The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1)

by Gina Danna

  “Get dressed, Mr. Fontaine.” The order snapped Jack’s attention back to her father. The man still aimed the rifle at him.

  Jack’s clothing was thrust at him before his fuzzy mind cleared enough to register he was standing there shirtless, his drawers slightly unbuttoned and barely holding up over his hips.

  “Daddy?” Caroline squeaked, her head tipped up to stare at her father. Jack noted she didn’t seem worried about being exposed, although her father, her brother and Billy stood around them.

  “Caroline, cover yourself,” her father ordered, throwing the bedsheet over her. At least she blushed at the sound of his cold voice.

  As Jack buttoned his trousers and shrugged into his shirt, his muddled mind searched for memories of the previous night. How the hell did he end up in bed, Caroline’s bed? But his head pounded fiercely, and he couldn’t figure it out. Frankly, he thought he was going to lose the contents of his stomach. He closed his eyes, his fingers pushing against his temple.

  “But daddy, it isn’t what you think,” she argued, her shrill voice piercing Jack’s brain like a dagger.

  “Caroline, shut up.” It was Billy. Jack peered through slitted eyes at the man. He was glowering, his voice furious. He wasn’t her father, why was he so mad?

  Holding the sheet around her, she scrambled out of bed shaking, her eyes flooding. “Daddy, please…”

  “Tilly!”

  The slave appeared instantly. “Yes, massa?”

  “Take your mistress and get her cleaned up. She’s got a wedding to go to.”

  “No, no…” Caroline wailed as Tilly pulled her out of the room.

  John Henry glared at Jack, his rifle no longer pointed at him, but Jack saw he kept his hand over the trigger.

  “So, you be thinkin’ to take a memory of my daughter with ya’, huh?” the family’s patriarch bellowed. “How dare you touch her, with your filthy Yankee-loving hands?!”

  “No sir,” Jack said, searching his fuzzy memories of the previous night. Whiskey and Emma and Caroline and, and, nothing. “I wasn’t trying to do any such thing…”

  Billy spat the chewing tobacco at Jack’s bare feet, barely missing them. Jack’s ears started to buzz and his stomach flipped.

  John Henry’s eyes burned holes into Jack, and he felt their heat. “Charles, get him ready. Samson’s getting the preacher.”

  Jack shook his head. He couldn’t stay here. There’s a war and he needed to get back to Washington. He wobbled, the room swaying before him. Jesus, how much whiskey did he drink? With a deep breath, he struggled to steady himself and felt a hand under his elbow, helping him. Charles.

  “Sir, nothing happened.” But was he sure? He thought he had been with Emma. His breath hitched. Emma. Oh, dear Lord…

  “Mr. Fontaine, I’ve welcomed you into my house, as a son, and in return, you seduced my daughter,” the man stated angrily. “You will pay for such an offense in the only honorable way.”

  “Still think we should shoot him,” Billy seethed.

  Jack’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at him. Billy seemed overly hostile about this….

  “Billy, father,” Charles interrupted. “Let me get Jack cleaned up.”

  John Henry eyed Jack from head to foot and back again. “Get him ready. I expect the reverend to be here shortly. Billy, come with me.” And they left the room.

  Jack slumped to the bed as Charles looked at him incredulously.

  “Jack, what the hell were you thinking?”

  #

  Caroline allowed Tilly to drag her out the door and down the hall, but at the door to the bathing chamber, she planted her feet firmly on the floor.

  “Enough,” she stated, yanking her arm free of the slave’s grasp.

  “But massa Henry says to get…” Tilly flustered.

  “I know what my father said.” Why did that little darkie call her father Henry? Caroline huffed. No respect from these people! “I can bathe myself. Get my blue dress ready.” She smiled. “We haven’t much time.”

  The slave nodded frantically and hurried away. Not so stupid after all, she laughed, walking into the bathing room.

