilized young lady for an evening.”

  Andrea whirled around to face him. “You believe me incapable of the feat?”

  Hunter remained quiet for a moment. “How shall you play a role for which you’ve had so little practice?”

  Andrea’s cheeks blossomed. “I will not try to enlighten you on the subject now, but I assure you, Major Hunter, I can behave like a lady.”

  He snorted. “Really? Because it’s been my experience that you possess a disposition that is no less ferocious than that of a chained dog protecting a meaty bone.”

  “That is not the impression I wish to convey,” Andrea said, forcing a smile. “I shall make every effort to change it.” She took a deep breath and batted her eyelashes. “Is that why you oppose my attending?”

  “You have mistaken me,” Hunter said coolly. “I do not oppose your attending…but neither do I advise it. And since you will be attending, unleashed and unmuzzled, I must ask that you use discretion.”

  “And why do you think I need to be warned of the necessity?” Andrea asked coolly.

  “Because discretion is acquired by experience…and it is evident to me that you possess very little of either one.” He stood with his head cocked as if contemplating continuing the conversation. “Therefore i find it necessary to advise you, for your own sake, to be civil this evening.”

  “Civil?”

  “Civ-il-ized,” he said, pronouncing each syllable.

  “I am familiar with the word,” Andrea snapped with righteous indignation. “I do not know why you think you must school me in its meaning.”

  Hunter took a step into the room and closed the door behind him. “Surely you understand the fine line I am treading with you in my home. Or must I explain the complexities of sheltering a Yankee spy?