No Greater Glory

by Cindy Nord

  With a muffled curse, Reece pushed from the wood and stepped over the threshold. He slammed the door behind him as he headed straight toward her. “I’m here now, Angel. That’s all that matters tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Reece came to a stop beside the tub, then dropped to his knee. Leaning forward, he captured a wet tendril of hair that draped her shoulder.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Please don’t…” Her words trailed off into a strained whisper. His gaze shifted lower and he brushed the end of the curl over the lush swell of her breasts.

  Her nipples instantly hardened under his strokes.

  “Your lips say one thing, Angel, but your body tells me another.” One more sweep and her eyes slipped closed. Reece knew he could no more leave this room than he could stop the Rappahannock’s relentless flow to the sea. His hand turned over, coiling the wet tendril around his fingers. He pulled and drew her forward.

  Her eyes opened.

  And a moment later, she surged upward until her mouth covered his.

  Her succulence enveloped Reece, the sweet taste of her lips, a homecoming.

  His mouth slid over hers, claiming more. Frantic. Forceful. Possessive. His arms wrapped her body, his hands gliding over her flawlessness. Water slipped down his forearms. Moving from her lips, he trailed kisses to her earlobe, nibbled his way to her throat, and then back to her lips. “Every minute of every day, I’ve wanted you,” he whispered, low and husky. And then his mouth captured hers again and he kissed her, forcing her back against the cool edge of the tub. She was everything a man could want, and he wanted to give her everything. His lips caressed her face, tracing kisses across the bridge of her nose, sweeping over her cheeks. His heartbeat slammed against his chest, want for this woman thundering through his veins.

  His voice slid out on a rough-edged plea. “Make me yours, sweet Angel,” he murmured into the curve of her mouth. Her dead husband had turned her into an old woman long before her time. With his kiss, Reece would breathe life back into her. With him, she would know the vast difference.

  Ragged moans fell from her lips as he burned a fire trail down her neck with his kisses. And then, a moment later, he covered her breast with his mouth, and felt the moisture-glistened peak puckering beneath his tongue’s warm laving. A heady sense of power engulfed Reece.

  He shifted sideways and slid his hands under the full curve of her hips, immersing his arms deeper in the water. He wrapped her body and drew her closer…and closer still. With his next inrushing breath, Reece tightened his hold and then lifted her up and out of the tub.

  Water ran in rivulets down his arms, coursed through the hairs of his chest, soaked the waistband of his pants. Lavender-scented moisture sluiced over him to disappear into the woolen rug beneath them. In the next breath, Reece settled them onto a nearby chair.

  Pulling Emaline across his lap, he shoved aside the throbbing reminder of the wound that had shattered his chest. Instead, he gazed into her eyes. His hands caressed her everywhere—from waist to hip, down each slender leg still slick with warmth and wetness. He palmed her breasts, as pure and silky as the moonlight that spilled into the room to mate with the candle’s glow.

  Enchanted beyond words, he became lost in her gaze—sultry, sensual, her need for him emanating from the depths of her shimmering eyes.

  She wanted more of him.

  And he soared.

  Her cheeks aflame with desire, she whispered, “You control me so easily.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, a perceptive smile lifting his lips. Masculine pride in his prowess and a blinding need to possess her inflamed him. His hand moved lower and explored the lushness between her legs. She granted him access; her courage to shove aside the last vestige of shame and offer to him this precious gift thrilled him beyond words. He cupped her womanhood, groaned aloud at the musky softness he found there. When his finger slipped inside her warmth, Emaline shuddered so fiercely in his embrace, she swayed.

  With his first silken stroke, Reece freed the remainder of her inhibitions. He found her pulsing nub and melded his finger to it, sending Emaline careening into quivering madness. The faster he stroked, the tighter she coiled, garbled, gasping moans ripping outward, climbing higher while she panted toward release. And then, finally, Reece unwrapped for her the gift she so desperately sought.

  Her back arched.

  A keening wail ripped from her lips.

  She repeatedly gasped his name and collapsed against him to buck in helpless response.

