by Cindy Nord
Her words lacerated Reece. He deserved her animosity; regretted his cruel words every day since their parting argument. When he closed his eyes at night, she was the last image that flickered behind his lids. When he awakened, she was the first image to appear.
“Allow me to refresh your memory. You said as long as Brennen remained at Shapinsay, he would be free. Remember?” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, your Yankee heathens barged into my home and removed him—thereby breaking the promise you made to me that night. So now, I’ve come to collect.”
Emaline sat bolt upright in the chair, yet he clearly saw the exhaustion hovering at the edge of her composure. The hurt and shame he’d forced her to feel that night raced over him again in a chilling reminder.
“Yes,” he softly replied. “I remember every detail of our time together.” Their gazes caught. Hers slid away. “And I also remember the promise.”
Her gaze skipped back. “I need to know what you’re going to do about it. And unfortunately for you, this time not a single one of your vouchers can ever hope to correct this tragedy.” She tried to bolster her emotions with defiance, but the attempt failed and chunks of the armor fell away with each shaky breath she drew.
Reece swallowed. The inevitable storm cloud of remorse settled over him. He straightened to his full height and readjusted the saber belted around his waist. The joy of seeing her again swelled inside him. So unexpected. So unbelievably wonderful. Even though she now demanded something that conflicted with everything he believed in…as sure as he would draw another breath, he knew he would do whatever he could to help her.
He strode to the tent’s entrance and swept back the canvas flap. “Find Major Neale and have him report to me, at once.”
“Yes, sir!” the closest soldier responded, and then sprinted off.
Reece turned to Emaline again. She shifted in her chair to face him, her fingers curling around a worn wooden slat. She bit her lower lip to stop its tremble. The frantic look that followed forced him across the enclosure and back to her side. He dropped to a knee before her, the muscle in his thigh tightening.
In so many ways, it seemed, he was destined to be this woman’s protector.
“I’ll find him, Emmy. I promise.” His breath caressed the hideous bruise and her head lowered. The tears she’d obviously held at bay for so long, pooled behind her dark lashes.
Slowly, they trickled down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
He nodded. “How long ago was he taken?”
“Three days.”
His breath hissed inward. “Three days is a long time, but I’ll see what I can find out.”
The canvas flap swept open.
Jackson entered the tent.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” his friend roared. “You’ll lose your eagles if you’re caught.”
Reece stood near the supply wagons, staring across the encampment. “What good is my rank if I can’t use it?”
“What you want to do is treason, you imbecile,” Jackson rasped. “Plain and simple.”
“Look.” He speared the man with a razor sharp glare. “I’ve thought long and hard about this and I’m willing to take the risk.”
“You’re willing to lose your command and face a possible court martial? And for what? A damn woman?”
Reece clenched his jaw, his hand curling into a tight fist. “I’m warnin’ you. Don’t start with that again.”
Jackson raised both hands. “Hey, don’t blame me for feeling this way. This isn’t like you.”
A strange emptiness settled into the pit of Reece’s stomach. He sighed and looked back at his tent. Emaline slept inside on his cot. The exhaustion of the three days she’d spent searching for him finally overwhelmed her. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m willing to take the chance.”
“Why?”
Reece slid his gaze back, a bitter taste burning his mouth. He considered not answering, in truth, because he did not want to explore the reasons behind his reckless decision. Then he sighed, and simply said, “Because I promised her.”
“Promised her? Bullshit. This isn’t about that, and you damn well know it.”
Reece fought against the truth. His head pounded, trapped in a vise of his own making. He pulled in a deep breath; the pain inside his heart bored down with teeth and claws.
The sulfuric smell of burning wood from a thousand campfires settled over him. The regimental encampment stretched out in a canvas city nearly a quarter of a mile wide. Everything about the bivouac reflected his trademark touch—orderly and disciplined. Yet the exact opposite raged inside Reece. Since meeting Emaline, nothing about his thoughts or emotions had been orderly or disciplined. Nothing had made any sense after riding onto Shapinsay four months ago. Nothing mattered except helping her now.
