by Diana Ballew
Chapter 19
Eden watched as another funeral cart passed, loaded with a simple pine coffin, followed by a muffled drum thudding the mournful “Death March.”
“Come away from the window, honey. You’re just making yourself sick with worry,” Aunt Martha said, as she took a seat in the parlor.
“I know...you’re right.” Eden pulled away from the window to join in the afternoon tea.
“How was your visit with Jimmy today?”
“He’s doing better than most of the wounded. With this heat, infections and gangrene are flourishing. It’s terrible.”
“And what about Robert, Sam, and the other boys?”
Eden forced a smile. “Private Tracey is doing better, too. He told me he’ll be released soon. Some of the other boys there aren’t doing as well. And what I saw outside was simply, awful, Aunty. Stragglers are wandering the streets—thousands of them— without guns or coats, tired, wet and hungry, their uniforms riddled with holes and stained with blood.”
“But we must be thankful the Yankees pulled back after Malvern Hill, honey, remember that. I can’t even begin to imagine what could have happened.”
Being thankful was difficult with soldiers lying sick and wounded on the wet battlefields. By the hundreds, local citizens were sent in buggies and carts loaded with bread, water, and wine to help the ailing soldiers. After emptying the goods, long lines of buggies returned bringing back the dead and wounded.
“I’m glad Jimmy’s doing better. Still, he must be suffering with the loss of Patrick.”
Both women turned toward the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the porch.
Aunt Martha gasped and froze in place. “Get Eliza to answer it. I’m too frightened to open the door. There’s not a house in the city where someone hasn’t perished. I can’t bear the thought.”
Eden’s own terror instantly vaporized with the onset of Aunt Martha’s sudden panic, giving her the needed courage.
After the soft knock, she opened the door. A young uniformed courier slowly removed his hat.
“Are you Miss Eden Blair?”
Oh, God. “I am.”
“I have a message for you.” He handed her the sealed envelope.
With the expression on his face indecipherable, Eden’s pulse quickened.
“Good day,” he said.
Eden stood frozen as she watched him mount his horse and ride off as quickly as he had arrived. With her fingers feeling stiff and useless, she tore awkwardly at the envelope with her fingernails and yanked out the folded paper.
Aunt Martha scrambled up from her seat to Eden’s side. “Oh, Lord, what does it say?”
Eden read it aloud: “Dear Miss Blair. I’m pleased to inform you the soldier you inquired about, Major Rayce Hampton, has been removed from the confines of Libby Prison at the order of General James Ewell Brown Stuart. Major Hampton has been transferred to Chimborazo Hospital for treatment of his condition. My sincerest apologies. Lieutenant Thomas P. Turner, Commandant. Libby Prison.”
“I knew Jeb would come through.” Eden scrambled around the room, darting from one side to the next, looking for her bonnet and gloves. “Oh, the snake in the grass. That man Turner would have just let him rot in there rather than check this out himself. Thank heavens for Jeb.” She stopped in her tracks and faced Aunt Martha. “I know this must sound silly given the circumstances, but do I look all right, Aunty?”
“You look beautiful. Now, run along. I’m so worried about him. I’ll yell for Eliza to fetch the buggy.”
“No, I’m going alone. And don’t you dare fuss at me, this is far too important.”
Eden entered the hospital, rushing from ward to ward, only to find the place looking as though the battle must have happened on the infirmary’s grounds. Soldiers with fresh, life-threatening wounds were crammed wall-to-wall and shoulder-to-shoulder, moaning in agony in beds and on the floors. Medical staff treaded lightly, moving from one soldier to the next, and local women wiped fevered brows, dressed wounds, and offered soft words of encouragement. With everyone exceedingly busy, she ventured cautiously through the wards, looking for Rayce.
A sudden gust of warm air howled across the river, rushing through the opened windows as though calling her name. She turned around and recognized him instantly.
Her gaze darted around the room, trying to find the best route to his bedside. She lifted her skirts above her ankles and stepped carefully in the impossibly small spaces between the men lying on the floor.
