Destiny's Temprtress

by Janelle Taylor

Shannon awoke to the sound of splashing water mixed with audible sighs of resignation and pleasure. She glanced to her right to find Blane washing his face and hands as he cleared his groggy senses. She wondered how a man could shave before he was fully awake, for she noted that his jawline had been cleared of what had been surprisingly dark stubble for someone with his hair coloring. He was wearing black pants that would supply just enough room for his splendid lower half if his weight remained the same. His tawny hair had not been combed or brushed, and she saw that droplets of water had fallen to his smooth chest and now ran downward over his bronze torso in glistening rivulets.

  Pale gray light peeking through the curtains told her it was still early. “How did you get in here? Did you learn anything? Where did you sleep?” She fired the questions at him in a rush as she unthinkingly sat up and turned to him for answers. “What’s wrong, Blane?”

  Blane was staring at her. He shook his head to recover mastery of his rebellious senses. Lord, she was radiant in the morning. Her future husband would never roll out of bed to get chores started on time! Flaming hair tumbled riotously over ivory shoulders. Firm breasts teased against her thin nightgown, as if wickedly determined to snare his attention. Sleepy blue eyes settled on his face and tantalized him with their sultry glow. Didn’t she comprehend her enormous desirability? Was she playing feminine games with him?

  Shannon was too busy watching Blane to realize how he was watching her. His body was lithe and smooth, inviting hands to roam slowly and sensuously over it. He looked as if his skin would retain much of its glowing bronze color all year. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow. Her father and brothers had had very hairy chests, but Blane’s was bare like Hawke’s. His nakedness accentuated each strong bulge, each flat plane, each attractive curve. She found it strange that she intensely enjoyed just looking at him. She wondered how many women he had known intimately, for surely his list of conquests was lengthy.

  A horrible thought struck her. She had not asked if he had a wife or sweetheart back home. What if he did? Would that stop her from thinking about him, from desiring him?

  “You left the key in the lock,” he informed her, then explained how he had used certain acquired skills to obtain the key and get inside the room. “It’s a simple trick, one I’ll have to teach you later. Be glad I was your midnight caller, but don’t forget about the key again,” he warned gravely, then laughingly added, “But I sure was glad you were careless last night. I was exhausted.” He returned to the task of drying his face, hands, and torso, while she observed him intently.

  “Where did you sleep?” she inquired again, recalling how he had made camp and slept with her the night before without awakening her.

  “There,” he informed her, pointing to the rumpled bedroll. He twisted from side to side at the waist. “And I feel every minute of it. A hard floor doesn’t yield like the earth.” Tossing the damp cloth on the washstand, he informed her, “I didn’t want to startle you by sneaking into bed so late. For appearances, I’ll have to stay with you at night. But a screaming wife after midnight would have been difficult to explain.”

  They had slept together once, and he had seemed a man of integrity. He hadn’t made any attempts to force his attentions on her, other than at their first meeting when he had been trying to frighten her into a confession. It was selfish to force him to sleep on a hard floor while she slept in a soft bed. And, she rationalized that a casual attitude should throw him off balance. “We’re both adults, Blane. We could have shared the bed. It’s big. I’m not a silly child, or a weakling.”

  Blane walked to the bed and pulled Shannon to her knees on its edge. “That’s the problem, Flame. We’re both adults. You’re a very tempting woman. In the future, can I trust you to stay on your side—if we’re lucky enough to find another soft bed?”

  Shannon laughed. “I’ll try my best, partner.” At the sudden roar of a nearby cannon, Shannon pressed herself tightly against him. “What was that?” she asked without moving away from him. Was this town under siege? Would they be trapped amidst a bloody battle?

  “A warning to approaching Rebs. There’s a lot of fighting going on east and west of here. It’s going to be rough and dangerous riding.”

  When Shannon shivered in dread and uncertainty, Blane shifted his hands from her bare shoulders to beneath her heavy hair. He grasped her neck just under her chin and tilted her head. With the height of the bed, Shannon’s eyes and lips were invitingly close and arresting. Their bodies touched. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. Blane had wanted to tease her or test her, but he changed his mind.