  Several moments passed before she whispered, “I’ve never known…I was so afraid you’d die…afraid I would never get to…” Her words tumbled out, individual phrases choppy and sporadic.

  As a whole, they told the story.

  “Never get to what?” Reece coaxed. “Tell me, Angel fire. What do you want to do?”

  She gazed at him and her hands slipped past his ribcage, down the planes of his stomach. Reece issued a strangled groan, the swelling surge against his pants reminding him that the beast beneath blue wool still begged for freedom.

  Her hand settled atop his hardness and Reece caught his breath.

  Emaline’s chin dipped.

  A slight smile touched her lips.

  She pressed again.

  His hands banded her arms and Reece squeezed, the animal inside him panting for deliverance. “I live for you,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

  She pushed from his clasp and stood, her nakedness glistened. Candlelight laved each curve. Her breasts, small, softly drooping could nourish him for an eternity, the rosy-hued areola surrounding each taut nipple, lush and dusky and a perfect size for suckling.

  Her tousled mane shimmered over one shoulder like a mahogany curtain. Reece swept back the strands to send them into a damp tangle down her back, wanting nothing to mar the exquisite vision standing before him.

  “What is it you want…exactly?” she teased, gazing deep into his eyes.

  “You.” He leaned his head back. “I want you.”

  “Then you shall have me.” She reached down. As each pewter button on his pants slipped free, Reece pulsed beneath her fingers to remind her of his impatience. He lifted his hips and with an easy tug, she removed his pants.

  His erection swelled before her like some wild and savage beast.

  Her breath caught and she peered at him.

  He shifted his lips into a lop-sided grin.

  The uniform pants landed at his feet with a heavy thud. Emaline leaned over, smoothing her hands up his legs.

  Reece issued a low moan, his impatience growing.

  She moved forward and with surprising ease, she straddled him. “Is this how it’s done?” she whispered, enveloping the demanding length within her slick sheath.

  Amid the silver and amber of night, his deep groan answered.

  With frantic fingers, Reece clutched her hips and drove in and out of her, a man mad with need. He wanted nothing held in abeyance—every piece of her mattered.

  “Oh God,” he ground out, the words ripping from his throat.

  As his body rose, she lowered, matching him rhythm and speed. When she leaned forward, he rewarded her fully, and when she curved back, Reece sank deeper and died a little bit more in her arms. Their breaths fused together, their gasps a symphony of one.

  They rose on the currents and floated on air. He demanded, and with a wild possession, she obeyed. When Reece speared the mark inside her, she cried out in passionate moans. Her hair swept forward in a damp curtain, skimming against his chest and enveloping him in the essence of lavender. He had never wanted a woman more. She was a provocative creature born from years of denial—a siren that could suck away his strength and soul.

  When she at last reached the pinnacle, her fervent sobs poured into the night. Yet Reece waited…and waited some more…stroking her still deeper, leading her onward into paradise.

  And then, with his next deep stroke, he fe
lt the incredible quickening. It built, tormenting in its scale, overwhelming in its power to possess him. He cried out in surrender, his guttural voice, raw and panting as he released eons of need. He crested over into heaven-sent bliss, fully pumping into her. When he had nowhere else to go, Reece finally relinquished and released his seed deep inside his angel.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Petersburg, Virginia

  July, 1864

  Jackson lowered the crumpled letter. “Unbelievable,” he murmured, glancing up at Lieutenant Glave. The envelope fell to the desk. He angled the missive toward the aid-de-camp. “Where did you get this?”

  “A Reb cavalry captain under a flag of truce brought it in to one of our picket posts this morning.”

  “Did they give you a name?”

  “Yes, sir. Captain Brennen Benedict. He told the picket to make certain only you got the sealed envelope.”

  Benedict. The prison breakout.

  Jackson scanned the contents again, a broad smile flooding his face. “He says the colonel’s still alive.”

  “Alive? But…he was killed at the Wilderness.”

  “We never found his body, did we?” Jackson reminded. “Hell’s fire, I searched for two days myself and couldn’t find a single trace.”