“Help me, Miss,” A young soldier whispered. “Help me.”
“I think I’m dying,” another man murmured as she tiptoed near his head.
Tears obscured her view. “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, moving as fast as she could to get to Rayce.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Up ahead, lying on his back without a shirt, Rayce wore the blue trousers she had seen him in days before. Thankfully, he had a bed, perhaps in part to General Stuart’s influence and prompting.
As she drew near, the tears she had reserved for Rayce dripped down her cheeks. Once at his bedside, she stared for what felt like an eternity at his still, seemingly lifeless body. With her knees trembling beneath her, she crouched down and held his hand.
“Rayce...I’m here,” she whispered in his ear.
Nothing.
His head felt searingly hot, so hot she thought it could blister her palm. Quickly, she reached for the pitcher next to his bed and dipped her hands in the water. She drenched both hands fully, and then held one to his forehead and the other to his neck. He began to mumble garbled words.
“Rayce, my love, I’m here.”
Appearing as though he recognized her words, his eyes opened for a split moment, but the fever still had him in its evil grip. Just as quickly, he closed his eyes, and he lay still and quiet once again.
She had no idea how long she had been there, for she fell asleep sitting on the floor next to him, her head on his leg, waiting.
She woke to a gentle tap upon her shoulder. “Miss Blair, I thought it was you,” said Dr. Radcliff.
Eden glanced up, automatically tidying her hair with her fingers. “Oh, Doctor. I...” She blushed, embarrassed to have fallen asleep on the floor, but he of all people, who worked long hours day and night, would likely understand.
A gentle smile lifted the corner of his thin lips. “It’s all right.” He jutted his chin forward. “I take it he’s someone special?” He looked down at his notes. “Major Hampton. Swamp fever—and a bad case, I’m afraid. I’ve seen a lot of it from the soldiers who’ve been around the Chickahominy. This one has an extremely high fever, causing delirium and unconsciousness. Says here he’s been in and out of it for days.”
“What can be done?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“We’ve given him whiskey and quinine. If he’s going to get better this fever needs to break, and soon. His body can’t hold out much longer.”
A nurse called for the doctor.
“I’m sorry. Excuse me, Miss Blair.”
Hours ticked by, yet she barely noticed. Her head hurt, and her nostrils stung from the steady smell of disease and infected wounds. Having decided to get a moment of fresh air, she slowly rose and let go of his hand. She turned to leave and heard a whisper so faint it could have been the passing of a soul.
She spun around and dropped to the floor beside him. “Rayce!” Drips of moisture had begun to dot his forehead, neck, and chest. She smoothed his hair away from his brow. “Oh, Rayce, did you say something?” She hemmed in and brought her ear close to his mouth. “Talk to me, darling, please.”
“If you...wanted me...on my back...you could...have just asked,” he whispered. His eyes slowly opened, his dark pupils struggling against the light, and she could see the smallest curve of a smile tip the corners of his parched lips.
“Rayce! Oh, Rayce, the fever is breaking,” she whispered against his weathered cheek. “You’re going to be fine, my darling.” Relief
flooded through her, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, landing upon the hollow of his tanned neck.
“Has he...left?” Rayce asked, his voice a gravelly whisper.
“Has who left–the doctor?”
“No...McClellan.”
The fever—he didn’t know. “Yes, Rayce, we’re safe.”
“McClellan,” he repeated. “The Young Napoleon...what a fool...I knew he’d retreat.”
“Oh, my darling, he’s heading back to Washington as we speak.” Eden inched in closer and whispered into his ear. “I know, my love. I know it was you, Patrick told me. I don’t know the details, but this I do know: However you managed such a feat, you have changed the winds of this war, and Richmond and the Confederacy can breathe yet another day.”
He smiled and closed his eyes.
“Rest, my love,” she said, “the fever is breaking, and all will be well.”
Chapter 20
Two Weeks Later
Eden woke to a room as dark as the devil himself. Her heart raced as she ran her hands under the smooth sheets, searching for the body next to her.