  Her plan had worked so well. She was rather pleased with herself. Oh, she had worried she might not succeed because it took so much whiskey to get Jack inebriated and direct him to her room instead of his own. Using Emma’s name to lure Jack, she had brought him to her room. He leaned on her most of the way, mumbling something incoherently, her sister’s name on his lips, which thoroughly disgusted her. But she drove on and barely got him to her bed when he passed out.

  Part of her, some dim voice inside, whispered she’d gone too far, but the reason was clear. She’d had her hat set for him since his first visit. And she knew he was attracted to her—she even had correspondence from him that proved it. Well, he never mentioned marriage or love, but she was sure that would come until this silly war had interfered. Another reason why she refused to help run the house was because she needed to avoid marring her beauty with manual labor and fretting about meals and so forth. She needed to be gay and pretty for her husband. She smiled.

  But he wanted Emma.

  She snorted as she poured water into the washbowl. Everyone knew Emma was too young for him, too immature and what he needed was a real woman. He needed Caroline. Soon, he’d realize how wonderful they’d be together.

  She dampened the wash cloth and ran it over her nude body as she stood in the sitz tub. Her nipples puckered under her hand, and a bolt of desire shot through her body, imagining Jack Fontaine’s mouth on her breasts, his shaft between her thighs. She moaned, feeling herself moisten at the thought. Tonight, he’d be hers.

  And poor Emma. Caroline knew most of the men were going to enlist. A wicked smile crossed her face. Emma would do fine in any case. She could have Billy now.

  Billy. Caroline’s breath hitched. She’d miss him, but she had to admit, he was beginning to bore her. Things changed between them after he began to demand she answer his notes. That’d never work because she was the one in control. Perhaps, if he didn’t get himself killed, she might play with him again in the future, but not now. She was going to marry Jack and live in luxury because his family was rich.

  She finished her bath and dried off. Donning her blue silk gown, Caroline waited impatiently, stomping her feet as Tilly tried to quickly dress her hair. The minister should be here, and she wanted the vows said right away…before Jack realized she had manipulated him into marrying her.

  “Oh, enough!” She stood, grabbed her fan and left for the parlor.

  As she headed for the staircase, she heard muffled sobs and Billy’s muted voice. She suddenly stopped and strained to listen.

  “Emma, Emma,” Billy murmured. “Don’t cry. He isn’t worth it.”

  “Oh, Billy,” her garbled voice said. “He lied to me.”

  Caroline’s lips twitched. She wished she could see them. But she sighed and went down the stairs. She’d see Emma soon enough. They quieted at the sound of her footfalls on the steps. She pretended she didn’t know they were there, standing off to the side in the hallway. The infamous hallway, Caroline smiled. The one where she had begun to seduce Jack. She’d remember it fondly, always.

  Caroline rounded the doorway to the parlor and came face to face with Rev. Jameson talking to her father. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack, looking somewhat greenish. Despite his sickly hue, he was still handsome in his navy blue uniform. The yellow piping down the outer seam of his pants stood out against the dark blue. He clutched his hat, the large black-feathered plume dancing against his sleeve. He was nervous. How divine. The two silver bars on his collar shined in the sunlight. She recalled he was an officer—captain was it? In the cavalry, like Charles. Oh yes, she liked that—the thought of being an officer’s wife.

  “Why, Miss Caroline, do come here,” Rev. Jameson drawled, stretching out his hand to her.

  With a shy smile, she walked over to him.

  “Let’s get on with thi
s,” her father growled.

  Rev. Jameson gave John Henry a stern look but nodded.

  “Come, my child,” he told her, placing her in front of him. She heard her father’s bellowing voice call all the rest in.

  Jack stood next to her, rigid and tense. She glanced at his face as Rev. Jameson began to drone about the sanctity of marriage. Jack’s face was stony; he never gazed at her or anyone else. Just stared ahead, his eyes unblinking.

  “Do you Jacques Baptiste Christopher Paul Fontaine take Caroline Ann Silvers to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward?”

  Heavens, how many names did the man have again? She gulped.

  “I do.” His voice was flat, unemotional, his jaw tight.

