She groped for his hand gratefully, and he squeezed her tiny fingers as she looked up at him once more to smile and whisper, “Thank you, Luther…thank you for being my friend.”
He sat there for a long time, staring down at her. Dammit, he’d never let himself go soft for any woman before. He’d had his share, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this way. Hell, he felt sorry for her. He wanted to yank those covers off and strip her naked, and Lord, he knew it would be good. But something was stopping him. Pity. Dammit, he’d never felt pity for anybody or anything, so why in hell was he starting now, in the middle of a goddamn war? Maybe it was because she wasn’t like the others. They didn’t have to be coaxed into doing their job for Fox. Some of them even went ahead and slept with the men they lured to their beds, even after they drugged them and got what information they needed out of them. They seemed to enjoy it.
But this one, he knew, would never submit willingly. She might be tiny and delicate, and maybe physically she couldn’t fight back, but she’d never give in. She’d fight with every ounce of strength she had in her.
She stirred, moaned, whispered a name he could not make out. He leaned forward, wanting to hear, but there was a sharp rap on the door and then the sound of Veston’s belligerent voice. Luther didn’t answer. He kept staring at Julie, feeling the pounding of his heart and cursing himself for the emotions that were starting to smolder within, despite his determination that he wouldn’t let himself feel anything for her.
“You gonna open this door or you want me to bust it down?”
Luther’s head jerked up. Slowly he got to his feet and walked to the door. As soon as his hand fastened on the knob and the click of the lock could be heard, Veston was pushing his way into the room. He looked at Julie, then grinned nastily. “Already finished, huh? Well, it’s my turn now.”
Luther quickly positioned himself between Veston and Julie’s bed. Grimly he pronounced, “You aren’t going to touch her.”
“Are you kidding me?” Veston’s eyebrows were raised in surprise above eyes glimmering with desire. “We always break in the good-lookin’ ones. What’d you do to her, anyway? How come she’s asleep?” He threw back his head and laughed tauntingly. “Puttin’ your women to sleep these days, eh, Luther?”
“I said you are not going to touch her.”
“Hey—” he drawled, stiffening. “You aren’t kidding, are you? What the hell’s going on?”
“I gave her some whiskey to make her relax so she’d fall asleep.”
Veston twisted his mouth thoughtfully, then took a step forward. “I’m going to have me some—”
Luther reached quickly for the knife he always carried. The blade glimmered and sparkled in the glow from the fire in the grate, but its radiance was dim compared to the heat glowering in his eyes as he warned, “I’m not letting you near her, so get the hell out of here!”
Veston looked from the knife to Luther’s eyes. “Fox is gonna hear about this.”
“That’s fine. I’ve already had a run-in with him about her.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“No he won’t. He needs me.” Luther sounded quite confident. “You see, I’m going to keep a watch over her. I’m going to try to keep as much misery from touching her as I can. That’s the least I can do. She isn’t like the others, and that’s why you and Fox can’t have her.”
Veston stared at him, stunned for a moment, and then he laughed. “Well, I’ll be danged. Am I hearing, right? You, of all people—one of the biggest, hell-raisin’ fuckers I ever messed around with—standing here tellin’ me you’re going to watch over that fine piece of woman flesh like she was your very own…”
Luther could have told him that he did indeed wish she were his own. But he knew he’d said enough. The point had been made. There would be a reckoning with Fox later, and he’d face that when the time came. “I think,” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “that you’d better just get the hell on out of here.”
“Sure,” Veston snorted, moving toward the door. “Ain’t no woman worth fightin’ for, but you sure beat everything I ever seen.”
When Veston had gone, Luther put his knife away and sat back down. Julie slept deeply for awhile, and then she would twist from side to side, crying out as though reliving some horrible nightmare. He would reach out and stroke her face or smooth her silky black hair back from her forehead as he spoke to her in gentle, soothing tones. He would tell her she was safe, that he was there and would watch over her. After awhile, she would drift into peaceful slumber once again.
