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

by Jessica James

“Very unusual for a horse to do such a thing,” Hunter said thoughtfully, trying to imagine Justus obediently following into the strange surroundings.

  “It wasn’t his first time in a…dwelling.” Andrea spoke under her breath, as if recalling another harried getaway in an abandoned house some many months before—only then he had been the enemy and she his quarry.

  “Ah, yes,” Hunter nodded, staring at her intently. “I remember.”

  When their eyes locked, neither spoke, but Hunter knew she must be thinking the same thing…How long ago and far away those events of the past seemed now.

  “Is there something else you would like to know?” A slight blush had blossomed on her cheek, making her appear even younger than her years.

  “Yes. I was wondering…” Hunter paused and tried to form the words. “That is, I’m a bit surprised that you would choose to defend my home, rather than leave with…your comrades.”

  Andrea cocked her head, appearing genuinely surprised by the question. “I defended Hawthorne, its future and its legacy. It never occurred to me that those men with torches in their hands were my comrades.”

  “But they were Union troops, weren’t they?”

  Andrea chewed on the side of her cheek. “I suppose they were wearing blue.” She seemed to contemplate the question again, and then spoke with quiet dignity. “I believe my conviction for right and wrong takes precedence over those for North and South.”

  She crossed her arms, apparently satisfied at having come up with a better answer. “The torch is not a legitimate implement of war. And I don’t believe setting fire to Hawthorne is a fate on which the Union cause depends.”

  Hunter shook his head. She was indeed a law unto herself. Made up the rules as she went and lived by them.

  “On the contrary,” she continued to defend herself. “To allow Hawthorne to burn would have only incited more wrath among the citizens of Virginia, thereby creating more suffering and privation for the Federal troops.”

  “I see.” Hunter shook his head. “So, by defending this estate, you were actually doing the Union a favor?”

  “Yes, of course. You must admit, your revenge would have been unrelenting had Hawthorne been destroyed.”

  Hunter shook his head and stared intently at the woman before him. Hiding in this slender, feminine form was someone with the wit and the will, the charm and the courage to take on anything in her path—one man or an entire army—it mattered little to her. She knew when to stand up and fight, and she knew when to use cunning and persistence to accomplish her goal.

  “So you decided it was better to have your hopes turned to ashes than this home?” Hunter was amazed that she would risk the one thing she valued most—her freedom, to accomplish her valiant deed.

  She looked up at him sharply, the color mounting in her cheeks. “One can hardly be compared to the other. My high regard for Hawthorne suggested an alliance.”

  “And a sacrifice?”

  Andrea said nothing more, and he assumed she did not intend to. She considered herself his enemy, yet had not hesitated to defend the home he loved. Her will alone had once again proved stronger than any shield of armor.

  He couldn’t help but admire the audacity, but wondered at the prudence of her decision. “You were aware, I suppose, that your chance of success was not favorable. May I ask what you would have done if your plan had failed?”

  Andrea surprised him by laughing, as if he had intended his statement as a joke. “Sir, I had no plan. I mean, I did not take the time to ask myself, ‘Can this thing be done?’ I merely asked myself, ‘Is this worth doing?’”

  Hunter was unable to speak for a moment. With or without a plan, it had been a feat of unprecedented daring, one that required wisdom as well as nerve. It had always been within her character to act, rather than meditate on possibilities and outcomes. Still, her courage awed him. She had within her a faith that made indisputable opportunities out of absolute impossibilities.

  Hunter cleared his throat, yet his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. “I want to offer you the assurance of my deepest gratitude.”

  Andrea blushed and looked down. “I believe it is your servants that deserve praise. They worked hard to protect your stock and property.”

  Hunter knew of no other woman who would, or could, have confronted such peril. And yet, she acted as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary to save his grandfather’s dream—and his future—from destruction.

  “May I speak without restraint?” Hunter’s voice was barely above a whisper as he suddenly reached for her hand.

