“If you believe that you must be unaware of the conditions in Confederate prisons.” For the first time Hunter saw fear flash in her eyes, thought he even saw a shudder.
“You would send me to prison?” She looked straight up at him, as if it was the first time the thought had occurred to her.
Hunter noticed she had a little more trouble keeping the fear out her voice now too. “What do you think the penalty is for the crimes you’ve perpetrated? A blasted picnic?
“But I have committed no violation. How can I be faulted if your superiors indulge themselves with wine and then divulge all manner of things to me?”
She fluttered her eyelashes innocently, yet now it was clear to Hunter she only pretended a calmness she did not feel. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and a nerve twitched near her eye.
“You can be faulted for seeing that the information they so graciously bestowed upon you made it across enemy lines.”
“You have no proof of such a thing.” Her green eyes flashed and her brow furrowed deeply. “You rely on nothing but your memory to link Maryann Marlow with Andrew Sinclair, and nothing but suspicion to connect me with information crossing the lines.”
“Unfortunately again you are wrong, Miss Marlow.” He walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “The evidence against you is ponderous.”
Hunter pulled her hand out of her pocket and held it in front of her face. “For instance, this,” he said, pointing to Daniel’s ring. “I believe I misinterpreted its significance and owe you an apology. You are undeniably linked to a Federal officer.”
Hunter’s last comment brought prolonged silence. In fact, once he released her hand and let it drop, his prisoner did not move. She stared at the wall behind him so intensely she seemed unaware of his presence.
“Surely you understand that the country that once existed may be lost forever, and the Union you seek to repair may never be restored,” he said to see if she was listening.
She blinked twice in rapid succession at his words, but otherwise appeared to be deep in thought. Something about her rigid stance told of a heart beating wildly.
A completely uncharacteristic feeling of pity welled up inside Hunter, and he offered her another chance. “Do you understand what you are doing?”
“It appears my fate lies in your hands,” she said softly. “Therefore I have a request.”
Hunter laughed aloud as he forgot instantly his thoughts of compassion. “A request? I hardly believe you are in the position to make a request.” He crossed his arms and spread his legs. “What is it you would like? Breakfast in bed? A new pair of shoes?”
“No.” Her eyebrows came together in a look of unyielding resolve. “I would favor, that is to say, I would like to make it clear that I prefer losing my life to losing my liberty.”
Hunter noticed the slightest falter to her voice now, as if one part of her mind was convinced of the fact and another was not quite sure. She still appeared defiant. Yet, she was unable to meet his eyes and her breathing was labored.
“You prefer death to prison,” he repeated, certain she must be jesting. “You value your life so little that you will not plead for it?”
Her head went up and her eyes sparked with anger. “Beg? Beg for my life from you?” She forced a laugh. “I am quite willing to accept death. To do otherwise would be to die in another way.”
“Surely you have loved ones that would wish you to reconsider.”
“I have no love but that of country.” She glanced down at the ring on her hand. “And I would value the honor of dying for it…as others have.”
Hunter swallowed hard at the thought of his brother’s sacrifice, but he suppressed any feelings of pity. “And which would you prefer? A rope or a firing squad?” He sat down on the edge of his desk, his tone indifferent, as if giving her the choice between red or white wine at dinner.
“It is not for me to decide my fate,” she said solemnly. “That is for you and God.”
“I know nothing of God except that He did not commit treason against the Confederacy.” Hunter pointed his finger at her. “You did!”
“And since you are my legal captor, you are at liberty to shoot, hang, or quarter me,” she quipped with equal verve. “Whether you like it or not, the responsibility of choice shall be bestowed on you.”
“Do you think I’m type of man who would send a woman to a hanging tree?” Hunter asked curiously.
“I can assure you I have no thoughts on which I wish to expound relative to your character.” Her voice was full of disdain as her determined green eyes met his resolute gray ones. For a few long moments neither one blinked.
“Perhaps the sacrifice of your life will not be necessary.” Hunter went back to his chair and sat down. “I have the authority to offer you a parole.” He began digging through some papers in a drawer. “You have only to sign an oath that you will not give information, countenance, aid, or support to the enemy. . .”
Hunter saw out of the corner of his eye that she took a step back as if being hit quite squarely by a block of wood. Her heels hit the floor in quick succession, making a distinctive kerplunk. He had never seen a face so indignant.
“How dare you insult me!” She held her hands over her ears as if to block out the sound of his voice. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than forfeit my soul and declare allegiance to your country of traitors. Let a thunderbolt strike me down should I give my word to do something my conscience says is not right. I’ll not make any such humiliating concession to you or any power on this earth.”
Hunter’s lips curled into sardonic smile at her outburst. “I beg your pardon,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I had no idea I was dealing with such a prodigy of patriotic devotion. I was simply attempting to give you an opportunity to preserve your life.”
“I will choose to preserve my honor if you do not mind!” The color in her cheeks made her practically glow. “I would rather meet death at the end of a blunt bayonet doing my duty for country than be saved by abandoning it.”
