Love Held Captive

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  He knew, of course, the elements outside weren’t what made it so. No, his response to the weather had everything to do with his state of mind.

  At long last, he was hopeful about the future. His time with Julianne had been transformational. Not only had they mended their rift, but he had new goals in mind. He intended to one day marry Julianne Van Fleet and find a way to remove Daniel Bushnell from her life.

  Both missions were daunting. Neither was sure to be a success. But it was because of those plans that he felt uplifted.

  While keeping a careful watch for other riders in the distance, Devin allowed his mind to drift back to when he’d been a cavalry officer.

  Oh, not to the bad times. Not back when all of them were bloody and hurting and exhausted. Or when everyone had been injured, suffering from stomach ailments, or hungry. But back at the beginning of the war. When he’d first enlisted and been so cocky and full of himself. Back when there was so much hope and excitement in the air it was almost impossible to think of anything else.

  Because of his father’s influence and his natural ability to lead, handle a rifle, and ride, he’d been able to gain commissions as a second lieutenant. Over the first year, he’d easily slid up the ranks. He’d been so gratified when he’d made captain. So comfortable with that rank that he’d stayed there.

  Scanning the horizon again, he relaxed slightly as he saw a collection of lights in the distance. He would be in the Menger Hotel soon. Once there, he was going to spend a good hour at the bar. Indulge in a shot of whiskey. Maybe two. Talk to the other the men sitting around the bar who were usually amiable, often ready to trade stories about nothing that mattered. That was something he was looking forward to.

  And get down to business with Ethan. He needed to tell him what happened with Bushnell at Julianne’s.

  “Not long now, girl,” he murmured to his mare.

  Midge whickered softly. Then, as if she’d understood his words, increased her pace.

  Soon they were trotting across the cold surface of ground that had already settled in for a long winter. The wind brushed his cheeks, curled tight around the skin on his neck like a kerchief. His tan duster—stained, worn, and frayed at the edges—felt like a warm companion. Enveloping him with warmth without asking for much.

  He realized he was happy. At last, he had been pulled from his inertia. Julianne was going to allow him to court her. One day he’d bend down on one knee and ask her to honor him by being his wife. And when she said yes, he knew he would push her to the altar as quickly as he could. No doubt, she’d protest. Maybe even remind him she was no innocent, blushing bride.

  But she was perfect for him.

  He’d have to remind her that he’d seen too much, done too much bad to be the right fit for someone too sheltered.

  He smiled, imagining the conversation. No doubt, she’d shake her head. Say—

  Crack.

  The force of the bullet hit his shoulder with enough emphasis to make him gasp. His mind blanked. Only the memories that lay deep in his muscles allowed him to keep his seat in the saddle. Only the horse’s knowledge of war and battle enabled her to continue forward without getting spooked.

  When he heard another gunshot, he hugged his mare’s neck and spurred her on, allowing her to run hell for leather. Though he figured the Lord had gifted him with more years than most soldiers ever deserved, he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

  He turned to look behind him. Needing to see how much distance he’d gained. Needing to see who had been so yellow as to shoot him from behind.

  The rider loomed in the distance. He was wearing a pale Stetson, a black duster, and was keeping his pace. His familiar gray appaloosa was a fine piece of horseflesh. He was galloping steady, solid.

  After another few seconds passed, Devin glanced behind him again. That’s when the rider’s head lifted. When Devin caught sight of who had shot him. He’d been right.

  Bushnell.

  Cold calculation settled in Devin’s soul. As Midge continued to zig and zag and direct him to safety, as Devin’s blood no doubt stained his tan duster more, he fostered that anger.

  To keep his bearings, he planned his revenge on Bushnell. And though it didn’t make him proud, he knew he was not going to regret giving the man his due. No man was going to live long enough to attempt to kill him twice.

  Not if he could help it.