  Andrea answered with a nod and stared with furrowed brow at her hand resting in his.

  “I know, that is, I-I accept, that considering our circumstances, you may never consider me a friend. But your respect, Miss Evans, I desire deeply.”

  Andrea’s face was calm and thoughtful as she looked up at him. “That desire has already been secured, Colonel. Whatever our association is or comes to be, you can be assured of my high regard.”

  The reverent and respectful look reflected in the depths of her brilliant eyes caused Hunter’s blood to pulse more uncontrollably than from any open invitation he had ever received from a woman in times past. “I hope, as I have never hoped, that I do nothing to forfeit that sentiment.”

  Hunter raised her hand to his lips with the stately courtesy that might have graced a queen, and kissed it softly, respectfully…yet in a way that again caused the color to rise in Andrea’s cheeks.

  “It seems you have a habit of placing me constantly in your debt,” he said then, nonchalantly.

  Andrea looked up at him incredulously. “That is certainly not so.”

  “Nonetheless, I’d like you to have something from Hawthorne.” Hunter walked over to his desk and unlocked a lower drawer. “This,” he said, holding up a pendant necklace, “was once worn by my grandmother, Madelyn Harris Hawthorne.”

  Andrea looked at the beautiful pendant of pearl he handed to her, and ran her finger upon the engraving of a horse on its face. “My silence does not signify indifference, Colonel,” she finally said, “but—”

  “And my gift does not signify purely gratitude.”

  Andrea looked up sharply. “Still, I cannot accept it.” She handed it back. “It must be kept in the family.”

  “There is no heir to Hawthorne,” he said, unclasping the necklace. “And no one more deserving of this than you.”

  Andrea turned the pendant over as he stepped behind her and rubbed her finger along the engraved words, “Trust. Love. Fear Naught.”

  “Legend has it my grandfather gave this to my grandmother on their wedding day.” Hunter finished clasping the necklace. “And from it, my grandmother came up with the name Fearnaught for Hawthorne’s first sire.”

  “Really, Colonel….I….”

  Hunter turned her around to face him.

  “You are a part of Hawthorne’s legacy now.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Without you there would be no Hawthorne. I want you to have it.”

  Andrea just nodded as she pressed the pendant against her chest as if for strength.

  “It is a Virginian trait, I believe, to follow the dictates of conscience regardless of consequence,” she said softly. “And I am honored…that as a Virginian…” She paused and cleared her throat. “I had the opportunity to defend Virginian soil.”

  Hunter blinked at her acknowledgement of her birthright and the emotion expressed. “May I have the privilege of saying,” he said, his voice barely above that of a whisper, “that Virginia has been made more worthy by your belonging to her.”

  Andrea stood with her hand still in his, gazing straight ahead. He could tell by the look in her eyes that the pendent she wore was not a trapping of wealth, but an unexpected symbol of devotion, worth more to her than all the treasure on earth.

  The room grew quiet. The sound of a clock ticking in the hallway through the closed door sounded like
thunder. Something passed between them, something vague and indistinguishable, yet tangible and real.

  When Hunter took a deep breath, Andrea lifted her eyes in expectation and met his.

  “Andrea …” He said her name with a tinge of tentative uncertainty in his strong voice. “I think that…I mean, there is something—”

  Chapter 63

  Love is a rebellious bird that nobody can tame.

  – Ludovic Halévy

  Carter burst into Hunter’s library with only a swift knock. Seeing that Hunter was not alone, he hurriedly removed his hat from his head and then the cigar from his mouth.

  “Miss,” he said, giving a quick nod to Andrea. “’Scuse me, Colonel. Didn’t mean to barge in. Just got a dispatch from Gus.”

  “Major Carter.” Andrea smiled and greeted him like an old friend. “How nice to see you again.”

  He smiled politely and then looked at Hunter. “Glad to see Hawthorne made it through. From what I seen, looks to be the only place spared.”