“It’s just that…” Reece paused and his voice spiraled down into a guttural whisper. “I spent the years since my wife’s death running from my miserable life. That’s the damnable truth of it all.” He stared at his white-knuckled fingers wrapping the side of the wagon. “My ranch, my stock, everything I owned meant nothing. I went through the motions of living.” Reece scanned the encampment again. “And then this war came along and I buried my pain under the mantle of command. Giving orders gave me the outlet I needed to ignore the detestable void. And it worked perfectly until that little hellion in there pointed her rifle at me and pulled the goddamned trigger.”
He glanced over his shoulder back to his tent. No woman on earth could bring to him what Emaline represented. The softness in her eyes as she offered herself on a bed of pines, the remembered taste of her lips, and the softness of her skin. Her heartbreak when he held himself back…and her supreme sadness when he couldn’t help her brother; everything tore a hole in his heart.
His sigh went gut-deep and carried his angst. “For the first time in five miserable years, I feel something.” He turned to his friend. “No other woman would’ve sought me out like this, nor demand me to help her. Especially, not with the way I left her believing I misused her feelings.”
Jackson leaned his back against the wagon and crossed his arms. “And did you?” he questioned, looking at the command tent.
“No.” Reece smoothed out the word. “But, I let her think so.”
“If you truly care about her, why did you push her away?”
“You said it yourself, remember? Back at Shapinsay. This wasn’t a good time to fall in love, and the same war which brought her to me will only pull us apart.” A scattering of pictures, words, and feelings raced through Reece’s mind. For a brief moment, a flicker of hope flared, only to be lost in the next. “And I told her that same thing in so many words that night I found her brother.” He dropped a lasso around his sadness, reining in the torment. “But, that doesn’t mean I can’t help her now. If finding Brennen will ease some of the pain I’ve caused her, then I’ll do everything in my power to help her. I owe her that much.”
Jackson raked his hand across his face and glanced back. “Hell’s fire, Reece…at least send someone else. A patrol, maybe, or a few handpicked men.”
“No. I won’t endanger anyone else. Since I’m choosing to help her, it’s my responsibility.”
“A colonel and a woman? All alone doing God knows what? Damnation, all you’ll accomplish is raising suspicion. You know this as well as I do. Wherever the Reb’s being held, assuming he’s even still alive, you can’t just barge in there and ask for his release.” Seconds passed in strained silence until a harsh curse fell from Jackson’s mouth. He finally said, “Since you’re so damned determined to do this, I’m coming along.”
“No. You’ll need to take my command in case something happens.”
“Look, pal,” he snapped, “if you’re thrown into the brig, we both know I’ve absolutely no desire to be in charge. So shut the hell up. I’m going along whether you like it or not.”
A lopsided smile lifted Reece’s lips. “Well, don’t blame me then when we’re both rotting in
prison.” He extended his hand.
And Jackson’s firm clasp met his. “Deal,” he said, then released his grip. “But first, we need to find out where her brother’s being held.”
Reece nodded, leaning against the wagon. “And I’ve got an idea about how we can break him out when we do. Tell me what you think about this…”
Chapter Eighteen
Evening mist settled over a cluster of warehouses that lined the pier at Aquia Creek Landing. Reece surveyed the area before him. Light emanated from the dirty windows of several outbuildings. A soldier slumped against the wall of the nearest clapboard shack and tugged his coat tighter to ward off the chill.
Beside him, an Enfield rifle rested against the weathered wood.
Good. Caught him off guard.
Reece turned in his saddle, and peered at the ambulance wagon behind him. Jackson and Emaline perched atop the seat of the two-teamed rig. He nodded toward them, tugged his slouch hat lower, then spurred Saguaro forward into the clearing. When the wagon lumbered over the railroad tracks, the guard lurched into a stand, grabbed his weapon, and turned to face them.