  “But, Major, we never found lots of missing soldiers in that mess.”

  Jackson snapped the paper. “This is from the widow McDaniels’s brother. He scouts for Stuart’s cavalry. If he says he found the colonel wounded on the battlefield and took him back to the plantation, I believe him.”

  Confusion flooded the young aide’s face. “But why would he do that?”

  “It’s a long story, Lucas, and one I’m not at liberty to share, but the fact is, Reece is alive and we’re going to get him. Find Sergeant Conners and have him report to me. We’ll leave in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.” He saluted with excitement, then rushed from the tent.

  Jackson smiled and leaned against the chair, the letter falling to the desktop. Since Reece’s disappearance, the war had shifted to a different type of fighting, consisting mostly of digging trench lines and earthworks. With the Rebs bottled up in Richmond and Petersburg, the Federal army now worked on putting a stranglehold on Lee’s besieged troops. Siege lines tightened around the capital, and the regiment had moved several times over the course of the past two months. No wonder it took Captain Benedict so long to get the news to him.

  Jackson uncorked a bottle of whiskey, sloshed a generous serving into his tin mug, and brought the metal to his lips. “Thank God,” he muttered around the rim. His friend was alive. Soon Reece would be back where he belonged. The liquor burned a path to his stomach.

  This rescue mission was one command Jackson would enjoy leading.

  Mid-July arrived hot and humid. The afternoon sun beat down upon Emaline. She poured a bucket of water around her plants. Tacker hollered a greeting and she straightened, waving at him. The old man shuffled into the stable and Emaline sighed. Any minute, she expected Euley and Israel to return home from their visit to their daughter.

  They were family now, and she missed them.

  Emaline stole a glance toward the mansion and a smile broke across her face.

  So was Reece. He, the most important member of her clan. The rutting beast had kept her up half the night. Emaline giggled, a flush heating her cheeks. She recalled his prowess and power. After their first frantic coupling near the tub, he’d taken her to the bed and possessed her in slower, mind-numbing ecstasy, showing her all the ways a man could love a woman.

  Multiple times, in fact.

  Reece slept soundly, his healing body demanding rest. She laughed again as she swung the empty bucket in a circle around her. A hum spilled from her lips. All afternoon, her outlook had been light and cheerful as the hope inside her grew.

  Distant hoof beats of galloping horses interrupted her thoughts.

  Emaline swung to locate the source. She raised her hand above her eyes to shade them from the sun. A shimmering haze radiated across the open fields and she saw the wavering approach of several riders. Was it three? Or four?

  Could it be Brennen?

  “Tacker! We’ve got riders,” she hollered, pushing the straw hat off her head. It hung down her back by a soiled ribbon tie.

  Yes, definitely three riders, she could see them.

  They crossed to the edge of the field and angled toward the house. As they drew closer, Emaline determined two of the riders wore Confederate gray. A third wore Union blue. And not one of the three was Brennen. Disappointment gripped her, followed by an ominous unease. The empty bucket rattled when it hit the ground.

  Deserters.

  She turned and raced toward the stable.

  “Tacker!” she screamed. “Hide!” She made it to the north side of the garden when the soldiers rode into the service yard. Emaline spun to face them. They reined their horses to a stop before her.

  One of the men in tattered gray spoke first. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  Black, waist-length hair lay in a greasy strand down his back. The sleeve of his jacket bore sergeant strips. Gaunt hollows carved out the area below each cheekbone and violet shading stained the crepe-like skin beneath his rheumy eyes. He appeared diseased.

  Emaline swallowed. She corralled her spiraling fear and pointed to the well. “There’s the water. Help yourself, and then keep riding.”

  “That’s right neighborly of you,” he said, stifling a cough.

  “There’s nothing left to steal,” she added. “Your kind have been here before.”

  “And what kind is that?” a red-haired man with a shaggy beard, the other one dressed in gray, quipped. He reined his horse in a tight circle on her left.

  The black-haired sergeant spat a stream of tobacco juice onto Emaline’s tidy row of turnips. “Probably not the kind she’ll dig up her silver and china for, you dumb jackass.”

