Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1)

by Jessica James

  J.J. sighed at the thought. Highly unlikely she would find such a person in the middle of a war. Perfectly implausible dressed like that.

  Staring at the group while they bantered back and forth, J.J. said another silent prayer for her safety. Heaven knows she needed someone to look out for her. With nothing to live for and her country to die for, she needed protection from her own worst enemy.

  Herself.

  Chapter 7

  Trees wore their fullest and deepest robes of green, and fields bloomed with the brightest of flowers, as if shot and shell were not destined to tear the one, and stain the other crimson.

  – Alexander Hunter, Civil War soldier

  Andrea had a quick visit with Boonie and the other men who served under J.J., and then headed out to deliver her dispatch. Though she had slept in well past sunrise, dew still covered the ground, sparkling like tiny jewels from every blade of grass, and shimmering on cobwebs like splashes of diamond light. To her delight, the sun had not yet burned off the ribbons of mist that clung to the valleys and the river, creating mystical stratified layers that looked like a roiling witch’s brew on the horizon.

  The effect of the magical morning seemed to be shared by Justus who practically yanked the reins out of her hands in his eagerness to be off. Trees, clouds, and sky flew by them in a blur as he galloped effortlessly along, his hooves seeming to float over the ground.

  Knowing their journey was a long one, Andrea finally hauled on the reins to slow him, then pulled him to a halt as she gazed at the beauty that surrounded her. Mountains and meadows, land and sky, visibly met and contrasted now that the sun had gulped up what remained of the mist. It seemed as if she gazed upon a scene touched by a fairy’s magic wand, for as far as the eye could see the land rose and fell in gently rolling hills of emerald green, spotted here and there by rifts of color as flowers lifted their blossoms to the sun.

  War or no war, this is ga-lorious, Andrea thought to herself. What splendor could rival the majesty of Virginia in June?

  Allowing Justus to grab a few mouthfuls of grass, she surveyed the scene in silent reverie. The meadow in which they stood was so profuse with wildflowers, it appeared they had been intentionally planted for harvest. Yet, she knew no hand but Nature’s had sown crops here. Butterflies of every conceivable description and color skirted hither and yon, drinking dew from the lush offerings of Mother Earth, while birds sang as melodiously and contentedly as if they were living in heaven.

  Pushing Justus back into an easy gallop Andrea allowed her mind to wander back to her conversation with J.J. earlier that morning. It would be hard to leave this, she thought to herself. But then again, perhaps by going to Richmond she could help the Union end this war once and for all. And that is all Andrea wanted to do.

  End the war.

  But it seemed to her that Captain Hunter was doing exactly the opposite—prolonging the conflict through the chaos and turmoil he created. The image of him and his band of merry horsemen roaming carefree through the Virginia countryside had come to be one she despised.

  Justus slowed to a trot, causing Andrea to realize he was tiring. Glancing at the sky, she tried to guess the hour. Probably getting close to noon, she decided, as she batted away a bothersome insect.

  “Let’s grab a drink and a couple minutes of shade.” Andrea guided her horse toward the opening of a heavily wooded area, hoping that somewhere within its shadows she could find a stream to submerge her throbbing ankle for a few minutes.

  It didn’t take long for Andrea to find the resemblance of a trail, and shortly thereafter, a small creek. Allowing Justus to graze at will, she limped over to the water, cupped her hands, and drank deeply. Just as she was preparing to remove her boot, a squirrel in a nearby tree began chattering nervously. Andrea tensed as she realized the long-tailed animal was not looking at her.

  Without turning around, she began to casually whistle Dixie.

  “What you doin there, boy?” The voice came from right behind her.

  Andrea turned slowly and found herself staring into the business end of a Colt 44.

  At least, that is what she noticed first. As she raised her eyes, she saw the gun was attached to the hand of a man in butternut pants, holding the reins of a sleek bay mare that seemed to be eyeing her with hostility equal to that of its owner.