He was there; warm, healthy, asleep.
He stirred. “What is it, Sweetness—another nightmare?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “another nightmare.”
She felt him move toward the edge of the bed, followed by the sound of a coarse strike of a match. He cupped the small yellow flame and lit the tallow candle in the lantern next to the bed. The glowing light fluttered softly against the walls of the bedroom. He slid under the sheets beside her and pulled her warm, naked body against his.
“I was just so frightened, Rayce,” she whispered.
He inched closer, aligning his hips with hers, and gently drew her head to his chest. A temperate night breeze drifted through the open window, and his musky scent mingled with her sweet magnolia oil, heightening her senses.
His lips brushed the top of her head. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
With a single finger, he tilted her chin to meet his gaze, his firm manhood pressed against the swell of her small belly, adding to her arousal. She looked into his eyes, rich as dark velvet and as seductive as smooth silk. “Yes, I think perhaps you can.”
She sat up, and he rolled to his back. Leisurely, she lay on top of him, forming the gentle curves of her body against his.
His broad hands moved with precision as he massaged the tension in her muscles along the base of her spine. Roaming higher, he smoothed the tight muscles in her back and shoulders. He gathered her hair, gently pulling the thick bundle away from her neck, and his firm fingertips kneaded the small knots of stiffness at her nape until her body completely relaxed.
“Feeling better?”
“Much better,” she said, relishing the feel of his fingers slowly moving through her hair.
As if he were determined to erase every trace of her frightening nightmare, he rotated his fingertips firmly across her scalp. Her breasts grew warm, and her nipples turned hard as tiny pebbles pressed against his chest. A hoarse moan escaped his throat when his lips sought the tender skin of her neck.
She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “I want you, Rayce.”
She slid her hand down the side of his long torso, feeling the warm skin over his firm muscles underneath her palm. She heard his sharp inhale when she placed her hands under his solid buttocks, pressed against the smooth sheets, and pulled him closer. “I want all of you,” she said.
He kneaded the curves of her hips. “I can never get enough of you, woman.”
A finger trailed down her spine, stroking the back of her bare thigh and bottom. She felt the thread of passion in his hand, sending a warm serpentine dance of pleasure slithering up her backbone.
He paused. “Care for a nightcap, my sweet?” He lifted her in his arms and laid her back down on the bed. He walked to the bureau and poured two small glasses of brandy. When he turned back to face her, he stood in full view of her appreciative gaze.
His hair hung long, wavy, and as dark as his raven eyes; his chest tanned, broad, and matted with thick curls snaking down his lean torso, tapering to his groin. He stood next to the bedside, full and erect, and she instantly felt the sleek warmth between her legs intensify.
Rayce looked down, holding her gaze, and the passion in her emerald eyes hit him like a body blow, sucking the air out of his lungs. Her fan of golden hair lay sprawled across the feather pillows, framing her lovely face. When her full lips parted and her tongue moistened her bottom lip, his body instantly responded, his shaft turning stiffer than a ramrod in the heat of battle. Her creamy breasts and ripe hips beckoned him with the promise of more, as she lay before him like a silky treasure awaiting his discovery. Was this enchanting beauty his for the taking? Absolutely.
Ready to slide back into bed, he set the glasses down on the side table and turned to face her. With a beguiling smile, she leisurely rose on her hands and knees. Her eyes grew wildly green against the soft light. He froze in place, watching as she slowly slithered like a serpent against the sheets to the side of the bed. Before he knew it, he was inside her warm mouth.
Her hands and lips consumed him. Every muscle in his body grew taut. Through half-closed lids, he could see their large shadows flickering against the dark walls, adding to his desire.
He reached forward and clasped her smooth backside in both hands, kneading the sleek mounds with his palms and fingertips, moving in closer—closer to her silky middle. “Dear God, Eden. The things I want to do to you.”
She stopped and smiled, her full lips glistening in the candlelight, and gazed up at him. He cupped her chin in his hand. “I’m going to explode, woman.”