He was still sitting there when dawn tried to break through the thick snow clouds and light struggled to creep into the room. He had not once dozed, wanting to be alert should Julie cry out in terror again. Fox had not returned, and Luther was relieved. Another confrontation might awaken her, and he knew she needed to sleep as long as possible. The road ahead was not going to be easy for her.
“You’re still here…”
He glanced up to see that she was awake and staring at him intently.
“Yeah, I wanted to make sure you slept all right,” he told her. “Veston came, but I ran him off. You had a restless night. I wanted to help if I could.”
“Why?” She sat up, unaware that her robe had fallen open, exposing her magnificently sculptured breasts. He saw and sucked in his breath. Julie looked down and gasped and yanked the garment closed. Her eyes grew suspicious, wary. “Why did you stay? What do you want of me?”
He shrugged. “I know you don’t trust me. It’s something I can’t explain. There’s just something about you that makes me feel you need protecting. I don’t know how much I can do for you, but I aim to hang around and do my damndest.” He gave her a lopsided grin which he hoped put her at ease.
She lifted her chin a little. Despite his apparent attempt at friendship, and the way he had saved her from Gordon Fox the night before, he was still one of “them.” Her voice was cold. “I can take care of myself.”
“No, hell, you can’t.” He spoke gruffly for the first time. “Fox is going to send you around entertaining Reb troops, you know, and it’s going to be dangerous. You need somebody around to look out for you. I aim to be that somebody.”
“If you truly want to help me, you’ll help me find my brother so we can escape all this madness. You won’t let Gordon go on with his mad scheme.”
“Oh, I can’t help you there,” he said. Gently, he hastened to explain. “I told you, Julie, I’m a soldier. I’ve got a job to do. I’m going to travel with you and play the guitar while you sing. I aim to be your bodyguard, and God knows, you’re going to need one. But don’t ask me to help you escape. I’m in this war because I believe in the northern cause, and I’ll kill a Reb as quick as I’ll mash the life out of a toad. But as much as it’s within my power, I’ll keep you from getting hurt. And that’s all I can offer you,” he finished with a sigh.
There were a few moments of silence, and then Luther spoke the words that seemed to be smoldering within him. “I’m probably making a fool of myself, but I’m going to say it, Julie. You shake me up. I wanted you something fierce last night, and I’d move quicker’n a scalded dog if you asked me to climb under them covers with you right now. But I’ll never touch you ’less you want me to. I promise. Just let me be your friend, ’cause you’re going to need one.”
Shivering not only from the chill of the room, Julie wrapped the covers tightly about her; then trailing them behind her, she went to stand in front of the fireplace.
“I’ll go get some more wood,” Luther said quickly, noticing how she was shaking. “I’ll bring you something to eat too. I’ll get the hotel cook to whip you up some hoe cakes and bacon. You need something that’ll stick to your ribs. The major’s going to take you shopping today, get you fitted for some fine clothes, and you’ll be out running around in all that snow.”
“Promise me one thing, Luther,” she interrupted, whipping about to face him, no longer trembling, for
her bones had stiffened with the determination and fortitude that she knew instinctively she must gather if she were to survive. “Promise me that you will do everything in your power to see that my brother lives. I can pledge nothing in return, but you say you want to be my friend. I want to believe you, and if you mean what you say, then make this one promise to me.”
He sucked in his cheeks, then let out his breath in a long whoosh. She was asking a lot, and besides, he wasn’t about to tell her how he’d had his doubts all along that the bunch that left Richmond would stick together and take Myles to the hide-out. They had probably already shot him or left him to die, and then taken off. If she hadn’t made such a scene there at the last, Fox might have made sure her brother would be protected, but he’d gotten mad and didn’t give a damn. Besides that, rumor had it that the war was fixing to bust loose like all hell, and Fox had plenty of other worries—one of which was to get Julie working as quickly as possible.
Finally, after giving her a long, searching look, he nodded his head slowly. Better to lie, he reasoned, than cause her more pain. “I’ll do my best, Julie.”