  Shannon felt warm and calm, as if the world and its troubles were far away. This man drew her to him as if he were a potent and undeniable force of life and strength. His contact and gaze made her feel giddy, weak. He caused her heart to pound and her respiration to become labored. She enjoyed the touch of his hands, the gaze of his entreating eyes, the feel of his lips on hers. They were in the midst of war, and they could be killed at any time. Her brothers had explained and unknowingly demonstrated the physical side of sex, but the emotional facets still confused her. Perhaps selfish destiny wouldn’t allow her time to find true love and experience blissful lovemaking. It was indeed possible that this war could destroy her entire family, including herself.

  Blane knew it was past time to halt this heady contact. He chuckled as his left arm embraced her and his right forefinger caressed her parted lips. “You didn’t do your best when we were camped,” he teased. “You know a woman has to be the stronger of the two sexes because men have no self-control around beauties like you.”

  “Well, I am your wife,” she rashly retorted.

  “You are, aren’t you?” he replied, his lips stealing over hers.

  Shannon and Blane clung together as their mouths shared a wild and breathless kiss. A persistent knocking on the door separated them abruptly. Blane answered it to find a woman holding a tray with their breakfast, compliments of Colonel Greyson. Blane thanked the woman and carried the tray inside. He glanced at Shannon and shrugged nonchalantly.

  “This could be our last good fare for ages, woman. Eat up,” he advised, trying to douse the wildfire in his body while he pulled on his boots. He hurriedly combed his hair and slipped into a shirt.

  Shannon freed her legs from the tangling covers and left the bed. After washing up, she slipped on her shirt and fastened two buttons over her breast area. Having been reared around three handsome and playful brothers, she had lost a certain amount of her modesty. It had not been unusual for her brothers to help her with petticoats and gowns when she was rushed or when servants were busy. Sometimes one would sit or lie on her bed late at night or early in the morning to chat or share secrets. Now, having spent so much time alone with Blane, Shannon unconsciously lessened her restraint, which was easy to do when he was in this genial mood.

  She joined Blane at the small table to consume scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, coffee, and biscuits. “When do we leave?” she asked after her last bite.

  “As soon as you’re dressed,” he replied stonily, avoiding her gaze. He was curious about her lack of inhibition, worried about it. “I’m going to get the horses ready. I’ll return for you in thirty minutes.”

  Shannon watched him rise and leave. His mood changes annoyed her, but she decided that whatever was bothering him today was his problem. She quickly slipped into clean pants and a shirt, then brushed her hair and braided it. Since the people here knew she was female, there was no need for her to conceal the long and heavy plait. She stuffed her gown and dirty garments into her bag and sat down to wait for Blane.

  When she responded to the knock on the door, she confronted a rosy-cheeked soldier who seemed about the same age as she. He stared at her creamy face, blue eyes, and red hair for so long that Shannon finally prodded, “Yes?”

  “Yore husband…He’s waiting downstairs, Ma’am. I was sent to…fetch ya.” He almost babbled as he gaped at her.

  “Th
ank you. I’ll be right along,” Shannon replied politely.

  “Kin I carry yore bag fur ya?” he offered, grinning broadly.

  “Yes, please.” Shannon followed the gawky male to where Blane was standing beside their horses. The blue-clad officer with him boldly eyed Shannon, then smiled appreciatively. She nodded her head in greeting, wondering what he thought about their situation.

  Blane helped her mount, then tied her bag behind her saddle. He agilely stepped into a stirrup and gracefully passed his sinewy leg over the horse’s back. He glanced at her, smiling affectionately for their audience. Then, they headed toward Fredericksburg.

  For the next few days, the riding seemed one endless blur of contradictory scenery and aching muscles. They passed through or near grounds of past or future battles, and Shannon was astounded and distressed by the damage she viewed. Blane had described conditions and sights accurately. War was such a devastating force, as injurious as unleashed nature on the rampage. Suddenly she understood words that before had held little meaning: “Brother against brother,” “friend against friend.” And she understood, too, that she would have to become a traitor to her beloved South if she aided the Union.