Light from the closest window laid a glint across the embroidered threads of the medical officer epaulets that now graced Reece’s shoulder. He rode straight toward the young sentinel and reined to a stop. The soldier stood straighter, and offered the obligatory salute.
“Where are they keeping the prisoners, son?” Reece asked, returning the gesture.
“In the warehouses, sir.” He angled his head. “Behind me.”
“And your commanding officer?”
The private pointed to the shed where the lamplight glowed. “He’s inside there, sir.”
Reece motioned to the building and Jackson nodded, rolling the vehicle to a stop in front of the structure. A moment later, they all dismounted and entered.
The wintry air that followed Reece into the dimly lit room swirled cigar smoke into a shifting cloud. He peered through the rippling glow at four soldiers playing cards around a small wooden table. Fat cigars clenched between their teeth generated the thick haze.
Behind him, Emaline’s delicate cough interrupted their game.
A scrawny captain leapt to his feet, followed by the other three men. They laid aside their cigars and offered quick, sloppy salutes.
Reece stifled a smile.
As he hoped, arriving late at night had caught these boys off guard too. A glance at the ante in the middle of the table revealed a dozen greenbacks, two seated liberty halves, and a shiny one-dollar gold piece. With a pot that large, these men would want to return to their game as soon as possible.
Good.
The soldiers scanned his felt-green shoulder bars, before dropping their gaze to his emerald waist sash. Reece read their minds: Medical. No big deal.
The smile threatened his lips again. He returned their salute.
Infantry are so predictable.
“Who’s in charge?” he asked, his voice slicing through the gloom.
The young officer stepped forward, extending his hand for the customary shake. “I am, sir. Captain David Wiggins.”
“Major Stevens,” Reece replied, returning the soldier’s greeting. The name was too nondescript to set anyone on alert or lead to any questions later. “I’m afraid we have a problem, Captain.” The straightforward approach would intimidate the young man. And indeed, the soldier stood a bit taller, sucking in his stomach.
“What’s that?” Captain Wiggins looped his thumbs in the waist pockets of a dark-blue vest.
Reece sighed and pulled off his gauntlets, tucking them into the waistband of his saber belt. “I need to assume responsibility for one of your charges.”
“Now?”
Reece impaled him with a glare. “Yes, Captain. Now. I’m a busy man. I don’t have all night.”
A quick wave of the man’s hand indicated the small office near the back of the room as he glanced at his card-playing comrades. “Give me a few minutes here, gentlemen, and help yourself to the brandy. I’ll be back soon enough to take this money off your hands.” The soldiers nodded, laughing as they reached for their cigars, one man lifting the half-emptied bottle sitting on a side table.
Wiggins led the way to a battered oak desk. He scanned Jackson and Emaline, then offered them the empty chairs against the wall. He shrugged his shoulders when they refused. “All right,” he said, rounding his desk. “What’s all this about, Major?”
“I understand you have prisoners awaiting incarceration at Point Lookout. Is that correct?”
“Yes. A hundred and fifty.” The man shifted his gaze to Emaline. The left side of her face still sported the fading bruise. Would he be curious enough to ask why? From the corner of his eye, Reece saw Emaline step back into the swirling shadows and lower her head, clasping her hands in front of her as if in prayer. The cape she wore swathed her from head-to-toe, and bruised or not, she sent the clear message she wanted no part of the captain’s appraisal.
The young man dismissed Jackson with a curt nod before planting himself in the spindle-backed chair. He leaned backward and clasped his hands behind his head. “The transport picks them up at dawn tomorrow.” His gaze resettled on Reece, and a flicker of suspicion surfaced. “Why do you want to know?”
Reece pulled a folded letter from the breast pocket of his frock coat. Forging General Hooker’s signature across the bottom of the document took practice, and he’d spent the better part of an hour drafting the request. He snapped the paper open with a sharp rustle, then passed the orders on to the captain. “One of them has cholera.”