  “And do you, Caroline Ann Silvers, take Jacques Baptiste Christopher Paul Fontaine as your husband, to have and obey, till death do you part?”

  Obey? Seriously? “I do,” she answered, smiling broadly.

  “Then by the powers invested by St. Paul’s Church and the Commonwealth of Virginia, I announce you man and wife,” the preacher stated. “You may kiss your wife.”

  Jack glared at the man for a second before his stony face returned. He bent, and she lifted on her toes to meet him. His lips barely touched her lips before he released her hands.

  Her lips thinned, then one side curved upward. He was angry. Well, she’d show him later how good it would be.

  Behind her, she heard another muffled sound, and her smile widened.

  #

  Jack knew he was damned. He barely heard the preacher, his mind still trying to recall memories from the fog of the previous night. Nothing. All he remembered was Emma. And her sweet laugh, how she smelled of strawberries and the honey of her lips. He still felt the taste of her nectar in his mouth.

  He saw her before the ceremony, as Charles was still trying to talk to him. She looked devastated. When their eyes met, scorn filled hers, sending daggers his way. He felt them stab him when he uttered the damning words “I do.” And at the end, he heard her moan through her closed mouth. It sliced deep into his heart, destroying it.

  His wife was smiling at him. He remembered thinking at one time that she was pretty. Now, she was his responsibility. The one thing he hadn’t wanted, not this way. Their forced marriage was for honor, family name, tradition—everything he had abhorred and run from before now stared him in the face.

  “Get your bags. We leave now,” he said gruffly. He saw her flinch and, inwardly, that pleased him. For some reason, he couldn’t shake the thought that he might have seduced her while under the influence of abundant alcohol. Then again, she might have done so to him. The cloud in his mind didn’t help, and he was tired of trying to figure it out.

  “But I thought…”

  “Caroline, I have to return to Washington. You are my wife and will do as I tell you.”

  “You don’t have to be rude,” she countered stiffly and turned, storming off.

  He groaned inwardly. He was being an ass. With a sigh, he reached in his pocket and felt the rough edges of the handkerchief inside. Emma’s. He should return it. But he couldn’t. A wave of sorrow washed over him, and he glanced up, finding its source standing ten feet from him.

  Emma stood tense, her hands clenching the shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Billy was by her side, his stare at Jack still full of anger.

  Jack walked over to her. She stiffened, and Billy stepped to intercept him, but she touched his shoulder. With a shake of her head, he grudgingly moved away.

  “Emma, I’m so—”

  “No, Jack, don’t.” Her voice was brittle, breaking.

  “I want to apologize,” he pleaded softly.

  “For what? That I was too good to seduce, unlike my sister? If you had to get strapped with one of us, why not the prettier one?”

  What the hell? “Emma, you have it all wrong.”

  Her shoulders straightened and her mouth thinned. “No, I don’t believe so, Mr. Fontaine.”

  Her eyes betrayed her and she knew he caught it. “Emma…” he wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, but he couldn’t. He was married, dammit. “If you need anything. Ever. Write to me.”

  She laughed. It was a hollow, almost vindictive laugh. “Jack, get out of my house. Now. And don’t ever come here again.” She turned on her heel and walked away from him. Out of his life. Forever.

  All we ask is to be left alone.

  —Jefferson Davis, 1861

  Chapter Ten

  Washington, D.C., June 1861

  Jack pushed Goliath faster the last couple of miles to reach Washington before sunset. Turning down the path into the city, he pulled up on the reins, slowing his mount. Even from a distance, he could see the town was crowded with the Army and more civilians.

  “Whoa, boy,” he murmured to the black thoroughbred, patting the side of his its neck as the horse slowed to a walk. Jack slackened his grip on the reins and sat up, thinking about recent events.