  Taking a sideways glance at her saddle, Andrea saw it was not within reach. Without a weapon, she would have to rely on boldness and bluff—both of which she had been told by J.J. she possessed in ample supply.

  “Scouting,” she said, in the clearest voice she could muster.

  The tall, unshaven rebel walked closer with one eye closed, squinting at her with the other.

  “Scoutin? Who ya’ll with?”

  “Hunter,” was the calm reply.

  Andrea waited to see the man’s reaction. She knew Hunter attracted new recruits from all parts of the country, and that many of them were young. She assumed she fit the profile. Most of his followers were mere lads who didn’t have sense enough to know danger when they saw it.

  As for the one standing before her, he presented an appearance that hardly did justice to that of the word soldier either. Wearing a mismatched jacket with a pair of well-worn butternut pants, he appeared to be a man more familiar with the workings of a plow than the philosophies of a war. Yet she knew the picture was a deceiving one, because his gun looked new, his horse looked fresh, and his face looked anything but friendly.

  “You don’t say.” He cocked his head to one side, but gave no indication as to whether he believed her or not.

  “Just where are you heading, anyways?” Andrea decided to go on the offense, and attempted to imitate his Virginia accent and suspicious tone.

  The man slowly lowered his revolver, while rubbing the stubbly whiskers on his chin.

  “I reckin we’re working on the same side,” he replied, not really giving her an answer to her question. “I heard the capt’n got clobbered by a spy last night. Got to keep my eyes open.”

  “That so?” Andrea’s heart started beating with more intensity and speed.

  “Yup. Big, sly Yank they say. Hit the Capt’n over the head with a rock, and got away. He’s fit to be tied.”

  “You don’t say.” Andrea tried to sound surprised, though if her situation hadn’t been so dire she would have laughed out loud. Thank goodness for the imagination of soldiers.

  When the man went back to eyeballing her doubtfully again, Andrea stretched out her hand.

  “I’m Davis,” she said, making up the name on the spot.

  “The men call me Twiggy.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  “How is the Captain doing after getting hit by the spy?”

  “He’s got one hell of a headache, I hear. And the Capt’n don’t need no headache to put him in a foul mood. I figure he’s mad as a hornet right now.”

  Andrea couldn’t think of anything to say in reply, and was afraid her voice would quiver even if she did.

  “Truth is, I pity any damn Yankee spy gets in his way now.” The soldier leaned forward as if to emphasize his words. “Capt’n’s got a touch of the bloodhound in him. No doubt he’ll track him down.”

  Andrea stared vacantly over her foe’s shoulder and shivered inwardly as she thought about the look in Hunter’s eyes the night before. She secretly promised to put as many miles between her and that bloodhound as possible.

  Looking back, she noticed the soldier staring suspiciously in the direction of Justus.

  “Where’d you get that haws?” he asked pointing with his gun.

  Andrea’s heart started beating in the back of her throat. One thing about Justus, he stood out like a full moon on a dark night. She could only hope his reputation had not yet reached this scout.

  “From the Yanks, where else?”

  The rebel remained silent moment and then started smiling.

  “Damn Yanks got some nice hawses, don’t they?”

  “They don’t got ‘
em very long in these here parts,” Andrea said, giving her new friend a wink.

  “Ha! You are one of Hunter’s men, no doubt!” The man laughed at her joke as he turned back to his own horse.

  “Don’t got ‘em very long in these here parts,” he repeated, as he mounted and gathered his reins. “That’s a good one, Davis. How you like riding with Hunter, anyhow?”

  “Oh, he’s tolerable…long as you don’t get on his wrong side.” Andrea shot him another smile. “Only problem is, I ain’t found his right side yet.”

  The man slapped his thigh.

  “Ain’t found his right side yet! That’s first-rate, Davis!”

  Twiggy waved his hand as he turned his horse and galloped away, still chuckling as he disappeared.

  Andrea saluted his back, rolled her eyes skyward during her quick prayer of thanks, and then half-hopped and half-ran back to Justus.