  As if possessing some keen extra sense, Blane managed to keep them away from other people, if indeed any had survived in the area. At times, she could hear the distant roar of cannons and numerous guns. She wondered how many lost lives each sound represented; how many homes and businesses were gone forever; how much property was being scarred beyond use for years. What a terrible waste of life and land, she mused sadly.

  When they halted to eat, Shannon forced herself to consume whatever Blane placed within her hands. When they stopped for the night, she was so exhausted that she was asleep within minutes. She was even too tired and depressed to worry about her dusty, sweaty body. It was a time for existing, nothing more.

  At one rest stop, Shannon asked, “When will we reach this Fredericksburg? We’ve been traveling for days.”

  “It’s behind us, Shannon. We’re going straight for Richmond. We have to pass through this area while Lee and Grant are battling elsewhere and Sherman has your friend Johnston on the move. It looks as if the Rebel supply lines are about to be cut in half. It can’t last much longer. There’s little food and money left in the South to use or to confiscate. If we can prevent foreign governments from sending aid, the Christmas star might shine over a united land once more.”

  The evening they reached the outskirts of Richmond, Shannon was about ready to collapse in her saddle. He led her to a large mansion that was situated on one of the city’s most prestigious hills. While Shannon remained on her horse, Blane chatted with the lady who answered the door. The spinster smiled at Blane and nodded several times. Finally, Blane joined Shannon and helped her dismount.

  “This is Miss Elizabeth Van Lew’s home. You’ll be staying with her. Lizzie’s known as a Union sympathizer, but few people take her seriously. You’ll discover she’s very loud and assertive. She’ll fill you in on as much as possible. Stay put until I return.”

  Was he abandoning her? “What about you?” Shannon asked, her eyes and voice exposing her fatigue and worry.

  “I’ll be around. Watch what you say and do,” he warned. If Shannon wasn’t who and what she claimed, she might expose herself here.

  After he delivered her bag to the front porch and bid the prim yellowish blonde farewell, he approached Shannon. Maybe he was a fool, but he was getting used to having her around and wanted to continue the stimulating arrangement. He was vexed to find himself wavering in his decision to leave her behind. “Keep your head on your shoulders, partner. This town is full of hungry men, Rebel rogues starving for beauty and attention. I don’t want you tempted to stay here surrounded by comfort and admirers when I’m ready to leave.”

  Shannon laughed. “Why, sir, you insult my honor. I’m a married woman,” she stated thickly. “Or am I?” she queried.

  “Here, you’re Shannon Greenleaf of Savannah. Since you’ll doubtlessly be seeing people who know you, you’d best use your real name to prevent suspicion. My identity stays the same—Steven James. However, I might have to court you as a means of getting to see you.”

  “Court me?” she teased. “Have you forgotten there’s a war going on? What if one or both sides tries to draft you by force?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Flame. See you in a few days.”

  As he started to leave, Shannon caught his arm and tugged on it. When he looked at her, she smiled and coaxed, “Be careful. I’ve gotten rather attached and adjusted to my current partner. I would hate to train another one to overlook my rankling flaws. As you’ve discovered, I’m not known for my patience or easy-going nature. You’ve been more than fair and considerate, Blane, and I’m deeply grateful.”

  Their gazes met and searched, as if both had something to say but couldn’t find the words or courage. Shannon handed him the gold wedding band. “Just in case we get separated, you had better take this.”

  Blane’s hand closed around the ring still warm from her body heat. “If there’s trouble, don’t forget you know both presidents.”

  “Get moving before someone sees you,” she warned.

  Shannon joined Elizabeth on the porch. Both watched Blane’s departure. The woman next to Shannon appeared to be in her early forties. Her eyes were bright blue and piercing and her bone structure was sharp and prominent. Like Shannon, Elizabeth was small in height and weight, and it was obvious that she was well bred and intelligent.