  16

  Sitting on one of the bronze velvet chairs in the main parlor at the Menger, his marriage proposal looming awkwardly between them like an unfamiliar relative, Ethan had stared into Lizbeth’s eyes.

  What he saw hadn’t been reassuring. Pain and worry distorted their green color. Made them look a little murky. Darker than they were.

  Or maybe that had been his imagination.

  It didn’t really matter all that much. All that mattered was that she was about to say no. But without a word, she had risen to her feet and walked out to the lobby. He didn’t have to follow her to know she was returning to Harrison House.

  Ethan had expected a refusal. Lizbeth Barclay had more integrity in her fingertips than he did in his whole body. No doubt, she probably had more integrity than most of the men he’d served with and fought beside during the war.

  She was certainly more upright than most of people he’d been spending time with of late. She would never marry him just to help herself. She especially wouldn’t agree to a match between them if she thought he might later regret it. He was beginning to think she wouldn’t promise to love and honor someone if she didn’t—certainly not in a house of God. Maybe not even to herself.

  The only people he’d held in such high esteem were his band of brothers. Monroe, Truax, and Baker were his best friends in the world. Their bond had been forged on scarred battlefields, in desperate fights, and during forced captivity.

  And now, after he’d spent all day trying to determine where Bushnell had gone, trying to convince himself it would be wrong to pursue Lizbeth further, she had returned. When it was almost dark. They were sitting on a brown velvet settee in the lobby this time. But she wasn’t saying anything. And neither was he.

  As the silence stretched between them, he wondered how that could be. How could he feel so close to a woman he just met when it had taken years of pain and suffering to feel as close to other people?

  Under his regard, she began to look uneasy.

  And why wouldn’t she? He was staring at her intently. So far, he’d done nothing in her company that was worthy of her.

  But he wanted to. He wanted to change. To become better. He thought he might have a chance if he had her by his side.

  And that was the heart of why he wanted her. It wasn’t just that he felt he owed her for his part in her trials. It wasn’t just that he ached to do something of worth again. Something that he could go to sleep at night feeling pleased about.

  More than that, he yearned for someone good in his life again. Someone pure. No, not innocent. He didn’t need innocence. He needed a pure heart and kindness far more.

  It was selfish. He knew that. But he had long ago come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t nearly as good as some thought. He was a study in missed opportunities and multiple faults.

  That made him realize he was going to have to do something harder than just about anything he’d done in a very long time. He was going to have to show his real self to her. Not the slick gambler who bent rules. Who used his looks and charm to get what he wanted. He needed to show her the man he was underneath the layers of gold cufflinks and silk vests. The man he’d been for the Confederacy, when having honor and integrity had mattered so much.

  He was going to have to allow her to see a man of whom she could be proud. A cold chill swept through him, one that had nothing to do with the lobby door opening and allowing the frosty air to worm its way inside. He had to start talking.

  “Don’t say no,” he blurted, defying all his good intentions.

  Her expression turned even more pained. �
�Major—”

  “It’s Ethan. Call me Ethan.”

  “Yes. All right. Ah … Ethan,” she began. “Your proposal shocked me this morning. You and I met only days ago, but that was no excuse to leave as I did. I simply had to … think. I did not want to offend you, because I do appreciate the sacrifice you are willing to make for my safety.”

  “It’s not a sacrifice.”

  She kept talking. “What’s more, you honor me, but I cannot accept. Of course I cannot accept.”

  Tears were now in her eyes. She was rattled. He’d upset her that morning, and she was still upset. “Please, let us discuss this,” he said quietly. “Please know I don’t propose lightly. I do not intend to make a mockery of these vows. I will honor them.”

  Glancing around the lobby, she stiffened. No doubt she was as aware as he that they were being observed. They were causing a scene. “Sir, how could I think otherwise? We don’t know each other. And … and, Ethan, I’m just a maid.”

  “You are more than that and we both know it.”