Just then the door opened, and Gordon Fox walked in without bothering to knock, eyes narrowed and lips set grimly. “Well, what’s going on in here?” he demanded.
“Julie had a restless night,” Luther said tightly. “I sat with her.”
“Like a mother hen.” Gordon laughed sharply, then snapped his fingers in Julie’s direction and told her to get dressed. “Luther will bring you some food. Then we’ll be on our way to get you outfitted properly. We’re going to be leaving in a few days.”
There was a dressing screen in one corner of the room, and Julie stepped behind it and reached for the dress she’d worn from Richmond. It had been washed by a hotel maid, and she thought absently that it did not look too much the worse for wear.
“I’ve decided we won’t go to Richmond,” she heard Gordon tell Luther. “It would be too dangerous there. I think we can pick up valuable information around Wilmington. After all, that’s the last real stronghold of the blockade. You should find many busy pilots and ship captains there. Set Julie up in one of the saloons along the waterfront and establish her as a lady of talent. Then we can start moving through the fields, visiting camps.
“I’ll be talking with my commanders,” he went on. “When we leave Washington, we’ll have a definite plan of action. Things are truly going to be moving into high gear. From all reports, President Lincoln wants to do everything possible to bring the war to an end. He’s started by naming Ulysses Simpson Grant supreme army commander, and Grant is making no bones about his plans. Attack. He says he wants to strangle the Confederacy, and he’s going to order Federal forces to attack simultaneously at all points to apply constant pressure on the South. And the South is weakening. There’s no doubt about that. Grant says they can’t withstand a continual onslaught, which is what he is about to set in motion.”
“A lot of men are going to die,” Julie heard Luther murmur, and she was surprised to hear the sadness ringing in his voice.
“Be glad you probably won’t be one of them,” came Gordon’s snappish reply. “All you have to do is play a goddamn guitar, not pick up a rifle and march into battle. You should be grateful that I chose you for this assignment.”
Luther allowed as to how he was appreciative, but added, “It just seems a waste. All the killing. It’s been going on three years now, and I don’t see any end.”
“Well, there will be an end, and people like me will help bring it to a close. Wars aren’t won merely by men shooting at each other, Luther. It takes brains and strategy, like using spies to find out where the enemy will attack next, where their weak points lie.”
Julie heard the door open. “But I shouldn’t have to waste my time telling you all this. Come along. I’m sure Julie must be famished…” His voice trailed off as the two stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
Julie was grateful to be alone with her thoughts. What lay ahead, she did not know, and she ran cold fingertips up and down her arms. Her lips trembled. No, she told herself fiercely, she was not going to cry. She had to be strong—stronger than ever before.
She thought of the past. Warm, sunny days on that isolated beach with Derek…strong arms about her…hot, seeking kisses that always led to fulfillment from his satiating penetration to the very depths of her soul. A quiver of warmth moved through her as she remembered the way he had possessed her, carrying her along on a wave of passion that made her writhe and beg and plead for him to go on and on…which he did…till she lay spent and exhausted beneath him.
Derek.
Once she had hated him.
Once she had loved him.
What she truly felt in her heart, she did not know. She was certain of but one thing. She wished she had stayed in Richmond and Derek had returned, and she could be folded in his arms and held tightly against his chest.
For on that snowy day in Washington, in March of 1863, Julie Marshal had never felt more alone and vulnerable. And her heart grieved with the knowledge that probably never again would it pound with thundering ecstasy as she was held tightly against that giant of a man…Derek Arnhardt…
Chapter Twenty-Five
The ride had been extremely difficult, and several times Thomas feared that Myles had died. He had positioned Myles directly behind him on the saddle, on the horse’s rump, lacing his cousin against his back with a rope. Every so often he would stop, despite the protests of the others, and maneuver himself to press a hand against the frail chest to see if Myles’s heart was still beating.
“Hell, throw the bastard in the snow and be rid of him,” one of the men yelled only a day after they slipped out of Richmond. “We ain’t never gonna hear from Fox nohow. Who gives a shit? He’s just dead weight.”