Hunter stood blinking in frustration, staring at her in silent wonder. Walking over to the door, he signaled with a commanding gesture for Private Malone to enter. “Hold this prisoner separate from the others. And tell Johnny he did a good job.”
Truth be told, he wished the young man wouldn’t have been so eager to stop this rider on his first night of picket duty. Yet he couldn’t deny that the boy had done his duty.
As they began to exit, Hunter obeyed an impulse to give her another chance. “Have you nothing else you wish to say? You must know you’ve placed me in a most regrettable position.”
When she turned around, her expression seemed one of sympathy and concern. “If it eases your mind, you are at liberty to disregard any promises made in the past. I did not request, nor do I wish to be, anyone’s sacred obligation.”
When the door clicked shut, Hunter sank down with a groan. What a cruel joke. The fate of his most coveted prize had been placed in his grasp, yet he could not celebrate the triumph, nor even feel the smallest sense of satisfaction.
Daniel’s obscure request on his deathbed was now strikingly clear. He had known she was a spy, and had feared—and suspected—this day would come. “You will let no harm befall her.” The words rang in Hunter’s ears, followed by, “I do not wish to be anyone’s sacred obligation.”
Hunter stood and paced again. What was this confounded war coming to? If she had just taken the parole, his path, and hers, would be clear. She would be unable to return as a menace to the South, and he would have a clear conscience.
But now he was forced to make a decision that would cost him dearly. Betray his men, Virginia, the Confederacy—or betray his brother.
Hunter despised her for the position she had placed him in, and was so angry he feared he could carry out her preferred sentence with his bare hands. Yet how could he punish one who had done her work, served her country, and had no fear to die?
The memory
of the first time he met the infamous Sinclair emerged in his mind. If she was he, then Maryann Marlow, or whoever she was, had pulled him from the water and saved his life.
But what did that matter? This was war. Rules and chivalry no longer counted.
Did promises and honor?
Hunter put his head in his hands and groaned. Could nothing in this bloody war be clear? Right and wrong, good and evil, black and white had always been distinct opposites. Now the lines were muddled.
How had everything become such a mess?
Making his decision, Hunter signed the papers and called for Private Malone.
Had he believed in God, he would have prayed he was doing the right thing.
Chapter 43
Let this lie heavy on thy soul tomorrow.
– King Richard III, Shakespeare
December 1863
A knock at the door interrupted Hunter as he finished a report to General Stuart. “Enter and make it quick.”
“Just some paperwork for you to sign, sir.” Malone handed over the correspondence.
Hunter scribbled his name across the pages without reading them until he reached the last one. “What’s this?”
Malone leaned over the desk to look at the document. “Oh, that’s your authorization to have that boy moved from Libby to Castle Thunder. It’s just a formality to have your signature.”
“What prisoner?” Hunter leafed through the paperwork, looking for a name.
Malone took the papers and flipped to the last page. “Andrew Sinclair,” he said unconcernedly, handing them back.
“I never sent this prisoner to Libby!” Hunter continued to stare at the last page, his hand beginning to tremble slightly.
“Oh yeah, that’s the order that Major Simms changed. I’ll just send it down for him to sign.” Malone started to take the papers from Hunter.
“What do you mean he changed the orders?” Hunter’ snatched the paperwork from Malone’s grasp.
“He-he came to headquarters that night after you’d ridden out. Remember? He didn’t like the idea of a prisoner getting special treatment, and said that since you weren’t here and he outranked everyone else, he had the authority to change the orders.” Malone shifted his feet under Hunter’s sharp gaze. “He did outrank you,” he added meekly.
“He has no authority over me. I don’t care if he’s a blasted general!”
“I’m sorry, sir, I—
Hunter sucked in a deep shaky breath. “You mean to tell me this prisoner, this Andrew Sinclair, has been in Libby for the past…” He looked at the date on the paper again. “Four months?”
Malone nodded.
Hunter closed his eyes, trying to imagine what she had gone through, then closed them tighter, trying not to. Four months in that hellhole surely equaled four years on earth.
He strove to push all thoughts of the prison out of his mind. The deed was done. There was no time now for either sorrow or regret. All he could do is try to mend the mistake. But Hunter heard her voice even now as if she stood right beside him. I prefer death to prison.
“Have Johnny get my horse,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Inform Lieutenant Carter he’s in command until I return.”
“Yes, well, it is Christmas,” Malone offered.
Hunter gazed a moment out the window. “Then I suppose the men can have a short furlough.”
“Is that an order, sir?”
Hunter picked up a pen and scribbled on a piece of paper. “It’s an order. See that it’s carried out to the letter, Malone.”
“Yes, Captain.” The young man started to back out the door.
“And Malone—”
“Sir?”
“See that no one changes it!”
Chapter 44
My trust is in the mercy and wisdom of a kind Providence, who ordereth all things for our good.
– Confederate General Robert E. Lee
Hawthorne
Captain Hunter paced in his library, waiting for the doctor to finish his examination. He had not slept in three days, nor had it entered his mind to do so. After seeing the limp, motionless mound that had been loaded onto his wagon in Richmond, he’d made the decision to drive straight through. If not for the slightest hint of green showing through the figure’s half-open lids, he would not have been sure he’d been given the right person.