Wiggins dropped his mouth open as the chair legs hit the floor. “Ch—cholera?” He reached for the correspondence. “Christ Almighty. Are you certain?” Reece nodded, waiting while the officer scanned the letter. The youthful features shifted from shock and fear to pulse-pounding anger. He dropped the missive to the desk and glared at Reece, his eyes narrowing into slits. Protocol flew straight out the window. “Why in God’s name would you people send me an infected prisoner? You know better than that, Major.”
Perfect.
Reece retrieved the letter and slid it back into his breast pocket. “We didn’t realize he was a carrier until a few hours ago.” He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder toward Emaline. The captain’s gaze abruptly shifted. As planned, she nodded appropriately. “Mrs. Smith discovered the problem when two of his companions under her care at the hospital died earlier this evening. She immediately brought it to my attention.” Reece leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “And I’ve moved some pretty big mountains to get here as soon as possible, Captain. So I’m not interested in a debate of the lesser details.” He straightened, settling his hand over the hilt of his sword. “We’ll need to remove him from your population of prisoners. He’s to be quarantined for further treatment.”
“What if my men come down with this malady? Did you people think of that?”
“I believe we’ve caught this in time. That is, if the prisoner is still here.”
The captain jerked open the desk’s drawer, retrieved his ledger, and dropped it on the desk. “Well…give me the damn name,” he hissed.
“Benedict. Captain Brennen Benedict. We believe he’s part of Stuart’s cavalry—Jackson’s division. Captured sometime around the first part of this week over near Falmouth.”
Captain Wiggins flipped open the prisoner list and began scanning the record. Fear of plague shoved any military code of behavior to the back of the man’s mind, just as Reece knew it would. This dandy’s loyalty only went as far as delivering prisoners to their transportation point and making certain they got on the ship.
It did not include dying.
The chink of glasses and ribald laughter reached out to Reece. He stifled another smirk when Wiggins looked up.
“Oh, shit,” the captain groaned. “Yes. He’s here…in the warehouse across from the livery. They brought him in yesterday.”
“Does anybody know his condition?”
“I haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary—at least there was no mention of any of them dying yet when rations were handed out this afternoon.”
“Excellent. Then we’ve reached him in time. I’ve brought an ambulance wagon.”
“I sure as hell ain’t going to get him,” Wiggins growled, scribbling the release information in the ledger. “I’ll have one of my men take you over.” He shoved the discharge form across the table. “Sign this and then get that bastard out of here.”
Reece scrawled a name across the indicated line. Then they all crossed to the door, the captain following only as far as the gaming table. He nudged the closest man. “Sergeant Brown, escort these folks to warehouse number three. They’re here to claim a prisoner.” Wiggins turned back to face them, his lips pulling tight as he offered a thin smile.
Reece nodded, sliding on his gauntlets. He worked the leather down each finger. “Thank you for your cooperation tonight, Captain. And let’s just keep this quiet. There’s no need to alarm others unnecessarily.” The last person out of the building, Reece pulled the weathered door closed behind him with a thump.
And then, he finally allowed the smile.
The smell of unwashed bodies wafted around Brennen as a penetrating chill seeped in through the weathered boards of the enclosure. One hundred and fifty men confined to a thirty-by-sixty-foot room.
No windows.
No ventilation.
He leaned against the wall and willed the pounding in his chest to slow. His shoulder throbbed and yesterday he’d lost all feeling in his right arm. If he lived long enough to see a surgeon, they’d probably end up lopping the damn thing off. The door creaked open and a rush of fresh air swept into the small interior.
He glanced to the opening.
They weren’t due food rations until tomorrow morning.
A Yankee sergeant’s voice boomed above the murmured din. “Captain Benedict. I’m lookin’ for a Captain Benedict. You in here?”