Thomas knew the man who spoke only by the name of Satch, and that he was from somewhere up in Pennsylvania. He had never laid eyes on him, or the others who aided in the escape, until that night when he left Libby Prison with Myles. Thomas found Satch to be a surly sort, mean, ugly, always spoiling for a fight, constantly badgering everyone around him. And if Satch insisted on discarding Myles, Thomas knew he would have quite a scrap on his hands.
“We have our orders, and I intend to follow them,” Thomas answered quietly, hoping his voice relayed the underlying message that he was not afraid of any challenge.
“He’s gonna die anyway,” came Satch’s snarling reply. “And he’s holding us back. It’s hard enough trying to get these goddamned horses through this blasted snow, without you stopping every few feet to see if the son of a bitch is still breathing.”
“Well, he is still breathing, and as long as he’s alive, I’m going to do everything I can to keep him that way.”
That night, when they were all huddled around a small fire hidden among some rocks and snow-laden trees, Thomas gave his portion of the rations to Myles. He had to forcefully spoon the gruel between Myles’s thin blue lips, coaxing him to swallow.
Suddenly he became aware that all eyes were upon him, and he turned to see Satch’s mouth twisted into an evil grimace and his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “What’s he to you, anyway, Carrigan? The rest of us don’t give a shit if the bag o’ bones dies, but you’re sittin’ there feedin’ him right out of your own belly. You one of them funny ones what likes men?”
Thomas fought for self-control. Now was not the time for the reckoning that was sure to come. He was counting on some of the men slipping off as they moved along, until their number was so narrowed down that he and Myles would have a fighting chance. There were too many to stand up against now.
“You’ve got a sick sense of humor.” Thomas forced a laugh. “I’m just following orders, Satch, like I said. Besides, I was a guard in that prison, remember? And I saw the way this poor bastard was treated. Seemed like every guard there, and even some of the prisoners, were doing their best to see him dead. I grew to admire him because of the way he st
ruggled to survive. Now that he’s been given a second chance, I’m not wanting to take it away from him.”
“Hell, you shoulda been one of the ones wantin’ him dead,” one of the other men spoke up. Thomas knew him only as Kelso. “You’re a southerner, ain’t you?” Kelso went on. “You saw that T branded on his head, and you know he was a traitor to you Rebs. So how come you give a shit whether he lives or not? Don’t make sense to me.”
Thomas turned burning eyes first upon Kelso, then on Satch, and all but snarled his reply: “I’m not asking any of you to help me. I’m not asking you to share your food. So why don’t you just mind your own business and let me follow orders? What the rest of you do is your affair. Leave me be.”
“Well, well, I do believe our Johnny Reb is a man’s man.” Satch threw his head back and laughed. “He likes the old bag o’ bones. Maybe they was good friends back in that prison. Maybe he’s tryin’ to fatten him up so they can be married…”
The others guffawed and cackled, and Thomas’s hand trembled as he spooned more gruel into Myles’s mouth. Despite his cousin’s weakened condition, he could see the slight sparkle of anger in the watery, hollow eyes. It was a good sign. It meant that there was spirit left beneath the waxy, papery skin…spirit that would grow and become strong and help him to live, by God.
Thomas’s back was to the others as he squatted before Myles. Lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper, he told Myles to pretend he had heard nothing. “Don’t let them know that you might be starting to regain your strength. We are outnumbered, and now isn’t the time for any confrontation.”
To the others he tossed the words over his shoulder, “You all go on and have your fun. When we see Major Fox again, just be sure to let him know that I’m the one who kept this man alive, the way he wanted.”
The other men finally tired of making their taunts when they realized that Thomas was not going to be goaded into a fight. So they turned to talk of other things: the war, the wretched weather, how much farther they had to travel. Thomas put a blanket over Myles after making him a bed of dry pine straw, which he had difficulty in finding. Only after digging beneath three feet of snow and several more layers of wet straw did he find any that was dry. By that time the others were drinking and talking about tawdry women they’d known in the past, and they were ignoring him.
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