  After his hurried wedding and his failed attempt to apologize to Emma, he had gathered his wife, her slave Tilly and a wagon full of trunks and bags to take to the James River. They hardly spoke to each other after arguing over Caroline bringing the slave. He didn’t want anybody in bondage serving in his house. He wasn’t exactly an abolitionist, but he just couldn’t tolerate being among that particular institution’s standard bearers. Not after what had happened years ago because of his father. And after being at the Point, he had grown even more against slavery. But he had given into his wife just to quiet her rants and because of his need to leave. So he bought her passage to Washington and abruptly left her standing on the dock, complaining that he was deserting her, the words echoing in his head for miles. He hadn’t deserted her. He had to get to Washington and report in. Her luggage was way too cumbersome to transport by land. Plus, he needed the distance from her.

  At first, he rode hard through the countryside, searching his thoughts for what had happened. The first night, he dreamt of Emma, of how she felt in his arms, how her skin tasted, but in the midst of those pleasurable memories came her parting words —leave and never return.

  He woke, battered and torn emotionally. On the second day of hard riding, he finally pieced the fragmented scenes together and found his answer. Caroline had poured him way too many drinks and was always at his side, refilling his glass after every toast. She later lured him into her room with the promise of helping him with Emma. Oh, yes, she had helped him all right. Right into her bed. But there was no memory of actually coupling with her. He must have passed out, but just being in her bed had damned him.

  By the third day of riding, it became obvious that the lands around him were devolving into war. More people were on the roads, some moving further inland, others leaving. Groups of men, both militia and armed civilians, marched. They gave him room to pass, probably because he was riding fast and hard and looked so haggard.

  At least he was back in Washington, a temporary home until he learned the location of his unit.

  Oh, and then there was Caroline.

  He jerked in the saddle, bringing Goliath’s head up, breathing hard as the animal sidestepped. Damn, just thinking about her could unseat him. He tried to remember when her ship was docking. Maybe today, or was it tomorrow? With a heavy sigh, he realized she might be in his home even now, waiting for him.

  He adjusted himself, the saddle leather creaking beneath him. Checking in with high command had been difficult to endure. The officer he reported to eyed him as though he was the enemy. In fact he asked Jack, because he was from the South, whether he too planned to resign as so many other southern soldiers had. Jack said he had no such plans, but the man’s look didn’t change, although he said nothing more other than to give Jack his assignment under George McClellan. Jack inwardly cringed. He remembered George B. McClellan. A graduate of West Point long before Jack, he was a member of the 2nd Cavalry and Jack had met him once. The man’s attitude annoyed Jack.
He was a pompous ass. But a strong recommendation from his previous commander, along with his high marks at the Point had been why Jack was assigned to McClellan’s command.

  Arriving home, Jack reined in Goliath at the front of the house and dismounted. Straightening his jacket, he looped the reins around the hitching post and strode toward the door.

  Virginia

  Smack

  The dough hit the tabletop again. Stretching the gooey piece out and flipping it half over, Emma pounded it again. She kneaded the dough for a moment and began peeling it off the wood when a pair of black hands stopped her.

  “Miss Em, I be thinkin’ it’s ready,” Sally said gently. Taking the dough from Emma, she rolled it and stuck it in the baking pan.

  Emma ran her flour-covered hands down her apron and, with an anguished sigh, paced the kitchen. Baking was her latest attempt to fill the hours of the day. Her skills were improving, but she was far from good. She didn’t have to be in here at all with Sally and the kitchen slaves, but she needed something to keep busy so her mind didn’t wander back to that night.

  “Sally, what else do you have that I can do?” She sounded desperate. And she was. Another tremble went through her. Exhaustion, she heard Sally whisper to her father. Maybe. She avoided sleep. Sleep brought dreams, dreams about one particular night and the following day, when she went from being in Jack’s arms to witnessing his marriage to her sister. The dreams made her scream out loud. She woke the whole house and yard. So, she stayed up.

  “Child,” the elder slave said, shoving a biscuit and cup of cider into her hands. “You need to get some food inside you and sleep.”

  Emma stared at the flaky biscuit. She wasn’t hungry. And when she tried to eat, it made her want to retch. But Sally, who helped raise her, knew her well and wouldn’t let Emma leave without eating. She took a bite of the bread and slowly chewed, trying hard not to spit it out.