  “But—”

  “And I know enough.” He’d told himself he wouldn’t, but he persisted, using all the skills he’d learned to press his suit. “Don’t forget that marriage is for a lifetime. We’ll have years to get to know each other.”

  “But that isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. Is it?” She stood.

  “Does it even matter?” Getting to his feet, he held out a hand. “Please. Sit down again so we can talk about this.” When it looked as though she was going to refuse, he murmured, “Don’t I at least deserve your time?”

  She sat back down, but her back was tense. “Of course you do, but I don’t see what can change.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “As I thought about your proposal all afternoon, I was reminded that marriage is the culmination of a romance. It’s the crowning glory, the opportunity to make promises and say vows honored by God. It is not the beginning.”

  Her words were pretty. But he also thought they were far too fanciful for the violent, desperate times they were living in. “Lizbeth, for others, perhaps that is how marriage comes about. But we both know that isn’t what always happens. Sometimes a couple marries because it makes the most sense. Think of all the unions that formed before men went off to war.”

  “Ethan, perhaps I should have spoken more clearly. While others might venture into such a union, I will not.”

  “Lizbeth, if you consider it for a moment, you will see you need a protector.”

  “I need a great many things, Major. A marriage of convenience is not one of them.”

  “Not even for protection?”

  “Not even for that.”

  He couldn’t help it. He smiled. She had so much fire. She was so earnest. Intent. “You could be wrong. Have you considered that?”

  “Even if I am, it doesn’t matter. I won’t repay kindness by shackling a man like you with a woman like me.”

  “Don’t speak as if we are worlds apart. You have much that I desire.”

  Her cheeks were now flushed. “You are embarrassing me. People are listening.”

  Feeling brash, feeling desperate, he shrugged. “Let them listen. I don’t care. Aren’t you going to allow me to explain my reasons? That’s hardly fair.”

  “Do you have reasons?”

  “Of course.”

  She still looked skeptical. “Real ones?”

  “First, to be completely honest, you need me, and I need to do this. Lizbeth, Miss Barclay, there is more to me than you are aware. There is more to me than I’ve allowed you to see.”

  “Why is that?”

  Because he’d been afraid. Afraid to revisit the memories. Afraid to admit he had changed. Afraid to share he had as many scars in his soul as he did on his body. He was marked, and sometimes, in the middle of the night when the things he’d done haunted him, he was very weak. “Maybe, like you, I need time. And I need to be able to trust.”

  A new light of vulnerability shown in her eyes. “You too?”

  “Especially me.”

  “If you need to marry, a great many willing and desperate women are available. I suggest you set your sights elsewhere.”

  “For reasons I cannot explain, the bride needs to be you. Please consider it. I promise you will not be disappointed.”

  She was weakening. He could feel it. Felt it as sure as if he were sitting at a poker table and knew the man across from him was holding a straight flush in his hands.

  Just as sure as if his enemy had a flaw, a gap he could identify.

  He was going to get his way. It was all he could do to not smile.

  Then the door swung open. In walked a man with blond hair in a tan duster. Hair cut short by necessity and bleached by wind and sun and years. A man with eyes so light in color that one might imagine they were gray or silver. But they were light blue.

  They also looked filled with pain.

  Concerned, Ethan surged to his feet. “Monroe!” he called out to get his attention. “Are you all right?”

  Captain Devin Monroe turned to him, started forward, then stopped again, as if the step was too painful. “No.”

  By now Ethan was at his side. He reached out, intending to support him, but instead he ended up enfolding Devin in his arms. Realizing the other man had passed out, he eased him to the lobby floor.

  “Ethan?” Lizbeth cried. “What happened? Who is that?”

  “Get a doctor. Fast,” he barked as he started pulling at Devin’s duster. Blood stained his hands, sunk into the crevice of his fingertips.

  It had been years since he’d seen a wound like this. Devin had been shot with a high-caliber shotgun. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was staring at an exit wound. Devin Monroe had been shot in the back, just below his shoulder.