  Carter watched Andrea glance up at Hunter, who still gazed intently down at her. To Carter, they looked like two children who had been discovered sharing a secret. Both wore expressions of deep affection that exposed their emotions more plainly than spoken words could reveal—yet neither seemed to be aware of the display.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Andrea finally said. Her attention returned to Hunter and lingered there before she started toward the door.

  It appeared to Carter there was almost physical contact in the shared looks. Each glance they exchanged spoke volumes, the silence between them more meaningful than any words. He was accustomed to seeing sparks fly when these two were in the same room, but tonight the sparks were different—more like a smoldering fire about to burst into flame.

  Carter waited for Hunter’s attention once Andrea left the room, but his commander continued to stare into the hallway, following her every movement as if wishing to hang onto a memory of which he did not speak. It was surprising to watch the renowned officer so engrossed, with such longing in his eyes, as he listened until her footsteps could no longer be heard.

  For quite some time Carter had known that Hunter admired Miss Evans with almost reverential affection and that she returned the sentiment in no small way. But from what he knew of the Colonel and had learned of the girl, he doubted either one of them had yet come to the same conclusion.

  In fact, they appeared more inclined to behave like two mules at the same hitch, each pulling in opposite directions and getting nowhere.

  Carter’s lips curled into a surprised smile as he stared at Hunter’s faraway expression.

  From a small spark, a great fire, he thought. Behind every flicker in the sky, a great bolt of lightning.

  “That’s a noble woman there,” Carter said to break the silence. “She has few equals.”

  Hunter looked over at him as if just realizing he was there. “She has none.”

  Chapter 64

  In the silent passages of the heart, many severer battles are waged than were ever fought at Gettysburg.

  - Confederate Lt. Gen. James Longstreet

  Andrea heard the clock in the hall chime, announcing the hour. It was only nine o’clock, yet she could hardly hold her eyes open. Discarding the book she’d been reading, she stood to take one last look at the night sky.

  The weather was warm and balmy, but a southerly wind was picking up now, bringing with it the heavy smell of rain. The breeze blew her hair and her gown behind her in ferocious gusts as she looked at the sky. Not a star was to be seen in the canopy overhead. The thickness of the clouds concealed all illumination, making the night a dark one.

  Good night for raiding, she thought to herself as she began to turn and retire to her room. The idea had no sooner left her mind when a movement below caused her to pause. Turning back, she watched Hunter appear from out of the darkness holding a prancing Dixie under tight rein. Both of them appeared imposing and majestic, as if taking part in a dress parade. Neither of them looked as if they were setting out to do battle with a violent enemy. Together they presented a picture of boldness and strength that made her almost breathless.

  Unaware of her presence, Hunter leaned down to fix his stirrup. He had almost passed by, when he glanced up as if feeling her eyes upon him. Dixie fought and cavorted in rebellion when he pulled her to halt. Ignoring her cantankerous conduct, he removed his hat and bowed graciously as if paying homage to a queen.

  “The clouds are on my side tonight.” He pointed toward the heavens and smiled as if together they shared a secret joke. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Andrea nodded in return, intent on hiding unwanted emotions. When she turned and fled back inside, she could not remember what she’d said to him in parting—if anything at all.

  * * *

  The next morning Andrea awoke with a smile on her lips, and lay still in the soft light trying to remember what had caused its appearance. Her eyes fell affectionately on objects in the room that had grown so familiar to her, as she tried to grasp the elusive memory. Strange…she felt so happy…almost blissfully content.

  I’ll see you soon.”

  She grasped the words and let them settle in her mind like a comforting blanket. The thought of seeing Hunter again sent a surge of emotions through her she could not easily ignore—or understand. She sat up on the edge of her bed and rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of her conflicting emotions.

  Shadow and light played on the floor in front of her as a tree limb moved in the breeze. A strange uneasiness crept into her as she watched, followed by a dull, aching pain in her chest.