  “Sorry to cut your lunch short.” She yanked his head from the grass. “But we’ve got to get out of here.”

  Chapter 8

  A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.

  – Jean de La Fontaine

  Mounting hastily despite the pain, Andrea took another look back to where she had last seen her enemy. He was riding fast wherever he was off to, because there was nothing left of him but a small cloud of dust.

  She looked around at the beautiful countryside and a lump rose in her throat. Who could really blame him for defending this? Soil once sacred, now desecrated by the footsteps of foul intruders. And how did it come to be that, though Southern born, she was considered one of those invaders?

  “We shouldn’t have that far to go yet,” she said in her horse’s ears, bending low to urge him faster. She knew the heat was tiring him, as it was her. But soon they could rest. Soon they would deliver the dispatch, and then go to Catherine’s…and be back among friends.

  Winding her way through the forest, Andrea’s eyes were for a moment locked on the delightful pattern the golden sun created as it stabbed its rays through the canopy of green overhead. But a sudden crashing sound in front of her caused Justus to lurch one way, and she the other.

  Clawing her way back into the saddle, Andrea watched five white-tailed deer bound across the path, and disappear into the deep shadows. She grasped her chest as if to help dispel the pain being caused by her heart banging frantically against its cage.

  Justus, too, became more skittish, prancing sideways up the path as if afraid to move forward and afraid to move back. Andrea laughed at their fright, and patted him on the neck to calm him.

  “Scared of a few deer, boy?” She pulled him to a stop and dismounted just as the forest opened into a sweeping field, afraid his sudden lurch from the deer had loosened her saddle.

  After checking the girth, Andrea put her foot in the stirrup to remount when she noticed a group of horsemen beginning to crest the next hill about a half-mile away. Squinting hard into the harsh sunlight she could not distinguish the color of their uniforms from the distance. Yet something about the reckless manner with which they rode full-tilt toward where she stood identified them as men she did not wish to meet.

  Turning Justus around in an instant, she dragged him back into the forest and through the dense foliage as fast as she could. Tying him securely in the deep shadows, she made her way slowly back to the path, even crawling the last few yards beneath the cover of leafy underbrush. Her position would have been quite comfortable had not a swarm of gnats decided to start a game of hide and seek in the corner of her eyes. But even the bothersome insects became easy to ignore as the pounding of hooves grew closer. She imagined wave after wave of her enemy spilling over the hill, and prayed that Justus would not whinny in welcome.

  Was this the cavalry unit J.J. had spoken off? The one she was to try to avoid? Or was it Hunter? Or were they one in the same…?

  The group reined to a sudden halt at the point of the trail Andrea had just left, their saddles creaking at the sudden change in speed. When Andrea’s gaze settled on their leader, she closed her eyes and prayed she was dreaming. Though his horse stood half in shadow, half in bright sunlight, she could tell it was Hunter.

  Why would he be here? Andrea wondered. Why would he even be in the saddle after such a grave injury for that matter? She closed her eyes when she realized the answer.

  He was looking for her.

  The thought caused her heart to pound so loudly, she thought her presence would surely be detected. When she opened her eyes again, Hunter was deep in conversation with one of his men.

  Displaying no sign of the ordeal he had undergone the day before, the Confederate officer sat tall in the saddle, exuding an illusion of power that was evidenced as much by the look on his men’s faces as by the easy arrogance of his seat.

  After nodding his head in agreement the subordinate held up his hand for silence, and Captain Hunter began to speak. Andrea shivered as she saw the soldiers grow instantly quiet, and read the respect and devotion clearly reflected in their eyes. It was obvious, even from here, that these men trusted the man with their very lives and would follow him to hell and back if he but asked.

  Andrea tried to concentrate on breathing evenly and quietly as Hunter’s horse began to prance in place. He sat her with effortless ease, reining her in reflexively and giving her a boot with a spur when she resisted him. Even from the back Andrea could sense the fierce pride that radiated from his form, daring and challenging his men to do or die.