When the doctor finally entered, Hunter handed him a brandy he had already poured. “Well?”
Doctor Hobbs patted his sweaty brow with a handkerchief and nervously downed the entire contents of the glass in one swallow. Known more for his gruffness and lack of sympathy than his bedside manner, Hunter thought it unusual for him to be displaying so much duress.
“What in the hell happened to that girl?”
“That’s not important now,” Hunter said impatiently, taking the empty glass from his hands. “How is she?”
“How is she? She’s got a broken femur that was never set. She’s malnourished, dehydrated, and suffering from exposure, any one of which could kill her. Together…” He never finished the sentence.
Hunter searched Hobbs’ face for any sign of hope. He had seen the unnatural bend of her leg at the prison, had been told she had “taken a fall.”
“But she’s got a strong will. She can fight.”
“Aye.” Hobbs’ sat down beside the warmth of the fireplace as if suddenly chilled to the bone. “If the old scar she bears is any indication of her will to live, she’ll fight.”
“Scar?”
“She’s been whipped.” Hobbs stared vacantly into the fire as if trying to imagine the atrocity. He sighed heavily and looked at Hunter. “Someone darn near ripped her in half.”
Hobbs stood and poured himself another drink. “Looks like it happened a number of years ago,” he said, grimacing as the amber fluid rolled down his throat. “Healed quite nicely, I must say.”
Hunter looked into Hobbs’ eyes and could tell they both thought the same thing. She was still very young. She must have been but a child when it occurred.
“She’s made it this far. I’m certain she’ll fight.” Hunter was well acquainted with her fighting instincts, but wondered if they would be enough to save her.
“We can hope,” Hobbs replied, though his tone conveyed none. “Unfortunately, sometimes the body is weaker than the soul.” The doctor turned his attention to his medical bag, and shoved a small vial into Hunter’s hand. “If she wakes up, she’ll need this.”
“If?” Hunter stared at the bottle of laudanum.
“If,” the doctor repeated. “I’ll give her a fifty–fifty chance.” He closed his bag with a loud snap. “And that’s being optimistic.”
He turned to leave with Hunter following close behind. “But what can we do for her?”
With his hand on the doorknob, Hobbs paused. “Nothing really. Keep her comfortable. Let her rest. And wait.” He squinted through tiny spectacles up at Hunter, who stood a good foot taller. “She has to heal on the inside before she can heal on the outside,” he said in a grave voice. “The body and the soul are too closely bound for one to suffer without the other. And I would hesitate to guess, after seeing her injuries, which is suffering more.” Tipping his hat, he opened the door. “Good day, Captain Hunter.”
Hunter put a hand on his forehead and pressed his temples. He had to ride out tonight and didn’t know how soon he’d be able to return. His servants would have to be relied upon to take care of his new charge.
Heading back up the stairs, Hunter paused in the doorway and watched her breathe through half-closed lips, her chest rising and falling under the covers so slightly and so infrequently that at times he could barely distinguish if she breathed at all. Her hair, which had been snarled in a maze of tangles and filth and mold, had been washed and neatly combed by the servants, the long-neglected tresses now resting in soft blonde waves on the pillow.
She lay on her back, exactly as she had been placed a few hours earlier, the covers tucked neatly up to her
chin, hands down by her side. For the most part she looked as motionless as a corpse; her face pale as death. It was incredible to believe this living, breathing, helpless skeleton was the same vivacious young lady he’d danced with at a ball in Richmond a year ago…the same cunning adversary he’d captured as a spy just four months ago. She looked so very small in the large feather bed. Small and vulnerable. Defenseless. Fragile. All things he knew she was not.
Hunter moved closer and looked at the thin arms protruding from the rolled up sleeves of one of his cotton shirts. His focus was drawn to her right hand curled unnaturally in a fist atop the blanket, seemingly unwilling to relinquish a ring that hung loosely from its perch on her bony finger. He looked closer, though he knew it was the same ring she had worn the last time he had seen her.
Daniel’s ring.
He blinked in surprise at her tenacity. The doctor had been perplexed that the uninjured hand had been bound, fingertips to palm in putrid, bloodied rags. It was not hard to conjecture why. By doing so, she had saved the ring from prison thieves. But what permanent damage the bandages may have caused remained unknown.
Hunter’s gaze traveled to a vicious bruise above her cheek and a cut on her forehead. A sound escaped her lips then, as if by merely placing his eyes on the injury he had somehow caused her pain. It made his heart ache to witness such suffering, for even in sleep the torture she had endured was evident upon her troubled countenance.
He swallowed hard at the cruelty of war. What had compelled her to endure an incarceration so tedious and painful—and unnecessary?
But that is the way of war, he reminded himself. And this was no innocent, guiltless child. This was the foe he had vowed to defeat—and the stranger he had sworn to his brother he would protect.
From the corner of his eye, Hunter caught a movement in the doorway, and saw his servant Mattie standing in the threshold watching him.
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 21