In one fluid move, he scooped her up by her waist and gently flipped her over on the bed. With her lying flat on her back, her legs dangling over the edge, he slowly knelt down, lifted her knees, and penetrated her warmth with a single deep plunge of his tongue.
She gasped and clawed at the sheets, her fingernails scraping across the soft fabric. Slowly, he probed in and out, circling every square inch of her sensitive pearl.
“Rayce, oh, my heavens...I beg of you, this is so naughty, she breathed. “You must stop—no, don’t stop.”
He increased his pace. She writhed beneath him as he plunged deeper, faster; tasting her as though she were a sinful delight kept from his needy reach for so very long.
She raked her hands through his hair, tugging thick stands and wrapping them around her fingers. She gripped his scalp, pulling him closer. Her soft moans sent a shock of heated desire sweeping across his skin. Her muscles tightened and she began squirming.
The curve of her desire rose to such a height, Eden felt her body quivering with the need for a release against his ravenous mouth. “Rayce, I neeeeeed you.”
He stopped, but only for a moment. He flashed a wicked smile and reached to the side table for a glass of brandy. Puzzled, she frowned, watching as he took a drink, his eyes flashing devilishly in the candlelight. He held the glass above her chest and tilted it precariously so the liquid hugged the rim, threatening to pour over her. Instinctively, her muscles tightened until they trembled, waiting for the inevitable spill. He smiled and slowly let the drops of brandy drip, one by one, upon her breasts.
Each delicate drip sent a jolt of desire straight to her core. She inhaled in jagged breaths as each droplet fell against her heated flesh.
His dark eyes flashed, capturing the dancing flame as each drip hit her nipples and lazily trickled down the sides of her breasts. She arched up when his mouth came down upon her and devoured the soft skin of her breasts.
He set the glass down and dipped a finger in the amber liquid. Slowly, he trailed his finger from the pulsing hollow of her neck, down between her breasts, until he reached her navel. The cool liquid felt like ice against her warmer flesh, sending shivers rushing across her skin.
He slowly circled each breasts with the damp finger. “These are mine,” he said smiling.
Eden gi
ggled and trembled all at the same time. “Is that so?”
He kissed each peaked breast and whispered, “I, Major Rayce Hampton, declare Eden Blair’s lovely breasts are forever mine—all mine. Amen”
His eyes narrowed, and a smile curved beneath his mustache. He reached over and dipped his finger in the brandy once again. Before she knew what was happening, he slid the moistened finger inside of her. The cool, wet feel against her warm center sent her head into a dizzying spin of desire. Then, his mouth came down upon her once again, teasing and taunting her. Without warning, she cried out as waves of carnal yearning brought her to the very edge of ultimate seduction.
Trembling beneath him, he had brought her to the very brink of heated ecstasy. He stood and looked at the incredible creature he had claimed—the beautiful woman he wanted like no other he had ever known before. With a single smile, Eden was every woman he had ever fantasized about.
He slid her back on the bed and lay above her. Instantly, he found her warm center again with his hand, and she gasped. He nudged her legs apart, spreading them wide. Slowly, he entered her, relishing the feel of his hard shaft against her slick velvet walls that felt like they’d been made for him and him alone.
She moaned and slowly joined his rhythm.
He increased his pace and reached for her wrists. Holding them high above her head, he pressed them hard against the soft sheets. He looked into her eyes and plunged deeper. “You’re mine, Eden. You hear me, woman?”
“Yes, Rayce,” she whispered, “I love you so much. I’m yours.”
The rising passion within her came to an intense crescendo. Her body tightened and pulsated against his; her nipples warm and firm against his chest. He felt her insides rock with spasms of intense pleasure.
She pulled and tugged at her clasped wrists, but he held on with a vice grip. She nipped at his shoulder and grazed her teeth across his neck.
He had held out as long as he could, but the taste of her—the feel of her—the pulsing ripeness streaming from her made the physical yearning nearly unbearable. He moaned against her throat, his tongue and mouth ravishing her neck. “I love you. God help you, Eden, I do.”