  “Someone’s already gone for help,” Lizbeth said as she knelt next to him. “Use this.”

  Grabbing the soft fabric, Ethan realized she’d given him one of her petticoats.

  Folding it tightly in his hands, he pressed it against Devin’s wound. The fabric turned red in seconds. So much blood.

  When Devin groaned, Ethan leaned closer. “I’m here,” he whispered. “You are not alone.”

  “I’m … I’m okay.”

  Glad that Devin had spoken again, though weakly, Ethan felt a burst of anger surge through him. It was unimaginable that this friend, their captain, could survive so much only to be felled now. “Who did this?” He knew Devin would understand. If he didn’t survive, someone would need to avenge him.

  Even if it took the rest of his life, Ethan knew right then and there that it needed to be him.

  “Bushnell,” he whispered.

  17

  Bushnell?” Ethan repeated, leaning closer to Devin, ignoring the blood seeping through the linen cloth against his friend’s wound and staining his hand. Surely he had misunderstood.

  “Colonel Bushnell did this?” Lizbeth asked faintly. “How … how could that be?”

  It didn’t make any sense to him either. But he didn’t doubt that Devin had spoken the right name.

  He was aware that Lizbeth was upset and standing directly behind him, but Ethan forced himself to ignore her needs. He ignored the questions forming in his mind too. Only one thing mattered at that moment—ensuring Devin’ survival.

  “What is going on? Oh!” a feminine voice exclaimed behind him. Ethan glanced over his shoulder and saw it was Aileen Howard.

  “This gentleman has been shot, Aileen,” Lizbeth said quietly. “A doctor has been sent for. At least, I hope so. We need a room to place him in.”

  “Yes, well …”

  “Immediately, ma’am,” Ethan bit out. “And get someone outside to see to his horse.”

  “I’ll take care of this, Aileen,” her husband said as he joined them. “Go see if the physician has indeed been sent for.” After a pause, he knelt on one knee by Ethan’s side.

  Though he resented the intrusion, the tone of Dallas’s quiet voice reassured Ethan something was
about to get done. “I need to get him off the floor this minute.”

  “I have just the place. Lizbeth?”

  She stepped closer. “Yes, Dallas?”

  “We’re going to put this man in the Mockingbird Suite. Take my keys and open it, if you please.”

  As Lizbeth took the keys without a word, Ethan’s admiration for her grew. Here she had just discovered the man who threatened her had tried to kill his friend. Furthermore, she was having to interact with her cousin and her husband, both of whom had treated her shamefully.

  But instead of asking dozens of questions or breaking down into tears, she was calmly assisting them as if she were used to such things happening all the time.

  “I’ll help you carry him to the room, Major,” Dallas said. “It’s a private suite just down the hall here.”

  Ethan was hesitant to move Devin, but he figured it was the lesser of two evils. At least six or seven men were standing nearby, looking on. No doubt far more men and women were observing from more distant spots. This was no way to treat a war hero. “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll take his shoulders if you can take his middle.”

  “I’ll help you carry him,” another man said as he came forward.

  Ethan eyed him closely and then nodded when he realized he recognized him from some of the better local gambling halls. The man was a former soldier and had always seemed competent enough. “Thank you.”

  The three of them bent down, surrounding Devin. As Ethan slipped his hands around Devin’s upper torso, he gave a silent prayer of thanks that he was again unconscious.

  “On my count of three,” he barked, slipping into the tone he’d used in the army. It was forceful and allowed no discussion. “One. Two.” He inhaled. Prayed they were doing the right thing. “Three,” he said around an exhale.

  And together, the three of them lifted Devin’s form in unison. Devin wasn’t a small man. Easily six feet and solid muscle. Ethan was glad the third man had offered to lend them assistance.

  “We’ll take him about ten feet, then turn down that hallway,” Dallas said.

  Ethan started walking backward. He was vaguely aware of another man motioning everyone who was gawking to get out of the way.