  “Don’t worry about your sweetheart. He’ll be safe. I might as well confess right now, the townfolk think I’m daft and foolish. Of course that image helps me carry out my work for General Grant and the Union. They don’t realize how cunning and daring we Southern women can be. Mind you, I’m not a Yankee, but I do hold to the Union. We’ll get you settled, then have hot tea and cakes.”

  Elizabeth showed a weary Shannon to a guest room on the second floor. While the woman went to fetch water for her, Shannon stripped off her trail clothes and pulled on a robe from the bed. She couldn’t resist stretchingout across the entreating surface to relax her stiff body. Before Elizabeth returned, Shannon was asleep.

  The Virginian was touched by the beauty, gentility, and fatigue of her guest. She lowered the lamp light and left Shannon to rest.

  That following morning, Shannon slept late. When she awoke, she was embarrassed by her laziness. She found her hostess in the parlor and smiled sheepishly as she said, “I must have been exhausted.”

  “You needed the rest. Come and sit down. I’ll get you something to eat. Do you prefer tea or coffee?” she inquired graciously.

  “Tea, if you please. It’s very kind of you to take me in, Miss Van Lew. I do hope I’m not imposing during these terrible days.”

  “Of course not. But please call me Lizzie. I’ll return shortly.”

  Soon, Shannon was devouring a delicious meal and sipping hot tea. She asked Elizabeth numerous questions about the war and her activities. The woman seemed only too happy and proud to share her adventures. “Is it very dangerous to be a Union spy in the South?”

  “Rarely, my dear. They don’t take female spies too seriously, unless we’re caught in the act. They threaten us every so often, but we laugh it off. Whenever I pick up valuable news, it’s fairly simple to send it to the nearest Federal officer. People have such lax tongues and wits. Did you know that President Davis stays here?”

  When the younger woman gave her her full attention, Elizabeth stated, “It’s a marvelous place for a spy, Shannon. So much news passes by here through careless lips. The Confederate Signal Corps works out of Richmond. Cabinet meetings are held nearby. Generals come to plan strategy with Davis. A woman in my social position can entertain and visit as she pleases. But tell me how you came to be here, and traveling with that handsome, mysterious Yankee.”

  Shannon related her personal story to the sympathetic woman and admitted to her lack of knowledge about her dashi
ng companion. Shannon leaned back in her chair and murmured despondently, “I really don’t know what I can do for the Union or my brother.”

  “Why don’t you start by visiting President Davis? You would be surprised what you can learn during a simple chat.”

  Shannon was astonished and dismayed by the bold suggestion. What would her father have said and felt about her duping his old friend, a national hero during the Mexican War and now a president? What about morals and scruples? How far was a spy supposed to go in the line of duty? “Steven told me to stay here until his return.”

  “That’s nonsense. Don’t waste such a priceless opportunity. You’ll be in no danger. I can pass along any information you glean over there. Men think we’re helpless children. Surely you didn’t come this far merely to decorate the arm of Steven James?”

  Shannon knew Blane would be upset with her for disobeying orders, but Elizabeth’s idea did sound logical and important. Besides, she and Blane were supposed to be partners. Perhaps she could prove her value by obtaining vital facts while he was gone.

  “Tell me what to do and say,” she encouraged the older woman.

  By three o’clock, Shannon’s hair and body were scrubbed and dried. She dressed in one of Elizabeth’s best day gowns, the sapphire color of which enhanced her appearance. Following Elizabeth’s directions, she called on President Jefferson Davis in the “gray house” on Clay Street.

  “Miss Greenleaf,” he addressed her as he opened the door to his study. “What are you doing so far from home? How’s Andrew?”

  Shannon revealed the deaths of her father and older brother and the imprisonment of Corry, but she let him believe they had died as brave Rebels. She quelled the bitter remorse that rose within her. Deceiving this particular person offended her deeply. She was hard-pressed not to break down and confess her guilt, but she knew that doing so would endanger many lives, including Blane’s. She reminded herself that her despicable actions might help end the war, and to achieve this goal she would have to bear the cost of betraying this man.