  Through the leaves stirring around her, Andrea strained to hear his words. But all she caught was, “…Train … derail… payroll.”

  He wasn’t looking for her, after all, Andrea thought with relief. She vaguely remembered J.J. telling her about a train nearby. The protection of the payroll it carried was the reason Colonel Delaney was in the area.

  Before she could think another thought, the meeting was suddenly adjourned. In the span of a heartbeat, Hunter wheeled his horse around, and was instantly followed by the entire troop. Andrea was close enough to see the captain’s gray eyes locked in fierce determination as he rode by her, his jaw set firmly against the business at hand. His horse was sweating profusely as if they had come a long way, but Hunter’s shoulders were as rigid and straight as if he had just begun a short pleasure ride.

  As for the rest of the men, they rode in no apparent formation behind him, completely careless as to any type of established military procedure. Their uniforms also showed little concern for orderliness and regulation, with no distinguishing feature among them. Some wore blue and some wore gray. Some wore butternut and some wore, what may best described, as a patchwork of both.

  In only two regards were they all the same, Andrea noticed with chagrin. Each rebel had two .44 revolvers slung about his waist, and each wore a determined look of unflinching courage upon his face.

  Andrea studied their features as one by one they cantered by. All were bronzed by exposure, and each was marked with the alertness that is born of dangerous duty. Like other Confederate cavalry units, the men looked as if they had been born in their saddles—likewise they appeared perfectly willing to die there. But unlike other horsemen, there was not a saber to be seen. Andrea knew that Hunter forbade them, deeming them too bulky, too noisy…and logically, an utterly inadequate instrument against gunpowder.

  Trying to count the horses as they whisked by, Andrea’s eyes scrutinized each with a critical eye. The mounts were of surprisingly good flesh, but in contrast to their riders, were equipped uniformly with regulation military accoutrements—Federal saddles and bridles on every horse.

  When they had all passed, Andrea put her head on the ground and exhaled. It was not as if she had never seen courage and stubborn loyalty stamped on the faces of her enemy. But the fire, the spirit, the pure determined lust for a fight witnessed here, stunned…and terrified her.

  When the hoofbeats finally faded, Andrea rose to her feet and limped toward Justus. The pain in her ankle had been chased from her mind
briefly, but was returning now with a vengeance.

  “Come on, boy. Back to work.” She had to tug on the reins to get Justus to relinquish the quick meal he was grabbing.

  You’ll be glad when this day is over,” she said into her mount’s ears as she crouched low again.

  “You and I both.”

  Chapter 9

  Why do men fight who were born to be brothers?

  – Confederate General James Longstreet

  Colonel Daniel Delaney leaned forward, arms crossed over the pommel of his saddle, waiting for his men to get into marching formation. Used to ride here, he thought, gazing out across the rolling hills. Used to hunt with the Denning brothers not twenty miles distant. Now we’re shooting at each other.

  He jerked his head around at the sound of one of his men cursing and the shrill whinny of a nervous horse. On the heels of the audible disturbance came a blur of motion that whirled to a stop in front of him, causing his mount to take a hasty step backward.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Delaney yelled to the intruder as he fought to bring his mare under control. “Who do you think you are?”

  His gaze darted to the road, searching for the pickets who should have halted the rider. He realized they had been pulled and were already in formation, preparing for the march.

  “I apologize, sir,” a soft, out-of-breath voice, answered. “Colonel Jordan sent me. I’m looking for Colonel Delaney.”

  “You have found him,” he responded gruffly. “What is the communication?”

  Delaney stared at the newcomer’s horse, unable to suppress his astonishment. It was a deep-chested brute with legs wide as tree trunks. With nostrils flaring and lathered top to bottom, the animal continued prancing, intent it seemed on preventing its hooves from coming in contact with Mother Earth. Delaney’s eyes drifted upward to the rider who sat casually astride the beast.

  “My letter of introduction,” the youth said, handing over the document.