  Something was wrong.

  Blinking to clear her foggy brain, she looked again out the window, then squinted toward the clock on the mantle. Heavens. It’s just two o’clock in the morning?

  That was not the sun that had awakened her. It was a full moon shoving its beams through the window.

  Bare feet hit the floor, and in another moment Andrea flung the door to the balcony wide open to stare at the night sky. Not a cloud obscured the moon as it bathed the landscape below with its unearthly brilliance.

  “The clouds are on my side. I’ll see you soon.”

  Andrea placed her hand on her heart to ease its racing pace as the words replayed in her mind. How many times had they discussed the welcome assistance of a cloudy sky to help conceal covert actions? Hunter relied on it and used it to his advantage, intentionally avoiding starlit nights.

  Andrea glanced again at the cloudless dome of night. He’d been on a mission, that much was clear. And she knew that despite the change in Mother Nature’s course, he would not deviate from his unerring course of duty. He would not turn back, regardless of the dangerous ally the enemy had in the moon.

  She tried to conjure his image galloping up the lane, sitting nobly astride his steed unscathed and undaunted. But the image swirled and blurred before becoming fully developed, and she began to fear it was a premonition.

  Despite the hour, Andrea decided that sleeping was now out of the question. Biting her nails and pacing in her room seemed to accomplish little as well, as did staring at the clock, whose hands refused to move.

  At last getting dressed and creeping down the stairs, Andrea noticed how empty and eerily quiet the house seemed when he was not in it. Without thinking where she was going or planning where she would end up, she found herself outside his library just as the clock in the hall chimed four.

  Opening the door and stepping into its familiar surroundings, she inhaled the lingering scene of pipe smoke, sweet and intoxicating, and pictured him sitting at his desk, leaning over his paperwork.

  The room was empty, yet the signs of his presence were everywhere manifest. His spirit was indelibly linked to every object her gaze landed upon, making her feel more alone than ever before.

  Andrea ran her fingers along the smooth polished wood of his desk, then lowered herself into the elegant leather c
hair that still bore the imprint of his weight. Closing her eyes, she was rewarded with a sense of well-being, his lingering essence having the power to soothe and comfort her.

  When the clock struck five and he still hadn’t returned, she fled the room through the French doors into the garden, gulping in the night air as she tried to clear her mind. What is happening?

  She tried to find consolation in the beauty of the night as a perfect shaft of moonlight guided her way through the garden. A slight mist rose from the ground, but her eyes drifted back up to the moon. Its brilliance mesmerized her as she stared distractedly into the canopy above. It appeared the night star was beckoning to earthly inhabitants, beaming a silvery glow over the treetops like a pathway to heaven.

  “Looking for someone?” a deep voice behind her broke Andrea from her thoughts.

  The words affected her this time the same way they had in Richmond at the ball many months before.

  They stopped her heart.

  Slowly Andrea turned, fearing that her mind had only imagined the voice. And indeed, for a moment, she thought he was but another apparition rising from the darkness. She blinked her eyes, fearing he was made of nothing but moonlight and mist—and her own overactive imagination.

  “The moon…” Andrea started, becoming lost when she stared at his solemn face begrimed with powder and dust. “I feared…”

  Hunter nodded, and started to move toward her. She found herself trembling at his approach. But she could not move, afraid that if she did he would disappear…Afraid that he really was just a figment of her imagination—or a ghost from the grave.

  When he was within arm’s length, Andrea unconsciously reached out for him, clinging to his strong form as if she were sinking in quick sand. He enclosed her in his arms and held her tightly against him, as if he instinctively knew she was in anguished need of comfort.

  Burying her head in his chest, Andrea breathed in the odor of sulfur smoke and leather as she would the cool blast of air that precedes a thunderstorm. Hunter, apparently feeling her tremble, held her even tighter, as if he too was in need of comfort.