  Emaline’s heart hammered against her ribs, her fear escalating. The third man raised a long leg and nudged her on the shoulder with a dust-covered boot.

  She swiveled to glare at him.

  “Where’s your menfolk, Missy? Or your darkies?” He scanned the area before settling his gaze on her again. “Or are you all alone here in this great big house?”

  Reece slept soundly upstairs but her fear for his safety mounted by the moment.

  “There’s no one else here.” Her chin lifted. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Did you hear that, boys? She’s not afraid of me.”

  Red’s laughter joined his. “Hell, if it was me, I’d be afraid.”

  Emaline gauged the distance to the closest place of refuge and made a wild dash between the two horses toward the open stable door.

  “What the hell—” Blue reined his horse around and drove spurs into the flanks of the beast. The animal bolted, closing the distance. She heard him approaching. He leaned low, ripping away her hat before his fingers snaked into her hair. Carved-bone hairpins scattered, sending her chignon down her back in a heavy tumble. Except for the strands entwined within the man’s filthy grasp. He jerked her up short, banging her into the side of his horse. The hot stench of the unkempt animal assaulted her nose, sweat from his hide soaking the front of her blouse. Tears coursed from Emaline’s eyes. The pain tightened across her scalp.

  “You ain’t going nowhere, Missy, cept’n where we’re takin’ you.” Blue slipped his boot from the stirrup and entwined a lean leg around her just as the others rode up to box her in.

  “Turn her loose,” the diseased man snapped and Blue released his hold, shoving her away from him. Blackie leaned over and smoothed his hand over her tangled curls. “I ain’t had me a woman in weeks,” he whispered. “Leastways, not a clean one like you.”

  Tears spilled out and ran unchecked down Emaline’s face. No one saw Tacker emerge from the stable except her. The late afternoon sun glinted off a pitchfork clutched in his gnarled hands. Inch by inch, the old man closed the distance, the
deadly tines aimed straight at the closest intruder.

  “We aim to take you so you might as well give up,” the diseased sergeant said, threading his fingers through her hair. “Holy shit, this feels just like corn silk.”

  “Please. No,” she mumbled, attempting to move from his touch.

  “She wants nothin’ to do with you,” Blue jibed, poking the barrel of his Henry rifle into her back to prevent her from moving. “We’ll have none of this foolishness, Missy.”

  Emaline opened her mouth to scream, hoping her cries might somehow carry to Reece, but she never got the chance. Blackie grabbed her around the waist, a dirty hand snaking out to cover her mouth. Her shriek only muffled against the sergeant’s calloused palm as she tasted salty grime.

  Tacker rushed forward but his labored breathing announced his presence long before the deadly tines could reach their mark.

  Red jerked around and shrieked, “Lookout!”

  Blue deflected the strike with his boot, but the tines managed to scrape against his thigh. “Sonofabitch!” he bellowed before slamming his rifle butt on top of Tacker’s head. The farrier crumpled beneath the crushing blow, the pitchfork rattling to the ground beside him.

  “Damn nigger!” the deserter muttered, tucking the Henry under his arm to examine his wound.

  Emaline struggled against Blackie’s hold, her fingernails digging into the backs of his sweaty hands. Red spurred off toward the stable to search its interior as her frantic gaze dropped to Tacker. A deep zigzagging gash laid open his skull.

  “Ain’t nobody else in there,” Red yelled, emerging from the stable. He rode up beside his partner who still inspected the small puncture wound.

  “He nicked me is all,” Blue proclaimed, then pointed to the prone body. “There’s one nigger who ain’t gonna enjoy freedom.” They both laughed.

  Blackie released his hold on Emaline and dismounted. “One more sound, woman, and I’ll blow your damned head off,” he hissed. She nodded, dropping to the ground beside Tacker. Before she could determine if the farrier still lived, the sergeant jerked her back to her feet, then scanned the area before his eyes once more burned into hers. “Who else you got livin’ here?” His breath moved the wisps of hair caught in the perspiration across her forehead.